SHE MAY not have the tresses which unfold like a cascade in full bloom. Her eyes may not be sparkling enough to illuminate a gloomy evening. Her voice may not deserve to be recorded for posterity. And her figure may not be admired by guys or envied by gals. However, her smile lingers. And when she taps her curvaceous lower lip with her shapely fingers it sends palpitation down many a luxuriantly endowed hairy upper lip, leaving one with durable dreams of domestic serenity. In flaws lies Rani Mukherjee's beauty, a girl so simple she could be mistaken for the girl nextdoor. Yet in her everyday looks lies her extraordinary appeal, a passport to accessibility with the common man who may not go to bed with dreams of sharing his good times and the bad times with a Ms. Universe but still secretly yearning for times when he would come back to home and hearth, play an easy game of cricket with kids and find his wife making the best possible use of the limited assets she has at her disposal. No floral beds. No picnics to Switzerland. Just simple joy unfolding with the slanting rays of fading sun.
Domestic serenity. Personal tranquillity. Why are we talking of these matters when director Shankar's ``Nayak'' which released at cinema halls this past week is all about the relegation of responsibility by the common man? A film about men who come back from work and settle down to a quiet cup of tea with suitably acquiescing spouse, lamenting about the politicians ruining this country. They crib, carp and complain. But when an opportunity presents itself, they look the other way. Men like you and me. Politics for us is a cesspool.
It is a film which questions the system where the ill have to die because of a transport strike, where the youth have to stay unemployed because of a ``chakka jam'', where thousands have to stay homeless because a handful have taken over the land which would suffice for many times over. All under the patronage of corrupt politicians. Corruption here, as in real life, does not stem from the roots. It percolates, a new version of Macauley's downward filtration theory.
This lavishly mounted film - which has done well in its original Tamil version and has breathtakingly beautiful songs - is the story of an intrepid TV reporter who exposes corruption and pays the price for stirring a hornet's nest. Shivaji - played by Anil Kapoor with easy professionalism - reveals the true face of the Chief Minister during a live interview: He is the man behind the riots, strikes, unemployment, homelessness and every possible malady. Until Shivjai himself is asked to take over the onerous task of administering the State for a day. This is one day which changes his life. And of millions more.
In one single stroke thousands are suspended for dereliction of duty, many punished for malpractices, and balm applied to the hearts and bodies of many more at the receiving end of the system. But one swallow does not a summer make. The masses need a messiah, not an Aladdin. And the man who would rather be at the desk in a Government office or chase down politicians behind cars blaring out the sirens, is forced to take the plunge. To cleanse the malaise, to rid the society and polity of its many- headed Ravana.
The film covers many things at one go and may occasionally not convey everything with a punch. It may even be short on the suspense element. But it keeps the viewers generally tuned in to the developments and somewhere down the line manages to strike a raw chord with those similarly affected.
As for Rani, well, she breezes in for romantic interludes and proves that here is a girl waiting for one role which will take her a notch higher than the good variety.
