Polish film Life Is Good, and thoughts on portrayal of disability

I wrote about my trip to Goa for the International Film Festival of India (IFFI) at The Heat And Dust Project. I have discussed this film briefly over there. This is the longer version from my IFFI notes. Hope to write about more films as and when I find time and motivation.

Based on real life stories, Life Is Good - a 2013 film by Polish writer-director Maciej Pieprzyca is about Mateusz, a boy with severe developmental problems that render him unable to move around (except for crawling on the floor), use his hands or, most importantly, talk. Owing mainly to his inability to communicate, he is written off as intellectually retarded, and spends over 25 years locked inside a stubborn body that cannot keep up with his intelligent mind.

The story is narrated by a voiceover speaking for Mateusz, so that we look at his world from inside his mind. We are made privy to thoughts and information that people in his immediate surroundings are completely disconnected from, and consequently share the frustration of trying to convey something simple and banal to a world that has written you off as a vegetable.

The ability to communicate is the Holy Grail of Mateusz’s life. But he is not the only one. Seemingly ‘normal’, healthy people, who appear well-adjusted on the surface, also suffer from an inability or lack of opportunity to express themselves. The film explores these themes from a very unique vantage point.

A striking feature of this film is its ability to evoke very powerful emotions without resorting to manipulative tactics in the way we have seen similar subjects being treated in most mainstream Indian and Hollywood films. There were utterly laughable moments, such as when Mateusz shares with us his ‘rating system for tits’, and some that wrung tears or made me wince. None of those moments are labored. Mateusz goes through emotional highs and lows nearly like anyone else. There are passages where a general gloom starts setting in, and one gets a feeling that nothing good can ever come his way anymore. The easy transition back to routine life or the next 'happy' phase seems to suggest that it is nearly impossible for a human being to remain unhappy for too long, no matter how bleak the proceedings get.

Most importantly, while disability plays a huge role in Mateusz's life, the film isn't just about that - it is about a very interesting person his struggle against a very formidable obstacle.

This is such a departure from the usual portrayals of disability we have seen on screen. In Bollywood at least, every time you see a character with any kind of disability, rest assured you're in for some quality weepy time. Some good examples that come to mind are two of Sanjay Leela Bhansali's much feted products - Khamoshi and Black. I haven't seen Guzaarish*, so can't comment on that. In both the films I have seen, physical handicap is treated as an external feature, a cause of pain and anguish to people around, and an opportunity to create some memorable visuals. Think Nana Patekar hopping about on a beach to indicate some happy news; or Manisha Koirala talking to Salman Khan in sign language although both of them can speak and hear perfectly well; or Rani Mukherjee in every single frame of Black.

The treatment in Black is even more curious, given that the story is narrated in a voice over speaking for Rani Mukherjee, much like Mateusz tells us his story. The voice over in Black however, is only a narrative device, perhaps added as an afterthought. It does nothing to add perspective to the story unfolding on screen. As the omniscient viewer, all we see is the physical world of our characters - people screaming, howling, laughing, crying, or dancing with the sole purpose to fill up every frame with heartbreaking beauty. It helps that beautiful frames are Bhansali's forte, and nobody does it better than him.

Even Gulzaar's much more nuanced Koshish, which tells the story of two hearing impaired people coming together to create a life of love and dignity, rarely peeps below the events in the life of our characters to give us their thoughts. The film is somewhat biographical, following the lives of Haricharan and Aarti as they meet as young adults, fall in love, marry, have children and grow old. It also aims to be something of an inspirational story. Still, would it be any less inspiring if we knew something about our principle characters other than the fact that they cannot talk? Even if it were something as banal as informing us that Hari is a tea addict while Aarti prefers coffee?

I have only mentioned films which I actually like, choosing to completely ignore the more insensitive and cringe-inducing portrayals of physical and mental disability in mainstream cinema. Each of these movies has been among my most cherished list at some point or the other. Each of them has made me cry. After meeting Mateusz however, after getting a peek into his inner world, his opinions, even his less than stellar human qualities, I find myself wishing I knew a bit more about Hari, Aarti, Joseph, Flavy, and Michelle.

* It just occurred to me while writing this: is it odd that SLB has so far made three films about differently abled people, and all of these people are Christian?

Raam Romeo Michael Montague

A version of this was published at The Heat And Dust Project blog, because apparently I'm all about publishing multiple versions of one article now.

This time Mr Bhansali, you had me at hello. Well, almost, before you lost me at “I am Sanjay.” The moment the lilting strains of a Gujarati folksong (music is credited to the man Bhansali himself) give way to the stunning visual of a group of village belles framed in a grand gateway against the desert sun, I was prepared to forgive this movie anything. This was with almost as much certainty as a decade ago, when the opening visual of an obscenely bedecked and bejewelled Smita Jaikar hopping around in an obscenely lavish haveli told me that it was a mistake to spend money on Devdaas. Anyway.

For the first hour, Raam Leela stays pretty close to the Romeo and Juliet template and this part is marked with some clever writing and good pace. The Montagues and Capulets are introduced to us as Rajadis and Sanedas, two warring communities in a lawless village in northern Gujarat. The violence-averse playboy heir of the Rajadi clan falls for the vivacious daughter of First Family of the Sanedas in a masquerade party that is suitably substituted with a Holi party here. There is even the famous balcony scene, shot on a ridiculously pretty studio set.

Then at a crucial junction, Mr Bhansali decides he can do better than Shakespeare, and gleefully steers the story off track and into the deep dark woods of Bhansali-land. So instead of getting banished after spending one night with his Juliet, Ram-eo here elopes with Leela, then they do something, then something happens, and the story spirals out of control. Romeo and Juliet takes a turn for Godfather, the violence, which was so far chiefly played for humour, becomes very real, very brutal and very personal. At times, this feels appropriate - nobody can get mired in this endless cycle of revenge and come out whole, the film seems to tell us.

Every frame is as gorgeously mounted as you’d expect an SLB offering to be. In fact, set pieces and elements that felt overbearing and suffocating in his earlier fares, seem to work here. And there are many echoes of his earlier work. So many of the set pieces feel like Sanjay Leela Bhansali is paying a silent tribute to Sanjay Leela Bhansali, that you can make it into a drinking game. The bridge from Saawariya - bottoms up! The Ganga Ghat scene from Devdas - bottoms up! The tree over pond in a courtyard - bottoms up!

Not that I blame Sanjay Leela Bhansali for being heavily inspired by Sanjay Leela Bhansali, seeing as Sanjay Leela Bhansali is one of the very best we have right now. He has the power to transport you to a wonderland of visual delights where you won’t feel surprised to encounter an upside down tree laden with golden kiwi fruit and still somehow believe you are in a remote village in the sands of Kutch. So never mind how Navratri comes close on the heels of Holi, or why people are flying kites in October (Sankranti, the big kite festival of Gujarat, comes in January).

I must also add that of all the recent films set in Gujarat, this is the one that has captured the sounds of Gujarat most beautifully (I won’t say most realistically, for I have never been to that part of Gujarat myself). I melted into a pool of awww... when the room service guy at a cheap motel in a small town shouts “Toowaal, saabu, paaNi?” Ranveer also gets his Gujju accent and swagger pretty close. That is, for nitpickers like me who care about accents when there is so much man-cleavage and shiny man-hair on display.

The problem is that the drama here hits a crescendo one too many times. The story comes frustratingly close to a climax and instead of denouement, you find yourself at the beginning of a whole new Act. This happens over and over again, until you want everyone to shoot each other and die already.

This, of course, applies if you consider the mass of white turbans and red veils, providing the backdrop for our differently-coloured protagonists, as people. For all practical purposes, these are human props, bobbing their heads, jumping in synchrony, or dropping like flies as required by the script, nay, the choreographer. They have no more identity than the faceless storm troopers in a Star Wars movie or the blank ovals in a newspaper cartoon. Even their blood is shed, it would seem, because the splash of red provides a nice contrast on those white robes.

At one point, Ranveer does the daring thing and walks into the lioness’s den - Supriya Pathak playing the matriarch of the Saneda clan, in arguably the best role of her career - to seek an end to the centuries-long enmity between the clans. This he does by first offing more Saneda men than Mithun ever killed in the climax of his most blood-drenched revenge saga in the 90’s. Through all this, Pathak continues chanting her morning mantra, and later coolly chats with the uninvited guest. No mention is made of the dozen or more men who just died. None of them has a name.

When a woman from the Rajadi clan later taunts Pathak over the murders of men in her community, her lines fail to invoke any emotion in me. By this time, so many people have been senselessly murdered, one doesn’t care if our Raam and Leela join their ranks sooner rather than later.

Stray notes (may contain spoilers):

• For all the talk about the sizzling chemistry between our leads, they never actually do it. After kissing passionately in their first two meetings, when both of them find themselves alone inside a closed shop, they grab the opportunity by... dancing side by side like Jeetendra and Sridevi, only with better figures, costumes and choreography.
• Richa Chaddha deserves better.
• Abhimanyu Singh deserves better.
• Not only does the film trail away from the Romeo and Juliet plot, it keeps wavering close to the classic plot and swaying away. So one of the lovers hears the false rumor of the other's death, only to find the said person in their own room, alive and kicking, minutes later. 
• We also have Raza Murad playing the nominal Sarpanch, ostensibly a version the Prince from the Bard's play, only unlike the Prince, our Sarpanch doesn't do anything.
• Raza Murad deserves better.
• Since I've already mentioned Supriya Pathak performance, let me add that this fuels my grouse against the so-called 'Art' cinema of yore, where a young Ms. Pathak was a familiar face. Those realistic, gritty movies gave this talented actress nothing but simpering cameos and third or fourth leads. It took the uncompromising dramatic sensibilities of an SLB to bring the best out of her. When she throws a dark glance at one of the men surrounding her lady Don character, it is easy to see why this stout woman can make grown men pee in their pants.
• This film isn't for everybody, and it will soon prove to be one of those films that polarize both audiences and critics. Predictably, critics lavishing (not undeserved) praise have been accused of writing paid reviews, and I won't be surprised if the negative ones get panned soon.
• Speaking of negative reviews, The Vigil Idiot has surpassed himself this time. It takes a great movie to bring out the best in a brilliant critic. It's like an artist and his muse.

Plugging for friends, family and self

The sparkling young novelist and scholar, Devapriya Roy and that brainy husband of hers, Saurav Jha are finally in the process of giving shape to their labour of love, The Heat And Dust Project. The 'shape' will be of a book, about which I'll update you as soon as it is published. In the meanwhile, they have started a very interesting and eclectic blog, where I might contribute some film-related articles every once in a while. My post on a recent Marathi film Premachi Goshta is here.

The Heat And Dust Project - the book will be an account of a very interesting journey the duo took up some time ago, travelling through India on a shoestring budget. Devapriya has already written two novels - the first one, The Vague Woman's Handbook is a sweet tale of female bonding that suffers from unfair categorization into the chick-lit genre. Her second book, The Weight Loss Club - The Curious Experiments of Nancy Housing Cooperative, is sitting on my table as I type this, and you can expect a review pretty soon. You can sample some of her writing here. As you can tell, the girl needs a crash course in Short Titles.

Saurav Jha blogs and writes about defense, economics, science and other brainy stuff beyond my humble comprehension, so I'm not in a position to tell you much about him. You can read some of his articles here, or pick up his book The Upside Down Book of Nuclear Power, because though I haven't read it yet, a book with that title cannot be half bad, no?

While at IBN Live, do also check out the new blog by V K Sharma, who retired as Executive Director as RBI last year. It's called Uncluttering the Clutter, and as the name suggests, it is a to-the-point commentary on the world of Indian Banking and Finance. The blog offers refreshing clarity and an original perspective which is likely to appeal to anyone interested in more than a superficial analysis of the subject. And I swear I'm not just writing this because Mr Sharma has been kind enough to let me marry his son.

Disclaimer:
While none of the above people have bribed me to promote their books/blogs, I'm pretty open to future opportunities.

Where are the Indian Superheroes?

In one of his many, many attempts at career suicide, Shahid Kapoor did this embarrassing little film called Wah! Life Ho To Aisi in which he is killed off by Yamraj by mistake, and returns as a ghost. Amid the copious amounts of obnoxiousness in this film, there was this neat little bit thrown in where a fellow ghost played by Arshad Warsi helps him gain superpowers to help his mortal family, and the mantra he is asked to chant, turns out to be the good old Hanuman Chalisa. After all, Hanuman was the original superhero, reasons the ghost Arshad.

I was reminded of that scene while watching Krrish 3, where once again, we have tried our hand at a genre Hollywood seems to be so good at, and we have done this by totally aping everything Hollywood does. Right to the origin stories for our superheroes and supervillains. And ever since I started wondering why, the question has just been killing me. I swear it has been the most excruciating half hour of my life.

I mean, why are we even trying to explain away our heroes with magic alien mojo and our villains with rubbish like girgit ka DNA and other pseudo scientific mumbo jumbo, when we have such a vast treasure of myths and legends at our disposal? Our mythology is full of miraculous births - we have people born in pots, out of multiple wombs, out of liaisons with Gods - Kunti in Mahabharata only ever birthed half-God babies - and most of these people are born with some superpowers. Karna actually came with a built-in life jacket. Just think of all the possible superhero stories that can be created for the modern world with inspiration from these legends.

There is no dearth of super villains either. Besides ten-headed Ravana, we have the born-in-two-halves Jarasandha, the sleeping giant Kumbhakarna, the half-dozen or more demons young Krishna had to vanquish before getting to the baby-murderer Kansa... Then there is Shishupala, born with extra body parts and grown into a resentful adult. Why hasn't anyone tried to model a villain on him?

There is of course, the provision of Tapasya, a tough penance that may go on for years or decades, by the end of which an ordinary person can gain special boons from the Gods and become protectors or villains depending on their bend of mind. And then there are legends of magical springs, elixirs and divine objects that can bestow special powers on the Pure of Heart. Then there are people like Gandhari, whose great sacrifice of living with a blindfold for all those years turns her gaze into something powerful, shielding, that makes the person she sets sight upon, invincible in combat.

With so many fascinating plot devices and superpower varieties at our disposal, why do we turn to half-ass attempts to rationalize the existence of superheroes and super villains in a fantasy genre? The only films that do take inspiration from our mythology seem to be only interested in the superficial plot points, and not the characters themselves. Rajneeti, I'm looking at you. Do our writers or producers lack confidence in the tales our grandmothers told us, or have they simply forgotten the old stories?

Krrish 3: A League of Extraordinary Losers

It occurred to me after watching Krrish 3 that all the four leads - for Vivek & Kangana here are nearly as important, and arguably more interesting, than Hrithik-Priyanka - are talented people in their own right, and neither has got their dues as actors.

Hrithik Roshan - good looking to a fault and reasonably talented, very few of his films outside of dad's productions have done well enough to perch him securely on that superstar pedestal. That obnoxious giant Krrish statue in the film might as well be a metaphor for Roshan Jr's Bollywood dream. It's not like he isn't getting meaty roles - in fact, he only ever gets very meaty roles - but have you noticed that the guy is actually so good at playing ordinary, flawed, evolving guy-next-door roles? Still, other than the Akhtar siblings, everybody tends to cast him in these uber dramatic, larger-than-life characters in an attempt to make the most of his gorgeous looks. And you thought only actresses got pigeon-holed in pretty-girl roles!
Every few years, Papa Roshan has to pull up his socks and come up with yet another Hrithik vehicle, and also nudge Uncle Rajesh Roshan out of slumber for one more soundtrack, and the Hrithik boat floats for a while. But the older Roshans are getting... old now. If the insipid music in Krrish 3 is any indication, Uncle Roshan is tired. I may have been hallucinating, but I almost heard strains from Koyla in that weird song where everybody was dancing around the Mayawati-like statue of Roshan Jr. Please Hrithik Baba, let your old uncle retire in dignity and make a career on your own like a grown up man.

Priyanka Chopra - whether all that gossip about star wives conspiring against her is true, or there are just not enough good roles for the girls, but this talented actress seems to be doing only glam-doll roles of late. Not that there is anything wrong in looking that gorgeous. But unlike Kareena who keeps doing some interesting films once in a while, Priyanka seems to have regressed to doing the kind of roles up-and-coming starlets would give an arm and a leg for. In Krrish 3, she doesn't even seem interested in making the most of the few villainy bits given to her, and instead spends her screentime looking perfectly blow-dried and manicured. That her part here is imminently replaceable is underlined by scenes where she is literally replaced in the film by the shape-shifting Kaya.

Vivek Oberoi - once again, the guy shows how much acting he has in him if he only got the chance. The paraplegic scientist-genius Kaal is just the showcase for Oberoi Jr's acting chops, and he plays it with gusto, channeling the full force of his emoting abilities through is face. There is something tragically meta about the scene where he uses his whackado machinery to suck the mojo out of Hrithik to gain full mobility so he may unleash his full telekinesis powers - if only Vivek had had the opportunities Hrithik got in his career, how much more he could have achieved by now!
This just might be the turning point in Vivek's career, if he is open to playing more negative roles, because God knows we haven't had interesting villains in a while. If it wasn't for some incredibly stupid lines thrust upon him, Kaal would have become one of our most memorable super-villains yet. For now, Amjad Khan and Amrish Puri can lie peacefully in their graves, because Gabbar and Mogambo are under no threat from the guy who couldn't come up with anything more badass to say than, "I like it."

Kangana Ranaut - she showed so much promise when she first appeared on the scene, playing bold, pivotal characters in unusual stories. Somewhere along the way, the actress got typecast, ridiculed, and somehow reduced to playing forgettable roles in forgettable films. Now a superhero flick may not be the best place to exhibit emotional nuance for actresses, but it is a place to cash in on your remarkable screen presence, which is just what she does here. She digs her teeth into some truly 70's style bad girl mannerisms, and gets them just right. Also, a vamp role in such a film is the stylist's wet dream to run wild with their runway fantasies, which is just what Ms. Ranaut's stylists here do. The result is... um.. interesting.

Krrish 3 is a fun watch, I just could not hate the film the way I expected I would, and the grouses I do have with it, seem to be deliberate creative choices to keep the film easy on the brain, rather than creative negligence. Still, it is far from the best showcase for its four leads (the need for any more actors in pivotal roles is pretty much eliminated by having two of the main roles played by Roshan Jr). Each of these actors is capable of doing a lot more, a lot better and I sincerely hope to see more from each of them very soon. Hopefully without masks, metal or crotch harnesses.

More on the Ordinance/Act

The good people at Andhashraddha Nirmoolan Samiti (ANS) have published some illustrations to further awareness on the recently passed Maharashtra Prevention and Eradication of Human Sacrifice and other Inhuman Evil and Aghori Practices and Black Magic Act, also known as the Common Sense Act. Sharing them here with English and Hindi captions. The Marathi booklet is available at Rs 10/- per copy at the Sadhna Media Centre in Shaniwar Peth, Pune. Their contact number is 9404870434.

Please share this with anyone mildly interested in knowing about the Act, or people who have any doubts regarding its contents.

Twenty-bore

I'm not saying that the Indian edition of 24 is a terribly bad show. In fact, the show is so awesome, it's nothing like a Saas-Bahu show. It has an alpha male protagonist, unlike every other TV serial you see in India these days. And the women wear like, normal clothes and nobody except the ageing politician Momma wears heavily embroidered ethnic clothes, which is like so unlike every other TV serial you see in India these days. And every time anyone says anything significant, we don't see reaction shots from everyone, which is totally unlike... you get the drift?

Again, it's not so much that I didn't like what I saw, but I've been unable to come up with anything nice to say about this show except for all the stupid things it's not doing with its material - things so stupid, none of our TV shows should be doing them. But they insist on serving us all that banality, because why put in some real thought and invest in a script when your show will get its TRPs even if it is a blur of silk sarees and extreme close-ups?

So it has come to a pass where I'll be a douchebag for not lauding any attempt to break away from the retardedness that passes around for TV content. It will be very impolite to say, point out that there's more to a real-time thriller than a bunch of people in nice suits running about with clenched jaws. Or that gangster babes in India probably don't look that much like G I Joe toys. Or that shooting a hot girl straight in the boob is so B-grade, even Kanti Shah is puckering his nose as you read this. Or what the hell is the elected Prime Minister of India doing in Mumbai on the eve of his swearing-in ceremony? Or how lame it is to portray the said PM as the Angry Young Man version of the 43-year-old scion of the Nehru-Gandhi family, complete with allusions to an assassinated father, like we can just not come up with interesting politician characters. Or how uninterested I am in the fate of the douchebag PM who goes about shouting at teenagers and bursting tubelights in subways.

No, let's not get into all that and just thank the Powers that Be that we have that one show where the protagonist, instead of waging Sambhar Wars in the Kitchen Of Heaven, wears suits and busts assassination attempts. Let's just be happy that instead of looking like every other Indian show, we finally have something that looks like every other American show.

Yay!

Clearing the air about the Anti-Superstition Ordinance - Part 2

Continued from here. Comments, both positive and negative are welcome as long as you stay civil. I promise to publish contrary views to my own.

2. Why we need a special law to address superstitions

Time and again, detractors of the Late Dr Dabholkar have argued that exploitative practices by fake godmen are already covered by existing laws. Simply put, no they're not.

According to Milind Joshi, a former ANS* activist at present, there are only two laws that a fake godman can be booked under: Section 420 and the Drugs & Magic Remedies Act. The latter is largely ineffective as awareness of the law and its provisions means even the police don't know when and whom to arrest for selling dubious cures for real diseases. Many of these medicines are passed off as traditional medicine and it is a known fact that a lot of people trust anything with 'Ayurveda' or something similar on its label better than a 'chemical' drug that has undergone decades of supervised trials.

Therein lies another problem - victims of dubious medicine rarely realize that they are victims. They believe in the power of alternative medicine, and more often than not, if they don't get the same benefits as a distant relative of their colleague allegedly got, they consider it their own bad luck and move on. The only occasions when that changes is when it is too late. I recently heard of this child with Type 1 Diabetes whose parents stopped the insulin and opted for some version of mumbo-jumbo medicine. The child reportedly went into Diabetic Coma and suffered brain death.

Type 1 Diabetics depend on external insulin for survival, and the fear of pricking is one of the biggest hurdles most patients need to overcome before they are on a path to better health. Sadly, this very fear of pricking and life-long dependence on injections makes kids and their parents vulnerable to manipulation by medicine men and faith healers. At present in such cases, any arrests are mostly possible after the fact. What the Ordinance aims to do is to curb any fake medicinal practices before they can claim the next victim.

As for the famous Section 420, it should suffice to cite an incident that Joshi recalls.

During his ANS days in the early 90s, Joshi was part of a campaign to expose a certain godman with a strong following in rural areas of Pune district. To this end, they carried out something of a sting operation, visiting the fake godman to seek respite from fabricated problems, and recording their meetings on audio tape. When they felt they had enough proof to show that this Baba-ji was taking money under the pretext of magically fixing their problems, they lodged a complaint and had him arrested.

Within hours, the local MLA turned up to bail out the arrested man. Later, when the matter came up in court, it turned out that the prosecution did not have a case since a case under Section 420 can only be made by an actual victim who has been cheated of money or possessions. Since the complainants in this case had deliberately set the poor man up, they did not qualify as victims, and the fake Baba walked free. The ANS guys on the other hand, were rapped across the knuckles with an advice to stick to propaganda without trying to involve the Law of the Land.

To sum up, under the present laws:

• legal action against exploitative superstitious practices can only be taken after the fact

• proof is hard to come by since real victims - the people who put their faith in someone only to be duped of their money and sometimes worse - hardly ever record their interactions

• witnesses to such interactions are mostly either people working for the fake godman/medicine man, or their followers/devotees/believers who can barely be counted on to speak up against someone they probably still trust

Anti-superstition activists tried legal resorts and failed. That is how the need for special laws to address blind beliefs was felt and a Bill was proposed.

3. The Ordinance is NOT against religion

Let me direct your attention once again to the actual draft of the Ordinance passed on August 26 2013, in case you missed it in the previous post.  Here's the link for the draft in English, and here's the document in Marathi.

Briefly, these are the practices that are addressed by the Ordinance:

• Human sacrifice

• Tying someone up and beating them, torturing them with shitty drinks, chilli smoke etc, and physically hurting them - all under the pretext of expelling ghosts

• Passing off magic tricks as miracles         

• Aghori practices that may cause physical injury or death to anyone

• Mumbo-jumbo rituals to find hidden treasures or water resources (to reiterate, performing a simple pooja and feeding a few cows to make it rain is not a crime - not unless the rituals involve, say, beating someone with sticks and stones)

• Spreading fear/intimidating/blackmailing someone by pretending to be possessed or claiming to have supernatural powers

• Accusing someone of practicing black magic and causing harm to such person using such pretext

• Parading someone naked, imposing a social boycott using above pretext

• Threatening people to invoke ghost & suchlike

• Getting in the way of medical treatment by offering jaadu-tona solutions to fatal emergencies**
• Claiming to perform surgery by fingers or claiming to change sex of foetus in the womb

• Sexual exploitation under the guise of divinity, promise of progeny or as a form of exorcism

Now if you honestly claim that any of these practices is an essential part of your faith, I have nothing to say to you. Of course, anti-ordinance voices have suggested that the resultant laws will ban all forms of religious practices, including a simple pooja. They have, in fact, organised street plays showing a dystopian future wherein a couple offering Satyanarayan Pooja at home get arrested under the new laws.

Now that's the kind of propaganda that would turn my parents against the Ordinance. That's also a big fat lie. No Ordinance had been passed, nor any Bill proposed, that raises objections to a harmless worship or religious festivities. It might be worth mentioning here that ANS activists like Joshi have actually used Ganesh Puja mandaps as a platform to raise awareness and campaign against superstitions, with full co-operation of, and often invitation from the respective organizing committees. In fact, in the wake of Dr Dabholkar's murder, many local Ganesh mandals contacted the office of his magazine Sadhana for info for creating anti-superstition tableaux.

More on ANS and Sadhana's association with religious groups and organizations, later.

I have been browsing through articles on websites of the groups opposed to the Bill hoping to find some arguments to support their stand. What I found mostly were generic accusations of how the Bill and the present Ordinance is a direct assault on Faith in general and certain Faiths in particular, besides a bunch of very interesting lies.

In the next part of this series, I'll address a couple of those arguments. I'd very much appreciate responses and some good anti-Ordinance voices before I do so, to make the debate more meaningful.

* Andhashraddha Nirmoolan Samiti, of which late Dr Dabholkar was founder-president.

** If anything, the law on this point could be made stronger to include chronic diseases.

Long overdue: clearing the air about the Anti-Superstition Ordinance (part 1)

I know it's not use, but I must add my voice in support of the Anti-Superstition Ordinance and more importantly, refute some of the lies being spread about the well-meaning move from the state government. I know I don't have a lot of readers, but I also know that the handful of people who do read my blog are intelligent people and there's just a chance they might help me spread the word. So first of all, here is the link to a copy of the Ordinance. Read it fully and carefully before you move to the next paragraph.

I mean it. Here's the link again, please read it in the name of all that's good and holy. And here's a Marathi copy. I won't mind if you don't return to this page, as long as there is at least one more person on earth who has read the actual contents of the ordinance.

Now here's the deal. If anyone, after reading the full contents, feels the law is unnecessary or skewed, they are welcome to post their views in the comments. Comments to this blog are moderated, but I promise to publish anything posted by anyone as long as they don't use unparliamentary language.

As it happens, a lot of right wing groups are opposed to the Bill on mostly fuzzy grounds. I'll mainly address the points raised by this article on Niti Central and content that keeps popping up on the delightful HJS website.

1. This is an Anti-Superstition Ordinance, not Anti-Black Magic

The distinction is an important one, because if you call it Anti-Black Magic, it is implied that the State admits to the existence of such a thing as Black Magic. While you are entitled to your beliefs as much as I am entitled to my Harry Potter obsession, let us kindly acknowledge that the laws of the land take cognizance of scientific facts and not debatable beliefs. At least, I hope that is the case, and I'm not saying this hope isn't shaken every once in a while by actual evidence. But that's a different story.

More to the point, Black Magic according to the provisions of the proposed Bill comes under the umbrella of superstitions. I'm going to some length to explain this, because someone I really respect, (let's call him Sam) had raised an argument that a law against black magic is futile since you cannot pin down the source of black magic. So let me again explain how this works.

Let's say A has a dispute with B that cannot be settled amicably. So A goes to C, who claims to have some magical powers, for help. C charges some fee from A, performs some weirdass puja to set off a curse on B. As per Sam's belief, this puja may actually cause B to collapse of heart attack, and B's family would not be able to figure out the role played by A and C in causing the said ailment. By extension, nobody can arrest A or C since their crime cannot be proven.

In deference to Sam's belief system, I won't go into the science of it all, but let's just say that the new law does not concern itself with the causes of heart attack. What happens under this law instead, is that if C is caught with reasonable proof taking money from A and performing weirdass rituals, C is likely to be put in jail. A is likely to be unharmed. This won't change whether B has a heart attack or not, because no sane judge in Indian courts hopefully (yes, again hopefully) believes that weirdass rituals can actually cause heart attacks in people sleeping in their homes.

This also means that if one day B suddenly passes off in his sleep, his family won't be able to abuse the Anti-Superstition laws to somehow frame A for murder on charges of using black magic to settle score with B. The only people who need to worry the new laws are people like C who dupe people into thinking that their problems can somehow be fixed by giving a lot of money to C for performing weird mumbo-jumbo rituals.

Alas klar? Wunderbar.

(to be continued)

Cretin ka Lunchbox

Even if you haven't seen The Lunchbox yet, you probably already know that it is one of the sweetest, subtlest films to hit the theatres in recent times, with seasoned actor Irrfan Khan, the performer of the season Nawazuddin Siddiqui and newcomer Namit Kaur pitching in well-rounded performances. The story of two strangers connecting through letters sent via a lunchbox pulls at your heartstrings in this internet age and only a cretin would say anything but the nicest words for such a rare cinematic gem.

So let me first tell you a bit about the cretin writing this. You know those sharp, driven career women, brilliant as students and sparkling with talent as they enter the job market? I'm not one of them. I've bunked classes, flunked exams, dropped out of one college, just about managed to graduate, and changed jobs with the tenacity of a software engineer (minus the salary hikes) before landing my present position, about 3 years ago. Yet, in all those years of underachievement, it never once occurred to me to not have a career and just 'settle down'. Having a job or working towards it has always felt like a natural state.

Which is why I find it hard to relate to women like Illa from The Lunchbox. It's not that the job of a housewife is any easier than that of a working woman. I know I'd make a lousy housewife. What I fail to comprehend is Illa's utter lack of options. What compels her to be and remain such a doormat? Would her life and her status in the household be any different (for better or worse) if she had a little financial independence? Would she then have so quietly tolerated the fact that her husband was having an affair? Is it her personality or her circumstances that she cannot see any choices between quietly accepting her lot and running off to Bhutan?

Elsewhere in the cinematic universe, we have met women like Sasi of English Vinglish and Pooja in Arth.

Sasi's family is unappreciative of her prowess as efficient homemaker and beautiful cook, but she has the good sense to leverage her culinary skills for a small business. In time we realize that in their own unspoken way, her family does respect the skill and hard work that goes into whipping up a delicious dessert.

Pooja, who has apparently never learnt to fend for herself in the big bad world, nor has the impressive qualifications that would have employers lap her up, would still rather go through the ordeal of living in a seedy women's hostel and struggling for a respectable job than go back to a cheating husband.

Neither of these women, nor the number of women I know in real life who made difficult choices rather than trade their dignity for the uneasy comforts within a broken marriage, have ever had it easy. There are practical and emotional challenges, social pressures and/or financial hurdles to be negotiated, depending on the choices they made. While I do appreciate that in the real world you are more likely to meet an Illa than a Pooja - the cretin that I am - I would rather go to the movies to see the latter.

That is why, one of the most beautifully mounted films in recent times falls just short of touching a chord with me. This may also be because in the past few years, as a viewer I have been spoilt by a bunch of very talented filmmakers churning out some really polished products, with beautiful stories and well-rounded characters whose motivations are very clearly understandable. It maybe that the slice of life feel of the film, the camera's eye for detail, the nuanced performances at the service of this film are fast becoming the norm rather than a rare treat in Indian cinema. But mostly, I just feel a bit let down because I thought we had moved on from the Abala Naari narrative long, long ago.

Five, Six, Seven, Hate!

Dear Voice of Indian Youth,

Congratulations on once again making it to the top trending topics in India. How's the view from up there, Sir?

I know by now a lot of people have wasted their time in trying to explain to you just why rape jokes are tasteless, but I'll add my voice to the cacophony anyway. So here goes.

First of all, get over yourself. Not everything is about you. Stop classifying the world into your fans who have delegated the job of representing their voice to you, and your haters who 'lurk' behind twitter handles, stalking you, waiting to pounce. There's more to people than what they think of you and how they treat you. Nobody came to this world with the sole mission to read your books, or to badger you. You're not the good Badi Bahu in a prime time TV show, and people who say mean things about your books or your columns or your tweets are not jealous Chhoti Bahus who'll go to any extent to make Saasuji frown on you, even if it means (gasp!) pouring a cupful of red chilli powder into your daal makhani.

No, you're a writer, a popular one, and your books are available in the market for less than Rs 100 per copy. This means anyone with Rs 100 in their pocket has access to your thoughts, your ideas, your opinions, your creativity and they are in a position to say stuff about you. Deal with it. And if you can't deal with it, don't write.

Similarly, when you write something on tweeter, any and all of your over 1.8 million followers can and will have an opinion on what you say. Not all opinions will be kind. And many of them can and will share those opinions in the public space, just as easily as you share your enlightened views on the state of the economy. Don't whine.

Now on the matter of your latest foot-in-the-mouth incident. What is so wrong in what you tweeted, you ask (as do some of your supporters). Here's what:

Rape.

At a time when yet another brutal gang rape has shook the nation, when one of our Godmen has been accused of sexual assault, you merrily used the word as a metaphor for the falling rupee. And when people raised an objection to this - some politely, some not quite - you dubbed them as 'haters' and 'idiots'. Agreed, reactions to your tweet need not have been all malicious. But then, in using the word 'rape',  you weren't exactly trying to be polite, were you? You wanted to elicit some strong reactions, stir some emotion, didn't you? Why are you acting all hurt if some of the reaction is directed at you?

You have the right to Freedom of Speech. But haven't you ever learnt that freedom comes with responsibility? I do not find your use of the word in good taste, but I do recognize your right to use it to convey a strong emotion. Now that you have said what you wanted to say, why not stand your ground? Instead of calling people idiots and haters, why not defend your choice of vocabulary, using any of the various channels at your disposal? Why not make a sustained argument for the necessity of using strong, if offensive vocabulary? Why delete the tweet, and for heaven's sake, did you just use the word 'harmless'?

Please go ahead and explain how that precious tweet of yours would have contributed towards uplifting the economy. Please educate us on how we can 'raise our voices' against the fall of the rupee. Should we hold a candlelight vigil? Should we boycott Mc Donalds? Should we rise in revolution and overthrow the evil government and establish military rule - will that help stabilize the rupee? I'm asking in all earnestness, because I know nuts about Economics and have no idea what I can do to stop the tumbling currency in its tracks.

I hope you have some answers in that brilliant mind of yours. If you don't, the least you can do is acknowledge that your remark was insensitive and apologize. After all, “As an artist you have full freedom to write whatever you want to. However... Should you be exercising the right to hurt people (sic)?” - your words, not mine. You said something to this effect in the context of the Salman Rushdie controversy at a Literary Festival. You were, of course, talking about religious sentiments getting hurt. Are those the only sentiments worth protecting, Mr Writer of the Masses?

Never cease to amaze

Right on the heels of the viral CNN iReport story, came another news, of yet another gangrape in yet another metropolitan city of India. Will all the India defenders please stand up? I'm speaking to you, Mr Senior Rightwing journalist, who said the report comprised gross exaggerations. What do you have to say now that this has happened to one of our own? I'm speaking to you, guardians of morality and dispensers of wisdom. Kindly point out to me the error of my ways now, tell me how I can avoid meeting a similar fate by scaling down my ambition, by putting safety before my job, by not tempting fate, by widening my definition of unsafe urban spaces.

When we step out of the house, we do so at our own risk. When we speak about harassment, we are told to conduct ourselves better. When a leading actress requests media to refrain from printing pictures snapped of her without her permission, she is gently told to stop whining, because a picture clicked in a public space is fair game. I must really thank "FP staff" for bringing this to my notice, so I'd know better than to ever appear in beachwear anywhere in the world, because then anybody clicking my pictures without my permission would be fair game. Sure, Indian media houses won't be falling over each other to publish those pictures, but I'd better not complain if pictures of me clicked without my knowledge ever pops up somewhere I'd least expect (or wish) them to. Because if I'm in a public space, my picture, and by extension I am fair game. Oh, and do you know how I stumbled upon that article? It was linked right below this one talking about the Mumbai gangrape. Bravo Firstpost.

We are a screwed up society. We don't know the lines between curiosity, voyeurism, invasion of privacy, abuse and molestation. We have still not recognized that the only factor differentiating different levels of invasion, or containing the damage up to a certain level is opportunity. We don't take 'minor' offenses seriously, because we don't realize that the guy who can stroke a woman's thigh in a bus can rape her in an alley.

We don't take one white woman's account seriously. Then it happens to one of us.

One India, many different stories

A University of Chicago student recently recounted some of the traumatic experiences she had during her trip to India about a year ago as part of a study group. Her article was published in CNN iReport, a user-generated news platform. Another female student from the same group, a young African American student, posted her response to the story, taking exception to what she perceived in the original story as stereotyping of Indian men based on the actions of a few.

Briefly, this is what happened during the study trip:

A group of students, including our two authors - Rose and twoseat (the penname used by the second author) from University of Chicago visited India for a three-month Indian civilizations program. An incident confirmed by both reports was on their first day in Pune. It was the Ganesh Festival and the American girls joined in the street dancing - dancing which stopped as soon as the group of foreigners joined in. Through their three month tenure, the girls in the group were stared, groped, their pictures clicked and subject to every kind of misbehaviour women, especially foreigners may expect on Indian streets. There was a rape attempt on one of the girls in the group - an incident that left indelible marks especially on Rose. Upon her return to the US, she was unable to shake off the trauma and suffered mental disturbance to the extent that she was held in psychiatric ward for some time.

As of 22^nd August, Rose’s story greets you on the landing page of CNN iReport, and the statistics are impressive:

The article was read by roughly 12,000 more readers since I started writing this post. Twoseat’s kinder take on India and her defense of Indian men at large finds fewer takers at the moment:

Naturally, a part of me wants to jump to the defense of my country and cry foul over western perceptions about India. Anyway, this is not a rant against stereotyping of India and Indians by a white woman. Far from it.

As an Indian, I feel ashamed of the treatment meted out to these girls. I feel more ashamed, because I have long been aware of the strange way in which we all behave around foreigners, but never given it much thought. I have listened quietly even as people I know, sniggered, joked and shared generally uncharitable, uninformed opinions about ‘those women’ - opinions based on their strange manner of dressing, or the audaciousness of women roaming about, un-chaperoned, in places and spaces where even we the local women don’t venture alone.

Reactions to Rose’s article predictably include sage advice from Indian women about how to behave in India. No Indian woman would dance on the street during the Ganesh Festival, points out one comment. That may be true, but why is it the case? What is so wrong, in a country so fond of festivity, to display a little bit of your inner child in a space where a crowd is apparently enjoying themselves? True, I never fancied doing the same, even though I’m usually the first one to get on my feet during most family weddings. 

Sometimes it takes an outsider to make us question the little things that we take for granted. What makes us a society where men dancing on the street is celebration, while a woman joining in is a spectacle?

The incident in Goa seems by all appearances the most traumatic experience that no one should have to face. To be fair, I don’t know if I were to visit Goa with a group of my friends today, something like that would never happen to me. Molestation in India, as most of us are painfully aware, is more a matter of opportunity than the colour of your skin or the clothes you wear, or any physical or personal attribute. Let’s make no mistake about this - individual attributes are for humans; rapists, molesters, stalkers, starrers and gropers don’t see us as humans - they wouldn’t do that to you if they thought of you as a person.

What I’m trying to get at is that the Goa incident was a criminal assault, one that would understandably scar anyone in that unfortunate position. I could potentially be attacked, mugged or face one of the any number of possible unpleasant experiences in a foreign country, and my memories of the country would be permanently tainted by that incident.

As an Indian, my place is not to play the victim and lament the treatment meted out to women in this country, but to regret that a visitor to my country ended up taking back a slice of this reality with her. It is generous on the part of young African American student to weigh in that the whole country and all the men here should not be stereotyped because of the actions of a few. She’s right, there are enough good, honourable men in India to make the place liveable and loveable; my own, somewhat naive belief is that those men are in a majority.

As an Indian however, particularly in the face of such incidents, my place is not to cite the good conduct of those good men, get defensive about what my country is or isn’t like, and belittle the trauma that Rose faced. It is rather my duty to own up to the fact that there is something in the society that I’m very much a part of, that allows some of its men to behave despicably and get away with it. It sucks to admit this, but the sooner we do, the more likely we are to take little steps within our power to change this.

Update: I hadn't read this opinion piece on Firstpost, published on the same day, at the time I posted this. The author puts across many more points that I would have liked to address, and much better than I could have.

The Murderous Mangalsutra in Ramaiya Vastavaiya

(Minor spoilers ahead)

I enjoyed Ramaiyya Vastavaiyya like you can only enjoy a Telugu potboiler or a Salman Khan movie: with a dollop of indulgence and surrender to the movie's loony premise. The movie is no doubt skillfully crafted. I watched it with my in-laws and my parents, and we are an assortment of five very unique individuals. It is to the credit of the film and the people in front as well as behind the camera that each one of us enjoyed the movie and never once got bored. More on the movie later; here I am only addressing a common trope used during the climactic fight scene.

My knowledge of South Indian films is very limited - I cannot tell Tamil from Telugu. Anyone who can enlighten me on the subject here is most welcome to do so politely.

A very knowledgeable friend, a rationalist who has spent the best years of his life fighting superstition in rural Maharashtra, once told me about the origin of the Mangalsutra, a string of black and golden beads that married women in Southern states of India wear to signify their marital status (besides the mandatory bindi, toe rings, bangles, sindoor and whatever else local customs require married women to wear to make it crystal clear that they're taken).

According to him, in olden days when an attacking army ravished a neighboring kingdom, women in the besieged land were considered spoils of war for the victorious soldiers. To avoid fighting among themselves over the best goods, the custom was for the horseback soldier to throw a noose around the neck of any woman he fancied. That noose came to symbolize a man's right over a woman. Over the centuries, this noose evolved into a more elegant ornament called mangalsutra, but it's function, for those who believe, remains the same - it signifies a man's possession of a woman, and the woman's status as one with a living husband.

I don't know if this origin story is completely true, but the brandishing of Mangalsutra in some Indian movies, particularly in Southern potboilers and their Hindi remakes, makes this theory plausible. The errant young bahu in one movie gets her way with her husband and in-laws by threatening to tear the yellow string; the good wife in another movie runs as if for her life when the villain tries to snatch the sacred thread from her, like it would have mortally hurt her hale and hearty husband; the baddies in yet another movie try to get their revenge on the guy from a poor family who secretly MS-ed their precious young sister (using it as a verb seems to convey the action more effectively), by threatening to get the village madman to MS the poor guy's widowed mother. The scene where the old widow is humiliated in front of the whole village by first splashing color on her chaste white sari, then adorning her hair with jasmine - soon followed by a shot of her terrified face framed by the approaching Mangalsutra in the madman's hands - has disturbing undertones of a rape being committed in full public view.

The latest frothy romance from Prabhu Deva turns to the same trope during it's climactic fight scene. Truth be told, the scene where the mild-mannered Shruti Hassan is kidnapped and surrounded by some repulsive-looking goons in an isolated area is creepy enough to make the skin crawl. When baddie-in-chief declares that his son will now make her a proper bride, I began to worry that this so far family-friendly movie was about to turn ugly, when son-of-baddie revealed his evil plan and his evil weapon - yes, a Mangalsutra. Of course the girl's brother and boyfriend promptly appear to her rescue, but even amid the chaos of men fighting and arms and legs breaking all around, son-of-baddie manages to corner the girl and MS her right then and there. Of course his throat is slit by one of the good guys before he can execute this nefarious scheme.

Maybe I'm too much of a softie, but rather than kill a human being, no matter how creepy and despicable, wouldn't it be more amicable for all parties to just let him tie the freaking thread, then go ahead and break a few of his bones, dispose the thread, and get on with your life? I get that tying the thread is a visual metaphor for evil deeds you'd rather not show on screen. Much like Marshall 'reading a magazine'*, noisy neighbors 'playing bagpipes'** and college kids 'eating sandwiches'*** in HIMYM.

Still, it is somewhat offensive to see an educated woman feel so threatened by an object that is only symbolic of a sacred bond. Sacred objects are sacred because of the meaning we bestow on them. Even if the story of the black beads having evolved from a noose is true, in a civilized society the MS would serve only as a symbol, not a contract - certainly not without informed consent from both parties. By brandishing the sacred thread like a weapon - even if it is only a metaphor in a family-friendly movie - these films seem to take us back to a time when women had no more agency than cattle or a notebook labelled with a kid's name.

* taking a dump
** having noisy sex
*** smoking marijuana

I heart luv stories... though not quite

I recently realized that I'm late to the party as far as a slew of retro love stories in apna Bollywood are concerned. Maybe it's a sign I'm getting old, but I never felt motivated enough to go out and watch I Hate Luv Stories, Mere Brother Ki Dulhan, Rockstar, Ishaqzade, Student Of The Year, Ashiqui Thoo, Ranjhana, and while I was curious about Yeh Jawani Hai Deewani, I let that pass too (and no, I won't include Jab Tak Hai Jaan in this list, dead director zombie hero or whatever). So pardon me for admitting that Lootera took me by surprised. I mean, the era of anti-romantic love stories heralded by Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge and Hum Aaapke Hain Kaun is over, and nobody bothered to share the good news with me!

Now before you start pelting stones at this blog, let me explain. First, stop throwing stuff at your computer screen. Second, well I loved DDLJ and HAHK as much as anybody else in 1994. In 1994.

Those films were good. They stood apart in a time when love stories meant a creepy hero stalking a pink-frocked heroine till she gave in to his rakish charms, then beating up a few baddies before riding off into the sunset. Or creepy hero stalking pink-frocked heroine till she gave in to his rakish charms, then getting into trouble with local don who dutifully plunges at hero's sister who in turn proceeds to die either before or after getting raped in order to be avenged by brooding Bhaiyya who then rides off into the sunset or goes to jail, depending on whether brooding Bhaiyya was played by Akshaye, Sunil or Sunny.

All this changed when Yash uncle and King Face Khan stepped in with a film that, for the first time on Indian screen, put stalking in perspective and reminded us all that in the real world, carving someone's name on your chest is a sign of mental imbalance, at par with talking to your dead mother on phone and killing people. Then came HAHK which reminded us that while finding The One you can frolic around the pool with is really nice, you need to think of your family and their interests too - and chances are, Divine Pomeranian Intervention will step in at just the right time before your sacrifice goes too far.

Then DDLJ put a final seal on the new rules of romance, rules that were to be followed for nearly two decades of Bollywood romances:

• You may hanky-panky against pretty European locales as long as you are appropriately chaste, wear your Hindustani values on your sleeves and can rattle off some lines on the moral superiority of desi boys and girls
• The girl is dad's property, to be taken with permission only
• That means dad's permission, not the girl's. You may hand over the girl to Daddy to be married off as he may please, never mind what she wants
• Love is... leaving some poor guy at the altar to be with your puppy faced lover because... awww....

Over the next couple years, the last rule got slightly reset to:

• Love is... the poor guy at the altar happily relinquishing marital bliss for the sake of puppy faced lover because... awww....

And so it went. Whether it was a big banner NRI wedding video or its cheap knockoff, the hero no longer bothered to propose marriage till the girl was properly attired for the ceremony. Even wedding guests got so used to the routine, their faces rarely registered surprise in the event of grooms getting swapped: notice the reactions on all of Kajol's sahelis in the climactic scene of Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. They are so damn relieved that Kajol was ditching Salman for the blast from her past, it's like... I mean, if I was invited to a wedding where the card says Bunty weds Babli, and then Bunty stops mid-ceremony and hands Babli over to his good friend Bunny, I'd be very, very confused. Unless I had an unreciprocated crush on Bunty.... anyway, I digress.

A nice twist to the last-minute groom swapping tradition came in Jab We Met. 

(Spoiler Alert for losers who don't want to know the denouement of a six-year-old movie) 

Here we have a girl, the guy she's supposed to want to marry, and the guy her family thinks she's going to marry, and all she has to do is to tell everyone that while the wedding preparations and decoration are spot on, they might want to change one of the names on the card in time to spare some unsuspecting guests a lot of confusion. The only problem is, she no longer wants to marry the guy she's supposed to want to marry, and wants to marry the guy her family thinks she's going to marry instead! Now that was a deliciously confusing conclusion to a simple love story if there ever was one. 

(End Spoiler Alert for losers who don't want to know the denouement of a six-year-old movie)

From all evidence, love stories are becoming more real, more relate-able now, where actions have consequences, locations are more earthy and matters of who marries whom are settled outside the Mandap.

***
Coming back to Lootera...

I liked the somewhat bratty, strong headed heroine in Lootera as much as I liked its flawed hero. What I liked most, though, were the little things - like Barun Chanda's colonial accent, Vikrant Massey's no-head-bobbing Dev Anand impression, the haveli with its colonial knick-knacks and its lime-washed walls, and all those little details so lovingly compiled by Motwane.

Now some of my favorite critics have already given some beautiful reviews to this film, so I won't go into all that. Just sharing a few thoughts here.

The setting:
The first time Sujay suggested watching Lootera, I flippantly dismissed the idea - "Not another period film." The heavy costuming, the posturing, the affected speech from most characters, all the artificiality of your average period flick usually wears me out. It was a bit refreshing then, to see a lot of outdoors, bright & fresh colours and a Sonakshi with very little jewelry and brocade. I'm also glad that the two leads do not try too hard to fit into the period setting, and focus instead, on the story of these two people they're portraying, and their emotional journey.

I've mentioned before that I'm not a sucker for authenticity in my movies. My views were reinforced recently by the first half of Matru Ki... I am no more motivated to finish the movie than to finish typing its name here. All the hilarious sounding capers - and this film puts you through two crazy drunk scenes with the spectacularly talented Pankaj Kapur (one of them in a twin seater plane), a pink buffalo, a pink Navneet Nishan, a corrupt Shabana, a gorgeous Anushka, a buffoonish fiance, kidnapped zulu dancers, a flying Mao... all in the first half - just didn't do it for me. Perhaps because Imran, who is given an enviably complex role here, puts all his energy into the Haryanvi accent instead, which by the way sucked.

What I found in Lootera instead was just as much detail of the era as was necessitated by the story. The many little treasures in the old haveli of the landlord are also an important component of the story, and they walk out of the picture once they have played their part in catalyzing some key events. The lavishness here never tapers towards the obscene, and the buildings, the people, feel like people and stuff in a real world rather than the ghosts haunting one of SLB's blue-green studios, rehearsing the roles they were meant to play in the local Ram Lila before tragedy struck. It is interesting that Motwane has been mentored by the man Bhansali himself. If the ambiance of this film owes anything to said mentoring, then Motwane is the best kind of student out there, one who can really cherry-pick the best qualities of the mentor and thrash the rest.

O' Henry:
When I first read The Last Leaf, and during my many subsequent re-readings (I can never have enough of O' Henry, sue me) I often fantasized about turning that story into a film. I had even sketched out a possible adaptation, in which the girls would be struggling actresses living in a cheap apartment in Andheri, and the old man would be an out of work painter of film hoardings. So pardon me for being a little biased, but great choice of story there!

The chase scene:
Am I the only one who thought the chase scene in the second half was somewhat inspired by the one in Anurag Kashyap's Black Friday? The way Ranveer gradually wears out, how that messes up his orientation, how the inspector calls out to him by name, the initial assurance that gets drained out as he finds himself cornered... do read Baradwaj Rangan's piece where he has beautifully captured this part.

***
So yeah, maybe watching a love story every once in a while may not be such a colossal waste of time. Now that Bollywood has some actual young people to act as young people, we might perhaps get more of these, and maybe, just maybe they won't turn into the assembly line products of the noughties too soon. Hopefully they won't be too much in the Hollywood template either (more on that later). Needless to say, Dr Horrible's Sing-Along Blog remains the greatest love story ever told.

Little Pink and the mountain of chocolate

Once upon a time, there was a little girl whose name nobody remembered. Some called her Little Pink Dupatta because of all the pink stuff she wore, while others called her Chocorella because she loved chocolate. But alas, she could not have chocolate more than once a day, lest she grow out of all her pretty pink outfits.
One day on her way back home from work, Little Pink chanced upon a pretty little chocolate shop. It was two hours to supper, so she went in and asked the kind old man at the counter for a cup of dark hot chocolate. "Do you want your chocolate in a cuddle cup," the old man asked. "Yes, please," replied Little Pink.
It was then that she saw a little sign behind the counter:
HOT PANCAKES, VANILLA OR CHOCOLATE, RS 99 ONLY!

That's wonderful, thought Little Pink, I can have a pancake here and won't have to make dinner. Aloud, she said, "I'll also have a pancake, please."
"Will that be Vanilla, or Chocolate?" asked the kind old man.
"Vanilla," replied Little Pink. I couldn't possibly have chocolate pancake with hot chocolate, she thought, because there is such a thing as too much chocolate, even for Chocorella.

Minutes later, as she was sipping the steaming hot dark chocolate out of a big white cuddle cup, the pancake arrived - and it was nothing like anything Little Pink had seen before.
The thin little vanilla pancake was doused in chocolate syrup, sprinkled with chocolate chips, and topped with a large scoop of chocolate ice cream. Little Pink almost shrieked at the thought of eating all that chocolate before the ice cream melted under the hot chocolate syrup. I couldn't possibly waste all that chocolate now, she thought as she got down to the task of eating that big mountain of chocolate in front of her, careful not to get any chocolate stains on her pretty pink dress, trying her best not to look like one of those disgusting Cadbury Dairy Milk Silk ads on TV.

An hour later, a weary little girl in pink got back to her little cabin in the woods, her little belly full of delicious hot chocolate and chocolate ice cream and vanilla pancake, and a look of tired satisfaction on her face. She went to bed early that evening, promising herself to stay away from chocolate for a while. And sure enough, she did not have another piece of chocolate for the next... 12 hours.

Moral of the story:
There is no such thing as too much chocolate.

P.S. At the time of this story, Chocorella was 30 years old, but she was still called Little Pink because she's... short.