The Memory of All that

What nerve. Asking the Bangladeshi man at the corner store if the bootleg cd of Jaane Tu Jaane Na has "come out" even before it's release. My friend who seems quite thrilled at her audacity is rewarded with the disconcerting availability of the two dollar cd of the film. And thus came about the viewing of this ridiculous film about two college going students who refuse to acknowledge their love for each other.

I choose to ignore the many scoffs that I have had to suffer after my own declaration of love for this film. I like this movie; despite it's antediluvian (indeed, S.) relationships formed in colleges so devoid of the heirarchy that typified all of mine. Because it gives me an opportunity to tell a tale about someone, not unlike the central male protagonist, who was not only an equally adroit singer and dancer around trees but also (accepting the inescapability of common jargon) a wonderful person.

Despite being the recipient of this person's numerous generosities the only incident concerning her that I re-remember has little to do with generosity or goodwill. We had just gotten off a rickshaw and the rickshaw wallah seeing that we were of that bohemian tribe of guitar strumming, non-college-going college student chinkies, demanded ten more rupees than was the normal fare. My hindi speaking abilities having a rather strange way of faltering and spiralling into blubber did not help. My friend spoke little Hindi. She was annoyed, she said, not at having to pay ten extra rupees at this obviously overworked and malnourished rickshaw wallah, but at his impertinence to demand that extra ten rupees because she aspired to loftier goals than bachelor degrees. We then went to the English department's seminar room and watched Sooraj Ka Satva Ghoda.