THE 6 PM SLOT

I met Naomi Dutta, when she was producing “Love 2 Hate U”, a show that aired on Star World. If there’s one thing I remember about her was that she was patient. She nodded attentively while I spoke, her eyes alert. She spoke with conviction about her vision for the show. In a consequent meeting for a project that I was working on- I got to know Naomi better. We spoke about her book that I had not read yet.

The 6 pm Slot by Naomi Dutta

Infact had stopped reading for a while. No book held my attention for more than 10 pages. Every Indian author I picked up was either writing about nostalgia or longing or nostalgic longing. Reading has always been my solace but recently every book I picked up made me want to slit my wrists and sob myself to sleep. (I’m talking about Anjali Joseph’s Saraswati Park. I swear. Nothing good was happening to anyone. I just could not handle it after a while.) The 6 PM Slot  finally broke that curse. It’s a light-hearted satire on the television industry- the story of a woman (who for all intents and purposes reminds me of Naomi Dutta who sat across the room from me on the day we first met) who produces a T.V show in the 6:00 p.m. slot, which the channel heads  want to turn into the new prime time slot. From the host of her show getting chicken pox, to the stingy production head, most of Dutta’s observations and portrayals seem bang on. As someone who works in the industry, I know all the people she’s talking about. She ties it in well with the story of a news channel and a news anchor that we all know so well. It could have definitely been shorter and the crux of the story could have been less fluffy and it might have qualified as a ‘serious satire’ (don’t ask me if that’s a legitimate expression). But Dutta has some funny turns of phrase that make up for it’s shortcomings. The 6PM Slot was a day long read that has revved my engines up to read some more. But I’m still going to keep the vein nice and light. Next Up- The Reluctant Detective by Kiran Manral

You don’t care about her.

The last few days have been emotionally overwhelming. With the passing of the 23 year old in Singapore, the country rose up in collective prayers. But when my eyes closed for that moment, I realized that she does not need our prayers. She is blessed. Let’s not shirk responsibility for her death by saying we are “praying” for her. It is ourselves we need to pray for.

I’m glad the government has not responded to the calls of “HANG THEM” yet. Won’t that be the ideal solution? Becoming Pontius Pilot, washing your hands off of them? Handing the culprits over to  Colors for a 1 season run of “Public ka Badla” where in the season finale  they are hanged, complete with posters of Zatak deodorant on the gallows (Just Zattack Her, yougaise) while Barkha Dutt spells out in clichés, the very thing that the camera is showing? (Also see, Phir Bhi Dil Hai Hindustani).

Unwittingly Damini/Nirbhaya/Patient X has become the symbol of what sexual assault has done to the county then shouldn’t the perpetrators become symbols of what its consequences can be? She did not ask for martyrdom, you made her one. Now—your turn. You violated another person in their most personal space. Be prepared to have the same done to you. And let’s just say things would have been much messier if one of them was politically connected.

I think, let the bastards have a fair trial. Let them see the rage they are inducing. Let them cower in a jail cell imaging their own death by the bare hands of thousands of angry people. Let future rapists know that they wont go down into a blaze of glory, in front of T.V cameras. They will be scorned, hated and rot in a jail cell till no one gives a shit about them including their own family members. Let them die alone and be buried in unmarked graves. Even that kind of a death will be more dignified than the miserable lives they led. But we will not be the animals they are.

Bollywood of course, as usual refuses to take responsibility for anything. But from my common knowledge, what is the best way to take revenge from the hero cop for raiding your drugs ka godown? Why you rape his sister! Sarre aam, pure gaaon ke saamne jo chup chaap tamasha dekhenge,  who after the act, much to the Delhi police’s chagrin—disperse quietly. Ho gaya tamasha. Please leave your names and contact information at the door. We will call you in case we schedule any sexual assaults in the near future.

Mithun didn’t have an unviolated sister through most of the 1980’s.  It was shown to be a horrific crime, yes, but there were NEVER any consequences. There was some general yelling, if Sunny Deol was involved a shirt or two came off. But that was the extent of it. Today, Salman Khan, our bhai, who makes 100 crore rupee fart jokes called Dabaang is deified in spite of physically abusing Aishwarya Rai. As it turns out, she’s not really worth it.

I went to the Azad Maidan protest. A 100 pissed off looking people–demanding everything from, hanging of the perpetrators, safety for women, legal changes in sexual assault convictions and prayers for the 23 year old. But what were we protesting? Sexual assault? Who declares Dec 29^th Anti-Rape day? Is there a pro-rape day that we need it to counteract the efforts of? The thought makes the hair on the back of my neck prickle.

The messages have been there subliminally, pro-rape in blaming the victim. From our politicians to our very own parents. Tehelka’s expose in the past year has blown the top off the mentality we harbour towards sexual assault as a nation. Someone on national television will say women are “painted and dented” while our mothers will advise on how to keep our eyes lowered and our school bag slung in front of our chest while we traverse local trains. Because a kurta and a dupatta is not enough. You need to have a bagful of your 9^th Std text books on top of your breasts so that you don’t incite the lust of these cherubic, innocent men.

We all have some version of “Arre and then he just pulled it out of his pants and started masturbating.” Or the crowded bus symptomatic-“when I stepped out, I realized that he had left a wet patch on my back.”

When my mother did not allow a 13-year-old me to take a bus to see my friends for a movie, I asked her why my brother could do it when he was 13 and I could not.

She sighed, and said-“Because you are a girl Aditi.”

“So?” I asked.

“Go play with Rashi on the 1^st floor.”

And one cannot blame our parents for this. Our parents cannot help it. They want you to be safe. Every day at 6 o’clock they call to ask what time you are getting home. And as you grow older, they forget to call, but you remember to go home by 7 anyway because you don’t want them to worry about you. There it is. So deeply embedded in us that it has become a basic truth.

I don’t want to look in the eyes of my daughter with that same resigned expression and tell them they are NOT allowed to do things because they are a girl. I will not.

Not enough can be said about how bizzare the government’s reaction to this incident has been.  I might be naive but I don’t know ANY government in the world that WANTS its people to feel unsafe. There is no larger imagined corporate agenda when it comes to citizen’s safety. The association of Soup lobby isn’t saying, “Hey keep the eve teasing up—it’ll sell us more soup.” Then WHY is it being handled so badly? From the misreported death of Constable Subhash Tomar to lobbing tear gas grenades at protesters.  Tear Gas? May I point out the irony of beating crowds of your own people who are there asking you for safety? For that brief period the media worked hand in glove with the government. First Sachin retired (Well, only from One Day Internationals. I didn’t know it was possible to retire in instalments), more misreporting on the death of Constable Subhash Tomar, and of course, —everything was flying off of our teleprompters and into our homes before anyone had any time to verify facts.

We want to talk. Please. Even though you have turned on your water cannons we still don’t want to fight—we want to talk. Come out. Talk to us in anything other than clichés. “I have three daughters..” really? Then since you’re doing nothing about their safety either, their voice is with us today. “Maintain calm.” As mentioned, you’ve been the one to bring violence to the table. We are scared and angry. Help us.

The Justice Verma Committee is inviting “recommendations on amending laws to provide speedier justice and enhanced punishment in sexual assault cases. The comments can be sent at justice.verma@nic.in or through FAX at 011-23092675.”

This is a chance to get out of the quagmire of politics and be a part of the solution instead of exacerbating the problem with empty debate.  Kickass litigation veteran @MumbaiCentral will be writing an e-mail along with her sister. Please do follow her for updates.

As I write this the Delhi Police, RAF, CRPF and the CISF are on high alert against people that want nothing but their own safety. You don’t trust us and we don’t trust you. The best line of defense for the 9^th Std girl being molested on a crowded railway platform will continue to be the fat Civics text book in her school bag slung on top of her chest.

And to you–I am so sorry. I am so, so fucking sorry. And I promise from now on, that I will do EVERYTHING in my power to make sure that it does not happen to anyone around me. I’m sorry it had to come to this. I promise to be more mindful when speaking and in my attitudes to be the change I want to see. I promise to see beyond the inherent female misogyny of our own women politicians. I am your sister. I am your brother. I will be responsible for you when we are together, not because I’m worried, but because we’re both human beings and we have this ability to be empathetic for a reason. I will help you when I find you injured on the road, I will take you to the hospital. I will make sure that NO ONE ever makes you feel unaccepted if you have suffered. I never got a chance to exchange a fleeting smile with you on the road or be your friend, or to meet you. But I am here for you and I’m so sorry.

STUDENT OF THE YEAR: Pass aur fail, lekin class jaana zaroor.

I’m not even going to justify my reasons to want to see the film. Hell, we had the lead actors constantly seducing the crap out of us with their smoldering stares from every hoarding and television set for the3 months.

I came.

I don’t know how to feel about the film. Those are three sensational looking human beings as leads by the way.  AaliaBhat looks like she’s made out of porcelain and her wardrobe loves her. Karan Johar knows how to place a camera in front of a woman to make her look her best. Several people compared AaliaBhat’s Shanaya to Kareena Kapoor’s Poo in Kabhi Khushi kabhi Gham. This comparison might work out to be detrimental to her in the long run. By the time that Kareena Kapoor did Poo, she had already displayed her acting prowess in varied roles in Ajnabee, Asoka and Refugee.

Siddharth Malhotra’s close ups had me reaching for my smelling salts.  With those warm, brown eyes he emotes his way into the hearts and pants of women everywhere.

Varun Dhawan’s Rohan grows on you. And it does not hurt that he dances like a dream.

On the flipside, everything about Student of the Year was as subtle as a heart attack. The purported REAL star of the film—director Karan Johar is in fact the weakest performer of the lot. He’s managed to pull a Rajkumar Hirani with a superb ensemble cast, but breaking the fourth wall with them narrating the story to audience was just LAZY. One of the basic tenets of story telling is “Show, don’t tell” and yet Johar has the entire first half TOLD to the audience. Only the dialogues saved the film.

And Johar has often claimed that only he can make the kind of movies he does. He uses the bricks baked in the kilns of female sighs to build factories where boobs don’t acknowledge the existence of gravity, and putting more than 3 Punjabis in a room ends with either a marriage or a MASSIVE round of Antakshari and where Farida Jalal can do no wrong.  True enough. But stringing a montage of rich, good looking kids being kinda douchey does not exactly qualify as story telling.

The music of the film is dismal, apart from Radha and Vele (which is stuck in my head right now. Goddamit), everything seemed to be some dhinchak-ed version of an old song. And of course, IshqWala Love had a better parody than the actual song.

Here’s the video for those of you living under a rock.

But where SOTY fails is in giving the audience something to hold onto. There are characters, but no moments in the film. Within 15 minutes of walking out of the film, I had forgotten 90% of it already. And because there were so many protagonists one didn’t know who to side with. First half, you love the “Bata kabaccha”—Abhimanyu (Malhotra) for the sincerity of his intentions, but the second half belongs to the poor Rohan (Dhawan) who gets fucked over by his best friend, girl friend and family in a span of minutes. Also, there was no antagonist. Everyone was flawed, and aggressively so. There’s nothing wrong with flawed characters, but when you place them in a 1 dimensional world where everything is black or white, then it takes very little for the viewer to switch off.

Watch Student of the Year, coz it’s what the cool kids are doing these days.

 

The world from (approx.) 3 feet off the ground- The Wildings and Moonrise Kingdom

The Wildings.

At the airport, I picked up a copy of The Wildings, because it was shiny (and also coz I read a couple of tweets from @dpanjana mentioning it), but mostly coz it was shiny. The Marwari in me was thrilled.

The Wildings is about a band of cats that lives in the Nizamuddin neighborhood of Old Delhi.  The themes are familiar, good vs. evil, nature vs. nurture but the narrative is completely unique. Human beings are relegated to side characters in their own ecosystem, called “Bigfoot” by the cats.  Roy has done the research, as far as animal behavior is concerned and laid out an intimate, playful, and empathetic story about a world that exists three feet off the ground. From the Mongoose named Kirri, to the mynahs named Sa, Re, Ga, Ma, Pa, Dha, and Ni- the extent of Roy’s knowledge is evident. My favorite lines from the book demonstrate this amply.

“Sitting on top of the book case, Mara (the kitten) surveyed her kingdom with a strong sense of triumph. It had taken her three attempts to scale the book shelves…On her third try the kitten considered the books on the shelves carefully before charting a path over paperbacks and leather bound volumes of Tagore, giving the loose-leaf manuscripts a wide berth. She made it to the top and stared at the room, enchanted by the way it all looked so different from her new perch.“

Apart from the aforementioned shiny cover, this book also has illustrations by Prabha Mallya, pictures made in ink that seem alive on a page. To me, it almost broke the fourth wall, I felt like I was being made privy to a secret world of these animals, as a vine curled out of the edge of a page or a Tooth, the dangerous yet brave cheel flew out at me from the center of the page in a particularly dramatic scene.

But as we seem to be hearing so much these days, (Star World’s programming head, Rasika Tyagi also mentioned in a recent interview with Mumbai Boss), it’s all about finding a connect with the characters. (Apparently that’s why Meredith and what would Meredith do? and what would Meredith wear? and who would Meredith do? is coming out of our ears.) Roy, manages to nail the connect between character and reader. She fires sure shot after sure shot, with her gun firmly on the shoulders of her furry protagonists. They are compelling and as real as a character that’s not human can be.

The Wildings also reminds us that we at the end of the day are animals. Are we the animals that follow the ethics of mother nature, (when to kill a prey, when to let it go, and how to defend yourself). Or are we creatures drunk on our own evolutionary advantages that want to annihilate everything in our paths just because we can? That is the question.

My only problem with it might have been that there were too many characters to keep track of, but seeing as how the book ended like there was a sequel in the making and writer Nilanjana Roy promised that she would make it more streamlined, giving us more in depth knowledge of her characters, I cannot wait for the second book of The Wildings.

 

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I watched Moonrise Kingdom on recommendation from Anupama Chopra on Front Row with Anupama Chopra on Star World.  I like her, she’s very pretty and smart, only the monotone delivery and her somewhat blank smile, I find unnerving sometimes.

Having walked in a bit late into the theater, I missed the set up, but the film left me spell bound.

Moonrise Kingdom is set in a fictional island, in a fictional time, and is the story of two children who fall in love and decide to run away. The film follows their journey through the island. I’m a little ashamed to admit it, but this is the first Wes Anderson film I’ve watched. I’ve followed all his commercials well enough, but for some reason never got around to watching a whole film, so I cannot comment on the Wes-Anderson-ny-ness of the film. Rest assured, I will be watching all his remaining films when the opportunity presents itself.

Again, in terms of characters, Jared Gilbert as Sam and Kara Hayward as Suzy are spectacular. In spite of the oddly fairy-tale-ish and disjointed nature of the reality in the film, the characters are breathtakingly real. Gilbert and Haward deliver performances that are nuanced and adult.  The adults in Moonrise Kingdom on the other hand, are  one-dimensional, almost caricatures of themselves, but that also serves to elevate the love story of Sam and Suzy (two children) to poetic levels in a world of adults. Much like The Wildings,  in Moonrise Kingdom, reality is a quirky element of the story.

Also, the soundtrack of Moonrise Kingdom is superlative. Tying neat little knots at the end of every single thread at the end of the story. My personal favorite has GOT to be Francoise Hardy’s Le Temps De L’amour.

Moonrise Kingdom and The Wildings serve to remind us that some times the most interesting stories come from the every where but in our own real world.

 

 

Sita Sings The Blues (A modern day Sitayan)

After hearing about it on and off for the past 5 years, I finally found myself watching “Sita Sings The Blues” .

This animated film by Nina Paley is the most refreshing explosion of kitsch and story telling styles I have seen in a very long time. Sita Sings The Blues is the story of the Ramayan, told from the point of view of Sita, interspersed with a parallel story from the life of the filmmaker and of course, the strains of blues singer Anette Hanshaw. It is feminist (as MUST all things that are about females be described), romantic and in spite of the melancholic story, a general uplifting film.

Sita Sings the Blues is a heady mix of several animation styles.  Paley allows the content source, the Ramayan to become the form. From the use of shadow puppets (voiced very animatedly by movie critic Aseem Chabbra, the prematurely-deceased director of the cult Loins Of Punjab Presents Monish Acharya, and Bhavna Nagulapuuly), to some of the sequences that feature animated Rajputana paintings, Paley makes sure that even though the tone of the film may be funny and slightly flippant, it is still respectful and aware of the scope of the story it is telling.

Lord Ram and Hanuman meet for the first time and plan to rescue Sita

A lot of scenes are also done in what reminds me of the Amar Chitra Katha style of art. These are the “kitschy” images that represent an Ironic India, today found on wallets and bags with brands such as Chumbak and Purple Jungle.

Kaykei “nurses” Dasrath to health and earns a boon from him. Amar Chitra Katha style

It was in Shashi Tharoor’s -Riot that I first read about and began to understand Sita’s role in the Ramayan.

Even when Hanuman went to meet Sita the first time to inform her of her rescue plan he offered to simply carry her back to the kingdom on his back, but Sita refused. She said she wanted Ram to come back, destroy Lanka and carry her back. She sought to glorify Ram in her rescue. Like Raj from Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge-woh choron ki tarah sar chupa ke nahin jayenge.

“Seems that when he (Rama) brought his wife Sita back from Lanka and became King, the gossips in the kingdom were whispering that after so many months in Raavna’s captivity, she couldn’t possibly be chaste anymore. So to stop the tongues wagging,he subjected her to an agni pariksha,a public ordeal by fire, to prove her innocence. She walked through the flames unscathed. A certified pure woman.”

In spite of that, when rumors start swirling again, Ram realises that it is affecting his credibility as king. Not only is he doubting Sita here but also the legitimacy of the agni-pariksha that proved her chaste the first time.  Sita, who’s pretty much had it with having to prove herself every time someone opens their mouth asks the Earth to swallow her whole.

Personal rant:

Because a woman really is just  bag of flesh suspended around a uterus. What is  between her legs defines her and he owns it. Izzats of entire households lie in there.

And yet, when it comes to women’s hygiene, we are light years behind. You want the hymen when it’s convenient, yet there are no bathrooms today, young women drop out of school in 9th Std.  because there are no provisions for them when they start menstruating and it is only recently that affordable sanitary napkins have entered the market.  Hygienic conditions for women in this country are in a sorry state.

Let’s be honest and stop saying, “Will you marry me?,” a plain and simple “Can I have your hymen?” should get the same message across.

End personal rant.

And in spite of that, Sita, having given birth to Ram’s sons Luv and Kush in exile sings Lord Ram’s praises (I imagine at that time doing otherwise would be treason, he was the King of the empire and all)

Even from a story-telling point of view, Sita is the most “convenient” character. The story hinges on her kidnapping, rescue, agni pariksha, exile but towards the end when there seems no definite way to tie the string of her story, she  exits stage left.

Sita Sings The Blues,  in that sense, is not trying to prove a point. The story tells itself.

Annette Hanshaw’s songs are at home in this film. Hanshaw’s eager, plaintive voice is perfect for the Betty Boop like Sita that narrates the story certain sequences.  ”If you want the rainbow” from this soundtrack is one of my favorite songs.(Including the image in the poster and the one below).

And of course, intertwined in this visual medly  is the story of the filmmaker herself, who undergoes a journey similar to that of Sita. That story has it’s own animation style that is rooted in reality.

What’s best is that Nina Paley has made the film accessible free of cost under the Creative Commons Licence,  here  of course and on youtube. If not for the talking points, then for the myriad visual styles, there’s very little reason to NOT watch “Sita Sings The Blues.”

Aamir Khan is the Indian Oprah Winfrey

I saw Satyamev Jayate. Everyone was doing it; I HAD to know what Twitter would be outraging about for the next one week. I incidentally missed the 11:00 a.m. telecast for a very well deserved viewing of Vicky Donor. Juhi Chatervedi has written one of the sharpest B’wood scripts of the year. Also I have a Lady Boner for Vicky Donor Ayushman Khurana. I feel no shame in admitting it.

One thing that first struck me was the 11:00 a.m. Sunday slot of Satyamev Jayate. For me, it harkens the lazy Sunday mornings in boarding school, the one time of the week that all of us gathered to watch Chaayageet, Duck Tales, Tales Spin ( — the Hindi title tracks for which were sung by Amit Kumar who sang “Bade Acche Lagte Hain” in the film (wait for it) Balika Badhu.) Satyamev Jayate chose Sunday morning–when it was T.V watching time for the whole family.

The inclusivity of it all is evident. Even in one of the promos he mentions that he wants everyone from the maalkin to the maid to be able to see and identify with the show. That has been well achieved.

And let’s face it Aamir Khan has barely ever given us a bad product. (Except for Mela. Apart from the cult “Dekho 2000 zamaana aa gaya,” that movie sucked.)  But he’s been one Khan who has managed to remain mainstream without selling out. In a country where the urban tastes are so diverse from the centers, he has managed to produce quality content for both audiences throughout his career. Internal issues notwithstanding, I trust this guy. I want to hear what he’s got to say.

Satyamev Jayate was an educational module–barely any show-sha that we’re used to when the stars of silver screen step into the confines of a television screen. The subject of the first episode was female foeticide.  The show followed a simple, almost academic “statement of problem-examples of problem in different strata-consequences-research so far- ACTION” rule while Aamir Khan, the Indian Oprah brought out stories, tears and some very valid points of view that left all of us slightly uncomfortable in our seats. Over a span of 1.5 hours, I had my sinuses cleared. But the most admirable part came when he spurred us into action. Satyamev Jayate means to empower us, that WE are the ones who are the change. And as fashionable as it is to be conveniently cynical, I find myself looking forward to watching the second episode. You’ve got me by the heart-strings Aamir Khan, let’s hear some beautiful melodies now.

Come to bed with me tonight?

Come to bed with me tonight?

Lie with me, on the hard mattress, just the way I like it. Put your head down on the hard pillow that resists my cheeks every time I put my head down.  Let the covers slide over your bare legs. Now close your eye and let sleep take your mind hostage.

Jerk awake from the dream where you are falling. Something was following you, but you didn’t see what it was. Turn over on your side to face the door. The silhouette of the little boy is there against the darkness of the light flooding from the street. The cracked moan escaping from his dry throat is your lullaby. Turn and lie on your back, you don’t want to stare at him. That would be impolite.

In the corner of the ceiling, see the nest weighed down with millions of little spiders, swarming over each other, threatening to explode all over the paintings and posters that line the walls.

Feel the fur on your feet, one could assume it belongs to the two eyes that are suspended in a pool of black at the foot of your bed. Hear the dull knocking coming from inside the closed writing desk at the other end of the room. Something needs to be let out.

Realise that the effect of the sleeping pill was confined to falling asleep, it won’t help you stay asleep. Step out of bed gingerly, towards the little boy at the door near the light switches.  Watch the tube light flicker on and light apprehensively flood the room.

Turn to the window to see the small hand prints on the outside of the glass. Slide it open, and look down the length of the building 6 stories up. Then come back to bed, and slide under the covers next to my cold body.

So, will you come to bed with me tonight?

Image via Scerakor on flickr