I am instantly transported to afternoons on the school bus. Going back home. The bus driver liked to keep up to date with all the latest film songs. As was (and is) with the cheaper cassette players, the tape was played a little faster than intended. As a reason, I remember this song being a bit more fervent-beat filled than it actually is.
I also remember that Divya Bharti was a rage at that time, and that she died a year after this film was released. I think she was one of the first “famous young people who died young” that kids my age registered. And when it comes to absurd connections, I also remember that Kurt Cobain died exactly a year after Divya Bharti died. To the date. I don’t think they both are aware of the connection.
Deewana had such an absurd plot. But that was the fun of it. Alka Yagnik’s voice is so high-pitched that my goosebumps hurt. It’s too screechy for you to be able to sleep, but also repetitive enough to lull you into blank stares at Delhi in the scorching sun. To this day, I cannot listen to the song without my hand reaching for a glass of cool water. So much for afternoons in the school bus.
The early 90s are a strange orphan. Not as lyrical as the 70s or 80s perhaps. Their fashion sense strangely devoid of aesthetics. The movies becoming louder, but in a way, lacking the finesse of later productions. To say this is the “20th century”, was cringeworthy. Because, dude, it was nearly the end of the century. The heroines knew they had to wear something short. But everything was so frilly. Their hairstyles, their frocks. It wasn’t big. Just frilly. Cable television had entered the market, but it was still alien.
Then Divya Bharti died. It was almost only five years to the millennium. Sushmita Sen won some crown. Frills were out, and the next century claimed – because you know “It’s almost the 21st century.”. The early 90s, like awkward pre-pubescent kids chewed gum, and almost immediately, the frills from the frocks and polka dotted scarves disappeared.