“Do you prefer Bollywood or Hollywood?” a student asked of me during a class break. The look I gave him left no doubt about my preferences: definitely, Bollywood! This preference does not stem out of any jingoistic idea of patriotism. I do sincerely believe that our movies reflect our wishes and expectations and embody our innermost responses to our universe.  They mirror who we are and we smile at the familiar reflections we see in them.  In fact, they have become such an important part of our continent that the world acknowledges Bollywood as an undeniable part of our identity, so much so that the stereotype of a person of Indian origin now includes this prolific movie industry. My German friend insists that if she ever makes it to India, she fully expects that everyone at the airport will burst into a song and dance when the plane lands!

This is not to say, of course, that song and dance routines are all our movies are about. These are structured expressions designed to evoke very definite responses from the audience. And they work wonderfully. They present us with very important lessons about reality, in a format that is as different from reality as a theatre mask from a real face. The concerns of the reassuringly predictable plots are also very recognizable, like the significance of marriage, the idea of true love, the sense of family, and the importance of social harmony. These ideals shape what we pursue to attain happiness.  It is a testimony to the pertinence and wide appeal of the Bollywood movies that my non-Indian colleague, a sociologist, uses Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham in the spectrum of sociology classes she teaches.

We took our American friends to watch Om Shanti Om when it was released last Diwali. They agreed to go along, indulgent of our quaint enthusiasm of a movie. But then they had never known the fear of a “House Full” board. For them, an evening at the movies would require no dressing up, or reaching the theater hours before the movie is scheduled to begin, or any pre-planning of any sort. They also expected to be told about the movie rating, the age group the movie would appeal to. They were not expecting the music, the colors, the universal nature of its appeal, the hordes that gathered, decked up in finery, with children and extended families, and most importantly, the intensity of the audience’s response. This movie-going, they claim, has changed and humbled them. And we are not alone in this: polls insist that Hindi movies and actors are more in demand, more recognized, than ever before.

Nor is this fascination with these movies limited to my being a desperately nostalgic immigrant, a way of coloring up a lost time in a romantic hue. This love affair predates my immigration and my memories of “pictures” as we used to call them, are very much part of my memories of home.  Movies bracketed and defined the flavor of our days and weeks in India: the matinee showing of black and white Chori-Chori for the 17th time; the after-dinner Technicolor splendor of Hum Kissi se Kum Nahin; the Saturday morning mellowed dignity of Utsav. These movies were meaningful as communal experiences as well, and often logic and rules were suspended so that everyone would be included. Going for a Hindi movie was, and has thankfully remained, a family affair. No one was shocked at carelessness of bedtimes and interruption of routines when my parents took us with them for the 9 to midnight show of Kabhie Kabhie.

Now, here, thanks to the movies, my child has a mirror for a self-image that works for her. As a 6 year old, she was addicted to the ideal of a complete, joint family of Hum Saath Saath Hai as her own little nuclear family fell apart; the immensely popular Mahabhart series took on the role of the myriad story-tellers and helped her establish spiritual foundations and a moral framework;  Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge resonated with her 10 year old self as she tried to integrate her cultural and ethnic background with the popular culture she found herself in; the kite-flying and garba in Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam reaffirmed that she was not alone in her belief that all things Gujarati are “way cool”; the dance numbers of Devdas made her Kathak training more significant and appealing to her; Lage Raho Munna Bhai and Gandhi, My Father presented her with a very real, flawed, and incredible human being that she can use as a role model  that is at the same time recognizable and admirable; and thanks to Jodha-Akbar, she knows the emperor’s first name, along with many historical facts usually relegated to a sentence in a 6th grade text and forgotten. In absence of an active subculture, these movies have helped my daughter define herself and be comfortable with the contradictions inherent in an immigrant identity.  If her favorite holiday of the year is Navratri, I owe that as much to the Hindi movies as I do to my own enthusiasm for attending the festivities.

So when I hear judgments that denounce Hindi movies as being weak in content, hackneyed, unreal and ridiculous, I wonder if the judges realize the immense richness and complexity these movies seek to convey, along with a unique insight into what it means to be human, and how deeply connected we all are to the ethos of the place that we are born in.  Bollywood has more functions than being a mere icon; it has become an ambassador of all experiences related to the Indian subcontinent.  This industry unites us all, from all the scattered directions, in a singular experience of watching a Hindi movie, an experience incomparable to anything else.