Welcome to DDLJ-land. It may sound a little, just a little, like La-la-land. (Yes, the la-la-land that Katrina lip syncs to in that awfully disturbing title song of Tees Maar Khan.) But this one is different. This one’s marginally more sane. Largely because yours truly has been living here since 1995. 
Here, you *have* to write lovey dovey poems in Hindi talking about Andekhe Anjaane guys.
Here, you believe that people must not name their kids Raj unless they are ‘Raj material’.
Here, you are supposed to hallucinate and show schizophrenic symptoms when you are in love.
Here, your hero should always take the mushkil raasta just because it is sahi and because his died-before-i-remember mom told him so.
Here, your dad is the villain in your life. Wait, lets strike that one off the list.
Here you are reminded at random times about how you should be a Hindustani and that your hero is infact a dhabba on a Hindustani. Oh and then, you have to wait for that moment when the hero makes a poor pigeon’s bullet wound septics by putting our desh ki powerful and magical mitti on the wound and hence prove his desi quotient.
Here, any act of supposed pervertedness on the part of your hero is to excused in the name of well, raj-ness.
However insane and lame this world is, I like it here. Nothing here is real. But I love looking for DDLJ-land in the not-that-smart ’real’ world. And to people who think DDLJ is little too melodramatic and aisa-real-life-me-thode-hi-hota-hai, let love, or whatever they call it these days, happen to you. I can count on you acting weirder, stupider and funnier than Raj and Simran ever did.
Indu.
