How Bollywood Ruined Our Concept of Love

by Owais Khan and Adnan Mustafa (slightly edited version)

Can what you watch fundamentally change your mentality? I am not sure about the psychologist's opinion but if you allow some me some ıntropectıve commentary, believe you me, its possible. With the right amount of environmental factors and some confused parental control you too can stare out of the wındow on those long family trıps pretendıng to reenact the latest Bollywood hıt. (Ignore the fact that you are only 13 and your mother just asked ıf you need to use the bathroom.) Environmental factors include but are not limited to, forbidding talking to those of the opposite sex (especially if they’re desi or muslim), letting us watch “Sharaabi” or “Silsila” as kids instead of the other “bad influences” on TV, and having every Hindi song we listen to talk about a supreme, yet attainable love.

The world of those Bombay hits are far removed from my American reality, actually reality as a whole. They were at best, borderline fantasy. You cannot fall in love in one glance, proving love should not involve any form of self mutilation or letters written in blood, the life of Charlotte and Greenville, North Carolina cannot be compared to the gaon at the foot of the Himalayas or the romantic escapades taking place in Lucknow.

A typical Bollywood love story consists of a hero who overcomes any obstacle for his soon-to-be bride. He draws his strength, like Popeye, from the “love” he imagines between him and his beloved. One gulp of this love makes him uncontrollable and unstoppable. I have it all figured out. I would walk into a city train station at night to find a bunch of hoodlums teasing a lonely, beautiful Indian girl that looks like 0.5% of the Indian female population. In a swift display of wit, respect and skill I would rescue her with no care for reciprocation or gratitude. By destiny we would meet again, maybe at my best friends wedding. After my stunning singing/dancing routine, she would fall in love. Then I would ask for her hand (or do my parents do that?). In the mean time, he does not care about whether or not she loves him (but of course in our mind, she does, I mean, who wouldn’t want to be in love with us?). And she is probably sitting somewhere on an elaborate bed or under a veranda, wearing her wedding lengha, counting the days till she can see us again. And who cares about building love and getting to know someone? Those are so overrated. And if there are any discrepancies, the all-knowing man can mold his poor, gullible, and meek love interest.

We have now gone through college, experienced life, and are faced with the monumental challenge of finding “the one”. We, obviously, are not doing stellar jobs or Bollywood wouldn't have ruined anything. “The one” that exists in Indian movies does not exist in real life. (In all fairness to women, “the one” does not exist in male form as well, and that might be doing them a favor considering half of them are greasy haired, chaprasi, and of the male chauvinist type.) It ruined us by thinking love was something supernatural, that existed only in perfect forms, with us being the hero in some elaborate story. In retrospect, there are some noble characteristics in the previous me that I try to hold to tightly. It wasn’t all cheesy. There are some values that still linger within me, i.e. an impenetrable love that is consistent throughout life, but most of that fantasy fell apart. In the back of my mind, somewhere deep down, I still hold on to my fantasy, just in case it could all be true.

note: the woman's point of view, as well as those that have "success" stories is more than welcome...please add to comments, or if you're lucky enough, you can get published on this blog that is now viewed by 6 people worldwide.

further proof of this theory - http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/6711071.stm