Aamir: A Khan Among Men

So my man Aamir has done it again—this time with a record-shattering blockbuster as well as one of the most prestigious awards conferred by the Indian state—the Padma Bhushan. The road has been long and arduous; this trail-blazing trajectory was never a certitude. In 1989 AK was a different man, a different star. He has grown up just as we have. A generation has come of age—we’re older, wiser, and better—just as AK is. Like good wine and superior Scotch whiskey, the man has gotten better (mellow, flavorful, complex) with time. This piece is more about my generation than about Aamir Khan. In a way it is a bildungsroman—a coming of age narrative tethered to the shifting fortunes of one of the most successful stars from Bollywood. 

<

I was 13 years old when I first met Aamir Khan. Needless to say, my life has not been the same since. For thousands of women of my age (and surely some men as well), the moment when Raj turns around and says “doston, sabse pehle to second-year students ka shukriya…” was a deeply transformative moment. And not just because the backlighting did wonders for his hair—turned it russet-gold and luminous, incandescent. Sigh. I remember vividly the day my beleaguered father was bullied into accompanying 3 giggly schoolgirls for a show of QSQT at Bashusree cinema in Kolkata. Baba, needless to say, was far from thrilled at having been saddled with this duty; he promptly fell asleep as the lights dimmed and the world started to slowly shift on its axis. Little did he know what a momentous occasion he was a (reluctant) participant in!

What was it about QSQT that moved us so? Sure, in many ways it was the perfect teen pick—achingly young and innocent lovers, sudden descent into irrational love, forbidden passion, parental opposition, a deliciously subversive elopement, and final brutal death. The film had lovely music and Kiran Deohans’s limpid cinematography. It was Romeo and Juliet re-made for our times, remade for us. It was the perfect concoction of searing love and the discourses of individualism that were central to our rapidly liberalizing universe. So no wonder it did stupendously good business. But I also think it was the enchanted presence of Aamir Khan—Raj forever changed our ideas of romantic love and sexual desire. That is why QSQT is important to my generation: it was a rite of passage that in a foundational sense taught us what love was, or at least the kind of love that ought to be aspired to.

I’m also convinced that Raj gave us a new model of desirable masculinity. He got thoroughly walloped by goons, was kind, gentle and sensitive to his lover, and even wept copiously in his stern father’s arms. He was delightfully different from the “mard ko dard nahi hota” rhetoric of the 80s. We were instantly smitten, ensnared in a web of delirious devotion that would hold us captive for over two decades. I saw QSQT 26 times—my indulgent father finally bought me the VHS tape. I can repeat almost every dialogue and tell you that Raj wore black really shorty shorts with a blue cotton shirt in Akele Hai. Girls ran away from home to meet him, wrote letters in blood, besieged his Pali Hill home and generally displayed the kind of adolescent hysteria that is reserved for particular stars in every generation—Elvis, The Beatles, Aamir Khan. Then we learned that he was happily married—a little bit in each of us died with that revelation. His favorite food—Chicken dhansak, what would he be if he weren’t an actor? An alarm clock of course. Go figure.

We’ve of course grown up since those early heady days of unconditional love. But those were years of watching eminently forgettable films like Jawani Zindabad (1990) and Love Love Love (1989). Have you folks seen Tum Mere Ho (1990)? AK is a snake charmer in that one, complete with funky wind instrument! For those of us who lived away from cities, devotion meant pinching pennies to have enough to rent a VHS player to watch these masterpieces on TV. After months of struggle and sacrifice a bunch of us would have the paltry Rs. 120 required to rent a Video Player and a scratched tape. Oh what joyful afternoons those were—we remained breathless with anticipation, waited for our AK movie for weeks if not months on end. After the film was done, we’d spend weeks immersed in our chimerical fantasies involving the man. I remember being severely reprimanded by my enraged mom when one such expedition to watch Dil (1990) took better part of a whole day.  This was a week before final exams and mom was not amused by my deep commitment to AK—we’d had several powercuts that afternoon, as my bud Chicko will corroborate and hence the film took longer to finish.  We even had to pay an extra Rs. 20—a princely sum—for having kept the VHS player for longer than initially agreed upon with the surly owner of the video library. (We have not forgiven you Mr. Shah!) We withstood a lot, endured a great deal of censure from elders for our love-affair with this man. But we stood unwavering in our devotion to warm maple-syrup colored eyes and high-top sneakers.

Since then, much has changed and yet much remains the same. AK has become legendary for his keen sense of Hindi cinema and his flawless performances. He chooses his films carefully and prefers quality to quantity. Testament to his care and attention is the fact that the man has not seen a flop since Rangeela (1995), Mann (1999) and Mela (2000) notwithstanding. He has also become a marketing legend of sorts in Bollywood, finding innovative ways to take his films to his spectators, from devising video games to undertaking cross-country trips incognito. My generation too has changed. We have grown up and become professionals—bankers, academics, pilots, models, doctors and engineers. Some of us have become partners, wives and mothers. Many of us have come out of the closet; others have defied convention by rejecting abusive relationships, coloring our hair purple and becoming single parents. All of us who fell in love with AK as Raj have come a long way since 1989. As someone who studies cinema for a living, I have learned the ins and outs of the constructed nature of stardom—stars are never people, always texts which circulate discursively across media. Being cognizant of such things make us more sensitive, not less so. Thus, we have remained besotted and we have remained in love with Aamir Khan. Perhaps we no longer want to meet him or marry him. (At least it is reasonable to assume that some of us may not.) Perhaps it is more important to us now to know that in between takes he reads Eric Hobsbawm (yeah, no prizes for guessing who fell for that one!) and speaks sense at interviews and articulates his thoughts in coherent complete sentences. We know how extraordinary a feat this is in Bollywood. It is important to us that he respects women and is a good father. He has grown up with us just as we have grown up with him. We have made him just as much as he has made us.

So here’s to you Aamir Khan. We celebrate your journey in and out of cinema as we celebrate our growing up, growing old and coming of age. A generation of kids fell in love with you; you’ve meant more to us, and have changed more of us than you’ll ever know. We suspect we’ve changed you somewhat as well. Aaal Is Well! Here’s raising a toast to another twenty years of enduring love! Cheers.
 

**The contributers and readers of B'Khush express their sincere condolences to Aamir Khan and his family at the death of Tahir Hussain. No one can ever be prepared to lose a parent, you're in our thoughts Aamir.**