The reflections of male bonding

August 31, 2018 09:31 pm | Updated 09:31 pm IST

Love and friendship: A still from Loev

Love and friendship: A still from Loev

Sudhanshu Saria’s Loev revolves around a weekend trip between two men who have feelings for one another. Jai (Shiv Pandit) is a married Wall Street broker who has flown down to India for the illicit weekend. Sahil (the late Dhruv Ganesh) is in a live-in relationship with Alex (Siddharth Menon) in Mumbai. The novelty of a gay love triangle aside, perhaps the most fascinating aspect of the film is its perceptive depiction of relationship dynamics – and, by extension, the shape-shifting nature of male bonding.

For instance, Alex is shown to be the man-child, the ‘reckless’ one, in his long-standing companionship with Sahil. This automatically forces Sahil to be the responsible one; he is, by default, the nagging parent of the two. It is assumed that Sahil, incensed by Alex’s playful ways, is having an affair for this reason. What’s notable is the chemistry he shares with Jai – here, the roles are reversed, for Sahil becomes the flirty kid and Jai the uptight, pensive adult. He, in essence, locates in Jai the parachute of stability that Alex finds in him.

In character

Sahil’s behavior encapsulates the vagaries of male psychology in a way that mainstream Hindi movies only subliminally manage to do. Most comedies and marital dramas depict older men as husbands who, bored by the routine domesticity of their partners, go for vivacious young women. That is, they pursue what they cannot get at home. But what a majority of the movies don’t realise they (rightfully) suggest is the inversely proportional relationship between their ‘status’ at home and in social circles. It’s these non-romantic, everyday equations that actually define the personality of a character.

Take the example of Sanjay Lal Sharma (Aamir Khan) in Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar . He is the irreverent brat at home, the black sheep, especially because his elder brother (Mamik Singh) is a pillar of maturity. But he is the “leader” of his tiny gang of ruffian rejects. Out of them, he is the one with the authoritarian voice. Kabhi Haan Kabhi Naa ’s Sunil (Shah Rukh Khan), too, adopts similarly contrasting auras – the problem child at home, the crusader of his music band. Ditto for protagonist Arjun Anand (TV star Barun Sobti) in Tu Hai Mera Sunday – a directionless drifter squatting at his sister’s house, but the Captain Cool of his temperamental football group. The lamb-at-home-lion-away syndrome is also evident with most of Varun Dhawan’s ( Student Of The Year, Badrinath ki Dulhaniya, October ) and Ranbir Kapoor’s roles ( Wake Up Sid, Rocket Singh, Rockstar, Tamasha, Yeh Jawani Hai Deewani, Sanju ), where they more often than not are as popular amongst friends as they are vilified or fussed upon at home. You can be sure that these heroes’ enduring friendships are those in which they can veer away from their inherent identities – those where they can exercise wisdom and control instead of being chastened for having none.

From a distance

But what about the Sahils of the world? What about those who are forced to take control so often that they forget what it feels like to be vibrant? For the longest time, I’ve been the brooding ‘balancer’ of wilder friends and companions. I find myself invariably settling into equations as the emotional equivalent of the “designated driver”. But this doesn’t mean I was born as the guy sober enough to double-check the pub bill at the end of a drunken night. Like everyone else, I was born naked, kicking and screaming, in need of an unerring hand.

Not surprisingly then, three of the most influential friends of my life have been the designated drivers of our equations. They’ve been the ones that have afforded me the freedom to be the free-spirited soul. In our moments together, I become the guy that cracks the jokes rather than the one that reacts to them. I become the baby that, when held upside down, yearns to adopt the view of this inverted world.

Sahil’s weekend in Loev, similarly, is a mirror reflection of his regular existence. It isn’t to say he will forever be the manic pixie in any bond that doesn’t involve Alex. Chances are he will always be the sweaty grump, the killjoy, in his WhatsApp groups and ex-college gangs. He, like me, will be defined by this adult-ness. It’s just that his most important connections will be those in which he smiles a little more and worries a little less. Those in which he fleetingly becomes the hearts that he tames. After all, objects in mirror are closer than they appear.

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