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.)

Ring out the old: some ads I never want to see again

1. Zomato.com
What's with all those thappads? Wait, don't tell me, I don't want to know. Thankfully, the ads are about the New Year's Eve, and the happy bells of 2012 will indeed ring them out. Sadly, that cannot be said about some of the other ads that are robbing me of my happiness.

2. goibibo.com
Again some thappads? Really guys, is the entire Indian advertising industry so totally out of ideas?

3. Snapdeal
I don't know if I'm offended by the sheer racism of depicting Yamraj as a South Indian villain or simply by how dumb and unfunny the ad is. Maybe both. Notice how all the most annoying ads are about websites? Speaking of which...

4. bestylish.com
"There is a thin line between sexy and sleazy," says Vidya Balan, who can incidentally use that line as a skipping rope. The 'sexy footwear' ad on the other hand, is far, far away from that line - and you know on which side it is.

5. 'December! December!'
Some car, I don't even remember which. Apparently they have some good deals going on in December. Thankfully, only 3 more days of watching that little kid jumping about with joy.

6. Tata Sky - Muffin!
Pregnant women are NOT dumb, annoying, unreasonable, selfish, obsessive fiends. Anyone who thinks otherwise, meet me outside my office unarmed and alone and we'll settle this like gentlemen.

And this is all the trash I'm exposed to without watching a single Hindi entertainment, movie or music channel. My mom was right. Television is bad for your brain. Man, do I miss Lalitaji!

Tu Tithe Mee - old people are not all tragic characters

Warning: This is going to be a rambling post, and incidentally it is not about Baghban. So you may skip directly to the fourth paragraph and lose out on nothing.

Whenever I hear someone talk about what a sweet, sad and touching film Baghban is, and how it makes parents reflect on their sad, imminent future, it makes me realise how little we Indians demand of our movies. Give us a kind old couple with golden hearts, a bunch of selfish kids who relentlessly mistreat them, a motley bunch of friends who help the old couple pull things together, and watch us wet our hankies. Like in many things, my dislike for Baghban stems not so much from the film itself - I think Hema Malini was looking gorgeous, and the improbability of having a teenaged granddaughter within 40 years of marriage (hastily explained in the opening scenes as a result of both Amitabh and his oldest son having married very early - what the heck?) or a man claiming to have worked 40 years in a bank which was established less than ten years before the film was made - these are all goofs that we have long forgiven Hindi cinema for.

My bias against the film comes from the fact that the story is so time-worn - I’ve seen half-a-dozen films in the Doordarshan days with similar sad tales of old people - two of them had a 40-something Rajesh Khanna play much older characters. Now there is nothing wrong in re-adapting an old plot with a new look. The thing is, Baghban adds nothing to the story by way of interpretation. The sons and daughters are all like one big, insensitive monolith. The two happy-family songs in the family at the beginning and the sudden turn-around in all the characters as soon as they learn that their old father is broke after retirement, has all the depth of a Madhur Bhandarkar film. In real life, when old parents move in with their sons and bahus after many years of both couples living independently, there always are domestic problems, conflicting lifestyles and a difficult phase of adjustment. This does not happen because either the parents or the children are bad people, but because they are different. But again, Baghban is not a psychological study, it is a Hindi film with an emotional story. And there comes the main source of my prejudice - just a few years before Baghban, there came a Marathi film called Tu Tithe Mee, whose traces are all too evident in the later Hindi film. And Tu Tithe Mee is such a gem.

Yun hota to kya hota: An alternate history - Part I

Before 10^th Century CE: Indian sub-continent is in the grip of Dark Ages, with the influencial Brahmin class holding sway over the ruling Kshatriyas and exploiting the working class people. Ancient mythological texts like Vedas, Puranas, and the epics Ramayana and Mahabharata are accessible only to Sanskrit reading Brahmins, and the common man relies solely on their interpretation for all religious and spiritual guidance, as well as more practical decisions in private and public life.

Trade relations with Europe in the West, China in the North, and the Aztec and Mayan traders from the Far East keep the economy healthy, but the poor peasants living at the bottom of social hierarchy have no share in the general prosperity.

The first jolt to the status quo came with the conquest of Arabia by African tribes around 8^th Century CE. The hostile new regime practically blocked the trade of precious fur, leather and Mediterranian herbs that had been thriving through the land route between Europe and Asia. Winters in the Rajputana deserts and Gangetic plains were unbearable without European fur.

It was however the conquest of Kabul towards the end of 9th Century that marked a new epoch in the Indian history.

Kabul had been the seat of ancient Buddhist learning since many centuries now. Scholars and monks well-versed in the original Indian Vedic texts, history, philosophy of the ancient saints as well as the teachings of Gautam Buddha, had thrived and prospered in this cultural hub. They ran schools and universities which through the centuries had nurtured Chinese scholars, Muslim poets and philosophers, and Indian princes. The reputation of these universities and the cosmopolitan mix of students they attracted, had given Kabul its unique identity as a cultural melting pot and a very prosperous international city.

Now, with Kabul under the grip of the hedonistic African tribes, the rich foreign students stopped pouring into the city. Consequently, the universities started crumbling and the Buddhist scholars began considering the lavish offers from Indian royal families that had long been trying to lull these masters to tutor their clans.

The return of the Buddhist scholars brought about an intellectual and cultural revolution in the decadent Indian society. These masters, rejecting the existing social hierarchy, set up educational Gurukuls in the midst of the most populous cities. These Gurukuls were open to anyone who wished to learn and was able to either pay or serve the school. Education became gradually more accessible to the masses. Sons of peasants began questioning the hitherto uncontested authority of temple Brahmins.

The Indian Renaissance had begun.

Bijender Singh

I'm posting another short story I wrote some three years ago. Sweet, innocent times those were.

Bijender Singh was following me. I hadn't noticed.

It was my first time exploring Kolkata on my own. Without much of an agenda, I took the Metro to Park Street and wandered around the periphery of the vast Maidan, following the dead tracks of trams that once wheeled around the place. I did not see where I was going, or notice the man who asked me the time. I went on, following the tracks that got lost under a bridge.

I started walking along the edge of the bridge. I was thinking of how I had got here, in Kolkata, of all places, of all the places I had been in before – Vallabh Vidyanagar, Vadodara, Pune, Bengaluru. Switching from one course to another, one job to another, I had given everyone the excuse that the job I had taken up in Kolkata would give a boost to my career.

It was nothing of the sort. I just had to move out somewhere. And here I was, tracing the dead tracks of an outdated mode of transport in a new city.

Someone called out from behind me.

It was the man who had asked me the time. He was warning me that the bridge was not meant for pedestrians. I smiled and turned back. He told me his name was Bijender Singh, a guide who worked sometimes in Kolkata, and during summers in Dalhousie. I smiled again, and told him about my camping trip in Dalhousie; about how I loved the flower-laden valleys and the view of the town from our distant campsite. I was surprised at the ease with which I could talk to this stranger. My well-wishers would have killed me for trying so hard to get abducted, looted, raped, murdered, or all of above.

Now I’m not much of a museum person. But when someone, who’s just saved you from getting run over by speeding cars on a dangerous no-pedestrian bridge, offers to show you around a few boring places, you kinda say yes. We walked across the Maidan, had soft drinks at a stall. Bijender insisted on paying. He tried showing me around the garden surrounding the Victoria House, and blushed to see it infested with love birds of every feather. His stream of conversation dried up inside the Museum, where I busied myself for a while looking at colonial paintings and reading historical accounts, trying to trace the exact point in history where a glorious old city called Kolkata was degraded to Calcutta by ignorant colonizers.

Surprisingly, the little man didn’t ask for much of a tip, but in true Bollywood style, he wanted a souvenir to remember me by. I gave him my pen. He escorted me right up to the entrance gate of the Metro Rail, regretting perhaps, that he could not come right on to the platform and see me seated in the next train, just to make sure I was really going back home, and not just looking for an excuse to get rid of him. He also took my number. Of course, I gave my number to my new Bihari friend—with one digit altered. You see, I am not that trusting, nor very romantic.

But I do wonder at times, if Bijender Singh tried calling me that evening, and in the days that followed. Did it hurt him to realise that I had really just got rid of him? I shall never find out. Outside of the few hours that we spent talking on a day stolen from my routine, our worlds are completely different. Yes, we all grow up with those cute little stories of how two people from different worlds form these sweet little bonds of friendship that go beyond social perceptions. Whether such things happen in real life, and then how often, is one of those questions you don’t want to bother with. What is beyond doubt, however, is that you always take back something out of these little interactions. And so Bijender the Guide went back home with a pen. And I came back with a little story.