Opening up with my Father

Like all gangster movies pay their tributes to Francis Coppola, I owe the inspiration to write about my father to a gentleman who changed his identity to KRR on facebook recently.

To

Babu ji,

Because when your dad was cheated, you were only 8 and still courageous enough to realize that it was only the battle and not the war.

Because when you quit studies to feed your brothers, there was hope in the family.

Because when you were having only one meal a day as a kid, you were learning about the scarcity of resources, demand, supply et al.

Because when you took the risk of quitting your job to go on your own, you made the right bets for your kids.

Because when you flew the only airline in the country in 60s, you had arrived in life.

Because when you discovered youngsters and convinced them to work for you for nothing, you were an entrepreneur in your own right.

Because when you decided to watch the only cricket match of your life in a stadium, Ravi Shastri honored you by hitting 6 sixes in an over.

Because when you spoke your mind on the license raj, Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan acknowledged and sent you a card on your wedding.

Because you redefined the word comeback. And grit. And determination. And fighting spirit. And leadership. And many unmentioned superlatives.

Because you proved that the word "age" is not a four-letter word.

Because you planted in my head that IIT is the only place to be, I decided to become unidimensional in life.

Because when I came home having stood first in a national exam, you said it’s not gonna feed me forever.

Because whenever I had let you down, you concealed your hurt and disappointment, narrated your fascinating story and charged me up. Your fairy-tale return was always inspiring.

Because at 21, when I couldn’t walk as fast as you in the streets of Kolkata, you called my generation a bunch of losers.

Because when I was weeping like a 5 year old in a desert called Pilani, you gave me the tightest hug of my life.

Because when I’m called arrogant and short-tempered, I feel proud on my inheritance of the trait from you.

Because your family borrows from a certain TV ad, and says "We miss you so much, it hurts".

Because the last time I met you, you were more worried about my grades at the B-School than I was

Because you made me proud by just allowing me to stand beside you.

Because you never gave up.

Because when I lost Ma, you said you will double up for her.

Because when I lost you, there was no one to say anything at all.

Because you never gave me a chance to say good-bye.

I’m choked.

Sit up and watch

As a director,  Anurag Kashyap, the Hindi movie industry’s most experimental young film-maker, provokes extreme reactions. To some, he is a misunderstood genius, a modern master with a distinct visual and cinematic style, an anti-establishment icon who will not apologize or compromise on his creativity. To many others, his movies are monuments to narcissism where he often gets so carried away by his single-minded obsession with raising a “Beat that you punks” symbolic middle finger to imagined enemies, that he drops the ball with regards to the very basics of the filmmakers craft—of being understandable and of being able to sustain audience interest.

As to which side I was on I could not make up my mind. “Black Friday” was nothing short of sensational. And “No Smoking”, with its “I am an artist and you cannot tell me what to do” message hammered in continuously through a miasma of obfuscation and darkness, was nothing short of a monumental disappointment.

And now after sitting in a full-sized theater for three hours I can now return with a verdict. Not perhaps on Anurag Kashyap’s cinematic genius  for which I believe a fuller body of work is needed before a serious evaluation of him can be made.

What however I can say is that “Dev D”, Kashyap’s re-telling of the timeless Devdas fable, is wickedly brilliant.

Beyond doubt.

The characteristic Kashyap style and visual panache that his fans adore is very much there.

There is humor.There is bluntness. 

In a welcome change from conventional Bollywood, the cliched poetic romance is dispensed with. Couples separated by continents are not made to look at the clouds and sing soulful ballads for each other but are shown to behave like “real people” in the Internet Age, the ones that engage in phone whisperings of a salacious kind, chat uncleanly and send uncloaked pictures as attachments. [ In a charmingly unapologetic depiction of female sexuality, Paro drags a mattress to the field so that she can make the point in a way that Sarat Chandra possibly never could have thought of].

There are innovative uses of music as a instrument of narration.

And yes there are also strange dream-like “watchers” who flit in and out if only to remind us that this is still very much an Anurag Kashyap movie.

However these are not what make Dev D brilliant even though they make it highly enjoyable.

Dev D’s genius lies in its characterizations. Despite being a highly sexed-up and drugged-up version of Saratchandra’s famous novel, Anurag Kashyap’s Devdas accurately captures the essence of the original character , that of a weak, sniveling, self-destructive individual with a morbid fascination for emotional cruelty, who always realizes the worth of something after he has lost it.

But along with that, Kashyap adds something new to Dev —namely a belatedly-revealed capability for introspection that leads to a rather novel conclusion, which some may find unexpected and disappointing but which I personally quite enjoyed.

The rather innovative characterization of Devdas is brought to life by a bravura performance from Abhay Deol, fast establishing himself as the best actor of his generation, a performance that appears even more marvelous when one remembers the Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s interpretation which was naturally less of Devdas and more of Shahrukh Khan in his hammy “emotional atyachar” magnificence.

Chandramukhi as the MMS queen-turned-courtesan retains her “shock-absorber” and “emotional compass” role of the original while Paro’s character is given shades that make her much more multi-dimensional than she has been in any of her previous literary or celluloid incarnations.

This is why Dev D’s best moments are when Paro and Dev D share screen space and perhaps why the second half, when Paro moves out of the story, cannot  maintain the scintillating levels of the first .

Overall an exceptionally original and clever creation.

I just found a piece of myself in Dev D and thats what makes the movie. Everyone of us is in there...

Go watch it...

Make way for Slumdog

Mr. Bachchan's comments on Slumdog have sparked a debate about the Western media's view of India. The movie actually has everything that symbolises India for the westerners - slums, the Taj, rusty trains, a reference to Bollywood and even a BPO. What more could a westerner want to relate to this story set in modern day India (hence the exclusion of the elephants and the rope trick)? A few of us were discussing the film and its portrayal of India one afternoon and here are my two cents to the debate.

One of the questions that came up was that an Indian director should have come up with the idea of adapting Q & A. Turns out Sriram Raghavan had tried to get the rights, but Vikas Swarup had already sold them. And then the debate moved on to whether an Indian film maker would have given a realistic touch to the slum life. For one, the central character Jamal, would have had to be a tapori, because according to most Indian films, being street smart means being a tapori. Latika, Jamal's love interest would have to be portrayed as more self sacrificing and even weepy to appear as a good girl caught in the murky circumstances. Only then would they have fit into the Bollywood formula no?

But even so, asked someone, does that justify showing India in poor light always? Haven't we studied even in our research subjects how despite progress in most third world countries, the world media likes to focus only on the murky or bizzare facts? But isn't it also true, that for a long time now, neither Indian films nor Indian Television has talked about either the poor or the middle class. If we look at films, its generally a rich Punjabi family, sometimes even NRIs who play the central roles, and on TV the protagonists are from Gujarati, Bengali or Punjabi business families. Not one story about a working man's family or a slum dweller for that matter. No more Nukkad or Wagle ki Duniya or Hrishida anymore. So should we blame a Western director for actually making a film showing an aspect of India we have forgotten? Shouldn't Indian directors also make technically sound movies on such topics?

But then are you and me ready to pay for such a movie? When an Indian director makes an Aamir (shot extensively in Bhendi Bazaar and other so called LS areas of Mumbai) or A Welcome to Sajjanpur (a school text book like portrayal of lovable village characters with references to even Singur), we give them a miss and instead spend hundreds in a multiplex on the latest masala movie. Aren't most movies on serious issues generally considered too academic and enjoyed only by a select audience? So who are we to complain, when we are the ones who give an impetus to the film makers to dish out the same formulaic fare? They give it to us because no matter how much we say we disdain the song and dance routine, fact is we still pay up for it and the producers and distributors know it. In an increasingly consumerist society, the demand for change has to come from the consumer of movies. We cannot wait for the film makers to develop a conscience and make socially relevant movies. So if we do watch the formulaic movies avidly, do we have a right to moan about the quality of Indian cinema?

And then there is the debate about whether we should be so excited about Slumdog winning the Golden Globe. Technically, the only Indian achievement is the award for A R Rahman. Otherwise the whole film is Western. It only uses Indian actors. The treatment is completely western. So technically, we can't lay claim to any of the other awards or the rave reviews, can we?

All the debates aside, Slumdog is a good attempt at a wholesome entertainer with an uplifting rags-to-riches story. The performances and the technical treatment are commendable. And if like Big B we argue that the West has a warped view of Indian films, it is only because India's interesting, experimental cinema is hardly ever sent to the Oscars. TZP is a good film, but did we seriously think it would win, when the West has already seen many movies dealing with more complex portrayals of disabilities? 

Think...may be "D.) it's written" 

Price of Elitist Blood

Watching an icon of Indian industry in a television studio on Saturday night find higher decibels in his voice than he probably did when his net worth declined in the recent financial crisis would have been mildly amusing had the circumstances not been as tragic.

With not a crease out of place in his well cut and possibly outrageously expensive outfit; this gentleman implored government to act against terror. Accusing them of failing him and of course "his" country. Populism, I always thought was the preserve of our politicians, but perhaps in these times it is understandable if it seeps into the core of all public discourse.

When the dust settles and after more ministers are sacked, we will hopefully reflect on this angst that appears to have sneaked into our collective bones and is finding voice in our response to Mumbai.

But I wonder if this angst is finding leadership on the right shoulders? Elite India has for the first time been shaken out of its slumber as terror has attacked what were so far its impenetrable citadels.

The Taj Mahal hotel was insulated before that fateful Wednesday night from all that was wrong with India. It is here while sipping on over priced coffee or gorging on grotesquely expensive stir fry noodles that corporate honchos ridiculed the real India; an India they were squeamish to be part of. Fake sympathy for terror victims in Delhi or Ahmedababad or Bangalore mixed well with the cocktails in the secure environs of the Taj and the Oberoi. 

Suddenly, those buildings where the soothing sound of a distant piano provided the comforting solace of security; have become battlegrounds. Guns were meant to go off elsewhere, weren't they? In busy market-places or railway stations that stench anyway. So no wonder the elite are enraged. Suddenly terrorism isn't just a dinner table conversation.

Instead, it has them by the balls and is making them scream. Shobha De says enough is enough. Well Miss De enough was enough long before the peace of South Mumbai was shattered. It was enough when bombs went off in hospitals in Ahmedabad, it was enough when in busy markets in Delhi, Diwali shopping turned into a gory dance of death.

You can sense that terror has moved on from attacking familiar victims: The rickshaw pullers, the daily wage earners, the commuter on a local train; even the middle class executive. Those deaths no longer matter, no longer grab headlines, are no longer enough to get home ministers sacked.

Instead, terror has a new target: Prosperity. Stark as it may sound, those who have escaped its wrath so far are now its direct targets. And they know it...and can see it clear as day.

Where was this elitist angst when a brave bus conductor lost his eyes saving others in Delhi? Or those who have had their legs amputated after the blasts in Ahmedabad? Did elite India find the shrillness in their voices to demand what they are asking for now? Was a fund set-up to support government in fighting terror?

Maybe the big corporates could have taxed their own profits and offered to help the police force get better weapons? I dare say Messer's Tata and Oberoi have deep enough pockets to restore their hotels to glory, but some around this devastated country are still picking up brutally broken pieces and will never succeed.

Mumbai has a strange message for you and me; we who live in the real world. And rarely enjoy the delights of places such as the Taj.

We are now ironically a lot safer, because we are irrelevant in this war. Our blood means little. The new targets are the hypocrites who throw the toys out of the cot only when their own cot is rattling.

Now it is this hollering that can make the wheels of change turn. Sometimes it has to hurt where it really does. The angst of the elite is our greatest ally in the fight to save our country, not some pointless candles that flicker away meaninglessly.

You get the point?

To DADA with Love...

Because when you announced your retirement, you said "Hopefully we will end up on a winning note". We did.

Because you were the only guy referred to as the royal Prince and the high-street bully "Dada" at the same time.

Because when you scored that classic debut century at Lord's, some thought you will be a one-knock wonder. At Trent Bridge, you stunned them all again with a double barrel.

Because when you played those heavenly cover drives, Rahul Dravid said, "There is only God and then Sourav Ganguly on the off-side". Maybe even the Almighty would have just moved to mid-on.

Because you took over as captain when match-fixing clouds hung over, but you made the right bets for the team.

Because with Sachin Tendulkar, you made ODI opening a treat for Indians, and a nightmare for the opposition. It was left right, left right, alright.

Because when Andrew Flintoff ran naked chest on national display at Wankhede, you lost your shirt.

Because when the Oz threatened you with chin music, you played hip-hop with them at Brisbane hitting a majestic hundred.

Because you never quite understood the logic and rationale behind being dropped even after scoring 10,000 runs plus in ODIs and in good nick. You are not good at reading whodunits.

Because they burnt your effigies and hurled stones at your team in 2003, and then you led India to the finals of the World Cup in South Africa.

Because you discovered youngsters, groomed, encouraged and inspired Yuvraj, Harbhajan, Zaheer, Irfan and MSD to become our future heroes.

Because you suffered the humiliation from Greg Chappell and several critics with humility, dignity and grace.

Because you proved that the word "age" is not a four-letter word.

Because when axed, you concealed your hurt and disappointment, went and played local tournaments and sneaked back into the team. Then Johannesburg happened. Your fairy-tale return had happened.

Because you have redefined the word comeback. And grit. And determination. And fighting spirit. And leadership. And many unmentioned superlatives.

Because MSD seems to have taken the leadership baton from you, for the good of Indian cricket.

Because you never traded your self-respect, and when they dropped you for the Irani Cup, you said---Enough!

Because you taught Indians to fight back, not turn around in defeat.

Because even 7,000 Test runs and 10,000 ODI runs is sometimes insufficient to measure your heroics for Indian cricket.

Because the 2001 series win against Australia marked a historic victory in one of the greatest series ever. You were India's captain.

Because if it exasperated Steve Waugh, you let him wait for the toss.

Because hopefully, we will still see you in black shining armour, Prince, for the KKR in IPL next year.

Because on the Lord's balcony, we discovered that you were not six-abs-pack.

Because at Nagpur this time, you had the last laugh, and India, the last hurrah. The final frontier is recaptured.

Because you did a Pepsi ad for your team, even as you stood silently alone in Kolkota.

Because you will not be ever seen in whites again. Scoring runs, bowling those deceptive medium pacers. And perhaps, even misfielding.

Because your fans will borrow from a new TV ad, and say "We miss you so much, it hurts".

Because it is time to let you go home to your family, and friends.

Because now you can watch colleagues like Sachin and VVS and Ishant on the television like all of us.

Because tomorrow morning you will join Gavaskar, Vishwanath, Bedi and Srikanth as a "former" player. An ex.

Because you can now perhaps play football as well at Eden Gardens.

Because it's time to say good-bye.

Because you did us proud.

Because you never gave up.

Because if you don't deserve the salutations from us all Indians, who does?

Of People and Technology

The Man or the Machine?Analyze this...

There is an organization called Dell Computers which "was" market-leader in the PC business.There is an organization called Toyota Motor Corp. which "is" a market-leader in the Automotive business and by-far the most profitable auto-maker in the world.While the former is panting for breath with the competition catching up with it (or otherwise), the latter is rolling like a juggernaut.

Why this uncanny comparison between two non-competing entities?The point is this...Both Dell and Toyota are names to swear-by when it comes to supply chain efficiencies.Both have pioneered such great processes by virtue of which they had the competition running for cover.

Direct model from Dell was such a brilliant strategy that it threw the likes of IBM out of Business.And contrary to the popular misconception, there is something that is actually perfect in this world and that's the Toyota Production System.

While Dell's innovation relied mostly on Technology, Toyota relied on its people.Dell had almost everything going right (which is against the laws of nature).If everything is going right...something has to go wrong and wrong it went.The competition soon caught up with the Lenovos and the HPs quickly realizing the benefits of mimicking the Dell model and the whole competitive advantage of Dell is fast fading away.

On the other hand, Toyota has proved to the world that smart people come in small packages and are not too abundant.Inspite of the huge consulting assignments that Toyota has done with a number of American companies on its production system, the world is yet to see anything even close to Toyota.No complex softwares for inventory optimization and Production Planning for Toyota.Just an inclusive manpower and some excellent execution strategies at its perusal.

Technology is definitely something but man seems to be everything for he clearly, still, seems to be the Master!

Its all about Money...Honey!!!

My favourite story of cricket is from another generation: In 1956, India defeated New Zealand in four days in a test match. The team, which was paid Rs 50 per day at the time, did not receive an allowance for the fifth day. When one of the players dared to ask a cricket official for an additional fifty rupees, he was curtly told: "Who asked you to win the match in four days!"

The world has changed for the good, since then. As the cricketers went under the hammer, one couldn't help thinking how dramatically the sport has been transformed. As business tycoons and film stars bid furiously for the big and not so big names in the game, a revolution seemed to be in the making. The sport finally was becoming a part of the great Indian bazaar.

Cricket, unlike a few other competitive sports, has been burdened with the myth that the men who play it do so for the “love” of the sport (I speak of world cricket…).While footballers were being traded places for millions, F1 drivers and Golfers were millionaires, cricketers were expected to bask in the sheer joy of playing the game. Which other sport would allow teams to play each other over five days, at the end of which there could be an "honourable" draw? Which other sport was played with such an insistence on the "rules" and "traditions" of the game? Soaked in romantic prose, cricket was branded for decades as the "gentleman's game".

In a way, all Indian sport has suffered in a model of socialism in which all big businesses were “evil” and sport was a only a distraction from professional activity. When did sports then, particularly cricket, start hogging the front page? From a feudal sport to being the great Indian dream, the transformation has been gradual and fuelled by the convergence of sports, entertainment and most importantly corporate India. 1983 victory was a landmark as it coincided with the onset of colour television and the sudden realization that cricketers are commodities (marketable…).From Kapil’s shaving cream ad (“Palmolive ka jawab nahin”…remember) to Dhoni’s hair gel to music endorsements ???(Royal Stag…mega music…just in case u wavered J), it’s come a really long way.

The IPL, as I see it, is a brilliant example of the 21st century business enterprise. It may have raised eyebrows as to whether its worth the hype, but, I would definitely like to give it the benefit of doubt. After all, do we want to slip back to the era where talented cricketers were treated as daily wage labourers and expected to pay obeisances to the officials for being selected? Or do we want to see the talented cricketers demand their rightful place in the market? Talent should never come and most importantly “go” for cheap…