Desperately Seeking Shah Rukh: Khan's Pathaan Is A Reminder Of What He Means To India

I believe I inherited my love for Shah Rukh Khan from my mother, a lady exactly his age, who found herself bewitched the first time she met him on our humble old black-and-white Western telly in 1989. It was a show named Fauji made on the lives of a bunch of 20-somethings in the Indian army, enthusiastic about proving their love for their country. Nearly nine years down the line in 1998, mother decided it was time to formally introduce me to Shah Rukh on the big screen with a film that seemed contentious for a six year old’s viewing back then, but now makes perfect sense to me in hindsight. Dil Se…my induction into SRK-verse just had to be with Dil Se, a film where Shah Rukh yet again conflates his love for his beloved with his love for the nation.

Its lack of nuance while commentating on national politics and Amar’s questionable stalker tendencies notwithstanding, my idea of love has largely — or almost entirely — been informed by the film, especially by Shah Rukh’s character. (I blame Mani Ratnam for Amar’s inability to understand consent.) It is “duniya ki sabse chhoti prem kahaani” that begins in a train station in North-East India, and ends in the historic ruins of Old Delhi with the death of the lovers in an embrace, as they get blown up into smithereens by the ticking time bomb that was Manisha Koirala’s character, Meghna. That image, besides every other that showed Amar’s deep, doleful eyes searching desperately for answers to the looming question that was his inamorata, are branded into my brain. When he danced with Malaika Arora on the roof of a train minutes after falling in love, singing “woh yaar hai jo khushboo ki tarah, jiski zubaan urdu ki tarah,” I believed him and danced along. Amar’s love was meant to be all-consuming, devastating, full of childlike wonder and abandon because it had no lie — because Shah Rukh’s love for his craft, his fans, and his country, has no lie, and it’s a fact I revisited yesterday, 25 years since Dil Se, in a movie theatre playing his newest record-smashing venture, Pathaan, directed by Siddharth Anand, co-starring Deepika Padukone, John Abraham, Ashutosh Rana, Dimple Kapadia, and Bhai (Salman Khan) in an endearing little cameo reminiscent of Karan Arjun. The ‘90s’ kid in me had come alive again, and was having a field day.

Make no mistake though, as the idea was always to see this man and his movie succeed, especially in a system that tried its hardest to not let him. I’ll be honest — I wasn’t the most impressed with the film’s trailer and songs, and had heartbrokenly written it off as a regurgitated pastiche of potboiler superhits like Don and Dhoom. However, I wasn’t willing to give up on Shah Rukh, and like every real Shah Rukh Khan fan, decided to kiss the totem before entering the battlefield on the first day of the film’s release to ensure this man did not have to encounter another failure. Thankfully, that’s exactly how everyone flocking to the theatres to catch the 6 AM show on day one thought too, as did the ones skipping work on a weekday to watch him during lunch. Stepping out into the streets of Kolkata that flaunted posters of the movie and blasted “Jhoome jo Pathaan, meri jaan'' in every corner on Pathaan Day felt like the only acceptable way to celebrate a run-up to Republic Day, because how else does one commemorate this occasion anyway? (As my friend rightly suggested, 25 January 2023 should just have been declared a national holiday.)

Also Read: Pathaan Proves SRK Ko Rokna Mushkil Hi Nahi, Namumkin Hai

The multiplex my friend and I chose (or rather the only one where we found seats during pre-booking) suddenly had single screen energy, with people clapping, hooting, chanting (“Shah Rukh, Shah Rukh!”), singing and dancing like they would at their best friend’s wedding. Again, the only acceptable way to watch this film (or rather, celebrate this festival). It was 2 PM and people jostled for space at the ticket counters and inside the theatres alike, simply to catch a glimpse of the king. “See if you can find tickets for a Saturday show!” my mother bellowed into the phone as I waded past oceans of smiling faces and tapping feet, and entered the hall while saying bye to her before she boarded her flight back from Bombay to Kolkata. Only for Shah Rukh, the mater had suggested an 8 PM show after landing at 6 PM, but I had to dissuade her from her lofty ambitions — much to her chagrin — owing to her debilitating back pain that worsens with constant movement. So Saturday it will have to be.

As I settled down in my seat and the screen lit-up to the image of a ripped, pony-tailed Shah Rukh in captivity beating up baddies, the victory bells were sounded and a triumphant roar rippled through the audience that stood up to dance like their lives depended on it. It was to remind the world why they were there — for love. They were there for their unequivocal devotion to a man who taught us more about this wonderful emotion even in a physics-defying action thriller — where suspension of disbelief is not optional, but mandatory — than the most maudlin of love stories ever could. The right-wing saffron army, which comprises not just the “fringe” but government officials as well, was affronted by Padukone’s saffron bikini and called for the film’s boycott. Others burnt theatres and Shah’s effigies to declare their allegiance to the motherland. However, Shah (obviously meaning “king” in Farsi), a Muslim man who — much like the molten gold used as glue to make broken objects whole again in the Japanese art of Kintsugi, a reference made in the film itself — has united the fragments of a country increasingly divided on the lines of manufactured bigotry by spreading his arms, chose to do so yet again, and succeeded. In a day when it would’ve been easier to play to the gallery and morph into a Hindu hero, Pathaan (both the character and the actor, the lines between whom have blurred heavily at this point, as the actor also happens to be half a Pathaan himself) wears his religion like a badge of honour to clamp down on detractors who continue to question his worth as an Indian. The real question, however, is whether the current Indian state that opportunistically rushes to claim his wins as their own on global platforms, is worthy of this Pathaan. As The Caravan’s rather timely and rousing January cover story on the man, titled Shah Rukh Khan’s Silent Rebellion, illustrates his refusal to kowtow to an authoritarian regime, the haters now must take a backseat, concede defeat gracefully, and allow themselves a moment to bask in the reflected glory of a person whose era they are privileged to live in.

This was proven by the lady, perhaps my grandmother’s age, who was seated next to me in the theatre, and had come alone to watch the film. Every time the crowd took off to dance, she used every muscle in her body to clap as hard as she could from her seat. Her fragile legs had nothing on her firm hands that seemed to have forgotten their age. Only for Shah Rukh. Her face broke into a smile every time Pathaan said something funny; it would crinkle up and flinch in the moments he was being bashed bloody. Only, and only for Shah Rukh. There was no explanation besides the fact that she felt thankful for every moment of that experience that let her escape the mundane, the sordid, as did the rest of us.

After walking out of the theatre nearly three hours later (even though it felt like a minute), the world momentarily seemed like a better place. This joy was heady, and utterly personal, and in that second, I realised why it was so. I remembered what my friend and a fellow Shah Rukh Khan lover had once said: “He convinces you to believe in love even on the days you’re filled with hate, because he’s so earnest. Because no matter who he professes his love for on screen, it always seems like he’s saying the words to you.” Really, what else could the mark of a true king be?