“Ta Ra Rum Pum”, which I watched last Sunday, reminded me of the “espresso coffee” one is served in wedding pandals – high on froth but when you go digging for some substance, practically there is nothing to be found. The last time I got this feeling was when I watched Dhoom-2.
If movie–making is basically good story–telling, as I remember having read somewhere and what I think is correct, in my view these films should not have been made at all. Without even a semblance of a story, these movies are nothing more than a sequence of beautifully crafted advertisements, juxtaposed against each other, designed to merely titillate sans any stimulation.
Almost all such movies come from a big banner with a bigger star-cast, which succeeds in fooling one in to watching it, only to repent later. Wish the next time they could squeeze in some plain, old-fashioned story-telling.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
The Last King of Scotland
I would be lying if I said that I was looking forward to watching the movie – The Last King of Scotland. I mean, tyrannical dictators & despots, assuming power by staging coups, have long since ceased to be a novelty, haven’t they?
I therefore braced myself for some boring docu-drama about Idi Amin – the long–forgotten, cannibal dictator. Thankfully, I could not have been more wrong.
The Last King of Scotland is a brilliant film, which merits a watch for reasons more than one – first, an excellent and justifiably award–winning performance by the lead-actor Forrest Whittaker as Idi Amin, and second –in spite of the small garnishing of fiction, it is one of those movies which provide one with a reference point in history
The story of the movie is from the perspective of Amin’s personal physician – Dr. Garrigan who, from being a nobody, rises to the top echelons of power, among the most trusted aides of Amin himself.
Initially charmed by Amin’s ostentatious show of concern towards the poor of his country, Dr. Garrigan later comes to know the horrors Amin & his coterie has inflicted on the masses.
But by that time, he realizes he is entrapped in the vicious quagmire and in a reversal of fortune, he just escapes being murdered by Amin’s henchmen to flee from the state incognito.
More than being a story, the movie actually scores in bringing out in detail not only the eccentricities, whims & tantrums of a dictator drunk on absolute power, but also his insecurities & fears in illuminating detail. A must watch.
I therefore braced myself for some boring docu-drama about Idi Amin – the long–forgotten, cannibal dictator. Thankfully, I could not have been more wrong.
The Last King of Scotland is a brilliant film, which merits a watch for reasons more than one – first, an excellent and justifiably award–winning performance by the lead-actor Forrest Whittaker as Idi Amin, and second –in spite of the small garnishing of fiction, it is one of those movies which provide one with a reference point in history
The story of the movie is from the perspective of Amin’s personal physician – Dr. Garrigan who, from being a nobody, rises to the top echelons of power, among the most trusted aides of Amin himself.
Initially charmed by Amin’s ostentatious show of concern towards the poor of his country, Dr. Garrigan later comes to know the horrors Amin & his coterie has inflicted on the masses.
But by that time, he realizes he is entrapped in the vicious quagmire and in a reversal of fortune, he just escapes being murdered by Amin’s henchmen to flee from the state incognito.
More than being a story, the movie actually scores in bringing out in detail not only the eccentricities, whims & tantrums of a dictator drunk on absolute power, but also his insecurities & fears in illuminating detail. A must watch.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Paincho!!
I remember, in my child-hood, swear & curse words being referred to as “helping verbs”. At that time, the reason for this nomenclature eluded me but now, in saaddi Dilli, I realize the aptness.
Now when my work, and pleasure occasionally, takes me around Delhi, and when my ears are treated to a wide variety of lingo – all peppered with enough garnishing of these “helping verbs”, I find that your everyday “Painchos” and “Machos” indeed do help a large number of Delhites make meaningful conversations with their fellow citizens.
So much so that there are people I know who, if their p…’s and m….’s are proscribed, would be left completely tongue-tied, devoid of even rudimentary conversation tools and skills.
So, the next time when you crib about the lack of decent language & tehzeeb in Delhi, spare a thought for those true Delhites who, but for these helping verbs, would not have been able to talk even, let alone talking properly, poor chaps!
Now when my work, and pleasure occasionally, takes me around Delhi, and when my ears are treated to a wide variety of lingo – all peppered with enough garnishing of these “helping verbs”, I find that your everyday “Painchos” and “Machos” indeed do help a large number of Delhites make meaningful conversations with their fellow citizens.
So much so that there are people I know who, if their p…’s and m….’s are proscribed, would be left completely tongue-tied, devoid of even rudimentary conversation tools and skills.
So, the next time when you crib about the lack of decent language & tehzeeb in Delhi, spare a thought for those true Delhites who, but for these helping verbs, would not have been able to talk even, let alone talking properly, poor chaps!
Friday, January 19, 2007
Yuhin
This is one advantage of having a virtual absence of visitors on your blog – you can come and go as you please. This posting comes after a long time but I can rest assured of no admonitions.
While I was away there has been a whole gamut of happenings – from the positively gruesome like Nithari to uplifting ones like the Mattoo and Jessica verdicts. And yes, the popcorn fare – like Abhiash & Shilpa “Big Brother” recently.
Nithari is horrific actually – so much so that sometimes you feel you are being taken through some film plot. Wish it were so.
The court verdicts gave us hope that given a reason good enough, our much ridiculed system and public have the capacity to rise above the “chalta hai – hota hai” attitude which we are all so infamous for.
And how can I forget the very recent Abhiash phenomenon? Forgive me if your sensibilities are hurt but I must admit that I read this news on the front page before I read any other serious fare. And I was happy for both of them. Now, please do not start that bit about “begaani shaadi mein…..”
About this Shilpa Shetty affair – her being ridiculed on the Big Brother UK, what I feel about the whole issue is very succinctly presented in an article in the Hindi daily “Dainik Amar Ujala” dated 18th Jan’07. Too bad I can not paste the link here because of some technical incompetence on my part.
Will close this post here, while promising myself that I would try to be more regular.
While I was away there has been a whole gamut of happenings – from the positively gruesome like Nithari to uplifting ones like the Mattoo and Jessica verdicts. And yes, the popcorn fare – like Abhiash & Shilpa “Big Brother” recently.
Nithari is horrific actually – so much so that sometimes you feel you are being taken through some film plot. Wish it were so.
The court verdicts gave us hope that given a reason good enough, our much ridiculed system and public have the capacity to rise above the “chalta hai – hota hai” attitude which we are all so infamous for.
And how can I forget the very recent Abhiash phenomenon? Forgive me if your sensibilities are hurt but I must admit that I read this news on the front page before I read any other serious fare. And I was happy for both of them. Now, please do not start that bit about “begaani shaadi mein…..”
About this Shilpa Shetty affair – her being ridiculed on the Big Brother UK, what I feel about the whole issue is very succinctly presented in an article in the Hindi daily “Dainik Amar Ujala” dated 18th Jan’07. Too bad I can not paste the link here because of some technical incompetence on my part.
Will close this post here, while promising myself that I would try to be more regular.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Brake Fail
What’s with the song-remixes these days, I cannot quite understand.
Not very long ago, remixes were basically fast-paced versions of old hits, set to contemporary beats and in more modern voices. Remember “Chura Liya” by Bally Sagoo?
These were created to appeal to the supposedly newer generation. Fast-paced, because it was a given that the “newer” generation was leading a fast-paced life and was handicapped with shorter attention spans. True, maybe.
But can somebody explain why does one need to create a remix of a new song, which, by virtue of its music and feel, is already sufficiently “fast paced”? What elusive, mindless speed are these songs trying to run on to?
Try listening to the remix of “Kajrare” and you would know what I mean. It is just a cacophony interspersed with metallic voices, which are so common these days. Then there are those Himesh songs – it seems each version of a song is faster than the earlier one.
To use an old Bollywoodian phrase – “Maine uski gaadi ke brake phail kar diye hain, ab voh nahin bach sakta!!” Somebody please set right the brakes!
Not very long ago, remixes were basically fast-paced versions of old hits, set to contemporary beats and in more modern voices. Remember “Chura Liya” by Bally Sagoo?
These were created to appeal to the supposedly newer generation. Fast-paced, because it was a given that the “newer” generation was leading a fast-paced life and was handicapped with shorter attention spans. True, maybe.
But can somebody explain why does one need to create a remix of a new song, which, by virtue of its music and feel, is already sufficiently “fast paced”? What elusive, mindless speed are these songs trying to run on to?
Try listening to the remix of “Kajrare” and you would know what I mean. It is just a cacophony interspersed with metallic voices, which are so common these days. Then there are those Himesh songs – it seems each version of a song is faster than the earlier one.
To use an old Bollywoodian phrase – “Maine uski gaadi ke brake phail kar diye hain, ab voh nahin bach sakta!!” Somebody please set right the brakes!
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Ramayana
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I am definitely not making a revelation when I say that Ramayana is a timeless epic, such which is penned only once in a million years.
I am however even more amazed at its timeless appeal, of its quality of lending itself beautifully to contexts, situations, periods and treatments so different from the original and not necessarily religious in nature.
I first experienced it about 15 years back when I read the complete 5-volume version in Hindi – “Deeksha”, “Awsar”, Sangharsh Ki Or”, “Yudh – 1” & “Yudh-2’, penned by the celebrated Hindi writer – Narendra Kohli. Sadly, however, only an abridged, 2-volume series (Abhyudaya-1 & 2) is what I have found available in the market presently.
It is an extremely interesting and eminently readable series, more of a sociological & political thesis of those imagined times. It traces the journey (both inner & outer) of Ram, who is no God but a mortal prince–in–exile. The sketchiness, if I may use the word, of the original plot has been filled-in with a vivid interplay of intra & interpersonal relations.
I experienced it for the second time recently when I finished the last (last published, I mean) of the Ramayana series by the new-age author – Ashok Banker. Till now, 5 books in this series have been brought out in the market – “Prince of Ayodhya”, “Siege of Mithila”, “Demons of Chitrakut”, “Armies of Hanuman” and recently, “Bridge of Rama”.
Though Ram is still no God in this series, the treatment is a far departure from the Kohli series (apart from the language – Banker is in English). This is an extremely rich, unadulterated fantasy tale for a young, global audience.
Keeping the basic plot intact, Banker writes with a sense of ownership, playing around with various characters and sub-plots dexterously as if it is his own story, which, curiously enough, is the biggest strength of this series. There are various new, fantastical dimensions in the story - demons & gods & sorcery & of course, the new facets to the relationships between the characters.
Banker has not completed yet, and I am eagerly awaiting his next book. Meanwhile, I think, I would read Narendra Kohli again.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Billboards
Remember the outdoor advertising a few years back?
For the sarkari or sarkari type ads designed for plebian tastes, you had a wall painted with safedi & the message printed in neel. After some time, the colours faded and street- urchins took unprintable liberties with the syntax of the message.
For real class products like suitings – shirtings, there was a galvanized board which was actually made by joining various sheets. More often than not, it was painted garishly as a distorted approximation of a print advertisement and after some time, one of the corners managed to hang out precariously.
In the last few years, however, there has been such a marvelous change in the quality and the concept of the advertisement hoardings that to me it seems this is the single most visible indicator of our economic development.
Leave apart the big malls or swanky showrooms, even the corner juice-wallah has life-like Shahrukh or Rani Mukherji sitting atop their shed, extolling the virtues of the respective cold-drink.
And this is not restricted to only the consumer products. The tyre shops, garages, cycle repair shops, hotels, property dealers, gyms, beauty parlours – everyone is in to these glam hoardings (do they still call it that?). The bus stops, train stations and everywhich place is a collage of glamorous advertising.
Sometimes, it feels all these hoardings are talking about some different India - a shiny, smiling, bright, blemishless India, which is altogether on a different planet. If only....
For the sarkari or sarkari type ads designed for plebian tastes, you had a wall painted with safedi & the message printed in neel. After some time, the colours faded and street- urchins took unprintable liberties with the syntax of the message.
For real class products like suitings – shirtings, there was a galvanized board which was actually made by joining various sheets. More often than not, it was painted garishly as a distorted approximation of a print advertisement and after some time, one of the corners managed to hang out precariously.
In the last few years, however, there has been such a marvelous change in the quality and the concept of the advertisement hoardings that to me it seems this is the single most visible indicator of our economic development.
Leave apart the big malls or swanky showrooms, even the corner juice-wallah has life-like Shahrukh or Rani Mukherji sitting atop their shed, extolling the virtues of the respective cold-drink.
And this is not restricted to only the consumer products. The tyre shops, garages, cycle repair shops, hotels, property dealers, gyms, beauty parlours – everyone is in to these glam hoardings (do they still call it that?). The bus stops, train stations and everywhich place is a collage of glamorous advertising.
Sometimes, it feels all these hoardings are talking about some different India - a shiny, smiling, bright, blemishless India, which is altogether on a different planet. If only....
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Taxi Wallah
At the end of yet another outstation tour last week, I plonked myself in the back seat of the taxi I had hired for the day. A whole 200 kms of soliloquy or silence, in absence of a functional car radio or any other traveling companion, stretched before me.
As the car started and I relaxed, I learnt that the mild-mannered young taxi-wallah was named Abbas and his family was back home in Bihar. In a manner of small–talk, I asked him about his education. “Madarse mein islam ki taleem liye hain, sir, nau jamaat tak”, he replied. (I have studied Islam till 9th standard in a seminary).
Fed on the media induced prejudice for long and, let me admit, my being conscious of the class-divide that supposedly stretched between us, no further conversation seemed possible.
“But me, Sir”, he continued, “I believe that up there, there is but only one God. It’s just that our ways of calling out to him are different.”
Now, this was interesting, coming from a so-called “madarsa product”! I peered in to the rear-view mirror and saw his truthful eyes. And that was the start of a 4 hour-long dialogue between us.
He told me about his father – a dutiful government teacher, a loving mother and one sister. He told me about the vagaries of his job and how, in face of adversities, he was trying to keep his imaan intact.
But what we mainly discussed was the difference and, more importantly, the sameness of two religions – his and mine, Muslim and Hindu.
As he was eager to explain to me the story of Baba Adam, so was he curious to know about the Hindu concept of atman; as he patiently heard the basis of tri-murti, so he explained to me the one-ness of Allah; on the one hand he explained to me why Muslims do not keep idols or pictures in their place of worship, on the other hand he theorized why, for a Hindu who has not yet attained the highest religious state, an idol is a necessary aid for concentration.
More than his knowledge & awareness, it was his willingness to accommodate the other point of view, which I found to be a rarity and gave him, so to say, an exalted status in my eyes. Let’s face it - so many of us, so-called educated people lack this willingness, having turned our minds in to ghettos, which nurture hatred for “the other”.
As we entered Delhi, passing beneath huge hoardings carrying advertisements of TV serials, Abbas looked at me in his rear-view mirror and said– “Jab duty par nahin hota, toh TV par aap logon ka Ramayan bahut dekhta hoon main, Sir. Ram kitne dayalu hain na?”
As the car started and I relaxed, I learnt that the mild-mannered young taxi-wallah was named Abbas and his family was back home in Bihar. In a manner of small–talk, I asked him about his education. “Madarse mein islam ki taleem liye hain, sir, nau jamaat tak”, he replied. (I have studied Islam till 9th standard in a seminary).
Fed on the media induced prejudice for long and, let me admit, my being conscious of the class-divide that supposedly stretched between us, no further conversation seemed possible.
“But me, Sir”, he continued, “I believe that up there, there is but only one God. It’s just that our ways of calling out to him are different.”
Now, this was interesting, coming from a so-called “madarsa product”! I peered in to the rear-view mirror and saw his truthful eyes. And that was the start of a 4 hour-long dialogue between us.
He told me about his father – a dutiful government teacher, a loving mother and one sister. He told me about the vagaries of his job and how, in face of adversities, he was trying to keep his imaan intact.
But what we mainly discussed was the difference and, more importantly, the sameness of two religions – his and mine, Muslim and Hindu.
As he was eager to explain to me the story of Baba Adam, so was he curious to know about the Hindu concept of atman; as he patiently heard the basis of tri-murti, so he explained to me the one-ness of Allah; on the one hand he explained to me why Muslims do not keep idols or pictures in their place of worship, on the other hand he theorized why, for a Hindu who has not yet attained the highest religious state, an idol is a necessary aid for concentration.
More than his knowledge & awareness, it was his willingness to accommodate the other point of view, which I found to be a rarity and gave him, so to say, an exalted status in my eyes. Let’s face it - so many of us, so-called educated people lack this willingness, having turned our minds in to ghettos, which nurture hatred for “the other”.
As we entered Delhi, passing beneath huge hoardings carrying advertisements of TV serials, Abbas looked at me in his rear-view mirror and said– “Jab duty par nahin hota, toh TV par aap logon ka Ramayan bahut dekhta hoon main, Sir. Ram kitne dayalu hain na?”
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Veebhatsa-Rasa
Somebody please wake me up!! Seemingly, I am in a time warp, some 2 thousand years ago, with my old-world sense of aesthetics still intact (or so I prefer to believe)!
How else do I console myself when I read that a Brooklyn art gallery is planning to exhibit a profound sculpture next month – a life-size nude sculpture of pop star Britney Spears giving birth on a bear-skin rug! (http://www.hindustantimes.com/news/181_1662539,00470001.htm)
Ugh! What people would enjoy looking at this grotesque work, I fail to understand.
And sample this comment from the great artist Edwards himself - "Spears provides inspiration for those struggling with the right choice." Inspiration? Choice? Sorry?
How else do I console myself when I read that a Brooklyn art gallery is planning to exhibit a profound sculpture next month – a life-size nude sculpture of pop star Britney Spears giving birth on a bear-skin rug! (http://www.hindustantimes.com/news/181_1662539,00470001.htm)
Ugh! What people would enjoy looking at this grotesque work, I fail to understand.
And sample this comment from the great artist Edwards himself - "Spears provides inspiration for those struggling with the right choice." Inspiration? Choice? Sorry?
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Feluda
Let me confess it – till a month back, I had never read any of Satyajit Ray’s books or watched his movies. From whatever little I knew, he was primarily a film-maker, who touched esoteric subjects in his films and books, which he wrote occasionally, both of them primarily to be enjoyed by bhadra-lok. It happens, you know, with great people – the myth overrides the man and his works. And then average-brained persons like me can not muster enough courage to take a plunge.
But thank God to the marketing guys, for once. As I walked in to the Crossword book-shop last Sunday, a neatly packaged “Feluda” omnibus almost called out to me. And putting aside my prejudices, I picked it up. If I am allowed to say so, I haven’t regretted it since.
For the umpteenth time I have realized you do not need great-sounding works or complex plots to tell a good story. Ray’s simple and spontaneous prose flows easily and reaches out to your heart and his plots and characters are from among everyday people like you and me. I am not over with it yet and till now, the whole experience has been a bit like one’s forgotten, innocent childhood, which one cherishes all his life.
I am sure as soon as I finish with “Feluda”, I would set out to find another good book from his repertoire. Any suggestions?
But thank God to the marketing guys, for once. As I walked in to the Crossword book-shop last Sunday, a neatly packaged “Feluda” omnibus almost called out to me. And putting aside my prejudices, I picked it up. If I am allowed to say so, I haven’t regretted it since.
For the umpteenth time I have realized you do not need great-sounding works or complex plots to tell a good story. Ray’s simple and spontaneous prose flows easily and reaches out to your heart and his plots and characters are from among everyday people like you and me. I am not over with it yet and till now, the whole experience has been a bit like one’s forgotten, innocent childhood, which one cherishes all his life.
I am sure as soon as I finish with “Feluda”, I would set out to find another good book from his repertoire. Any suggestions?
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Times of India
There is an interesting quote in the The Speaking Tree column in Sunday Times of India (March 24'06), which set me thinking and I thought I should share with you.
It is ascribed to Epicurus, the Greek philosopher - "If God is willing to prevent evil but not able, then he is not omnipotent; if he is able but not willing, he is not benevolent; if he is both able and willing, whence come evil?" Whence, indeed?
It is ascribed to Epicurus, the Greek philosopher - "If God is willing to prevent evil but not able, then he is not omnipotent; if he is able but not willing, he is not benevolent; if he is both able and willing, whence come evil?" Whence, indeed?
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Wardi
A few weeks back, as I was walking at a very busy cross-road in Delhi during the morning rush-hour, I saw two rowdies on a motorcycle jumping a red-light. To compound the matters further, I noticed, none of them was wearing a helmet.
Trust a traffic-cop never to let such an opportunity fritter away. Soon as I thought, a traffic cop with his flailing hands, jumped in the center of the road and signaled both of them to stop. I swear I could see him salivating at the prospect of some “kamai” so early in the morning. What a way to start the day!
As happens in countless such dramas played out on our roads everyday, I fully expected the rowdies to get down, and then start their routine of cajoling, pleading, citing extremely valid reasons for such an invalid behaviour, and finally conspiratorially handing over a 50-rupee note, to be let away with a knowing smile. What followed was a complete surprise to me. Thereby this tale.
As soon as the motorcycle stopped, the pillion rider jumped down and walked with a pronounced swagger to the cop – “Oye, itna kood kyun raha hai? Hum kahin bhaage ja rahein hain kya?” (Hey, why are you jumping all over? Are we running off to somewhere?) The cop was positively astounded! After some hesitation, he tried to match up to the duo with a renewed confidence and tried to wrestle out the ignition key. The driver caught his hand firmly and snarled – “Saale, chaabi ko haath mat lagana!! Tere paon ka hi joota nikal kar itna maroonga ki bhool jayega sab kuchh!!” (#$%^&*, don't you ever touch that key! I will thrash you bad!). It was followed by a string of choicest expletives available to the Hindi language.
I could see the petrified face of the cop. He seemed to have shrunk a bit in his uniform. He beat a hasty retreat, confounded no doubt by this role-reversal, sort of. A small crowd, which had by that time gathered around, seemed equally surprised but none of them moved. Rather, most of them seemed to be enjoying his predicament.
As a law-abiding citizen, this incident should have angered me. Perverse as it may sound, at that time I actually loved it. It seemed to me a case of a doctor getting a dose of his own bitter medicine.
I would not wish this thing to be repeated. Never. But for not letting this happen again, its high time the average police personnel on the street is trained and sensitized to come out of the feudal, colonial mindset and is sensitized to the concept of human dignity and service to the people. Its then that it could expect reciprocation from your average person on the street.
Trust a traffic-cop never to let such an opportunity fritter away. Soon as I thought, a traffic cop with his flailing hands, jumped in the center of the road and signaled both of them to stop. I swear I could see him salivating at the prospect of some “kamai” so early in the morning. What a way to start the day!
As happens in countless such dramas played out on our roads everyday, I fully expected the rowdies to get down, and then start their routine of cajoling, pleading, citing extremely valid reasons for such an invalid behaviour, and finally conspiratorially handing over a 50-rupee note, to be let away with a knowing smile. What followed was a complete surprise to me. Thereby this tale.
As soon as the motorcycle stopped, the pillion rider jumped down and walked with a pronounced swagger to the cop – “Oye, itna kood kyun raha hai? Hum kahin bhaage ja rahein hain kya?” (Hey, why are you jumping all over? Are we running off to somewhere?) The cop was positively astounded! After some hesitation, he tried to match up to the duo with a renewed confidence and tried to wrestle out the ignition key. The driver caught his hand firmly and snarled – “Saale, chaabi ko haath mat lagana!! Tere paon ka hi joota nikal kar itna maroonga ki bhool jayega sab kuchh!!” (#$%^&*, don't you ever touch that key! I will thrash you bad!). It was followed by a string of choicest expletives available to the Hindi language.
I could see the petrified face of the cop. He seemed to have shrunk a bit in his uniform. He beat a hasty retreat, confounded no doubt by this role-reversal, sort of. A small crowd, which had by that time gathered around, seemed equally surprised but none of them moved. Rather, most of them seemed to be enjoying his predicament.
As a law-abiding citizen, this incident should have angered me. Perverse as it may sound, at that time I actually loved it. It seemed to me a case of a doctor getting a dose of his own bitter medicine.
I would not wish this thing to be repeated. Never. But for not letting this happen again, its high time the average police personnel on the street is trained and sensitized to come out of the feudal, colonial mindset and is sensitized to the concept of human dignity and service to the people. Its then that it could expect reciprocation from your average person on the street.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Laugh, we?
I generally am not very much enthusiastic about watching TV. When I am back from work, I just catch whatever is on at dinner-time The surfeit of scandalous news, mushy soaps, even more mushy reality talent-hunts and mostly inane movies is nothing to look forward to.
There is one program, though, which I have lately been immensely interested in & try not to miss and therefore finds mention here – The Great Indian Laughter Champions, the stand-up comedy talent hunt program on Start One, Friday nights at 10 pm. I’ll tell you why I am so fond of it.
We are a society with a perpetual sullen countenance. I do not know whether it is the collective weight of our history & religious beliefs or the undue premium we place on the serious and somber, we Indians have lately forgotten to laugh at ourselves.
You don’t believe me? Next time you go out, try throwing some humorous comment or response to the people around you – your shopkeeper, doctor, banker, kid’s teachers, government officials. The first reaction would be of disbelief, followed probably by a guarded snigger. There are very few people who have the ability and inclination to appreciate good humour in everyday life.
This program has really tickled the proverbial funny bone of our society and rekindled this art of laughing at ourselves, which would, I hope, go a long way in making more civilized people of us. We need more such programs.
Now, I agree that there are various other comedy sitcoms on telly. But this is different because of the format. Apart from the occasional Shekhar Suman or Sajid Khan, we have never had a stand-up comedian being appreciated for some intelligent lines rather than a slap-stick situation. And in our movies also, it is only recently that good comedy has been recognized as an acting genre in itself and not a side-function of the hero vs villain story.
You think I am haranguing a bit more than warranted about a “thakela” TV show? Then let me hear what you have to say, please!
There is one program, though, which I have lately been immensely interested in & try not to miss and therefore finds mention here – The Great Indian Laughter Champions, the stand-up comedy talent hunt program on Start One, Friday nights at 10 pm. I’ll tell you why I am so fond of it.
We are a society with a perpetual sullen countenance. I do not know whether it is the collective weight of our history & religious beliefs or the undue premium we place on the serious and somber, we Indians have lately forgotten to laugh at ourselves.
You don’t believe me? Next time you go out, try throwing some humorous comment or response to the people around you – your shopkeeper, doctor, banker, kid’s teachers, government officials. The first reaction would be of disbelief, followed probably by a guarded snigger. There are very few people who have the ability and inclination to appreciate good humour in everyday life.
This program has really tickled the proverbial funny bone of our society and rekindled this art of laughing at ourselves, which would, I hope, go a long way in making more civilized people of us. We need more such programs.
Now, I agree that there are various other comedy sitcoms on telly. But this is different because of the format. Apart from the occasional Shekhar Suman or Sajid Khan, we have never had a stand-up comedian being appreciated for some intelligent lines rather than a slap-stick situation. And in our movies also, it is only recently that good comedy has been recognized as an acting genre in itself and not a side-function of the hero vs villain story.
You think I am haranguing a bit more than warranted about a “thakela” TV show? Then let me hear what you have to say, please!
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Festivals - Diwali
A very Happy "Diwali" to all of you! Last 3 days have been really hectic - crackers, eating, lights - lots of them, shopping, visiting friends, relatives, acquaintances...
I really love this festival and every year when I pray, I am reminded of the glorious history ( or mythology, as one's point of view might be) behind the celebrations.
I must admit however that everytime I hear the word "Diwali", I cringe. The correct name is "Deepawali", which, as everybody in India should know, is a sanskrit word meaning "a row of lights". "Deep" means an earthen lamp and "Awali" means a row.
Over the centuries, it seems, the sharp edges of "Deepawali" have been rounded off to a more colloquial "Diwali" but in the process, has lost all its sheen and glory. It sounds so routine and mundane, so to say.
Anyway, I am probably getting a bit mushy over this name business. What's in a name, as they say! Or is there?
Monday, September 26, 2005
Raag Darbari
I have just finished reading "Raag Darbaari" by Shrilal Shukla. Third time, that is.
With my limited reading, I have yet to come across so powerful a statement & satire on the socio-political rural (and real) India.
To all of you who have been mesmerized by the gloss of cities for long, I strongly recommend this book, which I am sure would serve as a much-needed (I presume) dosage of the real India we live in.
And let me also warn you, do not go for any translated version. As it happens with any translation, however brilliant it might be, the sublime cultural connotations are completely lost.
I would welcome your views.
With my limited reading, I have yet to come across so powerful a statement & satire on the socio-political rural (and real) India.
To all of you who have been mesmerized by the gloss of cities for long, I strongly recommend this book, which I am sure would serve as a much-needed (I presume) dosage of the real India we live in.
And let me also warn you, do not go for any translated version. As it happens with any translation, however brilliant it might be, the sublime cultural connotations are completely lost.
I would welcome your views.
Sunday, May 29, 2005
Graffiti
Hi all! I am back after a brief, inadvertent gap. This is a season of weddings and vacations and I was a bit tied up.
One of these days, I was driving in to an unknown part of the city. While at the wheel, and being plodded along by the traffic around me, I had no other way of knowing where I was, except the signposts and road-markers put up by the administration. Thank them and God for that, I thought.
I was merrily cruising along when suddenly I found that that the next signpost exhibited not the information I sought and which this signpost was intended for, but a picture of some idiot grinning at me with his hands folded, extolling me to “vote for glass” or for some other such house-hold item.
This happens all the time. You wish to board your train from some obscure station on the way but find the space for the reservation chart is splattered with pamphlets of some political rally; you are at a government office and the information board is all filled up with the union elections in the offing; in short all and any important information displayed for some public good is bound to be defaced and replaced with some humbug.
Why does this happen? What types of people do this? In my view, this happens because there is such a huge identity crisis and people need to assert themselves in the most radical manner, public sensibilities and their needs be damned. And also because, in general, we are not a very civic society. Any one of us is actually not attuned to respecting valid needs of others.
I remember having read somewhere recently that in Germany, there is a talk of proposing a legislation to curb all such graffiti, with a provision of strict punishment including imprisonment. I think there is a valid need for such a legislation here in our country too.
One of these days, I was driving in to an unknown part of the city. While at the wheel, and being plodded along by the traffic around me, I had no other way of knowing where I was, except the signposts and road-markers put up by the administration. Thank them and God for that, I thought.
I was merrily cruising along when suddenly I found that that the next signpost exhibited not the information I sought and which this signpost was intended for, but a picture of some idiot grinning at me with his hands folded, extolling me to “vote for glass” or for some other such house-hold item.
This happens all the time. You wish to board your train from some obscure station on the way but find the space for the reservation chart is splattered with pamphlets of some political rally; you are at a government office and the information board is all filled up with the union elections in the offing; in short all and any important information displayed for some public good is bound to be defaced and replaced with some humbug.
Why does this happen? What types of people do this? In my view, this happens because there is such a huge identity crisis and people need to assert themselves in the most radical manner, public sensibilities and their needs be damned. And also because, in general, we are not a very civic society. Any one of us is actually not attuned to respecting valid needs of others.
I remember having read somewhere recently that in Germany, there is a talk of proposing a legislation to curb all such graffiti, with a provision of strict punishment including imprisonment. I think there is a valid need for such a legislation here in our country too.
Monday, May 02, 2005
Horny Indians
I have just returned home after an excruciating drive through the notorious city traffic and have realized yet again how horny we Indians are.
Now, please do not get me wrong. I usually do not think about sex while driving, at least not in terms of some dry sociological fact.
When I say horny, I refer to the propensity of an average Indian, while s/he is driving, to rely on his vehicle’s sound horn more than any thing else, including his driving skills.
While waiting at the traffic lights, God forbid if your reflexes fail you for even a nano-second when the light changes from red to green. Instantaneously, you would be chastised by a harsh symphony of sounding of all kinds of horns from all directions.
While actually moving, its your solemn responsibility to come up to the expectations of all your fellow-drivers in terms of maintaining speed, sticking to your lane etc. If you falter even a bit, a sharp rebuke of a short, powerful sounding of horn (akin to a rap on the knuckles) awaits you.
And then, what better way to proclaim your right to the road than an authoritative and gruff sounding of horn.
I sometimes wonder why do we need any brakes at all in our vehicles? Let the best horn win!
Now, please do not get me wrong. I usually do not think about sex while driving, at least not in terms of some dry sociological fact.
When I say horny, I refer to the propensity of an average Indian, while s/he is driving, to rely on his vehicle’s sound horn more than any thing else, including his driving skills.
While waiting at the traffic lights, God forbid if your reflexes fail you for even a nano-second when the light changes from red to green. Instantaneously, you would be chastised by a harsh symphony of sounding of all kinds of horns from all directions.
While actually moving, its your solemn responsibility to come up to the expectations of all your fellow-drivers in terms of maintaining speed, sticking to your lane etc. If you falter even a bit, a sharp rebuke of a short, powerful sounding of horn (akin to a rap on the knuckles) awaits you.
And then, what better way to proclaim your right to the road than an authoritative and gruff sounding of horn.
I sometimes wonder why do we need any brakes at all in our vehicles? Let the best horn win!
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Reserved for Ladies
On account of this outburst, I could well be termed a certified MCP but here goes. It seems to me that the ladies (notice how I have not used the term - women) are still a confused lot about what route to take to liberation. I will take an example to illustrate my point.
In the public transport I use, I find young and perfectly able-bodied woman glaring at even some senior citizens who have occupied the "ladies only" seats, with a silent (sometimes) admonishing and imploration for them to get up and offer them this sacred space reserved for them by the law. More often than not, these are educated, working women, who consider this reservation as their divine prerogative. (It is another matter that once enconsed in their seats, they would not bother to think about another female fellow-traveller in distress). And on the other hand, we find these young women attempting to "break the glass ceiling" at work, looking for equal opportunity employers, attempting to become more "men" than men.
I agree that above are extremely generalized situations but then, I hope you get the drift of what I am trying to say. Only that you can not have your cake and eat it too.
Sunday, April 03, 2005
History
Last Sunday, at an old friend’s house, I picked up a book by the celebrated writer-activist-politician Arun Shourie – “Worshipping False Gods”. One would recall that in this book, Mr. Shourie has proceeded to demolish the benevolent halo around the much revered dalit leader - Baba Saheb Ambedkar by submitting certain historical facts – or fiction, as your point of view might be.
During my return journey from the office today, I was ruminating about the book, and remembering the infuriating response to this book at the time of its release, when a strange contradiction in our collective behaviour struck me. Let me elaborate.
It is an accepted fact that history of our nation, let alone the world, does not interest us as a nation. We are after all a young country, in pursuit of a happy future ahead. If I remember correctly, a recent survey by a magazine pointed out that about 60% of our young generation were completely bereft of any historical knowledge and perspective on even the most rudimentary topics and whats more, hardly had any inclination for it. Barring for the academicians and for some other exceptions, history it seems is considered best left alone in sixth standard school books. Almost all our historical monuments, museums lie in ruins and proclamation of a BA in History generally does not grant you a second glance in exalted company.
But while there is a total atmosphere of apathy towards our history as in facts, we cling to & worship history as in humans, so much so that we sacrifice even the genuine facts on the altars of our (mis) placed beliefs. We brazenly engage in hero-worship, aided by the glorious fables attributable to them over the ages. Our identification with them is so complete and total that we close our eyes to any reason and if some one dares to even so much as to propose even a slight deviation from the popularly accepted version of the personality, in stead of questioning the facts, we proceed with the “shoot the messenger” attitude.
Why this apparent contradiction? Is it because we are not mature enough to take criticism in a more forthright manner? Or is it because each one of us is afraid of losing his/her moorings in this already mad world? Or is it because as long as it is “his-story” it is none of my business?
During my return journey from the office today, I was ruminating about the book, and remembering the infuriating response to this book at the time of its release, when a strange contradiction in our collective behaviour struck me. Let me elaborate.
It is an accepted fact that history of our nation, let alone the world, does not interest us as a nation. We are after all a young country, in pursuit of a happy future ahead. If I remember correctly, a recent survey by a magazine pointed out that about 60% of our young generation were completely bereft of any historical knowledge and perspective on even the most rudimentary topics and whats more, hardly had any inclination for it. Barring for the academicians and for some other exceptions, history it seems is considered best left alone in sixth standard school books. Almost all our historical monuments, museums lie in ruins and proclamation of a BA in History generally does not grant you a second glance in exalted company.
But while there is a total atmosphere of apathy towards our history as in facts, we cling to & worship history as in humans, so much so that we sacrifice even the genuine facts on the altars of our (mis) placed beliefs. We brazenly engage in hero-worship, aided by the glorious fables attributable to them over the ages. Our identification with them is so complete and total that we close our eyes to any reason and if some one dares to even so much as to propose even a slight deviation from the popularly accepted version of the personality, in stead of questioning the facts, we proceed with the “shoot the messenger” attitude.
Why this apparent contradiction? Is it because we are not mature enough to take criticism in a more forthright manner? Or is it because each one of us is afraid of losing his/her moorings in this already mad world? Or is it because as long as it is “his-story” it is none of my business?
Sunday, March 13, 2005
Delhi
In spite of living near & working in Delhi for quite some time now, Delhi never ceases to find newer means and ways to amaze me.
Today, after I got on one of the notorious blue-line buses on my last lap to office, I realized to my horror that I was 50 paise short of the minimum fare of Rupees 2 – in loose change, I mean.
With a confident demeanour, which I hoped would carry me through, I handed over the two coins – 1 rupee and 50 paise – to the conductor, who looked every inch a worthy specimen of the perpetually unwashed species of blue-line conductors. “Aath aane kam hain, agle stop tak jaana hai (The change is fifty paise short but I have to get down at the next stop itself)”. I presumed he would grant my intentions a benefit of doubt and would waive me through. After all, I hoped, I didn’t look a person who would lie to save a pittance.
Instead, he looked disdainfully at the 50 paise coin, glowered at me and barked – “Pachaas Paise ka sikka nahin chalta bhaisahab, Is mein to ek paani ka gilaas bhi nahin aayega” (This coin won’t do, won’t even buy a glass of water). I was stumped! Of course, I had no choice but to fork out a 100-rupee note for want of a fifty-paise coin.
But, “Nahin Chalta!” Now, what does that mean? As far I understand, a 50 paise coin does represent a perfectly valid, if probably the smallest, denomination of the legitimate Indian national currency (correct me if I’m wrong). There is absolutely no reason why it would not be acceptable as a bus-fare when it does work in even the swanky malls and cineplexes.
Put this person in any other Indian city and chances are, he would calmly ask you to look for another 50 paise for the full fare. But here in Delhi, it is beneath his dignity to acknowledge the existence of any coin lesser than a 1-rupee.
I remember around 2 years back there was a brief period during which there was a short supply of new currency notes. At that time, the whole of northern India accepted even torn notes, preserved in a stapled polythene pouch. But could any self-respecting Delhi-wallah stoop to so low a level? Never!
I am amazed how, in Delhi, which is the national seat of government, could these perfectly valid instruments of governance and finance be refused for no valid reason but just for a lack of their aesthetic appeal? Or is it plain “Size does matter”? I am amazed.
Today, after I got on one of the notorious blue-line buses on my last lap to office, I realized to my horror that I was 50 paise short of the minimum fare of Rupees 2 – in loose change, I mean.
With a confident demeanour, which I hoped would carry me through, I handed over the two coins – 1 rupee and 50 paise – to the conductor, who looked every inch a worthy specimen of the perpetually unwashed species of blue-line conductors. “Aath aane kam hain, agle stop tak jaana hai (The change is fifty paise short but I have to get down at the next stop itself)”. I presumed he would grant my intentions a benefit of doubt and would waive me through. After all, I hoped, I didn’t look a person who would lie to save a pittance.
Instead, he looked disdainfully at the 50 paise coin, glowered at me and barked – “Pachaas Paise ka sikka nahin chalta bhaisahab, Is mein to ek paani ka gilaas bhi nahin aayega” (This coin won’t do, won’t even buy a glass of water). I was stumped! Of course, I had no choice but to fork out a 100-rupee note for want of a fifty-paise coin.
But, “Nahin Chalta!” Now, what does that mean? As far I understand, a 50 paise coin does represent a perfectly valid, if probably the smallest, denomination of the legitimate Indian national currency (correct me if I’m wrong). There is absolutely no reason why it would not be acceptable as a bus-fare when it does work in even the swanky malls and cineplexes.
Put this person in any other Indian city and chances are, he would calmly ask you to look for another 50 paise for the full fare. But here in Delhi, it is beneath his dignity to acknowledge the existence of any coin lesser than a 1-rupee.
I remember around 2 years back there was a brief period during which there was a short supply of new currency notes. At that time, the whole of northern India accepted even torn notes, preserved in a stapled polythene pouch. But could any self-respecting Delhi-wallah stoop to so low a level? Never!
I am amazed how, in Delhi, which is the national seat of government, could these perfectly valid instruments of governance and finance be refused for no valid reason but just for a lack of their aesthetic appeal? Or is it plain “Size does matter”? I am amazed.
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