Confessions of a Closet Bollywood Buff

Bolly Good?

“So, your last name’s Khan, huh?” a guy at work randomly asks one day. We’ve always smiled and waved in the hallways, but until this particular summer afternoon, our congenial interactions haven’t really progressed beyond assessments of the weather and mutual despondency over shared cases of the Monday blues. “That’s Indian, right? Like Shah Rukh?”

Ummm, say what? Before I know it, Colin, a blond-haired, blue-eyed, rugby-shirt-clad chap — who’d fit in more at a polo match in the Hamptons than in line for the latest masala offering from India’s moviemaking capital — is extolling the musical merits of the chartbuster “Rock ’n’ Roll Sohniye” and professing his love for Rani Mukherjee.

The secret’s out. Looks like Bollywood ain’t just your ammi’s cup of chai these days.

Today, Aishwarya Rai flutters her lashes in L’Oréal commercials, Stephen Colbert consults a bhangrometer before settling major disputes, dhol beats reverberate from speakers at mainstream clubs, America’s Next Top Model stages elaborate Indian-inspired photo shoots, and Shakira gyrates those infamous hips in an all-out Bollywood tamasha at the MTV VMAs.

But what about us who’ve grown up with Bollywood? Our hips have been telling the truth for years. Just ask Helen or Madhuri.

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