20 best hindi films of this decade

Here’s another list, the top twenty hindi films of this decade, i.e., 2000 onwards, in my opinion. More or less in order of preference.

1. Swades: We, the People (2004)
   
2. Maqbool (2004)
   
3. Black Friday (2007)
   
4. Lagaan (2001)
   
5. Company (2002)
   
6. Mumbai Meri Jaan (2008)
   
7. Shaurya (2008)
   
8. Taxi Number 9211 (2006)
   
9. Khosla Ka Ghosla (2006)
   
10. Sehar (2005)
    
11. Hungama (2003)
    
12. Main Meri Patni Aur Who (2005)
    
13. Garam Masala (2005)
    
14. Malamaal Weekly (2006)
    
15. Oye Lucky! Lucky Oye (2008)
    
16. Mithya (2008)
    
17. Munna Bhai M.B.B.S (2003)
    
18. Shikhar (2005)
    
19. Dev (2004)
    
20. Aankhen (2002)
    

mumbai diaries - 26th july at deonar

I was among the fortunate few who witnessed the momentous day in the annals of Mumbai folklore, the flooding on 26^th July. I was not affected by it in the first person, sitting peacefully at a friend’s place in the suburb Deonar, which is on higher altitude than most parts of the city. However, when I ventured out after the unprecedented downpour had stopped; I witnessed another instance of the peculiarities of the city’s denizens. On a small chai shop, there was a throng of people, soaked from top to bottom, and each desperately vying for attention. They seemed genuinely pleased with themselves, as if they were describing a historic feat of theirs rather than a calamitous situation. Each had a story to tell, about how he or she waded through knee deep water to walk five or six kms, and how there were numerous others doing the same. It’d be a bit insensitive to make fun of a situation which involved the loss of numerous lives, but one can’t help but marvel at the city’s masochistic tendencies. What particularly baffled me was that a big number of these sufferers could actually have avoided the deluge if they had chosen to stay indoors. It was not as if it was a sudden flooding which happened without anyone’s knowledge. It was a gradual build-up over a period of four to five hours, which was continuously being televised and almost everyone was aware of the grim situation before embarking on their adventures. And in the discussions which followed, on the streets, in homes, on television, each individual was emphatically trying to go one up on each other. And those who missed being in action invariably started feeling deprived and left-out, with no tale to tell. Even so many years down the line, you can detect an inexplicable pride saying “I was there on that day”.

Stanley Kubrick: The creative genius

A character in a movie is usually defined with reference to the script; it does not exist beyond the confines of the script. The character exists because the story needs to progress. There may be some film-makers who try to flesh-out the character by mulling over the likely responses to a designed situation. But a rare few seem to think of the characters as actual entities beyond the action–response cycle. The peculiarities of the character are pre-defined, and it does not usually grow, it does not evolve into a more violent, a more loving or a more disgusting person as the story progresses. His mannerisms, his gait, his eccentricities, his dialects, the people he loves or hates, are all decided by someone else for him. Stanley Kubrick, however, evolved characters rather than just defining them. Consider the way his characters from different movies referred to the act of sex. For the marines in the Full Metal Jacket, it was the bellicose, martial ‘boom-boom’. For the deranged and vulgar Alex DeLarge and his bunch of drooges from ‘A Clockwork Orange’ it was the ‘ol’ in-out in-out’. Professor Humbert Humbert, the step-father-cum-lover of Lolita, with all his erudite ambivalence and the meandering ways of the small town, referred to it as ‘getting a cavity filled’. The estranged couple of ‘Eyes Wide Shut’ had lost its allure and could only describe it as the ‘physical act of love’. Just by referring to a single apparently insignificant event in the film, the characters here are establishing their unique identities and acquainting the audience with their mind-sets and milieu. Even if these may be ideas from the screen-writer or anyone else associated with the films, I’d give credit to the film maker for having provided the room, the urge, for the stimulation of such creativity.For Stanley Kubrick, the character was a lot more beyond someone who took the script to its logical culmination. For him, the character was a story by itself. In Dr. Strangelove, Jack Ripper was not just one militant, Russian-communist-hating maniac; he was also a failed lover who somehow managed to attribute even his inability in bed to the Russians. Even the complexity of HAL in 2001: A space odyssey was dictated by an innate ‘logical’ intent to make sure that the mission succeeds, which according to it, was possible only when the rest of the crew was eliminated. The violent streak of Jack Torrance in Shining was not out-of-the-blue. It was just an exaggerated manifestation of his minor irritations at his wife and son.Just by the way of their expressions, the characters in Stanley Kubrick’s movies establish themselves as individuals with distinctive personalities. Each expression, each step, each action and each word uttered went towards strengthening that personality, to such an extent that they would start appearing like the natural behavioral traits of the individual. At these times, we forget that what we perceive as being personality traits are all contrived and manufactured; we tend to ignore the fact that the personality itself is a figment of someone’s imagination, so how can the traits be inherent. We fail to realize that there is no Dr. Strangelove out there who has this extraordinary figurative hand running out of control, we never dwell upon the fact that there have been no historical records which tell us how the ape-man from the 'dawn of man' felt that surge of all-conquering power when it devised it’s first ‘weapon’. Once we realize that this is all a result of the creative imagination of an individual, of course, abetted by a few others, but largely, a single individual, we realize the enormity of the brilliance that we behold. Such meticulousness, the remarkable eye for details and a razor sharp mind, were only some of the things which established Kubrick among the world’s most imaginative and exalted film-makers. Kubrick’s penchant for authenticity was so extraordinary that he his replica of the B-52 bomber he used in Dr. Strangelove had the US Air Force questioning him on how he managed to shoot in a USAF bomber. Everything, right from the controls to the survival kit contents was precise and accurate. At times, his meticulousness went to absurd proportions. Like, in 2001: A space odyssey; for a sequence in a space station when the toilet is shown, there is a reference to a printed ‘instructions for using a zero-gravity toilet’ put up near the toilet, which the protagonist is unable to read because of the small text size. Thereafter, there’s no further reference to the zero-gravity toilet or the instructions. Many year later, the actual instruction booklet was exhibited, which was actually five-page long, and when you go through it, you’ll realize that it actually tries very hard to simplify using a toilet in a zero-gravity situation describing numerous contraptions and their functions. In another such instance, in clockwork orange, when Alex is shown in a record store, flirting with a girl, one of the records on display is that of 2001: A space odyssey. What was this? Advertising? An idiosyncrasy of an eccentric genius? Or a ploy to play with fans? We’ll never know for sure.

mumbai diaries

The city of Mumbai, widely anointed with temporal sobriquets such as the city which never sleeps, the city of dreams, and the city with an indomitable spirit, has held an allure, a mystique and a sense of inadequacy for the millions living away from this remarkable convergence of humanity. The denizens of small towns, villages and even other metros are invariably in awe of this monolith, and millions of its residents. I persistently held the city in an inexplicable reverence for years, visiting it as a kid, and even as an adult. My first few trips to the behemoth after I’d attained the age and the ability to discern and judge from my own perceptions only served to entrench this awe, largely because I was only a temporary visitor who did not have to go through the grind of the average mumbaikar. I was not made to go through the travesties which make this city what it is. I was like someone who enjoys the rare kicks afforded by a dabbler as against the dope fiend who just cannot survive without his daily fix, even though he’s long ceased to experience the high associated with it. My perceptions changed dramatically when I actually had to experience the city at its rawest. And gradually the aura began to fade, the inanity of the sobriquets started hitting me and the collective human monolith broke down to show its simplicity and pettiness.
Having gone through a particularly harrowing journey in the peak of summer through the burning hostile territory of our country, the vidarbha region, I was sapped of all energy and my only desire was to rest in a cool, hospitable bed. Waiting for a friend who was expected to pick me up from Kurla, I went into a slumber enervated and apprehensive about taking the city on all by myself. I was bluntly brought to life when I realized that someone was trying to pull my bag from under my arms. I turned around to find a frowning cop wielding his lathi, and thus began my initiation into the ways of the city. Phenomenally pleased with himself, the policeman started giving me a liturgy on how someone could rob your pants off without your knowledge in Mumbai. Drop-dead drowsy as I was, I still managed to notice a twinkle in his eyes, as though he was extolling some saintly virtues of his fellow city-mates. This was my first lesson, the average mumbaiah is proud of everything about the city, more so, about the sleaze prevalent therein. Anyway, I was summarily kicked out of the station, having been informed that this was not a place to sleep. I could not have agreed with him more, had I not seen at least a hundred more, with my limited range of vision, committing the same crime that very time in front of my eyes.
Having given up on my friends’ arrival, I took the cop’s advice and ventured into the frying pan, the first time on my own, feeling circumspect and drained like never before. I was not unprepared, though, I was aware of the approximate distance to my destination, as well as the fact that travelling in a local train was the best option. On enquiring about the local trains, I got a look which was a combination of condescension, exasperation, and ‘what a moron’, with the concise explanation that I had to go to kurla to catch a local. I was quite bewildered, being under the impression that I was already at Kurla. After guiltily pestering a few others, who were in a tremendous hurry and considered any obstruction in their furious tempo a sacrilege, I discovered that I had to go to another station, roughly 1 km away. While a few auto-drivers bluntly ignored my pleas to take me to the kurla station, a bystander, or rather, a by-racer; as noone actually stands in the always-in-a-hurry city, started giving me a lecture on how easy it was to walk one km. Ignoring his advise, I decided to take the road route.
Thus began another going-nowhere discussion with the autowallas about getting to lokhandvala. Meanwhile, a sikh driver, ostensibly moved by my plight, came up with a ‘helping hand’, snatching my luggage and dumping it in his cab without a moment’s notice. Though somewhat aware of the dent travelling in a cab would make in my wallet, I was too pooped to ignore my mind’s frantic pleas for a respite. The cabbie feigned complete ignorance about lokhandwala in andheri, which I’m sure every single resident of Mumbai would agree, was quite preposterous. After seemingly scouring the whole city for the elusive lokhandwala, the cabbie probably developed some sympathy for me. Following a two hour quest which I slept through, we finally arrived at the apparently obscure lokhandwala complex at andheri. Pretty much expecting a hefty amount, I paid up the taxi and finally reached my destination. Almost at the point of losing my bearings, I experienced unprecedented delight when I found a bed laid out for me in an air-conditioned room and what followed was a marathon 17 hour sleep to prepare myself for bigger challenges in the days to come.

elimination of the naxal threat

Around an year back, I had written a post about how the Chhattisgarh government’s tactics were serving to destroy the entire social structure of the Bastar tribes (http://resistancerebellionanddeath.blogspot.com/2008/08/do-read-this-and-think-youve-nothing-to.html). A year down the line, the very tactics, endorsed by the local media, the urban middle and upper class, and the central government, and conveniently ignored by the national media, have been adopted on a nationwide scale. A recent article in Tehelka, the only publication which regularly tries to communicate the tribal’s plight, has prompted me to express my views on this extremely significant, but again, largely ignored, move by the Indian government.
In the words of the home minister, P Chidambarm, a counter-insurgency militia has been deployed to wipe out the naxalites from India. As the Tehelka article pointed out, the biggest discrepancy in the state’s ‘elimination strategy’ is that the enemy in this military operation is unidentifiable. From the home ministers’ standpoint, it seems it’s the naxals. But who are the naxalites? The oxford and Webster dictionaries still don’t recognize the word, although the oxford dictionary does consider the words ghee, pakora, samosa, and tandoori significant enough to be included. Wikipedia offers a very one-dimensional labeling of the naxalites as a group of violent communists who have rejected parliamentary democracy and have vowed to rule the people by imposing dictatorship of their party.
The churlishness of these disinterested third-parties aside, who would the home minister term as a naxalite. A simplistic definition would be someone who subscribes to the naxalite/maoist ideology. But even the staunchest anti-naxalite would agree with the fact that most of those who have taken up arms to combat the state are from the most oppressed, disenfranchised and illiterate sections of the society. The so-called ideologues hardly ever get into the battle zone, nor do they subscribe to the mindless violence propagated by the cadre. On ground zero, the naxalite is in all likelihood unaware of the country to which mao belonged or the essential premise of his brand of communism. His/her revolution is limited to getting back at the entity whom he considers culpable for the miserable living conditions he and his fraternity have had to endure for decades. He does not have the discernment to segregate the state from the human beings which constitute it. In his restricted point of view, an inhuman attack on any individual from the government machinery is an act of retribution.
Quite obviously, this viewpoint is by no means justifiable. But then, why is the state resorting to the same warped rationale? Why is it conveniently turning individuals into groups to make its task of identifying the enemy easier? Shouldn’t there be a difference between the thought process of the democratically elected machinery and an illiterate rabble-rouser? From the actions initiated over the past few months, the difference has ceased to exist. Instead of eliminating the problems faced by individuals who constitute and comprise the state, the solution adopted is to eliminate the very individual who has a problem.
On a more elementary level, how does the state, represented by the militia, actually identify a naxalite (or a group, for that matter)? The simplest way out, and which has been in vogue for the past decade or so in states like chattisgarh is to dub anyone who is disgruntled as a threat. And from what the trends of the past few months depict, the threat is not to be kept behind bars anymore, it has to be liquidated.
The most juvenile idea behind the tactics being adopted, as propounded by P. Chidambaram is that the naxalites are a bigger threat than J&K terrorists. By that logic, if the government, even after adopting the most stringent military measures in the disputed state, has been unable to make any headway towards removing terrorism, how does it expect to tackle this ‘bigger threat’ within such a short time and with much a much lesser military force?

truth?

These days, I often wonder if I can actually say I believe in something, with conviction. In Sri Lanka, whatever the media says and whatever had been happening for years now seems to indicate that the hard-nosed decimation of the tigers is an encouraging development. However, every now and then, you come across write-ups and exposes illustrating such horror and tragedy that you invariably start questioning the rationale behind such an act when it is likely to result in an even more tempestuous reprisal.
In chattisgarh, the national and international media, independent bodies, NGOs etc. reveal that the government is carrying out an unprecedented abuse of the tribal population. You enter the cities of chattisgarh, the media and the populace is all praise for the government for having rid them of the power problems, for establishing the state as an industrial power-house, and for taking the fight to the naxalites.
For them, the law-enforcer has to counter the tribal naxalites’ violence with violence and any accusation of excesses is either collateral or manufactured by the naxals. The media in the region is particularly in favor of the establishment, which is attributed by some to fear of the state and by others to true understanding of the ground situation, depending upon their political leanings.
The national media, and even the international media, seems to have a diametrically opposite view of the situation in the state. That the media is always looking for ways to find scapegoats and particularly to blame the establishment for all the ills is a well-known, the Mumbai blasts being a case-in-point.
We do know that the media’s credibility is questionable, but so is that of the government. Everyone knows how conveniently the state distorts the truth to suit itself. So, how do we get to know the ‘truth’? Not everyone can get into Vanni and Dantewada to see for oneself. Are we destined to live in the dark forever, occasionally blinded by some artificial flashes of artificial illumination?

the ipl trophy

Quite in consonance with the nature of the event, the trophy designed for the IPL also focuses more on the stars and the glitter rather than the basics, which is cricket. It is quite amazing that a trophy for a cricket tournament involving the world's greatest cricketers depicts the figurine of a batsman playing an impossible shot with an incorrect and absurd grip on the bat. In fact, its quite amazing how so many people managed to ignore this for two years, because its quite evident that a right-handed batsman playing a shot with his left hand being the bottom hand is quite out-of-the-question.
The bat swing is also so inane that its evident that the designer has absolutely no clue about cricket, just another one is the list of those involved in this amazing event.