Sing. Smile. Dance. Blog.

There was a young teacher who got married and left for the US of A. Then there was the young teachers old teacher who left to go live with her son in Anand. There was the teacher with the irritating grandson who went to visit her other grandsons and never came back – they were presumably easier to live with. There was the teacher who sounded like a toad with a cold on the phone and beautifully powerful when she sang, she shifted to Hyderabad, presumably to be with someone near, dear and not irritating. Not to be outdone, we left the next teacher, we didn’t go anywhere, we just stopped going there one day (I’m still hazy as to whether we told her we were dropping out).
AS a result of such intensive and extensive classic carnatic music training, today when I sing (Rasputin by Boney M being my favoured song) I bring tears to the eyes of my friends.
In his autobiography “Moab is My Washpot” Stephen Fry, the Gay-ly Profane P.G. Wodehouse, rants, in capital letters spelling out F-bombs about his inability to connect with his peers because of certain musical shortcomings. I empathise. When you can’t dance without tripping, sing along to the latest singalong song without people leaving the room, you’ve lost out on a very important and primal form of socialization, of connecting at a level beyond words, you my dear friend are out of sync with the rhythm of life. To make matters worse as Fry points out, its’ not like we’re tone deaf, If Fry and I were tone deaf we wouldn’t know what we were missing. But for someone who traces her cultural awakening to watching “A Hard Days’ Night” and falling head over heels (literally, when I tried to dance to them) in love with the Beatles, its just plain old cruel. With apologies to Brendan Behan, It’s like being the eunuch in a harem, you know how its done, you hear it being done every day, you just can’t do it yourself, it’s like being a critic (gasp)! Shudder.
This weekend I danced, I shut my eyes, stopped caring about my hair getting messy, what other people might think, other peoples feet and danced. WooHoo! Jodhpur Riff, I went to listen to Dharohar, a project/collaboration between Rajasthani Folk Artists and Jason Sigh a Beatboxer, it was absolutely fantastic, you just had to get up and dance to them, I started out with foot tapping, swaying, and bobbing my head trying to look dignified, until I finally gave in and started jumping around like crazy. Then there was Swarathma, an urban-folk-rock band from Bangalore who have issues with this classification according to their facebook page, but since I don’t know anything about their music except that it kept me dancing and I have been listening to it all Sunday and all through the writing of this post I will submit to the superior wisdom of the writer of the RIFF Pamphlet, use the classification and declare myself a fan of urban-folk-rock-bands. I went to listen to Antonio Rey one of the world’s top three Spanish guitarists, and watched Farruco a third generation flamenco dancer seduce the crowd. I didn’t dance, but I definitely drooled. And for the finale there was Sivamani, the most recognizable name in the line up, I danced again, but mainly I watched and admired the potted out hippies grooving to his beats, until that is, Dharohar came up to Jam with him, and kicked his ass. Ramu does dance. To Dharohar, with enthusiasm. With a smile.

Danny Ocean meet Jamal K. Malik

Last winter, we went to see the famed (and might I add, utterly fabulous) Faberge Eggs. Those ill-fated relics of the Romanov Dynasty, stars of the blockbuster (and might I add, utterly boring) Oceans Twelve movie were being displayed at the National Museum in Delhi. What a contrast between the movie and the display. At the museum the jewels had been dumped, quite literally dumped into a room with peeling paint. Some hideous, cheap and makeshift gold moulding had been done around their (flimsy) glass cases (intended no doubt to convey to us the glamour and grandeur of European castles, but ended up reminding me of some cheap Punjabi wedding Tent). The write-up about the jewels was taped on to the wall and in fact fell down as we were walking through, the lone guard placed there to protect this king’s ransom in jewels was busy trying to prop it up, failing which he started a conversation with a cute little five year old who was whooping it up by doing gymnastics on the railings. If I remember correctly, in the movie the Faberge Egg was housed in an actual European Castle, (with much better write ups, though they are never shown in the movie, I am assuming that these at least were not copied of Wikipedia.....) and protected, guarded and transported with such care that stealing it was deemed to be the ultimate test of thievery.
Standing there, turning my patented shade of green, I had an Idea. An Idea which could make the world a better place. They ought to remake the Oceans Twelve movie. Not only will a boring movie be bettered but as a consequence (perhaps) museums and transportation in Delhi might also improve. In the new movie the Oceans gang and the Nightfox instead of wasting all those resources, time and intellect on trying to steal the egg in the western world, will simply wait for it to come to India. The actual stealing will be a piece of cake (all they need is cute 5 year old Kid, a hammer and a sturdy bag, gloves if they want to be really careful) and could play over the end credits as a sort of bonus scene, instead the movie will focus on the Oceans Gang and the Nightfox racing each other to see who gets to the Museum first. Delayed, Diverted or Cancelled flights would be the first obstacle for them to overcome. If they do touchdown, their luggage could get misplaced or else they would get held up in immigration by our esteemed and bumbling airport staff. Then they must race through the busy streets of Delhi navigating traffic, touts and beggars by using a variety of transportation modes. The oceans gang would definitely have the upper hand, they could use a variety of modes, and see which one works faster (thus ensuring their pre-mandated win). George Clooney in a DTC bus! Brad Pitt, Matt Damon and Bernie Mac in an auto! The nameless others in cars, metros, taxis, cycle-ricksahws or walking. Who will get held up in traffic? who will be forced to intervene in a case of eve-teasing? who will end up in an accident? and who will have to bribe a corrupt cop? Watch them as they scramble through the city, going past slums, high rises, posh malls and through the gullies of Old Delhi. Not only would it be fun and entertaining but it would also make for a deep and insightful film on the problems plaguing the transportation system (and cultural history conservation problems) of the Capital City of the world’s largest democracy.
Critics would applaud it for this innovative take on a third world country (public transportation rarely being the focus of big blockbusters, Titanic and Speed Excluded). The audience would appreciate the deft combination of humour, exciting chase sequences and exotic locations. Serious cine buffs would ooh and aah about the cinematography, editing and compare it to Slumdog Millionaire. George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Matt Damon et al would get to add India to their list of countries for which they’ve raised awareness and done general good (Darfur is getting kinda old). And hopefully it would shame the Indian authorities into improving our museums and our public transportation system.

To think or not to Think

It was easy to rant about and critique Kambhakt Ishq, even the half a brain cell watching this movie leaves you with was more than enough to figure out and point out what all was wrong with the movie. It’s a little harder to tell you why I liked, nay Loved Dev D. Of the top of my head and without much analysis, I’d say it was the music, the look of the movie and the character arc of Dev which was portrayed brilliantly by Abhay Deol (sigh........)

It’s a lot harder (almost impossible) to tell you what I thought of Kaminey, primarily because two days after watching the movie, I can’t remember much about it, what I liked, what I didn’t like, what I was thinking of during the movie, what I felt about the characters, nothing much, no strong opinion. All I know is that I enjoyed watching the movie, I was buzzed out after I saw it and that I’d like to watch the movie again.

There are some movies which defy analysis by me. It’s not that they’re mindless movies, it’s just that I seem to watch them mindlessly. These movies (almost always) contain the following elements. Humour, it could be black, it could be very clean, but mostly it’s inconsequential humour, there’s no deeper hidden meaning beyond making the viewer laugh (even the Mumbai Bumbai joke in Kaminey is an old one, last noticed by me in Jab We Met! And which has lost all meaning due to repeated use). They always have well fleshed out female characters, it doesn’t mean that they portray my ideal woman, but rather that they portray women as they are, without shying away from their faults and emphasizing their strengths, (Priyanka Chopras role was an absolute delight to watch and her acting was excellent, must have more women with machine guns in movies). They have no right and wrong, either all the characters are kamineys with some redeeming feature, or else all the characters are decent but slightly flawed people, the only reason you’re rooting for someone is because they have star billing (this movie does have some obvious variations in good and bad, but since the movie so staunchly refuses to pass judgment on any of its characters or glorify any other, you’re also left unable to decide whether you agree with the movie.) These movies are generally high concept movies that through the skill of the director/ writer managed to avoid becoming gimmicky (excellent direction, great writing). These movies have a sense of fun, they have panache, they have style (cue the wonderfully choreographed to look unchoreographed Dhan te Nan, the relationship between Mikhail and Charlie). And they always have happy endings, sometimes ambiguous ones, sometimes with a twist, but a happy ending nonetheless.

I can’t find anything to disagree with, or agree with in these movies, they’re about style, they’re about the experience and I leave my brain behind and enjoy them. They’re movies like RocknRolla, Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, Kind Hearts and Coronets (an oldie and an absolute goldie), Arsenic and Old lace (these being the black humour ones), Singin’ in the Rain, Music and Lyrics (Clean Humour and yes I enjoyed Music and Lyrics). Think of them as abstract paintings or instrumental music, often there’s a meaning, but sometimes it’s just about the viewing/hearing pleasure. It’s art.

What do I think about movies like these and Kaminey? I think I need to watch....... enjoy them again.

Emofanal Atyachar

I have seen a lot of shitty hindi movies in the theatre. I don’t come across as the sort of person who watches hindi movies, let alone shitty ones and that too in the theatre, but take my word for it I have. If you can’t take my word here’s a sample from the list, Hello Brother, Har Dil Jo Pyaar Karega, Mujhse Dosti Karoge, Kaal and of course, Kambhakt Ishq. I was not a big fan of Hindi movies, never did care very much for them, the melodrama, the lack of finesse, the hammy acting, the stereotyping, the sexism, it made me cringe, it left me depressed, disillusioned angry and mad.

That is, until I saw Bluffmaster. I didn’t expect to, but I ended up adoring Bluffmaster, cute story (‘inspired’, but nevertheless), told well, acted well, no melodrama, actually funny and plausible in its own way. I decided to pay more attention to Hindi Movies. Since then I have fallen in love with Hindi Movies, they’ve developed a certain panache, a certain style, there’s attention and realism in the details, in the characters, in the relationships they portray. The song and dance (and sometimes melodrama) is still there but it’s done with a wink to the audience as if the movie acknowledges the ridiculousness of it all. Hindi Movies have discovered a sense of ‘Fun’ and I’m Loving it.

Since then I have loved Chak De India, Rock On, Luck By Chance, Love Aaj Kal, Lage Raho Munnabhai, and of course Dev D. These movies had their flaws, but each one had some little touch that made me sit up and pay attention. Chak De was understated brilliance, I went in groaning at the thought of another Rah! Rah! We are Indians and invincible (............not!) movie, instead I got a steady and believable story about an underdog team and its disgraced coach, the look of the movie was spot on, shabby Indian fields, dingy government offices populated with paan stained babus and of course Shah Rukh Khan on his scooter (and not big flashy car!) in the last scene. Rock On while not all that great on the whole (for starters, which self respecting Rock Band calls itself Magik?) handled its characters and relationships very well, from Arjun Rampals nagging and neglected spitfire of a wife, to Farhan Akhtars society belle with a heart of gold wife, how years later when Farhan Akhtar bumps into his ex-girlfriend (who he dumped by running away and leaving behind a letter) it does not lead to melodrama as much as a temporary awkwardness. And all the horridness that was Deepika Padukones acting was redeemed in that one scene of Love Aaj Kal when Saif Ali Khan after being mugged in San Fransisco stays beaten down, slightly hysterical and bleeding away, instead of pulling together, running after the baddies and kicking the crap out of them a la any movie made in the 90s (when it was some sort of unwritten rule that Hindi Movie heroes could not be beaten up by goondas without their managing to exact some sort of appropriate revenge, especially if the goondas happened to be Firangs). Lastly, Luck By Chance is brilliant through and through. It’s witty, it’s smart satire, it’s polished and it’s the movie I wanted to make about gender equations. Konkona Sen Sharmas ending dialogue/monologue where she dumps the grovelling Farhan Akhtar by telling him that she would rather lead her own ‘imperfect’ life than be a footnote in his ‘perfect and famous’ life still gives me Goosebumps when I think about it. My movie (I was going to win an Oscar for it) was going to end on a similar note, when the too good to be true hero comes back asking for forgiveness from the slightly frumpy heroine, he tells her that he’s sorry he left her but now he wants to be the last guy in her life..... awwww....... not! The heroine then gently tells him that this wasn’t the correct thing to say, he should have said that he wanted her to be the last girl in his life and goes away leaving behind a very baffled looking hero trying to figure out the difference.

These movies leave me High! It’s like a concentrated shot of adrenalin. I think furiously about the story, the acting, the dialogue, the look and cinematography. The Music remains pounding in my ears long after I’ve left the theatre and sometimes I end up not sleeping for days (!) racing up and down my hostel corridor all night (don’t ask!) because I’m that rattled by the movie. It’s a bit extreme, and heaven knows what’s wrong with little ole me (Mom says I’m high strung). I just saw Kaminey and I foresee several long sleepless nights ahead of me, as I try to work it out of my system.

Thank heavens for hostel - Long corridors, heavy sleepers and accommodating friends.

Not Tacky......... It was Disturbing

2.5 Hours. 120 Rupees. 1,000,000 Brain Cells. This is what it cost me to watch Kambhakt Ishq. But writing is therapeutic and hopefully by the time I finish writing this post, I will have stopped fantasizing about inserting a grandfather clock which chimes the hour and half hour up Akshaye Kumars ass.

I think the biggest problem I have with this movie is that it starts out with the “hero” calling the heroine a bitch and the turning point of the movie comes when the heroine realizes that she is, in fact, a bitch (because she doesn’t believe in marriage and true love). Other highlights include the song where a whole gaggle of blonde haired bimbos thrust their boobs out (of their dresses) in retaliation to guys who were, well.... just thrusting, the scene where Kareena sits and cries her heart out because she (thinks she) had drunken pre-marital sex with Akshay Kumar and of course the operation where Kareena wears her lucky-mantra-chanting watch over her surgical gloves. There is also the scene where Akshaye Kumar is cavity searched by a big black woman, I didn’t see that scene, I had my eyes shut. But I’m sure that had I seen it I would have found it offensive, racist and included it among the highlights.

Then there is the other small issue about the objectification of and violence against women (I lost track of the number of times they got pawed, mauled, kicked, kissed and verbally abused) the fact that sex is portrayed as OK for men and great for fun but that true love and women must abstain from sex (the “Heroines” are virginal and Akshaye Kumar stops just short of having drunken pre-marital sex with Kareena because sniff* he realizes he’s truly in love with her as opposed to the other harlots he was just stringing along .... wipes away a tear). Akshaye Kumar gets all the insults, punches and one liners in, while Kareena is left staggering from drunkenness, being kissed against her wishes, being chased by a (politically correct, racially integrated!) street gang (she is rescued by Sylvester Stallone who hearing her maidenly shrieks for help and the sound of ka-ching decided to appear in this movie and save her), leaving a watch in Akshaye Kumars Stomach, realizing her mother was a bitch (Mommy dearest refused to take back philandering hubby despite his honest and earnest plea that he had changed and wanted things to work out between them) and that she is a bitch (for not believing in true love and marriage and believing in the fact that all men and Akshaye Kumar are jerks).
I did however like the first proposal scene, it was thoughtful, romantic and everything the movie wasn’t. If I ever get proposed to, I too want to be dumped overboard a yacht into a coral reef from which my proposer will pull out an oyster which will open to reveal a handful of pearls and a 24 karat diamond engagement ring. I did not care for the second one, the one where Akshaye Kumar shouts at Kareena and orders/forces her into a car after leaving Denise Richards (playing herself, and who obviously doesn’t understand any of the hindi dialogue insulting her but can recognize the phrase “you come before camera with less clothes and we give money to you” in 37 different languages).

This movie was essentially written by a dick, a dick which managed to wrap itself around a pen and move it across paper. The audience seemed to enjoy the movie. As for me..... Does anyone have a grandfather clock they’re not particularly fond of?

Twilight Review

Wanted: Male, aged 109 years, with looks of a twenty year old Greek god, raincoat model, for a clumsy, plain girl not good enough for his godlikeness.
Apparently that’s the personal millions of women and teenage girls all over the world want an answer to. How else do you explain the success of twilight? The writing sucks, the characters are characterless and the story is trite.
I daydream a lot, about the books I want to write, about the movies I want to make, and the things I want to do (awww.........hell even about the blog I want to keep). I wanted to write this book, it was buffy inspired and it was going to be brilliant. An ordinary girl falls in love with a vampire, a vampire who while also attracted to her must fight his temptation to suck the blood and life out of her. The girl was going to be kickass, the vampire suave yet tormented, sexual tension would abound, there would be witty repartee. It would not end in the conventionally happy way, the girl would eventually realize that vampires and vampirism (which are obviously subtexts for some deeper gender issues) aren’t for her, but she’d emerge a better, more confident and stronger (emotionally and physically!) person from her experience. I was going to write that book, it was going to be a best seller. My heroine was going to be the heroine to match. Millions of girls all over the globe inspired by said heroine would dump their idiotic boyfriends even before they reached the last page and millions (minus a few) of the dumped boyfriends would wonder what the entire fuss was about, a few sensitive boyfriends would get it and change themselves accordingly, the world would become, all in all, a better place.
Then Twilight happened, apparently Stephanie Meyer a mormon housewife, mother of two in America also had the same dream, and instead of daydreaming about it and writing her booker acceptance speech (they do let you give a speech right?) like I did, actually wrote the damn story and then a sequel and then another one and then another one. So there they were, four gorgeous black books with mysterious symbolic imagery and seductive titles like Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse and Breaking Dawn, what could I do? I bought them, all four in one go. Went home curled up in a sofa glad to have an excuse to not put the more feasible of my daydreams into action (if I went ahead now, Stephanie Meyer could sue me) and started to read, tried to read and then ultimately after several pages of descriptions of Edward “looking more like a greek god than anyone should possibly be”, and finally “so beautiful that he looked like a raincoat model standing in the porch in the rain in a raincoat” I gave up, of yeah I was about thirty pages in. Thirty pages of how beautiful Edward is, of how plain Bella is, of how clumsy Bella is and how graceful Edward is, of how dull Bella is and how interesting Edward is. I gave up! The dumb ass heroine was one of those perfectly irritating girls who say they’re skinny and whine about their pallid skin (translation: I am slender and have great porcelain skin, all the “nerdy” boys keep trying to talk to me, and I’m too nice to put them down! Boo hoo poor me). Do Bella and Edward find true love? Yes they do, does Edward display signs of an obsessive abusive possessive husband? Yes he does, are the books a success? Yes they are, and now millions and millions of girls all over the world have dumped their un-godlike boyfriends who are incapable of modelling raincoats. They sit around being perfectly dull just like Bella, waiting for a Vampire who looks like a greek god to come and bite them and control their lives completely! Millions (minus a few) of the dumped boyfriends wonder what the fuss is all about while a few who catch on go from being nice normal blokes to utter jerks a la Edward and his masterful ways . I weep. And wish that I hadn’t been so lazy. If only I had written my version first! Lesson Learnt: fuck up your Ideas before someone does it for you.