Desicritics Section: Media

Sarah Palin Resigns: Aims to Run for President in 2012

temporal — Fri, 3 Jul 2009 16:26:04 EDT

photo NYT

Alaska Governor Sarah Palin is set to resign this Friday. She would be handing over the reins to Lt. Gov. Sean Parnell. He would be sworn in on July 25.

This long speculated and anticipated announcement was made by Sarah Palin in presence of her husband Todd and other family members at her home in Wasilla, Alaska.

Mitchell Blumnethal, of NYT, quotes her saying, This decision came after much consideration,” Ms. Palin told reporters gathered at her home, and added, “I really don’t want to disappoint anyone with this announcement.”

Here is her full statement to the press:

“People who know me know that besides faith and family, nothing’s more important to me than our beloved Alaska,” said Governor Palin. “Serving her people is the greatest honor I could imagine. I am determined to take the right path for Alaska even though it is not the easiest path,” said Governor Palin after the announcement. “Once I decided not to run for re-election, I also felt that to embrace the conventional ‘Lame Duck’ status in this particular climate would just be another dose of ‘politics as usual,’ something I campaigned against and will always oppose. It is my duty to always protect our great state. With that in mind, my family and I determined that it is best to make a difference this summer, and I am willing to change things, so that this administration, with its positive agenda, its accomplishments, and its successful road to an incredible future, can continue without interruption and with great administrative and legislative success. I look forward to helping others – to fight for our state and our country, and campaign for those who believe in smaller government, free enterprise, strong national security, support for our troops, and energy Independence.” [link]

She would be the second Governor to resign to seek the Presidential nomination. Last month Gov. Tim Pawlenty of Minnesota, also considered a leading Republican candidate announced that would not seek re election.

While her Conservative base would be pleased by her decision, it does not bode well for the process of electioneering in the US.

Already, the pundits have been decrying the long and expensive process that culminates in the Presidential campaign.

Khuda kay Liye and Ramchand Pakistani: A Comparison

Zia Ahmad — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 14:09:45 EDT

Ramchand Pakistani has come and gone and has made another addition to the slowly and lets hope surely upward struggle for the revival of Pakistani cinema. With the lack of any other appropriate banner for these films to be categorized under, no room for “New Pakistani Cinema” or “Reasonable/Sensible Pakistani Cinema”, “Revival of Pakistani Cinema” is the nomenclature that has been agreed upon and Shoaib “Showman” Mansoor’s Khuda Kay Liye has been accorded the privilege of ushering in this revival.

In this light it is only natural to compare Khuda kay Liye and Ramchand Pakistani. Both are made by directors with a strong television background with Shoib Mansoor, a veteran of thirty plus years who has been associated with quality productions and Mehreen Jabbar who has been making consistently capable TV productions and short films that display uncharacteristic depth and sensitivity in the age of crass commercial TV for more than ten years now.

Past efforts to revive Pakistani cinema had been made in the previous decade but failed miserably to cut the mark. Notable mentions were Salman Pirzada’s still largely unseen Zargul, which for all purposes might have been an adequate piece of cinema only if people would have actually seen the film and the overwrought dismal project that was Jinnah, an expensively mounted feature that got bogged down by strange apparitions and over-weight angels in front of playback monitors and imposing upon us to exercise our patriotic duty by watching it on the big screen.

When it was announced that acclaimed TV director Shoaib Mansoor was helming a feature film, the news generated considerable excitement and anticipation. Geo TV effectively cashed in the excitement by thunderously promoting the film. Riding upon the wave of massive local publicity and promotion and by the virtue of being the first in line, Khuda kay Liye was hastily set as a standard by which all subsequent Pakistani films as against to Lollywood films would be measured.

A year later Ramchand Pakistani was released with much less fanfare and though it didn’t go unnoticed, it made more of an impact in the art house circles and festivals and earned glowing reviews if not as much box office receipts. And that is the way it should be since box office receipts don’t necessarily vouch for a film’s excellence but rather its populist appeal. Khuda kay Liye clearly had that appeal, with its Shan-led cast and US, UK locales replete with a patriotic agenda.

Paraphrasing Omar Khan, the content and form of the film exercises sledge hammer subtlety and never quite lets up in that regard. The central characters are thinly drawn with superficial complexities to contend with and are at the absolute mercy of the plot to get them around the world and emote blatantly as required. Performances are generally uneven with the absolutely stoic, the actor playing Iman Ali’s father, to painful variations of hamming it up, from the absolutely atrocious Iman Ali to Shan doing his Shan thing, to the commendably professional, Naseer-ud-Din Shah on loan. However, it is Rashid Naz who own every scene he's in and is genuinely impressive in the way he lends equal measures of soft spoken charm underlined with unsettling threat so commonly associated with charismatic maulvis

For what it’s worth Khuda kay Liye didn’t disappear in the dust of irrelevancy like previous contenders of the revival of Pakistani cinema and for a while did give the purveyors of Lollywood sleaze a run for their money which is an achievement in itself. Ramchand Pakistani didn’t quite match that feat but established itself in other meaningful ways.

It is said to be based on a true story and while Khuda kay Liye as well has its basic exposition influenced by timely circumstance, events in Ramchand have a more immediate ring. Where Shoib Mansoor’s film echoes of jingoistic tendencies, Ramchand is more so a human document rather than a political polemic.

The performances are relatively even through out with instances of miscasting here and there as in Noman Ijaz’s street vendor doesn’t strike authentic, a lesser known or glamorous actor in his place would have been more credible. So is the case with the staff of the Indian jail that ends up looking a tad bit less gritty and more compromising including the casting of Shahood Alvi, whose cultured diction betrays the speech mannerisms of a jail warden in Indian Gujarat. The presence of Nadita Das helps though she is not left much to do with and her range is not fully realized.

Along with the story it is the father/son relationship that forms the core of the film and drives it forward. This is more than ably helped by unaffected performances by child actors. Especially the younger Ramchand displays the natural performance often associated by neo realist non professional actors. The older Ramchand invests the role with unmentioned longing balancing it with a loss of innocence.

Strong yet understated performance by Rashid Farooqi convincingly demonstrates his character’s hurt, anger and despondency that provides the film much emotional resonance and helps give the father/son dynamic in the film a warm honesty not familiar in Pakistani films.

Watching An Indian Soap: Choti Bahu

Blokesablogin — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 00:59:14 EDT

I was introduced to the Indian television Serial scene a month ago via the internet. There are several sites wherein every serial known and unknown, watched and not are carefully uploaded every hour. My in laws decided to cut Sun TV that we had especially ordered for them as they said that the internet gave them greater flexibility of time to watch their favorite shows and they did not have to watch the ads during breaks. (My in laws had found this website that uploaded videos according to the European time of telecast and thus they got to see their serial before it was telecast in the US!) This was my first introduction to Indian television serials, online.

While browsing through some articles, I came across TRP ratings for serials with the highest viewership ratings and found Choti Bahu (Younger daughter in law) consistently being on the top (until recent months). I wondered what made a show a success? There began my journey. I entered an alien world of fiction that gripped people's imagination and kept them talking for the whole day before the conversation continued the next day! It was not uncommon for my in laws to discuss a show with their friends back home when they called in to check if all was well. My dad would update my mom as to what was happening with the episodes that she was missing while traveling.

Choti Bahu begins as an innocent story along the lines of Cinderella with a sweet, naive girl (Radhika) who is an adopted daughter of a poor, temple priest. She is ill treated by the grandma and her "sister" (Vishaka) who uses her to cover up all her faults. Enter our Prince Charming (Dev) belonging to a rich and well known family that has properties all around the country. He falls hard for Radhika and wishes to marry her. Unfortunately he thinks Radhika's name is Vishaka and gets married to her. Owing to a twist, on the night of the marriage, Radhika substitutes for Vishaka (as she runs away to become an actress) and then the story devolves from there.

It was obvious that the entire story is based on the fact that Radhika never reveals to Dev, who consistently tells her how much he adores her and does not care for his "wife" Vishaka, that she is indeed his Dharmapatni, wife who took the vows with him. The TRPs are manipulated constantly keeping the viewers on tenterhooks as to when the truth will come out.

I noticed that there is a set pattern to the plot. For every 25 episodes a new twist is created or resolved. Even if the twist does not require that many hours to be resolved or created, they follow the set format. Of course, watching the episodes online has its advantages. You can skip all the shots when people are seen walking to or from another character. Or when the title song plays or when the villain begins her canned dialogue that will go on for exactly 2:30 minutes.

I also stumbled upon a forum where avid viewers of the show discussed their favorite show online- sometimes thrilled with what happened and sometimes miserable with the story line. A whole new world opened up in front of me as I undertook this month long experiment to understand the psychology of serial watchers.

And it is an interesting world. I met some amazing people on the forums. We became almost family when we had to cheer up someone who was miserable with the story line! There were alternative "Fan Fiction", stories written with the same characters but an entirely different story. There were video remixes with clippings from the show merged with a new soundtrack. There were interviews with the cast.

This melding of shows with other shows was mind boggling. There would be special episodes when characters from other serials would appear on this show! There would be anchors from different TV News magazines to update viewers about what was happening on the sets. So, the channels would feed off each other on "advertizing" their shows via news and the News channel had "news" to report!

Many of the diehards are young kids who are in the middle of taking tests and giving interviews. The Indian diaspora from around world as far flung as Trinidad, the Americas, Australia and Africa. Bored housewives and busy professionals catch their shows online at a time convenient for them. It is not uncommon for the forums to have volunteers who write the update for each show in English to make it easy for the non Hindi speakers to follow the show! The dedication is amazing.

An entire world of make belief made "real". In an already world of illusion, as the idea of Maya would have it another Maya nagari is established and supported from every side. Another layer to this world of fiction is the fiction created by viewers. It is like the old idea of the mirror within the mirror, reflecting each other off into infinity.

For now, I have bid temporary farewell to the serial and the forum as I surface back to reality!

Tracing Michael: Over the Years

Truman — Sat, 27 Jun 2009 18:45:25 EDT

Back in 1996, one day in the school, a friend told me he had a couple of stickers for the Dangerous tour. What was that, I asked. It was Michael Jackson touring India and I would be stupid not to know it, I was told. The tour was called "The Dangerous Tour". Oh, Michael Jackson. I thought his best song was "Black and White" or something but it was the grooviest thing I had ever heard and had fallen in love with the video, especially because it showed an Indian girl doing Bharatanatyam with Jackson in the middle of the road.

For a boy who didn't know the difference between "Black and white" and "Black or white", it must taken some convincing to do, that this friend eventually gave one sticker to me. It was a prized possession. After much thought, I pasted it on the back of an address book which I was sure I would use forever (The "Black and/or White" confusion was because Philips electronics had used the song jingle and conveniently called it, well, "Black and White", for promoting their colorless television set on radio).

Then in 1998, an uncle who had studied in the IIT while graduating to Jackson's music came to visit us. When he agreed to buy me a music cassette while checking out some music at the local store, my hands went to Michael Jackson's Dangerous. He told me not to go for it. If he were to buy me one, it would be Thriller. I resisted it (because I had never heard of Thriller and I did not want this chance to go waste by letting him buy me something I did not know about). Eventually he had me convinced that it'd be a sin to choose Dangerous over Thriller. That was my first MJ tape.

Then, three years later, one day I went to my best friend's house. He had an impressive music collection and we had evolved to mp3s. In his CD rack, I found the audio CD of Dangerous. Not willing to lose it this time, I told him that I was taking it home. It had songs I had long wanted to hear. It also had "In the Closet", which was and remains, till this day, the sexiest song I have ever listened to. The video with Naomi just adds another dimension to it.

Shortly thereafter, in Indore during my first few days of graduation, I met Devashish Bhatt. Quite simply, he was the greatest fan of MJ I have ever met. While discussing music one evening, I told him that "Stranger in Moscow" was a song I wish I could listen to more often. My Sony Walkman was playing UB40's "Can't help falling in love". Dev sang the first four lines of "Stranger in Moscow" for me and then offered a deal - we could swap what our "Walkmen" were holding. So this way, I ended up with the Blood on the Dance Floor tape that had "Stranger in Moscow" and Dev had his UB40 with a host of other cheesy love songs in the "Now that's what I call Love!" tape.

I was not very generous to Dev in our future dealings. I ended up taking the History Part 1 & 2 tapes and never giving them back.

Then in 2001, in Pune, I met Pushkar Krishna, my room mate's brother. Impressed by my knowledge on books and music, he took me one day to the infamous Fergusson College road. After a bulk of books and tapes that we carried home, he put a smile on my face by a simple gesture that I remember vividly till this day. He gifted to me Invincible - MJ's last album.

From my perspective, the best part was that MJ's music always found a way to get to me. Call it luck, but it just happened. I never tried hard. I never had to.

I graduated to Michael Jackson much later than I should have. But it happened. I traced his music back and forth. In this journey of music, I have met very few people of my generation who actually knew what Michael Jackson was all about -- for mine is a generation that has seen Michael Jackson as a fading star. What a pity would it be for those people who now are left wondering, having seen Michael Jackson for the first time on the front page of the newspapers yesterday, in his death. Would he be greater to them in death than when he was alive? Would they ever know what he was all made of? Would they realize the gravity of this loss?

Does someone see the irony in this?

How Many Days of Your Life Do You Remember?

Ankur Bhatia — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 12:16:04 EDT

I don't know why but most people watch movies and praise them but don't really embrace them. Films can teach us a great deal about life.

I want to take one particular instance from a film that has inspired me a great deal and has helped me to understand and live a better life. I feel that it has a strong significance in almost everyone's life. In the film Bluffmaster, Boman Irani asks Abhishek Bachchan "How Many Days of Your Life Do You Remember?" for which the answer was a meagre 30. Thirty years old and just 30 days to remember?

Consider this point - how many days can you remember vividly in your life? When I started thinking about this, my thoughts went right back to when i was in the ninth, and I had just come back home after discovering a library which stacked all the Tintin and Asterix comics, as well as loads of Archie digests. I had picked up a Tintin (Don't remember which one) and come home. I think I had some guests over but I did not tarry. I had a bath, changed, and began reading it lying down on the bed. I remember myself very clearly saying these words "THIS IS LIFE!!!". I thought of the hundreds of comics in the library, waiting to be read and I couldn't stop smiling.

There were other memorable days, but not that many. You might ask, how much is enough. Well, nothing ever is. That's human nature and we can't help it. What we can do is put this in the right perspective. Every day that we live, we live to want more time, more money, more girls, more sex, more this and more that. Instead we should live each day in such a way that we can remember it forever. Live to ask for more such days because no matter what you say now, these will be the only days that will be worth anything in your life.

The Death Of A King: Michael Jackson Passes Away

Aditi Nadkarni — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 10:53:13 EDT

Michael Jackson is gone. He was my very first introduction to pop music, our generation's pop music. If it weren't for him, our times would not have had any star to show for itself, no Elvis, no Beatle mania. We from the 90s would have passed by without a craze. Instead the 90s gave the world its King Of Pop. His biggest and best selling albums were made popular by my generation. We were the teenagers who followed his moonwalking footsteps and filtered his lyrics through the funnels of our walkman headphones. I remember hearing the scream, the sounds of shattering glass weaved into his music, the irreverant howl, the vulnerable quiver of his voice and the startling hiccup that punctuated his songs so in contrast to the steady, unbroken, melancholy notes of Indian music. It was different, like nothing I had ever heard before and so a pre-teen eager for something to define me, I fought valiantly for rights over the sole music system which my father's Jagjit Singh and Ghulam Ali albums had monopolized for preceding years.

At my all girl's convent school, every annual function had a dance on a catchy Michael Jackson number. Girls dressed in black and white, with big plastic hoops for earrings performed what could not really be called a break dance but when the famed "crotch" move came along, howls ensued from the crowd and loud clucks came forth from the nuns. In an otherwise solemn classroom, when Sister Maria asked us who was the first man to walk on the moon, our whispered answers amidst suppressed giggles included "Michael Jackson". In India, somehow we never saw Michael Jackson as Whacko Jacko. For us, he was merely this one representation of what the West itself was: eccentric, different, crazy and laden with bling-blings. If you asked a kid off the streets what America was to him, he would promptly say "Michael Jackson" and bust a break dance move. Johny Lever even created an Indian counterpart including "Mai-ka Lal Jaikishan" (Mother's pet, Lord Krishna) for one of his comic routines and everybody in audience, young or old knew whose name he was parodying.

When Michael Jackson arrived in India, even the usually Hindutva and nationalistic fervor ridden Bal Thackeray was smitten, raving to delighted news reporters about how MJ had stopped at his home and used his toilet. The concert was something I could not even dream of attending. Instead I fed on the remnants of the wave that his arrival set forth in Bombay. Riding on the buses the next day, we pointed to each other, flyers and posters of the concert and the places that we speculated MJ must have surely passed through on the way to his hotel. "Look", we cried excitedly, "They said he stopped there before they drove from his hotel to the concert!". Street children wore the one white glove symbolic of the King's visit and street hawkers made a killing selling MJ hats with a lock of curly hair attached. I was one of Bombay's teeming middle class. being part of the concert was not for us unless its traffic manifestations counted. We only took pride in the fact that MJ had decided to visit our city. He knew he had fans here, we told ourselves and therefore he knew us at some level. He had come all that way to our city and bathed it with his music, matched the beat of our crowded local trains with the rhythm of his songs and even put in a bharatnatyam dancer in his album. He acknowledged us and we loved him for that. He folded his hands and said namaste and even the grandmothers dismissive of his moves were touched. Mai-Ka-Lal-Jai-Kishen.

At my own grandmother's house, there lived a beautiful new god that had just made its way into India: cable TV. This tele-caravan of non-stop entertainment brought with itself, MTV and VTV. I watched MJ move around Naomi Campbell crooning "In The Closet" and that to date remains my favorite dance MJ number, its sensuality somehow ripening with age, mine and the song's. At thirteen, this to me was sex in the West. A voluptuous, scantily clad woman sashaying with a tall, frail man clutching his crotch. One monsoon day on our way to a movie theatre, the shattering of glass and a well-delivered scream in Jam, startled my dad when maneuvering our fiat through Bombay's tricky traffic. And much to my dismay MJ was banned from playing in our car.

"Do you even know what he is saying? Can you even tell?" my mother asked one day, challenging my adoration as I stared into the TV and let the the beats consume me. I turned up the volume and pretended to ignore her but her comment set me off. Up until then I did not understand his accent. I only knew that the beats of his songs excited me and made me want to dance. So the next time I made sure to look through the little lyric booklet that came with the cassette and learned a new language, his language. Suddenly, I was even more in love, not just moving with the beats and humming the tune but singing with the song. My mother immediately regretted having unintentionally led me into this karaoke phase. As I recognized the words, the message in "Black or White" and the angst in "Stranger In Moscow" were delivered with the beats. When our richer cousins bought a gigantic stereo system with speakers in every corner of the room, consumed with a mixture of pride and envy,I feigned nonchalance but only until "Blood On The Dance Floor" made its way into my tapping feet through their shuddering marble floor. I had never heard an MJ song being played like that before, at such a dangerous volume.

Through all his legal trials and the plastic surgeries, it became somewhat shameful or embarassing to admit that you liked him and adored him. And yet his music remained his one true face, untarnished and whole bringing discotheques alive when the 90s were called upon. Yesterday, I got back after a long day at work and just as suddenly as the shattering of glass and his trademark howl had entered my world, startling me years ago, I found out he was dead. I felt an urgency to listen to one of his songs. It is amazing how a tune can transport one back into the time to which that music belongs. Last night, I sat on my sofa, turned up the volume, closed my eyes and was a teenager again.

"Do you remember the time, when we were in love. We were young and innocent then"

Michael Jackson, King of Pop, Dies of Heart Attack

Aaman Lamba — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 21:03:25 EDT

The world's greatest musician of our generation, or at least the one with the greatest acclaim once upon a time, passed away due to a heart attack at the age of 50 in Los Angeles. He had been preparing for a comeback/farewell concert tour in London from July until next year.

The rise and fall of Michael Jackson is perhaps one of the strangest odysseys of any public icon. From the early years with the Jackson 5 and a gruelling road show circuit to the superstardom of the 1980s, Michael Jackson became the biggest music star in the world, selling over 750 million copies. From albums like Thriller to Bad, singles that over half the world recognizes became anthems, leading, in part, to the rise of MTV, hundreds of copycat artists, the sound of the '80s, and much moolah for the music industry.

Behind the scenes, Michael Jackson was a tormented, confused man, yearning for a lost childhood and descending into a private morass of sadness. He created a fantasy world for himself, and with all the wealth at his command, made it seem more real than the one he inhabited. His hangers-on got their piece of the pie, and allowed the decline from genius to degenerate while maintaining the outward persona of a kind, gentle superstar. The disintegration was complete when he was indicted in 2004 on charges of child molesting. Though later acquitted, he was never able to return to public limelight again, and subsequent forays were masked in a mixed bag of public revulsion and lukewarm commercial success. He moved to Dubai for a while, and the rumours piled up faster than the publicity machine could cover up.

The concerts were more to raise money to cover his mounting debt and extravagant lifestyle, besides make a safety net for his three children. His stake in the Beatles' music catalogue and in Sony/ATV Music Publishing will be under scrutiny. One hopes there will be no calvalcade of lawsuits and the like to eat away at his children's financial security.

His music legacy alone will ensure he is remembered for a long time. Music stations and television channels went into a Michael Jackson retrospective overdrive, blanketing the airwaves with hours of hits. Gossip Columnists were not so kind, PerezHilton being the most snide.

Go gentle into the black night, MJ, you will be missed.

Movie Review: Zibahkhana - Of Zombies and Baby

Zia Ahmad — Sun, 21 Jun 2009 20:16:00 EDT

With Shoaib Mansoor’s big and important Khuda Kay Liye along with Mehreen Jabbar’s humanist Ramchand Pakistani, Omar Khan’s Zibahkhana rounded up 2008 as a fruitful year for Pakistani cinema. Unfortunately, rather than continuing the trend, the subsequent year has been overshadowed by fundamentalist experiments in Swat, monumentally insipid performance by an elected government and uncertainty coming to fore as the defining Pakistani adjective. Nonetheless, Zibahkhana made a significant impression in niche circles here, there and everywhere.

The greatest strength of Omar Khan’s Zibahkhana is that it follows an oft-used template for a genre zombie horror film and then scrupulously molds it in a thoroughly indigenous Pakistani artwork. But then again, according to some self appointed custodians of culture, artwork per se is required to be looked up to, to be appreciated in aesthetical detail, demanding to join ranks with the sublime. Zibahkhana doesn’t make any pretence to masquerade as high-art. Omar Khan has for sometime been establishing himself as a connoisseur of ‘lowbrow’ cinema, be it the Western grade Z genre flicks, displaying a wholesome familiarity with cinematic wonders scooped out from the lowest depths of camp. He broadens his horizon of charting the depravity of camp by dwelling on Pakistan’s own indigenous film culture – blemishes, warts and all. Blood-soaked gandasa flicks from Punjab and smut-peddled Pushto fare has been given full recognition by Omar Khan that always eluded a critical eye.

Zibahkhana being his first feature, it was only natural for Omar Khan to fuse the two disparate influences and show to us all how seamless the results are. The basic premise might be awfully familiar to those who ever chanced upon witnessing a generic slasher/horror film. A group of teenagers hit the road into wilderness, and fall victim to all sorts of zombies and slashers. Right from the opening credits, the film promises to be a vehemently Pakistani feature with successive shots of street vendors and inner-city market hustlebustle played to a spunky Naheed Akhtar filmi song. Four of the young protagonists are introduced in separate scenes that establish their background, affirming to the slasher movie archetypes they will subsequently embody. Tagging along, in a ramshackle van to a rock concert, the crowd comprises Roxy, the in-the-moment “chilled” girl; Ayesha, the restrained, cautious girl; OJ, the token stoner; Vicky the older dude, and finally Simon, the sensitive one. On their way to the destination, they take a detour in the wilderness which brings them in contact with sordid characters and a series of grisly events.

The mayhem-laden scenes, replete with mucho gore and blood and guts and splattering lend credence to the warning supplied to us by Z grade horror films on local exhibition in the 80s: “kamzor dil hazraat na tashreef layein” (The faint-hearted need not attend). The unprecedented use of all manners of gore is tweaked through unique Pakistani shadings of zombies ambling in shalwar kameez (the dwarf zombie is a hoot) and a shuttle-cock burqa-clad flail-wielding slasher ‘Baby’ (more reminiscent of the masked John Merrick in David Lynch’s The Elephant Man).

The mannerisms of the central clique are authentic in the initial scenes in the observation of how young Pakistanis from privileged backgrounds interact amongst themselves and others. Indeed, a subtextual Marxist reading of the film would suggest how the move the carefree and young protagonists make out of their comfort zones, built upon the cozy familiarity of luxurious living in affluent neighborhoods, flows into subsequent horror upon confronting head-on with the unfamiliar and the strange. The trek through the unknown, a misguided endeavor elicited by the impulsive need for the quick and fast concludes with blood and carnage. The marauding zombies just as well may stand for age-old conventions that have gone stale and alienating for the central Generation Now protagonists.

Another interpretaive layer is introduced by the inclusion of the crazed faqir, played by Salim Mairaj, that channels the anxiety directed at hard liner religious elements insistent upon showing the wayward the “right path”. Sacrifice and rigid unquestionable devotion is demanded to ensure the journey, which the youngsters are simply not prepared for. This leads to a violent struggle which sees the crazed faqir fatally overpowered, inviting retribution by a significantly more ferocious threat.

This is articulated through the burqa-clad slasher, brandishing medieval weaponry, denoting the utter terror that extremist and uncompromising elements invoke amongst those who are unprepared to encounter it. Such subtextual readings add topical layers and subversive pleasure into viewing a genre film that is dismissed as visceral fun at surface. At the same time it is peculiar to note the coherency between the formulaic narrative of the film and the passage of events that just may have reached a tipping point in our turbulent history.

Apart from reading between the lines, the film gives representation to a select crowd (colloquially known as the mummy-daddy/English-medium sorts) that was previously depicted in a patronizing and laughingly manipulated manner in Pakistan. This is a worthy effort to lure back a sizable audience along with the rest who crave for the new and the different who had turned away from local films a long, long time ago. Surely they are thrilled in identifying themselves on screen even at the cost of seeing their cinematic surrogates getting hacked and diced by our burqa-clad Baby.

Iran's New Revolution: A Cyber Movement

Aditi Nadkarni — Sat, 20 Jun 2009 00:40:01 EDT

There is something very moving about a mass revolution, about watching throngs of unarmed people hungry for freedom and change take to the streets. It evokes goosebumps to witness personified, the unyielding passion that plants itself into time and changes the face of history. What is happening in Iran is not happening to just Iranians but to all of us. It is happening to the world.

I am amazed at the scenes and at the coverage. I am even more spell bound at the new role of the cyber world in a revolution. Before this, I had never known the faces of Iranian women and now they suddenly flash across my television screen, angry and bold, nothing like what I imagined them to be. They have been, literally and figuratively, behind a veil. Americans, Indians and people from other progressive democracies have their own imaginative perceptions of what Iranian women must be like. When I read Azar Nafisi's Reading Lolita in Tehran, I could sense in the backdrop of her story the restrained, calm energy of the women but nothing quite like the fervent enterprise that I see bursting forth over the internet and in news reports. Their resilient fists thump the air and their voices cut the silence in half as they make themselves heard and remind the world that sometimes the scarves that hide their faces, also hide indomitable resolves. And today, as an Indian woman, raised in a progressive environment and living a free life in the United States, I want to be them. I wonder if I could've ever been them, taken to the streets in protest if my vote were not counted in India? Such events define us. What would we do and be capable of if our rights were denied. As a nation would we unite? As an individual would we stand up and march even if we are alone? Would we take a gun and run a riot or would we march silently in protest? Like the fate of these protesters, Iran, the nation, stands in limbo, neither here nor there. This revolution could make Iran more progressive if the protesting populace wins or like the Ayatollah promised dire consequences and bloodshed could silence their voices forever.

What an army it is, of people who lose fear and fight for something more than shallow practical objectives like money, territory, oil or governance. The hunger for freedom is unmatched. The sentiment that brings these Iranian men and women to the streets is not one that adheres to the selfish, materialistic present. I believe that the fervor of these people is latched onto the abstract future, the idealistic visions for the next generation. That is probably why so many people have joined in. When a parent is fighting for their child's future, there is very little a gun or a tear gas shell can do. The fear that their next generation will live through the same duress that they did is probably bigger and far deeper than the fear of any physical harm.

A nation's biggest strength is its youth. If the youth is nonchalant about their rights and take their freedom for granted then democracy slowly dwindles. Any youth movement gathers momentum faster because the younger generation communicates differently and has more zeal than say a middle-aged individual who may have resigned his fates to the system. The role of Twitter in Iran's uprising is unique especially in view of the strict regulation by Iranian government of internet services. Communication over the internet spreads like wildfire. It seems like the cyber world is more than accommodating towards Iran's movement as Google and Facebook reportedly speed up their Farsi translation services. Twitter, bloggers and citizen journalists are serving as Iran's eyes and ears and are fueling the movement simply through the remarkable power of swift, unedited communication. Now that Iranians have had a taste of what uncensored communication and journalism can do, I doubt they will ever settle for anything less.

Ever since international politics first drew me in, I have always harbored a secret hope of peace and liberty throughout the Middle East. Quite ominously Iran seems be the heart, in the center on a map of the Islamic world. Its sits smack in the midst of Iraq, Afghanistan, UAE, Pakistan and Turkey. A part of every individual watching this revolution unfold wants it to go through and make the fatwas and the rule of the clergy be a thing of the past when the next generation arrives. Studying sixth and seventh grade history, I read about the 1857 uprising, Rani Laxmibai and then about Mahatma Gandhi's satyagrahas. The chapters in India's independence movement had me fired up, sitting at the edge of my seat. Today, as I watch Iran go through what can only be described as the labor pains of freedom, I feel the same excitement and make a wish for the youth of that nation. I hope that they ignite a fire that spreads and does not stop until everybody has tasted freedom long enough to know that there is no other way to live.

It has been so long since my generation has witnessed a revolution, that we have grown complacent. We take our rights for granted and, weary with having accomplished our short-term goals, we do not demand that our system changes for coming generations. Our objectives are so set in the practicality of the present that we dismiss the future as an idealistic dream, too far, too unreal to achieve. May Iran remind us that this is is not the case. May their revolution serve as testimony for those of us who live in free, democratic nations, that what we have is worth fighting for, worth taking a bullet for, worth enduring the blow of a lathi for and worth uniting for.

Shiney Ahuja - Maid to Dishonor

Bubbly — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 09:37:27 EDT

The shine is almost gone. A heinous crime has allegedly been committed and prosecution and punishment (judgment) are awaited. At this stage, neither can Shiney be condoned nor condemned. This summer is definitely turning out to be a cruel one.

Let's revert back to the black Sunday of June 14 when between two and five in the evening Shiney Ahuja allegedly sexually assaulted his maid. He not only allegedly illegally confined her but threatened her with dire consequences if she went to the police, as per her police statement.

Secured in his 'celebrity' status, he couldn't have imagined what consequences were in store for him in a few hours time. The maid (Let's call her Alka Doe. Her name is withheld as she may turn out to be a minor almost 20 years younger to Shiney.) reported the alleged rape to the woman who had got her the job. She in turn got in touch with Alka Doe's uncle and building neighbors, who collectively went to the police station and reported the matter.

It goes to the credit of the girl, the police and the media that they handled the matter the way it should have been instead of sweeping it under the carpet. The girl showed great courage, the police absolute initiative and the media its investigative power.

A young life has been scarred for the pleasure of a few perverted hours. A sick mind has landed his own family in turmoil. Not to say the old parents, who have to make rounds of the courts to stand by their son when it should be the other way round? My heart goes out to both the maid and Shiney's parents for the mental agony they are going through.

The court had sent Shiney to police custody till June 18 and today again it has been extended to July 2 without any bail. In the last two decades, the Supreme Court has taken initiative in favor of rape victims and made the law more stringent, once in 1983 and again in 2003.

The case has taken the media by storm. New theories are being put forward too. Shiney has been prosecuted by the media even before the judgment is out. That may take many more months or years.

Many film personalities had initially spoken in favor of Shiney but slowly that support is fizzling out. Nobody likes controversies and it doesn't take much to see where the case is headed to. It remains to be seen how many 'friends' Shiney would be left with by the time the case comes to a close. Let's not talk about his career. He hardly has a couple of films on hand, of which he may lose a couple.

He is not an A-list hero. He started late in films, around 32, not exactly a teenage or 20-something hero, whom the viewer looks forward to. Conventionally he is not even endowed with chocolate good looks. What worked in his favor were the out-of-league roles that came his way.

With not much choice, he accepted what he was offered. And right from his second film Hazaar Khwaishein Aisi (2005), he gained critical acclaim. In a short span of four years and unconventional roles, he gained viewers' attention. He had nothing to lose but everything to gain. Gain he did in Mahesh Bhatt's Gangster (2006). He consolidated his line-up with Fanaa (2006). He was constantly being appreciated.

Along with appreciation probably came a degenerative change of mind. He was fast turning into a man with a hurry. A man, who knew he was ageing and wanted things done in a jiffy. Slowly, it appears he lost control over his saner self. Instead of building on his reputation, he began abusing it.

His sick mindset was displayed before all on the sets of Bhool Bhulaiya (2007). An actor, who acted with him in the movie on condition of anonymity says,

"His marriage was not working despite him becoming a father of a baby girl. He was involved with other women. His wife Anupam Pandey had stayed away from him. Shiney had issued an invite to Vidya Balan as to score of other women for a live-in relationship. Balan had given him a sound tongue-lashing. But there may be others, who may have accepted his offer too."

An upward change of lifestyle can have unsettling effects on anyone. In Shiney's case what appreciation came his way apparently changed him into an arrogant, self-important and slowly demented mind, who was actively seeking pleasure outside marriage. He wanted all the trappings of stardom sans responsibility.

Now that the case is widely publicized, various sleazy details are coming out. As the chargesheet is not yet filed and the prosecution has not built up the case and a verdict is yet to be reached, not many are willing to talk openly. But many are commenting on Shiney's wild ways albeit anonymously.

He has made passes at Esha Deol and Soha Ali Khan too. As has been reported, not many of his heroines are comfortable working with him. He bursts into occasional anger and has fetish for tantrum-throwing. His high-handedness is well-known and he likes being treated well irrespective of giving shit to others.

Although his career has been built up by Sudhir Mishra and Mahesh Bhatt, he was ungrateful to both. Despite trying hard, he hasn't got any A-list project. With the fewer projects on hand he was cooling his heels at home on a Sunday when normally busier heroes work round-the-clock. Under these circumstances, he extended his hand to both the directors and they were gracious enough to return the courtesy.

On home front, things couldn't have been worst. His wild ways had made Anupam stay away with her daughter on pretext of her business or something else. It comes across as strange when one sees Anupam on TV making wild claims about her pati parmeshwar and bhagwan. She is standing by his side. Where was she when she knew of his sick ways? Why didn't she consult a psychiatrist instead of letting him loose on innocent women and being a security risk?

All this Indian patnivrata drama on TV channels made me realize what an ass she was making of herself. Why couldn't she admit to the truth? That would be much simpler and easier. It will help out Shiney too, who must now have come to his senses and landed firmly on terra firma. Anupam is a mother of one-and-a-half year old Arshiya. It doesn't sound mature hearing her 'framing' theory. Shiney is not such a big star that this would apply. Or she doesn't know what is BIG? All it seems at this stage is she is out to derive mileage out of being a 'star' wife.

She should have got her husband psychiatric treatment if she knew of his perverted ways instead of walking away. She comes across as a sad case with her great Indian TV show. I marveled at her performance. Although educated, the rest of her IQ compartments seem empty. If the marriage was not working out, there is no harm in quitting. She is a career woman herself. Isn't it time she realized her self worth? But for that she has to be a woman first instead of a mere "sandal".

Accusing the maid is not very responsible. If Shiney is purer than milk, then why did he apparently admit the rape "was a mistake"? Unfortunately if there is a similar situation for Arshiya, will Anupam go by the same yardstick? Or is the sauce for the goose not the sauce for the gander?

A crime has allegedly been committed. Instead of accepting and admitting to it why is it being swept under the carpet now? I was discussing it with my friend and had said that justice could be done if Shiney took care of the maid financially or at the very the least, he should marry her. My friend laughed and said, "He will then end up marrying many more." OMG!

It would be interesting to find who among Shiney or Anupam had employed Alka Doe? The police would do well to look into other rapes Shiney may have committed. This may not be the stray or sole incident.

This reminds me, many years back Pooja Bedi was in a live-in relationship with Aditya Pancholi. Pancholi the stud allegedly raped Pooja's maid. Pooja rightly kicked him out. Just my kind of a woman.

More recently, Preeti Jain, an upcoming starlet alleged she was repeatedly raped by Madhur Bhandarkar over promises of movie roles. The roles never came by so she promptly launched a police complaint. Extremely spirited woman. She has now taken up the crusade again against Shiney.

Some years back India TV had conducted a sting operation against the existing casting couch in Bollywood. Two scum - Shakti Kapoor and Aman Varma were caught in the net. But who cares for these two-cent worth non-actors?

Many many years ago Raj Babbar had made the indecent proposal to Dimple Kapadia. The stories do not end here. As one industry insider says, "All industry men are perverts. Everyone likes free ka khana sans responsibility. Nobody wishes to be caught. And they support each other and blame the woman with being characterless. Many go to red light areas, pay and have fun. Some enjoy freely with maids. Seems like maids are squealing now. Times are a changing. They are safe till they are caught"

Its good maids are squealing. Anupam too should get her act together. This one incident should make them both work hard on their marriage. They should give up on the false hollow stupidities. Look at the facts. The public is not foolish. Shiney should turn over a new leaf so that he shouldn't have to seek refuge under a fig leaf. He should set an example to reform other perverts. Let's expect a mature and responsible Shiney emerging from this peccadillo.

Why these stupid women support their men in their wrongdoing and encourage them further. They should set the record straight by kicking them and bringing them to their senses. But then Anupam can't be supportive of the maid. The Indian TV drama would fall flat.

Being Poonam Dhillon's relative is not enough. When you are in public life set an example worth emulating. Any wrong committed be it against a man or a woman is a WRONG. Career-wise many feel Shiney is as good as gone. Bollywood friendships are superfluous. Maybe he may be left scot-free. That is for the court to decide.

But Shiney knows what he has done? Shouldn't he take recourse to the truth instead of the usual legal mumbo jumbo? Shouldn't he accept and admit to the facts and stick to them? He will rise many times in my and my ilk's esteem.