Bollywood Boys

poem for the stage

Picture this:
Shah Rukh Khan, 
Bollywood superstar extraordinaire, 
on a sand dune 
and Deepika Padukone 
in this bomb-ass flowy dress 
she’s there too,
and there’s a citar and a tabla and a flute, 
and Shreya Goshal is singing in the back, 
but it’s Deepika’s lips that move 
and just a second ago they weren’t in Peru. 
But that’s what love is like right? 
One second you’re in Mumbai,  
and the music starts playing, 
and then you look into her eyes,
and then you’re…like…in Peru.
 
From your expression I can tell 
that nothing I just said 
sounds like love to you. 
See when our hearts beat once, 
theirs beats ten times two. 
Bruno Mars would “catch a grenade for you” or 
“jump in front of a train for you.” 
Ranveer would catch the grenade,
hijack the train, 
and ride it into a government building for you.  
See, us Bollywood boys 
were raised on fantasies,
too detached from reality for reality TV, 
and for 50% off every Tuesday, 
Mama took us to watch our Desi dreams on screen. 

Hands folded over nachos in prayer,
knees bent against fabric in reverence, 
tonight our gods take up a new mask, 
and we can take comfort in that 
the only villains that ever win in this theatre
are the aunties saving seventeen seats 
for their extended families in the back.  
I dare you to tell me that
This isn’t a religious experience.

As I leave my temple,
who’s gonna tell me I can’t flip a car 
with the flick of a wrist?  
I lift a pinky
and watch the whole army 
your papa hired 
to get rid of me 
perish. Someone tell Achilles 
that this Desi dog doesn’t heel. 
This hero, has no weakness... 

Except his heroine, 
and mine sat next to me at every 
drive-in, dollar theatre, AMC, and chai stand. 
If there was a screen
then there was my mama, 
and I couldn’t be left alone at home yet, 
so I got to plus one. 

A time when my week started and ended on Tuesday.
When I looked forward to my Tuesday friends, 
around the time I started caring about looking my Tuesday best,
hoped the girl who always sat two rows in front of us 
would one day notice my weekly Tuesday flex.   

I dealt in smuggling fanta cans in my jacket, 
marching through the ropes alongside my captain 
who smelled like the samosas 
tucked away in her handbag, 
and together we ran the most successful 
mother-son cartel since Dhoom Again.

Now picture this:
Shah Rukh Khan and Deepika end up stuck in Peru, 
because Shah Rukh ended the song a line too soon, 
and if the chorus isn’t finished, 
the producer won’t pay to send them home, 
so they end up staying. 
The hero and his heroine 
on cloud nine 
with ten different excuses 
why her smile makes his world stand still; 
dus bahane karke le gaye dil.  

But they spent so long in the sky 
they forgot about the shooting stars that got them there,
their Taare Zameen Par watching over them from below.
their Sridevis sitting at their windows waiting 
for their raja beta to call and say 
his mother’s four favorite words,
 “Mama, I’m coming home.”  

¹video by Write About Now Poetry

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Spoken Word Tip of the Day!

Yes, this is my first late post since I started this page, and though I am disappointed I ended my streak, I decided to make up for it by dropping a new medium on this Substack: spoken word poems. It came to my attention recently that not all of my lovely subscribers know that my words weren’t all written just for the eyes. I love performing! I was a flute player for 7 years and loved every second of being in band. Then, as a camp counselor, I got the opportunity to put my acting skills to the test for a captive audience. Even today, most of my campers know me better as “Sahibaba Aunty,” a character I came up with to win my first skit contest as a camper and went on to become an annual appearance.

When I discovered spoken word, it seemed like fate. I could write and perform! It took me two years of college to build up the courage to try out for our university’s team (hook ‘em horns), and I somehow ended up qualifying to be one of five people representing our school at the College Union Poetry Slam Invitational (CUPSI). This was the very first poem I wrote as part of the team, and it went on to win funniest poem at CUPSI 2019. It’s a dedication to all of our moms who dragged us to the rundown Bollywood theatres with the peeling paint, bathrooms that smell like nuclear fallout, and the other Bollywood boys who would be back again the very next week.

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1. tastemakers