The awards season quite abruptly wakes up from hibernation right in the middle of the year coz, STOP! its IIFA time. Held at Toronto, Canada this year, this is a world-touring Bollywood Mela featuring the whos-who as well as the starlets, has-beens and wanna-bees of the Bolly clans. The headline breaking and eye-blinding bling of the star performances dancing their best Baraati steps occupy most of the spotlight, more than who’s winning what ( seriously, who gives a rat’s ass about those ). And like in a traditional marriage with all the band baaja, the awarding committee is indeed the Father of the many Brides marrying on that very night. Yes, IIFA (and other award functions) is no less than any pompous grand Indian wedding. It is all about the naachgana, the dhoom, the bang, the dhadaka. There’s food, there’s booze and there’s mithai. Special Mithai – only for the esteemed guest list who make it to the front 3-4 rows, being normally distributed to fit the perfect ‘bell curve’. The rest of us, simply don’t give a shit. You know why? Because, frankly, I feel as connected to Bollywood awards (pretty much all of them) as I do with weddings of friends of ‘door ke rishtedaar’. I don’t feel interested to be involved in it, even for a bit, but yet would like to watch the video to find out what shit got taped.
It won’t be wrong to state that the IIFA awards is an amalgamation of the following elements:
a) a Film Festival ( since it helps promote Indian films – both classic ones as well as upcoming releases, although how much does it help promote indie features and upcoming talent is quite doubtful ),
b) a Parent’s day function ( since all the debutante producer’s ke bacchhe get baptised and almost lose their onscreen virginity onstage in front of their papajee and mummyjee), and
c) a mutually benefical (aka you scratch my back, I scratch yours , aka you give me an award and I’ll show up) tamasha.
[Image heavy post after the jump, and the discussion continues]