Why I will not watch ‘Heroine’.

You know a country’s film appreciation skills are in the doldrums when Ram Goal Verma is a joke, and Madhur Bhandarkar is a hero.

Since 2001, the guy has been churning out films that are mediocre at best, and outright offensive at worst. Throwing in every known stereotype known to man, Bhandarkar makes films that are supposed to be gritty. But in reality, are quite shitty.

Cardboard characters, drugs and alcohol, moronic depiction of gays and lesbians, adulterous wives, scheming companies, news hungry journalists – its one mixed bag of stereotypes bundled in one after the other. It’s like a video game, where the locations change, but the characters and plot remains the same.

Without even watching it, I can predict the story. There’s a girl who is an outsider to the industry. She makes it to the top in a male-dominated, power hungry world, and then things start going downhill from there on. There will be cheating wives, creepy producers, drugs, booze, and a friend who is like a voice of conscience in the protagonist’s head.

Madhur Bhandarkar often says that his films hold a mirror to the society. But in reality, his films are tinted glasses through which we see things the way we want to.

Often touted to be the filmmaker for the Common Man, Bhandarkar’s claim to fame are the four National Awards he has picked up over the last decade. But take a look at the list, and you’ll see that not all of them were a result of great choice.

Chandni Bar winning the award in 2001 is understandable. It was a well enacted film, and a woman centric film in a time when Govinda was among the top heroes is commendable. But Bhandarkar continued to milk the whole ‘outsider woman in a cruel man’s world’ theme in each and every film after that.

Satta (2003), about a woman politician, was chosen over Munnabhai MBBS, Pinjar, and Ek Hasina Thi. Page 3 (2005) was chosen over Black Friday and Sarkar. Traffic Signal (2007), we were made to believe, was better than Chak De India, Taare Zameen Par and Guru.

Even a layman can tell that the babus sitting in the Selection Committee aren’t exactly experts on the subject. But then, this was the same committee that awarded Saif Ali Khan the Best Actor for Hum Tum.

A hair-raising decision.

So why do his films do well?

My theory is that his films give the viewer a voyeuristic joy in depicting the world of glitz as a mucky, immoral world. The kind of viewers who’ll walk out of the hall and say, “Sahi bola. Saare actress saale randiya hain.”

Thank you very much, Mr. Bhandarkar, but I don’t want you to hold a mirror to the society. May be if you tilted the mirror towards yourself, you’ll see a filmmaker who keeps repeating the same formula and playing to the galleries.

I understand the Page 3, Fashion, and film worlds might be murky. But then, which field isn’t?

But now my only fear is that Bhandarkar will release a film called ‘Critic’. The story of a young woman who struggles to succeed in the world of critics, a world that doesn’t understand ‘realistic’ films.

Review: Barfi

Barfi is a strange sweet.

When you have only five rupees in your pocket and want to eat something, it calls out to you, covered at times with pieces of cashew, sometimes with a silver foil. You start eating it, and it is delicious. But by the time you are half way done, you realise it’s a little too sweet for your taste.

The film ‘Barfi’ is like the sweet it gets its name from.

With some films, you just know it is going to be successful when you see the trailers. Barfi was one of those films. The trailer was exotic – Chaplin inspired scenes, interesting music, and the brightest star on the Hindi film horizon teaming up to promise a treat to the viewers.

Even as the reviews came in, they were on predictable llines. “Barfi is mind-blowing, should go to the Oscars, is a must-watch, a masterpiece.” etc. But why we are hell-bent on declaring everything a masterpiece, I can never fathom. I remember when Bhansali’s ‘Black’ was released a few years ago, it was touted to be a masterpiece, a cult film, a revolution, and that it should go to the Oscars. Now, when I watch the film, I cringe at how terrible a film it is.

Barfi begins charmingly. The story of a lovable, mute boy who wears his heart on his sleeve even if he can’t mouth the words. His love story with Ileana, the pretty, rich girl who visits, and its end have a sad, melancholic Raj Kapoor feel to it. It’s not something you haven’t seen earlier, but Basu gets his team to carry it off believably.

While enough has been said about Ranbir Kapoor, it was the two women who impressed me. Ileana, after watching her in innumerable films where she has to show her navel, act cute, and dance with the hero, is a pleasant surprise. Which just goes to show that if they are offered meaty roles, actresses down South could do a lot more than titillating the audience.

It was Priyanka Chopra’s role I was interested to see. Bollywood has this knack of overdoing the whole unstable act, often making a mockery of it. From extreme hamming (SRK), to stammering (Ajay Devgn), to fully mental (Hrithik Roshan) to the plain annoying (Sridevi). I have seen so many actors do the role in such cringe-worthy fashion that I was sceptical of watching another role.

But Priyanka Chopra manages to toe the fine line between acting and overacting, and just when you think you might cringe, she steps back and lets the story take centrestage, as should rightly be the case.

Another of the film’s backbones is the Background Music. I don’t know if it has been inspired by anyone or not, but till a Korean girl band sues him, I would maintain that Pritam has come into his own with this film.

While he has his team in terrific form, it is director Anurag Basu himself who lets the film down. Resorting to unnecessary plot points, twists, and flashbacks, the film loses out on the magic it is able to whip up in the first half.

And here is another thing I have always felt strongly about. If an average filmmaker lifts a scene from a Hollywood film, the entire country goes mad with rage. I am surprised how Basu has gotten away with it, with people using terms like ‘inspired’, and ‘doffing a hat’.

Apart from a scene lifted straight off The Notebook, I found at least three scenes lifted directly from the wonderful Japanese film ‘Kikujiro’. I don’t like sugar-coating the truth. If you have lifted key scenes from another film, it is definitely not a masterpiece in my books.

But in spite of these shortcomings, you are willing to forgive the filmmaker because it seems like an earnest, honest attempt at telling a story.

In the end, the film is like the sweet it gets its name from.

You might not be able to enjoy all of it, but it is enticing enough for you to dig your teeth into.

Bharat Bunk

Dear Bharat Bandh Organisers,

Firstly, congratulations on calling a Bharat Bandh.

For many years, I was a critic of bandhs and strikes. I thought they were a waste of time and served no purpose at all. The last few years have changed my opinion.

Firstly, the Anna Hazare campaign was testimony to the fact that if people feel strongly about an issue, they will take to the streets, even if they are educated, have good jobs, and are normally considered insensitive to national and political issues.

Also, when the principal opposition party shows the way by not working for more than two weeks at the Parliament – the Nervous Central System of our country, isn’t it wrong to expect you guys to do anything more?

Opinions on Bandhs are polarised. Some people think they are important channels of dissent. Others think they are regressive to the nation’s growth. I propose a way through which you can win the hearts of both these groups. All you have to do is follow the three simple steps suggested below:

1. Let Malls, Pubs, and Cinemas be operational

These guys could be doing so much more.

Most people stay back at home during a bandh. Industry voices complain that this is detrimental to the economy’s growth. I suggest let the malls and cinemas be operational on bandh days. Instead of being stranded at home, people can watch films, drink, go shopping, and generally have a good time. The industry will be happy, and the people will be happy.

 

2. Organise bandhs on the last five days of the month

It is common knowledge that most people are broke during the last five days of the month. This is also the period when evil bosses are dumping copious amounts of work on their juniors in order to meet the targets. Calling a bandh on the last few days of the month will save the employees some money. It will also teach bosses at work the important lesson of better time and project management. Boyfriends who are broke can always say that they cant leave home due to the bandh. The private working class will generally be a happier bunch.

 

3. Organise bandhs on Mondays 

I understand that sometimes one can’t wait till the end of the month to call a bandh. Sometimes, urgent issues need immediate attention. In such a situation, you can organise the bandhs on a Monday. It’s a known fact that everyone hates Mondays. Through this move, you will win the hearts of millions of school and college going students, who will surely grow up to become your able supporters.

In short, the critics are happy, the supporters are happy, and the government is pissed off. What more could you want?

Having won the hearts of all the people, your people may feel free to attack buses, organise rallies, and shout slogans. May be you can conduct an opinion poll and send one of your guys to slap a politician – the Sharad Pawar one was quite a hit.

You can do what you are already doing – being a responsible opposition – and also win the hearts of crores of people around the world, across religions, cultures, and languages.

And may be rename ‘Bharat Bandh’ to ‘Bharat Bunk’.

And watch your supporters grow.

With this, I remain,

Yours Truly-Bored-on-Bandh Day Well-wisher.

She’s a Feminist. Then why doesn’t she pay the bill?

When I date someone for the first time, two things inevitably happen.

1. The food is served, and then the bill is called for. The waiter who knows nothing about Feminism or Chauvinism, will come and give the bill to me. If I am dressed shabbily, he will give it to the girl. And precisely at that moment, I decide whether I will date the person again.

2. I am always called an asshole after that first date.

This is something that has always bugged me no end. I see these girls who bash men at the drop of a hat, talking of male hegemony, male gaze, gender inequality, and other bra-burning feminist ideas, and when the bill appears, there is a magical transformation. The fiery tiger becomes a whimpering, simpering, eyelashes batting, cute little cat.

And I would rather be called an asshole than date that person again.

Of all the characteristics one is supposed to have in a relationship, I find chivalry the most stupid.

Why do I need to open the door for a girl to show her that I care for her? Why do I need to pay her bill to prove that I care?

I mean, I do understand there is a way to behave around a lady. I am not going to chew paan and spit near her feet. But do I have to go all the way to open the door for her?

Out of curiosity, I looked up the word chivalry, and this is what I found.

The word has its origins to the era before the 15^th century, where men were supposed to protect the weak and the defenceless. So when someone talks about chivalry in the 21^st century, I feel like banging their head into a plate of hot sambar vada and making them pay the bill for it.

Of course, one would argue that the literal meaning of the word would have changed over the ages. It has, but only subtly. If you expect chivalry from men, why blame the men who expect women to only cook?

And what is most shocking is that most of these are educated, well-read women. Women who know the meaning of terms like male-gaze, and male hegemony.

A few months back, we had gone to a club. Again, two of the girls in the group were 21^st century bullshitters. When it was time to pay the entry fee, they turned away. When it was time for the bill, they ran away. As simple as that. Isn’t this merely taking advantage of the fact that most men would  consider it infradig to ask a woman to repay an amount? How different are you, then, from the dowry-accepting, wife-beating asshole on the street?

Luckily for me, I have always been with women who are fiercely independent. To the extent that I have lived off them during my jobless, hopeless, and penniless days. Which is why I still have respect for them, even if I am not with them today.

I find it amusing when guys bitch about how much money they spend on their girlfriends. If you are dating a person without any self-respect, you shouldn’t be complaining about it in the first place. It is as much your fault as hers.

And girls, if you really want our respect, and really want to be treated as equal, how about splitting the bill the next time you eat out?

 

 

EDIT: 

I got a lot of shit for this post, and while I could have simply edited the offensive bits, that would have been the easy way out.

For all those who got offended by it, I am sorry. Forgive me for not being able to convey my point accurately. Also, I went overboard with the comparison with rapists, so please pardon that too. My point, however, was that the rapist and the chauvinist subscribe to the same school of thought. The former thinks he needs to put the woman in her place, the latter believes that there is a place that woman need to be placed at.

Also, let me put it this way. Imagine if you were a guy, would you go on a date if you had no money?

Now, how about if you were a girl? Would it be possible for the date to take place?

Thanks!

I’ll have a Breezer. Fuck You!

A few friends are sitting down to drink and the customary question gets floated around – “What will you have?”

That’s a terrible question, and attending to it takes up at least 15 minutes. I generally have three very simple rules for drinking:

1. If heavy dancing is on the cards, and there is money in your cards, have Vodka and some juice.
2. If it is just about sitting down together and having a good time, have Old Monk.
3. If someone else is suggesting something, or paying, take whatever is on offer.

These three rules make my life simple and easy. Sadly, that is not the case for most of the people I see drinking.

Choosing what one has to drink in the present times in India has become a pain in the ass, thanks to some of the ridiculous notions we have about drinking. And this is where our villain enters –

India is full of these Madira Machos. Guys who exude masculinity through their choice of drink.

And these guys actually ruin a good drinking experience for everyone else.

They are innocuous, seemingly harmless people. But order something that isn’t manly enough, and their inner Machoman shouts up in protest. Some of the errors you might make while ordering your drink are:

1. Ordering Beer

I have never understood how and why beer has come to be understood in India as a lesser drink. It is perfect for sipping in the afternoon, during a hot day, while watching cricket, and for generally chilling out.

But beer knows not that it has been relegated to the side by these strange things called HARD DRINKS – rum, whiskey, skotch.

Beer is a beautiful drink. When chilled, its bitterness magically turns into a sweet, frothy taste that seems to get better with every sip. It doesn’t give you the instant rush of the other drinks, it is like watching a Rahul Dravid innings, it starts slow and works its way into a beautiful, well-crafted innings that is a sheer beauty. But of course, none of the Madira Machos would allow this.

2. Ordering Vodka

If you order vodka at a pub with other guys, be prepared for a lot of stares and sniggers. While you think you are merely ordering a vodka, for the Madira Machos, you might have as well asked for sanitary napkins.

For some strange reason, most people in India consider vodka to be a ladies’ drink. Out of curiosity, I looked up the largest consumers of alcohol in the world. Along with Russia, the top five countries belonged to the erstwhile USSR.

Now, try telling one of them that they have been wasting away their masculinity on a ladies drink and see what he has to say to you. Remember to pick your teeth up from the ground before leaving though.

I used to wonder how this practice of calling vodka a women’s drink came to be, and one of my friends has an interesting explanation. She believes that in India, most women do not like to be seen holding a glass of alcohol. In such cases, vodka is the best because one can pass it off as Lime Soda or simply water.

I don’t know how much of this is true, but my research further led me on to see if vodka might be any lesser of a drink, in purely chemical, C2H6O terms, and this is what I found:

3. Asking for Cool Drink

I don’t know where this idea came from, but I am guessing it came from the steady dose of Indian films that we grew up on.

In all the films, the heroes do not do sissy things like asking the waiter to add two cubes of ice, a little cola, and then some water. No.

Hero opens bottle cap, holds bottle to mouth, guzzles. That’s it.

Many a Madira Macho can be found, smiling at their drinks at bars. When you ask them, “Bhai, Thums Up lega?” they merely smile and say, “Nahi yaar, main sirf neat peeta hoon!”

4. Asking for Indian Made Liqour

If you are at a place with a Madira Macho, you are screwed already. But if you are with a Madira Macho who has been abroad, you better carry a small bottle of Vaseline with you.

Ordering Indian drinks in front of a Vides-returned Madira Macho will be like trying to attack Sabu with a butter knife. You will be inundated with suggestions like Glenfiddich, Jim Beam, Jack Daniels, and Horspiss.

But there is a smart way to deal with this problem. Simply go ahead with your order of Old Monk and say, “Yaar, yeh sab videsi daaru achhe hain, lekin desi daaru jaisi kick nahi hai unmein.” This will keep the videsi Madira Macho silent for a while.

5. Ordering a Breezer

The biggest crime you can commit while drinking with a Madira Macho is to order a Breezer. Breezers, you see, come in colours like orange, yellow, maroon. Colours that our world has, in all its intelligence, straitjacketed as women’s colours.

Ordering a breezer in front of a Madira Macho is hara-kiri for your masculinity.

But you know what, sometimes, I don’t want to get so high that I feel like Kader Khan in a Govinda movie. I like the gentle high, I like making conversation with people when I am buzzing, and I like singing songs.

I hate puking, and screaming, and breaking a bottle to announce my presence. You are welcome to be the Tarzan of the jungle.