“These rich daddy’s kids, I tell you!” Mr. Shukla, my bespectacled rickshaw driver, seethed with fumes befitting a paan -spewing dragon. His actual words were rather detailed, but I deduced their PG-13 essence. He had nicked an SUV before swerving ahead, cursing under his breath. I noticed the bewildered young man in the car. It seemed to be his fault for the way he looked: branded glares, gelled hair, Virat Kohli beard, and a glamorous lady by his side. I nodded my head silently at Mr. Shukla, avoiding his scornful gaze directed at my Nike sneakers. Sentenced to ‘death by socio-economic complex’, again.
After all, this is an underdog world, and a country that equates doggedness with affluence, or the lack of it. Not that the media balances matters; drunk-driving accidents are forever profiled through the skewed prism of power/privilege. But one has to look no further than our cinema — films invariably reflect, and influence, our times — to identify the roots of his swift decree. How often have we seen cocky villains introduced with slow-motion shots of shiny boots stepping out of Porsches? Or an ominous puff of a character-sullying cigar? Or even the convent-educated inability to converse in chaste Hindi? Richness is a crime, and apparently the only bedrock of arrogance.
Only last week, two disparate films released with one common trait. In Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra’s Mirzya , the third wheel of the star-crossed love story is a contemporary prince named Karan (Anuj Choudhry). Our heroine (Saiyami Kher) is slated to wed him; they resemble any cute doting couple: long-distance phone calls, deep kisses et al . Karan is a nice polite chap, until his fiancé effectively cheats on him. He gets jealous like any sane lover would, but it is made to seem like he comes unhinged because of his lineage. The makers paint his aristocratic status — his money and snobbishness — as the true baddie here. In Mira Nair’s Queen of Katwe , too, the chess-playing kids from the titular Ugandan slum are portrayed as tenacious Davids to an upper-class school’s snarky Goliaths. A harmless Disney template, sure, but perhaps our chess prodigy could have risen without shots of haughty faces across the table. What are rags, after all, without riches to punctuate the raggedness? Everyone richer is automatically a despicable Shekhar Malhotra (Deepak Tijori, in Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar ), but Mr. Shukla’s inner Sanjay Lal Sharma (Aamir Khan) may have reared its misguided head that day. Which probably slotted SUV gentle-dude’s lady friend into the Devika (Pooja Bedi; “you are nothing but a bloody gold-digger”) category.
My favourite part of MS Dhoni: The Untold Story is the scene where a teenaged Yuvraj Singh (Herry Tangri) swaggers past Dhoni (Sushant Singh Rajput) and his awed teammates on the eve of play. “That was when the match was won,” reminisces Dhoni later, crediting self-confidence and aura over Yuvi’s notorious rich-kid reputation. This scene is, however, an exception rather than the norm, a testament to the man, not the film. I’d expect countless more Mary Kom and Dhoni biopics before an Abhinav Bindra biopic, simply because the champion shooter didn’t come from humble beginnings.
Which is why the Akhtar siblings’ filmography has been a refreshing leveller. Some of the criticism aimed at their brand of cinema can best be classified as, “Why #FirstWorldProblems?”. Since 2002, when Dil Chahta Hai charmed unsuspecting middle-class viewers, Farhan and Zoya Akhtar have humanised the ‘enemy’: without screaming into our ears that rich people are people, too; that financial bliss doesn’t make their heartbreaks and disappointments less relevant. And storytellers are often at their best when they narrate the vagaries of a universe they’re familiar with. Bratty Akash’s graph (Aamir Khan, in DCH ) is even the pivot around which the famous buddy-tale revolves. One weak phone call to his perceptive father, and he is back home on the next first-class flight. Most importantly, he still has to win Shalini’s (Preity Zinta) hand by freeing her from the shackles of obligation. Elitism here is virtually a hindrance. Karan (Hrithik Roshan, in Lakshya ), another entitled brat, essentially goes from riches to rags, and still manages to garner dollops of empathy. His battle to become something in life, in fact, stems from the crippling “illness” of privilege.
But Zoya Akhtar’s films make for a more intriguing case study. In all three — Luck By Chance (LBC), Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara ( ZNMD ) and Dil Dhadakne Do ( DDD ) — conflicts are unsavoury consequences of wealth. And the most evocative characters have often been the most conceited and materialistic: veteran producer Rommy Rolly (Rishi Kapoor) in her first, workaholic and financial broker Arjun (Hrithik Roshan) in her second, and the entire Mehra family in the latest. They’d have been exotic antagonists in another era. Yet, at no point does it feel like an exclusive glimpse into the lives of obnoxious, flawed 90s villains.
Both Arjun and ‘rich daddy’s son’ Kabir Mehra (Ranveer Singh) are genuinely curious about ‘the other side’, depicted by the adventurous women they fall for. Most significantly, in each film, Zoya’s brother Farhan has served as an Average Joe, the ordinary outsider peaking into the world of twisted opulence: effectively the bridge connecting the audience to the film, a civilised Mr. Shukla cocking a snook at the namby-pambies populating his journey. As struggling actor Vikram Jai Singh in LBC , one can sense the droll middle-class condescension when he lurks on the fringes of famous mother-daughter duo, Neena (Dimple Kapadia) and Nikki Walia (Isha Sharvani). As Imraan Qureshi, the friend of comparatively modest means on the ZNMD’s Spanish road trip, he is perpetually wry about Arjun and Kabir’s (Abhay Deol) quirks. And as hard-shelled journalist Sunny Gill in DDD , he puts a misogynistic husband (Rahul Bose, in a rare rich-monster indulgence) in place with his equal-rights speech. If Farhan were to act in a Zoya-directed Dil Chahta Hai , he’d have perhaps been the intense Sid (Akshaye Khanna), if only for his disdain of vain Akash’s ways.
After spending a decade in big bad Bombay, I’ve become somewhat like these characters too. I tend to occasionally resent friends who come from wealthy families. They don’t know what it is to pay bills, I cynically conclude. If estrangements happen, of course, it’s their fault because they are “softies” born on pedestals. Mr. Shukla would be proud.
But I tend to forget that even Akhtar’s characters ultimately come of age; they learn to respect and co-exist with the other side, irrespective of the outcome. Problems are still problems, subject to the fundamental nature, and not size, of the world they occupy. For instance, I wouldn’t know what it takes to step out of the shadows of prestigious ancestry. Or to shape one’s own legacy despite, and not because of, a readymade platform; to be ambitious and driven in spite of a security blanket. Perhaps if Zoya were to direct their life, I’d understand them a little better. And perhaps I’d have noticed that the young SUV driver wasn’t at fault; he was being lawful by stopping at a red light. For that, I’d have to look past his Rolex and Marlboro Lights.
The writer is a freelance film critic, writer, and habitual solo traveller
