The minute the trailer to Netflix’s Real Housewives of Bombay (what I call the show on the basis that it’s a Transatlantic import of Andy Cohen’s hot mess) dropped, I messaged my Indian film critic friend, Rahul Desai, and told him, “everyone is going to hate on this show but they’re all going to secretly watch it”, he replied with a conceding “yup”.
As expected, despite the seething hate the trailer ignited on YouTube , the show was a number one hit in India, Pakistan, Bangladesh and UAE.
Fucking hypocrites.
I for one though always intended on watching this show. It looked like a blast to me. For those who aren’t triggered by the frivolous void that is reality TV (me) and who felt the merciless brunt of 2020 (also me), the Fabulous Lives of Bollywood Wives is a welcome respite. In an incredibly constricting year where even travel is near impossible, why wouldn’t I want to live vicariously through four likable ladies of leisure who live in big beautiful houses and get whisked off to exotic locales at the drop of a hat?
“Unlike the insufferable harpies in Andy Cohen’s reality shows, these ladies are civil, pleasant, unpretentious and genuinely funny! You’re more likely to laugh with them, not at them.”
Yes, what Seema Khan, Maheep Kapoor, Bhavna Pandey and 80s screen siren, Neelam Kothari, may lack in personality, they make up for in likability. They’re less like Andy Cohen’s manufactured banshees and more like your typical high society ladies who lunch. With the exception of Maheep Kapoor who cusses like a drunken sailor at everyone (possibly as a means to mask deep-seated insecurities), these ladies are civil, pleasant, unpretentious and, like most of us, they can be funny. You’re more likely to laugh with them, not at them.
And although these are reputable women who are well known across a country where everyone is indoctrinated to behave a certain way, they never put on airs. When Maheep, who is otherwise lovely, and Sanjay for example order escargot in a Parisian cafe, they don’t hide the fact that they have no idea how to draw the snails out their shells. The adorkable Sanjay decides to humorously self-deprecate while his Gen X wife quotes Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman (“slippery little suckers”) who faced the same predicament.
I can’t imagine bougie Delhite crones being this humble.
The show falters however with a few dull moments like a less-than-credible stalker side story and a slew of cameos. The cameos suck. They really suck. As much as I liked Jhanvi Kapoor in Gunjan Saxena, I do not want to see her flexing her Kendall Jenner connections. Nor do I want to see her equally annoying friend Ananya Pandey prancing around with a belt that reads “Online 24 Hours” – the irony being completely lost on her I’m sure. Her, Jhanvi and Sanjay and Maheep’s daughter, Shanaya, seem to all belong to the same species; a crossbreed of SoBo cognitive dissonance meets Valley Girl dumbness.
And Karan, the show’s creator, of course has to splatter himself all over the screen because the bitch seems hellbent on proving that he’s as ubiquitous as a vada pav walla in Bombay. He tries to act as a mediator between his gal pals the same way his now apparent idol, Andy Cohen, does on his Real Housewives shows and you just want to shoot yourself.
Earth to Karan Johar – you are not Andy Cohen. Bollywood folks need to stop feeling inferior to their American sister city counterparts. Yes you two are both vain, campy industry plants but, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, you are far more influential and have contributed much more to your respective industry, Bollywood, than that morally bankrupt, empty-headed cokehead ever has for Hollywood (justice for Kathy Griffin!)
Just when you think the show hasn’t submerged itself to deeper lows, in comes Shah Rukh Khan with his nauseating fake humility and unconvincing everyday man shtick.
“I came to Mumbai with 3 rupees…”
No is buying it, asshole.
This is these beautiful middle aged mothers’ moment to shine. Get off the stage!
