Notwithstanding its fabulous
music, picturesque locations and overall modishness, YJHD very cunningly delivers a moralistic discourse on conforming
to certain set patterns. Apparently liberal and cosmopolitan, YJHD subtly conveys its belief in nationalism,
heterosexual coupling, woman’s sacrifice and above all obedience to tradition.
Ayan Mukherjee serves the same old cocktail of the nineties’ romance genre,
maybe, in a more desirable and chic stem-glass. It repeats some very well-known
tropes of the Hindi film romance: the main narrative of the film is set against
a posh wedding, with occasional flashbacks to the past, where one finds the
well-known stereotypes of a playboy hero, a pedantic heroine, a devil-may-care
tomboy (mistaken for a lesbian), and well-known situations of the coming-of-age
hero’s chance encounter with a prostitute (Madhuri Dixit in a raunchier
Chandramukhi avatar), a Holi song (Balam pichkari,
recalling Rang Barse from Silsila), end of college days (recalling
Dil Chahta Hai), doting parents
(reminiscent of Dilwale Dulhaniya Le
Jaayange), elaborate shaadi ka rasam
(recalling any family drama of the 1990s), the taming of the shrew (Aditi’s
final submission to a happy conjugal life, recalling Kuch Kuch Hota Hai), and the termination of the virgin heroine’s
apparently eternal wait for her lover in a much-anticipated happy ending.
It’s seemingly
modern in that it addresses the confusions which assail the minds of the
current generation of youngsters; but, it ingeniously draws up a list of ‘Do’s’
and ‘Don’ts’, while doing so. It pretends to fly the kite of neo-liberalism
high, but knows exactly where it needs to restrict its flight. It pretends to liberate
its heroines, but doesn’t forget to inscribe around them the lakshmanrekha: while Naina (Deepika) remains
a virgin (or at least that is suggested) until she eventually falls in love
with Kabir (Ranbir Kapoor), Aditi (Kalki) abandons her punk ways and surrenders
to normative dictates by getting married to a quintessential ‘good guy’ (Kunal
Roy Kapoor), carefully outgrowing her amorous feelings for the ‘bad guy’
(Aditya Roy Kapoor). The film portrays the eternal conflict between the global
and the local, the nation and the trans-nation, tradition and modernity. And as
it always has been with the romantic comedies produced in post-liberalization
India, the film ends up celebrating glocalization, albeit with a warning: there’s
no harm in being liberal and cosmopolitan, but certain boundaries cannot be crossed.
A
tad too long, YJHD despite its fun
moments and rocking music (Pritam), grates on the nerves towards the end. Ranbir
Kapoor has already become a youth icon, so has Deepika; the casting proves
highly conducive in conveying the message the film wanted to convey. Aditya Roy
Kapoor fits the role but needs to work hard on dialogue delivery. Kalki has put
in her best efforts. Madhuri Dixit’s cameo as Mohini has the appeal of a dream,
but such a dream begins and ends much too abruptly, and stands ‘out’ as an item
number.
The film seems to have taken the box-office by
storms, and seems to be making money like no other blockbuster in the recent past;
but what one needs to remember is that Hindi Cinema has always encouraged
romance as long as it doesn’t remarkably destabilize the normative. It allows
freedom, but never loses control on the chains of confinement. YJHD does exactly the same.
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