Let's Just Call It 'The Ageless Beauty Diaries'

The thing that I have always wondered and was reminded of today is this: at what age should one ideally start taking "you look younger than your years" as a compliment? The reason behind this thought is the fact that I have been getting this for as long as I remember. Sometimes, I joke that I wouldn't be surprised if someone told me that at three months of age, I looked two months old!

The first memory that I have, however, of being told something along the said lines, is from my early teen years. At 14, I would wonder if that meant that I at least looked 13! Looking like a teen, when you are a teen, was somehow, a top priority.

A couple of years passed and I grew a couple of inches in height, only to have, once again, some variation of that one dreadful sentence blurted out to me. What ensued then, was what I like to refer to, as The Lipgloss Phase.

Being 18 is like being 13 again. You want to look your age! There definitely is a certain amount of thrill in producing, before that movie theatre security lady, your driver's licence that says you're an adult. But then there's also the irritability from the realization that you shouldn't have to miss out on movie trailers and poorly made commercials before the movie starts, only because you're not 5 foot 8!

21 today, I have less of a problem with being told that I don't look my part. (It might have something to do with the fact that waiters give me the vibe of not expecting too large a tip from me!) The question, however, still remains: do I want to look 18? Yes. And no. A few years ago, I thought I'd definitely want to pass off as an adolescent when I'm in my early twenties. Why? Because 20 was old. It's a different issue that I don't feel particularly old as yet!

If I were to answer my own question at the spur of the moment today, I would probably go on about how wanting to "look" young shouldn't be one's aim as they age, as much as wanting to "feel" young should. But the truth is, I'm just counting the seconds till they at McDonald's realize they needn't give me a free toy with my Happy Meal!

Therapy

When your body is maimed
and your ego too,
your mind is your army.
Standing strong, weapons drawn,
"I'll harm you if you harm me."

When they try, they fail
the winner is you,
yet you feel the bruise.
For head down, far away,
is the one man you did lose.

It is then that you doubt
the worth of your battle,
the sweetness of your victory.
When you try, you fail
for you cannot change history.

'Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani' reviewed by me

        With his first directorial feature film, Ayan Mukerji pleased. He did more than convince the simple-minded ambitious girl she has a shot with someone who looks like Ranbir Kapoor. He brought to the lime-light topics such as conversational chemistry, following one's dream, the hidden truth behind conflicts between father and son and the body image issues of the lively girl behind the goofy smile. It was refreshing because it was obvious it was made with a lot of heart. After such a debut, Mukerji shocks with the hullabaloo that is 'Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani'.

        This film has all the cliches with which Bollywood fims (old school as well as new age) are associated. It has a good looking cast, snow peaked mountains, a destination wedding, an item song, the celebration of an Indian festival through a song, a song for the wedding 'Sangeet', some more songs and a flashback. While the music by Pritam is upbeat and mostly catchy, it seems like Bollywood is not going to get rid of its choreographed dance routine, with its over-enthusiastic back up dancers, any time soon.

        Ayan Mukerji, probably considering them as his lucky charms, has tried to recreate certain aspects from Wake Up Sid in YJHD, such as the protagonist's love for photography, a parent keeping aside mangoes for him, a trio of friends (two boys and a girl) living it to the T and the two boys falling out and bursting into uncontrollable laughter after having sorted out their issues. While these factors worked well for him in his maiden directorial venture, they don't do much for him in YJHD.

        I have a problem with the difference in treatment of its two female actors. Bollywood has accepted Kalki as the petite but loud, energetic second lead because of her zingy looks and she has succumbed to this expectation from her. But why can this notion of judging an actor's acting prowess on the basis of their looks and then giving them roles accordingly not extend to Deepika Padukone? I would like to know what the makers of this film were thinking while casting Deepika as a plain Jane in this movie, other than the fact that the audiences will love the lead pair and so the movie will make money at the box office? Money? Is that the only thing film makers think of/are made to think of anymore? You cannot pass Deepika off as a plain, simple girl, even if you are Ayan Mukerji. And to think, her character is not 'plain' enough too. Simple girls do more than wear loose cotton lehengas as night wear and repeat their outfits (she really has repeated an entire look twice in the film)! Simple girls wear unflattering denims and their attires are not quite so well contrasted. Naina (Deepika's character's) wardrobe is instead filled with skirts, dresses and short shorts! Whether she is sleeping on the top berth of the train, hiking or just strolling in the Kashmir Manali market, her long pins are always exposed and because of how eye-catching they are, they seem to take over the scene.

        While the supremely talented Dolly Ahluwalia is reduced to a stereotypical nagging Indian mother, Tanvi Azmi's portrayal of Ranbir's character Bunny's step-mother is honest and reminiscent of Supriya Pathak's role in Wake Up Sid. Farooq Sheikh, as Bunny's father, holds his own too.

        There for comic relief, Evelyn Sharma plays the caricature character of the sexy but dumb Lara. She is borderline horny and though mildly annoying, I couldn't be much bothered by her. Another caricature character is the one played by Kunaal Roy Kapur. He plays Aditi's dufus bespectacled engineer fiance who dances funnily and jumps into the pool fully clothed. Props to Kunaal for making the character lovable.

        The cast of this film is far better looking than Wake Up Sid's, but YJHD has nothing else going on for it. While Wake Up Sid's Laxmi and Rishi were realistic and believable, this film's Aditi and Avi weren't, despite Kalki Koechlin and Aditya Roy Kapur being good actors.

        Deepika looks ethereal and this distracts the audience from her dismal acting. Whether her faith in God in the first half is shown to establish her simplicity of character or not, this trait is completely missing in the second half where she is seen donning skimpy shararas. It is not very right to assume simple girls are God fearing/loving too. They may not always be while not-so-simple girls can, as well.

        The 'gundon ki pitayi' scene is ridiculous and looks as though it was lifted straight out of one of the movies from the Golmaal franchise, no matter how much Kalki's fun voice and acting try to salvage it.

        The makers of the film have taken their creative licence to the limit of showing Naina, who once loved Bunny, talking to him 8 years later with the comfort one may have while talking to their unattractive but loved aunt. While the depiction of her chilled attitude towards him when they meet at the wedding all those years later is a blunder, I am willing to let it go.

       Another error in the script is Deepika's character, who has never had alcohol before as a principle, asking for it because she was cold on way to the mountain top where there once stood a shrine of a much sought after deity. A girl who is constantly praying, would never visit a place so holy, drunk. To show the passage of years, Ranbir sports a beard five minutes before and after the interval and Kalki's hair is longer in the second half of the movie.

        I would have liked it more if certain dialogues such as Bunny sharing with Naina his surprise over the fact that he can open up to her like he can to no one else, were felt, rather than said out loud.

        The fact that this movie earned 62 crore in its opening weekend can be attributed to the sole good looks of the lead pair. My congratulations for the same go out to the makers of the film. While most of the audience (especially the teenaged part) have given the film their nod, there is a certain section who expected more heart to it. This expectation stems from it being directed by Ayan Mukerji. The cinematography as well as the youthful language used in the film need special mention. While many love to see Ranbir Kapoor play the chocolate boy in coming-of-age films, I personally hope he graduates to something more and Ayan does too. Hoping the next ventures of both these talented men be better in tune with my liking, I remain.        

‘Train to Pakistan’ as a Postcolonial Novel

        A saying as personal as ‘one does not find faults in themself until someone else does’ holds great political relevance too. From the seeds of separation sown into the hearts of the indigenous people by those from the ‘Mother Country’, grew the enormous Indian tree of self-doubt and unease. In the midst of the obvious bias of most historical texts, the brutally frank narration of Indian novelist and journalist Khushwant Singh stands out. His acclaimed historical novel ‘Train to Pakistan’ paints the not-so-rosy picture of the events following India’s partition in 1947. Written with the precision and purpose of a survivor, this novel is chilling.

        The linguistic abrogation in the novel does not only make it relatable to its twenty first century readers but it also better highlights the mental state and notions of its various characters. Urdu origin words like ‘budmash’ (rogue), ‘zulum’ (injustice), ‘punkah’ (fan) and ‘shabash’ (well done) frequently occur during the course of the book. What is obvious is that the way to incite one’s enemy was either by making lewd remarks about their female relations or publicly making assumptions about each other’s potencies. This also serves as the source of some comic relief, especially if the altercation is between village rogues Jugga and Malli.

        The novel gives space and time for the unfolding of stories of some of its characters like the police inspector Hukum Chand, the mischief-maker Jugga Budmash and the ‘religion-less’, foreign return Iqbal whilst keeping with the description of the atrocities of the partition.

        Though set in the fictional town of Mano Majra, the events narrated in the book are real and typical to any other village in Punjab at the time. Setting the mood of the village is the common site of horse ridden tongas and the charpoys in the yards of houses. Most of the residents of the village are farmers with their hopes of a good harvest hung on the whimsical monsoon. Located at the banks of the river Jhelum, this village is prone to flooding and the only warning of an upcoming flood is the one issued by those on the river watch. The residents of this peaceful village are made aware of the time of the day by the periodic passage of the goods train through it. The humdrum affairs of Mano Majra are disrupted on the arrival of a trainload of corpses.

        The words of the mischievous Jugga, though added intending to add comic relief to the text, introduce the new age readers to the notions and mannerisms of their mid-twentieth century counterparts. He says, “There is no fun in marriage, Babuji. Where is the time or place for fun? In summer, everyone sleeps out in the open and all you can do is to slip away for a little while and get over with things before your relations miss you. In winter, men and women sleep separately. You have to pretend to answer the call of nature at the same time at night.”

        Not aware of the reasons and need for separation as well as independence, the villagers are indifferent to it. In the portrayal of their attitude towards the same, Khushwant Singh brings the plight of the native bourgeois to the forefront, thus proving to be one of the few writers with authentic description of the event. Dialogues like “(…) freedom is a good thing. But what will we get out of it? Educated people like you, Babu Sahib, will get the jobs the English had. Will we get more lands or more buffaloes?” strike a chord with the reader and give them something to ponder over. It talks about issues such as the benefits of colonization to certain sects of natives, namely, the educated and the compradors.

        A postcolonial perspective, though a study of the dominance of the coloniser and the resistance of the colonized, the hegemony of the colonisers is not obvious here. The author, instead, chooses to throw the limelight over the ambivalence of the aboriginals toward the partition and this emotion is the main protagonist of the novel. The book proves that colonialism still existed after the foreign colonisers were driven out. It insists that the concept of colonization is not limited to the universal idea of one nation colonising the other but that any group, society or individual exercising power on the other can be said to be a coloniser. At a time such as the partition, any individual with oratory skills is shown to be able to sway public opinion.

        At one point, a hot headed teenager from another village, who no one knows, is seen walking into the Mano Majra gurudwara and motivating his fellow Sikhs to brutally kill the Muslims leaving on trains to Pakistan, so that Pakistan too receives a trainload of corpses. He states, “Do you know how many trainloads of dead Sikhs and Hindus have come over? Do you know the massacres in Rawalpindi and Multan, Gujranwala and Shekhupura? What are you doing about it? You just eat and sleep and call yourselves Sikhs- the brave Sikhs! The martial class!” Such violence under the name of religion also goes to show that the blame of the massacre could not be placed on one group and that all were responsible.

        What is especially interesting to learn is the difficulty of the masses in getting used to the new life they had not much earlier hoped for. Fearing their own lives, the Sikhs of Mano Majra had driven all the Muslim occupants out. But near confessions like ‘(…) since the Muslims had gone, their deserted houses with doors swinging wide open had acquired an eerie, haunted look’ pull at the reader’s heartstrings.

        With its experimental language, eye for detail, surprising climax and unconventional protagonists, this novel is an eye opener. An enlightening read, ‘Train to Pakistan’ not just educates its readers but it also stays with them much after they have turned the last page.  Whether it is taken up by one in order to seek answers regarding the manner or reason of their ancestors’ deaths or by just someone looking for a great read, it informs them of the gore that has been caused in the history of India and somewhere in its subtext, pleads with the present generation to let history not repeat itself. A postcolonial writer writing about the immediate reaction of the colonised country to post colonialism, Khushwant Singh shoulders his responsibility well and sets the tone for other Indian postcolonial writers.

The Popularity of Masterchef Australia with the Indian Bourgeois

        George Bernard Shaw once said that there is no sincerer love than the love of food. One would not be in the wrong to go further and declare Indians as some of the truest examples of this love. ‘Indian’, being considered as one of the major cuisines of the world, is much appreciated. Humble food items such as the samosa, the idli, the pani puri and the gulab jamun have found themselves a spot on the international food map. This recognition of the novelty of these delicacies is not just evident on a worldwide scale, but its presence can be felt within the country as well. With the Indian acceptance of one another’s regional and communal disparities comes, gradually, the acceptance of another community’s food. Inquisitiveness, along with the love of food, drives within Indians an urge to know of new types of food forms from within as well as from outside the country. This can be evident from the increasing number of food shows, and more recently food channels, hitting the television.

        One such food show is MasterChef Australia, a competitive cooking game show produced by FremantleMedia Australia. Based in Australia, this show has an Indian fan base so large that it had two of the judges shoot a commercial just for this Indian audience. Here, one can hear them mouthing words such as ‘namaste’ and phrases like ‘bahot maza ayega’ (it will be fun). The judges are food critic Matt Preston, restaurateur and chef Gary Mehigan and chef George Calombaris, a rather jovial trio. The food prepared by the contestants is judged not just on the basis of taste, as Indians are used to, but also on the basis of texture and presentation. Comments such as ‘the meat is cooked rare’ or ‘the main component does not stand out in the clutter on the plate’ are met with fascination by this audience.

        Though a little baffled by the Australian accent, choice of food and vocabulary, Indian audiences are certainly not repulsed by it. Use of proteins such as kangaroo or rabbit meat though unimaginable to the mostly chicken and mutton eating mind, is intriguing. The omission of scripted dramatic scenarios aimed at increasing Television Rating Points is what sets this show apart from other shows of its kind. With contestants being shown releasing stress hormones only over the success of their dish, this is one of the few shows that restore one’s faith in reality television.

        While talking about the willing acceptance of the show in India, it is essential to mention the dress code of the contestants, judges and mentors on the show. The most common complaint that Indians have with most of the other countries is that its citizens dress provocatively. With the main focus of the show being culinary talent, the contestants, both male and female, are always seen donning a basic tee-shirt and pant attire. The only variation to the crisply ironed suit uniform of the judges is Matt Preston’s colourful neck scarves and visiting judge and host Anna Gare’s bright dresses. The mentors arrive mostly in their formal white uniforms. With the absence of bare skin and cleavage display, the show promptly finds itself a spot in the ‘Indian family programme’ slot.

        Another factor that captivates the Indian bourgeois is the unique Australian vocabulary and sense of humour. A refreshing breath of air amidst the American shows that dominate English channels in India, this show stands out. The camaraderie of the contestants despite the tough competition for the ‘MasterChef’ title appeals to the soft Indian intellect that has been trained to dance to the tunes of the romanticism of Bollywood. What is also evident is the inspiration one gets to try out new recipes after watching the show. Watching even kids executing complicated recipes such as those of cakes and cupcakes convinces the ever experimental Indian middle class citizen to not shy away from doing the same. The general social and political response of this category to globalization has been welcoming and this also proves to be beneficial as far as accepting foreign food items goes.

        One sees on this show men and women cooking with equal gusto. This as a concept is new to the country where the reigns of the kitchen are singlehandedly pulled by a woman, whether it is the mother, the wife or the maid. What is also inevitable is the passion for food amongst the contestants. An electrician by profession is seen just as able to produce before the judges a remarkable dish as a lawyer or a student. This desire of pleasing one with their cooking prowess rings a bell with the country for which food has been the conversation starter and ice breaker for centuries.

        The grandeur on which the show is conducted leaves its Indian audience lusting and sub-consciously comparing its extravagance to its Indian counter-part which is nowhere close to the same. The time and resources put into the show’s being as well as the meticulous eye for detail is obvious. Special mention needs to be given to the set designers for putting up such a commendable set as well as the producers for making the use of such an infrastructure such the contestants on the show do, possible. What is also endearing is the approachable and non-celebrity air maintained by the judges, unlike the ones on most competitive shows. The role of mentoring and guiding the contestants played by them is vital, with their inputs being important value add-ons and not just comments for the sake of keeping with the show’s format.

        The absence of unnecessary movie pre-release promotions like Indian and American reality shows is obvious and the only notable guests invited are from the cooking circuit from Australia and abroad. The time of the day during which the show is aired in India is the comfortable time-slot of 9-10 pm, when most families scout channels for some refreshing dinner or post-dinner time television. The quick succession with which all the seasons were aired in India only helped in hooking Indian fans further to the show.

        Speaking about aesthetically arranged food, footballer Andy Rooney once said, “I don’t like food that is too carefully arranged. It makes me think that the chef is spending too much time arranging and not enough time cooking. If I wanted a picture, I’d buy a painting.” Like him, there are inevitably few people who aren’t fans of what the show offers. But its number of fans is by large more than its number of critics. Cooking maestro and TV personality Jamie Oliver believes that there is always something new and amazing to learn when it comes to cooking and the show’s Indian fans wouldn’t disagree.

        Whether it is an invention test, a mystery box challenge, an immunity test or just the contestants toasting and dining with the judges at the end of the day, the viewers find themselves going through the same emotional roller coaster as the participants. As per American journalist Dorothy Day’s saying ‘food for the body is not enough, there must be food for the soul’, this show offers its viewers just that. Watching the show, an Indian merely looks forward to the day when ‘curry’ is appreciated not just as a food item amongst other Australian foods on menu cards but also as an individual amongst the population of the country.

100 Years of Indian Cinema- My Take

Slovene philosopher Slavoj Žižek has very rightly called cinema the ‘ultimate art’ saying ‘it doesn’t give you what you desire, it tells you how to desire’.  Indian cinema, born in 1913, has been doing just that to its faithful audience for a century now. Introduced in India by Dadasaheb Phalke, the motion picture has not just survived the tests of time and Indian cultural differences but also emerged as a victorious hero admired all over the globe.

Indian cinema has come a long way from the era of silent films spearheaded by ‘Raja Harishchandra’ to its present day alter-ego.  While an upgrade in technology has introduced better light, sound and visual effects, an upgrade in mindset has introduced actual, boldly clad (or unclad) women rightly playing female characters.

But not all aspects of film-making can be said to have changed for the better. As decades passed by, the themes on which movies were made, changed. Romance started to take the place of religion in movies and while comedy was present in Indian cinema right from its inception, comedy film makers started to take themselves less seriously, an act that would probably be frowned upon by the puritans of Indian cinema.

The age old Indian school of thought not only condemned professions in performing arts as taboo and meant for impotents, but also did not allow female participation in the few displays that were put up. The people, a few years later, more open-minded than now, did walk the path less treaded by accepting women on stage indulging in regional folk dances, but the stigma of prostitution was attached to such women. The truth behind this accusation cannot be easily discovered after three-fourths of a century. The evolution of women in cinema is interesting under such circumstances.

The whole country was left in a frenzy following Raja Harishchandra. By 1920 the film scenario in Madras looked promising with Raghupathi Venkaiah Naidu, S. S. Vasan and A. V. Meiyappan setting up production houses for Tamil and Telugu films to be shot here. The many cultural differences in India make it difficult for audiences all over the country to understand, enjoy and relate to cinema of just one particular language. When the Ardeshir Irani produced ‘Alam Ara’ hit select theatres across the country, the naïve audience was drawn to the novelty of the talkie. Producers all over the country took cue to produce movies in their respective regional languages. This was the birth of the various brackets of cinemas produced within the political boundaries of India which exist even today and go on to cater audiences beyond these borders as well.

Music soon became an almost obvious part of Indian cinema with actors having to sing their own songs in the early half of the twentieth century. This trend changed over the years with the introduction of playback singers (and more specifically, Lata Mangeshkar) to Indian cinema.

The trends of films were, more often than not, affected by the socio-political scenario of the nation. Movies on patriotism started to be made in the mid-forties to instill a sense of brotherhood and generate public opinion among the masses, for as American film director Martin Scorsese has said, ‘cinema is a matter of what’s in the frame and what’s out.’ During this period Indian cinema did not just speak out against oppression and exploitation against the Whites, but also reached puberty of sorts with Ashok Kumar’s ‘Kismet’ in 1945. With Kismet, audiences got a first glance of an anti-hero and openly accepted the topic of unmarried pregnancy that the film discussed. The movie went on to be one of the biggest hits in the history of Indian cinema.

This period could be referred to as the Golden Age of Indian cinema as it gave birth to film-makers such as V. Shantaram, Bimal Roy, Raj Kapoor and Mehboob Khan followed by Satyajit Ray, Ritwik Ghatak, Guru Dutt, K. Asif, K. V. Reddy L. V. Prasad and Ramu Kariat. Meanwhile, French film critic and theorist Andre Bazin’s saying ‘the cinema substitutes for our gaze a world more in harmony with our desires’ can be proven right by the well-built Tamil and Telugu actors playing larger than life characters. These actors include N. T. Rana Rao, M. G. Ramachandran, Sivaji Ganesan, Raj Kumar, Prem Nazir and later, Rajnikanth, Kamal Haasan, Manmooty, Mohanlal, Chiranjeevi and Balkrishna.

In the following decades, the film market was completely taken over by the angry young man Amitabh Bachchan and his ‘masala films’ such as ‘Sholay’, ‘Zanjeer’ and ‘Deewar’. Rightfully called a superhero, he showcased an array of facets of his personality, sometimes playing an action hero, sometimes an ill-fated drunkard, sometimes a wronged coolie and sometimes, even a soft-hearted romantic. What was inevitable about Amitabh Bacchan movies were the desirable female actors who worked alongside him, right from the sultry Rekha and Zeenat Aman to the innocent looking Jaya Bahaduri.

Male actors such as Dev Anand, Rajesh Khanna, Jitendra and Dharmender and female actors such as Savitri, Vyjayanti Mala, Nargis, Waheeda Rehman and Sharmila Tagore found a strong audience in the young and the restless. The Smita Patil- Shabana Azmi duo was much coveted by film-makers. The heart-warming comedy of Sridevi and Hema Malini was a refreshing breath of air too. It would be safe to say that was an era of the women as it is also when woman film-makers such as Vijaya Mehra, Aparna Sen, Sai Paranjpye, Kalpana Lajmi, Prema Karanth and Meera Nair came into the limelight.

The nineties was a Renaissance of sorts of Indian cinema with movies without an educative moral and purely meant for entertainment, were made. This was not the set norm. Sanjay Dutt and Govinda co-starred in many a comedy movies together and so did Salman Khan and Karisma Kapoor. The fame of Shah Rukh Khan, Aamir Khan, Madhuri Dixit and Kajol saw an upward trend too.

With six-packs, bikinis and cleavages being all over cinemas in the twenty-first century, there is a notable rise in the demand for gyms and over-all increased health and physique awareness. Whether it is Vidya Balan spearheading the causes, needs and desires of women in her films or Anurag Kashyap, Vikramaditya Motawane, Imtiaz Ali, Karan Johar or Raj Kumar Hirani bringing new topics to be discussed through their films, Indian cinema, like always, continues to give its audiences a thing or two to ponder over. Indian audiences are witnessing for the first time, animation and 3D in films.

While more has changed in Indian cinema than we know, much is still retained itself such as its entertainment value, large audience and the Kapoor family. Now looking as steady as ever, Indian cinema is nowhere close to fading into oblivion and it marches on, typically, bolder than the times.

Scars

Scars, I say, are like people in that they come in every imaginable shape, size, colour and position on one's body (sorry, I just had to)! There's no questioning that. The question to be asked here however is, are they aesthetic at all? On one hand are those who run to the open gates of plastic surgeons to get their scars less pronounced, and on the other hand are those who have it in them to pull a ‘Tina Fey’.

 A couple of months ago I left the hospital with a rather prominent scar on my neck. A neck scar is one thing that I have in common with Elizabeth Taylor and Catherine Zeta Jones, the other thing being our flawless beauty, of course. Now how I ended up with it is an entirely different (and important) question to answer which I can write a book! While I have lots to say about the history of my scar, I find myself at a loss of words when I think of its future. Certain questions regarding it, of which I am both the addressee as well as the addressed, are brought to the limelight every time I face a mirror. These questions being ‘am I going to keep it’, ‘am I going to get rid of it’ or ‘am I going to fidget with the scar enough to let it be visible but not let it seem like I have a problem with it’!

 My other prominent scar is the one I got done intentionally. A tattoo is what I am talking about here and not some evidence of masochism. This tattoo, on my right arm, reads ‘fortitude’ and means courage in adversity. They say your scars tell your story. Sure, together mine tell a wonderful story too. But whether or not I want to let these scars do all the talking, I remain unsure of.