If I was ever asked to host a Bollywood Awards night, here is how I would open it.
Welcome to the Hindi movie industry’s only publicly voted awards, the FilmEffs, as unique as the Bee Cine Awards, the Bar Screen Awards, the India International “Who is the Brand Ambassador” Awards, the Producers Gold Awards and the What-the-fuck-is-this Awards where the public votes for the best of Bollywood, using the same electronic voting machines that installed the current government and the results tallied by the same accounting firm that handled the account of the great software giant, Mithyam.
Welcome to everyone who will win an award tonight. Welcome to everyone who will perform tonight. Put these two together, we have the entire audience. Since those who came to know (purely on the grapevine since our awards are kept in a lockbox) that they aren’t getting awarded suddenly developed “other engagements” and decided to cancel. To them I say “Get your own award show.”
I just can’t tell you what an honor it is to be hosting this show today. I look around me and I see an august gathering—-the Deols, the Khans, the Sinhas, the Sumans, the Bachchans, all of whom say that they took to acting because “it was in their blood”. And I realize that this hall has more gaddis occupied due to family connections, than even the Congress party.
Well, what a great year for Hindi movies 2010 has been.
Jhakass Kapoor, India’s “Man Grove” , the brand ambassador for our forests, made us proud in Hollywood. Verily as the government has shown us, in matters of “One Two Ka Four, Four Two Ka One”, there is no country better than us.
Tees Mar Khan”, the biopic of Suresh Kalmadi was a big one this year. Pity that based on its collections, one could not even say “Sir U made lacs” to it. With it and other similar great movies like “Action Replay”, Khiladi Kumar is now close to becoming what he should have been all his life—-a chef. On second thoughts, having seen his TV show, I doubt that too.
This year, Salman didnt kill any human or beast. But he did quote George Bernard Shaw in his movie “Veer” trying to explain why he is always shirtless—Clothes don’t make a man, man makes clothes. Which I believe is a bigger crime.
Abhishek Bachchan did more to punish the good name of “Ravana” then Lord Ram could have ever imagined doing.
Bebo and Saif stayed together. So did John and Basu. And stay together they will, at the very least till the joint contracts they have signed for promotional appearances as a couple do not expire.
Hrithik Roshan made something that ensured that Yaadein won’t be his worst movie and Sanjay Leela Bhansali showed that one could do worse than Saawariyaan. Not that I thought I could ever feel for Aussie racists, but Emran Hashmi, in “Crook”, made me empathize even with them.
That’s the power of Bollywood.
It educates. Who knew that snakes might be reptiles but they have mammalian appendages? Who knew that people in the south of US still live, talk and dress like they used to in Uncle Tom’s Cabin and that acting means moving your head to one side and move to-and-fro on the other foot? Who knew that the female freedom fighters in Chattagram may have been caught without revolutionary literature but never without their make-up kits?
It makes us cry. Vivek Oberoi did it, in every scene of “Prince”, struggling to remember which of the three comely lasses throwing themselves at him is actually his girl-friend. In contrast to real life, where his girl-friends are only in his imagination.
It makes us laugh. Uday Chopra in “Pyar Impossible”. Sonam Kapoor on twitter trying to appear intellectual.
Well, we have a great show for you tonight. Priyanka will be performing—having seen the rehearsals I can assure you that for the Income Tax men, who gave her three seconds to open the door when she was in her night-clothes, got their money’s worth. Sheela will also be showing off her jawaani. But you knew that didn’t you? An award show in India without an item from her is like a transaction in Pakistan without Zardari taking a cut.
Before I forget—-Girls, your tax deduction forms are backstage—-please don’t forget to sign them. Else poor Shahid Kapoor will have a heart attack, next time he is discovered in Priyanka’s flat. And poor Ranbir, still recovering from a bruise on his hands trying to slide down the pipe when the IT men burst into Sheela’s house, would also appreciate this basic decency I am sure. He had a very busy shuttle-cocking year, that we all know. So cut him slack, ya?
Some people call this the “Oscar night for India”. I disagree. To quote a great man, we here dare to go beyond the Oscars. Tell me sir, would the Oscars have the Best Actress dancing an item number—-can you imagine Helen Mirren being made to dance if she wants an Oscar? Can you think of Robert De Niro fighting backstage and calling an angry press-conference because Al Pacino won an award? Can you imagine the award being taken away from Hillary Swank and given to Meryl Streep, just because maybe she is the brand ambassador of the event’s sponsors or because Hillary Swank came late to the show?Can you imagine Keanu Reeves winning The Best Actor Award every year? Can you imagine a movie like “Expendables” getting twelve nominations? No.
Because dear sirs and madams, our awards are not about excellence. They are about hope.
How else can Rampal get nominated for an acting award? Tell me……
And now I give you Yana Gupta, performing her own rendition of “Jhalak Dikhla Ja” followed by the Music Awards section of the night, sponsored by Canon photocopiers.
Let the ass-kissing and back-patting begin.
And oh if you are looking for back-kissing and ass-patting, there is the after-party for that.