‘From BigBEfamily.com Our Humble Tribute to Mr. Amitabh Bachchchan B 1512 – Shweta, my daugher wrote this piece for…’ 000643

B 1512 – Shweta, my daugher wrote this piece for…

B 1512 - Shweta, my daugher wrote this piece for a paper, 2 years ago .. it was reprinted recently on my birthday .. Daughters are the best .. !! It’s Sunday evening and the gates of our home have just been flung open so the throng of people baking in the sun for hours can catch a glimpse of my father. He stands on a makeshift podium, and waves. The crowd surges. People throw flowers and cards as iPhones light up the horizon with intermittent flashes and pictures of dubious quality are taken. He steps off the podium and the gates close. The traffic, held up through the course of the day, finally begins to move freely. This is a ritual observed every Sunday, subject to him being in town, for 30-odd years. He is now 73. His popularity has stood the test of time—many smear campaigns, a brief encounter with politics (which he regrets until this day), a near-fatal accident, a greying goatee, and a change of address. His arena of work is like a gladiator’s pit; it’s you against the beasts, and if you manage to end the day alive then glory is yours. The only caveat is that you have to get back in the pit and getready to fight, to prove yourself yet again, another day. My father has done this for four decades. And he manages to stay relevant even today, working in an industry that is largely youth-based and capricious. He started off an outsider, the angst-ridden, mercurial embodiment of a nation’s hopelessness, and has come to become its social conscience—a pillar of the entity known the world over as Bollywood (a term he refuses to use). He’s gone from ‘Angry Young Man’ to ‘Living Legend’, epithets he is shy to accept even in private, even with me. He has been around too long perhaps and knows that, eventually, most accolades turn to admonishment, and that neither should be taken seriously. An entire generation has grown up with him, in a strange symbiotic progression of equal parts life and art imitating each other. So perhaps it would be befitting to ask them why he defines “cool” but it has fallen on me, this unenviable task of deconstructing a beloved icon—my father After many hours of agonising over the correct answer to the question “What makes your father COOL?” it dawns on me that there is no secret formula. He is a prolific adaptor to changing circumstances. It is as simple and as difficult as that. He harbours none of the disdain age has for youth: he doesn’t screw up his nose to the music, art or sartorial sensibilities of the generations that have succeeded him. In fact, he’s adjusted himself to find harmony in all of it. He is never outdated, be it the newest technological fad—the Apple watch, for instance—or mastering social media. He’s on top of it all, and he’s terrific at it. He educates himself with what is prevalent, and that’s how he remains in touch with the times. I have seen him engage with a room full of young achievers one night, over dinner, at filmmaker Karan Johar’s place. He had them enthralled, but the beauty of it was that it was he who went home having learnt the most. This is a feat for a deeply introverted person—the ability to observe, process and then translate. Most people can manage only one of these aspects, but to truly rise you must master all three. He has the discipline of his generation coupled with the ambition and energy of this one. He’s a thinking man’s James Bond, without the braggadocio. Since I am writing for a generation that won’t read the fine print, here are the reasons that make my father, Amitabh Bachchan, cool. Because it’s cool to stand the test of time. Because when they told him he wasn’t good enough he redefined good enough. Because he was a science major who took a desk job and quit it all to act. Because, well… there’s that baritone. Because no one does angry like he does. Because when he couldn’t dance to their tune, he ensured they learnt to dance to his. Because you can dress him in anything and he carries it off. Because all his notes are hand-written. Because he took it in the olar plexus, literally, and lived to tell the tale. Because during the Gulf War, his name was enough to grant stranded Indians passage through Egypt (he still has their letters of thanks). Because he reinvented himself at 60 and the gamble paid off. Because he helped eradicate polio in India. Because he is a thorough professional; his punctuality is the stuff of legend. Because he throws the best movie nights—complete with cosy blankets and gigantic bowls of popcorn—ever (invitees are family only). Because he has an office-supplies addiction (his pen collection is mind-boggling). Because no one smells as heavenly as he does (there is a secret formula for this, a mixology of colognes). Because all his suits are bespoke (his arms are too long for him to wear off the rack). Because on his 70th birthday, he danced till six in the morning, without stopping once. Because his charity is always under the radar. Because when Louboutin sends him shoes, he addresses them “To God”. Because there isn’t a stereotype he hasn’t broken. Because he is the first Bachchan in the world (it was his father’s nom de plume, and when he was born he was the first person to take it as his surname). Because he is full of child-like wonderment even though he’s seen it and done it all. And finally, because the queue starts from where he stands._0
B 1512 - Shweta, my daugher wrote this piece for a paper, 2 years ago .. it was reprinted recently on my birthday .. Daughters are the best .. !! It’s Sunday evening and the gates of our home have just been flung open so the throng of people baking in the sun for hours can catch a glimpse of my father. He stands on a makeshift podium, and waves. The crowd surges. People throw flowers and cards as iPhones light up the horizon with intermittent flashes and pictures of dubious quality are taken. He steps off the podium and the gates close. The traffic, held up through the course of the day, finally begins to move freely. This is a ritual observed every Sunday, subject to him being in town, for 30-odd years. He is now 73. His popularity has stood the test of time—many smear campaigns, a brief encounter with politics (which he regrets until this day), a near-fatal accident, a greying goatee, and a change of address. His arena of work is like a gladiator’s pit; it’s you against the beasts, and if you manage to end the day alive then glory is yours. The only caveat is that you have to get back in the pit and getready to fight, to prove yourself yet again, another day. My father has done this for four decades. And he manages to stay relevant even today, working in an industry that is largely youth-based and capricious. He started off an outsider, the angst-ridden, mercurial embodiment of a nation’s hopelessness, and has come to become its social conscience—a pillar of the entity known the world over as Bollywood (a term he refuses to use). He’s gone from ‘Angry Young Man’ to ‘Living Legend’, epithets he is shy to accept even in private, even with me. He has been around too long perhaps and knows that, eventually, most accolades turn to admonishment, and that neither should be taken seriously. An entire generation has grown up with him, in a strange symbiotic progression of equal parts life and art imitating each other. So perhaps it would be befitting to ask them why he defines “cool” but it has fallen on me, this unenviable task of deconstructing a beloved icon—my father After many hours of agonising over the correct answer to the question “What makes your father COOL?” it dawns on me that there is no secret formula. He is a prolific adaptor to changing circumstances. It is as simple and as difficult as that. He harbours none of the disdain age has for youth: he doesn’t screw up his nose to the music, art or sartorial sensibilities of the generations that have succeeded him. In fact, he’s adjusted himself to find harmony in all of it. He is never outdated, be it the newest technological fad—the Apple watch, for instance—or mastering social media. He’s on top of it all, and he’s terrific at it. He educates himself with what is prevalent, and that’s how he remains in touch with the times. I have seen him engage with a room full of young achievers one night, over dinner, at filmmaker Karan Johar’s place. He had them enthralled, but the beauty of it was that it was he who went home having learnt the most. This is a feat for a deeply introverted person—the ability to observe, process and then translate. Most people can manage only one of these aspects, but to truly rise you must master all three. He has the discipline of his generation coupled with the ambition and energy of this one. He’s a thinking man’s James Bond, without the braggadocio. Since I am writing for a generation that won’t read the fine print, here are the reasons that make my father, Amitabh Bachchan, cool. Because it’s cool to stand the test of time. Because when they told him he wasn’t good enough he redefined good enough. Because he was a science major who took a desk job and quit it all to act. Because, well… there’s that baritone. Because no one does angry like he does. Because when he couldn’t dance to their tune, he ensured they learnt to dance to his. Because you can dress him in anything and he carries it off. Because all his notes are hand-written. Because he took it in the olar plexus, literally, and lived to tell the tale. Because during the Gulf War, his name was enough to grant stranded Indians passage through Egypt (he still has their letters of thanks). Because he reinvented himself at 60 and the gamble paid off. Because he helped eradicate polio in India. Because he is a thorough professional; his punctuality is the stuff of legend. Because he throws the best movie nights—complete with cosy blankets and gigantic bowls of popcorn—ever (invitees are family only). Because he has an office-supplies addiction (his pen collection is mind-boggling). Because no one smells as heavenly as he does (there is a secret formula for this, a mixology of colognes). Because all his suits are bespoke (his arms are too long for him to wear off the rack). Because on his 70th birthday, he danced till six in the morning, without stopping once. Because his charity is always under the radar. Because when Louboutin sends him shoes, he addresses them “To God”. Because there isn’t a stereotype he hasn’t broken. Because he is the first Bachchan in the world (it was his father’s nom de plume, and when he was born he was the first person to take it as his surname). Because he is full of child-like wonderment even though he’s seen it and done it all. And finally, because the queue starts from where he stands._1