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Where do I begin? /To tell the story of how great a movie it could have been/6 great love stories that are older than the sea/The simple truth about the magic of movies,/Where do I start . . . . . . . . .?

Its ironic that the first ditty that should come to my mind as I leave the cinema hall, spent after three and a half hours of Salaam-e-Ishq, is the title track of Love Story, though of course somewhat mutated, given the harrowing time I have just been through. Right now I can be dismissingly condescending, scathingly critical or just plain bitchy but I am neither a Bollywood-phobe, nor a highhanded film critic nor a petty killjoy. I believe in cinema. I swear by pine-tingling celluloid love. And I love Bollywood. But what was the director thinking when he let six forced and vague tales of love meander across the screen for 200-odd minutes? Gross self-indulgence at the cost of the audience’s time and intelligence, is the answer I am left with.

As brand Bollywood becomes cooler by the minute, be it its potpourri of music, frenetic dance, kitschy fashion or PR-boosted actors/wannashines, any glimmer of real talent or greatness dies out before it can bloom. Every element of a person’s success is dissected, examined and analysed until it’s ensured that the person will be pretty incapable of repeating or bettering it; he’ll either be a victim of over-expectation or of megalomania. Greatness needs just two things to survive: innocence of ideas and self-discipline. And both are hard to come by in Bollywood.

Aditya Chopra and Karan Johar resurrected the essence of romance in Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenga and Kuch Kuch Hota Hai respectively. But the innocent abandon of those runaway hits brought with them acute self-consciousness as well as the pressure to better their best. Result? Each delivered what they thought would be the motha’ of all love stories viz. the insipid Mohabbatein and the marathon crybaby Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna.

Nikhil Advani, fresh out of the Dharma umbrella after a lover’s spat (what else would you call the endless Karan Johar mentions smattered throughout the film?) had to have his shot at making the motha’ of all love stories, which he proudly declared had been inspired in format from the British film, Love Actually. If this guy has actually done a facsimile then he should be applauded rather than criticised. Because Love Actually is a little gem of a film, where the script is the hero and big names appear in small parts to create a classic feel-good film which is a tribute to both Christmas and to the city of London. If Advani had pulled off such an adroit and stylish script he deserves a few hosannas sung in his honour.

But young Advani doesn’t understand the difference between a collage and a montage. Love Actually is a montage of moments from diverse stories which may be incomplete on their own, but eventually segue to form a complete story. Salaam-E-Ishq is a collage of six stories fitted haphazardly around each other, each in its entirety. And nothing really comes together thematically at the end, i.e, once you’ve braved six songs, umpteen twists and turns and tired homilies for a plot.

You so wish that the effort that has been put into the marketing and design of the film had been put into the story and script. Then maybe Advani would have had something more than just a desaturated blue screen to depict the ennui of Anil Kapoor’s life (very inspired from Traffic). And yes, what was that retrograde finale to the Salman-Priyanka story where she can either be a topnotch actor or his wife? And this from the guy who made Kal Ho Na Ho!

As I sat with a hall full of strangers booing at the screen, I realised that there are only two kinds of films. Those that connect with the audience and those that don’t. And as Michael Corleone would say, the latter types insult our intelligence and make us very, very angry.