Quite simply, the world's sturdiest guitar. Full 6 months with 3 strings broken, the rest are in tune.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Wannabes
6.54 pm local leaving from Dadar for Borivli. Two guys & a girl chattering.
The girl: "Why won't four guys sit on a single seat?"
Guy 1: "They can't sit."
The girl: "We sit in the ladies' compartment like that."
Guy 2: "Nobody will try to sit only!"
Guy 1: "Possible nathich che na."
The girl: "Wow."
The conversation halts with a Reshammiya number being played on Guy 1's cellphone.
Guy 2: "That song ROCKSSSssssssssssssss man."
Girl: "Shiiiiiiiiii i hate the lyrics." (haan?)
Guy 2: "No it's awesome."
Guy 1: "Abe sale badbad band kar, gaana sun. Muzhe uska (The girl) haath pahadne de."
Just short of losing consciousness, I get up & get a breath of fresh air near the door. Someone somewhere faraway alights the train. I get a different seat. And I get peace.
The girl: "Why won't four guys sit on a single seat?"
Guy 1: "They can't sit."
The girl: "We sit in the ladies' compartment like that."
Guy 2: "Nobody will try to sit only!"
Guy 1: "Possible nathich che na."
The girl: "Wow."
The conversation halts with a Reshammiya number being played on Guy 1's cellphone.
Guy 2: "That song ROCKSSSssssssssssssss man."
Girl: "Shiiiiiiiiii i hate the lyrics." (haan?)
Guy 2: "No it's awesome."
Guy 1: "Abe sale badbad band kar, gaana sun. Muzhe uska (The girl) haath pahadne de."
Just short of losing consciousness, I get up & get a breath of fresh air near the door. Someone somewhere faraway alights the train. I get a different seat. And I get peace.
Friday, December 29, 2006
Satya
It was showing on our cable yesterday. I could not resist the temptation of seeing almost the entire film. Such is the magic woven by RGV.
The biggest three strengths of the film are its impeccably drawn characters, flawless dialogues and the shock treatment that RGV is famous for. Apart from being realistic and yet a fantastic drama. The transformation of a young man searching for a job in the crucible of Bombay into a feared right hand shooter of a 'supari' extortionist cum hit-man Bhiku Mhatre is smoothly handled. It is Satya's rebellious nature mixed with initial ill-treatment received that claws its way over his conscience when Bhiku hands him a gun to shoot Jagga. A scary fact it highlights is that gangsters are made of common simple young men not too different from any we see every day.
Satya, the only educated man and perhaps also shown as a shrewd mind (Chakrabarthy shows nothing to prove this) starts influencing Bhiku's decisions pretty soon. He urges for revenge on Guru, he asserts that if police can treat gangsters with cruelty the gangsters have a right to shoot the Commissioner, he assures Bhiku that Bhau means no good. These are extra ordinary happenings and I suppose a good insight into real Bombay underworld must be give to RGV by a reasearch team. These decisions also seal the fate of Bhiku's gang.
Satya's love story was as essential for giving a human touch to a gangster's life, as Bhiku Mhatre's wife. However, both Chakrabarthy and Urmila Matondkar are utterly useless actors. By being clumsy, they accidentally show the initial discomfort of their attraction. But later on, they screw up the film big time, leaving the viewer yearning for more Bhiku, Kallu mama, Vakil Mule or Shefali Cchaya.
Bajpai's career got a rolicking start with his Bhiku. Deservedly so. Makrand Deshpande is brilliant with his chameleon like character of Vakil Mule. But my two favourites from the film were Kallu mama & Shefali. Kallu mama, the calming factor of Bhiku's gang is a sensational hit. I did not want him to die. Shefali is a brilliant actor an I am amazed by the command she shows over marathi styled hindi pronunciations. Like, "Kal anda diya tha na?"
All in all, Satya is an all-time great Bollywood flick and I just wish RGV had better brains than would allow him to make a film 'factory' and make cheap disgusting imitation flicks like 'Sarkar' and new 'Sholay'.
n.b. I loved that song 'badalon se kaat kaat ke.......' And of course, 'Kallu mama' & 'sapano me milti hai' are great dance numbers too.
The biggest three strengths of the film are its impeccably drawn characters, flawless dialogues and the shock treatment that RGV is famous for. Apart from being realistic and yet a fantastic drama. The transformation of a young man searching for a job in the crucible of Bombay into a feared right hand shooter of a 'supari' extortionist cum hit-man Bhiku Mhatre is smoothly handled. It is Satya's rebellious nature mixed with initial ill-treatment received that claws its way over his conscience when Bhiku hands him a gun to shoot Jagga. A scary fact it highlights is that gangsters are made of common simple young men not too different from any we see every day.
Satya, the only educated man and perhaps also shown as a shrewd mind (Chakrabarthy shows nothing to prove this) starts influencing Bhiku's decisions pretty soon. He urges for revenge on Guru, he asserts that if police can treat gangsters with cruelty the gangsters have a right to shoot the Commissioner, he assures Bhiku that Bhau means no good. These are extra ordinary happenings and I suppose a good insight into real Bombay underworld must be give to RGV by a reasearch team. These decisions also seal the fate of Bhiku's gang.
Satya's love story was as essential for giving a human touch to a gangster's life, as Bhiku Mhatre's wife. However, both Chakrabarthy and Urmila Matondkar are utterly useless actors. By being clumsy, they accidentally show the initial discomfort of their attraction. But later on, they screw up the film big time, leaving the viewer yearning for more Bhiku, Kallu mama, Vakil Mule or Shefali Cchaya.
Bajpai's career got a rolicking start with his Bhiku. Deservedly so. Makrand Deshpande is brilliant with his chameleon like character of Vakil Mule. But my two favourites from the film were Kallu mama & Shefali. Kallu mama, the calming factor of Bhiku's gang is a sensational hit. I did not want him to die. Shefali is a brilliant actor an I am amazed by the command she shows over marathi styled hindi pronunciations. Like, "Kal anda diya tha na?"
All in all, Satya is an all-time great Bollywood flick and I just wish RGV had better brains than would allow him to make a film 'factory' and make cheap disgusting imitation flicks like 'Sarkar' and new 'Sholay'.
n.b. I loved that song 'badalon se kaat kaat ke.......' And of course, 'Kallu mama' & 'sapano me milti hai' are great dance numbers too.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Moustaches
I found this man in a train. He did not seem very friendly and yet I could not resist the temptation of clicking his moustaches. Luck favoured me and as he stood near the door facing outside, I could hold my camera steady without being wary of him seeing me.
DSC00834
They sell really interesting objects on Bombay's footpaths. This particular stall was near Flora Fountain.
Monday, December 25, 2006
Municipality
Bombay (Oops sorry - Brihanmumbai) Municipal Corporation is an awesome body. It generates the largest revenue of all cities in India. It makes people pay for cleanliness, maintenance of roads, water, property, transportaion of goods, street lights and many other such 'services'. Its elected representatives are called 'nagarsevaks' (city-servants) and they take great pride in serving citizens. They promise all above-mentioned services and more. They walk the streets before the elections. They draw agendas. They show us dreams. They grow rich and reduce poverty. They wear crisp starched clothes & imbibe personal hygiene. They knock our doors for votes. And we vote. For them. For their beaurocracy. For their cars. For their mobile phones. For their salaries. For their signatures. We pay them even to deliver inspiring speeches. We even love to pay them for small favours. We willingly pay their charges for representing us in times of trouble. This wonderful give & take carries on peacefully. And we build the world's best city called Bombay.
Dan Rhodes
Through his books Dan Rhodes comes across as a man of many sensibilities. 'Anthropology & A Hundred Other Stories' is one such book. I had never read stories as short as those & I'ld call them microstories. TRhodes' narrations progress through very small incidents. What strikes the reader the most, is Rhodes' special magnifying glass that's very selective in enlarging objects. It's a marvelous effort of mixing facts & fantasy that rises to a high degree of abstraction and yet has a firm realistic basis. Rhodes has a great command over his characters and also lets them fly free if required. Rhodes' displays a trmeendous command over the working of the male & female brains. His women - plain, sexy, pretty, commonplace, creative, intelligent and dumb - are so closely attached with each other that they gave me the impression of a single lover he once had. His own amazement at the inexplicable things all those women do is something I could 100% relate with.
For a Rhodes reader - DO their names hint at their characters? I got that feeling but could not solve the mystery.
For a Rhodes reader - DO their names hint at their characters? I got that feeling but could not solve the mystery.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Friday, December 22, 2006
Scent of a woman
Each time I see this film I fall deeper in love with it.
Right from the outset, Scent of a woman is Al Pacino's film. His portrayal of the Colonel is Al Pacinoesque in every sense. I have observed it many times that Pacino doesn't believe in living characters. He moulds them & gives us something else that Al Pacino in real life would be, given the circumstances created by the scripwriter (I noticed lots of Al Pacino shades even in Michael Corleone).
Pacino's Colonel is absolutely brilliant in showcasing a once vibrant glorious army hot shot who never grew up for lack of diplomatic skills, lost his vision in an unfortunate & yet suicidal accident, then turned into a self-pittying blind old alcoholic who just wants to have one final crack at high life & then 'blow his brains out'. His expressions are vivid and his body language superb. But what proves the killer blow is his delivery. Accentuating emphasis on random words, screaming sentences like shouting commands and laughing in monosyllables (dont ask me how! just go see the film), he steals the show with inspired personification of his character. His determination to kick his 'baby'sitter out, his newfound will to live a cameo jet-setter life, his exhaustion and dejection upon conquering the last remaining mountain and finally his renewed vigour to live on is exceptional.
Scenes to always remember: 1) Pacino banging his cane on the table at the final hearing
2) Charlie watching Pacino perform the tango
3) Colonel telling Harry & the other culprits to fuck off
4) Colonel telling Charlie to give him an inventory of the Waldhorf suite bar.
For die hard Pacino fans, keep running ur vcd's / dvd's again & again. Keep enjoying. & if u havent seen the film yet, it's time to go Blow Your Own Brains Out.
For Pacino haters, cut the crap, watch it anyways. You will not see a better larger than life character after brando's Don Vito.
Right from the outset, Scent of a woman is Al Pacino's film. His portrayal of the Colonel is Al Pacinoesque in every sense. I have observed it many times that Pacino doesn't believe in living characters. He moulds them & gives us something else that Al Pacino in real life would be, given the circumstances created by the scripwriter (I noticed lots of Al Pacino shades even in Michael Corleone).
Pacino's Colonel is absolutely brilliant in showcasing a once vibrant glorious army hot shot who never grew up for lack of diplomatic skills, lost his vision in an unfortunate & yet suicidal accident, then turned into a self-pittying blind old alcoholic who just wants to have one final crack at high life & then 'blow his brains out'. His expressions are vivid and his body language superb. But what proves the killer blow is his delivery. Accentuating emphasis on random words, screaming sentences like shouting commands and laughing in monosyllables (dont ask me how! just go see the film), he steals the show with inspired personification of his character. His determination to kick his 'baby'sitter out, his newfound will to live a cameo jet-setter life, his exhaustion and dejection upon conquering the last remaining mountain and finally his renewed vigour to live on is exceptional.
Scenes to always remember: 1) Pacino banging his cane on the table at the final hearing
2) Charlie watching Pacino perform the tango
3) Colonel telling Harry & the other culprits to fuck off
4) Colonel telling Charlie to give him an inventory of the Waldhorf suite bar.
For die hard Pacino fans, keep running ur vcd's / dvd's again & again. Keep enjoying. & if u havent seen the film yet, it's time to go Blow Your Own Brains Out.
For Pacino haters, cut the crap, watch it anyways. You will not see a better larger than life character after brando's Don Vito.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Arshad Warsi
I absolutely adore him. He has been brilliant right from the word go. Of course he has had some very tough times just after Tere Mere Sapne. But he is more or less a complete actor. And now is climbing up the ladder quite quickly. After Anthony Kun Hai, I won't be surprised to see him as the lone male lead in more films.
He is gifted with the all important sense of timing which suits his extempore comedy style. His spontaneous expressions while Sanjubaba talks to Janvhi in the radio station in Lage Raho Munnabhai are simply sensational. That perhaps is the reason why people stereotype him. Kabul Express was one such film where he was asked to be a funny man even when the film did not seem to demand more than an occasional laughter.
Kudos to Warsi for coming a long long way from where he was. Apart from Shahrukh Khan I don't see any other Bollywood actor who has done so well despite a complete lack of any godfather whosoever. (Amir Khan was professionally launched by uncle Nasir Hussein - quite contrary to common belief)
He is gifted with the all important sense of timing which suits his extempore comedy style. His spontaneous expressions while Sanjubaba talks to Janvhi in the radio station in Lage Raho Munnabhai are simply sensational. That perhaps is the reason why people stereotype him. Kabul Express was one such film where he was asked to be a funny man even when the film did not seem to demand more than an occasional laughter.
Kudos to Warsi for coming a long long way from where he was. Apart from Shahrukh Khan I don't see any other Bollywood actor who has done so well despite a complete lack of any godfather whosoever. (Amir Khan was professionally launched by uncle Nasir Hussein - quite contrary to common belief)
Kabul Express
Saw Kabul Express today. My verdict is - uninteresting. It seems very slow. And lacks a gripping plot. Just a couple of reporters wanting to cover the Taliban don't make a two hour story. The masala of a Pakistani fighting for the Taliban depending upon thse Indian reporters to help him cross the border into his homeland should have been enough to keep viewers glued to their seats. But sadly, the story never takes off. The Director seems to have lost the plot compeltely. He is unsure of whether to make a comedy or an emotional drama. The film - just like any other newer Bollywood flicks - is extremely pleasing to the eye. The rugged terrain of Afghanistan is captured brilliantly. Some of the shots might have made terrific photographs. One that particularly stands out in my memory is the Kabul Express (SUV) moving horizontally against a backdrop of a huge mountain. The American journalist does absolutely nothing in the film and one wonders what is the necessity to have her. (of course she does a good job of providing eye candy) All in all a serious viewer better advised to give it a skip. However, teenage couples in dire need of a coochicooing place can look forward to vacant theatres showing Kabul Express.
n.b. When will John learn to do a bit of acting? When will Yash Chopra make a real thrilling action entertainer? It has been ages since Kala Patthar (even Kala Patthar piddles out in the end its just held together by the brilliance of Amitabh & Shatru).
n.b. When will John learn to do a bit of acting? When will Yash Chopra make a real thrilling action entertainer? It has been ages since Kala Patthar (even Kala Patthar piddles out in the end its just held together by the brilliance of Amitabh & Shatru).
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Attitude
I loved Sreesanth's antiques in face of Andre Nel. Nel has always had things to say to batsmen. Specially when they come from the subcontinent. Wonder why he goes dumb when playing against better teams. Like Australia.
Although luck played a great part in Sreesanth connecting with the ball and clearing the ropes, it was his attitude that I loved. To have the courage to give it back is a lot. Just by virtue of being an Indian we tend to overlook others crossing their lines - we being taught from an early childhood to be proud of our forgiving culture. Some times - if not always - its good to give it back.
He did his pelvic thrusts and the propeller moves with the bat. Nel was forced to see the funny side. And now life moves on. Sanity restored.
The message it delivered though, is an all important one. Even if India lose, they will not take shit from anybody. Even from Nel, who is famous for being a very gentle, caring and warm bloke off the field.
Attitude is the word.
Although luck played a great part in Sreesanth connecting with the ball and clearing the ropes, it was his attitude that I loved. To have the courage to give it back is a lot. Just by virtue of being an Indian we tend to overlook others crossing their lines - we being taught from an early childhood to be proud of our forgiving culture. Some times - if not always - its good to give it back.
He did his pelvic thrusts and the propeller moves with the bat. Nel was forced to see the funny side. And now life moves on. Sanity restored.
The message it delivered though, is an all important one. Even if India lose, they will not take shit from anybody. Even from Nel, who is famous for being a very gentle, caring and warm bloke off the field.
Attitude is the word.
Hansel and Gretel
For the last 22 years at least it has been my favourite story. Since those days when my father used to read it out aloud to me. I could not read then. I just lay in bed on my stomach, alternately folding and stretching my knees, mother on my right, father cuddling me with his right arm and modulating his voice to talk like Hansel, Gretel, their father, step-mother and the witch.
Even now I occasionally dream of a chocolate house. And I still wish I had a sister as motherly and clever as Gretel. She would have thrown the witch in the oven when I got tired of handing the witch a chicken finger.
Long live that nostalgia.
Even now I occasionally dream of a chocolate house. And I still wish I had a sister as motherly and clever as Gretel. She would have thrown the witch in the oven when I got tired of handing the witch a chicken finger.
Long live that nostalgia.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Cricket
The fragile nature of support to our cricket team is evident. Instead of wasting huge news space on criticism of our cricket team Aaj Tak and the likes could do some real reporting. I wonder how shameless can these guys be! Till 3 days ago they were quoting 1000 reasons why India will come home with 3 innings defeats from RSA. I'm going to enjoy seeing them praise the same Chappel & Dravid association for a magnificent victory. It's best they leave expert opinions to the experts.
What is Loksabha going to do about this test victory? Offer citizenship to Greg Chappel? If they are not, they better shut their mouths when the team loses. Remember, the cricket board neither accepts any grants nor any loans from the government. If the common man wants to teach the team a lesson, he can switch off his TV set. But there is no reason for our rhino-skinned politicians to scream at the top of their voices.
What is Loksabha going to do about this test victory? Offer citizenship to Greg Chappel? If they are not, they better shut their mouths when the team loses. Remember, the cricket board neither accepts any grants nor any loans from the government. If the common man wants to teach the team a lesson, he can switch off his TV set. But there is no reason for our rhino-skinned politicians to scream at the top of their voices.
Advertisements
I tend to think Indian TV advertisements are too broad and rely too much on humour. A friend pointed out that Indian audience is far too fragmented and disallows clear cut segmentation of market thereby making it impossible to target ads. My take on some of the present ads on TV:
Maruti is a mixed bag. Wagon R with its 'hot shot photographer' sucks big time. Maruti esteem ad would make me ashamed of buying the car - notice how the father stumbles to find a synonym for esteem. They could have highlighted the low price & large space tag much better and much less insulting to the small town newly rich families. Zen completely rocks. The boxes are an instant hit for me.
Cola wars are hot even in winter. Coke scores over all others while cashing in on Hritik's Dhoom2 and Krish campaigns. The Blue Billion doesn't quite rise for Pepsi. In this role reversal (for many years, coke made its 'official cricket' motto quite popular), Pepsi piddles out. Huha India, Aaya India but boo boo pepsi. Thums Up specialises in the unrbane young male and sticks to its tradition of Salman, Suneil Shetty, Akshay Kumar with Kunal Kapoor. Not quite my taste but they seem to know what they are doing.
Hutch is brilliant as always. Irfan Khan had done magic with his awesome dialogues. Now it's a pleasure to see the Pug follow the kid everywhere, including a magician's box. Is Hutch being campaigned by Pralhad Kakkar? Is that Kakkar playing the magician?
'Beta, tum koi aisa kaam to nahi kar rahe jo tumhe nahi karna chahiye?' Cheers to Motorola! Cheers to the actor who must have maintained the expression till the biscuit dropped.
Appy is good. 'A cool drink to hang out with'.
Will be back with more later.
Maruti is a mixed bag. Wagon R with its 'hot shot photographer' sucks big time. Maruti esteem ad would make me ashamed of buying the car - notice how the father stumbles to find a synonym for esteem. They could have highlighted the low price & large space tag much better and much less insulting to the small town newly rich families. Zen completely rocks. The boxes are an instant hit for me.
Cola wars are hot even in winter. Coke scores over all others while cashing in on Hritik's Dhoom2 and Krish campaigns. The Blue Billion doesn't quite rise for Pepsi. In this role reversal (for many years, coke made its 'official cricket' motto quite popular), Pepsi piddles out. Huha India, Aaya India but boo boo pepsi. Thums Up specialises in the unrbane young male and sticks to its tradition of Salman, Suneil Shetty, Akshay Kumar with Kunal Kapoor. Not quite my taste but they seem to know what they are doing.
Hutch is brilliant as always. Irfan Khan had done magic with his awesome dialogues. Now it's a pleasure to see the Pug follow the kid everywhere, including a magician's box. Is Hutch being campaigned by Pralhad Kakkar? Is that Kakkar playing the magician?
'Beta, tum koi aisa kaam to nahi kar rahe jo tumhe nahi karna chahiye?' Cheers to Motorola! Cheers to the actor who must have maintained the expression till the biscuit dropped.
Appy is good. 'A cool drink to hang out with'.
Will be back with more later.
7chya Aat Gharat
Happened to see a marathi film called 'Saatchya Aat Gharat' (Home before seven thirty). Primarily dealing with the issue of morality and youth, the film narrates a tale of cosmopolitan and urban collegiate youth of Maharashtra. Through the love and romance of these youngsters, the film attempts to set an example of limits, boundaries and traditionally imposed restrictions that the Director thinks should be of help.
The story-line of the film is not off the beaten track. A group of youngsters enjoying their lives with their modern ideas of morality is shown to get an electrifying jolt when a female member is raped by a dead drunk policeman while she is on a physically intimate date with her boyfriend. The Director scores by not merely concentrating on the rattled life of a rape-victim. This has been done enough. Rather she brings in the external perspective. The victim's friends more or less appear to be stable and very supportive. In general even the society does not alienate her completely. But her boyfriend expresses his inability of marrying her after her 'impurification'.
Had the Director restricted herself to just giving a new take on rape and youngsters (and she has done it decently well) she would have scored a few points. But she falls in the trap of giving advice where none is needed. She spends way too much time on explaining how cruel the world is, how justice can be denied and how excessive freedom can ruin a life. She goes completely wrong when she claims that had the girl been home before seven (saatchya aat gharat) the whole tragedy could have been avoided.
She seems to have taken it for granted that if a potential rapist does not see a girl get involved in sexual acts with another man, all rapes can be avoided. The policeman confesses to the court: "After all I am only a 'man'. Whats wrong if after drinking and seeing people have sex, I felt aroused and decided to have my share of physical pleasure?" Through him, Ms. Talkwalkar, the Director asserts that men will always rob women for what they want and it is the women's responsibility to protect herself. Protect yourself, I completely agree with. But Protect by imposing cruel restrictions? Well, this is so 'Talibanesque'. Like telling me not to carry my wallet on me for the fear of attracting a pick-pocket.
I hate the Director for making the film. It portrays youngsters in poor light. Another thing I completely hate about the film is that the victim, her coward boyfriend and all other vagabond characters in the film are non-maharashtrian. Does Ms. Talwalkar seriously believe that Maharashtrians are the most moral in India?
Film makers show us films that are shot from a distinctly male perspective. The all conquering hero, a heroine is prepared to die for and surrender her body to, is a common sight on the Indian silver screen. Of course this 'sexy' looking heroine is the fantacy of the Indian male. Invariably, the mother and sister of the Hero are god fearing traditional looking ladies who exhibit an extreme degree of Indian morality, complete devotion for the men of the house and a completely uncomplaining nature - all of it protected by the Hero.
Ms. talwalkar has been caught in such a trap while making her film. High time she stopped advising the young women how traditional restrictions can keep them safe. I can throw at her face a thousand examples of cruelty behind the curtains of morality and conservative ideas. Perhaps Ms. Talwalkar could mix up more with youngsters and really get to know their side of things before she even attempts to throw around her stupid logic and advice.
The story-line of the film is not off the beaten track. A group of youngsters enjoying their lives with their modern ideas of morality is shown to get an electrifying jolt when a female member is raped by a dead drunk policeman while she is on a physically intimate date with her boyfriend. The Director scores by not merely concentrating on the rattled life of a rape-victim. This has been done enough. Rather she brings in the external perspective. The victim's friends more or less appear to be stable and very supportive. In general even the society does not alienate her completely. But her boyfriend expresses his inability of marrying her after her 'impurification'.
Had the Director restricted herself to just giving a new take on rape and youngsters (and she has done it decently well) she would have scored a few points. But she falls in the trap of giving advice where none is needed. She spends way too much time on explaining how cruel the world is, how justice can be denied and how excessive freedom can ruin a life. She goes completely wrong when she claims that had the girl been home before seven (saatchya aat gharat) the whole tragedy could have been avoided.
She seems to have taken it for granted that if a potential rapist does not see a girl get involved in sexual acts with another man, all rapes can be avoided. The policeman confesses to the court: "After all I am only a 'man'. Whats wrong if after drinking and seeing people have sex, I felt aroused and decided to have my share of physical pleasure?" Through him, Ms. Talkwalkar, the Director asserts that men will always rob women for what they want and it is the women's responsibility to protect herself. Protect yourself, I completely agree with. But Protect by imposing cruel restrictions? Well, this is so 'Talibanesque'. Like telling me not to carry my wallet on me for the fear of attracting a pick-pocket.
I hate the Director for making the film. It portrays youngsters in poor light. Another thing I completely hate about the film is that the victim, her coward boyfriend and all other vagabond characters in the film are non-maharashtrian. Does Ms. Talwalkar seriously believe that Maharashtrians are the most moral in India?
Film makers show us films that are shot from a distinctly male perspective. The all conquering hero, a heroine is prepared to die for and surrender her body to, is a common sight on the Indian silver screen. Of course this 'sexy' looking heroine is the fantacy of the Indian male. Invariably, the mother and sister of the Hero are god fearing traditional looking ladies who exhibit an extreme degree of Indian morality, complete devotion for the men of the house and a completely uncomplaining nature - all of it protected by the Hero.
Ms. talwalkar has been caught in such a trap while making her film. High time she stopped advising the young women how traditional restrictions can keep them safe. I can throw at her face a thousand examples of cruelty behind the curtains of morality and conservative ideas. Perhaps Ms. Talwalkar could mix up more with youngsters and really get to know their side of things before she even attempts to throw around her stupid logic and advice.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
IMG_0319
I particularly love the evening sun peeping in. Somehow its different from the morning sun.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Feminism
Just recently I had a very interesting conversation about feminism during which I was called a liberal feminist. I did not know that feminism was subdivided. Because of a sort of lack of belief that I have in subdividing different 'isms' I did not agree with it much. However, a slightly deeper probe revealed three types of feminism. And I must admit they are different enough to be classified differently.
Radical feminism is the most extreme form of feminism which believes in complete lack of reason for the male gender to exist. It goes further than that in saying that 'men' are the cause of all miseries for women. For its aggressive campagning, it also came to be popularly known as 'bra burning' feminism. This feminism especially seems applicable in today's age of sperm banking. It leaves virtually no biological requirement of men in a woman's world. Of course except in donating of sperms.
Socialist feminism believes that oppression of women began with civilization. As people settled down and began to hold 'property', the physically stronger sex created a patriarchial society that denied freedom to women. This was done in order to ensure that the male offspring that will inherit 'property' 100% belongs to it's 'father'. Socialist feminism believes that in a socialist set up where means of production and the produce itself is owned collectively by the society, question of inheritance and therefore patriarchy does not arise.
Liberal feminism wants women to be given jobs, thereby giving them financial freedom and liberating them from dependence on men. However, it is the weakest form of feminism that holds little water even against crude arguments. e.g. By stating the need to 'give' women jobs, they are being denied of any status of equality. Also the nature of these jobs as suggested by liberal feminists seems conventionally 'feminine'. And therefore, it is looked at as doing 'favours' to women rather than admitting and accepting any sort of equality between the genders.
Radical feminism is the most extreme form of feminism which believes in complete lack of reason for the male gender to exist. It goes further than that in saying that 'men' are the cause of all miseries for women. For its aggressive campagning, it also came to be popularly known as 'bra burning' feminism. This feminism especially seems applicable in today's age of sperm banking. It leaves virtually no biological requirement of men in a woman's world. Of course except in donating of sperms.
Socialist feminism believes that oppression of women began with civilization. As people settled down and began to hold 'property', the physically stronger sex created a patriarchial society that denied freedom to women. This was done in order to ensure that the male offspring that will inherit 'property' 100% belongs to it's 'father'. Socialist feminism believes that in a socialist set up where means of production and the produce itself is owned collectively by the society, question of inheritance and therefore patriarchy does not arise.
Liberal feminism wants women to be given jobs, thereby giving them financial freedom and liberating them from dependence on men. However, it is the weakest form of feminism that holds little water even against crude arguments. e.g. By stating the need to 'give' women jobs, they are being denied of any status of equality. Also the nature of these jobs as suggested by liberal feminists seems conventionally 'feminine'. And therefore, it is looked at as doing 'favours' to women rather than admitting and accepting any sort of equality between the genders.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
The dark I don't want to name
It's a film I saw at an obscure film screening in Dadar. The film is about the Bhopal Gas Tragedy. Part of my ancestry is from Bhopal. I have heard accounts of the tragedy from Bhopalis. And honestly, I feel this tragedy is a gum thats been chewed for far too long. It holds no promise for any new films.
The dark I must not name begins by promising to do the unpredictable. To try and unravel the lives of the so-called heroes of the tragedy. Like Sunil. A boy who lost both parents and three sisters in a matter of hours. Like Aaina Miyan. Who saw his relatives die like flies. Like those numerous ladies who spend the their lives in a widow house that resembles an abandoned ruin.
The film fails to deliver the different take it promises. It does not clearly probe into how those once cherished 'heroes' of the tragedy that made the front pages of hundreds of Indian newspapers are now utterly neglected. It could have spoken about how rehabilitation is not even considered as a remote possiblity by the government.
There are many moments when the camera movement is agonizingly slow. Repeated shots of the same factory ruins and seemingly unedited interviews of victims that go on for an eternity bored me. Too many scenes are excesssively lengthy and boringly repetitive. Moreover, the director appears on screen with nothing to say. Perhaps she just wants to star in the film.
The film does not seem to follow any logical sequence. It begins with shots of Bhopal's routine life - chai and samosas being served. The same scene is repeated after around 45 minutes when the viewer tends to think that a full circle has been completed and he will soon see 'The End'. However, the film drags on for an agonizing half hour more.
Lastly, the film does not seem to take any stand on the issue. No suggestions from the film maker. No views from experts. No participation from the NGO's who I'm sure don't see Bhopal tragedy as a glamourous issue any more.
After the screening, the Director spoke for a bit. She said she did not want to do anything for Bhopal. She did not want to present the issue to the urban educated classes. Making a film was her primary objective and Bhopal just happened to be the issue she chose. That honesty was good to see.
One thing I found commendable was the imaginative use of colour filters. At least to my untrained eye it seemed quite interesting. The redness of the arriving trains and the bright white lights of the factory ruins stand out in my memory.
All in all, better give this film a miss for its length of 66 minutes.
The dark I must not name begins by promising to do the unpredictable. To try and unravel the lives of the so-called heroes of the tragedy. Like Sunil. A boy who lost both parents and three sisters in a matter of hours. Like Aaina Miyan. Who saw his relatives die like flies. Like those numerous ladies who spend the their lives in a widow house that resembles an abandoned ruin.
The film fails to deliver the different take it promises. It does not clearly probe into how those once cherished 'heroes' of the tragedy that made the front pages of hundreds of Indian newspapers are now utterly neglected. It could have spoken about how rehabilitation is not even considered as a remote possiblity by the government.
There are many moments when the camera movement is agonizingly slow. Repeated shots of the same factory ruins and seemingly unedited interviews of victims that go on for an eternity bored me. Too many scenes are excesssively lengthy and boringly repetitive. Moreover, the director appears on screen with nothing to say. Perhaps she just wants to star in the film.
The film does not seem to follow any logical sequence. It begins with shots of Bhopal's routine life - chai and samosas being served. The same scene is repeated after around 45 minutes when the viewer tends to think that a full circle has been completed and he will soon see 'The End'. However, the film drags on for an agonizing half hour more.
Lastly, the film does not seem to take any stand on the issue. No suggestions from the film maker. No views from experts. No participation from the NGO's who I'm sure don't see Bhopal tragedy as a glamourous issue any more.
After the screening, the Director spoke for a bit. She said she did not want to do anything for Bhopal. She did not want to present the issue to the urban educated classes. Making a film was her primary objective and Bhopal just happened to be the issue she chose. That honesty was good to see.
One thing I found commendable was the imaginative use of colour filters. At least to my untrained eye it seemed quite interesting. The redness of the arriving trains and the bright white lights of the factory ruins stand out in my memory.
All in all, better give this film a miss for its length of 66 minutes.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
| You Are A Martini |
 You are the kind of drinker who appreciates a nice hard drink. And for you, only quality alcohol. You don't waste your time on the cheap stuff. Obviously, you're usually found with a martini in your hand. But sometimes you mix it up with a gin and tonic. And you'd never, ever consider one of those flavored martinis. They're hardly a drink! |
Saw this quiz somewhere.....
| What mental disorder do you have? Your Result: GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder) You can never seem to calm down and always feel anxious for unknown reasons. You tend to not be able to concentrate and have headaches or other anxiety symptoms. | |
| Manic Depressive | |
| Paranoia | |
| OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) | |
| ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder) | |
| What'>http://www.gotoquiz.com/what_mental_disorder_do_you_have">What mental disorder do you have? | |
Anguish of a cricket fan
I don't know what is it with Indian sports administrations & their hatred for cricket. The only reason we ever get to hear for the failure of our hockey, football, volleyball or any other teams is 'people only want cricket so nobody wants to play other sports'. This is such a lame excuse and more than that it is such an easy way out such an easy way of passing the buck.
Everybody from KPS Gill (hockey), IM Vijayan (football) and Michael Ferreira (Billiards) to Vijay Amritraj (tennis) has towed the same line for just too many years. I wonder what these powerful men are themselves doing to improve their respective sports. And why should Sharad Pawar or Jagmohan Dalmiya be worried? Why should the media and public blame cricket? Its not cricket's mistake that other sports are not popular. Remember, cricket also rose from the dirt a few years ago. Those days are still not forgotten when the national team had to travel in unreserved third class train compartments.
I don't agree that you cannot find a decent number of followers for any sport in this country of a 100 crore. Australia for example has a population of just under 2 crore. It excells at Rugby, Cricket, Footy (Aussie rules football), Hockey, Swimming, Athletics, Tennis, Yachting, Extreme sports, X games and last year they qualified for the football world cup too! On an average any normal Australian fanatically follows at least 2 sports and supports his national teams in any number of them.
I have heard Indians say that this is possible only because Aussies are born sports buffs. Give me a break. Love for sports is a cultural thing and can be manufactured out of nowhere. You make organized concentrated efforts at popularising sports and rest assured it will pay you rich dividents albeit after a decade or two. In Britain, cricket is only the fourth or fifth most popular sport and nobody cared for it till not so long ago. Last season though, the picture was entirely different when cricket stole the show even against the booming opening of EPL & Rugby season. Of course ECB had taken special efforts to promote the Ashes and the English side played well, in turn attracting people to cricket.
At a different level, NFL (American National Football League) made really concerted efforts to popularise its sport. Now American Football is America's 3rd most popular game. Chine began its drive for athletics & gymnastics only after the 80's. And it has risen faster than a phoenix.
The way I see it is that lack of popularity produces poor sportsmen and lack of quality de-popularises the game further. A vicious circle. However, sports administrations can use this very vicious circle to their advantage. If large scale sporting events are organized well they can draw a lot of money which then can be diverted into further popularization of sports and in infrastructure. The Chinese way.
I'm not here to suggest easy solutions. I don't even have enough information on fund raising campaigns. But having all said and done I want our sports administrations to chart out concrete plans for growth rather than make a quiet backdoor exit and do a lot of mudslinging.
Everybody from KPS Gill (hockey), IM Vijayan (football) and Michael Ferreira (Billiards) to Vijay Amritraj (tennis) has towed the same line for just too many years. I wonder what these powerful men are themselves doing to improve their respective sports. And why should Sharad Pawar or Jagmohan Dalmiya be worried? Why should the media and public blame cricket? Its not cricket's mistake that other sports are not popular. Remember, cricket also rose from the dirt a few years ago. Those days are still not forgotten when the national team had to travel in unreserved third class train compartments.
I don't agree that you cannot find a decent number of followers for any sport in this country of a 100 crore. Australia for example has a population of just under 2 crore. It excells at Rugby, Cricket, Footy (Aussie rules football), Hockey, Swimming, Athletics, Tennis, Yachting, Extreme sports, X games and last year they qualified for the football world cup too! On an average any normal Australian fanatically follows at least 2 sports and supports his national teams in any number of them.
I have heard Indians say that this is possible only because Aussies are born sports buffs. Give me a break. Love for sports is a cultural thing and can be manufactured out of nowhere. You make organized concentrated efforts at popularising sports and rest assured it will pay you rich dividents albeit after a decade or two. In Britain, cricket is only the fourth or fifth most popular sport and nobody cared for it till not so long ago. Last season though, the picture was entirely different when cricket stole the show even against the booming opening of EPL & Rugby season. Of course ECB had taken special efforts to promote the Ashes and the English side played well, in turn attracting people to cricket.
At a different level, NFL (American National Football League) made really concerted efforts to popularise its sport. Now American Football is America's 3rd most popular game. Chine began its drive for athletics & gymnastics only after the 80's. And it has risen faster than a phoenix.
The way I see it is that lack of popularity produces poor sportsmen and lack of quality de-popularises the game further. A vicious circle. However, sports administrations can use this very vicious circle to their advantage. If large scale sporting events are organized well they can draw a lot of money which then can be diverted into further popularization of sports and in infrastructure. The Chinese way.
I'm not here to suggest easy solutions. I don't even have enough information on fund raising campaigns. But having all said and done I want our sports administrations to chart out concrete plans for growth rather than make a quiet backdoor exit and do a lot of mudslinging.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Rickshaw-wallahs
One Mr. Shankar has vehemently opposed proposed abolishment of rickshaw-wallahs from Kolkata's streets in his article on page 12 of today's Times of India (5-Dec-2006). I must say I'm not a staunch supporter of this abolishment but must also add that the arguments made by Mr. Shankar are mostly superficial, at times ridiculous and do nothing to prove mr. Shankar as one of Bengal's best known contemporary writers as the footnotes boasts.
I am almost in complete agreement with his opinion that the concern shown by authorities is as good as crocodile tears and the cries of 'man-pulling-man must stop' perhaps serve vested interests. He also raises an excellent point by demanding a rickshaw-wallah thanksgiving day. His further suggestion that the rickshaw be declared a heritage transport is decently considerable.
However, his advice 'earn billions by exporting rickshaws' is nothing short of ludicrous. Elsewhere, he gives glimpses of a very sensitive mind but only in phases. As he says, of course we need to include the downtrodden in our literature and not leave it to foreigners to uphold their interests and of course rickshaw-wallahs are a Kolkatan's true friends through thick & thin.
But saying that 'our venerable rickshaw-wallahs render voluntary service' is nothing short of ridiculous. Yes their vocation is handed down from generation to generation but of course any educated man with a reasonably broad perspective can guess that this handing down is more out of compulsion than anything else.
Mr. Shankar argues that the per kilometer rate of rickshaws is the highest among all forms of transport on Kolkata. But he seems to have forgotten simple mathematics here. Any rickshaw runs less than one tenth the distance that motor vehicles do and therefore a rickshaw-wallah has no chance of earning a decent living.
Having visited Kolkata as an outsider I can say that rickshaws are not Kolkata's USP as Mr. Shankar would make us believe. Its USP could well be The tram, tube railway, white dhoti / white saree with bright red border, fish, communism, history, football, mithai, Tagore (any other great writers / thinkers / freedom fighters) or Victoria Memorial. But not the rickshaw. In fact an outsider is more likely to be agreived to see 'man-pulling-man' than amused by a rickshaw ride. I visited Kolkata with family and friends. We found it extremely difficult even to look at another man pulling our rickshaw and it won't be an overstatement to say that we were ashamed to be zooming like crown princes.
Mr. Shankar points out quite correctly that no one has ever heard of a rickshaw puller betraying his passangers' trust or outraging a woman's modesty. It breaks my heart to hear such comments from a writer who hails from communist land. Has he never heard of brainwashing over centuries making the down-trodden belive whole-heartedly that their 'moksha' lies only in serving the upper class with complete loyalty? This is clearly evident when a rickshaw-puller first refuses to accept tips and then almost touches your feet when you pay him a Rupee extra.
Mr. Shankar further narrates how the rickshaw-wallahs have inspired him to write stories (!) and how foreigners (read GORAs) are amused by the rickshaw. I find that neither a good reason to keep hand pulled rickshaws nor funny. Anybody who has seen even glimpses of Balraj Sahani pulling a rickshaw in 'Do beegha zameen' can never fall prey to Mr. Shankar's arguments.
I am not entirely for or against abolishment of rickshaws. I can understand an overzealous decision taken by those far away from reality can be disastrous. At the same time I also don't want to support superficial opinions expressed by the likes of Mr. Shankar who seem to be in love with rickshaws and will want the rickshaws to stay till death do them part.
I just wonder if replacing hand pulled rickshaws by cycle rickshaws will be a good solution.
I am almost in complete agreement with his opinion that the concern shown by authorities is as good as crocodile tears and the cries of 'man-pulling-man must stop' perhaps serve vested interests. He also raises an excellent point by demanding a rickshaw-wallah thanksgiving day. His further suggestion that the rickshaw be declared a heritage transport is decently considerable.
However, his advice 'earn billions by exporting rickshaws' is nothing short of ludicrous. Elsewhere, he gives glimpses of a very sensitive mind but only in phases. As he says, of course we need to include the downtrodden in our literature and not leave it to foreigners to uphold their interests and of course rickshaw-wallahs are a Kolkatan's true friends through thick & thin.
But saying that 'our venerable rickshaw-wallahs render voluntary service' is nothing short of ridiculous. Yes their vocation is handed down from generation to generation but of course any educated man with a reasonably broad perspective can guess that this handing down is more out of compulsion than anything else.
Mr. Shankar argues that the per kilometer rate of rickshaws is the highest among all forms of transport on Kolkata. But he seems to have forgotten simple mathematics here. Any rickshaw runs less than one tenth the distance that motor vehicles do and therefore a rickshaw-wallah has no chance of earning a decent living.
Having visited Kolkata as an outsider I can say that rickshaws are not Kolkata's USP as Mr. Shankar would make us believe. Its USP could well be The tram, tube railway, white dhoti / white saree with bright red border, fish, communism, history, football, mithai, Tagore (any other great writers / thinkers / freedom fighters) or Victoria Memorial. But not the rickshaw. In fact an outsider is more likely to be agreived to see 'man-pulling-man' than amused by a rickshaw ride. I visited Kolkata with family and friends. We found it extremely difficult even to look at another man pulling our rickshaw and it won't be an overstatement to say that we were ashamed to be zooming like crown princes.
Mr. Shankar points out quite correctly that no one has ever heard of a rickshaw puller betraying his passangers' trust or outraging a woman's modesty. It breaks my heart to hear such comments from a writer who hails from communist land. Has he never heard of brainwashing over centuries making the down-trodden belive whole-heartedly that their 'moksha' lies only in serving the upper class with complete loyalty? This is clearly evident when a rickshaw-puller first refuses to accept tips and then almost touches your feet when you pay him a Rupee extra.
Mr. Shankar further narrates how the rickshaw-wallahs have inspired him to write stories (!) and how foreigners (read GORAs) are amused by the rickshaw. I find that neither a good reason to keep hand pulled rickshaws nor funny. Anybody who has seen even glimpses of Balraj Sahani pulling a rickshaw in 'Do beegha zameen' can never fall prey to Mr. Shankar's arguments.
I am not entirely for or against abolishment of rickshaws. I can understand an overzealous decision taken by those far away from reality can be disastrous. At the same time I also don't want to support superficial opinions expressed by the likes of Mr. Shankar who seem to be in love with rickshaws and will want the rickshaws to stay till death do them part.
I just wonder if replacing hand pulled rickshaws by cycle rickshaws will be a good solution.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Shopping. I hate it. I love it. There are few places as spacious and as pretty as the Inorbit Mall in Malad West. So quite naturally, when Mom & Dad are going on a 45 day tour down under, thats where we head. Dad was really excited about Mom's shopping all along, and he seemed to want to rekindle their romance so he succeded in pursuading her to buy trousers and shirts / tops that she has not worn in the last few decades. The result: In comes Shweta, a cousin who is a regular at wearing such clothes to help Mom shop. Render useless me & dad.
We parted our ways and the younger generation helped the older shop well and choose from the myriad of items displayed so attractively that quality and utility are the last factors affecting your choice. After a few thousand rupees spent in a matter of hours, we head up for a quick bite at food court. Four large Bhature, two chole, Tandoor chicken with puri & rice combo and four chicken/egg frankies later, (ah......... don't forget the ice cream even if I did not feast on it) we head to the alterations counters. It took us just under five hours in relative comfort to finish off a job that would have taken at least four days sans the newly found mall culture.
On our way home I tried forgetting the false dumping ground that Raheja created on the site of Inorbit roughly a decade ago. I tried forgetting the hundred odd huts that were scooped up and thrown into another dumping ground when the construction of Inorbit began. Tried forgetting the dirt cheap long term lease rate (for those with a little enlightenment here, its only Re.1/- p.s.ft.p.m.). But what stayed with me is something like this: If I think I am a thinking man that is to say that I think just a touch more than people who can think but don't, and still I think nothing while acting against my conscience, then the people who choose not to think ever, let alone those who can't think at all, must be real real sheep and goats being herded in the malls by Raheja & Co. not to mention Reliance.
n.b. I still hate the guts of that watchman who held my hand and pushed me out just to make me finish my mint before entering the mall. I always will. I will not think that he's only a man paid to do exactly that job. Because my anger is not against Raheja who showers upong me a wonderful shopping paradize.
We parted our ways and the younger generation helped the older shop well and choose from the myriad of items displayed so attractively that quality and utility are the last factors affecting your choice. After a few thousand rupees spent in a matter of hours, we head up for a quick bite at food court. Four large Bhature, two chole, Tandoor chicken with puri & rice combo and four chicken/egg frankies later, (ah......... don't forget the ice cream even if I did not feast on it) we head to the alterations counters. It took us just under five hours in relative comfort to finish off a job that would have taken at least four days sans the newly found mall culture.
On our way home I tried forgetting the false dumping ground that Raheja created on the site of Inorbit roughly a decade ago. I tried forgetting the hundred odd huts that were scooped up and thrown into another dumping ground when the construction of Inorbit began. Tried forgetting the dirt cheap long term lease rate (for those with a little enlightenment here, its only Re.1/- p.s.ft.p.m.). But what stayed with me is something like this: If I think I am a thinking man that is to say that I think just a touch more than people who can think but don't, and still I think nothing while acting against my conscience, then the people who choose not to think ever, let alone those who can't think at all, must be real real sheep and goats being herded in the malls by Raheja & Co. not to mention Reliance.
n.b. I still hate the guts of that watchman who held my hand and pushed me out just to make me finish my mint before entering the mall. I always will. I will not think that he's only a man paid to do exactly that job. Because my anger is not against Raheja who showers upong me a wonderful shopping paradize.
Taj & Bombay
After a long shopping stint, saw two short documentaries today. Bombay: One City Two Worlds, and Taj Mahal. Mom had bought the DVDs quite some time ago. Today was to be the lucky day for them.
Taj Mahal is a straight forward film stretching not more than 20 oddminutes, rather long for a short film but not painstakingly slow. It opens with the Taj's structure, gives a bit of an insight into Indian Mogul architecture of the lineage of Humayun, Akbar, Shahjehan & the likes. It's a sweet film meant mainly for those who know virtually nothing about Indian heritage construction. For the more learned viewer though, it has nothing special to rave about.
Bombay: One City Two World though, is a different take on this city. It neither screams about how Bombay has changed for the worse nor proclaim its spectacular rise to a global city. It talks about the two faces of Bombay, the Static and the Kinetic as they choose to name them. Static Bombay is the 'pukka' city full of glass age buildings and wealth while Kinetic Bombay supports the former by providing unorganized services like 'Bazaars' and domestic help. The chief narrator quite rightly points out that the failure of Bombay is not in the growing slums but the lack of understanding on part of the town planners to consider the needs of this city for the same. He says that Kinetic Bombay is a force to reckon with and that this force has immense energy that can help sustain the unforeseen requirements of the city. Charles Correa, the famous designer and planner professes the need for Bombay to be ruled by the natives rather than a state cabinet elected from elsewhere in Maharashtra.
The thing that annoyed me was that the film never considered Kinetic Bombay as an identity on its own and never put forward the humanitarian needs of it. Rather this Kinetic Bombay only had the subordinate role of helping Static Bombay grow better.
Charles Correa summed up my views on Bombay much better when he concluded, "There are great cities that are also great places like San Fransisco & Paris. Bombay is a great city and a terrible place. But given a choice I will prefer living in this great city and improve upon its terrible side."
My advice to a first time watcher: Do go ahead if you have imbibed in yourself the spirit of Bombay. If you want a Shanghai here, rather give the film the backdoor.
N.B.: Thanks Marg Publications for the entire series of films on India and its heritage.
Taj Mahal is a straight forward film stretching not more than 20 oddminutes, rather long for a short film but not painstakingly slow. It opens with the Taj's structure, gives a bit of an insight into Indian Mogul architecture of the lineage of Humayun, Akbar, Shahjehan & the likes. It's a sweet film meant mainly for those who know virtually nothing about Indian heritage construction. For the more learned viewer though, it has nothing special to rave about.
Bombay: One City Two World though, is a different take on this city. It neither screams about how Bombay has changed for the worse nor proclaim its spectacular rise to a global city. It talks about the two faces of Bombay, the Static and the Kinetic as they choose to name them. Static Bombay is the 'pukka' city full of glass age buildings and wealth while Kinetic Bombay supports the former by providing unorganized services like 'Bazaars' and domestic help. The chief narrator quite rightly points out that the failure of Bombay is not in the growing slums but the lack of understanding on part of the town planners to consider the needs of this city for the same. He says that Kinetic Bombay is a force to reckon with and that this force has immense energy that can help sustain the unforeseen requirements of the city. Charles Correa, the famous designer and planner professes the need for Bombay to be ruled by the natives rather than a state cabinet elected from elsewhere in Maharashtra.
The thing that annoyed me was that the film never considered Kinetic Bombay as an identity on its own and never put forward the humanitarian needs of it. Rather this Kinetic Bombay only had the subordinate role of helping Static Bombay grow better.
Charles Correa summed up my views on Bombay much better when he concluded, "There are great cities that are also great places like San Fransisco & Paris. Bombay is a great city and a terrible place. But given a choice I will prefer living in this great city and improve upon its terrible side."
My advice to a first time watcher: Do go ahead if you have imbibed in yourself the spirit of Bombay. If you want a Shanghai here, rather give the film the backdoor.
N.B.: Thanks Marg Publications for the entire series of films on India and its heritage.
My house
It's a really old place. No one knows when it was first built. But one of the stones said 1891. We all assumed that was the date when it became. My great great grandfather bought property in Goregaon some time around then. This house and many acres of land. Although nobody has seen what Goregaon was like back in those days, I can sure imagine the orchards of Mango, Chiku & Banana. Many different palms are the local breed here, in coastal Bombay. So I guess those too. Amid all that was a white single storyed house. Very typical of the ones around that time. With mangalore tiled roof. Somewhere in time, perhaps in the middle of some financial crisis, part of the roof was converted to asbestos.
This house is very typically a coastal maharashtrian house in all respects. Coastal, because it does not have a rectangular lay out. It's rather like the ones that can be seen in most of Konkan today. A verandah that gives access to a typical panel patterned door that never used to be closed from dawn to midnight right till the 1990's, followed by really long and disproportionately short alley-like rooms that followed each other like train coaches. The flooring is quite modern for late 19th century, done in some special glazed mosaic. The walls are over 14" thick, of bricks & mortar with layers of 'Chuna coat'. The all important twisting staircase made of teak wood steps that creaks every time something as light as a child walked on them. The open terrace is peculiarly square and small and the windows are low with really broad sills. Of course, the grills as expected are of very think guage iron and they are not exactly large enough to allow the Sun to peep into all corners. Some of the objects in that hosue are really antique now. Like a huge wall clock that's almost as old as my grandfather. An insight into why they are called grandfather clocks. Then there is a chair that cannot possibly be fit into any common sense shape. A huge radiogram that was a two-in-one before the second world war. Of course it played radio as well as records. & yes, it used to be my space ship control room once upon a time. There was table top radio that is supposed to be 100 years old as of today.
Then there are memories. Most of them my own, others narrations from the indigenous people of this house. I have heard of a robbery. The one when my great grandfather was stabbed twice & his kids were rushed off to the railway station by a housemaid to get help from the master. Then the theft when the thieves stepped on pillows to aovid making noise. Oh by the way, they drank five litres of milk before leaving. A servant managed to fracture both his legs when he chopped off that branch of a tree on which he was sitting. That too on the wrong side! Someone falling in a dried up well & refusing to be laying on Mama's cot even to be pulled up. A crazy painter got up with a start one morning & screamed how he could see the Sun through a wall. Well, that particular wall had developed a crack which was filled up on emergency basis.
My mother's voice still echoes in my mind. And dad's assurances that he'll fight the robbers away if there is to be another robbery. I can still sense the wetness of the rag that I used to wipe off my first puppy's piss. And the light from that multi coloured lampshade still lives somewhere hidden in my mind.
Now as we stand on the brink of demolishing the house I just hope that the memories survive even if the house goes.
This house is very typically a coastal maharashtrian house in all respects. Coastal, because it does not have a rectangular lay out. It's rather like the ones that can be seen in most of Konkan today. A verandah that gives access to a typical panel patterned door that never used to be closed from dawn to midnight right till the 1990's, followed by really long and disproportionately short alley-like rooms that followed each other like train coaches. The flooring is quite modern for late 19th century, done in some special glazed mosaic. The walls are over 14" thick, of bricks & mortar with layers of 'Chuna coat'. The all important twisting staircase made of teak wood steps that creaks every time something as light as a child walked on them. The open terrace is peculiarly square and small and the windows are low with really broad sills. Of course, the grills as expected are of very think guage iron and they are not exactly large enough to allow the Sun to peep into all corners. Some of the objects in that hosue are really antique now. Like a huge wall clock that's almost as old as my grandfather. An insight into why they are called grandfather clocks. Then there is a chair that cannot possibly be fit into any common sense shape. A huge radiogram that was a two-in-one before the second world war. Of course it played radio as well as records. & yes, it used to be my space ship control room once upon a time. There was table top radio that is supposed to be 100 years old as of today.
Then there are memories. Most of them my own, others narrations from the indigenous people of this house. I have heard of a robbery. The one when my great grandfather was stabbed twice & his kids were rushed off to the railway station by a housemaid to get help from the master. Then the theft when the thieves stepped on pillows to aovid making noise. Oh by the way, they drank five litres of milk before leaving. A servant managed to fracture both his legs when he chopped off that branch of a tree on which he was sitting. That too on the wrong side! Someone falling in a dried up well & refusing to be laying on Mama's cot even to be pulled up. A crazy painter got up with a start one morning & screamed how he could see the Sun through a wall. Well, that particular wall had developed a crack which was filled up on emergency basis.
My mother's voice still echoes in my mind. And dad's assurances that he'll fight the robbers away if there is to be another robbery. I can still sense the wetness of the rag that I used to wipe off my first puppy's piss. And the light from that multi coloured lampshade still lives somewhere hidden in my mind.
Now as we stand on the brink of demolishing the house I just hope that the memories survive even if the house goes.
Friday, December 01, 2006
Watambwa. Hondo. Matsikinyeri. Mbangwa. Mazakadza. Chigumbura. Taibu.
Don't look so surprised. These are names of people. Strange names from a strager country. Zimbabwe. Erstwhile Rhodesia. The former Biritsh COlony that gained independence in the late 20th Century. Supposedly a beautiful country. Home to Victoria falls. One of the very few cricketing nations.
My love affair with her began way back around '96 & I havent ever been to that place. While playing in the courtyard, we all had to choose an international cricketing team for ourselves. I was a tiny little kid & was given Zimbabwe coz the big boys wanted the more famous teams. I obviously did not want Zim. But I started loving Zim as they began playing better. And the peak of my love for Zim was around the '99 world cup when they played splendid cricket. They shocked India & South Africa. & I went berzerk with adulation.
But what's wrong with Zimbabwe now? Robert Mugabe is obviously a much hated man around the world. Apparently he's a 'messiah' for the poor down trodden tribals of the country. He of course scripted a lot of growth for them & things looked good for some time. Then he became a dictator & the slide of the nation began. Mugabe forcibly nationalized white estates & asked them to leave the country. It was virtual anarchy where being black was as good as getting a licence to kill. Of course, the whites had done it for over 250 years around the world. Still, I don't think law should seek revenge. Henry Olonga, a black cricketer protested with white men against Mugabe & was left with no option but to leave the country.
Also I think Mugabe rushed things too much. He could have made better use of the white dominance & empowered blacks enough before going on a rampage. Now Zim finds itself without wings & the sky is just too big for them to carve a niche.
Sitll, hoping against hope, I'm waiting for that day to dawn when Zim come back strongly & become a force to reckon with in world cricket. After all, progress in sports is only a reflection of a nation's advances all round.
Don't look so surprised. These are names of people. Strange names from a strager country. Zimbabwe. Erstwhile Rhodesia. The former Biritsh COlony that gained independence in the late 20th Century. Supposedly a beautiful country. Home to Victoria falls. One of the very few cricketing nations.
My love affair with her began way back around '96 & I havent ever been to that place. While playing in the courtyard, we all had to choose an international cricketing team for ourselves. I was a tiny little kid & was given Zimbabwe coz the big boys wanted the more famous teams. I obviously did not want Zim. But I started loving Zim as they began playing better. And the peak of my love for Zim was around the '99 world cup when they played splendid cricket. They shocked India & South Africa. & I went berzerk with adulation.
But what's wrong with Zimbabwe now? Robert Mugabe is obviously a much hated man around the world. Apparently he's a 'messiah' for the poor down trodden tribals of the country. He of course scripted a lot of growth for them & things looked good for some time. Then he became a dictator & the slide of the nation began. Mugabe forcibly nationalized white estates & asked them to leave the country. It was virtual anarchy where being black was as good as getting a licence to kill. Of course, the whites had done it for over 250 years around the world. Still, I don't think law should seek revenge. Henry Olonga, a black cricketer protested with white men against Mugabe & was left with no option but to leave the country.
Also I think Mugabe rushed things too much. He could have made better use of the white dominance & empowered blacks enough before going on a rampage. Now Zim finds itself without wings & the sky is just too big for them to carve a niche.
Sitll, hoping against hope, I'm waiting for that day to dawn when Zim come back strongly & become a force to reckon with in world cricket. After all, progress in sports is only a reflection of a nation's advances all round.
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