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Prachi ‘melodrama’ Parekh, who suffers from chronic film flu, shares the symptoms for future case studies

Ever since I can remember, I have been suffering from the filmi virus. It’s impossible for me to speak in normal sentences. The fact that I am hooked on to films doesn’t help either. And not meaningful cinema like Astitva or A Wednesday. I like watching Karan Arjun, Mohabattein and the likes. Yes, I suffer from filmi disease and it’s not an easy disease to bear…(for others, I mean).

Exaggerating every thing is one major side-effect. A friend had lent me his pen and I thanked him: “Tumne meri mushkil asaan kar di. Yeh sirf pen nahi hai, humaari dosti ka saboot hai.” He simply stared at me for a few seconds, slowly removed his pen from my hand and hastily walked away. I never met
him again!

This disease results in using too many words in place of simple, direct sentences. Unfortunately, this side-effect happened to surface when my dad was in one of his bad moods. I informed him that my friends were coming to visit. He asked grumpily, “How will they make it this late hour.” I opened my mouth to say, “Oh, they’ll manage,” but what came out was, “Mere dost aayange. Aasman ka seena cheer ke aayenge, dharti ki chhaati phaad ke aayenge, lekin mere dono dost zaroor aayenge.” My dad still hates Karan Arjun.

Parampara, pratishtha, anushasan…yeh is Gurukul ke teen stambh hai…” when Big B said this dialogue, I too, along with the crowd, had looked around with ‘arre kya bol raha hai yaar’ expression. But I was awed by it, nonetheless. Affinity towards usage of heavy words is another grave repercussion. I usually find myself using words like “sangharsh, mahatvapoorn”, and my friends usually have the ‘multiplying-134896-by-13-mentally’ expression when I talk.

As the filmi virus spread, I found myself getting highly sentimental. Once, during phone conversation, my friend said, “Arre main tujhe batana bhool gayi…” Without waiting to hear further I began, “Bas…tu bhool hi jaa mujhe. College khatam ho gayi toh dost ko kaun yaad rakhega, na? Paanch saal ka saath aise hi mita diya…” I later came to know that she had apparently just forgotten to say that her neighbour’s cat had given birth to kittens.

My ability to churn cheesy romantic dialogues provides great entertainment when I meet my hopelessly-in-love friends. ‘Arre tu door hai to kya hua, dil toh jude huye hai na’, ‘teri aankhon se tere dil ka haal bayaan hota hai’, ‘Tujhe yahaan laga aur waha uske dil ke tukde tukde ho gaye’- it’s amazing how fast they go from normal colour to flaming red (and in one case, from flaming red to pale, ghostly white cause she had just broken up. Oops).

The filmi virus has opened my voice box to its fullest capacity! Confused? Well, confusion toh zindagi ka ek atoot hissa hai. Zindagi toh paheli hai jise humein samajna hai. Kaash bhagwan likh ke deta ki hume kab, kaha, kya karna hai…get the drift? Basically, I can talk filmi nonsense non-stop. It’s not a good thing sometimes, which I realised when my third cousin asked, “Remember me?” Honest answer was ‘No’. Instead, I said, “Yaad to unhe kiya jaata hai jinhe kabhi bhoolaya ja sake…” He probably won’t talk to me for another 20 years.

Family support is rare when you suffer from filmi flu. When I tell my brother, “Bhaaaii, tum remote dete ho ki nahin!” he rolls his eyes and shakes his head like trying to get rid of an irritating fly. My mother’s eyes spring up with tears every time she hears me say things like, ‘bas na, pal mein paraya kar diya’ or ‘aise chhote mote ehsaan to hum karte rehte hai’. She probably wonders “Hey Bhagvan, maine tera kya bigada tha? Kyun tumne meri hi beti ko…” Maybe this disease is heredity!
I’d tell you more, but Hum Saath Saath Hai has just started, so I have to stop. I know what you are thinking, but it’s a bit too late for medical help. Mujhe dawa ki nahin, dua ki zaroorat hai!

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