So there, Mr Clever Critic. I've proved you wrong - again. You said my new movie was unadulterated trash. Well, it's hit unadulterated gold at the box office! Despite your nit-picking and nay-saying, I've shown it's lip-syncing and hip-swinging that rule our audiences' hearts. With some shirt-stripping. It's not your fancy Fellini or smarty-pants Scorsese, but me, half-pant hottie, shaking up our box office - the world's largest, may i add - for the last 20 years. You sneer that my flying-shirt act's growing a little old while it's actually getting better! Look at my muscles, my six-to-eight pack, my sturdy legs that both kick and pirouette. Which star in your beloved West has all this - or more? Frankly, i didn't have much either when i started, but as they say, persevere, puttar, and you shall achieve.
And achieve i have. I may not have won those prissy awards you keep raving about - Golden Bear or Diamond Duck - but i've broken every commercial record that matters, and some more too. For instance, looking drop-deadpan-handsome over two decades. Big deal if it involved hair transplants and a few other procedures we won't go into right now. All that naach-gaana in the hot sun or pouring rain, thumka to tango through 20 years - and looking thrilled each time. Romancing heroines as fat as my yummy-mummy, then switching to Size Zero sweeties without missing a beat. It's hard work. But someone's got to do it. And that someone's been me.
And guess what? Despite all your moaning about regurgitated formulae and hackneyed plots, viewers adore me because of my record-breaking feats. I may not be able to put it properly in words but boy, do my pectorals speak to them. Why do you think they go mad when i tear off my shirt? It's not because of chemistry, dummy, but because of history - they see every hour i've sweated it out, in gym and jail, my bulging body and heavy wallet speaking. They see their journey too - rayon to Teflon, frontbench 'cheapsters' to multiplex-hipsters, grubby popcorn in plastic packs to cheese and caramel feasts. When my shirt comes off, they see all the toil and tears it takes to make that ultimate blockbuster - the India story. And they love it.
That's why i'm still a superstar. Not an armchair intelli-gent complaining about unimaginative characters. Or saying art cinema doesn't get the money my movies do. Of course it doesn't! Who needs art when you have life in surround sound? Who needs sagas about struggle when i say it all with a whip of my shirt? When you criticise me, pal, you're taking on total India. So yaar, quit carping. Or else fight it out, pen to sword (let's just settle, once and for all, which is mightier!). After 20 years of guts and glory, i'm so Ready for you.
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