By Mohammed Musthafa
In 1995, in a train station somewhere in Punjab, a handsome young man named Raj stood perilously at the edge of a footboard, looking back, desperately hoping that the girl of his dream would be able to free herself from the clutches of her angry, disapproving father.
It finally happened, and though the usually brisk train dilly dallied for a considerable while, the girl leapt onboard along with the man of her dreams. As the train glided away amidst closing credits, the movie about two NRIs who find true love took a cherished spot in the hearts of millions of Indians.
It set a gold standard for love stories, one that countless filmmakers, actors and actresses tried to emulate over the subsequent years. Many more Rahuls popped up on screen, and with the aid of catchy songs and elaborate dances, tried to pull the heart strings of youngsters.
Therefore it might come as a surprise that I’m advocating the opposite of what Simran did. I’m saying, sometimes, it’s better to tear the train ticket.
If any explanation of mine has to make sense from now on, a few disclaimers need to be announced in order to restore my immediately damaged credibility. I am not a young man who has been jilted by a loved one; I’m not bitter because I’m not good looking enough. It may be true….but I am not bitter about it. Neither am I a religiously fanatical person espousing conservative values in the guise of a young man’s frank, ‘modern’ opinion. There is no one holding a gun to my head asking me to type this.
It set a gold standard for love stories, one that countless filmmakers, actors and actresses tried to emulate over the subsequent years. Many more Rahuls popped up on screen, and with the aid of catchy songs and elaborate dances, tried to pull the heart strings of youngsters.
Therefore it might come as a surprise that I’m advocating the opposite of what Simran did. I’m saying, sometimes, it’s better to tear the train ticket.
If any explanation of mine has to make sense from now on, a few disclaimers need to be announced in order to restore my immediately damaged credibility. I am not a young man who has been jilted by a loved one; I’m not bitter because I’m not good looking enough. It may be true….but I am not bitter about it. Neither am I a religiously fanatical person espousing conservative values in the guise of a young man’s frank, ‘modern’ opinion. There is no one holding a gun to my head asking me to type this.