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I was sucked right in. I must have listened to the full song a few dozen times between then and now - and watched the scene, which has two Salman Khans performing increasingly manic dance steps.
I loved the tune, rhythm, lyrics with their evocation of old-world memories like iced Mangola, but also the visuals. The audacity of it, the crass maleness, the Salman-ness, and the fantasy scenes in the police station where Anupam Kher and other cops are both moral-policing and dancing along (because multiple possibilities can co-exist in this sort of sequence).
I love how politically incorrect the scene is, from the pelvic thrusts to the suggestion in the lyric, 'Samajh na mujhko aisa waisa/Mere batuwe mein hai paisa,' that the girl can only be interested in the guy for his ability to show her a good time - and how this lowest-common denominator approach can capture universal truths about the human experience.
(The scene where Salman sings 'Gupchup pyaar karenge yaara', and backup dancers suggestively bounce his and Karisma's 'chairs' up and down, reminds me of two amorous adventures in a dark film hall, 20 years apart -including in the sophisticated confines of IIC auditorium. We, non-tapori types, also do these things when the old hormones kick in.)
I have never watched Judwaa. I missed it when it came out because I was on a self-imposed exile from Hindi cinema. However, I did once have a bad relationship with its most popular songs. In early 1997, 'Tan Tana Tan' and 'Oonchi hai Building' kept me up nights, gritting my teeth, while a bunch of boisterous young men in the flat downstairs played them on a loop.
At first, the music was catchy enough. But as the same two numbers wore on and on, with the repeated 'lift teri bandh hai' and 'mudh ke dekh mujhe doobara' and the whoops and shrieks, it seemed to confirm everything about Hindi cinema being a universe I had left behind.
Nearly three decades later, the older versions of those men, now in their 50s, are still around. And when I see them speaking rudely on the phone, or picking fights with neighbours, it's easy to peg them as stereotypes of the Salman/bad boy fan. To shake one's head at the toxic behaviour of a 'Bhai' enthusiast.
But that is a simplistic way of looking at fandom. After my return to Hindi cinema from the wilderness, I have been a Salman buff in phases too, via films like Jaanemann and Bajrangi Bhaijaan. And before that, there was my mother, unfailingly egalitarian. She kept the faith during the much-maligned 1990s, and was a huge Govinda-David Dhawan fan who loved madcap humour, even if it tilted towards the off-colour. She would furrow her brow a little at 1990s songs like 'Sarkailo khatiya' - while also enjoying them.
What I learnt from her, more than anything, is to not be ashamed of what you love, if it has genuinely touched something in you or lit up some of your synapses. And now, after all these years, when I glimpse things I had once cut myself off from - but which she engaged with - I think again of how many ways there are of being a movie-buff, or a consumer of the 'popular.
And how easy it is, despite your stated likes, dislikes, principles or triggers, to be drawn into something that can be nourishing and meaningful by virtue of being fun. For many of us, the lift to massy films and songs is never quite 'bandh'.
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