Inside the Mind of Sanjay Leela Bhansali

Sigh. It’s been a rough few months.

My good friend, Arnab Goswami who watched Padmavati (or Padmavat, even I can’t keep track of the names anymore) even before the censor board, played a clip on his channel. In it, a man announced a bounty of ₹1 crore for anyone who burnt Deepika alive. Then the next guy came in and announced ₹5 crore for anyone who beheaded me and Deepika. The next guy upped the bid to ₹10 crore. It was like watching ISIS have an IPL auction. I was shocked beyond belief. Is that all my life is worth?! Jesus fucking Christ, the economy has indeed dipped over the past few quarters, but this is low!

I still had it better than poor Shahid. After being ignored by the audience and award shows for his brilliant performances, Shahid Kapoor is now also being ignored by fringe groups issuing death threats. Nothing this man does is ever going to be enough, is it?

The producers have been quite supportive of me in the media but I can sense their passive aggressiveness in WhatsApp chats. “Why do you always have to create controversy, Sanjay! Every movie you make — Ram-Leela, Jodhaa Akbar, Bajirao Mastani, now Padmavati!” I was like, “I didn’t even make Jodhaa Akbar, that was Ashu,” but they don’t care. One expensive filmmaker to them is like the other.

At times, I wonder what I could have done differently? I thought I had this figured out when I released that video after being “inspired” by Karan Johar. I mean, let’s face it, his was a bigger crime. He cast a Pakistani actor in his movie. Not only have I not done that, I went further and showed a foreign Islamic ruler as a savage villain, when in fact he is not! I also cleared out the rumours around the dream sequences. To tell you the truth, ever since the controversy started, even I don’t get any dream sequences when I sleep. Maybe the video didn’t work out because I didn’t wear a black shirt against a pitch-black background. Karan is right, black makes you look thin.

People say I distorted history when I made Bajirao Mastani, they have again said I have distorted history with Padmavati. This brings back nightmares from school, when I always flunked history. To all young students who think, “When will quadratic equations ever help me in life?”, well, you never know. For the first time, I had to work with more historians and researchers than lamp-makers and interior designers.

I must let everyone know that I have nothing against the Karni Sena. Mostly because if I do, my life could be in trouble. If they want to protect the honour of women by issuing threats to other women, it is totally their call. What can I say, even I was slapped and roughed up some time back. The last time I felt so bad was when I was tracking the collection for Saawariya.

After these intense few weeks, I am fed up of this nonsense. I must have given more explanations than the people who carried out demonetisation. People outraging over it had not even seen the film, but wanted me beheaded. Everyone wanted a free private screening. Film hai ya One Plus ka invite?

I really should take some time off after this to make more meaningful cinema, where cars fly around, the hero beats up 50 people to pulp with his bare hands, there is an item song and sexist joke every three minutes. Making a historical movie in India is a lot like being James Franco in 127 Hours. You start thinking it’s going to be epic, but then disaster strikes… And you’re all alone, as you hopelessly wait for someone to rescue you.

Are the ’90s Kids the Coolest?

Childhood is just like an opinion: Everyone has had one and everyone thinks theirs is the best. Coloured by the vintage filter of nostalgia, viewed through the shattered kaleidoscope of adulthood, our childhood sticks deep, like religion. Look no further than when your parents start a sentence with, “When I was your age…” Grab a cup of coffee, because it is going to be a lecture in how this generation has lost the plot, and you’ll need the caffeine to stay up.

“Ye koi gaane hai? Gaane to Kishore Kumar aur Mohammed Rafi ke hote the. What is all this crap that you guys listen to, Honey Singh and Badshah? ‘Blue hai paani paani paani.’ What nonsense is this?” This is how every road trip with my family begins. The person sitting next to the driver, playing the role of the car DJ faces more pressure than Virat Kohli in a big run chase, as he tries to acutely balance the melodies of the ’60s with the beats from 2017.

Movies are another bone of contention and are usually easier to defend than Honey Singh. “What is with these people flying around on broomsticks and monsters roaming on the streets? It is so unrealistic,” pooh-poohs my dad, watching Spider-Man. Then he goes back to watching the 37th version of Ramanand Sagar’s Ramayana on Zee TV. I fail to understand how he can watch different versions of the same thing over and over again, when he knows the entire plot and sequence of events. Change a few visual effects here and there, give or take a few plot points, and you could have Tiger Zinda Hai.

The “humare zamaane mein” line of thought extends to food too — the same brush paints anything outside the range of ghar ka khana as junk food. And as far as parental jurisdiction goes, all junk food is bad. Even franky, which is basically just sabzi and chapati that went for a masters’ degree to the States. “In our time, we used to eat only healthy and nutritious food,” says my Gujarati dad, coming from a family with a rich lineage of diabetes and heart diseases. Even our daal is so sweet that you could give it to the children who come trick-or-treating on Halloween.

And then there is the false braggadocio that could put a battle rapper to shame. “We used to just beat the shit out of each other while playing on the ground. We would steal mangoes from the neighbour’s farm, jump into the well, swim in dirty water. You guys are pussies.” My dad says it in a tone that indicates he’s proud of it. Sure, I am missing out on the typhoid, losing a couple of teeth, and ending up in jail but I’d rather just stick to safer pursuits like football or cricket. I’ve missed out on these character-building exercises, just the way I have missed out on walking three kilometres, swimming across the English Channel, and fighting the Demogorgon to attend the one school in the entire village. But what can I say, technology progressed and granted us a revolutionary invention in the form of buses.

But our parents can’t walk away with all the credit. We continue to keep this grand tradition alive by hating on the generation that succeeds us.

The entire “90s kids” train of nostalgia is designed to make our childhood feel special and unique, while we shit on the children of today. “Swat Kats, Tintin, and Johnny Bravo, those are cartoons. Cartoon Network of the ’90s was the real deal. What kind of heathen watches Ben 10 and Shin Chan?” “WWE of the ’90s was so lit, with The Rock, Triple H, Stone Cold.” “This EDM music is so ewww, what is wrong with you people?!”

Well, maybe the kids of today believe Johnny Bravo is a serial harasser of women. Maybe they don’t like Undertaker showing up every single time at Wrestlemania like Mihir Virani at a K-serial wedding. Maybe they enjoy losing themselves to… whatever it is that EDM is supposed to achieve. This is a different generation that grew up in a different time with access to different things, technology, food, and human experiences. They have different memories, different ideals, different Gods. What Charlie Chaplin is to my father and Mr Bean to me, Shin Chan is to them.

But I guess this is a function of age, the constitutional birthright of every generation to snark at the zillion imperfections of the folks that came after them. Just the way our parents told us that we don’t enact out the Hunger Games on the school playground, we tell younger kids that they don’t play at all. “I’m so glad I was born before this whole technology thing started,” we say. “No phones, no apps, no laptops, fantastic childhood.” All the while conveniently ignoring how technology enriches the lives of younger people. While a seven-year-old has access to Snapchat and the Gormint aunty video, he also has access to Wikipedia and Ted Talks.

I suppose this generation too will have its revenge with the one after. They’ll tell tales of how difficult their existence was, having to deal with 4G speeds and structured playtime. Just the way we romanticise our imperfect little worlds, they will romanticise theirs. On that note, Happy Childrens’ Day!

Ashish Nehra: The Forever Man of Indian Cricket

In 2003, the era before T-20, watching a game of cricket for eight hours straight wasn’t considered “boring”. The Indian team at the time was a batting masterclass. Sehwag, Tendulkar, Ganguly, Dravid, Yuvraj – you name it. But as good as the batting was, the bowling and fielding was equally lacklustre. You never knew what score would be enough. Our bowling unit never inspired much confidence. Whether it was 300 or 350, it could make any score look mediocre.

At age 10, this lacklustre bowling was my single biggest worry. (Yes, I’m that uncool.) The England-India game at Durban was a must-win World Cup game and we put on an average 250 on the board. I had as much faith on the Indian bowling line-up as I had in Santa Claus showing up for Christmas. England lost a couple of quick wickets but a partnership was beginning to take shape.

In came Ashish Nehra, moving the ball both ways at a serious pace and he ran through the English middle order in a breath-taking spell of 6-23. It would be his career-defining spell. Also, the best for an Indian at the World Cup. Unfortunately, we wouldn’t see more of it often.

Ashish Nehra’s debut was the beginning of India’s long struggle for a quality left-arm pace bowler. The natural angle left-arm pacers create bowling to right-handed batsmen is a delight. With Wasim Akram and Chaminda Vaas tearing apart batting line-ups in the 90s, India was in search of its own left-arm sensation. And boy, did we really give it a go, with a string of left-arm pacers in Zaheer Khan, Irfan Pathan, RP Singh, and lately Barinder Sran, all breaking through to the first team.

Most of the other names have faded and only Nehra remains. He has been playing cricket for so long that it feels like he was one of the original dudes who faced the British for teen guna lagaan.

I was a kid when Nehra started playing for India and I’m now 25 and can barely run for five minutes while he’s still bowling 140 kmph after 12 surgeries. He started clocking 145 kmph regularly in his early days and his ability to move the new ball had several takers. But it wasn’t quite to be.

The only consistent aspect of Nehra’s career turned out to be his inconsistency. He played his last test match for India at the age of 25 and ended up playing only 120 games in an ODI career that spanned a decade. He was continuously in and out of the team, which was also a feature of India’s bowling line-up at the time, that kept shuffling like a pack of cards. He did leave his mark on big tournaments though, playing a key role in India’s 2003 World Cup campaign and doing the job for MS Dhoni in the 2011 World Cup semi-final when called upon. As predictable as it was sad, he ended up missing the final with an injury.

Fast bowlers and injuries is a heart-breaking love story. As Nehra jokingly says, “Players have injuries on their body, my injuries had a body.” Right from ankle surgery, knee surgery, finger fractures to hamstrings, Nehra has spent more time in the hospital than he has on the pitch. In fact, the autofill when you search for Ashish Nehra on Google is “Ashish Nehra injuries”.

But Nehra ji, a fond name coined by Virender Sehwag, is more than just the sum of his injuries. Nehra ji is a character, and a vibrant one at that. To quote Virat Kohli, “Nehra ji isn’t trying to be funny. He just is.” The mere mention of his name brings a smile to the faces of his teammates. His tone, mannerism, and style has its own set of fans. A list that includes seven captains and multiple dressing rooms spanning over 15 years.

Even Nehra ji’s criticism has its own charm. A classic third-man (code for terrible fielder), he had the quick reflexes of an elephant trying to flick away a fly. Yet, that didn’t stop him from once abusing MS Dhoni on the field for poor catching.

His sense of humour would have made him an overnight Twitter darling, but Nehra ji has always stayed away from the world of news and social media. In a press conference recently, when asked about the growing rivalry between Indian and Bangladesh fans on social media, he simply replied “I am the wrong person to ask this to. I still use a Nokia phone”.

Wish we could too, Nehra ji, wish we could too. And that’s the kind of advice we wish you’d pass on to your fellow Dilliwala, Virender Sehwag. You’re the lovable dinosaur we can all get behind.

Yet, there is a sweet irony in the fact Nehra ji’s simple and unassuming personality would find fruition in the blitziest, most glamorous version of the game – T20. He became the go-to man for captains across multiple teams during his IPL career. Rich in experience and still hitting 140 clicks, he mastered the art of death bowling that would see his rise in the franchise version of the sport. He became a “T20 specialist”, a title that only a handful of elite players have earned for themselves. He also found himself in ICC’s T20 World XI team for 2016, at the age of 37. Only Virat Kohli was the other Indian player on the list.

But he remains a reluctant superstar of the T20 game. As a man from yesterday in today’s world, he wishes he had played longer in the classic format of the game. He stated it in an interview recently, about how one of the disappointments of his life was how short his Test career lasted.

There is only one question to be asked, looking back at Ashish Nehra’s career. And it is one that haunts many fast bowlers India has produced over the last couple of decades: How different would India’s bowling attack look without the injuries?