Do not torment me oh!

Saif Ali Khan: Aaj mere pass Bebo hain, Raghavan hain, Pritam hain.. tumhare pass kya hain?

Sujoy Ghosh: Mere pass ek ‘Kahaani’ aur ek Bidya hain.

Saif Ali Khan: Aaj mere pass, action hain, foreign locations hain, drama hain, style hain…

Sujoy Ghosh: Mere paas substance hain.

Saif Ali Khan: Aaj mere paas..

Sujoy Ghosh: Pata hain Sir, aapke paas Royal Stag hain and you have made it large. But, I guess, I have made it… larger!

No wonder, Kahaani is still drawing a ‘house-full’ crowd on a weekend and AV theatre remains only half-filled. And as for me, I wanted to watch AV for the ‘free gift’! “Dil mera muft (Muft! Muft!) ka”. I was enthusiastic about the song and Bebo. I had fallen in love with the Bolly lyrics after a long time (Caution: Amitabh Bhattacharyya is the National Award winner, who also happens to be the lyricist of the song), “Socha tumhara bhi dil hum khareedein/ Kya daam hai bolo kaato raseedein”. But, Fancy, why did you cheat us so well? I was lured into the trap. I katoed the tickets only to realize how the film tests your patience and tortures your sanity.

Agent Vinod (AV) borrows its name from a 1977 film, produced by, well, don’t be shocked, Rajshri Productions. And you always thought Rajshri could only make a Chitchor, a Maine Pyaar Kiya, a Hum Aapke Hain Kaun! or a Hum Saath Saath Hain! Anyways. Although AV pays a small tribute to the actor of the 1977 film, Mahendra Sandhu ,which happens to be one of the many names of the agent in the film, the old film really doesn’t offer much help to the new screenplay (by Sriram Raghavan and Arijit Biswas). AV plays with the names of the characters. The agent takes up various names and the characters too have screen names which are so unlike the regular Raj and Priya Malhotras. Apart from the intricacy of the names, the ‘few’ good things about the film are the retro background score by Daniel B. George, the performance of Adil Hussain (the man who played Srikanto in Anjan Das’ Iti Srikanto) and Muraleedharan’s cinematography. And, with bated breath, I am actually struggling to find out if there was remotely anything else that can be counted as good. Yes, our Vinod is good, but why did it seem to me that he was more of a producer than an actor? Raghavan’s Ek Haeesna Thi and Johnny Gaddar were so good, that here it seems that the director had left his chair to the producer from the Illuminati to ghost direct an entertainment saga. Kareena, with her weight on the positive co-ordinates of a graph, looks pale. One bad thing that has happened to this Chameli post Jab We Met is that she suffers from a trauma of getting into the Geet mode, time and again. She is otherwise an intelligent actor and the way she had managed not to fumble with Geet in Ek Main Aur Ek Tu was commendable. Here she is very conscious and much rehearsed, so unlike a natural actor that she otherwise is. Her romance with Chhote Nawab doesn’t ignite any fire. As for the rest of the cast, Zakir Hussain and Rajat Kapoor are wasted. The bad men Shahbaaz Khan, Prem Chopra, Ram Kapoor and Gulshan Grover play their allotted parts well. And Dhritimaan Chatterjee. It seems after Om Puri’s tailor-made Police Commissioner roles, he is the new found aristocratic villain in Bollywood. Time to take up new scripts Mr. Chatterjee. We have had enough of your Janus-heads in Ekti Tarar Khonje, Kahaani and now in AV. The young man who plays Jimmy (Anshuman Singh) somehow sparkles with his angst and the chill in his looks.

The story is all about a chase. Chasing a box which is portable a nuclear bomb and The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam is its detonator. The crew surely flies on the wings of poesy! And this chase continues around the world. By the time you know who is where on the globe, you actually forget the last locale. Afganisthan, Moscow, Morocco, Karachi, Somalia and New Delhi; you can avail a virtual vacation if you survive the torture.

Vinod is no Bond, for sure. This Indian version of a stylized action/suspense thriller is definitely not like its Western counterpart. It has its tit-bits of romance here and there, supposedly emotional moments but unfortunately some intolerable action sequences. Why ape English action? Action films in India have their own merit. But money has to be drained and talents, wasted! The encounters are easily managed and before you can blink, a villain gets killed. Vinod at one point in the film, expresses how he had wanted to be a painter, but somehow got stuck as an investigative agent and enjoyed being at the transitional point between life and death with every adventure.Wish he had been one and exhibited his paintings in Paris. It could have been a better career choice than being a victim of an action director, who makes a mockery of an Indian agent. Peter Heins, look back in anger!

Saif as Agent Vinod

There’s no fun in giving out a story of a film that apparently seems to be a thriller. If it’s a chase by an Indian agent, and if you are a regular movie buff, you know who is responsible for planning a blast in the capital. But beware, we have a twist. A serious issue is highlighted and a new perspective introduced on the part of the screenplay writers who never allow the film to end. It suddenly delves into a socio-political scenario, making the common men in the audience go blank. There are humorous moments in the film that stand out in the mayhem. But that doesn’t help the editor either. The film promises never to end and it changes its locations and events as you change your ringtones on the cell phone! It drags and by the time you actually come to the end, you know why the producers included the “Pungi” song (another ‘copy and paste’ by Pritam) during the final credits. Pity the audience!

A film may take two years to complete, but this can never be the product of a two-year ‘research’. Style has never been a substitute for substance. So it’s your choice. If you want to sit for almost three hours in an AC theatre and enjoy the confusion, AV is that dose of entertainment. As for me, if the Agent asks me, my answer won’t hurt him. I liked your shoes Agent, your cars and your efforts, bas “mujhe aapka film achcha nahin laga!” Yes, Sire, “They say His legacy is the one he made”. Now, with an AV added to your feather, they’ll say: it’s this dud of a film that he has also produced!

With Pleasure....

Mr. Ralph Spencer, the phoenix that arose from Jimmy Valentine’s ashes – ashes left by the flame of a sudden and alterative attack of love – remained in Elmore, and prospered. He opened a shoe-store and secured a good run of trade.

A Retrieved Reformation (for me, Jimmy Valentine) – O.Henry

I was fascinated by the idea of a phoenix when I had first read Jimmy Valentine. It rises from its own ashes and is reborn anew to live again. Wish we could all do so. Or, is that that we all have a phoenix in all of us? For some one who has seen the best as well as the worst of the times, rising from his/her own ashes is not a big deal. Troubled times are but passing moments, have faith in love, it just might resurrect you!

Finally, I had the pleasure of watching The Artist. Michel Hazanavicius’ The Artist. Jean Dujardin’s The Artist. The Academy Award winner, The Artist. I must admit, I have been bestowed with friends who appreciate my love for cinema and make ways, quite genuinely of course, to help me watch shows that are otherwise pretty costly. Thank you dear(s) for making my wishes come true and thank you all who encourage me to write! Now writing on an English movie, with a French director is Herculean task for me. But as I thought of it, I recalled a day, almost a decade back, when I had actually written a piece on an English movie! I.S.C. Examination and I composed an essay on Titanic as my favorite film, and readers, it is still one of my most cherished movies ever and I vow to watch it on 3D, April 2012, at a theatre, perhaps not so near to me!

The Artist follows the old premise of films-within-a film and takes us back to the late Twenties and early Thirties Hollywood with an acclaimed silent movie star George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) and a chirpy, beguiling young female lead Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo) at the onset of the talkies. The film makes the literal use of the proverb ‘pride goes before a fall’ as Valentin refuses to compromise. He feels no need to ‘speak’ to draw his audience. “If that’s the future, you can have it”, he ‘says’ to the studio boss Al Zimmer (John Goodman) and the producers, who watch a test-footage on screen. Miller rises as the budding star of Hollywood with her ‘Beauty Spot’ and the ‘young’ face, as well as the ‘sound’ of the new age cinema. (I wish we could have heard her once!) You can guess it right, Miller has been an ardent follower of Valentin and as she is accidentally pictured with her favorite star, her life begins to change. A hoofer that she is, her attitude (“Miller. The name’s Peppy Miller!”) as well as her talent help her in the journey of making it big in the tinsel town. Valentin produces Tears of Love but fails miserably as the talkies survive in the ballet of the fittest. Deserted by his wife (who had been trying to ‘talk’ to her husband for a long time) and left alone with the doggie (Uggie, whose presence heightens up the EQ of the film, somewhat Chaplinesque too) and Clifton, his secretary (James Cromwell), Valentin has a tough time living only in the resonating silent memories of the past.

He puts his old reels on fire, except ‘clutching’ the one which Peppy had her first role. An excellently captured footage of the two, dancing, is a haunting image of brilliance. His terrier saves his master and as we have thought, he is sheltered at Peppy’s house who is delighted at his recovery. For a man who has lived his pride, finding all his auctioned belongings at her place is not easy. He leaves her place only to return to his burnt apartment. As he contemplates suicide, our heroine arrives and his life is saved, the second time. For those who have not yet seen the film, let Valentin say the last word!

The Artist makes every possible move effective in its use of silence. Hazanavicius does not retort to silence because the film is set in the era of silent pictures itself, but he knows that sound and fury would only mar the magic. Ludovic Bource’s music captures it all and Guillaume Schiffman’s cinematography breathes life in every frame. What would our own Bharata say, if he was alive? The film is a triumph of the Rasas, the power of abhinaya: Bhavas, Vibhavas, Anubhavas, Sthayibhavas, Vyabhicharibhavas and Satvikabhavas and again the eight Sthayibhavas namely Rati (love), Hasa (laughter), Shoka (sorrow), Krodha (anger), Utsaha (energy), Bhaya (fear), Jugupsa (disgust) and Vismaya (amazement). These are the driving forces in the film. Colours are not celebrated here, only silence is amidst the backdrop of an astounding musical score.

The scenes where Peppy slides her hand in Valentin’s coat only to caress herself, or when Valentin watches and later joins to the dance-steps of Peppy from behind the partially-raised studio backdrop, or when he finds it painful to hear himself as the talkies replace the silent pictures, make you realize how powerful silence can be. The moment Valentin confronts his shadow on the screen is terrifyingly Jungian.

Valentin, like my Valentine in the beginning, rises from his ashes. And the director safely plays with a plot that might not seem very new, but makes monochrome look sexier like never before and reminds you of what a ‘picture’ as moving as The Artist is capable of doing.

Mr. Director, what’s your next? We shall wait, “With pleasure, Sir!”

Ghostly Fun!

There was a time when Bengali films meant the clinching fists of Prosenjit or Chiranjeet. Cheap and horribly shot dance sequences and the same background scores for all the revenge dramas. There were rare glimpses of a Mrinal Sen or a Budhdhadeb Das Gupta movie but they only appeased the critics and went un-noticed , except for a few shows at Nandan, thanks to the National Awards! Then was Rituparno Ghosh. “Unishe April” which brought the Bengali audience back to the theaters. And then there was no looking back; if a Rituparna-Prosenjit starrer “Shasurbari Zindabaad” allured the masses, “Dahan” and “Bariwali” attracted the classes. Result? A clear distinction between the so called ‘art’ films (antlamir ekshesh, for which I am still criticized!) and the ‘commercial’ cinema. Thankfully, the demarcations are blurred today. You have either good films or bad ones.

As I caught a show of “Bhooter Bhobishyot” today, I had an amazing experience. Just imagine, you are ten minutes away from the evening show at Highland Park. You have seen on the net that there are only 8 tickets left, two hours before the show time. Still you leisurely walk and stand at the queue at the BO ticket counter. Five minutes left for the show and a man comes and offers you two tickets for the same show, and that too, your favorite aisle seats!! What can you say? Perhaps,"Bhoutik”.

Parambrata is an ad film-maker. He comes for his recce at ‘Choudhury Bari’, a heritage building somewhere in Kolkata, accompanied by his assistant director Rinka and production manager. As he waits for his DOP Sumit da to arrive, he meets a man (Sabyasachi), who tries to help him find a good plot for his feature film, which Ayan (Parambrata) wants to direct. What follows is an intriguing take on consumerism and the director humorously brings out the pathos of the ghosts of Kolkata as they struggle for a place to survive. The ghosts have been deprived of accommodation as the consumerist approaches have resulted in the demolition of the oldest buildings in the city. The ghosts have not been able to find a suitable representation either in the government, or in the media, they have not participated in meetings and ‘michhils’ and they remain marginalized after their death! The ‘Choudhury Bari’ is their last hope which has not yet been demolished. So an interview board is set up and only the eligible ghosts are accepted as the residents of the house.

The ghosts include an old-time actor Kadalibala Debi, a ‘Bangaal’ patriot, a Kargil-martyr, a soldier from the Battle of Plassey, a Bhojpuri rickshawpuller, a wannabe rock star who had died because of a drug-overdose, a charming young girl who committed suicide (a spoof on a city love-story that made to the headlines, if you recall well!), an English civil servant from the East India Company and of course, the ‘Raibahadur’ himself, Darpanarayan Roy Choudhury. (Ray reminder!) National and international ghosts struggle for their existence but only the selected candidates are allowed to stay.

The ghosts celebrate ‘Bhoot Choturdoshi’ as they walk on ramp and sing their hearts out. The ‘Bangaal’ patriot being a true Bong, brings Ilish from the market to have it devoured, the rock-star strums his guitar to voice out his rebellious self, Kadalibala Devi attracts the Plassey-soldier and the patriot, the Kargil-martyr is vested with the duty of maintaining discipline in the house and by now I hope you can fathom the laughter riot that goes on the screen!

The actors Swastika, Samadarshi, Bishwajeet, Mumtaz, Paran and George Baker need no praises. Uday Shankar Pal as the Bhojpuri rickshawallah who mouths “hami to garib aadmi ache” continuously is a sheer pleasure to watch. But the man who needs a special mention is undoubtedly Sumit Samadder who plays the ‘bangaal’. His lust for Padma-r-Ilish even after death and his wrong usage of some obscene words are so brilliantly fused that he can any day become one of the most unforgettable characters of Bengali cinema. Saswata as ‘Hath-kata-kartik’ and Mir as the promoter ‘Bhut’oria are as usual screen-delights. Samadarshi is a comic-genius and after ‘Ichche’, he proves that comedy can be his cup of tea too! The way he criticizes bourgeoisie mindsets, corrects ‘Che’ as ‘Shey’ Guevara or makes Koel (Mumtaz) understand his romantic ideas are the funny moments in the film. The eternal battle between the Hindus and the Muslims or the ‘Bangaal’s and the ‘Ghoti’s attain newer heights, all for fun sake.

The film takes off very well but the pace sometimes falters in the second half. But that’s forgiven. Anik Datta blurs the real and the absurd and the climax is indeed ghostly! The most enjoyable moments in the film are the ones where the ghosts speak in rhymes (remember Rekha in “Khoobsurat”?) I loved it! Only if the director had taken special care to continue it for the rest of the film!

The ghosts unite to have revenge on the human beings who are trying to bring the heritage buildings down for their own commercial needs. Do they succeed? If so, how? You need to watch it for the answer. I hate giving out the story, you know!But do watch out for 'Spookbook' the official social network site for the ghosts, you never know you might land up with an 'item girl'!

Abhik Mikhopadhdhay is the DOP of the film and after a long time, he is back with his shades on screen. Raja Narayan Deb, who arranged music for Rituparno’s “Noukadubi” is the music director here and harmonizes well. But the background score somehow reminds you of Satyajit Ray, but since the director makes a spoof, he takes the liberty. Anik Datta comes from an advertising background and the music is just the kind you would expect from an ad-man.

“Bhooter Bhobishyot” is one of those rare movies, which cannot be given any particular dictum of an art or a commercial movie. It aims at pleasing the audience and perhaps, making the producer happy with the returns! The layered narratives on the socio-political scenario and a message on the demolition of the heritage buildings for the ‘malls and mutro’(!) are conscious efforts on the part of the director who merges pleasure and purpose to make you laugh as well as think.

If you want some crude jokes, if you want to see a beautiful Swastika, if you want some fun and if you want to revisit an historical past, this pot-boiler spiced with passion, emotions, an item song, a crisis and a resolution should be a treat to make you forget the fever and the fret. Go, pay a visit to the future of the past and enjoy this "chhaya" chhobi!

Bingle-Bog!

The best thing about a blog is that you get a scope to scribble down your thoughts. When I started writing mine I had no clue what exactly what I wanted to write about. I had just wanted to capture few moments of my city and make it available to the readers. Readers?! I still wonder if it is read. But the greatest achievement has been my four religious ‘followers’ and the two readers who consistently comment on my non-sense prose. Good, at least I am read. Well, if I had wanted to write a personal diary I would not have created a blog. If you do not have readers, you are not encouraged to write. You want people to read you, love what you write and criticize your views. Although I haven’t come across much criticism yet, I would love to face some. May be, when I write, I wear the mask of a ‘good’ person, quite unlike the ‘monster’ that I have lately turned into, well almost!

Today, I felt the urge of writing again. As I was scratching my head, I realized I was getting bald. My salon-man, Sunil keeps on complaining that I go for a hair-spa. But, he has no idea about my financial conditions right now. I assure him that I’ll have it asap. He is convinced. Thank God, I do not need to say, “Aap convinced ho gaye, ke main aur bolun?” Anyways, as I was sitting with my laptop, the very LCD screen gave me a shudder. My father, an essentially good man, keeps on scolding me for my lappy’s present condition. Yes, I know I am responsible for it, but then everyone’s not that careful. My lappy is my best friend at the end of the day. It knows what I write, it knows what I edit, it knows what I publish and it very well knows what I delete. And it is actually my 3a.m. friend, so why try to keep it clean and make it look new? Let it be as it is, for all good relations do come with an expiry date!

I kept on thinking, what I write tonight. I wanted my readers to give something new to read. Let’s say, talking about the latest political heart-throb Akhilesh Yadav. Or may be the railway budget massacre! But then you know, I am not a politically aware person. I mean yes I know it’s so very important to be politically aware of the situations around, but I feel I lack the acumen to pen down my thoughts if I have to write my blog on serious matters. I would perhaps sound like a nouveau blogger trying to cope with a situation he is hardly aware of. So I decided to discard the thought. Let my blog be a sheer reflection of my own thoughts, the ramblings of an unsound mind. Politically, I mean. Now does that make me an irresponsible citizen? May be. But I have surely known to care and not to care. Eliot promish!!

And now, when I am yet to begin my blog tonight, I see a few paragraphs already being framed. What have I written so far? Don’t know if they are coherent; don’t know if they make any sense. Well, you know by now that I have no intention to make my writing sensible!

And before I sign off tonight, one slice of life. While I was returning home today, I witnessed a car almost hitting a man, accidentally of course. The driver comes out of the car and hugs the man. The victim, showering curses at the driver, tries to break free but the driver insists, “Ami jokhon korechhi, ami thik korbo. Apnake ami chhere debo apni jekhane jete chan. Sorry.” The driver cajoled him and took him to his car. I boarded an auto and was gone.

Hug someone. Someone needs it. But be sure, you have acquired the art. Don’t fake it.

Bon Nuit!

Scripting narratives, Searching truths!

You can rise from your own ashes and make the world realize that you have not accepted defeat. Sujoy Ghosh, the director of Kahaani precisely does so. Remember his last offering, the miserable Aladin? If you don’t, it’s good for you. Perhaps for him, the Genie has fulfilled his wish, finally. Vidya Balan. Remember how she was severely criticized for her extra pounds and her fashion faux-pas in Heyy Babyy? But how those extra pounds of flesh and a little cleavage here and a little moaning there paved her way to the National Awards, through the dirty alleys of Bollywood!

Well this one was serious. Now imagine a packed theatre, where the audience suddenly burst into laughter as the credits thank “Miss Mamata Banerjee, Hon’ble Chief Minister of West Bengal”!! Kolkata is bizarre, “Ami shotti bolchhi”.

A pregnant woman arrives in the city, is almost forced to hire a cab and the cabbie turns out to be a real sweetheart, giving her his contact number as he reads her “discomfort”. He turns out to be a true friend and Usha Uthup goes, “Chhote se chhote ho koi yahaan phir bhi dil hai bada/ Khara bhi khota bhi har type ka bondhu milega yahaan”. After a long time, here comes a song that celebrates the true spirit of the city and its “double role” status. “Ami shotti bolchhi.”

Shakespeare has been so wrong! “What’s in a name?” Trust me Mr.Bard, there’s so much in a name. I have a name that make people go mad and although I have a “bhalo naam” and a “daak naam”, yet the variations make me feel I should have remained nameless! And imagine Vidya Bagchhi’s trials as she just tries to make people around the city realize that she is V-idya and not B-idya!! I hate distortions in my name, and it’s a confession. “Ami shotti bolchhi.”

The film takes off with a ‘kahaani’ of a poisonous gas-attack in Kolkata metro and as it proceeds, we go on knitting stories within stories and one ‘kahaani’ follows another and so on. Crimes unfold, blood sheds and the tapestry is woven around one woman, here called Vidya ‘Bidya’ Bagchhi. God knows, if her career graph grows in this way, how many more adjectives would be attached to our own reel-Silk! And Vidya, makes you so comfortable. As a stranger in the city, she never complains about it, unlike many of our contemporary films, and we know why she calls Kolkata her ‘second home’! It shows on screen. Her knight in the film, Parambrata is a perfect companion. Not only does he make a six-month -old police man look convincing but also plays his part pretty well. And we recall the duo in Balan’s debut, “Bhalo Theko”. Time flies, talent ferments. “Ami shotti bolchhi”.

Vidya Bagchhi, aided by Rana/Satyoki (and these several identities!) (Parambrata) leaves no stone unturned to unfold the mystery behind her ‘missing’ husband. During her search, they come across who’s-who of the state apparatus: Government employees, Investigation Bureau chiefs, Police inspectors, Teachers, HR recruiters and of course, the two cha-boys, Bishnu and Poltu! Khan, played brilliantly by Nawazuddin Siddiqui, is a show-stealer. They make and unmake their own ‘kahaani’s to revisit a two-year-old heinous crime and in the process ‘uses’ Vidya Bagchhi to reach their ends. I am not here to unfold my ‘kahaani’ and spoil your interest, so let this much be the gist of Sujoy’s ‘kahaani’. I will not divulge an iota of the taut screenplay, any more. Again, trust me, “Ami shotti bolchhi.’

Let chill run down your spines, let the flavours of the city of joy be soaked in your veins, let the continuous background scores of R.D. intoxicate you, let the oh-not-so-new metaphor of Durga maa divulge newer dimensions for you. But here again, I can not but bring in Rituparno’s Utshab. Remember how the director had deliberately avoided any visual of Durga puja in his film? We could only know decipher the five days of the puja from the loudspeakers that served an excellent background score in the relationship saga. Here Sujoy Ghosh mixes and matches the festival according to his own wish and the way he makes use of the Puja days is brilliantly captured by the cinematographer Setu. Brilliant work, Mr. Ghosh! I am sure, you’ll love this treatment, “ami shotti bolchhi”.

The entire ensemble is from Kolkata: Dhritiman Chattrejee, Saswata Chatterjee, Kharaj Mukherjee, Shantilal Mukherjee, Kamalinee and even in a cameo, newcomer model-tuned actor, Pamela. Everyone seems to fit in their roles to the T as if they could not have asked for a better exposure in national cinema. And how can the director forget his Genie? “Ekla cholo re” in Big B’s baritone and his narration at the end of the movie add to the seriousness of the film. And by the time you arrive at the truth, you know, to be weak is never a miserable thing! Ah, Rupam and Anupam, “shotti bole shotti kichhu nei”! “Ami shotti bolchhi”.

Few questions remain unanswered to me. Or may be, I am answered. I still don’t know, but they are open to interpretations and that’s exactly what this Kahaani is all about! You keep on interpreting, you keep on being teased and you keep on guessing till you know, dusting is not a bad habit after all! “Ami shotti bolchhi”.

Let there be kindly light!

We have it all. And this leap year, with an added day, well, Amen! I am talking about the special days. Three more days to go and you have one of the most awaited days of the year: Valentine’s Day ke din main, keh doon unkaheen..!

Two days ago, the florists were on a high. Rose day and then there you go! Friends, Lovers, Countrymen and yes, you too, bought roses for the near and the dear ones. Roses, roses, roses everywhere and not a petal to smell (ah! for me), but it was a delight again to observe people walking with a stemmed rose, red mostly, yellow and white as the pockets permitted. You could almost sense that the V-day was near. Then let’s take yesterday. Jodi-makers’ and breakers’ day perhaps. And they called it “A Proposal Day”. Many of you must have proposed: to your lovers for the handcuffs to be tied this year, to your bosses for a raise, to your maids for adding that extra pinch of salt to your food, to your parents to let you grow up finally, to your government for letting you be more vocal on Facebook and awaiting with an unending list of several other proposals.

Today. Beat it if you can, it’s a “Teddy Bear” day! Looking at those steeply priced soft toys at a ‘mall nearest to you’, you might wonder how to spend the ‘mehnat ki kamai’ on your beloved and your loved, buying them teddies. The teddy would make them fall for you, your love won’t!

Oh come on, how cynical is this, isn’t it? Let it be, we only need an occasion to celebrate, one more reason to show we care, one more moment to feel yes, am alive. It’s only when the morning newspapers show that a widow with a kid by her side has been shut out by her in-laws and shunned by police, has spent the entire night in an open, you might wonder that the little boy might deserve a teddy or a rose and the mother, a decent acceptance by the society and her loved ones. One incident alone can question your civilization, and what’s the point if we do not consider these things and only announce days like your-most-loved day or your-most-despised-people day or say, or as gross as a no-potty day?

Celebrate, Spend but think! Exchange shoes and re-think!

Paving a new ‘path’!

The lights go off and the regular advertisements pop up on the screen. The censor certificate unfolds and ah, the wait is over. The year’s first Dharma Productions’ release. But what’s this? The Dharma logo is seen but where is the musical refrain from KJo’s Kuch Kuch Hota Hain? Instead, there’s a devotional score by Ajay Gogavale, ('Deva Shree Ganesha' the filmi invocation that is), which is also a song from the new film itself. They have changed their music this time and for the devout followers of the Dharmas, like me, it is pretty disappointing; the KKHH music had been haunting since 1998 and then suddenly there’s a leap. Well, that is precisely why we adore the phenomenon called Karan Johar. No cribbing about the excess use of glycerin to activate the lachrymal glands of the audience by this producer/director. He has had his share of criticism since his debut in 1998 but you can not ignore that his films get the cash registers ringing at the BO. Agneepath is his leap, his brain-child and his strategy. This is the mark of a true artist today. No wonder, when he made his K3G, he was criticized heavily for this family melodrama. But no director, (since Ramesh Sippy’s Sholay), could bring together an ensemble of Big B, Jaya, SRK, Kajol, Hrithik and Kareena on the silver screen with aplomb.The critics barked but the money flowed in. And if you ask me, when shown on the television channels today, it still is able to arouse the EQ to such an extent that tears run down the cheeks. My dear friend, Chanchal Roychoudhury would surely second this (Chanchal, I acknowledge you! :) What I would like to say is making a commercial film is a harder task than say, adapting literary works. They have to cater to a greater audience and KKHH, K3G, KANK and MNIK have all just done that.

Agneepath (2012) is all about changes. Apart from the background score during the production logo, the film alters the original script of the 1990 ‘cult’ movie too. Besides these, the film changes the definition of a commercial revenge-action genre. In an era when we talk about the changing scenario of Indian films, with a Dev D, a Delhi Belly, a Dhobi Ghaat or a My Friend Pinto, Dharma’s latest offering is like putting the same old wine in a new bottle, but how!! I will not write about who did what, what happened and what followed. What I want to share is that I am not an ardent follower of violence on screen, especially Hindi films. The Salman Khan fans might assassinate me, but what we have seen in Ready, Dabaang or Bodyguard were either remakes of other regional movies or simply worked because of the man himself. But Agneepath differs. Not only does it portray violence in a stylized form à la RGV school but also combines a few aesthetics to enhance the complexities of relationships.

The first forty five minutes is a treat. The child artiste Arish is an ‘actor’ to watch out for. The expository scenes are brilliantly shot and the film prepares you for a ride through the known alleys of a Shakespearean tragedy. The lust for power and the father-son relationships kept reminding me of Macbeth and King Lear. While watching Mandwa I kept thinking could it be like the island inhabited by Prospero and Miranda in The Tempest? Such was the magic-spell of the two legendary cinematographers Kiran Deohans and Ravi K. Chandran and they have captured Kaancha and his ‘Lanka’ in dark colours with ‘thunder, lightning and the rain’. (I know it is a bad habit of mine, but I can not keep the bard at bay, his works haunt me, even if I am watching Saawariya or Saat Khoon Maaf or Rajneeti.) As the film proceeds in the first half, characters evolve and the power-plays take their courses. Agneepath is a ‘man’ film, and therefore it celebrates fatherhood in significant aspects: the relationship of Vijay (Hrithik) with his father, Rauf Lala (Rishi Kapoor, in a bravura performance) with his two sons, as well as Vijay and Kaancha’s (Sanjay Dutt) with his father are perfectly blended in this gory drama.

The second half comparatively slows down but our own Vijay Deenanath Chauhan, Hrithik performs the magic again. His histrionics, the anguish and the angst in his eyes make him a perfect choice for the tailor-made role. The supporting cast is no less. Of course, now we know that Om Puri, as an honest police commissioner is unbeatable. He plays it with élan and although he has played it for years, no one else perhaps would be able to put himself in his shoes for a more convincing portrayal. Putting oneself in another’s shoes has been captured well, literally and metaphorically.

I do not want to compare the original with the remake. The genre was a favorite among the film-makers during the late 80s and early 90s but no one dares to remake such unreal movies these days. The Karans have done that. The use of colours, the shuddering camera movements, the monstrous Kaancha and a well-scripted revenge play, Agneepath makes you fall in love with the absurdity called Bollywood.

Few things however never change. Priyanka Chopra is wasted. The film gives an adrenaline rush but it still fumbles with the portrayals of a ‘ma’ figure, a ‘behn’ (recall, The Dirty Picture) and the supporting pillar in the beloved. Piggy Chops delivers well but you want to have her more on screen. And yes, the production house has again changed another known format; the music director duo,Ajay-Atul are new to the camp and the producers have deliberately avoided their favorites Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy. The background score is good although one can vaguely recall Vaastav’s score if one carefully notes.

Agneepath is a masala movie. The hero (anti-hero!) sheds tears, sings with his beloved, dances, prays, loves, avenges and dies. The heroine reciprocates, the villain grunts and the police chases. The formula, tried and tested albeit the techniques are new. Only if the editor Akiv Ali could have used his pair of scissors more judiciously for the second half, things would have been just perfect. And yes, the driving source of the protagonist, the poem ‘Agneepath’ by Harivansh Rai Bachchan has been deftly used in the climax.

All said and done, I am still wondering why did the producers use the rippling-tattooed biceps of Dutt for a film set between 1977 and 1992. And however she tries, Katrina Kaif can never arouse that ‘chikhni chameli’ oomph; she is too polished to look that. Yes, Shreya Ghoshal sings an item number for the first time and instead of the statutory warning in the beginning, “Cigarette smoking is injurious to health” flashes on screen as and when Kaif lights the cigars dangling between the lips of her “bhookhe shers”. Changes, again!

‘Fair’ is not that 'foul' after all!

Suddenly ran down the memory lane! Remember an essay you used to write, in those nascent years of school: ‘A Visit to a Fair’, or ‘Ekti melar avigyata’? For me the alluring part of the ‘mela’ has been the gilepis and the shingaras (samosas never taste good, shingaras do: “shingara re shingara, tor je dekhi shing khara!”) The stuffing, the deeply fried crunchy exterior … yummy! Food, I mean, has always been my thought for life. And as I visited the 36^th Kolkata Book Fair, the thought revived in me. Yes, you can satisfy your taste buds to the core at this fair. Apart from the Anandas, the Mitra and Ghoshes, the Penguins and the Projapotis, one food stall that has attracted me always and perhaps most of my friends here would acknowledge, is Ben-Fish. The batter fried fish, or the prawn pakoras, chilli fish or the fingers; I have adored dipping them in the sauce and lick my fingers till I went for a second serving. I missed my stall this time. The failure to locate a Ben-Fish stall was like, damn! Why did I join the crowd here? Okay, there’s no queue at the entrances for the tickets, okay, we are getting ‘free’ water pouches and hoarding them in our bag-packs, okay, there seems to an organized surveillance, okay, the traffic is too perfectly controlled t be true in Kolkata, so what? I still I missed my ‘butter’ fry! ;) You can never keep a Bengali away from a plate of biryani or junkies.. and after a tiring visit to well, yes, three stalls, we headed to the food court, devouring sheikh-kababs and luchi-kosha mangsho, and a few cups of very badly brewed cardamom tea. I admit that these days I am not reading much and finally I have been forced to hear this truth and have been severely penalized by my friends: they did not buy me any!

The most rewarding part of course in the day has been a glimpse at the crowd. Here are a few snippets. A newly fallen-in-love guy asked his beloved to go out for stall-hopping and the demure charm in the eyes of the girl resisting her lover’s wish yet simultaneously tempted to go, caught my attention. What was more interesting was another girl, perhaps a friend of the beloved here, encouraged the boy to take her out, inspite of her denials. Love blooming at the book fair, on a Saraswati puja day didn’t go unnoticed. An old man on his crutches, accompanied by his wife, came to the fair for a few particular books and it was very evident that he found it very difficult to walk through the busy crowd. Yet, his love for books did not hinder his struggle; he made his way to reach his stall and perhaps, he had got his books too. A little boy, hardly ten, had been graced with only one book this time and his constant wailing for a few more had not gone well with his parents. The ever-complaining mother, however, could not be convinced.

Local labor and daily wages. Remember the summer jobs hunts after the final days of school? I tried. Spent some fifty bucks for preparing a CV and applied at cafes and book shops. Yes, the western notion had not been of much help, yet I never gave up. Anyways, at one of the stalls, I came across two boys, who were both in the eleventh standard and had taken a part time assignment at the stall till the fair is over. Eavesdropping. No harm in it, right? “Taka chai boss, kichhu taka” is all I could decipher as the substance of their conversation, as they devoured their snacks standing at a corner of the stall.

“Boi dakchhe boi” and the theme song, (yes, Shantanu Moitra, Kaushiki Desikan and Monali Thakur again!) acted as a ‘parfait’ (am in that French-Italian mood this night. Hangover, you can say) background score for the book lovers. Going through the pages of a new book and then enamored with the fresh faint fragrance of the pages, I realized there were so many fictions that were being written around me. Some stories that can only touch your chord deep inside and you can feel the goodness around, the ability of the common crowd to absorb the little happiness disregarding everything else. ‘Mela’, surely unites. It unites friends, as in my case, it unites the book-worms with their coveted books; it unites foodies with platters of delicious cuisines. It unites souls: the one who bumped on me and said ‘sorry’, the man at the tea-stall who, smilingly said, ‘khuchro deben du taka please’ or the woman who came to us and said ‘ei prothom Japan’er stall hoechhe, bhetore dekhun’ are all strangers to me. The warmth mattered. The stories of the lovers, the old man, the little boy or two friends working at the stall have all united under one roof at the ‘Milan Mela’ complex to write narratives of their own. I am a bad writer and perhaps, a worse narrator. Just wanted to share the fictions that I witnessed. To wrap up, keeping in tune with the theme this year, ‘perdonatemi’ for my writing, it is just an attempt to capture moments. It is an attempt to feel good.

aPARAJITA tUMI!

A two year ‘gap’, a beautiful story, two dazzling ladies, heart-wrenching musical score, stunning photography, restrained performances. Yet, I wonder if he still could be called “Aparajito Anirudhdho”!
“Aparajita Tumi” is a tribute to women (an adaptation of Sunil Ganguly’s ‘Dui Naari Haathe Torobari’). The two ladies in the film, Padmapriya and Kamalinee are ravishing. Roy Choudhury’s female leads are rare gems. After “Antaheen’s” Radhika Apte, here we have another dusky beauty Padmapriya (an interesting combination of Mahie Gill and Tabu), who carries the entire film on her shoulders. Kamalinee’s Ushashee with her ‘hour-glass figure’ adds to the nuances of this relay-tion-ship story! Prosenjit is good, Chandan Roy Sanyal rehearsed but stands out in his void. Indraneil Sengupta in his cameo as Yusuf (with Bangladeshi accent) is sensitive. The film comes closer to “Dosar” in its treatment of the extra-marital affair and Kuhu (Padmapriya) returning to her ailing husband and attending him is an echo of Kaberi and Kaushik. But does she forgive him like Kaberi does?
The opening sequence with the roaring waves acts as a prelude to the emotional turbulence of the characters involved. And as the story proceeds we delve deep into the psyche of the characters and it is perhaps here that the film starts to falter. The lack of prominent action hampers the pace of an otherwise adroitly directed venture. Relationships are ‘prolonged intrusions’ comment Pradeep and Ushashee, and perhaps the director wants his audience to soak up the flavors of passions, pains, desires and choices in this two-hour ‘roopkatha’.
The striking and repetitive metaphors of the bridges and the ‘Mind-the-gap’ conversation are amazingly collaged, and so apt is Ronojoy’s (Sanyal) “A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!” But the triumph, definitely, is of the brave queens, even if one apparently loses the battle and leaves the battlefield, and the other succumbs to her circumstances and prepares to fight her own on the home-front. What was striking was the portrayal of Anish (Kalyan Roy) and his search for home-land. The director merges several complex issues, personal as well as political, in the film and attempts a lyrical montage on screen.

BEDROOM, BOREDOM!

It credits Tagore for his "Additional lyrics" and 'Mayabono Biharaini' is wasted as it gets veiled behind the conversation of the three friends. There was no reason to keep the song in the film,sung, not with the same conviction as her earlier rendition, by 'jagorone' Somlata. Apart from this what 'Bedroom' offers is consistent boredom! Apart from few capturing one liners like "Amar theke expectation? ami to C.P.M." and "Bangla serial benche acche ma-mashi-manusher jonno" put in the mouth of Rahul, the only man to watch out for, the film has just nothing new to offer. Relationships?? Haven't we seen this and heard that before? and how many times? We have a director who wants to make his audience laugh at the contemporary Bengali cinema, politics, journalist ethics and Tagore, and unfortunately fails miserably! Even a forced cathartic effect in the end fails to arouse either pity or fear. What my fellow audience took as a laughathon in the first half turned out to be yawnathon post interval. Should I pity the director, or live in fear for his next release?!
No, I should have stayed back in my Bedroom instead and enjoyed 'furfure ek roder jonmodin'.

My life, my ways…

Change, we all know, is the only constant in our lives. Be it in our personal or professional fronts, socio-political, economic fronts, change is inevitable. However, I always thought that no matter what comes, few things in my life will never change. Kolkata is my city, a place where my heart resides, a city that has given me newer dimensions to my life and bestowed upon me such warmth that I have been looking for. I never thought I would move away from the city.

But change was in the offing. And I had no forecast that my life would change overnight. Criticisms and applauses alike, I had to soak in the opinions of all those who matter in my life. I always think I have that Hamlet-ian streak in me! “To be or not to be” has been my question since, well, when? Finally when I decided that I would move to Delhi, (after weeks of sleepless nights, after brooding over thoughts that if I did, I have to say good bye to the secured monthly salary cheque!), I was more than happy and I still do not know what made me so happy. I knew myself to be someone who loves to play safe. Things have always happened to me the way I wanted to. Graduation, post-grads, M.Phil academics was where my heart was and years went by as I moved on from one rung of the ladder to another. What could have been a perfect life for a middle-class (no class-ist connotation that is!) Bengali like me, my job went on to become my nightmare. I shuddered at the thought of going to the school I was working and by and by I found it to a lackadaisical attempt. I am not a socialist was not meant to be! I still love the children there, but perhaps I love myself a little more. And lo! In a month’s time, I delivered my resignation and today I am here, in the capital, where am still looking for my “dil” to acknowledge this city, “dilwalon ka shahar”, Dilli.

It would me wrong to say, am not liking it. It has everything, well almost, that one craves for a good life. Amidst the humdrum, what I miss is my short adda sessions over a cup of tea or an orange-mint julep at Dolly’s or a cup of café latte at CCD or my Saturday nights at Oly pub or Someplace else, or just going around the city in a cab, or a dip in the Ganges. And yes I miss Bangla movies and my favorite haunt, Fame cinemas at Highland Park.

Yesterday, I was at the market and people flocked to the nearby paan-wala for a sachet of “sikhar”. Suddenly, I knew wherever you arethings are at their own places, for few things never change like the road-side cigarette shops and the eternal need for sikhars. So no complaints, no Hamletian dilemma, let life happen to me, and let me happen to life… after all, zindagi na milegi dobaara….

"staccato"!

This piece is dedicated to the one who, like a spark, suddenly ignited in me, my long lost urge of writing for my blog. A year has passed. My blog still remains unwritten, unread. I started it so that I could capture the sensitive essences of the slices of my life in this city. But I could never do justice to my blog. So here I am again with a vulnerable decision to start afresh.

The last year has been quite interesting. I have attained newer heights. I have received so much from life. But this year started off on a wrong note. Avishek passed away. And I still find it untrue. I am unnerved at every thing I do since it reminds me of him. I have had my best days of my life in college. And he was undoubtedly one of the reasons for making those three years so special. We had spent a week in Vizag in August 2003. I have my most memorable moments there. He was (disgustingly past tense) a critic par excellence. I had never been criticized so vehemently in my entire life. Miss his criticisms, miss his presence.

I don’t know exactly what I have to write today. In the midst of this chaotic city life, I am still unmoved. People, like race horses, galloping. No one dares to remain static. Money matters, a good life does. To be honest, I have fallen in love with my work. It gives me a chance to see the ‘other’: the kind of life any city man or a woman would dread to think of, where ambition finds an entirely different dimension, where children play and do not think of their home-works for the next day, where people work yet they are contented with what they have, never asking for more. Satisfaction comes easily. What is required perhaps is the mindscape. The mind, we know, makes a hell of a heaven or a heaven of a hell, and this is what we fail to comprehend. Life is all worth living with all its hurdles and Avishek’s departure again deepens my belief. Do what you feel to do, remain satisfied with what you have achieved. However, it does not mean that I’m against the hardworking, ambitious creed, but I want to be happy above everything else.

Saturday Saga...

If a movie arrives, can Dibbo be far behind?

A limp and crepe, and a craving heart,

Decided to begin anew, stir up my soul and mind.

A soul stirring saga and a magical man,

Disrupted in parts but yet a director can,

"copy" a few and make a very new,

Visually stunning choreographed piece,

Pathos and humour, blended with equal ease.

And ah! those eyes and the dancing steps,

With a new face Aditya and Aish's subtle pace,

A splendid first half and a wrenching plea,

With a running time of 140 minutes, it's a movie to see!

For all those who crib 'bout Sophia's red lips,

And a room almost like Sabyasachi's store,

I ask, bring few examples, bring few more

Of films that make poetry of senses.

Get rid of reviewing with biased lenses.

And see what a magical man can do,

With his poise and his stoicism too.

For I liked it and yes there were flaws,

But moments make a film, and although no laws,

Legalize mercy killing and deny Ethan's wish,

But for love and for Art’s sake and for a sensory trip,

I recommend, for once, do watch Guzaarish.

The auto driver is in no hurry. Nor are the passengers. Life at some places, creeps like a snail. As if for them tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow never comes. They live the “here and now”. An old woman is standing in the middle of nowhere with two small children, one a boy and another, a girl, and a young woman accompanying them. The auto can not accommodate all of them but she insists the driver to stop and tells him that only she will board. The driver is happy because he gets another passenger. The lady takes a lot of trouble to board the auto, being such an aged person that she is. The driver says, “ebar jai?” The lady smiles and says, “ektu dara baba.” The driver waits. The lady takes out her purse, unzips it and out of that purse comes out another small pouch. She opens it and takes out few ten rupee notes. Everyone is watching her. She does everything with so much care! Then she hands out a twenty rupee note to the boy, and two ten rupee notes to the girl, who are standing for a long time. The children smile and that brings a satisfying smile to the lady. The driver says, “dida, holo nati natni ke poisha deoa?”, and smiles. The lady replies in affirmative. The auto moves on. And so do we..

Panopticon was designed by Jeremy Bentham in 1785. It is a prison building which allows the observer to observe, without letting the subjects know that they are being seen. The details, well,you can Google!!

I like observing the world around me, the nuances of it and the ever changing, ever constant city Kolkata.

My effort is to note down the throbbing, pulsating and living history of the people whom I come across everyday. In its beauty and ugliness alike, I would endeavor to capture glimpses of the city and its essence, and the slices of my life too, enmeshed in the humdrum of the daily routine.

Cheers!!