***Yellow Yellow… Dirty Fellow***
Amongst other rhyming lines that Shah Rukh Khan’s Rizvan Khan [ K..khan...from the epiglotis] speaks at important moments across the film, is the one cited above. He is a guy suffering from a certain form of autism, born in Bombay and who goes ahead to marry a single mother – Mandira Rathod [Kajol ]. The fairy-tale continues until Al-Qaida strikes the twin towers, and as Rizvan’s voice-over tells us – world history gets divided into BC, AD and 9/11. Now, Bollywood has churned out some similar half-baked shit in the last couple of months or so. The brown bread entertainer – New York and the crazy accent carrying Om Puri and Kirron Kher love extravaganza – Kurbaan. Oh noes, Kurbaan was supposed to be the movie with the Kareena backless scene. Sorry KJo, I can’t still get over with that funny accent of Kirron Mata. My Name Is Khan tries to get it right from the scratch. It builds up to it, with a perfect setting, a perfect background and then just goes mental. Completely ballistic in a very wrong way. It felt like KJo started this movie as he said – “I was fed up with Bollywood“. By that he meant, he was fed up with the same song-dance routine, the same high ceilings with polished Swarovski crystal chandeliers, Sharmishta Roy art-direction and Manish Malhotra assisting him in styling. And oh, the Sagai, Shaadi, Post Shaadi, Karva Chauth routine. Yes, KJo did seem a bit grown up. But I think he missed his own daal-roti so much, and hence, goes back to the old as the hills formula – It’s all about loving your parents/ family /neighbour . And he does it while he chews upon as much cheese as the Swiss can manufacture in a year, with as many stereotypical references as possible.
I have some major problems with the movie which makes me question what the likes of Mahapurush – Taran Adarsh jee and Divya Naari – Nikhat Kazmi could see in it to rate it 4.5 star out of 5 and 5 on 5 respectively. But before I dive deeply into the problems, lemme scrape out the good stuff for ya!!
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*** Gave me the Sunshine.. of Seasons Past***
Warning: This is not a review of 3 idiots. And sometimes the language in this post could be a tad colourful for your taste.

I am a child of the eighties. Unlike the children of the late Nineties or the Noughties, who grew up with Satellite TV and alternative career choices, my options were limited. I never clearly knew what I wanted to do. Maybe I don’t know still. I was good in Maths. I hated blood and dissecting frogs, and I wanted to travel outside my hometown, maybe work somewhere in a city in India or even abroad. I have 3 cousins who are Engineers, and hence my parents were keen enough to make me one. And so I became one. All of this sums me up as a blend of Raju, Farhaan and Rancho – our three protagonists of 3 idiots. And hence, unlike “reviewers” who would compare this with Munnabhai B.Tech [with certainly no idea of what they're talking about], I feel deeply connected with this movie in a very obvious way. I have gone through that phase of peer pressure, fear of failure, coping with parental expectations and above all, the struggle between the safe-route naukri routine and the true calling in one’s self. I have a confession to make – I became a Mechanical engineer not because I was fascinated about Machines or autombiles, but because it ensured a better and a secured future. [ #Fact: Majority of Mechanical and Civil Engineers get recruited by IT services MNC's, or go ahead with yet another struggle called CAT]. And yes, although I am not proud of my decision that I never gave enough room for my own interest in music, movies or writing which surely doesn’t match my Mechanical Engg degree [or my Masters in Operational Research], it certainly pays off my bills and in a way they make me happy. Yes, I am materialistic, who’s not?
But let’s not ramble around like this, and get back to the movie. The world of 3 idiots set in a certain Imperial College of Engineering is typical of any Engineering college campus. The water tank aka ‘Tanki’ is reminiscent of the one that was in my campus. Of course, we had a biological name for it
And like non-living objects, we had nicknames for each and every character we found as worthy of being termed as a characteristic. So similar to the movie which has Chatur the Silencer, we had a Silent Killer, a DOPA [Dean of P@ndy Affairs] and also Remix King [I wish he's reading this] who was responsible to add his wicked non-veg remixes to popular Bolly numbers [shining examples being Behra Piya Bada Bedardi, Hilake Pilake- Sharara Sharara and something that I can't write about in public but I can certainly reveal that it is based on Tushar Kapoor's Is Pyaar Ko Main Kya Naam Duu]. Although I wasn’t at all as competitive as Chatur, I did know an awful lot of people who were the ulta-cramming machines like Chatur, but quite ironically, would never top the class. And amongst others, I also had a couple of mates who would spend late nights until the wee hours of the morning playing cards or multi-player games and still score the highest marks. Typical Ranchos they were. And also a world which had the multi-tasking Millimeter, the Mega-Byte and Giga-Bytes
And for such obvious reasons that the movie brought all these memories back to me in a gush, I loved it. Not just a bit, but a whole lot.
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I know it is a pretty lame statement to begin a post with but let me just get done with it. Rocket Singh is genuinely a ‘hatke’ movie. In a year choke-full of Bollywood formula of OTT high budgeted failures like Blue,Kambaqht Ishk, multistarrer flops -Main Aur Mrs Khanna, London Dreams and cinematic blunders -Chandi Chowkh, What’s Your Rashee – it seems like Bollywood needs reminding of the infamous line from matrix -There is NO spoon [ The spoon being a metaphor for formula]. Rocket Singh -without any form of exaggeration, is one of those movies which fall beyond the Venn diagram of Bollywood formula.
There is no Boy meets girl or Judaai waale gaane. There is no Pakka Khooni or Chor, neither is there any Dil Churane Wala. Rocket Singh subtly brings across mild memories of Boiler Room’s heated corporate sales talk in a believable Mumbai office and does not fail to charm throughout its length. Much of it certainly belongs to the spot on portrayal of Sardarji HP Singh by Sadda Kapoor -Ranbir and his Dadaji by none other than Prem, Prem Chopra.
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I recently caught this flick – Chori Chori – starring Ajay Devgan and Rani Mukherjee on Star Gold. I had originally given it a miss when it was released in 2003, coz the vibe that the movie’s publicity and trailers generated didn’t attract me. Except for the promotional – emo ride that is – Aate Aate Aa Gaye Paas Hum, the trailers did not offer much. And a few years later, I caught a glimpse of the first 10 minutes of the movie again on Star Gold [ when I was back in India], and to see Khushi (Rani) lead a solitary and independent life in Delhi as a catering agent , being an orphan and raised by her Taau and Taae, and one who talks to her monkey called Jonathon – all of it summed up to me as a female version of Mr.Bean. But then, Rani is far more pretty (with no offence to Mr. Rowan Atkinson
).
And then, I read Memsaab sing praise of this flick in her review. And so I knew that I had to watch it. For the sake of Rani. And so I did. And to be honest, I wasn’t moved but pleasantly entertained.
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