“Jo chauka udte huye jaye, usey chhakka kehte hain”
As Disco Fighter’s (Aamir Khan) flashy white bellbottoms come into frame with these words, you realise that Delhi Belly can easily be summarised in this phrase. The 2011 gem was all about seeing the whacko in the ordinary and mining morbid life scenarios for risqué humour.
Director Abhinay Deo and screenwriter Akshat Verma created a psychedelic laughathon that not only challenged Bollywood purists, but ushered an age of millennial moviemaking (read: the kind of cinema that appealed to youngsters en masse).
If the crew were purposefully trying to create a product ahead of its times, Delhi Belly was more than a success. But 10 years after the release, the film stands almost as a mouthpiece against everything Bollywood. From plot, dialogue, cinematography to even costumes, the film was very quotidian; very us.
To begin with, the makers chose a young, dynamic bunch of newcomers who proved their mettle in each role they were assigned. Barring the presence of veterans like Vijay Raaz, Delhi Belly’s motley crew were dangerously new to the Lalaland of films. Yet, they immediately connected with audiences. Since the main actors did not bring the baggage of any brand-name associated with them, it became easier to invest in Tashi (Imraan Khan), Arup (Vir Das), Nitin (Kunal Roy Kapur), Sonia (Shehnaz Treasury), Menaka (then- Indian debutante Poorna Jagannathan), and the like.
Delhi Belly was a cinematic equivalent of a rebellious-yet-intelligent angsty teen who had some major issues to resolve after years of tamed Bollywood dramedies and rom-coms.
The film took up the hackneyed ‘comedy of errors’ concept but added bizarre elements like questionable bowel movements and chase scenes with burqas. An obvious wake-up call for the sedate middle class, the film was one that had to be digested (no pun intended) with a pinch of salt.
Thematically, many have compared it with another Hollywood juggernaut – The Hangover franchise. Though the slapstick aesthetic and unpalatable in-your-face humour may well be a point of similarity, Delhi Belly was steeped in an Indian milieu. Profanity galore, the dialogues reeked of how Indian boys and girls were conversing on the streets.
Frill-free and on-the-nose, the conversations felt real. Little moments of sarcastic innuendos did wonders to bring out loud guffaws. Exhibit A: “Bhench*d agar phir haath lagaya na toh tere tatte kaat kar jhumke bana dunga,” or even “Tujhe kya lagta hai, mere sar pe bandook rakhne se, meri g**nd maarne ki permission mil gayi tujhe…!” (Pardon our French but we're just quoting).
Speaking to Firstpost on the 10th anniversary of the film, Deo narrates a happy accident on set, which they decided to keep in the final cut. “There’s a scene where the goon pronounces ‘laundry’ as ‘lundri’. Though it was purely unplanned, it evoked immediate laughter, and we went ahead with the shot. Personally, my favourite dialogue is when Raaz’s assistant looks at a pool of shit, and plainly says, ‘Sir, yeh toh tatti hai.”
The plot of Delhi Belly was stitched over a realistic canvas. Journalist noobs in a city, sharing an apartment, can never be fairytale-esque (Wake Up Sid) or even remotely smooth. Broken flushes, hanging wallpapers, tardy rooms, and water shortage defined the bachelor pad that Tashi, Arup, and Nitin survived in.
Life, as a concept, was quite a struggle for them (much like the world around us). There were no sudden jackpots, frantic epiphanies or a change of fate which many of the so-called youth-centric films of the time used as resolutions.
In a sea of white-washed, formulaic productions like Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na or even Love Aaj Kal, Delhi Belly was the unabashed black sheep. It stood out from a film family that believed/s in doling out stories that have happy endings just so long as the protagonist has a heart full of hope and a head full of dreams.
Considering that the generous dollops of acerbic humour were the main focal points of the film, would this project reach fruition in the highly political climate of 2021? And more importantly, would Deo mould anything to make it more acceptable? The director answers with a firm no. “The USP of Delhi Belly was its irreverence. Honestly, I would not change a thing about it after a decade. Maybe, I’d incorporate a few more things in it now that I’ve become wiser (laughs), but content-wise, I’d keep it intact.”
Easily the most unconventional album of 2011, the music of the album created a dizzying soundscape of the Delhi hubbub to perfection. The deafening cacophony of the titular city's congested streets was channelised in tracks like 'Jaa Chudail' and 'Bhaag DK Bose.' The eclectic mix also paid homage to Hindustani classical through 'Bedardi Raja' and qawwali through 'Nakkarwaale Disco.'
Further, the world was reintroduced to the magic of Ram Sampath, who went on to compose some of the most terrific melodies in Bollywood films, be it the heartbreaking lyrical number 'Jee Le Zara' in Talaash or the lilting ballad 'Ambarsariya' in Fukrey.
Conceptualisation aside, the execution of Delhi Belly also had to be on-point for the film to reach its cult status. Jason West’s lens fulfilled expectations and transformed the city’s dingy Chandni Chowk lanes into a living, breathing character in the film. The city was both unforgiving and nurturing. It was as exacting in its thirst for revenge (depicted through Raaz’s gangster role) as it was accommodating of a budding romance (between Menaka and Tashi). Bright, bold tones were used to capture outdoor sequences, reflective of Delhi’s fast-paced attitude; while the gaudy golden-coloured indoors (of Tashi’s parents’ house) were emblematic of posh South Delhi opulence. West’s gaze ably reproduced the class disparities in the Indian capital, and compelled viewers to perceive the film as more than just a comedy.
However, one of the weakest links in the film are its female protagonists. Although Menaka may come across to many as a woman with ample agency, her character always served as a fulcrum to balance Tashi’s storyline. Verma did not bother to delve deeper into her backstory (which was riddled with a breaking marriage, abusive husband, and general social judgements of being a “divorcee”). Neither did Shehnaz’s character have any layers other than that of a well-meaning bimbo who doubled up as a nagging girlfriend.
The two women were useful in plot progression but had little contribution to story-building. Deo rejects this thought process saying, “Even 10 years ago, Poorna’s character was a progressive woman who lashed out at her husband since he was an idiot. Shehnaz’s role was the spectral opposite of Poorna’s. In that, she was miss goody-two-shoes who even ate a banana with a fork and knife.” Deo adds, “We weren’t making a film about how women are in the society. Every film has its own standing and space. Having said that, I do think both these women were quite multi-faceted in Delhi Belly.”
Be that as it may, the plot primarily focused on the three bros, and how they navigated a murky situation unexpectedly thrust upon them.
But undeniably, Delhi Belly was a labour of love. As Deo puts it, “The film was never only about mouthing expletives, and having a couple of jokes here and there. We got together with a purpose, that of making a good film – every team, whether it be sound design, cinematography, script, acting – each had discussions on the matter at hand.”
The film managed to evoke a sense of hope (even without trying, that too), that even if sh*t hits the fan (pun not intended, again), life had a twisted way of finding a level playing ground.
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(All images from Twitter)
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