Life of Lie

Ankit, an unemployed youth in his late 20s, is planning to drag film makers, poets and music directors to court, under “vicarious liability” clause, for “aiding and abetting” romantic notions that eventually messed up his life.

“Look, I have a Nirupama Roy-like mother coughing all the time in our 200 sq ft rented room in a Borivali chawl. A girl who I thought was my lover abandoned me because I have no job and my drunkard father deserted us for the same reason,” he said and went on to explain how his dreams of an Utopian world, fueled by Bollywood films and syrupy romantic thrillers, now lay shattered.

What came as a last straw was his failure to get an entry into the KBC show on Sony TV though his life story had all the markings of a telegenic tear-jerker. In fact, Ankit’s friends had told him that his plight would perfectly fit into the format that the game show producers were looking for to address the “aspirational quotient”.

In his formative years, Ankit was drawn towards message-oriented movies that he watched on Doordarshan at a neighbour’s home and felt euphoric and re-assured at the end of each outing as the rich heroine, draped a chiffon saree, walked out on her family to jump into the arms of her poor lover to the accompaniment of some stirring numbers.

Salim-Javed’s scripts celebrated the triumph of love that knew no socio-economic boundaries. The Rich were the evil guys living in big bungalows with a fleet of luxury cars, dispatching their muscular henchmen in SUVs to bump off a poor lover while the Poor were honest, upright, law-abiding and morally superior.

All through his adolescent phase, Ankit’s brain became a home theatre for the Bollywood romantic numbers to play out with woofers on. They were like God particles that gave him the mass.  Then, entered Neha into his life or rather into his imagination.

“She took just about a nano-second to spike my proposal. The last I saw her was when she was waiting for her company cab at Borivali junction, with her ID card hanging from her neck,” Ankit recalled.   

He then passionately explained how he spent years discussing with his friends about futility of pursuing a materialistic life and how he frequently punched his fist and kicked his leg into the air in a mock display of defiance.

“On one particular rainy night when my Nurupama Roy-like mother was coughing incessantly, I went to a medical shop, grabbed a medicine bottle and ran, hoping that I would transform into Amitabh Bachchan in the next frame. But, nothing of that sort happened even after running a fairly long distance. Instead, I was caught by passers-by,” the youth said.         

Spelling out his future plans, Ankit said he would sue the script writers and lyricists whose profound influences had curtailed his worldview and made a mess out of his life.