It was supposed to be an evening of good clean fun. A movie, dinner and inappropriate body searches at malls. You know, the usual.
We chose Dostana. Seemed like a nice movie. Priyanka Chopra, who last played a bold racist character in Fashion, seemed nice. Plus a movie named Dostana can’t go wrong now can it? Good clean wholesome fun about friendship, family and maybe even kheer. “They might even have a song or two on a motorbike with a sidecar”, I thought as I went into the theatre.
Twenty minutes into the movie I felt as a child would on being touched inappropriately by the very Catholic Priests who were supposed to teach him about God—betrayed, hurt and eventually angry.
I can recall the exact scene when my naiveté turned to outrage: John Abraham gets out of bed with one buttock clearly on display, his grey-coloured underpants askew.
The camera follows his behind for what seemed to be like an eternity.
It was horrible. Horrible.
I felt unclean, impure and violated. The girls in the audience—pigs all of them, pigs—cheered lustily. I bowed my head down in shame and prayed silently for my country.
What about the dignity of men? Does John have no shame? Ain't he sweet, making profits off his meat?
And what about the censors? Where the fuck are they? Would they have allowed Priyanka’s, admittedly exquisitely shaped, butt to be displayed to the world? Why do we have these double standards for men and women?
When Fire, a movie about two lesbians, was released look at the furore that was created. People wailed, “It’ll destroy India’s culture.” This, for a film where, if you ask me, the casting was all wrong. Who wants to watch girl-on-girl when one of the "girls" is Shabana Azmi?
Err, but that’s not the point. A film about two men who pretend to be gay, is released without a hitch. No protests. Nothing.
I mean where’s the Shiv Sena when you bloody need it?