The Meena Kumari Syndrome

I spent a major part of the weekend watching the Australian Open. Even though both Li Na and Andy Murray lost, I continue to be a staunch underdog supporter, more so than ever.

And when I did find some respite, I watched Inkaar despite the lukewarm response it has received in the box office, despite the loose script as claimed by a few and despite Arjun Rampal. Why did I watch it? Of course the Sudhir-Mishra-Chitrangada-Singh combination is addictive, but so is the world of advertising which has remained a much-cherished wonderland for me. The theme itself was a powerful reality: I mean as a girl I can totally vouch for the fact that we look up to our bosses, especially in our first job, and somewhere down the line, the admiration can easily turn into attraction and if you have someone as dashing as Arjun Rampal as the boss, it’s an obvious outcome.

Now compared to the glamorous setting of this strictly urban multiplex movie, Matru Ki Bijli Ka Mandola was the exact opposite, in its completely rustic appeal, the apparent North Indian touch and the over-the-top acting. Even the on-your-face predictable humour was so not my cup of tea. But somehow I simply loved the movie, with all its gulabi bhaes, the invisible hand in the form of Mao (an appeal to my communist roots) and most of all, Pankaj Kapoor at his drunken best! But the key takeaway was the Meena Kumari syndrome and as a friend pointed out, I seem to be suffering from it as much as Bijli.

So yes, I do have a problem: I am never happy, I am never satisfied, I am never content and I almost take a perverse pleasure in being the drama queen whose life is falling apart.

I crib because I want it all and I crib because I have it all…