| Humbly yours, Big Bachchan | By Rakesh Bedi
Amitabh Bachchan, the biggest actor in Bollywood, is busy fashioning plans for son Abhishek's marriage. As part of these longitudinal and latitudinal plans, he, along with his family and friends, has been visiting temples across India. There are priests who strongly feel that Big B, family in tow, should also come to their temple. Some have written to him, some have approached his friends, some are just waiting. But there are some who already have got a polite letter of rejection from the great actor. They are disappointed that the biggest star has declined their fervent offer. Most have taken it well, but there are some who are deeply hurt. In a fit of petulance, one such priest, a professor of literature turned temple caretaker, in Allahabad, the actor's birthplace, wrote a letter to the Pope in Big B's name and released it to the press. This is how it reads:
Holy Father,
I am Big B and I would like to visit the Holy C. Oops! Holy See. This SMSing has got to me, too, so, excuse, Father. I am not a Luddite but too much technology frays my 64-year-old nerves. Let me not digress, let me come straight to the point. I have a request, Holy Father, but before that I would like to give you a brief introduction of myself.
I, Holy Father, am an actor working for the Indian film industry who goes by the name of Amitabh Bachchan. I am an ordinary actor still learning the ropes but they — technologydriven and soul-killing media — of coursekeep voting me the best star of the millennium , a youth icon, an old icon, a middle-aged icon, this icon, that icon, icon of icons and God knows what else. I am 64, I have begun to forget . Variously, they keep calling me God, legend , a towering figure and other things whose meaning I don't understand. (See, I don't follow the Nabokov dictum that a good reader is the one who always keeps a dictionary by his side.) But of Nabokov later, let me be through with the introduction.
All this humbles me, all this hoopla. The more the hoopla, the more the humbling. All this adulation addles my mind. All these crowns have no meaning for me. The only crown is the crown of thorns which the Great Lord wore with tremendous humility. Such a humbling experience. But they don't stop, they are after me. Awards, rewards, wards (hospital ward, Father, I sell polio vaccine when I get some free time) keep coming. It's an unstoppable storm. In the beginning was the Word, they say, and, then disgustingly, twist the Great Lord's words to fit them into Bollywood context (I can't stand the term Bollywood, Father, it's so abhorrent).
Where was I? Oh, the Word. Yes, they say, in the beginning was Big B and — it's so exasperating , the mutilation of God's words-in the end was Big B. These intemperate remarks make me bow in humility. I go down on my knees when I hear all this. That I am where I am is God's grace, sure, but I don't want to disturb the Lord by changing his words. I want to be in his good graces, always, Father. See, Father , I have got nothing to do with that salacious book Lolita. I am not Humbert Humbert and I don't have a glad eye. But Nabokov and I, sure, share an interest: butterflies. He was passionate about them and my passion still brings them on.
Now, to my humble request. Father, I along with my family would like to visit the Vatican and seek your blessings for the impending marriage of my son. My son, Abhishek, also an actor, is getting married to Ash, an actor, too, Father. I will come, Father, if you will it. It's in your hands. I have been to temples both sides of Vindhyas (a mountain range in India, Father, a bit inferior to the Alps because it lacks snow-capped peaks) and sought blessings of God. I wish to culminate my blessing-seeking pilgrimage in the basilica.
Father, my extended family will fill all of St Peter's Square. It composes of my immediate family and Amar Singh, my younger brother, and Mulayam Singh, my older brother, and all the people of Uttar Pradesh, of which I am the brand ambassador. So, Holy Father, grant me the time at your convenience. And I hope it will before Ash Wednesday. That's when Lent starts, they say. A period of austerity. I, too, am a great believer in austerity: austere living, austere thoughts, austere choppers, austere everything.
Father, I will be austere. I will close this letter in the hope that you, Holy Father, would accede to my humble request and grant me an audience.
Humbly Yours,
Amitabh Bachchan. | | |
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