The Bad and The Ugly

From the confections-loving Marwadis to the Punjabis who are prone to the ‘Balle Balle’ dance fever; our films (read Tamil films) have transcended every lane of stereotyping. To experiment with movies that run full time on such nuanced stereotypes is a lesson in drudgery, a lesson in irony. For instance, the North Indians in Tamil movies, besides their eternally struggle to speak Tamil, are pawn-brokers for life.

Where did we borrow such references from?  One argues that the gun-toting villains of the 80’s were a direct lift from the Spaghetti Western films by the likes of Sergio Leone. When they first arrived, the response was phenomenal. After all, everyone loves an antagonist who is vile and vicious. But the same villains, the same guns and the same emotions establish the difference between cult films and plain absurdity.

The era that succeeded it made sure the notions never changed. It was the time of experimentation with large-bellied hare-brained villains with sickles and spears. It rendered the cinema blank and desperately wanting a change. Ridiculousness redefined itself, time and again. Can we move away from these stereotypes or can we be intelligent with the concoction of the elements churned out? Definitely, maybe.

Only the wonderful reels of Vijaykanth and ‘Action King’ offer a conversation between an Indian and a Pakistani (of course, in a strange dialect) in Tamil. Do we regard this creativity or perceive it to be a coherent, made-lucid stereotype? The work of a critic is made easier and at times, luxurious by such instances.

And now, when another movie industry purportedly takes a leaf out of our culture with ‘curd for noodles’ approach, we wield an iron fist and are agitated. In a TV show, a Bollywood star was asked why his movies feature a copycat style portrayal of people from the Western culture. He defended it in style saying, “Do not oversimplify my films! We put in a lot of money into the films.” It is like applying linear string theory over a 3 dimensional plot to prove that poorly played violins cause headache. The vanity of it, one shall see. 

London Bridge is falling down

‘How to keep your teeth clean’, SHOUTS the poster and gives allegedly easy tips. Yes, I wait in the corridor as my mother visits the Dentist. “Hello, how are you?” the dentist asks her and closes the door behind her. (I expect her to say, “Not very well, considering that I’m visiting you”. But what the hell, she’s the patient and simply can’t say such things). Restlessness now kicks in and I look around. One clutches the jaws in pain. There’s not much chatter, origin of the pain to blame. I see a mother and her three sons sitting beside me. The youngest of the lot is jumping around. The three hollow blocks in the place of his front teeth is an indication that he must’ve jumped a step too much. The elder son wears a constipated look and that gives a fair indication of who will be examined, waiting for some good news. Perhaps, he wishes to say ‘cheese’ instead of a grin. The worried mother wishes likewise, probably. Three months, I rewind by.

When people around complained of sore tooth, I would thrust myself forward to give a lecture on tooth hygiene. That day, I went in and the dentist said, “Don’t worry, it’s just a normal tooth decay. But then, its deep. We’ll fill it up temporarily and observe until 15 days go by.” (What do you mean ‘normal tooth decay!’ you want to ask). The London Bridge has finally come crashing down. All the years of boasting of having a clean dental sheet has buried itself, silently. I ask the dentist if it’s really bad. “Let’s take an X-ray and see how deep it is”, she says. When I get the X-ray report, silently hoping Roentgen has some good news, he refuses to do so. “Right 4 and 5 are decayed, paa”. Not one, but two teeth have met their fiery end. It’s in such downfall that dentists find their windfall, I console myself.

Temporary filling done, the doctor politely tells me not to eat for another 2 hours. She then calls her mother and argues, “Maa, how do you expect me to eat IDLY with only the PODI? I am starving. You better prepare that spicy Thakkazhi Chutney or I’m eating Pizza!” before hanging the phone. Oh Dent, I accept that you are hungry. There’s a bugger sitting here, hands on the jaws, unable to eat and yes, irritated. “Irony, you shall rot in hell”, I say to myself. I wear a desolate look, she understands and she apologizes. I see my dad waiting in the reception, three wrinkles on his forehead. He must’ve been counting the number of visits he had made with his wife and son in the past 3 months and would’ve found his fingers insufficient to do the counting.

A week later, I miss a family reunion citing work. My friend is surprised when he opens a Kitkat strip sitting beside me and finds no hand trying to grab it. When I tell him the reason, he guffaws and says, “Idhellam enna da! I’ve got two RootCanals done. It is really that simple”. Another guy says that Root Canal is painful, that I should use his strategy- ‘Keep Calm and Let the Dentist Play’. I regain my composure. I nod to him and munch something while he asks me, “Dei, inga irundha Kitkat engada!” (Where’s the Kitkat?)

End notes:

·         Two weeks later, I visited the dentist who told “Left 4 and 5 also has decay. Tcha, both sides of your mouth and the same teeth! What unity!”  I agreed with her and cursed Unity and Coincidence alike. Sarcasm also managed to get some thittu.

·         I came home that night. My cousin had whatsapped ‘Keep Calm and Eat Thayir Saadham’. I put the phone down, grabbed the plate of idlies and told my mom, “put chutney”

·         The dentist has become my family dentist now. Thankfully, I am not the protagonist anymore; only accompanying my mother once in a while for dental check-ups.

·         A month after going under the scalpel (not really, but still), while in a chat with my uncle, I mention to him of my teeth and he says “Join the Club”. Bittersweet feelings.