A Glimpse into India; or, My Love Affair with Bollywood

Bombay cinema is also known—indeed, probably better known—as Bollywood. Since this is derivative of the name “Hollywood,” of course, a number of Bombay filmmakers object to the term, considering it demeaning, as if Bombay’s were a shabby would-be Hollywood. In fact, although it has yet to become popular with mainstream American audiences, Bombay cinema is an even bigger industry than the Hollywood dream factory, releasing more films per year and playing to an even bigger audience, both domestically and internationally.
Laura Resnick, “Bride and Prejudice,” Flirting with Pride and Prejudice

I do not want my house walled in on all sides and my windows to be stuffed. I want the cultures of all the lands to be blown about my house as freely as possible.
Mahatma Ghandi


It all started with Lagaan.

A little over a year ago, Dr. Benjamin Murphy—a close friend who, invariably, makes cameo appearances in my novels—recommended this movie. I had read a few articles about the booming film industry of India and, to be honest, in spite of knowing that it enjoyed great popularity and critical acceptance, I still assumed that films coming out of Bombay would be jokes, pale imitations of their Hollywood counterparts.

And it didn’t help matters when Dr. Murphy said that Lagaan was a musical. “In fact, all Bollywood movies are musicals,” he said with a grin. I was already reluctant to watch a Bollywood film, and when he added that I was ready to run in the opposite direction.

Although I love music (at one point in my life I dreamed about becoming a musician), I have an aversion to musicals. Music is, in my estimation, a nearly impossible means for sustained storytelling. Only a handful of musicals have succeeded in having a consistently good score as well as a noteworthy libretto. I guess that’s why the refined joys of opera elude me.

Because of this, I would’ve skipped Lagaan if my wife hadn’t shamed me into keeping an open mind. We rented the movie at Blockbuster—astonished they had it—and, grudgingly, I sat back in my recliner to watch.

What I saw surprised me; and it was a pleasant surprise, indeed. Since that first time I’ve learned that Bollywood films are not really musicals—at least not in the sense in which Hollywood has taught us to view them. The songs in Bombay cinema underscore the themes explored in a film, but they don’t attempt to move the plot forward. The singing and dancing are more like interludes—and highly entertaining ones at that. And the music is, well, Indian, and the musical strains of this country have always made my ears perk up.

And in the case of Lagaan, I found the story fascinating. The film explores, in an allegorical fashion, the first stirrings of rebellion against British colonialism via the game of cricket. Ultimately, the question in the movie becomes, can the people of India learn to beat the colonizers at their own game—in sports and, by extension, in politics.

I enjoyed Lagaan, immensely. And afterward I patted myself on the back for adding another experience to my list of cross-cultural accomplishments. But then something unexpected happened: for the next few months images and sounds from Lagaan kept intruding into my thoughts—without beckoning—haunting me.

I soon had to admit that after only one viewing I had become a fan of Bombay cinema. I wanted to see more. But where in Panamá could I find Bollywood films?

Ah, but one of the wonderful things about living here is the diversity. Panamá is unlike any other Central American nation. People from all over the world, drawn by the commercial opportunities the path between the seas offers, have settled here, making this country their home. And although by the second generation most have become fully Panamanians, the immigrants and their descendants have also managed to retain much of the culture of their former homelands. It should not surprise anyone, then, that one day, as my wife and I were strolling along Balboa Avenue, across the street from Multicentro, we noticed a new store: King’s Food, catering to the local Indian and Pakistani communities.

Curious, as well as being lovers of Indian food, we wandered inside. And there, to our delight, in a glass display counter, was a large collection of Bombay films—all for rent. Since that discovery, eight months ago, we’ve been enjoying Bollywood weekends. These films have become our window into the cultures of India.

For those who live in Panamá City, if you are adventurous enough to give Bombay cinema a try, just ask the clerks at King’s Foods what they recommend. Be sure to tell them that you’re a beginner. That’s what my wife and I do, and their suggestions have never let us down.

For the rest of you, the internet is loaded with information about Bollywood, including movies you can legitimately download.

A few words of caution. Before embarking on this journey one needs to know that Bollywood films are highly predictable. A movie we rented recently, Swades, had a brief preamble. Even before the opening credits started rolling I had already figured out the plot. But I welcome this as it allows me to concentrate on observing how people from another culture and with a different set of spiritual beliefs deal with dilemmas that are universal.

Also, Bombay films run three-hours. (Exceptions are recent productions such as Monsoon Wedding and Bride and Prejudice, which are designed to help Bollywood seduce the western world). Marathon films are what Bollywood audiences are accustomed to and what they expect. They certainly don’t suffer from attention-deficit-disorder. When I first watched Lagaan I didn’t know this, and in spite of enjoying the film, after two hours I started to wonder if it was ever going to end—sort of like a game of cricket, I guess.

But there’s always an intermission in Bombay cinema—it’s part of the movie-going culture. Take advantage of it. Get up, stretch your legs, make some popcorn, and get something to drink. And when you’re ready again, hit the play button and allow the filmmakers of Bombay to resume their magic.

Now . . . if only Panamá had an Indian restaurant.