I have a natural affinity for resilience. Those who find the resolve to move on with their lives, and actively seek happiness get my vote. The story of Devdas repeatedly gets me to think of love, and I criticize the story for one reason - the abject absence of resilience.
You know the story, don’t you?
Devdas Mukherjee (Deva) and Parvati (Paro) are childhood sweethearts in Bengal. After attaining adulthood and an education from Calcutta, Devdas succumbs to the dual pressure from prevailing norms and his parents. The demand is that he marry someone who is from the same stratum of society, and he dumps Paro. The jilted Paro marries a rich, much older zamindar. Devdas pines for Paro, and takes to alcohol. Paro gets to know that her zamindar husband is stuck in the memories of his dead wife and realizes that her marriage would remain unconsummated. In the meantime, Devdas comes into contact with a courtesan named Chandramukhi. He continues to pine for Paro, goes to meet her just before he dies – as promised to her - and dies a lonely death.
Everybody is unhappy, and remains so till the end.
For the record, I don’t watch reruns of the SRK – Madhuri - Aishwarya starrer. It is far too dramatic for me. The Dilip Kumar – Suchitra Sen – Vyjantimala starrer was watched long ago. Then, there is Dev.D – the modern-day adaptation - when Deva tastes resilience.
Dilip Kumar and Suchitra Sen made for an awesome screen pair as Deva and Paro. It is achingly beautiful to watch the unrequited romance between Deva and Paro.
Of course, the feminist in me flinched at the sight of himhurling a stone at her hitting her forehead with his fishing rod, in anger.
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Then, Paro goes away. I was left with the thought, “If only they had talked to each other, instead of hurriedly reacting this way! Lovers deserve to be together.”
In the 2002 version, the sets became grander. Devdas was sent to UK to study. My pet peeve was watching Ms. Nene’s Chandramukhi in a one-sided relationship with SRK’s Devdas. What really makes a one-sided relationship attractive? Hope – one day, things would surely change? Fear – if not for him/her, where will I find love? Self-sacrifice – it gives me immense joy to do stuff for him/her? Result: severe toll on one’s psyche; one that is more evident in intimate relationships, but is true in platonic relationships too.
Whilst I enjoyed watching two of the best dancers in tinsel town share screen space, I also found it absurd from the point of view of the story. The women had their lover in common, and were dancing happily together?
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Dev.D arrived earlier this year, with a few direct references to the 2002 movie including the UK angle. The story had been moved to Chandigarh and Delhi. Devdas Mukherjee became Devendra Singh Dhillon, and remained Deva. Parvati became Parminder (Paro). Chandramukhi became Chanda. This version taught Deva lessons that forced him to grow up. Deva has nobody to blame but himself- his father had wanted him to marry Paro, he doesn’t know whether he loves Paro (“Main tumse pyaar karna chahta hoon!”), and he enhances his self-destructive streak – this time, no friend feeds it.
The least dramatic version has foot-tapping, outstanding music. Sample this.
Deva, resilience tastes good, doesn’t it?
You know the story, don’t you?
Devdas Mukherjee (Deva) and Parvati (Paro) are childhood sweethearts in Bengal. After attaining adulthood and an education from Calcutta, Devdas succumbs to the dual pressure from prevailing norms and his parents. The demand is that he marry someone who is from the same stratum of society, and he dumps Paro. The jilted Paro marries a rich, much older zamindar. Devdas pines for Paro, and takes to alcohol. Paro gets to know that her zamindar husband is stuck in the memories of his dead wife and realizes that her marriage would remain unconsummated. In the meantime, Devdas comes into contact with a courtesan named Chandramukhi. He continues to pine for Paro, goes to meet her just before he dies – as promised to her - and dies a lonely death.
Everybody is unhappy, and remains so till the end.
For the record, I don’t watch reruns of the SRK – Madhuri - Aishwarya starrer. It is far too dramatic for me. The Dilip Kumar – Suchitra Sen – Vyjantimala starrer was watched long ago. Then, there is Dev.D – the modern-day adaptation - when Deva tastes resilience.
Dilip Kumar and Suchitra Sen made for an awesome screen pair as Deva and Paro. It is achingly beautiful to watch the unrequited romance between Deva and Paro.
Of course, the feminist in me flinched at the sight of him
.jpg)
Then, Paro goes away. I was left with the thought, “If only they had talked to each other, instead of hurriedly reacting this way! Lovers deserve to be together.”In the 2002 version, the sets became grander. Devdas was sent to UK to study. My pet peeve was watching Ms. Nene’s Chandramukhi in a one-sided relationship with SRK’s Devdas. What really makes a one-sided relationship attractive? Hope – one day, things would surely change? Fear – if not for him/her, where will I find love? Self-sacrifice – it gives me immense joy to do stuff for him/her? Result: severe toll on one’s psyche; one that is more evident in intimate relationships, but is true in platonic relationships too.
Whilst I enjoyed watching two of the best dancers in tinsel town share screen space, I also found it absurd from the point of view of the story. The women had their lover in common, and were dancing happily together?
.jpg)
Dev.D arrived earlier this year, with a few direct references to the 2002 movie including the UK angle. The story had been moved to Chandigarh and Delhi. Devdas Mukherjee became Devendra Singh Dhillon, and remained Deva. Parvati became Parminder (Paro). Chandramukhi became Chanda. This version taught Deva lessons that forced him to grow up. Deva has nobody to blame but himself- his father had wanted him to marry Paro, he doesn’t know whether he loves Paro (“Main tumse pyaar karna chahta hoon!”), and he enhances his self-destructive streak – this time, no friend feeds it.The least dramatic version has foot-tapping, outstanding music. Sample this.
Deva, resilience tastes good, doesn’t it?
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