THE THIRD WAVE OF THE INDIAN NOUVELLE VAGUE

It is said that every system in the world is self-monitoring: that is, given the cyclical nature of life, every system, when it is at the peaks of success, will also create a reason of collapse out of that success. This is visible in the world around us right now, as we are thrown from an economy at the height of a boom to the depths of a recession.

 

Similarly, however, systems also have the necessary self-protective function also in-built. Therefore, when things are going wrong, the system also throws up the solutions, and things eventually improve. Take America, for example. In 1932, the combination of fear and inner questioning due to the Great Depression resulted in a political upheaval, and the election of Franklin Roosevelt. A similar thing happened in the before the election of Ronald Reagan in 1980. This just proves that fear and inner questioning are not ideological but are the components of a change in mind-set- or, perhaps, a mind-set in change. In 2008, this combination resulted in a decisive win for Barack Obama, hailed as the flag-bearer of hope for the world.

 

There is perhaps no better case study for this than the Indian film industry. We as Indians have a tendency to stick to the tried and tested- wherever we see, taste or smell success, we go and do what those Romans are doing. After all, the sunflowers turn whichever way the sun shines. Therefore, it should not come as a surprise that in around a hundred years of Hindi cinema, even though the prototype film remains the song-and-dance filled, melodramatic masala flick, we can divide the timeline by typical films of each era.

 

The one thing we still have not learnt, however, is that too much of something can truly be a bad thing. After a point of time, there is nothing left to be milked out of something: that is not an understanding we have chanced upon till date. For example, when the recent spate of comedies tasted big success at the box office (starting with Priyadarshan’s Hera Pheri) we suddenly saw comedies mushrooming everywhere. In the beginning they worked, but after a point, the audience grew weary, and, in a vicious cycle, the films became increasingly derivative and farcical in an effort to be funny. Thus, what was a nice trend had been milked to the last drop. The same thing happened with the trend of the semi-porn, soft-core flicks which got a lease of life with Jism, peaked commercially wit Murder, and gave birth to a spate of B-Grade sexploitation films and actresses like Meghna Naidu and Sherlyn Chopra.

 

While both the above trends had started out as a response to an environment that was clearly bereft of and was ready for them, they died out because everybody (the proverbial fools) rushed in to cash in on it.

 

The ‘Nouvelle Vague’, or the ‘New Wave’, or the New Cinema, or the Art Film Movement- or whatever else you may want to call it- tends to define an exciting, tumultuous episode in cinema all around the world, and came about in the same way. It was a response to a long chain of spectacularly failing big-budget, claustrophobic, visible artificial dramas masquerading as cinema in France, Italy and subsequently both Hollywood and Bollywood. What is ironic is that during the time when this wave reached its peak, the mainstream commercial films figured out what was going wrong, what the public now wanted, and- having incorporated selected feasible elements of the art films into their own films- started being successful again, while the art films began their gradual descent into commercial and critical failure. This is the story of the ‘New Wave’ world over.

 

My argument in this essay, however, is that India is the only country to have experienced not one, not two, but three separate waves of the Art Film Movement. This is my theory and description of each of them, and both the reasons for their growth and decline in each phase.

 

The first wave occurred in the late sixties/seventies, when commercial potboilers were at an all time low: films were big budget multi-starrers, all had the same stories, most were revenge dramas; acting, dialogues and settings were totally artificial and melodramatic, and the box office simply was not smiling upon the commercial film-makers. At a time like this, a handful of filmmakers and actors (mostly from the FTII, Pune, and heavily influenced by Truffaut and Godard) brought an alternative cinema to the Indian audiences, one that was much cheaper to produce, needed lesser returns to be successful, had no stars, and put the emphasis sorely on stark realism in every sphere: from the storytelling, to the story; from the acting to the overall look of the film. This wave was aided by the then recent introduction of hand-held cameras which were cheaper, lighter, easier to use and allowed greater flexibility to the cinematographer in terms of shooting on real locations. This movement was wildly greeted with both critical and commercial acclaim, and fueled by the idealism of those filmmakers.

 

By the time this wave ended, several artists had become household names: Naseeruddin Shah, Om puri, Shabana Azmi, Smita Patil, Kulbhushan Kharbanda, Mrinal Sen, Shyam Benegal, Govind Nihalani, Vidhu Vinod Chopra, et al. The end came when, post an overdose of art films, not only did the films lose their novelty value, but, in an effort to constantly impress, they also became too gimmicky and complex until they defeated their own purpose and alienated the viewers. These films which had started out as a way for committed film-makers to express themselves had now simply become a sinking ship which many frustrated directors hung onto having no avenue into commercial cinema.    

 

At the same time, many of the main players of this wave were lured to the commercial cinema due to many reasons- greater remuneration, greater fame, and often, frustration with the ‘art’ film movement. Commercial films had by now become slightly more sensible, having incorporated several aspects of the at film movement, and a new genre had emerged which combined the best of both worlds: the middle-of-the-road cinema, which was both sensible and entertaining, and involved everyone from Amitabh Bachchan and Dharmendra to Amol Palekar and Farooque Sheikh. Added to this, failure of the art films in terms of marketing, distribution and the sudden upswing in the box office fortunes of the commercial films sounded the death knell on the first wave.

 

Post this time period, and the end of the dreaded eighties (a nightmare for every Hindi film lover), the nineties came as a breath of fresh air, with the arrival of several new faces (Aamir Khan, Salman Khan, Akshay Kumar, Ajay Devgan, Shahrukh Khan, Juhi Chawla, Madhuri Dixit, etc) and filmmakers (Sooraj Barjatya, Mansoor Khan, Aziz Mirza, Aditya Chopra and later Karan Johar) who pumped up Bollywood with newer stories, newer storytelling, a world view which was truly worldly (worthy of the post-liberalization era).

 

However, buoyed by the success of Hum Aapke Hain Kaun, Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge and even Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, the late nineties and the first couple of years of the new millennium saw a suffocating flood of clones all about love, romance, soft-glow photography, melodrama, family drama, huge starcasts, actresses in pastel shades and stories usually set in London. The writing was very clearly on the wall when Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham, with perhaps the most ambitious starcast in history, was severely criticized for its been-there-done-that storytelling in the face of fresh storytelling of Lagaan, Chandni Bar and Dil Chahta Hai. This was when the second wave occurred.

 

The second wave was the invention of the Hinglish film: a trendy, up-market genre consisting of stories and protagonists set essentially in the Metros. These stories were largely told in English, with a smattering of Hindi, and dealt with issues which were too sensitive for the mainstream audiences, such as homosexuality, mafia and cultural identities, all handled with a dash of humour.

 

While the first such film is considered to be Dev Benegal’s “English, August” in 1994, the stars of this genre were essentially a young actor called Rahul Bose, who, with his English sensibilities and diction, created a new prototype of the urbane, confused hero; and a director called Nagesh Kukunoor, who, with his NRI mentality and experimental films burst onto the scene with “Hyderabad Blues” and proved that this genre could also be profitable. Others to later on join this bandwagon were stalwarts such as Kay Kay Menon, Tara Deshpande, Sanjay Suri, etc.

 

These films were aimed at an audience who had grown up on English films (as opposed to their parents, who had seen the odd “Towering Inferno” and “The Guns of Navarone”), had urbane sensibilities, and were comfortable not only conversing in English, but also dealing with sensitive themes. They enjoyed black comedis, and liked films they could relate to.

 

Soon, however, this profitable genre turned into a hurricane which everyone wanted to latch onto- budding filmmakers, veejay-turned-actors, models, et al. This meant not only people who had no talent or ability, but also a falling quality of films. The death knell was sounded when switched to Hindi films with “Teen Deewarein”, and Rahul Bose and Kay Kay chose to do films like “Thakshak”, “Jhankaar Beats” and “Ek Khiladi Ek Haseena”.

 

However, this phase too left its marks on the mainstream industry: films became more urbane, wittier and relating to identifiable, relatable characters who had other things to do besides dance in big, multi-starrer weddings. The clearest indication of this was a film called “Dil Chahta Hai” (2001) which was almost an English film in Hindi. Now that the mainstream cinema could do what the Hinglish makers were attempting, the smaller genre had to die out.

 

A few years later, a peculiar phenomenon occurred which single-handedly gave birth to the third art wave in India: the multiplex. Having smaller halls meant less people were now needed to make a film run successfully, and one could now aim at smaller sections of the audience rather than making a potboiler which aimed to please the entire country. Thus, a set of filmmakers and actors emerged who, with smaller budgets and tight, entertaining storytelling, seduced the metropolitan crowds, while not even getting a release in the interiors. These were, among others, Abhay Deol, Ranvir Shorey, Vinay Pathak, Imtiaz Ali, Konkona Sen, Gul Panag, Shreyas Talpade, and the father of them all, Anurag Kashyap.

 

We are therefore living in an era today where almost every week one such film is released- be it an Abhay Deol drama, or a Vinay Pathak (a superstar after “Bheja Fry”) comedy. However, a dangerous trend can again be seen, mirrored perfectly in Vinay Pathak films- after the success of “Bheja Fry”, a whole slew of films started with him in the lead, all with comic elements- be it “Oh My God”, “Dasvidaniya” or the yet-to-be-released “SRK”: none of these films proved of any great quality or of box office status.

 

While actors from this club migrate to the mainstream cinema (Vinay Pathak in “Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi”, Ranvir Shorey in “Chandni Chowk To China”, Konkona Sen in “Aaja Nachle”), and mainstream films integrate aspects of those films into theirs (both “Taare Zameen par” and “Rock On” were both aimed at given, selected audiences in the meros); and revenues of these small multiples films fall- especially in the face of the recession- these films must coordinate and go back to why they started in the first place: provide excellent entertainment or a terrific quality product.

 

In a world ruled by marketing rather than the product, these multiplex film directors cannot hope to compete on a mass-market level. Therefore, their future too seems bleak unless the lessons from the past two ‘waves’ are learnt and acted upon.

Whispers From The Mirror

A friend mentioned recently how she was extremely depressed after watching “Vicky Cristina Barcelona”. Her reason? She had seen people get stuck in marriages that might have had love somewhere, but totally lacked passion. She had seen people who thought they wanted to get into a marriage, but after taking the plunge, kept looking for the ever-elusive escape route. Seeing all that around her in her daily life, she didn’t want to come back and see it on the screen too. After all, aren't movies supposed to be all about escapism?

 

Talking to her got me thinking- as it always does. (She’s a strange person who sees a lot of films and thinks a lot- my favourite combination, one that’s always dangerous and fun- but I have met very few people who think more logically than her. That is why arguing with her is so much fun.) True, cinema is indeed the ultimate form of escapist entertainment- the key word here being not only escapist, but also entertainment. If cinema is our refuge from the pain and drudgeries of real life, why would we want to see on screen the same things we are trying to run away from? To quote her, she’d rather see an “Iron Man” after a long day as opposed to a “No Country For Old Men”. Makes sense, I suppose, on some level.

 

My take, however, is slightly different. Yes, I value escapist entertainment immensely, and will fight anybody who frowns upon them by calling them a cheap art- if anything, I don’t know what is more difficult than making a crowd-pleasing entertainer (proof? Consider the success ratio of the imitators of “When Harry Met Sally” or “Kuch Kuch Hota Hai” or even “Sholay”.) However, there is something extremely exciting and compelling when I see someone portraying on screen the exact thoughts, situations and problems that I encounter in my daily life, without compromising on the complexities.

 

It is extremely easy to think of a situation (friends falling for each other, say) and make it into a film which pretends to tackle this (“Kuch Kuch Hota Hai”, or the horrible “Just Friends”, and countless other chick flicks). However, popular films rarely have room to examine the complexities of real life. The reason I like “When Harry Met Sally” is that even tough it only ostentatiously examined the above, it had a moment of genuine complexity towards the end: the loneliness which engulfs you when you fight with someone you love, who just happens to be your best friend also. Who do you talk to? The scene with Billy Crystal celebrating New Year at home while watching TV alone is my favourite scene of the film- and I have yet to meet someone who appreciates the truth of the scene, rather than finding it dragging. This is something I could personally relate to, and the loneliness is murderous.

 

I am fascinated by Woody Allen because- leave his exhilarating writing aside- he considers issues which lesser filmmakers never have the courage or the intelligence to explore fully. Take “Vicky Cristina Barcelona”, for example, a film while nowhere near his best, is still pretty darned good. Imagine Vicky. What do you do when, in a sudden flash, you start feeling that maybe the comfortable, secure lifestyle you are on the brink of attaining is not what you want after all? You can’t share your feelings with anybody- people will think you have lost your mind! Not only have you always wanted that lifestyle, but the person you have chosen is absolutely wonderful! At the same time, even though you are thinking about rejecting it, the only other option that you would have considered is both unavailable as well as impractical. What do you do?

                   

Imagine, now, Juan Antonio. You love a woman, but somehow, when you are with her, you are ready to kill her. And yet, you can never find the same connection and passion with anyone else. What do you do? And what f the only possible stabilizing element is another woman? Then?

 

Another example is the Michael Caine- Mia Farrow- Barbara Hershey track from “Hannah and her Sisters”, where a nice, respectable accountant falls into love and has an extra-marital affair with his wife’s sister. Any other director would have shown dramatic scenes of contemplation, hysteric arguments, and a final, melodramatic moment where he must choose between his two women. Mr Allen decides to show it as it is: a man who momentarily- albeit passionately- thinks he loves another, sleeps with her and enjoys it, yet is not sure whether he truly dares to give up the comfortable life he has made for himself. He’s confused, thinks about confessing, yet never manages to tell his wife. The affair simply fizzles out, both parties agreeing with time that it was impractical and myopic. In my opinion, that is far more realistic. And Mr Allen ensures that it never seems forced, as you recognize scene after scene as if it could happen to you, and you would behave exactly the same way.

 

Another terrific example is the yo-yo love story of “Manhattan”, where Woody Allen’s character breaks up with the 16 year old Muriel Hemingway, only to realize at the end that she is whom he waned after all, and yet, so absorbed is he in his self-pity and ‘glamorous’ loneliness, that he has the audacity to ask her to leave her studies and stay with him.

 

One of the most depressing phases in my life was in my 12^th standard, a period of intense loneliness and tempestuous introspection, when I realized I was extremely fed up of the moral decay I saw around me and, if I could, I would just take a gun and blast everything away. During those highly implosive days, almost as if it was meant to be, I discovered Scorsese’s “Taxi Driver”. And it is till date my favourite film- a storyteller in direct contact with me, saying and doing things I could relate to, almost as if reading my mind.

 

A similar thing happened the first time I saw Aditya Chopra’s “Mohabbatein”, and was amazed to see Shahrukh Khan saying aloud things about the nature of love in the tense climax which I thought only I had felt. I could perfectly well understand loving someone so much that even after her death you can still feel her around yourself, see her all the time, talk to her whenever you wished. I nodded along, as I saw Mr Khan speak- “Mohabbat mein shartein nahi hoti, mere dost. Maine usse kabhi yeh shart toh nahi rakhi thi ki woh mere se zyada jiyegi. Uske marne se se meri mohabbat bhi khatam nahi ho jayegi.” Absolutely.

 

These are all moments where I have seen a film hold a mirror to my face and show me things I see all around myself. While it never depresses me, I get strangely excited- how can a man I have never met, a film I have never seen, words which I have not written convey exactly the thoughts that I have, and that too so vividly?

 

The best part about Mr Allen is that he never provides answers. Perhaps he doesn’t have any. As he says in “Manhattan”, when he wonders who would jump off a bridge to save a drowning person- he cannot swim. But that does not make his stories and his scenes any less profound. He may not be able to swim, but he knows that there are people drowning in the world, and we will probably not jump in to save them. And we are indeed quite shallow people who will then sit in cafes and explain our handicap. The fact that someone else understands this fascinates me. It amazes me. The fact that he can say this directly to me makes me jump up with joy and salute the power of cinema.

We don’t always like to look at a mirror without make-up on, knowing fully well it will show our flaws- our warts, our blisters, our dry skin, our expanding waistlines, our receding hairlines. But sometimes, just sometimes, if you listen carefully, the reflection speaks to you. In a whisper, it tells you to relax, to breathe, and to smile- this is life, it tells you. It’ll go on. And then it winks at you and assures you that you are not alone.

SNIPPING THE UMBILICAL CORD

"The cinema is truth 24 frames per second."

~ Jean-Luc Godard

 "Life imitates art far more than art imitates Life."

~ Oscar Wilde

 

The mother figure, as immortalized in Indian cinema since time immemorial by actresses such as Leena Chitnis and Nirupa Roy, has been an integral part of our films. The roots of Indian cinema can be found in the oral folk tales told to small gatherings under peepal trees, and, considering that most of these tales were offshoots of Indian myths and legends, it is no surprise that they were usually morality plays. Therefore, by association, Indian cinema started off- and still plays, to a very large extent- with morality tales.

 

The morality tale comprises of four essential roles: the protagonist, the antagonist, the crisis and the protagonist’s support system. The protagonist is, obviously, the wonderful, all-Indian virtuous hero, on whom the lives and happiness of many depend. The antagonist, in our gloriously polarized films, is the all-black wretched character who lures our hero into some form of crisis. The fourth role, of the support system, is what is at stake for hero: the reason he must solve the crisis and defeat the antagonist. This ‘support system’ can be of many forms: it could be revenge, for his sister’s rape, or father’s murder or mother’s insult, it could be winning the love of the heroine, or it could be redeeming himself in the eyes of a female character- be it his lover or his mother.

 

Therein lies the importance of the mother character. While the female lover may join the protagonist in any circumstance- she may, for instance, be Parveen Babi in Deewar who meets Amitabh Bachchan only after he becomes a smuggler- the mother is the one constant in his rapidly changing lifestyle. Thus, she may be Deewar’s Nirupa Roy who sees her son’s journey from a bitter atheist to an affluent smuggler, or she could also be Company’s Seema Biswas who watches with pride as her small-time-crook son rises in the gang. She could also be Rakhee in Karan-Arjun who watches with pride as her sons embark on their quest for revenge. Her role, in this scenario, is to be the keeper of her son’s conscience. It is only by looking at her and registering her opinion of him that the son realizes when he is wrong. That is why Amitabh Bachchan’s Vijay in Deewar, who is accustomed to all forms of pain, is the most hurt when his mother chooses not to stay in his house but to go with his brother to an impoverished but honest lifestyle.

 

This mother is also reflected in Nargis’s seminal Mother India where she plays the woman who suffers all hardships to bring up her family but would dutifully murder her son before he can force himself on a girl. Contrast this with the other child killer, played by Reema Lagoo in Vaastav, who murders her increasingly paranoid son to relieve him from further pain and punishment. While both mothers kill sons who are criminals, the former does it as a woman’s duty to stop a crime from happening, and the latter does it out of pity when her son is no longer a criminal but just a pathetic runaway. This perhaps would be a good platform to compare the changes in the mother figure’s psychology.

 

As it seems, mothers initially were harassed and miserable women who stood for all that is right and proper- their staunch white widow’s sarees reflecting their all-white personas. Mothers of today, however, no longer seem to be that rigidly bound in a given social straitjacket. They are allowed to have their own judgements, which can, like the protagonist’s, be swayed by money and glamour, as we see in Company. They are also allowed to behave like human beings, and the unwritten rule that the mother must be an epitome of goodness, sensibility and love no longer applies.

 

A perfect glimpse of the mother who inhabits today’s films is seen in Kunal Kohli’s Hum Tum. Both the protagonists in this film have several interactions with their respective mothers, as well as with each other’s. The mothers are played by Kirron Kher (as Parminder Prakash urf Bobby, Rani Mukherjee’s mother), who seems to have replaced Farida Jalal and Reema Lagoo as the favourite on-screen mother today, and Rati Agnihotri (playing Anju Kapoor, Saif Ali Khan’s mother), the yesteryear actresses making something of a comeback opposite Rishi Kapoor.

 

Kirron Kher’s theth Punjabi character is a very interesting variation on the caring mother. Firstly, here is a widow who does not resort to wearing only white (and therefore, when her son-in-law dies, her daughter too does not wear white). She is seen happily in elegant, colourful sarees, who is ever ready to flirt with other men. She understands her daughter’s plight, and is supportive of her decision to relocate to a different city, far away from all two-faced well-wishers after a tragedy. Her daughter’s happiness and loneliness are far more important to her than society’s opinions, and she sees nothing wrong in asking her daughter’s male friend to find a suitable boy for her. She is seen acting goofy and silly at times, ruining a tender, quiet moment by commenting how cute Indian children doing potty on the streets look.

 

On the other hand, Rati Agnihotri plays a highly educated career woman who not only has better things to do than run around smothering her grown-up son with maternal affection, but also, in a fresh new approach in Indian cinema, treats her divorce with utmost normalcy. She single-handedly runs her wedding planning business in a man’s world without needing a man’s backing, and never pleading anyone for compassion or help: in fact, in a particularly well-etched scene, she admonishes her son for waking up late and being scruffy, INFORMS him that he will be helping her that afternoon, and that he should fix up his own breakfast as she is very busy; all the while haggling on the phone with flower-sellers.

 

This is an important scene because, perhaps for one of the first times in Indian cinema, we had a mother who had decided to cut the umbilical cord. She undoubtedly loves her son, but sees no reason why he should be the centre of her universe- or, for that matter, in a bold, subtly hinted feminist statement- why any man should. Therefore, as she is very busy and her son is capable of getting his own breakfast without hurting himself, she feels they should both go about their respective work. Love does not imply sacrificing your own life, and here was a mother who understood that.

 

It would be a fair assumption if it was said that Rati Agnihotri represented the new breed of mothers, who are increasingly starting to infiltrate today’s society. The question is, therefore, how can companies and marketers take advantage of the “new mother figure”?

 

Mothers today, and women in general, are busier with their own lives, and more reluctant to give up everything else and live only for the sake of her son and husband. She wants her own life, her own career, her own bank account, her own money, her own car, her own independence and her own leisure time. This is clearly reflected in increasing sales of microwaves and washing machines, as more and more women discover the time-saving properties of these devices.

 

Kellogg’s Corn Flakes is working today not only because of its appeal to children’s pester power, but also because mothers are increasingly beginning to understand the convenience and comfort involved in serving breakfast cereals as opposed to the traditional parathas and puri-sabji. Thus, a mother who has to get her children ready and send them off to school before going to her own office can see multiple benefits of the quick, neat and healthy breakfast cereals.

 

Marketers too have started cashing in on these concepts. Similar reasoning as above explains the growing consumption of microwaveable dinners and pizza take-aways, as both are depicted as the ultimate solution to the dinner problem after a long hard day. Mothers, with increasing levels of education and awareness nowadays, can be lured towards products better suited for the children with the promise of more scientific and medical benefits, be it health drinks, tonics, diapers, sanitary napkins, water purifiers or even refrigerators- all traditional mother/housewife items are now marketed with an assumption of an educated customer who is worried about her family’s health.

 

Thus, the marketer who is trying to get to the Indian family today via the mother/wife, must focus his strategy on two aspects: one, the mother’s enhanced education and awareness of the world, and two, her insistence on putting herself and her needs at the centre of her universe. If he or she can appeal to the customer by promising benefits that adhere to either of the following, success cannot be far away. After all, he or she now has the mother as the loyal customer; to paraphrase a classic line, “Uss ke paas Maa hai”.

 

It's A Deal!

Two very, very good friends of mine hooked up today. Yes, to each other. And no, they are not of the same sex. Not right now, any way.

Although I am committed- happily- for almost four years now, I find the proces of two people getting together no less mystifying than any of the skeptics. I mean, taking the two aforementioned people as a case study (yes, you can take me out of a B-School, but you can't take the B-School out of me), I and the rest of the world were waiting with bated breath for about six months now for these two to FINALLY get together and give us the inevitable treat. Seriously, if you thought waiting ten years for Ross and Rachel to get together was a test of patience, wait till you see these two!

This situation is a very clear reflection of what happened with me- when I was discovering the joys and the initial highs of love four years ago (the lows would come later, and, honestly, I wouldn't miss them for the world: you can't have a better test for a relationship), everybody around me too as waiting for us to wake up and start going around. I always thought that this is a very interesting situation- isn't it weird how, when it's someone else's life, solutions and answers and paths are so spectacularly clear to all of us, and yet, when it comes to our own lives, we get miraculously enveloped in a fog, and take an astonishingly long time weighing out the nitty-gritties?

And while we are at it, why is it 'nitty-gritties', and not 'nitties-gritties'? Never mind. I digress.

I think, as people, we are shockingly lacking in objectivity. That, above religion, fraternity, love and greed is what unites us as humans- our total and absolute lack of objectivity. I have always thought that as one looks at someone else's life, all he sees are two adjacent rectangles, one black, one white, only separated by a very thin line. It is only as we get closer, that that line becomes wider and wider, until we realise that is an equally large rectangle made entirely of grey. And that is why, when it is our life we are thinking about, we understand the complexity of situations as we can appreciate life's grey-ness. Otherwise, of course, as far as we are concerned, everything is black and white- so why is it taking them SOOO long to hook up?

It is also interesting to see how similar the process of a business deal is to our thoughts when we are considering someone for a relationship. After all, that is also no less than a deal. I mean, think about it:

• You take an equally long time, sometimes more
• There are various rounds of deliberations
• A million negotiations ("okay, fine, I'll try and remember your birthday if you let me go out for drinks with my friends")
• Numerous different reports are released to the public from numerous different sources ("She told me nothing is official!", "But he said everything is!")
• PR plays a paramount role ("Listen, I think he is a really nice guy. You should consider him more seriously")
• When the two concerned parties finally "sign on the dotted line", there are both official statements released, and a big, joyous celebration.
• The share prices of both parties increase manifold- the guy suddenly seems safer and nicer, the girl seems more desirable (we guys have an inexplicable tendency to suddenly find someone else's property more desirable- psychiatrist call it an offshoot of the forbidden apple theory; I believe it is simply a case of "There must be something he saw which we missed!").

Yes, there goes the MBA in me talking. Management, you see, is a lifelong occupation.

But then, so is love. And this one goes out to everyone who has ever looked at someone sitting next to them and thought, "hey- my interest rate in you is rocketing upwards. How about a merger?"

Dear SCD and Roy- here's to you both.

TOP TEN HINDI FILM ENDINGS THAT WILL FOREVER STAY WITH ME

Running through a few other blogs, I noticed that almost everyone has entries listing “Top Ten _________________________” where the author has filled in the blank according to the area of his/her expertise. Naturally, I got very jealous, and decided to punch back. I have always argued that nothing is more important in a film than the note on which it begins, and the note on which it ends. The former builds up expectations and hooks you to the happenings, and the latter makes sure that the film stays with you after you have left the theatre. At least, that’s what should happen in an ideal world, with ideal films. However, most films turn out to be disappointments on both fronts. May be someday I will compile a list of great beginnings. For now, here is a list of the best endings in Hindi Cinema that I could think of.

10. Don

Forget, for a moment, all those discussions about how much better AB’s version was, or how this new ending creates holes in the plot. Just ask yourself this- could you, in a million years, ever see it coming? I can still hear the audience whistling and clapping for SRK at the denouement. That is a testament to his stardom. And to Farhan Akhtar’s ingenuity and guts.

9. Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge

The thing with love stories is, from the moment you the posters, you know how its going to end. This is, after all, Bollywood. That is why, inspite of predictability, when an ending to a love story as you clapping, you know you have seen something special. Aditya Chopra knew one thing, and that was abundantly clear: it’s not what you do, but how you do it. And that is why, an extremely predictable, simple boy-meets-girl tale became the longest running hindi film of all time: by virtue of HOW the story was told. Aggression, angst, passion, a fight, and a wonderful, wordless exchange between SRK and the late Amrish Puri: what an ending.


8. Khoya Khoya Chand

Sudhir Mishra does not make his films for entertainment. However, if you ever wanted two diametrically opposite insights into the film industry of the days one by, never look further than Om Shanti Om and this film. Although this sensitve, moody and character-centric film pales in comparison to Mishra’s masterpiece Hazaaron Khwaishein Aisi (which too had a haunting, painful end) KKC is memorable for the courage he showed in coming up with an ending few would appreciate- or, for that matter, understand. By the time the ending arrived, most of the people I was watching the film with had stopped caring what happened to the alcoholic actress or the egoistic writer. However, if you were still connected to the film and characters, you would realise that few films end on a higher note (in the middle of the song ‘Thirak Thirak’, Soha Ali Khan suddenly stumbles and everyone, fearing the worst, comes rushing to the rescue of this dying actress- only to be told that her paayal had broken. Suddenly, sunlight breaks through and everyone starts smiling). And Mr Mishra- kudos for the last shot.

7. Kabhi Kabhie

Ignore the unnecessary fire-in-the-forest chase sequence at the end. And concentrate on only the real ending to the superbly crafted story: the magnificent dinner party scene where Amitabh Bachchan and Rakhee confront their age-old simmering feelings and Shashi Kapoor discovers their relationship. Brilliantly written, masterfully executed, and pitch-perfect acting. AB played the hurt lover with a dignity no one has ever brought to the character again, and Shashi Kapoor turned in his career best performance in a wonderful role. “Kabhi kabhie mere dil mein… Something something… Aata hai…” Wow.

6. 1947 Earth

For a man who tries to challenge himself with every performance, Aamir Khan has not yet tired of playing the roguish charmer. He may not have overgrown his welcome, but I am waiting for him to remind himself of what he is capable of. If he needs help, he can always pop in this DVD. Just observing the way his eyes pierce the screen when he watches Nandita Das being dragged away, or the intensity with which he looks at the little girl when he asks for Das’ whereabouts, is a testament to the reservoir of talent he is.

5. Satya (Company also)

Seriously- can you imagine a better, more apt ending? What better punishment for killing so many people than to prove so repulsive to the woman you love that she refuses to open the door while the police guns you down? Pure, great cinema- at once stunningly apt, as well as hauntingly tragic. Genius. (RGV would only rival this in his pseudo-sequel Company, where, bravely, brilliantly, he had a then unknown Vijay Raaz shoot Ajay Devgan just when a happily-ever-after ending was finally in sight.)

4. Johnny Gaddar

I cannot think of- for the lack of a better word- a cooler ending than this. I mean, finally we had a movie where there was no discussion on the hero sinning and getting just punishment- finally we had a hero who had no qualms about killing people for money, and we watched him, enthralled, engaged, and extremely on his side. And just when he seemed to have overcome all the obstacles on his path, just when everything was all over- happily- Mr Raghavan moved the floor from under our feet. We could almost feel his cheeky grin at the end.

3. Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron

It is at times difficult to remember that there were a couple of other scenes after the side-splitting ‘Mahabharat’ scene. However, Kundan Shah reserved the biggest kick for the final scene of his masterpiece: Naseeruddin Shah and Ravi Vaswani, in prison uniforms, walking amongst the crowds, with ‘Hum Honge Kaamyab’ playing in the background. At that moment, irony had a new name.

2. Sadma

Oh man. Oh man oh man oh man. This is an ending that kept me awake at nights. I kicked myself, saw the film three-four times, tried to believe it- to no avail. There’s never been a character on the Hindi screen I have felt sorrier for, and Kamal Hassan made this role his own. Perhaps the most ‘logical’ ending on this list, it is also the most profoundly moving and tragic.

1. Anand

Do I even need to start on this? Who among us has not spent the entire length of this movie praying that some miracle saves Anand? Who among us has not felt an inexplicable loss shared by all the characters in this film at Anand’s death? Who among us has not mirrored Amitabh ‘Babumoshai’ Bachchan’s initial exasperation and subsequent warmth for this man? Who among us has not screamed with Bachchan at Anand’s dead body, knowing that we are too helpless to do anything? And which of us has not felt those goosebumps rising when Rajesh Khanna’s voice calls out on the tape recorder, teasing, smiling, life-affirming? Life, indeed, should be big, and not long, Mr Mukherjee. You proved it.

Runners Up:
· Dil Chahta Hai (Oh, the joy of long lost friend re-uniting)
· Dil Se (I challenge you to find a more apt and effective ending to this story)
· Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam (I have never felt so sad for Salman- but Mr Bhansali pulled it off with a flourish)
· Nayagan (Imagine- the court releases you, but the deeds of your past come back…)
· Main Hoon Na (for the sheer joie-de-vivre with which it ends in the song “Yeh Fizayen”)

Graveyard of Dreams

Right here beneath you lies your dream,
Broken, shattered, destroyed beyond recognition,
That which you thought you will hold forever close
Buried alive, fallen, hurt and still vulnerable.

You know now that not every poem must rhyme,
And not every day begins with sunshine,
Sunsets too are rarely breath-taking,
Only the occasional rainbow has all seven.

Loves and lives too are just days,
Roads are all lonely and endless,
Silence screams, and always louder than words,
Everyone is a stranger alone in a crowd.

But you have also discovered something else,
You know now that the wind will still flow in,
Chased by light and the occasional dew drop,
Even if you tightly shut all the windows you can.

Life you now realize is an adhesive,
No matter how many glass dreams you have,
No matter how many shatter on life’s rocky roads,
Life picks up all the pieces and moves on.

Uncountable dreams and ambitions die every day,
You watch them fall, sometimes resigned, often reluctant,
Adding another tally to the things you could never be,
Never actually making peace with their untimely deaths.

Life around you may be a graveyard of dreams then,
Each day a funeral, every whisper a requiem,
Yet you remember to bring flowers to these graves everyday,
Knowing their fragrance will wash out the stench of the corpses.

Black Suits and Blue Jeans

Isn’t it strange how your beauty never goes out of fashion?

You no longer wear that hair-do that was such a rage,
You have thrown away clothes belonging to another age,
The standard tees, tops and jeans still remain,
If only to prove to this world you are still sane.

Yet the smile blazes with the age-old kindness,
Eyes sparklingly clear with life that I have always known,
Your touch never let go of that nostalgic warmth
Your words still ring with love, making me your own.

There are things that don’t last through the night,
Then there are things which never go out of sight;
Black suits and blue jeans will always hang in my room,
And just like your beauty, always in full bloom.