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Joya Chatterji’s Dive into Bombay Cinema’s Legacy

Explore the historical origins of Bombay Cinema, fondly known as Bollywood, in this excerpt from Shadows at Noon by Joya Chatterji. As the story unfolds, uncover the intricate mix of languages, influences, and talent migration that shaped Bombay cinema, creating a diverse and cosmopolitan industry that is celebrated all over the world.


Shadows at Noon
Shadows at Noon || Joya Chatterji


Why Bombay, one might ask? It was never inevitable that the ‘Maximum City’ would be its base, whatever film scholars say.  Mukherjee, in her otherwise excellent Bombay Hustle, argues that there was something exciting and dynamic about the city that made it the inevitable centre of the film industry. The argument is, to a historian, teleological. By the time Bombay showed its first full-length silent film, Raja Harishchandra (‘King Harishchandra’, 1913), studios were up and running in most major cities of India. Throughout the twentieth century, Calcutta and Madras were large centres of the film industry, and Bengali, Tamil, Malayalam and Telegu cinema were still thriving in 2000.


Nor was it inevitable that Hindustani, the language of Bombay cinema, would become the dominant language of the movies. Indeed, the subcontinent’s most renowned director, Satyajit Ray, made all his films, with one notable exception (Shatranj ke Khilari ), in Bangla. Nor has the flow of influence always been in one direction, from Bombay to these other centres. One of Bombay’s greatest stars, Waheeda Rehman, first performed in the Telegu film Rojulu Maraayi (‘The Days Have Changed’, 1955). She points out that its hit song in which she danced (she trained in the new form of Bharatanatyam) was bowdlerised in the Hindi version of the Telegu original movie. But because it usually flowed that way, I focus on Bombay cinema here.


The migration of talent at every level to Bombay cinema from other regions was fuelled by cultural influences that are not easy to pigeon hole. Take the case of Guru Dutt (1925–64), producer, director and actor in the 1950s, a period many regard (with justification) as the high point of Bombay cinema. He produced, directed and acted in some of the era’s greatest films. By birth a Saraswat Brahmin from western India, Guru Dutt grew up in Calcutta. He was often mistaken for a Bengali because of his (hard-to-define) Calcutta ways (marked even before he married the Bengali singer Geeta Roy in a Bengali caste Hindu ceremony). As a youngster he trained for a while at Uday Shankar’s school for the creative arts at Almora, where he was a peer of Uday’s brother, the sitar maestro Ravi Shankar. For their part, both Uday and Ravi Shankar grew up in present-day Rajasthan, where their father was in the employ of the Maharaja of Jhalawar, but their ‘ancestral home’, as we put it in these parts, is in present-day Bangladesh. (Uday Shankar was another sensation of the era, known for his avant garde choreography, his terrific talent as a dancer and his effort to revive old dramatic performance through modern dance fusion, rather than stilted classicism.)


Given that some of Guru Dutt’s best-known films are ‘Muslim socials’ (a genre depicting a Muslim urban aristocratic way of life), and given that Waheeda Rehman, Rahman and Johnny Walker (Badruddin Kazi, a former bus conductor), all Muslims, starred in some of his most famous films – Pyaasa (‘Thirsty’, 1957), Chaudhvin ka Chand (‘The Full Moon’, 1960) and Kaagaz ke Phool (‘Paper Flowers’, 1959) – and given his productive relationship with the scriptwriter Abrar Alvi, also a Muslim – it’s clear that Bombay cinema was a cosmopolitan world, which drew gifted people of all sorts towards it. Directors sought out talent wherever they could find it. It was a South Asian world of all the talents.


This brilliance was by no means born in Bombay, local to Bombay (or the British Bombay Presidency, post-independence Maharashtra after the former’s division into two states), or even the Hindustani speaking north of the subcontinent. It would be a gross mis – understanding to think of Bombay cinema as the film culture of‘Bombay-wallahs’. Bombay itself was being made by migration at the same time as its film industry.


A funny story illustrates this. A passionate movie buff from the Punjab, Raj Khosla, met Guru Dutt while the latter was directing a film. He wanted a job as a playback singer, but no such job was on offer. Guru Dutt, by all accounts a kindly man, asked Khosla whether he knew any Hindi. ‘Yes,’ he lied. He was hired, but he then had a problem: he knew some Urdu, like many Punjabis, but although Urdu has a similar vocabulary and grammar to Hindi, its script could hardly be more different. Keen Khosla went out and bought a Hindi reader the very next day. Of course he was caught out the minute he was asked to write something in Hindi. Far from sacking him, Guru Dutt found him something else to do and they became firm friends. The point here is that even Punjabi-speakers were flocking to what became known as ‘Bombay cinema’ (which was sometimes made outside Bombay).


Still, the city itself would become the hub of the great studios of the era where the first generations of Hindi movies were made. Studios like Bombay Talkies established themselves on the northern periphery of the city, in Andheri, where they had some access to its urban amenities but could just about avoid its accompanying cacophony. Bombay’s wooded hinterland provided scenic backdrops to many a movie.


Get your copy of Shadows at Noon by Joya Chatterji wherever books are sold.

Lights, Camera….and Filmi Stories!

Life can be chaotic right? But how often does it transform into something truly ‘Filmi’? Author Kunal Basu in his book  Filmi Stories has vowed to do just that. Get ready to explore this story-telling masterpiece, where we encounter unforeseen terrors and adventures, surreal comedies, and apocalypses that will shake you to the core. And amidst it all, you will discover the sublime poetry of everyday life.

So get into a comfortable spot, grab some popcorn, and read this excerpt from Filmi Stories that rival the excitement of watching a  thrilling movie.

Filmi Stories
Filmi Stories || Kunal Basu


As he sat on the bus travelling from the city’s western suburb to the airport, the morning’s events flashed through Rishi’s mind like the madly spinning reel of a film. Like all days that spelt chaos, the morning had been deceptively calm. He had risen to the sing-song of his neighbour’s bird, jumped the queue to the communal toilet complaining of an upset stomach and then secured a seat, miraculously, on the congested local train on his way to work. Haste was a common refrain in the life of Bombay residents, and his morning was no different from that of millions who found peace in the daily hassle of the city. On that day though he was doubly keen to reach his office before the padlock had been opened by the talkative security guard, ever ready to offer a rundown of noteworthy events—from bank heist to waterlogging. It was Rosy’s, Rosalind Yasmin de Rosario’s, birthday, and Rishi wished to reach her cubicle next to their boss’s plush office before the employees arrived. He had spent a whole week scouting for a proper birthday card and struck gold with one shaped like a pink rose that allowed the petals to be opened to pen one’s greetings inside. May you always feel happy and never sad, he wrote, signing off with your loyal friend Rishi. 


Most of the day was spent waiting, Rishi recalled, while travelling on the airport bus. From his own cubicle, a good 50 yards away from Rosy’s, her face was visible only in profile. True to Monday morning rush, she could be seen stacking up files for the boss to sign, taking calls, reaching inside her purse for a breath freshener after her tea. Had she dropped the card, left by Rishi on her table, into the wastepaper bin, mistaking it for junk mail? He sat through the whole morning, forfeiting a cigarette break, just to keep an eye on her. By noon, waiting had turned to despair. His thoughts strayed over to several birthday cards he’d left for female colleagues in the past, hoping for a favourable outcome. For an out-of-state person like him, who hailed from a city far from Bombay, without family or friends who might assume the task of matchmaking, he saw the birthday card as his only hope. A card followed by an invitation to tea, a stroll in the nearby park, trips to the mall in the guise of shopping, ending with the final arrangement.


By 3 in the afternoon, he had given up on his prospect and returned to the thorny business of balancing the firm’s monthly ledger when Rosy walked down those fifty yards to his cubicle. Taking just a moment to recover, Rishi was about to wish her on her special day, when she cut him short.


‘Mr Manjrekar is waiting to speak with you. He has asked you to come at once.’ 


Me?’ Rishi stuttered.


‘Yes, you,’ Rosy answered in a matter-of-fact way and walked a step ahead of him to the boss’s office.


Like all employees, past and present, Rishi feared his boss. He had the habit of asking awkward questions, giving his employees no time to think before providing the answer himself with an air of disdain. As an MBA, he assumed a rightful superiority over his graduate employees and fell into lecturing them on topics that had nothing to do with their daily business. Normally, he allotted no more than 3 minutes to Rishi whenever he was summoned to his office, but on that day, he asked him to take a seat and came around to lay a hand on his shoulder.


He will fire me, Rishi thought, offer some kind of business logic that was beyond his comprehension. Maybe he’s found out about the birthday card and the several before this one and concluded that he was a threat to his female staff.


‘Word has come from our Patna office about your mother,’ Mr Manjrekar paused, rubbing his hand on Rishi’s shoulder blade by way of a massage. ‘Your uncle has been trying to contact you by phone from your hometown, but something appears to be wrong with your number. He is trying to pass on an urgent message to you.’


‘What message, Sir?’ Rishi managed to ask.


‘Your mother is sick,’ Mr Manjrekar’s voice turned a touch gentler. ‘She has been taken to the hospital. Maybe it’s nothing very serious. Could be the pathogenesis of a condition beyond the patient’s bandwidth.’


Rishi’s eyes widened, unable to follow what Mr Manjrekar meant. Standing beside him, he could sense Rosy nodding her head in agreement. 


Returning to his seat, Mr Manjrekar adjusted his tie and spoke calmly. ‘No matter her condition, you must go to Patna and assess the situation first-hand. Rosy has already bought your ticket, and you can leave now to collect your things from home and head off to the airport.’


The flight leaves at 7.45 p.m. It’s the only one to Patna from Bombay this evening.’ On cue, Rosy handed Rishi his ticket and turned on her heels to return to her cubicle.


‘I’m sure things will be fine back home,’ Mr Manjrekar concluded his 5-minute meeting with Rishi, adding, ‘We’ll consider your absence as a casual leave.’


Dazed by the event, Rishi took the wrong turn as he left Mr Manjrekar’s office, reaching the staff toilet at the end of the corridor, which was shut for cleaning. Then he retraced his steps back to his seat, passing by Rosy’s desk. The birthday card, he found to be still sitting at the exact spot he’d left it, yet unopened. 


Get your copy of Filmi Stories by Kunal Basu wherever books are sold.

Ten Simple Rules for Dating a Bollywood Goddess

When charming, goofy Vicky Behl, everybody’s favourite scandalous leading man, and Kritika Vadukut gorgeous model/badminton player turned successful actress, meet on the sets of Ranjha Ranjha they find it hard not to give in to their attraction to each other amidst all the romantic numbers and their undeniable onscreen and off-screen chemistry. But will the pressure and scrutiny of Bollywood allow Vicky to assure Kritika that’s he’s a fantastic partner off-screen too, or will there be a twist in the tale?
Inspired from Saranya Rai’s book, Love, Take Two, we’ve come up with ten ‘simple’ rules for Dating a Bollywood Goddess.

‘Word is she doesn’t fraternize with the likes of you, especially after her last public break-up.’
Vicky immediately sat up straight. ‘Likes of me? What is that supposed to mean? What’s wrong with me? ‘Meaning you wealthy, well-connected types. She is understandably wary after the shit that went down with Raunak Rajput.’

‘No, this isn’t She’s All That, desi Freddie Prinze Jr! I’m just making a general observation. Kritika Vadukut is out of your league.’

‘But I’m not a star-kid! Does it even count if your dad has some friends in the industry? I’m like . . . like . . . Pluto. Trying hard to be a planet but disowned by the solar system.

Vicky scrambled to cover up for his mid-conversation wayward thoughts. ‘Yeah, sorry, I kinda started fantasizing about the mango kulfi my cook makes. It’s so incredible, I’d give my firstborn for it.’

‘Aur jo apni bansuri ki dhun mein baandh kar mera dil le ja raha ho, usse main kaise yaad karoon?’
Vicky knew he’d regret it, but he did it anyway.‘As the Pied Piper of Hamelin, Heeriye.’

His steady gaze wasn’t threatening at all—just slightly curious and sympathetic. Kriti was suddenly overcome by an urge to get up from her chair, walk over to him and throw herself into his arms for a comforting hug.

‘This wasn’t—I didn’t mean it like that. I just thought it would be fun to hang out. Sorry, if I appeared to imply anything else.’

Vicky stared at her in amazement. ‘Did I just get schooled by my own baby sister?’ ‘Oh, for God’s sake, I’m hardly your baby sister. And yeah, you did. Mini-3, Vicky-0.’

He pulled her closer, tightening his arms around her waist. Droplets of water clung to her hair and made her skin gleam in the late afternoon sun. She seemed in no particular hurry to go anywhere, and Ranjha? Ranjha wasn’t quite ready to let her go either.

Meher was one of Kriti’s closest friends and she’d volunteered to cook for their little picnic. He knew that helping her lay out the food on a thick rug was a test of some kind, he just wasn’t sure of what.

Love, Take Two is not Cosmopolitan and any dubious relationship advice is meant to be applied in precisely the spirit in which it is given.

A Love, Take Two Bonus: Dhal Gaya Din

Love, Take Two by Saranya Rai sees Vicky Behl and Kritika Vadukut meeting on the sets of the period drama Ranjha Ranjha, where everyone agrees they have serious chemistry–and not just on screen. As they dance to romantic numbers and spend time between takes on the glamorous sets of Sudarshana Samarth’s film, they find it hard not to give in to their attraction to each other.
But will the pressure and scrutiny of Bollywood allow them a happy ending or will there be a twist in the tale? We won’t tell you that, but we will tell you this: Don’t be disappointed when you get to the end…Saranya has a bonus chapter waiting for you.
One we’d love to share with you!

The little feathered shuttle whizzed by, less than an inch out of her reach, while her opponent whooped victoriously. Kriti feigned an air of mild disappointment and fatigue, as she picked it up. If only the critics who called her “consistently wooden” and “ethereal but ineffective” could have seen her pretend to lose this woefully easy game of badminton by the skin of her teeth. Thank goodness it was nearly at an end. Another point and Vicky would win this round, and thereby, the match.
“Yeesh Kriti, you’re so rusty.”
“I’m not rusty! I’m just…having a bad day,” Kriti protested with as much indignation as she could muster, under the circumstances.
She expertly maneuvered the shuttle to land within easy reach of Vicky’s racquet and watched in disbelief as he missed, bringing their score to an even 20-20.
Vicky, of course, reacted like he’d missed winning the All England Open, scrunching his face in displeasure and slapping his forehead. Kriti snorted. There was no question she was being compensated for losing this match in pure entertainment.
And also…eye-candy.
As Vicky retrieved the shuttle, she gave him a discreet once-over. The harsh fluorescent lights of the indoor court were not flattering on anyone, but Vicky’s sun-browned skin glowed with good health and exertion. His hot pink shorts showed off an impressive set of quads and a very shapely pair of glutes. Not that anyone had asked, but Kriti appreciated men who didn’t cheat on leg day. Buff arms and chicken legs were a dreadful combination.
“Oye! What are you dreaming about?”
Wouldn’t you like to know? Kriti smothered a smile and caught the shuttle for her serve. She had to somehow ensure he scored another two points without giving her one and thereby prolonging this already tedious match. She deserved a National Award for this match alone. And possibly an Arjuna Award too. It took skill to lose to someone as enthusiastic but terrible at badminton as Vicky.
The next point was a relatively easy play. She hit the shuttle with force, knowing it would sail far above her opponent’s head and land outside his court. Not that Vicky didn’t still try to hit it, flailing wildly with his racquet. It was a miracle he hadn’t injured himself that morning.
Kriti made a great show of hanging her head back and sighing heavily. It was Vicky’s turn to serve and unless he flubbed it, she could ensure he won in the next few minutes. She couldn’t pretend to miss right away, of course. It would be too many errors in too short a time and he might become suspicious.
However, luck smiled at her and she found an opening quickly. As the rally picked up speed ever so slightly, she put on an increasingly frazzled air and hit her final volley straight into the net. Crying out in faux-disappointment, Kriti grimaced and dropped her racquet.
Vicky was a graceful winner. He only punched the air once and gravely held out his hand for her to shake, as though they’d played a high stakes professional match. Kriti took it, hyper-aware of the strength latent in his grip and the warmth of his skin. His hand lingered in hers for just a moment too long.
No longer faking her fluster, Kriti bent at the waist, breathing loudly, and stretching her sore calf muscles. She unclipped her topknot, shaking her hair out gracefully.
“This was beyond embarrassing and I am so glad my old coach wasn’t here to witness this.”
Vicky lowered the bottle he’d been drinking from and studied her, the tiniest smile playing at the edge of his mouth.
“Yeah, I can’t imagine what he’d say to Kritika Vadukut intentionally throwing a match like that.”
Aghast, Kriti stopped mid-stride and turned to face him.
“How could you possibly tell? I was so careful.”
“You did almost fool me. But the thing is, I’ve seen you run half a marathon without dropping a beat, on a treadmill in this very hotel’s gym. You overdid the exhausted-panting. Anyway, I’m starving and need my dinner. Shall we?”
He held the frosted glass door of the indoor badminton court open for Kriti, eyebrows raised in faint challenge and an irrepressible twinkle in his eye.
Gathering her things, Kriti followed him to the elevator, all her award-hopes crushed.
“You go on, I want to shower first.”
Vicky nodded, uncharacteristically quiet. The elevator dinged open and Kriti walked in, regretting the whole ploy. She didn’t even know why she’d decided to let him win. She was viciously competitive otherwise!
Luckily, Vicky continued with his contemplative silence until the elevator descended to her floor. Relieved, Kriti marched out, towards her room, when his voice stopped her.
She turned. He was holding the doors open, a wicked grin on his face.
“I told you how I knew you’d let me win, but you didn’t tell me why you did it, Kritika?”
Clearing her throat, Kriti gathered the tattered pieces of her dignity. “It was to save your precious male ego, of course. What if you threw a tantrum after losing and it affected our equation on set? It was for the greater good.”
Vicky’s grin widened. “Riiiiiiight. You’re so thoughtful, ya. Ek aur game toh banta hai. On the next evening off. And this time, I promise not to be a sore loser—if you let me lose, that is.”
Kriti sternly quelled the quivering corners of her mouth before replying. “I’ll think about it.”
With a wink, he let the doors close and Kriti’s stomach executed a clumsy but exuberant flip-flop.

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9 Amazing Facts On Bilal Siddiqi You Should Know

Bilal Siddiqi, a shining star among the young authors has authored three novels till date and is embarking on his fourth.
Siddiqi is a fan of the world of espionage and thriller. Currently, Siddiqi is working as a screenwriter for Red Chillies Entertainment headed by Shahrukh Khan and Gauri Khan.
His new novel The Stardust Affair will transport you into an adrenaline-filled world of danger and deceit.
Here are some facts about the intrepid author.
His first novel was called The Bard of Blood

Personal interest evoked his instincts to pick up the pen



B-town’s creative child

Siddiqi, the magician with a pen

We hope to see the magic on the big screen soon

Like master, like protege

How many of these facts did you know about?

Bollywood: The Films! The Songs! The Stars! Foreword by Amitabh Bachchan

Who isn’t enchanted by the glitz and glamour of the world’s largest cinema industry AKA Bollywood?
With Bollywood: The Films! The Songs! The Stars!, be mesmerized by the glamour and colour of Bollywood. Known for their glittering costumes and epic song-and-dance routines, the charming movies produced in Mumbai have captured the hearts not just of Indians but of people the world over. 
Here’s what Amitabh Bachchan has to say in the foreword of this lavishly illustrated book.
I abhor the title of this book. The Indian Film Industry is what I shall always refer to as Cinema in India. We are an independent creative industry and not a derivative; any attempt to imply otherwise, shall not find favour with me.
But the absence of any kind of film documentation is another malaise that has been of great concern to me; one that I lament greatly. To find a global publishing house now wanting to tap into “the increasing interest in the Hindi film industry from national and international quarters” is indeed most laudable.
Hindi cinema, indeed the entire cinema in India, is the largest film-producing unit in the world. To me it has always played the role of a unifier, an integrator. When we sit inside that darkened hall we never ask who the person sitting next to us is – his or her caste, creed, colour, or religion. Yet we enjoy the same story, laugh at the same jokes, cry at the same emotions, and sing the same songs. In a world that is disintegrating around us faster every day, where can one find a better example of national integration than within those hallowed portals of a cinema hall? There are not many institutions left that can boast or propagate such unity.
I once asked a Russian gentleman in Moscow what it was that attracted him to Hindi cinema. He replied: “When I come out of the theatre after watching a Hindi film, I have a smile on my face and a dry tear on my cheek!” There can be no better assessment of our films than this – and that too from an individual who was not an Indian. But my father, the great poet and litterateur, Harivansh Rai Bachchan, summed it all up most succinctly. On asking him one day what Hindi cinema meant to him, he said: “I get to see poetic justice in three hours! You and me shall not see this in a lifetime… perhaps several lifetimes!”
SMM Ausaja, a friend and a passionate film admirer, curator, and journalist, contributes to a section of this book. My wishes to him and to the publication.

Why Did Gulzar Write ‘Dil Hoom Hoom Kare’ and Not ‘Dil Dhak Dhak Kare’?

“Dil hoom hoom kare” is a famous song from the film Rudaali (1993). The song beautifully captures the longing the woman feels for her lover. In the song, she describes how his love has rejuvenated her and asks him how can she hide the love which the society forbids. The sound ‘hoom hoom’ is supposed to denote the beating of the heart.
Here is why Gulzar used “hoom hoom” to denote the heartbeat against the commonly used “dhak dhak”, as told by him in the book 100 Lyrics.
The heart makes many a demand, but only one sound: ‘dhak-dhak’. Be it the heart of Madhuri Dixit, or of Shammi Kapoor. The language has kept changing with the times but the heart’s sound has always remained the same in our film songs. Particularly Hindi film songs.
Suddenly I came across this Assamese folk song where the sound the heart makes is described as ‘hoom-hoom’. I just loved it. It is much more romantic than ‘dhak-dhak’. There were some apprehensions but I insisted on using the phrase ‘hoom-hoom’ in this song, since the entire tune was based on the same Assamese folk song, only the lines changed according to the situation.
Dil hoom hoom kare (Rudaali, 1993)
Dil hoom hoom kare, ghabraaye
Ghan dham dham kare, darr jaaye
Ek boond kabhi paani ki mori ankhiyon se barsaaye
Dil hoom hoom kare, ghabraaye

Teri jhori daaroon sab sukhe paat jo aaye
Tera chhua laage, meri sukhi daar hariyaaye
Dil hoom hoom kare, ghabraaye
Jis tan ko chhua tune, us tan ko chhupaaoon
Jis man ko laage naina, voh kisko dikhaaoon

O more chandrama, teri chaandni ang jalaaye
Teri oonchi ataari maine pankh liye katwaaye
Dil hoom hoom kare, ghabraaye
Ghan dham dham kare, darr jaaye
Ek boond kabhi paani ki mori ankhiyon se barsaaye

Dil hoom hoom kare, ghabraaye…

The heart rumbles and mumbles
dark clouds of worries roar and thunder
and yet I keep yearning
for even a single drop of tears
to burst forth from my eyes
I know your touch can sprout life
in these shrivelled stumps of my existence
and in this hope I gather and preserve
all the wilted leaves of my life
Your love
that has touched my body
is difficult to hide
but your touch
that has impinged itself on my soul—
how do I bare it to you?
You are my moon, and yet
your soothing rays scorch my skin
your perch is high
and my wings freshly clipped
the heart rumbles and mumbles . . .
—Translated by Sunjoy Shekhar

6 Myths Around India that Bollywood Has Debunked or Upheld

From Raj Kapoor to Amitabh Bachchan to Shah Rukh Khan, Bollywood has been India’s best cultural ambassador all over the world. In her remarkable new book – Bollywood Boom – Roopa Swaminathan shows how Bollywood has the power to mould India’s fortunes by winning the hearts of people across continents.
Amidst its rising power to influence the world, Bollywood has both debunked and upheld few myths that surround India and Indians. Here’s a look at six of those popular myths!
Myth 1
When lead characters in mainstream Bollywood films were supposed to have sex onscreen, the scenes showed the rubbing together of two flowers  or cutaway shots of birds chirping. But Bollywood has come a long way since! It’s a case of building up an already popular myth – that Indians don’t do sex, or they do it mysteriously – and then busting it some decades down the line.
Myth 2
That’s one of the myths that Bollywood has busted in recent times. Indian girls do choose how their lives play out and that is well-represented by a plethora of modern characters in Hindi cinema. The female protagonist in Love Aaj Kal makes a mistake, gets married to the wrong guy but has the guts to break it off and walk into the sunset with the right guy at the end.
Myth 3
When it comes to sex, Indians have increasingly started to explore and choose. The sentiment is reflected in this new era of Bollywood. In Ek Main aur Ek Tu, the female protagonist openly claimed to have slept with more than a few guys.
Myth 4
Either your parents’ house or your home after marriage – apparently, those are the only options that two consenting adults in a romantic relationship can manage. That myth has been debunked! Salaam Namaste deals with the pros and cons of ‘living together’ before getting married
Myth 5
Gone are the days when the international community viewed India only as this mystical land, full of old-world charms. New Bollywood movies show India in its full range now. Much of the diaspora who travel to India do so after being fascinated by an India that they’ve seen in Bollywood films.
Myth 6
Not every Bollywood film is laden with songs and dances. And certainly, not every aspect of Indian life is a high-volume drama. Increasingly, the new wave of Bollywood has brought to the fore other sensibilities of the Indian culture.
Do you, too, have a myth in mind that you think Bollywood has busted or upheld? We would love to know!

5 Things You Didn’t Know About Divya Dutta

In a career spanning more than two decades, Divya Dutta has appeared in multiple Hindi, Punjabi, Malayalam and English films. She is noted for playing a wide variety of roles in various film genres, and has established herself as one of the leading actresses of parallel cinema.
Here are a few things you may not have known about the IIFA Award winner.
Find out more about Divya Dutta in her memoir Me and Ma.

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