Mohallas, Kebabs, Colours and more

Years ago, when I lived in Hyderabad, I remember spending most weekends with like-minded food lovers, scouting the congested by-lanes of Charminaar, looking for hidden gastronomic delights. The dusty old city never disappointed me. Under the fairy-light strung canopies that illuminated the bazaar each night, I found flavourful biryanis, melt-in-the-mouth kebabs, spicy qormas and saccharine desserts like khubaani ka meetha and double ka meetha that appeased my taste buds immensely. Aah... those were the days! Without batting an eyelid I could give in to the desires of my palate, for, adding inches to my waistline wasn’t even a speck on my blank slate of concerns.

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Watching ‘Daawat-e-Ishq’ yesterday, brought back some memories of that time. After Ishaqzaade, this is YRF’s second attempt at a watered down, ebullient version of the more intense cinematic style called ‘kitchen-sink’ realism – one that simulates the domestic situations of the working class. It is a story of a father-daughter duo battling the age old social illness that afflicts the great Indian middle class even today – the dowry system. The backdrop is an ancient mohalla in old Secunderabad where lunch boxes are packed with flaky shaami kebabs at the crack of dawn just as the 323 year old Charminaar stirs to life to the cooing of early morning birds. 

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Let me tell you at the very outset that the story isn’t a masterpiece. It is not something you haven’t seen before. What is captivating though is its depiction of commonplace lives that thrive in those sections of Indian cities that haven’t yet caught the ‘mall-food court-flyover’ bug. Be it purani Dilli, Old Bhopal, Secunderabad or Lucknow, each one has its own network of crumbling nukkads and gallis - remnants of a bygone era that hang on to dear life as wave after wave of modernization threaten to raze them to the ground. Ensconced within their cramped alleys, life goes on unabashedly, without giving a second thought to the cracked walls, frayed curtains, broken lattices, frequent power cuts and open sewers. 

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It is astonishing how, in spite of this decay, everything still feels more refreshing here. The fruits pedalled on wheel barrows under the scorching sun are juicier than those sitting symmetrically on shelves in air-conditioned grocery chains, milk from the steaming handis at a local halwaai looks creamier than that poured out of a tetra-pack, rows of seekh kebabs roasting merrily on a makeshift coal grille under a tin shanty smell more heavenly than anything at a fancy restaurant. I might be totally wrong but even the people working here seem to have lesser worry lines crisscrossing their faces than those working in high rise corporate offices.

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 But, I digress. Habib Faisal, the director of ‘Daawat e Ishq’, deftly walks a tightrope while recreating the aforesaid essence. It is a fine balance that needs to be struck. He avoids going overboard with the cultural stereotypes but at the same time he doesn’t underplay them either. As a result, the Hyderabadi ‘hau’s and ‘nako’s that pepper Gullu’s (Parineeti Chopra) conversations with her Booji (Anupam Kher) do not sound over the top. The buxom aunties with beady kohl rimmed eyes and paan stained mouths do not look burlesque. The narrow lanes flanked by handcarts groaning under the weight of plump mangoes, twinkly glass bangles and earthen pots of tangy jal jeera look very much a part of the picture that is being painted.

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While Parineeti Chopra has proven one too many times in the past that she can do a fabulous job at playing rustic roles, Aditya Roy Kapoor as the roguish Taaru is quite a revelation. The suave, city boy from ‘Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani’ and ‘Aaashiqui 2’ has transformed into a gold earring toting, broken English mouthing heir to the kebab king of Lucknow and may I say, the transition is seamless. There are no residual dregs of urbanity hanging on to him as he rattles off his restaurant’s menu in typical tapori style to an amused group of foreigners. The supporting cast too is sufficiently plausible and in fact quite a riot. Taaru’s potbellied friend Neeraj, Gullu’s first love interest Amjad (Karan Wahi) and Taaru’s greed spewing parents are characters that have not just been etched well by the writer but also convincingly portrayed by the actors.

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Films like these are telescopes that allow us to peer into the heart of India. Their purpose is not to merely tell a tale but to present a snapshot of daily lives in ordinary households – the kind you and I grew up in. As long as they are successful in doing that, it is perhaps easier to let the flaws in the storyline slip by as we sit back and rekindle memories of simpler times.