Cover Drive: The reality of Aid

Saturday, December 5, 2009

The reality of Aid

The report hinges its core argument around the assumption that development aid is the panacea for lifting the world’s poor out of abject poverty. In fact, development aid has long been considered a conditional generosity that comes with the tag of continuance of the ‘colonial gaze’. The act of giving maintains the status quo by helping the poor only so much: it does not empower them to take control of their lives. The neo-liberal economic theories of the 1980s and 1990s have relied on a ‘free market’ to deliver human wellbeing. This has generally put economic interests above human welfare, further marginalising the poor. The failure of the structural adjustment programmes spearheaded by the World Bank and IMF clearly indicates that development (aid) is becoming another tool to perpetuate colonialism.

The Reality of Aid network unfolds the hidden reality of aid, which continues to create the illusion of equality in a world that is inherently unequal....more

No comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

It is said that women who love are lonelier, than those who don’t. But isn’t all love like that? Sigmund Freud considered ‘falling in love’ a kind of sickness and craziness, an illusion, a blindness to what the loved person is really like, a state arising from infantile origins? Parveen Babi, the devil-may-care screen heart throb of 70’s and 80’s, lived much on the lines of such psychic prescription. What is more, an unexpectedly great part is played in a person’s development by impressions and experiences of early childhood. In a letter to one of her three illustrious boyfriends, the actress had confided: ‘My childhood has been one dark fearful journey. I was unable to communicate with people around me, and people around me were too ignorant to understand my kind of child.’ Psychoanalysts do contend that the child in a person pursues its existence, and retains all its characteristics and wishful impulses.

Upadhyay captures the nuances of an extraordinary life of Parveen Babi, her journey from being a shy but ambitious girl to the one who unshackled conventions both on and off the screen. With her haunting dark eyes in a perfect oval face and black hair cascading down her shoulders, she could become the object of a million fantasies through her unforgettable roles in many blockbusters like Deewar, Shaan, Kala Pathar, and Amar Akbar Anthony. Her tragic demise was in shocking contrast, as her body was found four days after she died, a leg rotted by gangrene and a wheelchair by her bed. For all the sensational rumors and films she inspired, Parveen remains something of an enigma to generations of fans.

Lingering insecurity, raging jealousy and deeper fears overwhelmed the actress, shattering her life into a million pieces. Each piece carried a story – of ambitions, determination and hard work – but her embedded psychic condition never allowed the broken pieces to be put together again. ‘I cannot stand any noise, so many million thoughts come to my mind that I lose track of myself.’ Even before her breakdown in 1983, the actress used to experience certain very visible tics that only amplified her anxiety. Parveen had apparently ignored her condition as much as her close friends had failed to recognize it, leaving her to be like an object hurtling aimlessly through space. What seemed promising on the surface was doomed to hell from the inside.

Upadhyay explores the life of a promising performer with depth and sensitivity, detailing her strengths and frailties in equal measure. Like all of us, Parveen entertained a life of fantasy to make up for the insufficiencies of reality. She did make every effort to impose her wishes and desires on reality but the neurotic symptoms got the better of her each time, acting like a monastery for her haunting past and the disappointing present. Her disturbing inner endowments did not allow her to grow as a normal person.

Praveen had literally failed to fight her inner demons. And, her sustained neglect only encouraged the demons to pop their ugly face. Her anxiety and deep-rooted feelings of not measuring up only exacerbated her fears of being unloved and abandoned. She wanted more out of life, but ended up living on the edge. 'Parveen Babi: A Life' makes for an insightful reading that captures the human condition in which the internal enemies are in perpetual conflict with the external realities.

Praveen Babi: A Life

by Karishma Upadhyay

Hachette, New Delhi

Extent: 299, Price: Rs. 599.

The slang geek best describes the eccentric, as much as the nerd obsessed in pursuit of the eccentric. And, trivia is its tested tool to evoke nostalgia and provoke unsolicited indulgence. Such obsession is somewhat infectious, as it costs nothing but a portion of anybody’s leisure time. One can shut off from it, and reopen as the case may be. And, when the trivia is about cinema, it cannot be any less addictive to say the least. No one perhaps knows this better than Diptakirti Chaudhari, whose passion for the Bollywood trivia is a work in progress. And, he doesn’t seem to be done with it as yet.

In my previous outing with Chaudhuri (scroll down for it), the power of ‘ten’ was in full bloom with as many variants in each of the ten categories that captured the patterns and trends in the world of cinema. In Bollygeek, the confusion and excitement of the film world is revealed and extended further through crazy clichés, celebratory appearances, jocular attires, unforeseen moments and more. Added attraction in this volume are the tables, charts and diagrams that capture cross cutting vignettes and inferences. If there are films which start with a song, then there are others that have airport endings. Some films have used shoe as a symbol of mass attraction, while there are many others where actors wearing glasses add to their attraction. Think of the impossible, and the films make it possible.

One wonders if there is a method in screen madness or is script writing a work of creative adventurism where ingenuity and absurdity swim in unholy alliance? Come to think of it, if politics is art of the possible then cinema must be art of the impossible. It thrives on audience acceptance of fluff and bluff reflected through box office receipts. Frivolous though it may seem but Bollygeek not only celebrates the medium for holding a mirror on the society but counts on its many firsts that only enrich the trivia. Film buffs may recall Nobel Laureate Pearl Buck partnering with iconic Dev Anand in co-producing English version of the timeless classic ‘Guide’, however, not many may know that another Nobel Laureate Bertrand Russell had his screen presence in a lesser known movie ‘Aman’. In nutshell, Bollygeek is as much about the extraordinary as banal, helping you take your pick.

Subject to how the crazy trivia gets captured, it could continue to be as much informative as entertaining. A new genre of film writing is surely in the making.

Bollygeek

by Diptakirti Chaudhuri

Hachette, New Delhi Extent: 323, Price: Rs. 448.

His disclaimers win him readers, so I imagine. Else, his earlier book Kitnay Aadmi Thay (scroll down to read its review) - touted as a completely useless Bollywood trivia - may not have made any mark. Invoking interest among readers and provoking reaction from movie buffs, the book teased the readers to create his/her own set of trivia. Nothing, and I repeat nothing about Bollywood could ever be exhaustive, as facts and gossips intermingle to create a rich tapestry of colorful teasers. In effect, one can never have enough of it. The more the better.

Diptakirti Chaudhuri is back with his Bollywood trivia in Bioscope, capturing its non-linear history in ten chapters with ten entries each on what he terms 'the frivolous history of Bollywood'. Curated around interesting themes, it picks real stories behind the reel stories; identifies composer-lyricist duo that delivered memorable tunes; highlights the evolution of bad men on screen; understands the irresistible chemistry of successful lead pairs; and computes the box office collection down the years. Far from being frivolous, the compilation is not only insightful but reflective of the times the industry and the audiences have collectively sailed through.

Gone are the days when success was measured by the duration the films ran in theaters, it is now assessed in terms of how quickly it collects silver. The narrative on film exhibition and trade has redrawn the contours of relationship between films and the audience. The exalted aims of cinema, of creating an emotional bonding with characters and the makers, have been subdued by the economy of scale. Films may be creating new market, and making new records, but their impact on viewers is not lasting enough to create stuff the legends are made of. No longer are these tools for social engagement, films are now products for instant consumption.

Chaudhuri enumerates the influences each era had on script-writers and film makers. Through interesting facts and anecdotes, the author provides insightful reflections on mutual exchanges between society and films. If society generously offered stories on corrupt politicians and policemen to script-writers, film makers returned the obligation with imagery portraying the trials and travails of our lives.The troika of politician-industrial-corrupt policeman is a recurring theme in our films. No lessons seemed to have been learnt, we have more villains than heroes in the society. And, our films are relentless in its efforts of re-inventing bad men.

Capturing trials and trends in Bollywood, Bioscope presents an entertaining and informative reading. It brings the dream world closer to reality through fact-filled sub-plots prevalent in the alluring chaos of the film industry. I would not have known if Begum Mumtaz Jahan Dehalvi and Shyamlal Babu Rai had anything to do with the film industry. That the former is none other than vivacious Madhubla and the latter a veteran lyricist Indivar is a revelation. Not that it will change my perception towards both, but it helps me immerse further into the fascinating world of Bollywood cinema.

There is hardly anything frivolous about Bioscope, but one thing is clear picture abhi baaki hai mere dost.

Bioscope

by Diptakirti Chaudhuri

Hachette, New Delhi

Extent: 222, Price: Rs 399

Submitting oneself to self-reflection is the greatest of challenges, and to let such unpretentious images translate into words for public consumption can be even more daunting. For celebrities, it can either generate unexpected outbursts or spur unwarranted controversies. It neither does any for yesteryears film actress Asha Parekh, whose autobiographical journey opens the door for readers to travel back with her in time, and relate to her emotionally to understand the forces that worked in her life as if we were experiencing the same tensions ourselves.

Writing a personal story can be a painful but cathartic exercise, stimulating simultaneous feelings of joy, nostalgia, and sadness. It is an exercise that requires hours of thoughtful reflection and introspection to stay objective in one’s own assessment of lived experiences, both as an honest self-assessment as well as some shared lessons. The Hit Girl does it with ease, traversing the foregone era of romance and roses with aplomb but without losing cool in her journey through the present time of compulsive disorders and thorns. And, she passes through the immigration channel of life saying ‘I have not hidden anything. There is nothing more to declare’.

Two candid confessions help her set the record straight though. That she was in love with director Nasir Hussain, and that she had approached minister Nitin Gadkari for seeking an award continue to evoke public curiosity. Declaring that she could neither see herself as a home-breaker nor as a second woman, ‘for the sake of my own happiness I could not become self-centered’, Asha Parekh makes it clear that she valued friendship over love. Drawing distinction between love and friendship, former being a state of mind with few stolen moments of exhilaration and the latter offering a sense of oneness and belonging, she chose the latter.

Persuaded by a close friend, she did meet the influential politician for upgrading the title of Padma Shri given to her in 1992. Quoting the minister, the media story that followed thereafter was that Asha Parekh (at the age of 72) had climbed 12 flights of stairs to seek undue favors. Although the elevator was perfectly working, she could do little to refute the story. By her own admission ‘it was the worst mistake of her life’, and there wasn’t a better way to accept the honorable minister’s slap across the face by turning the other cheek with silence.

A proficient dancer, a talented actor, an avid film maker, hands down administrator, and a committed social worker, Asha Parekh has donned multiple hats in a career spanning six decades. As queen of the marquee, she had captured the public imagination right from the black-and-white era movies like Dil Deke Dekho (1959) to the colorful entertainers like Kaalia (1981). Like others of her fraternity, she too had her share of hits and misses, and twists and travails in the competitive film world. On missing out an opportunity to work with legendary director Satyajit Ray, she felt that ‘lost opportunities and lost possibilities are part of what it means to be alive’.

At this time when film biographies have flooded book stores, The Hit Girl stands out as a carefully crafted journey which is as much about the central character as about prominent others who were part of her illustrious journey. Himself a sensitive film maker and an accomplished writer, Khalid Mohammad lends his craft to the crisp narrative that has nuggets of thoughtful reflections strewn all across. Unlike others, Asha Parekh chose to talk about her life at this juncture when she has turned 75, as ‘there are accumulated experiences worth sharing’.

A versatile life has its share of anxieties too. No matter how surrounded one be by friends and people, there is a thing inside which is always alone. Insecurity afflicts everybody, and is an essential take way from show business. The roller coaster ride that Asha Parekh went through had its bouts of seclusion and alienation. That she overcame self-pity through an exercise in renewal is an inspiring tale in itself, one that lends credence to the observation that behind arc lights and glamorous outfits are human beings with soul like any other who often wish to liberate themselves from narcissistic overtures that they get used to.

Having followed Asha Parekh on screen since early college days, it wasn’t clear if she and her hero died together (as the last shot was in a freeze frame) in Do Badan (1966). Asha Parekh confirms that indeed both had died, and which incidentally has been the cause of the film’s phenomenal success. The Hit Girl has short descriptions that are accurate but reflective. There are hardly any dramatics, or show-words. Just a narrative that describes, catalogues, and details the relevant. With innumerable pictures to back the text, The Hit Girl makes for an interesting and engaging reading.

Asha Parekh: The Hit Girl

by Asha Parekh with Khalid Mohamed

Om Books, Delhi

Extent: 263, Price: Rs 895

Published in Businessline, Dec 16, 2017.

Unlike other culinary creations, biryani holds a special place among the foodies. Each preparation may contain the same ingredients but the appetizing taste lies in its delightful execution. Repetitive as it is, the preparation holds fabulous taste that remains a delight to the gastronomic senses. For five decades on end, using the same broad elements, the same tropes and the same plotline, the cinematic master chef justified the metaphor of biryani for his musical creations.

Not scared of being his own copy, Nasir Hussain had mastered the art of defying logic at the cost of creating unblemished impact at the box office. From Tumsa Nahin Dekha to Teesri Manzil, and from Yaadon Ki Barat to Hum Kisise Kum Naheen, the maverick filmmaker had created a cinematic aura that carried a distinct mark of inimitable flamboyance and style. Husain may not be in the league of great filmmakers as Mehboob Khan or Guru Dutt or Yash Chopra, yet he had held onto his rather under-rated craft of film making with distinction for five decades. Akshay Manwani must be credited for unraveling the life and times of an important auteur of Hindi cinema, making Music Masti Modernity a celebration of youth, adventure, romance, music and the outdoors.

While making escapist entertainment his signature genre, Hussain distanced his lead character from the nation-building narrative of the post-independent era, and located him in a world of dreamy-eyed youth, bursting with hope, love and an air of cherubic optimism. It didn’t mean that the protagonist was running away from life’s worries, but was setting new norms to tide over the realities of life. Manwani argues that the filmmaker neither wanted his hero to wallow in misery nor allowed circumstances to get better of him. Hussain’s cinema bucked the dominant discourse of the era and set forth its own discourse bereft of moral platitudes and lofty sermons.

The filmmaker was undoubtedly ahead of his time in engaging with the youthful audience through his hero by recreating images of his own impish and spendthrift boyhood. The book is not the filmmakers’ biography, but a reflection on Husain’s cinematic craft and the influences that shaped his sensibilities. His journey from Bhopal/Lucknow and his age-old fondness for English literature and Urdu poetry helped him hone his writing skills. No wonder, he started as a writer and continued to write stories for all the films directed by him. This had helped him connect with the audience in articulating their hopes and aspirations on screen.

Using extensive interviews and credible quotes from a diverse section of film fraternity, Manwani weaves a narrative which is informative and reflective, as well as racy and entertaining. Two years of extensive research for the book offer a non-linear perspective on Hussain’s cinema: its dominant themes, stylish attire, camera angles, lingering songs, and memorable music. Quality music was the hallmark of his films, a real alternative to the ‘star system’ in Hindi cinema. More than the lead actors in his films, his songs and the music have survived decade after decade after decade. Be it a qawwali or a musical medley, Hussain used songs to take the story further. The impact has been everlasting, therapeutic in some ways too.

Among the emerging breed of film writers, Akshay Manwani has carved out a space for himself through objective and unbiased assessment of his subjects. In his first book, he had brought to life the enigma of the poet extraordinaire - Sahir Ludhianvi. Music Masti Modernity builds up a case for a filmmaker who may never feature in the list of serious filmmaker, and yet his sunny-side-up movies deserve a place for their non-nonsense wholesome entertainment.

Despite sticking to his genre of froth and fun, argues Manwani, Hussain was an outright progressive filmmaker giving equal freedom to his female leads. If you educate your girls, they are going to be urbane, they are going to be mobile, and they are going to be free in all categories of life not just romance but everything else, he would argue. Hussain’s thinking, his writing, his music, his songs – everything was very youthful. He had an innate sense of style and sophistication, accentuated by the subtlety of invasive camera movements.

Hussain pushed the envelope and broke stereotypes. His films place on record a cosmopolitanism and modernity in Indian society at a certain point in time – a largely untold story. The distinct western element was well adapted to the Indian context. It was a kind of sensibility that could not have been captured in any other manner. Music, Masti, Modernity is a tangy appetizer that conveys a wholesome feeling of ecstasy, abandon and hysteria of Nasir Hussain’s cinema,

Music, Masti Modernity: The Cinema of Nasir Hussain

by Akshay Manwani

HarperCollins, New Delhi

Extent: 402, Price: Rs 599

When WH Smith offered me the liberty to pick a book of my choice from its well-stacked bookstore at the airport terminal in the capital, I had unhesitatingly stretched my hands to pick the biography of actor Shashi Kapoor. Far from forgetting the lover boy of yesteryears, as Aseem Chhabra observes in his opening remarks, memories of the actor’s numerous screen exploits had replayed in quick succession on my mind. From the demur driver in the timeless classic Waqt to the gauche boatman in ever romantic Jab Jab Phool Khile, and from the incriminate husband in heart-warming Mukti to the smoldering policeman in irresistible Deewar, the debonair good-looking son of legendary Prithviraj Kapoor lived through all this and much more in his illustrious film career spanning a little over five decades.

For someone who straddled from commercial to art cinema and had crossed Bollywood boundaries to feature in Hollywood cinema, building a career in the cut-throat world of cinema was s thorny affair. Like innumerable others who throng the tinsel world, Shashi too had to hop from one studio to another in search of an elusive break. Even his ‘kapoor’ tag did not go well with the reigning heroines who didn’t risk acting opposite a rank newcomer. Shashi remained undeterred, as he had to support his family with the craft he was most conversant with. Cast in scatterbrained but harmless films during late 60’s and 70’s, Shashi could establish himself with his native charm of a clean-hearted romantic.

Born into a little body frame, Shashi could carry in parts the on-screen intensity of Raj Kapoor and the fluid agility of Shammi Kapoor, his elder siblings. It seemingly served him well as he became the busiest actor during 70’s, sleeping in his car to accommodate four to five shifts in a day. Be it the role of an eternal romantic or a troubled husband or a likable bloke, Shashi had the ability to get under the skin of his character. Yet, he remained under-rated as an actor, and to quote Ramesh Sippy in the context of Shashi’s memorable four-word retort ‘mere paas maa hai’ to Amitabh’s long monologue in Deewar : “…to be sincere to the role, at times one has to underplay it.” And, this reflects Shashi enduring sensitivity as a noble actor.

Aseem Chhabra, a film journalist and a film-festival programmer, searches for the real Shashi Kapoor from a gamut of personality traits: a theatre enthusiast who is a devout family man; a handsome actor who belongs to a famous film clan; and, an eminent international star who produced quality films too. Some total of all this is that despite inheriting acting in his genes, he dared to think differently and pursued multiple careers in pursuit of making an everlasting contribution to cinema, earning a well-deserved the Dadasaheb Phalke Award in 2015.

His commitment to cinema may have been borne out of his love for theatre, guiding him to take risks even if it meant plunging into debt. His oldest son Kunal Kapoor confirms that ‘his father would actually complain about other actors who would become stars, make money, secure a good life, but then, never contribute to the place that nurtured them’. Shashi wanted to support the world that he was part of. Though the biography is missing the voice from its central character (the actor has been ailing), the book offers a nuanced understanding of the decent man, the versatile actor, and the visionary producer.

Chhabra has looked at the actor’s work in chronological order, capturing the seemingly divergent worlds the actor was involved in. Shashi endearing relationship with the unflappable Ismail and the resilient James is all part of well-known celluloid history. Notable exception are the reference to those little known small projects, such as the political drama ‘New Delhi Times’ (1986) and the poignant story of a fading star ‘Side Effects’ (1998), without which there would be holes in the landscapes of quality cinema. It is a rich, engaging telling of the actor’s story many may not have known. And, this is what makes this biography readable and engaging.

Every fan has his or her personal reasons to remember Shashi Kapoor. Aparna Sen may remember him for her first-ever kiss on screen in Bombay Talkie; Simi Grewal can hardly forget how he helped her shed shyness to go topless in Siddhartha; and Sharmila Tagore fondly remembers his sparkling sense of humor through good and the bad times. For millions of others, Shashi remains the lover-boy with a toothy grin who gave us incredibly romantic and memorable songs – ‘Bekudi Main Sanam’ and ‘Chale The Saath Milke’.

Shashi Kapoor: The Householder, the Star

by Aseem Chhabra

Rupa Books, New Delhi

Extent: 196, Price: Rs 395

(BusinessLine, Aug 20, 2016)

One might wonder why none of the present day heroines have ever expressed their desire to be like her. The answer is plain and simple – her name means ‘the unique one’ and she remains inimitable! Ever since she appeared in her first Bollywood movie in 1955, Waheeda Rehman has been an epitome of talent, integrity and grace. In a career spanning five decades, she has given memorable performances in varied roles and diverse attires in an astonishing array of classic films like Pyaasa, Guide, Kagaz Ke Phool, Sahib Biwi aur Ghulam and Teesri Kasam.

‘Acting is a fine balance between craft and personality’, says Waheeda, ‘to become another character one would need to avoid bringing one’s emotions and personality into it.’ Yet, a bit of herself can be found in many of her on-screen characters. Of all the roles she has essayed the character of Rosie, who liberates herself from the shackles of a failed marriage in Guide, comes close to the real ‘her’ – the one who knows her own mind and stands by what she believes in.

Nasreen Munni Kabir has been able to engage the versatile actress of not-so-distant past in revealing her mind on an artists’ place in a materialistic world and the gulf between reel and real lives. Waheeda Rehman proves to be a lively raconteur, reflecting upon her life and work with insightful experiences and memorable anecdotes. That she had worked with some of finest all-time filmmakers and actors adds value to the lively conversations with a much-adored actress. Amidst the din of a celebrity life, Waheeda unveils her own little world of immediate family and friends that she has been able to endure all throughout.

Kabir has perfected the art of ‘conversations’ as a new genre in recording cinema history. Not only have such conversations been engaging, these provide authentic insights into the world of cinema. The challenge of getting the best from a conversation rests on the amount of research done on the life and work of the celebrity without sounding unduly intrusive and abrasive. It is years of home work that yields ‘Conversations with Waheeda Rehman’.

Waheeda Rehman has always been one of my favorite actors and continues to be. ‘The more you think about her, the more you fall in love with her’ has been the punch line I have used in describing this legendary actor. Kabir telling us that she is a genuine person behind her illustrious reputation and that she is as lovely in real life as she is on the screen, only magnifies my admiration for Waheeda Rehman.

For genuine lovers of good cinema, this book is a must read.

Conversations with Waheeda Rehman

by Nasreen Munni Kabir

Penguin/Viking, New Delhi

227 pages, Rs 499

Let it be clear from the beginning that Prem Naam Hai Mera, Prem Chopra is an autobiography in disguise, essentially a biography that is written in first person by a doting daughter on her father’s villainous innings on the celluloid. Rakita Nanda has narrated the story of a man whose fantastic energy went into creating an on-screen character that everybody loved to hate.

Prem Chopra has been in the business of villainy for over five decades, having worked with four generations of Kapoors – from legendary Prithviraj Kapoor to young heartthrob Ranbir Kapoor. And he is not done yet! ‘The variations I managed to weave into my performances became one of the strongest reasons for my survival in the industry,’ stresses Chopra. With some 320 screen appearances in varying shades of grey, Chopra romanticized the violent outlaw as an essential character in on-screen story-telling. There has been a gentle charm about the person, who had to consistently strike a delicate balance as a bad man in his profession and a good person in his family.

Chopra acknowledges without disdain that it is easy to play a ‘good man’ but quite a challenge to play a ‘bad man’. While the former treads a narrow line of decency, the latter has to portray multiple shades of grey. Chopra excelled in being a conman, trickster and betrayer – as mean as a mean could be. His presence on the screen would add twist to the tale, the dark force that deems a movie spellbound. Chopra peddled his dialogues softly, making it sound cunning and sinister at the same time. Playing a perfect host, this reviewer introduced each character as they appeared on the screen while entertaining overseas friends to a movie during the 80’s. Much to their surprise, the villain was identified before the film got rolling. It had later occurred to the guests that actor like Prem Chopra was eternal villain in the industry.

Much earlier in his career, Chopra had figured out that the importance of villainy will not diminish as long as it is an inherent part of human nature. Over the decades, however, the picture has transformed. Come to think of it, the paradox is that when life was simpler, more laid-back and nobler, there were zillions of bad guys setting the screen ablaze with their evil charm, but today when there are villains all around us in real life, our cinema doesn't have too many. The emerging social convenience 'asks us to accept hero as he doubles up for the good and the bad, without questioning the equality of good and evil’.

Prem Naam Hai Mera, Prem Chopra is an intimate look at the life of one of most enduring villains of the film industry. Replete with personal anecdotes, accentuated by comments from contemporary co-actors and film-makers, it is a fascinating memoir of a person whom everybody loved to hate. Towards the end of his long career, lived to its fullest, it is clear that Prem Chopra had an exhaustive and engaging life, both on and off the screen. Did he exercise enough to present himself as a bad man? Your guess is as good as mine!

Prem Naam Hai Mera, Prem Chopra

by Rakita Nanda

Rainlight/Rupa, New Delhi

232 pages, Rs 495

True to his name, which literary translates to ‘magician’, Sahir Ludhianvi weaved magic with his verses and lyrics. So deep has been the impact of his poetry that there are moments which impromptu bring his timeless verses to life. While discharging Italian businessman Ottavio Quattrochhi’s extradition from the two-decade-old Bofors pay-off case, chief metropolitan magistrate, Vinod Yadav had aptly quoted Sahir:

‘woh afsaana jisey anjaam tak laana na ho mumkin,

usey ek khoobsurat modh dekar chhodna achchha

This was in March 2011 whereas the lyrics had come to light in January 1963. Poetry to Sahir was a reflection of his personality, and the experiences he had gained in his life. He gave the film songs the subtle charms of beauty and the pain of love, without losing out on social, material and economic consciousness. Sahir’s troubled childhood and equally troubled relationships found a permanent place in his poetry.

Hum ghamzada hain, laaye kahaan se khushi ke geet

Dengey wohi jo paayengey is zindagi se hum?

Sahir’s life was beseech ed by troubles and that is what he returned to the society without any hyperbole, except the necessary embellishment. Sahir was always on the lookout for an opportunity to incorporate the pain and torment of this country’s workers and peasants in his songs. No wonder, he was a powerful poet of dissent who always held a mirror to the society. His songs in films like Pyaasa, Naya Daur and Phir Subah Hogi are acknowledged classics.

Sahir was first a poet and then a lyricist, the only songwriter whose poetry made its way into films in its purest form. He was an eternal romantic too, conveying the physical aspect of love while talking of nature. Sahir was a literary genius who held his creativity second to none and often lamented the shallowness of film stories, film melodies and film lyrics. Not many would know that his collection of poems Talkhiyaan is considered second most popular work in Urdu literature after the Diwan-e-Ghalib.

In his painstaking work, Akshay Munwani has brought Sahir to life by exploring his childhood, by peeping into his personal life and by interpreting his career as a poet and a lyricist. For Munwani, Sahir has been as much an enigma as a poet of extraordinary brilliance. What comes out is an immensely readable book that traverses the golden era of film music of the 1950s and 1960s. In many ways, the poetic excellence of Sahir justified what Munshi Premchand had said, ‘on our touchstone, only that literature will be judged genuine, which embodies thought, the desire for freedom, the essence of beauty, the spirit of progress, and the light of reality.’ Without doubt, Sahir Ludhianvi stood up to each of those qualities and rightfully earned the title ‘the people’s poet’.

Sahir Ludhianvi: The People’s Poet

by Akshay Manwani

Harper Collins, New Delhi

Extent: 320, Price: Rs. 399

Villains on celluloid (and in real life) are necessary evils without whom ‘hero’ doesn’t get the credit of being termed ‘good’. From Sukhilal to Gabbar and from Dr Dang to Mogambo, the rustic and suave variants of villains have enthralled the audience with some memorable performances. Quite often, these are the exaggerated images of the ugly and the wicked in real life.

Through such images one can construct the social, economic and political reality prevailing in the society at that time. Even at the cost of being repetitive, villains have earned the appreciation of viewers over the decades. Tracing the advent of villains in Bollywood cinema, Tapan Ghosh locates the unending dual between the hero and villain in the backdrop of the battle of the good and the bad in our mythologies. How else have the audience been unwittingly trained to distinguish between the good and the evil, and invariably feel happy when good triumphs?

While the genre of villains has evolved in mainstream cinema, from the cruel moneylender to the charming conman, the script has remained rooted between the familiar tale of the good and the bad. Could it have been any different? Given the fact that cinema has been the most popular version of applied mythology in contemporary India, it only shows reality through the prism of imagination that runs in tandem with the vibrant traditional beliefs.

Having been a jury member of the Central Board of Film Certification, Tapan Ghosh delves on the social, cultural, political and philosophical dimensions of villainy. The villains may have transformed to match the contemporary reality; the essential of villainy has remained much the same. No wonder, filmmakers have worked overtime to create larger-than-life images of villains such that with each outing the audience can locate themselves within the environment in which the villain operates. Quite often, it is the villain who seems close to reality than the hero!

The evil and the empire of the evil have been dealt in greater detail, narrating its characterization and relevance to the script. The author has been meticulous with details on each of the villains and the vamps, paying rich tributes to the art of villainy as it evolved in Indian cinema over past hundred years. It is a veritable who’s who on Bollywood Baddies.

Though not dealt in as much detail, the author mentions in the passing that the triumph of the good over the bad is often through the same violent means. It is only when the hero gives drubbing to the bad guy that not only is the means justified but the ends too. Else, how could the audience contrast democratic violence by the hero in comparison to the nihilistic violence by Gabbar in Sholay? No wonder, therefore, that there is little chance that the earth could ever be redeemed from the presence of villains. An instinctive operation of this rule has guided humanity, irrespective of the boundaries of religion, culture, and creed.

Bollywood Baddies is an engaging take on the ‘unsung’ heroes of our cinema, and on the psychology of their persistence in our lives both on and off the screen.

Bollywood Baddies

by Tapan K Ghosh

Sage, New Delhi

213 pages, Rs 395

Why should the story of ‘Don’ matter four decades after it was first released? Simply put, despite its remake and a sequel thereof the magic of the original has yet to fade away. Need it be said that the film was ahead of its time in style, finesse and slickness. It had ran on packed houses when it was first released and still ranks tenth in the list of all time grosser in Bollywood. Its popularity has persisted all through.

It wasn't what the author had set out to narrate to his discerning readers. Behind the success of what is now called a cult film was a certain sense of emotion that has been lost in modern-day film-making. The debutant director Chandra Barot had promised to pull his producer, a well known cameraman, Nariman Irani out of his financial troubles. With his sheer grit and determination, Chandra pulled out the unimaginable on a shoe-string budget, much of which was borrowed from family and friends. Ironically, the producer had died before the release of the film and the director has remained a one-film wonder boy ever since. Chandra could not repeat the success of his debut film.

What made the film - with its slick theme, unforgettable dialogues and melodious music – tick with the audience shall remain an enigma. For those who have seen the film would agree that not only was the film fast paced, it never allowed the viewer to lose interest in the plot. Don had not only appealed to viewers of all ages, the phenomenal success saw its remakes in Tamil, Telugu and Malayalam. Interestingly, it was a rare Salim-Javed story for which there were no takers at that time. It is, however, another matter that the abandoned story ended up scripting history.

Don is the story of simple film-making at its best and giving the audience something to cheer about as they watch the characters on the big screen. Chandra’s directorial skill is apparent throughout the film, giving every actor enough space and scope to justify the characters they play in the film. Don is also about having great music and catchy numbers suitably woven into the script. It might surprise readers that the most popular song in the film, Khaike Paan Banaraswala, was a later addition to the film, upon the insistence of legendary filmmaker Manoj Kumar who thought ‘the film was heavy in the second half and needed some relief.’

The Making of Don should not only make absorbing reading for those who have been part of its phenomenal box-office success but also interest the present-day generation who have been fed on its remake and the sequel. Krishna Gopalan’s narrative, born out of interviews with the cast and crew, is as fast paced as the film itself. It may be said that the immense staying power of this cult classic rests as much on the script as on it catchy one liners. ‘Don ko pakadna mushkil hi nahin, namumkin hai’ has lived up to the promise of making Don, both the character and the film, memorable and invincible.

The Making of Don

by Krishna Gopalan

Rupa Books, New Delhi

160 pages, Rs 195

Cold wintry night had sent shudders down the spine when my thoughts had strayed towards those nameless thousands fighting for survival on the city pavements. Oscillating between pain and anguish, helplessness was writ large on such emotional pangs. Mohd. Rafi’s soothing number ‘main gaoon tum so jao’ gave expression to my emotions. Played upon request by RJ Sayema on a popular FM Channel, it was a rendition of hope borne out of despair.

Mohd. Rafi’s songs expressed every conceivable mood. Touching a wide array of emotions, his inimitable voice explored every feeling with the desired dose of sentiments. No wonder, listeners may have long forgotten the actors who mouthed his songs on screen but not his songs that have only grown in popularity ever since. Yasmin Khalid Rafi’s memoir on her father-in-law is a musical tribute to the greatest playback singer of all times.

That Rafi was a family man with a spiritual bent of mind; Yasmin gives the man behind the golden voice a persona. Rafi’s devotion to singing was borne out of his simplicity, he was always wary of causing hurt to anyone. Yasmin provides insights on what went behind the making of a great singer. Like most of us, she too was a fan who by a stroke of luck became part of the family. What follows is essentially a family narrative which could strike a chord with every reader. It is an absorbing reading on Hindi film music’s golden era.

As the author narrates nuggets of interesting anecdotes about the master, several of his memorable songs seem to play in the background. Yasmin tells us that whatever be the song, Rafi will immerse into it to bring out a memorable number that will captivate listeners. It may surprise his fans that Rafi was not particularly fond of Hindi films, ironic as this may be for someone who had lent his voice to so many of them.

Many wonder why Rafi never permitted his children to become singers. Rafi’s view was: ‘I doubt whether my children will be able to stand the rigors of the discipline that I had to follow to survive in the industry.’ Among his relationship with others in the film fraternity, Yasmin explains the apparent disagreement Rafi had with Lats Mangeshkar on the issue of royalties for their songs. Rafi was convinced that ‘our job is to sing and we get paid for it, let us not be greedy’. Greedy he never was, writes Yasmin, as he sang without fee for many new producers and musicians.

The trouble in talking about Rafi is that you never have enough of him; his voice is always in the air. Everyone has something to talk about him as Rafi belongs to millions of his fans across the world. It is over thirty years that we last heard him ‘live’ but his voice lives through us on a daily basis. Yasmin is right when she says that Rafi is the cultural ambassador for India who carries Indian music to the far corners of the world, through the medium of his innumerable songs.

Mohammed Rafi My Abba –A Memoir

by Yasmin Khalid Rafi

Tranquebar, New Delhi

190 pages, Rs 250

A reasonably long domestic flight without any inflight entertainment is best suited for flipping pages of a book that not only offers wholesome entertainment but provides unending visual imageries as well – a bioscope floating 30,000 feet above the sea level. A train or a bus journey may not be as suitable because one would need to be all by oneself in getting back in time, to test as well as to refresh one’s fond memories.

Written by one movie buff for millions of Bollywood fans, Kitnay Aadmi Thay makes no bones about the fact that it is a ‘completely useless Bollywood trivia’. Packed in eight sections are multiple entries on noticeable commonalities across Bollywood movies – from movies with long titles to remake of lifted plots; from low-profile debuts to big time flops; and, from cine cliches to Bollywood stereotypes. This and much more, the book is all about dipping into Bollywood madness and zipping it through unscathed. And, one would wonder if such a book could ever be written! The book has been written nevertheless.

It is a book about methods in screen madness - stuff that clicked at the box office and that which bombed; characters that became part of the folklore and which did not last long. Diptakirti Chaudhuri has compiled what lay scattered all over the place and yet has missed quite a few interesting nuggets. Remember V Shantaram’s Jal Bin Machhli Nritya Bin Bijli, one of the earliest films with a long title that did not go well with the audiences. On the other hand, Dulhan Wohi Jo Piya Mann Bhaye, another long title from the house of the Rajshri Films, had rocked the box office after a rather slow start. Why the former tanked and the latter attained dizzy heights shall remain an enigma?

The more the misses, the more engrossing the book turns out be. The reader involuntarily gets drawn into a race of supremacy on Bollywood information with the author. While talking about films depicting politicians in distinct light, the author forgets to mention Nayak wherein the hero, a television journalist, was anointed as the Chief Minister for a day. Though Nayak was a remake of the Tamil original Mudhalvan, both the films had done exceptionally well with the viewers. Isn’t it a significant omission?

Whether it is by design or default, such omissions take the reader through to the last page of the book. There is not much to take home though; but one emerges refreshed nevertheless. Neither is it taxing nor does it create undesirable hangover. The book stays only as long with the reader as an average bollywood movie. Much before the cabin staff starts preparing for landing, one is through with a ‘useless’ book that proves ‘useful’ engagement abroad a flight bereft of inflight entertainment. Like many readers, this reviewer wonders if a sequel to Kitnay Aadmi Thay should be in order. No prize for guessing who the writer could be!

Kitnay Aadmi Thay?

by Diptakirti Chaudhuri

Westland Ltd, New Delhi

Extent: 301, Price: Rs. 275

History has been unkind to the man who had the power of several thousand elephants. For him, strength was both a curse and a burden. Cursed as a ‘blockhead’, he nevertheless carried the burden of winning the war for his brothers. He won the war and yet achieved nothing.

Without Bhima, the story of the Mahabharata would never have been complete. Yet, he remained in the shadows of his brothers Yudhisthira and Arjuna. Considered somewhat like a comic character, mainstream rendering depicts him as a thoughtless figure that excelled in the use of mace only. But not for M T Vasudevan Nair, who pulls the legend out of mythological oblivion in his literary masterpiece and narrates the Mahabharata from a warrior’s perspective. Treated with a mixture of contempt and affection, Bhima goes about his life with passion and commitment without expecting much in return. He displayed greatest courage in war, killing all the Kauravas in direct combat. Without the supreme sacrifice of his son Ghatotkacha, Karna would have remained invincible.

Being a warrior, Bhima followed his instincts. And because of this, he alone made a vow in the gambling hall and fulfilled it too. For him, ‘a kshatriya who does not fulfill his vow acts against dharma and will be condemned to Hell’. Bhima stood by dharma all his life, not even deterred by the untimely celebration of victory by his brothers at the demise of his son in the battlefield. Bhima may have had a large body, but he had a great mind too. Yet, he was a human being who had his share of weaknesses and strengths.

Without adding any new characters to the pic, the author fills the empty spaces with meanings that have only been hinted between the lines. With the Mahabharata being a balladeer's tale, sung at temples and pilgrim places where people gathered, such liberty was only for the taking. And in doing so, the author enriches the story with the hitherto unknown perspective of one of the leading characters in the epic.

Not only Bhima’s moments of triumph remain unrecognizedand unrewarded, the warrior in him remained a loner too. The author makes the reader feel for the man who could not let lose his emotions, as there was none with whom he could share such moments. Even when told by Kunti that she didn’t know the forest-dweller who was his father, Bhima had nobody to shoulder his innermost emotions. Only the wind had burst into laughter, then!

Translated from the Malalayam original, Randamoozham, it reads much like an original text that is both revealing and engrossing. It is only through such rendition that the interest in getting back to the epic gets re-ignited.

Bhima- Lone Warrior

by M T Vasudevan Nair

Translated by Gita Krishnankutty

Harper Perennial, New Delhi

Extent: 373, Price: Rs. 350

Story of Love

Hundreds of artisans from the nondescript town of Firozabad, Uttar Pradesh, worked tirelessly for two years to put millions of small circular mirrors together to create the interiors of Sheesh Mahal. Their goal was to replicate the splendour of the Mughal era in this 3ft-high, 80ft-wide and 150ft-long makeshift glass palace, where one of the finest dance sequences of Hindi cinema was filmed—Pyaar kiya to darna kya from Mughal-e-Azam (1960)— which is deconstructed in Shakil Warsi’s new, engrossing book Mughal-e-Azam: An Epic of Eternal Love. Click picture to read more

Green for all seasons

This collection of essays by some of the prominent environmental journalists (including your blogger) in Indian and South Asia gives deep insights into their profession and its need and relevance in society. It looks at this ‘specialisation’ of journalism both in the past and the present. Underlying almost all the essays is the changing nature of media in the region and the dilemmas facing environmental journalists. The Green Pen, Keya Acharya & Frederick Noronha (editors), Sage Books, 2010, Price Rs 395

Over several decades, hip gyrations have given expression to concealed secrets and desires in Bollywood films. It is a 'visual narrative' that has been 'scripted' into the screenplay with precision. In recent years, however, these dances have flown out off the screen into popular culture across the world. Sangita Shresthova captures the many facets of Bollywood dance, a sensitive portrayal of what has often been taken as 'granted' in films.

Is it All About Hips?

by Sangita Shresthova

Sage 2011, 223 pages