Doe eyes filled with tears of longing, luscious dark lips parted in the agony of waiting, the young girl is swinging her long plait, waiting for her beloved to come home… love came to Hindi films in myriad hues. The lovelorn used to vomit blood and die of broken hearts. Those that didn't died by jumping off cliffs. Others started writing poetry, some singing it too. A broken heart was the result of this passionate love that was in the 1950s air.

The young lovers were beautiful, silent. There were silent looks, explosive accidental touches and unspoken passion. No one could know they were in love but they were, and how!

Remember the gash on Paro's head in Devdas? Devdas gave it to her so she never forgot she was unfaithful - bewafa. The unmarried Parinita considered herself married to the man she accidentally garlanded. Those were bonds of the heart, ties of emotion. Undemanding, unquestioning, unstoppable love it was. Those were the days of coy glances, the dreams that made one waltz with one's beloved, 'hum aapki aankhon mein is dil ko basaa den tho?'

But in a decade's time, shy questions, the spark that emanated when eyes met, were becoming a little bolder, a little less explosive.

Young lovers could now talk about being in love under a shared umbrella in streaking rain, promises of love were made with quivering lips and longing eyes. The moon and the sun (and whoever else was present) were asked to look away while the lovers met. Coy romancing had started, soft, beautiful and magical. It heightened with Dev Anand's Tere Ghar ke Saamne, his love on a string, bushed Nanda in Teen Deviyaan, and brought love out of hiding behind Zaalim Zamana (the Heartless World). Some like Sunil Dutt openly courted a dalit girl in Sujatha, love against all odds.

Then came the days of dancing in the wildernesses. Simulated body movements denoted the passion of love. The newer breed were more brazen, courting openly, sometimes even abroad, on snow-capped peaks and even committing the great mistake in front of fireplaces. Love had arrived and with a bang. Down the years, it became more brazen, more in your face and more demanding. There were a few perfunctory songs in Austria and Switzerland, then love took off.

Very few films had the depths of emotion showed between a young suspected terrorist and his friend in Machis, or between a dying Mili and the conscience-stricken neighbor who ultimately finds her pain is greater than his. There was a decreasing coyness, diminishing emotion and even lesser decency about love.

Then the families burst upon the scene.

Love, after or before marriage, became the 'family' affair. Daddies, mummies, uncles, aunties, their friends, their children, granddads, his friends, their kids and their friends… the list is endless. Marriage became a public party. More glitz, more glamour, more Papa's permission and Tayaji's acceptance, became important.

Then, the inevitable happened. The passion died.

Hindi films today have love in myriad hues, in foreign countries, legal, illegal, legitimate, cross-religion, cross-country, cross-colleges, warring families, cross-cultural, everything, but no real love. There are too many things to do on the way. There is work, money to be earned, fashion and styles to be studied and maintained, mummy papa to be appeased, friends to be pacified, a foreign degree to be achieved ( perhaps even a foreign dulha to be bagged), too much too soon. The power of love goes with the first dare to bare instant. There is no mystery left to discover, no feeling left unexpressed, no touch left unexperienced. As Preity Zinta remarked in Soldier, 'sab to kar liya, ab kya karen?'

Truly, ab kya karen?

People who loved, still love with the same passion. Sunil Dutt and his clan still adore Nargis, Dilip Kumar still loves Saira Banu (perhaps some others too). But can one imagine a Twinkle Khanna loving an Akshay Kumar for the next forty years, offscreen or onscreen? Not likely.