Raat Bhar Bujhte Huye Rishte Ko Taapa Humnein...

On one of my aimless wanderings through the blogosphere, I came across the following poem by (his holiness) Gulzar. It is less commonly known than, say, "Dastak", but it has to be read to be believed- unforgettable imagery, almost unbearable pain and loss, and universal feelings expressed with a stunning intensity.

"ALAAV" by Gulzar

Raat bhar sard hawa chalti rahi

Raat bhar humnein alaav taapa

Maine maazi se kai khushk si shaakhein kaati

Tumne bhi guzre huye lamhon ke patte tode

Maine jebon se nikali sabhi sukhi nazmein

Tumne bhi haathon se murjhaaye huye khat khole

Apni in aankhon se maine kai maanze tode

Aur haathon se kai baasi lakeerein phenki

Tumne palkon pe nami sookh gayi thi, so gira di

Raat bhar jo bhi mila ugte badan par humko

Kaat ke daal diya jalte alaavon main use

Raat bhar phoonkon se har lau ko jagaye rakha

Aur do jismon ke indhan ko jalaye rakha

Raat bhar bujhte huye rishte ko taapa humnein...

Sigh.

Where would the world of poetry- and this poor, inarticulate society- be without people like Gulzar who can bring such velvety expressions to pain and loss?

MY FIRST REAL SIX STRING

I went to my college yesterday.

I happened to be in the neighbourhood, and, after the customary meal of a kathi roll at Nazim’s and a strawberry shake at Keventer’s, I found myself gazing in the general direction of my college.

What the hell, I figured. It had been a long time- and who knew when I would be here again? The last time I was here was three years ago, to collect my marksheet, when I had met a couple of my teachers.

Would I meet someone again, I wondered? Even at this late afternoon hour? And if I did, what would I say? Should I be bothered that I haven’t shaved? I digress, but why is it that we feel compelled to leave a good impression on near-strangers simply because we meet them again after a long time? I hardly cared what they thought of me when I used to see them every day- and I would perhaps never meet them again.

I crossed the street and started shuffling towards my college. It was a familiar stretch, and yet, curiously new. There was a new bus stop there now, proudly displaying the college’s name. All we had in our time was a crowd of people that the bus drivers instinctively knew to stop in front of. Strange, how much pride a mundane little thing like having your college’s name on a bus stop can bring about.

The little lane leading up to the South Campus canteen (one that the guard never let anyone through) had been opened. I just marveled at the convenience the students would have now, and how much shorter their walk would be. I distinctly remember pleading with the guard there on a daily basis to let us through. Of course, now with a Barista, a Café Coffee Day and other such joints in the Satya Niketan market, the students may no longer understand the importance of the warm Gulab Jamuns, tangy Bunta and Dal-filled Tikkis of the South Campus canteen.

And then, the building came into view. The letters constituting the name of the college had been re-painted recently in a shiny red, and greeted me in a magnificent gesture of false bravado. I walked in, half expecting the guard to stop me and ask what business I had there. However, the guard never did care in the three years I was here, and he did not care now either. Like always, I walked up the small path to the tree which formed a fork in the way- one way to the entrance, the other to the library. And like always, I took the former.

I want to say that the corridors greeted me like a long lost friend. The walls smiled down at me and asked how I have been. The big blackboard which announced the names of the teachers on leave was empty- probably in preparation for the next day. I remember the eagerness with which I would check that board out every morning, hoping with bated breath to find the name of at least one of our teachers there. The canteen ignited evocative memories of great times and samosas, and the classrooms leapt up in joy at the sight of me- which, for them, had always been an admittedly rare sight.

I want to say all that very badly indeed- but if I did, I would be lying.

No such thing happened. The corridors were empty, cold and dark. The stark walls seemed foreboding and aloof, and the classrooms were still strangers- even more so now. I had no awkward meetings with any teachers- even if I had met them, I would nothing to say to them, I realised. The plant pots lining up the bottom step of each staircase seemed new, as did a new cane building in the middle of the grounds. I glimpsed no familiar faces, and no waves of nostalgia swept over me.

This was my college building, for God’s sake!

I stood in the middle of the corridor and tried to figure out why I had none of the romanticized, nostalgic feelings I expected. I have spent the greatest days of my life here, and my head spins with the memories accumulated in this building. Some of the best friends I ever made- or will make- I found here; and it was here, in these very corridors, that I understood the meaning of friendship, love and life, in the process leaving the boy behind and became a man. I should, ideally, feel immense loss, nostalgia and longing for this place.

Why, then, could I not find any such feelings within me?

I spent a long time thinking about this then, and I spent a long time thinking about it afterwards, long after leaving that concrete maze. It slowly dawned upon me then.

This was just my college building.

My memories are not of this place, but of my experiences here. I often feel loss, nostalgia and longing within me, but it is for my friends and the time I have spent with them here, not for these walls and corridors.

I was standing in an empty vessel, rummaging within myself for some semblance of emotion for it, when all my emotions were in fact already with me, because my memories- and more importantly, my friends- were still with me. No soulless concrete structure, no vapid grand institution is going to make me long for days gone by- only my friends can do that; and they will always be with me. And just like my friends, I will forever carry in my heart the memories of the innocent and incredible days gone by.

And when you finally become conscious of being so full with the warmth of your memories, and so saturated with the affection of friends near and far, what space is there within you for anything else?

Nivedita, Abhinav, Kanika and Urvashi- as far as I am concerned, College is You.

I DISAGREE, MR SHAKESPEARE

Whatever happened to good, exciting, imaginative titles?

My English teacher in high school, whenever she wanted us to write anything good, used to tell us that a story is like a really good burger- a good beginning, an exciting end, with a really meaty middle. Since food analogies have an inexplicably successful way of succeeding with me, I believed that to be a really acute analogy. Imagine, though, if inspite of having the perfect burger in front of you, it was not called a “Whopper” or “Zinger”, but instead something as banal as “The Burger”- or “Bread with Meat in Between”. Who would order that?

You could, of course, argue that no matter what the name, once you discovered its quality, you would order it anyway. It’s a valid argument. However, there is a reason the fast food joints go for zippy names, rather than the aforementioned banalities. A good name, with due respect to that inimitable fellow from Stratford-Upon-Avon, can totally change your outlook and anticipation for its possessor.

I distinctly remember a time when, just because of the sheer strength of the title, a film could make me look forward to it. Imagine the days of “Hero Hiralal”. What a name! Even now, that title can draw out a smile, overpowering the sour after-taste of that film. Imagine the arrival of a film with such a name- who could possibly control their excitement and anticipation? Who would NOT want to see a film like that? The promise a good title brings forth is almost unquantifiably gigantic.

The 70s era art films were particularly rich in fantastic titles. With no stars nor any publicity, all they could hope was that a god title would bring in the crowds. Mr Saeed Mirza, God bless his soul, was a particularly inventive genius with his strange, off-the-wall titles incorporating the leading characters’ names. After all, once a man makes films called “Arvind Desai Ki Ajeeb Dastaan”, “Mohan Joshi Haazir Ho” and “Salim Langde Pe Mat Ro”, you have to take your hat off to him. Without even knowing that he also gave us perhaps the greatest title of all time: “Albert Pinto Ko Gussa Kyon Aata Hai?”

The 80s, the unanimously heralded as the garbage bag of Bollywood, also had their peculiar trend- a title had to SOUND like it promised lots of action. Ergo, “Golimaar”, “Hatya”, “Qayamat”, “Mawaali”, “Ilzaam”, et al. These titles too, if you were the target audience - i.e. male, and between the ages of 10 (too young to remember a better time) and 70 (too old to remember a better time)- could send you into tizzies of excitement, what with the certainty of a plot with plenty of drama and action, spear-headed by the usual multi-star cast (almost every film had a pick-and-mix system of at least three stars amongst Jeetendra, Dharmendra, Shatrughan Sinha, Mithun, Sanjay Dutt, Anil Kapoor and Govinda).

The 90s had their own problem to deal with. I have come to believe that it was an unwritten rule that if a title had fewer than four words in it, financing was near impossible. If the title was a line from an old song, e.g. “Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge” or “Hum Hai Rahi Pyaar Ke”, then lo and behold, the world was your oyster. This was a competition intensely fought, and the old war-horse, Anil Kapoor, was an unexpectedly strong candidate, having starred in both “Hum Aap Ke Dil Mein Rehte Hain” as well as “Humara Dil Aap Ke Paas Hai”.

Back when Ram Gopal Verma used to make cinema and RGV was not a leading contender to the throne of ‘the combination of three letters to fear most’ (others being HIV, STD and LeT), even his failures were entertaining. His funny but flawed yarn set in Bollywood, “Mast”, allowed him to make a comment on such titles: Urmila mentions that the film she is working on is called “Hum Aap Ke Dil Mein Reh Kar Hum Aapse Pyaar karne Lage”. At that point of time, RGV was fresh off “Satya”, and held as much promise as Raj Kumar Hirani- hence we laughed. We now realize, of course, that he was the prime force behind the advent of what I refer to as a ‘step-motherly’ treatment of titles.

His films titles, never more than one word long, started off inventively, with examples like “Rangeela”, “Kaun” and “Company”. Then, however, almost imperceptibly, yet harmoniously in sync with the quality of their possessors, the titles too began to sink: “Darling”, “Agyaat”, “James”, “Contract”, “Jungle”, “Naach” and- sacrilege!- “Aag”.

Just when his titles were getting too much too bear, along came a man who has, by the sheer success of his settings-masquerading-as-films, made a mockery out of both the Box Office as well as the National Awards. Madhur Bhandarkar, also known as the ticket to national awards (if you are either female or Atul Kulkarni), believes titles to be the greatest nuisance since tax planning. You can almost taste his disinterest and irritation when he names his films: “Page 3”, for a film based on Page 3; “Traffic Signal” for a film based around a traffic signal; “Fashion” for a film set in the world of… You guessed it. Hmmm… I wonder what he would title a film set in a jail?

These are not titles, Mr Bhandarkar, they are labels. I know it must have physically pained you to call you film on policemen “Aan”, as opposed to your trademark “Police”, but I will forever be highly grateful for small mercies.

Giving a film a title is as much an art as giving it music. However, this is an industry which is yet to understand it. Apart from the rare “Dev.D” or the magnificently titled “Kaminey”, when was the last time a film made you sit up and take notice simply by virtue of its title?

How I weep when I think of the amazing titles films could have had! Why favour the faithful-yet-bland “Omkara” over Bhardwaj’s original and far more evocative choice “Issak”? Why let ridiculous polls name your heroine-dominated rom-com “Jab We Met” instead of the spunky “Bhatinda Express”, or “Punjab Mail” as originally envisaged? I am glad that “My Name Is Khan” won out over “Khan”, but even that’s only slightly better. And “3 Idiots”? Come on- even Chetan Bhagat managed a better title!

Yet, I am relieved to say, there is hope. Just like in the 70s, the off-beat films come your rescue. Dibakar Bannerjee is particularly ingenious, what with “Khosla Ka Ghosla”, “Oye Lucky, Lucky Oye” and the forthcoming “Love, Sex aur Dhokha (LSD)”. Shimit Amin too holds a lot of promise: “Ab Tak Chhappan”, “Chak De India” and “Rocket Singh: Salesman of the Year” are all fantastic titles, making the products seem twice as intriguing.

In an age when the news of a just announced film can reach the entire world within seconds, a smart title can make all the difference with respect to both the promotions, as well as the curiosity factor. With “Kaminey”, a film that intrigued its audience for months before its release with both its excellent title as well as the secrecy of its plot, Vishal Bhardwaj proved a very simple fact to his favourite source: A rose will indeed smell as sweet by any other name. But would a Juliet covet it were it called a Cauliflower?

THE GREAT ADAPTATION DEBATE

I am truly exasperated of those “the-book-was-better-no-the-film-is-better” discussions. I have gone through so many of those- and strangely, many in the past few days- that I am compelled to write this. I plan to refer whoever has an issue in this regard to this entry.

I have often heard- usually prompting impatient sighs from me- about how books are always better than the films they inspire. With all due respect to all those who believe this- that’s not true. Don’t mistake my opinions for the ranting of a passionate cinezine: what I am saying is simply the result of a lot of thinking and almost-scholarly analysis.

It is true that great books almost never translate into decent films- the mind buzzes with examples, right from various horrifying Shakespeare adaptations to recent tragedies like ‘The Kite Runner’ and the Harry Potter films. Moreover, even when good books do spawn good films, the latter always pale away in comparison to their literary roots- be it ‘The Godfather’ or ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’. Then there are some classics which are virtually unfilmable- ‘Catch-22’, for instance.

However, it is important to note that there are several great films that have been adapted from rather mediocre books. Be it ‘The Magnificent Ambersons’, ‘Masoom’, ‘Million Dollar Baby’ and even ‘L.A.Confidential’. This, then, just reinforces the question- which are better, books or films?

The answer, I’m afraid, isn’t as simple as all that. We can’t just tally up the number of film adaptations which were improvements on the book and compare it as a number to adaptations which were disasters. In order for us to arrive at the spectacular moment of truth where we all discover the hidden wisdom behind all this (perhaps accompanied by a collective “Ooohhhh”) we must take a slightly scholarly detour around this subject.

Let us take an example- say, Harper Lee’s ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’ (TKAM), my all time favourite book. It was also turned into a surprisingly good 1962 Robert Mulligan film starring Gregory Peck (in his career best performance- but then, what a role!). Nevertheless, it was clearly not in the same league as the book- which, let’s face it, given Lee’s experiential, observatory, first hand narrative, it never could be. There are many who defend this film with the argument that there are certain basic differences in storytelling between a book and a film; and, in cinema, with its constrained framework of time and space, it is not possible to translate the story in a better fashion. While that may be true- and even I have difficulty imagining a better adaptation of the novel without using a TV serial format (which has lesser constraints and allows one to examine and depict finer details) - allow me to propose another theory.

Given the story and theme of TKAM, it is possible to relay it using various formats- for instance, as a short story, a poem, a drawing, etc, besides the novel and the film which it already is. These different formats are called ‘mediums of expression’, and, for every given message/story/idea that is to be conveyed, there are several such mediums of expression, of which one must be chosen such that it is the best suited for the material at hand. For instance, when Javed Akhtar was moved by the things he witnessed on a visit to Kargil in 1999, he felt a need to express his feelings- and, after a lot of thought, rejected his usual mode of poetry in favour of cinema- and ‘Lakshya’ was born.

Now, ideally, the medium chosen must be the one in which the material attains maximum effectiveness. So, while the story of TKAM may be effective in various mediums, it would clearly have the maximum impact as a novel, since that medium allows it the space to document each and every one of the fine details which make the story such a heart-warming, touching affair.

All this theory about mediums of expression- while scholarly and reasonable- still doesn’t explain the debate between books and films. Then, you are justified in asking, why have you been reading all this, listening to me going on and on? Well, friends, it is because it is this theory of mediums of expression on which the next segment is based.

Yes, there is another segment to go.

Once a piece of art achieves its ultimate form in a given medium of expression (say, the way TKAM does in novels, or Citizen Kane does as a film, or “If” does as a poem) then it cannot achieve the same level of quality in another medium. That is to say, every piece of art has a given medium of expression in which its form and impact is maximized- the ideal medium for that piece, if you will; once that content has been put in that ideal medium of expression, it will not achieve the same effect in any other medium.

Therefore, a general debate on “books vs films” is rather naïve. The question is, has the piece of art achieved its utmost form? If so, then no other medium will equal it. That is why, a great book like TKAM will lead to a good, albeit disappointing film adaptation, while a mediocre book like “The Bridges of Madison County” will lead to a great film.

THINGS I FAIL TO UNDERSTAND #2

GRACY SINGH'S CAREER GRAPH:

(Quality on Y-axis, Year on X-axis.)

Go Figure!

Now That Harry Has Met Sally- Why Wait?

I have had one of the strangest conversations of my life today. And that is the reason for this hopelessly sentimental post. (What the hell- like you were missing my sarcasm!)

Two friends of mine (both girls- obviously) today had a long discussion with me about the need and the rationale of marriage. Perhaps I need to be more specific. Both their parents had approached the topic with them, and both of them are trying everyday to desperately avoid it. They see no reason for the urgency. They are both unanimous in their verdict- marriage, all things considered, should only happen once one is mentally ready. And, of course, the usage of that phrase every time in history has implicitly assumed that one is not.

I suppose then, in hindsight, that it was perhaps not the ideal moment to inform them that I had been proposing marriage to my girlfriend on a daily basis for the past five years.

Their verdict was once again unanimous- I am mentally unstable. (I can see you nodding your head in agreement. Stop it.)

After listing the numerous obstacles one would face after marriage- financial issues, responsibilities, compatibility, adjustments, compromises, and even horrendously hungry babies- they turned the spotlight on me and asked a stupefying question: Why was I so eager to get married?

Now, while that question itself is perfectly harmless, and a logical derivation of the above discussion, it had me dumb-founded. You see, I have spent all my energy and all my time so doggedly chasing the idea of marriage, revelling in my unshakable conviction of its merits, that I had, momentarily, forgotten my motive.

However, as I write this, wading in my reminiscence of today, the answer becomes startlingly clear; it is, after all, the simplest, and the most obvious thing I can think of.

Why was I so desperate to get married? Well, dear friends, why not?

Being mentally ready is like being in love- it is not a state you find yourself in, one fine day. It is also not a function of your age or financial stability (given, however, that maturity and a bank balance are always desirable). One doesn't simply stumble into it, strolling along the narrow, twisted pathways of life. You don't just wake up one day, saying, "Oh, I am now 28, and therefore mentally ready!"

It is a decision. One day, you look deep within yourself and decide that you are mentally prepared. Or that you are in love. And once you do that, the rest of your life simply falls in line. Mine did.

I understand all your arguments, friends, and I also admit that they are indeed valid.

I, however, know only one thing. Around five years ago, I discovered someone, and decided that that is the face I wanted to wake up to every morning of my life. I see no reason why I should wait. Or any way I possibly can.

That's it.

"...when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

~Nora Ephron, "When Harry Met Sally"

THINGS I FAIL TO UNDERSTAND (amongst others...)

I am a confused man.

This declaration should hardly come as a surprise to those who know me. I spend half of my time desperately trying to comprehend the goings-on of this world, and the rest of it simply marvelling at the levels of sheer absurdity prevalent around me. The world is a ridiculous, funny, absurd, mad place, and it is therefore no wonder that I love it so much.

In my "search for sanity" in this utterly insane universe, I come across things on a daily basis which make so little sense that they fit in perfectly with our world. However, at the end of day, there are certain things which deservedly get mention in the "Insanity Hall of Fame": things which simply do not make sense, no matter how hard I try, even by the shockingly low standards of sanity around us.

Following, then, is a list of certain things that do not make sense to me in the least. Those who know me well will vouch for one thing- this list is by no means comprehensive.

1. People who need to read the menu before deciding what to order at McDonald’s.

I just don't get these people. I'm sorry, many of you are very close friends, but come on! McDonald's is a wonderful institution which seems to have decided to stand as a pillar of strength and stability in this ever-changing world: not one thing has changed since its arrival here in India- the menu, the service, the decor, the prices, and usually even the clientele remain steadfastly the same. Yes, there are minor changes in the menu every 4-5 years (so we now have chicken nuggets! Woo-hoo!) and the prices (the McGrill went from 20 to 25 to 30!) but more or less, I don't walk into that restaurant expecting any surprises.

And yet there are people who are simply unable to choose what they want to order until they see the menu! A menu which, just like laughter in Sidhu's throat, has remain fixed for the past ten years! Haven't you memorised it by now? Are you still in the dark about what are the burgers McDonald's serves?

There seems to be an interesting theory that is often thrown in my face whenever I start my rants about this. Some say that seeing the images of the burgers, or any visual aid, helps the decision-making progress. While I understand that there may be some merit to this theory, it is irrelevant here because, just like McDonald's offerings, people's choices too remain the same! The McChicken lover will always order that, the Maharaja Mac fan will sick to his love, and the Veg Surprise devotee will continue to enjoy that only! The McDonald's connoisseurs are steadfast loyalists- and yet, these people need to look at menu, almost as if in a desperate bid to re-affirm their own convictions!

You are a strange, inexplicably insane bunch- I love you all.

2. “One-Time-Watch”.

This is an amazing phrase, one that I am convinced does not exist anywhere else on this planet. I suppose it is fitting in a way that the origin of this soon-to-take-over-the-world phrase is the nation which produces the highest number of films in the world.

All over the world, people judge films as being good, bad or simply 'okay', describing the mediocre. We, however, are a nation that is both full of obsessive film lovers, as well as inundated with mediocrity all around us. Most films, good, bad, or hideous, we will watch anyway; and most films, from the afore-mentioned spectrum of the good, bad or hideous, will fall in the cateogry of "okay". We know the latter is a fact; we have understood it over years and years of being confronted with mediocrity, and millions and millions of fridays of battling disappointment. And yet, with the unmatchable Indian optimism, we will watch every film that comes out.

Considering the sheer number of films that fall in the "okay" category every year, all Indian cinegoers soon realised that the term "okay" was simply inadequate both as a judgement as well as a catogory- there was an urgent need for further classification, lest we (God forbid!) misguide our friends and families, who would watch the film irrespective of what we told them.

Thus, the term "okay" was sub-divided into three major categories:

• "Dekh le, par bakwaas hai"
• "Ok-Ok only"
• and the magical "One-time watch toh hai"

This phrase, "One-Time Watch", once upon a time used to be grammatically correct: people would say "ek baar toh dekh sakte ho", or "you can watch it once". Soon, people realised that these words were beginning to encompass an entire- and rapidly growing- category, and, just like with every other oft-repeated phrase, they shortened it, to a name they gave such films- "One-Time Watch".

One must finally understand that this glorious phrase points to two essential characteristics of us Indians, which perhaps justify it too to a certain extent: one, we often watch a film two- or more- times in a theatre if it is good enough; and two, we are so starved for entertainment, and so much in love with cinema (and perhaps possess such low standards), that a film being a "One-Time Watch" is a good thing.

I, for one, have never understood this phrase. As far as I am concerned, a "One-Time Watch" is a Titan with dead batteries.

3. Salman Khan’s Stardom

Forget, for a second, "WANTED".

Salman Khan is one of the veterans and the stalwarts of the film industry. He has always been considered one of the superstars of India Cinema, and is an integral part of Bollywood's ruling clan. And yet, what is amazing, is that I cannot remember the last good movie he came up with.

While he has been considered a superstar for the past twenty years, ever since the days of "MAINE PYAAR KIYA", this is is a man who has not had a single A-league film in recent memory. I mean, what was his last major release? "YUVVRAJ"?

According his filmography at IMDB, in the past 25 films he has done, right upto 2002, that is almost eight years, he has had four hits. Yes, FOUR- and those too are films like "PARTNER", "NO ENTRY", "TERE NAAM" and "MUJHSE SHAADI KAROGI". Two David Dhawan films, an Anees Bazmee and a Satish Kaushik- hardly A-Listers!

On what basis do we call him a superstar?

However, in the past twenty years, I defy you to find one person who can deny that this man is not a superstar. This is is a man whose last decent film was perhaps 1999's "HUM DIL DE CHUKE SANAM"- and yet there is no need for him to provide any evidence for his stardom. If any were needed, there is the opening collections of "WANTED".

Not one A-league film in over 25 releases, not one landmark movie, not one A-league production house- but Salman Khan's stardom is indisputable. This is a man who has gone beyond the Box Office, and needs neither hits nor awards to prove his stardom.

Salman Khan's stardom is a walking, talking example of the madness of country we live in. And a fabulous one at that.

*********

While I end my post here, my confusion at this world obviously will not. Therefore, in all likelihood, I threaten to come back with a sequel.