Desicritics Category: Culture: Films

When Kiran Met Karen : Masterpiece or Titillation Vehicle?

Sakshi Juneja — Wed, 25 Jun 2008 09:46:49 EDT

It is interesting to watch recent lesbian-themed films with an Indian context. To be precise, watching the (only) two lesbian-themed films from mainstream Hindi cinema was an amusing experience, at least for me. I’m referring to Deepa Mehta’s Fire (1998), and blink-and-you-missed-it, Karan Razdan's Girlfriend (2004). Of course, the two films differed widely in terms of storyline, direction, and other production aspects. The acting was another story altogether.

However the common thread between the two is this: Both films needed a reason for lesbianism. Homosexuality had to be explained and given a valid raison d’etre: the lead characters of both films were abused, sexually and emotionally, by members of the opposite sex, therefore they turned to other women for ‘solace’.

The latest entrant in the Desi lesbian film circuit is Manan Katohora, with When Kiran Met Karen (WKMK), with newbies Chriselle Almeida and Kelli Holsopple playing the respective lead characters. My inbox has been flooded with mails titled, subtitled and signed off with JMD (Jai Mata Di)-invoking PR for the film. If you are a member of those International filmy Yahoo! Groups you’ll know what I’m talking about.

For the dummies, however, here’s a brief on WKMK.

The plot revolves around a popular Bollywood actress, who comes to New York. At her hotel she organizes for a press conference. This is where she meets a lesbian journalist. And the drama begins from here on.

The question is, whether the film will live up to the hype it has been creating, at least, in the American market. From whatever I have seen, this is what I think:

1. The good news is the storyline seems to deal with lesbianism as a normal way of life (at least Karen is an out lesbian) and focuses on bi-racial relationships.

2. The acting doesn't come across all that appealing. No offense, I understand it’s a first-time effort for most of the star cast and I also understand the director’s plight. He did have two ‘known’ faces, namely Perizaad Zorabian and Purva Bedi, bail out on him in the last minute. Hence Chriselle Almeida as Kiran.

3. The direction looked amateurish. But then a two-and-half-minute long promo video shouldn’t really be the judging platform either.

In an interview, Katohora mentions that the film is meant to bring out the nuances of coming out and the hypocrisy surrounding alternate sexuality. I quote:

“I think the movie will raise some good questions. How people have such shallow thinking. How we shouldn’t have a one track mind.”

Clearly the director has got his politics right, and, if we’re lucky, WKMK might just end up being a decent watch without too many stereotypes. All I hope is -

That we allow the film to be screened in our local theatres

That we don’t damn this film just because it doesn’t harp on the abala bharitya naari crap or turn out to be a semi-porn flick meant purely to titillate the (male) audience – something that Fire and Girlfriend, respectively, had done.

Here's a look at one of the promotional music videos from the film

What the Heart Desires

Shantanu Dutta — Thu, 19 Jun 2008 13:19:56 EDT

Sometimes it is good to go and see a movie after the dust has settled, after the reviews have been written, the awards given out and the box office, the critics and the movie going public have all given their verdict. Then one can view a movie for what it is really is – shorn of the promos and the marketing blitz and the commercial hype surrounding it. Then you can watch it stripped to the bare bones and compare it with life and assess – does the story match up, or does it not?

So it was interesting to watch Dil Chahta Hai in 2008, seven years after the now iconic film was released and ask : is it real or surreal ? Does friendship last, blossom and flourish and sustain as it did in the case of Akash, Sameer and Siddharth or is it all a myth to be savored for a couple of hours in a dark theater and then forgotten amidst the “strategic alliances” of the real world?

I have some friendships that go back close to a quarter century which is quite a bit of time. Those relationships could have vaporized at any point over this time, considering that none of us live in small towns where you would always bump into each other. No , we have all changed jobs, changed cities, gone through different life stages like marriage, children and all that – quite like the shifts and tornados in the lives of Akash, Sameer and Siddharth – and yes, deliberately I am identifying with the nameless characters of the film that with the rather celebrity names who acted out the roles.

But longevity of a friendship means nothing if the sap has dried out and that is where I feel a tinge of envy, when I think of the three friends of Dil Chahta Hai. There is this scene which I will long remember – the three are in Goa in their care free college days and then some years later, near the end of the film, they are there again – now with their wives – no, Akash and Sameer with their wives; Sid, the artist has just lost his muse and his love to liver cirrhosis. Between the two trips so much has happened and yet nothing seems to have happened; the bonding is stronger than steel and no storm is strong enough to blow those bonds away.

There are friendships which time does not wither. Some people you meet after years, decades even , having kept in touch in the interim through letters or phone calls or may be today through Facebook or Orkut. Some times, not even that. Then destiny enables you to connect physically and it is as it always was. The hair may be greyer and the girth wider but the warmth and the love and the trust has only taken deeper roots like a wizened banyan tree- a bit uncouth may be but utterly trust worthy like a Rock of Gibraltar when the storms hit.

Then there are friendships where the form remains but the substance if not completely gone , is but a pale shadow of its former shelf. Stiff formality and decorum takes the place where the draught of laughter and freedom blew hither and thither like the unbound wind. Appearances are scrupulously kept up, because appearances are all that are often I left. Conflicts never happen in these kinds of relationships because the foundations are too shallow for the appearances and decorum to hold if some thing were to give and so we take every precaution to ensure that appearances hold up. I envy the friendship of Akash, Sameer and Siddharth because it was not about keeping up appearances ; it was about real bonding; bonding of the kind that can withstand storms. Withstand change. Withstand conflict. Withstand every thing that life can throw at you. I wish that I had more of that kind of friends and I wish too that I were that kind of friend. That is what the heart truly desires – in every heartbeat; everywhere.

Concert Review: In Pursuit of Manna Dey, Part 1

Ritu Chandra — Sun, 1 Jun 2008 00:55:51 EDT

EBC, our local NJ radio station announces that Manna Dey is in town for a show in August 2004. I jumped with joy. Finally a concert of singer who sings songs that I actually listen to(and more importantly has not sung any songs that I do not listen to!). I have to go.

But, there was a hitch. August 2004 was a time when my default concert companion Madhura was snowed down with ill-health and was not likely to accompany me. I needed another concert companion. Thus with a heavy heart I went in search of an alternate bakra. A daunting task, given the genre of music that appeals to me. But then yours truly is never say die, so I asked around. I got diverse reactions

"Manna Dey, Hmmmm Tere Naina Talaash Karen Right??… That's a nice song…..but no.. I don't have much of a enthu for him.", said Savita mulling over the prospect.

She sometimes appreciates vintage music, so what if it is in spurts. I have a good chance. I must give it my best shot.

Tere Naina Talash is not the only nice song from Manna Dey, he has many other "nice" songs like Aaja Sanam Madhur chandani mein and Yeh raat bheegi bheegi, I said, trying my best to sell popular fare.

I have to stop here and say that Savita's music taste underlines the word eclectic. Despite her being my 'bestest' friend for the last 15 years, it would be simpler for me to fathom the direction a New york pedestrian would take than it would be to second guess her reaction to a given song.

"Ughhh! Puhlease there is no way I am sitting through those Raj Kapoor songs Manna Dey or no Manna Dey.", she shrieked(as she often does when she is mildly annoyed or pleased). Ah.. well that one backfired. Well look at the positive side, at least she shares my allergy for Raj Kapoor. Good for the 'friend-friend' bonding part of things. That however put an end at any effort to have her savour Manna Dey in concert.

Another music lover friend Shubhu loved the initial idea. He is a Bong after all and Bongs love their 'Manna Babu'. We had all attended the Asha Bhosle show together. So he went back to his wife Alka with the proposal, soon he was back rubbing a bump caused by the belan on the head. Manna Dey certainly did not boot her hard drive. Even the wonderful time we had hearing Asha Bhosle sing 'Kambakht Ishq', 'Sharara Sharara' and other such legendary songs did not help the matter. Well, that thread closed there.

In this process of trying to procure a bakra, one thing was becoming more and more apparent - for a casual music listener Manna Dey does not seem to have much of an appeal or stature. The true irony for Manna Dey however is this.. that even in the connoisseur circuit he sort of misses the bus. He is regularly accused of being mechanical, dry and predictable. Admirers, he has many, but he has never inspired the fanaticsm that a Kishore, Rafi, Hemant or even Talat Mehmood would inspire. Music lovers like Madhura Purohit who nurse a crush for his dynamic intellectual persona and equally flamboyant voice are few and far between.

And so it had to be Madhura Purohit who would come to my rescue. One evening I casually mentioned my lack of success in finding a bakra to her. In a highly emotional flourish that one reserves for the greatest love of their life, she said she would go.

Given her health condition (it was cancer that she was battling in those days) it seemed highly improbable. The cycles of chemotherapy and the ensuing debilitating pain gave her very little breather of relative physical comfort in which she could step out. And now she had a chemo on the Thursday before the Saturday of the concert. She would be in extreme pain on Saturday. But the clarion call of Manny dear was too great for Madhura to resist. Chemo or no chemo, pain or no pain she was going.

So on a very tentative note I bought the tickets for the show with the strong possibility of Madhura backing out.

Come Saturday and Madhura called me in the morning. I received her call in great trepidation. She had not sounded well at all last night and I knew it only got worse for her as the days progressed after the chemo. I had my doubts she would make it even though she had insisted she would. However, I wanted to wholly encourage her attempts at cheerfully and valiantly trying to fight the monster of the big C so I did not dissuade her from the project. Today, to my joy she came through bright and chirpy all geared for her date with her 'chashmewala hero'. To give a background. Madhura loves all bespectacled Bengali singers from her grand-father's generation. That includes Hemant Kumar, SD Burman, Kishore Kumar and ofcourse Manna Dey (See picture above to know why).. Get the drift?

So Madhuraji landed up at my place on Saturday afternoon and in our subsequent leisurely cups of Darjeeling tea and gossip time faded into the background. When finally we did glance up at the clock it was 7:15 PM. The show was to start at 8:30 PM and it takes at least an hour to get there. Back-calculating, we had to be out of the house by 7:30 PM. Even George Bush would know that it is impossible for two women to get ready in 15 minutes . We eventually scrambled out of the house at 7:45 PM. Mind you a feat that only Manna Dey could get us to achieve. Or rather a feat that only Manna Dey would get Madhura to get me to achieve!

With our past experience with IST(Indian Stretchable Time), we were sure that there was a dim chance of the show starting at 8:30 PM sharp. Yet, self-doubt is the bane of human existence. And as we crossed the 8:30 PM time mark, it began to plague us. What if this concert had actually started on time?. We would surely miss some songs. What if Manna Dey started with my favourite Poocho na kaise maine rain bitayi? The concert would be a wash out if I missed that song. By the time it was 8:50 PM we were quadruply(her double and my double together) sure that we must have surely missed a part of the concert. Why did we let Lopchu take precedence over Manny dear? The regret was writ large in our hearts. And 'chidiya chug gayi khet' ringing somewhere in the recess of our conscience.

We finally reached the venue at 8:55 PM. I quickly drew into the parking space, clicked on the lock and hurried towards the theatre as Madhura scurried behind. As soon we entered the venue, I gave Madhura an 'I told you' look and exhaled. There was a huge crowd standing in the foyer. The function had not started. One up for Indian Stretchable Time!

Now that we had all the time, we fell back into our stately pace. We cashed our e-tickets and headed inside. A leisurely halt at the samosa kiosk, a fruitful debate over the best chutney for the occasion and two plates of samosa later we were in the hall. It took us sometime to locate our seats and settle down. In about five minutes there was a whole lot of hooting and clapping. What's the matter? It took us a moment to realise that these were those traitor kind of Indians that migrate to the US and forget their all Indian Values. You know the kind of people that flaunt their un-Indianess by actually coming on time? Yet however much their 'joota' might be 'japani', their 'dil' is after all Hindustani. And a true Hindustani cannot resist the lure of the catcall, whether in pleasure or in pain. So while we sympathised with their pain of waiting for over an hour we revelled in our cent-per-cent swadeshiness and happily tucked away at our samosas.

Another five minutes there was an announcement that we would be starting shortly. This was accompanied with a flurry of activity around the stage. Another few minutes later the curtain went up and the musicians were all on the stage tuning their instruments. One has to admit that the catcalls do have their benefits as infallible catalysts. The instant activity on stage was proof enough for that theory.

The orchestra was a minimal one with a Tabla player, dholak player, keyboard player, guitarist and an electronic drum(forgot what you call it). I liked that. Too much orchestra is distracting in my opinion.

Finally, the MC came on stage. He was a typical fellow from the northern parts of India. Dressed in a bright silk kurta worn fashionably over blue jeans, he regaled us for a while with an introduction speech and then announced Manna Dey with a flourish of great showmanship. As everyone clapped lustily, the man of the moment made a casual entry with a contrasting modesty that I have come to characterise as very Eastern(read Bengali). He wore a formal jacket and trousers along with his trademark cap. My first impression was that he looked quite well-preserved for an 84 year old. And yes, he did look what I always call him….the uncle next door. Needless to say Madhura has never agreed with that observation of mine. (Please see picture above again!)

The first thing Mannada did after getting the microphone was to very humbly apologise for the delay. The driver had lost his way and it took them 1.5 hours to reach the venue...ouch!. (Psst. I am sure the driver was a man). "I understand the importance of punctuality and I apologise on the behalf of the organisers. They are trying their best but sometimes things happen." he said with effortless humility, practicality and simplicity that can only come from someone of the old school.
That won me over there and then and I suspect it was the same with the rest of the audience. Here is an 84 year old man. He has been subjected to a tiring 1.5 hour drive through the chaos of New Jersey traffic that too just before a concert. He is not responsible in anyway for the delay, yet he thinks he owes his audience an apology. I instantly contrasted that with Asha Bhosle and Amit Kumar the two other film artists I have heard in concert(classical concerts somehow always start on time). Both made grossly late entries, kept the audience waiting for over 1.5 hours and did not think even an acknowledgement of the fact was required. The old school theory, I admit goes a little off skelter in the examples I state, for when has Asha Bhosle considered herself old school?!

Coming back to Manna Dey, after apologising for the delay, he proceeded to introduce a singer whom he described as a budding talent based in New York. He praised her greatly and asked the audience to lend her an ear. I gave a sigh of impatience. In all these concerts these side-entries are very trying on the nerves. In the Asha concert there was Megha Naidu, Sudesh Bhosle and Adnan Sami one had to endure before one got to her. In the Amit Kumar concert there was his wife and a couple of other bores. So in this case too we waited for this new artist who went by the name of Zafreen Ani to come take stage and get over with it.

The lady walked onto the stage and very diffidently asked the audience to forgive her mistakes. I suddenly felt scared for her. She looked as if she would be chomped by the audience. I hoped from inside that they would be kind to her. Then she started singing. She first sang Ek pyar ka nagma hai from the Manoj Kumar film Shor. The whole effect sounded horrible. The orchestra was screaming and drowning her out. No for once LP are not to be blamed for that (** see note below). The effect was entirely the creation on the orchestra on stage.

Then suddenly Madhura pointed to a hand on the sidelines motioning the orchestra to tone down. Guess who that hand belonged to…. Yes, Manna Dey! With the orchestra (or shall be say Manna Dey) in control, Zafreen sang Oh mere sona re next. I was pleasantly surprised. And No, RDB does not get credit for that either (*** See note again!). Zafreen had a lovely voice. A voice that reminded me of Geeta Dutt and Meena Kapoor. A husky voice that is full throated yet sweet and mellifluous. She is surely a very good singer. I hope she gets some good breaks. I enjoyed whatever she sang.

So now, all the extras, side-entries and MCs were out of the way. The stage was finally set for Manna Dey to make an appearance.

But wait... I am all done for today. All that comes in the next installment.

See you!

Notes :

** - LP - Popular Hindi film music directors Laxmikant-Pyarelal known for their love for a grand(read screeching orchestra) and creators of the song in question. This song Ek Pyar Ka Nagma Hai however is uncharecteristically minimalist and could count as one of their best efforts.

*** - RDB - Iconic music director RD Burman. Arch rival of LP (atleast in the minds of their fans), known for his 'Stylish' , 'Classy' and 'Avant-Garde' (not my words) use of the orchestra. Creator of Oh Mere Sona re, the second song Zafreen sang.

Links

More about Manna dey
Listen to Manna Dey's songs
Watch Manna Dey Live in Concert

Photos

Madhuraji and Rituji

'Simply' Timeless - 100 Years of Sachin Dev Burman

Ritu Chandra — Sat, 31 May 2008 01:48:32 EDT

This is the first article from the archives. It is on my 'favouritest' musician.. SD Burman. Burmanda has a connection with my soul. His music moves me like none others'. I have written many articles on him. Here is the first in the series.

This article was written on the occasion of SD Burman's centenary celebrations and is hosted at sdBurman.Net a website that I run along with two other wonderful people. Maajid Saab from Pakistan and Chowdhury Saab from Bangladesh

It was in the distant, hazy past of the early twentieth century. Deep in the remote hills of Tripura a little boy busy with his childhood games was lured by the wafting strains of the ektara. Soon a powerful, plaintive voice filled the air. It chanted a mesmerizing lament 'Rongila rongila rongila re, amare chadiye re bandhu koi gela re' (Oh my colourful mate, where have you left to after abandoning me here?'). The voice belonged to a wandering mendicant who sang this passionate plea in his eternal quest for the almighty. There was a deep pathos and strange magnetism in the voice and the little boy listened to it in wide-eyed wonder.

The minstrel and his song soon disappeared over the horizon and softly faded into the mists of time along with others of his ilk. But the boy stood rooted to that spot in time forever. Something had stirred deep within him. This innocuous little moment was the beginning of a new musical pilgrimage. A journey that would leave its own eternal melodies lingering in the same mists of time.

The small boy was none other the youngest son of Tripura's king-in-exile Nabadwip Chandra Dev Burman. The young prince, who would grow up to establish his own formidable musical fiefdom, went by the name of Kumar Sachindra. He later immortalized himself as the great music director SD Burman.

1st October 2006 marked the 100th birth anniversary of this musical titan from Tripura. In the year of his centenary we take a pilgrimage to SDBurmanland to pay obeisance to its evergreen inhabitants. For any Hindi film music lover the main attractions of this land are known faces, The 'Guides', 'Bandinis' and 'Pyaasas' adorn the racks of most music buffs and realms have been written on them. But there is much more to Burman Dada than this handful of celebrated works.
On this birth anniversary let's step off the main highway and explore the scenic nooks and by lanes to discover the real secret behind the Burman potion of immortality. What is it about the Burman school of music that it thrives and throbs with pulsating vitality in each new era even as it's contemporaries shrivel away?

It is not just the oft cited ability to change with time that set SD Burman apart from his contemporaries. There have been others before him and others after him who re-invented themselves with changing times. Almost every composer from the forties re-invented themselves with the advent of the Lata phenomenon. Again Dada Burman had the company of Khaiyyam who moved to the seventies with a block-buster like Kabhi Kabhi. (Infact Khaiyyam gave some great music in the eighties too). No, there is something more to it. Something that is intrinsic to the very fiber of SD Burman's music that gives it a freshness that refuses to wither away.

To fully grasp what made Sachinda's music what it was, we need to rewind back to his early life and examine the influences in his childhood and youth.

Kumar Sachin Dev Burman was born in a newly divided Bengal in the year 1906 as a scion of the royal family of Tripura. In those times the Tripura kings ruled over most of modern day Tripura and vast tracts East Bengal and Sachinda was born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth. His early years were idyllic times, spent in the lap of nature and steeped in the music of the countryside. The members of the royal family were not only great patrons of art but were very talented artists as well. And thus Sachinda's father, a dhrupad singer, was his first guru and gave him his rock solid base in classical music.

But it was folk music that chimed the sweetest in the young Sachin's heart. He would trudge for miles, deep into the interiors of rural Bengal, only to listen to a wandering folk singer at his temporary halt. Whenever there was an opportunity he would forego the comforts of royalty and be with the poor boatmen of the riverine areas of Bengal only so that he could wholly imbibe the spirit of their soulful ballad.. the Bhatiyali. He spent time with vaishnavs and fakirs in their abodes, smoking hookah with them and learning their songs. No one ever second guessed that they had a prince amidst them. He even befriended the helping hands in the palace to teach him their native songs. Folk music till the end remained Sachin Dev Burman's compulsive weakness.
With so many princely(and non-princely!) activities in his childhood, one would think Dada wouldn't have had time for anything else like a formal education. However, Dada not only completed his schooling but also when on to graduate with honors. A fact that he proudly displayed on his first record - a folk song 'Daake Kokil , that was credited to 'Kumar Sachindra Dev Burman, B.A'!

So while with his early life came a strong rooting to mother earth, his higher education gave him a world-view, an open mind and an ability to imbibe changes as they came his way. It was with this well-rounded base that the young prince from Tripura stepped into the rich musical world of Calcutta.

The Calcutta of the twenties and thirties was a musical haven teeming with choicest artists from all over India. Folk singers, legendary poets, classical ustaads, dance divas, pioneering film makers and path-breaking light singers all rubbed shoulders with each other. The young and impressionable Sachinda absorbed these intoxicating influences like a sponge. And for all his years after that he would visit this musical landscape time and again for inspiration.
It was in this period that Dada came to be recognized as a promising folk and light classical singer. To date he remains probably the only main-stream bollywood composer who gained fame and success in the arena of light classical and folk singing as well. While his classical songs earned him critical acclaim it was his impassioned renditions of folk songs that brought him widespread recognition. And it is these folk songs that formed the base-potion for his secret formula of immortality.

Folk music for centuries has been the voice of the man of the soil. It expresses the simple joys and sorrows that are inherent to human existence and its charm therein lies in this complete lack of pretence, and spontaneity of expression.

It was this spontaneity of the age old tradition that pervaded all of Burmanda's music. Whether it was his non-film work of the thirties like 'Hai kije kori' or film music from his autumn years like 'Piya Sang Khelo Holi', the emotions in Dada's music flowed effortlessly. His happy songs bubble with the energy and innocence of a toddler who has just chanced upon the world. This spirit that is not bound to time or space it remains universal in all ages.

The innocently naughty glint is palpable in many of Burman's songs like 'Chori Chori Meri Gali Aana Hai Bura' or 'Achcha ji mein haari' or 'Haule Haule Jiya Dole' the rare Lata beauty from 'Kaise Kahun'. This brightness and total lack of guile which is the most winsome quality of Dada's music was a legacy of his folk roots.

This innocence probably also stemmed from Dada's own childlike enthusiasm for life which remained undiminished even in his advanced years. The little boy who had stood mesmerized with the strains of 'Rongila' never died within this great composer right till his last breath. Artists who worked with him bear testimony to this fact. Kishore Kumar, his pet singer often recalled this trait fondly. If Dada ever had a tune in mind and he happened to spot Kishore anywhere within sniffing distance it was sure to be rehearsal time. At times this even meant stopping their cars right in the middle of a busy road to cause a traffic jam!

The unpredictability in Dada's nature translated to a surprise element in his music as well. There are always charmingly whimsical turns in his presentations. More so in the songs he rendered himself. This is a trait that ensures that there is never a dull moment in a SD Burman composition. But Dada's little eccentricities and childlike whims did not take away from his strong conviction in the core values of his music. This musical conviction was something that anyone who came in contact with Dada would testify by. And it was this conviction that gave him the place that he has in the annals of musical history.

What then were SD Burman's core musical values?.

The first and foremost was his strong commitment to minimalism. Dada's music at times had almost a Gandhian frugality. He used the orchestra with great economy. Each instrument had a well thought out role to play in his songs. He would not agree to even a one extra violinist or flutist in his orchestra. He would send them packing.. He was very clear on the role of the orchestra in his songs. It was a mere building block and not the whole song.

This seems to be a pretty instinctive approach. But practically many a great composer lost sight of this very simple virtue, very often. Composers probably either left more than desired to their arrangers or could not curb their own love for or talent as instrumentalists. But Dada fastidiously and often stubbornly stuck to his small orchestra theory. A lot of critics over the years have identified this as the major chink in Burmanda's otherwise impenetrable armour. His orchestra was not as richly complex as the western classic inspired Salil Chowdhury's, or as grand as Shankar Jaikishen's (though there are exceptions like 'Piya Tose Naina Laage Re' that belie this rule) or even as innovative and experimentative as son Pancham's. It usually did not stand on it's own like that of the composers mentioned above. It always remained a prop-up for the melody and nothing else.

However, let us hold no illusion that the quality of the SD Burman song suffered because of this approach. His orchestra is simple but not staid. With his meager building blocks Dada could paint myriad images. Chirping birds, gurgling streams, humming bees and the rustling breeze all find place in here. Remember the clever use of chinese blocks to create the image of women grinding grain in 'O Panchchi Pyaare', Asha's bitter-sweet upper from 'Bandini'.? Or the brilliant use of the flute in so many songs to depict so many varied moods? Particularly memorable is the delicate subdued sob of the flute in 'Piya Bina....bansiya baje na.....' from Abhimaan, Dada's award winning album. This beautiful flute piece had prompted an eminent musicologist to once comment 'SD Burman must have had a hotline to Lord Krishna himself!'

Exuberance aside, the basic point here is that despite it's minimalism Dada's orchestra was very evolved and rich in expression.

This all pervasive minimalism was not limited to his orchestration alone, it extended beyond arrangements to Dada's basic approach to melody and vocals as well. While he believed in keeping his tune simple, easy to hum and lilting, the melody and it's vocal execution also remained the centre-point of an SD Burman composition. And this was his secret potion # 2.
Burmanda's early training and successes as a singer had shaped his music philosophy very deeply. The musical landscape of the thirties Bengal was ingrained in his sub-conscious. This was the era when the accompaniment was in it's infancy and vocals were the vehicle that carried a song on their shoulders. It can be safely said that till the end SD Burman's songs were built on the bedrock of a strong melody and strong vocals. He is to have famously said once 'Give me a harmonium, a tabla and Lota(as he quaintly called the diva) and I will give you memorable songs'.

And a peek into Sachinda's repertoire over the years reveals dazzling line of classics with his favourite 'Lota' that provide ample support to this confidence. Starting from the early gems like 'Thandi Hawaayen', 'Tum na jaane' to 'Ghayal Hiraniya mein ban ban dolun', 'Jaani tum to dole' right upto the sublime 'Sandhya jo aaye' prove that Dada always used Lata's voice as his cherished centre-piece.

And this is a pattern that one sees repeating time and again with almost all the singers he worked with. Sachinda's focus was always to extract freshness in the voice quality and depth in the emotions from singer. For this he would go out of his way to pamper the singers who sang for him. If he ever found a singer struggling with a note he would change it without thought. He instinctively understood that if a singer struggled with the technical aspect of the song the expression and voice quality was bound to suffer. He was a master at pitching a singer's performance at just the right level in view of their strengths. This is why probably almost all singers have their choicest songs sung under the Burman baton. Even singers like Talat and Mukesh who sung only a handful of songs for him wind up with their most celebrated renditions being SD Burman compositions.

This quality to pamper and nourish the vocal element in his songs is the key behind the everlasting freshness in Dada's music. Human voice is after all the most primitive musical instrument and unlike any other instrument in world it is entirely the handiwork of Mother Nature. Its magnetism then can never wane. Once the freshness is trapped in a song, like Gangajal in a bottle it endures time over time. And that's what Dada precisely did. He tapped that fresh nectar from the vocal chords of his singers and enshrined it in his songs forever. This is probably why 'Kali Ghata Chhaaye' still brings the clouds rolling in and 'Gori Gori Gaon ki Gori re' sounds as dew fresh today as it did thirty years back.

The final topping in Dada's immortality potion as a composer was his strong resistance to temptation, the temptation to fall to the fads of the time. Dada always composed with an eye on posterity. His music endures over the ages because he designed it to! While his music always remained relevant to it's times it never let the prevalent styles overpower it. In the forties and fifties when classical complexity ruled roost he kept his tunes simple and lilting, in the sixties when hundred piece orchestras became the order of the day he stuck to his small ten-piece orchestra theory and in the seventies when son pancham heralded the westernized dum-maro-dum era, Dada continued to strike gold with his folk and classical inspired tunes.
Probably that is why even today a 'Saiyyan Dil Mein Aana Re' does not sound dated. It is because Dada never stamped his music with a date. It was meant to be for all times. It is timeless.

So now, to wind down, how could we then encapsulate the essence of the Burman brand of music?

It would be safe to say that the hallmarks of an SD Burman composition are simplicity, vivacity and elegance. A lilting melody accompanied by minimal orchestration, catchy motifs that highlight the otherwise austere fabric the song and frills that are kept to minimum so that the purity of thought and emotion rule the music.

While his music received a lot of acclaim Burman Dada himself missed out on most of the mainstream awards of his time(though he won the national award twice, once for his superlative rendition of 'Kahe ko Roye' in Aradhana). His most acclaimed score 'Guide' failed to get him a filmfare award a fact that hurt him somewhere.

But at the end of the day SD Burman's did not need awards to inspire him to give his best. He is once said to have commented 'Hearing my tune from the lips of a stranger is my greatest reward'. And today hundred years after he was born and over thirty years after he died there are millions of strangers who have his tunes on their lips. Burmanda continues to live through his music, and through the school of music that he gave birth to, the school that was propagated by his son and musical heir RD Burman and lives on in spirit in the music of many current day composers like Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy and Jatin Lalit and MM Kreem. This school can never die out for it celebrates the timeless of human spirit in all its glory. And in today's catch-line happy times the hundred year old spirit of Burman Dada provides us with perhaps the most enduring catch-line - Simple is Beautiful

Remembering Vijay Tendulkar's Mitra

Nitin Karani — Tue, 20 May 2008 12:44:15 EDT

Many of you would have noted the death of Padma Bhushan Vijay Tendulkar, playwright, scriptwriter and civil liberties champion (he was also the father of the late Priya ‘Rajani’ Tendulkar). The theatre, film and journalist fraternities have paid rich tributes to him.

Many of these would have made reference to his iconoclasm but omitted any reference to his play, Mitrachi Ghoshta (A Friend’s Story), where the central character is lesbian and the story is about her struggle to cope with her sexual orientation and (as Rohini Hattangady, who played the character, has said) ultimate ‘inevitable’ suicide.

When I saw the Hindi version of the play, Kahani Sumitra Ki, (in perhaps the late 1990s) staged by Chetan Datar and his theatre group, I thought it was dated and, of course, depressing. I had recently come out then and was, perhaps, more of an idealist then. Still, Tendulkar had the guts to dare to be different.

As I look back now at the play, it’s distressing how the fiction of his play is still a truth for many lesbians even today. The play’s other main character, Bapu, –
“ultimately comes to represent: a homophobic society that keeps its blinders on to naturalize straight relationships as the norm, even if this should lead to a tragic end.”
(Source: Humanities Retooled)

Incidentally, Tendulkar also wrote the screenplay for the Smita Patil-starrer, Umbartha (based on Shanta Nisal’s novel Beghar), which featured a lesbian couple who set themselves afire.

*****
Tendulkar was in his teens and lived in Pune when he became acquainted with ‘Mitra’, the girl on whose life he based Mitrachi Ghoshta. This was in the early 1940s. A classmate of Mitra from college became friends with Tendulkar and would talk about this girl whom the playwright had seen many times before and even seen her performance on stage. The actor friend also told him about Mitra’s affair with another girl which “practically finished her (Mitra’s) life” when it ended.
Tendulkar recounted all this and more in his June 2001 preface to the play’s English translation (by Gowri Ramnarayan), which was published by Oxford University Press. He remembers “the shock waves and confusion” that the story about Mitra’s lesbian affair caused in his young mind. “I had just begun my career in writing then. But what I heard about Mitra did not prompt me to write about her at once. It took some years to surface in the form of a short story. It was written in the mid 50s…. The title was Mitra. It appeared in one of the Diwali annuals in Marathi, and was appreciated.”

A few years later, when he had moved to Mumbai, Mitra was again on his mind. By then he had seen her living as a spinster in Pune. Tendulkar said, “I was an adult then, with enough knowledge of the same-sex world which existed around me but was still considered a taboo. The thought of writing and staging a play on such a relationship was out of the question. Yet the play Mitra materialized.”
It was staged only a few times by some young actors. The play was “hated by the women and sneered at by the men in the audience”.

*****
Mitra is widely acknowledged as the first Marathi play (and perhaps even the first Indian play) on same-sex relations. Tendulkar, however, emphasized that it was merely about “a young boy touching twenty, inexperienced in many human ways, and still a virgin when he comes in contact with Mitra. He feels a deep attachment for her after the first feelings of wonder, and gets involved with her until she destroys herself.”

In a note to the translation, Hattangady, said that, “Sumitra, that is Mitra, being ‘different’ is the core (essence) of the play.” Much before Hattangady played Sumitra, she had read the script “and liked it. The subject was new and different — in the first instance, almost unpalatable.” For Hattangady, it was “a chance, and a challenge” to play “such a character (Nothing like this had been tackled before in India, on stage or the screen, way back in 1980.)” Tendulkar greenlighted the performance only after he had seen it himself because “the subject could be easily misinterpreted.”

“…Even when we performed it, it was labeled as a ‘bold subject’ or ‘what sort of subject is it?’ It did not run too well as a commercial play, but those who saw our performance, still remember it as an ‘unforgettable’ experience.”

*****
As an aside, Hattangady wrote that she read up on homosexuality “to get a better idea… and came to a broad understanding that these attractions are of two kinds, one based on circumstances and two, on physical hormonal imbalance. Mitra belongs to the second category.” Surprising that even in 2001 she harbored such out of date notions about homosexuality. But Hattangady also uses the words ‘abnormality’ and ‘different’ in quotes in the note.

Another incident she has recounted shows her sensitive nature: “To go for the rehearsals, I had to travel by local train in Mumbai…. One day while traveling, a eunuch boarded the train. There was not much of a mad rush. The train stopped at the next station. A few ladies got down and a few entered. They looked strangely at the eunuch. I was watching them and the ‘look’ on their faces. Isn’t Mitra also ‘different’? That look on their faces said so many things to me. From that day onwards, Mitra came closer to me still.”

Movie Review: Wall Street

Sandeep — Fri, 9 May 2008 15:18:11 EDT

The first time I watched Wall Street was when it was released in India. It bored me to death. Back then, my diet was crawling with action and horror flicks and plot-and-dialogue-heavy movies bored me. And now I'm in a frenzy of unearthing, watching and reviewing these selfsame movies.

Wall Street is simply a glossy, modern-day version of Crime and Punishment narrated rather well with the typical 1980s' Hollywood ingredients of high-tech gadgetry, skyscraper-culture, and some sleaze for good measure.

While it doesn't exactly qualify for a classic, it is a superlatively-told story worth watching a few times. High points of the movie include great performances by the protagonists, no-holds barred dialogue, and brilliant screenplay. The last attribute scores real well because it is difficult to sit through a dialogue-heavy film for over 2 hours unless the screenplay rivets you to your seat.

Wall Street is the familiar story of the seductive power of greed, and how its accompanying consequences play out in the minds and lives of different people. Set in the mid-1980s, Wall Street is about Gordon Gekko (Michael Douglas), an unscrupulous corporate raider who manipulates stock holdings of entire corporations using every proverbial dirty trick in the book, and Bud Fox (Charlie Sheen), a struggling two-pence stock salesman in a stockbroking firm. Gordon Gekko has everything that Bud Fox wants, and idol-worships him for that reason. Gekko takes him under his tutelage, and introduces him to his world. At some point, when Gekko feels that he has sufficiently peeled off Fox's conscience, he entrusts him with greater "responsibilities." To his credit, Fox, fuelled by his rapid successes, takes greater, and thus riskier initiatives. As is wont, his unethical journey brings him to his own, very ethical father's company. Gekko backstabs Fox. The rest is about retribution, soul-searching and salvation.

Oliver Stone is both a skillful storyteller and a great extractor of performances. Charlie Sheen takes us along all the way till the end starting with his almost-naive ambition to tearful guilt. But Wall Street is Michael Douglas all the way, which deservedly won him the Oscar. Oliver Stone gives his character a sense of completeness, which is missing in Sheen's characterization. The Gekko in Gordon Gekko seems to have a parallel in the Gecko lizard, which emits foul-smelllng material and feces to ward off its enemies. Gordon Gekko's "business" premise is slime. He hits hard, ducks, manipulates, and breaks every rule of decency to get what he wants and to stay there. He involves Bud Fox in every dirty deal but ensures that his own back is protected if trouble erupts. With this kind of absolute author-backed characterization, Michael Douglas has won you completely, much before he begins his celebrated Greed, for want of a better word, is good speech. Oliver Stone manages to retain the latent violence in Gekko's character till the close of the movie when he decides to unleash it. Gekko punches Bud Fox with a ferocity that only matches the inherent evil in his character.

Because there's no such thing as a perfect film, I guess we need to mention the most obvious shortcomings. Like most well-made movies, Wall Street seems to be in a hurry to finish. Bud Fox's decision to punish Gordon Gekko for ruining his father's company is contrived. The sequence and pace of his actions just don't make sense because till then you are given to believe that Gekko is this all-knowing monster. How Bud's artificial engineering of the stock market escapes Gekko's attention is puzzling. The biggest let-down is Daryl Hannah. From seducing the naive Bud Fox to graduating to his almost-love interest, her character has zero relevance to the movie. Wall Street wouldn't exactly suffer a loss if her character wasn't created at all. Also, Wall Street could have done without getting too preachy: whether its Michael Douglas preaching about the goodness of greed or Sheen's father sermonizing about the virtues of ethical living.

Wall Street wins not only for its superior storytelling or the other aspects I've mentioned but also because it portrays conflict so well.

Movie Review: The Spiderwick Chronicles

Vijayendra Mohanty — Fri, 2 May 2008 07:16:20 EDT

Family moves into a spooky house, adventure follows. We have had these before. Spiderwick Chronicles doesn't depart from the formula and yet packs in over 100 minutes of solid watchable fantasy.

Let us quickly go over the setting. The movie features the twins - Jared and Simon Grace (they only look like each other), their elder sister Mallory (she carries swords on her), their constantly frazzled mom Helen, the ogre Mulgarath (with world domination on his mind), and more goblins than you can count. There are also sylphs, a troll, and a griffin in the picture.

Then there is someone called HOGSQUEAL!

Based on the book of the same name by Holly Black, The Spiderwick Chronicles tells the story of a young boy Jared Grace's struggles to keep Mulgarath from taking over the secrets of the fairykind. Secrets that Jared's great uncle Arthur Spiderwick recorded in his journal before sealing it shut and hiding it.

Director Mark Waters delivers a well done book-to-movie presentation. Freddie Highmore is brilliant as the Jared/Simon duo.

Clever, captivating, and well-paced; you will miss a lot if you miss The Spiderwick Chronicles (if you do miss it that is).

Autotelism Versus "Unity of Art, Use and Beauty."

temporal — Thu, 3 Apr 2008 04:33:39 EDT

Deepti Lamba ends her short story Kindred Spirits with these words: "They wished the childhood abuse had never happened."

In the comments, I suggested the straight forward ending punch was too bare. Perhaps a less showing sentence hinting at the abysmal darkness and gloom could have been more effective in rousing the reader's imagination to the protagonists misfortunes.

Temple Stark had a different take and said: "I like the bluntness of the last line because it's (sic) subject is very blunt. You don't get mysterious about childhood abuse, it's a "show stopping" subject."

And Aditi Nadkarni added: "...like Temple said I too like the bluntness. I don't like poetry in matters like child abuse. It just doesn't sit right and does not deliver the shock it should."

There are as many ways to begin and end a tale as there are genres in writing. As a minor poet I try to play around with words and felt this sublime and powerful short story loses some of its charm when the punch line suddenly explodes towards the end. I also think a challenging O Henry ending could have carried greater finesse and punch.

Deepti had traced the subterranean path of the submarine and brought it nearer the reader. It rose from the depths of the protagonists' despair to very near the surface. Now what to do with the lurking submarine? Should it emerge gracefully out of the watery grave or tentatively shoot up?

The suspicion, fear and the latent guilt of the two protagonists that electrifies the narration throughout the story suddenly dissipates and fizzles from the story ending.

***

In 1935, in England a bunch of Indian Writers got together to launch Progressive Writer's Association. And in 1936, they founded the Indian Progressive Writer's Movement in Calcutta. Why this sudden switch from Dee's short story?

Because this leads to the unresolved argument of art for whose sake? The Progressives considered the primacy of objective above art. As a minor poet I have a different take. Art (broadly speaking) is inspiration meeting paper, canvas or another medium. It flows from the deeper innards and should not be intentionally subjugated to causes, ideals and whims no matter how deeply held or felt. Unobtrusive and unimpeded flow of art is overwhelming by itself.

L'art pour l'art - art for art's sake - divorced from any encumbrances such as morality, didactics, or messages should be the ultimate justification. The Greeks have a word for it Autotelism- (noun -belief that a work of art is an end in itself or its own justification.)

We have taken it into our heads that to write a poem simply for the poem's sake [...] and to acknowledge such to have been our design, would be to confess ourselves radically wanting in the true poetic dignity and force: — but the simple fact is that would we but permit ourselves to look into our own souls we should immediately there discover that under the sun there neither exists nor can exist any work more thoroughly dignified, more supremely noble, than this very poem, this poem per se, this poem which is a poem and nothing more, this poem written solely for the poem's sake. Poe, Edgar Allan (1850). The Poetic Principle.

In the 30s the Indian world was stirring to throw away the yolk of the flickering Raj. This period, sandwiched between the two wars proved to be conducive to the Progressives. Mushir Anwar in Sajjad Zaheer and Progressive Writers' Movement writes:

THAT literature will meet our criteria which has thought, passion for freedom, beauty, a constructive spirit, the light of life's realities; that moves, creates a turmoil and turbulence, makes us restless, does not put us to sleep since it would be akin to death if we sleep more. Thus Munshi Premchand defined the objectives of the Progressive Writers' Movement in his presidential address at the movement's first congress held in 1936. The standard bearer of this movement was Sajjad Zaheer, a scion of nobility who renounced the advantages of his birth to work for the cause of the downtrodden. Sajjad Zaheer saw in literature that force which could bring about a qualitative change in the life and thought of the people since it anticipated the profound and the deep unseen as well as the surface tensions springing from the font of ambition that not only make men dream but goad them to their realisation. But that in effect meant changing the aesthetics of art which some thought to be inflexible.

This is further refined in Progressive Movement and Urdu Poetry, where Ali Sardar Jafri says:

This Progressive Movement was a spectrum of different shades of political and literary opinions with Prem Chand, a confirmed believer in Gandhism at one end, and Sajjad Zaheer, a confirmed marxist, at the other end. In between them were various other shades including non-conformists, but every one of them interested in the freedom of the country and glory of literature.

And this captures the essence of the movement:

The basic and fundamental postulate of the Progressive Writers Movement is the unity of art, use and beauty. It is not a violent departure from the past or an angry revolt against tradition as such, although we did reject certain unhealthy and obscurantist trends. And that is how our path was new. What we tried to do was a reiteration of the values getting lost in modern commercial age, or distorted under the weight of the decaying social systems. It is a rediscovery with a new experience and consciousness, and new artistic additions giving fresh vigour to Urdu poetry and literature as a whole.

I viewed the Kindered Spirit from this perspective and felt the ending was "designed" and restrictive. It did not allow the soaring freedom to the reader's imagination.

Am I perhaps guilty of ignoring the message in the story? No. Deepti, Aditi, Temple, Jawahara and others who grace the pages of Desicritcs are a fine bunch of writers who know and practice their craft well. I just felt the ending could have been done differently.

But if that wish were to come true, then this story would straddle the mid ground between the Progressives and the Purists! Both will lose some and the reader stands to gain.

Movie Review: The Blue Umbrella - Rustic Bond

PH — Wed, 2 Apr 2008 02:45:36 EDT

The Blue Umbrella opens with a telling sequence: when you’ve taken in the snowflakes and the pine trees synonymous with a Himachal winter, you squint to notice a little girl with an umbrella, camouflaged in the scenery. And it’s a telling sequence because in presenting little Biniya (Shreya Sharma) as completely one with the region she belongs to, Vishal Bharadwaj is simply mirroring Ruskin Bond’s idyllic vision of a pahaaRii people seeped into their surroundings.

An interesting dualism emerges from Bharadwaj’s work so far. The films he’s made with child protagonists (Makdee, The Blue Umbrella) are infused with the innocence that adult nostalgia projects onto childhood, and his adult films (Maqbool, Omkara) are unmistakably dark. In this film, the nutty Nandkishore Khatri (Pankaj Kapur) embodies this conflict between childhood and growing up. His coveting the blue umbrella – Biniya’s little piece of heaven with clouds sprinkled on its canopy – is after all an adult's longing for a lost childhood.

Having spent a calculating life in pursuit of profit, Nandu sees his possessing the umbrella as his one shot at redemption – priceless precisely because it offers no real advantage, like “watching a sunset”. And this is what gives the plot its bite: Having grown up, we too have robbed childhood of its gay innocence and coated our worldly concerns on it. We too have, as it were, stolen and painted the umbrella red.

The film is a visual delight - the use of the blue and yellow tinted night scenes, a toy scarecrow, a woman sieving wheat, a Ferris wheel in a tizzy, and the picturesque Himachal hamlet with its motley characters - all make the quotidian seem quaint.

Mark the swooshing shot of the umbrella’s descent, as if it were an angel seeking Biniya out. Bharadwaj’s background score and the gifted Gulzar’s lyrics add an adorable touch to the proceedings. There’s a lot to laugh about: the idiomatic dialogue; Nandu swaying his head religiously to a bhajan set to the tune of “You are my Sonia” from Kabhie Khushii Kabhii Gham; or a Beatrix Kiddo-esque montage of Biniya wielding the umbrella followed by a remark emphasizing what “khilbil” (mayhem) she caused!

The only false note is the morphing of Ravana’s heads into Nandu’s; the cut from Nandu’s speech to the Ravana-burning shot is enough to convey Nandu’s villany; spelling it out robs it of its subtlety.

Pankaj Kapur deserves a hundred hat-tips for his comical, childlike, neurotic and vulnerable rendition of Nandu. Here is an actor for all seasons: quirky carrot-loving detective (Karamchand), tormented cop (Raakh), tragic scientist (Ek Doctor Kii Maut), harassed teacher (Zabaan Sambhaalke) and Marlon Maqbool Brando. Clearly, the man is no Phateechar when it comes to acting.

In some ways, Vishal Bharadwaj is the most Indian of mainstream Hindi filmmakers. He seeks out the rugged, rustic, forgotten-by-Bollywood India – a decadent Urdu speaking Mumbai mafia, a political fiefdom in the cow-belt heartland, and a tiny Himachal hamlet. And he’s at home in this ‘other’ India; he isn’t the voyeuristic urban outsider (think Swades). Instead, he revels in becoming and making us become one with them. That is what makes his cinema refreshing and real.

Mera Dost MIG

PerihelionFlux — Sat, 29 Mar 2008 00:26:11 EDT

I wrote this article some time back when I read that IAF had approached Bollywood to make a movie on IAF. It was waiting to take off on my blog or DC but suffered the fate of many armed forces initiatives - waiting to take off. But finally I'm DC'ing it now.

So what did IAF want to show through Bollywood - the ineffective MIGs and other medieval Russian supplied craft that result in the deaths of tens of IAF pilots every year? Or cameos by well-fed, whisky-sipping and salute-hungry deal-brokering brigadiers and generals? But definitely a dewy eyed village belle swept away in the parachute of a MIG pilot who ejected before his MIG took him 'down'?

Today's wars are fought from the air and the large number of foot soldiers won't be able to do much if they are carpet bombed and daisy cuttered by swift and effective craft like the ones owned by our neighbours.

If someone thinks that a tasteless patriotic goulash stirred up by Bollywood would motivate Indians to defend their country, then they need to get out of their mansions and see India's dilapidated infrastructure, the "I will sell my mother for your vote" politicians and the suffering people who put up with all this - including Bollywood movies. Thankfully, Bollywood didn't seem keen to showcase IAF's 'might' and 'charm' to Indians.

What India needs more than patriotism right now is modern technology and equipment to defend itself and well remunerated and well treated soldiers who can look forward to a life beyond saluting the officers or tending to their gardens, children and wives.

What we need is a culture where a soldier needs to only worry about defending their motherland and not about defending themselves because they didn't salute their seniors or their seniors' wives.

Off to the movies, young lass and don't come out before you have become a patriot.