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So everyone thinks the great Bollywood love story debate is Karan Johar versus Imtiaz Ali. The big fat designer wedding versus the messy backpack romance. The mansion versus the mountain. And the general consensus among people my age is that KJo makes fake plastic love for people who have never felt a real emotion in their lives, and Imtiaz makes the actual stuff. The honest stuff. The love that hurts on the way down. I believed this too. For years. And then I started paying attention to the money.
Salary credited. Mood instantly upgraded. The first thing we do? Open Zomato, scroll for five minutes like we are checking options and somehow end up ordering enough food to feed the entire flat. The wishlist you’ve been ignoring all month? Time to check out. That cute dress sitting in your cart? Deserved after working all month long. Concert tickets? Once in a lifetime. Coffee? Cmon it’s just 250 bucks. Present me is thriving. Future me? That's tomorrow's problem.
Let's be honest. The nepotism conversation in Bollywood is so 2020. We had the Twitter wars, the Instagram infographics, the candlelight vigils for "outsiders." We argued, we trended, we moved on and then we went and watched Animal three times in theatres anyway.
Okay, can I tell you something my parents will never fully understand? For their generation, the dream was simple. You get one good job, you stay there twenty, thirty years, you get the watch at the farewell, done. One company. One career. A straight line. That was the whole plan...
If there’s one thing our generation loves almost as much as iced coffee, late night overthinking and stalking someone on Instagram just to check in, it’s the idea of closure. Every breakup, friendship fallout, failed talking stages or situationship that crashed and burned somehow ends with, “one last time, I just need closure to move on.”
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