I am one of 25 people in a 180-seater but I am crowded by my many neighbours. The aspiring comic practicing his material, the man who has to return some calls, the pack of wild children, and of course, the silent uncles who are presumably are on the lookout for scenes that will upset them. I move to a corner spot in the front section, a good five rows ahead of the last person. Just me in a sea of empty seats.
I am watching a late show of Veer Zaara. Less than 15 minutes in, it is clear that this film is entirely out of place. If you so much as pitched the idea to a production house now, you would be reported to the National Investigating Agency. But because it is twenty years old (and because old films are not required to renew their censor certificates), it’s re-release on the big screen has side-stepped the typical outrage circus that greets new ones. It takes the sentiments of a 2004 India and flings them across time into the snake-pit that is 2024. Thankfully, nobody has noticed.
Zaara Hayaat Khan, a Pakistani muslim woman, is making her way to Kiratpur. Everyone she meets along the way is happy to see her. People offer help. Resources of the Indian Air Force are used to facilitate her rescue from a hill. She is not detained on suspicion of being an ISI agent. Veer and Zaara travel through fields and rivers for the duration of a never-ending song, and finally reach the gurudwara where she must immerse her bebe’s ashes. The religious leader checks to confirm her Pakistani-ness, performs the ritual without hesitation, and praises her devotion while he’s at it.
This is getting out of hand. It won’t be long before someone in the audience has had enough.
In the meanwhile, my end of the theatre turns into a common room. The guard and some staff-members slip in and take the front row, the kids use it to play hide and seek, the place fills out a bit. I am not delighted at the instrusion, but I let the kids be when I realize they were not around when the film first released. It’s dishing out some pretty illicit material - material that is hard to come by these days - and as they watch the screen between their game, they take in all this dangerous messaging.
Veer and Zaara then get to his village in time for lohri, where Chaudhry Sumer Singh (played by an over-the-top Amitabh Bachchan) delivers lines that would have him arrested today.
Zaara says she is from Pakistan and he responds with, ‘O lo Ji, ye toh kamaal ho gaya. Tussi saade extra special mehmaan bann gaye ho!’ (That’s amazing! You’ve become our extra special guest now!). The scene ends with him saying ‘Padosi mulk cheers!’ (Cheers to the neighbouring country.)
Padosi mulk cheers? Seriously? Is this not FIR territory?
Soon after, Veer resigns from the Indian Air Force to go after his Pakistani lover.
I put my maggi down and get ready to leave. It is past midnight and I am too tired to get roped into anti-Pakistan sloganeering. To find a Pakistani lover in 2024 is treason enough; to choose her over the nation is terrorism. An uncle will soon lead a movement. But nobody does. I look around and notice that everyone just sits there, tolerating the film quite happily.
The comic and commentators behind me are still amused by themselves, their tone remaining innocuous. The children are sleepy, but they watch. The guard and staff-members have put up their feet up on the seat in front of them. Even though I know, I check to make sure nobody is sitting in front of me, then put my own feet up, and return to the last few bites of my cold maggi.
When the lights come on, I steal a quick look at the others. People look sleepy, or bored, or sad that lost time cannot be recovered, but nobody looks particularly offended. Nobody has arranged an effigy of Shah Rukh or Mr. Bachchan to burn as the end credits roll. As far as I know, in the two weeks since the re-release, there have been no calls for boycott or PILs to shut down Yash Raj Films.
It is surprising that in a country plagued by a joblessness crisis, nobody has made it their job to get the film banned. Maybe what has confused people is the 20-year lag. Just like Veer and Zaara did not know what to do with each other when they were reunited after twenty years (following a three or four day romance), the saviours of the nation too may be unsure of how to squish this piece of propoganda. Until they think of something, maybe a few more bored parents will drag their bored children to watch this painful, but optimistic relic of its time.
Sigh! The times of 'Aman ki Asha' :)
During those years, the CEO of Geo TV (owned by Jang Group of Pakistan) had attended FICCI Frames - the annual conference of the media and entertainment industry in India.
During his speech, he said he believed so strongly in 'Aman ki Asha' - a joint campaign of Jang Group and Times of India - that he had named his daughter Asha. In Pakistan, people would often think it was mispronunciation and ask him if he meant 'Aisha'. And he had to keep correcting them that her name was indeed Asha.
I'm a little scared for you just reading the piece. Fervently hoping the unintentional subversive value of screening 20 year old films goes unnoticed.