Have you grown up in the early eighties, during the era of Doordarshan and Vividh Bharati? That was the era when women of substance were really women of substance and not some size zero anorexic versions of Paris Hilton. It was the age when the sartorial distinction between the heroine and the vamp was crystal clear. It was the era when it was okay for a hero to not be South Indian or a villain and still sport a moustache. If you belong to that era, you will perhaps resonate with, if not agree with what I say.

I was born in the first half of the eighties, and raised in a family which lived, breathed, and swore by Bollywood. Unlike most culturally inclined Bengali families where watching Hindi movies occasionally, even at home (forget cinema) was distasteful and an anathema (also known as bhalgar kalchar, not to be confused with tissue culture), I was exposed to Bollywood pretty early. Back in the heydays, the color television had just made its way into our living room in 1984, which only fuelled the spirit of Bollywood along with the weekend visits to the neighborhood Shakti or Shiva cinema halls. Multiplexes like Inox did not exist then.

There is a very specific genre of movies, which had taken the early eighties by storm. Typically, the star cast involved Jeetendra, Sridevi, or Jaya Prada, the playback singers were Kishore Kumar and Asha Bhonsle (unlike payback singers, like the adenoidal Himesh), and their names were Tohfa, Mawaali, or Himmatwaala. Most importantly, their music composer was the one and only Bappi Lahiri. Those were a different class of movies, nothing that our generation of Shah Rukh Khan lovers or six pack admirers would admire. “Those were the days”, I keep harping like a veteran with a broken phonographic record.

There would be colorful sets by the beach, replete with Rangoli decorations, palm and coconut trees. Hundreds of missiles would fart Holi colors every now and then, as the hero and the heroine ran toward some unseen finishing line in slow motion, holding hands. The extras looked straight out of the Ravan’s Lanka dasis from Ramanand Sagar’s Ramayana who took care of a very bemoaning Sita. They often used simple domestic cleaning devices like feather brooms as props (watch the song “Nainon mein sapna” if you do not believe me), which could be doubled up to clean cobwebs off the walls or to dance to tathaiya tathaiya hooo. There was nothing like a hideous color combination, for you could expect the hero to wear white shirt (tucked in of course), white trousers, white boots, and white socks, as much as you could expect the heroine to wear fluorescent yellow and pink track pants. At least watching him was better than watching his son, or his daughter (who I am surprised did not rechristen the movie to “Kissa Dirty Pikkkkcharr Ka” or “Kahaani Kleavage Ki”).

The songs of Bappi Lahiri might not have the finesse of Jhumpa Lahiri, but it was definitely dhinchik material. Lip biting, whistling, winking, or an open display of unabashed wantonness did not count as taboo. The dance moves were nothing Shiamak Davar or Farah Khan style, but represented every imaginable domestic activity like wiping floors in the air, kick starting an invisible Humaara Bajaj scooter, riding an imaginary pony, gyrating like the flour grinder or Idli maker, starting a manual diesel generator, milking a cow while half bent on haunches, flying a kite, or vibrating as if been electrocuted. Such choreography is witnessed best when on mute. I can only imagine how painful shaking all that lard would be, because there is so much to shake when one has a qamra (room) for a qamar (hip).

The shooting locales would best be in a, no, not the Swiss Alps or the Holland tulip fields, but in our very own desi fields, gardens, or beaches, amidst piles of pumpkins, sometimes apples, tomatoes, or balloons flying all over the place. The heroine would sinuously move in a white sari on a sunny Sunday afternoon, wearing heavy jewelry and flowers and gyrating deftly to “Ganga bina kaisa Haridwar, aalingan bina kaisa sansar”. The lyrics could be as eyebrow raising as “Ladki nahi hai tu lakdi ka khamba hai”, “Ting ting ting ting ghanti baje”, “Jhopdi mein charpai”, “Ek aankh maroon”, “Chumma chumma, mujhko banale priyatamma”, or “Aapas mein tak dhin tak dhin ho gaya, ab kya reh gaya baaki.” (Spare me the effort of translating it, please). The camera would unceremoniously focus on her well-endowed unmentionables while she heaved like an asthmatic, clutching on to her chest.

Yes, I know, such an era no longer exists, when the hero would wear body-hugging shirts showing nipples, and flex his hips as much as the heroine does. Gone are the days when Jaya Prada played the role of a lachrymose older sister who got to dance with the hero only in her dreams, sacrificing her desires for the younger sibling’s happiness. Gone are the days when heroines did not dress as vamps. Gone are the days when the dhol and the naal played in full swing while women flaunted their hips, wearing the most atrocious Tarzan-tight clothes as they ran by the beach in slow motion. Buxom extras from both sides hurled colored earthen pots at each other while the symmetric arrangement of the metal pots reminded you of the videogame Mario. This was not the era of the internet, cable, or telephone. This was not even the era of digital music, Baba Sehgal, or a 2-in-1 Sony tape recorder. We had an old Ahuja tape recorder with a single slot for cassettes. Therein, the songs would play in a loop until I had memorized every song.

I can smell Bappi Lahiri’s music from a distance. I do not know if this is an accomplishment worth boasting of, especially when my friends make fun of my huge collection of Bappi Lahiri songs. I am a venerable academician in the making who secretly loves listening to such dhinchik songs while driving. Do you think the research fraternity would disown me if they were to find my taste in music? For me, Jatin Lalit and Anu Malik happened much later. Bryan Adams and Backstreet Boys happened much later. Indian Ocean, Kailash Kher, and Rahat Fateh Ali Khan happened much later. When I was growing up, it was all about Bappi Lahiri.

Music, like food, is all about association and memories. That smell of payesh (kheer, or rice pudding as they call it here) every time Ma cooked during the birthdays. The smell of luchi (poori) and white potato curry for Sunday breakfasts. The smell of Dalda-laden Biryani from Aminia as you walked past Esplanade in Calcutta. The adenoidal voice of Kumar Sanu singing Chura Ke Dil Mera, Goriya Chali, during my teenage years that would spill adrenaline and other hormones all over the floor. Or the nautanki beats of Bappi Lahiri along with the “khyamta naach” (please don’t ask me for a Bengali to English translation) I learned to love as a five year old. The gyrating, shaking, heaving, and my love for such music shall continue. It is not an undoing which can happen. Perhaps that explains why I am still listening to the songs of the Dirty Picture in a loop all day.

[Guest post by DC who is a doctoral student at the University of Virginia, and an ardent fan of Bappi Lahiri’s music from the early eighties. Her previous post on AmreekanDesi was “The FOB who became an ABCD”.]

References
Gori tere ang ang mein
Nainon mein sapna
Ek dupatta do do mawaali
Tohfa Tohfa
Jhopdi mein charpai

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We decided to do some research to figure out the secret behind his awesomeness. The results were startling in their simplicity. You’d never think it was this easy.

Here, breaking for the first time, is the formula that anyone can use to become a superhero like Shahrukh Khan.

Yes, you too Tusshar.

[Click the image for a larger version]

You can thank me now. Happy Diwali.

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1. Koffee With Karan
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Not just impressed. I learnt a lot from the movie. What follows is ten important lessons in life that the movie taught me.

This is not a review. Millions have already been written so i wont go there. If you want a positive review try here, and here. If you want a bad one, check this out, and for a really nasty one, read here.

Ok. So back to the ten lessons i learnt from 3 Idiots.

Ageing can be stopped. There is after all, such a thing as the elixir of life. Obviously Aamir Khan has found it; there’s no way a 44 year old man can look so incredibly young all of a sudden. If only he shared some of that with Madhavan…

Or science has really made immense progress over the past years. They probably stole the face of a college kid and stuck it on Aamir’s.

Those tiny, baby scooters come in handy in medical emergencies. You can drive ahead of an ambulance clearing the way for it to pass, or if an ambulance isn’t available, just use the little bi-wheeler as one. As an added advantage, hospitals will let you drive the scooter right up to the operation theater so it works out quite nicely.

Poverty and illness may be touchy topics, but if tinted in sepia tones they become funny. All you need is a mom cribbing about the family’s pathetic financial condition in black and white, while the paralyzed dad lies in bed, and audiences will roll away in their seats. Some will ROFL, while some others may even ROFLMAO.

A movie can break box office opening collection records and win wholesome praise from all and sundry, but still some critic holed up in a dinghy cabin will manage to come up with an absolutely scathing review that tears up everything about the film. After all, isn’t that what critics are paid for? (Writing reviews, i meant! If you are a critic, please also note that such reviews may be followed by thousands of comments by readers questioning the sanctity of your comments.)

The farmhouses of Chhatarpur are passe. The Delhi wallah who really matters would go to a fancy hill station to get married.

On a related note, it is way easier to run away from a wedding in desolate hill stations. Imagine the lady runs away from the wedding mandap only to get caught in a massive traffic jam due to the latest flyover construction. Dad catches up, and shoots both runners with his rifle. What started as a romantic comedy suddenly ends up a horror flick.

If you had any doubts on the Mahabharata/Abhimanyu/Chakravyuha story, this movie should clarify all your concerns. Babies can listen and understand you, even before they are born. So get that Java book and start teaching your kid the basics of software development before his competition catches up.

This one’s important. You may be drunk and dirty, but if you are Aamir Khan, the girl will readily fall for you when you try to sneak into her bedroom in the middle of the night.

Please note the if – if you don’t pass that very important condition don’t even dare think of trying.

And the solution to the problem of men peeing all over the place – Electricity.

No man in the right frame of mind will risk his all-important apparatus. Just keep a battery and wires handy, and they will run like monkeys on seeing a langur.

Be a rebel. Fight the system. Educate yourself. Don’t waste the opportunity for education by just cramming from books. If you must mess with the principal of your college, make sure he has a pregnant daughter(-in-law) and be prepared with an inverter and a vacuum cleaner.

Lastly, think outside the box. If you just counted and this list was less than the promised length, well, that was intentional, and not because i ran out of points.

Didn’t you know – the rebel always ends up a winner?

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We heard that you left India in a rush because you were ‘really, really tired‘. What happened? Did you happen to travel in a Mumbai local train?

We are sure it couldnt be related to the fact that your child stars wanted some more from you. All Azharuddin wanted was a car. And Rubina, an additional $48,000 for an apartment in Bandra. What’s so bad about it?

Its simple. You made a movie about India’s poverty and the movie ended up making some $300mn. These kids should have gotten money but you took them to Hollywood, Disneyland etc, and then told them to go to school. WTF! These kids are stars now. Stars dont go to school.

Why cant Rubina live in a house in Bandra West? The kid calls you Danny Uncle and you really want her to live in Vikhroli? Vikhroli?

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A few thousand years later, Nina Paley has created a brilliant modern day story about the life of Sita. It’s called Sita Sings the Blues.

Here’s a trailer.

Watch the full movie HERE (There is an option to watch the movie online, as also one to download the entire thing)

Nina derived inspiration from her own story, after her husband broke up with her via email when she was traveling. The movie is entirely Nina’s baby, and took a few years in the making.

The movie has been winning critical acclaim all over the place. It has been released on the internet under a creative commons license, so it is essentially freeware, starting a new movement in the distribution of digital media.

I saw the movie a while back when it aired on PBS back in New York, and was very impressed. I was going to write about it but somehow missed. Better late than never, like Ram once said.

More information about the film on the official site. Try to watch it if you already haven’t.

Happy Dussehra, BTW!

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1. Mai Tuanu Janda Haan
2. Movie Review – Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi
3. Outsourced

Not just any song, but a Kylie Minogue song. For a Bollywood flick.

Yes sirs, the same Kylie Minogue who gave us Red blooded Woman and Cant get you out of my head. The same Kylie whose album has stayed on my ipod for a couple years now, when others came and went away.

As excited as i was, the song came across as a bummer. The movie is called Blue, the song is titled, of all titles, Chiggy Wiggy, and the music has been composed by AR Oscar Rehman.

“Three days – that’s all it took,” she revealed. “I presented Rahman the award at the BAFTA, next day we met to discuss the concept of the song and the lyrics, the third day we recorded! [link]

Maybe they should have spent a little more than the three days on the song. It could have been a completely different story, and a much nicer one at that.

It may not be the worst song doing the rounds, but certainly not what you expect from the promising team of Rehman and Minogue. Not when you could buy a few singers for life for what her highness was paid for the song.

A million dollars. That’s about Rs 5 crore!

If Shashi Tharoor’s suite cost $1000 a night, then he could live in five star luxury for three years for that sort of moolah. Not too long back, Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja gained fame as the most expensive movie ever. The total cost of the movie, if i remember correctly, about $2 million.

I mean, if you are spending so much on a song, at least give it a better title than the ridiculous Chiggy Wiggy. And maybe even some lyrics.

As it turns out, the Rs 125 crore movie has gotten too expensive for distributors, and seems to be in a bit of a soup. As reported here, looks like the millions dollar song might even end up getting panned.

Seems like Blue is in for the Blues.

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1. Bollywood comes to Hollywood
2. Movie Review: Sarkar Raj
3. Movie Review – Slumdog Millionaire

They speak flawless English with American accents. They may be sitting in Gurgaon but go by Michael, Jennifer, or Elizabeth. They sleep in the day and work at night. They may be thousands of miles from America, they most often have never even been to the country, but spend most of their time talking to Americans. The brave men and women of Indian Call Centers.

Is it possible for these people to lose perspective along the way? Is it possible for them to start identifying more with American culture and ethos as compared to the country where they actually live?

More interestingly, is it possible for them to actually fall for the people they talk to over the phone?

That is the plot of the 2008 movie The Other End of the Line. The movie was co-produced by Ashok Amritraj, and a joint effort between Adlabs and MGM.

Priya Sethi (Shriya Saran) works at a call center for a bank. Priya by day, Jennifer by night.

Now we must add here that this is the perfect call center. The agents speak in perfect American accents, and are taught all about American culture to enable them to better identify with their clients. From experience, I haven’t seen that happen often. More often than not, calls to Banks/Technical help desks are answered at Indian call centers, and their quality of service has often left a lot to be desired. The English isn’t great, nor is the level of expertise.

Not at this call center. They have classes where they are trained in identifying American celebrities, or that Wendy’s is the chain that makes square burgers, while Burger King is the home of the whopper.

Priya is the star of these classes – the teachers’ pet. She has a few conversations with Mr America Granger Woodriff (Jesse Metcalfe) regarding credit card issues. They develop a connection, and soon Granger asks her out for a ‘coffee’. He has no clue that she lives in India. All he knows is that she is Jennifer David from San Fransisco.

To make things more interesting, Priya is engaged to this guy who wants her to just settle down after marriage, and spend her time raising their kids. But she decides to have one last adventure, and travels to San Fransisco to meet Granger. (How she got a visa was a detail conveniently ignored. Ask us NRIs – visas are the detail you can never afford to ignore.) They fall in love, there is some family drama, the father hits Granger at one point, Granger travels to India for Priya, Priya asserts herself and calls off her engagement, bla bla bla.

All’s well in the end, and the happy family offers aloo paranthas to their American soon-to-be-son-in-law.

Time for a cliche check.

1. Arranged marriage where the girl has no choice but to marry the goofball groom of the family’s choice. Check.
2. Hyper Indian parents who seem like they will collapse at any hint of a problem. Check.
3. American semi-crazy relatives who live in New Jersey and own a Mercedes. Check.
4. Indian cab driver when Mr America gets into a cab. Check.

I fail to understand why everybody keeps maligning arranged marriages. I had one, and couldn’t be happier with my life. I would like to believe that the days where marriages were forced on young men and women are gone. It just didn’t feel right to see Anupam Kher reduced to a brooding father whose only concern is to get his daughter married into this rich family because it will be good for his family.

This movie reminded me of two movies. The first one is Outsourced, in which the American hero is sent to India to setup a call center, and falls in love with an employee. The other movie was My Bollywood Bride where another American hero travels to India to meet (and marry) Kashmira Shah. Both fascinating movies. This one, not so much.

The Other End of the Line is an interesting movie. The concept is strong and very relevant, but could have been done much better. Watch it if you have a couple hours and nothing better to do with your life.

And I wrote this entire post while on hold on a call to American Express. Speaking to Paul, from Hyderabad.

Related posts:

1. Outsourced
2. Mallika Goes To America
3. NewYork says ‘Vande Mataram’

Unfortunately it isn’t as simple as that. There are many factors at play, economics being one of the prominent ones. Then political ideologies sometimes creep in, and objectivity goes for a spin thereafter.

I saw two outstanding films this past week, both pertaining to journalism. One of them talked about the dirty side of the business, and the other was the story of a woman’s fight to uphold her journalistic principles. These are probably among the most powerful movies i have seen in recent times. Credit to Mrs Amreekandesi for rummaging through Blockbuster to find these gems.

Shattered Glass (IMDB)

This movie tells the true story of Stephen Glass, a reporter with a magazine called The New Republic. Glass is a young guy eager to make his mark. To get that extra edge he starts cooking up incredible stories devoid of any truth altogether. This goes on for a while before he gets caught up in this web of deception and his story on hacking titled ‘Hack Heaven‘ comes under scrutiny only to reveal that none of the colorful details portrayed in the story were true.

The real Stephen Glass got caught in 1998 after Hack Heaven was investigated by Forbes reporter Adam Penenberg and found to be an utter lie. It was later discovered that 27 of the 41 stories Glass wrote over the years were fabricated.

Shattered Glass is a fascinating, gripping drama.

More importantly, it raises a very important question regarding journalistic integrity. Given the commercialization of journalism, just how high are the chances of reporters fabricating facts that cannot be otherwise verified, to create a more entertaining story? Can we trust anything we read in our favorite newspaper/magazine?

I was reminded of that news item from a flooding incident a few years back where this news reporter was sitting in a canoe in water, giving the impression that there was such incredible flooding that you had to use boats to commute. As she was doing her bit on live television, a person walked right past her. There was barely a few inches of water on the road!

Our Indian news channels have become experts at over the top sensationalism these past few years, and i have always wondered how much of what they say is fact and how much is exaggeration, if not absolute fiction.

Media was supposed to be the watchdog of society. Who watches the media if it decides to go in a different direction?

This brings us to the other movie. A diametrically opposite theme, involving personal suffering to preserve the basic principles of journalism.

Nothing but the Truth (IMDB)

This movie tells the story of Rachel Armstrong, a reporter who writes a story revealing a covert CIA officer whose report on the involvement of Venezuela in an assassination attempt on the president had exonerated that country of any involvement in the incident, but was ignored and retaliatory strikes carried out. Rachel’s character is based loosely on the real life story of New york times reporter Judith Miller.

When Rachel is questioned about the source who revealed the identity of the CIA officer, she refuses to disclose that information. The government’s reasoning is that the person leaking such top class information needs to be investigated, but Armstrong refuses to budge. insisting on protecting the identity of her source. She is sent to jail and spends over a year in incarceration. Over time she gets beaten up, loses her husband, grows apart from her young son, but sticks to her principles.

It seemed a bit extreme sometimes, but then there is a thin line separating greatness and craziness.

In the face of adversity this journalist stuck to her values and took on the mighty US government, which is laudable, and the quality that makes journalism the great profession that it is.

I suppose there are all types of people in every profession. For every Stephen Glass there is a Rachel Armstrong fighting away. As long as we have such honorable people writing our newspapers and magazines, life is good

Both the movies are very well crafted dramas. I dont often sit through a movie without doing something in parallel, but i was unable to move from the TV screen throughout either of these movies. Highly recommended.

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2. Holy Crap!
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Every once in a while, we see a movie such as Slumdog Millionaire.

The movie is a Hollywood movie based in India, has an Indian cast that speaks English (mostly), the music is Indian (AR Rahman got nominated for a Golden Globe for the music of this movie), and the India portrayed is very Indian.

The director Danny Boyle, is no Aditya Chopra. No nonsense. No song and dance. In your face. To the point.

The movie is about this young guy who wins two Crore rupees on the Indian version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire. Slumdog Millionaire is his story.

The protagonist’s name is Jamal Malik. His mother gets killed in riots by some religious crapheads. He goes under the care of this guy who runs a begging cartel and manages to escape from there. Thereafter he runs little con jobs here and there to make ends meet, his brother becomes a gangster, he loses the girl he used to like, and he ends up in a call center, as a chai wallah.

On the show, the host, played by the ever so charismatic Anil Kapoor, ridicules him for his lowly social stature, but he keeps going. Since he does so well, he gets handed over to the police under the assumption that a slumdog must have cheated to achieve what none of the educated types were able to manage.

He gets beaten up and tortured and tells his story to a very sympathetic cop (Irfan Khan). We get to see a story for each question that he answered on the show. Therein lies the one weak aspect of the movie – his success comes across as just a fluke, because he specifically knew the answers to only the questions asked, without really being a super smart encyclopedia types.

The movie is surreal. It is so real. There is no stone that it doesn’t leave unturned. First there’s the fanatics killing people because of their religion . There is the organized beggary gang which gives poor homeless kids food to eat, teaches them bhajans, and takes out their eyes to make them beggable. There is the young girl sent into prostitution. There is the newly realized activism of the police who wouldn’t catch criminals but torture an innocent person on suspicion that he cheated on a game show.

Then of course there are the white people being taken for a walk by enterprising Indians.

This movie has been playing for a while here in New York, yet when we saw it this weekend the theater was packed. We were surprised to see such high attendance for a primarily Indian movie. Is it because New Yorkers love India? Is it because they love poor, ugly, gritty India? Not sure about that.

If you want to see the mirror, go watch this movie. Of course, if you just want to see Shahrukh Khan, and his oh-so-overflowing love, there’s movies such as Rub Ne Bana Di Jodi.

SlumDog Millionaire, English, Dec 08
Rating: 4.5/5

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1. Movie Review: Sarkar Raj
2. Movie Review – Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi
3. Who’s The Slumdog Now?

Sometimes film makers do that with movies. And we get Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi. It starts off fun and happy, but drags on and on for hours before you start wishing for it to end.

Shahrukh Khan is King. No doubts about that. He is the king who never seems to age. Or so we used to think till his 43 years started peeking through the 25 year old facade somewhere in the middle of the song and dance and fooling around.

Reminds me of one of those Math questions from high school. 8 years back he could play kids 10 years younger, but in 7 years he will be double the age of those kids as of today.

About the movie, by now very likely you all know the story, but here’s a brief outline.

Shahrukh Khan is this bhola bhala gaon (Amritsar!) ka scooter driving government employee. He is attending the wedding of his professor’s (who loves him, btw) daughter, when suddenly they get news that the groom’s baraat had an accident and everybody died. Professor saab has a heart attack, and his dying wish, that his daughter marry SRK.

Chat mangni and pat byaah later, SRK suddenly is married to the most beautiful girl he has ever met. The girl though categorically announces that she will be a good wife (by cooking lunch for him everyday) but will never be able to love him.

Now starts the tale of love deception. Nice boy SRK shaves off his mustache, dons tight clothes, and goes around wooing his lady love. Only she doesn’t know that the person flirting with her is actually her husband.

Lamest extra marital affair. Ever.

The first half is fun. Seriously. At one point, a certain non believer couldn’t help but feel amazed at how SRK brings life to a movie with his unique brand of acting.

Alas, the movie soon moves into the K-rap territory symbolized by Ekta Kapoor and her brand of citizen journalism. The same guy who led his wife into this mess starts doubting her loyalty. WTF? The story stretches and meanders through Amritsar’s roads for much of the second half of the movie.

This movie doesn’t do a lot for women and their empowerment. Dad dies and the girl has to marry a person of his choice. The girl’s idea of marriage is just packing a lunch dabba for the husband. The husband is this geeky freaky game playing person out to manipulate the wife.

Ekta Kapoor has achieved what she set out to do. Down with Naari Ekta! (Gee, that’s the best pun ever)

Eventually everybody is happy and loyal again. A good rub was what they both needed. Rub Ne Bana Di Jodi.

They did some very cool things with the credits at the end, so dont get up from your seat as soon as the movie ends. Watch the entire credit listing, and prizes for the first person to name  Vinay Pathak’s very own personal valet. Talking of Vinay Pathak – superb performance. He does a great job as SRK’s Punjabi boy best buddy. As for Punjabi, when are we going to get some actors who don’t kill Punjabi? Punjabi is a fun language, and sounds very cool, but  the way SRK says rab, i just hear massage, and i don’t think that that is what is being referred to.

All said and done, watching the movie in New York amidst a predominantly Indian crowd, eating Samosas, drinking Chai, we will say we enjoyed the show. Its a nicely done movie. Worth a watch for Shahrukh fans. As long as you don’t think much during the movie you will enjoy it.

If you want other options, go check out Slumdog Millionaire. That is the real deal. Review coming up next.

Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi, Hindi, Dec 2008
Rating: 3.5/5

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