Pink chaddi to you!

(Warning: angry, graphic, uncensored post dealing with unpleasant realities of my country. If you are easily offended or have a weak belly, do not read and do not post comments that are irrelevant to the matter of this blog. Comments are moderated.)

I am not a fan of protests and candlelight rallies. I try to keep away from mindless jingoism and shouting hoarse on issues when nothing is likely to come out of it. I don't believe hanging or castrating rapists is the solution. The present laws, I believe, are enough to deal with the crime, if only implemented. And yet, last Sunday, I joined the small group of students shouting anti-rape slogans at Azad Maidan in Mumbai. Because I don't know what else I can do.

Gory details of the heinous gang rape of a 23-year-old girl in Delhi refuse to leave my imagination. But even worse than the lump I feel in my throat every time I hear of her condition worsening, is the sickening realization that being thrown out in an unconscious state, so battered and bruised and unable to speak for herself, is what has earned her the sympathy of a nation and treatment in a hospital abroad on government tab. As pointed out very knowledgeably by a certain well-meaning female scientist, “Had the girl simply surrendered (and not resisted) when surrounded by six men, she would not have lost her intestine." And verily become another statistic.

Maybe she would have kept mum about the incident, gone back home and resigned herself to a life of shame in a small town that is quite unforgiving of its transgressing daughters. Somehow, what happened to her would have been seen as her own transgression. Or maybe she would have tried to register an FIR at the nearest police station, and the police officer would have blamed her for being out at an indecent hour wearing indecent clothes and bringing this on herself. She might even have been accused of trying to pass off a consensual orgy for rape, because that's the kind of things "these girls" do. By these girls, I mean girls nowadays who dress immodestly, interact freely with boys and eat too much chowmein. All those chowmein jokes don't sound so funny now, do they?

My scientist sister has even questioned the appropriateness of the girl being out at 10 pm with a guy. Rather than be angry at her, I'm angry at the fact that I can't completely dismiss her statement. Two days ago during a visit to my hometown, I was walking home after dinner at my uncle's house with two of my nieces, aged 10 and 13. I couldn't shake of a feeling of uneasiness and couldn't help question the wisdom of walking that one kilometer late in the evening with two young girls. This, in my home town, in the very streets I used to pass on my way to school since I was 7. 

But that's not even where that anguish begins. The one trigger, one comment that has disturbed me the most, that haunts me and gnaws at my sanity was from a conversation I overheard among some female colleagues in office more than a week ago.

Three very modestly dressed women in my office were discussing the relative garishness of girls in Delhi, and the conversation quickly moved to the gang rape incident. One of them suggested that it is quite likely that this girl who was out at the ungodly hour (according to the victim, it was actually 9:30 pm when she boarded the bus. Yes, you can't be safe on our streets at 9:30 pm!) was probably "at it" with her boyfriend, the sight of which aroused the men into action. The lady who made this statement is a doctor.

If you are that lady, I'm sorry to report a bit of conversation that I wasn't even part of, but I couldn't turn a deaf ear that day. I'm sorry I'm venting it out here on a public blog instead of talking to you and updating you on the actual facts of the case, but I can barely look at you any more. I cannot tell you how much your words, that weren't about me or even addressed to me, have hurt me. I worry for your daughter, and more so for the son you might have some day, who'll grow up on the values you pass on to him. I worry that he'll grow up thinking that if a woman doesn't live up to his ideals of good dressing and modest behavior, then he would be forgiven for molesting her, defiling her and impaling her with an iron rod. He might do all this, secure in the knowledge that his mother approves.

So while I know that my shouting "Stop Rape" at passers-by outside CST, lighting candles, or a parliamentary session to debate capital punishment for rapists, or even the harshest punishment to the accused in this case may not change much in our country, and there will always be sick people among us doing sick things to women, I still stood there among the protesters that day. If an equivalent of the inane pink chaddi campaign is launched to make a statement against rape, I'll mail a piece of innerwear to whoever they're all mailing it to. Not because I think mailing undergarments will change the world. Just to announce that even though I'm helpless to help 'Amanat' and the thousands of girls like her, even though I'm clueless as to what I can do to change anything around me, even though I don't know how to channelize my anger to make anyone's life better, even as more incidents reported every day are slowly chipping away at my free spirit and my confidence, the one thing I do know is whose side I'm on.

Oh. My. God!

Not related to the post, but you can't say Oh My God without thinking of Janice.

I'm something of a food snob - I hate substitute ingredients and short-cut procedures. Now when this friend claims that she can whip up chicken biryani in less than half an hour, I can instantly see how. She's taken the vegetables, spices, chicken and rice and cooked it all together. In other words, made a chicken khichdi. Not the real deal, but nice and spicy (actually hot). And most people who eat it, appreciate it.

Me, I need my biryani to be more textured, with plain rice and flavoured rice and meat and gravy playing hide-and-seek in my mouth, subtle and sharp spices making their presence known. But then, I'm a food snob. Better people than I, the high thinking, simple living sorts will appreciate the aforementioned chicken khichdi as a tasty, rich, nourishing dish. Just like better people than I can appreciate OMG - Oh My God.

The good people will point out that this is one of the rare films in recent times with a Message. They'll also point out how it has a Different Story, in that there is no central romantic plot to grab audience's attention, and how the Story is supplemented by Good Performances. To all these points I must agree.

Atheism is a difficult subject to present on film, not only in India, but anywhere in the world. Let's be honest -  how many mainstream Hollywood productions feature an atheist as the hero? The leading men and women may not be religious people, but that is mostly written off as laziness or indifference rather than defiance of religion. There might be some occasional smirking at organised religion or clergymen or religious fanatics, but never at religion itself. And hardly ever is there a serious discussion about the very idea of God. In Indian films too, the nastik does make an occasional appearance, but even in a film titled Nastik, atheism is, to quote Jai Arjun: 

"...more a case of “bhagwaan se katti hoon” – I’m not on speaking terms with Him because He allowed bad things to happen to my family." 

So it is refreshing, to say the least, to even hear such a term as "Saccha Nastik" in one of the more lucid moments of OMG. The rest of the film, alas, is like all the ingredients of biryani thrown into a pressure cooker for a quick dinner.

I cannot conscientiously call it a bad film - being agnostic myself (and Paresh Rawal's character is agnostic, not atheist), I'm thankful someone dared to come up with this subject at a time when prime time television feeds us superstition and the most ridiculous manifestations of religiosity in steady doses. In a world where filmmakers are forced to delete Mochi from a song and Barber from a film title and digitally change saffron head-bands to black, it is no small feat to make thinly veiled references to actual cult leaders of our times.

But what's with the terrible scripting and tacky editing? With a cast of commendable actors, a powerful concept such as this film has, it is criminal to mete out such shoddy execution to what could have been a milestone in Indian film history. In tip-toeing through a minefield of religious sentiments, the director has wasted all the potential for dark humour and surrealism he had in his hands and opted instead for what looks like 150 minutes out of a SAB TV comedy.

For most of the first half, Paresh Rawal wisecracks about religion and everybody around him appears shocked. Govind Namdeo as a saffron clad religious leader cannot keep his voice down and we're treated to multiple shots of his underarms. Mithun as a more senior, white robed leader is more subdued, and his dark glances hint at someone more sinister, more complex and more perceptive underneath the amicable, effeminate, magic-tricks-displaying Godman - but that complexity is never fully played out. None of the other characters are worth mentioning. Except for God.

*Omitted: about 300 words on how Akshay Kumar plays a bizarrely inconsistent version of God displaying a curious Jaani Dushman hangover in what could have been his most interesting role so far*

I may be wasting my breath talking about the film that this could have been rather than the film that it is. But the glimpses of a better, more intelligent film behind the dull final product here are too bright and too beautiful to ignore. I'm still glad someone made this film and thank them for having the balls. The film does say a lot of gutsy things, and I'm glad someone said those things on celluloid. Just like I was happy for 3 Idiots - it said a lot of right things, but I cannot bring myself to appreciate the garbage surrounding the good message, nor forgive Hirani for screwing up Chetan Bhagat's only good work.

I'll be very happy if a lot of people watch OMG and at least some of them take the message seriously. Me, I'm a snob and I can't help but notice that what could have been the next Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro - a wake-up-and-smell-the-coffee kind of sad, funny, dark satire - ended up being another Billu Barber. Well-cooked, wholesome and nourishing, but nowhere close to the masterpiece that could be crafted with the same ingredients.

What a sad, sad loss to cinema.

P.S. I know the film is adapted from a play, but I'm not interested in how good or how bad the play was. The film needs to stand on its own feet, which in my narrow opinion it fails to do.

* Real biryani is prepared with meat; Veg Biryani is just a ruse invented by Udupi restaurants to sell you a slightly more sophisticated form of Khichdi. So if you've always been vegetarian, you've never tasted biryani - small price to pay for the purity of soul and animal-lover-eggless-brownie points.

And now for something completely different...

Disclaimer:

Author has no allegiance to any political party or personal vendetta against anyone. This comic has been posted in good humour without intentionally wanting to hurt the sentiments of any particular group and should hopefully be taken as such. If however, the above artwork happens to hurt someone, the author hopes they will find it in their hearts to forgive and forget, because as far as the author is aware, all fans of Calvin & Hobbes are really very cool people.

Realism as conceit, exhibit A

Long, indulgent post this, but it is one of those subjects I could go on and on about... which is basically what I've done here.

The subject of what comprises 'realism' in cinema has long intrigued me. No 'intelligent' conversation around films is complete without the obligatory running down of some popular entertainers from some overrated filmmakers against the under-appreciated, realistic, gritty fares from some under-appreciated filmmakers. I almost threw up in my mouth once when the day's realistic, under-appreciated film in focus was announced.

*******

Raj Kapoor for some people falls into the aforementioned over-rated category, both as an actor and director. I tuned into Zee Classic today just in time to catch the song Pyaar Hua, Ikraar Hua... from Shree 420 and the question of how much of the classic scenes unfolding on screen would be counted as real and what made them so effective, so endearing and immortal popped in my head. Sure, you were no more likely to run into someone dressed like Charlie Chaplin's iconic tramp on the streets of Mumbai in 1955, any more than you are now. I've often heard Raj Kapoor, and this film dismissed with a simplistic, "Oh, Raj Kapoor? He just copied Charlie Chaplin."

That song may not be the beacon of realism in cinema. It looks like it is mostly shot in a studio, and the rain probably came from a hose or whatever they use to simulate rain in movies. But the look on Nargis's face as she reluctantly agrees to share an umbrella with the lovable tramp is one of the most real expressions of barely acknowledged love I've seen. Later, as the lovers walk away singing in the rain under their shared umbrella, the camera pans to a roadside chaiwaala (or was it a beggar?), and for a few seconds focuses on his wizened face as it lights up at the sight of young romance.

Soon enough, the reverie is broken as Raju gets his own dose of reality - he's forgotten the heated iron in the laundry where he works, and sure enough, there has been a minor fire incident back at the workplace. A couple minutes of Chaplinisque slapstick with a fire extinguisher later, he is slapped with a whopping Rs 10 fine AND asked to work on the coming Sunday. Thus we are dragged out of the dreamy romance and into the plot of the story, where it is clear that Raju isn't a good laundry worker - he was after all meant for bigger things. The Sunday penalty also innocently steers us towards the next big event in Raju's life: his meeting with the sensuous Nadira, which will turn out to be just the lucky break he needed to make it in the big bad city.

This entire sequence - and the following sequence involving a game of poker - might be a textbook study on how to weave in romance, drama and comedy to make the narrative interesting. Things don't move along at nearly the same pace in real life, but as storytelling goes, it is a very satisfying experience.

*******

I have said before on this blog that realistic portrayal of any and everything isn't an end in itself. I didn't enjoy the art films as a kid and I thought I'd learn to appreciate them as I grew up. Now while I 'get' some of those films better, I'm still not a fan of anything that got dished out as parallel cinema. A lot of people are now agreeing that while there are some shining examples of the minimal style of movie making that evolved in the 80s, there were many forgettable films which tried passing off boring as artistic. I'm certainly not paying to watch a director's indulgence in what he considers good cinema at the cost of two hours of my life. I need my cinema to entertain me.

'Entertainment' may seem a shallow word here. The greatest cinematic moments that stay with us long after we first encountered them may not all come under the generic umbrella of entertainment. We all have our favorite bitter, sweet, sad, funny, sentimental moments from our most beloved films. More often than not, our memory these cinematic moments is about the emotions they evoke. Whether it is just a hint of terror you first felt as Gabbar's shadow falls on Thakur's hapless grandson, or the genuine laughter Rohit Shetty was able to elicit, or for that matter the sadness at watching Kamal Hassan limping after Sridevi's coach in Sadma.

********

If you're honest to yourself, any kind of cinema ultimately works on an emotional level, even the so-called intellectual cinema - if that is even a thing. The intellectual bit of it is just to cut through the viewer's sense of what is real or fake, smart or silly and reach the emotional core. Hence Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro nods to your cynicism and goes ahead and makes you laugh at the outrageous Mahabharat scene. Sholay pays some lip service to the question of whether countering violence with violence is the solution - the word Ahimsa is thrown into the conversation - before taking you to the satisfactory blood drenched climax (or at least as blood drenched as the censors allowed it to be).

The truth is, the success of any film lies on its ability to manipulate you, the viewer into feeling some or the other form of emotion. Kuch Kuch Hota Hai wouldn't work if by the time of the climactic wedding, audience isn't rooting for Kajol to chose the moron over the good guy. How often have we immersed ourselves into the story of the moron and eventually heaved a sigh of relief as he gets away with everything he doesn't deserve, be it money, fame, success, redemption, or the trophy girl? 'Emotionally manipulative' is a term I often see in a lot of film blogs these days, as if it is a bad thing. Manipulation is really the name of the game here.

So how does realism figure in this business of manipulation? Obviously, as a manipulative device. You aren't going to buy into any of that drama if none of it felt real, are you?

The premise of Sridevi's temporary amnesia in Sadma may be illogical and absurd in itself, but it forms the backdrop for a very unusual emotional experiment - what if you fell for someone who'd eventually forget you? What makes the film haunting is how convincingly it builds upon this premise. Convincing is the key word here, which makes the difference between intensely sad and outrageously farcical. And without Kamal Hassan's wonderful performance, nobody would buy into the sadness of the absurd, unreal premise.

********

No matter what the genre, a bit of realism is what helps the proceedings on screen cut through the layers of thought to tap into your emotions. This is true even of those genres you wouldn't think of associating with realism - horror, fantasy, science fiction, for example. One of the rare effective horror films in India, Bhoot managed to scare me (yes, I was scared watching Bhoot, go laugh) by suggesting how those terrifying supernatural things could be lurking right there in your plush little South Bombay apartment, and you could run into one without the trouble of travelling out of town to some spooky Haveli. Why, they could be watching over your shoulder even as you snooze off in front of the TV - something I do a lot. Some of the spookiest moments from the Grudge films happen in a hotel room, a school principal's office and a public bus - places any of us could be in any given day. 

That to me, is how reality is best used for cinematic purposes: to lure you into a believable world just enough to pull the carpet from right under your feet in a way only cinema can.

I just edited out a few lines about the original Star Trek here, to which my brother-in-law recently introduced me. I was clearly out of my league there. I also edited out Harry Potter for the sake of brevity and Madhur Bhandarkar for the sake of sanity.

Pa papa papapa pa Barney is the new leader of the gang andlifejustgotwaymoreawesome...

Note: The author does not, and will never support piracy. The best way to enjoy TV shows is to wait for them to be telecast in your own country, or buy the DVDs, rather than watching them within an hour of original telecast on sites like this or this. Please do not click those links, because that would be piracy. And piracy is bad.

So after months and months of trying to come up with the appropriate post on How I Met Your Mother that is admiring and critical without being a shamelessly over-the-top show of affection, I've decided to go for a shamelessly over-the-top show of affection. So how do I love the show? Let me count the ways...

1. HIMYM is to me what Jhalak Dikhlaja or Indian Idol are to their respective followers. I'd have said Kyunki... or Bade Acche Lagte Hain, but those shows are daily meals, never commanding the kind of frenzy that surrounds the latest season of the popular talent show. From September to May each year, I wait for Monday evenings like a dumb twat, only to realize that the show only runs on Monday nights in the US, which is late Tuesday morning in India.
   Typically, my cyber procrastination on Monday comprises scouring the Net for sneak peeks of the coming episode, which usually amount to the few pictures and video clips tactfully leaked by CBS. Tuesdays are for reading the episode synopsis and reviews on various official and unofficial sites. (Of course I don't watch the actual episode until much later, when it is officially telecast on Star World, because, you know, I'm against piracy.) Wednesday onwards, its back to watching out for scoops on the coming episode and awaiting Monday like a dumb twat.
2. My first tryst with HIMYM was when I randomly watched the season 3 episode "How I Met Everyone Else" on TV. I cannot think of a better entry point to the series for anyone who doesn't know the show and its characters yet. That episode is vintage HIMYM: with multiple flashbacks, flashforwards, varying versions of the same story, some of Barney's most famous theories, complete with graphics, and basically a good introduction to all the characters in a way you won't forget. By the time I cottoned on to what an awesome show it is and caught up with all the previous seasons by watching CDs my sister burned for me official DVDs, it was time for the Season 5 premiere, and the beginning of a whole new chapter of my life (see para (1) for details).
3. I couldn't care less who the mother is. It's cute how they keep revealing the story of how Ted actually met the Mother one detail at a time, but the Mother thread is really the narrative gimmick to distinguish this show from a regular ensemble comedy about friends hanging out together and going about their lives and growing up, a la Friends. The narrative is actually a cross between The Wonder Years and Friends.
   Also, the flashback framing device allows for a lot more tricks that the show keeps delivering consistently. As audience, we are frequently treated to peeps into the future and little scoops of information that the characters are unaware of, making the viewing experience more interesting. Some of the cutest flash-forwards have nothing to do with the Mother arc, like the story arc of Wendy the Waitress. Even the husband, who is perpetually in eye-roll mode whenever I'm watching or talking about the show (and that's a lot of eye-rolling), cannot contain his curiosity on whether Robin and Barney eventually do marry. (They do - oops, spoiler.)
   Above all, the real story that is being told under the pretext of Ted's Great Love Story is one with a lot of heart. Anybody who claims to not care what happens to Marshall & Lily or Barney & Robin and wants them to tell us about the mother already, is lying.
4. I lurve Barney. Actually Neil Patrick Harris. I mean his performance as Barney. I couldn't love NPH because I know he's gay and ALSO, I'm happily married now, although I wasn't when I first started watching this show. But you get the point.
   Every modern ensemble comedy series has a douchebag - the goodlooking guy who may be the dumbest, weirdest and most pointless guy in the group but who inexplicably gets the most girls, going through non-committal relationships and one-night stands as a matter of routine. Seinfeld had Kramer, though as an early template, he wasn't so bad as some of his successors. Friends had Joey, and among later shows, Rules of Engagement has David Spade, New Girl has Schmidt, and the Exes has Phil. One of the greatest mystery of American television for me is how the Douchebag manages to stay friends with the female members of the group. Anyway...
   Come to think of it, you'd hate that guy in real life. It is to NPH's credit that he brings in the right mix of goofiness and vulnerability besides of course the requisite comic chops to Barney's character to have made him the breakout character of the series. But one must also appreciate the writers for creating one of the most complex jackasses of all time. Right from the first season, you see hints of a more layered person beneath the narcissistic pile-on. Very subtle hints, mind you, because nobody on television has ever tried so hard to conceal their goodness, their need to be around friends and be loved, as Barney does. In terms of overt douchebaggery concealing a good heart, he out-Sheens Charlie Harper.
5. Lily and Marshall - Lilly and Marshall :)
   
   
   

   

   I mean the cuteness. Not the habit of multiplying. Although I wouldn't mind if they did really produce a bunch of little Lillys and Marshalls 

6. Robin kicks ass. I'd tell you how, but this post is spinning out of control now, and I can't get myself to edit the Barney part. But Robin totally rocks. So does Ted.
7. Did I mention I love Barney?
8. The husband thinks Ted, Barney and Robin should just have a threesome and get it over with. Thought I should mention that.
   Update:
9. Marvin Wait-for-it Erikson is the most awesome baby name ever!

Update:
10. They've revealed The Mother! Damn, didn't see this coming. I mean of course we all saw this coming, but you know what I mean. Not since Voldemort has the first appearance of a fabled character given me so many butterflies. (And yeah, if that was a spoiler for you, too bad.)

Barfi Murphy Shmarfi

In the new Barfi song, they say Barfi's Amma wanted a baby like a Murphy Munna:

Who'd grow up to be this guy:

But instead, she got this:

Who grew up to be this guy:

Sad, very sad indeed.

Winning the comeback

Back in the early 90s, three actresses - Sridevi, Juhi Chawla and Madhuri Dixit were in a kind of tussle for the top that the Kareenas and Katrinas today can never dream of. There were other girls in the game, but none in the league of these three. Every new release from one of the three leading ladies would be a game changer. This was of course before Hum Aapke Hain Kaun happened to put a definitive end to the debate. A year later came Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge, putting a new player in the game - Kajol. But by that time the Dixit was too big a force to be threatened by the dusky little girl.

Don’t get me wrong, fans of Raveena, Karishma, Urmila and other 90s girls. Many of them have done good films and memorable roles, but this was a time when the word ‘status’ would be routinely used in conjunction with Sridevi. Of course, stardom is never permanent, and for our heroines it is even more transient. By ’97, Madhuri’s fading career was temporarily redeemed by Dil To Paagal Hai before she wisely tiptoed out of the limelight to enjoy domestic bliss; Juhi Chawla was still a bankable name on the box office; but Sridevi, following the death of her mother and marriage to Boney Kapoor, went out with a bang that was Judaai. While Madhuri went on a hiatus, returning to do a Devdaas and later Aaja Nach Le, Juhi gracefully (whether voluntarily or not) slid into performance-oriented roles befitting her age, Sridevi went out like a star.

Now, two decades since the peak of their box-office wars, it is pleasant to see all three ladies still very much around, though in very different versions.

If some tabloids are to be believed, Madhuri Dixit is trying hard to convince everyone - and herself - that she is still Madhuri Dixit. The lady is reportedly demanding the same respect (and pay packages) as actresses who weren’t born when Tezaab was released. In her last movie Aaja Nach Le, she tried to do a slightly aged version of her most beloved screen self, even adding plot details to accommodate her real-life sojourn in the States, but audiences did not buy it. For reasons best known to herself and her family, she has decided to come back to India for good. You don’t need to read the papers to know that she’s back - you find her ubiquitous smile in departmental stores selling fabric softeners and dishwashers, on hoardings, on TV shows and commercials, using her acting chops and her expressive dancer’s face to sell toothpaste. Time will tell if all this whipped up frenzy can translate to box office returns when her Gulabi Gang and Dedh Ishqiya are eventually released, but speaking strictly for myself, I’m not holding my breath.

Juhi Chawla was always my most favourite. I always voted for her in all popularity polls that pitted her against the Dixit and the Devi (and there were many). When offers got reduced to a trickle, she took the odd film still coming her way and played her roles with élan. Along the way, she got to sink her teeth into meaty, gritty roles like the one in Teen Deewarein and the more recent I Am. Like Asha Parekh and Nanda before her, she has gradually been relegated to bhabhi roles in the majority of her projects. I don’t know if Juhi Chawla the star is satisfied with her place in the industry today, but as a loyal fan, I am more than satisfied to spot my favourite star breathing life and spunk into some otherwise forgettable movies.

And along came Sridevi. If a trailer can really tell you anything about a movie, English Vinglish is going to kick ass. Sri’s vulnerable South Indian housewife act seems to be spot on - the role rests equally on the star persona, her considerable (and mostly underused) acting ability and her real roots so that the character may come across as believable rather than grating. Whether the film lives up to its premise remains to be seen, but as far as comebacks go, Sridevi has played a masterstroke in her choice of a role.

I doubt any actress today can touch the level of stardom the three queens of the 90s enjoyed at the peak of their careers. In the years following their stardom however, they have each played a different game with differing results. Juhi made a smooth transition from star to actress, creating a new post-stardom brand that stands for a guaranteed good performance. Madhuri went out like a star and is trying to come back like one. What really sets Sridevi apart in this context is that she went out like a star and is coming back as an actress. I just can’t wait to watch her perform.

P.S. My starting point here is the year 93-94. Sridevi had already given some of her greatest hits before that time, so this kind of comparison may be fundamentally misplaced. She is also about 4 years older than the other two and entered the industry much younger. Even so, her box office mojo was anything but diminished by the 90's. Kajol at the peak of her career once said in an interview that there have been no stars since the days of Amitabh Bacchan and Sridevi.

How to make a 'hatke' love story

Make a list of all your favourite rom-com tropes:

• Hero-heroine meet cute: check
• Contrasting personalities: check
• A series of coincidences keep them bumping into each other: check
• One of the meetings involves a party or meeting full of whacky people gone bizarrely violent: twice check
• Neither of the two have a pair of parents intact: check
• One of the living parents objects to the match: check
• Said living parent is a loony wretch: check
• One amicable and understanding grandparent: check
• One amicable and understanding aunt: check
• One tragic backstory entailing familial responsibilities: check
• Hero helps heroine shoulder the said responsibility: check
• Hero has his special place to go when he is sad: check
• Hero-heroine almost kiss at the said special place: check
• Hero happens to strum the guitar pretty decently: check
• One friendly gesture misunderstood as invitation: check
• Disapproving mom humiliates girl: check
• One misunderstanding: check
• Hero-heroine pine and cry: check
• Friendly aunty talks sense into the girl: check
• Family attempts to fix up the guy with another girl: check
• Said girl has a boyfriend: check
• Emotional outburst and please-let-me-be-I'm-breaking-free-of-lifelong-shackles-and-it-feels-like-an-orgasm speech in front of the whole khandaan: check
• Attempt to go back to the girl gets botched up by interfering neighbours: check
• Touching confession/make-up speech: check
• Weddings: twice check

Now that you have used all the cliches that have only been used, like, in every romcom ever made anywhere, how do you make yours stand out? Oh, here's an idea: let's have a guy and girl from a 'different' community, say Parsi. Most Indians don't know that Parsis fall in love too, so that will be pretty entertaining. Now change some insignificant details about your guy and girl - how about the guy has an embarrassing job, a scooter with side-car, some gimmicky casting for the leading lady and oh, the guy and girl are about two decades older than those in most stories!

Never mind character development, thinking about how a blossoming romance between two 40+ people would differ in some fundamental ways than that between two teenagers. Never mind doing things differently because your lead pair is different. The guy can keep reminding the audience that he is 45. Never mind making your characters sane, believable and having them act their age. They're 45, they look 45, and your movie can be promoted on the strength that it is different, because look! THE LEAD PAIR IS 45 AND THEY ARE BOTH PARSI!

All the humor can be derived from the fact that these are two 45-year-old Parsis doing everything befitting a pair of 25-year-old Punjabis. If the audience still don't get the joke, lets have the leads strut their stuff dressed up like some of our most beloved on-screen romantic pairs.

Now sit back and enjoy the accolade.

In defense of the unkempt housewife

Note: This isn't a tirade against a single blog or a writer, but about the general condescending attitude we often have towards the Indian housewife. I use the term 'housewife' rather loosely, to cover so-called career women whose duties at home are not modified in consideration of their financial contribution or demanding schedules. Also, I am not one of those women - I've been fortunate enough to marry into the most supportive family that respects me for what I do, and counting my blessings only heightens the anguish I feel on behalf of the millions of women who aren't as lucky.

About a month ago, Firstpost did this sarcastic little piece on the ubiquitous sight of Indian women in shapeless nightgowns, sometimes simply referred to as 'gown' in all private and public places. It was all very funny, and we've all got some horror stories of women popping up in their most hideous cotton wear in the most inappropriate spaces. Then I read on, and followed the link to a blog that elevates the humble nightie to the status of a menace, and while I still agree it is inappropriate to flaunt your nightclothes in any place other than your bedroom, I wish the high and mighty of women's attire would at least spare those poor middle-class ladies who are just minding their own business.

And then some statements went right on to peck on my nerves: 

"...only those women who “never care about what others feel or see about them” wear them. Some even think that such women are “sheer lazy or perhaps don’t care types”."

“It’s like they're not really bothered about their appearance, because I guess it’s not their priority… And I don’t see the purpose of the dupatta that they wear with the nightie though,” a friend quipped, while another said: “I feel like buying them some clothes… seriously.”

Really? You wanna buy some clothes for them? How awfully generous of you, it really warms the cockles of my heart, my dear gentleman. While at it, could you please also buy them washing machines, dishwashers, cars, and maybe more lucrative jobs for their husbands so the wives may hire some help and not have to single-handedly do all the cooking, cleaning, shopping, dropping kids to school in the wee hours of the morning? And these are not just the stay-at-home housewives.

While Indian culture has progressed enough to allow women the privilege to have jobs and careers, this privilege or freedom for most women just means having to slog 8 hours outside the home and 8 hours inside. So while they are supporting the husband by sharing the financial burden, in many households it is criminal to expect the husband to help out with the housework. A very good friend of mine who is a doctor married to a doctor (and her husband is one of the most supportive men I know), once remarked that she feels uncomfortable asking the husband to help out with the kids, because "that's not the way we're brought up".

My own experience with prospective life partners (back in the dark, dark days when I was past 25 and still single) ranged from amusing to frustrating, as man after unevolved man directly or indirectly hinted that after marriage, I'd be allowed to work, provided the furniture and curtains of the house don't become dusty, neglected victims of my monstrous ambitions. Of course I married the guy who'll eat cereal if I don't get time to fix breakfast.

Most women I know, don't have that choice. Whether they have jobs or not, many married women don't have a life, not at least in the way I know it. I rarely hear a lunchroom conversation where the husband, the in-laws, the kids, upcoming festivals and weddings, and near and distant relatives of all shapes and sizes don't pop up once - because even though many of us now live in nuclear families, life for many women still revolves around family and little else. Movies are functional entertainment only, and books are a luxury, not because they're expensive, but who has the time?

Indian men are among the most spoiled sub-species of the human race, and I know guys who literally will not get up and get their own glass of water. I once had an argument with a male colleague who never rinsed his coffee cup in office, which would make it easier for the maid to clean them. He gave some thought to the matter, and ultimately refused to change the habit. Very few men I know ever offer to take their own plate to the sink. I cannot imagine the plight of the woman who has to play Nirupa Roy to these lazy bums, lay out their breakfast and pack their lunch while they smoothen their hair and read the morning's paper, then run out with a basket at the sabziwallah's call, haggle over the price of bhindi, then rush in and scream at the older kid still in his/her pajamas, shake the younger one out of bed and brush his/her teeth, force feed them both and drag them to school on a two-wheeler. Once everybody else has left, she may finally take a shower (unless it's a traditional household where you can't enter the kitchen without a bath, in which case the wife has to get up before 6 to make it all possible) and dress for work. Oh yes, there is still work, where she might walk in on a conversation about how female employees are always tardy. I've not even introduced judgemental in-laws to the scene yet.

But apparently, tending to all these people is not enough, and now the same women must also answer to the aesthetic sense of the Maya Sarabhai's of the world. Never mind that Indian women are among the most anemic in the world. Never mind that many of the fat aunties you see buying vegetables in their nighties would happily trade their quality time at the grocer's for an hour of Yoga, if someone just let them. Sadly, the only me-time they'll get is at the monthly waxing trip to the neighborhood beautician, followed by someone clucking their tongue and commenting on how these modern women will bankrupt their husbands over their own vanity.

I do not endorse the family-before-myself mindset in Indian women, and wish they'd instead invest some time to teach their husbands and sons some manners. Now these same regressive values are reinforced through many of our TV shows. Yet, it is not difficult to see why these dumb shows strike a cord with their intended demographic - the women on screen are just nicely decorated versions of the average Indian housewife, who was never asked if she wants to slog her life in kitchen or if she'd rather work in an office and have her food laid on the table and her clothes cleaned and ironed for her. It must be nice to see those pretty ladies spell out the virtues of the ordinary woman. That's probably the only appreciation they'll ever get.

So yes, a lot of Indian women on the streets aren't very elegant dressers, nor do they have the most eclectic choice in entertainment. In fact, most have stopped caring about what anybody thinks of them. Wouldn't you, if you had their life?

Realism with a pinch of salt

I haven't seen Gangs of Wasseypur as of 10th July 2012 and, so this is by no measure a review of the film. I'm totally prepared to be thrilled or disappointed by the actual film when I eventually do watch it. What prompted this post rather, was this admittedly well-written, but slightly off-the-mark post that mostly revolves around Anurag Kashyap's latest. I have nothing for or against the writer or the many Hindi journalists he has quoted, but their strongest contention against GoW brings me to one of my pet peeves - the gist of the article seems to be that, contrary to what most positive reviews of the film in English language papers tell you, GoW is... wait for it... not the most authentic portrayal of a small town called Wasseypur in Dhanbad! The treachery! The next thing you'll tell me is that Sholay is not a realistic depiction of dacoits around the village of Ramgarh in Jharkhand... or Lagaan is an inaccurate description of Indian history! Perhaps there's an Italian mafia family somewhere fuming over the stereotyping of their clan in the Godfather movies. Did historians question the accuracy of Mughl-e-Azam? One of the journos quoted in the said article has helpfully pointed out that the film isn't even shot in Dhanbad - bad, bad Anurag Kashyap! Now that must be a real deal-breaker, because aren't Hindi films all about authentic locations?

Why is it that the most sincere cinematic endeavors have to bear the burden of authenticity when the Rohit Shettys and Sajid Khans run amok with their chosen brand of entertainment? Now I haven't been meticulously following every press release about GoW, but I don't think Anurag Kashyap ever claimed that he was making a documentary on the coal mafia. Let's try and use the good old "it's just entertainment" refrain here and look at the film in its own context, shall we? Or does one filmmaker's propensity for gritty dramas forbid him from doling out some old-fashioned entertainment?

Many good and bad films fall victim to this kind of half-baked criticism, based on a skewed idea of what realistic cinema means. One of my favorite examples is how this friend of mine, when I told him I'd enjoyed Honeymoon Travels, launched into a Perry Mason-like cross examination (bear in mind that this friend hadn't seen the film yet, but decided it was bad based on some friends' reviews).

Perry Mason: Okay tell me - in this lovely film that you so enjoyed, is there a sub-plot involving superheroes?
Eyewitness: Yes, there is. But...
Perry Mason: Is it true, that in this story about 8 couples on their honeymoon, one of the couples comprises a male and a female superhero?
Eyewitness: Yes, and that's the funny part. You see...
Perry Mason: Yes, I'll see but first tell me - in your opinion, is this realistic or logical?
Eyewitness: Of course it's not logical. That's what...
Perry Mason: Thank you. So you see your honor, witness admits that this film is unrealistic, illogical, and hence, garbage. Prosecution rests.

Okay, that's not how it really went but such was the drift of the conversation. Now  I was trying to come up with a semi-serious analysis of how much part realism should really play in our evaluation of cinema here, but I'll leave that to better critics than myself. For now, my point is just this: entertainment comes in all hues and colors. Just because some films don't come dressed in the traditional garbs of masala filmdom, they need not be held to entirely different criteria.

Two recent examples: Kahaani and Shanghai may claim to have a more authentic 'flavor' to them, but at the end of the day, they are both thrillers. In fact, the quasi-realistic backdrop in both cases works in that it makes the twists and turns of the story that much more relatable - one of the key revelations in Shanghai, for example, comes from a small-time photographer whose meticulous habit of backing up all his work on hard disk leads to the most important clue in the murder mystery. Shanghai touches upon a lot of subjects relevant in contemporary India, but if I start viewing it as a social film, it will fall apart for me because I might not be ideologically in agreement with it. Kahaani, thankfully steers clear of making any statement on terrorism and confines itself to a simple revenge drama draped in brilliant conceit. Call these films whatever you want, but at no point during Kahaani or Shanghai did I feel bored. If that's not entertainment, what is?

Fact: films by certain directors do receive a different kind of criticism because at times, those directors themselves try so hard to be 'different'. As a result, some potentially good films end up being so self-consciously devoid of anything remotely enjoyable, they are like the emperor parading down the street in all his naked glory. The humble viewers are left waiting for a child to hoot first, so we may politely join in. A good idea would be for some of our better filmmakers to stop sulking every time a pet project does not live up to its potential. Maybe the next time a little kid laughs at you, just smile, say oops, and pull a towel around... gosh, I could go on and on with this Emperor's New Clothes analogy :) 


Back to the point if I had one...

So real shmeal, what we need to ask ourselves about most films - nay, any film - is, does it hold together? Sholay holds together; DDLJ for all the things it has been accused of over the last two decades, holds together as a dreamy romance. As long as GoW holds its story together, has me riveted to the screen for the 2+ hours I spend in that auditorium, I don't care if girls of Wasseypur actually walk and talk like Reema Sen. If we can handle Basanti, we can handle this. The very fact that this film has managed to confuse a segment of the media, however small, about its intent and purpose, means it has probably stuck a cord somewhere.

Meanwhile, you die-hard fans of realistic stuff, do please check out Supermen of Malegaon.

My favourite children’s films

The wonderful Memsaab has revived my interest in children’s films made in India, so here’s a little list of my own favourites, in no particular order. Recommendations are most welcome. Free DVDs of recommended movies are even more welcome.

Mind, some of these films might not be ‘children’s films’ in the strictest sense of the word; it’s more like a list of films you could enjoy with your kids - films that are intelligent enough to appeal to adults while simple and interesting enough for kids, and which they won’t feel embarrassed about when they grow up.

Kitaab (1977)

‘Mera Jahan’ song from Taare Zameen Par reminds me of this movie. A sensitive tale of a preteen boy who runs away from home - played to perfection by Master Raju, who by now had become a veteran of sorts, and Gulzaar, who remains the master of sensitive story-telling. The sweet-and-scary adventure of the runaway boy and the various people he meets on the way is intercut with his worried guardians’ search for him, and flashbacks of his life at home and in school.

What I love about this film is the way it portrays the sensitivity, imagination, angst and wickedness of growing children. The journey of young Raju is also a journey of growing up - the boy who crooned the whacky ‘VIP Underwear Baniyan’ song along with his friends in class is also capable of taking offence when a classmate passes a remark on his gorgeous elder sister, and shedding a tear of affection when he hears the familiar voice of a beggar singing in a passing train.

And the Dhanno song - don’t miss that.
(Updated: Detailed review on naachgaana.com here)

Chhota Chetan (1984)

Please try to get hold of the 80’s version, not the 1998 edition spiced up with bits of Urmila Matondkar and add-on Anu Malik songs. The original Malayali version is funny, adventurous, dark and engaging despite some annoying bits and pieces flying in your face to remind you that this was a 3D film. How Dilip Tahil ended up playing the drunken dad in this film, I will never figure out.

Ajooba (1991)

Peddled as an Arabian Nights like fantasy, this Indo-Russian production directed by Shashi Kapoor has magic, magicians, Sultans, animals, masked crusader, zany costumes, palaces, a naughty princess, shrinking heroes dancing in wine cups, robotic Shaitan, lost-and-found kids, dolphin foster moms, more animals, more magic and a lot more fun. If this needs any more selling, check out Memsaab’s lovely review.

Makdee (2002)

Vishal Bharadwaj’s masterful direction and superb performances by Shabana Azmi and Shweta Prasad to a script packed with very believable characters - even the witch seems very plausible in the context of the film - make for an exciting and scary tale. I loved Makrand Deshpande in this one, but most importantly, Shweta in a dual role really steals the show. For that matter, when was the last time we saw a kid pull off a dual role? (No, not Neetu Singh in Do Kaliyan.) Parts of the film are genuinely scary, and much of the second half is very sad, but the story never gets boring.

(Updated: Click here for Memsaab's review and here for Filmi Geek's. Also by the same blogger, a more Shabana-centred review here. There are too many good reviews out there, actually, but don't bother. Just go and watch the film.)

Mahek (2007)

I love this film for its cute little homage to To Kill a Mocking Bird (the novel, at least - yet to see the film), and its digs at what passes as children’s films in India - “hum umr mein chhote hain, aql mein nahin!” Direction by Pune’s own Kranti Kanade is straight from the heart, if a little rough around the edges. Still, the story of a 12-year-old girl trying to find herself is sweet and engaging, helped by a splendid guest appearance by Lalan Sarang as the no-nonsense Fairy Godmother. This film really deserves to be watched more. The titular role is played by Shreya Sharma, the girl from Vishal Bharadwaj’s The Blue Umbrella.

Updated:
Chamatkar (1992)


Again, children might not have been the originally intended audience for this film, but like most of Bollywood's attempts at comedy, little boys are girls are perhaps best disposed to appreciate its humor. I know this because I was 10 when my dad took me to watch Chamatkar, and I loved it. Also, while this was almost his first big screen outing* I was already a Shah Rukh Khan fan thanks to Circus, so liking the film was easy.

This film has Naseeruddin Shah in one of those mainstream roles he does to earn his bread, played with good humor and a perpetual chuckle in his voice. It also has Urmila in one of her earliest leading roles, and a young Ashutosh Gowarikar playing baddie. Most importantly, it has a fun song where a gang of girls put garish make-up on a hapless Shah Rukh, a ghost of a gangster playing Jadoo-like magical guardian angel to nice guy, catfight between Urmila and Guddi Maruti, a street magic show, the most fun-packed fashion show ever, a fate-deciding cricket match with flying cricketers (Koi Mil Gaya has much to thank this movie for), and lots of crazy fun moments with your friendly invisible ghost. Even more importantly, it has Shammi Kapoor!

P.S.

Not bothered with detailed reviews of any of the films here, will add links to good online reviews if possible.

P.P.S.

Memsaab figures rather heavily in the links here, because much of my time these days is spent browsing her amazing blog. And those are some of the best reviews of any films anywhere, so don't mind.

* Shah Rukh Khan actually got three almost simultaneous releases that year - Chamatkar, Raju Ban Gaya Gentleman and Deewana, so there wasn't really one big screen debut for him.

Padhna manaa hai

(Another angry post, sorry. It's an issue that has affected me personally for pretty long, and I wish I could muster Ashish Shakya's kind of humor about it, but here it is, what I've wanted to say for all those years.)


A piece of paper circulated by the society secretary has been lying on the dining table for some days. It contains a list of rules and regulations for people living there on rent i.e. people like me and my husband. Not surprisingly, one of the rules states that no flats or row houses in the society may be rented out to students. Because students are not fit for living in a civilised housing society full of married people and families with kids. But wait, are none of those kids students themselves? Given that most of us have spent a good two decades of our lives as students, it’s a wonder our parents didn’t throw us out of their house long ago. Or didn’t get thrown out by the other peaceful residents of the society for keeping students in their house.


No wait, you say, when nice, genteel people refuse to have ‘students’ as their neighbours, they don’t mean the good little kids who have the decency to stay back and study in their own hometown. They mean those pesky little rascals from far-flung towns and states who travel all the way down to Pune, the glorious Educational Capital, to earn their degrees. Aha! The point emerges. So these boys and girls are denied the privilege of living in my exclusive neighbourhood not because they study. The subtext is, that you are not welcome in my neighbourhood because you don’t belong here. If you’re not from this state, this city, it proves beyond any doubt that you are a dirty, smoking, drinking, meat-eating, floor-littering, garbage-hoarding, never-bathing troublemaker. Keep your filthy, outer-state feet off my driveway; we had it washed last month!

Why I don't wear a sari on International Women's Day

When all my female colleagues were mutually planning to wear saris to office the day before International Women's Day, I politely refused to participate. The first time I did this - refused to drape a sari on Women's Day, 5 years ago - I drew some flak from my then colleagues, notably my best friend who alleged that I just loved being different for the heck of it. Any other time of the year, she pointed out, I don't mind turning up for work draped in the national garment, so why not today? I'm sure my present colleagues and new friends have the same question - so here are some of my reasons. (Note: some bits of it are not very pleasant. Do not click if you are easily offended.)