But the usual macho bluster isn’t there because Neerja is a woman. I don’t know how much of this is real and how much is embellishment, but that isn’t the point – the point is that all of this adds up to a grand hero-narrative. The others cower in fear, looking to her for support and direction.
On the flight too, after the hijack (as one of the terrorists, Jim Sarbh is superb, an explosive waiting to explode), Neerja is the only one who can function, the only one with pluck. Not only did she die young, not only did she die on her birthday, she died just when she found a man who wanted to marry her. (Neerja Bhanot died two days before her 23rd birthday, but the film nudges the date a little closer to her death, so there’s an added sense of tragedy: She didn’t just die young, she died on her birthday.) Note, also, the advertising hoarding at the traffic light where Neerja and the man who likes her (Shekhar Ravjiani) stop. And note the teary subplot about the yellow salwaar kameez, a birthday present. The ring that her mother had made (for her safety) goes missing the day of the ill-fated flight, and just as terrorists (affiliated to the Abu Nidal group) take over, the mother back home feels something, as though the universe were sending a sign. She’s a fan of Anand, and her favourite line is “ Zindagi badi honi chahiye, lambi nahin.” The happenings around her are portentous. Her mother had two sons and prayed for a daughter – she’s a gift from the gods, and gods’ gifts don’t last very long. Neerja is a heroine not just because of what she did on that plane (she was Head Purser), but because the character is “built up” in the manner of a hero, The Chosen One. This quasi-realistic approach revitalises the material, which is classic Indian melodrama. (That, of course, is its own kind of fun.) (The only other big name in Neerja is Shabana Azmi.) This adds to the docu-fiction feel director Ram Madhvani is going for, which is the opposite end of the spectrum from a disaster movie like The Burning Train, with stars in every compartment. I don’t want to oversell this aspect of these films, but it makes a difference when we’re watching the secondary parts being played by (relative) unknowns as opposed to say, Jimmy Shergill. They get box-office assurance from the star at the centre (Akshay Kumar there, Sonam Kapoor here), but the faces around them are mostly unfamiliar and come with no baggage, leaving the impression that we’re watching something… real. Both are a new kind of Bollywood movie, closer to Hollywood in terms of tone (refined) and treatment (slick). But that isn’t the only similarity between the films. Bollywood seems to have taken a shine to planes this year.