Yes, you read it right. That’s Lamhe, a 90s movie that I
watched yet again the other day because I personally categorize it as “can
watch whenever it is playing” and my American friend, having nothing
better to do on a rainy Sunday, decided to give me company.
Her reaction to the movie was so entertaining (she’s Tamil but
born and raised in the US, so unlike most people I know, she’d never watched
this movie before) to me, I decided to review it here. The other reason is
obviously that the three movies I’ve watched of late range from bad to
uninspiring, so I didn’t bother writing about them. I gave “Kick” the miss, because
I’ve promised myself I will not pay money to watch films that plainly mock the audience.
Humpty Sharma ki Dulhania was the better of the lot and Alia Bhatt is
definitely doing well, but it didn’t move me enough to write. I did like the “piyi
huyi thi, memory loss nahi huwa tha” rejoinder to DDLJ though.
Anyway, back to Lamhe. It’s a Yash Chopra movie and after
Silsila, easily the boldest they’ve ever been. Daag and Kabhi Kabhie (even
Chandni) I assume would be risque for Bollywood back then, but Daag’s sort of Mayor
of Casterbridge and the tension in the other two is tempered down hugely to make them fit into the mainstream
mold.
Anyway, I hear neither Silsila nor Lamhe did well when they
hit the theatres, so I’ve a very strong feeling the grand old man, partly
disillusioned with the audience, decided to stick with what the audience wanted—women
in translucent whites and lovely songs stitched on easy-breezy story lines.
There are lovely songs in Lamhe, of course. Who can imagine
any Chopra movie without those? But there’s surprisingly little candyfloss-ing.
I remember when the movie hit the theatres there was some discussion about
whether I would even understand, much less enjoy it. I just did the
calculation. Lamhe was out in 1991. So I was six. I remember the post movie discussion my aunt and her friends had was quite steamy,
all of them largely agreeing it was a bit “too much”.
I must have been too young to understand what exactly was “too
much” in it, because I’d followed and liked the story quite well. But over the
course of the years I’ve learnt to appreciate the risk Chopra was taking,
making this movie in the early 90s. The movie breaks a number of Bollywood
taboos while staying within the “commercial” borders. I always feel people do
not need to become too radical to make any point—it can all be done in a more
or less pleasant manner, and I felt the same again the other day when I was
explaining Lamhe to my friend.
For those who have no
clue, it’s about a man who falls in love with a woman older to him. Taboo # 1. The woman gets married to the man she is in love
with, leaving our young man heartbroken. But he’s a man of the world, so instead
of taking to the bottle or doing anything equally silly he goes about his business
and in fact turns into a very disciplined man later. But the love of his life
and her husband die soon after, leaving their infant an orphan. The young man takes her in and provides for
her; the baby is raised by the “daai” who raised the man himself. Over time,
the child, a spitting image of her mom, falls in love with her provider, now
not so young. (Million taboos smashed!) Expected complications follow, not the
least because of the age difference between them. Daughter realizes love of her
life was originally in love with her mom but that does not matter to her (more
smashing ).
Add to that some brilliant acting by Sridevi as mom and
daughter, a very restrained Anil Kapoor (all hair jokes notwithstanding, I like him), melodious songs, good dialogues, very sensitive direction and you know why many
people like me would call Lamhe one of their favourite Hindi movies.
There’s an obvious influence of Daddy Long Legs in there,
but it has been suitably Indianised and adapted. There is the age-and-place- in-life
appropriate girlfriend who I’ve only lately started sympathizing with, I was too busy rooting for the young Sridevi earlier.
There’s some incredibly no-fuss dialogues from the women and
a whole lot of speaking their minds, without any nudity. There’s some
unnecessary comedy in the form of Anupam Kher, but the comic device is used in
the classic sense where Kher acts as a mirror and a sounding board to the
protagonist. Sridevi’s voice could be annoying at times but it’s nowhere as
annoying as in Chandni and everything else about her is very good, so there’s
no point nitpicking.
My friend started watching the movie only because it was
playing right in front of her. What started as a polite show of interest
quickly transformed into genuine curiosity. “She’s in love with him? But he’s her
mom’s age!”
“Does he like her? He liked the mom!”
As I explained and sometimes defended the characters, I
was thinking about how some things in this world will never change. It’s been
more than a decade since Lamhe released and we’re still astonished at the
complexities of love and life. Especially if they transgress age differences. I
wonder how Lamhe would do if it hit the screen today. Would we still say “it
was a bit too much”?
Maybe fewer of us
would. Like my friend, maybe more people would come around to accept the simple
logic the younger Sridevi put forward: “kisi na kisi ko toh bada ya chota hona
hi parta hain”.
Well, we’ll never know.
But we are also people who push things like “Humshakals” to be hits, so
maybe we don’t even deserve to know. Maybe that was Chopra’s revenge—to give us
Jab Tak Hain Jaan, in a manner of saying ”If it makes you go numb, don’t blame
me. I tried, you rejected. Now suffer.”
