The Rachel Papers en The National Spirit <p><em>‘How’s the josh (spirit)?’<br /> ‘High, sir, high.’</em></p> <p>MAINSTREAM HINDI FILMS are more concerned about striving for emotional accuracy than the aesthetics of realism. A Hindi film has to engage the audience not just mentally but physically, so that they are stirred to weep, laugh and be angry by stars embodying emotions or values, their feelings intensified in close-up shots, delivering moving dialogues in a meaningful <em>mise-en-scène</em> where emotions are transferred onto inanimate objects, with spirited background music and, most famously, with songs which condense dialogue to lyrics. One of the feelings that films can arouse in the audience is patriotism, as a heroic star, perhaps in uniform, uses powerful oratory associated with the nation (Maa, Bharat, Shaheed, Kurbaan), set against stirring music, declaring undying enmity to those who dare to insult India.</p> <p>Several genres of films arouse patriotism. DG Phalke’s <em>Raja Harischandra</em> (1913), usually regarded as India’s first film, was conceived as a <em>swadeshi</em> film. Mythological and devotional genres aroused nationalist sentiment in the form of the religious, as did the historical, to avoid censorship by the British.</p> <p>Since Independence, the Hindi film itself has tried to forge a national culture, largely avoiding controversy in favour of a consensus on Indian values and traditions. Most genres created an all-Indian hero, tall, fair and vaguely north Indian, largely avoiding mentions of caste.</p> <p>Overtly nationalist films have focused on patriotism, often biopics showing heroes of the freedom struggle, including Bhagat Singh, overlapping with the historical film which has ranged across themes drawn from ancient India to the Mughals to the colonial period. The Indo-British film <em>Gandhi</em> (directed by Richard Attenborough, 1982) has been one of the most celebrated of them all.</p> <p>There have been fewer overtly political films, perhaps because of censorship issues, although remarkable films have been made, including the 1975 <em>Aandhi</em> (Mrs G-Aandhi) and the 1997 Tamil <em>Iruvar</em> (MGR and Karunanidhi), while <em>Raajneeti </em>(2010) amalgamated the Mahabharata and <em>The Godfather</em> with performances that showed identifiable political figures.</p> <p>However, in 2019, the election year, several films have had a more overt political slant, not least as they feature figures active in current politics. There is a film and a web series about Prime Minister Narendra Modi, whose releases have been postponed, while an earlier film, <em>The Accidental Prime Minister</em>, concerned Manmohan Singh and the Congress.</p> <p><em>Raazi</em> (2018) is a spy drama based on the true story of an Indian Muslim RAW agent, who marries into a Pakistani military family to spy on them before the 1971 war. It shows Pakistanis as mostly kind, normal people but the heroine betrays her husband for her country, only to realise her country puts itself before her, thus deflating any patriotic sentiment.</p> <p>A genre which has had limited production in India is the war film, although key examples include <em>Haqeeqat</em> (1964), which although it concerns the 1962 war in which China defeated India, its portrayal of the brave <em>jawans</em> led to its screening for the 70th anniversary of Independence, presented by the Directorate of Film Festivals and the Ministry of Defence. It would be a strange person not to be moved by the film’s songs, including ‘<em>Kar chale hum fidaa jaan-o-tan saathiyon</em>’. Border (1997), set during the Battle of Longewala in the 1971 war with Pakistan, also stirs patriotism while showing the cost of war on the families of the soldiers. There were several films released about the Kargil war and the Line of Control, which again take a patriotic tone.</p> <p>This year’s <em>Uri: The Surgical Strike</em> features characters who closely resemble Prime Minister Modi and National Security Advisor Ajit Doval, overseeing the ‘surgical strikes’ on Pakistan following the assault on Uri in 2016. Its release at the time of the Pulwama terrorist attack and its aftermath earlier this year no doubt contributed to the huge success of the film. Vicky Kaushal’s brilliant performance as a national military hero, Major Vihaan Singh Shergill, can elicit from the audience the same response as he does from his men when he asks them how high the <em>josh</em> is. The use of this word by Manohar Parikkar, who was Minister of Defence at the time and was terminally ill during Pulwama, and by the current Minister Nirmala Sitharaman suggests they were seeking electoral advantage by exploiting the current Government’s assertive military stance against Pakistan.</p> <p>The historical biopic mixed with costume drama has been used by filmmakers to recount seminal moments in India’s national history, following the success and controversies surrounding Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s <em>Bajirao Mastani</em> (2015) and <em>Padmaavat</em> (2018). This year, <em>Manikarnika </em>returned to the ‘First War of Independence’ (once known as the Sepoy Mutiny of 1857) in a biopic of the Rani of Jhansi, in which Kangana Ranaut plays a warrior queen who alone defies all odds to resist the British. The film has powerful images of female warriors in red and green, with swords and guns, men in white forming a celluloid tricolour, again boosting the audience’s patriotic sentiments.</p> <p><em>Manikarnika </em>contains complex readings which feed into current patriotism, not just about this revered national heroine but also about broader strands of patriotism and nationalism evident in India today. The film’s heroine is regal but in touch with her people, a loving wife and mother but also a warrior and an educated woman. The film focuses on the splendour of an India oppressed by wicked and brutal Britishers who even take a calf away from its mother to kill and eat it. The Britishers are pantomime villains but speeches in the film about the English in India feed into the patriotic sentiment. It is significant that two of the film’s writers are major figures in the portrayal of nationalistic views of India. The screenplay is by KV Vijayendra Prasad who wrote the Baahubali films (Telugu/Tamil and dubbed into Hindi), making nationwide historical/fantasy films which create powerful images of a Hindu Indian past. Some of the dialogues are by Prasoon Joshi, whose exceptional skills in arousing emotions extends beyond the romantic to the nationalistic, his talents deployed in interviewing Prime Minister Modi during his London visit in 2018.</p> <p>The films this year help to narrate the nationalist struggle, said to begin with 1857, formerly reaching to 1947, but now extended to the present struggle for a new Hindu nationalism. The films build on an idea of nationalism centred around devotion to Mother India, cow protection, the use of Hindi and portray, through the lens of contemporary Indian new middle-class values, feudal and royal devotion to great leaders, advancement of women in the public sphere, all wrapped up in the persuasive form of mass entertainment.</p> <p>These figures have been seen in different ways in the past. The Rani of Jhansi as Manikarnika is very different from the last century, where the Azad Hind Fauj, the Urdu name for the Indian National Army, called its women’s regiment the Rani of Jhansi regiment. This was led by Captain Lakshmi, who later stood as the communist nominee for president of India. It is also differs from Sohrab Modi’s reading of the legend in his <em>Jhansi ki Rani</em> (1953, dubbed and cut in English as <em>The Tiger and the Flame</em>), which failed at the box office.</p> <p>The patriotism manifested in these recent films is linked to ideas of a specifically Hindu nationalism. Yet they are made by a Mumbai-based film industry, made up of mostly family-run businesses, with its high proportion of Muslim personnel (stars, musicians and directors), and its roots in a syncretic Islamicate culture. Moreover, many filmmakers strive to be apolitical with some notable exceptions.</p> <p>In these elections, the future of India is at stake. Both sides may claim to own nationalism but patriotism knows no party. The rhetoric of anti-nationalism is used against those who query the government rather than the nation. Others claim India herself is under attack. The audience is sensitive to propaganda and being bludgeoned by films carrying too overt a political message, seeking entertainment and emotional realism. Just as the politician must woo the electorate, so must the filmmaker find his/her audiences for the entertainment film. The <em>josh</em> is high but the battle is far from over.</p> <img src="" /><div>BY: Rachel Dwyer</div><div>Node Id: 25667</div> Thu, 25 Apr 2019 14:56:12 +0000 admin 25667 at April Is Not the Cruellest Month <p>THE SPRING EQUINOX seems a more logical time to begin the New Year than January 1st. Indeed the New Year in England was March 25th (Lady Day or the Feast of the Annunciation) from 1155 to 1752 when the Calendar (New Style) Act of 1750 brought in the Gregorian calendar in line with the rest of Europe. The only vestige in Britain is our tax year which starts on April 6th, which is Lady Day in the Julian calendar, lagging 11 days behind the Gregorian. Perhaps we could suggest, if Brexit ever happens, that we revert to the old calendar and start celebrating New Year in spring.</p> <p>Many other traditions have their New Year in March: the Iranian calendar marks Nowruz usually on March 21st while some Indian calendars have their New Year in spring (Ugadi, Gudi Padwa, Poila Boishakh), others in autumn (Nav Varsh).</p> <p>However, Easter is the major spring festival in the West, one of the most moveable of feasts, coming on the first Sunday after the first full moon following the vernal equinox, the latter also being a marker for Passover. The Orthodox Church celebrates it a week later this year as it follows the Julian calendar.</p> <p>Easter follows the 40 days of Lent which are traditional fasting days, but now post-Christmas guilt is a secular fast and Easter is the time for eating Hot Cross Buns, Simnel cake and chocolate while also celebrating the peculiar biology of the Easter Bunny bringing eggs.</p> <p>Even during Lent the festivals continue, with St Patrick’s Day (March 17th) now a major international event, not least due to the massive Irish diaspora and an international fondness for Guinness and the charm of the Irish.</p> <p>Whatever the festival, spring is the time of newness and birth. For those of us in more northerly regions, the days are noticeably longer and it’s a great pleasure to get up when it’s light and leave work before it is dark. The spring bulbs replace the snowdrops and the crocuses, and daffodils, though ubiquitous, never fail to delight. The flowering trees, cherries, magnolias and camellias put on their magnificent displays. The weather is wildly unstable with sunshine and hail in a day, snow or summer temperatures, rain and sunshine at the same time, and plenty of wind.</p> <p>It’s time to eat my favourite fruit—though it’s really a vegetable stalk growing out of a rhizome—rhubarb. The forced rhubarb, grown in the dark, is bright pink and tender. There is a famous ‘rhubarb triangle’, a cluster of forcing sheds in Yorkshire, between Wakefield, Rothwell and Morley, where the rhubarb is traditionally harvested by candlelight. Rhubarb crumble, rhubarb pie, steamed rhubarb pudding (aka pig’s bum), rhubarb fool, rhubarb and orange, rhubarb and stem ginger; with cream, custard or yoghurt. And if that’s not enough, <em>Khoresh Rivas</em>, Persian rhubarb stew.</p> <p>There are other passions too in spring: I enjoy spring cleaning as the light shows up dust and cobwebs. Never mind Marie Kondo, when you have as much stuff in the house as I do, it’s an endless task to keep it in order.</p> <p>The most famous passion of all is romance. Spring fever, the mating season, rising sap, the time for love and romance amid the blooming flowers. However, the season is sad if lovers are separated; so in Shakespeare’s <em>Sonnet 98</em> ‘From you have I been absent in the spring’, the lover cannot appreciate the beauty of spring in the absence of the beloved: ‘When proud-pied April, dress’d in all his trim/ Hath put a spirit of youth in everything.’</p> <p>Spring is a time of renewal and associated with pagan rites, most famously in Stravinsky’s masterpiece, <em>The Rite of Spring</em>, written for Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes, choreographed by Nijinsky with costumes and sets designed by the great Russian folk expert and artist Nicholas Roerich. (Roerich lived in India during World War II and his son married Devika Rani, filmstar and founder of Bombay Talkies.)</p> <p>The fear of renewal and its association with pain is seen famously in TS Eliot’s <em>The Waste Land</em>, ‘April is the cruellest month’, and Philp Larkin saying of the trees, ‘Their greenness is a kind of grief’.</p> <p>I much prefer the optimism, fun and spirit of adventure of Chaucer’s<em> Canterbury Tales</em>, where people welcome spring as a happy time and go on holiday in the guise of going on pilgrimage:</p> <p><em>Whan that Aprill, with his shoures soote/The droghte of March hath perced to the roote/And bathed every veyne in swich licour,/Of which vertu engendred is the flour;/Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth/Inspired hath in every holt and heath/The tender croppes, and the yonge sonne/Hath in the Ram his halfe cours yronne,/And smale foweles maken melodye,/That slepen al the nyght with open eye-/(So priketh hem Nature in hir corages); /Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages/And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes/To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;/And specially from every shires ende/Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende,/The hooly blissful martir for to seke/ That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seeke.</em></p> <p>Although we often think of the monsoon as the romantic season, Sanskrit traditions in much of India also have poems of spring—Kalidasa’s <em>Ritusamhara</em>, Collection of the Seasons, ends with Vasanta, Spring himself as the God of Love, having a bow of <em>kimshuka</em> flowers, strung with bees, firing arrows of mango blossom into tender hearts.</p> <p>The season of Vasanta is celebrated as Basant even today. This happens especially in North India and across Punjab, when colour is celebrated, yellow being seen everywhere not least in the famous mustard fields, as in films from Mehboob Khan’s 1952 film <em>Aan</em> (‘<em>Aaj mere man mein</em>’ goes the song as Nimmi rides her horse singing of love), to Manoj Kumar’s <em>Upkar</em> (1967), to the most famous romantic location of Aditya Chopra’s <em>Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge</em> (1995), where the father dreams of the mustard fields of home from a grey Trafalgar Square while his daughter romances her beloved once the family returns to Punjab.</p> <p>While Basant is one of the names of spring, <em>bahaar</em> is the usual word in Hindi and Urdu. Nigar Sultana plays the wicked <em>Bahar</em> (‘Springtime’) in K Asif’s <em>Mughal-e-Azam</em> (1960) who, seeking to be the empress herself, seeks the downfall of Anarkali (‘Pomegranate Blossom’). <em>Bahar</em> was called <em>Dilaram</em> in Imtiaz Ali Taj’s play (1922) on which the film is based, so the significance of her name as the one who brings winter to the court is striking.</p> <p>There are so many songs of spring in Hindi cinema that it’s hard to choose 10, and my criteria are my own—some reference to spring in the lyrics and/or in the visuals of the song. In chronological order they are:</p> <p>1) <em>‘Basant ritu aayi aali phooli khili daali daali</em>’ from Nitin Bose’s <em>Chandidas</em> (1934): A beautiful old song from one of the early films to challenge caste.</p> <p>2) ‘<em>Saanwale salone aaye din bahaar k</em>e’ from BR Chopra’s <em>Ek Hi Rasta</em> (1956): One of the happiest songs, a charming duet between Lata’s Meena Kumari and Hemant’s Sunil Dutt on a cycle with their son in a basket over the front wheel.</p> <p>3) ‘<em>Dil tadap tadap ke</em>’ from Bimal Roy’s <em>Madhumati</em> (1958): Shot in the forest, the longing between the young couple in a song of perfect freshness and spring, though the season is mentioned only once, ‘<em>Tu nahin to yeh bahar kya bahaar hai? Gul nahin khile to tera intezar hai</em>.’</p> <p>4) ‘<em>Dekho mausam kya bahaar hai</em>’ from PL Santoshi’s <em>Opera House</em> (1961): Not really much about spring but a delightful song about romance and the feeling of spring.</p> <p>5) ‘<em>Aaja aayi bahaar’</em> from K Shankar’s <em>Rajkumar</em> (1964): Possibly the greatest picturisation as well as a brilliant song, as Sadhana (Lata singing) and her friends dance on huge water lilies and frolic in waterfalls while Shammi Kapoor and Rajendra Nath snorkel around them.</p> <p>6) ‘<em>Din hai bahaar hai</em>’ from Yash Chopra’s <em>Waqt</em> (1965): The song doesn’t seem to show spring as it’s set on Nainital Lake but Shashi Kapoor (Mahendra Kapoor) in his cashmere sweater and Sharmila Tagore (Asha Bhosle) in a pink lace- trimmed outfit and sing this lovely song while their friends dance rock-and-roll on a floating pontoon.</p> <p>7) ‘<em>Aayi jhoomke basant</em>’ from Manoj Kumar’s <em>Upkar </em>(1967): Sung by Asha Bhosle, Shamshad Begum and Manna Dey (Manoj Kumar), praising the yellow mustard flowers of spring before moving to a <em>mela</em>.</p> <p>8) ‘<em>Baagon mein bahaar hai</em>’ from Shakti Samanta’s <em>Aradhana</em> (1969): Rajesh Khanna (Mohammed Rafi) teases Farida Jalal (Lata Mangeshkar), trying to trick her into saying she loves him by asking her questions about the spring. Charming.</p> <p>9) ‘<em>Yeh kahaan aa gaye hum</em>’ from Yash Chopra’s <em>Silsila (</em>1981): Shot in the famous Keukenhof Gardens in Holland, the flowers show it’s spring although the lyrics don’t mention it. Amitabh recites poetry while Lata sings for Rekha.</p> <p>10) ‘<em>Jashn-e-bahaara</em>’ from Ashutosh Gowariker’s <em>Jodhaa Akbar</em> (2008): The song (sung by Javed Ali) seems to be sung by Akbar (Hrithik) as he sees Jodhaa (Aishwarya) and her friends dressed in the colours of spring, green and yellow. It is a sweet but sad song, saying that love is surprised by the nature of spring as it sees fragrance hiding from the flowers and the hidden sorrow in the veil of the wind.</p> <img src="" /><div>BY: Rachel Dwyer</div><div>Node Id: 25554</div> Thu, 28 Mar 2019 12:04:41 +0000 admin 25554 at Where the Guest is God <p>FOR VISITORS FROM overseas, the biggest risk to health in India is what I have coined: ‘militant’ hospitality. Any occasion, indeed any excuse, means that one must press some special food and drink on one’s guests. For extreme hospitality moments, I have tried to master the trick of putting my arm over my plate to stop more food being added but I am no match for a good hostess who always manages to slip the spoon neatly underneath.</p> <p>My family has always offered food and drink to any visitor and I have a horror of running out of food for guests. One London Book Fair, I blithely said to Mr D that he should invite all his publishing friends as no one would come out in the cold wet winter weather and they’d all have jetlag. Eighty people showed up and all were fed and watered. I had to recruit some assistance to wash up for multiple settings and we were as crowded as a Bombay local in rush hour, but we had a jolly time.</p> <p>I remember visiting other Brits as a child where people would postpone a meal, often for an agonisingly long time, rather than invite others to join them. My mother regarded this as rude, always asking my friends who had dropped in if they would like to call home to say they’d be joining us for lunch. There’s a running gag on the long- running British radio comedy <em>I’m Sorry I Haven’t a Clue</em>, “You’ll have had your tea”, which translates as: “So I don’t need to offer you anything.”</p> <p>I have no idea why my mother was so hospitable. Perhaps it was just her nature. I try to keep this going, though nowadays no one just drops by in London but we often have people home for meals. A sense of humour and an abandonment of perfectionism are essential, as is a partner who pours a good glass.</p> <p>In a similar vein I remember once giving a nice bottle of single malt to an Indian friend. I was struck when he said to us that he wanted to share it with special friends. A Brit once said, while giving me something similar, that we’d want to keep it for ourselves.</p> <p>I don’t buy the Brit argument that they don’t need to return Indian hospitality as it’s easy to host in India because of servants. While it makes life easier and one can spend more time with guests rather than taking turns to sit with them at all times, there’s still planning to be done. Indian guests expect a different type of hospitality: a larger number of dishes, which enables catering to many complex food requirements. We keep it simpler. We don’t serve beef or pork (unless requested); we separate strictly veg and non-veg; and I always ask the egg questions: Will you eat them at all? If you can’t see them? If they are completely concealed? We also prepare for the stampede to leave as soon as dinner is over.</p> <p>This hospitality extends to Indian hotels. Some of my wealthier European friends don’t enjoy top-end Indian hotels. They complain that they’re not top-end enough and the wine lists are poor and the food not so great. These are not my concerns. The two main Indian chains train their staff impeccably and they also show genuine enthusiasm in offering real service.</p> <p>We tend to avoid hotels with large family groups, tour groups and wedding parties, but still wish we could avoid the entitled guest yelling, “Don’t you know who I am?” (Answer, yes, an ill-mannered moron.)</p> <blockquote> <p>In Atithi Tum Kab Jaoge? a distant relation visits a family in Mumbai. Although the family are driven to distraction by his behaviour, when they discover it was all a mistake and he isn't a relative at all, they have become so fond of him that they decide he is an honorary relative and ask him to stay on</p> </blockquote> <p>We often stay in clubs which we adore, the Royal Bombay Yacht Club in particular, and independent hotels. Sometimes the coffee matters. The Neemranas are always a joy, although I had another coffee incident in Tranquebar last year with only instant coffee. Fortunately, I was restored by on tap ‘kaapi’ in the Bangala in Chettinad although I had an alarming moment when we were served western food as we were mistaken for being part of a European tour group who wanted soup and sandwiches. Honour was swiftly restored in a ‘Death by paniyarams’ experience.</p> <p>We tried the Raas in Jodhpur on a friend’s recommendation. I responded sulkily to the apologies for the broken coffee machine though it didn’t stop me eating a hearty breakfast. When we left for Jaisalmer, the staff at the desk apologised profusely. When we returned, the first thing they told me was that the machine was repaired. They insisted we had a top-end room to compensate. I was mortified by my childish behaviour but they seemed genuinely upset that they had disappointed me.</p> <p>I loved the <em>thali</em> service at Shreyas hotel when researching the National Film Archives in Pune. There were photos of all the famous guests and I was sorely disappointed never to feature, despite my great feat of eating so many <em>dahi vadas</em> (it may have been twelve) that the cook came out to meet me.</p> <p>When I was a teenager and a junior lecturer, I stayed in some truly awful hotels and more recently in some nasty guesthouses. Terrifying bathrooms, flickering tube lights, smelly carpets, air conditioners (such luxury) that flashed blue sparks, oily imprints of former guests on chairs and sheets, unwanted flora and fauna, fans which could make the noise of helicopter without moving the air and breakfasts of greasy tea and soggy toast. The sorrow of the staff at serving such misery was apparent on their dirty clothes adding to the odour of disappointment at failing to be hospitable.</p> <p>I have been welcomed in so many homes in India that I can never reply the kindness shown. I would never invite a traveller in to use the bathroom, yet this has happened often to me when travelling in non-touristy areas in Kerala and Odisha. When I was researching my PhD on the Gujarati poet, Kavi Dayaram, I visited his hometown of Dabhoi. I drank 17 cups of tea that day as a refusal was met with ‘Well, you did in the last place you visited.’</p> <p>My friends have lavished hospitality on me, remembering my love for <em>dal</em> and anything with a pulse (groan), making me my favourite dishes. Even those who prefer a risotto will take me to eat <em>chaat</em> even if they don’t indulge themselves.</p> <p>The tradition of hospitality goes back to ancient India. In the Mahabharata, Kunti welcomes the Sage Durvasas into her father’s home and he rewards her with a mantra to give birth to sons. The same sage, who is described as ‘sulabhakopa’ (quick to anger) cursed Shankuntala for failing to show him proper hospitality. The curse was that the one whose memory distracted her (Dushyanta) would forget her. Only her friends’ pleas persuaded the sage to allow a token of recognition to lift the curse so that her husband would recognise her.</p> <p>One of my favourite film clips of tales from the Mahabharata is a story of Mahasati Savitri. Savitri has unexpected visitors in the ashram whom she cannot feed. She prays to a cow on whose body the gods are manifest, with Annapurna Devi sending forth <em>thalis</em>, mats, and maidens to fan the guests to redeem the family’s honour.</p> <p>In the film <em>Atithi Tum Kab Jaoge</em>? a distant relation from Gorakhpur visits a family in Mumbai. The greatest of his many disasters is to destroy a film set he visits. Although the family are driven to distraction by his behaviour, when they discover it was all a mistake and he isn’t a relative at all, they have become so fond of their guest that they decide that he is an honorary relative and ask him to stay on with them.</p> <p>Twenty years ago, a friend and I flew to Lucknow as we were invited by the son of a landed family to their ancestral palace in UP. We were surprised not to be met at the airport nor the family’s palace in Lucknow, but were warmly welcomed after a five-hour road journey to the palace. We were shown our rooms after an amazing dinner and then as we sat on the terrace, our host asked politely who we were and why we had come as no one had informed him of our visit.</p> <p>Truly in India, ‘Atithi devo bhava’.</p> <img src="" /><div>BY: Rachel Dwyer</div><div>Node Id: 25424</div> Thu, 21 Feb 2019 13:23:25 +0000 admin 25424 at My Indian Hall of Fame <p>I’M OFTEN ASKED to list my 10 favourite Hindi films ever, over the last decade, since the millennium, or since Independence. We all enjoy compiling lists and disagreeing with them (though I avert my eyes from below-the-line comments). I don’t have five favourite Hindi films, or even 10, or even 100, but I’m quite happy to compile such lists at the drop of a hat, given the fun I have in preparing them. I’ve published these lists in <em>The Guardian, Hindustan Times</em>, for The British Film Institute and many other places, some of which have gone as far as to request my top 70 films (since 1947 in the latter case). Thirteen years ago I published a book, <em>100 Bollywood Films</em> (British Film Institute/Roli Books), and I often reflect on which movies I’d add if preparing it today. My criteria remain largely the same, so I wondered what distinguishes a film such that it is admitted to my highly subjective canon of Hindi movies.</p> <p>I don’t usually choose the ‘best’ films, but there are films which are regarded as better than others in terms of structure, style, acting and other features that would be recognisable to those who know other cinemas. I suggest that the films of Bimal Roy and Guru Dutt, and some outstanding films (such as <em>Sholay, Deewaar</em> and <em>Pakeezah</em> of 1975) could constitute some kind of ‘world cinema’, where despite their typical features such as the use of melodrama and heightened emotion especially around the family, an engaging narrative, stars, a certain <em>mise en scène</em>, usually one of glamour, grandiloquent dialogues and all-important songs, they can be appraised on similar critical and aesthetic terms.</p> <p>Most people I know who haven’t seen a Hindi film enjoy these films as good cinema. Box office success is significant (though inaccurate) as it suggests that the audiences found these films ‘good’, although we do not usually know why.</p> <p>Another criterion for selection is the film’s importance in the history of Hindi cinema. For example, <em>Bobby</em> (1973), a film that would deserve inclusion by any of my criteria, also brought in the ‘love as friendship’ theme which flourished in the 1990s; <em>Lagaan</em> (2001) for its ‘Oscar’ success; <em>Hum Aapke Hain Koun</em>..! (1994) for its marketing; <em>Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge</em> (1995) for Hindi film and the diaspora (and its 500-week run in India); <em>Dil Chahta Hai</em> (2001) for changing style within the Hindi movie format; and so on.</p> <p>The important talkie cinema of pre-independence India includes some wonderful films. While many films are lost, including <em>Alam Ara</em> (1931), India’s first talkie, some studios’ output is fairly well preserved, notably that of Calcutta’s New Theatres, Bombay Talkies and Pune’s Prabhat Studios. However, some of the work of New Theatres and Prabhat is excluded on the grounds of language (Bengali and Marathi, respectively), and only their Hindi films (mostly made in parallel to Bengali or Marathi versions) may be considered.</p> <p>It is hard not to allow the 1950s to dominate, as this was the era so many classic films were made and great directors like Mehboob Khan, Bimal Roy, Raj Kapoor and Guru Dutt were at their peak. The 1970s also was an extraordinarily fertile period when alongside the great Salim-Javed films for Amitabh Bachchan, there was also the middle-class cinema of makers such as Hrishikesh Mukherjee, while ‘parallel cinema’ had a productive decade.</p> <blockquote> <p>Dabangg is probably my favourite Salman Khan film. Caste, a remarried mother, brilliant songs and a shirt-flying-off sequence—it was all there</p> </blockquote> <p>I try to include key figures, directors, stars, music directors and writers in the selection, but also try to not let any of them dominate. If the list were of ‘good’ films or my favourites, there would have been more by Raj Kapoor, Guru Dutt, Bimal Roy and Yash Chopra. Some key figures feature surprisingly infrequently, in particular those who have become important since the 1990s, while there are a disproportionate number of Salim-Javed films. The latter are foundational to modern Hindi cinema, were huge hits and ‘good’ films, and set a standard which has rarely been equalled. Amitabh Bachchan starred in most of their films, and as he also acted in many of the middle-class films of Hrishikesh Mukherjee, he has by far the greatest number of entries in the volume. Yet I often have to leave out much- loved favourites, such as <em>Coolie </em>(1983).</p> <p>I am no connoisseur of Hindi B-movies, but they are not a part of the history of mainstream cinema. They have their own circuits of production, distribution and exhibition. In recent years, horror films of the Ramsay brothers have acquired their own cult following; <em>Bandh Darwaza</em> (1990), <em>Do Gaz Zameen Ke Neeche</em> (1972) and <em>Dak Bangla</em> (1987), for example. But no one would call them ‘good cinema’.</p> <p>I stand by my selection of this 100, but what if I had to add another 10 to update it? I’d have to exclude some of my favourites on grounds of language: Bengali (such as <em>Bhooter Bhobishyot</em>, 2012), Marathi (<em>Gabhricha Paus</em> of 2009, <em>Natarang</em> of 2010, <em>Fandry</em> of 2013,<em> Sairat</em> of 2016), Punjabi (<em>Qissa</em>, 2013), and perhaps even <em>Bahubali</em> (2015), though I could sneak it in as a dubbed film. Some films are not mainstream but they may shift, so Anurag Kashyap’s <em>Gangs of Wasseypur</em> series would make the cut without question, but what about Neeraj Ghaywan’s <em>Masaan</em> (2015), which raises issues of caste and small-town lives around Varanasi? Varun Grover’s lyrics and Indian Ocean’s music (<em>Tu Kisi Rail Si</em>) were hugely popular, so I guess it’s nudging into the mainstream. It doesn’t have stars while Richa Chadha, Sanjay Mishra, Vicky Kaushal et al are becoming stars of this style of cinema.</p> <p>I’d replace <em>Munna Bhai M.B.B.S</em>. (2003) with<em> Lage Raho Munna Bhai</em> (2006), an all-time favourite where our loveable rogue tries to be a professor (ha ha!) and a follower of Gandhi, even as it becomes <em>Gandhigiri</em>. The performances, jokes, the story and holding on to ‘Indian values’ in a changing world made it one of my all-time favourites.</p> <p>Despite recent events, I’d still choose <em>Queen</em> (2014), a female-led hit with all sorts of queer readings and good jokes and a great story. I always enjoy a good costume drama or historical, the more over the top the better, but I enjoyed <em>Jodha Akbar</em> (2008) much more than <em>Bajirao Mastani</em> (2015) and <em>Padmaavat </em>(2018). A Republic Day-style parade unfolds in the song <em>Azeem O Shaan</em> <em>Shahenshah</em> where the states of India present arms to the emperor in delight at his lifting of the <em>jaziya</em> tax.</p> <p>I think Ranveer and Deepika are a significant onscreen couple and Sanjay Leela Bhansali is one of the leading exponents of Bollywood, but if I say I enjoyed <em>Goliyon ki Rasleela Ram-Leela</em> (2013) much more for its Gujarati flavour and the romance, I’ll get told I’m ignorant. So I’ll skip to my other favourite actors, already having established the Khans, and I have to have Ranbir Kapoor who is my all- round favourite performer, but which film? I could have an Imtiaz Ali film like<em> Rockstar</em> (2011), but I prefer <em>Love Aaj Kal</em> (2009) or <em>Highway</em> (2014) which brings in my big favourite, Alia Bhatt; but then I’m losing Ranbir. Perhaps <em>Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani</em> (2013). I could bring Alia back with Kapoor & Sons (2016), which has a host of wonderful actors and I loved the queer theme and Rishi. It also allows me to squeeze in Karan Johar, who is perhaps the most impressive producer in Bombay today, but then Aditya Chopra is behind the scenes and we’re all wondering about <em>Thugs of Hindostan</em>.</p> <p>I almost forgot <em>Dabangg</em> (2010) is probably my favourite Salman Khan film, and is one of the few films I watched again as soon as I finished it. Caste, a remarried mother, brilliant songs and a shirt-flying-off sequence—it was all there. A dystopia where everything is reversed and Salman plays himself, but how can I miss having <em>Bajrangi Bhaijaan</em> (2015), one of the funniest Hindi films I’ve seen, with a brilliant story and catch songs and a totally adorable heroine, though little romance? And I liked Sonakshi and Ranveer in <em>Lootera</em> (2013).</p> <p>I’ll never forgive myself for one stupid omission in the book. Why did I miss <em>Mahal</em> (1949)? I was so angry with myself that I wrote an entire academic paper about it. That’s the thing about lists. They’re never final. Now how many films have I got left?</p> <img src="" /><div>BY: Rachel Dwyer</div><div>Node Id: 25020</div> Thu, 01 Nov 2018 14:54:29 +0000 admin 25020 at The Twain Shall Meet, But... <p>EDWARD SAID’S TERM ‘Orientalism’, a view of the East that makes it essentially different from the West, is well known. The reverse gaze, Occidentalism, of the East at the West, has received far less attention, perhaps because of the focus on power, not least through colonialism and its acquisition of knowledge about the ‘East’. However, as global power structures change, multiple views emerge and the East and the West, never true binaries, become more complex.</p> <p>The colonial view has shaped the way India sees itself as well as the way it sees the West. The way one sees oneself and one’s own history are the standpoint from where one sees other cultures.</p> <p>Western scholarship, both in the West and also within the Indian academy, has shaped contemporary understanding of Indian history, while Hindu nationalism is giving voice to views which have long been disregarded as peripheral (till now) and decidedly non-academic.</p> <p>India’s contested history may be polarised, almost as a caricature of binaries: academic history from the West versus understandings of non-linear time, of sacred time, and of a sacred nation. The so-called ‘Muslim period’ may be either viewed as a golden age of Indian culture or seen as the brutal rule of ‘foreign invaders’. The British period is perhaps less divisive; although both sides find much to condemn in it, one might see it as bringing the benefits of modernity, including the establishment of the nation- state, while another may see it as a second attack on Indian pride. The 70 years post-Independence saw the establishment of the world’s greatest democracy, but many reject the secular state and now desire a Hindu <em>rashtra</em>.</p> <p>There are other histories of India that are barely studied. Visual history may give us different stories. A good example is Bhagat Singh, who was largely ignored by academic narrative histories but revived by popular history—stories, songs and chromolithographs, themselves retold in films and television series.</p> <p>Indian popular culture also shows different understandings of the modern West. While the 1857 uprisings are celebrated as the beginning of modern Indian nationalism or the ‘First War of Independence’, films about the freedom movement focus on different nationalist leaders struggling against the Brits, who are nearly all villainous, apart from one or two righteous characters.</p> <p>There are of course films that engage seriously with the struggle against colonialism, such as <em>Gandhi </em>(1982), but my favourite depiction of unfettered colonialism is the opening sequence of Manmohan Desai’s<em> Mard</em> (1985) which has Curzon and Simon looting India, taking treasure straight to the airport in armoured cars and tanks, accompanied by much pantomime villainy and loud cackling.</p> <p>THE ANGLOPHILE ELITES, often called ‘brown sahibs’, who ruled India were figures of derision in cinema, such as Sir BB Mehta in<em> Kaagaz Ke Phool</em> (1959), while ordinary people who aspired to be Western were comic figures, such as Dilip Kumar and Om Prakash singing, ‘<em>Saala main to sahib ban gaya</em>’. Even today the inhabitants of Lutyens’ Delhi are portrayed as out of touch with the ‘real India’, though many of these attacks appear to come from among the ranks of those who grew up in this hallowed area itself.</p> <blockquote> <p>In Hare Rama Hare Krishna (1971), the girl becomes a hippie and drug-taker, while her brother remains true to his traditional upbringing</p> </blockquote> <p>While the supposed sexual availability of the White woman was best embodied by Helen in a blonde wig and green contact lenses, the Indians who went to live in the West were open to many temptations. <em>Purab Aur Pachhim</em> (1970) showed how Indians living abroad would forget their values and had to be rescued by a ‘pure’ Indian. In <em>Hare Rama Hare Krishna </em>(1971), the girl becomes a hippie and drug-taker, while her brother remains true to his traditional upbringing. Even more recent films, such as <em>Namastey London </em>(2007), had this same trope, with the simple Indian man teaching Brits and Westernised Indians what true Indian values mean.</p> <p>The diasporic films of the 1990s, typified by Shah Rukh Khan-starrers produced by Yash Chopra and Karan Johar, showed how true Indian values would always prevail, even if the young had to remind their elders of their obligations. <em>DDLJ</em> (1995) remains the outstanding example while in later films, the interactions become more complex. In <em>My Name Is Khan</em> (2010), Rizwan played by Shah Rukh mobilises American Muslims to save African Americans from a natural disaster not unlike the floods of New Orleans, while in <em>Jab Tak Hai Jaan</em> (2012), the intermingling of Westernisation and even fraternising with Pakistanis is more benign.</p> <p>All these films have limited roles for non-Indians, mostly as backup dancers or guests at weddings or public events. Perhaps the safest option is to cast someone of a more complex ethnicity, such as Katrina Kaif, who can pass as either Indian or European.</p> <p>The diasporic film no longer dominates the Indian box office as, although foreign locations remain popular, they are typically where Indians go to holiday or work rather than settle. These Indians rarely mix with non-Indians and non-Indians seem boring and hardly merit any attention. The West seems to be just a tourist destination, with Yash Chopra’s Switzerland now replaced by films set in France (<em>Befikre</em>; 2016), Spain (<em>Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara</em>; 2011), Germany (<em>Ae Dil Hai Mushkil</em>; 2016).</p> <p>The West is a consumerist paradise, a holiday destination, somewhere to work but not interesting <em>per se</em>. It is easy to live in, spectacular, glamorous, and has fewer poor people getting in the way. In other words, it seems little different from the Indian metropolitan bubbles where the super-rich live.</p> <p>These films are made by and consumed by Indians who don’t care about the West or what the West thinks of them. They are interested in creating a new vision of India, one which is hostile to Western values and culture but which enjoys the consumerist lifestyle it offers.</p> <p>Many have scoffed at <em>Crazy Rich Asians</em>, saying Bollywood has been doing it better for years, but perhaps Indians themselves are surprised at the way the West has changed the way it sees India. Yoga is<em> de rigueur</em> as part of an elite lifestyle, and upmarket Indian restaurants are hugely popular.</p> <p>There is no East and no West for rich Indians in these films and beyond. Perhaps we could replace ‘strong’ with ‘rich’ in Rugyard Kipling’s famous poem, <em>The Ballad of East and West:</em></p> <p><em>Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,</em></p> <p><em>Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God’s great Judgment Seat; But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,</em></p> <p><em>When two strong men stand face to face, though they come from the ends of the earth!</em></p> <img src="" /><div>BY: Rachel Dwyer</div><div>Node Id: 24920</div> Thu, 04 Oct 2018 15:07:18 +0000 admin 24920 at Flood, Mud and Blood <p>I SHOULD HAVE BEEN in Kerala this week with Mr D, in search of elephants in Periyar and Wayanad and to revisit Cochin. I thought of Coorg as an alternative destination till I realised that it too had been hit terribly hard by the monsoon rains. Our postponement is totally insignificant in the face of the unimaginable suffering of those whose lives have been devastated.</p> <p>We, and most of our generation are unusually lucky that we have been spared direct experience of human conflict or natural disaster. We imagine death and physical injury, read about them, and see them on-screen but barely consider those who suffer the long-term psychological consequences, such as PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder), with its flashbacks and nightmares, often for the rest of their lives. There is nothing ignoble or weak about people who suffer from PTSD for even our bravest and toughest soldiers may not be prepared for the full horror of what they experience. In Kerala people have died, lost their loved ones, their homes, their possessions, their daily life. What could be worse?</p> <p>It is still too soon to know how the flooding affected the elephant population but I was heartened to see a video of locals helping a magnificent tusker reach safety after a dam was breached. We will return once normalcy is restored to support the state’s battered tourist industry and meanwhile have donated to the disaster appeal. (I would also like to publicly thank CGH Earth who offered to refund our five nights’ accommodation although under no obligation to do so.)</p> <p>Accounts of floods and deluges are told as religious stories or myths in many traditions. In India, Manu’s Flood is well known. Vaivasvata Manu was warned of a flood by Matsya, Vishnu’s fish incarnation. Manu tied a boat to Matsya’s horn and he, the Seven Sages and pairs of animals were saved. The Sumerian tale of Gilgamesh which dates back around 5,000 years shows many similar features as does the Biblical story of <em>Noah</em>: a prescient warning, the building of a boat, a great storm and ultimate salvation.</p> <p>These myths may be viewed in different ways today. BB Lal, the former director of the Archaeological Survey of India, has argued that Manu’s flood is no myth but rather verifiable history, and concerns the flooding of the Saraswati river. Religious protests were held and fatwas issued against the Hollywood movie <em>Noah</em> (2014) which offered more of an environmental than a religious flavour to the flood tale. Perhaps there was indeed a historical flood or perhaps the memory of a great and catastrophic flood became mythologised as its manifestation of the power of God or of nature was so terrifying. Mankind’s awe at water as a giver and destroyer of life is a widespread cultural norm.</p> <p>Hindi films have shown many disasters caused by humans, such as the <em>Burning Train </em>(1980) while <em>Kala Patthar</em> (1979) has a flood caused by mining. The greatest human disaster in South Asia, thePartition, is represented by the metaphor of an earthquake in <em>Waqt</em> (1965) which separates a family that is later reunited.</p> <p>Floods feature as dramatic devices in several films, showing the unleashing of nature on man as well as showing dams, Nehru’s ‘temples of modern India’. In V Shantaram’s <em>Padosi </em>(1941), an industrialist who seeks to build a dam creates conflict between former friends, a Hindu and a Muslim, who are finally united in trying to save lives when the dam breaks. In<em> Satyam Shivam Sundaram</em> (1978), the hero Rajeev (Shashi Kapoor) is a dam engineer and the flood in the climax has him save his estranged wife, Roopa (Zeenat Aman). In <em>Coolie</em> (1983) the evil Zafar, rejected by Salma, floods the area where she lives, resulting in her father’s death, her memory loss and separation from her son, Iqbal.</p> <p>However, the film that shows natural disaster at its worst is <em>Mother India</em> (1957), a film that creates a new mythology for the new independent nation. The timing of the release of the film, ten years after Independence, was crucial as new models and mythologies were needed for the new state as society’s patriarchal and feudal basis was shifting and millions of people had been displaced by the Partition and urban migration. The film has a deep ambivalence, which is never resolved, between the traditional Indian village, where life is grim but lightened by moments of pleasure, and a utopian modern India which provides life’s needs but at the cost of enormous human sacrifice and misery. One of the attractions of Mother India is that it eschews clearcut answers, allowing the audience to experience the pleasures of its ambiguities.</p> <p>This film concentrates on the life of one woman, Radha (Nargis). Her life in the film begins with her marriage, the start of her flashback which narrates the whole film through her eyes. She follows the role of the good wife, the <em>pativrata</em>, who comes to her husband’s village as a bride and daughter-in-law. She is always the idealised good wife, beautiful, hard-working, loving towards her family, and providing her husband with a happy home and several sons.</p> <p>Radha is associated with goddesses and mythological figures. ‘Mother India’ was the nation glorified by the Indian nationalist movement, seen in the national song <em>Vande Mataram</em> ‘I hail the mother’, in which European ideas about the nation as a woman dovetailed with Indian ideas about the earth (<em>Prithvi</em>) as a goddess, whether wedded to the king, or as the ‘mother of the people’. Mother India has had other associations: it was the title of Katherine Mayo’s 1927 book, which is an attack on rather than a critique of Indian society.</p> <p>Radha is the Sita-Savitri model of the ideal woman while her erotic love for her husband, portrayed so clearly here, links her to her namesake, Radha, Krishna’s beloved. Her husband is called Shyam, one of the names of Krishna. Even the money lender, Sukhilal, identifies her with Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth and it is she who protects her honour, presumably to avoid her own defilement.</p> <p>Mother India is also shown to be Mother Earth. In the opening sequence, Radha, now an old lady,sits in the field while the machines of modernity are seen all around her in a manner reminiscent of a Soviet film, so we see a power station, an electricity pylon and a tractor, while the soundtrack is a ‘traditional’ <em>bhajan </em>praising ‘<em>dharti ma</em>’, as she reverentially lifts the ploughed soil to her forehead.</p> <p>The identification of Radha with the earth occurs throughout the film. In the early days of happiness she sings ‘<em>Matwala Jiya</em>’ with her husband and other villagers as they reap the harvest. However, her husband leaves when he loses his arms in an accident trying to plough uncultivated land.</p> <p>When a flood hits the village, Radha loses a son (though I think another son vanishes without a trace at some point). When the villagers despair after the floods subside, Radha rallies them, asking them not to leave—‘<em>O Jaanewaalon Jao Na</em>’. The flood becomes mud and mud is where crops grow. Radha has no ox and has to pull the plough herself, aware that life is a struggle—‘<em>Duniya Hum Aaye Hain</em>’. After the harvest, she and her sons, the villagers sing ‘<em>Dukh Bhare Din Beete re Bhaiya</em>’ as a map of undivided India is marked out by sheaves of grain. Radha is now the village itself, and her tragedy is that she becomes the guardian of its<em> izzat</em>.</p> <p>The flood could be read as a metaphor for the Partition or it could be the washing away of the old village India to be replaced by the modern state with its technology to protect its citizens in the face of nature. After killing her beloved son Birju by shooting him in the back, Radha is not imprisoned. Instead she is honoured by inaugurating the new dam that will prevent future floods, symbolising a move into a modern world where technology, largely in the control of men, replaces the old and more unpredictable order. Nature is brought under control and Radha is seen to be honoured by the new order, even while relinquishing her role as Mother Earth.</p> <p>Although in India, Mother India has been enjoyed as telling the story of a woman’s suffering to keep values preserved, its qualities were lost on Western viewers: one critic is much quoted in India as having said it was a film about ‘flood, mud and blood’.</p> <p>A more recent adaptation of this story, <em>Deewaar </em>(1975), eschews the clash with modern technology, and nor does natural disaster feature in the film. The narrative shifts to Vijay, a smooth version of Birju, the ‘bad’ son, whom the mother loves. In its urban setting, the focus is entirely on the human, rather than the natural world, in shaping mankind’s destiny. Yet the concern with the natural world has now re-entered public discourse given our fear of global warming, plastic and other pollutants and impending ecological disaster. Droughts and floods continue and Kerala has recently experienced some of the worst of the latter in living memory. Perhaps it is time for another retelling of this story, one which foregrounds the power of nature in shaping the story of India.</p> <img src="" /><div>BY: Rachel Dwyer</div><div>Node Id: 24785</div> Thu, 30 Aug 2018 14:25:18 +0000 admin 24785 at Scotch Whimsy <p>I WOULD HAVE HAD a perfect holiday on the west coast of Scotland had a friend not emailed me a link to <em>The Road to the Isles</em>, a song which has traditional roots but around World War I became a popular music hall number and military march. Even though my ancestors left the Isles over a century ago, I was misty-eyed, reaching for my tartan-shortbread-whisky, as we drove up the Road to the Isles, known more prosaically as the A830:</p> <p><em>A far croonin’ is pullin’ me away<br /> As take I wi’ my cromach to the road.<br /> The far Cuillins are puttin’ love on me<br /> As step I wi’ the sunlight for my load.</em></p> <p>We used to spend our family holidays on the West Coast and the Isles in the 1960s and 1970s and it seems apart from better roads and more international tourists (including many Indians), little has changed. The numerous small beaches are mostly empty and pristine, and the views as spectacular as ever.</p> <p>Food and lodgings have improved greatly. Our hotel in Arisaig had the feel of an Indian hill station with its conifer forest criss-crossed with springy paths strewn with pine needles, although the views were of the sea. The spacious and old-fashioned feel of the building and the open windows felt as much a change from the London heatwave as a journey to the hills from Delhi in hot weather. Coorg may be known as ‘The Scotland of India’, but this reversed the gaze.</p> <p>Although Scotland today has a population of only five million, its global influence has been significant, not least through the British Empire; New Zealand and eastern Canada even today feel Scottish. Scots also played an important role in India, their influence growing after the 1707 Act of Union, when they had easier access to the East India Company. While the Scots were perhaps most visible in the army, they dominated much of the trade at the time as merchants, bankers and shippers. Most tea planters in Assam were Scottish, while the jute trade linked Calcutta with Dundee. Mahatma Jyotiba Phule Mandi in Mumbai is no longer named after Arthur Crawford, a Scot, but its Caithness stone floor remains. Mackinnon and Mackenzie were among the famous shipping agents, though I’m not sure my (Scottish) father, who worked for them, was joking when he said they were called ‘Mukherjee and Mukherjee’.</p> <p>The Scots were keen scholars too, with Alexander Cunningham founding the Archaeological Survey of India, while ideas of the Scottish Enlightenment were taught in their educational establishments. The Scottish missionary Alexander Duff notes how popular Robert Burns was in the early days of Hindu College, Calcutta, in particular his poem <em>A Man’s a Man for a’ That</em>. Rabindranath Tagore’s <em>Phule Phule, Dhole Dhole </em>is<em> </em>derived from Burns’ <em>Ye Banks and Braes o’ Bonny Doon</em>, as is his <em>Purano Shei Diner Katha</em>, which is <em>Auld Lang Syne</em>. Bankim Chandra Chatterjee read Sir Walter Scott’s historical novels with their patriotic nationalism, and his gangs of robbers and bandits are reminiscent of Scott’s Rob Roy. William Dalrymple and Olivia Fraser are today’s most famous Scots in India.</p> <p>The British elites included many Scots, such as the Governor Generals Dalhousie and Minto and Viceroys Elgin and Linlithgow (Minto was also Viceroy), Sir Thomas Munro, Sir John Malcolm and Mountstuart Elphinstone. Lord Thomas Babington Macaulay’s name lives on, mostly in infamy, today in India.</p> <p>I could swear I have heard many older Bengalis with slightly Scottish accents, but food has been a two-way exchange. Which came first, the Scotch egg or the Nargisi kofta? Porridge or dalia? Sometimes the exchange is more subtle; thus <em>khichdi</em> became kedgeree with smoked haddock, perhaps even an Arbroath smokie. Sometimes tastes are shared, so Indian guests enjoy haggis if you say it’s a Scottish sausage, and agree it’s not unlike <em>haleem</em>.</p> <p>Scots in India regularly feature in the so-called ‘Empire’ films, so <em>The Drum</em> (directed and produced by the Kordas, Hungarian Jews recently settled in London in 1938) showed Highlanders in the Northeast, while <em>Bhowani Junction</em> (1956) has an Indian pipe band, the Frontier Force Rifles.</p> <p>Saeed Jaffrey moved to international stardom as Billy Fish in the film of Rudyard Kipling’s <em>The Man Who Would Be King</em> (1975), starring one of the most famous Scots, Sean Connery, set in ‘Kafiristan’. Daniel Dravot may not have been a Scot, but Sean Connery made no concessions to hide his strong accent. <em>Carry On Up the Khyber</em> (1968) concerned the 3rd Foot and Mouth Regiment (The Devils in Skirts), slyly playing on the legend of what a Scot wears, or rather doesn’t wear, under his kilt, as a key device and a hitherto unknown British military tactic.</p> <p>I don’t recall any Bollywood films which show Scots, though in Satyajit Ray’s 1977 <em>Shatranj Ke Khiladi</em> (‘The Chess Players’), Richard Attenborough played General Outram, a typically dour Scot. Weston (Tom Alter) tries to explain that Wajid Ali Shah as a poet, playwright and dancer is an accomplished and good king, but Outram, who has spent more than 30 years in India, manifests British bafflement at these alleged regal talents, saying, “[He is] a bad king. A frivolous, effeminate, irresponsible, worthless king…. he’s not the first, but certainly deserves to be the last. We’ve put up with this nonsense long enough. Eunuchs, fiddlers, nautch-girls, and ‘muta’ wives and God knows what else. He can’t rule, he has no wish to rule, and therefore he has no business to rule.” However, Outram and others thought the British did have business ruling, so Avadh was annexed. His role in this episode and the 1857 Uprising was rewarded with a baronetcy, and his name adorns streets throughout the former empire, including Outram Ghat in Calcutta. His statue still stands in London’s Whitehall Gardens.</p> <p>Several Bollywood films have been shot in Scotland and the Scottish Tourist Board’s ‘Visit Scotland’ continues to welcome them. Eilean Donan Castle features in <em>Kuch Kuch Hota Hai</em> (1998) and Aishwarya Rai danced there in the Tamil film, <em>Kandukondain Kandukondain</em>. Edinburgh featured in Dev Anand’s <em>Main Solah Baras Ki</em>, while Salman Khan danced there in <em>Yeh Hai Jalwa</em> which was also shot in other locations in Scotland. <em>Soch</em> (2002) was filmed in Glencoe, Stirling Castle and Inveraray.</p> <p>Raj Kapoor’s Indian Air Force officer plays the bagpipes in <em>Bol Radha Bol (Sangam</em>, 1964), and bagpipes feature in several Indian songs. India has its own bagpipe tradition, including the Mashak and Garhwali bagpipes whose history is unclear, though Andrew Alter has written about the latter. Their pipers today play local music on bagpipes to give a sound somewhat evocative of the Indian reeded instrument, the <em>shehnai</em>.</p> <p>The military association remains in the Indian army pipe bands, as the bagpipes became a symbol of the British marching army more widely. There is little to beat the swagger of the Highland piper in his (and now hers) kilt, his black feather hat with the tails swinging, and the white spats.</p> <p>There are now military bagpipe bands in the Northeast, such as in schools in Kalimpong, while their magnificence has been adapted to religious associations. In 2015, the UK Shree Muktajeevan Swamibapa Pipe Band, dressed in full Scottish regalia, welcomed Prime Minister Narendra Modi to Wembley Stadium. They have four other pipe bands globally, as do Ismailis in Hunza and Hyderabad (Sindh), who play songs such as <em>Tame Aavjo Aavjo, Pyara Karim Shah</em>.</p> <p>I recently attended a summer ‘Curry lunch’ at the Oriental Club in central London where we were piped in with Scotland the Brave and <em>Marie’s Wedding</em> to a remarkably good (and dare I say authentic) Indian lunch, supplemented with the traditional British appropriation of <em>poppadums</em> and sweet mango chutney.</p> <p>Our hotel in Arisaig had a music room with instruments available to guests, but as my musical talents are limited, I didn’t dare try to play the bagpipes, although sorely tempted. I told a friend in India that I was keen to learn to play them in my retirement but thought it seemed an unfeasible project. It transpires they can be easily bought in India, though Sialkot remains the major production centre outside of Scotland. I have to confess to ordering a practice chanter as a preliminary stop, so perhaps one day I can entertain my Indian friends with <em>The Road to the Isles</em> and <em>Bol Radha Bol</em>. <em>Alba gu bràth!</em></p> <img src="" /><div>BY: Rachel Dwyer</div><div>Node Id: 24669</div> Thu, 02 Aug 2018 11:53:28 +0000 vijayopen 24669 at Eye of the Tiger <p>INDIA’S LIFE EXPECTANCY has almost doubled since Independence, and has now reached 65, though it remains much lower than in the richest countries (in China, it is 76). Even if we factor child mortality into this, India’s population remains one of the youngest in the world, with about half being under 25 and two-thirds under 35.</p> <p>If the majority of the film audience is drawn from this youth segment, then why are most of Indian cinema’s major male stars so old?</p> <p>Looking at unreliable statistics of the biggest box office successes of all time gives slightly different figures. All these films came out in the last 10 years, and the most popular stars are Aamir Khan (born1965), Shah Rukh Khan (1965); Salman Khan (1965); Hrithik Roshan (1975); Prabhas (1979); Ranveer Singh (1985) and Ranbir Kapoor (1982).</p> <p>Whichever group of statistics we look at, the lead is held by Salman Khan, who has enjoyed massive successes in <em>Tiger Zinda Hai</em> (2017), <em>Bajrangi Bhaijaan </em>(2015), <em>Sultan</em> (2016), <em>Prem Ratan Dhan Payo</em> (2015), <em>Kick</em> (2014) and <em>Ek Tha Tiger </em>(2012).</p> <p>The female stars of those top 20 films (Kareena Kapoor Khan, Priyanka Chopra, Katrina Kaif, Anushka Sharma, Jacqueline Fernandez, Deepika Padukone, Sonakshi Sinha) are all born after 1980, with only Kareena, Priyanka and Katrina being older than Ranveer.</p> <p>These age profiles are similar to those of Hollywood, where women peak before 40 and men afterwards. In both industries, there are few roles for women over 40, with notable exceptions like this year’s Academy Award winner for Best Actress, Frances McDormand, while Meryl Streep remains a key player. On the other hand, most of the men who win Best Actor Awards have a median age of almost 50.</p> <p>In Hindi films, the leading men were younger than they are today. Dilip Kumar (born1922) was a star from his twenties, but had few hit films as a leading hero after the 1960s. Dev Anand (born 1923) was ‘Evergreen’ but his golden age ended around 40 with a few notable exceptions such as <em>Des Pardes</em> at the age of 55. Raj Kapoor (born 1924) gave up playing the lead after <em>Mera Naam Joker</em> (1970).</p> <p>Rajesh Khanna (born 1942) was a box office hero when young, fading soon after he was 30, while his contemporary Amitabh Bachchan (born 1942) had little success at the box office during the 1990s but bounced back in the 2000s as a senior figure. Rishi Kapoor (born 1952) was a leading man from his teens until his forties. The two are acting even older than they are in Umesh Shukla’s <em>102 not out</em>. Their longevity may be compared to that of senior figures in Hollywood, such as Clint Eastwood and Jack Nicholson.</p> <p>The story so far seems clear. Heroes are getting older, similar to what happens in Hollywood. Yet there are some differences which will become clear as I look at Salman Khan, who dominates the box office today and was a lead star in the late 1980s and early 1990s, to ask what his stardom says about Hindi cinema and male stardom and ideas of middle-aged men today. What does it say about ageing and sexuality in India?</p> <p>Salman’s career needs to be set alongside that of his contemporaries, Shah Rukh and Aamir, who became stars within a few years of him. There have been recent films in which they haven’t played the romantic lead, taking more ‘age appropriate’ roles, such as <em>Dear Zindagi</em>, and <em>Dangal.</em></p> <p>These three heroes have evolved their images since their early stardom. I wrote about Salman’s stardom in a recent issue (‘<a href="" target="_blank">Being Salman Khan</a>’, April 23rd, 2018) so won’t repeat myself here, but he still plays a romantic hero, though he is famous for his action sequences and comedies. Shah Rukh was the top star of the Bollywood diasporic film, but his star is waning, as he is most popular as a romantic hero, not an action hero. Aamir is a major figure as a producer as well as actor, showing a knack for knowing what will work in more reflective films, though he still can play an action hero as well as an alien and a father figure. They have found new fans in the youth, often in their sports movies (<em>Chak De! India, Dangal, Sultan</em>), where sportsmen give ground to a new generation of sportswomen, while many of their old fans remain loyal.</p> <p>In the 1990s, these three male stars represented a new type of hero, shifting from the action masala films of the 1980s, as the hero became more romantic and the bright and sunny films focused on love as friendship as part of the consumerist globalising Indian family. Perhaps there was a rise in the female audience as the multiplex appeared, or perhaps younger people had more cash in post-liberalisation India.</p> <p>Yet, Salman, who was Prem of the Barjatya films, began to take on some of Sanjay Dutt’s image with the bad boy reputation, the muscles and an unapologetic masculinity of an old- fashioned type, rather than the modern metrosexual man.</p> <p>It is striking that Salman plays the action hero more than the others of his age, the famous meme of his shirt coming off being part of his stardom. In <em>Bajrangi Bhaijaan</em>, the joke is that he is a failed wrestler not because he isn’t fit and muscular but because he is ticklish. As an action star, Salman is no older than many of his American counterparts, and like them he is A-grade whereas earlier action stars were often seen as somewhat B-grade and not romantic, though producing much-loved figures such as Dara Singh.</p> <p>Akshay Kumar (born 1967) was one of the first romantic action-hero stars who has now moved into making films on social concerns such as <em>Toilet: Ek Prem Katha </em>and<em> Padman</em>.</p> <p>The action heroes of Hollywood are often dubbed ‘geriaction stars’, but their age adds to their stardom. These men are fit and mature, but importantly they look good for their age, dubbed by Mike Featherstone as ‘heroes of aging’, even if we know that lifestyle is supplemented by surgical procedures, wigs and so on. They are admired for ageing successfully, even for denying the process. They don’t show the physical, mental and social decline of us normal people, seeming to be more star-like than the young.</p> <p>Agring in India is culturally very different from the West. A reverence for age is a well-known feature of Indian society, but it has taken a while for an older person to be the lead character in a film, although the stardom of Amitabh Bachchan has helped pave the way.</p> <p>Middle age in India might also have different meanings from that in the West. In the four stages of life (<em>varnashrama dharma</em>), the householder is a key figure. As he becomes older, he is more stable and less flighty. He is experienced, more powerful and wealthier. He is no longer a child who is looked after, but someone who looks after his parents and his children. This seems an extension of this stage of life, although perhaps Salman’s extended bachelorhood and his father speaking up for him makes him seem somewhat younger. This stage of life portrayed by these stars marks a peak in life before ageing and decline.</p> <p>Audiences may be changing, but they have lived in a dynamic relationship with these stars. In the 1990s, they changed many people’s ideas about a good life, and this audience is now full of parents of younger audiences. It is usual for families in India to watch films together and perhaps the different generations and genders have different views of these stars. They also watch their old films and the star’s image is a composite across the decades. The star accrues more stardom, so Tiger is also Prem is also Chulbul Pandey while Shah Rukh is forever Rahul.</p> <p>The rising stars today are also capable of being action heroes, but they have their own images. Ranveer is super- muscled, and mixes his fighting with romance as well as humour, the latter backed by his role in the AIB roast. Ranbir brings the image of the Kapoor dynasty, taking an unusual choice of roles, often a suffering and wounded man whose songs have strong Sufi associations.</p> <p>Yet, it is an emerging star, Tiger Shroff (born 1990) who seems to be gaining popularity with the youth. Son of Jackie Shroff, whose saucy swimsuit pictures are remembered by the older audience, he has an unusual face and a super fit body. He is one of the best dancers and is trained in martial arts. He brings the image of Jackie, and is showing how he can become the star of sequels—as <em>Baaghi</em> was followed by <em>Baaghi 2</em>, to be followed by <em>Baaghi 3</em>. He has been snapped up by big producers and he is to appear in another sequel, Karan Johar’s <em>Student of the Year 2</em>, and a film by Yash Raj featuring Hrithik, the great dancing and fighting hero whose stardom began almost 20 years ago.</p> <p>While Salman’s ageing and muscled body continues to define Hindi film stardom and ideas of masculinity, it is clear that the next generation is following in his footsteps. It is surely just a coincidence that the stardom of the eponymous hero of <em>Ek Tha Tiger</em> and <em>Tiger Zinda Hai</em> is now being pursued by another Tiger.</p> <img src="" /><div>BY: Rachel Dwyer</div><div>Node Id: 24532</div> Thu, 28 Jun 2018 11:43:30 +0000 vijayopen 24532 at The Intimate Fantasy <p>ONE OF THE MOST powerful political speeches of the 20th century was Martin Luther King Jr’s <em>I Have a Dream</em>.... His dream was more than just a hopeful vision or a wish, but also prophetic. This waking dream or wish for the future is different from the sleeping dream, where the dreamer may not have any control over the dream, but whose interpretations give us great insights into ways in which different cultures understand the workings of the human mind. The one thing these dreams have in common is that although their material and ideas may come from our pasts, they are about our presents and our futures.</p> <p>The science of sleep is a medical matter, and in today’s world sleep anxieties and insomnia are much discussed, but I am more interested in oneirocriticism, the interpretation of dreams and their potential meanings.</p> <p>Message dreams are fairly straightforward, being the type where someone appears to say something to the dreamer, perhaps to give a divine message or bring news from the dead, or they can be dreams which point to the future. As teenagers, my friends and I were very excited to sleep with a piece of wedding cake under our pillows so we would dream about our future husbands. I don’t recall it working.</p> <p>It is the more symbolic dreams which require interpretation that are fascinating. Cultures interpret these in many different ways. There are fascinating accounts in many Indian texts about dreams (usually called <em>swapna</em>, which can also mean sleep) and their meanings.</p> <p>The Kalpa Sutra tells of the dreams of Mahavira’s mother, Devananda, before his birth. She had 14 dreams which featured symbols such as elephants, jewels and lotus lakes. Her husband, King Siddhartha, interpreted these as meaning she would give birth to a great king. However, when he called interpreters, they told him that these were great rather than common dreams, meaning she would give birth to an Arhat.</p> <p>Similarly the Buddha’s mother, Maya, dreamt a six-tusked white elephant entered her side, and this was interpreted by wise men as meaning she would give birth to a great one.</p> <p>Nightmares also feature, as there are spells and charms in the Atharvaveda to ward off bad dreams, so VI: 46 is ‘Against evil dreams’, where sleep, Araru, is the daughter of Yama. Dreams are also important in Ayurveda as they may influence illness.</p> <p>The Upanishads discuss dreams as well. In the Chandogya Upanishad (8th Prapathika), Prajapati teaches Indra about the Atman (self) in dreaming and non-dreaming states. The Brihadaranyaka Upanishad has a debate between the sage Gargya and King Ajatashatru over what a sleeping man is. The king says what he has gathered through his faculties from the waking world, his self is imagining. Later in the same text, Yajnavalkya says that <em>swapna</em> is a state between this human world and the other divine world.</p> <p>The key text to the modern understanding of dreams is Freud’s <em>Interpretation of Dreams</em> (1899), which argues for the location of dreams in the unconscious—where wishes are censored and so becomes unrecognisable and difficult to analyse. In many ways, this does not seem so different from the wise men who interpreted dreams in the ancient world over 2,000 years ago.</p> <blockquote> <p>The greatest dream sequence of all is Ghar Aaya Mera Pardesi in Awaara. It condenses into a dream many fears and anxieties about the film’s key themes of love, religion, women, motherhood, punishment and crime</p> </blockquote> <p>Dreams feature in many Indian literary texts. One of the most famous is Bhasa’s play <em>Swapnavasavadatta</em>, a Sanskrit play where King Udayana is led to believe his beloved Queen Vasavadatta has died in a fire so that he can be tricked into a second strategic marriage. One night when he was dreaming of her, she appeared in his room and his confusion between the state of dreaming and being awake is made clear.</p> <p>Rokeya Sakhawat Hossain’s <em>Sultana’s Dream</em> (1905) is a proto-feminist story. An elite Muslim woman, concerned with the status of Indian women, falls asleep, then has a dream about a science-fiction utopia, Ladyland, where men have to live in purdah and women are in charge.</p> <p>Cinema, which sometimes seems a dreamlike state in itself, often features dreams. Satyajit Ray’s <em>Nayak</em> (1966) has nightmares while the rest of the world dreams of the great star. In his film <em>Devi</em> (1960), Doyamoyee’s father dreams that she is an incarnation of a goddess and his belief that the dream is true sets off a tragic course of events.</p> <p>Hindi films are famous for their dream sequences. These are mostly fantasies which allow a song to be pictured in locations extraneous to the plot; so <em>Suraj Hua Madham</em> in <em>Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham (</em>2001) adds the Pyramids to the film’s exotic locations.</p> <p>A popular use of the dream sequence is to allow expression of desire. This may be done in a comic fantasy moment such as Mehmood’s song <em>Hum Kaale Hain toh Kya Hua?</em> (<em>Gumnaam</em>, 1965), or when Faizal sees Mohsina at a wedding and dreams she sits down to feed him.</p> <p>Some dream sequences may allow the audience not only to enjoy a song in a setting different from the rest of the narrative’s, but also be drawn into elaborations of the story and its emotions. Yash Chopra uses them in many films to this end. In <em>Darr</em> (1991), in <em>Chhota sa Ghar</em>, the couple dream that their empty flat is suddenly furnished, and that a wall opens into a Swiss meadow to include romance. In <em>Dil To Pagal Hai</em> (1997), when the romantic couple (Shah Rukh and Madhuri) first express desire, the film cuts from a wedding in Mumbai to a German pastoral scene. In <em>Veer Zaara</em>’s <em>Main Yahan Hoon</em>, the lover sings to his beloved who is about to marry another that he is still with her in spirit but only she can see him.</p> <p>The greatest dream sequence of all is the one which is reputed to be the first, namely, <em>Ghar Aaya Mera Pardesi</em> in <em>Awaara</em> (1951). This nine-minute sequence condenses into a dream many fears and anxieties about the film’s key themes of love, religion, women, motherhood, punishment and crime. The first shots show a spiral staircase surrounded by clouds, presumably heaven. Dancers appear among statues of loops and swirls, singing and sliding down chutes. Rita (Nargis) stands at the top of a flight of stairs, dressed in fine fabric, sequins and shiny hair ornaments, dusted with glitter, singing a love song (<em>Tere Bina Aag Yeh Chandni</em>). Raj, dressed in a black T-shirt and trousers then appears in hell, where he sings of his desires for love and spring (‘<em>Yeh nahin, yeh nahin zindagi</em>’) as he is surrounded by flames, dancing skeletons and other monsters. In the last sequence, he emerges through clouds to the sound of ‘<em>Om namah Shivaya</em>’ (homage to Lord Shiva) at the bottom of a flight of stairs leading to a Trimurti (composite image of Brahma-Shiva-Vishnu), when Nargis bends down to take him by the hand to lead him to heaven. Dressed in an embroidered bodice and skirt, she sings <em>Ghar Aaya Mera Pardesi </em>in front of a deity’s statue with flashing lights in the background. She begins to climb the spiral and Raj follows her. They then climb more stairs towards a Nataraja as Nargis appears in dancing clothes. They begin to walk along a twisting road when a giant image of Raj’s nemesis Jagga appears, holding a shining knife. Raj falls down yelling ‘Rita’ as she reaches over him but cannot save him. A montage of images, including one of Raj yelling as Rita appears superimposed, dissolves as Raj wakes up, shouting, “<em>Maa, mujhe bachao</em> (Mother, save me)!”</p> <p>One of the pre-release controversies about <em>Padmaavat</em> (2018) is that it was rumoured to have a dream sequence between Padmavati and Khilji. It would have made great sense in terms of cinema, but would have been too controversial for cultural sensitivities.</p> <img src="" /><div>BY: Rachel Dwyer</div><div>Node Id: 24161</div> Thu, 05 Apr 2018 12:03:31 +0000 vijayopen 24161 at The Perfect Mausi <p>THIS WEEK MY 22-year-old nephew is starting work as an intern at a think-tank in Delhi. I seem to be the most excited about all this, while he is quite calm. My friends are pulling out all the stops to ensure he has a smooth beginning to his time in India. Yet, advice is needed about things a young Brit hasn’t seen— servants, geysers, quilts (rather than duvets), bathroom taps.</p> <p>When I first went to India 37 years ago, I was a teenager, alone. This was before ‘The Lonely Planet’ (I saw it first the next year), let alone the internet. In those days, going to India meant saying goodbye to people at home and then vanishing. Family and friends sent me ‘poste restante’ to Delhi that would be my first port of call in the city. A lightning call home was beyond my budget, so blue-blotting paper aerogrammes were the only thing to write in those long evenings after sundown.</p> <p>Maybe it’s being middle-aged that makes being an aunty more worrying than travelling on your own. My nephew can WhatsApp anyone of us at home or call my friends in India. He has a credit card and an Uber account. He probably doesn’t know what a Traveller’s Cheque is, having to keep them safe am then spending a good day at a bank to encash them.</p> <p>India is not the same place. In the days before liberalisation, I could budget Rs 50 a day to cover train travel, food and accommodation. Even at that age, it wasn’t always fun on my return. After my first visit to India, a trip to the doctor was followed by a knock on the door from a public health official who banned me from handling food and eating out.</p> <p>It’s probably easier being a boy too, although at 6 foot 4, taller than Mr Bachchan, he will attract attention. I was usually called ‘Julie’ in Delhi, not knowing for years it was for a film character. In my thirties, I became Didi. I was briefly Gori Chachi, but now I am always auntie or even aunty<em>ji</em>.</p> <p>When I was a child, I had to call real aunts ‘aunty’, a name used also for my mother’s close friends while acquaintances or older women were Mrs X or Miss X. Only one of my nephews calls me ‘auntie’ and they would think it odd to call any non-blood relative ‘aunty’. I think post PG Wodehouse, aunts have fallen from favour in the UK, and Aunt Dalia and Aunt Agatha relegated to the past. Perhaps their legacy is found only in Agony Aunts and in Aunty (the BBC).</p> <p>The two main words in Hindi for non-related aunties are ‘<em>mausi</em>’ (maternal aunt), who is usually a close maternal figure, and ‘<em>chaachi</em>’ (wife of paternal uncle). Other words for aunty are mostly restricted to blood relations—‘<em>bua</em>’, ‘<em>maami</em>’ and ‘<em>taayi</em>’. English ‘aunty’ has its own meaning, used for relatives and older women in the family circle but it has its own particular use.</p> <blockquote> <p>Many actresses later in their careers played maternal figures. A host of Maharashtrian actresses were famed for these roles: Lalita Pawar was immortalised as Mrs D’Sa in Anari (1959) while Leela Chitnis usually played mother roles</p> </blockquote> <p>In India, all older women are aunties—perhaps a generation older, perhaps a friend of the older generation. There is a type of aunty, the woman who can’t believe she’s aged, who wears her hair loose, low-cut blouses and low-slung sari, big <em>bindi</em> and, God forbid, who can’t keep her <em>pallu</em> on her shoulder. Yikes. I like to think of Indian aunties as a sensible bunch, usually rather jolly. I see them out on morning walks, proudly displaying their own sartorial style where comfort comes first. Iconic items are baggy cardigans, white trainers, odd hair ornaments. They often wear jazzy patterns and incongruous sunglasses or even printed t-shirts. Sensible, solid types who accept middle-age, enjoy life and keep their families going.</p> <p>Where are the aunties in Hindi cinema, which is allegedly renowned for celebrating key family figures—the saintly mother, the stern father, the feckless and dangerous <em>maama</em> (maternal uncle), the doting grandparents? These movies celebrate loving relationships beyond the romantic couple. Fathers and daughters, fathers and sons, brothers, sisters, but above all, the mother and son. Am I right in thinking aunties don’t really get their due?</p> <p>There are undeniably films which are about aunties. In <em>Chachi 420</em> (1997) and <em>Aunty No 1</em> (1998), Kamal Haasan and Govinda respectively play aunties to comic effect. <em>Shabnam Mousi</em> (2005) is based on the life of the first transgender Indian to be an elected politician. <em>Maushi</em> (1958) has an aunt find a miracle cure for a mentally unwell girl. Hmmm.</p> <p>Many films also feature aunties. There are scary ones in <em>Mr. & Mrs. ‘55</em> (1955), where Anita (Madhubala) has a ‘feminist’; that is, a man-hating aunt (Lalita Pawar) whom the cartoonist Pritam (Guru Dutt)—or rather RK Laxman— depicts as a warrior queen on a chariot. Manorama plays a comic ogress of an aunt in <em>Seeta aur Geeta</em> (1971) while Leena Mishra plays another aunt to Hema Malini as Basanti in<em> Sholay</em> (1975), most famous for her reactions to the comic dialogue of Jai (Amitabh Bachchan).</p> <p>Many actresses later in their careers played maternal figures. A host of Maharashtrian actresses were famed for these roles: Lalita Pawar was immortalised as Mrs D’Sa in <em>Anari</em> (1959), while Leela Chitnis usually played mother roles. Durga Khote played mothers and grandmothers in films such as <em>Mughal-e-Azam</em> (1960), <em>Bobby</em> (1973) so different from her earlier roles such as a swashbuckling pirate princess in <em>Amar Jyoti </em>(1936). Sulochana (Latkar, not Ruby Myers <em>aka </em>Sulochana) was mother or aunt to major stars of the 1970s such as Dev Anand, even though she was five years younger than him, most famously in <em>Jab Pyaar Kisise Hota Hai </em>(1961), and Rajesh Khanna in films such as <em>Kati Patang</em> (1971).</p> <p>Aruna Irani, Farida Jalal, Achala Sachdev all played older roles but one of the great mother figures was Nirupa Roy who had starred as goddesses in mythologicals but is best remembered as a mother figure, often to Amitabh Bachchan, in classics such as <em>Deewaar </em>(1975) and <em>Amar Akbar Anthony</em> (1977).</p> <p>Aunties can be glamorous too. In Hum <em>Aapke Hain Koun</em>…! (1995), after Pooja (Renuka Shahane) marries Rajesh (Mohnish Bahl), her sister Nisha (Madhuri Dixit) and his brother Prem (Salman Khan) fall in love. When Pooja dies leaving a baby, the family decides that Rajesh should marry Nisha. This shows the ways in which mausi takes on the popular meaning ‘<em>Maa jaisi</em>’ (like a mother). There is no reason that Nisha couldn’t marry Prem and they could look after the baby, but the slight plot of the film would vanish entirely. Famously, Lord Krishna directs Tuffy, the Coke- drinking dog, to carry a message Nisha wrote to Prem to Rajesh. The letter reveals the love of Nisha and Prem, and their unselfish resolve to do their duty rather than succumb to romantic love. Nisha remains the perfect <em>mausi.</em></p> <p>There are many roles one can play as an auntie, enjoying having a caring relationship without the day-to-day worries. Aunties indulge and can be silly. My nephew and I used to go to the cinema and to museums together. Aunties can be serious. I tutored my nephew in Latin and in French. Now I wonder how he ended up being so interested in India.</p> <img src="" /><div>BY: Rachel Dwyer</div><div>Node Id: 23944</div> Thu, 08 Feb 2018 12:58:03 +0000 vijayopen 23944 at