Will somebody tell me where exactly in intergalactic time and space are we exactly located? Bollywood favorites, that seem to stun the Indian masses with their color and pomp, drama and emotions, seem to come from some other planet... it surely can't be mundane earth... and the greatest democracy, the most populous country on this planet. The country beset with crafty politicians, acute hunger, sad exploitation, agonizing hatred...

There are, of course, variations to the themes of love and beauty… there is the latest fad - the underworld - which seems exactly like the over world too. After all, Bhiku Mhatre is not very different from Sakharam Godbole, the clerk in the Provident Fund Office, when it comes to extortion and exploitation. But of course, in real life, we may not get to see blood spurting out of the skull of the man walking ahead of you in the Mumbai rush hour in the CST station crowd… or perhaps if you are lucky you may. Not too many other Indians will, anyhow.

Then there are Indo British sugar daddies with salt and pepper beards (more salt than pepper), Mamas, half their height, wound in expensive silks and honeyed smiles, obedient sons who regularly zip in and out in their private jets to meet their 'Poos' in Chandni Chowk… too good for mere words. The families in India who live this opulently could be counted on fingers, then aren't these Poos lucky? How easy is it for a multi billionaire NRI to drop in for a friendly cuppa to his old friend's home by the Ganges and decide to make his pure-as-the-Ganges daughter his bahu? Never mind if the son wants to taste the gangajal first. Which time warp are these characters in? Too much talk of national pride from characters such as these reeks of a guilty conscience. How digestible is a love affair between one such spoilt brat and a homely and comely Indian lass?

The sons of these families have their own story to tell. To them India is some desolate half-civilized overgrown village, desperately trying to compete with their civilized west, where they've been brought up. The father thinks India is the greatest, Indian culture is the best, and then we come to the lasses.... that's another think. The leading ladies in today's context outdo all their western counterparts in their westernization, never mind if they sound like complete twits even after dressing up a la Cameron Diaz. Does dress make a woman? So are these Indian-identity-centric paters pushing their sons towards Indian girls who are even bolder and more beautiful than the western ones they were in danger of being trapped by? What a square triangle.

How strong is our collective intellectual digestion that we can take in these kinds of stories one after the other? Is it the Hajmola choorna of our accepting and forgiving culture that we keep on accepting and forgiving these culture vultures?
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