Humour writer Indraneel takes a tongue-in-cheek view of families arguing in public places. He hilariously likens the clash (read tension) to Bollywood icons. Different Truths introduces his column, Bollywood Humour.
Have you seen families in public spaces? Okay, families having an argument. Yes, I have qualified it. Where the ladies are talking and nearly shed a tear themselves, while the men stand by or walk stoically like Balraj Sahni in “Babul ki duaein leti Ja,” not understanding what is actually going on.
I mean how can ladies shed a tear and talk together? Amongst men only Aamir does it effectively and which is why his dialogue comes out stilted from his mouth. Fast talk. Silence while tear is being shed. Again fast talk. I reiterate our real men would not shed tears. Prem Chopra would snarl. Tell his name twice over. Snarl. And then would probably paw a nice buxom Kurnool kinda lady, while stoically standing by. Just for kicks. Or take the magnificent Amrish Puri. He would quietly stand there and listen to his woman. Then he would launch into a baritone. He would tap his bald head. His eyes would dance. He would say, “Raghunandan khush hua.” Just for kicks. His dismayed spouse wouldn’t know what to say or where to look. The children would latch on to other groups of parents and pretend they were from Faizabad or Silchar!
Sometimes ladies in an argument with their spouses tend to admonish the men. Their men look at their toes. They want to give up, go away and die somewhere. But that’s not happening. Not with the average Justin Poulose. Justin, who college mates also called, Juice tin, when being expressive. Justin is that tin. Shut. Inert. Quiet. Labelled. Shelved. Just imagine if Justin was Raj Kumar, with a scarf and a pipe. The real man like Prem or Amrish or Justin’s very own midnight cowboy, Mohanlal. Raj Kumar would hem, haw, nod, look away, look back and finally speak, “Jaani, Jinke ghar sheeshe ke hote hain….” Spouse shall disappear and so will children. Matter solved.
Some ladies like to argue and then saddle their men with the baggage when walking in a mall or an airport. It is double jeopardy. Now, he cannot attend to opportunities on WhatsApp. He cannot laugh at other men in similar spectacular situations. He has to remember the baggage and also remember to walk along with the spouse. He has to keep up to her otherwise her voice may rise and that’s not necessary. The all knowing junior office colleague may pop up and hear Bhabhi cursing Sir’s stars. But if Sir were to be replaced by Nana Pateka. He would quietly walk with the baggage softly telling himself, “Control Control!” Then when he cannot control anymore…people would call up the Police.
And if that happens to be ACP Pradyuman. Well… more doors will be broken. Women, please let the men be!
Ah, these days in the world of equal opportunity and Ranveer Singh, the men are very participating in baby carrying, pushing prams, feeding and being the general handyman with enthusiasm. Most women are satisfied with what their husbands do. Then the husbands bring in their Moms to ease their own workloads so that they can concentrate elsewhere – software glitches, office rumours, trying to add Jyoti from Class 9 in Facebook. Moms take over. Spouses glare as Moms don’t allow sons to do anything. Now there are two babies in the mall to be nursed. The older baby has a toy, a mobile. So, the amiable spouse now has dagger eyes. While the overgrown baby pretends not to see. So, arguments result. Furtive and quick ones so that dear Mom does not see. The amiable equal opportunity man now slowly turns into Sunny Deol. The anger simmers. It builds up. The nice citizen turns into Ghayal Ghatal Arjun and one day will uproot a metaphoric tube well. Just for kicks.
Then there are those insecure ladies who think their men are being too friendly with the store assistant who is showing him the latest features in iPhone 6C. He already has an iPhone. Why does he need another one? Man, of course, is not into flirting with young ladies who tap on iPhones with their fingernails that have silver nail polish half chipped. He is actually interested in the latest phone. He wants it. He covets it. He has spent nights pretending to be asleep as he has wondered how he can juggle his finances so that he can go ‘Gulabo’ with his new phone. And then his insecure lady is accusing him for being with an impatient nail tapper. He wants to turn into Salman from Dabangg. Well, even that he’d tried once, at home. Spouse had laughed so hard that she had started to hiccup. So, he remained the Mohannish Behl. Divine smile. Cringing smile. Persistent smile. Till all matters of insecurity pass by and they are in the parking lot. Without the iPhone sadly!
In the olden days, men could be a cunning Madan Puri or a deviant Premnath and their women never came to know. But these are not those days. Women know their men. Sometimes from nursery school itself. The men who have thought themselves to be extremely lucky to have bagged their supposed sweethearts pretty early in lives now find that an untimely sneeze in the car or the cinema hall is also not permitted. Their well known school sweethearts sometimes turn into a vague Priya Rajvansh and some other time get over animated like a Priti Zinta who has just returned from the “powder” room. They cannot even comment, “You know, green tops don’t go with walnut coloured trousers. That went out with Karishma.” Hell breaks loose.
This is the age of Raj Babbar singing, “Gham chupaatey raho, muskuratey raho.”
All pix from Net
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