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The Cinema Of Wishing & Acceptance: Notes On Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar & Kabhi Haan Kabhi Naa

This is #ViewingRoom a column by OTTplay's critic Rahul Desai, on the intersections of pop culture and life.

Rahul+Desai
Aug 31, 2025
Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar stopped being my favourite film as I evolved. My dad introduced me to the movie that replaced it: Kabhi Haan Kabhi Naa.
This column was originally published as part of our newsletter Stream Of Consciousness on August 31, 2025. Subscribe here. (We're awesome about not spamming your inbox!) *** MY FIRST FAVOURITE MOVIE as a child was Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar. I used to watch it on loop for the cycle race (and the “gear change”), a baby-faced Aamir Khan and the allure of hill-station college life. A particular storyline, though, would make me cringe. Not because it was badly done, but on the contrary, because I felt too seen. The working-class hero, Sanju, pretends to be rich to impress the posh new girl in town, Devika. He puts on a performance to woo her — a (borrowed) car, his friends play-acting as paupers, and fake allusions to a palatial home. He also pretends to not know his older brother at their humble family-run cafe. Basically, Sanju is ashamed of his own lineage. He tries to be someone he’s socially not.My conflict was more cultural. I often disowned my parents in public — or pretended to not know them — because they were perceived as too ‘Western’. They had house parties, danced, drank, smoked, lived large and engaged in late-night spats. They were like a young couple defying the rules of adulthood. I shied away if they picked me up from school; I made up stories about imaginary vacations and weekend outings. Naturally, I got teased for having a dad with a nasal voice and an alcohol problem, or a mom who looked like a model. I often found myself wondering why they couldn’t be like other parents: stable, traditional, humble, financially smart. When I went on sleepovers, I’d look longingly at friends’ families and the neat brackets they fell into. Some were doctors, some had dinner at the dining table, some played cards and told jokes.
A few decades later, not much has changed. I’m almost 40, my parents are separated, one of them stays with me, but I still find myself wishing they were…better. Only now, the reasons are different. Both of them don’t socialise at all; they have no friends left; they’ve isolated themselves from the society that once treated them like misfits. My father recalls past glories, remains proud, and continues to abuse his body well into his seventies. He doesn’t exercise and refuses to draw the curtains on a failed career; he spends his days chasing a last hurrah, telling others that we are still a family, and dozing off every evening in an empty apartment. My mother spends days in her bedroom playing Sudoku on her tablet, secretly smokes despite health warnings, and retreats to her corner the moment she senses guests around. I often wish they aged like other parents and elders — together, self-sufficient, traveling, having hobbies, having a community, simply hanging out with people without any preconceived notions and salty excuses. I notice my neighbour savouring her twilight years. Just be normal I think forlornly, when I see how reclusive my parents are. MORE FROM THE #VIEWINGROOM | The Great Expectations Of Past Lives
But what is “normal”? When I was a kid, I wanted them to behave like mature adults. When I’m an adult, I want them to behave like free-spirited kids. I know I’m being unreasonable for measuring them against others. After all, they never did that with me. If they were disappointed with my academic performance in school, they never belittled me by comparing me to ‘rivals’ and class toppers. They rarely mentioned other students and sons as examples to follow. I noticed most of the parents — even the cool sleepover ones — doing that with their children. I even felt uncomfortable being used as a benchmark at times. Study hard like Rahul they’d say, and expect me to be flattered at the cost of their own kids’ confidence. Motivation, they’d call it.That’s not to say my folks were faultless. If I misbehaved or failed to be polite with relatives, they’d view it as a reflection of my upbringing and, by extension, their shaky marriage. Manners were important because it validated their role as parents before partners. Their reputation mattered. Yet, when I went through a 3-year phase of social anxiety and abandonment issues, not once did they regret having a ‘troubled’ boy. If they did, they never let me know. It would’ve been easy for them to be embarrassed, or to hide me away from the world. My father probably had alibis for my sudden personality glitch, but I also sensed he felt responsible. My mother quietly embraced me for who I was; she looked for solutions, not psychological warfare. When things went wrong for me, I was no longer chastised. If anything, they protected me from judgey whispers and external impressions.

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I try to remind myself of their parenthood these days. I don’t plan to have children of my own, so perhaps our story is that of a closed loop. I can only pay it back, not forward. I may wish for improvements in my stubborn father and withdrawn mother, but I try not to let them detect it. I feel a little guilty for expecting more too, now that she’s been diagnosed with Alzheimer's. In a role reversal nobody asked for, she’s the one who gets stressed quickly now. If she’s upset, her sadness does not endure because she forgets what set her off. I casually drop hints about her former Buddhist groups or the fine weather to encourage outdoor jaunts. The tricky part is to not hold up people her age as superficial examples — some of them are fitter, some are adventurous, some are richer, some are just more alive. But maybe we’re all wired to think that the grass is greener. I remember a friend who used to praise my dad’s intellectual range to his parents. I could tell that he wished for similar conversations with them. A colony friend used to sneak into our flat for my mom’s cooking because eggs were banned at his place.
Acceptance is a tough pill to swallow, of course. While I spend half of my time resisting the temptation to lecture my parents, I spend the other half realising that I’m liberated enough to question them because of the individualism with which they brought me up. In a way, it’s not a dysfunctional family but a functional democracy. Like any secular-minded government, they are the ones who empowered their citizens to hold them accountable. So I did. And I do. Dissent is never quashed. They aren’t great at handling criticism — who is? — but at least they hear me out. At least I’m in a position to express my doubts and manage each other’s reservations.I suppose that’s why Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar stopped being my film as I evolved. The fact is that black sheep Sanju had to win a prestigious event to be redeemed. He had to earn his family’s pride and respect; his dad’s attitude changed the moment Sanju held the trophy aloft. It’s fun to watch, but the outlier is defined by the pressure to conform to society’s standards of success and victory. He had to prove himself. So maybe it’s sort of poetic that my dad introduced me to the movie that replaced it as my all-time favourite: Kabhi Haan Kabhi Naa. MORE FROM THIS AUTHOR | Mohammed Siraj, The Prince Of Providence
I’ve written about the Shah Rukh Khan starrer extensively over the years, but there’s a new dimension to my love now. Goa-based ‘loser’ Sunil didn’t have to become a hero to win his parents’ approval. After all his misdeeds and trials, they (and his friends) choose to accept him the way he is — no alterations, no miraculous transformations, no irrational changes. His academic failures stop mattering, and all he has to do is continue being himself. One would imagine this is a progressive message to Indian parents, with regards to the orthodox projections they enforce upon their children. But it also becomes a necessary reckoning for the children who grow up to enjoy the benefits of this message. I’m certain that a character like Sunil becomes a more empathetic caregiver in the future. He probably goes on to wish that his dad were less cranky or his mom were more assertive, but his memory of the night they validated his identity keeps him honest.
I revisit scenes of this film every other week, less as a fan and more as a ‘parent’ struggling to understand my responsibilities. When I see Sunil’s dad forgive him after being deceived by a fake marksheet, I see a person being trusted to stay authentic. I see the destigmatisation of the word “loser,” and an end to the scrutiny that our choices are subjected to. The circularity of life ensures that the person could be anyone, at any stage. Just as my parents let me come of age on my own terms, every day for me is a quest to let them grow old on their own terms. Without comparisons, without sighs, and without a burning desire to fix them. It’s a battle to let them be, not force them to become. Sometimes I can tell my dad what he wants to hear, and sometimes I can retell stories to my mom the way I had wished they happened. Sometimes they say yes and sometimes I say no. After all, what is imperfection if not the valour to be human?

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