Blame it on the Name Anyway

HOW DO YOU spell 'Kolkata'? Or pronounce it?

No, this isn't a test of your English spelling and pronunciation skills (and nor have I gone crazy). It's actually one of those just-like-that random questions, having an amazing ability to freak people out. Sounds bullshit? Well, throw this question at anyone you like (or dislike), and you're sure to get back a lot of zany answers.

I did just that. Over the past few days I did what Desmond Morris often does — people watching (stop bulging your eyes silly!). I noticed the way people say 'Kolkata'. or write it. And boy, the results were mind-boggling! I never knew this city had such a great degree of flexibility of its name.

You might argue, what's the big deal in the name Kolkata? Why make an issue out of it? It's as simply spelt as K-o-l-k-a-t-a, and pronounced as Coal-kata. Right?

Wrong. One the contrary, the name gets distorted so often that I doubt whether there's really a consensus on what should be the actual spelling or pronunciation of it. The most common spelling of Kolkata is Kolkatta — embellished(!) with an extra 'T'. I recently saw a TV channel using that spelling in one of their telecasted shows. I even found the same spelling on the admission form of an educational institution. But why overburden the word with unnecessary alphabets? Is it a result of colonial hangover (of making Kolkatta sound almost a namesake of Calcutta), or an overdose of Ekta Kapoor soap operas? If latter is the case, then someday the city might end up as Kkolkatta! And coming to verbal expression, sample these — Call-kata, Call-kota, Call-katta, Kal-kata. Phew!

Do I sound Raj Thackeray-ish? Well, that's the last thing I would intend to, because the name gets messed up by everyone — Bengalis and non-Bengalis alike. No hard feelings for that. Kolkata, being essentially a Bengali word, it's difficult for those who don't know the language to get the right accent (after all, how many of us say Pa-ri instead of Paris?). So it's not out of anger or vengeance that I'm writing this post (did you think.... urghh!). It's actually quite amusing to find so many renditions of my city's name. And then, most importantly, pissing people off by mindless questions has a charm of its own! Like I said, it's one of those freaky just-like-that random questions.

So, how do you pronounce Kolkata? Or spell it?

Our Story, Our Way

I’M IN A trance. Its one of those rare ‘the-world’s-such-a-beautiful-place-to-live-in’ ecstasies, when you fall in love with almost everything you stumble upon — from the hideous Sweety next door who appears to be India’s best contender for Miss World to the grumpy uncle downstairs who resembles Father Christmas. But what’s most surprising, I suddenly find Punjabis and Tamilians the two most lovable communities like never before.

No, I haven’t snorted coke. Nor have I experienced any spiritual awakening. I’ve just finished reading a novel. A Chetan Bhagat novel, to be more precise. Four hours at a stretch, and Bhagat’s latest book has once again left me spellbound. Aptly titled 2 States: The Story of My Marriage, Bhagat’s humorous take on the institution of marriage in India makes an immensely enjoyable read. Smart, funny, pacy and refreshing, 2 States makes you break into peals of laughter while at the same time keep your fingers crossed to see Krish and Ananya finally getting married. This man surely knows how to strike a chord with his readers!
2 States, based on Bhagat’s own inter-caste romance and marriage, is about a Punjabi boy getting married to a Tamilian Brahmin (yes, you read it right). As expected, there are a lot of jokes thrown in about these two at-loggerheads communities, which keeps you captivated till page 269 (that’s the last page, silly!). But at the same time Bhagat has authentically portrayed the Punjabis and Tamilians, never letting them look caricaturish. My visits to Chennai and Delhi have given me a glimpse of both their worlds and it’s amazing to find how detailed Bhagat has been in his observations.

After Five Point Someone Bhagat is back to what he do best — unadulterated humour, and this time his pen is more mature. I’m a huge fan of his writing although I felt Bhagat’s last two offerings failed to reach the high benchmark set by his debut novel. One Night @ the Call Center was engrossing but the ‘call from God’ stuff gave it a far-fetched feel. The 3 Mistakes of My Life turned out to be grimmer than I had expected. However the greatest shock came with the Salman Khan-starrer Hello that was the film adaptation (!) of One Night @ the Call Center. Honestly, it’s one of the shittiest films I’ve ever seen. But what saddened me the most was Bhagat’s name as one of the screenplay writers. Why on earth did he let his star novel be filmed by an obscure Atul Agnihotri?

Thankfully 2 States is nothing of that sort. It’s vintage Bhagat. Krish and Ananya stays with you long after you have kept the book back on the shelf, just like Hari, Ryan, Alok and Neha. Even the other Punjabi and Tamilian characters are so endearing that you fall in love with them almost instantaneously. However, I longed for some more ‘IIM moments’ in Krish and Ananya’s life. They seemed too brief! Also, as a friend of mine rightly pointed out, the transformation of Krish’s father was too abrupt to be believable. His sudden visit to Chennai and convincing Ananya’s parents for the marriage looked irksomely filmy. But then the heart of the book is so much in the right place that you don’t take the flaws to heart.

Ever since this former investment banker forayed into the world of Indian books, he seems to have transformed the country’s literary landscape. People often complain about Bhagat’s bad English, hackneyed plots, filmy endings, but buy him in enormous numbers. He is panned by the critics as merely a ‘popular fiction’ writer — someone who doesn’t deserve to be placed in the Ivy League of literature. His books are for entertainment not for the intellect, they claim. I agree. But what’s wrong with that? I enjoy reading Bhagat for the simple reason that I can identify myself with his characters. His simplistic writing makes you crave for more. In fact, I would prefer a 2 States anyday than some pseudo-intellectual stuff that would piss me off halfway.

Bhagat is called the ‘youth icon’ of today. Is it because he tells our stories in our language? Or is it because he makes everyone — right from the rich Mumbai college kid to the gawky teenager of Bastar — get absorbed in his books? Whatever may be the answer, Bhagat’s stories have succeeded in doing something that many highbrow novels fail to achieve — bring a smile on your face. Is that too trivial an achievement?

Image courtesy: http://www.chetanbhagat.com/

Waking Up from a 3-hour Sleep

IT SEEMED LIKE an eternity since I had entered the multiplex. Three hours into the film and my senses were almost numb. Suddenly a man snoozing beside me woke up. ‘The movie isn’t over yet? My God, I’ve been sleeping here for the past 3 hours and it’s still continuing! Aar para jachche na!’ said the man to his wife. The frustration in his voice touched my heart. After all, I too shared the same feeling! On my way back home I kept on thinking who my worst enemy is, so that I can avenge myself on him by sending him a free ticket for WHAT'S YOUR RAASHEE?
Surprised? Don’t be. I’m a big fan of Ashutosh Gowariker gharana of filmmaking. But unlike his previous ventures What’s Your Raashee? falls flat on its face. A new player in the genre, Gowariker tried to make a breezy rom-com, but the film turned out to be neither rom nor com.

Harman Baweja trying to find the ‘perfect bride’ from each of the 12 sun signs within 10 days made an interesting premise. Priyanka Chopra in 12 different avatars added to the interest. But Gowariker the writer fails miserably to captivate the viewers. The stories involving each of the girls get monotonous, tiresome and way too long. A majority of the 12 Priyanka Chopras turn out to be clichéd and sketchy. In giving too much importance to the initial girls, the latter ones are reduced to ‘blink-and-you-miss’ mannequins. There are too many loopholes in the screenplay to ignore. The climax is unconvincing and filmy. Even the funny one-liners look forced upon, and the romance is nowhere to be seen.

However, the villain of the piece emerges to be the editor — Ballu Saluja. I don’t have any problem with a 3.5 hour long film, provided the story is an absorbing one (sample: Jodhaa Akbar). But since that’s not the case with What’s Your Raashee?, the length of the film should have been trimmed down. Gowariker needs a new editor, immediately!

The saving grace in this bore-drama is Priyanka Chopra. The way she enacts the 12 girls is pure magic. I particularly liked the intense Cancerian, the downmarket and heavily Gujju-accented Aries, the bossy Libra, the Swades-hangover Virgo doctor and the innocent little Capricorn girl. Harman Baweja looks nice and acts well, but he couldn’t add any zing to Yogesh Patel. Unlike what many have said, I quite liked Sohail Sen’s music (of course, you can’t expect a Lagaan or Jodhaa Akbar from Sen). Jao na, Bikhri bikhri, Su chhe, Koi jaane na, Chehre jo dekhe hain — some of the songs stay with you even after you have left the theatre.

From a master storyteller like Gowariker I expected something more than this staid contemporary love story. Perhaps the man should better stick to his forte — Mughal family dramas. Experiments are not meant for everyone.

A few days after the What’s Your Raashee?-debacle, I went back to the same plex for yet another rom-com, Ayan Mukerji’s WAKE UP SID. Not another bore-flick, I prayed as I entered the theatre apprehensively. But boy, I got more than I asked for! No OTT Karan Johar melodrama (there were high chances of it since KJo is the producer of the film), no preachy messages — Wake Up Sid is a beautiful love story woven into refreshing coming-of-age tale.
The film is all about Sid, a lazy unmotivated slacker from Mumbai whose carefree world undergoes a series of changes after Aisha walks into his life. She acts as a catalyst in transforming Sid from an irresponsible boy to a responsible man. Coupled with this is a mint-fresh love story between two very different individuals which touches your heart deep within.

But then you might ask, what’s so new about it? Okay, I agree the story is predictable. Right from the beginning you know that Sid will, by the end, wake up to his responsibilities and he and Aisha will live happily ever after. But the difference lies in Ayan’s smart screenplay. The characters appear so realistic and endearing. Midway through the film my friend exclaimed, ‘Sid in the first half resembles me! It’s actually my life story dude!’ That’s exactly where the film succeeds. We can relate to it. There’s a Sid in all of us. We’ve all been in that phase where life is floating by and we are aimless. Kudos to Ayan for gifting us a slice of our own life.

The director once said that he’s a great fan of Farhan Akhtar. True, Wake Up Sid has moments that are inspired from Akhtar’s Dil Chahta Hain and Lakshya. But nevertheless, the film’s earthly flavour and its close-to-life essence make Wake Up Sid an engaging watch.

The lead players, Ranbir Kapoor and Konkona Sensharma, give stellar performances. Every time they come together they exude infectious warmth that gets on you, and you keep on longing for more of Sid and Aisha. It’s the duo’s chemistry that’s a high point of Wake Up Sid. I wonder, how Konkona manage to look so good with all her leading men (of all age groups), be it Rahul, Kunal, Irrfan or Ranbir! But there’s one thing that irked me. Aisha is born and brought up in Kolkata, why then she reads Tagore in English and talks to her mother in accented Bengali?

Shankar, Ehsaan and Loy try hard to give a lilting score and they manage to do it as well, but it’s Amit Trivedi’s soulful Iktara that steals the show all along. What the trio couldn’t achieve with almost half a dozen songs, Trivedi did just that with a single blow. Thanks to Javed Akhtar for penning such wonderful lyrics, although he sounded a bit Gulzar-ish in the song!

Even if Wake Up Sid was a crap film, I would have loved to watch it again and again. Not because of Ranbir-Koko, but because it uses something to unite the lovers that’s closest to my heart — monsoon.

Shaktirupena Sansthita

THE COUNTDOWN HAS begun. The wait is in its final lap. The end of pitripaksha has ushered a new dawn — the dawn of devipaksha. With preparations almost over, there’s hardly a few days left. One more year, and its time again for homecoming — for Durga, as well as for millions of Bengalis, for whom the festival isn’t just another religious ceremony. It’s much more than that. So everywhere you go now, there’s just one emotion — aha ki anando akashe batashe. After all, Maa aschhe!

Durga puja — the grandest of all Bengali celebration. This is one occasion every Bengali — be in Kolkata or Kolhapur, New Delhi or New York ­— look forward to throughout the year. As soon as we get the year calendar, the first thing we notice is the schedule for Durga Puja, undoubtedly!

Recently I went to my para pandal to get a glimpse of the puja preparations. What I saw over there was amusing. The entire area looked like a scene of frenetic activity. Be it the panic-stricken club officials pacing up and down the field restlessly or the poker-faced labourers busy giving finishing touch to the pandal — I seemed to be amidst a whirlpool of frenzied activity. If this is how a puja pandal looks like, what would be the situation in the potters’ colony, I wondered. Curious to get a first hand experience, I visited Kumortuli a few days back (for toddlers, Kumortuli is the potters’ den of Kolkata — the place where the clay Durga idols are made). Well, Kumortuli wasn’t any different either. It’s the same hysteric hullabaloo, resembling the backstage minutes before the start of a fashion-show.

Nevertheless I got some snaps there that, when developed, turned out to be quite interesting. A slice of life at Kumortuli, these pictures give you a sneak peek inside the factory of idol-making. Though unfinished, these Durga idols appeared far more appealing to me than the ones in pandals. So as they say, pictures speak a thousand words than written alphabets, its time for me to shut up! Let the images do the rest of the talk. And hey, while checking out the pictures don’t forget to hum the best anthem of Durga puja ever made — Bajlo tomar aalor benu...
Here comes the Devi...

...And the city awakens

Waiting for the finishing touch

Durgatinashini

The goddesses' battalion

The journey begins... again

Tamaso maa jyotirgamaya

It's his puja too

Chestnutted Love for the ‘Mango People’

I KNOW I’LL be damned forever for saying this, but Imtiaz Ali has lost his magic wand. However blasphemous it may sound like, Love Aaj Kal appeared to me as a soulless film. What was touted as the year’s best romantic comedy fell quite short of my expectations.

But wait! Aren’t we talking about a romantic film here? A soulless love story... does that make any sense? No, it doesn’t. And that’s precisely the irony with Love Aaj Kal. It has all the ingredients of a good romantic film, but it fails miserably in satisfying the most important criterion. Love Aaj Kal doesn’t make you fall hopelessly in love with it. Jab We Met did. Socha Na Tha did it too. So then what went wrong with Love Aaj Kal?

Imtiaz Ali is one of my favourite directors. He’s the man who redefined ‘love’ on Indian screen, stripping it of all the filminess we have endured over the years. Ali makes all his love stories look so believable — the plot, the situation, the characters, the way they behave, talk, react, fall in or fall out of love. Add to it a pinch of innocence and you can’t help but fall head over heels in love with them — be it Viren, Aditi, Aditya or Geet.

This confused me even more. Love Aaj Kal isn’t a crap film. Its Ali’s most ambitious and complex take on love till date, spanning two generations and three continents. But still there’s something that’s missing in the film. What is it? I don’t know. It may be the merging of the two love stories that was jarring at times. It may also be the post-interval portions that slipped into high-voltage melodrama, spoiling all the freshness Ali had built up so long. Or may be its the OTT depiction of Veer Singh's ‘pure love’ versus Jai's ‘practical love’ that was too preachy to handle.

Or is it Aditya and Geet whom I missed so badly that I tried in vain to find them in Jai and Meera in every frame of the movie?

I usually refrain from comparing one film with another. Every film is distinct in itself and there’s no point in making ‘oh-I-wish-Ghajini-was-as-good-as-Taare Zameen Par!’-type comments. But then when you have set a benchmark for yourself, you cannot afford to slump down! Imtiaz Ali did just that. He tried to make a smart, cool, fast-paced rom-com and so like all typical Hollywood rom-coms, Love Aaj Kal too boasts of some really witty one-liners, glossy shots, rich sets, loveable music and fine acting by its lead players. But somewhere in its swanky smartness it lost its innocence... its soul. Unlike Ali’s previous two films, Love Aaj Kal is more brain, less heart. Everything in the film looked too forced upon, the natural feeling of Jab We Met was surprisingly absent. You feel happy to see Jai and Meera getting reunited in the end, but forget it as soon as you step out of the theatre. They don’t linger in your memory like Aditya-Geet or Viren-Aditi.

Deepika was a revelation. With her vivacity, elegance and a smile that’s highly infectious, she was the perfect choice for Meera. However I missed Aditya. Saif tried too hard to bring back the Karan-effect of Hum Tum, but the déjà vu was too strong to ignore. Besides he looked pretty old as compared to Deepika (sorry, I couldn’t find any sugar-coated word). Giselle was stunning until she spoke (thankfully Ali had given her a handful of lines to deliver). Rishi and Neetu Kapoor were sweet as ever.

Imtiaz Ali once said that when he looks back today he finds a lot of loopholes in Jab We Met. He simply went with the flow while writing the script. I wish he had done just the same this time too. Some love stories aren’t meant to be logical.

Rediscovering My Lost Self

A FEW DAYS back I bought the DVD of Delhi-6. As most of my friends had already seen the movie I thought they would urge me to watch it asap. Surprisingly, most of them rebuked me for buying the DVD, calling the film as ‘utter disappointment’!

(If you are wondering why I’m writing a post on Delhi-6 four months after the film has released, well, my hectic schedule didn’t allow me the catch the film at the theatres. So I had to wait for the DVD release.)

However, after watching the film, I can’t help but contradict. I’m not a film critic. Nor do I understand the nitty-gritty of filmmaking. As a movie buff I can only differentiate between outstanding and appalling films. And that’s exactly why I wonder how my friends could discard a cinematic treat like Delhi-6!
Zarre zarre mein usika noor hain, jhank khud mein woh na tujhse door hain, ishq hain usse toh sabse ishq kar, is ibadat ka yehi dastoor hain... As the screen opened to a shot of Delhi skyline with these mellifluous words flowing in, I knew I didn’t make any mistake. A lot of people have said a lot of things about Delhi-6 — the film is too preachy, the story moves at a snail’s pace, the climax is frustrating, enough justice hasn’t been done to the characters, the kala bandar episode is too clichéd... blah, blah, blah. My request to all of them: please watch the film once again. Not through your eyes, but your heart. Feel. Don’t expect another Rang De Basanti, you’ll be disappointed. Go in with an open mind, you’ll come out a lot more enriched.

Honestly, Delhi-6 is one of the most thought-provoking films I’ve watched in a long time. Very rarely comes a film that’s so subtly metaphorical, and every frame of Delhi-6 is a proof to that, right from the kala bandar to Masakali. The way kala bandar has been translated into a representation of the inner demons within us or the interspersing of events of Ramayana in the story through the Ramleela play... man, a lot of thought must have gone in writing the screenplay! Remember the sequence when seeing his son lying unconscious on the floor, a brick from Jaigopal’s hand falls down on his father’s old transistor and suddenly the defunct transistor starts playing the song, Sajan re jhooth mat bolo...? Or the scene where Roshan, beaten up by everyone, lies on the street when his cellphone falls out and in the background starts the song, Darare darare hain maathe pe maula.... Or even the burning of the kala bandar mask with the Ravana effigy at the end. How ironically poetic! Kudos to Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra for coming up with such an awe-inspiring script.

Yeh shehar nahin, mehfil hain... that’s Delhi. Basti hain mastanon ki... galli hain deewanon ki... that’s Delhi. Despite the dingy lanes, shabby buildings, maddening crowd, hustle-bustle, chaos, there is something endearing about Purani Dilli that makes you fall in love with it, à la Roshan. It’s not ‘love at first sight’. It evolves with time, until one day you suddenly realize the place means a lot more to you than just being a postal code: Delhi-110006. And that’s exactly what the film conveys. Thanks to Mehra's deft craftsmanship, Delhi is never relegated to a mere prop in the film. On the contrary, it is the protagonist. All the other characters — be it Roshan, Bittu, Dadi, Madangopal, Jaigopal, Vimla, Rama Bua, Ali Baig, Mamdu, Gobar, Jalebi, Suresh, Ranvijay or Lala Bhairam — are the various facets of the city, personifying it’s countless emotions. Everyone has a story to tell, and all their stories run parallel to each other, strung together by a common thread — kala bandar.

The film is a visual treat for Delhites. Boy, the way Mehra and Binod Pradhan (DOP) have shown Delhi deserves a standing ovation! They have amazingly captured the true essence of the city. Mehra once said that Delhi-6 is his tribute to the place he spent his growing up years in. If that’s true, then this is probably the best gift Delhi could ever get from Bollywood, and I regret why Mehra didn’t spent his childhood in Kolkata!
A R Rahman has done it, once again. The music of Delhi-6 is undoubtedly one of his finest works, miles better than the overrated Slumdog Millionaire. There actually lies the magic of Rahman’s music. He creates new benchmarks with every new song he composes. Just when one would wonder how high Rahman can raise the bar, the man raises the bar even higher! Talking about the cast, everyone — Waheeda Rahman, Rishi Kapoor, Om Puri, Pavan Malhotra, Supriya Pathak, Divya Dutta, Atul Kulkarni, Deepak Dobriyal, Vijay Raaz, Aditi Rao Hydari — did a fabulous job. But it was Abhishek Bachchan and Sonam Kapoor who stole the show. The duo was simply outstanding! It’s not easy for an Indian actor to maintain a consistent American accent throughout the film, but Abhishek did it with élan. Sonam as Bittu was a revelation. It seems the roles were tailor-made for both of them.

The picturization of Dil gira dafatan was innovative. It’s wonderful to find a slice of Delhi on the streets of New York! The Rehna tu track was a pleasant surprise. What appeared as a run-of-the-mill romantic track actually turned out to be a beautiful dedication to Delhi (and you thought it was a love song featuring Abhishek-Sonam! Silly!). However, the ‘wow’ moment of the film is the Masakali song. Just before the intro music stops and Mohit Chauhan starts crooning, there’s a shot of the pigeon Masakali taking a stroll on the fountain, and as it flutters its wings a few drops of water falls around. Boy, what a matka! That too with so much poise and attitude! Wow!

Does that mean Delhi-6 is flawless? Certainly not. But the heart of the film is so much in the right place that you don’t take the flaws to heart. Delhi-6 isn’t a Billu Barber or Kambakkht Ishq. It’s much more than mere entertainment. A soul-searching experience in the truest sense of the term. Watch Delhi-6. Rediscover yourself.

An Afternoon with Aila

THERE I WAS — dripping wet and stranded in the middle of a rain-drenched C R Avenue desperately looking for a cab, clutching the soggy office bag and a wind-ravaged umbrella in my hands. But as luck would have it, the hunt for one of those yellow cars was increasingly proving elusive. Finding no other option, I started walking towards the metro station. The rain, bucketing down incessantly since morning, showed no signs of retreat. In fact, with every passing second it poured with renewed vigour. Along with the shower came strong gusty wind, shaking the roots of the city. The sky, masked in thick grey clouds added even more to the doomsday feeling. The mighty skyscrapers suddenly seemed so weak and frail, petrified of the approaching disaster. The rain-bathed streets too looked unusually deserted.

Nevertheless I walked along, ignoring the rain and the wind. The metro station was a ten-minute walk from there and I was barely twenty paces away. That was the moment ‘it’ happened! The rain stopped falling, clouds forgot to rumble, the streets gasped in astonishment, cars didn’t move, people stopped walking — everything came to a standstill. That was the moment I saw her. I saw Aila!

May 25, 2009 — a day every Kolkatan will remember for a long time to come. It was the day our vocabulary got enriched by a new word. It was the day we understood how it feels like being struck by catastrophe... It was the day Aila happened. A relatively unknown cyclone originating from the Bay of Bengal stormed our city and left it completely ravaged. The consequence: Kolkata was AILAshed (another new word, thanks to TOI). And I, like many other Kolkatans, was a spectator to the devastation.

The moment I ‘saw’ Aila — or to be precise, the moment I felt the intensity of the cyclone — was a to-hell-and-back experience for me, literally. Although the downpour coupled with chaotic wind continued throughout the day, there were times when the wind seemed to vent its centuries-old fury on the city. I, unfortunately, was caught in such a moment. As I was approaching the metro station, a gust of wind came and blew almost everything off the ground. So monstrous was its strength that I stood there absolutely motionless, not being able to move forward. I teetered, my legs started trembling. Unable to resist the thrust of the storm, I almost fell down on the road (had I been a little leaner, I would surely have blown over by the wind!). I held the umbrella as a shield, but that poor little thing was no match against the might of the wind. Seconds later, my umbrella was reduced to a mesh of black cloth and entangled metal rods. The trees in front of me swayed vehemently like a possessed soul. It was as if someone was shaking them violently in a fit of rage. The advertisement billboards that adorned the skyline could nowhere be seen. Only the iron frames remained, crushed into folds. The huge vinyl sheets, now tattered and uprooted from the frames, rolled in the streets.

My heart began to pound. I panicked! And strangely enough, for the first time in my life, I felt the strongest urge to get back to the place where I’ll be the safest person in the world — my home.

Three weeks have passed. Aila is now history. But the Kolkata I had seen on that day was a nightmare. The images of uprooted trees, mashed tin roof of shops, snapped electric wires embracing the fallen trees, shredded billboards and crashed cars will remain etched on my memory forever. The way my beloved city was rampaged, I pray we never have to relive those moments again. However today when I look back, the Aila-experience doesn’t send shivers down my spine. Instead, it appears to be quite thrilling a journey — fighting my way through the storm! But then that’s how life is. With time, the horror of even the worst disaster gradually fades away. What remains is the resonance.

Don’t believe me? Well, the very next day after Aila as I tuned in the radio, an FM station was playing a special Aila-song for its listeners:

Aila re, ladki mast mast tu, Aila re...

Inked Toast, Toasted Ink and Namelessness

WELCOME TO MY blog Inktoast!

"Ink... what? Come again!"
"Inktoast! What sort of a name is that?"
"Hey that's quite a weird name! Why did you select it?"
"Inktoast... hmmm... are you trying to be a pseudo-intellectual?"
"What's the meaning of ink toast? Does it mean toasted ink?"
"Why 'toast'? Are you writing a blog on food and dining?"

And Shakespeare said what's in a name! Phew!

For the past few days this has become a part and parcel of my life. Whenever I tell people the name of my new blog, I invariably get the same reaction from them — raised eyebrows, sarcastic smirk and a sneering 'what-the-hell-does-that-mean' expression on their faces. So far the ratio has been pretty consistent — 8 out of 10 people have given me that utterly confused look, as if I have proposed Newton's fourth law of motion! Before I can describe the content of the blog, all their inquisitiveness (and comments) get stuck to its name — inktoast. And that kicks off the volley of probing questions!

But now it's getting on my nerves. Pissed off with the countless interpretations and paraphrases of 'inktoast', I have finally decided to give a written clarification of the name (does that make any sense? Anyway, who cares!).

Warning: the remaining part of the post might appear to be inane and pointless to you, so read on at your own risk.

When Aniruddha, a friend of mine (he insists that I mention his name as a gesture of recognizing his contribution towards the blog) suggested the name, I initially found it rather incomprehensible. However, on second thoughts, I felt 'inktoast' has a certain kind of funkiness to it, and that's resonating at the same time. In fact, my idea was to create a blog for leisure-reading and not to burden it with serious stuff. So while 'ink' stands for the power of expression (quite a weighty phrase, isn't it?), the word 'toast' adds to the zaniness of the blog (it's more on the lines of 'raising a toast', not 'eating it'!). I hope now you realize that the blog is more of a coffee-table book than a research paper!

Contrary to the popular notion, my blog isn't about grave socio-political issues or profound philosophical concepts. Nor has it got to do anything with food and dining. Instead, it's all about memories frozen in time — some recent, some not so recent and some embedded in the past. There have been so many events, experiences, ideas, images, sounds and occurrences that have moved me, amused me, disturbed me, enraged me or left me speechless — all clustered together during the wonderful journey called life. Finally, here they are, framed into words and visuals. Graffiti on walls might appear to be ramblings for many, but they too have a story to tell.

So guys, let's raise a toast to the power of ink! Happy Blogging!


Image courtesy: Sourish Mitra

Meghdootam

Pehli pehli baarish ki chheetein, pehli baarish bheege ho ho...

HAVE YOU EVER danced to this lilting Saathiya track? I’m sure you have. But then every song has a distinct mood and atmosphere associated with it. Just like you can’t play a Jai Santoshi Ma at the disc or a Beedi jalaile during the Republic Day celebration, this song too needs the right ambience to evoke its passionate charm.

Wondering what that picture-perfect setting would be? Well, let’s visualize a shot of the first monsoon day of the season. It’s raining cats and dogs outside accompanied by strong gusty winds. Venue: the roof terrace of a multi-storeyed. Enter hero and heroine, or more specifically, you and your girlfriend (for girls reading this, please change the gender). There’s no one else to be seen — just the two of you getting drenched in the sudden shower. In the background lies the rain-soaked skyline. Then lights, camera, music... and voila! Aye udi udi udi, aye khwabon ki buri... you’ll be amazed to find that you have already started grooving to the music — your feet following the rhythm and your heart humming the tune (those who are single, try out this song in the bathroom while taking a shower. It works. Trust me.)!

That’s the beauty of monsoon. It can turn the most insipid situation into a memorable one. May be I’m a bit exaggerating, but what else can I possibly do? I’m a die-hard rain-lover after all (I was perhaps a peacock in my previous birth)! Recently I had an hour-long rain bath in the year’s first kalbaisakhi that drenched Kolkata to a T. A few days later when I went to Delhi, lo and behold, the rains chased me there as well. This time it was a hailstorm!

The Kolkata kalbaisakhi has truly been an unforgettable experience. As soon as the storm broke, I went straight to the terrace, my camera in hand. Ignoring the high velocity of winds, I managed to get a few photographs that have turned out to be quite fascinating. Naturally, I had an overwhelming desire to share them! So here they are, categorized under the series Meghdootam (the name was too tempting to resist. Any resemblance to Kalidas's epic is entirely intentional and not coincidental!). Out of the five, the first three have been shot from my terrace during the kalbaisakhi and the other two were taken during my last trip to Ooty. As the monsoon is just round the corner, here’s a precursor to the celebration of the beautiful season ahead. Enjoy!

When darkness falls
Swept away

Blowing in the wind

The sliver lining

Barso re...

Golden Knight and a Severe Case of Myopia

WATCHING HINDI FILMS can be a gruelling exercise at times. Sitting through more than two hours of an out-an-out commercial Bollywood potboiler requires a great deal of patience, endurance, some strong headache pills and most importantly, a willing suspension of your disbelief!

However, having grown up watching loads of Hindi films (the good, bad and ugly); I thought I was naturally immune to the dizzying effect of Bollywood masala flicks.

I didn’t know I was wrong.

It happened just a few weeks back. I had got the DVD of Shahrukh Khan’s much-hyped recent offering: Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi. I knew it wasn’t an outstanding movie as the makers claimed it to be. Still expecting a decent watch, I thought of giving it a try. Little did I know that the consequences of my decision would turn out to be so fatal.

Fifteen minutes into the film and I started having those dizzy spells. I ignored. Another half an hour, and I was desperately looking for migraine pills! Nevertheless, I decided to watch the film till the end. By the time the torture... err... the film was over, I was almost in a state of coma! Losing control of my mind and senses, I vowed never to watch a film again without knowing about it in detail beforehand.

One of the major flaws of Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi was that it lacked logic. Throughout the film I failed to understand how on earth a wife can be so dumb as to not recognize her husband if he shaves off his moustache, throws away his glasses and gets a new wardrobe! But then I suppose that's the disease which plagues almost every commercial Hindi film. We may have sensible films like Rang De Basanti, Taare Zameen Par, A Wednesday, Dev D, Firaaq, but for every Firaaq or Taare Zameen Par Bollywood churns out a dozen Singh is Kinng or Rab Ne Bana Di Jodis. Still we brag about the fact that Bollywood comes next only to Hollywood in terms of the number of films made every year (quantity is all that matters, quality can take a backseat) or even dare to think of sending these trashy masala flicks to the Oscars! So don’t be surprised if you find Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi being selected as India's official entry to the Oscars next year!

Sounds like a bad joke? Actually not. Remember Sooraj Barjatya’s emotional atyachar Hum Saath Saath Hain? Or Aditya Chopra’s three-hour-plus gurukul melodrama Mohabbatein? Both these films were considered by the Indian film selection committee as contenders for the Best Foreign Language film Oscar in 2000 (stop bulging your eyes, silly!). After much deliberation, Kamal Haasan’s Hey Ram got the ‘honour’. The film failed to make it even to the nomination stage. However, it would be wrong to say that the decision was a unanimous one. Some of the committee members preferred HSSH or Mohabbatein, since they felt these films represent Indian tradition and culture in a much better light! Think that’s ridiculous? Well, think again. I recently googled for the films that have, over the years, been sent to the Academy as India's official entries and what I found was mind-boggling. Saagar, Henna, Indian,... hold your breath... Jeans, Devdas, Paheli, Eklavya — all these films were selected as India's official contenders for the Oscar-race! Quite predictably (and thankfully), none of them could reach the Kodak Theatre.

India's tryst with the Oscars began in the 1950s. Since then we have managed to get nominated thrice — for Mother India (1956), Salaam Bombay! (1988) and Lagaan (2001) — without winning even once. Meanwhile nations like Japan, Hungary, and Netherlands have fetched 11, 8 and 7 nominations respectively. France has 34 nominations including 10 wins, while Italy has been nominated 27 times. Even a small nation like Bosnia-Herzegovina has managed to hit the bull's-eye (it clinched the Best Foreign Language Film Oscar for No Man's Land in 2001)! So why the world's most prolific film producing nation is virtually ignored at the world's most prestigious film awards?

The fault lies within us — let’s state that very clearly without scapegoating anyone. Today Hindi films may compete with Hollywood in terms of technical wizardry or financial opulence, but when it comes to content, we still lag miles behind. By and large, Bollywood has failed to produce films of international quality. Apart from a handful, most Hindi films are not at par with the international standard. Infantile concepts, done-to-death storylines, stereotypical characters, shoddy treatment, hackneyed song-and-dance sequences — problems with mainstream commercial Hindi films are countless. So every time we fail to achieve the golden statuette we invariably come up with the same apologetic words: ‘It’s after all an Indian film!’ That’s utter bullshit! Can’t we simply be honest in admitting our flaws, at least for once?

There’s fallacy in the selection procedure as well. With a panel consisting of mostly incompetent (and obscure) judges and their myopic attitude, it isn’t surprising that mediocrity — and not cinematic excellence — would get prominence in choosing films. As a result most of the films selected by the panel over the years have been unflinchingly clichéd and Bollywoodish. Their argument: we should send films that represent our culture to the Western audience, and who else can epitomize it better than Bollywood! It seems the judges have little or absolutely no idea of what might appeal to the international audience. The reality is: India’s song-and-dance narrative is largely seen as an exotic kitsch by the West. It might be three-hour-wholesome entertainment for us, but not a memorable cinematic experience. That’s why a Hazaaron Khwaishein Aisi would have been a better choice than Paheli, because that's the kind of film Oscar judges and the viewers worldwide can better identify with.

However, for some strange reasons, mainstream Hindi films have always found patronage from the selection committee. Regional cinema and offbeat films still remain ugly ducklings and given the step-motherly treatment towards them, they will continue to remain so. I don’t intend to be parochial, but there is no reason to believe that Bengali, Marathi, Tamil, Malayalam or Kannada films are inferior to their Hindi counterpart. Regional cinema may not be as flourishing and pompous as Bollywood, still when it comes to craft, storytelling and treatment, they can be deserving competitors for the golden knight.

Unfortunately, that's a utopian dream! Indian cinema has gradually become synonymous with Bollywood, thanks to the judges' not-so-blissful ignorance. The consequence: whenever we think of sending a film to the Oscars, we can not look beyond the run-of-the-mill star-studded Bollywood stuff — this is what diagnose a perfect case of myopia. Those living on the fringes continues to be unrecognized, alien to the mainstream. Satyajit Ray, whom the Academy conferred with the Lifetime Achievement award, never managed to get a film-specific Oscar nomination, except for once (for Shatranj Ke Khiladi). His Pather Panchali won 11 international awards, but no Oscar. Jalsaghar, Gupi Gayne Bagha Bayne, Mahanagar, Seemabaddha, Devi, Charulata, Nayak, Agantuk — none of these films were considered by the committee as worthy enough for the Oscars (and Kurosawa said that not to have seen Ray’s cinema means existing in the world without seeing the sun or the moon!). Ritwik Ghatak, Mrinal Sen, Buddhadev Dasgupta, Adoor Gopalakrishnan, Girish Kasaravalli, G Aravindan, Shaji N Karun — we are well acquainted with their kind of cinema. Their films have won accolades and plaudits in numerous film festivals and award ceremonies all over the world. The critics too have raved about their work. But how many of their films have been selected for the Oscars? None (no prizes for guessing)! Ajantrik, Meghe Dhaka Tara, Bhuvan Shome, Akaler Sandhane, Tahader Katha, Swayamvaram, Mukha Mukham, Ghattashraddha, Tabarna Kathe, Piravi — the selectors have remained amnesiac to these highly-acclaimed films that have re-defined Indian cinema, making way for Saagar, Indian, Devdas or Eklavya to reign.

The dizzying spells are coming back.

Then comes politicking, an inescapable menace on the film selection board. Since the country’s various filmmaking centres are represented, everyone wants their kind of film to get selected. Naturally, lobbying and power politics become inevitable. The result is that the best film doesn’t always make it, rather the one with the most clout does (and you wondered why films like Henna, Jeans or Eklavya got selected in the past!).

It’s time we get a reality check (honourable selectors, wake up please!). Making our Bollywood superstars prance around trees lip-syncing some forgettable songs doesn’t guarantee an Oscar. The Academy recognizes cinematic fineness. It won’t award a film that doesn’t understand its craft. That’s precisely the reason why Indian films have never fitted the Oscar bill. The Oscars may not be the most authentic accolade in the world of cinema, nor are they benchmark for cinematic brilliance. But then one can not completely overlook their importance either. An Oscar-winning film garners a lot of respect and attraction from the audience worldwide. So the crying need of the hour is, effective reforms in the selection procedure for nominating India’s official entry. Unless our filmmakers take the selection process more seriously, India will continue its losing streak. And the golden knight, like Godot, will never come.


Image courtesy: Sourish Mitra