Well, we all knew that Govinda Week had to come to an end:
(Hatya, 1988)
(Salaam-e-Ishq, 2007)
I don't even know where to begin to sum up this crazy week. But I want to say a huge thank you to everyone who blogged, podcasted, blipped and tweeted this week -- I learned a lot, and more importantly, I laughed a lot.
On a slightly personal note: life has been fairly challenging around Casa Totally Filmi since last November when my Tech Guy (who supports this obsession in a way I can never thank him enough for) lost his job, and as he's still unemployed, and I work freelance and earn precisely diddly and squat, I went through a period where I was really, really, really depressed, so depressed that not even the movies could cheer me up. I've gradually been clawing my way back up out of the darkness, and Govinda Week has done me more good than maybe even I realize at the moment.
So, from the bottom of my Govinda-loving-dil -- thank you. Thank you for reading my obsessive posts and tweets all week, and for adding your own to the mix. Govinda Week has been the most fun I've had in a very long while. And I truly believe that during Govinda Week, every single one of us?
(Chalo Ishq Ladaaye, 2002)
And a massive thank you to Govinda-ji himself, for films that make me laugh, and cry, and just are filled with so much joy (not to mention, cracktastic awesomeness, which we all could use a little of from time to time). Because Govinda-ji?
I was trying to figure out how to round out Govinda week, but I really didn't want to do anything else right now after Hatya. So I thought I'd throw together a few outtakes -- some screencaps from the film that didn't make it into my post, and yet, so deserve a look-see. Also? Still no spoilers -- I carefully left behind some shots (oh, some lovely stuff, too, but that should be even further motivation to go watch the film) which really did give stuff away.
This I took just because it was so beautiful and evocative:
(You should see the looks Sapna/Neelam gives him in that scene....)
And I totally forgot to mention that the music was done by the disco-licious Bappi Lahiri, which means we get just the right dose of cracktastic in this film:
(This song is from a dream Sapna has when she realizes she has fallen in love with Sagar. I'm with Sapna, it is *totally* my dream to dance on a giant tabla with Govinda.)
And despite what he says here:
(Yes, that is Johny Lever. There's a very small comic subplot that actually relates to the main plot, and it's actually a little funny and totally in balance with the rest of the film.)
There are fight scenes, and he does beat people up, and the action scenes are So Fine and yet so quick, so this is all you get:
And yet, the film is strewn with scenes so beautiful and tender they make your heart ache:
I truly believe that everyone who watches Salaam-e-Ishq and falls in love with Govinda as Raju Taxiwala should immediately watch Hatya as their second Govinda experience. In fact, I think all copies of SEI should come with a free copy of Hatya, just to ensure they don't have, say Money Hai Toh Honey Hai as the next image of Govinda burned into their brains.
And now, please? Someone? Please give him a wonderful role? Have I not given you enough evidence that he is both capable and worthy?
I cannot count the number of times I've seen Hatya -- so many that I'm thinking I may get a second copy of it, just in case one day my DVD stops working and, frankly, that's not a moment I really want to contemplate. And I do have a complaint: my DVD of the film claims a running time of 160 minutes, and the DVD clearly runs 150, and there are obvious cuts, so I want to know what those missing 10 minutes consist of.
Because until I know that, I have to tell you that Hatya is an interesting and mostly-well-constructed and slightly untidy thriller, and I cannot tell if it was made that way, or the result of some ham-fisted editing after the fact. What I do know, thanks to Nicki, is that Hatya is actually the Hindi remake of a Malayalam film, Poovinnu Puthiya Poonthenna that features the great Malayalam star Mammootty, and its director and writer Fazil is also given a story credit on Hatya.
(Aside: I am fascinated by Malayalam cinema, and although I've not seen a lot of films, I've seen enough to make me think that it's one of the gems of south Indian cinema, and given enough time and resources, I can see myself becoming obsessed by it. I already own a dozen films or so, and when I can track down this one and the Tamil remake that was also made of it, I'd love to do a comparison of all three films.)
So that's rather a long-winded way of saying that Hatya in the form I've seen it has a few flaws (including an extremely abrupt ending), but so much wonderful going for it that I'm going to give it the benefit of the doubt.
In Hatya, a small boy (the adorable Baby Sujitha, who I believe was in all three versions of the film) and his mother are witnesses to a murder in the film's opening moments.
The mother is killed, too, to cover all traces, but the little boy manages to escape.
In the meantime, we meet Sagar (Govinda), drunkenly dancing at a wedding:
...and later, drunk and picking a fight in a restaurant in order to defend a lowly waiter. He's a poor man, argues Sagar, he's already being kicked by fate, why should he have to suffer any more at the hands of louts? Sagar is a lonely man, trying to drown his sorrows, and picking fights with one wish in mind:
On his way home, Sagar finds the little boy laying in a pile of garbage at the side of the road, and takes him home. He sets out to figure out who this boy -- whom he names Raja -- is, and why he's alone.
If Hatya has a message, it's outlined in its opening song ("Ghunghat Ke Pat Khol", which I dearly wish I could find online): "Every crime will be punished, and every secret will be out."
The mystery we're meant to unravel in Hatya, though, is not the mystery we might first think it is. We know who the murderers are, and of course, we are meant to believe that Sagar must figure out who they are so he can protect Raja from them. Then there's also the mystery of the little boy: where does he come from, and why does he never speak? And there is also Sagar's mystery to unravel, as well: why is he alone? Why does the 18th of November cause him such grief? Why does such a good man have no will to live?
All of these questions are answered, gradually, as the film progresses, and as the murderers come ever closer to finding Raja.
Hatya's central theme is, though, one of redemption: Sagar believes the fates are against him, but in rescuing Raja, in caring for him, in protecting him, in loving him like his own child, Sagar finds the courage and the desire to turn his fate around.
Through Raja he also meets Sapna (Neelam) and falls in love with her, a romance conducted through sidelong glances and which is so sweet and tender that it is probably my favorite Govinda/Neelam moment ever in film.
Neelam, too, is terrific here as the chatty Sapna -- she is bright and positive and cheerful, but she's also determined and resourceful and when the going gets tough, she does not crumble, knowing that she, too, needs to protect Raja and help Sagar when it seems that he is going to be implicated in the murder.
I love Hatya for a number of reasons, not the least of which is Govinda's performance. I'd almost be willing to place money on the fact that when he was looking for someone to play Raju Taxiwala, director Nikhil Advani had seen Hatya and thought of Govinda, because I am convinced that in Sagar, we see the seeds of what will become Raju.
So many moments in Hatya stand out for me, not the least of which is one brilliant scene, when Sagar finally reveals the story behind all his sadness. At one point, he grabs his whiskey bottle and starts taking swigs from it, and as his story progresses and he takes more and more swigs, he gets progressively more and more drunk, until he finally passes out on the floor. It has to be amongst the most challenging things an actor can do, I think, and he does it almost effortlessly.
Sagar is not a perfect performance -- but Govinda brings a reserve, a melancholy, a toughness, a tenderness to the role that is at times breathtaking.
Did you ever have one of those romances -- first love, hits like a lightening bolt, leaves you breathless, and it's so much fun, and you think it will never end, and then, slowly, over time, things change and yes, he's still funny, but the slapstick routine is a little tiring, and you begin to see less and less of each other, and the next thing you know you're watching Main Hoon Na and remembering how swoon-worthy SRK is and rewatching Amit-ji in his Angry Young Man days, and then? And then...it's over.
And it's fine, you're fine, you move on, you drift apart, and you don't even think about him, because there are just too many other fine actors and good films out there to take your mind off things.
Until that day. That fateful day.
The day you finally watch Nikhil Advani's Salaam-e-Ishq. And you know he's in it, but you watch it anyway, because it's a big cast and he has a small role and you are so over this that it's fine, okay??
And then, this happens:
(Salaam-e-Ishq, 2007)
And all those emotions come flooding back, like, how did you ever drift apart, how could you have forgotten how sweet and tender and, well, how bloody talented he is? And, dammit, why did it take him so long to show you he was still the charming, talented guy you first fell in love with?
(Salaam-e-Ishq, 2007)
The relationship started out innocently enough: Love 86. Ilzaam. You thought he was adorable. You loved his dancing. You defintely had a crush on him.
And then, Hatya. And you fell hell over heels in pyaar, and you thought, "This! This is it! This is the real deal!" And you thought that pyaar was enough, that it would sustain you through "Meri Pant Bhi Sexy" and a string of awful films, but it wasn't, it wasn't, dammit!
And then he blindsided you with Raju Taxiwala, and you took your copy of Hatya off the shelf and dusted it off and put it in the player, and you fell in love all over again.
This, then, is the kind of relationship Govinda and I have these days. He makes Money Hai Toh Honey Hai, I watch Hatya. He makes Do Knot Disturb, I watch Hatya. It's a long road we've been on, Govinda-ji and I,
I couldn't let Govinda Week go by without taking a brief look at his role in Mani Ratnam's film Raavan, which opened today, and which I saw this afternoon.
Brief look, because this is NOT a review of Raavan. Hours after seeing it, I'm still thinking about the film, and I think I'll wait until I can watch it again when it comes out on DVD before I really put any thoughts down about it.
However -- what I do say here will very likely contain SPOILERS, so don't read on unless you've seen the film (or you don't care about the SPOILERS). Also, please to be forgiving, because I am relying on my memory here, which may be a little muddled, as there was so much to take in with this film.
Okay, let me also be clear: I *know* that Raavan is not a Govinda film, per se (though it was interesting to see that he got third billing in the opening credits, right after Abhishek Bachchan and Aishwarya Rai Bachchan). And despite all the speculating, I knew it was going to be a small role. In fact, director Mani Ratnam said so himself in an interview about the film:
“Sometimes, we cast faces against the image. When you’re putting the cast together, you realise that for a certain role with limited screen time, a star will be essential because he or she can add meat to the character. Govinda easily blended into his character,” the director said. And putting an end to all controversies about a dispute between himself and Govinda, he added, “Govinda put in an extra effort and made the role interesting despite its screen duration. He makes a considerable impact with his performance.”
And, in fact, it is a small role. A very, very small role. Now, I know you're going to say I'm biased, because, well, it's Govinda, but I honestly think there was not enough of Govinda's character, Sanjeevani. I also don't think there was enough of Vikram, either, but there we are.
I will add, too, that all the supporting roles in the film are very small, and all are generally well acted -- in particular, I was impressed by Priyamani as Beera's sister Jhamuniya, and Ravi Kishan as Mangal.
And after all those denials that the film was not a retelling of the Ramayan, well, of course, it is (with some twists), though I'm certainly no expert in this case. And after all those denials that Govinda was playing Hanuman, well -- he is, or at least a character based on Hanuman.
I wish I had a screencap of the moment we first meet Govinda's Sanjeevani, drunk and laying across a No Trespassing barrier, because it is a brilliant one. Policeman Dev Sharma (Vikram) is searching for his wife Ragini (Aishwarya Rai Bachchan), who has been abducted by the outlaw Beera (Abhishek Bachchan). Sanjeevani leads Dev and his men through the forest as they search for Ragini.
Sanjeevani knows the forest, he knows its inhabitants, and he treads a line between Dev's world and that of Beera, talking to the locals and trying to find the trace of "Madam" as he comes to call her:
The point of Ratnam's film, though, and its essential twist, is that our hero, Dev, is not totally good, not the completely good man Ragini believes her husband to be; nor is Beera all bad, either. In fact, we discover that Beera is doing all the wrong things for very compelling (if not right) reasons, and Dev -- well, Dev may be on the side of the law, but his methods turn out to be brutal, and his priorities askew, and it's through Sanjeevani that we discover much of this.
Sanjeevani is, I would argue, the film's moral compass, and why I believe there's not enough of his character in the film. When one of Dev's officers, Hemant (Nikhil Dwivedi), is returned after being captured and tortured by Beera, he arrives back at camp naked, mud-covered, his head shaved, and tied to a board tied to an animal, Sanjeevani's reaction is two-fold: first, incredible compassion for Hemant, he is distressed at how Hemant has been treated, how he has been shamed and how his dignity has been compromised. And then, when Dev fails to ask about Ragini, Sanjeevani chides him. "And Madam?" he asks, worriedly, "Hemant was with them for 8 hours, she's been with them for 8 days".
Sanjeevani's concern for Madam and his perplexity at Dev's mixed-up priorities (he seems to be searching for Beera first, and Madam second) leads him to take off and find her himself, to bring her a token from Dev, to reassure her -- and then end up captured by Beera himself.
Which leads to another scene I wish I had a screencap of -- Sanjeevani has been tied up, but they've given him a bottle and a glass, and he convinces them to try to make peace with the police, and they listen, because they respect him, and he respects them. And all of this in a fraction of time -- these moments truly are bite-sized, and Govinda makes the most of them. Sanjeevani remains loyal to Madam, too -- he will not leave without her, he tells Beera.
"Then I guess you're not leaving," is Beera's reply, though he is convinced to let Sanjeevani leave with one of his followers to go to try talk to Dev and come to some understanding.
The last view we see of Sanjeevani is this:
No, he doesn't die, but from here on in, the film ends up being a battle between Dev and Beera. But the last thing we hear from Sanjeevani? He's running around during the battle, trying to find Hemant to make sure he's all right.
It's true, Sanjeevani is a small role, and yet, it's one that is filled with compassion and humour and Govinda makes the most of it. Sanjeevani is grizzled, he's grubby, and initially seems disillusioned with where he's ended up. It's not a pretty role:
But it's the kind of role I really hope someone will be convinced to give Govinda more of.
In doing some research for Hatya this week, I discovered that it's a remake of a Tamil film called Poovizhi Vasalile (and from what little I've been able to see of the Tamil original, it looks like it's probably a fairly faithful remake -- though I'd dearly love to get a DVD myself, rather than relying on clips from the interwebs).
But I've been fascinated at the treatments of what's pretty much a song at the same moment in each film -- and from what I know of both films now, each version has something to commend it.
First, "Chinna Chinna Roja Poove" from Poovizhi Vasalile:
Govinda has been quoted as saying that of all his films, the only ones he truly likes are Hatya (about which I'll write something in the next few days) and Swarg. I actually dealt with Swarg rather extensively on Episode 14 of the podcast, so I would encourage you to take a listen to that, but I had a request from commenter Suhan S to review the film, and since I know the podcast and the blog have mostly different audiences (with a little overlap), I thought perhaps I'd write a little bit here about it as well.
I think it's quite likely that Swarg's themes -- including duty, family, respect for the mother -- are part of why this film rates as one of Govinda's two favorites. They're themes that come up time and again in his interviews, and from what little I know of the man, they're themes that seem important to him.
I won't say that his performance in Swarg is his best -- but it is certainly up there as one of the better ones in his filmography.
La Vanessa wrote an interesting review of the David Dhawan directed, Govinda (and Salman Khan) starring film Partner a while back, in which she described coming to terms with the trademark Dhawan comedy style after first seeing Govinda first in Salaam-e-Ishq, and I think that one of the reasons I think Swarg is an important film to watch is that it's a perfect reminder that both Dhawan and Govinda have done a broader range of films than perhaps either of their filmographies might otherwise lead you to believe.
Don't get me wrong -- Swarg is not a great film. It is, however, a well-constructed, entertaining family drama, that works both because of the immense talent of the great actor Rajesh Khanna, combined with the light-hearted charm, as well as the depth, of Govinda's performance. It is a big, sweeping melodrama, with lots of twists and turns, and that, too, before such a thing was even a twinkle in KJo's eyes. In all honesty, this type of melodrama is generally not my tasse of chai, but Swarg is a film I come back to again and again, and not just for Govinda. (Really.)
Govinda plays Krishna, the family servant, who was an orphan child that Kumar Sahib (Khanna) brought into his household. More than a mere servant, though, Kumar Sahib considers Krishna like a brother, so important is he in the life of he household. Each member of the family, says Kumar Sahib, is like a pearl, and Krishna is the string that connects them.
Krishna, however, dreams of being more than a servant -- he wants to become an actor, a dream the members of the household indulge him in, probably never really believing it will actually be anything more than the dream of the devoted servant willing to give his life to protect the honour of the household, and in particular the honour of its younger sister, Jyoti (played by the lovely and talented Juhi Chawla).
(Oh, honey, I do know, which is why I'm working so hard to show everyone!)
Krishna is always honing his acting talents, and one of the film's songs gives him an opportunity to show them off. Jyoti and her friends want to go to see Amitabh Bachchan's latest film, Don, and send Krishna to buy tickets. The house is full, though, so instead, Krishna offers them up his versions of filmi heroes (including a nod to Don's "Khaike Paan Banaras Wala", a tip of the hat to Raj Kapoor, and a bit of Hot Papa Khanna playing the accordian in Amar, Akbar, Anthony):
One of the things that strikes me about the film is how it uses the strengths of its two stars, Rajesh Khanna and Govinda. In the first half of the film, Kumar Sahib (Khanna) is a successful businessman, a risk-taker, someone at the top of his game. He has everything, and even his body language oozes confidence. Krishna (Govinda) is his servant, a man who has a place, and who is helpless to do much but dream of a different future for himself.
Kumar Sahib's fortunes change, and as he begins, slowly, to lose everything he has, gradually he becomes more and more helpless, unable to act. He becomes bent, and broken, and ill, and the last action he is able to take himself is to make sure that Krishna doesn't remain stuck in the household, that he doesn't get sucked down with him as his fortunes fail. Krishna, the faithful servant, would never have left unless he'd been thrown out, but once his hand is forced, then Krishna, finally, is forced to take his fate into his hands and become, finally, an active participant in his destiny.
And this, I think, is the key to the film, at least for me: this ensures that Krishna -- who takes off for Mumbai, and ends up working in the film industry as a spot boy, thanks to an incredible bit of luck -- well, it ensures that Krishna, and thus Govinda, has rather more to do in the second half of the film than he does in the first.
And here is where we find yet another one of those gems of a performance from Govinda. As Krishna, he overcomes difficulties through hard work and with more than a little luck.
One of the charms, for me, about Swarg is that there is an unabashed love of films that is scattered throughout: Krishna the would-be actor, of course, provides the opportuntity to sprinkle references and imitations throughout the film. As I mentioned, the film Krishna fails to get tickets for is the Amitabh Bachchan-starrer Don, and at one point, Krishna dreams he is the hero in the fight scene from Deewaar, which is a perfect opportunity to be reminded that in his early films, Govinda was actually very good at the fight scenes.
(My theory is that fight scenes are just choreography and knowing how to move, and this is something Govinda just does naturally as a dancer, anyway, so why not as a fighter, too?)
Krishna's whole purpose in life, though, is to make enough money to try to pay off his master's debts to help him out, and when he's not able to just working behind the scenes in the movies, he prays to God to help him. And, in another nice self-referential touch, it's while he's working as a spot-boy on this film:
.
That he finally gets his big break as an actor. Krishna gets a chance to replace the Big Star who can't remember his lines and is pulling a total diva act, and he delivers a ripping performance that causes the director to realize he's discovered a new star. More self-reference, as Govinda's own filmography is used to show us the series of hits Krishna has starred in, and then the film ends with Krishna seeking revenge for everything that has happened to his beloved master, Kumar Sahib.
What I love about Swarg is that it shows us a Govinda who is a well-rounded performer, a very good actor capable of standing up next to a star like Rajesh Khanna, and capable of carrying a film on his own. Swarg is a film that reminds us why Rajesh Khanna was Indian cinema's first superstar, but truly, in the end, Swarg is a film that clearly belongs to the very talented Govinda.
As Krishna, Govinda navigates the twists and turns and ups and downs of the melodrama, and I think I'd say that the songs/dances in this film are amongst some of my favorites. I might even be willing to argue that Swarg shows us a Govinda who had the potential to become a great filmi hero, though it's clearly a potential that he's never managed to capitalize on (and I say that as someone who loves him to bits).
Yes, indeed, you do, and it's called Hatya. Saving what may be the best for last.
I'm actually in the middle of writing up a piece about Swarg, and I'm not sure exactly which of these I'm going to use, if any, in the piece, and I enjoy the songs just too much to let Govinda week go by without featuring them, so, what better time than now, what better place than here? Please to be noting how lovely and fun all of these are!
(Note: All spellings are as listed on my DVD. Take that for what it's worth.)
1. Filmo Ke Saare Hero
Krishna (Govinda) puts on a show when he can't get tickets to the movies for Jyoti (Juhi Chawla) and her friends:
2. Tum Sajna Ki Ghar
Krishna may be helping celebrate the engagement of Jyoti, but we all know the two of them will end up together in the end, because they are just so cute it cannot be any other way (and Krishna's magic masala predicting tray reveals all, too):
3. Bam Bam Bam Bambai:
Krishna moves to Mumbai, finds a job as a spot boy in his beloved film industry, and declares his love for his newfound home!
4. Aye Mere Dost:
Yeah, it's not a full clip. Kumar Sahib (Rajesh Khanna) misses his servant and friend and brother, Krishna:
5. Kaise Kate Din:
Did I not tell you they'd end up together? The magic masala tray is never wrong:
Yes, the podcast is back! Govinda Week was the perfect opportunity to try and revive it, though I must admit, this episode is pretty much rubbish because I'm really out of practice doing audio stuff and need a lot more work. Also, because I say precious little about the films, mispronounce stuff, and give some spoilers. So here's a little value added stuff here on the blog to try to round it all out. Warning: spoilers in the audio, and likely spoilers here on the blog, so don't listen/read if you really haven't watched the films yet.
First up, Shola Aur Shabnam from 1992. David Dhawan directs, and Govinda and Divya Bharati star. Essentially, my feelings about this film are that the first half is a lot of fun, and the second half is very dark and takes a long time to get where it's going, not to mention making me a little troubled about Divya's character. I'm not being coy, I'm just not sure what to say about the film, especially since my version has no subtitles. But compare this first half number, with this one from the second half (which in the context of the film I find a little troubling, not to mention the fact that the poor woman is dancing barefoot on what looks like dry scrub).
And then, Aankhen from 1993, a film I have now seen four times, all without subtitles, and I am now desperate to find a copy of it with them, because I cannot believe how much this film has grown on me through four viewings of it.
Essentially, it's the story of brothers Bunnu (Govinda) and Munnu (Chunky Pandey), a couple of good-hearted ne'er-do-wells and practical jokers who are the bane of their father's (Kader Khan) existence. The first half of the film takes rather a lot of time establishing Bunnu and Munnu's characters and following their endless hijinks, until finally they stumble across the plot of a bunch of baddies (led by Shakti Kapoor, who I actually might not mind in this negative role if it were not for too many shots of him wandering around shirtless in leather bondage outfits, and I will spare you any screencaps of that) to substitute a look-alike for a Chief Minister for nefarious purposes the subtleties of which escape me due to lack of subtitles.
Bunnu and Munnu spend a lot of time in the first half getting up to hijinks in identical outfits:
We're a couple of swells...
We stop at the best hotels...
In June, July, and August, we look cute when we dress in shorts! (Not to mention, kinda hot when we wear navy shirts and pants):
(Awww...is that not a face only a masala film-maker could love?)
I have to say, Govinda just shines in this film, and poor Chunky, well -- he does an admirable job keeping up with him, but the second half of the film just belongs to Govinda, probably right from the moment he's captured by the gang and tortured:
(Yes, yes, that is wet Govinda.)
And most especially when he turns up as his second avatar, Gauri Shankar:
...and then just rips through the rest of the film in a terrific dual performance:
(Okay, yes, even more wet Govinda. I take back what I said.)
Any wonder why this was the biggest hit of 1993? No longer any doubt in my mind, at all.
Oh, SRK, you know how I love you, especially in Om Shanti Om!
(Om Shanti Om, 2007)
And I hate to break it to you this way, but....Govinda did it first:
(Tan Badan, 1986)
And yes, this gives me a perfect excuse to talk about Govinda's first ever film, Tan Badan, from 1986:
Or, it would give me the perfect excuse, if I could actually manage to find the film, which has become the Holy Grail of all true Govinda fans. I know it has existed on DVD in the past, and I have seen precisely three clips from the film:
"Main Bhi Jawa" -- which is so low-budget on both music and choreography and effects that they couldn't afford an actual rain scene, just a hose:
(Aside: I have this unwritten list of rules for Govinda, and number one on it is that Govinda should never, ever, get wet.)
And, of course,this, which I find in two places labelled as either "Meri Nahin Bansi Ki Dhun" or "Krishna Krish", which features what Vanessa over at Shahrukh is Love has dubbed "the silver pants of awesome" (seriously, break out your sunglasses for this clip):
One day, this film will be mine. Oh, yes, it will.
When Govinda Week was just a twinkle in my eye, and I was trying to figure out what the heck I was going to do for a banner or a badge, the always wonderful Beth Loves Bollywood wrote and asked if I'd like her to approach the talented V Love Movies to make one for me.
Would I? Would I? Who wouldn't long to have an image such as the great one made for Beth's own Khanna-o-Rama?
Thankfully, V Love Movies agreed, and happily, I can share with you the TWO wonderful badges for Govinda Week:
Why two?
Well, to be honest: a while back I read an article in which it was claimed that Govinda isn't fond of people calling him Chichi, so I kind of hesitated. Officially, this is Govinda Week. But the truth is, every single Govinda fan I know calls him by his nickname, and with such love and affection that I'd like to think that if the man ever came across all our posts, he'd know that we mean it in the nicest way possible.
So, two badges: save whichever one pleases you and use it on your blog if you're participating in Chichi Week...er....Govinda Week.
And a MASSIVE thanks to V Love Movies, for truly capturing the essence of Govinda in those badges, and to Beth for making it all happen!
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