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Himmatwala(1983) Starring Sridevi and Jeetendra:
Like most odious Bollywood films, Himmatwala (1983) has its origins in South India
In 1981, a South Indian director with the unpronounceable appellation of Kovelamudi Raghavendra Rao cobbled up a plain awful movie in the Telugu language called Ooriki Monagadu starring Krishna and Jayaprada
Kovelamudi was a blessed soul since he hailed from Andhra Pradesh, a state where Dum Biryani flourishes but civilization, class, and culture are still work in progress.
Bollywood Version:
For the Hindi version, Kovelamudi toiled hard to find the worst actor in the universe and after a long search found one in the shape of the bizarre Amritsar lad Jeetendra, whose screen actions, at the best of times, closely resemble that of an escapee from the notorious Agra mental asylum.
To play the female lead, the director imposed only one condition - the girl should have thunderous, plump thighs to rouse the somnolent snakes in North Indian trousers into a frenzy.
Finally, Kovelamudi happened upon Sridevi, a scheming starlet from the southern state of Tamil Nadu, a land partial to the ardent worship of plump women like Khushboo and Jayalalitha and dark men like Rajinikanth and Vijay.
Sridevi was no Helen of Troy.
With a face not designed to launch 10 catamarans let alone a thousand ships, Sridevi still managed to capture the hearts, minds and, above all, the frenetic hands of millions of panting young South Indian boys, men and not so young men.
Sridevi's distinguishing traits were those common to all successful South Indian starlets - the clumsy gait of a washerman's overburdened ass, eyes of a loony, callipygian hips, and the general demeanor of one not well endowed in the upper story.
But her thundering thighs set her apart!
Such are the origins of Himmatwala, the movie which decisively proved North Indians are no less crass in their movie tastes.
Himmatwala went on to become a super-hit and sensitive souls like yours truly living in Mera Bharat Mahaan in the 1980s still remember with anguish the untrammeled assault of the song Naino Mein Sapna on the auditory passages.
Our premature deafness owes in no small measure to the relentless blast of Himmatwala songs from loudspeakers near and far, day and night for months on end in the benighted land of Ashoka, Aurangzeb and Narendra
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