Piyush Roy
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
Most of us would have come across this thoughtful ode to beauty in our interactions with the high notes of romantic articulation, using the Queen’s English, sometime in the school or later. I was introduced to this masterpiece by Lord Byron, in the school, as part of my class X, ICSE curriculum. The appreciation of beauty can never be limited to one definition. Since it also lies in the eyes of the beholder, it’s experiencing too is bound to vary, from person to person, perception to articulation.
If the nuances and dalliances of the above poem,however were to be embodied in a person, or a character, it would be that of Saba Taliyar Khan, played by Aishwarya Rai Bachchan in Karan Johar’s Ae Dil Hai Mushkil. The stills accompanying this piece – in their aura’s restrained lure, its every stated and hinted temptation, poise and articulation – could offer some hint at the vision that had moved Byron thus. Aishwarya’s speaking in poetry, Vienna based Urdu shayara, Saba, a diva in glorious semi-retirement indeed walks, talks and woos in beauty. The actress’ natural grace and still retained ‘Miss World’ charm, coupled with a comfort greeting in attitude towards approaching vintage with dignity, have this star on comeback from motherhood indeed make ‘all that’s best of dark and bright, to meet in her aspect and her eyes’.
But this is the Aishwarya in Johar’s vision of Ae Dil Hai Mushkil, not the Aishwarya of Rituporno Ghosh’s Chokher Bali or Raincoat, Mani Ratnam’s Guru or Iruvar, Gurinder Chaddha’s Bride and Prejudice or Paul Mayeda Berges’ The Mistress of Spices, Ashutosh Gowariker’s Jodhaa Akbar or Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Devdas or Guzaarish. A hint of this Aishwarya you get only in the second half of Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam… but the actress in real life had then still to go through the luminous personality changes of maturity graced by marriage or motherhood to essay these emotions to an ache that’s recalled longer, far more impacting than a tear drop shed and forgotten.
I am not saying that the above parts are deficient or any less. They are competent contributions in the constantly evolving filmography of a hardworking actor. But there is something else about Ae Dil Hai Mushkil. Here she becomes the part in its every essence, not just literally, but in spirit too!The panache that she lends to the part today, could not have happened had it come in an earlier phase in her career.
The credit of its success, hence, should also not be due only, to the labour of love with which the film’s writer-director Karan Johar has etched her character. Of course, his attention to the detailing of her part almost seems to have happened at the cost of ignoring the film’s other characters, especially that of heroine Anushka Sharma, who’s saddled with an incoherent oscillation between love and friendship to convince. Ranbir Kapoor being the good actor that he is, still manages to fairly salvage the writing confusion around his part. He however should beware of falling into that repeat mode of playing too many ‘confused around love’romantic heroes, something that did Saif Ali Khan’s later acts in. But this encomium is not about him.
Just savour the way, Aishwarya’s perpetually mysterious Saba Khan, draws and leaves Ranbir’s younger and continuously committed character, in and out of a dalliance that nurtures, even after it’s over.
When did you last see in a mainstream Bollywood film, an ex-husband calmly chatting with the young lover of his ex-wife in their first public encounter? He even tips him a note or two on bedroom dynamics that would work best for her, as the object of their affection, listens, smiles, and contributes volumes through her loquacious glances. She then leaves the men in her life, from the past and the present, tad guilty, vulnerable, and incomplete, and yet, very much in love with her.
The way Aishwarya Rai Bachchan conducts and channels the sexual tension in that scene in the company of Shah Rukh Khan and Ranbir Kapoor, is reason enough for a dekho of Ae Dil Hai Mushkil, which otherwise for most parts is a confused Kuch Kuch Hota Hai re-telling complicated by too many Bollywood romance clichés from yore. Though inserted to pun, these ironically end up getting integrated into the narrative to make a cantankerous mocktail of emotionally displaced adults that belong to neither today, nor the 1990s.
This story of too many confused dils would indeed have been tad mushkil, if not for Madam Ash!
