the unsaid

Dileep was born a hindu. He converts to Islam, bags an academy award and says glory be to god.

Resul is a muslim. Talks about the significance of 'OM' in his acceptance speech and says on TV that his award is a 'Mahashivarathiri' gift to all malayalees.

Jai Ho, India ;)

Dog days

You know the feeling when you suppress something for an awfully long time and eventually let go? No am not talking about Ramalinga Raju, but my December and January. 4 intriguing films, an entire concert season and 3 weeks on Mumbai and Delhi roads meant there were tonnes to tell....but its amazing how awfully hard it is to get the internet, time and 'state of mind' - all in the same room, so you can write the hell out of it.  Nevertheless, its good to be back!

There is a scene in Slumdog, where the boys look through the key hole of the brothel room and see young Latika's torso twirling to a kathak movement,  illuminated by a thin light beam.  At that instant, it hit me that Boyle has crossed the rather thick line between 'a film on India' and 'an Indian film'.

Its amazing how a film with lines as cheesy as "I thought we will meet only at death", "I love you....so what?", "the slumdog barks", "is this heaven" and "my enemy's enemy is my friend" actually made it to so many festivals and awards (the red carpet has been rolled out at the kodak theatre as I write).  But when you really think about it, it is quite a smart film. 

'Subtitle' is among the worst things that ever happened to cinema (just behind George Clooney as Batman) and Danny gave it an interesting twist in Slumdog when he decided to have it beside the character and not at the bottom of the screen - its traditional home, where for decades it has been stealing viewers' eyeballs from beautiful frames. Its a small and stupid thing, but boy it worked.

'City of God', 'Amores Perros' and 'Malena' were in the native tongue. The characters did not have an accent and nobody found it odd in Latin America. They were landmarks in cinematic history, but more people would watch Slumdog Millionaire.

'Salaam Bombay' or 'City of Joy' would never make it to any list of popular films, though they are essentially the same DNA as slumdog. Only that Boyle decided to almost make it a series of music videos on arguably Rahman's most neo and experimental album till date. The opening police chase, the escape, the brilliantly shot train sequence....nice!

The rioters are on the other side of the railway platform and the kids are playing in the water. It is a shot from Jamal's POV as the boy plunges into the water and gets up. As he rises, the audio goes muffled like as though water went into the ears of the camera. Resul deserves a sound oscar just for those 15 seconds!

I saw another film on the underbelly of India last week, called 'Naan Kadavul' (That one needs a blog by itself). More morbid, more disturbing and even more honest. It had real people and not actors, but the tone was so mellowed down that it did not really get you out there. Whereas with SM, you could almost feel the heat and the dust. May be rightfully enough, they have just handed over the best cinematography oscar to it. Just that I cannot believe that an effort like Dark Knight would miss out....IMAX and all ;)

But the lasting image for me from the film, more than a month after seeing it is the frame of  Rubina Ali....dusty, sweaty and heavenly, under a sodium vapour lamp.  

          

The travels of my shaving cream...

Even as I write this, Burkha Dutt is writhing in orgasmic fervor on the TV screen in front of me. Revelling in the drama of the situation and getting into her zone, with her voice breaking almost at will and her vocabulary scaling new heights in dramatization. This is her thing!

As I watch this newscast from my couch all weekend, I think to myself....'isnt this a dream newscast for a terrorist'? Isnt this how they would have exactly wanted to script it?.....20-30 of the best journalistic minds in the country fighting between themselves to prove who can 'magnify the fear' better and who has the best 'drama' on offer?.....for heaven's sake, they even have a 'highlights' sorta music video every hour or so....just in case you had forgotten any of those images.

I rewind back to the early morning hours of Thursday, when I got out of my hotel room in Mumbai after being huddled in front of the TV all night. Though I was ridiculously far away from all the 'action' of the previous night, I ask the bell boy something I have never asked in my life before "Is it safe to go out now?".

30 minutes later, I reach the domestic terminal and it was a shocking sight. Not because something changed, but because Nothing did. It was exactly the way I left it two days back. Well, actually no. There was a lone cop standing with a semi-automatic.

Ten minutes later, I pass through security and for the 22nd time in the last 2 months, my super-large shaving cream canister, my 500 ml Davidoff and packs of matches - all in the front zipper of my laptop bag, make safe travel through the X-ray tunnel, without tickling the attention of the guard. My mind is shouting out to him "common!! see it! See it atleast today.....this is the morning after a terrorist attack and there is enough room in that canister to blow up the plane I am taking". But No. He gets out the rubber stamp, and mid-way over sharing a joke with his colleague, brings it down on my tag.

(Even as I write this, Arnab Goswami has just repeated the words "These are visuals that are coming to you exclusively on Times Now and no other news channel" for the 104th time in the last 48 hours.)

As I board the plane, I am convinced about one thing. You dont need an international conspiracy to blow this country up. You dont need a meticulous plan. You dont need a terrorist ourfit. You can do it at will. All you need is just a desire to die and a few hours of your time. So, lets not pretend that something has been breached. There was nothing to be breached. No fucking thing.

The Director of HR of Infosys just popped on screen, demanding the right to bear arms. Fair enough (are you listening Mr. Terrorist? Is this panning out like you planned?). And Milind Deora pops on screen talking about Mumbai like as though it is a neighbouring country. Dude, you are the MP from South Mumbai, for cryin out loud!! But the most appropriate sound byte in all these 4 days came from RR Patil. Surprisingly, everybody is calling it a gaffe. Absolutely not! I think it is the most honest, objective and pragmatic assessment of the situation. A masterstroke.

"Aise bade bade sheharon mein aise choti choti baatein hoti hai".

Bravo, my man! He is right. A much much larger thing could have happened. And no, the cop in the police station in my vicinity, weilding a lathi and a modified version of the 1880 ".303 Musket" is not gonna stop it. The fact that the ".303" was a big hit in both the World Wars, notwithstanding.

Mumbai

its 12:30 AM at this hotel room in Dadar, as this city is being invaded from all around!!!

White tiger...

you know the feeling....of running in sweltering mid-day heat, at the peak of chennai summer, listening to death metal on your walkman in full volume? (ok...before you think am demented, I would like to confess that I have not tried it post high school)

anyway...back to the run....its pain and ecstasy at the same time, with all that adrenalin pulling you through, long after your body has given up.

Reading the white tiger was pretty close - just replace the adrenalin with anger. It is a story that is so disgusting, filthy, rotten and raw that you can feel the stench emanating from the pages. The stench will no doubt disgust you at the beginning; but by page 200, you will not just get used to it, but in fact look forward to it indulgently.

If you have ever flown into Mumbai on a window seat, you would have no doubt seen the miles of blue taupaulined slums that the plane sails across, before depositing you int the marble floored, air conditioned, interior-decorated confines of the Chatrapathi Shivaji terminal. The strange thing is that the 'tarpaulined' and the 'terminal' are two mutually exclusive worlds - totally insulated from each other. While members of both these worlds meet everyday and even need each other to stay alive, they know so very little about the other's world that it could have as well been in a different planet.

Anyway, the book has nothing to do with Mumbai and so I havent spoilt anything for you ;) But it is about these two worlds and if you have ever stopped in your tracks once, angered by this rude, dualistic joke that is our nation, then you Will love the book.