Pardon Me...

Veer Zara. A Yash Chopra extravaganza. A love story to rival the greatest love stories of all time. Boasting the golden melodies of Madan Mohan and the brilliant performances of the nation’s favourite Khan, with two beautiful damsels to support him. What more could you want?

I don’t know the answer to that. But I do know what I don’t want. I don’t want to be subjected to three hours of clichés. Mr.Chopra tugged at every string he could, not leaving anything to chance. So he tossed in the elements and come up with a mind-blowing granola. The love-story with insurmountable difficulties that tore the lovers apart. The Hindu-Muslim conflict. The India-Pakistan war. The Partition. The commonalities between us - “sanskar” in the youth, loving parents, rich traditions preserved through the years… The childless couple who brought up their relatives orphaned child, and would but obviously have had an inter-community love marriage and been the pioneering couple of the village. The fields of golden corn (or was it wheat I saw) and colourful flowers in bloom. The patriotic songs of “Yeh mera desh hai aisa…jaisa desh hai tera.” The designer dresses and exquisite embroidery. And oh, let’s not forget the “bebe” (an old maid who served the family through-out her life and brought up the heroine) who maintained a child’s joie de vivre till the day she lay on her death-bed and decided she wants her ashes to be thrown into an Indian river, for after all, she was an Indian at heart, even though she had spent her entire life in Pakistan.

Pardon me for predicting every turn in the story.
Pardon me for questioning how Zara managed to fit half a dozen heavy salwar-kurtas and matching jewellery into a small rucksack.
Pardon me for wondering if all Punjabi farmers look as robust and wear as colourful clothes to the fields.
Pardon me for groaning as they belted out clichéd songs about the richness of their soil, and their traditions.
Pardon me for analyzing Kiron Kher’s nails & thinking she probably doesn’t lift a glass at home, as she inflicted another tear-jerking dialogue on the audience.
Pardon me for admiring the architecture and wondering if the monument is really in Pakistan, or that red fort next to the Taj Mahal, as Veer Pratap Singh lets his Zara know that she must marry the guy chosen by her parents and produce 8-10 children after which she can come visit him in his village and they can take a ride around it, on a bicycle…no, a tractor.
Pardon me for preferring the maid Shabbo’s simple clothes and the Punjabi farmers’ floral lungis over Zara’s richly embroidered ensembles.
Pardon me for remembering my friend Saima, who also has crochet done on all her dupattas to show that she is not a widow and regretting the fall-out in our friendship, instead of empathizing with Zara’s pain.
Pardon me for wondering why I agreed to go for this movie, after successfully resisting K3G, KHNH, MHN et al…
Pardon me for paying more attention to the ushers at E-Square, who reprimanded those using their cell phones in the hall, and escorting them out (probably to fine them), than to the dialogues.
Pardon me for asking you to go grab a DVD/VCD of Morning Raga (it disappeared from cinemas within a week) and avoid this sob-story like the plague.
Pardon me for resisting the great Indian tradition of extravagant Bollywood love stories.
Pardon me for praying I never, ever, again have to do this as a family duty.