Open Letter to Shah Rukh Khan

Dear Shah Rukh,

I always thought that if I ever find the opportunity to speak with you, I would tell you how proud I feel to have studied at St. Columba’s School. The school has been one of the prime institutions of the country for generations, but regardless of all its qualities, the fact that you went to school at Columba’s has made me feel just a little bit more special about calling it my alma mater. Similarly, I feel proud to be a resident of the colony you grew up in, to be sharing the same sunsign with you, and to have had a prolonged fascination with girls from Modern School.

With such devout fangirling and unwavering faith on my part, complete with getting myself a “COOL” locket from Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, I think it’s about time you realize your responsibilities and stop making me look like such a fool.

I’ve always maintained that you’re one of the wittiest actors in India, with immense class and an unmatchable persona. You’ve delivered some brilliant performances earlier in Chak De, Swades, and uncritically all over Karan Johar’s fluff bazaar. You’ve been funny and charming, almost emitting some divine light from your dimples every time you tilt your head and do that thing with your eyes, like magically pouring Roohafza into a glass of milk only with your gaze. But if you pick up that glass of milk and throw it at my face like you’ve been consistently so in Ra.One, Chennai Express and now HNY, expecting me to like it, I’m sorry but I’m not trying to spend a suhaag raat with you. Today, I find myself to be in complete agreement with the review of your latest movie given by none other than a gentleman whose idea of wit is “good night and kiss to pillow and kick on ass of mosquito”. I think I deserve better than that.

For years I have judged fans of Salman Khan, picturing them being chin-slapped as you raise your arms in slow-mo; imagining them being shot by a machine gun whenever you go all hiccup-laughter. I’ve appreciated Aamir for his perfectionist spirit, but still held strong that your personality trumps his even on your worst days. But today, you’ve failed me in my attempt to look all pretentious, proclaiming how all rickshaw pullers love Salman Khan whereas you are the beloved of a more sophisticated audience. Your behavior now resembles that of a baboon who has climbed too high a tree to take a dump, and then lives in a false belief that the lowly denizens of the jungle will worship his droppings like a divine fruit from the heavens, with nutritional content of lauki or some such.

Yes, your movies are still making money, and I’m glad that you’re the second richest actor in the world. But does it please you to know that whenever people are asked to speak of your best works, they all take names, none of which belong to a recent time? If it’s all cool with you, I don’t see any reason why I should complain. Maybe, we’ve just developed into people with different tastes and I’m the one who doesn’t understand your idea of entertainment. Maybe, every time that you raise your arms in the air, I wrongly interpret it as a gesticulated depiction of your steadily increasing lameness. Maybe, I’m just jealous that my facebook home feed is full of status updates from girls who I’ve been crushing on for years, stating how they know that your movie is going to be idiotic, but Shahrukh love *starry eyes, hand-hearts and SRK nipples*. Maybe, I’ve been a faux-fan, whose love for you hasn’t been as unconditional as that of many others. Or maybe, I’m just really jealous of your hair. Maybe! But if getting an eight pack does that to people, I think I know why I won’t be working towards an abdomen like that any time soon. I just love my pack of chips too much. It's the Farah Khan to my Shah Rukh of a tidh. Unhealthy, yes, but who cares as long as I'm ready to spend money on a bag of air.

Image Source: yetket.com