Love stories

The grand passions of the last generation of stars seem to be a thing of the past

So, Jennifer Aniston is single again – a few weeks ago she and her husband Justin Theroux put out a joint statement to say that they have decided to separate. Cue, a hundred thousand violins screeching sadly across the globe, to provide a musical counterpoint to our collective cry of ‘Poor old Jen’. 

Yes, again. Poor old Jen! The phrase that first reverberated through the world when Brad Pitt left her for Angelina Jolie; the words that were used to describe her as she went from one doomed love affair to the other; they were pulled out yet again as another Aniston marriage came to an untimely end.

And close on the heels of the ‘Poor old Jen’ pity-fest came the ‘Jen and Brad forever’ narrative. After all, the argument went, both Aniston and Pitt were single now. He had been dumped by the femme fatale he left his wife for. So, what better ending for their love story than that they reunite – this time for good.

It mattered little to media outlets and fans on Twitter that Jen and Brad have long since moved on from their starter marriage. It’s been more than 12 years since they were last together and in that time period they have (between them) notched up two spouses, six children and three – or is it five? – boyfriends. 

But who cares about that? As far as the world at large is concerned, the Jen-Brad love story is one for the ages. And it seems blatantly unfair that it should end as it did. (Of course, there are as many people who feel the same way about the ‘Brangelina’ story and are waiting with bated breath for a reconciliation. But that, as the saying goes, is another story.)

What is it about some relationships that they capture the public imagination so vividly? Or, in other words, why do we get so invested in some love stories, though the principals are strangers to us and likely to remain so? Why do some lovers inspire us so that we cannot let them go, even long after they have left one another? 

I first remember asking myself these questions when that great screen and stage actor, Richard Burton, passed away in 1984. When he died, he was married to his third and last wife, Sally, and it had been eight years since he broke up with Elizabeth Taylor, his former wife (twice-over; they married, divorced, remarried, and divorced yet again). But if you had gone by the media coverage alone, you would have thought that it was Liz Taylor, not Sally, who was the grieving widow. 

Much the same thing happened when Taylor herself died in 2011. She had been married eight times to seven men, and had acquired and lost two husbands after she divorced Burton the second and last time. But her obituaries concentrated not so much on the many husbands or her four children, but on the great love of her life, Richard Burton, who wrote her those amazing love letters, bought her the most spectacular jewelry, and loved her to his last, dying breath.

Closer home, you can see the same phenomenon at work. Catch any film awards show and you will find that as surely as night follows day, the camera will pan to Amitabh Bachchan in the audience when Rekha is on stage (and vice versa) to get a ‘reaction shot’. Sometimes it will pan a little further to focus on Jaya Bachchan, as she sits poker-faced, knowing full well that the slightest grimace or frown will launch a thousand gossip items.

Watching these shows, it seems hard to believe that the Amitabh-Jaya-Rekha love triangle ended about two decades ago (at least) given the iron grip it still has on our fevered imagination. 

It says something about how fleeting and ephemeral the relationships of today’s stars seem by comparison that we really don’t feel too strongly about any pairing. Does anyone really care that Deepika Padukone had moved on from Ranbir Kapoor and is now dating Ranveer Singh? Does anyone even remember that Katrina Kaif and Salman Khan were once an item? And despite the media’s best efforts to whip up some hysteria about ‘Saifeena’, the Kareena and Saif Ali Khan coupling didn’t exactly set the world on fire.

The only love story that has come close to capturing the public imagination in recent years is the one between Anushka Sharma and Virat Kohli.  And that may well be because between the two of them, they covered the two great passions of Indians: movies and cricket. So, their star power expanded exponentially when they came together, and set the world aflame. 

But that’s as far as grand passions go for this generation. Other than that there’s really not much to get too excited about, with the same names hooking up and unhooking from one another in an endless round of romantic musical chairs. 

So, what explains the difference? Is it that the celebrities of today no longer have the same oversized love stories like their predecessors did, so they fail to light up our collective cerebral cortex? Or have the stars themselves lost their lustre in a world that moves on far too quickly to the next glittery thing? 

I really don’t know what it is. But I do know it is something I will be thinking about – especially once the award season gets going, with its hardy perennial of the ‘Amitabh-Rekha-Jaya watch’. 

Shooting star

The story of Rekha continues to fascinate us; but the woman herself remains a mystery

I first encountered the glamorous world of Hindi cinema when I was around eight years old. It happened thus. We had set off on a picnic with family and friends to the Botanical Gardens in Howrah. As we headed for our usual spot under the overarching banyan tree, we saw a flurry of excitement just off to the right. There was a small crowd gathered, held behind a roped-off area by a posse of policemen.

How could we possibly resist? We veered off from our normal route to check out what was happening. "Shooting cholche," explained one excited man, while everybody around shouted "Omeet da, Omeet da!"

The 'Omeet da' in question was none other than Amitabh Bachchan. There he sat on the top of a tiny hillock, a white towel arranged around his neck, checking out his reflection in the mirror held up by one of his assistants.

But my eyes swept past him to zero in on another figure: a statuesque sari-clad lady standing in the shade of a tree, her eyes fixed -- like the rest of us -- on Amitabh Bachchan. Even as a child, I could sense the intensity of that gaze, even though I couldn't really make sense of it. Who was that woman, I asked my sister. That was the heroine of the movie. Her name was Rekha.

I hadn't yet been exposed to the pleasures of Stardust or Cine Blitz, so I had no idea about the rumors swirling around the lead actors of Do Anjaane (the shooting of this movie was apparently when their affair started). But as we persuaded them to pose for a picture with us, and the two of them stood together in the middle of our little huddle, it was Rekha I couldn't take my eyes off.

She was simply the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on in my short, uneventful life. Her hair pulled tightly back from her face, her heavily-kohled eyes sparkling like two jewels, her bow-shaped lips a perfect study in red, she was a vision for the ages. But why, I wondered from my vantage point of somewhere around her knees, were her hands five shades darker than her face?

We soon wandered off to have our little picnic, but the image of Rekha stayed with me. The next time I raided my mother's make-up bag, I used her red lipstick to curve a bow-string around my mouth as well. Needless to say, that did not make me look like Rekha.

But our paths were to cross nearly two decades later. By then I was a journalist, working with Sunday magazine, and Rekha was one of the brightest stars of her generation. So, you can imagine the consternation when she married an unknown Delhi businessman called Mukesh Aggarwal, who then committed suicide seven months later, hanging himself from a fan using Rekha's dupatta.

As stories go, this couldn't get any bigger. And I was put on it to provide the Delhi input.

My first interview was with Mukesh's therapist and friend, Akash Bajaj, who lived in a tony colony in Delhi. It took some persuading to get her to talk but she finally relented. As I was ushered into her dimly-lit drawing room and laid eyes on her beautiful but drawn face, grief etched deep into every perfect feature, I realized in a flash that while Rekha may well have been the wife, I was now face-to-face face with the virtual widow.

Bajaj's pain was impossible to fathom; her dignity almost unbearable to watch. And as she spoke, her voice straining under her sorrow and bewilderment ("All I want to ask is why?") the idea of Rekha that I had carried in my head began to take an altogether uglier shape.

Of course, everyone knew even then that Mukesh Aggarwal had been a chronic depressive. And that it was nobody's fault that he had decided to end his life. But in moments of anger and anguish, it is only natural to lash out at somebody. And Mukesh's family and friends lashed out at Rekha, the woman who had 'bewitched' him and then cruelly abandoned him to his fate.

It was after that episode that Rekha turned into the recluse she is today. Walled up behind the gates of her bungalow, her only link to the world appears to be her long-time secretary, Farzana, who, bizarrely, always dresses like Amitabh Bachchan (circa 1980s) whenever she escorts the actress to public events. Even the new biography of Rekha published by Juggernaut is based on interviews with people who know her. Rekha herself remained incommunicado during the entire process.

Speaking for myself, I only saw Rekha in the flesh once after that childhood encounter. We were both leaving an awards function in Mumbai, waiting for our cars to arrive. Not wanting to stare goggle-eyed like everyone else on the porch, I just risked a sidelong glance. Her kohl-rimmed eyes still shone like jewels but her skin was stretched tight as a drum, so much so that those bow-shaped red lips could no longer relax naturally into a smile. Rekha was now the caricature of the woman she had once been, with her rictus grin, her immobile forehead, and paper-thin skin.

Only one thing hadn't changed. Her hands were still five shades darker than her face.

An affair to remember

Why do certain celebrity relationships continue to engage our attention long after they are over?

What is it about some love stories that they simply refuse to fade from public imagination? I asked myself this question yet again last week as Jennifer Aniston began doing the usual round of publicity interviews for her new movie, Cake. Actually, make that ‘poor old Jen’ who lost her husband, the great love of her life, Brad Pitt, to the evil machinations of that sultry siren, Angelina Jolie. Poor thing, she never found love again, moving from relationship after relationship, grasping for the same magic she had with Brad. But no, that wasn’t to be.

Watching Aniston answer the same questions (about Brad, Jolie, their many kids, her striking lack of them), you could be forgiven for thinking that Brad and Jen had split a year ago. Actually, it’s been ten years. And still the same questions keep cropping up in every interview Aniston does.

She and Brad may have moved on, but we are unwilling – or unable – to do so. We seem more committed to the eternal love triangle of Jen-Brad-Jolie than Brad ever was to Jennifer, trying to tease out some meaning from it, puzzling over what went wrong, and sighing about what could have been. So, every couple of months, a fresh crop of stories surfaces in the media. Brad is back in touch with Jen. Jolie is livid because she doesn’t trust Jen. Brad is so unhappy with Jolie. Jen is going to break up with her fiancé Justin Theroux (because she never ever got over Brad, you see). And so on…

Why should this be so? I must confess that I am stumped. Yes, all three protagonists are A-list celebrities so some amount of media attention on their relationship (and lack thereof) is inevitable. But this sort of obsession about something that happened a decade ago? Does it make any sense? Of course not. Nonetheless, the breathless media coverage goes on.

But even if we can’t really work out why this should be so, there is no denying that there are some star pairings that live on in our imaginations, more vividly than ever, even though the couple in question has long since ceased to exist. And we continue to obsess over their relationship – why did it end; who was to blame; whose side are you on? – decades after it has been dead and buried.

If our generation had Brad and Jen (and Jolie), then the one before had those eternal star-crossed lovers, Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. Their coming together on the sets of Cleopatra was a bit like an irresistible force meeting an immovable object. Sparks flew, passions were ignited, and a very public affair began despite the fact that both were still married to other people. They divorced their then-spouses in a spectacular blaze of publicity, and generated even more headlines when they got married to one another. The fiery relationship saw them get divorced, get off with other people, and then with a certain inevitability, gravitate back towards one another. Another wedding followed, and then, another divorce.

After the final split, Taylor went on to re-marry twice even as Burton notched up two marriages of his own. He was married to Sally Hay when he died in 1984. But as far as the media were concerned, it was Liz, not Sally, who was the rightful Burton widow. All the coverage was about Burton and Taylor: the passionate letters he had written to her through their long and complicated relationship; glamorous pictures of them on set or dancing the night away at some club. And much the same thing happened when Taylor passed away in 2011. It was the tragic, tumultuous love story of Burton and Taylor that dominated the obituaries, with her six other husbands meriting merely a passing mention.

In India, there is really only one celebrity couple that I can think of who has attracted this sort of obsessive coverage: Amitabh Bachchan and Rekha. Even though their ‘relationship’ (always rumoured; never confirmed, despite the many coy hints Rekha threw around about ‘Him’ in her many interviews) allegedly ended in the 80s, the myths around it continue to circulate.

The two have never worked together in a movie after Silsila, which was released in 1981, but even more than 30 years later, the presence of them both at any film function is bound to create a frisson. If Rekha is giving away an award, the cameras will focus closely on Amitabh’s face to see how he reacts (with a poker face, if you must know). If Amitabh is on stage and Rekha in the audience, then it is her reaction that the camera will look for (adoring look, paired with mysterious smile). And so, the dance continues even though both are getting a bit long in the tooth now.

Now, of course, there is a new angle to explore in this ‘triangle’ for the ages: Rekha and Jaya in the Rajya Sabha. Both women are members of the same House of Parliament, so their paths are bound to cross at one time or another. And the media are lying in wait for just such a moment. When Rekha takes her oath, the camera pans to Jaya; when Jaya makes an intervention in a debate, the camera closes up on Rekha. And thus, it goes.

Why do these love stories that ended decades ago continue to engage our interest? What is it about these people that makes their ‘relationships’ the fodder of gossip columns, years after the event? Why are we so obsessed with these triangles for the ages? If you can work it out, do let me know.

The clock is ticking...

Will Anil Kapoor’s 24 change the landscape of Indian television?

Like much of the world, I was addicted to 24. And like any fully paid-up addict, I would stock up on the good stuff, shut the door on the rest of the world, and mainline. Because I came to it rather late, I could swallow seasons one, two and three in one greedy gulp. Staying up till four in the morning, trying to squeeze just one more episode in, before the rising sun shamed me into going to bed, became a regular feature. And when my stock of old episodes ended and I had to wait for the new season, I suffered serious withdrawal symptoms.

Yes, as you've probably gathered by now, 24 was addictive. The central conceit of the series was that it chronicled 24 hours of a national security crisis in real time. Keifer Sutherland played the main character, Jack Bauer, as a superhero without the cape (and no visible underwear either, thank God!) maiming, torturing, blowing things up, and then torturing some more, to get to the bottom of some diabolical terrorist plot. The storyline tested the limits of our credulity, the stunts were sometimes plain unbelievable, and the twists and turns of the plot often bordered on the ludicrous. But the series was tightly scripted, fast paced, and things went by in such a blur that you didn't even notice the glaring holes in the plot - until much later, in bed, when you were running through the best moments in your head.

Looking back now, 24 was prescient in many ways. In giving us a Black candidate in the guise of the future President David Palmer in 2001, it eerily foreshadowed the election of Barack Obama in 2009. Its brutal rendering of the torture of terror suspects was an early hint of the Abu Ghraib-style security scandals to come. And who knows, the female US President Allison Taylor who premiered in 24 Redemption in 2008 and then starred in seasons 7 and 8, may well be a nod to the election of Hillary Clinton (the Democratic frontrunner for the 2016 polls) as the first woman President of the United States.

But watching all those endless episodes, perched at the edge of my seat, I was never prescient enough to think that I would soon see an Indian version of the series. No, not even when an Indian actor, Anil Kapoor, played an important role in the last and final season, starring as the ill-fated President Omar Hassan of the fictional Islamic Republic of Kamistan (modeled on Iran) who is assassinated by the bad guys – but not before putting in some good old-fashioned action hero stuff in the company of Bauer.

His messy end in the series notwithstanding, Anil Kapoor knew that he was on to a good thing. And after endless negotiations he bought the rights to make the Indian version of the show, with Kapoor himself playing the Jack Bauer role. In some ways, of course, Kapoor is uniquely qualified to play the superhero, or more accurately, the super anti-hero. His Mr India, released in 1987, brought the legend of the Invisible Superhero to us a full decade before JK Rowling wrote about the Invisibility Cloak in the first Harry Potter book in 1997. (Yes, yes, I know, H.G. Wells wrote The Invisible Man a century ago in 1897; we can play this game endlessly.)

As of this writing, the first two episodes of the Indian 24 have been aired on Colors. And I have to admit that my initial reservations about how this would work have been belied. The storyline is strong, the characters are well defined, the pace is fast, the action well choreographed, and bar a few, the performances are strong. Even the so-called Indianisation works. Instead of Presidential hopeful David Palmer we have a putative Prime Minister from a political dynasty that appears to be loosely based on the Gandhis.

So, will 24 be a game changer as far as Indian television is concerned? Will our TV production companies finally move away from their Saas-bahu Sagas and their Mangalsutra Melodramas, and give us quality television of the like that the West enjoys?

Well, frankly, it is too early to tell if there will be a substantive change in the Indian television landscape. Shows like 24 cost money, they need good writers, talented directors, committed producers, and a top-quality star cast to work. And so far, at least, Indian TV shows no signs of being able afford any of the above. So, I don't really see things changing very much in the short term.

What will change, I think, is Bollywood's attitude to television. Until now, Indian film stars have treated television fiction shows with a certain disdain. Everyone from Amitabh Bachchan to Salman Khan to Shah Rukh Khan is happy to play quizmaster to the nation. Stars like Madhuri Dixit, Hrithik Roshan are happy to turn up to judge singing and dancing competitions. And the likes of Karan Johar delight in hosting their own talk shows.

But TV series? That seems to be strict no-no (unless, of course, if you are a no-hoper like Vinod Khanna). This is in sharp contrast to the West where everyone from Glen Close (Damages) to Martin Sheen (West Wing) to Kate Winslet (Mildred Pierce) to Ashton Kutcher (Two And A Half Men) is happy to transition from the movies to TV (and back again). But rare is the film star in India who is willing to play a role in a TV drama.

That may well be changing though. Even before 24 aired, Amitabh Bachchan announced that he would be starring in a TV series directed by Anurag Kashyap on Sony. And where the great man goes, the rest are sure to follow.

The clock is ticking...

Will Anil Kapoor’s 24 change the landscape of Indian television?

Like much of the world, I was addicted to 24. And like any fully paid-up addict, I would stock up on the good stuff, shut the door on the rest of the world, and mainline. Because I came to it rather late, I could swallow seasons one, two and three in one greedy gulp. Staying up till four in the morning, trying to squeeze just one more episode in, before the rising sun shamed me into going to bed, became a regular feature. And when my stock of old episodes ended and I had to wait for the new season, I suffered serious withdrawal symptoms.

Yes, as you've probably gathered by now, 24 was addictive. The central conceit of the series was that it chronicled 24 hours of a national security crisis in real time. Keifer Sutherland played the main character, Jack Bauer, as a superhero without the cape (and no visible underwear either, thank God!) maiming, torturing, blowing things up, and then torturing some more, to get to the bottom of some diabolical terrorist plot. The storyline tested the limits of our credulity, the stunts were sometimes plain unbelievable, and the twists and turns of the plot often bordered on the ludicrous. But the series was tightly scripted, fast paced, and things went by in such a blur that you didn't even notice the glaring holes in the plot - until much later, in bed, when you were running through the best moments in your head.

Looking back now, 24 was prescient in many ways. In giving us a Black candidate in the guise of the future President David Palmer in 2001, it eerily foreshadowed the election of Barack Obama in 2009. Its brutal rendering of the torture of terror suspects was an early hint of the Abu Ghraib-style security scandals to come. And who knows, the female US President Allison Taylor who premiered in 24 Redemption in 2008 and then starred in seasons 7 and 8, may well be a nod to the election of Hillary Clinton (the Democratic frontrunner for the 2016 polls) as the first woman President of the United States.

But watching all those endless episodes, perched at the edge of my seat, I was never prescient enough to think that I would soon see an Indian version of the series. No, not even when an Indian actor, Anil Kapoor, played an important role in the last and final season, starring as the ill-fated President Omar Hassan of the fictional Islamic Republic of Kamistan (modeled on Iran) who is assassinated by the bad guys – but not before putting in some good old-fashioned action hero stuff in the company of Bauer.

His messy end in the series notwithstanding, Anil Kapoor knew that he was on to a good thing. And after endless negotiations he bought the rights to make the Indian version of the show, with Kapoor himself playing the Jack Bauer role. In some ways, of course, Kapoor is uniquely qualified to play the superhero, or more accurately, the super anti-hero. His Mr India, released in 1987, brought the legend of the Invisible Superhero to us a full decade before JK Rowling wrote about the Invisibility Cloak in the first Harry Potter book in 1997. (Yes, yes, I know, H.G. Wells wrote The Invisible Man a century ago in 1897; we can play this game endlessly.)

As of this writing, the first two episodes of the Indian 24 have been aired on Colors. And I have to admit that my initial reservations about how this would work have been belied. The storyline is strong, the characters are well defined, the pace is fast, the action well choreographed, and bar a few, the performances are strong. Even the so-called Indianisation works. Instead of Presidential hopeful David Palmer we have a putative Prime Minister from a political dynasty that appears to be loosely based on the Gandhis.

So, will 24 be a game changer as far as Indian television is concerned? Will our TV production companies finally move away from their Saas-bahu Sagas and their Mangalsutra Melodramas, and give us quality television of the like that the West enjoys?

Well, frankly, it is too early to tell if there will be a substantive change in the Indian television landscape. Shows like 24 cost money, they need good writers, talented directors, committed producers, and a top-quality star cast to work. And so far, at least, Indian TV shows no signs of being able afford any of the above. So, I don't really see things changing very much in the short term.

What will change, I think, is Bollywood's attitude to television. Until now, Indian film stars have treated television fiction shows with a certain disdain. Everyone from Amitabh Bachchan to Salman Khan to Shah Rukh Khan is happy to play quizmaster to the nation. Stars like Madhuri Dixit, Hrithik Roshan are happy to turn up to judge singing and dancing competitions. And the likes of Karan Johar delight in hosting their own talk shows.

But TV series? That seems to be strict no-no (unless, of course, if you are a no-hoper like Vinod Khanna). This is in sharp contrast to the West where everyone from Glen Close (Damages) to Martin Sheen (West Wing) to Kate Winslet (Mildred Pierce) to Ashton Kutcher (Two And A Half Men) is happy to transition from the movies to TV (and back again). But rare is the film star in India who is willing to play a role in a TV drama.

That may well be changing though. Even before 24 aired, Amitabh Bachchan announced that he would be starring in a TV series directed by Anurag Kashyap on Sony. And where the great man goes, the rest are sure to follow.

Age is just a number...

But only if you are a hero in Bollywood; heroines come with an expiry date

There’s one thing that the three reigning superstars of Bollywood have in common. And no, it’s not that they all rejoice in the surname Khan, though God knows that has been commented upon a million times. What binds Salman, Shah Rukh and Aamir together is that they are all 48 this year.

Go a little further down the rung of super-stardom and it is pretty much the same story. Saif Ali Khan is 43; Akshay Kumar is 45; Ajay Devgn is 44; hell, even Hrithik Roshan is nudging 40 (he hits that milestone birthday next January). And all of them are doing very well indeed at the box-office, singing and dancing, romancing the ladies, and beating the bad boys to a bloody pulp, thank you very much.

Now, here’s a challenge for you. Can you name a single Bollywood actress who is still a top star past the age of 38? Yes, take your time. Scroll down the list of all the usual suspects. Use that old search engine thingie. Phone a friend. Found anyone who is still a significant player past that magical figure? No, I thought not.

Something mysterious seems to happen to our actresses as they creep – ever so slowly and oh so unwillingly; but honestly, given what awaits, can you really blame them? – towards their late 30s. One minute they are flying high on the helium balloon of success and the next they have crash-landed on hard ground. And no amount of Botox, Juvederm or plastic surgery can ever make them whole again. Well, not in the eyes of film producers and directors anyway.

When it comes to female stars, ageing seems to be calculated in dog years where 16 equals 25; 25 equals 30; and 38 equals death (at the box-office, at any rate).

No matter how brightly their star may have shone before, it tends to fizzle out around the mid 30s mark. Sridevi last big release was Judaai in 1997 and she effectively retired from the business at 34. And it is telling that she only put one cautious toe out to test the waters once she was pushing 50 and unambiguously past leading-lady age.

It is no secret that Madhuri Dixit struggled to find a decent role in her last years in the business. Or that Karisma Kapoor never managed a comeback after marriage and kids, even though she has never looked better. Rani Mukherjee tries hard to stay relevant with releases like No One Killed Jessica, but we can all see that this is a losing battle. And even Aishwarya Rai, delivered her last big movie, Guzaarish, in 2010, at the venerable age of 37 (though if anyone can make a sizzling comeback, it is her).

And these are the stars who have actually been on top of the heap for most of their time in moviedom. Those who were lower down in the pecking order fare even worse. Preity Zinta struggles on gamely at 38, but even she has to produce the movies she stars in (and it doesn’t help when they are like Ishkq in Paris). And Bipasha Basu seems to have slipped completely off the radar at a youthful 34.

But while the women fall by the wayside like so many dominoes, the men just go on and on. It’s almost as if with male stars the ageing process has been halted by some ancient alchemical process. Ever since Raj Kapoor and Dilip Kumar canoodled with actresses half their age, Bollywood heroes have seen it as a badge of pride to be paired with heroines who could well be their daughters. In fact, some of the heroines Amitabh Bachchan, Shashi Kapoor, Dharamendra have romanced on-screen could well have been their granddaughters.

And over the years we have become so inured to this December-April pairing that we see nothing incongruous about Salman Khan playing the romantic lead against Sonakshi Sinha who was two years old when he became a star with Maine Pyar Kiya. Or when Shah Rukh Khan sings and dances around the trees with Anoushka Sharma, who was five years old when he was stammering K.K.K.K.Kiran in Darr (Deepika Padukone was seven years old at that time, in case you are interested).

I wondered about this as I watched Madhuri Dixit (Shah Rukh’s co-star in Dil To Pagal Hai) play judge on the TV dance reality show Jhalak Dhikla Jaa, biding time, no doubt, till she is old enough to play the glamorous yummy mummy or the beatific badi bhabhi (given that her comeback vehicle Aaja Nachle didn’t exactly set the cinema screens on fire). Is this the way the cookie will always crumble for our Bollywood heroines? Or will the film industry change its sexist, ageist ways?

The way I look at it, Kareena Kapoor Khan will be the test case. At 33, she is veering close to the danger mark. Will she be able to change the rules? Well, I am sure we wish her the very best but if I were you, I wouldn’t hold my breath.