Lights! Camera! Introspection! (Fable - 22)

I’ve a confession! This blog began as a sort of window to chronicle the mating and dating rituals of modern day urban society and unearth whatever traces of love and romance that still exist. And along the way, talk about whatever questions and doubts and trends one sees. The Fables kept me amused and entertained and also were secret ways of gauging public perception to certain stories one might want to put in a film. For the longest time, I kept my professional life and its stories out of it till the day I wrote the first Bollywood Fable, then after a respectable gap I sneaked in yet another Bollywood post making it abundantly clear that even if I say I’m tired of talking about what I do, I am completely lost when I can’t talk about what I do. And that was also the reason the blog was languishing all this while.
But not anymore! We’re in 2007 and Bollywood has become officially cool. Bollywood is the new sex. It's everywhere and, like sex, it can sell anything: phones, cars, stores, coffee, insurance, banks… It's on the TV news and current-affairs shows. Even internationally! There are hearty chunks of it in newspapers and even the no-nonsense business press. They're all desperate to pin their colors to something that appears to be getting somewhere. And Bollywood is definitely getting somewhere. From the crazy business it was, scorned, or at best tolerated by men and women who had better things to do, it has arrived with bells on, smack in the middle of mainstream culture; selling stuff, defining us, saving us from boredom, sprinkling a little sugar on a cruel, cruel world. No one escapes.
Bollywood is too curious to ignore.
What sort of mania drives this entire industry to do what it does best and finally, get worldwide acceptance and recognition? There is profound wackiness afoot here, everyone knows that. But then you wonder: Is something more interesting happening, too? Because you can't help but find reason for hope in this crass spectacle. Life in Bollywood had never been better. The paychecks are bigger, better and prompter! A happy afterglow has set in and everyone looks like they’ve just returned from an all-expense paid luxury vacation in Ibiza.
When I say “everyone” I mean all those hundreds of people whose names you only see in the credits before and after a film, and names which mean something only if you personally know the person. Otherwise, for the most part it’s always, “Did we miss the beginning? …No, we didn’t. It’s still the credits coming on… Let’s quickly get popcorn!” Well, thanks! You just ignored the huge invisible workforce that’s required to make that film you walked in to watch. And it’s that workforce that’s meeting this sweeping change head-on! And it’s that workforce which we will talk about in this post. And what’s life like for them.
Outside Bollywood, popular perception is that this is an industry filled with spoiled, outrageous, egotistical individuals with completely fucked-up lives. People who are chain smokers, alcoholics or druggies, with totally debauched lifestyles and sex is everywhere. A bunch of losers and uneducated drifters who weren’t qualified enough to do anything more substantial in their lives and sustain “real” jobs. Like sitting in an antiseptic looking office everyday, day after day, with the same people, for 8 hours or more staring at a computer screen while very seriously believing that if given a chance they can really make better films than the best of the experts put together, with no knowledge whatsoever about how the industry works and operates and completely lacking the courage to give up their corporate cocoons for real. Working in Bollywood is never about being given a chance. It’s about taking it. It’s about giving up the security of a monthly paycheck and the fact that if you work like an automaton and go through the motions you will one day get promoted and get a bigger paycheck and so on. Can this beat the smug satisfaction of making a film- right from the conceptual stage to putting it out there for the world to see and either like or dislike? The thrill of watching the first promo on air, of spotting the first poster or billboard, of hearing the songs on the radio, in autos and taxis and in clubs and watching people enjoy it, then going to the theater and obsessively narcissistically watching the people’s reactions. Keeping track of every giggle, laugh, snigger, rude comment, bad moment coming from the audience. Sometimes it’s hard to maintain a positive attitude. Especially during moments that make you wonder if you’d have been better off being a banker, or a computer programmer, or a lawyer. Something well-paid and regular that doesn’t require you to lay your heart on the line for a fickle public which takes great perverse pleasure in being mean to you in different ways. Yes, Bollywood has huge ego issues. It is a very strange and unconventional place to be and it’s not for the faint hearted.
Yet, making a film is a complete labour of love for the creative team that's involved. It's an incredible amount of fun, laughter, shared happy moments, pranks being played constantly on the cast and crew, heated creative arguements and slowly, step by step begins the process of taking a story from out of your mind, penning it down and putting it 'In theaters near you'. Any film set is this picture of cool camaraderie and everyone buzzing and bustling about with their designated jobs and even though it wouldn’t be obvious to a layperson, there is indeed painstakingly put method into the madness. When cast and crew members say, "It was one large picnic! We were all like one big happy family!" It's usually true.
And it’s surely not an understatement or a lie to say that our film industry was built on cigarettes, alcohol and drugs. And sex. I’m not talking about the casting couch here. It’s still The Workforce. Getting some, trying to get some, got some now getting over it, promising some, denying some, wanting some but unable to get it, getting some without really wanting it… You get the picture! Sex is all pervasive. Bollywood works 24X7 not just professionally, but also because everyone is trying to get laid or getting laid. The hip parties are starting later and later because those floating irritants are everywhere – the gossip journalists. If a party is on the radar of the journalists, then it simply isn’t cool enough. Till the SMS’s start coming and you’re informed about the after party and the after-after party. It’s a marvelous world of opportunity for all the men looking to get some. Its also a dangerous one with a lot of mental health and career hazards. If you’re beautiful, good for you. If you’re powerful, even better. It’s a sexual revolution like never before and Bollywood is in a position of power like never before. But something’s gotta give!
Welcome to the Age of Un-Innocence and its biggest victim is Love. While our films are still all about falling in love, that’s where it stays. The glittering lights of Marine Drive that served as the backdrop for romantic trysts are still glowing – but the stage is empty. No one has breakfast at Tiffany’s and no one has affairs to remember. Instead, we have breakfast at seven A.M. and affairs we try to forget as quickly as possible. How did we get into this mess? Truman Capote understood our modern day dilemma very well. The Bollywood dilemma of Love vs. The Deal. In Breakfast At Tiffany’s, Holly Golightly and Paul Varjak were faced with restrictions – he was a kept man and she was a kept woman – but in the end they surmounted them and chose love over money. That doesn’t happen much around us these days. We are all kept men and women – by our jobs, by our apartments, and then some of us by the pecking order at Olive and Enigma, the number of invitations to Strictly By Invitation Only parties at the Big Boys’ Cliques in Bollywood – and we like it like that. Self-protection and closing the deal are paramount. Cupid has flown the co-op in the industry that makes its billions by peddling love and fairy tale fantasies.
When was the left time you heard someone say, “I love you!” without adding on the inevitable and/or unspoken “as a friend”. When was the last time you saw two people gazing into each others eyes without thinking, Yeah, right? And what turned out to be the hot, most debated, most talked about film of 2006? KANK, which was all about falling out of love. Hardly the stuff we like to think about when we think about love but very much the stuff of the modern urban relationship. There’s plenty of sex in Bollywood but the kind of sex that results in friendship and business deals, not romance. These days, everyone has friends and colleagues; no one really has lovers. Even if they have slept together.
And as always, That Woman went hunting for the answers...

"People here build up a total facade that you cant penetrate," said Successful Married Actress. "I feel so lucky that things worked out for me early on, because it's so easy not to have a relationship here - it almost becomes impossible to go back!"
A friend who was recently married called up That Woman. "I dont know how anyone makes relationships work in this town. It's really hard. All the temptations. Going out. Drinks. Drugs. Other extremely gorgeous people. You want to have fun. And if you're married, what are you going to do? Sit in your little poky apartment and stare at each other? When you're alone, it's easier," she said slightly wistfully. "You can do what you want. You don't have to go home."
A few years ago, when Smart Successful Banker, another friend, was one of the most eligible bachelors in Bombay, he dated every woman in town! Six years ago we were still romantic enough to believe that some woman could get him. He has to fall in love someday, we thought. Everyone falls in love, and when he does, it will be with a woman who's beautiful and smart and successful. But then those beautiful, smart and successful women came and went and he still hadn't fallen in love. That Woman was wrong.
Today, Smart Successful Banker is almost 40 and he says he's ungettable. He doesn't want a relationship. Doesn't even want to try. Isn't interested in the romantic committment. Doesn't want to hear about the neurosis in somebody else's head. And he tells women that he'll be their friend, and they can have sex with him, but that's all there is and that's all there's ever going to be. And it's fine with him. He says it doesn't even make him sad anymore the way it used to. So now, he works insane hours, travels a lot on business and when he's home, his only company is a bottle of Scotch, a few DVD's and his new Playstation. All the beautiful, smart and successful women he once dated have moved on too and pretend to have amnesia whenever he's mentioned.
A few weeks back a young writer told her, "I just dont believe I'll meet the right person and get married. Relationships are too intense. If you believe in love, you're setting yourself up to be disappointed. You just cant trust anyone. People are so corrupted these days.
"But it's the one ray of hope," That Woman protested. "You hope it will save you from cynicism." Yet, she understood his cynicism. Recently she found herself telling another friend that she didn't want a relationship because, at the end, unless it lasted, you were left with nothing. And being with the wrong people is far more taxing to one's system than being single!
The writer continued, echoing her thoughts. "We have no alternatives. Look at you and me and people like us whom we know. We wouldn't be in shallow relationships, so we do nothing. We have no sex and no romance. Who needs it? Who needs yet another relationship breaking up? You're too busy with work and other things. So why not just be with your friends and have real conversations and a good time?"
That Woman pondered over the profundity of that statement for a while. It was completely true. She worked insane hours and had great fun doing what she did. But the flip side of being in a job that you so enjoy is that it gives you a sense of fulfillment and well-being that could be completely deceptive. Your sense of self-worth shoots up crazily and you keep raising the bar for the men who're interested in you simply 'cos nobody matches up. Or is able to sustain your interest for more than a week. She'd turned down two nice, eligible men recently who'd asked her out simply because the conversation had been mindnumbingly dull and predictable. And while anyone could discuss books, art and world politics, not many are gifted enough to have inane yet hysterically absurdly funny conversations.
"You're crazy," interrupted an Assistant Director who was with the writer too. "It's not that simple. Emotions dont cost a thing. But you have someone to go home to. You have someone in your life."
"Love is dangerous," said the Writer.
"If you know it's dangerous, that makes you treasure it and you'll work harder to keep it," said the Director. "Look at all the old-fashioned romantics?"
That Woman jumped in. She knew the kind he was talking about. "Every time a man tells me he's a romantic, I want to scream. All it means is that he has a romanticized view of you and as soon as you become real and stop playing into his fantasy, he gets turned off. That's what makes these romantics dangerous. Stay away." She was talking about a Promising Young Director she had been in a relatioship with two years back and it was a disaster. She swore never to date anyone from Bollywood ever again, after that! "But still," she continued, "I totally believe in love. I would be so depressed if I didn't believe in it. People are halves. Being in love with the right person makes everything have more meaning."
"Then someone takes it away from you and you're fucked," The Writer continued.
"Maybe what you want is wrong," said the Director. "Maybe what you want makes you uncomfortable."
"I want beauty. I have to be with a beautiful woman. I cant help it," The Writer said. "That's why a lot of the girls I end up going out with are stupid," he said unhappily. "And that makes you uncomfortable!"
"I want to be with someone who loves Hindi films as much as I do and can have deep, meaningful conversations as well as totally inane, absurd and meaningless ones," That Woman grinned cheekily. "And who can make me laugh. ...And it makes a lot of men uncomfortable!"
And speaking of men, what turns up are basically re-runs of past relationships. Not reruns in the sense that you've actually been out with this particular man before...ex-boyfriends are too easy to recognise. Relationship reruns are much more subversive. they sneak up on you in the form of a fresh suitor who slowly reminds you of an ex-boyfriend until you realize you've already been there, done that, lived that episode of your life.
That Woman noticed she was in relationship rerun only recently. She had, in the past, dated a filmmaker and a corporate type guy and learned precious lessons when the relationships hadn't worked out. The lessons were - Never date anyone from the film industry. Never date any corporate type till they are put to rigorous tests and come out with flying colors.
Back Story -

The Promising Young Director had recently finished his debut film and was already being wooed by Big Production House for his next film. He wanted to cast a particular actor for the role and turned down all other options. That actor had no dates to spare for the next couple of years and his manager didn't see the point of having a meeting even. Some time later, That Woman ended up working on a film by a rival production house, with the same actor in the lead and whenever she'd talk about him or how her day had been, the boyfriend would get really angry and sulk for hours. Then at a party, the actor saw her and stopped to chat with her for a couple of minutes. Her boyfriend was talking to someone else then and she rushed to him to ask if he wanted her to introduce him to the actor and maybe he could set a meeting... He told her to "Stop flaunting your contacts!" and that was the first nail in the coffin. The second one came when Big Production House withdrew their offer to him about a new film and as luck would have it, called That Woman a few weeks later to work on another project with them. Filmmaker boyfriend didn't take kindly to that at all, or explanations that since she was just beginning her career, she didnt have the luxury really to go about refusing work offers that came her way!
They broke up three months after that and she swore she'd never ever date anyone from the film industry ever. The insecurities ran way too high and disillusionment ran way too deep to make you feel happy about another person's achievement without resenting them somewhat.
Corporate Guy came next. Was all nice and caring and understanding till the time he really saw her work schedule and couldn't comprehend why she worked such long hours. And how could she come home late at night and rant about having a long, tiring day and a headache too when all she'd done was be at a music director's studio "listening to music all day long!" She began explaining that she wasn't "listening to music" but actually the songs for the film she was working on and hadn't liked the way one song had turned out and because they had a deadline and studio time booked much in advance, all damage control had to be done that day itself. And it's not easy to compose a song and then make changes in it later. At which point Corporate Guy got all patronising and smirked, "I like the way you make it sound like it's a REAL job." She was stunned. It was a REAL job. It paid her bills and rent. How much more real could it get? The relationship was all downhill from that point on and they broke up soon. But not before a kickass parting shot where she told him how there're no real and unreal careers. Instead, a fine line between a career that's great fun and a career that's so uninspiring and dull, it marinates your hypothalamus in sleep serum.
About two weeks back she was at a party when another Corporate Guy was flirting with her and telling her how much he loved films and would she have dinner with him someday. He came across as a warm, sincere guy till she decided to scratch beneath the surface and put him through a couple of tests. Did he like proper Bollywood masala films? "Err, sometimes! I loved Black and Omkara," he said. What about Dhoom-2? And Don? And KANK? "I didn't watch any of those. They just look very inane and dumb. Films should make you think," he said. So what did Black and Omkara make him think? "Hmmm...tragedies that can happen to any of us...how ephemeral everything is..."

"And you watch films to tell you that? What about feel-good, happy films which make you cry a bit and laugh a lot and also have a couple of hot item numbers?" she asked, incredulous.

"Ah! That's something I've never really understood. Like, the dance around the trees was bad enough to handle and now we have item numbers!" he said derisively.

As far as That Woman was concerned, she had already given him a D minus. But just to be sure she asked one last question, "Do you want to watch Namastey London?"

She kept a straight face as he shuffled his feet, looked around helplessly for a bit and asked, "You're kidding, right?" And he looked shocked and disappointed when she said she wasn't and she really did want to watch that film. While she turned the D minus into a big fat F minus, all That Woman could think was: We've been to dinner. I've already dated you.
Her party epiphany: It's tempting to settle for a rerun when there's nothing else on, but if you recognize some of the lines, and you know how it turns out, why waste your time? Especially if that particular episode of your life wasn't so great the first time.
Few days later, they were all discussing the film script they were working on and when the above conversation was brought up again before a famous happily married actor, he said, "I totally believe that love conquers all. Sometimes you just have to give it some space."
And that's exactly what's missing in Bombay. And in Bollywood.
And as we strive to find some for ourselves while avoiding relationship reruns, we often forget to check out a new season of men and relationships.

Bubble Trouble!!

Knowledge breeds taste…
And taste kills pleasure.

I don’t know where I read that, but it’s stayed in my mind. And it more or else sums up my current state of being, my likes and dislikes, my passion and my boredom, what I’d kill for and what I wouldn’t give a damn about. Till a while back, everything with me was a constant conflict between knowledge and pleasure. In my case, fortunately or unfortunately, the twain has never met. At least in the conventional sense. What are we getting at here? Let’s try making it coherent.
Its 4:30 AM, I’m in Delhi doing post-production for a forthcoming TV series. I’m at my wit’s end and taking a breather, sipping hot water and looking out the window, literally marvelling at how pretty the city looks. Yes, even in the dark. And thinking about myself. Not in that narcissistic way where I look in the mirror and say, “You’re gorgeous, baby!” But more like “where am I at and what next as yet another year comes to an end.” What brings such profound thoughts?
I got a call a few days ago from a good friend who’s a Bollywood scriptwriter in the big league. Now, without naming names, we must understand that there are two big leagues in Bollywood. The Cerebral Big League (No, it doesn’t include The Factory) and The League of Extraordinary Gloss (That which we love to hate but still watch!). Scriptwriter Friend is from the former and has healthy disdain for the latter. Him and I have spent many hours trying to convince each other about our respective leagues. He’d recently watched Dhoom-2 and the call was about that. He laughed as he confessed how he wanted to leave the theatre halfway through the film but stayed back after an interesting thought struck him. The fact that he should watch the second half of the film “completely from Vijayeta’s perspective,” trying to grasp what I would have “loved” about it and why. At which point, with much glee I informed him that I’d absolutely loved the new Don as well. He confessed to being deeply flummoxed and was waiting for me to return to Bombay, when he could ask me a few very basic questions about those films and if convinced, he’d be as big a believer as I am. Hearing that, I was deeply touched and also slightly amused. I ended up laughing and when the conversation ended I didn’t know if I was laughing out of happy amusement or was it the laughter of the hysterically insane. I had a feeling it was the latter.
So here I am right now, thinking about “My Perspective on Films” and how insane it really is. It’s shocking. So here’s where that quote about knowledge breeding taste comes to mind. When you do an MA in Film Studies, you’re subjected to a lot of textbook jargon about the craft of films. Painfully boring books called The Five Cs of Cinematography, Editing Explained, Sound Theory etc comprised a part of the killer syllabus. The other part, and the more interesting one was Film Appreciation which comprised watching up to 4 films a day in a cold auditorium and discussing each film to bits once over. We saw all kinds of films. They were usually divided into sections like Film Noir, French New Wave, Italian Neo- Realism, The Hollywood Classics and so on… Without inviting mainstream Bollywood cinema to the merry little party. Hmpfh!

Our assignments usually involved writing long essays on topics we could choose and some on topics that were thrust upon us by the professors. Those usually sucked and basically had all of us terribly busy and reading up tonnes of books by tonnes of film theorists with strange French names! I gained maximum knowledge and insight, which coupled with an extraordinary ability to faff intelligently became a very potent combination in helping me get good grades. The essays I chose to write were rather kickass and the subjects were: 1. The City as metaphor in Taxi Driver 2. The Emotional Vis-à-vis the Physical transitions in Taxi Driver 3. The Importance of Shadows in Fellini’s cinema. Case in point: La Dolce Vita and Cinema Paradiso. 4. The Child Woman of Ray’s cinema with reference to Charulata and Samapti (from Teen Kanya) 5. Jump Cuts (of the French New Wave) Vs. Sculpting Time (in Tarkovsky’s cinema) as narrative devices.
Phew! I guess I’ve shown off enough! Point is, I did appreciate most of that stuff. I could watch the works of Fellini, Truffaut, Godard and Tarkovsky a number of times. I loved the Noir films by Jules Dassin, Fritz Lang and Billy Wilder from that era and after that Scorsese’s Taxi Driver proved to be eternally fascinating. While the Japanese and Chinese films provided a good reason to doze off somewhere in the last row of the auditorium. Except Rashomon, everything else was beyond me and the Communist cinema from China made me burst into hysterical giggles which I’d a hard time controlling. One film by Ozu began with a whiny little Chinese child singing an extremely annoying song, the subtitles for which were “Hammer and sickle, hammer and sickle…” I had to duck my head to suppress my giggles and when I rose to leave the class pretending to cough madly, the subtitles were something about the Red Army and rice! Instead of returning to class I bunked and went to watch Dil Chahta Hai, first day first show. It seemed like ages when I wasn’t watching a film to write an 8 page essay on it later! I wasn’t looking at edit techniques, mis-en-scene, blocking, influences in narrative style, subtext, visual grammar and more such stuff even though I’m sure there was lots. The romantic in me was up and about and kicking. I was glowing.
After the film studies exam, which was in January 2003, I’ve never watched any of those films again barring La Dolce Vita as a rare impulse. If someone held a gun to my head, I could still discuss them and tell you what was awesome about them, but that’s that. Knowledge had given me the taste and refinement but completely killed pleasure. And what was pleasure?
Pleasure is Bollywood cinema through and through. The lost and found twins, the ichchadhari nagin films, the films of the early 80s with south Indian sensibilities, the disproportionate voluptuousness of Sridevi and Jaya Prada, kickass jhatkas that could be measured on the Richter scale, villains that took the cake in being over the top and the ever so delightful vamps! I mean, the classics and all that are fine, but this is staple, wholesome regular movie fare. Isn’t it? At least I think so.
The irony was that exactly a day after my exams were over, I flew to Bangalore to start my career in the entertainment industry as an assistant director, it was a huge un-learning experience. No one really cared about how many essays you wrote and how innovative you were while making your student film. The entire movie industry is self-obsessed, inane, capricious, cruel, misogynistic and silly. Sometimes the whole thing seems quite ridiculous when you realise you’ve spent the better part of a day trying to get an actress to dance so you can get at least 3 shots right in an entire song! It’s a beast that requires vast amounts of money, time, and skill to get "right.” And for all the blood, sweat and tears it provides only a few brief, shining moments of rightness before becoming completely wrong. Before being written off by pseudo-intellectual, uppity critics or being run over by next week’s bigger blockbuster with hotter item songs. With each new project in the entertainment industry you understand it as the place where you see where you are on the food chain every day - you can’t help it. You see where you are by the work you’re involved in. Who talks to you at parties? Who you talk to at parties? One survival mechanism here is a deliberate un-selfawareness which leads to an inability to be ashamed or embarrassed or humiliated. And the shoots soon become a happy memory shared by all the unit members who really become like family.
Armed with that un-selfawareness and inability to be embarrassed, I will proceed to admit that even years later, I am still entranced by the opening music when the opening credits come on in the dark theatre. I am shamelessly enchanted and mesmerized by all the “entry scenes” of each character no matter how predictable they are. If I walk into a theatre late and miss the ‘hero ki entry’ I feel awful and I sulk at all those responsible for getting me late. I sit grinning happily when two people are falling in love and when their first song comes on. It warms the cockles of my heart to see a lovely looking Kajol dancing happily amidst the pyramids of Egypt wearing lovely saris and SRK in transparent linen shirts. At that time, they are not SRK and Kajol for me. They are Rahul and Anjali from two different socio-economic backgrounds who’re fighting against all odds to be together. I understand the horrible political incorrectness of Kuch Kuch Hota Hai but I love it nonetheless. I wait for the scene where Rahul sees Anjali for the first time after 8 years and when it comes, I’m usually crying happy tears. Oh, before that, when he ignores Anjali for the hotter looking Tina, I’m just short of sobbing hysterically for unrequited love. While watching Krrish, I’m not watching Hrithik. I’m watching the first Indian superhero doing really awesome stuff and beating up all the bad guys. And for the duration of that film, I really am able to believe that he is a superhero and not another actor hooked on to dozens of complicated wires that enable him to fly/run like that. While watching Dil Chahta Hai, I cry for Aamir Khan’s loneliness when he makes that call to his father and reminded me of myself many many years ago when I was in the hostel and made a similar call home. Omkara is Omkara to me and Othello is a distant memory. When he’s killing Dolly with that pillow in the end, my heart aches for her and I wish that somehow, magically he should know what he’s doing is wrong and stop! I also feel bad for being completely unable to stop him myself! Kal Ho Na Ho remains my all-time favourite film and I’ve been ridiculed countless times about it. But I really feel that the title track is one of the best which symbolises the optimism and helplessness of a terminally ill man, yet without being pathetic. And Kuch To Hua Hai is 100% me when I’m in love even before the film came out and I’m already grinning like there’s no tomorrow! One of the most profound moments for me was the screening of Border after its release in a makeshift auditorium for Army officers and jawans in Srinagar. The silence during the film was something else and I saw many, many people crying discreetly during the Sandese Aate Hain song.
I’m aware this already sounds quite insane, but it’s true. Masala movies just transport me totally into their world. At that point, the last thing on my mind is blocking, shot division, mis-en-scene, narrative devices etc etc. For me, its movie magic all the way. And it's because films provide a complete escape. It offers the fantasy of a life that is way beyond the mundane routine we’re bound by, paying our bills, long commutes, meeting deadlines and dealing with a bad PMS! It is pure, airbrushed, and unadulterated gorgeousness, and it provides the promise of something more, something that transcends the everyday grind. It’s the bubble I can build around myself and the world suddenly looks sooo much prettier. It’s clean, exotic and glossy filled with shiny happy people who sing and dance out of pure unadulterated joy. They cry for the sake of love, for the agony and anguish of love and often there’s a sad song to underscore that feeling. Such ability of the characters to totally give in to any emotion and to lose themselves in it with such unselfconsciousness completely feeds the romantic within me. And mind you, the romantic within me IS. A. G-L-U-T-T-O-N!
The romantic in me gives in to emotions at the drop of a hat. I’m very easily moved by a painting, even architectural brilliance, books and songs. And I’m not ashamed to cry. Though the people who accompany me usually are. Not ashamed to cry, but ashamed of having accompanied me. My biggest regret is going to watch Black without carrying a pack of tissues! And if I were to write a comparative essay on anything to do with films right now, I’d probably do it on the best ever “Confession of Love at the airport” scene of all times. Umm, it’s also my biggest romantic fantasy. Every time I take a flight, I can’t help thinking about it. That The One is madly in love with me and realises just about now and I’d be gone for good after this. So he runs wildly on the roads, dodging traffic, hitching rides, panicking and worrying and trying not to cry but keeping in sync with the heart wrenching romantic song playing in the background. He manages to sweet-talk/dodge airport security creates a merry chaos inside while I walk towards the plane completely unaware right till the point the plane’s about to take-off and he shows up and confesses his undying love to me. (If there are any spectators they should be rooting for him to stop the plane in time so he gets The Girl!) And of course we’d live happily ever after!
And while I’m not watching a film currently, it’s three songs to blame. Melissa Etheridge’s I Want To Be In Love and two songs from Salaam-é-Ishq: Dil Kya Kare and the title track, Salaam-é-Ishq which are on repeat play right now. Er, I think I must mention here that I’m not in love with anyone currently and am still single but I want to have all those “madly in love” moments from films to happen to me right now! Films like this are a total guilty pleasure for me. Pleasure as far removed from the trappings of cinematic “knowledge” as possible. Of course it doesn’t mean I’m not aware of the craft and the way complicated shots and stunts are handled. And all that's 100% make believe created by people like us. And it’s pure knowledge that’s making me go into long, self-conscious explanations like these. I mean, if I liked eating dark chocolate, would I care to explain that much? Hell no! But then, I wouldn’t be perceived as a hopeless retard either, right? I mean who in this day and age goes to watch films and gets so carried away just stopping short of believing that the characters were behind the screen and I could reach out to touch them!
Though sometimes I wish I could. Like right now. The horizon’s a foggy blur and it’s an hour before dawn and work is far from over and here I am seeking shelter in my romantic bubble. I’m thinking of Woody Allen’s The Purple Rose of Cairo. At this moment I could be the tired, overworked Cecilia going to the movies to be transported into that glossy world and the high life. And er, while Cecilia had Tom Baxter walking out of the film and falling in love with her, I want (See? It’s ‘knowledge’ that makes me hesitate so much before naming the name! And the fear that I may be disowned by all those who love me. Oh well! Let’s risk it!) The name’s DON. No, not Shah Rukh Khan in his real self. But the character Don. The man I was literally gaping at right from the first scene when he takes that mock bow with the ballet dancers in Paris. Such deadly panache! And the way he looked as he teed off on that awesome course, that easy sex-appeal underscoring his relaxed body language (Which had more to do with the camera’s languid tilt-up shots of him and divine lighting. There! That’s knowledge again!) Basically, it’s everything. And I want that character to step out of the film just like Tom Baxter does, walk up to me and profess undying love and invite me to join him in his life of crazy adventure, fraught with danger and thrill (Er, yes, a lot of it is illegal but then in the film he never gets caught, right?) I even know which scene made me feel that way. While Don was an incredibly polished and cultured character, my jaw dropped when I saw him in that walk-in sort of safe where he went to keep the diskette which has all his vital contacts. I wonder if anyone else noticed Edvard Munch’s famous painting The Scream in the back, kept with the loving care of someone who proudly cherished his art. Not just that, The Scream was stolen in the year 2004 but it was recovered in 2005 making it a year too late for the complete relevance in the film. Anyway, there’s knowledge sneaking up again. Point is, Don obviously loves expensive art. And I’m sure he’d also love having long conversations about post-impressionists and expressionists and also modern artists. Sort of like Bond. I want to be with him in the car during all the car chases. I want to be with him in that HUGE bath tub in that gorgeous spa-like bathroom. I want to pour him champagne while giving sexy come hither looks when he’s looking particularly dapper in those fitted jackets matched with the Tag Heuer watches. I want to dance with him on Khaike Paan Banaras Wala matching him in his energy and steps. And of course, I want to save him from the bad guys (The gyarah mulko ki police!) YES! Duh! If you look at it from ‘our’ perspective (hee hee, that sounded gooood, OUR) those are the bad guys, but then WHY AM I EXPLAINING!? And then after saving him, I would get to hear the ultimate, million dollar line “Don ko pakadna mushkil hi nahin…” And you know what’ll be so cool about it? He’d say it to me! It’d be his original line and (anyone who wants to make any references to the earlier Don is not allowed to speak here!) I’d be over the moon thinking how cool, witty and sexy he is! Like Tom Baxter he can say: I love you. I'm honest, dependable, courageous, romantic, and a great kisser.
And I guess I’ll have no choice but to say, like Cecilia: I just met a wonderful new man. He's fictional but you can't have everything. And the credits will roll as we drive a cool Mercedes convertible into the sunset. (Does this sound like the film in a film theme from the film? Is Knowledge sneaking up again?)
Sigh!

And I know no one’s going to take me seriously after this brutally honest admission and I’m practically inviting trouble from all fronts from all my intelligent, well-informed friends (especially Scriptwriter Friend who's still trying to grasp why I liked KANK!) and Best-est Friend who's totally understanding when I withdraw into my little bubble, holds my hand indulgently and passes on tissues too when i'm crying in the theater over someone else's life!

But then, I’m happy and knowledge would simply burst my sacredly insane pleasure bubble!
Back to work now! It was an all-nighter after all but writing this was such pleasure. If tonight’s work were a film, this post would be the hot item number in it!
:P
(Singing loudly - I Want To Be In Love)

The Shape of Things: As we judge them!

Guess who’s back!!
Bravely pushing forth and kicking aside all the layers which add meaning, purpose and definition to our life, enable us to buy beautiful things, indulge in sins and also pay our rent. Layers beautifully topped with loads of stress!
The last few months contained maximum chaos, to say the least, added to a life of drudgery, irrational deadlines, new experiences, new consequences, a whole new look and finally, a whole new set of questions!
How deep is being shallow? Is the beauty myth really relevant in 2006 and beyond? Why are we tolerating the pseudo-feminists who spout nonsense on TV shows?
And while my mind was plagued by doubts and wonder, my thoughts ran amok and penning them down posed a problem. Not one to ramble pointlessly on my blog just ‘cos I have one, I neglected it for a bit (And I wont make it sound glamorous by calling it a ‘blog-break’), till Annie and Megha tagged me and it seemed to hit the nail on the head. “Five Things Feminism Has Done For Me”.
Now, I’m not going to do the tag, but it sure got me thinking about a lot of issues that had been bothering me of late. Most people look very surprised and incredulous when I tell them I’m a feminist. Feminism is the most misinterpreted ‘movement’ ever. Most people think feminists are ugly looking shrieking harridans who’re out to get all men for merely existing. Often one has to simply bring up a women-centric issue even if it’s on the news to be labelled a feminist by ignorant/all knowing male acquaintances. I think being a feminist is something personal. For me to admit I’m a feminist means giving in to whatever the other person interprets feminism as. And then patiently explaining my version of it and how it usually makes so much more sense than theirs. I recently read The Female Eunuch again and was surprised to realise how shockingly outdated it seemed when placed in today’s context. Though, not wholly so. Or maybe, it’s just me, circa 2006, too jaded and worldly-wise to really get the huge impact of "If you think you are emancipated then you might consider tasting your menstrual blood - if it makes you sick, you've a long way to go, baby."
Often I don’t know myself. I do think we’ve come a long way. We’re closer to living the feminist dream now than ever before. Some issues remain, but then they always do. But now, I don’t know how much of my freedom of choice, independence, self-confidence and self-esteem comes from feminism and how much from a great education, great teachers, great family and great friends! To me, feminism has nothing to do with burning bras, hating men, waxing your legs, aspiring to look good and dressing sexy. It’s about equal opportunity. Fair and square. Though, for my MA exam I did write a paper called Starvation Imagery in Popular Media in preparation of which, I’d read and re-read all the feminist bibles, including The Beauty Myth by Naomi Wolf. And until recently, I was genuinely bothered by young girls with eating disorders. Now I’m really bothered by the hordes of pseudo-feminists or as I’d like to call them, TV Feminists, we’re seeing on panel discussions in news shows wearing Fabindia kurtas or cotton saris and big red bindis. Who’ve completely missed the point as they ramble on incoherently in shrill voices, trying to out-scream each other, blaming the media and blaming the corporates.
In college, body image and the commodification of women did matter to me a lot. Then again, back then, I was naïve enough to think that all doubts about body image came from our infamous matrimonial ads and not that much from media images of thin actresses and models. I mean, our leading ladies back then couldn’t really be called thin, could they? Think Madhuri Dixit, Raveena Tandon, Pooja Bhatt, Karisma Kapoor and Kajol before their “makeovers”. Urmila in Rangeela was the thinnest body in our films in those days but we were too busy being surprised by the tiny-ness of those bikinis than feeling terribly complexed and throwing up our food. And we always called her curvy. Never thin.
But I guess we really have come a long way already. All those women are reed thin now more than ever. Even Rekha and Sridevi are thinner now than they were in their pre-teens! And the world’s sitting up and being forced to notice the likes of Paris Hilton and Britney Spears. No matter what we really think of them, they still manage to feature in every possible media, every single day. In spite of the Pseudo-Feminists still feeling threatened by Barbie doll and writing tomes and papers on how beauty is not everything and women are being commodified by the evil media, the men and even more evil corporates. How we’ve regressed into the dark ages where women are mere sex objects and the men all closet Neanderthal. Barbie doll sales have just gone up proving that the factory’s a long way from being shut down. And the bunch of Pseudo-Feminists outside Mattel are quite frankly wasting their time as, horror of horrors Barbie makes a feminist statement!
After my MA, when I started working professionally in entertainment and fashion it was shocking. The people were selfish and insecure, the business unforgiving and the 20% discount small comfort. And being shallow was acceptable. Cosmetic surgery was everywhere, though a little hushed up. I still remember the day when I met an actress on a shoot and as I hugged her I felt something strange, which I thought, must be some kind of reinforced bra. Now, I know it was my first brush with silicone and after that I was totally stripped of my naïveté. I realised that everything was all about packaging. All the time, effort and energies being poured into creating that perfect outer shell. Be it for films, for television, for cosmetics, for books and newspapers and finally, even for ourselves. So much for all the bookish feminist beliefs about a woman’s body image and that fantastic idea of “inner beauty”.
I was shocked to see the latest edition of The Female Eunuch in a bookshop, all candy pink and looking like the token chick-lit novel. So now we need to sell THAT hidden within the standard chick-lit look? Are we, really, as a society gravitating towards being shallow? Nothing sums it up better than the trite Bollywood aphorism: Jo dikhta hai, woh bikta hai! And while the Pseudo-Feminists go blue in the face ranting, it doesn’t amount to anything really. India still is the place where people put in matrimonial ads desiring tall, fair, slim women. No matter how much is written and ranted against it. We’ll crib about commodification of women by the media, chomp on diet cookies and in the same breath bitch about Rani Mukerji’s weight gain, Kareena Kapoor’s large thighs and rave about Aishwarya Rai’s newly acquired thinness. Talk about double standards. And we’ve all done that. Though we like to think of ourselves as the most progressive person on earth, it turns out we are a lot more similar to most people than we care to admit: We, like everyone else, are so accustomed to looking at skinny, skinny women in magazines, on television, in movies, and virtually every place else that when we're confronted with someone with a little extra flesh or jiggly thighs, she seems completely freakish. So insidious, so poisonous is the tyranny of the super-thin that if we take a look at a movie from the 1960s with the quintessential beach or party scene, those women, considered so delicious at the time, look just plain plump now.
I really wonder if all the doubts and concerns about body image really hold. Shouldn’t they be revamped? Why? Well, recently I’d lost weight. (The healthy way! Working out and eating 6 meals a day!) My BMI was down to 23, I had more muscle and an awesome sense of self-confidence. Suddenly, there was nothing at Mango, Benetton, Be: or Wills that wouldn’t fit me or highlight unsightly bulges. Stepping out in the world in skinny jeans and a size S wardrobe was actually no big deal, but suddenly I sensed a world of difference in how people now treated me. I was never grossly overweight. Nor was it a dramatic before and after story where I’d whittled down from 110 kg to a mere 50. Yet, somehow I felt like I had. People who’d known me for a long time professionally seemed to hang around chatting just a tad bit longer, I was getting complimented much more and believe me, when I met new people, the reactions were totally different than before. It left me totally confused because I was sure my new size didn’t necessarily mean I’d become a better human being. But I wasn’t complaining. From my new improved outer shell, the world indeed looked like a better place.
But then my own vision is usually skewed. I’ve always admitted to being shallow and believing rather strongly that looks do matter and not even for a second have I fooled myself into believing that “Inner Beauty” was anything more than a fabulously ambitious phrase filled with depth and meaning signifying nothing. If it did, then it would too, be a multi-billion dollar industry and being endorsed by the “It” girls all over the world! I obviously wasn’t true to my feminist side, for I should be feeling horribly objectified instead of shamelessly ecstatic.
Recently, an international denim wear brand launched a search for a model for a new brand of jeans for women. We held auditions in 16 cities. Tonnes of young girls applied and three things stood out sharply. One, their confidence in themselves, irrespective of their sizes and looks and two, the desperation to be on TV and three, they were all professionals, with full time careers. In all there were some 500 odd girls and each of them thought they could be The One. With each girl we rejected on the basis of her size and looks I couldn’t stop feeling sorry for them and secretly hoped they wouldn’t go home and slash their wrists or puke away every morsel of food henceforth. But surprise, surprise! They were rather sporting about it! Cornering us afterwards to get tips on how to lose weight, how much larger does the camera make you look and how much is too thin!

The feminists say they’ve been commodified, but I’d disagree. I’ve yet to come across a brief by a fashion label or cosmetic brand or a production house saying, “We’re looking at XYZ model/actress for this product and you know what? Let’s all chalk out a detailed plan to commodify her!” Hell, no! Most models and actresses today are intelligent young women holding degrees in law, architecture, medicine and even software engineering. Smart, thinking women who’ve chosen to be in this profession for whatever reasons.
So when L’Oreal comes to India and signs Aishwarya Rai on as their new brand ambassador to say she uses their products because she’s worth it, it’s NOT because they’re commodifying her. It’s because millions of women in India watch her and secretly wished they looked like her and think that using the products will rub a little of that stardust on them. And no, the same effect can’t and will not be created if they used a plainer looking girl right off the streets. No one would care if she was worth it or not. Those kind of “pretty real girls” are used for selling sanitary napkins or toothpaste. After all, women all over will have to buy these products for their sheer necessity, not for their aspirational value!
So what about body image insecurities that we keep hearing about and that I once felt so strongly about as well? Has it sneakily become a part of popular culture? A lot has been written on these issues by the high priestesses of feminism and media critics. So what about body image insecurities that we keep hearing about and that I once felt so strongly about as well? Has it sneakily become a part of popular culture? A lot has been written on these issues by the high priestesses of feminism and media critics. Every now and then, we see a flutter of concern. And usually, that’s where it stops. What happened after skinny models were banned from participating in the Madrid Fashion Week and everyone celebrated and counted that as a victory for “real” women? In actuality, all it did was make BMI a household word and nothing much. Plumper women are still not heralded as the new standard in beauty. And “curvy” is just another veiled reference to being thin. Look at all the women who’re popularly described as curvy. Jennifer Lopez, Beyonce etc. And while they are curvy indeed, they’re also super thin. Not a milligram of extra fat, unsightly bulges or spare tyres thanks to an insane diet and workout regime. Be curvy, not skinny is the new mantra. But how? Think about it. If you can’t think, Google it! The truth is out there. Being “curvy” is in your genes. And to really, truly highlight your curves, you’ve simply got to work out more.
Like in the year 1997 - when Omega pulled out its ads from Vogue UK for instance, and The Body Shop ran a series of ads with the tag line, 'There are three billion women who don't look like supermodels, and only eight who do'. Set against the vast portfolio of skinny images which make up the wallpaper of our lives, these trifling efforts have about as much impact as a bubble on the wind. What tends to emerge after the dust has died down is a whole lot of nothing. There are occasional forays into the fat zone though, like the Dove commercial. Let me blow the lid on its perniciously subtle way of inducing insecurities. Firstly, the ad was NOT for a shower gel or moisturiser (though large women too use those products). Dove is counting on the fact that after we work through our initial shock, we'll think "Yayyy!" find the ads empowering, and buy what they are ultimately advertising, which is, of course, not merely the right to feel okay about your body but a bunch of firming products they're pushing. A product to be used only by fat women with loads of cellulite, which promises instant miracles in terms of a thinner silhouette. There's no doubt that the ads are striking. This is, of course, entirely due to the casting choices of “real” women. If the styling, lighting and packaging remained the same but these ads featured gorgeous, size-0 models, no one would give this campaign a second glance. But there's a dirty little secret here. Because, in the end, you simply can't sell a beauty product without somehow playing on women's insecurities and creating an aspirational value for the product: I wish I could look like her… perhaps if I buy this moisturiser, I will! But Dove’s approach is: That girl in the ad sort of looks like me, and yet she seems really happy and confident… perhaps if I buy this Dove Firming Cream, I'll stop hating myself!
These Dove ads say it's cool to be round and hefty… so long as your skin is taut and firm and perfect. You love your real curves, but you've got a little cellulite? Those orange peel thighs are gross! Jeez woman, run out and buy our cream right now!
While the truth, the whole truth and the really bitter truth about cellulite and lumpy thighs is that nothing short of divine intervention or an insanely rigorous exercise regime could make us any firmer. But women, insecure beings that we are can go ahead and try it as it costs only about Rs. 500, in contrast to similar products by Chanel and La Prairie which cost almost 20 times more! Sadly, this is not a winning play for the long haul. If Dove keeps running ads like this, women will eventually (though perhaps only subconsciously) come to think of Dove as the brand for fat girls. Talk about "real beauty" all you want—but no one wants to be labelled as the brand for fat girls! Which is why, we’ve not seen a second instalment of that campaign yet. Or a follow-up. Or a mad scramble among other cosmetic biggies to do similar ads. Yet, no one will ever say those women were “commodified,” while, in my opinion, they were more commodified than the usual models and actresses. Why? Simply ‘cos the models get paid big bucks to look a certain way. These women would have got paid a fraction of what Kate Moss would have charged to get ogled at and torn to pieces in feminist discussions. A crucial part of a model’s job profile is to look good and be thin. The outer shell has to, has to, has to shine. No matter what!

So what the TV Feminists call “the commodification of women”, I’d call creation of the perfect outer shell and adding an aspirational value. To be mythically attractive, available, yet elusive. Be it clothes, make-up or body proportions. Everything is about aspiring to a certain impossible standard. Remember Aishwarya Rai’s horrible wardrobe at the Cannes Film Festival in 2003? How unforgiving the media was? And what perverse pleasure we all got looking at her pictures and so totally bitching her out. I don’t think there’s been a more holier than thou fashion critique moment from people like us! And look at her now! After losing about 10 kilos, we suddenly have a newfound respect and awe for her. What did we say about Bipasha Basu’s healthy curvy frame in Jism? And how did we react when she was splashed on billboards across the country in a skinny avatar selling Levi’s Slim Jeans. Slim? Bipasha Basu? Hell yes!
But this isn't just about Aishwarya's health and happiness or that of any of the other hyper-thin celebs. These women, and their weight loss, have become an ideal, something to aspire to, for millions of women in India. After all, it’s these millions of women who discus the tiniest detail of the tiniest bit of flab on any celebrity. So is it really simply, just the old demand and supply routine? Do we, as a majority, want to see our models and celebrities really thin? And which is why advertisers, magazines and television supply the image that consumers want to see. Statistics show that if you put a beautiful skinny girl on the cover of a magazine you sell more copies. After all, what other reason would there be for People Like Us, to crib and complain about their being chubby? I mean, really! In my opinion, with a face like that, a few pounds really shouldn’t matter. And it’s not like they're HUGE! But that’s not the image of them we want to see. Remember our reactions to Rani Mukerji's Dominatrix look in KANK? And in the Nach Baliye song from Bunty Aur Babli? 10 kilos lighter and both scenes would have been hunky dory! So, it’s really confusing… So maybe, when asked about their diets and fitness routines, when all these celebs say: “Oh, I love food! I’m a complete foodie! I hate exercising, but I do yoga twice a week!” Are they just getting back at the people who judge them by pushing them into a delusional, amnesiac bubble with the idea that you can be as thin as them while shovelling down three square carb laden meals a day plus snacks and doing a bit of light yoga? Because, however many pizzas Priyanka Chopra says she eats, you can't.
So are the corporates really to be blamed for objectifying/commodifying the women? When super gorgeous women like Bipasha and Aishwarya shrank the moment they were jeered at by the masses, it tells us a lot about ourselves. As one of my designer friends puts it, “Clothes look better to our eyes on people who are thinner. In magazines, on the ramp, on TV and even in real life!” This also hit the nail on the head about what I couldn’t figure about myself when I lost weight. And in this day and age, it's moved waaay out of the realm of feminism.

So, Bingo! The bottom line. Clothes. Put bluntly, clothes look better on a slim frame. While being skinny doesn't mean you've automatically got a good body. But it does, by and large, mean you'll look all right in clothes. And don't we all want that? In my experience, there's a constant jockeying for position on the weight front among women, a competitive, low-grade bitching which applauds the dropping of a dress size and stigmatises the gaining of a kilo. Of course, if you're intelligent and grown-up and plugged into the issues of the day, you tend not to let on that you're fascinated by other women's butts. But you are. We are. We look. We compare. In our image-saturated, overweight universe, we're hypercritical of our peers and our idols. It's nothing to do with men and everything to do with competition between females. So, why, after emancipation, feminism, after – ha! even- Girl Power, should striving to be a size 2 be such a stellar achievement? Isn't it embarrassingly shallow and meaningless?
But we persist, because weight has come to signify all that is desirable, because judgment of character is increasingly based on superficial appearance. The outer shell. We objectify celebrities, inferring all sorts of things from their physical appearance. Image colours everything, simply because, in a world overloaded with information, we cling to what is most obvious: and that's how things look.
We know the repercussions of it all. We know all about anorexia, bulimia and crazy diets. But does it stop us wanting to look like them? Don’t we still just choose to concentrate on their lovely slim arms and sleek thighs rather than the fact that they have possibly just chucked up their lunch. Funny how a brain can curtain off unpalatable truths and feed happily on the garnish.
But perhaps we should look harder. Not at the celebrities, but at ourselves. In the final analysis, doesn't the responsibility lie not with them, but with us?

The Irony and The Ecstasy (Fable - 21)

While it poured madly in Bombay and the city looked dirtier than ever and most outdoor work came to a standstill, pathetic little opportunists like That Woman ran gleefully to pretty as a peach Delhi! And it was the best decision she’d made for herself in a very long time because it’s not everyday you feel the magic in the mundane-ness of your life.
Greetings from The City I Love Most! Life’s just getting curiouser and curiouser and I’m getting dizzy with the happiness that’s magically working its way around me. In retrospect, a few things stand crystal clear.
A series of seemingly unrelated yet similar incidents corroborated that thought.
Number One was the week long trip to Ajmer, which turned out to be nostalgia on acid! That’s the thing about the city where you’re born and have spent a considerable amount of time. It’s a small town. Teeny-tiny, ho-hum, boring, staid like all other small towns in its league. For That Woman, Ajmer was the city where she always went back to in more ways than one. First it was vacations with grandparents, and later, for the latter half of her schooling. This year it’s been exactly 10 years since she passed out of school and going back was a shock. And the strangely happy realization that no matter how far you go, where you live or what career you choose, you will be bound to your roots and the place you come from. You will share an inexplicable bond with the people of that city even if they don’t know what sushi is and Barista is yet to show up there. The current crop of kids in her boarding school are the same pretentious little snobs that they were, but with cooler contraband items. Like iPods and cell phones! It was so refreshing to be around them, meeting old teachers and hearing them tell you how proud they are of you. As the school’s best debater, you felt invincible when you won the Inter-School trophy and took great pride in defeating that other pretentious little school from Doon! You had a terribly politically incorrect language and the cool insouciance that came from the belief that the only way to go now is up, up and away. The debating challenge was a week away and the school was all abuzz. The only tangible competition was still from “that school in Doon” while “the vernie schools don’t even figure!” That Woman heard this and smiled. How many times had she wanted to use that word, ‘vernie’ to describe random people she met during the course of her work, and because of that didn’t want to really deal with them more than was necessary. People who had bad grammar, bad pronunciations and, well, vernie accents, and their emails were filled with all sorts of spelling mistakes! But she did not have that wonderful safety net of being in school. Instead she called herself an intellectual snob, which in effect meant that the people she was being an intellectual snob with were vernies! But then, you live and you learn and you realize you can’t use certain words in polite company. (Though you can, in your head!) Then you sit there and reminisce and realize that when you're young, your whole life is about having fun, being impossibly reckless and recklessly impossible at competitive events. Then you grow up and learn to be cautious (you could fall ill or for the wrong guy) and politically correct and impeccably polite and you practice the fine art of killing them with kindness. You look before you leap and sometimes you don't leap at all because there's not always a safety net. When did it stop being fun and start being scary and dreary? Where had all that magic and charm gone? And when? This was a time better than any to seriously think of all that magic in our own lives which we see highlighted in feel-good films and books and we snicker cynically.
No more that. Because magic is that exact moment when you step out of the rut, look around and realize that life is a hell of a lot more interesting than just working, making money and trying to get ahead.
Magic is, stepping out of the plane, at Delhi airport and see a beautiful soft misty rain falling lightly. Putting a smile on That Woman’s face as she drove out of the airport to see everything looking so fresh, so green and CLEAN! And when you take the left from West End to Shanti Niketan, you can actually smell the freshly mown grass! And nothing else could top that except a heartwarming, real life love story that makes credible all such lines as: Love conquers all. Someone somewhere is made for you. Love will find a way. Love at first sight…
Actually, make that TWO real life love stories that make credible… you get the drift.

Two years ago, Cynical Hot Babe met Gorgeous Talented Boy and sparks flew. Instantly. For both of them. And they made a lovely pair. The kind that walks down the street hand in hand, talking animatedly, oblivious to the world and the fact that they had missed the right turn that would take them to the restaurant they were meeting That Woman for dinner. They seemed happy, laughed a lot, got touchy-feely a lot and drank a lot. All three of them, in fact, and then went home slightly tipsy and talked till early morning. After which, Cynical Hot Babe and Gorgeous Talented Boy went for a walk and on the way back, he took her to the neighborhood church to check it out.
Meanwhile, That Woman was trying to get out of a really bad relationship but the guy was clingier than Velcro, and even noisier whenever she attempted to peel him off. No matter how gingerly! Gorgeous Talented Boy proved to be a great friend in her times of turmoil and anxiety. They became close friends, so much so, that Cynical Hot Babe joked that Gorgeous Talented Boy should be dating That Woman instead. As time went by, she confessed to That Woman that all was not right in heaven and she really didn’t see herself and Gorgeous Talented Boy as quite “there!” Apparently, their mental make-up and maturity levels were totally out of sync. “He can be my closest friend, we talk about everything, he says the most awesome things about me, is really caring, makes me feel really sexy… but there’s something amiss and I’ve been thinking about it for a long time but still don’t know!” Cynical Hot Babe confessed to That Woman after 6 months. And sitting as she was, in the middle of a bad relationship, obviously the grass seemed greener on the other side and she psycho-babbled some deep, life-altering words to Cynical Hot Babe about the joys of being with a wonderful guy. Knowing fully well that when it came to relationships, very few can really be honest with each other, living as we all are in glass houses. And if you threw a stone, it might cruelly and magically turn into a boomerang and hit you right back! But that didn’t solve Cynical Hot Babe’s problem and in another couple of months, she broke up with Gorgeous Talented Boy. It wasn’t easy. It never is. Especially when there never was a bad moment in the relationship, but just the feeling that the crucial X Factor is amiss. But if both parties are willing to be mature and give it a serious thought, it’s actually possible to “be great friends” instead of just saying it for the sake of keeping the cliché intact for posterity. Which is what That Woman did. In her second attempt to break-up with Mr. Noisy Velcro she used all those clichés, right from, “It’s not you, it’s me,” to “But we can remain good friends,” and like it happens he saw through them and refused to part. He clung on. And soon Gorgeous Talented Boy’s studio became the sanctuary where That Woman would seek shelter from and have long soul searching-cum-bitching sessions with Cynical Hot Babe and him.
The three of them indeed became close friends.
Soon, Gorgeous Talented Boy met Smart French Girl and fell in love. When the others met them, a few months down in the relationship, they immediately saw how they were so perfect for each other. And Cynical Hot Babe pointed out that he’d found that X Factor with her which the two of them had lacked. But there were other issues. Smart French Girl lived in France, and had to leave after her visa expired an year later. The Long Distance Relationship became another ritual they got into, realized its demerits and broke up. Gorgeous Talented Boy was heartbroken.
Meanwhile, a regular networking meeting Cynical Hot Babe and That Woman had with a TV producer turned out to be one of destiny’s biggest success stories ever. TV producer turned out to be a Funny Intelligent Guy who, That Woman thought, instantly liked Cynical Hot Babe.
“Are you crazy?” Cynical Hot Babe snapped back at her when she expressed her opinion. “Stop looking for potential couples and matchmaking wherever we go. This was strictly business, you get that?”
Now, it’s been exactly a year since those famous last words were said. And about 11 months, since they were taken back graciously, when Cynical Hot Babe and Funny Intelligent Guy started seeing each other. It began like all great relationships do, but what carried it to another level completely was the fact that both of them discovered, in each other, that X Factor which their earlier relationships had lacked. And once that part was figured, they defied all odds and intellectual causality and fell in LURRRRRVE in the cheesiest, corniest, sweetest, mushiest way possible! And when I say love, I mean Real Love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can't-live-without-each-other, till-death-do-us-part love.
Of course, Gorgeous Talented Boy gave his seal of approval to Cynical Babe’s soulmate, while remembering Smart French Girl oh so wistfully. As did That Woman and she and Funny Intelligent Guy became New Best Friends who shared confidences, angst and lots of funny stories about Mr. Velcro (who was finally far away in the distant past) and stood by each other in moments of crisis. Cynical Babe had indeed never been happier and her cynicism wore off a little and she smiled a lot easier. And often for no reason at all!
Two months ago, Smart French Girl called up Gorgeous Talented Boy from Paris and confessed, even though she dated other men, she felt really miserable without him. And when he admitted to being equally miserable, in spite of dating other women too, both of them felt happier than ever. Soon Smart French Girl was on a plane to India and into the arms of Gorgeous Talented Boy who immediately proposed marriage and she accepted and even as you read these words, they’re already a happily married couple, living in bliss and planning a life in India and France.
That Woman, always a sucker for romance, grinned happily at the news of their wedding while wiping away the feel-good tears. It was yet another magical feeling when your closest friends, your support system, are in that happy phase where nothing seems impossible, everything falls in place just so and all cynicism and irony is cast aside. When they can bask in the joy and thrill of being in love, being with The One and the subsequent feeling of being invincible! Reveling in every nanosecond of the pleasure, havoc and confusion that comes with it. Indulging in all the fabulously cheesy love rituals because they’re there and one must save all clichés for posterity.
What do we learn from the real-life stories of Gorgeous Talented Boy and Cynical Hot Babe? That indeed, Someone Somewhere is made for you… Love will Find a way… And love indeed conquers all! And these are not clichés, but what people like to think of as clichés. Especially when they’re trying to be uber-logical, really intelligent, highly erudite and all that. They will never be caught dead admitting how much a cheesy, sentimental love story warms our hearts. But even a hundred years from now, people will still be buying red roses, singing mushy songs, holding hands watching mushy movies, exchanging lovey-dovey looks while hearing “their song” and celebrating Valentine’s Day. For, in real life, relationships don’t particularly follow any pattern, logic, or heed warnings. We are so often ruled by our hearts, often we land up in trouble, but then we also recover quickly and move on.
Just like That Woman had done after Mr. Velcro was finally out of her life and into oblivion. She’d moved to Bombay. In retrospect, she realized that Cynical Hot Babe had found The Love of Her Life in Funny Intelligent Guy, on Day 2.
Of course, That Woman didn’t know it back then when she had written this post, lamenting about her woes while wishin’ and hopin’ that they’d find a cozy, fully furnished, sea-facing apartment fitting their budget.
And voila! A year down the line, they did. Among other things, the proverb, “Be careful about what you want, ‘cos you might just get it!” finally started making a bit of sense too. And yes, now she also knows why they say it’s meant to be scary. In life, as in films, things often fall in place with a neat precision that totally warms the cockles of our heart. Sometimes it takes a year, sometimes longer, sometimes on Day 2! There isn’t any ONE full circle that gets completed. Life comprises a whole bunch of concentric circles and each representing every little hope, dream and ambition we have for ourselves. And coming full circle also means Happy Endings. For Cynical Hot Babe, finding a soulmate was easier than finding a perfect house. For That Woman, finding the perfect house had taken a year. And finding a Soulmate would probably take ten. Considering that the most important thing in a Soulmate is Soul, there was no one yet who seemed to possess one in any way, shape or form.
But then, she was too busy preening about the new apartment and clucking gleefully and satisfactorily like Mother Hen at the Full Circles her best friends’ lives had come to.
Maybe, if she detailed the story a bit, highlighted the dramatic points, made Smart French Girl’s phone call and the flight back a bit melodramatic, interesting supporting characters (like herself) and of course a few rocking songs, it would be a wholesome mushy film script with the perfect Happy Ending. The kind that would have repeat-watch value, will make tonnes of money and have loser journalists and jobless ‘intellectuals’ nitpicking for weeks on end about how clichéd it all is and… Hang on, wasn’t she supposed to be on a holiday? When thoughts of work shall not be entertained.
She looked out of her window to see this glorious evening in Delhi when the light turns golden at around six-thirty, and the way it glitters on certain leaves and windows, making the reddish sandstone walls glow with gold dust. It throws everything else into deep shadow, makes your throat catch and you think, from now on, I’m not going to be ordinary or do ordinary things.
There is magic in my life!
***
P.S. Sometime in July, this blog completed a year. And since I forgot to do a “Happy Birthday, Blog” type post, I’m making up for it by gifting it a whole new look. Thanks to Megha, the cool rockstar chica!

:D

A Bollywood Fable!

Often in polite company, we are asked what we do for a living. And often when I answer, I get a feeling that while talking, I have suddenly morphed into a very bright, colorful, exotic talking bird. Everyone stares for a moment before breaking out into a gamut of expressions. As though the entertainment industry was a dirty word. Some people are downright rude and use that opportunity to run down Bollywood as harshly as they can. Some people think writing and making films is frivolous. While some others want gossip on demand.
Bollywood actually is a great leveler. Everyone and anyone in India can unite over Bollywood in its many forms. The films, the actors, the directors, the sleaze and the gossip. As a nation, we are most unforgiving of our film industry, which, as of now, is the biggest in the world. Churning out more films per year than Hollywood. Just like the world has suddenly discovered Indian art and artists and is shelling out millions for their works, Bollywood too had the same Rip Van Winklesque reaction from the world. Today, it’s a global rage. Everyone knows that Bollywood has arrived.
Yet, most educated Indians are so unforgiving, biased and scathing in their reactions. Why is it okay to fawn and swoon over the fact that the Delhi Metro is an exact prototype of the Australian Metro? People look at it and are filled with awe. But why do they get so vitriolic when Bollywood looks towards Hollywood for technical inspiration (NOT creative, which I agree, is wrong!) and the way the corporate culture works? Our communication services, our banks, our FMCG companies, our space programs, our largely capitalistic economy are all based on the western module. Do we complain? Do we say horrible, mean things about them? No we don’t. Largely for two reasons.
1. We are not equipped to talk about these things. Like Parkinson’s Bike Shed Law.

2. These are things that mark our country’s development. Things that have taken it to being the 12th richest country in the world, and the country with the fastest growth potential.
And Bollywood is a part of it too. But still, we keep dissing it.
“Why do we have all that song and dance still?”
“Hollywood superheroes are so much better than Krrish!”
“Why do we make films for the NRI audiences?”
“What sort of reality is being portrayed in modern films?”
It goes on and on…ad nauseum.
Why? Is it because we all think we are highly knowledgeable when it comes to film technology? Or just because it’s easier to bitch about it? It’s easier to sit in our living rooms watching a film and criticizing the sets, the action and the dialogues in any which way we want. If not that, we will comment on how fat the actors are, how bad their clothes are, the sets are lousy… Does anyone even know what it really takes to make a film and to present it to a billion plus strongly opinionated people in our own country? Not to mention worldwide audiences?
How many people are familiar with the history of the Indian film industry? Just like knowledge of our national history is important when we discuss our economic and technological progress. Why do we ignore the fact that the Indian film industry too has come a long way? And it has not been easy. It has a history. And a rather rich one at that. Let me quickly educate you as I hold a masters’ degree in the subject!
Did you know that India was one of the very first countries to swing into film-making, and has seen global collaborations and won global laurels very early on? The Lumiere Brothers came to Bombay in July 1896 within 7 months of their opening show in Paris. Even before 1913, when Dadasaheb Phalke made Raja Harishchandra, there were several one- and two- reelers made and exhibited. Bombay and Calcutta were beehives of film activity with people such as Hiralal Sen and Save Dada producing and exhibiting films. Films were being made in American cities, but California and especially Hollywood became a center only in 1909 when Col. William Selig went from Chicago to the Pacific Coast in search of perpetual sunshine, something that was in ample supply in Bombay and Calcutta.
The world in those days was more cosmopolitan. Indian pioneers like Himanshu Rai, who made the classic Light Of Asia with Emelka Company of Munich in 1925 had no problem with German collaboration. Franz Osten worked with Rai as a director and had a German cinematographer. In the 1950s another German cinematographer filmed Anand Math and films like The River by Jean Renoir, based on Rummer Godden’s novel, and Bhowani Junction based on a John Masters novel, were made. Indian films went abroad and won prizes in international film festivals. Sant Tukaram won an award at the Venice Film Festival as early as 1937.
After independence, the flow back and forth from India to the West continued, but politics began to change the film industry’s stance. Satyajit Ray learned from Jean Renoir filming in India and went on to regain India’s international position in the world by winning awards year after year. Right after independence.
Independent India was obsessed with making its own hardware and for the first 40 years, a lot of resources were wasted on making machines rather than buying them. Only after 1991 we realized that India is better at software than hardware. Yet, the film industry was there as a shining example of an industry which worked with imported cameras and sound recording equipment and raw stock and yet created the world’s largest motion picture industry.
From the 1960s on, India was also cut off from exchanges with Hollywood as the mutual Indo-American paranoia took hold after Lyndon Johnson’s clash with Indira Gandhi. Collaboration with Hollywood, or indeed any western film-maker, stopped, and foreign producers found shooting in India difficult.
Indian policy makers treated cinema like dirt and something so frivolous, that they refused to give it industry status. Thus driving it into the clutches of black money, underworld, and extortionist financiers. Films were (mostly) financed by the underworld or diamond merchants charging exorbitant rates of interest - 30 per cent and more. The dons dictated the stars, interfered with the storyline, and sometime asked "special friends" to be cast alongside the hero, virtually guaranteeing that the film would bomb. Only after 1991 did sense prevail and by the turn of the century, industry status was accorded to cinema. Bollywood was corporatized in the year 2000. Which meant that filmmakers could now legitimately borrow money from banks and hopefully float equity.
It is now very clear that the world likes Indian cinema or Bollywood as it is and not just in art films. There is a diaspora out there as well as a new fan club growing around the world for Indian cinema. It’s no longer just the NRIs. It’s a global audience. And if it were not so, we would not be holding grand premieres in cities like Paris where even English is not the main language. Parisians going crazy over SRK and the recently concluded Bollywood Week is something to be proud of. We have loads of opinions on Veer-Zaara. Yet the French loved it. After very positive reactions from the German media at the 55th Berlinale Film Festival last year Veer-Zaara was released to the German public in the German language to unprecedented response. The music and the DVDs of Veer-Zaara are the highest selling titles in Germany for a foreign film.
How did this happen? Well, post 2000, the film industry grew up, the corporate world spotted an opportunity, and the rules of the game changed irreversibly. Stars began to report on locations in time not because some bhai was arm-twisting them, but because it was written into their contracts. Films went on to the floor on schedule and were wrapped up on time because the contracts had completion bonds written into them, and because such things as bound scripts had become mandatory to the process. And the phrase "bombed at the Box Office" became redundant because, whether they ran or not, chances are that everything from 36 China Town to the ill-fated Tom, Dick and Harry made at least enough money to tide them over. In a matter of only a few years, filmmaking in India has changed rapidly, crossing over (a favorite Bollywood phrase) to the Hollywood mould.
Why this is important to mention is because now the producers and filmmakers have that security for their investments. If they ensure that minimum returns are guaranteed, they can freely experiment with new techniques, stories and scripts without giving in to the industry stereotypes. Pre-corporatization, films like Black, Lagaan and Rang De Basanti wouldn’t have been possible. Now, arguments like, a film with a blind heroine and no hero, or, a period film on cricket with no action, or a multi-starrer where not only does everyone die the climax doesn’t belong to the hero…are passé.
Just six years, and the results are in front of all of us. Change doesn’t happen overnight and all at once. We’ve successfully covered the first tentative steps. We’ve got the techno-wizardry down pat. In fact, so well that Hollywood has begun outsourcing visual and special effects to Bollywood technicians. Case in point: Lord Of The Rings – Return of the King. How many Bollywood bashers know that the visual effects for this epic film with its mammoth scale of production were done by an Indian company called Applause Entertainment? The same production house that also made the successful film Black last year. No matter what we say about Krrish and his songs and dances, the fact remains that it was a bonafide Bollywood film which did indeed wipe out Superman Returns all over the world. American critics in publications like Newsweek applauded the brilliant $20 million Krrish as they panned the $200 million Superman Returns.
Isn’t this an indication of how talented we are and how technically advanced as well? Our first superhero film does not have any computer generated stunts. Yet, we find it hard to digest the fact that we have indeed made a film that is challenging a Hollywood biggie. Which has broken film records all over South India as well, which is the toughest territory for a Hindi film. Not just that, Krrish is now a case study for our IIM’s and even Harvard Business School and various other top B-schools in Europe as well. And then again, Hollywood is looking Eastwards without any prejudice to remake our films. Soon, Munnabhai MBBS will have a Hollywood counterpart in Gangster MD. Are we proud yet?
Rang De Basanti and Krrish are the harbingers of a new era in Bollywood which began in 2006. No two films will have the same theme. We will have an action-adventure film, romantic comedies, a family drama, a film on extra-marital relationships and infidelity, an Indian version of Lolita, an Indian adaptation of Othello, a fast-paced thriller and more. All the major Hollywood studios have landed here and started production. Right from Twentieth Century Fox to Walt Disney Pictures to Sony Pictures and Columbia Tristar. They’re all here and they’ve brought in their business acumen and distribution networks to make Bollywood bigger and better and totally global.

By the end of 2007, the Indian film industry would have had a complete overhaul, breaking free from privately owned distribution channels which often dictate the way a film should shape up. New filmmakers will not only get funding easily but also the actors they want if their scripts are strong enough. And yes, the screenwriters can finally enjoy their moment of glory and creative freedom. All this will happen under a stipulated timeframe and under iron-clad contracts.
But the point remains that the “multiplex audiences” have become highly insulated. They are so stricken with Hollywood that they fail to ever appreciate and understand the essential characteristics of Indian cinema. Look at the films that came out last year. Films like Bunty Aur Babli, Parineeta, Dus, Black, Sarkar, Salaam Namaste, Bluffmaster… All of them different, all of them highly enjoyable if one watches them without any bias. Salaam Namaste was actually the first mainstream film showing a live-in relationship as a perfectly normal way of life. Look at our television, which has been completely taken over by the saas-bahu sagas. People like us don’t relate to it. Most of our television viewing is the American soaps and sitcoms. We crib about how televison is so retro. But when our films reflect the changing society and bring to fore issues that we actually deal with everyday, we crib about that too. Completely forgetting the parameters that filmmakers have to adhere to while telling a story.
And of course, no one knows how to criticize in the real sense of the term. Forgetting the one basic law of critical appreciation. That you criticize a work of art for what it is. Not for what its not. If Shakespeare had meant Hamlet to be a tragedy, one can’t say, “Oh but it should have been a little lighter! It was too depressing. There was no humor…” Well, there wasn’t supposed to be humor. Similarly, if a film is about emotions and relationships, it would be downright dumb to expect it to be a thriller. And where songs and dances are concerned, don’t they form a very important part of our festivals and celebrations? Don’t we have songs and dances for our weddings, for different festivals, and each state has its own folk music tradition.
How many of watch films in the old, standalone theaters like Paras and Savitri in Delhi? How many of us have watched films in small towns and villages? It’s an experience to sit in an old movie hall, watching the film begin and watching the audience whistling and clapping the minute the hero enters. They applaud every cool dialogue, their appreciation for the songs and dances is expressed through loud wolf whistles and if they leave the theaters chatting animatedly about the film or singing songs or repeating dialogues, you know its paisa vasool entertainment for them. And they are the majority of people responsible for the success of a film. The multiplex audiences smirk and guffaw when they hear things like how a film has to work for the people of UP and Punjab. But then, those are audiences too. And much larger in number than the multiplex crowds who know exactly what they’re paying their hard earned money for. And they don’t watch Hollywood films. They’ve not seen Lord Of The Rings. But by 2008, when Ramayana will be on the big screen with the same scale of production and visual effects as LOTR, they will be awestruck and bring their entire families for repeat shows while multiplex people will still be nitpicking. Why, I’ve even met people who have their smart alecky comments about a film like Rang De Basanti as well. There are people who think they have such brilliant logic when they critique that film, and they wonder why it worked.

Well, for the simple reason that sometimes a film does touch a chord somewhere. And sometimes, it helps for us to shed our cynicism and go back to watching films the same way we heard and read fairy tales when we were young. Actually, even the same way we watched films in the 70's and 80's, when a fatal injury caused during a shoot sent Amitabh Bachchan in the hospital and the entire country prayed for his quick recovery. If that's not love for Bollywood, what is?
The world has enough troubles to keep us sad and cynical all the time as it is. Let’s not carry it over to films, which is after all a world of make believe and fantasy. And really not to be taken all that seriosuly or literally.

Give it a chance!