Gangs of Wasseypur - Part 1 - A 'My World' Perspective Review

Revenge. Payback. Retribution. Retaliation. Vengeance. This deep entrenched, evolutionary instinct – not just confined to the Homo sapiens – has had its strands examined to the nth degree over the times. More in practice than in literature, actually. It can be of various kinds: Handed out for sustenance of acquired power by one group to another, a want to make one right off two wrongs, an ‘eye-for-eye’ idea served cold, or, as in this case, plainly passed on down hereditarily. Because as one of the taglines of this magnanimous, brave, attention-grabbing outing by Anurag Kashyap – Which has a overall (both parts combined) running time of 5 Hours 20 mins, which sports a cast of around 20, which crones out 14 songs – goes: “In Wasseypur, vengeance is inherited.” 

And, oh boy, inherited it sure is. 

Based on a true story by Zeishan Quadri (the script’s co-written with Akhilesh, Sachin Ladia and Anurag Kashyap), the film is set in Wasseypur, Jharkhand, known for gang war between gangster Faheem Khan and businessman Sabir Alam over Scrap business. Of the two, the newsfeeds mention that, Faheem Khan, despite serving life imprisonment at Hazaribagh jail, still runs his gang, mostly comprising family members, from the jail. And Sabir Alam, though out on bail after spending eight years in jail, rarely stays at home due to the threat to his life. The film, which has fictionalized the characterization and the setup using measured creative license, opens with showcasing the town set in 1941 divided among the powerful Qureshis – butchers by profession - and the others. A certain Qureshi by the fearful name of ‘Sultana Daku’ is the quintessential, ‘unseen’, and feared dacoit who runs his livelihood by staking claim on all and any British freight trains which pass through his ‘area’. Shahid Khan (aptly portrayed by Jaideep Ahlawat) taking the advantage of this situations, milks out his share of freight-train pie by posing as Sultana dacoit and looting the grain stuffed wagons – after a playful banter with the train driver, mind you – before the actual Sultana gets to the scene. After Sultana finds this out, Shahid along with his pregnant wife and friend Farhan (Piyush Mishra, too good) are banished from the town and are caused to settle near Dhanbad where Shahid starts working in the coalmine. The sprawling coalmine saga unfolds here on as one thing leads to another and Shahid Khan enters a three generation long feud with the post-independence coalmine overlord -Ramadheer Singh (Tigmanshu Dhulia in his acting debut. ‘Scoop’ praised him earlier as the director of ‘Paan Singh Tomar’). This feud eventually sees Shahid Khan getting sent to the astral plain. Thereupon, ushers in the second generation. Which sees – wait for it – Manoj Bajpai (portraying Sadar Khan) as the core of the chronicle. The ‘wait for it’ part was a lame attempt at creating the required build-up to introduce this magnificent actor because of what he has done in this film. Sardar Khan is this hyper horny mammal with an insatiable appetite for power. He is a brutal murderer who will kill the other with marked detached indifference all along being sort of an innocent charmer to the ladies. This role tops his ‘Shool’ performance. It tops his ‘Kaun’ performance. Hell, it tops his ‘Satya’ performance.   

It is well established from the very start that this movie contains within a high-on-testosterone, patriarchal-y angled, male dominated narrative. But, that doesn’t take away anything at all from the emboldened female characters played by Richa Chadda (as Nagma Khan) and Reema Sen (as Durga). The former’s a motor-mouthed firebrands who won’t shy away from craziest street slang and latter’s a coy, feminine lady who will show her true colors shall the need be. These two characters re-enforce the convention of an Anurag Khashyap movie: Females are strong in their own ways and that they won’t simply take it lying down. Suffice it to say that William Congreve got it right when he wrote “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” 

Noted performances by Pankaj Tripathi as (Sultan Qureshi), Huma Qureshi (as the riveting Mohsina), Nawazuddin Siddiqui (as Faizal Khan) have enlivened up an already gripping story. These being the ones who will charter into the Part-2 (out on Aug 8, 2012) so more about them, then. 

The film, captured realistically by Rajeev Ravi’s lens, moves through so many important junctures and curves along its way that it takes an average joe like me some time to get used to the style of the narrative. Tons of characters, impersonating the uber-branched family-tree on both sides of the feud border, keeping popping up in quick successions along the timescale of 60 years. The way all these are dealt with, though, deserves to be complimented. The characters are developed with all the time in the world. Their motives, their background, their inspirations, their aspirations, one is treated to all of these personal facets in minutest of the details. Bit by bit and slowly against the milieu of high-on-action plot. ‘Revenge’ might be a case of logical fallacy for some – those like us, who are cocooned safely since birth in an upper-middle class, urbane bubble – But for the ‘Gangs of Wasseypur’, it is something for which they will wait indefinitely for. Wait, to let the situations fruition to required parameters on their own accord so that one will be able to change into action their most cherished phrase, incorrectly transliterated as – “Now I’ll Tell and Take.’’ 

Action Direction by Shyam Kaushal has brought to the fore an all new way of capturing a fight sequence. The scenes are predominantly long, single shots, with vicious albeit elbow-y encounters between the two warring sides. The violence of such kind is not glamorous as it is usually presented on celluloid, but it’s repelling. Repelling maybe to such an extent that it may act as an influence on the general society and get the ‘violence graphs’ treading south. The film’s most visceral, violent scenes are unusually punctuated with transfixing sound tracks. Whether it be G. V. Prakash Kumar’s background score or Sneha Khanwalkar’s landmark Original Sound Track. Both of them seduce you deeper into the storyline. 

Because of the unique way in which she creates tunes, Sneha Khanwalkar’s OST warrants an extra paragraph. Marked by lyrical gems like ‘O Womaniya’, ‘I am a Hunter she Wants to see my Gaun’, ‘Bihar ke La La’ and ‘Keh Ke Loonga’ among the others by various artists, the accompanying music is high-inducing to say the least. I insist you to direct your browsers to the Youtube videos of the making of the songs (‘O Womaniya’ and ‘Bihar Ke Lala’ specifically) and learn for yourself what was so different about the way they were created. And if, say, the songs aren’t already on repeat modes on your players, be guaranteed they soon will be. And while you are at it, listen to other content created by Khanwalkar for MTV’s ‘Sound Trippin’. This Music Director, mark these words, is the next big thing. If she already isn’t one, that is. 

Anurag Kashyap's mode of storytelling, and the way his characters loom over the proceedings without becoming caricatural, is frighteningly original. The blood and gore account has bursts of light moments too – The scene where Sardar courts Durga as she gets some laundry done, or the scene where Nagma asks her husband to eat and bathe well before heading outside to satisfy his carnal needs or the scene towards the end, when Faizal takes Mohsina out on a date are deliciously funny and will bring the house down. That said, please be warned that there’s a devilish sense of dispassion in the way the subject has been dealt with. This one’s not for the lily-livered or the weak-hearted. But if you are up for experimenting with a new kind of cinema with a pinch of viewer’s discretion, this one’s for you. This film is path-breaking in a way that it has blurred the line between alternative and mainstream cinema. It is yet another surprise of the year 2012, where audiences have come of age. 2012 - Where a ‘Kahani’ can co-exist with an ‘Agneepath’, where a ‘Paan Singh Tomar’ can co-exist with a ‘Housefull 2’, where a ‘Shanghai’ can co-exist with a ‘Rowdy Rathore’. And, more importantly, where a ‘Gangs of Wasseypur’ can exist at all. 

Watch it for the ‘real’, for the ‘rustic’, for the ‘raunchy’. Watch it, above all, for the ‘raw’.

Satyamev Jayate - A ‘My World’ Perspective Review.

 Satyameva jayate nānṛtaṁ

satyena panthā vitato devayānaḥ |

yenākramantyṛṣayo hyāptakāmā

yatra tat satyasya paramaṁ nidhānam ||

-          Mundaka Upanishad (Mantra 3.1.6)

Truth alone triumphs; not falsehood.

Through truth the divine path is spread out by which

the sages whose desires have been completely fulfilled,

reaches where that supreme treasure of Truth resides.

Truth alone triumphs. And the process has, maybe, started. 

A show, called Satyamev Jayate, which was in brewing mills for past two years, which was to be the first ever show in Indian Television history to be aired simultaneously on a private channel network STAR and a national broadcaster Doordarshan, with dubbed versions on regional language channels viz., Telugu, Tamil, Malayalam, Marathi and Bengali, which was to have 16 songs exclusively composed for its soundtrack, which was to have the makers of show book around 2,000 slots for the broadcaster’s promos in 27 hours for an amount of 6.25 cr - reportedly the highest costing promotional campaign for any Indian television show –, and, which was to have one of the most cherished, celebrated and revered actors of Bollywood produce and host it, went on airs this 06/05/2012 at 1100hrs. 

And just as it did so, twitter lines jammed up, Facebookers went ‘like’ing, Google Trends showed the phrase trending on top spot and the show’s own website went down owing to sudden increase in traffic. What caused this, you ask? Let’s explore. 

The show’s concept is described so on its website: 

“What you will see is the truth. The truth that lives alongside us all… in the house down the street, in the next room, on your pillow, in tomorrow’s breakfast. 

The truth in all its facets – beautiful, inspiring, thought-provoking, stark. 

We believe that Satyamev Jayate is not afraid to look the truth in the eye, take its hand and embrace it. After all, it belongs to all of us. 

And when we recognize the truth, when we discover that it is part of us, part of the things we cherish, then what? Then we know it’s time to think – perhaps to act.”

Treading on the said path, the first episode, directed by Satyajit Bhatkal, talked about the issue of the desire for a male child and the accepted, though illegal and highly immoral, practise of female foeticide. Yes, that thing which we all read about for the first time in our hard bound Social Studies text books in high school classes. And if we, somehow, did not manage to pay enough attention to the concept then, we are treated with this bizarre appendage of our society with alarming frequency on the front pages of our national dailies. But it is one thing to read the statistics as a distant, even if as a ‘concerned’, observer and quite another to listen to a woman narrate her story where the above mentioned monster threatened to snatch away her new-born lease of female life from her and, as in one instance, eat her face up. And I mean that last phrase literally. 

The show brought to light some unheard of practices too. Like how some doctors offer packaged deals comprising Ultra-Sonic Sex-Determination and Abortion. And how detecting a male foetus goes against their profit motive which then leads to them actually lying that what’s detected is a female foetus and hence should be aborted using their combo-pack service. Shudder. The more one dwells upon this the more the news-feeds about the discarded foetus in a garbage can near Yamuna seem closer to home. 

Nothing presented in the show can be called new. More than an ‘Expose’ this show’s a ‘Refocus.’ What is surely new, though, is the packaging. By that I mean that there is none. The production value of the show is sleek yet unassuming. The sets of the show are not steel and glass with sharp edges and glitzy mirrors, but round, thick, soft and comfortable. The camera work, too, is non obtrusive - no racing trolleys, clean shots, subtle frame transitions, no deliberate visual cues in the form of forced close-ups...the whole ambience is like taking a safe ride back home to 1990s. Ah. If you too are from the same clan as mine whose members stopped watching – nay, owing – television because of the glam shtick induced noise, you’ll appreciate the worth of the balmy affect which the aforementioned production value brings along. 

The show does a great job in walking up close straight to your heart and holding it in a warm garb until your tear glands yield and wash away with it a certain degree of cynicism and indifference and apathy. Yes, I call it ‘a certain degree of’ because in speaking for everyone (which I don’t do much) i have to factor in the undercurrent suspicion which raises its head up every time you see ‘Marketing’. And when it’s marketing of this measure, then one surely begins to feel that there is something from which his/her person needs to be protected and safeguarded. This is a part of that thick-skinned-ness which we have acquired as extra adipose layers after being cheated and being under delivered after being over-promised for so many times over. Trashing this show only because this show is being hosted by a marketing wizard with a hoard of Multi National Corporations backing it, questions our rationality more than it does his and their credibility.   

At this point, it must be pointed out that the makers of the show have taken all the care possible to address even this aforementioned issue. Various brand managers have been asked to not buy any advertising slots or screen any of Khan’s advertisements during the show, fearing the dilution of the show's impact. Airtel, the title sponsor of the show, has reduced the tariff of the viewers’ participation messaging service from INR 3 to INR 1. With a promise that even this generated revenue will be donated to an organisation – Snehalaya (http://www.snehalaya.org, at time of writing this, even this website’s server was down with traffic.) And Reliance Foundation has joined in as a 'Philanthropy partner.' (This won’t make Ms. Arundhati Roy much happy, though. Ah, cynisim.) 

But what should, I feel, ride over this myopic musing is that this show has managed to put the 'real' back in 'Reality shows.' Right from the time-slot it is scheduled to air on to its no-nonsense programming content. Everything whiffs of some major behind-the-stage genuine affair. You can’t help but imagine about the amount of research the team would have done to present the show in this garb. And, especially, at this time slot. Oh, the time-slot - 1100 hrs on a Sunday? When did we last hear about something like that? 

News channels have termed the show as ‘Soul stirring’ and akin to a ‘Movement’. And rightly so. The understated touch with which the show has had Aamir deliver the opening credit monologue, the fierce yet restrained words of Prasoon Joshi, set to Ram Sampat’s tunes crooned by Keerthi Sagathia, which sees the nation as one’s lover in an apt Sufi-esque dualistic concoction, the end credit ditty in Swanand Kirkire’s poetry... all so minimalistic-ly present there, just hanging subtly in airy suspension...it rightly can be termed ‘soul stirring’ and, if possible, many more such things. 

Above all this, what strikes the most golden chord is the way in which the show asks you and me to rethink, un-pressume, un-learn, and re-focus our own moral compasses and adjust it pointing towards the correct ideals of the proverbial 'Truth.' And, at that, with beautiful lines as: 

"Jaisa bhi hoon, apna mujhe" mujhe yeh nahin hai bolna

Kabil tere mein ban sakoon mujhe dvar aisa tu kholna.

Mujhe khud ko bhi hai tatolna,

Kahi hai kami toh hai bholna.

Kahi dhag hai to chupayein kyun?

Hum sach se nazrein hataye kyun?

Saanson ki iss raftaar ko,

Dhadkan ke iss thyohar ko,

Har jeet ko, har haar ko,

Khud apne iss sansaar ko

Badloonga main tere… liye.

Tere zulf suljhane chala,

Tere aur pass aane chala.

Jahan koi sur na ho besura,

Wo geet mein gaane chala.

Hai junoon hai,

Hai junoon hai,

Tere ishq ka yeh junoon hai.

Rag rag mein ishq tera daudta,

Ye bawra sa khoon hai.

Tune hi sikhaya sachayion ka matlab,

Tere pass aake jana meine zindagi ka maksad.

Satyamev, Satyamev, Satyamev Jayate.

Saccha hai pyaar mera...

As one of my friends said, “Sunday mornings will never be the same again.” She’s right, they won’t be.

Paan Singh Tomar – A ‘My World’ Perspective Review

“The idea of ‘Crime’,” once said P. D. Ouspensky, “in existing criminology is artificial, for what is called crime is really an infringement of ‘existing laws’.” These ‘existing laws’, he went on to argue, are often manifestation of barbarism and violence themselves. This idea gets handsomely captured when Irrfan Khan - while embodying the namesake character of the film under discussion - obdurately maintains throughout its length, that he is not a ‘dacoit’ but a ‘rebel’ and if one must find and call someone a ‘dacoit’, they better scan the parliament for better results. The film, based on a true story, tries to adopt this theme as its primary undercurrent as it takes its course.

Way back in the 1950s, a certain Paan Singh Tomar who hailed from Morena and who was enrolled with the Indian Army, was discovered by the Major of his regiment as someone who held within his slender frame the stamina to keep his feet moving and how. Gauging from his Shatabdi Express-esque swiftness which he put on display as he ferried a family pack ice-cream for the Major’s wife and also from his insatiable appetite with which he could demolish a set of chapattis made for an entire unit all by himself, he was aptly transferred to the Sports division of the Army. Once there, he quickly aced the 5000 M category and later when transferred to 3000 M Steeplechase, due to some reservations on the part of his coach, he took his skill to the next level and broke his own set records as he went around doing rounds of the National Games, the Asian Games and later The International Military Gamesmany times over. What he couldn’t do for the nation by being on the proverbial front in ‘62 and ‘65 war, he more than made up for it on the sports field.  So far so good.

A twist on the home front makes him turn-about and quit the Military to tend to domestic issues. His Cousin from the paternal side, Bhanwar Signh, had illegally acquired his share of the land and was being a sort of a thick-head about with a set of licensed riffles at his disposal.  When a reasonable common-ground isn’t reached between the two, Paan Singh gets in touch with the District Collector and the Police. Both of these visits, if only anything, help in aggravating his existing pandemonium. With his trust in the system shattered – which he so believed in being an Army athlete who brought laurels to his unit and the nation – his insides go crestfallen. The required stoke to the fire is dealt when in a cowardice-esque face-off, Paan Singh’s mother is killed by the hands of Bhanwar Singh. This is when he a turns a feared dacoit of the Chambal Valley, or as he would say: a “rebel.’ To stop from further spoiling the story for you, let’s just deem it sufficient to say that what happens then on is what the film tries dwell upon.

Sitting atop the Director’s chair, Tigmanshu Dhulia renders a most realistic texture to the movie. The script, marvelously written, sprouts out plots which are crispy and poignant. Like the scene where Paan Singh Tomar expresses his passion to his outwardly-shy but inwardly-dominating wife Indra, played by earth-ily sensual Mahie Gill – there’s something about her… something. Or the scene where when he opens the Pandora’s box when he is just about let go off his catch to his father upon receiving the required ransom when he begins kidnapping people to fund his future plans. There is a pinch of wise-crackery in every dialogue that is spoken and in every glance that is hurled. The tensest moments of the film are marked invariably with light comical banter which makes you take note of the directorial finesse with which the entire film is conceived. The cinematography is an art in itself, so is the apt background score. The film gives off a feel of being made with threadbare frugality in terms of production value, but still, this aspect, in a way, sort of seem to be working for the advantage of the narrative. The negatives are earned by the editing department with Aarti Bajaj at the helm, though. The film jumps wide time-gaps without being sympathetic of the ensuing cluelessness of a viewer way too many times. And some very powerful scenes are made to fizzle out without a required pause which they should offer for the effect which they so beautifully created to be allowed to properly sink in. But of course, these propositions just get thrown out of the window when the product is looked at as a whole. Irrfan khan’s eyes just reach out to you in a most tragic sense. He has made every scene his own. Whether it be the innocent Paan Singh of the first-half with a knack for jumping-the-gun or it be the stoic ‘Robin hood’ one of the later half. One gets no points for guessing that all the points he could grab with this one, he sure would and, actually, already has grabbed. This film epitomizes the idea that is ‘Honest Cinema’. Not one extra frill is played ever, not an inch of fluorescent colored gift-wrap is draped around it ever. The content stands for itself and takes the movie forward. 

And that’s what it all is about at the end of the day, isn’t it? The ‘content’. The plight of Indian athletes who were left to perish without medical support or pecuniary assistance in time of need and owing to which they had to turn either to a life of calm extinguishment or, as in this case, fierce extremities,  is portrayed in a very sensible, touching and emotive manner. This is the kind of brave cinema which is slowly entering the green patches of Bollywood. A set of movies which no one would, at the onset, believe in, but ends up ruling the charts and garnering deafening applauses. To borrow a leaf from Director Anuraag Khashyap’s recent tweet in praise of Paan Singh Tomar: “Go watch it, and make it what no one thought it would be…a hit.”

Thank you.

Agneepath: A ‘my-world’ perspective review.

The year – 1977. 

The place – Mandwa. 

The premise – Red hot, unadulterated vengeance. 

With these factoids tucked at the turf, the story opens an array of opportunities impregnating the 3 hour-ed future with possibilities of knives slashing the skin when they aren’t stabbing them, blood faucets spewing it out in fountains uncountable and betrayals abound, featuring a certain creed of quality which has the capacity of invoking the dragon of disgust lurking within the outward covers of each soul. 

They say you shouldn’t redo a role that Amitabh Bachchan has done before. And if the role is the character of Vijay Deenanath Chauhan in Agneepath, then the only thing you should be redoing is mulling over your decision to replay it. But cockblocking all such ideas, Director Karan Malhotra -  taking a tip off an idea shared on the sets on My Name is Khan (where he filled in the shoes of Asst. Director) shared by Dharma Production’s Karan Johar - went on anyway to reconstruct the old and present in a , well, ‘reconstructed’ new. The idea could have found its genesis in the a try to redeem the lost box-office success which was meted out to the 1990 version which Johar Senior’s project. The reasons as to why that had happened ranges from theories stating that it was the improperly conducted audiography to the rather straight-forward one: No one was ready to receive an anti-hero film then. All said and done about whatever the reason might be, we all have at hand a movie which typifies a mainstream Bollywood paisa vasool flick as it brings along a technical finesse which is for sure entering the realm of Indian film industry and is making everyone gape at the perfection with which each shot getting captured. Hello, new world! 

The story opens with establishing the poetry-induced strength of Master Deenanath Chauhan (Chetan Pandit). His oceanic wisdom takes him from interpreting the Bhagwad Gita the way Mahatma Gandhi did it to devoting himself in the task of uplifting a stashed away island by relentless efforts. 

Enter at this frame: Kancha China. If this character is what Sanjay Dutt meant by when he said ‘Nayak nahi Khalnayak hoon mein’ some 20 years ago, then hear! Hear! Absolutely revolting, mind numbingly disgusting, horrendously nauseating. This huge, muscular blob of flesh with a bald top, moves around hanging people on a certain exquisitely placed, coast-hugging tree at his whim. Bullied in his childhood for his repulsive features, he hates mirrors and pretty much the entire spectrum of human emotions along with it. He is dedicated to his idea of ‘karma’. And is a wantless, needless man who is but an agent of the defined evil and his designs. He, at one hand, has the capacity of throwing people down rocky stairways as he sniffs and trades cocaine and, on the other hand, the conviction to justify his perpetrated ill under the veil of his realisations on the matter of immortality of the Soul. The sheer genius of such apt casting with such apt character curve makes you make a big note in your mental notebook. 

And thence, lies are flurried, plots are contrived and Master ji gets hung up in full view of his then 12 year old kid – Vijay. Who then transports himself along with his family to Mumbai where his mother (Zarina Wahab) brings in the world his sibling sister, Sikhsha (Kanika Tiwari – selected against the other 7000 odd girls who auditioned for this role.). And then a ‘Fifteen Years Later’ frame appears to give us the anti-hero protagonist, Hrithik Roshan. 

Roshan’s a character with hidden pain which occasionally comes up in his determined eye. He brings to fore something which is very different from what Amitabh Bachchan is said to have brought. His wider that wide, beefed up shoulders bear the weight of rage, pain and revenge. His sensitive side is explored by the presence of Kali (Priyanka Chopra) in the movie. She is there solely to brighten up the brief windows of general merriment this film offers. In the process of working his way up the drug-mafia ladder to ascertain his invincibility by the virtue of his gained stature, Vijay uses and de-uses many a pawns along the journey. One such heavy-weight pawn which stands aside is Rishi Kapoor as Rauf Lala. 

Think of Santa Claus doing a Voldemort and then add an surma-esque eye-liner to his makeup kit; the kind of cultural shock this setup image would send is not even a flickering flame in front of the surprise that is Rauf Lala. Too explicit, too cruel, too vindictive. Lala deals drug powder, is a butcher by profession, indulges in human-trafficking, and generally speaks of women in tone and content from atop a display-pod to a bunch of lustfully leering blokes that would make your insides crumble and go foetal. 

Om Puri as Comissioner Gaitonde does what he does best: Act awesome. 

With such an ensemble ready to be exploited, the story ticks fluidly with myriad drums blasting every second of the entire duration. Each scene is a declaration with an overdose of melodrama. Some scenes are, though, right fully understated and that makes you grip onto to it even more. As the curve progresses, we see huge number of people getting send to the astral plane and brutally so. And just when you can take no more of the intense bomblastic images coupled with sound that is about to throb your brain out, you are treated to larger-than-life showdown between two almost-ends of the Evil-Good spectrum. Stabbed and battered Roshan derives required strength from the poem recited by his father to him and offers divine justice to the entire premise. And then, lets his soul evaporate in the lap of his mother as he views his father and a little him walk away offering smiles of conformation with his act. The climax that this is, is a hands-down marvellous treat to watch. 

The background score by Ajay-Atul duo almost tells you to think in the direction in which they want you to think. The Soundtrack of the movie won’t offer any chart busters, save for Chikni Chameli chiefly due to innumerable innuendos, but are nevertheless so in sync with the narrative that they actually feel like a part of the fabric.   

The Art direction by Sabu Cryil deserves all the mentions it can get and more. The colors, the settings, the ambiance, the robust imagery, captured handsomely by Kiran Deohans and Ravi K. Chandran’s lens makes the view twice as real and convincing. Editing by Akiv Ali is seamless and fitting as although it seems a bit long, you can’t point a finger to section which could have been left out. 

The movie brings back many things from the yore: The despicable baddie, the unrelenting avenger, the Maa-ka-tough-love and the rest. It also infuses in the ‘new’ by portraying a group of eunuchs as warriors, always ready to help Vijay in time of danger and there by vindicating this section of the society from the caricature-esque bull we have seen in most of our past movies. 

There are many reasons why people will walk out of the theatre midway after putting an ear-muffin on. But there more reasons as to why this movie will tick, as it has. And one as an audience is free to make either choice. For me, the movie has proven to be a fitting tribute to the brand that it tried to reconstruct. It has given us a new villain to hate as it has made hate a Khalnayak even more. It has also topped up Hrithik Roshan’s credit-balance in the industry. Here one will again unfailingly say “He has surpassed himself yet again” yet again. Harivansharai Bachchan’s lines have, surely, in a way, given us a more-than-gripping cinema. 

Enlightenment - Editorial - Jan 2012

You can feel fire in the night lying here

Baby it’s like we’re walking on a

wire through the fear

Take my hand, we’ll get there

The fear inside, the hills we’ve climbed

The tears this side of

heaven, all these dreams inside of me

I swear we’re gonna get there

Sooner or later, I swear we’re gonna make it, we’re gonna make it,

Sooner or later, I swear we’re gonna make it, we’re gonna make it.

So goes Mat Kearney’s words which set the tune for Google’s ‘Google Zeitgeist’ – a now annual affair video  where they turn back and throw a retrospective glance  at the year bygone – and aptly so, it hits the bell bang.

As we experienced the just-gone set of 3,15,36,000 seconds comprising 2011 – either as an agent of something done, or a casual witness – one can’t but gape in awe the events that have come to pass. And with speed and quickness hardly ever before witnessed. Whether it be nations rising from under an oppressive regime, or the seemingly well-to-do-and-merry questioning the Status Quo. To either a people marching ahead asking for bare minimum of honesty to percolate in the processes of driving a country or be it the nations and its people facing, fighting, sinking, rising to natural challenges abound – from where the stories of courage, dignity, incessant pursue-al, emerge and touch the vessels of our heart with warmth unknown as it plants an Orange sized lump in our throat.

One thing’s for sure: The cycle of evolution of our shared human experience on this blue-green dot surely went speeding up in the year we just sent-off.

So long, 2011. Take care.

Where one can write of miles long lines of words expounding the past and place dotted expectation-lists for the future. We at Enlightenment prefer to differ. We, hereon, shall use this space to make certain wishes. Wishes- for you, for us, for the entire spectrum animate and in-animate things – all of whom/which are on an inexplicable journey to get someplace somewhere.

Here goes:

May we adopt the phrase ‘Thank you’ as our most cherished Prayer.

May we realize the fallibility of our ‘Verbosity off Fleeting Bursts of Emotions’, aka. – ‘Opinions’ and learn to not place so much onto them.

May we learn to look inside of us to begin the search of an Honest government, an Honest person, an Honest nation. And make this inner-search the greatest one ever adventured.

May we be blessed with the timeless self-realization – ‘As many Faiths, that many Paths’ – and make our insides rise above the squabble off exterior variance to unveil the Divine Oneness of the interior.

May we learn to wake up everyday with a smile adorned our lips, an harmony vibrating our ears, a sweetness caressing our tongue, a fragrance embracing our nose and a cloudy touch cuddling our skin. And take the energy derived from this experience to wherever we go during the day.

May we learn to appreciate our co-travelers on this journey to such an extent that we rise beyond Envy, Spite, and Belligerence.

May we glean the know-how to quiet our Ego down. And, with it, quiet down the relentless mental chatter and familiarize ourselves with blissful quietude of desireless calmness.

May we enable ourselves to take better care of our health. And understand our bodily rhythm better still – For, our body is the greatest organic machine ever invented.

May we come in possession of the discretion which makes us ‘do’ things. For, the things are to be ‘done.’ Done, at that, delinked from the outcomes it is supposed to beget. And do more things with tireless rigor.

May we teach ourselves to:

Think less and Feel more.

Frown less and Smile more

Talk less and listen more

Judge less and Accept more

Watch less and Do more

Complain less and Appreciate more

And beyond all

Fear less and Love more.

These next set of 3,16,22,400 seconds – mind you, it’s a leap year- are for us to grow, for us to flourish, for us cultivate – a sense of belonging with ourselves unknown yet, a perception of interconnectedness unfelt yet, a view which pars all that’s conventional – for us to dive to the depth of our discovered and undiscovered dimensions and turn up with pearls of wisdom – many of which already embellish the pages of ancients texts – and put ourselves on the trajectory to Accession. Set this momentary anxiety aside, for, as the opening phrase suggests – ‘Sooner or later, I swear we’re gonna make it, we’re gonna make it.’

From all of us here, this New Year, wish you the best of you.

Welcome, 2012.

‘Rockstar’ : A ‘My World Perspective' Review

Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī, a 13th century mystic poet, once wrote:

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, 

there is a field.  I'll meet you there. 

  

When the soul lies down in that grass, 

the world is too full to talk about. 

Ideas, language, even the phrase ‘each other’ 

doesn't make any sense.”

And the first part of this verse is what binds the Movie discussed here – Rockstar – through itself and aptly so, at that. ‘How?’ You ask? Let’s see.

Clearly there’s huge leaf taken from ‘Heer Ranjha’ , the popular tragic love-story told from Punjab via various Poetic renderings. Not entirely, but still in part. Janardhan Jhakar (JJ, and later - 'Jordan'), a Jat boy, stands bewildered out of reverence for the poster of James Douglas "Jim" Morrison, pasted across his unplastered wall. Agog, as to how does one get it? That sound which he is told he lacks, that vibe which he is made to learn he can’t propagate, that depth which he is relentlessly made to believe to accept he just can’t touch. He wonders, and wonders a little more. Which is when a blindingly convincing character actor’s (Kumud Mishra) advice touches his ear-drums and the stone is striked across forever : He has had a pretty breezy existence. He is neither adopted, and never was molested. He suffers from no life-altering ailment. Bottom-line: He lacks tragedy in his life. And, misguidedly enough, he chalks up the courage to manufacture his own Heartbreak by asking the College heartthrob – a devastatingly cute, undisputed stunner and defaulted-ly unavailable Heer Kaul – out. Hoping that her rejection would catapult him to the place where sound leaves your senses as though they will make even the strings cry by rendering them a certain creed of pain which posses the required capacity. Unfortunately, that’s not what happens. Though what does happen, is another discovery altogether.

Heer is a presumed ‘Neat-and-Clean’, high-society damsel, who’s born with a silver spoon in her mouth and is about to marry a guy who too was, well, born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Her life story, as she sees it, is already penned down with a water-tight screenplay in place alongwith a story-board predicting a bore of a post-marriage existence. And, to add the required spice, she wishes to precede this stated duration with 2 months of unbridled, all-gates-open indulgence of senses with her new found non-judgemental friend (Janardhan) – a kind of indiscriminated immoderation which includes gulping down country liquor, watching a B-Grade flick in seedy down-town talkies and asking ‘Sab theek hai na, bhai saab?’ to unsuspecting gents care-freely wetting away a common wall with Uric liquid by-product of human body.

And as it were to be, while scaling the foggy streets of the national capital to the scenic snow covered expanse of Kashmir - which is more-than-brilliantly captured by Anil Mehta's lens, they 'unexpectedly' and 'unintentionally' fall in love with each other. Only to later have Heer married in a most unconventionally covered wedding sequence on Indian Silver screen in like all times. And that’s where our Mr. Protagonist wraps himself up by the Namesake garb – Rockstar. Where he will watch himself transform from a school-boyish naiveté to an emotionally unstable, though a mature, tortured soul.

The movie after this point of time has to be rather experienced more than just being passively witnessed.

The movie, as it must be pointed out, has its share of shortcomings too. The script jumps way too much to-and-fro in time dimension for one. Secondly, the revelations of crucial, poignant movements - which are yet to arrive – in many a sporadically placed musical montages as Flashback and Flashforwards almost kills the effect one would have had had they been allowed to arrive only when they were chronologically slated to. The Original Soundtrack, composed by A.R. Rahman and enmeshed into Irshaad Kamil's soul-stirring words, when just listened to from point A to B, develops its own narrative and a story-flow which gets slightly marred by this story-point-hopping. Questions also would be raised upon the decision which directed the inclusion of Nargis Fakhri in the main cast. She fails to justify the casting judgment. One, at times, fails to digest that such a plastic character actually warrants such level of passion from a person highly, deeply, madly in love with her – A contrasting and amazing character portrayal by Ranbir Kapoor. Although, at times one, also, falls short of fathoming as to what exactly is Jordan so angry about? Is it the filial abandonment or the not so healthy bohemian food? Is it the dejections and rejections or the dichotomy associated with 'Fame'? One never gets it entirely.

Moreover, a major creative risk has been taken by making a mainstream cinema which deliberately leaves so many loose ends to be tied by individual viewer’s personal discretion. The place where one would lie upon the ‘Hate-It' to 'Love-It’ spectrum would be decided by where that person currently is in his/her personal life and what is his/her current take upon his/her surroundings which are either shaping them or are getting shaped by them. And that’s one more reason as to why this movie would leave the audience-set highly polarised. As mentioned, there is a mighty chance of having, at hands, two islands of extreme opinions getting pitted against each other.

But, for me, what pars all these musings is the kind of intensity and passion which Imtiaz Ali manages to attach to the undertone of this part Musical outing which is unprecedented in form and content. The volatility of Human emotion is laid bare and made available to be gaped at by a very honest attempt, hereto largely unseen. Some scenes would leave the prudes highly scandalized. And that’s trademark mitiaz Ali for you. The intricacies involved in the path traversed from ‘Want’ to ‘Need’ are set under a high-strength spotlight too. These minutiae make a certain point be reached - the point in time when ‘Love’ manages to leap over ‘Logic and lands on 'Instinct.' The point, where imagination triumphs over intelligence. The point, where the societal standards of wrong-doing and right-doing come crashing down. A point, where Angst, Rage, Jealousy, Guilt and Passion all come together to produce a humanely polished outcome.

Which is exactly why - to answer the question raised in the opening para - Rumi’s lines are so very essential to the narrative.

Overall, an amazing attempt at telling a story in a very different and unconventional way. And kudos to the fitting sound track and vocals by Mohit Chauhan which seamlessly becomes the protagonist's in the movie.  Watch this one for Imtiaz Ali - a raconteur who has yet again managed to touch the untouched-yet. Watch it for Ranbir Kapoor - a 29 year old actor portraying the embodiment of a character who goes from being an awkward nobody to a stoic-when-in-public, massively loved and hysteria-inducing 'Rockstar' and with what panache! An 'actor', truly, is born. Watch it, above all, for understanding the depth of the phrase ‘Human Attachment.’

It's a differently made dish. If you are done having it, savor the after-taste. If you haven't yet, try it.

Editorial - November. Enlightenment.

Time to open-up those trunks, dust-off those covering sheets, take out those naphthalene-ball infested woolens and cease procrastinating at the thought of soaking them in Genteel solution to set them clean and breathing again. Because, the 11th month on the Gregorian calendar is here to set you shivering and how! As we go along welcoming a spine-chilling north Indian winter, let us also keep in mind  to welcome you all back in the campus after a sweetly decided upon hiatus. Yes, Enlightenment’s happy to have you all back here!

The quotidian-ial course on all floors seems to be someone becoming the scapegoat of a point-and-laugh session for the excess holiday weight that one has put on and returned with. Or it is an event bordering onto near fatal assaults on some unsuspecting people who have with them, as per what the air holds, boatload of homemade delicacies under their possession. Also, as some people share their F1 Grand Stand experience with all, some others, who were made to shoo away from the parking lot of Metallica concert area, fume with sour envy. Many others who visited their hometown have returned with sweet tales of filial merriment and airy joy in their backpack. And that’s exactly what festival does to all – either it blankets everyone in its snuggly embrace of jollity or it makes one take stock of our diverse culture and its capacity to seek bliss in most places and in most number of ways.

And, as it so is with every other month in our campus, there’s no reason for this festivity to hit a halt. If at all anything, it is going to be accelerated up further. As the outsides would, in just some days, be filled with elation of Eid-Ul-Adha and Guru Nanak Jyanti, the insides would have something equally  universal to offer. Ignited Minds from the House CREST are planning on surprising us all with their offing this month and so are the Dream-Weavers. LnT Dhanush is ready with its Organogram and the people on that Organogram are ready with effervescent ideas to make you dance, play, sing, speak or mime. Or do all of them as per what the case shall be! Watch out their space and information channels for more dope on this matter in coming days. With Annual Sports Day being just a stone throw time away, people are advised to  take out their pair of trainers and hit the sector garden early in the morning for adequate amount of warm-up. Enlightenment wishes to append to this list by announcing -  

As we go along making way through testing political scenarios, uncertain global economical future, trying daily existence dotted with ever increasing real estate and petrol prices and all the other self-made, overthunk woes and worries resulting out of bottomless coffer-esque wants and desires so very typical of humanity, let’s set a moment aside for the humble men and women who lift up your white tea cup from your cubicle-desk after you are done consuming it, who set clean the office floor before you enter-in in the morning and who clean-up your personal dustbin after you have exited the building, who bring your evening snack-pack from food-court to main building every single evening  dot on time every single time. Who water your birthday-gift plant-pots and maintain the general well-being and greenery of the campus. And greet all these unassuming co-travelers with a word of kindness or a smile of gratitude. And , also, let’s remind ourselves that we all are, at the end of the day, mere talking apes on a blue and green, organic spaceship going around a ball of helium at around 29.3 Km/Sec and ask ourselves to  imbibe in a sense of perceiving the Oneness of the ‘whole’ and not merely whack away passing seconds in squabbling over the ‘parts.’

Hoping you find your much cherished newsletter a bit grown-up but as exciting as it always was. Here’s taking your leave for the time-being. 

Smile and breathe well. Thanks to you, all’s fine with the Universe. 

Take care.