The advance publicity for Karan Johar’s book, publicity of the kind any author and publisher would be thrilled with, focused mainly on the question of his sexuality and the cooling down of his relations with Kajol, one of his best friends in an earlier time. Interesting though these revelations were, they form a tiny part of An Unsuitable Boy. Indeed, they matter little in the overall scheme of things because there is much else to enjoy in the book.
An Unsuitable Boy, written with Poonam Saxena, who interviewed Johar extensively, is like the subject itself — garrulous, self-aware, funny and insightful, and, despite his protestations to the contrary, conscious of the Karan Johar “brand”. Johar is at his best when he talks about himself — as if he welcomed the opportunity to recline on the therapist’s couch and ruminate about his life, his joys and fears and his innermost demons. Saxena stays out of the picture, never interjecting and analysing. It would have helped though if she had written an introduction of her own, telling us how she went about it and what she discovered about her subject.
Like any good film, the book can be divided into three parts — the first section is about his growing up years and his fortuitous entry into the film industry. The middle part is about Dharma productions and some detailed — and often redundant — descriptions of his films and ,finally, some rumination on life, love and sex and where Bollywood stands today.
A good editor would have worked on the mid-section, cutting out some flab, because after a while, which actor said what when they were approached for the role becomes boring. But that is an extremely minor quibble — the strong first part and the finale are worth the price of the ticket.
We learn right up front that young Karan was an only child, a pudgy, under-confident South Bombay boy not quite fitting in for several reasons. Sent to boarding school, where Twinkle Khanna was his schoolmate, he left within a couple of days. He was readmitted to his old school, Greenlawns, because he had fluffed his chances of joining the more prestigious institutions. He remained an introvert and almost friendless till one day he won a cup in an elocution contest and then became popular — it is a charming memory, of a shy duckling turning into a swan. As sweet is his recalling of self-improvement classes from a couple who taught him to speak in a heavier voice and get rid of his somewhat effeminate demeanour. Not the kind of true confession a public figure is likely to make.
For non-Bombay readers, an explanation will help — South Bombay is code for snooty, old money, English-speaking, and far removed from the garish filmi world. Johar, however, was not as distant from the film industry as one might think — his father was a production controller and much loved by his peers. He frequently went to film sets. His mother enjoyed old Hindi songs which young Karan heard repeatedly. His childhood chums were kids of film people. In college, he discussed the movies with his friends. Drifting towards the film business was not that surprising.
Around that time he made friends with Adi Chopra, since both used to take the train home (which is probably an error, since Johar’s home is away from the train route). Something clicked and Johar started going across to Juhu — quite a distance, physically and culturally — from Malabar Hill. Adi, son of Yash Chopra, was immersed in Hindi cinema and both of them analysed films, young Karan concentrating on dissecting the costumes worn by the stars. In the loud 1980s, that should have kept him quite busy.
Adi was impressed and took inputs from him while writing the script for his first ever film, Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge. Meanwhile, Johar had graduated from college and was all set to go to Paris to train for his father’s garment business; it was this very venture that had kept the Johar’s home and hearth running, since the films that his father had produced had mostly flopped.
Adi called him on the eve of his departure and asked him to stay back and assist him on the film — Johar’s father, invested in his son’s happiness, said he could try it out for a year.
As we know, Karan Johar never went to Paris (though he goes to London and New York very often to think and write) and became part of the film industry.
Johar’s Dharma is a legacy from his father whom he was very close to. The three-member Johar family is very close and Karan says that after his father’s death his mother is no longer the sprightly fun-loving person she used to be. Karan Johar has taken Dharma to great heights, making extremely successful films, some of which he has directed. The house and its boss have come to be known for a certain kind of film.
“Zoya Akhtar told me one day, ‘People are saying I’m the new Karan Johar.’
I told her, ‘Don’t take it as a compliment. They don’t mean it as a compliment. They mean you are making films about rich and frivolous things that don’t matter.’
…I’m still associated with popcorn, bubblegum, frivolity, NRIs and rich people.”
This comment is followed by how his kind of films are panned in the industry for not being about real things. He can’t, he says, make films about the “slums of Dahisar and Dombivli not because I don’t emphathise with them — of course, I do.” But clearly he makes films about the world he knows best — the world of beautiful people in beautiful locations wearing beautiful clothes and fully accessorised. It is their emotional problems he is concerned with. He frets that even if he expresses opinions on serious matters he will be told to shut up, since he wears “expensive designer wear”.
This streak of honest admission extends to his personal life too. He speaks of trying to buy sex and retreating, somewhat humiliated, his lack of a hyper love and sex life and his filmi friendships that have gone through ups and downs, such as the one with Shah Rukh Khan who has acted in six of his films. And there is Karan Johar the risk taker, who braved the All India Bakchod roast (with his mother in the front seat), where he and his sexuality was made brutal fun of.
Most insightful are his thoughts on how the industry itself has changed and how he needs to make himself relevant and “cool” (his favourite word) to a newer generation.
When he began, he says, it was all about making the movie and little else.
“Now I am bothered about 35,000 people — Censor kya kahega, moral police kya kahega, Twitter kya kahega, Shabana Azmi kya kahegi, Shobhaa De kya kahegi… That time it was only distributors kya khayenge, audience kya kahegi.”
At 44, writing an autobiography may be a bit premature. And narcissistic too. But it is saved from being a total vanity project by Johar’s willingness to be candid and open up and Saxena’s astute questioning which draws him out. By this telling, Johar — devoted to his family, cultured and well-mannered, a good and generous friend and a successful business man — is a most suitable boy.
Sidharth Bhatia is a founding editor of The Wire. He is a journalist and writer based in Mumbai.
