Deepa Gahlot

Reports popping up sporadically in the papers say that the internet has become a major matchmaker. And most of the time, people flirting on the net don't even meet!

Romance without nain milna [meeting of the eyes], dil dhadakna [increased heartbeat], neend udna [loss of sleep] --- heck, our film lyricists would be out of business!

In any case, at the risk of sounding like an 80-year-old grandmother, one can safely say that romance is not what it used to be. If you can go on a date after one phone call, dirty dance at a disco, never need to write love letters or soppy poems, and have your feelings described by card company hacks and gifts chosen by all that heavy advertising around Valentine's Day, well... the heart is a redundant appendage.

Even in the old days when falling in love was severely frowned upon (in some parts of India, it still is), romance was a crucial part of the films. When Ashok Kumar and Devika Rani, positioned chastely apart, sang the sweet and simple Main ban ki chidiya ban ke ban ban boloon re, it was the height of erotica. In those days, if a boy and girl from opposite sides of the tracks fell in love, well, they had to suffer and die. If they were lucky, they would be reunited in heaven, and sobbing audiences would see them floating up ethereally and feel reassured that there was place for lovers in the next world if not in this zaalim zamana [cruel world].

But youth is youth and hormones are hormones. In life as in the movies, as love letters were tossed out of windows or passing cycle-rickshaws, surreptitiously pushed into notebooks (quite tough when the sexes were strictly segregated in college and cinemas had a covered zenana section!) or sent via generously bribed kid brothers, the time was ripe for the tragic love stories starring Noorjehan, Suraiya, Dilip Kumar, Raj Kapoor and Meena Kumari to trigger off collective catharsis.

The gloomy Ratan and Anmol Ghadi sent waves of ecstasy through youngsters of the Forties, when Dilip Kumar with his chronically melancholic look came into films and suffered the agonies of love in film after film (Jogan, Deedar, Andaz, Devdas, etc), he was undoubtedly the man after every love-soaked teen's heart. Imagine, in Deedar, when he discovered, on regaining his sight, that the one he loved now belongs to another, he blinded himself again.

Young girls (and no doubt some boys too!) wept buckets and saw the film over and over again to suffer with Dilip Kumar. Devdas drinking himself to death was the ultimate Romantic Hero.

Raj Kapoor sacrificing his love for Nargis in Aah because he has tuberculosis, Nigar Sultana looking with compassion at his burnt face in Aag, Suchitra Sen burning her fingers with a lighted match when Devdas comes into the room and asks "Kaisi ho Paro? [How are you, Paro?]", Sunil Dutt singing Jalte hain jiske liye on the phone to a weeping Nutan in Sujata, Nutan running to join an ill Ashok Kumar in Bandini, the repressed eroticism of Mughal-e-Azam, the doctor dying of stress in Dil Ek Mandir after saving former sweetheart Meena Kumari's husband --- unforgettable moments in cinema. In those days, a man would die rather than let his beloved face ruswai [grief]. Today the hero shouts that if the girl he loves can't be his, he will make life hell for her!

The exuberance of Dev Anand (Jiya O, Maana janaab ne pukara nahin), Shammi Kapoor (Deewana mujhsa nain, Lal chhadi maindan khadi) and Kishore Kumar (C-a-t Cat, Ek ladki bheegi bhaagi si) brought on a new phase of fun-filled romance, in the Fifties and Sixties. Even the women became more perky (Madhubala and, later, Asha Parekh, Sadhana, Saira Banu, Sharmila Tagore). A change from the limpid-eyed sorrowfulness of Suraiya and Meena Kumari.

The noble, sacrificing concept of love went out as a more liberal wind blew though the country and its cinema. The Seventies woke up to Rajesh Khanna singing Mere sapnon ki rani kab aayegi tu, to a coyly dimpling Sharmila Tagore. His astounding popularity proved that love can be truly blind --- or after a generation of handsome and strapping heroes how would women moon over this plain-looking bloke?

The smile did it, and the unrelenting chivalry of his characters. The unhappy rich man of Amar Prem, the charmer of Aradhana and Kati Patang, whooping the anthem of romance Zindagi ek safar hai suhana with a laughing Hema Malini in Andaz, the flirtatious Mumtaz singing Bindiya chamgeki, choodi khankegi.

Soon, we were into the Bobby era and the open invitation of Hum tum ek kamre mein band hon. Teens of the period found in Rishi Kapoor and Neetu Singh (who obliged by having a real-life fairy tale love story as well) a reflection of their own youth and joie de vivre. The scene in Doosra Aadmi in which Neetu pulls the chain and runs out of the train to meet boyfriend Rishi was delightful in its spontaneity. Or that song they sing drunkenly in the street in Khel Khel Mein -- Ek main aur ek tu --- very cheeky, very Young.

Even Amitabh Bachchan and Jaya Bhaduri had their moments of touching romance before the old world charm of wooing went out altogether. They speak with their eyes in Zanjeer as street singers warble Deewane hain deewano ko na ghar chahiye ne dar chahiye, mohabbat bhari ek nazar chahiye.

Action killed the romantic star, Amitabh Bachchan of Deewar killed Amitabh Bachchan of Mili, and when a few years down the line he sang Jhumma chumma de de, delicacy went out of romance.

There was Kabhi Kabhie and Silsila the misty landscapes and tulip fields of Yash Chopra's films. Lovely yes, romantic yes (Shashi Kapoor taking off Rakhee's jewellery in Kabhi Kabhie, the chemistry between Amitabh and Rekha in Silsila), but also slightly distant and artificial like the well-appointed room of a five-star hotel compared to the natural beauty of a mountain cabin.

Rishi Kapoor showered Sridevi with flowers from a helicopter (Chandni), Shah Rukh-Madhuri-Karisma (Dil To Pagal Hai) celebrated Valentine's Day, Shah Rukh-Kajol took a European holiday (Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge), the simplicity of love was replaced by the attainable buying power of the new middle class. (Sahir had out it so aptly in his poem about Shahjahan mocking the love of the poor man by building the Taj Mahal).

The idea of romance now is a tapori singing Aati kya Khandala (Ghulam), Govinda serenading Karisma Kapoor with Main to raste se jaa raha tha, teri nani mari to main kya karoon, and Tere baap ke dar se or Shah Rukh Khan chasing Manisha asking her name (Dil Se), Salman Khan's buffoonery and Akshay Kumar's machismo and the girls all with a uniformly "sexy" look.

There are still some filmmakers who bring moments of romantic sensitivity into their films-which are a throwback to a more gracious age-Ajay Devgan's anguish in Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam, Akshay Kumar's gallantry in Dhadkan, the tongue-tied Tusshar in Mujhe Kucch Kehna Hai, Aamir Khan's searing Tanhaai in Dil Chahta Hai, Sunny Deol-Amisha Patel's pagdi tying scene in Gadar.

It may no more be the age of Mere Mehboob and Pakeezah where men fell in love with women's eyes or feet, and Ankhon hi aankhon mein ishara ho gaya may sound crashingly old-fashioned. But an SMS can never substitute for a scented love letter, just like a walk in the rain under a single umbrella (Pyaar hua, ikraar hua) still beats a dance in a disco (Keh diya you are my soniya) for sheer romantic appeal.

Thankfully, our films still believe in love, though they might have forgotten how to express it in style.