Dhadak Movie Review: Janhvi Kapoor And Ishaan Khatter shine bright in the glossy remake of Sairat

Three months before I was born, in the year 1988, a film named Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak (often lovingly called QSQT) released, that turned two wide-eyed beautiful newcomers into overnight stars. Aamir Khan and Juhi Chawla changed the template of Hindi cinema with their saccharine sweet teenage romance, fighting against their warring Rajput families. From the 70s angry-hero image, the audience was slowly accepting the dreamboat chocolate-faced hero who was sensitive and romantic. Times They Were a-Changin’.

Cut to exactly 30 years later. Two new dreamy-eyed dewy faces. The template of the story is the same. Them against the world. But it’s still relevant in 2018 (honestly, that’s quite sad). Janhvi Kapoor and Ishaan Khatter make a confident and sparkling debut in Shashank Khaitan’s Dhadak, the official adaptation of Nagraj Manjule’s 2016 Marathi marvel Sairat. Sairat was a sleeper hit – for the performances by the lead characters, the shock value in the end, the music, the hard-hitting socio-political statement – the reasons were endless. Manjule showed us that casteism exists in India – a fact that we are all well aware of, but too uncomfortable to sit with popcorn and watch the reality in a dark theater. That’s what made Sairat brilliant. And I wish Dhadak took that issue up a little boldly, with bare hands, confidently, and waved it in front of the audience as an eye opening reality. Instead, it glosses over the truth in typical Bollywood fashion and tries to polish the rusty, earthy bits of Sairat.

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Roots.

I guess the person that you eventually become in life can largely be attributed to your family and how you were brought up. I’d like to believe I lucked out in that department. My roots from both side of the parents are from Bangladesh (then East Pakistan). Both set of grandparents migrated to Kolkata during partition in 1947. But my parents were born in Kolkata and they’ve only heard stories of their ancestral homes – Dad’s side from Barisal and Faridpur & Ma’s from Comilla and Mymensingh. I’ve only heard stories of our houses, properties and family in Bangladesh but for me it’s a neighbouring country with people who speak a different dialect of Bengali. What do you do when you know the origin of your roots but you don’t belong there?

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Review: Foot Massage with Back, Head and Shoulder at Sukho Thai

If you guys read my blog regularly, you’d know I’m quite a big fan of Sukho Thai. Their services are worth your time and money and most importantly, they’re super relaxing! It was a working Saturday and I desperately needed to make my body feel better after a tiring week. Especially my feet. They hurt so bad. So on a sticky Saturday evening, I finished work and quickly reached Sukho Thai’s centre at High Street Phoenix Mall in Lower Parel for a massage.

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The morning after.

The morning after a night of unplanned, impromptu, super hot tear-each-other’s-pants-off steamy sex can only go in two different directions. First, you smile sitting in an Uber Pool on your way to work, realizing only 5 minutes later that your grumpy co-passengers are judging you on a drab mid-week work morning. It doesn’t deter you. You feel so loopy in the head, so relaxed, so wanted. You continue smiling like an idiot in office sitting at the edit meet and can only visualize him naked, feel the touch of his lips grazing all over your body from the navel to the neck. Your toes curl and there’s a tingle in your stomach just at the mere thought of it. The nape of your neck feels a hot flush.

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The best song in the world.

It was sometime around early 2014 that I accidentally discovered this song. It has been more than three years and I can still listen to it on loop at any given time of the day – after waking up, while working in office, before going to bed, while having sex, while travelling, while eating… you name it.

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Yellow is the warmest colour.

Revisiting the past can be a terrible thing. And yet, sitting with a mug of Old Monk and coke, a burning cigarette dangling through the lips, I do exactly that. Foolish? Or, poetic? Depends on the way you look at it. Sitting in my dark room, with the dim yellow light making crisscross patterns on my face, I see the happiness I once left behind. I reach out to it in my drunken haze; hopelessly and foolishly trying to hold on to something that’s long gone.

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Stunted adolescence.

When you’re 29, either you’ve friends who’re married or who’re divorced. Some of them even have human babies added to that mix (well, ugh?). There are only a select few people in my team right now, you know, the unmarried ones who have no fucking clue about life. Don’t get our tribe wrong. We do want to get married someday and we are aware that our so-called biological clock is a gong at the moment, swaying dangerously around our ovaries as a constant reminder. But you see, I don’t believe in getting married for the wrong reasons.

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The last single girl.

Last night, I was watching Sex and the City: The Movie (2008), well, for the 42nd time, and of course I drew a parallel. When Carrie Bradshaw’s Vogue Editor talked about “The last single girl” photo shoot featuring Carrie in various designer wedding dresses, me, while sipping my cheap beer (month end plus just quit my cushy job) exclaimed to myself, “Mm hmm, I know exactly what you mean, girl.” Only difference being, she was a 40-year-old bride, and I am 28. But hello? That’s New York and this is Bombay. It’s only fair.

Now if there’s anything that’s exactly like SATC in my life it’s the fact that I lucked out in my girlfriends department. I’ve my own set of Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte, even though they’re physically not here with me in Manhattan aka Mumbai.

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Almost relationship.

You guys got it all wrong. It’s not love that kills you. It’s the could-have-beens that do.

Love is beautiful. It makes you want to live. Laugh. Dance. But thinking and re-thinking what could-have-been makes you die a little inside. It numbs you. And you can’t even cry. Because, how can you cry over something that you never had in the first place? What a curse. The curse of an almost relationship.

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