, , , , ,

Warning: A significant part of this article contains direct translation from Kannada.
That’s actually not a warning. The fact that the translation is of Kannada movies, is. Since Dravidian languages generally have more than one meaning to them, accuracy might have been sacrificed for cheap thrills.

Salutations to the Indian lord with a snake around his neck.

Thus goes the title of this brilliant movie. Die unmarried kid (DUK from here on for convenience) stars as an upright police officer, just as he has done a million times. I saw only a small part of it and that, by itself, left such a profound mark that it is metaphysically indelible. I can at least distribute it, so here I write.
The scene that I saw which stole my mindspace was when DUK, as the chief minister of the state of Do Plays, goes on an errand to inspect his people’s woes first-hand. He goes along with his coterie of ministers who have corruption written all over them, sadly, not literally though. The location of the shoot is the capital city of Do Plays (I restrain myself from naming the city, for my faculties do not allow its translation).
DUK is in a military uniform even though he is a policeman. See the double bluff? It is also not stitched specifically for the occasion. But we aren’t too much into imitation clothing of sporting celebrities as we are of ordinary professionals. So, irrespective of the bad dressing, DUK goes on a combing spree.
He finds 5-6 young men playing Boundary Twelve under a tree. He goes towards them with his customary zeal and asks as to what the young men were up to. This is actually a master-stroke by the director because if DUK had pulled the guys up for playing Boundary Twelve, it would imply that DUK had in fact played or seen it being played at some point in his life; effectively blighting his morality. The HRD minister with him says that it is Boundary Twelve, a game played all over Do Plays by all kinds of people, young and old, women and men, eunuchs and transvestites, naked people and people in military uniform borrowed from imitation shops.
DUK is flabbergasted. What the F….allacy, man… he thinks. He instructs his HRD minister to enroll those guys into the military, gives them a sound lecture and more importantly, faces the camera and redeems a part of the movie-goer’s money by letting out a screaming, grunting, speech, which if Bobby de Niro had done would have started with a “You listenin’ to me!”. Anyway, this is how it goes.
“From now on, there would be no waste bodies in this place sitting around loitering, ogling at young women, old uncles and trendy sixers. All such miscreants would be placed in the military as that sacred place needs them now.”
The next stop is a ration shop. (Oh hell, that’s an unintentional rhyme.) For all you people who think ration cards are just random documents for address and ID proof, the ration shops, you might not want to remember, were places where their own owners stole food from, till the queuing public shelled out a higher price. This is a place where people are supposed to get staple food items at subsidised rates after the government and the middlemen have had their share of ordinary.
At one such ration shop, an old woman complains to DUK that the shopkeeper refuses to give her rice while she and her family are dying of hunger. (For another day, I must discuss the art of finding an appropriate movie extra. This woman looks like she has eaten Obelix’s wild boar a moment back.) Anyway, DUK goes to the guy and the following conversation follows, follow me.
Hey guy, why don’t you give her food?
There is no food (In Tamil, a language that people in Do Plays love to hate, and apparently DUK has a passing understanding of it, which sadly is not exactly accurate)
If Brando had said this, he would have said “You could have been a contender, Chokkalingam! You could have had class.” Sorry, another anyway later, DUK asks,
Whyeeeeee not… I say?
There is no food.
Hey guy, how many years have you been in Do Plays?
14 years.
Even after 17 years you haven’t learnt the local tongue, I will cut your tongue, bullshit fellow.
Sorry sir, please leave me.
Now DUK faces the camera in his next money redemption exercise for the movie-goer.
From now on, everybody will learn the local language if he wants to live in Do Plays.
He fires the food minister as an after-thought.
Last stop, a wedding ceremony!
Scene is that the boy’s father is raising a stink at the fact that girl’s daddy is short changing him in paying dowry. Of course, he doesn’t believe in giving subsidies.
Enter DUK, scene changes figuratively.
What’s happening, boy’s father?
Sir, this girl’s father promised to give me a 6000 cc car, he just gave me 3000cc one. He said he will give 60×40 house, he gave me 30×40 one. He promised 4 lacs, he gave 2 lacs. Please give me justice.
If it was Al Pacino here, he’d take his gun out, point it at the boy’s father and say, “Say hello to my little friend.Whoa!”
Redeem your money offer no. 3: Moral science is dead. Revive it, education minister. From now on, nobody will ask for dowry.
He orders the boy and his dad to prison. As a novelty, he also sends the girl’s dad with them. The girl is a peculiar one. She is least bothered that her dad’s been arrested and is more concerned about her own marriage. With tears in her eyes but in almost a tone of “That was quite nifty dude but do you wanna take a moment to consider where that leaves me now?” she says that, quoting an unsaid folk legend, once the engagement is done and the marriage doesn’t materialize, the girl is ignored by other suitors.
DUK understands her problem and says, look younger sis, you will get married and that too to my PA. The PA is as fat as Paris Hilton isn’t and is as good-looking as she is a Maths scholar. But it doesn’t matter as DUK gets PA married and that idiotic TV channel went into a break. I involuntarily switched channels.
If I were a chief minister, I would ban all breaks between movies.