Iris

I seriously have been resisting getting into the debate over Slumdog Millionaire (2008 ) and thought like every busy-for-nothing “type” let film critics, media and editorials battle it out. I was happy with the “Golden Globes” and “BAFTAs” pouring in for A.R .Rehman (one of my favourite music Directors). Moreover, who cares what the rear view of a mirror is as long as it clearly reflects my image on its surface! Then, I watched the movie… re-watched with some friends…then re-watched it alone, this time to understand what comes in the way of my appreciating it and the already famous awards and acclaim that have come for it. I read the reviews, the debates and counter-debates raging over the movie. Decided to forget it — but strangely couldn’t! So, had to plunge into…better than being “sleepless in Mumbai” .

Well, let me try to piece together my confusion…

The movie is brilliantly packaged, technically sound with a contemporary story-line and significantly “cleverly marketed” as a “rags-to-riches” and a “feel-good story of the decade”. The movie lives in its strongly strewn “moments” — of love, of anger, of orphaned existence, of communal riots, of beggary, of brother seducing a brother’s love, of betrayal, of honesty versus crime, and finally the feel-good factor of “love winning it all” and “virtuous-victorious” kind of ending, which of course makes you sit up in the theatre. “And they lived happily ever after…” thus ends the movie on an optimistic note. But, considering the deaths of Salim (the brother of Jamal Malik) and the Don, if we know the underworld well, then Jamal and Latika will hardly be left in peace, they were after-all the reasons for these deaths and also they have 2 crores in hand. If the cops can be after Jamal, so can be the underworld. However, we are not supposed to question while watching a movie–suspension of disbelief. We all love “happy endings”. But, then why did some of us not smile as we came out of the theatre? Two reasons: (a) We have seen something of this movie in many other Bollywood movies, maybe better versions; (b) The cultural part: I mean the “dog” part…

The first point is the crux of my blog: (a) We have seen something of this movie in many other Bollywood movies, maybe better versions. Let me take you back to a series of movies of late 1980s and 1990s, which had similar subject lines: of course not a “Kaun Banega Crorepati?” kind of story, but stories which you identify as “Mumbaichi Katha” with love stories set in the backdrop of “problems”. They were vibrant, pulsating and often “true” pictures of Mumbai, may not be clinically and technically as evolved as Slum Dog , but had in my opinion superior content narrated in a casual matter-of-fact style. Movies that immediately come to mind are: Salim Langde Pe Mat Ro (1989), Parinda (1989), Baaghi (1990), Sadak(1991), Bombay (1995), Satya (1998 ). No I don’t mean to compare and critique Slum Dog in the lines of these stories, my comparison rests on the fact that they belong to the same genre and to the fact that Slum Dog wins a “Golden Globe”, while some of these movies are not even known in the home audience. When you watch Salim Langde pe Mat Ro… you tend to realize how far the tentacles of the underworld seeped into the chawls of Mumbai. There is no glossing over, no overboard styles and no Mr. Bachhan prototypes in the movie. Of course one of the best examples of parallel cinema that I have ever viewed. The plot is set in the chawls of Mumbai, even the restaurants that Neelima Azim and Pavan Malhotra (in title role) frequent can be imagined as any second restaurant near railway stations like Kanjurmarg or Ghatkopar. The Hindu-Muslim equations which Slum Dog tried to portray for our western and diaspora viewers in 2008, has actually already seen its consummation in Salim Langde pe back in 1989.

When you watch Parinda, the aspect that hits right on your face is the innocent love story of Karan (ironically played by Anil Kapoor) and Paro (Madhuri Dixit) and the way they were killed by the underworld Don Anna (Nana Patekar) on their wedding bed. As far as my understanding, Parinda defines the grammar of movies in this genre. Amazing cinematography (watch the pigeons flocking and un-flocking along with gun shots near Gateway of India in the movie) and extremely touching love-hate relationship between the brothers Anil Kapoor and Jackie Shroff.

Baaghi and Sadak make you fall in love with the young, angry Salman Khan and Sanjay Dutt as they battle it out for girls stuck in the red-light area of Mumbai. Sadak especially brings out amazingly well the horror of attempting to tinker with the “business” of these people. Sadashiv Amrapurkar roaring and maneuvering against Sanjay Dutt as Maharani makes you literally shiver. The “murk” of the profession is menacingly narrated with a “shrug-off” kind of narration.

Bombay of Mani Ratnam and Satya of Ram Gopal Verma are cult movies. The first, set in the backdrop of Hindu-Muslim riots of 1991 featured Arvind Swami and Manisha Koirala — a Hindu-Muslim couple strangled in the riots, are looking for their lost twin kids Kabir Narayan and Kamal Basheer in the gullies of riot-ridden Mumbai. The pain of parents who have lost their kids, the pain of two frightened siblings torn-apart by violence and the dangerous communally instigating speeches of the Hindu and Muslim leaders, Bombay is truly a Golden Globe material. I love the A.R.Rahman of “humma-humma” or “Tu Hi Re…” unabashedly more than the A.R.Rahman of “Jai Ho!” The second, Satya of RGV, marked some of the all time highs of Bollywood art.The “cool-suave” Chakravarthy playing the title role gave a new-look to new-generation underworld-operating Mumbai. Urmila Matondkar in the role of “Vidya” makes you fall in love with “innocent love” all over again.

Watch these movies if you have already forgotten them! Mr. Boyle — India has seen it all! But thanks for showing it to the “West”. Slum Dog is a cock-tail of some of these movies, combined with the cultural dimension. That brings us to the second point: (b) The cultural part: I mean the “dog” part…. Unless we learn to love ourselves for whatever we are and whatever we have, we will be kept calling “dogs” . Mr. Sekhar Kapur says in his blog that even Bandit Queen was funded by the West and so was Elizabeth, what’s wrong if Boyle makes a movie on India? Of course, nothing wrong. Except for the “Millionaire” part. Danny Boyle has chosen to make a movie on the slums of Mumbai — he has lived, shot the movie in slums and even appointed slum children as his protagonists. That’s philanthropic! But that is also forms of capitalism and neo-colonialism. Mr. Kapur doesn’t visualize the future where instead of him being a film entrepreneur, he might end up being “employed” by the huge number of Hollywood production houses investing in Indian cinema. I don’t want to see small-time Indian production houses being engulfed by the large MNCs of Hollywood. We will then have cinema made only for people living in the West. The “dog” isn’t actually slums of Mumbai. In fact, “slum dog” can be seen as a metaphor for Indian cinema, for Bollywood especially, and for India which is visualized by the “West” as a gigantic mind-boggling slum. Considering the huge success of Bollywood worldwide, “slum-dog” seems to pun on the fact that Bollywood (the slum of Hollywood) is making it big in the world film circles. However, what seems unfortunate is not the West seeing India as a “slum” but Indians perceiving themselves “through the lens of Slum Dog Millionaire” . Yes! we have slums, we have underworld, we have poverty we have communal tension! Face it! But which country in the world doesn’t have it! Racism in US or England is a different form of communalism. Look at Southern United States, the situation is extremely difficult there. There is poverty in US too — and the poverty there is worse because of its psychological dimensions. In India people who live in chawls, many of them wouldn’t want to leave those chawls for their entire lives. Some of them choose to live there. For example, look at Tehelka’s recent report on Chawls in their website.

If you intend to watch Slumdog Millionaire, watch it for its clever concoction of “Indian” stories and for its cinematography. I have high regards for Mr.Boyle, because he could actually “sell” a Bollywood masala to the West, and showed that India also has its unique story-telling capacity. But my point was that Indian cinema is also capable enough to sustain on its own. The yardstick for Oscars, Golden Globe and such awards should not define our cinema-making capabilities. The movies that I cited above in my article are some examples drawn from both parallel cinema and main-stream commercial cinema. We are capable of matured movie making even without international acclaim.

Maybe that’s what they call — “art for art’s sake” …

Does this happen to you too?

We went watching “Jaane tu ya Jaane na”… the new movie released a few weeks back. Some thirty minutes after the movie began, I turned to look at Hemant’s face — it had grown pale and distant. “What happened? Not feeling well? Don’t like this movie? Let’s go back” – I bombarded him with questions concernedly. He nodded and said; “no I am well! completely well! I am just thinking” …”Thinking what?” I bombarded back…”No I am thinking that we are growing old…The movie shows that it’s no more my time. I want Madhuri Dixit dancing, Shahrukh Khan or Govinda or Amirkhan, not finding any one whom I know, …this is not our time”. He looked really-really sad and lost. Not that we didn’t enjoy the movie…we loved that. But, it made us increasingly uneasy about our existence in the scheme of nature’s ageing factor and the new social fad of one generation gap no more in ten or twelve years, rather in 4-5 years.

There were certain things in the movie that made us uncomfortable a little bit: (a) each young boy has to have a young girl as “girl-friend”/ “girlfriend” ; (b) everyone has to have a mobile phone in the group (funny? but true) and (c) how handsome/beautiful your companion is (the character rotlu is no match for the beautiful heroine Aditi even though he is the sweetest)? and so on …

Back in my hostel room, one whole night we sat gossiping about the life of film stars — as if we were just their family members. Pragyan suddenly said — “seeing Amir Khan now makes me nostalgic — I crave for our times– I saw him in Akele Hum Akele Tum or in Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar or in Rang de Basanti and it made me feel so connected and so very part of the movie”… for her not only Amir was growing ol’ but also reminded her of the little fantasies she had for the characters on the screen…she couldn’t explain more than that… there was no need for explaining more, since I too felt the same…not our times! We were quiet for a few moments before the next piece of gossip began.

But why? Why don’t we feel connected to the things shown in silver screen now? We ARE NOT THAT OLD … I mean seriously, not trying to hide my age , but then why is there this gap between the visual experience and personal experience for some of us? Was hardly seven or eight years when QSQT was released, was in my 10th when DDLJ was released, but why do we identify more with those movies than with a movie of 2000s when we actually grew up to adulthood and understood the meaning of relationships? QSQT or Maine Pyar Kiya for that matter still flairs my imagination and fills me with nostalgia.

I mean it’s not about movies only…art also reflects human life and thinking to a certain extent. Have been thinking about it for sometime now…There is something strange and new about this generation — kids are completely independent (they have to own their personal mobile phones, bikes, gizmos) , parents are no more than silent witnesses to the drama of their children’s’ lives, complex inter-personal relationships in friend circles and many-many more new “occurrences” which are hard to be explained in words.

Last January I was in Bhubaneshwar, stayed there for a longer duration than usually do. What I saw in the city was appalling — the so called new generation comprised school kids who carry high-end mobile phones, wear “interesting new designer pieces” (caught this phrase in a discussion between two teenagers) and spend their time window shopping in the new mushrooming malls. What was a little upsetting was the time that these kids spent sitting in the malls — one day I observed a group of five sitting outside the Big Bazar complex, in the lobby area for more than six hours! We had come shopping for a wedding and had found this group sitting there from around 2′ o clock in the afternoon and they were still there when we left at 8′.15 in the evening. None of the group members as I could make out was beyond 15-17years and each of them had bikes which they sometimes took out to get the female members of the group to their adda (that’s what they were referring to the place). I was shocked to see the amount of time that they wasted admiring the neon-lit corners of these malls and the amount of money that must have gone into the dressing up of each of these kids.

But not just kids, I recently heard that an acquaintance who is around 38 years of age was getting married to a nineteen year female, daughter of a very rich shop owner. Why? Because he has friends who own large cars and land cruisers. This group went out lady-hunting in these cars; impressed younger rich-only-daughters spoilt by parents; took them out to discotheques, Icecream parlours, long drives — and finally short bedroom drives. Some of these lead to marriages and some don’t — but who cares! It reminded me of the movie Jane tu… where the group of friends use the same tactics to meet “new interesting people”. “Life is there to enjoy”, was told by that acquaintance himself…. I still am not clear about the new-emerging definitions of enjoyment.

So what was “Our times” ? I mean how do we define our times? Am sure each of us has a separate definition of “our times” — but to me our times meant the times when we didn’t have the conception of a necessity to have at least one “BF” or “GF” (short for Boyfriend/ Girlfriend) — and when the group meant “friends” and only “friends” irrespective of their sexual or financial status. It also referred to a time when relationships were a strictly private affair — the story revolved around “ONE” girl and “ONE” boy or at best a “LOVE TRIANGLE”. But what one gets to see both in movies and in reality these days are not just one or two or three people, but a “LOVE HEXAGON/LOVE PENTAGON/ LOVE QUADRANGLE/OPEN RELATIONSHIPS” and so on.

The younger generation is a mobile phone addicted generation — they just can’t live without their phones. And not just any phone, their choices are highly competitive while the companies are always ready to cater to the changing demands. For us, there was not only a fear of parents but a fear of teachers, relatives and neighbors too. I remember when we used to go out to the nearest market in Bhubaneshwar to shop in my MPhil days, the news used to reach my parents, staying 180 kms away in no time. We were slightly deviant from our generation by choosing to study and remain single, whereas most of my friends got married just after their graduation or engineering — either to boys of their own choice or to people whom their parents chose. For us, watching the silver screen with Madhuri Dixit dancing, or Amir/Shahrukh/Salman romancing, was a kind of “wish-fulfillment” for things which we could imagine. But now the movies show things which people would say : “arre yaar bilkul apne life ki carbon copy hai! They have stolen from our lives to make this movie”.

Well, I am not blaming the past, the present or the future! We are also to be blamed for not being able to cope-up with the changes which are so rapid that it takes a wink to register one epochal movement. We are slow and therefore feel uneasy in the heat of movement. The “Great Indian Middle Class” is in the midst of these whirlpool of transitions and that which we had earlier thought as the priviledge of the upper classes has slowly penetrated the middle class lives. Some of it is good no doubt, but maybe some of the changes are so overpowering that the balance is topsy-turveyed.

You can see these generation gaps blatantly in IITs between B.Techs, M.Techs and PhDs. Recently something funny happened with a female friend doing PhD who went to a party dominated mostly by B.Techs. One of the B.Tech guys who was a little tipsy came up to her and told her on her face: “aunty you are really very nice. Friends! aunty acchi hain…I like you maam.” Poor girl she was completely embarassed and rushed out of the party with tears. That’s how it is sometimes…

There are many-many such instances where one sees mind boggling gaps in thinking. It’s not always funny and neither always grim. There must be a new crop of researchers/psychologists who should be documenting this fast track change in our society.

But for the time being keep your fingers crossed for “more” … all that can be said is “not our times”… It’s 2 am and I listen to Bob Dylan’s fantastic number “The Times They Are Changing’” where he prophesized in 1960’s the changing times :

…Come writers and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won’t come again
And don’t speak too soon
For the wheel’s still in spin
And there’s no tellin’ who
That it’s namin’.
For the loser now
Will be later to win
For the times they are a-changin’…

… Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don’t criticize
What you can’t understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is
Rapidly agin’.
Please get out of the new one
If you can’t lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin’.

Life moves on…

My Cellphone rang and woke me up from my nostalgic travel through memory lanes.

It was around 11.20 pm when we reached Khapoli on a chilly December night. We were traveling by the 9pm Local from CST to Khapoli. I had never traveled out of Mumbai or even in Mumbai in a local train at that hour of the night. It hardly made any difference — trains were bustling with human beings at least up till Kalyan station and even a little later. I could not believe my eyes to see that so many people travel so late from offices to their homes in distant corners of Mumbai suburbs. In Odisha there is not much of a crowd after 9pm. The office-goers who come from smaller towns like Dhenkanal, Angul, Talcher, Khurda to work in offices at Cuttack or Bhubaneswar usually return by the 5: 15 pm local and reach their homes by 7.30-8.00pm.

I used to travel from Bhubaneswar to Angul/Dhenkanal every Saturday-Sunday and sometimes even on holidays in this particular local train for 7 years; first during Graduation and then during my University days in Post graduation and M.Phil. Either my parents or my uncles would be waiting to receive me from the station. Every time I came back home from the hostel on weekends, I would be received in a grand fashion. When grandpa was alive, he would come to pick me up or drop me while on his morning and evening walks to the Dhenkanal station. I would jump down from the boggy, hug him as if I had not seen him for ages (it might be even less than a week) and then happily chatter away about my friends/teachers in college or University till we reached home, where specially made delicious baingan bharta and mushroom deep fried with garlic and steaming hot rice would be eagerly waiting for me. I think I lost my best friend when I lost him. Grandmom and my aunty sadly would lament on my health condition because of malnutrition in the hostel food .

Probably, this nostalgia was the reason that when we were offered a “Special Paper” in PG English, I had enthusiastically opted for a course in “Professional Writing” and chose to write my dissertation on “The Life in Local Trains”. There were diary entires, interviews with commuters, history of the train, letters and statistics collected on the 5:15pm local train for the dissertation. In fact, at the peak of my data collection I had traveled almost everyday by that train to observe and record events and take snaps of various landmarks. I had a very strange, mysterious bonding with the Local trains, as if these trains gave a miniature version of my world.

All these memories of the past years had come drifting towards me when I saw a group of office-goers boarding from different stations, in one compartment on the CST-Khapoli Local. Probably they were using this one compartment for many years and were now friends or perhaps family. Interestingly, one of them carried a mouth organ, another a dafli and another a flute. While some of them sang some Marathi and Hindi numbers, the others’ played on these instruments or listened silently. I thought there was some special occasion and asked one of them sitting close to me that what was the reason for celebration. He replied with a smile; “nothing! we do this everyday! we celebrate everyday…we come from different stations and from different offices, but make it a point to meet in the train, share some joys or our troubles, sing, laugh and get down at our respective stoppages. This has happened for years now.” He grinned and the song : “hai apna dil toh awara na jane kis pe ayega” …wafted in the air. Everyone in the compartment was silent, listening intently to the songs; no one felt like talking…I suppose everyone had some or the other nostalgia to go back to.

These people specially reminded me of an event which I have documented in that dissertation on local trains. It’s the story of one particular gentleman who had traveled in the 5:15pm local from Bhubaneswar to Dhenkanal for 30 years of his service in the AG Office (Attorney General’s Office) in Master Canteen Bhubaneswar. He worked as a senior clerk there.On the day of his retirement from service, the entire compartment (he had boarded the same compartment for the last 30 years) and his fellow office goers had organized a grand farewell for him in the compartment itself. People sang, made speeches on the small tid-bits of their experiences with him, cried, hugged him and then saw him off with tears as he got down at Dhenkanal station on his final day from work. I was very young then to understand the realities of these emotions — because I had everything and everyone around me at that point of time.

But, of course the event had intrigued me and my imagination. I tried to locate his home in the town and went for an interview for the dissertation. He had told me during the interview that more than his family he valued the friends in the train. They shared all his day-to-day stories, gave valuable advice like his son’s job or a daughter’s wedding or official tussles. They had laughed, played cards, gossiped against their office colleagues, sometimes also fought, but most importantly had grown old together. He added that he will not miss office so much as much he would miss his commuting in the train. “Sadly I will not meet my fellow passengers any longer as I will not need to travel from this small town to Bhubaneswar anymore. My friends in the train have shown more patience and have listened to me more than my own family”... I saw his eyes moisten.

The picture of the old gentleman vividly came before my eyes in the CST-Khapoli local train after another 7 long years of my life. I realized seeing these people around me on the train, that there are certain human emotions which cut across narrow language, caste and cultural divides and time. When the politicians and even some theoreticians seek to divide my nation on the basis of caste and language politics, I still can see that the emotion which people have in Odisha is similar to that which they have in Maharastra or maybe elsewhere in the world — the emotional bond of one human being with another.