The Sauce has Gone out of Gossip, the Opiate of Bollywood

With cine folks wanting to do the right thing, Bollywood’s tittle tattle has turned insipid, reveals Khalid Mohamed.

Currently, the nation or at least the Bollycurious segment wants to know:

• How ‘serious serious’ are Shah Rukh Khan and Priyanka Chopra? Are they married? Could they be getting married? Isn’t Gauri Khan livid about the rumaaahs?

• Why is Sallu Khan most often seen in the company of Katrina Kaif lookalikes but hopefully not thinkalikes?

• Will Sussanne Khan tie the knot with Arjun Rampal? Has Arjun’s wife Mehr filed for a formal divorce? And whatever happened to Hrithik Roshan since his Splitsvilla with the aforecited Sussanne?

• Has cutie pie Alia Bhatt, resolutely, chosen Siddharth Malhotra over Varun Dhawan and Arjun Kapoor? Wise resolution, isn’t it?

• Jackie Fernandez, could she be Varun Dhawan’s new arm-lolly?

There I’ve asked the same kite-flying rumours which have become duper-super hits on websites, on assorted social media apps and tabloids which still stalwartly aim to zap. Or kinda.

On Life-Support

But that titillating rite called Gossip, if you ask me, is on its last breath. It’s on oxygen because conjectures are of the essence. Exposes and fact-bulwarked stories about the wicked, wicked ways of showbiz have gone Jurassic.

They had to. Too much is involved, acres of space have to be stuffed every day if not every hour. Ad revenue goes for a toss if an influential celebrity flares a nostril or two. Star attendance at the events conducted by media and portal groups thins. One prickly tidbit, and attendance deleted. Plus PR corporates have to do their job, safeguard the privacy of their clients. And why not? ‘Tis the practice from Holly to Bollywood. Everyone’s doing the right thing.

Result: Gossip (now called ‘goss’) which is as ancient as civilisation itself has become tamer than a nana-nani park picnic. So eoww, cats no longer meow. Today those boudoir prowling felines have blunted their claws. Natter essentially amounts to maska polish butter (to use the classic gossip magazine argot).

Is Bollywood Behaving?

And oh, so sorry my darlings there are no more scoops in Bollywood. All izz so well that showtown’s shenanigans are about as newsworthy as starlets wearing cleavage-popping cashmere cardigans. For a flash, Mallika Sherawat flew through global airspace, it seems, in private planes fuelled by a European gazillionaire. End of story. No paparazzi pictures of the aforecited Mr Gazillion, no more deadly details.

The last sneaky paparazzi pix which had that vintage, scoopy element about it caught Ranbir Kapoor and Katrina Kaif holidaying on a sun-smooched Ibiza beach. Those pix went viral but that’s about it. Ma’am Kaif was wearing a bikini, and for some peculiar reason, there has been a prurient interest in bikini clicks. The scoop wasn’t quite in the league of Richard Burton’s cling-n-kiss fest with Liz Taylor during the making of Cleopatra. And huh that was in another millennium.

Surely yesteryear’s grand dame de gossip, Devyani Chaubal, would have clucked at the thousands of magazines, tabloids and TV channels which are as ingratiating as courtiers of a Mughal-era durbar. The ever prolific Shobhaa Rajadhyaksha De, pioneer of Hinglish, would certainly disapprove of the chronic absence of styling. Those mirch masala words coined with her feisty team, continue to be regurgitated.

So am I mourning the antim saansen of ghus pus? Not at all. The scandal vigilantes had their time, whipping up boom-boom-shakala tidbits for the readers. Or spicy reportage which spelt either gloom or doom for the celebrities. Saturation point. Eventually, the gossip cops’ khaki uniforms were bound to turn a whiter shade of pale.

Bollywood’s Non-Stories

Hang on. Can you truly debate this point? Gossip did serve the purpose of exposing the hypocrisy of the celebrities who believed their peccadilloes were cool behind closed doors, and certainly not to be reported in the glossies. Come on, once a star, there’s bound to be public curiosity. That’s a written.

Nowadays, Bollywood generates non-stories on the lines of Sonakshi Sinha texting some gobbledygook SMS message to Katrina Kaif. Next, it’s lamented that Ms Sinha didn’t receive an immediate response.

Or take the case of Amitabh Bachchan running a slight temperature. Still he shows up for an everyday work-schedule at the studio. Black bold fonts announce the health report. Next day, the fever abates.

The nation sighs with relief. Such spicy news I tell you, really.

(The writer is a film critic, filmmaker, theatre director and weekend painter)