Tu Jhoothi, Main Makkar

Yesterday I saw TJMM, despite all the reservations I had against what I had hear about the plot of the movie. I have seen the earlier movies directed by Luv Ranjan. I have not appreciated the context in which women are placed and the way their wants and desires are not taken into account whatsoever.

As such, this movie does not deviate much from this formula. But it gives the heroine a brighter mind and a more valuable heart than the hero. The heroine is a strong-minded, independent woman. Pursued by a man who is linked to his family and is entitled by the worth of his own masculinity. The masculinity becomes toxic, eventually, because as an Indian man he is not willing to give up his comfort for the woman he professes to love, above all.

In the case of all love relationships, the couple fall in love with each other, and in the throes of any romantic endeavour they focus on just themselves. Eventually, though, the world steps in. When one has a relationship with someone, one is initially completely focused on the partner. The partners live and love in a cocoon, untouched by the outside world. The moment they make their promises to each other, in the vacuum of this protected space, they feel confident enough to step out of it. But once the world begins its interaction with them again, it is then that the promises come to be tested. And more often than not, the world is heavier than the couple. The promises falter and finally, shatter.

This is what happens with the couple in TJMM. Rohan pursues Nisha. He professes his undying love and makes his promises. She falls in love after this courtship. He introduces her to his family. They take over the relationship. As is the wont of most Indian families, the family becomes overwhelming with its superciliousness and entitlement.

When Rohan and Nisha’s families meet, we understand her desires. Her aunt asks her how she fell in love with a man who is from a “business family” when she wanted a man with a salaried job. Because as most Indians know, children that are brought up to take care of their own family businesses are bound to the infrastructure of that dynamic. There is never any independence. It is like Princess Margaret who wanted to love a commoner but did not wish to stop being a Royal. It’s a nepotism that must be agreeable to all.

In the wake of their overzealousness and their taking over her life, Nisha decides to call it quits. Because she doesn’t want to be in the space where she wants to make Rohan choose between his family and her. The director – intentionally or unintentionally – gives her character a human conflict. She realizes that she will never be a priority in his life – no matter how much she wants him to make her one. So she decides to break it off.

The subplot of his being a “match-breaker” is relevant only to create comic interludes. Without Ranbir Kapoor’s acting prowess, the character of Rohan would have been terribly insipid. But he, as always, pulls the character forward effortlessly. He is always brilliant to watch. Shraddha gives no surprises, she has done a good enough job, but I cannot help but question how Alia would have fared in this role. Dimple gives good slaps, Boney Kapoor is irrelevant. The best side character was Nisha’s mother. Ayesha Mishra has always been brilliant. She has about five minutes of screen time. But the burden of having no agency in her family is depicted beautifully, as she speaks to her daughter about her decision. Her mother’s unfulfilled life is the reason why Nisha wants to branch away from another joint family.

The end is bittersweet for Nisha. But most viewers won’t understand this. It becomes Nisha’s movie, because she is the one who actually loves – because true love is always tested by sacrifice. One party always gives up more than the other. In this case, in the climax, she tells Rohan the reason why she didn’t want to be with him. She did not want to give up her own agency to fit into another joint family. She wanted to be his first priority, not his 7th, to which he himself admits. He refuses to do so. He leaves. And she leaves.

But his family intervenes – they decide again what he should do. Again. And he falls in line. Again. He should have let her go. He had actually. But his family says no, you must have the toy that kept you happy. There is a classic airport scene, but with the entire family, instead of just the two lovers. It is directed well, every one discussing their own mistakes. It is a fun watch, mostly because I am a die-hard romantic myself (sucks for me), but the realist in me also reared his head and felt terribly sad for Nisha. She accepts her lover’s family and her lover – who will always place her 7th in his life.

I also know through bitter experience that this placement will never change for Rohan. Even if the ones he places before her die, she will always remain 7th, because death is never a leveller when it comes to matters of love. It outlasts death, and that is the tragedy of this movie and the mentality that gives it validation.

Cling

As time passes and love grows older, our vision expands. It’s like taking a step back and not seeing just the eyes but the whole face. The kiss is done and you see his nose, his lips, his throat. You see the pulse beating there. There is another person in front of you.

You realise you are clingy. You want to be kissed often. You want to be annoyed with a constant barrage of cuddles. You wish for the hands to keep holding yours.

But you look downward and see that the hands that were holding yours are now busy on the phone. The eyes are forming texts. The mind is elsewhere. Differences in religion revolve around your atmosphere. Family matters rise to the surface. The kisses are temporarily forgotten. The life you have lived comes back in heavy memory.

You see the meme in your own phone and you wonder. If you forward it to him will he come close to you again? Will your vision only have his eyes in it again? Will you stop seeing all of his pulsations? Will he be content in your eyes too? How long will the language spoken by the eyes keep you both content?

I have no answers. So I search for a meme.

Family

The other day I went to my partner’s mom’s home. She had invited me for Diwali, after 22 years of my being with her son. I sat with her over the season’s greetings and made small talk. After all these years, her acceptance should not have mattered much but it did. And today, after thought, I realized why it mattered.

I am a family guy. Always have been. Apart from not having a father in the real sense of the word, I have had a marvellous family. I grew up knowing freedoms. The right to choose, the right to be, the right to love. I was taught this by fierce women, in both my maternal and paternal families.

My grandmothers were Naseeb and Gai. The former a widow at 26, who raised four children on her own in the ‘50’s. The latter a Gemini who showed me what it was to love another man. My grandfather, Firoz, taught me what it was to be liberal, kind and loving. My aunts, Rajinder and Harwant and Zarine, were independent, free-thinking, caring women. The former two took the place of the father I never had.

My mother, Gaver, who single-handedly raised two children and made a home in the city of Mumbai. Something no one in the family has or since done. She educated us and molded Geeta and me into the people we are today. Free-thinking, free-willed people, who I like to think also have the compassion and the empathy shown to us by the earlier generations.

I will not forget Behram Maama, who taught me what it was to be a good father. Amarjeet, my chachu, who taught me resilience; because of his constant battle with schizophrenia and the final one he lost to throat cancer. He was a brilliant painter, despite being colour-blind.

I think back on my family and I am filled with separation anxiety. I had a full family, but in my generation I have a mere handful of siblings. I have gone through more than my share of loss. Since the age of 19, I have faced death and continue to face him – almost like a friend who comes calling after short intervals. For company, he has taken Mervin, Nana, Chacha, Bonzo, Dadan, Rolfe, Diana, Zoe, Maasi, Munni Pua, Goodie Pua…

My family has literally and metaphorically given me lessons about death and life. It has taught me how to be honest in order to live without added complications. It has taught me how to love – fully and completely – and what sin actually means. In truth, it would mean breaking a heart that loves you.

As I looked at my partner’s mother, someone who accepted our relationship after decades, I realized how lucky I have been to be a part of the family that makes me belong. In my family, acceptance was never a problem. Loving meant accepting. There may not have been complete understanding, in the truest sense of the word, but, despite that, there was never rejection. I was assured there was never any chance of it. My family taught me love. I am me because of them.