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.

Do read this, and think, you've nothing to lose

Chhattisgarh, which claims to the only power surplus state in the country, has been witnessing a bloody struggle for power for roughly three years now. The rest of the country doesn’t know about it, we all know Chhattisgarh as an emergent state rich in minerals and ores, covered with dense forests, and a prospective industrial hub. We get to know about Chhattisgarh only when the Times of India comes up with a survey placing Bhilai/Durg on the sixth spot among the fastest developing cities in the country. Those of us born and brought up in the affluence of Bhilai, feel great about the news and get on with our lives. Even when we were there we didn’t care about what was happening 150 kms away in the tribal regions. Indeed, it wouldn’t be fair to expect anyone to care. Naxalites, disillusioned tribals, needless violence, have all become a part of our daily lives.
But what’s been happening in Chhattisgarh since 2005 goes far beyond that. It is true that we should always take anti-state reporting and campaigning with a pinch of salt, as they are often exaggerated to the hilt and even fabricated at times, but the sequence of events, the credibility of the people involved, and the evident situation in the tribal areas do suggest that the districts of Bastar are weighed down by anarchy and bloodshed of an unprecedented magnitude, which shows no signs of abating.
Stray incidents of violence and unrest were commonplace in the area since the early 90s, even before the assassination of the leader of the Chhattisgarh Mukti Morcha, Shankar Guha Niyogi, in 1991. As has been the norm, the hired assassin was apprehended but is still awaiting the result of the trial and there is still no clue as to who hired him. The growth of the naxalite movement gained ground after the murder of the union leader and the callousness shown in nabbing the culprits.
The state of affairs in Bastar after the formation of Chhattisgarh in 2001 went from bad to worse. The people from the most backward district in the country were frequently displaced in the name of industrialization. Of course, industrialization does have benefits which eventually trickle down to the populace, but due to the inherent inefficiencies of the bureaucratic set-up, the tribals ended up without land, without livelihood and without hope. Sent into improvised camps and settlements, they had to confront atrocious living conditions and a sense of deracination.
Though the state probably meant well, the collective ire of the tribals fell at them, and the naxalites cashed upon it. Thus the strength of naxalites kept growing and the government, forced by the systemic inertia, did nothing to improve the tribals’ conditions, instead focusing on improving the state’s image to attract external investment.
With increasing violence, attacks on personnel, policemen, forces etc., there was a marked change in the state’s collective consciousness, evident in statements of police and government officials. The state developed an antagonism, and was intent on vendetta against the naxalites, who they started bracketing with the tribals.
That’s where it all started to go wrong, when the law enforcer cannot do its work dispassionately and carries pre-conceived notions; a situation like Hitler’s Germany is likely to arise. The state, incited by a few intense strikes by the naxalites, chose a course aimed at curbing violence which ended up escalating it beyond controllable proportions.
It formed a unit called Salwa Judum, which literally translates into ‘Purification Hunt’ and gave it the license to commit all crimes to eradicate the influence of naxalites from the tribal regions. An initial group of a few people, who were not from the armed forces but locals having a history of violence and crime, was sent out into the tribal areas to identify and terminate the naxalite sympathizers. To extend its power, a reward of 2 Lakhs was proposed for any tribal who wished to join the SJ, with the assurance that they could contravene the law. (The above is inferred from a recorded conversation from one of the meetings of Salwa Judum, where the SP of Bijapur is stating this to a group of tribals, noted from the Statesman)
As anyone with a sane mind can imagine, with the formation of this group in 2005, all hell broke loose in Chhattisgarh. Any and everybody who wanted to settle scores could easily do so and get paid for it. The remarkable disaster this policy turned out to be is evident from the official figures of casualties revealed by the state:
2003: Maoists: 74, Civilians: None
2004: Maoists 83, Civilians: None
Salva Judum formed in July 2005
2005-2006: Maoist: 65, Civilians: 243
First three months of 2007: Maoists: 42, Civilians: 226
And these are all official state figures, seeing which and with increasing criticism from the media and the people in general, the state distanced itself from the group. However, in 2005, at the formation of the SJ, the District Collector of Dantewada was present and he went on to attend almost all their meetings. So, the distancing was a bit too late. Maybe the state tried to reign in the SJ, but the war has reached such proportions that the SJ has become a bigger threat than the naxalites.
Besides all these repressions and thoughtless acts, the state also came up with a visibly dictatorial and unconstitutional act called Chhattisgarh Special Public Security Act in 2005. Under the auspices of this act, the state could detain anybody without bail for anti-state activities for an indefinite period pending trial/. Probably aware that the formation of the SJ would invite huge criticism and wrath, the state incarcerated all those who were likely to raise their voice and mobilize protests in the region. These included the pediatrician and member of PUCL, Dr. Binayak Sen, who was a close associate of Shankar Guha Niyogi, Praful Jha, a journalist, Ajay TG, a filmmaker and scores of others under fabricated charges. The most ridiculous charge was placed on Dr. Sen who was a frequent visitor to the prison in Raipur where he went to attend to an injured Naxalite. Consequently, he was charged with sedition. He has since been in jail pending trial.
Its imperative to attract attention towards the incarceration of the people who can communicate the people’s woes to the world. If they continue to be behind bars, the repression will continue and the country will remain unaware of the world of difference that exists between the lives of a tribal in Bastar and an executive living at Napean Sea Road. I don’t know what can be done, but there has to be something, the media is hungry for anti-establishment rhetoric and for projecting heroes. Here we have real heroes and they don’t even know about them.

deprival

Have lost the desire to write, or read a thing, to think without a purpose, to venture out without any intention, to while away time at a chai shop, to watch the people around me, to love, to hate to be passionate, to be angry, to be vociferous, to be silent, to be irritating, to be irritated, to be bothered, to bother someone, to enjoy on my own, to stay all alone, to know something new, to hear someone’s point of view, to realize that this has unwittingly turned into a verse, to appreciate that things can’t be much worse.

guilt

The single-most significant, rather the only reason for disturbance, guilt. Listening to a song, smoking, guilty about wasting the time that could’ve been spent on something else, for screwing my lungs, to my future, and her future, it sucks. After my break-up, emptiness, an excuse for every stupidity, groped around for sympathy, finally reached my hermitage, living alone, feeling that this was bliss, guiltlessness was bliss. Do anything I want to, now again, guilty about listening to music, watching a movie; do not relish reading anymore, always working out a plan. Sitting at a south Indian restaurant, for the whole day, just to live those moments, now even eating is a job, last few months there were pretty bad, agreed, there was always something to run towards, remember, I even felt guilty about not knowing the meaning of the word ‘perdition’ of not owning a car, a DVD player, I have no idea what this is

self-appointed authorities

To Raj Thackeray and his troop of monkeys (yes, I mean monkeys though the one Harbhajan used would be more appropriate for you all, in fact, it’s an insult to monkeys to equate you with them). Anyway, all you buffoons out there hell bent upon making peoples’ lives miserable, I challenge you, any one of those who are a part of this gang of scared kids, to a duel, hand to hand. I’m nearing 35, have a smoke infested, drug-abused, unshapely, body which is in such a pathetic state that I can’t climb three storeys without having to take breaks for rest at least twice. But I can take on the physically strongest among you, I’m sure, because you guys are such pathetic losers that even if you do subdue someone physically, you will be the one will who suffer and the next moment try to find someone else who is the bane of your existence. You’ll make up another gang of your deprived brethren and vent out your combined frustration at your impotency on some new unknowing target. You would never realize that no one else is a bane; it’s your existence which is a bane. Right now, you are fighting north Indians, later you’ll fight south Indians, still later you might fight someone else. What you don’t understand is that your being good-for-nothing has nothing to do with them. There have been many instances like these in the past; many mad caps like this inconsequential bug raj Thackeray in history, Hitler, amin, Mussolini, all of them attributed their troubles to an identifiable group which was easily targetable. All of them knew that the best way to gather disillusioned loafers was to make them believe that they are wronged, and point them towards it. But at least these Mussolini and Hitler’s have their moments of glory; at least they have power, money, what about you, you all couldn’t do that either, reviled, kicked around, hated by everyone, the likes of you are an object of ridicule, destroying MF Husain’s paintings, burning posters of taslima nasreen and harassing people on valentine’s day. It is laughable, at least the earlier villains of the piece had some ideals, some conviction on which they based their tyranny, their evil. You all, even you don’t know what the basis off your sporadic attempts at violence are. youre almost like the bunch of stray dogs who stay down when alone on the highway but start running after every car and bike if they are ion groups, without any tangible reason, just because they are more in numbers.

dnrc gems

If a grapefruit is happier than a bulldozer, then that means your toaster can turn jam into sound.

so wonderful that existing adjectives are inadequate. I recommend a new word to be used exclusively for DNRC members: splendsmartiful.

so splendsmartiful that the mere sight of you stuns doves in flight, causing them to plunge to their deaths.

those of you on this mailing list will form the new ruling class and get to treat all other people like five-and-a-quarter-inch diskettes.



from scott adams dnrc newsletters

saigon

There's something truly extraordinary about the first ten minutes of apocalypse now, I find it so bewitching that am in a trance every time I watch it; the first shot, the chopper blade sounds, this is the end, explosions, beautiful friend, chopper blades the jungle again, the face of charlie sheen, the eyes of charlie sheen, in fact, one of the most noticeable things about the film; his eyes; which always give the expression of being dead and alive at the same time; those who've seem the movie can easily relate to that; and then his voice, not a fantastic voice, but something about this film, makes it seem like the most resounding voice ive ever heard;

saigon;

rewind and replay

daguerreotype

the original reservoir dogs from 2000 BC

There's a thing in my pocket

an extraordinary ad copy, enhanced by evocative visuals and a lingering voice over, Nokia N95 television commercial is not one thing, its many.

There's a thing in my pocket,
but it's not one thing, it's many
It's the same as other things
but exactly like nothing else.
It has an eye and an ear
that shares what billions of humans see.
It's not a living thing,
but if you feed it it will grow.
It can rally the masses,
it can silence the crowd.
It can speak a thousand words
but it has no voice.
It can find you the places
so you can get lost.
And it can let others feel
what you've just been touched by
There's a thing in my pocket,
but it's not one thing, it's many

Are we so dumb?

Bangalore Times, dated 6th August 07 carried a news item on how four beautiful ladies rediscovered their youth thanks to a magic potion called Olay Moisturizer. The creation was touted as being capable of bringing back vitality to the skin, reducing aging marks and making a woman appear more youthful.
This article, which covered about half the front page, was presented as a news item by the Times News Network. At no place was it mentioned that this was a product endorsement or an advertisement. It was worded so as to impart an impression of being an account of a new idea.
If that wasn’t enough, the same night on Zoom TV, a daily show called Maximum Style, featured the same four ladies. Here the design was even more preposterous. It was made to seem as if two weeks ago, the ladies had been presented with some mysterious blend to use on their skin and present their opinions on it after two weeks on the show.
And believe it or not, they all loved the product, they were glowing, had started looking younger, had started getting more time for themselves by saving the time spent with beauticians, their husbands had started loving them more, all in all, this concoction brought about a transformation in their lives in two weeks, such an elixir for happiness it turned out to be.
Now of course, they were just dying to find out what this spectacular manna from heaven was. The magician who could offer them deliverance, a learned scientist cum beautician cum researcher cum problem solver who, all the while was smiling smugly, listening to the beauties extol the virtues of his creation. I wonder why he didn’t get the product patented; he’d have the world’s most beautiful women eating out of his hand.
After the customary build-up and the inevitable break, the time of reckoning was announced, and with all the requisite fanfare, sushmita sen was introduced as the ambassador who would reveal the name and prevent the abduction of the future Nobel Laureate Dr. Getafix by Paris Hilton.
But for some reason, sushmita sen wasn’t too happy, maybe she didn’t get a free sample or maybe she felt there was not enough spotlight on her, maybe she just found the entire idea too ridiculous to be enthusiastic about it. In what was clearly the most dreadful performance of her life, she went about making the kind of claims even himesh reshamiya would hesitate to make, in such a desultory and contrived manner that it seemed as if she had been woken from her bed and forced to read the lines at gunpoint.
Irrespective of the actresses’ demeanor, the advertisers’ notion that the audience will be taken in by such monkey business proves the mental bankruptcy in the media/advertising sector in our country. It is also a perfect explanation for the innumerable ads which drain your patience instead of inciting to purchase. That’s why we get zero-imagination messages from financial services and banks, whose creators also may get confused between their own clips and the competitors. That’s why a brilliantly conceived 8 pm ‘aath ke thaath’ is a much less discussed ad than the exasperating priyanka chopra – saif – lux ‘love saga’

Silence

Bergman passed away this week. I wouldn’t call myself as big a devotee of his work as innumerable others but that’s probably because I didn’t or couldn’t appreciate them. In spite of that, my fervor for cinema has been greatly enhanced by some oh this great directors’ works like Smiles on a summer night, Silence, etc.

I was particularly moved by Smiles….., by the positive and exuberant tenor of the film, which, I thought, was otherwise lacking in his other movies like Through a Glass Darkly, Shame etc.

Through a glass…., which is often critically acclaimed as his finest work, is marked by a melancholy, in fact, an air of anxiety that underneath the tranquil exterior, a bizarre tragedy is waiting to happen. True, that’s what the director intends to portray, and in that context, it is brilliant, but, this rendered the whole movie too ‘sad’ for my liking.

Again, in most of his movies, I could never connect to the characters, be it the doctor and writer in Through a Glass, the philandering woman in silence, or the hermetic couple in Shame. They never appeared to be ordinary people leading ordinary lives; instead, they would always be a part of the directors’ own world than the viewers’ milieu which, along with Kieslowski, was a regular feature of Bergmann movies.

Of course, these opinions might sound juvenile and rubbish to some who swear by Bergmann and I’m sure there would be millions out there. Also, I don’t have any unalterable beliefs as I have barely seen six or seven of his movies. Maybe after watching some more of the prolific director’s movies, I might end up refuting my own views.

Living to the ninth decade of his life, he must have been pleased and content, conscious that his work will continue to be revered by multitudes for many decades, and maybe even centuries.

my views on cinema

Lately, there’s been talk of the Indian Cinema audience having become more discerning and perceptive to novelty, exemplified by the success of movies like cheeni kum, metro, bheja fry etc. Whether this is a fact or not is an imponderable, my only contention is that barely few weeks after the aforesaid ‘intelligent’ films, we had the epitome of buffoonery smugly patting his back thanks to the mature viewers who thronged at theatres to watch aap ka suroor, an unabashed display of self-aggrandizement by director-music director-composer-hero-superstar himesh reshammiya. Never in the history of world cinema has anyone had enough gumption (read bigheadedness) to bring one’s childhood fantasies on screen.
Getting back to the presumably intelligent cinema, I watched ‘Cheeni kum’ with quite a bit of anticipation. After all, it had the two most versatile actors we have and the guy with the best comic timing. The film started beautifully, for the first hour the feeling was that of having a refreshing experience, something very different from what we are accustomed to and still very engaging. But gradually, everything started to fall apart and the movie started turning into the exact opposite of what its title proclaimed. The criminal was the unforgivable hackneyed character of the boo-hoo-hoo-I have blood cancer-still-I’m-so-cool girl. What made it worse was the girl’s performance. She ended up reminding you of the days when child artistes were ‘Master’ this and ‘Baby’ that and used to have Lata Mangeshkar sing ‘Hai Na, Bolo Bolo’ for them. The whole idea of the relationship between the girl and bachchan was so stale and cloying that it would make you throw up. The amateurish attempt to portray the girl as a smart-alec was so unconvincing that even bachchan was struggling in his scenes with her. It was frustrating to watch an otherwise good effort getting negated by some inane and nauseating sequences.
By the way, in the very days when the child actors used to be presented in Indian cinema as fat, fair and foolish, came the greatest Indian movie about children and on growing up, Kitaab. Gulzaar's greatest work after Angoor can remind you of Cinema Paradiso and Amarcord. Some excellent performances by Raju, Uttam Kumar and fairly good work by the other kids as well, combined with the characteristic sensitivity of Gulzar combined to create a memorable work of Indian cinema. And of course, the music by the greatest musician of Indian cinema, with the classic ‘Dhanno ki ankhon mein’ and the outrageous 'VIP underwear Banian' which by itself are reasons enough to watch the movie. It’s unfortunate that the theme of a child growing up, which has been exploited so beautifully in European cinema and which touches us all, had not seen any other movie as yet. Unless of course, you are ready to call rubbish like Ek chhoti si love story cinema.

The meddlesome fools in our country

While reading the article “Protests, yet roses all the way” on the back page of the Feb 15th Bangalore edition of the Hindu, I experienced that familiar sensation of impotent rage, which afflicts a substantial majority of us, surging up yet again. We all have felt that sickening helplessness at some time or the other, being heckled by a prejudiced cop, getting roughed up by an errant shopkeeper, or simply being shoved out of a queue by someone. This is probably the single most damning affliction which impedes those with an honest intent to improve things from entering the mainstream.

Quite evidently, there aren’t any practical ideas by which an individual can take care of this menace. The onus is on our judicial and legal system. Why shouldn’t the organizations like Shiv Sena, Bajrang Dal, RSS et al be labeled as militant outfits and banned? These outfits, which have had reporters, policemen and the whole nation being witness to their destructive tendencies, are flourishing in our midst, and there is no conscious effort to curb their influence. These outfits are aiming to destabilize the entire social structure and if they had their say, India would soon turn into a rogue nation closed to the outside world. It is really distressing that people are actually predisposed towards the ramblings on a supposed ideology which doesn’t really exist.
Another significant aspect of this whole mess is the moral right of these outfits to stand up for Indian culture. Most of them wouldn’t know Khajuraho from the Statue of Liberty; the number of heritage sites in India, or the capital of Jharkhand. In no way does the Indian or any culture commemorate communal violence and disparage the noble vision of togetherness celebrated on Valentine’s Day. It’s high time we stopped allowing ourselves to be dictated by a set of individuals who have no capability to interpret anything but claim to have interpreted the glorious Indian culture?

mobs

Hope, desperation, humor, dejection, animosity, nostalgia, desire the biggest ingredient for dramatics that surpasses them all; patriotism. The character of John Mason played by an aging sean connery, in the somewhat watchable Rock says "patriotism is the virtue of the vicious".

In my opinion, if you are a patriot, you can't be against casteism, racism, regionalism or communalism, they work on the same construct, just the expanse is different. As far as India is concerned, I'd surely like to know where the quintessential India is. In Karnataka, I feel as much an outsider as a Spaniard would, probably more, because, I don’t have a fair-skin. Each state, each province these days is trying harder to protect its boundaries, its regionalism, its language, I don't even need to bring up cases like north east, where, it is usual to be confronted with questions like "are you from India". So, where's the India we're all getting so emotional about?. Here you have people grouping together to fight anyone once they find a common ground, India is just a collection of temporary mobs which change as per convenience. Issues like caste, reservations, religion, region, are all excuses.