Three Fools, Three Lessons
Lesson No. 1
This is not merely the tale of three fools; it is the saga of twelve hundred million fools. Each one fancies himself wise and educated, yet seeks enlightenment only from the lips of a Hindi film actor — particularly so if the actor belongs to a minority community, for then his words carry the sanctity of prophecy.
When Chetan Bhagat first penned the original novel, none of these fools had heard of it, let alone read it. Now, the very same fools declare that they have received a “great social message” from the film. And thus, we twelve hundred million Indians acquire our entire stock of social wisdom not from writers, not from philosophers, not from thinkers or artists, not even from novelists — but from the cinema halls of Mumbai and the cacophony of television channels.
Among these so-called enlightened masses, how many know the name of Vaikom Muhammad Basheer, or Mrinal Sen, or Mahasweta Devi, or Vikram Seth, or Mulk Raj Anand? Had we possessed even a grain of genuine social concern, instead of watching Three Idiots we might have opened one of the 4,567 books, the 54,692 little magazines, or the 282,738 pamphlets published in India in 2009 — all written by those who sought to awaken society to its wounds and its injustices. But no — we prefer the easy gospel of Bollywood.
Lesson No. 2
The so-called Wise Indian contemplates society in the comfort of an air-conditioned chamber or a plush cinema hall, glass of chilled hard drink in hand. He absorbs wisdom packaged in spectacle, only to retail it later among his peers, in drawing rooms and cocktail parties, with the smug air of enlightenment.
In contrast, the “foolish” India of the poor and the common people takes refuge in crude entertainments — garish films, market-stall paperbacks, cheap distractions. Yet at least these common people are not hypocrites. They do not pretend to fathom the labyrinths of metaphysics. They recognize quickly the small joys of human life, even amidst hardship. For they know — and this is their wisdom — that the oil-slicked elite are forever conspiring behind their backs, preparing lofty doctrines of “social welfare” that always end by striking them down.
Lesson No. 3
Within the world of entertainment, the “wise” media never fails to find its messiah — invariably a member of a minority community, chosen as the universal conscience of the nation, one who can preach to the masses on causes social and moral. No figure from the majority need apply — unless he comes cloaked in backward-caste identity, certified by the Mandal path.
Meanwhile, those celebrities who inherited intellectual estates through three or four generations of cultural feudalism enjoy a perpetual license to instruct the masses on any subject under heaven. Their birthright is to sermonize; their legacy, to moralize.
So what do we learn?
Solution No. 1: If you must be a lover of Hindi or Hollywood films, confine yourself to trash entertainment. Watch the garbage for what it is. But flee from “knowledge-bearing” cinema, for it only delivers stale sermons under neon lights.
Solution No. 2: If you genuinely seek social understanding, then turn to the films of Govind Nihalani, Satyajit Ray, or the writings of Samaresh Basu. But go prepared: their works are monotonous, heavy, and nerve-wracking — not designed for popcorn souls. Go only if you can endure them. Otherwise, spare yourself the journey; do not visit a battlefield if you cannot bear the wound.
Solution No. 3: Learn to honour the true social workers of this country — those anonymous, unrewarded men and women who toil in the shadows. Support them if you can. But keep your distance from the award-winning “activists” who flourish on television screens and glossy magazine covers. Reject their sound-bites; spurn their wisdom.
Statutory Warning
Statutory Warning
This path will not preserve the cosmetic face of “knowledge,” but it will whip the back of hypocrisy till it stings. For what is Bollywood’s favorite trick? To sell a social cause as a box-office product. The cause itself remains abandoned, unfulfilled, gathering dust in some forgotten NGO report. But the celebrity? He walks away with his pockets brimming with your money — sanctified in the name of “awareness.”
Yet your money was meant for nobler hands: the calloused hands of a genuine social worker, who toils without applause. Or perhaps for your own use — if you choose to be a good Samaritan in your street, in your village, in your neighborhood. Spend your coin where truth resides. Do not squander it on the lumpen charade of Bollywood.
And if you truly crave entertainment — then pour yourself a glass of whisky and watch a pornographic film. It may be vulgar, but at least it is honest in its intention. Pornography will not sell you fake redemption, nor parade itself as the conscience of the nation. It will titillate and pass. Bollywood, on the other hand, will rob you twice — of your money and your sincerity.
Thus remember: satire may wound, truth may sting, but both together can heal. Better a bitter draught than the sweet poison of hypocrisy.
This is not merely the tale of three fools; it is the saga of twelve hundred million fools. Each one fancies himself wise and educated, yet seeks enlightenment only from the lips of a Hindi film actor — particularly so if the actor belongs to a minority community, for then his words carry the sanctity of prophecy.
When Chetan Bhagat first penned the original novel, none of these fools had heard of it, let alone read it. Now, the very same fools declare that they have received a “great social message” from the film. And thus, we twelve hundred million Indians acquire our entire stock of social wisdom not from writers, not from philosophers, not from thinkers or artists, not even from novelists — but from the cinema halls of Mumbai and the cacophony of television channels.
Among these so-called enlightened masses, how many know the name of Vaikom Muhammad Basheer, or Mrinal Sen, or Mahasweta Devi, or Vikram Seth, or Mulk Raj Anand? Had we possessed even a grain of genuine social concern, instead of watching Three Idiots we might have opened one of the 4,567 books, the 54,692 little magazines, or the 282,738 pamphlets published in India in 2009 — all written by those who sought to awaken society to its wounds and its injustices. But no — we prefer the easy gospel of Bollywood.
Lesson No. 2
The so-called Wise Indian contemplates society in the comfort of an air-conditioned chamber or a plush cinema hall, glass of chilled hard drink in hand. He absorbs wisdom packaged in spectacle, only to retail it later among his peers, in drawing rooms and cocktail parties, with the smug air of enlightenment.
In contrast, the “foolish” India of the poor and the common people takes refuge in crude entertainments — garish films, market-stall paperbacks, cheap distractions. Yet at least these common people are not hypocrites. They do not pretend to fathom the labyrinths of metaphysics. They recognize quickly the small joys of human life, even amidst hardship. For they know — and this is their wisdom — that the oil-slicked elite are forever conspiring behind their backs, preparing lofty doctrines of “social welfare” that always end by striking them down.
Lesson No. 3
Within the world of entertainment, the “wise” media never fails to find its messiah — invariably a member of a minority community, chosen as the universal conscience of the nation, one who can preach to the masses on causes social and moral. No figure from the majority need apply — unless he comes cloaked in backward-caste identity, certified by the Mandal path.
Meanwhile, those celebrities who inherited intellectual estates through three or four generations of cultural feudalism enjoy a perpetual license to instruct the masses on any subject under heaven. Their birthright is to sermonize; their legacy, to moralize.
So what do we learn?
Solution No. 1: If you must be a lover of Hindi or Hollywood films, confine yourself to trash entertainment. Watch the garbage for what it is. But flee from “knowledge-bearing” cinema, for it only delivers stale sermons under neon lights.
Solution No. 2: If you genuinely seek social understanding, then turn to the films of Govind Nihalani, Satyajit Ray, or the writings of Samaresh Basu. But go prepared: their works are monotonous, heavy, and nerve-wracking — not designed for popcorn souls. Go only if you can endure them. Otherwise, spare yourself the journey; do not visit a battlefield if you cannot bear the wound.
Solution No. 3: Learn to honour the true social workers of this country — those anonymous, unrewarded men and women who toil in the shadows. Support them if you can. But keep your distance from the award-winning “activists” who flourish on television screens and glossy magazine covers. Reject their sound-bites; spurn their wisdom.
Statutory Warning
Statutory Warning
This path will not preserve the cosmetic face of “knowledge,” but it will whip the back of hypocrisy till it stings. For what is Bollywood’s favorite trick? To sell a social cause as a box-office product. The cause itself remains abandoned, unfulfilled, gathering dust in some forgotten NGO report. But the celebrity? He walks away with his pockets brimming with your money — sanctified in the name of “awareness.”
Yet your money was meant for nobler hands: the calloused hands of a genuine social worker, who toils without applause. Or perhaps for your own use — if you choose to be a good Samaritan in your street, in your village, in your neighborhood. Spend your coin where truth resides. Do not squander it on the lumpen charade of Bollywood.
And if you truly crave entertainment — then pour yourself a glass of whisky and watch a pornographic film. It may be vulgar, but at least it is honest in its intention. Pornography will not sell you fake redemption, nor parade itself as the conscience of the nation. It will titillate and pass. Bollywood, on the other hand, will rob you twice — of your money and your sincerity.
Thus remember: satire may wound, truth may sting, but both together can heal. Better a bitter draught than the sweet poison of hypocrisy.
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