Book Reviews

Tales Of Courage & Conviction

2015-06-07T15:55:00.000+05:30

HALF A BILLION RISING

The Emergence of the Indian Woman

By Anirudha Dutta

Rupa Publications India

Pages: 247. Price: Rs 395.

Woman empowerment has been the subject of hot debate in academic soirees and conferences. The discussion gathers ‘sound and fury’ and breaches the academic circles when a nirbhaya or Moga bus incident happens. However, as soon as the media storm abates, the matter goes back to the closed environs of statistical data and analysis. Not surprisingly then, most books and articles on the subject are either overwrought emotional outpourings or dry tomes of data that reflect trends in women literacy, gender ratios, crime and what have you.

Anirudha Dutta’s book ‘Half a Billion Rising’ does not follow the beaten track. Dutta carves out a niche for himself where statistics and sentiment meld to form a readable ‘whole’. He makes out a case that ‘numbers never tell the full story’. So he peoples his book with real women from various echelons of society. Vignettes of strong women, who breached male bastions, are dexterously woven into the narrative. These women breathe life into a subject that has hitherto been the domain of feminists, sociologists and crime reporters. We have the bright-eyed Daksha of the sing-song voice from Gujrat who vows not to get married because she has seen her mother enslaved in torturous matrimony. We have the brilliant Saira, born and brought up in the Mumbai slums, who prevails upon her father to let her continue her studies. We have the feisty Priyanka from Munger in Bihar who sponsors her own studies and manages admission to a Mass communication and Journalism course in Nalanda University. And there is Salva from Hyderabad who breaks the traditional shackles that bind a Muslim girl to become a commercial pilot. These voices grip and beguile with revolutionary candour spurring the reader to unravel the skeins of real life stories.

That is not to say that the book is not well researched. The statistics are there for all to see. Dutta dwells upon skewed gender ratios, literacy and mortality rates, female foeticide, crimes against women et al. However, his analysis goes beyond number crunching and examines the economic and social mores that cause or result in such statistics. The anomalies in data are not brushed aside but analysed and interpreted. Tongue-in-cheek Dutta tells us that Bihar has a better gender ratio than Punjab simply because only men migrate from Bihar in search of jobs while people from Punjab migrate with families. Certain social practices are re-examined for fresh, though not always palatable perspectives. Our presumption that education and prosperity reduces malpractices like female foeticide comes a cropper when Dutta connects such a practice to prosperous families in Punjab. Prosperous families can afford gender determination tests and have access to pre-natal home kits of foreign origin. Apparently, it is also easy for them to fly to Bangkok for gender selective abortions which are illegal in India.

In keeping with the time-honoured tradition of research analysts, Dutta also discusses the drivers of change- Education, strong Role models, NGOs and Government support. The narrative in such parts becomes somewhat staid and repetitive. Thankfully, he pulls the reader out of this morass soon enough. Things become interesting when he attempts to measure and quantify women empowerment through not just literacy and crime graphs but representation in films and the electronic media. The growth of the protagonist in ‘Queen’ from a timid girl who would bend backwards for her fiancé to a woman who wants to live life on her own terms, becomes a metaphor of progress for the writer. Dutta ends his book on a politically correct note when he devotes a chapter to how boys and men need to accept and respect these changes. But even as you rue this diplomatic mouth speak, he reverses gears and with brutal honesty discusses the dark side of such empowerment. Women like Geetika Sharma and Bhanwri are held up as symbols of women whose hunger for power and money debilitates.

Dutta has penned a book that chronicles the lives of beleaguered women with a tremendous sense of empathy. He prods and pries and shakes the reader out of the ‘all is well with the world’ stupor. A book that spurs the reader to take up cudgels against the ills that have beset women.

Published in the Tribune on 17th May 2015Part of the Dream Weave Walk Network 1999-2012

The Greatest Show on Earth: Writings on Bollywood

2011-10-05T19:22:00.001+05:30

The Greatest Show on Earth: Writings on Bollywood Ed. Jerry Pinto. Penguin Books. Pages 452. Rs 499. I have been reviewing books on Bollywood cinema for the last many years and after going through innumerable books on cinema, I find it easy to slot the books into specific categories. I have found that the books are either academic treatises on the sociology and politics of cinema or are elaborate film reviews spanning several decades or are dedicated to the life and times of Bollywood celebrities. But Jerry Pinto’s book, The Greatest Show on Earth, is a bit like a googly ball in cricket. It belies categorisation. It covers the entire ambit of Bollywood cinema, be it writings on stars, filmmakers, music and, yes, even on the gossip that runs rife in this milieu. The academic analysis of censorship and sexuality, fictional write-ups on the casting-couch syndrome and the no-holds-barred yellow film journalism also find place in the anthology. It is an eclectic collection, as Pinto himself admits, "Bollywood at its best was eclectic." Jerry Pinto has cobbled together some interesting articles on Hindi cinema by authors as varied as Saadat Hasan Manto, Khushwant Singh, Ismat Chughtai, Salman Rushdie and Shobha De. Some articles come with interesting taglines like "Cat House Natter" or "My Fifteen Minutes with the Filmwalas", while others like "Marrying Hema" or Jairaj`85.And his Three Kisses" scream their gossipy antecedents. Pinto’s section on "The Stars" is perhaps the most intriguing with its vignettes on film celebrities. Vinod Mehta’s portrait of Meena Kumari and Madhu Jain’s portrait of Raj Kapoor aptly entitled "The Showman in love" are especially interesting as they narrate hitherto unheard incidents in the lives of the artists. In the "Introduction" Pinto tells us how he discovered Vinod Mehta’s writing on Meena Kumari from the raddiwalas in Mumbai. An excerpt from Pinto’s own book Helen: The Life and Times of the H-Bomb also adds to the heady reel-life cocktail. Pinto asserts that "by using popular culture, we ease away from the strain of self-expression" and confidently proclaims that the book is a "celebration of all that Indian cinema has done for us". A somewhat tall claim, I feel, but be that as it may the book undoubtedly showcases Pinto’s passion for Bollywood cinema big time. The book has emerged phoenix-like from Pinto’s personal library of Bollywood books which he collected "in the way that people collect stamps". But one wonders at the sudden though recent upswing in the trend of publishing anthologies on cinema. Perhaps, the books on cinema have also been touched by the multi-starrer magic. If the recent super-hit Golmaal and its sequel could have three sets of stars, why not a book which reads like the "who’s who" of film writers and also boasts of varied silver-screen perceptions strung together like baubles? But we hope an original treatise on cinema would come to us soon from this author who won a National Award for the best book on cinema. Published in the Tribune dated 20th November 2011 Part of the Dream Weave Walk Network 1999-2012

Bombay Duck is a Fish

2011-08-15T19:25:00.000+05:30

By Kanika Dhillon.
Westland.
Pages 320. Rs 195.

Kanika Dhillon’s maiden foray into novel writing has come with much fanfare. Dhillon has earned herself a head start with Sharukh Khan himself unveiling her debut novel. And why not? She is after all the screenwriter for the much-touted Ra.One and also happens to head the Creative Content Division of King Khan’s Red Chillies Entertainment. She appears to have journeyed through Bollywood with aplomb having worked with Farah Khan in Om Shanti Om and Priyadarshan in Billu Barber. One envies her Midas touch, but her book Bombay Duck is a Fish tears at this perception and reveals the hard work and sweat, the pain of broken dreams and the glamorous fallacy that is Bollywood.

Neiki Brar, a small-town girl, moves from Amritsar to Bombay in search of the glitz and glamour of a star-spangled Bollywood. She starts working as a lowly Assistant Director to a famous film-maker but soon finds that her job is not so much about film-making as running errands for everyone on the set. Battling with the egos of her colleagues and celebrities, Neiki survives the rat race and manages to carve a niche for herself. However, her romantic entanglement with a shallow, opportunistic, sex-starved actor Ranvir Khanna, becomes the raison d’etre of her premature death.

The character of Neiki Brar seems to have emerged from Dhillon’s own Mumbai experiences, but the character development is not without contradictions. In the initial phase, Neiki is shown as ambitious, aggressive, hard working and undeniably talented. She is also not without compassion and takes up cudgels for her maid or the "extras" on the set or even Sam, her colleague. But, suddenly, for no reason at all, she pulls on the mantle of a suicidal jilted lover. Neiki’s suicide does not emerge naturally from the chronology of events and is as precipitate and inexplicable as the story lines of most Bollywood films. The diary-entry manner of narration is interesting, if not unique. It could have been used as a tool for development of Neiki’s character but the short succinct fact dominated entries focus on the day-to-day unveiling of facts rather than the internal strife of a character.

This novel is written in a manner characteristic of a film script. Be that as it may, Dhillon has sketched the beauty and ugliness of Bollywood in bold arresting strokes. The out-of-work dwarf Goku, the shenanigans of actors, the obsession with making things look good, the cut-throat blame game as well as the debilitating hard work on a film set is there for all to see. The title of the book, Bombay Duck is a Fish, is a perfect analogy for the deception perpetrated by the make-believe Bollywood world which looks beautiful and ideal but has a hidden underbelly of pain, suffering and betrayal. Just as Bombay Duck is a Fish, Bollywood is not what it appears to be. An interesting read that gives the reader a peek into behind-the-scene Bollywood.

buy the book at Amazon.com Bombay Duck Is A Fish

Published in the Tribune dated 14 August 2011

Part of the Dream Weave Walk Network 1999-2012

First Day First Show: Writings from the Bollywood Trenches

2011-07-19T07:30:00.000+05:30

By Anupama Chopra.
Penguin.
Pages 376. Rs 499.
First Day First Show

BOLLYWOOD is a national obsession, more so than cricket and corruption. More than film-making per se, it encompasses within its ambit shenanigans of actors, directors, singers and of course the rumor-rife ubiquitous cine awards. Anupama Chopra’s First Day First Show taps this Indian desire for a peek into the life and times of Bollywood stars. Chopra cobbles together various articles authored by her for India Today, NDTV24x7 and The New York Times and in the process gives the reader quick view snapshots of Bollywood from 1993 to 2010. She also delves into her books Sholay: The Making of a Classic and King of Bollywood. Sharukh Khan’s quirky "Foreword" adds the necessary starry glitter. Khan’s unequivocal declaration, "It will be a ride. It will be a true representation of what a Hindi film is", raises high expectations.

The "Prologue" describes the run up to the launch of Ramesh Sippy’s Sholay. The fine detailing of the initial wary and cautious response to Sholay and its slow but sure march towards blockbuster status is interesting to say in the least. Like a typical Hindi film, "Prologue" "mein emotion hai tragedy hai", and the reader is hooked. The articles that follow trace the evolution of Bollywood through the slapstick Aankhen to the sensual rendering of "Choli ke peeche" of Khalnayak to the zany Kabhi Haan Kabhi Naa. Chopra in her more serious articles also dwells upon the plagiarism of scriptwriters who with panache borrowed from Hollywood and thought nothing of it.

The music industry flourished on stock music rather than creativity and the death of the audio king Gulshan Kumar spelt the end of ostentation in the film industry. The late 90s saw a paradigm shift which saw the emergence of stars that appealed to the urban populace. Sharukh Khan with his Hilfigers, artfully mussed up hair and dimpled smile became the urban icon with Dil To Pagal Hai, Kuch Kuch Hota Hai and DDLJ. The maniac intensity of Bazigar, Darr and Anjaam did nothing to dent the image of the uber cool romantic hero. Aamir Khan with his mustard yellow pants and the tapori act in Rangeela also made the cash registers ring. With the end of the 90s, Karan Johar’s "Designer sagas" hit big time. But fortunately, there was room for varied genres like the road movie Jab We Met, the angst ridden Dev D with its contemporary Devdas twist, the Forrest Gump-like My Name is Khan and the Chulbul Pandey-starrer Dabangg.

All in all, Chopra’s book is an enjoyable read for a relaxed Sunday afternoon. It has enough mirch-masala of the Bollywood kind to keep the reader glued. It also has some serious insights into the life of glitz and glamour which nevertheless has an unsavory underside. The underworld connections add an unusual twist in the manner of a typical potboiler of the Satya and Company genre. But read on, kyunki "picture abhi baaki hai mere dost".

Buy the book at Amazon.com First Day First Show

Published in the Tribune dated 17 July 2011 Part of the Dream Weave Walk Network 1999-2012

I Want To Live: The Story of Madhubala

2011-05-10T17:26:00.000+05:30

By Khatija Akbar.
Hay House Publishers.
Pages 261. Rs 399

The movie Mahal, with its black and white ambience and the ghostly strains of "ayega anewala", was my introduction to Madhubala’s ethereal and enchanting beauty. Even as a child given to watching the fast-paced films of the 1970s, I was completely mesmerised by this unutterably beautiful actress of Indian films. I was also intrigued by the mantle of inscrutability that firmly denied ingress into her personal life. Not a lot had been written about this Venus of the Indian silver screen, and whatever was written was limited to film journals. So, Khatija Akbar’s I Want To Live: The Story of Madhubala came as a welcome surprise. Even as I sat down to read the book, I had a moment of misgiving as I wondered if the book would tear away the mystique of the Madonna with the beguiling smile and reveal the underbelly of humanity or add to her enchantment. But my perseverance was rewarded.

Khatija Akbar’s biography has woven together reminiscences of musicians like Naushad and Anil Biswas, stars like Begum Para, Minu Mumtaz, Shammi Kapoor and Dev Anand and journalists like B.K Karanjia. In doing so, she has put together a vignette of Madhubala, the person behind the dazzling face with its mix of innocence and subtle sensuality. And the image that takes shape is that of a woman who was beautiful inside out but who had to pay for her goodness with her life. She started her film career as a child star in the film Basant. Despite her ease and spontaneity before the camera, Madhubala joined films only to earn a living and ensure survival of her family. She even gave up the bliss of married life with Dilip Kumar as her father Ataullah Khan would not give their alliance his blessings. This supreme sacrifice cost her emotionally as well as physically and sowed the seeds of her tragic demise.

Madhubla despite being blessed with a dazzling beauty was also cursed with a hole in the heart for which there was no cure in the 1960s. Madhubala’s dedication to her career took a physical toll that did not augur well for longevity and the break up with Dilip Kumar broke her completely. Her marriage with Kishore Kumar ended unhappily and she died lonely and sad at the young age of 36. Her heartrending cry "Allah main marna nahin chahti" defines the tragedy of Madhubala’s life.

Khatija Akbar’s biography has all the ingredients of an Indian film—a beautiful heroine, a Prince Charming, an overbearing father who is a spoke in the romantic wheel and a dreaded disease that is the knell of doom for the beautiful heroine. But more than that, there is a quality of warm empathy underlying the biography that brings to life the character of Madhubala with her natural vivacity, her compassion for the poor and needy, her dedication to her work and the fear and anxiety that beset her in public. A book that is a befitting tribute to not only a gorgeous and skilled actress but also a great human being.

Buy book at Amazon.com I Want To Live: The Story Of Madhubala

Published in The Trubune dated 11 June 2011

Part of the Dream Weave Walk Network 1999-2012

Fault Lines: How Hidden Fractures Still Threaten The World Economy

2011-01-22T22:59:00.000+05:30

by Raghuram G. Rajan
HarperCollins.
Pages 274
Pages Price 499

INFLATION and economic meltdown are the terms that have dogged us for almost a decade. We have talked animatedly about the alarming increase in price of real estate and the inflationary trends of day-to-day commodities. We have blamed the government for its lax regulatory machinery every time a financial scam raised its ugly head. We have decried corruption, holding it responsible for all ills that ail our society. But perhaps none of us (economic experts included) have really pin-pointed the causes of the economic recession of 2007 that caught the global financial community napping.

Raghuram Rajan’s Fault Lines makes such an analysis with great finesse. Drawing a metaphor from geology, Rajan traces the roots of the global financial crisis to the fault lines created by politics, trade imbalances and the financial structures in place to offset such trade imbalances.

The financial instability is traced back to the late 90s which saw the bursting of the dot com bubble. As the American economy down drastically, the Federal Reserve attempted to stimulate it by reducing the interest rates. This reduction did nothing to improve investments by the corporate sector. Instead, it made easy credit available to a segment of population that had low financial credibility. This segment invested in real estate in a big way but did not have the wherewithal to pay back the loans. So, while property prices soared as never before, the banks ended up holding huge quantities of mortgage-backed securities.

To check this credit expansion and its fall out, an apprehensive Central Bank increased the interest rates, which led to a drastic dip in consumption by the American consumer. This shook the foundations of economies like China which were dependent on American consumption and had invested in import of machinery from Europe to increase production. The Governments of such countries decided to abandon "debt-fueled expansion" and turned from being net importers to net exporters "adding to the global supply glut".

The lesson learnt from the jobless recoveries of the recession of 2001 was also internalised by politicians who attempted to give fiscal and monetary stimulus till the jobs started to reappear. Such a forced stimulus added to the problems of a beleaguered US economy. Weighed down by myriad problems, in 2007, the global economy collapsed. Rajan warns that despite signs of recovery the ‘fault lines’ are still gaping open and would deepen if left unchecked.

For most of us, economic jargon and its nuances are difficult to absorb. But Rajan explains the most complex economic terms in simple language. References to the effect of the crisis on the immigrant Indian Badri or on Jane, who represents the secretarial workforce in the US, adds an element of human interest to a dry subject. What perhaps lends credence to the theories propounded in the book is the fact that Rajan was one of the few economists who cautioned the world against impending economic doom generated by the Greenspan era. A thought-provoking book that adds a new dimension to our understanding of the fractures in global economy.

Published in the Tribune Sunday, February 6, 2011

Part of the Dream Weave Walk Network 1999-2012

50 Indian Film Classics

2010-12-01T12:21:00.000+05:30

By M. K. Raghavendra.
HarperCollins.
Pages 321. Rs 350.

WE Indians love films and almost always have an expert opinion on them. We invariably enlarge upon a film’s thematic structure in social soirees. Intellectual discussions also veer towards an analysis of the auteur’s visual narratives. It is not surprising then that varied collections of film reviews hit the market from time to time.

M.K. Raghavendra’s collection of film reviews, aptly entitled 50 Indian Film Classics, comes as no surprise after his first book Seduced by Normality: Narration and Meaning in Indian Popular Cinema. Not satisfied with the study of myths and archetypes of popular cinema as enumerated in the first book, Raghavendra sets himself the Herculean task of defining Indian cinema "albeit in a non-academic way". The canvas he has chosen to dabble in encompasses the period 1925 to 2006.

The book begins with a critique on the silent era film Prem Sanyas and ends with the analysis of Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra’s box-office hit Rang de Basanti. It encloses within its ambit not only the Bollywood-style popular cinema like Dewar and Amar Akbar Anthony but also "art" cinema like Ankur and Aakrosh. The critique also takes account of regional cinema be it Tamil, Bengali or Manipuri.

As per Raghavendra’s own admission, the body of Indian cinema is so huge and varied that to find unity in this mind-boggling diversity defies thought. Indian cinema fits neither into the straight-jacket of a neo-Aristotelian Western narrative nor adheres to the prototype emerging from Bharata’s Natyashastra. The song-dance sequences and non-causal narrative of popular cinema may be similar to Hollywood musicals, but art films or regional cinema cannot be so defined. So, Raghavendra has simply put together reviews of 50 films in order of their release. But thankfully the reviews are more than just superficial and inane comments on films.

This founder-editor of Deep Focus, a magazine on serious cinema, lives up to his reputation of the "best film critic" and comments discerningly on the films, their genre and their adherence and divergence from the generic prototype. So, while HAHK wills away social conflict, Rang De Basanti breaks from a political past by using conventions of the youth film. Global influences are also incorporated with aplomb. While Awara examines an "oedipal fix", Satyajit Ray’s Pather Panchali bridges the cinematic practices of the Western and non-western world. Sahib, Bibi Aur Gulam becomes an attempt to locate a story in a transitional moment of history while Bandini flourishes inside a "high walled garden impervious to all breezes".

The selection of films, of course, carries the unmistakable Raghavendra stamp but as he himself admits, the collection inevitably excludes some favourites. Sadly, certain path-breaking films like Black and box-office hits like Kabhi-Kabhi and Veer-Zara stand excluded. A film like Kabhi Alvida Na Kahna is included while a film like Silsila on a similar theme of adultery stands ignored. Be that as it may, Raghavendra has made a serious and not wholly unsuccessful effort to define the various genres and sub-genres of Indian cinema, which is laudable.

Part of the Dream Weave Walk Network

Sex in Cinema: A History of Female Sexuality in Indian Films

2010-09-05T14:38:00.000+05:30

By Fareed Kazmi
Rupa Publications
Pages 375
Rs 395

No flavour to Savour

The title of Fareed Kazmi’s book Sex in Cinema is somewhat misleading. The book offers neither titillation nor an analysis of cinematic images of carnality that the title suggests. Instead, it attempts to unravel the academic implications of the concept of Western feminism in the context of Bollywood cinema. The raison d’etre for the book is simple enough. Kazmi avers that "sexuality has not received the kind of attention it deserves from Indian academics or feminists". So, he takes upon himself the onus to remedy such an oversight. Somewhat pompously Kazmi exhorts the readers to "sit back and savour" the "changing contours and dynamics of female sexuality in Indian films down the ages".

Kazmi’s invitation to "savour" the book goes haywire at the "aperitif" stage itself. Expecting the warmth of a mature wine, the reader is hit by a cocktail of feminist theories all originating in the West. Ernest Jones’s philosophical question, "Is woman born or made?" becomes mired in a discussion on essentialism and constructionist binarism. Theories of thinkers like Lacan and feminists like Toril Moi are bandied around with mind-boggling frequency. All in the name of locating feminism.

To continue with the metaphor of a feast Kazmi had thrown up in the Introduction, the main course offered by him is more interesting. Here Kazmi has segregated Indian cinema into decade-size chunks and analysed the cinematic ingredients such as characterisation, music dialogue et al to highlight the cinematic portrayal of woman.

With Awara, and Mother India, the 1950s become a decade of "Man, the awara, woman, his conscience". The 1960s with Bandini and Aradhana depicted "a sudden inversion of identities" and a sexually liberated woman capable of making her own choices.

The female protagonists of the seventies were bonded together by their "uninhibited display of sexuality". Mera Naam Joker, Bobby, Julie all belong to this ilk. The 80s saw a turnaround in the approach to a woman’s sexuality. From being an object of eroticism or victimisation, the woman takes up cudgels against the perpetrators. So, Bharti of Insaaf ka Tarazu and Lakshmi of Pratighat become icons of vendetta who break the chains of societal patriarchy.

The woman of the 1990s was completely shorn of sexuality and became the romantic "other" to the male protagonist. She was, however, more than ever before chained down by societal mores that believed in male domination and the role of a woman as wife and mother. So, we have Nisha of Hum Apke Hain Kaun spouting dialogues like "Main farz ki khatir sab kuch bhula doongi". The woman of the New Millennium becomes a creature of pleasure as reflected in Jism and Salaam Namaste.

Kazmi’s cinematic spread, undoubtedly has an interesting variety but it appears to be limited by the author’s own theoretical beliefs. He has picked films to fit the contours of his own feminist theory. Films like Roja, Dil Se, Jab we Met do not receive any mention. Regional films are also ignored, although the book is purported to be about "Indian films". A disappointing read.

Published in The Tribune 5th September 2010
Part of the Dream Weave Walk Network

Class Power and Consciousness in Indian Cinema and Television

2010-07-08T14:11:00.000+05:30

By Anirudh Deshpande.
Primus Books. Pages 169. Rs 549.

NO one can dispute the fact that visual narratives wield an inherent power over the viewers, so much so that characters like Pratigya or the Sethi sisters in tele-soaps become a part of our day-to-day existence. ‘Rancho’ of The 3 Idiots or ‘Indu’ of Rajneeti become the flavour of the season. Even micro-narratives like commercials influence the market forces in an economy.

Anirudh Deshpande goes a step ahead in his book and lays down the premise that deconstruction of visual media like cinema and television is essential to the understanding of contemporary Indian society. The averment that images in visual narratives are not only instrumental in the representation of the Indian identity but also harbingers of this Indian consciousness is not far from the truth. This is reinforced by the 1980s movement from a "developmental secularism" to "Hinduvata" which engendered a "religious exclusivism" inspired as well as represented by Ramanand Sagar’s Ramayana. Deshpande attributes the centrality of ‘Ram’ in political discourses and the Ramjanambhoomi agitation to the power of such visual narratives.

There is also an attempt to wrest the "monopoly over the past" from the historians. The purported argument is that cinema not only defines and constructs identities through "historicals" like Razia Sultana or Jodha Akbar but also through depictions of society as in Do Beegha Zamin or Mother India.

Deshpande also attempts to link Hindi cinema to bourgeois hegemony in India. The argument taken is that "Hindi cinema serves the interest of the highly patriarchal Indian ruling classes". To prove this argument, Deshpande discusses the changing depiction of the Muslim minority in cinema. So, in the secularism propagating 1960s and 1970s, the Muslim socials included cultivated Hindustanis who were feudal but mushiara-loving and were essentially non-political. Films on the identity crisis of this minority were non-existent—Garam Hawa and Nikaah were exceptions to the rule. In keeping with the changing political discourses of the 1990s and the 21st century, the visual narratives show the appearance of terrorists from this minority. Fanaa and Qurbaan have enlarged the ambit of the definition of Islamic terrorism and brought in the "urbane playboy terrorist", thus hinting at the consequential social ostracism of the Muslim minority in Indian society.

Thus, the book not only emphasises visual power but also weaves together strands of history and visual narratives and in doing so, prods the reader into questioning his complacent so-called secular modernist nationalism. However, there are some unsubstantiated generalities in the latter part of the book. For instance, Deshpande’s rather cryptic summing up that "Bollywood production teams swear by secularism albeit their films promote communalism" jars and knocks down the apparently objective reasoning applied to the study. The analysis of Haqeeqat as a "tribute to middle-class colonisation of South Asia" engenders a similar reaction.

Published in The Tribune

Part of the Dream Weave Walk Network

Imaging the Nation: Sexual Economies in Contemporary Bombay Cinema 1970-2000

2010-02-02T16:05:00.000+05:30

Melodrama And The Nation: Sexual Economies of Bombay Cinema 1970-2000
By Karen Gabriel
Women Unlimited Publications
Pages: 392, Price: 595.

Bollywood , despite its numerically stunning 245 annual film releases, has been peripheral to academic concerns. The song-dance sequences, the macho super hero, the melodramatic content and comic relief of mainstream cinema did not appeal to a majority of film scholars as subject matter for cinematic discourses. Karen Gabriel in her book ‘Melodrama And The Nation’ rectifies this disjunction between scholars of cinema and the popular cinema of Bollywood.

Gabriel in her inter-disciplinary treatise focuses on the emergence of gender relations and sexuality as a cinematic response to the socio-political ethos. In doing so, she moves away from the traditional ‘film-as-text’ approach to the more contemporary ‘film-as-a-cultural-product’ affiliation. So the political crisis of 1970’s becomes the stimulus for the rise of the ‘vigilante’ figure as crafted by Bachchan in ‘Zanjeer’ with its reclusive but ‘decidedly modernist and stylized type of heroism’. This champion of social rebellion, however, was steeped in ‘fundamental orthodoxy of sexual economies’ which negated the articulation of strong femininity. The relative political stability of the 1980’s and 1990’s saw a fragmentation of the messianic icon and emergence of alternate heroism espoused in ‘Parinda’, ‘Prahar’ or even ‘Khalnayak’. There was also the emergence of the deviant anti-hero articulated by Sharukh Khan in ‘Baazigar’ and ‘Darr’ or Nana Patekar in ‘Agnisakshi’. Feminine articulation, which was initially restricted to arm-candy characters showed some signs of revival in ‘Damini’, ‘Zakhm’ and ‘Hey Ram’. But here as Gabriel argues convincingly, we see a representation of ‘wounded’ femininity that is vulnerable and succumbs to violence both communal and social. Rape becomes a cinematic metaphor for representing perpetration of such violence.

Gabriel also acknowledges the ‘cultural, social and religious plurality’ of Indian society and analyzes the consequent shaping of the cinematic discourses on Indian identity. So, ‘Border’ ‘displaces war as the central concern of the film’ and becomes instead the backdrop for the articulation of ‘specific ideologies of masculinity and the nation’. ‘Prahar’ also talks about the ‘preservation of preferred modes of masculinity’ and ‘a notional nation’. The treatise goes on to explore the ‘ideal Indian subject’ with its ‘mythical homogeneous purity’ and its modulation in the presence of the Hindu Right. As a consequence, the dichotomy between communities that disrupts the ideology of secularism and the concept of the ideal nation is also touched upon. The narrative of melodramatic cinema is examined as it shifts from crisis to resolution that typically pivots around ‘affirmation of patriarchal values’, diminution of women and ‘marginalization’ of the issue of reorientation of sexual politics. Gabriel’s book is a well-researched and scholarly rendition of the analysis of cinematic discourses and sexual economies in mainstream cinema. A great read for research scholars of commercial cinema.

Documenting documentary

2009-12-28T16:23:00.000+05:30

From Raj to Swaraj: The Non-fiction Film in India
By B.D. Garga.
Penguin Books.
Pages 214. Rs 695.

AS a child I remember sitting glued to my chair in a darkened hall, watching a black and white newsreel before the start of a film. Those were the days when it was the norm in all cinema halls to show a documentary film before the start of a movie. The newsreel invariably ended with the entire hall rising for the National Anthem and then settling down to enjoy a fiction film. The turf war between the fiction and non-fiction film has been raging for years and today, the documentary film has well and truly lost out to the big guns of Bollywood.

B. D. Garga’s book From Raj to Swaraj gives an insight into the growth and decline in the popularity of the documentary film. Garga in an interesting study traces the antecedents of the non-fictional film. The first attempt to record life vividly and with great intimacy of detail started in 1896 with a short film aptly called The Arrival of a Train at a Station. These Lumiere screenings were followed by more ambitious undertakings that recorded historic events like The Great Delhi Durbar of 1903 and 1911. These films gave way to propaganda films of "the empire needs you" variety.

The idea of using cinema for publicity was first raised in 1918 with war-related recruitment effort of the British Empire. This was the initial phase that eventually led to the making of the newsreel. Always quick to learn, the Indian film-makers also began to experiment with this new genre and the Indian public saw a slew of films on the Indian struggle for independence with the focus being on Mahatma Gandhi. B. D. Garga, with great panache, weaves together two separate skeins of history—the history of India’s struggle for freedom and the history of the rise of non-fiction film.

Garga takes us through the holocaust of Partition and also describes the manner in which the film The British Empire in Colour recorded the Partition-related carnage and stunned audiences all over the world with its realistic depictions. But, the genre of the documentary film saw a sudden decline in the post-Independence era. Official restraints contributed to the decline in the 1960s. The 1970s saw the documentary film touch the nadir with the government insisting that new films be telecast on Doordarshan prior to their theatrical release. It was this or MISA. Then the Censor Board stepped in paring the wings of the film-makers and attempting to make documentaries a government-controlled media.

Garga has, with complete honestly, laid the blame for decline of the documentary film on a government that attempts to feed the audience "make-believe and half-truths" and discourages the inbuilt ability of this genre to "unmask the ugly realities around us". An honest book that is a call to arms to the film fraternity to take up the cause of freedom of the documentary genre.

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The making of a legend

2009-11-08T14:44:00.000+05:30

The Bolivian Diary
By Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara.
HarperCollins.
Pages: 303. Rs 295.

Victoria & Albert Museum, London, held an exhibition on Che Guevara in 2006. Director Steven Soderbergh made a film on Guevara succinctly called Che which opened in January, 2009. A search on the Net yields a Che store that sells knick-knacks on Guevara. Time magazine rated Guevara as one of the 150 most influential people of the 20th century. This ‘Che’ cult began in the 1960s with Alberto Kordo’s photograph of Guevara, aptly titled ‘Guerrillero’. Since his death in 1967, the stylised visage of Ernesto Guevara has become an icon of radical chic within popular culture. But more importantly, he is revered even today as a symbol of freedom.

In 1966, Guevara left to challenge the military dictatorship in Bolivia and begin "a revolutionary movement that would extend throughout the continent of Latin America". The Bolivian Diary is an account of Guevara’s struggle to put together a band of guerrillas and overthrow an America-backed dictatorship. The narrative of this account is short and pithy and in the nature of short dated notes made by Che. Initially, the struggle made good progress but it ended on a tragic note with the arrest and execution of Guevara.

The books is a compelling and vivid account of the revolution in Cuba and Bolivia. But it is the revolutionary fervour underlying the narratives that makes the account truly moving. The figure of Che with an army beret and a Cuban cigar becomes synonymous with iconic heroism.

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Reminiscences Of The Cuban Revolutionary War

2009-09-27T20:32:00.000+05:30

Reminiscences Of The Cuban Revolutionary War
By Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara.
HarperCollins.
Pages 314. Rs 295

Victoria & Albert Museum, London, held an exhibition on Che Guevara in 2006. Director Steven Soderbergh made a film on Guevara succinctly called Che which opened in January, 2009. A search on the Net yields a Che store that sells knick-knacks on Guevara. Time magazine rated Guevara as one of the 150 most influential people of the 20th century. This ‘Che’ cult began in the 1960s with Alberto Kordo’s photograph of Guevara, aptly titled ‘Guerrillero’. Since his death in 1967, the stylised visage of Ernesto Guevara has become an icon of radical chic within popular culture. But more importantly, he is revered even today as a symbol of freedom.

Guevara’s Reminiscences of the Cuban Revolutionary War is a gripping accounts of the guerrilla war waged by him and his band of guerrillas against capitalistic regimes in Cuba and Bolivia. The Reminiscences of the Cuban Revolutionary War takes the reader back to July, 1955, when Guevara met Raul and Fiedel Castro in Mexico and enlisted in the guerrilla expedition to overthrow the Cuban dictator Fulgencio Batista.

In November, 1956, Guevara began the historic armed struggle from Cuba’s Sierra Maestra mountains. In the initial phase of the struggle, Guevara, a doctor by profession, admitted to being faced with the dilemma of choosing between his "devotion to medicine" and his "duty as a revolutionary soldier". Very soon, the revolutionary in him triumphed and he played a pivotal role in the two-year campaign that deposed the Batista regime. The blood and gore of the many skirmishes at La Plata or Bueycito, the final offensive at Santa Clara, the betrayal by "traitor" informers and the death of rebel companions is described in stark detail.

The march on rugged terrain hunched under packs of ammunition and weapons, the scarcity of food and water, the low morale of soldiers et al take the reader to the very heart of the revolution. The photographs add to the quality of stark authenticity of the narrative. What comes through clearly in the narrative is the pledge of the rebels to "struggle to the last drop of our rebel blood to make this land a sovereign republic with the true attributes of a nation that is happy, democratic and fraternal".

The books is a compelling and vivid account of the revolution in Cuba. But it is the revolutionary fervour underlying the narratives that makes the account truly moving. The figure of Che with an army beret and a Cuban cigar becomes synonymous with iconic heroism.

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The Forgotten World

2009-08-25T16:45:00.000+05:30

Recovering the Lost Tongue: The Saga of Environmental Struggles in Central India
By Rahul Banerjee
Prachee Publications
Pages: 345, Price: Rs 250.

Snippets of environmental and social struggles of the indigenous populace of Central India have often reached urban centres through the media. But such stories go through a process of dehumanization even as they become print in a newspaper. The truth of the struggle of a living breathing human being becomes lost in a quagmire of statistical data. Also, at times the struggle of the masses is negated as it merges with the name of an established leader. We all have at one time or the other read about the ‘Narmada Bachao Andolan’, a mass movement waged against the state by the Adivasis but in our mind the chief protagonist of the struggle has been Medha Patkar. We have forgotten about the other characters of this movement, the Bhil Adivasis who fought not only the repression launched by the state machinery to quell their movement but also waged their own personal battle against debilitating poverty and illiteracy. These characters of a forgotten world have been brought to life with panache by Rahul Banerjee in his book ‘Recovering the Lost Tongue’. In the manner of Gayans or traditional Bhil bards, Banerjee has narrated a tale of the exploitation of the adivasis who slowly learnt to raise their voice against oppression and demand their rights.

Banerjee brings to life Khemla’s single-handed crusade against police atrocities on Bhil Advisis. The Indian Forest Act and the Land Acquisition Act had over the years disinherited the Adivasis from forest land. Although it was against the law, the forest officials allowed adivasis to cultivate encroached forestland or newars ‘in exchange for hefty bribes’. Banerjee narrates the struggle of Khemraj against this malpractice. The narration then veers towards Subadra who symbolizes the emancipated adivasi woman. Subadra joins various NGOs and soon becomes a part of the rare band of educated adivasi women who work for the upliftment of their kind. What makes the saga especially interesting, warming and touching is Banerjee’s physical presence in the narrative. Banerjee is no omnipresent auteur. He is simply the bajariya or non-adivasi activist who attempts to bring some semblance of harmony back into the life of nature’s children and wholeheartedly joins them in their struggle to retain their land and villages. Banerjee’s marriage to Subhadra finally makes him a part of the adivasi community. No wonder his narration has a quality of authenticity.

‘Recovering the Lost Tongue’ is perhaps one of the most interesting and riveting books that I have read in a long time. Environmental and social struggle as subjects do not normally make for enjoyable reading. Yet, what makes the book different is the fact that the author is a part of the milieu and enlivens the narrative with stories, myths and songs of the adivasi community. The narration of anecdotes about Baba Amte and Patkar, the environmental stalwarts, the discussion on the relevance of Gandhianism and Marxism today, the digression into Greek mythology, Camus, Buddha or even the romantic predilection of the Bhils et al adds to the enjoyment of the book. A wonderful book and a great read.

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Sound of Water

2009-03-15T09:42:00.000+05:30

Sound of Water
by Sanjay Bahadur.
Roli Books.
Pages 168. Rs 195.

Mining today finds mention only in environmental forums, with environmentalists holding forth loudly on how defacing it is and how crippling to the landscape. The human aspect, predictably, is lost in academic wrangling. A human disaster tweaks the academic posturing only to settle back into statistics in disaster management texts.

Sanjay Bahadur’s The Sound Of Water’ does not allow the reader to take refuge in such academic trivia. Bahadur with a deliberate brutality cuts through the statistics shrouding the Bagdighi colliery disaster that killed dozens of miners in 2001 and brings the reader face to face with the deadly ‘beast’ that stalks miners in the ‘tomb dark womb of the earth.’ The reader is shoved willy-nilly into the labyrinth of Mine No 3 along with the condemned and expendable five; Raimoti, Arif, Birsa, Lakhan and Sagan. Like Birsa, the reader can feel the gorge rising when faced with the ferocity of the ‘charging beast’, the black remorseless water that rushes into the mine ‘swamping life’. ‘The cold sinewy paw’ of the water alternately immobilizes and stimulates panic in both Arif and the reader. Arif and Raimoti caught in a pre-death situation struggle with the questions of ‘Who wants to die?’ and ‘Why do you want to live?’ This juxtaposition of life and death ‘I exist. I am going numb’ becomes the leit motif of the novel and claws into the consciousness of the reader. The connection between the reader and the protagonists, thus, is complete and unbroken. Against the background of this epic struggle is the tragedy of Bhibhash, the mining engineer who is lost to his family and who seeks oblivion in ‘whiskey’ and then in the dark swirling water of the inundated mine. But his sacrificial death is submerged in the political red tape that needs a ‘sacrificial lamb’ in Bhibhash. The political posturing of the Unionist Ghosh Babu and Pandeyji and the utter detachment of Karna reflect an insensitive establishment.

The narrative has a quality of wrenching sadness as it recreates the human tragedy of miners who drink themselves into oblivion to escape the encroaching soul-destroying darkness of the mines. The nightmare of death by water with its quality of utter hopelessness leaves an indelible mark. At times the overt and sometimes encroaching presence of the author does create a degree of discomfort but the consciousness of being walked along by the author on a preordained path dissipates as the narrative gathers momentum and inexorably moves towards its deadly finale. But in the final analysis, it is not Bahadur the deft craftsman, nor Bahadur the ultimate storyteller, that makes the lasting impression. It is the portrayal of the epic struggle of life and death that lifts the novel from the moorings of ordinariness. A great debut novel that transcends the limits of story telling and in doing so transforms into an archetype of life itself.

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The Girl from Foreign

2009-02-22T21:33:00.000+05:30

The Girl From Foreign:
A Search for Shipwrecked Ancestors,
Forgotten Histories and a Sense of Home
By Sadia Shepard
Penguin Books
Pages: 364, Price: Rs 450.
The literature of diaspora has caught the imagination of literature lovers all over the world. And why not? An empathy with the ‘rootlessness’ of the ‘diasporic’ protagonist often becomes the inspiration to undertake a personal voyage of self-discovery.

Sadia Shepard’s ‘The Girl From Foreign’ with its long appendage ‘A search for shipwrecked ancestors, Forgotten Histories and a Sense of Home’ appears to be an attempt at a fiction of diaspora. Yet it would be unfair to place this book in such a cliched groove. Sadia’s search for her Bene Israel roots in Bombay has none of the disoriented emptiness of a ‘diasporic’ protagonist .Sadia’s journey is, in fact, a voyage of joyous discovery as she moves from one synagogue to another on the Konkan coast or interacts with the Indian Jewish community and joins them in the Jewish festivals of ‘Sukkot’ and ‘Simchar Torah’. Sadia undertakes the journey at the behest of ‘Nana’, her grandmother who was born Rachel Jacobs, a Jew in Mumbai and who later married a Muslim and shifted to Pakistan after the partition. Her Nana’s directive ‘Go To India, study your ancestors’ takes Sadia on an untrodden path to India where armed with a camera and a pen she enthusiastically etches the Bene Israel community on the pages of her book. The life of the Indian Jews is sketched for the readers through small vignettes of the Waskars of Revdanda, the Chordekars of Chorde and Mr Ellis of Alibag. The author’s journey to her Jewish roots is however overlaid with the pain of losing her beloved grandmother. The book also talks about the regret and pain of a grandmother who even after several decades of leaving Bombay clings to the refrain ‘I should’nt have left’.

The name of the book suggests a serious historical sojourn into the life of ancestors but as the reader moves through the pages of the book it becomes clear that despite the scholarly title, the focus is on the present day joys and sorrows of the community of Bene Israel in India. The history of the Jews can be extracted through snippets of conversation. The arrival of the Jews to India is summed up in a few lines_“A very long time ago, your ancestors left Israel in a ship and they were shipwrecked in India.”

Interestingly, Sadia’s story moves back and forth between her childhood with Nana and her present day search for her Jewish roots . It also recounts how she was brought up by three parents- a Christian father, a Muslim mother and a Jewish grandmother. And yet there is no angst generated by religious conflict. Sadia absorbs in her persona the qualities of all religions. The simplicity of acceptance of three religions is unique to her narrative. At the end of it all ‘Rachel Jacobs’ merges with ‘Rahat Ali’ and Sadia becomes in turn Christian, Jewish and Muslim. The book with its smattering of history and the simplicity of its narrative is a story well told. An interesting and enjoyable read.

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Under Her Spell

2008-11-16T15:43:00.001+05:30

Under Her Spell
by Dileep Padgaonkar.
Penguin Books.
Pages 263. Rs 550.

AS a teenager I would often stay up late at night to watch old films screened by Doordarshan. One such film was Ingrid Bergman’s Notorious. This black and white film with its stark cameos was the start of my obsession with cinema. From Ingrid Bergman, it was but a short step to Roberto Rossellini who directed Bergman in films like Europe ’51 and Voyage in Italy. I learnt that after Voyage to Italy, Rossellini was lauded as the messiah of modern cinema. Any study of neo-realism in films was incomplete without Rossellini. I knew all that but I must admit I was completely ignorant of this Italian director’s Indian connection.

Dileep Padgaonkar’s book Under Her Spell takes the reader on an intriguing Indian adventure with Rossellini. Padgaonkar in the manner of a dramatic storyteller weaves a tale based on inputs from Tag Gallagher, Rossellini’s biographer and anecdotes and insights shared by Rossellini’s friends and associates. The character of Rossellini, who loved fast cars and pretty women, lends itself with ease to the dramatic twists and turns of his Indian sojourn.

Rossellini, we are told, launched the Indian project without any fan-fare. With typical `E9lan, he simply announced to a spaghetti-eating friend, "we’re going to a wonderland". And so in early December of 1956, loaded with 100 kg of spaghetti, Rossellini arrived in Bombay and checked into the Taj Hotel. With Nehru himself showing interest, Rossellini’s project, aptly called India Matri Bhumi, was off to a propitious start. Buzzing with creative energy, Rossellini shuttled between Bombay and Bangalore, Calcutta and Hirakud, in search of the truth about India. He did not visit Ajanta and Ellora or any of the other tourist attractions because he did not want "clich`E9d images of the country". Not for him the beauty of India, for he felt ‘pretty pictures’ were fatal to cinema.

We follow in Rossellini’s footsteps, impressed by his creativity, intrigued by his ‘Latin’ temper and flummoxed by his grand passion for Sonali Dasgupta, a much-married Bengali beauty. But unfortunately, the Indian adventure did not end happily for Rossellini who was hounded out of the country by the so-called moral guardians who denounced his ‘affair’ with a married Indian woman. The only saving grace was that he was allowed to leave India with the film he had shot and of course his lady-love.

In the latter part of the book, Padgaonkar recounts how back in Europe Rossilleni put together India Matri Bhumi, creating a ‘poetic synthesis’ bordering on a symphony. For a long time Rossellini spoke about India with ‘great feeling’ and described art in India as an ‘imitation of joy’. The Epilogue describes the death of this charismatic ‘maestro’ who "lived life like a fantasy, superior to reality". Some of Rossellini’s associates believe that he "probably wanted his ashes buried in India because India could alone beckon him in after-life". An interesting read that gives an "Indian" insight into Rossellini’s character as an artist and a human being.
Under Her Spell: Roberto Rossellini in India
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Romancing with Life: An Autobiography

2008-10-01T11:58:00.000+05:30

Romancing with Life: An Autobiography
By Dev Anand
Penguin Books India.
Pages: 438, Price: 695.

‘Raju’of ‘Guide’ has been immortalized by Dev Anand. The transition of a Casanova into a saint who brings rain to a parched famine-struck terrain has been fleshed out with great panache by the erstwile romantic. And this is not his only claim to fame. This Gregory Peck look-alike is a consummate actor who has given some great performances in films like ‘Baazi’ ‘Jaal’ ‘Jewel Thief’, ‘Tere Ghar ke Samne’ et al. The list is endless. This bright and ageless star on the Indian film firmament has also directed some unusual films like ‘Hare Rama Hare Krishna’, ‘Des Pardes’, ‘Heera Panna’ ‘Hum Naunjawan’ boldly analyzing divergent social issues that were spoken of only in whispers. Six decades of cinema does not seem to have dampened the enthusiasm and spirits of this creator-director-actor who even at 82 is running full steam ahead.

‘Romancing with Life’, the much awaited autobiography of Dev Anand gives us a glimpse of ‘Dev-aan’ the person behind the public persona of the legendary film star. A montage of reminiscences strung together in a beguiling pattern, the autobiography is written in a simple conversational style that creates an empathetic bond between Dev Anand and the readers. The reader sits with Dev as he listens to his father reciting the Koran, counts the stars lying on a charpoy on the terrace in Gurdaspur with the future star, murmurs a shy lovelorn hello to ‘Usha’ in the college of Lahore and walks the footpaths in Bombay waiting for a ‘break’. The reader feels Dev’s dejection as he sifts through war correspondence for a living and later becomes party to the adulation that Dev Anand receives after ‘Ziddi’, the film that made him a romantic hero.

As we travel down memory lane with Dev Anand some reminiscences smack of narcissism and seem to find place in the autobiography for no earthly reason except to highlight a star’s romantic proclivities. But, Dev Anand has defended himself against the charge of self-obsession stating with child-like candor that he is a ‘deity to his millions of fans’ and his memoir is merely to ‘honor that image’. So the star ingeniously says ‘My best moments with myself are when I am in front of my mirror in the bathroom’.

But if we make an honest attempt to look beyond the image of a ‘larger-than-life-hero’, feted by hysterical fans, we find a Dev Anand who feels utter anguish when his dear brother, ‘Goldilocks’, passes away or when his much-loved friend Guru Dutt ends his life. Dev Anand, like ‘Raju’ is in search of ‘that special ray of sunshine that makes life worth living’. His romance with life, it seems would never end.

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Seeing is Believing

2008-09-07T08:01:00.000+05:30

Seeing is Believing: Selected Writings on Cinema
by Chidananda Das Gupta.
Penguin. Pages 295. Rs 499.

AS a student of cinema, I would wade through large amounts of research material on cinema and film studies. I found that books on cinematic greats like Eisenstein, Truffaunt, etc. were available in plenty and easily outnumbered books on Indian greats like Satyajit Ray or Shyam Benegal. Also, the idiom of books on Indian films was completely foreign. Words like alienation, Brechtian, catharsis were bandied around to explain not only parallel cinema but also Indian commercial films. Not surprising really, considering that most books were written by foreigners. So, Das Gupta’s book Seeing Is Believing comes like a breath of fresh air in the putrid environs of Indian film studies. Here is a book that examines the Indian tradition of theatre and folklore and attempts to link Indian cinema with Bharata’s Natyshastra and Sarangdeva’s Sangeeta Ratnakara. It attempts to straddle the divide between the fast-paced rhythm of mainstream cinema and the meandering pace of parallel cinema. In fact, the book begins with an enunciation of this traditional divide in Of Margi and Desi.

Das Gupta’s writings are surprisingly self-sufficient in that every article is an exhaustive enumeration of one or the other aspect of cinema and emerges as an independent treatise on the subject. Precursors of Unpopular Cinema, for instance, traces the growth curve of realistic films.

Das Gupta analyses the cinematic verities of Himanshu Rai’s Achut Kanya (1936) and V. Shantaram’s Dr Kotnis ki Amar Kahani. Satyajit Ray’s cinema, he feels, has a distinctive realism such that even today "not a day passes when Pather Panchali is not shown somewhere or the other in the world". This Ray film was a precursor to cinema that was not only "artistically valid but also socially relevant".

Influenced by Ray, Ritwik Ghatak focused on the refugee triology with Meghe Dhaka Tara, Komal Gandhar and Subarnarekha while Shyam Benegal’s Ankur, Nishant and Bhumika dealt with oppression of women in Indian society. Bimal Roy’s Do bigha Zamin and Sujata on the other hand were influenced by Italian neo-realism.

Some filmmakers like Raj Kapoor and Guru Dutt attempted a symbiosis of ‘art and box-office considerations’ but this blending was a rarity. Efforts like Aamir Khan’s Lagaan or Kamal Hasan’s Hey Ram are few-and-far-between. But as Das Gupta points out, these films hold out a hope that "one day Bollywood will be able to range more freely like Hollywood, from one end to the other of cinema’s spectrum". For cynics, films like Mani Ratnam’s Bombay hold out a promise of cinema no longer "intimidated by the traditional need to endorse the prejudices of the majority".

The interface of politics and cinema, as seen in Andhra Pradesh and Tamil Nadu, the evolution of the cinematic character of Indian women, the necessity of awards—all these issues are examined at length in the Indian context. Das Gupta’s book is a first step towards redefining Indian film studies as an indigenous network of traditional discourses blended with just the right touch of global cinematic patterns.

Seeing is Believing: Selected Writings on Cinema
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The Kapoors: The First Family Of Indian Cinema

2008-09-04T20:48:00.000+05:30

The Kapoors: The First Family Of Indian Cinema
Madhu Jain
Penguin Books India Ltd.

Pages 371
Price Rs 595.

"We are our own individual personalities. We are brought up like individual thinking men; we don't meddle in each other's lives. But we are like Sicilians: when you need us we gang up. We are like the Corleones in The Godfather."
Randhir Kapoor, thus grandly but aptly sums up the legendary status of the Kapoor clan in the Indian film pantheon.

Madhu Jain, in her biography 'The Kapoors' has attempted the Herculean task of weaving a compelling saga of the lives of four generations of this legendary dynasty. Despite the plethora of facts, events and cinematic references doled out with a generous hand, the book is extremely engrossing and eminently readable. Also, the delineation of the life and times of these colorful actors never descends to gossipy kitsch. In fact the book has all the elements of a Shakespearean tragedy.
The main protagonists are the Kapoor men with their awe-inspiring and charismatic personalities but they all suffer from a tragic flaw - hedonism. 'Good food, good booze and good living-our life revolves around it' says Randhir Kapoor. This excess translates into the 'family curse' of alcoholism and other maladies which is their nemesis.

The book is divided into three parts aptly called 'The Patriarch', 'The Consolidators'and 'The Inheritors'. The first part focuses on the life of Prithviraj Kapoor, the second on his sons- Raj, Shammi and Shashi while the third part details the life of the third generation of Randhir, Rishi and Rajiv and the fourth generation of Karisma and Kareena. But at no point does this well-researched biography become just a dry factual tome of information.

Jain has used a free-flowing narrative which provides the reader an insight into the grand Kapoor passion for cinema and theatre. She dwells upon their boundless hospitality encapsulated in the colorful phrase 'gadi vi tyar tay roti vi tyar'. The reader is given a peep into a world of lesser known facts about this 'filmi' family - the lifelong affair with food, 'Black label' and music, the academic failures, the strong family-ties, the obsessive dependence on the Kapoor wives, the genuine acceptance of all religions, the socialist idealism, the abiding love for Prithvi theatres et al. But this is done with none of the nascent voyeurism one would associate with such an exercise. Jain displays a rare depth and sensitivity as she goes beyond the outer 'showman' persona of the Kapoors and lays bare the vulnerable inner core. Raj Kapoor's complex about his short stature is highlighted with humor "Mujhse milne aayee thi aur heel mein".

The biography achieves a first in that it brings within its ambit the fortunes and careers of nine Kapoors (twelve if you include star wives Geeta Bali, Babita and Neetu Singh) spanning four generations and seven decades. In doing so, it also charts the growth of Indian cinema from the silent era to the first talkie Alam Ara and from there on to Bollywood cinema in its present avatar. The gallery of rare photographs add a riveting visual dimension to the narrative. The book is undoubtedly a treat for all cinema lovers.

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Bombay Talkies

2008-08-12T10:34:00.000+05:30

Mayank Shekhar
Frog Books
Pages 268
Rs 295

Mahatma Gandhi has suddenly become popular with the "cool" and "hip" generation of today. And it is certainly not because of any advertising "blitzkrieg" by the government aimed at the awareness-building of national icons. For this we have to thank none other than our very own Bollywood blockbuster Lage raho Munna Bhai, which has made waves with "gandhigiri". This has proved once again that the Indian psyche has lost none of its fascination for Bollywood cinema, Indian cricket, notwithstanding. Film reviews are probably read with a morning cup of tea in most Indian households today. But, unfortunately, most reviews cater to the "cine-goer in a hurry" and are therefore restricted to puerile comments on the storyline or music or theatrics of the actors.

Mayank Shekhar’s Bombay Talkies, an anthology of film reviews of 2004 and 2005, thankfully refrains from handing out inanities clothed as film reviews. He, in fact, offers a veritable banquet of sharp, witty and at times brutally honest comments on the current crop of films. Shekhar uses the sharp edge of his scalpel to cut through the brouhaha of blockbusters with utter disregard for the feelings of the Bollywood fraternity. He makes no bones about announcing that Punit Isarr’s Garv was nothing but "a salute to Bollywood B-grade, apparently aimed at frontbenchers that determine fuzzy film fortunes". He captions the review of Ishaan Trivedi’s 7 Phere as "Sar phir gaya boss" and without much ado announces it to be "brainless, balderdash rehash of Ron Howard’s Edtv". Mayank’s review of Omkarnath Mishra’s Dil Bechara Pyaar ka Maara states the unvarnished truth—"This ain’t a review. This is just to inform you that I survived the film". The review of Indra Kumar’s Masti states tongue-in-cheek "leave your grey cells at home, keep your cellphones for song breaks and step cautiously into this often no-holds barred Carry On series".

The book, however, is more than just a sarcastic lambasting of the nadirs of Bollywood cinema, even though it comes with "belly-laughs". His reviews are in fact candid comments on the social context and social impact of cinema. We share his bafflement when a "beautifully structured piece of cinema" like Vishal Bhardwaj’s Maqbool fails to attract enough "paying public" while a mundane "boy meets girl" film like Hum Tum sets the cash registers ringing. His sensitive comments on the "Kafkaesque" travails of the Kapoors in Dhoop or the metaphor of death in Maine Gandhi ko Nahin Mara or even Swades as an "honest example of crossover cinema" hint at the makings of a perceptive film critic. It is also obvious that this film critic at least enjoys his "sinfully elating job" despite "off-beam gibes" from the intellectual coterie and Bollywood bigwigs. So here are the beginnings of the birth of our very own Roger Ebert and Pauline Kael, but there is still way to go. Be that as it may, we can only say ‘Mayank bhai lage raho’.

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Bollywood: Sociology Goes to the Movies

2008-08-03T10:32:00.000+05:30

Rajinder Kumar Dudrah
Sage Publications
Pages 210
Rs 280

THE Bollywood cinema as a genre has been regarded with derision by intellectuals who have written off this genre as being ‘escapist’, ‘trivial’ ‘low-brow’ and having only ‘mass appeal’. Such a response obviously stems from uninformed opinion makers who do not want to look beyond the ‘fluff’ perception of a ‘Bunty aur Bubbly’. But with the globalisation of Indian cinema, this perception is slowly but surely undergoing a change.

The hitherto marginalised and ridiculed cinema is now being feted as a multicultural celebration. Increased visibility vis-`E0-vis the South Asian diaspora has added a fresh dimension to Bollywood cinema. Film studies are shifting focus to the multi-faceted and multi-genre Bollywood cinema giving it a patina of serious intellectual study. So Bollywood cinema has finally arrived, and brought in its wake film scholars and their academic wrangling.

Sociology goes to the Movies is an intellectual articulation of Bollywood cinema, which would surely win warm approbation from the most hard-hearted elitist academic. Rajinder Kumar Dudrah has, in fact, made an interesting and refreshing attempt to revive a sociological interest in films. The sociological imagination is brought into dialogue with film studies and related disciplines of media and cultural studies. A Bollywood film, for Dudrah, is a popular cultural text which necessitates an elaboration of the medium through "various and simultaneous modes of enquiry". So, Pardes becomes an example of a film that reflects the diasporic sensibilities of the South Asian community settled in the UK and the USA. And cine stars like Shah Rukh Khan act as mediators between the homeland and the diaspora, enunciating the social and economic aspirations of the audiences through their on- and off –screen performances. This mediation is extended to a Hollywood-Bollywood interface.

The most diehard fans of Bollywood admit that a significant chunk of this cinema is a copy of popular Hollywood films, albeit in an Indian persona. Dudrah, however, logically argues against such a premise. Calling it cultural mimicry rather than plagiarism, he points out that such a mimicry only translates western differences and hierarchies for Bollywood viewers. So the jailor in Sholay is not just a comic colonial remnant but becomes a critique on state forms of penal control and governance in the India of the 70s. Moreover, Hollywood, he strongly feels is now borrowing from Bollywood cinema and with crossover films, the distinction, in any case, is lost.

Dudrah, thus, successfully renews an interdisciplinary dialogue between cinema and sociology, which has been sporadic at the best of times. The methodology of interviews and participant observation used in initial chapters authenticates and contemporises his theories. But the majority of the book reads like a research paper or an academic dissertation that seriously limits its readership. The "elitist versus pedestrian" debate generated by Bollywood cinema is reflected in our response to this book. So, we agree that Dudrah’s book is a great reference for multi-disciplinary research but is not likely to be a bestseller. We admit that the book gives academic credence to Bollywood cinema but has none of its mass appeal. Catch-22.

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The Open Frame Reader: Unreeling the Documentary Film

2008-07-24T10:30:00.000+05:30

ed.Rajiv Mehrotra
Rupa and Co
Pages 162,
Rs 250

THE documentary genre is regarded as a poor cousin of commercial cinema. For most of us, a documentary is a factual and boring delineation of the real world, which we would rather forgo for the magical delights of commercial cinema. It is hardly strange that great documentary filmmakers like Anand Patwardhan, Tapan Bose and Shubredeep Chakraborty are little known than their more glamorous counterparts or that films like Jang aur Aman, Beyond Genocide and Final Solutions have garnered critical acclaim, but commercially sunk without a trace. Financial constraints, unorganised distribution and limited dissemination by a forum like Doordarshan add to an unpalatable scenario. A constant tussle with the Censor Board is the final nail in the coffin. The power and potential of the documentary film remains stifled.

The Open Frame Reader is a collection of views, opinions, perspectives and "takes" on the documentary film. Disparate islands of thought are strung together with a common concern for the revival and understanding of this genre, yet the varied perspectives blend to form a seamless whole.

The concept of reality, central to the documentary genre, has been handled with sensitivity and honesty.

Sanjay Kak in his "take" on reality emphasises that the documentary "is not just life, but an argument about it". The essay of Raqs Media Collective, talks about the construction of a frame of reality based upon the cameraman’s sensory capacities and the director’s slant on reality. The reality of a documentary film then is not a simplistic rendering of the "truth" but a "construct" of the "camera eye", which reflects the perspective and cognition of the director.

When Ruchir Joshi likens the documentary to a butterfly emerging from a cocoon "in which chemistry, electronics, thought and feeling all have come together", she is obviously clueing us to the director’s "take" on reality. Ranu Sharma sums up this reality "construct" when she pithily says:

Something of the real is lost

Something else is found.

More than sound,

more than sight.

More than life,

more like life.

A serious discussion of a film genre would, however, be incomplete without a detailing of its technical aspects. Rajeev Mehrotra, a good editor that he is, weaves in sections that enlarge upon cinematography, editing, montage and sound.

Fortunately, he is able to rescue such discussions from boredom by picking up essays that simplify technical terms for the reader. Uma Shankar’s essay on sound recording makes film gizmos like "modulo meter" or "shot gun" seem user-friendly.

The book also takes a wry but honest look at what ails the documentary genre. With typical management-guru aplomb, it does not stop at the problem, but offers the beginnings of a solution through an "India’s Quest" project. The essays and musings of The Open Frame Reader present an interesting argument, which draws the reader into the pro-documentary camp.

Caught in the spell, the reader declares with Mukul Kesavan: "Why would any documentary filmmaker swap that real magic for the shop-worn tricks of Art?"

The Open Frame Reader (Unreeling the Documentary Film)

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The Lost World of Hindustani Music

2008-07-20T10:23:00.000+05:30

Kumar Prasad Mukherji
Penguin Books
Pages 354
Rs 395

Music has often been described as ibadat or prayer by devotees of this art. Riyaz (practice with devotion) and talim (learning from a guru) were important parts of this musical tradition, whose flashes can still be seen in the Harivallabh Sammelan every December in Jalandhar. However, in today’s world of quick-fix Indian Idol, this tradition has become pass`E9.

Kumar Prasad Mukherji’s narrative traces the origin and creative intricacies of the old musical tradition of khayal gayaki and its individualistic rendering by exponents of various gharanas, but underlying this narrative runs a vein of sadness and nostalgia for the loss of this tradition of music.

Mukherji laments: "When I was young, I did not know what real music was. When I began to get an inkling of it ... the greats had departed for the other world." Thus, the book becomes a touching farewell to musical greats like Ustad Faiyaz Khan of Agra Gharana, Bade Gulam Ali Khan of Patiala Gharana, Moijuddin Khan of Gwalior Gharana et al.

Mukherji has strung together episodes and anecdotes that give a glimpse of the awe-inspiring utter dedication to music found in the great musical geniuses he revered. Of Bade Gulam Ali Khan Sahib, it is said that he took "nightly sojourns" to practice music in the Hindu burning ghat, returning only in the wee hours of the morning as he could not do full-throated riyaz at night in the congested mohalla where he lived. He staged a comeback after a paralytic stroke only because of his "fanatic riyaz and will-power".

Once Hassu Khan, grandson of Nathan Peer Baksh of the Gwalior Gharana, was singing the Haathi chingar taan (capable of bringing elephants out of the stable) in the durbar of Maharaja Daulat Rao Scindia. In the middle of this extremely difficult taan (notes sung to the beat of the tabla), he stopped and spat blood. Nathan Peer Baksh wiped his grandson’s face with his shawl and said: "Marnaa hai to beta taan poore karke maro". Such was the dedication to music of these great ustads.

Any book on classical music would obviously have to dwell upon the genealogy of gharanas, the different ragas and swar, the complex techniques of layakari, bol-vistaar, etc and the gharana—based rendition of a bandish (musical composition).

Only persons who are well versed in the art of Hindustani classical music can appreciate such complexities. To them, the book offers a rare glimpse into a magical world and yet peppered with interesting vignettes of musical geniuses, their eccentricities and passions, it would still charm all music lovers. The writer’s almost symbiotic relationship with the men of musical genius adds pizzazz to the narrative. I would rate Mukherji’s book as one of the best on classical music in recent times.

All is not lost. Musical greats like Bhimsen Joshi and Kishori Amonkar are still carrying the torch of swar siddhi with great aplomb. The octogenarian Bhimsen Joshi of the Kirana Gharana still "hits the notes in the epicenter and sings with a power that can turn singers half his age sick with envy".

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Enchantment of the Mind: Manmohan Desai’s Films

2008-07-14T10:20:00.000+05:30

Connie Haham
Roli Books
Pages 204
Rs 395.

THE Manmohan Desai’s unabashed proclamation, "I don’t make films for critics", sums up the cinematic genre of fantasy-entertainment created by him. In Preface, Amitabh Bachchan compares this auteur-director to a child who has clambered onto a Ferris wheel and could have enjoyed the ride till the kingdom come.

The believe-it-or-not stories spun by Desai with their repetitive lost-and-found themes, their speed and drama were openly criticised by the scions of serious cinema. In the face of such criticism, Desai simply declared that as most people in the world were facing poverty and misery, "Why can’t I give them an escape hatch? My films are an escape hatch".

Desai offers the audience a carnival, where the rigid norms of society are relegated to the background and the audience takes part in the thrill of watching the protagonist survive the vagaries of fate all the while thinking, "I could’ve been like that chap". In tune with such fantastic optimism, we have the protagonist in Coolie surviving even after being riddled with bullets and we have the infant Dharam in Dharam-Veer being saved by the omnipresent falcon.

Desai’s wonderland peopled with fantastic characters is, however, strongly rooted in reality—the reality of Mumbai’s Khetwadi district. Anthony of Amar Akbar, Anthony, and Iqbal of Coolie are both real characters Desai found in the backstreets and dark alleyways of Khetwadi. Even the timeworn lost-and-found gimmicks have been given a fresh patina. Desai himself admitted that "it is very difficult to bring about the union in a different way every time". But he has done it with great panache every time.

Connie Haham’s treatise is an analysis of the significant aspects of Desai’s genre with its trademark flair for adventure, pie-on-the-face comedy, flamboyant sets and costumes, catchy tunes, lost-found formulae and colloquial dialogues. This American Professor teaching in Paris has done what the most reputed Bollywood buffs and critics could not do—he has taken an objective look at Desai the filmmaker. Haham has fleshed out the true character of this filmmaker who although avowedly a box-office director wove into his cinema the sub-texts of romantic idealism, optimistic survival, communal harmony and traditional familial values that went either unnoticed or disregarded. This ‘anhonee ko honee karde’ director may cringe at the academic analysis of his work, but I for one feel that Haham’s cerebral perspective of Desai’s genre was required to shrug of the label of a non-serious commercial money-spinner that has struck Desai for decades. And what better time than Desai’s 12th death anniversary to do the good deed. Desai once said: ‘Laugh at me today but mark my words, you’ll appreciate my work some day, even if its too late." And we do. More so after Connie Haham’s book.

Enchantment of the Mind Manmohan Desai's Films
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