Once upon a time in Bollywood

So much has changed, however, in the last thirty years that Desai, were he to come back to life today, would be flabbergasted. Many things would probably have to be explained to him. He would have to be told, for instance, about the non resident Indian demand for films and how it provided an entry point for Bollywood to the West. He would have to be told about the experiences of people like documentary film-maker Nasreen Kabir who, presenting a programme on Hindi cinema in Europe, found herself not in an empty hall as she had expected but one brimming with Bollywood enthusiasts who, moreover, could tell the difference between Shahrukh and Amitabh and even express clear preferences. He would have to be shown studies done by western scholars such as, for instance, on the viewership patterns for Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge versus Dil Se and on the chiffon romances of Yash Chopra.

Then, after this startling assault of respectability, he could be directed homewards. Where the sort of art filmmakers that once drove him crazy are making films with top stars and the worshipful filmmaking that can entail. In fact he might even learn a thing or two from them about the art of synergising the brand attributes of stars with film marketing.

He would find Bollywood — far from being the preserve of trashy film magazines — to be the staple fare of serious newspapers and television news channels. He would hear about the new economics of cinema in the business news, advances in sound recording in the technology news, see film stars cleaning the streets or fighting for womens’ rights on the city pages, catch the latest scandal in the headlines. And in between, he would learn about contemporary social trends through the relationship and marital problems of his colleagues.

At dinner parties he would find himself discussing the latest releases and listening to people critically evaluate them. He might find himself scratching his head at a question on a radio quiz show about the colour of the pants worn by a star in one of his films and hit it when an eighteen year old listener comes up with the correct answer. He would appreciate the ability of his successors like Nagesh Kukonoor to anticipate that when he does something like make a film in which he does not play the lead for the first time, it could become a piece of significant trivia.

All this would probably be new and enlightening. There could be a moment of confusion here and there. Like when he hears Aamir Khan, hero of Ketan Mehta’s latest film, The Rising, claim that the film could be read as a commentary on the current global scenario, the suggestion being that America, like the English empire in the past, was the bad guy imposing its will on the world.

He would have to think it through. In Ketan Mehta’s The Rising, the ‘‘Company’’ is the profit-hungry arm of the British Empire that keeps millions in subjugation through superior military might, the notion of racial superiority and the enervating effects of opium. America as the new ‘‘Company’’ has the guns, it has the mantle of democracy that makes it the good guys over the primitives but what does it have for opium? Coca Cola? Hollywood?

He would have to wonder, then, where in all this would Hollywood’s Indian counterpart, Bollywood, fit in. Then he might come across Ram Gopal Verma observe on a television discussion on — what else — the business of filmmaking, that: ‘‘entertainment has become as important as food.’’

And then perhaps everything would become clear. Cinema is still the opiate. But now everyone’s happy being addicted.