Heroine: Cliche Mash Potato

Madhur Bhandarkar has come up with the classic cropper, this time round. Heroine stands out for its stereotypes and tiring cliches. The trilogy, which began with Page 3 now ends (we hope) with the saga of Mahi Arora, a small town girl from a broken family, who is the 'wild child' of the film industry. Her downfall
is so ridden with the predictable failed career, drinking-smoking and wrong- men syndrome, that you end up laughing during the most intended serious moments in the movie with a sense of miserable deja vu. Intermission comes as a relief, while you wipe your tears of laughter and brace yourself for the next dose of baloney. While Page 3 and Fashion had fairly strong scripts to redeem the leading ladies, Heroine lacks script, soul and hey presto, a story too.

Bhandarkar's so called insights into the bad world of films is so dated. Who is he kidding here? Girls who step into the industry these days are educated, well-groomed, smart, know their way out, and do not, I repeat, do  not suffer from the middle class morality pangs that Bhandarkar attributes Mahi to ocassionally suffering from. We can clearly see that Dirty Picture got in the way of Bhandarkar's vision...though he and his leading lady have gone blue vociferously denying this in public. So, he ends up dishing out what remains no longer his signature hard-core riveting fare nor does he end up making an honest bio-pic. What we get to see is a hotch-potch of various incidents in Mahi's life, the variants of which we have long since heard or read about in cheap film glossies. There is no way you can explain away the oodles of cleavage shown by almost the entire female cast, including Mahi's psychiatrist (the talented Achint Kaur in a small, small, teeny weeny appearance). Item numbers, a lesbian episode between Pramita (Sahana Goswami, wasted in a cameo) and Mahi...Bhandarkar, one guesses, has tried every trick in his book to make his disaster look window dressed , and tell the world how a 'heroine's life, her follies and frailties' go.....yawn.....

A strong supporting cast - Helen, Lilette Dubey, Govind Namdeo, Sanjay Suri, Arjun Rampal, Randeep Hooda, Sahana Goswami, Ranvir Shorey and Divya Dutta - tries hard to alleviate the film. Kareena's pathetic attempts to emote, her confusion in whether she retains her usual filmi mannerisms or whether she becomes a Balan or whether she actually rises above and takes her acting skills to the next level ends up in a nightmare for the cine-goer. Who is to blame here? Her director? I figure, yes. He had presumedly promised her a monumental epic, a Swedish smorgasbord....yes, this is indeed, an epic dud.

When Peace is the Misnomer

Watching Naseeruddin Shah, live, on stage is Nirvana. There is no other word to describe a legend, a thespian. The effortless emoting leaves you awestruck, but not surprised, and would invariably make you wish you had a wider vocabulary to articulate your thoughts, instead of the run-of -the mill descriptions.

A Walk in the Woods examines the age-old divide of partition's babies, India and Pakistan. Shah's Jamaluddin Luftullah and Rajit Kapur's Ram Chinnappa, diplomats, who negotiate peace proposals to ease tensions between India and Pakistan, make for a whole collage of what might have been. The questions raised, albeit subtly, will leave the discerning viewer with a tinge of sadness. Humor, satire...the 2 hour play has it all. Directed by Shah's wife Ratna, this is a fantabulous directorial debut. Ratna, a noted artist in her own right, has chosen a sensitive but down-to-death path and given it new colour. A concept, which is pure clay in the hands of her iconic husband. The director has taken adequate care to ensure that there are no lengthy monologues that would sag audience attention. 

Can the two nations be friends? Can the mistrust ever end? And finally, can peace negotiators actually forget their professional postures, loosen up and actually be friends? Watch A Walk in the Woods, you will get a piece of thought without getting carried away by ideological demogogy.

A slice of the good life...

Good reading is a blessing..I have been fortunate enough to get a small healthy dose of it in the last few months.

The Pregnant King, Bollywood History, A Calendar Too Crowded, Immortals of Meluha, Time of my Life are some of the books I have managed to read, while I am sitting like a mother hen on Shantaram, Hunger Games and Khalil Gibran. Yes, sometimes motivating oneself to flip through the pages of a book at around 11 PM in the night after a whole day is tough, though not an excuse:). Each of these books set my thought process in motion and made me wonder how my life would have been if I hadn't chanced upon the book. Pregnant King, to state, is a supremely well researched book by the scholarly Devdutt Pattnaik. Set as a sub plot of the Mahabharata, Pregnant King combines mythology and narrates a powerful tale of the male-female identities and crises enmeshed in the principal characters and their lives. A lovely read for its gripping narrative and simple language. Would transport you back straight to the epic.

A Calendar too Crowded is a book of essays, of myriad voices - of female angst, joy, strength and survival in a world still so dominated by the male voice. A decent debut by young author Sagarika Chakraborthy. Bollywood History, on the other hand, is a treatise on the evolution of Indian cinema, the golden years, interesting anecdotes when history was in the making, a little bit of gossip (especially the bits on Pamela Bordes and Raj Kapoor), all these add up to make the book immensely readable, but for the small print, which can be a strain on the eye. Mihir Bose, the adept historian that he is, clearly knows his craft, and engages the reader with a good mix of research and trivia.

Time of My Life, a gift from a friend for my birthday, remains a book that I enjoyed immensely. Reasons are aplenty. The protagonist, Lucy is Bridget Jones, redefined. She is a victim of a web of lies she has to break, in order to live and love her Life. Life, here, comes alive as a character and she has to confront Him and answer Him at very stage. Bracketing Time as chicklit would be a bit of an insult to it. Time is a feel-good read that one must indulge in, a book that kindles a warm feeling within and makes you take stock of your life (now I begin to exaggerate:))..On a serious note, a good read, well-written, laced with dry humor, can get cliched at places, but will still make you reassess your life a bit, and stop being a quitter, especially if you are a girl.

I would be doing Chitra Bannerjee Divakaruni's The Palace of Illusions great injustice, if there is no mention of this book...but then, it merits a separate review in itself or so, I believe...

Main Kya Janoo Kya Jadoo Hain

The other day, my brother was reminiscing my favorite K L Saigal number, Main Kya Janoo Kya Jaadoo Hain. He said, "As I listen to it again and again, I also understand your tastes in music." His words made me think, and reflect. Yes, indeed, I have some likes in music that have heavy doses of aalaap, thickness, melancholy and modulation. And Saigal was the earliest of those singer-actors who personified all these emotions, and so effortlessly. Who would forget the mornings when the 8 O Clock Saigal number on Radio Ceylon signified "Rush to School!":)

What can I say further about that name, by whom at least four generations of aspiring singers have sworn their inspiration? Saigal undeniably set the tone, the pace for film music to reach the doors of the middle class. His voice, though nasal, added to the charm of many of his renditions. Do Naina Matware, Baabul Mora, Jagamag Jagamag Diya Jalaa from Tansen, Baalam Aan Baso More Man Mein from the P C Baruah version of Devdas, all gems that not only made him a household name, but also gave the industry and the nation a voice to cherish.

Soja Rajkumari will stand out as one his gems; countless singers after him, including Lata Mangeshkar have sung this as a tribute, but Saigal's voice on the original remains inimitable, and I believe many others would agree. It heartened me to hear Saigal being relived down South through the soulful voice of Malayalam Ghazal king, Umbayee - each one has their own Saigal ownership and that is testimony to the power of the original.

It is no secret that the man behind the voice that entertained millions and kept the New Theaters cash registers ringing, led a deeply unhappy life. Attracted to some of his leading ladies, Saigal was that lone ranger, who drank himself to death, craving for that X factor of which he perhaps himself was never fully aware. His untimely end in 1947 just when Shahjehan was running to packed houses, drove crazy fans and cinegoers to theaters to get a last glimpse of their singing hero. Another such instance happened much later in 1971 with Pakeezah, when Meena Kumari breathed her last; a death of cause and effect startlingly similar to Saigal's death. Alcoholism. Loneliness. Depression.

Saigal's golden run remained virtually unchecked from the early 30's till 1947. A phenomenon that can be best described as India's first most successful singing-acting sensation. Pankaj Mullick, a contemporary musician, singer, and K C Dey, were possibly the only singers whose voices could match up to the range of Saigal's voice. For a man, who had not really trained in classical music, Saigal surely set the benchmarks for future aspirants such as Mukesh and Kishore Kumar.

Duniya Rang Rangeeli Baba, from Dhartimata (1935) where Saigal shares singing space with Uma Sashi and Pankaj Mullick is a good case in point. Saigal's entry into an otherwise sombre piece, lightens the mood and turns the Rabindra Sangeet style of the song into something a little more filmi, yet with the classical touch.

The magic is so pure, pristine that makes me wonder what it is all about...Jadoo hain..

If Only

- There was lesser apathy towards the petrol hike
- RTI could be invoked on private institutions
- There was greater alacrity in bringing crime to book (I advocate capital punishment)
- We were a nation that preened less, did more
- There was greater attention to developmental issues, and less of page 3
- There was greater compassion towards animals
- There was respect for civic rules, and....
- Value for human life (It is not our fault that we are over a billion, we have a right to live, yes, we do...medicos, don't do away with us)

When the Heart Speaks.....

Lines that come to mind:

Power struggles and heartbreak can be a potent mix
for the emotional soul
which cries out
live and let live
For life is but a journey,
short and sweet,
why leave it with a taste of bitter
why leave it with tons of baggage,
which the world would anyways sweep under the carpet
after you leave...

Casual Sex, Flings et al

Flipping through film glossies not only makes me nostalgic, but also ecstatic. A part of a lot of reading that formed my growing years, Stardust, Filmfare and other film magazines were the only source of information and juicy gossip for cine buffs in the pre-internet era, and I quite unabashedly admit to enjoying every bit of this reading.

A few months ago, however, my joy seemed a little short-lived, while I was reading through... An interview with a wannabe pin-up boy, an ex boyfriend of a former Miss universe, revealed a promiscuous past. The young man reveled in saying, "Casual sex and murder are much the same. You do not know what to do with the body once the deed is done". Wow! Was I appalled. was I hallucinating?! And was this an aberration I wondered, till I bumped into another issue of the same magazine a couple of months later, where another dishy young hunk from a politico family says, "See, I may be aware that I might be leaving the country in the next six months, but that doesn't stop me from entering into the relationship and having fun...blah..blah..wall-to-wall sex and stay connected". Great! Now, what exactly is the point here? We read malicious gossip about stars even in our growing years, and yes, stars themselves were supposed to have called journos and dished out quotable quotes, even those days, but this was like stretching things a bit too far. why would a glossy stoop this low, banking on the quotes of starlet-type young actors? tch, tch....wall-to-wall sex? Which clearly means, film glossies are now using casual sex and one night stand quotes from these desperados as a clear ticket to selling copies. Bollywood movies too seems increasingly open to the idea of showing flings...a la desi boyz (remember, Akshay Kumar with that white woman in an unhappy marriage?)and justifying the whole thing!And again, there are double standards. We still do not see the young girls in the profession accorded with the same 'privilege' of bragging about their sexual escapades. Woe betide, ladies, you would be branded the next hot slut in town if you so much as dared breathe about your colorful trysts.

Coming back to the point, it is indeed none of anybody's moral right to step in; all I am suggesting is some restraint in public forums while advocating licentiousness, (I am sorry, but this does amount to advocacy)which are clearly lapped up by impressionable minds, especially if it comes from celebrities. it would do well to remember that Bollywood is religion in a country like ours. It is no rocket science or new revelation that the lives and lifestyles of stars, and yes, their quotes do have an impact on the lives of the man on the street. Lives which are led based on informed decisions are well, nobody's bloody business, but can freedom of speech actually run wild, amok, and extend to debauchery in speech? I rest my case with this.

The Anti Hero Comes of Age

When we saw Irfan Khan (or Irrfan as he calls himself now) in a DD soap, Humraahi in the early 90s, it was quite evident, a superlative artist had arrived. The unconventional looking character artiste had a unique way of mouthing his dialogues that had not hitherto been seen on television, cinema neither. Many small time and international ventures later, Irrfan's career seems to be peaking now with Paan Singh Tomar (PST).

PST is tailor made for an actor of his calibre, and vindicates director Tigmanshu Dhulia's faith in his lead actor. He slips into the character so effortlessly that for a good two odd hours, cinegoers live in the suspended disbelief of seeing Tomar in Irrfan. Dhulia has hit bulls eye, as always, with hard hitting, engaging fare.

Set in the terrains and villages of infamous Chambal, PST traces the life of naive, earnest Subedar Tomar, a national athletic champion turned outlaw. Dhulia's Tomar is hard as nails, as he is soft and vulnerable. A character fleshed into so many complex parts, just as he is simple. PST adeptly steers clear of the "why I took to arms" cliche and moves on to tell a touching tale of the bemused Subedar who gets no succor from the "system", with freshness. Tomar's bewilderment turns to anger once he realizes that he lives in a world that cares two hoots for his past glories as a national 'steeple chase' champion. His steadfast refusal to be labeled an outlaw, opting for "rebel"(baaghi) instead, makes for an interesting commentary on rules and laws that exist in the so-called civilized urban world juxtaposed with the rules that are implicit in another feudal world not too far from us. Now, you might ask, why would anyone run to the multiplexes to watch a middle aged, not- at- all hot commercial proposition going by the name Irrfan? Well,the answer is anyone's guess. You watch a movie where the story is the hero or the anti-hero, not particularly, marquee names. If Shekhar Kapoor's Bandit Queen attempted to demystify the other Chambal honcho, Phoolan Devi, Dhulia's biopic makes a similar attempt. The camera is a voyeur in both cases, caressing its muse with love from all angles. It is not always the female who arouses interest; PST makes you forget a few stereotypes for a while, and just surrender to the narrative.

Among the various characters who flit in and out with Irrfan, Mahie Gill as Indra, in a brief role, is the lady to watch for as she plays the dutiful, but vocal wife to hilt. A movie replete with ironies, strong moments, commentaries (without overtly preachy soliloquies)and a strong script, PST scores despite a few sluggish moments, and the inevitable end. What other fate can a "dacoit" meet with? PST also subtly laments the fact we are a cricket driven nation that pays little or no attention to achievers in other sport. These sports persons die unsung, in penury, or in extreme cases, hit the gun, like PST did. Tomar's outburst, "When I ran for the country, no one cared, but now it seems everyone is chasing me", underlines the fact for you.

Overall, an interesting fortnight, with author-backed female character-led movie, Kahani also doing the rounds to rave reviews. PST has sold itself through sheer story, while Kahani has banked upon story, yes, and also the lady of the moment, Vidya Balan. Nevertheless, Bollywood, give us more of these. We are always game.

Read On......

It’s just sometimes that the colour of your face goes
from a lovely pink to a pale sanguine,
Bright eyes angry and livid,
happy laughter meeting the sound of silence.

Familiar faces which become strangers,
They cry foul, break trust, stretch their cynical smiles.
It’s when you became the rebel,
decided to go against the stride.

You learnt a lot,
Those experiences, some fancy, some not so.
You absorbed it all, but not an ounce of that
nefarious aura seeping out.

Where does it all go?
You let it all go.
When you decide to get on with life,
Swimming with the course,
The stream is extreme,
The temperament a little cold,
It might swallow. This shallow life.


But you will be alright.
Bring the vivid colours back.
Let the sun shine outside your looking window.
And the zephyr breeze past you.
Bring the pink back on that face.
Let it shine.

-Shubhra Rishi