Trans-sexuality in a Bollywood film is a no-no. (Films about hijras – e.g. Tamanna and Darmeyan – notwithstanding.) So our hero – Aamir Khan – is a secret agent in drag out to save India from the scourge of terrorism. (I wish he’d save us from rising inflation first).

Whilst battling these terrorists – in drag – in a remote town in the hills (it’s always a remote town in the hills), he comes to know, in a suitably dramatic way, of the existence of a daughter he never knew he had. The daughter’s going to seed. We can’t show her wanting to become a prostitute (Laaga Chunari Main Daag bombed!), much less a gay one at that. (We make good clean family films. The rapes, incest and molestation happen after the movies!). So what’s the next “bad”, yet redeemable, thing she wants to do? Voilà, she wants to be an item girl in Hindi films – à la Rakhi Sawant, with oodles of fat in all the right places to send Indian men into an erotic frenzy. For which she needs to get to Mumbai. Rakhi Sawant is the obvious choice for the role. Made to order.

Now, Aamir is horrified at her choice of career, but he’s in drag. Who’s gonna take him seriously? He wants to bond with his daughter, and so decides the best way is to offer her a ride to Mumbai, the city of her dreams. That suits Rakhi, so she agrees.

During the journey, Aamir drops subtle hints that he (in the guise of a she) is not who Rakhi thinks she (he) is, and launches into discourses about the tough choices young parents have to make when they are unprepared to have children – “ek bhool ki vajah se”! (Love these Hindi euphemisms for unprotected teenage sex.) For the Hindi-challenged, the phrase means “because of one mistake”. Pensive looking Aamir has a flashback where he’s cavorting with Rakhi’s mother, Rani Mukherjee, and how they end up having sex – you know, close-ups of fire, birds cooing, close-up of a hand clutching a crumpled bed-sheet at the climax. (Of the song too!)(Song No 1)

Anyway, Rakhi Sawant not being as dumb as she pretends to be, figures out that the clues Aamir’s dropping point to Aamir being her mother….and reacts accordingly. Anger, hurt, recrimination. Then mother-daughter talks on chumming, boyfriends, methods of contraception, with the audience howling with laughter at Aamir’s discomfiture. Rakhi ups the rebelliousness quotient. At one point, Aamir loses his wallet, and Rakhi Sawant pays for their meal by doing an item number (Song No 2) at this dhaba (Translation: rural roadside eatery) and comes away with enough money to travel to Mumbai in style.

This is not quite the bonding Aamir was hoping for. Anyway, at this moment, tragedy strikes – the terrorists attack, and the car plunges down a steep cliff into a roaring river.

Cut to – the famous Hindi film temple, with Rani (who else?) praying for the lives of these two people miraculously washed ashore at the temple, one of whom she’s recognised as her long-lost partner in an oft-remembered sexual – but “pure”, don’t ask me how – escapade. Rani asks God for justice in her life, now that she’s finally found the love of her life again….(Song No 3).

The flower falls from the idol, like in every Hindi film since time immemorial, and the Aamir-Rakhi duo awakens, sputtering out some water they had swallowed. Tearful reconciliation between Aamir and Rani. Introduction of Rakhi and Rani to each other. More tears. (Including people like me tearing my hair out.) Rakhi’s confusion at this point is complete. If Rani is her mum, who’s this other woman-parent? (Aamir’s in drag, remember?) Is she the adoptive daughter of a lesbian couple? Just as she’s getting fucked in the head, Aamir pulls out his falsies and the family has another tearful hug. (Misty eyes in the audience now.)

Huge special-effects martial-arts sequence at climax as terrorists (who have no religion!) attack the temple. Aamir saves the day, ably assisted by some comical fight-antics from the mother-daughter duo.

End with a happy family song (Song No 4) with all three of them in happily-ever-after mode, with a fully clothed, “reformed” Rakhi now at medical school, complete with that ridiculous white coat, glasses and a stethoscope.

All’s well that ends well.

So should I quit my day job, folks? What say?

Advertisement