Imran Khan: An Actor and a Gentleman

20 Monday Apr 2009

Posted by sitanshi talati-parikh in Interviews (All), Interviews: Cinema, Publication: Verve Magazine

Tags

Aamir Khan, Avantika Malik, Bollywood, Delhi Belly, imrankhan, indiancinema, Interview, Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na, Kidnap, Luck, vervemagazine

Published: Verve Magazine, Verve Man, Features, April 2009
Photograph by Colston Julian

Affable yet reticent, blunt yet polite, serious yet funny, unemotional yet moody, Bollywood’s latest poster boy seems to be a contradiction of sorts. Aamir Khan’s nephew and Nasir Husain’s grandson, 26-year-old Imran Khan is two films down with two new releases, Delhi Belly and Luck coming up this year. Sitanshi Talati-Parikh draws the suave and restrained actor out, even if just for a little bit

The brows are furrowed in intense concentration. The facial expression is blank. The eyes are reflective. The humour is deadpan. No smirk, no smile, not even a laugh line. And yet we all titter. What is it about this new kid on the block that sends hearts fluttering and makes you yearn to know more? As I watch Imran Khan step self-consciously in front of the camera, taking shot after shot effortlessly, I can’t help but notice his face has character. Whether it emanates from the well-crafted jawline or the intensely expressive eyes, it’s unmistakable. After every shot, Imran lithely hops over for a critical assessment. He is his own worst (or best) critic. As he discusses camera angles with photographer Colston Julian, I learn that he is a self-taught actor (or more accurately, natural), while he has been formally trained in writing, cinematography and direction at New York Film Academy, Los Angeles.

In a crisp white shirt and black trousers with a funky Batman tie (he is a huge fan), Imran sits cross-legged before me on a chair with an expectant look on his face. Why would someone who looks as good as him not attempt to give acting a shot and head straight for direction? As a child he picked up the camera, playing with genres like sci-fi (on the lines of Alien), Agatha Christiesque murder mysteries and spoofs. Post-school, he stumbled from market research into advertising (including ad films). At this point he realised films are what he understands best. After all, the mere smell of celluloid gives him butterflies in his stomach.

Acting was never his intention. A sequence of events – or fate – combined with Abbas Tyrewala’s faith in him led to Imran being cast as the lead in Jaane Tu…Ya Jaane Na (2008), the film that made him an overnight star. Despite having played a young Aamir Khan in Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak (1988) and Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar (1992), he says matter-of-factly, “I never thought of myself as being a very good looking guy and figured there was no place for me in the Hindi film industry. Hrithik Roshan set the bar. He is a complete package. I’m not built like him, I can’t dance even a quarter as well as he can – that’s something I aspire to.”

Noticing my imperceptible shiver with the blast from the air conditioner, he solicitously jumps to his sock-covered feet and props himself up on his toes to tone down the room temperature. Then in a flash he is back in interrogation mode. Born in Wisconsin, America, to Nuzhat Khan (director Mansoor Khan’s sister) and Anil Pal, he moved to Mumbai with his mother after his parents’ divorce. He was a year and a half at the time. In all the schools he went to – including Bombay Scottish (Mumbai), two schools in Ooty, a nature-based gurukul in the Nilgiris, Bangalore and Fremont high school in Sunnyvale, California, he was always the new kid in school. “It was really tough. I didn’t grow up being considered cool or dating a lot of girls. I was into science and books and not into sports. I was always the odd one out at parties, sitting in the corner, knowing barely two or three people.”

Imran admits that constantly moving from school to school made him more independent but also a bit of a loner. “I don’t socialise a lot and like silence. I can’t be on all the time – I need occasions when I am with absolutely no one so I can reset, recharge, rejuvenate and then come back out.” He has only just started to make friends in the industry – think Ranbir Kapoor – since he grew up not knowing anyone. Though fond of listening to music, he can’t abide television. He actually doesn’t own a TV or a cable connection. Surprising, considering that he is an obsessive movie buff and watches three to five movies a day (on his computer) and is happiest when at a movie theatre.

As we get to the much-publicised fact that girls are extremely “well-behaved” around him – “very calm and composed – no crazy stuff,” I discover he is also the guy who likes to be in the background and tries not to get noticed. “I roam around town (getting a roll at Candies, Bandra) practically invisible. It’s like an internal switch I can turn on and off. I can walk into a room and make everyone turn around and notice me, or I can walk across a room and no one will ever realise that I am there.”

He can be brutally blunt without any perceptible intention of causing discord. “I can’t make stuff up or say anything that isn’t exactly as it is. I live my life by fact and follow reason and logic. I find emotion and irrationality hard to deal with.” Does that make relationships complicated? He swiftly attributes his personal growth to his relationship with girlfriend Avantika Malik, whom he has been seeing for over six years. “I have learned a lot about myself and become a more balanced person. I was 19 when I started seeing Avantika, at a point where I couldn’t express my thoughts and feelings. I’m still not very good at that but have become more comfortable with my own emotions.” The young actor doesn’t see any danger in tagging himself as ‘unavailable’ – “People trust you more if you are open about your relationships.”

Post film school in LA, he could have tried his hand at Hollywood movies. He attributes his return to India to finding it offensive that elite Indians can be so disdainful of Hindi films. “I understand that these movies have shortcomings, but I want to make it better!” He explains earnestly, “I have never lacked anything in life. Everything that I have today comes from the film industry. My grandfather started with nothing – his family threw him out when they found out that he wanted to work in the film industry. He has built it all up, and for me to run away from that is impossible.” I can quite believe him when he says his strongest point is his integrity. “If it is not right or not honourable, I won’t do it – like taking money for things I don’t believe in. It may be an old-fashioned concept, but it counts for something, right?”

Right. And victory follows the honourable? According to the Capricornian, “Success is having the freedom to choose to do only what you really want to do.” By his own definition, Imran is very successful. While scripts are lined up at home, he can’t seem to find one that excites him. “I feel bored and stagnated if I am doing the same thing over and over – that’s part of the reason I am not a banker!” It explains why he jumped from playing a romantic hero to a villain. Ironically, while serious roles are easier for him than light, fun, “torturous” scenes, Imran suffered a lot emotionally, playing the negative role in Kidnap (2008). He couldn’t sleep, would suddenly start crying, and even threw up, dealing with the violence of the character. I ask him if it is worth it. Pensively he says, “I have come out of that stronger as an actor. It’s like scar tissue – when it heals, it heals back tougher.”

In his upcoming comic caper Delhi Belly, directed by Abhinay Deo and from the Aamir Khan Productions banner, Imran sports a new look. He loses the beefed-up frame of Luck, a forthcoming action-thriller directed by Soham Shah and turns into a long-haired, scrawny guy. “Everyone knows how much your physical appearance affects you personally. Women think that way about being fat while guys worry about being skinny.” He straightens his body and puffs his shoulders to demonstrate. “Physicality means a lot – for better or for worse. That’s how we are!”

He is precise and involved about his look to the extent of admitted eccentricity. The idiosyncrasy is tinged with moodiness – he shuffles simultaneously through multiple books and movies entirely dependent on his frame of mind. Imran, who coined, “I like humanity in principle but not in practice,” doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve. “The people who matter know and understand me. I don’t feel everyone needs to like me beyond a superficial level.” And yet this intensely private person is also incredibly sentimental. The quirky tie collector fondly treasures his grandfather’s blue tie; and the green-and-yellow striped tie worn by Aamir in Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar is sported by the nephew in the publicity stills of Jaane Tu…. I inadvertently stumble upon a pair of bright-hued Converse shoes (another fetish) gifted to him by a friend on his birthday, that he doggedly wears despite their being a size too small.

He puts the shoes down and looks up expectantly. My first and last memory of him is his intense concentration. He doesn’t get distracted easily as people move, doors open, phones ring, bugs fly; he remains completely tuned into the task at hand. For about an hour the deep brown eyes are trained onto me and the very second, the conversation (as he prefers to term it) is over, the eyes have clicked out and the focus has shifted to the next task at hand. The bright young Khan – who refuses to tint his car or wear sunglasses because they hide the eyes and mask the face – has withdrawn into his shell, the inscrutable mask back in place.

Curly Fries, Crunchy Crabs and a Patisserie Called Tart

18 Saturday Apr 2009

Posted by sitanshi talati-parikh in Food, Publication: Verve Magazine

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Food, India, recipes, vervemagazine

Published: Verve Magazine, Features, March 2009
Photographs by Nilesh Acharekar

As the young flood Mumbai post international living, education and exposure, Sitanshi Talati-Parikh finds that the city is quickly adapting to their exacting demands and needs, giving rise to a dynamic, fast, racy and global trend. The bagels are lathered with cream cheese, the burgers are juicy and there is authentic dim sum and then some. Warmth and attentive service are their mantra. The choicest of downtown Mumbai’s happening youth-run establishments open their doors to share their unique experiences and tantalising recipes

Henry Tham
Ryan and Keenan Tham

Walking into the Asian bistro you feel enveloped by a sense of serenity. Dim lighting, tall ceilings and Buddhas galore make this little restaurant and bar appear spacious and inviting. In 2005, post a degree in hotel management from Griffith University, Australia, the young Tham brothers, who are suave and affable in their part, brought to Mumbai the trendy upmarket concept, which at the time was relatively new in the area. Post their successful partnership in Olive, and seeing that no other Asian resto-bar existed at the time, they decided to create a place where people would like to come to celebrate special occasions, while also finding it equally comfortable kicking back with a fresh juice martini in the evening. The new-age food and promising seafood has taken the third generation family establishment a step further, wooing the hip young ones and couples. With an ambitious future expansion plan in mind, Ryan (26) and Keenan (24) felt confident enough to create a brand with their father, Henry’s name, riding on the goodwill and knowledge that he has built over the years. The bar reflects the brothers’ personality and is known for funky cocktails pulsating to the sounds of house, jazz and blues.

Mandarin Crab
Ingredients: Medium-size live crab, 1 no, 800 gms; Chopped ginger, 2 tbsp; Chopped garlic, 3 tbsp; Chopped onion, 1 no; Chopped green chilli, half tbsp; Chopped spring onion (green stem), 3 nos; Dark soya sauce, 1 tbsp; Light soya sauce, 1 tbsp; Chopped coriander, 1 tbsp; White pepper, half tsp; Salt, pinch; Sugar, 1 tsp; Chicken stock soup, 200 ml; Cornflour mixed in 60 ml water, 1 tbsp; Groundnut oil for the sauce, 3 tbsp; Cooking oil (for deep frying the crab), 400ml.
Method: Freeze the live crab for two hours till it is asleep and in a coma. Rip off the top shell and clean the crab of its grey gills. Chop the crab into six pieces. Pour 400 ml of cooking oil in a wok and deep-fry the crab for about 3 minutes till it is red in colour. Remove crab from oil. In a fresh wok pour three table spoons of oil and add the ginger, garlic, onion, chilli and stir-fry on medium flame till garlic is golden brown. Add light and dark soya sauce and some white pepper, sugar and salt to taste. Add the stock soup. Increase the flame to high. When it comes to a boil, add the crab and toss for four minutes. Add the cornflour mix to thicken the sauce. Add spring onions. Sprinkle the coriander on top and the crab is ready to be served.

Vong Wong and Dragonfly
Aashiyana Shroff

Café culture has really found a place in the echelons of Mumbai city. While chains and independent coffee shops have worked, you would be rue to find a gourmet café that is not overpriced in the Nariman Point area. Originally started as a lounge and bar, Dragonfly has now recreated itself into a spacious café and brunch spot through the day, wooing partygoers on weekend nights. Aashiyana Shroff, 26, who moved to Mumbai from London four years ago, teemed up with her father Deepak Shroff and turned her passion for food into their first venture Vong Wong – a Chinese and Thai cuisine restaurant. Dragonfly, located in the same space, though accessible from a different entrance, rivals the former with voluminous space overlooking the ocean. Aashiyana’s reinvented Dragonfly opened its doors last month, with “value for money; good, comfort food” like pizza, pasta, salad and burgers. Not wanting to take themselves too seriously, the place now has a more approachable and less pretentious feel. Also introducing a patisserie called Tart with a cupcake speciality, this is an avatar worth checking out.

Greek Salad
Ingredients: Cucumber, 30 gms; Red pepper, 20 gms; Green pepper, 20 gms; Tomato wedges, 20 gms; Feta cheese, 60 gms; Onion ring, 10 gms; Kalamata olives, 10 gms; Romaine lettuce, small bunch; Vinaigrette dressing, 60 ml; Oregano, 1 tsp.
Method: Cut the cucumber, red pepper, green pepper into cubes. Cut tomato into wedges and olives into half. Mix all the ingredients. Arrange in a salad bowl. Sprinkle chopped oregano on top.

OBA
Rishi Acharya

Thirty-year-old Rishi Acharya has found himself splat in the middle of the hospitality industry despite being from a completely different educational background. While his family business has been distribution and retail of alcohol, he did his Bachelor’s of Commerce from H.R. College, Mumbai. He got involved with Athena, after which his ventures (along with his partners) Lush and Ra (named after his initials) became hugely successful. After an unsuccessful stint in food retail, Rishi decided to join hands with Raja Dhody to start OBA, a New York-style resto-lounge, which encourages an evolving party experience with lighting and ambience that transforms according to the hour and concept – from bright dinner and ambient lounge to a glowing red ceiling light for the night. Rishi speaks from experience when he says that opening a large upmarket space and then changing the clientele demographics from exclusive guest-list only to all and sundry, is not what he has in mind for OBA. He is firm about wanting a sophisticated crowd (ideal age group 28 and up) in his 2300 square foot place, without it getting too crowded. He anticipates a select society, where you come confident with the knowledge of bumping into friends.

Pan-tossed prawns with onions, mint, and pak choi served with herb fettuccine and curry oil
Ingredients: Prawns b grade, 5 nos; Curry powder, 10 gms; Butter unsalted, 10 gms; Olive oil, 30 ml; Salt to taste; Fresh red chilli, 1 no; Pak choi sliced, 20 gms; White onion sliced, 10 gms; Shredded mint, few sprigs; Parsley, few sprigs; Lemon, 1 no; Garlic chopped, 5 gms; Extra virgin olive oil, 50 ml; Fettuccine (boiled), 80 gms.
Method: Heat the extra virgin olive oil with half curry powder, garlic, half onion. Let the oil cool and blend. Strain through a fine sieve to clear. Marinate the prawns with curry powder, salt, pepper and parsley. Heat olive and butter in a pan, add the prawns and cook till done. Blanch the vegetables. Toss the pasta with olive oil, red chilli, vegetables, onions and season with mint. Put the pasta in the centre of the plate. Top it up with vegetables. Arrange the prawns on top of the vegetables. Dress the dish with curry oil. Garnish with few mint sprigs and a lemon wedge.

Wich Latte
Abedin Sham

Twenty-six-year-old Abedin Sham, returned from Cornell University, USA with a specific idea in mind. An all-day eatery that catered not only to the myriad tourists walking down Colaba Causeway, but also to the people who have spent time abroad and crave the basic café food that is so easily available in the West. With an affordable price tag and imported items that appeal to a younger age group, Abedin conceived a kitchen that put together freshly baked multigrain breads, curly fries and imported cheeses. Known for their soup-in-a-bowl, gourmet sandwiches, bagels and salads, Wich Latte appears to be modelled closely on America’s café chain, Panera Bread. With plans to create express outlets with a centralised kitchen using economies of scale and the franchise model, Abedin is ready to take up the challenges post the success of his first venture.

American Veg Gumbo
Ingredients: Tomato puree, 100 ml; Broccoli, 25 gms; Baby corn, 25 gms; Carrot, 25 gms; American corn, 20 gms; Potato, 20 gms; Okra, 50 gms; Chopped garlic, 15 gms; Onion, 10 gms; Celery, 10 gms; Chopped basil; Salt and pepper, to taste; Vegetable Stock, 40 ml.
For Vegetable Stock: Water, 500 ml; Onion, 1 no; Celery leaf, 30 gms; Bay leaf, 1 no; Pepper corn, 2-4 nos; Carrot, 1 no; Leek, 20 gms.
Method: Heat the oil. Sauté garlic, celery, leeks, Add the tomato puree. Sauté along with the tomato puree for two-three minutes. Add the stock. Blanch the vegetables separately. Sauté them in butter. Add to the stock. Boil till tender make sure not to over cook the vegetables. Add 15 gms of roux for thickness. Add shredded basil for finish. Serve hot.

Pub Culture

Twenty-six-year-old executive, Aditya Parikh, decided to set up a ‘Thursday Drinkathon’ with a few friends, where young people get together post-work at a common location (generally in the Mumbai downtown area) to grab a few cold ones. It is networking, unwinding and partying all rolled into one. A peek into two of the many London-esque pubs that have sprouted in Colaba

Woodside Inn

Three young boys, Sumitraj Gambhir (27), Pankil Shah (27) and Abhishek Honawar (25), partners of a company called Neighbourhood Hospitality Management Services, decided to innovate with Woodside Inn, December 2007. They saw potential in the place nestled within a 120-year-old heritage building that has evolved many times, but has been largely successful on this particular instance. The concept is a warm neighbourhood bistro, reminiscent of the London pubs, where one can easily kick back, post work and catch up with colleagues or friends. Images of Mumbai line the walls, where wood, food and beer find a happy marriage in what they call an “urban experiment”. Frequented by artists during the day and professionals in the evening, the place has recall value for its character.

Bootleggers

Thirty-year-old Sushant Kamath, with a wide range of experience in the hospitality industry in Mumbai, Pune and Goa and 32-year-old Kumar Patel, with experience in healthcare in New York, opened the doors of Bootleggers in April 2008 to create a “non-territorial, non-class conscious place” to hang out. It is an “attitude-free space” that is full of interactive games, such as chess and scrabble, with pub quizzes once a month testing the general knowledge of the guests. It is frequented by groups of women who feel comfortable in the space, besides that fact that Tuesdays offer them cosmopolitans on the house. Very receptive to feedback, they have recently expanded their food menu, insisting that the take-away is “warmth”.

Poetry: Word Gypsy

26 Thursday Mar 2009

Posted by sitanshi talati-parikh in Art, Literature & Culture, Interviews (All), Interviews: The Arts, Publication: Verve Magazine

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Indian Fiction, Interview, Poetry, vervemagazine

Published: Verve Magazine, Nerve, March 2009

Performer, poet, writer and columnist, Sharanya Manivannan has published a book of poems and is working on a novel. Sitanshi Talati-Parikh gets the writer, who has written a poem exclusively for Verve, to delve into the space and quirkiness of her works

She is small, petite and extremely self-assured. Barely into her 20s, she started writing when she was seven, got involved with ‘readings’ at 15 (while living in Kuala Lumpur) and is now in Chennai – working as a copywriter with an ad agency and writing a column called ‘The Venus Flytrap’ for a local weekly newspaper. Witchcraft, Manivannan’s debut book of poems is an effort at mysticism, picking up themes of betrayal along with “love, loss and longing”. The “spontaneous and organic” writer was awarded a fellowship to work on her second book, a novel, for three weeks in Pondicherry last December. The novel picks up on the threads of love, loss and longing from Witchcraft, and is about a young photographer in her 20s who becomes obsessed with the preservation of transitory moments because her own personal history is in shadow. As she says, “Roots, exile and dislocation are things that affect me deeply both as a human being and a writer.”

Excerpts from a chat with Manivannan:

Relevance of a spoken word artist
Why ‘spoken word’ and not simply ‘readings’? Because spoken word is a legitimate genre of performance – not everybody is able to read, even their own work, with panache. Whereas, poetry publishing is a difficult and drawn-out process, performance allows immediate, often intimate, access to an audience. ?To me, to be a spoken word artist is to channel through the voice the spirit that some call duende. As with all performance, hearing the word aloud can be a transformational experience for both performer and observer.

Quirky and unusual writing
I personally don’t think that my writing is quirky or unusual. But there are two things I hear frequently about my work: that it is ‘brutal’, and that I say things which others chastise themselves for thinking. I’m willing to excavate deeply. And in doing so, I go to places in the mind and the memory that can be painful, dark, unsettling or revealing.

Space for women poets in India
In the English-writing world, the space is not any different from the space for men. I’ve not encountered any setbacks in this regard because of my gender but I have because of my age. However, the vernacular languages are a whole different ball game. For instance, I know that some Tamil poets like Salma and Kuttirevathi have had a tremendous backlash against their work because they approach the subject of the body.

Poetry as a serious genre
There are so many poets in India today – just look at Jeet Thayil’s anthologies, or the Poetry With Prakriti Festival in Chennai. That there aren’t many, is a misconception that could arise from the fact that no matter how seriously we take ourselves, the genre itself is not taken as seriously by the public and by publishers. I also don’t think there is any real gender disparity in terms of numbers, but issues like the ostracising of female poets who write about their bodies in the vernacular certainly exist.

Life and writing
I make sense of my life through my writing. I distill my experiences. Sometimes, being able to have a poem about a situation makes me feel so much better about having been in that situation at all. That’s as simple as it gets. Things like structure and narrative are layers that come later.

Being a poet and a fiction writer
Poems are microcosms and take up much less headspace; fiction is far more expansive, detailed and demanding. All of last year, I focused on poetry. But I’m picking up again the novel I’ve been working on off and on for years…. I can only hope that it’s possible to be good at both.

Years, not age, matter
As an older writer friend once told me, I may be 23 but I have been writing since I was seven – that’s 16 years of experience in the craft itself. As for life experiences per se, age really is just a number. Look at all the musicians who died at 27, after all. I’m 23 but you couldn’t guess it based on what I’ve been through and what I know – my life is really some sort of pulp fiction film.

SURFACING

Afterwards, we will
both wish that it was that
simple.

Your hands. My hair.
A drowning.

But you cannot kiss like that
and go on pretending that life
is not something that just happens,
arresting you in its undertow,
that it can go on,
that you can go back.

A kiss like a talisman.
A kiss like memory before birth.
The heart a bridge between
dismembering and
remembering.

Lover. Husband of another.
Lust is anarchy. Love, anodyne.
Father. Liar. Lover. Mine.
That afternoon an apocalypse of laws
we broke, our lives left spinning on
their axles. In the car I watched as
the hem of our city began
to unravel, the highway endless,
the embroidery of clear-watered
ponds, bougainvillea, as though
it was a country we left behind.
Bodies of water. Blooming.
Our city. I waited so long to
say that. I waited so long.

It was that simple.

I didn’t transcend my body.
I came into it.

A kiss like a tide I surfaced from
not knowing I had gone under at all.
A kiss like prophecy. A kiss like the
first falling star of a meteor shower.
A kiss like certainty. Like a song
roused from slumber. Like surrender.

Come back, lover.
Come back with your
voodoo, the calligraphy
of your tongue. Come
back with the night between
your teeth. Lie down. Let me
take the war out of you.
Come back.
Name what is holy.
Take what is already yours.

Kiss me without
choreography. Kiss me
like the first word
of the only language
we never borrowed.
Kiss me like alchemy.
Kiss me like
Original sin.

Visual Maverick

27 Friday Feb 2009

Posted by sitanshi talati-parikh in Art, Literature & Culture, Publication: Verve Magazine

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Indian Art, vervemagazine

Published: Verve Magazine, Nerve, February 2009

Kanishka Raja speaks volumes – through his precise canvases and his methodical working – despite his pretence of being creative through “a lot of productive time-wasting, in and out of the studio.” Sitanshi Talati-Parikh discovers the pithy sense of humour that lurks behind the canvas

Kanishka Raja vociferously sticks by the title of his last exhibition – where he predicts that ‘In The Future, No One Will Have A Past’. Raja’s world appears to be globally interconnected, while there is a pervasive sense of displacement. This is particularly apparent in his upcoming exhibition I Have Seen The Enemy And It Is Eye, which comprises a mix installations, larger pieces and smaller ones that resemble stills from a filmstrip. There is a feeling of motion and grandness that is larger than life – in the specific brushstrokes and choice of colours that encompass the airports, ships and television monitors.

Raja’s work draws from Indian tradition and miniature forms. Says the artist, “The vernacular imagery I grew up around in Kolkata: the posters and calendars, the charts in school, the cinema hoardings, the shop signage, the Amar Chitra Kathas, the Tintins, are indelible parts of my visual data bank. My parents, whose work in textile design over the last 40 years is a true labour of love, have probably been my earliest, most lasting and most inadvertent influence.”

The artist, who blithely claims that Salman Rushdie gave him the permission to be an artist, studied fine art at Hampshire College, Amherst, MA and received his MFA from Southern Methodist University, Dallas, Texas, also attended the Skowhegan School of Painting and Sculpture in Skowhegan, Maine. “I live in New York because I love cities and New York is the most diverse, democratic, secular and permissive city I know – Mumbai is not too shabby either.”

As he gears up for his first solo show in India, Raja, who “operates in the marketplace of ideas” plans to spend long periods of time puttering around his studio reading, thinking, doodling, with a fair bit of travel thrown in for good measure, after the show. You ask him why he chose to be an artist, and he has a glib reply ready, “The minute I realised that girls were really into artists!”

Literature: Top Dop Storyteller

26 Thursday Feb 2009

Posted by sitanshi talati-parikh in Art, Literature & Culture, Interviews (All), Interviews: The Arts, Publication: Verve Magazine

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Bollywood, India, Indian Fiction, indiancinema, Interview, Slumdog Millionaire, vervemagazine, Vikas Swarup

Published: Verve Magazine, Features, February 2009

Vikas Swarup, the author of Q&A, on which the movie Slumdog Millionaire is based, speaks to Sitanshi Talati-Parikh about unique plots, winning formulas and how Ram Mohammed Thomas became Jamal Malik

The 47-year-old Vikas Swarup seems to have the Midas touch. His first book, Q&A, besides winning a fair share of awards itself, has left a wake of accolades for any adaptation based on the story. The audio book won the award for best audio book of the year, the BBC radio play won the Gold Award for Best Drama at the Sony Radio Academy Awards 2008, the movie is sweeping all statuettes and there is now a stage musical in the making. An accidental writer, the Deputy High Commissioner of India to South Africa, based in Pretoria, is quick, matter-of-fact and precise in his answers, like someone accustomed to being interviewed.

‘Not all deaths are equal…the murder of a celebrity instantly becomes headline news. Because the rich and famous rarely get murdered. They lead five-star lives and, unless they overdose on cocaine or meet with a freak accident, generally die a five-star death at a nice grey age, having augmented both lineage and lucre.’ Post 26/11, there is an inescapable irony in these words taken from Vikas Swarup’s latest novel, Six Suspects, published last year. Swarup is bemused at the inadvertent implication of his words.

He wears his achievements well, and bears it with the firm knowledge that a first-time writer like him, without any experience in creative writing or literature, cannot afford to take success for granted. While he considers himself “lucky”, he seems logical and practical – not in the least disconcerted by the overwhelming triumph of the film, Slumdog Millionaire. He merely seems gratified – glad that those who had never read or heard about the book before would now reach for a copy.

Sitting back in London, Swarup – who had never attempted to write before – chose to give it a shot. In 2003, Q&A was written and by 2005 it got published, and has so far been translated into 37 languages. “When I wrote this I knew the storyline was very fresh and the plot was unique. But that it would become such an international success, still confounds me. I thought it was a very Indian story, about the real India without any attempt to exoticise it. The fact that the book has appealed to readers from Barcelona to Sydney has come as a very pleasant surprise to me. You would never imagine a book that you have written, a light-hearted story, despite its social commentary, to mean so much to someone, giving them strength to carry on.”

The story did not find him, in the strictest sense of the word. He found it, by creating the perfect, winning formula – a judicious mix of all things desi, with a generous helping of ideas taken from true incidents and realities. The grim actuality of the street, the eternal rags-to-riches story and most importantly, the true Bollywood-style villain. Especially in Six Suspects, which is now being made into a film, many of the stories resonate with real life. Larry Page, for instance, a simple Texan about to marry an Indian girl based on a photo, was inspired by a report of a man who fell in love with a girl after seeing her photo and thinking she’s Aishwarya Rai. The terrorised young kids of the streets (from Q&A) were an “urban myth” while Swarup was growing up. “My mother would say, ‘Don’t go out alone, they will catch you and maim you.’ I have read reports that these things do happen.”

“These are the two things that I try to combine – a story that keeps the reader hooked and at the same time the book should have a soul. It should make you think as well as touch your heart.” So there are references to real people, like Shah Rukh Khan and Amitabh Bachchan, with the real story revolving around fictional characters. “When I conceived this book, there was only one show in India, Kaun Banega Crorepati, and you can certainly not attribute anything that Prem Kumar does to what Amitabh Bachchan would have done on the game show. In my fictional universe, the game show is promoted by a group of cheats, whose idea is to tempt and titillate you with the top five, but actually ensure that nobody wins it. The game show host has to be a slightly unsavoury character, actually based on Bollywood villains.”

Swarup, who likes to unwind by catching a movie with his artist-wife and two sons, was not really involved in the film adaptation of the book. He played the part of checking the script and suggesting revisions, but nothing beyond. He has accepted certain minor changes in the story and also that of the main character’s name. To explain the history behind Ram Mohammed Thomas’ name would become difficult to translate on screen, so he simply becomes Jamal Malik. Salim, who originally is a good-looking youth and Thomas’ best friend, becomes Malik’s gangster-brother.

Though born and brought up in India, the nature of his work leaves him unable to physically be in the country in which his stories are set. Swarup stays abreast with the news in India through modern communication – TV and the Internet. “That sense of distance and separation, which used to exist earlier, vanished. That makes you feel much more connected to the country.” And that feeling is very important for someone who is a “global nomad”.

Creative success has definitely influenced this family man’s life as a diplomat. “So many more doors open up for you, when people have read your books, which would otherwise remain closed for a deputy high commissioner!” Despite the popularity of his works, Swarup insists that all his books are one-offs. “Many people suggested another Q&A, and I thought to myself, if I have to do that, then it means I have no other stories to tell. The day I have to repeat myself, I won’t write.”

Off The Beat…On The Job

26 Monday Jan 2009

Posted by sitanshi talati-parikh in Features & Trends, Interviews (All), Interviews: The Arts, Publication: Verve Magazine

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26/11, India, Interview, mumbai, vervemagazine

Published: Verve Magazine, In Memoriam, January 2009

Photograph: Ritam Banerjee

Despite the many bodies and minds that go behind giving viewers live news coverage from an area of conflict, it is the face that confronts the camera and speaks to us that leaves a lasting impression. The placid, immovable expression that barely flinches when gunfire erupts stands for courage, conviction, and a strong sense of responsibility. Under the endless barrage, especially on the first night, millions were glued to the television channels, in lieu of any print publication being available at the time. With minute-by-minute updates, we watched the newscasters broadcast live, without any perceptible fear. Sitanshi Talati-Parikh meets three representative young women newscasters, who are not crime reporters but ended up spending many long hours on the field. Mahrukh Inayet, the light-eyed Kashmiri with an insane work schedule that made it nearly impossible to meet her, Miloni Bhatt, the true-blue Mumbaikar, and Yogita Limaye, the youngest of the lot, composed and collected beyond her years – all of whom are self-assured, determined and ironically, camera shy

MAHRUKH INAYET
Deputy News Editor, Times Now
Age : 31
Beat : Nothing specific – everything.

“Gunshots are not new to me.”
Mahrukh has been born and brought up in Kashmir, where her parents currently live. “I have seen so many encounters. During the start of militancy there would be firing outside our house and I could hear bullets hitting our tin roof, going ‘tuk-tuk-tuk’ and I would lie flat on the ground. It was very tough growing up like that. You get desensitised to it at a certain level. It is a very artificial way of living. I always felt that it had to end, I feel very strongly about what is happening there, in the sense that somehow, peace must be restored.”

“I always wanted to live in India.”
With a Masters in journalism from American University, USA, she started her programme at the same time as 9/11 and began her journalism assignments by interviewing people in the Pentagon. She worked with National Geographic (USA) for nine months, Headlines Today, Delhi for three years and has been in Mumbai with Times Now ever since, totalling over six years of work experience, including about 15-20 assignments from Kashmir”

“It was like something out of a movie set – I couldn’t believe it”
“The Taj is a symbol of so many things – our pre and post colonial legacy, our development, a space that stands and welcomes anything that comes into India. They are trying to hit everything that this country stands for: development, economy, the grandeur, the legacy, the tradition, the history, everything.”

“On TV you just get to see one face, but there are so many people who are involved, collating all the information.”
Mahrukh spent nearly 62 hours on the field during this tragedy. She worked in shifts with colleague and Mumbai bureau chief Deepti Menon, taking a three-four hour break – sleeping in the car or going home to change.

“The cameras were on most of the time, and you were in front of them…”
“You know that you have the ability to create panic in such a situation and you can’t be hysterical or show your emotions because others are watching you and might get affected by it. It is a very delicate balance to maintain. You couldn’t hide your feelings and expressions, despite there being bomb blasts and firing in the background.”

“You shouldn’t get into changing public opinion.”
“You should just report – as truthfully, as honestly as compassionately, in as composed and as calm a manner as possible. Opinions, editorialising information is left to editors, opinion-makers, and to the viewer.”

“We cannot afford to have a repeat of something like this.”
“Whether it is the government that needs to realise it or whether as citizens we need to be more active. While questioning politics, it is important for us to exercise our right to vote in a more effective manner and be more politically aware. It is a dichotomy that we live in and it is a two-way street.”

“Somewhere there needs to be a sense of closure.”
“I couldn’t switch off at all in the middle of it. I was in fact obsessed with the news. I just want to keep reading about it, going through the same pictures. It has happened to me for the first time. I don’t know what is going to bring it, but I need a sense of closure.”

“I enjoyed writing and I enjoyed telling a story.”
She didn’t always want to be a journalist. She thought about becoming a doctor – either a psychiatrist or a paediatrician. “I don’t think the situation in Kashmir per se moved me towards becoming a journalist. But, once I decided on it, I realised that it was one situation I wanted to report on.”

“It is easier being a woman reporter.”
“It is kind of unfair, because otherwise you believe in equal rights, but you never say no when you get easier access compared to the men. More government officers, politicians are nicer to women than men; even the women are nicer to women – more encouraging.”

“If I have any calmness and composure, I get it from my mother.”
“My mother is a very emancipated woman, very broad minded, and has taught me very basic values.”

“In my very little free time…”
“I like going out, watching movies, reading, travelling, and photography.”

MILONI BHATT
Senior Special Correspondent, NDTV India
Age : 31
Beat : Economy and aviation

“I am a Mumbaikar”
Miloni was born, raised, fell in love, and got married in Mumbai. She has eight years of experience on the field, and has been with NDTV for five years.

“We came out of the emergency because of the print media that stuck its neck out.”
I didn’t always want to be a journalist. I was in the Democratic Republic of Congo, and Nigeria, visiting my father who was employed there, when I was absolutely appalled to discover that the people who were labourers were all highly educated. The gardener had a double degree. Nigeria and India got independence around the same time, and I couldn’t believe that one country ended up like this and the other so differently. One of the reasons was democracy and free press – the access to information, knowledge, to a world-view. I was very clear that I wanted to do TV because I was very influenced by the reporting BBC did in Africa.”

“I’ve covered crime before, but one can’t compare a terror attack to any kind of crime story.”
“It is of a different magnitude – the scale, the violence, the people, the victims. The train blasts, the bombings at the Gateway, at Zaveri Bazaar, explosions at Ghatkopar – I don’t think I will ever forget any of it.”

“My family is reconciled to the fact that I will be in situations like that.”
“I couldn’t take my family’s calls as I was in the midst of live reporting. I could see the phone blinking and I was thinking, ‘I can’t talk to you guys right now, just watch me on TV, if you are so desperate!’”

“I don’t think anyone can continuously report on terror.”
“It will get to you at some point. The important thing is that you get training to report and de-link yourself from that situation. Talking to your colleagues, putting things in perspective also help – I can’t talk to anybody on the outside – it’s too much for them to take.”

“We are not meant to editorialise.”
We are field reporters – what you see is what you talk about. Everyone has an opinion, but my job doesn’t allow me to express it. Reporters don’t fall in and out of personalities. Yes, we are angry. Yes, we feel like every other common man. But we also have a wide-angled perspective – because we are seeing many things happening simultaneously, understanding the reason and cause.

“This is my job.”
“Like security agents protect people – it is my job to report and if my job entails reporting on terror attacks then that’s what I will do. At the end of the day, as a journalist, you are compelled – you cannot sit in a newsroom when there is a big story unfolding. You just want to go there and be a part of it. At the end of the day, you are documenting history.”

“Mistakes do happen, with breaking news and developing a story over several days.”
“This is not a situation that anyone has ever reported on. The media doesn’t have a benchmark to go by. I’m sure we have made mistakes, and we regret those mistakes. I can imagine that the viewer’s point of view is also valid, but I’d rather do my job than worry about what xyz is saying. We can’t give in to our anger, sense of loss and rage like them.”

“I am amazed at the kind of response we have got…”
“People have said, ‘Wow you were there, thanks for bringing us the news.’ I don’t see novelty. Journalism is not about reporting only during normal times, it is about reporting in times of crises. We are trained to play the most responsible role possible. We report what we see and not give in to panic or rumours.”

“I have never thought about being a female journalist.”
“More than half of NDTV is women. Does that kind of discrimination exist? In eight years I have not faced it. It might have worked in my favour, maybe, but it hasn’t worked against me – and that’s a good thing.”

“I don’t have an icon.”
“I am a sucker for hard news. I love it – it gets me. It can be anywhere in the world….”

When not working…
“I just go home and sleep, because I am sleep deprived. Go out, meet friends. I catch up on life.”

YOGITA LIMAYE
Senior Correspondent – Anchor, CNN-IBN
Age : 25
Beat : Mostly education and civic issues

“We could hear people screaming for help….”
“The first night, we were very close to the Taj and we could see people in the front of the hotel, facing the Gateway, holding white hankies, somebody was trying to send out a morse code with a flashlight.

“It is impossible to not react.”
“There are some people who can separate their professional life and their personal life – but you can’t break away from it. Seeing it burning, we all got emotional, whether we would like to admit it or not.”

“The next day, interviewing people, I didn’t try to be a professional journalist.”
“I put a little bit of emotion in it, because that is what you are naturally feeling. As long as you are not sensationalising it, it is okay. People want to hear and know what it felt like.”

“I also got smses from old friends, strangers….”
“I haven’t been able to reply to everyone, but each one added that energy saying you can go on. This is nothing compared to those who were inside and came out shaken up, went through. When you see that, you think at least I or my family isn’t in that situation, and I am just doing my job here.”

“It was the first time I had heard gunfire in my life.”
“For someone in South Bombay it is unheard of to hear shootings! And even ones who cover the crime beat are not people who work in Jammu and Kashmir or the north-east where things like this happen more regularly. I have never reported from a conflict area.”

“There was no fear at the time.”
“I was merely reporting what I was seeing on the ground. Fear hit me only at one instance that night. After the VT shooting, we were sitting in our car at the Metro junction, when we suddenly heard grenade explosions coming behind. Till date I have not been able to verify their location – but that’s when I wondered, what if they had also planted bombs all over the city.”

“You can be heroic and say you don’t feel like eating and don’t need rest, but the fact of the matter is, that you do.”
“I didn’t even think of bathroom breaks – you feel thirsty so you keep drinking, but we didn’t have a desire to eat. When I would go for four-five hours in the middle of the day to take a break, I made sure I had a bath, a strong cup of chai, and forced myself to eat. You are working as a team. When one person’s energy is running low, it is important for the next person to come back charged up. These are the days for which many of us become journalists – so you want to be there through the thick of the action.”

“Even now my mother hasn’t told me how scared they were.”
“My sister, from Bangalore, kept telling me, ‘Don’t do anything stupid, don’t be extra brave and try and get those shots’. While I wanted to get my work done, I realised it doesn’t make sense putting your life on line for something.”

“All of us are not in depression, but are tuning out.”
“I try to indulge in retail therapy, watch a film at home. While many of us are mentally tired, perhaps getting back to city stories – we know the action will die out soon enough. For a while it will seem like that adrenalin rush is missing….”

“The tsunami of December 2004 made me want to do this really badly.”
“I am qualified to be an engineer. I had always wanted to be a journalist, but the safer side of me prevailed. I was thoroughly bored with software though, and joined CNN-IBN as someone on the desk, instead. I worked my way up in a year to reporting and to Mumbai. I never considered my back-up option. This gives me a lot more satisfaction, it is never boring and I love it.”

“Gender doesn’t make a difference in this profession – if at all, it might make things easier!”

“After two nights, I began thinking, when will I go home and sleep in my own bed?”
“I hope to have the abundance of energy, which is what I notice in tireless people like CNN-IBN’s editor-in-chief Rajdeep Sardesai or Shah Rukh Khan – I see it in everyone at the top. The ability to go on and on and on like a Duracell bunny almost, it something that amazes me, and that I look up to.”

“There’s nothing like a disaster to give you recognition.”
“This has been my most important reporting assignment so far. Ironically, disasters are what journalists live for.”

Verve Diaries on 26/11: Sab Nahi Chalta Hai

19 Monday Jan 2009

Posted by sitanshi talati-parikh in Publication: Verve Magazine, Social Chronicles

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26/11, comment, In Memoriam, India, mumbai, Thoughts, vervemagazine

Published: Verve Magazine, In Memoriam Issue, January 2009

‘Light a candle and watch it burn away
Light a fire in your soul and keep it here to stay….’

I read post after post, article after article of heart-rending stories and traumatic accounts. In reading them, I forget my own pain. But a greater anguish floods my soul – it is a gut-wrenching feeling, like something is being ripped out from inside. The city isn’t burning, we are. We are being caught alive and examined in public – it is our own public hanging and extermination – well-deserved in the face of reality. It made me angry when we revelled in the spirit of Mumbai, to bounce back and just get into work, without a second thought. I came to work, broken and disheartened, walked into the building barely a block away from Café Leopold and watched everyone discussing the horror in muted tones, with escalating emotions. I couldn’t join in. I watched people – young people – say ‘but it will be okay – we will be back to normal soon, sab chalta hai’. My mind screamed out to them – what is normal? Is our apathy – which is neither resilience nor spiritedness – normal?

As I arrived, a few days later for the protest march and drifted along with the throng, as if I were a paper boat riding a wave, something snapped within me. A sense of pride, a sense of conviction, a sense of determination, a sense of change. As the chants mounted into a powerful crescendo, it was the chant of a city finding its spirit. The real spirit – not to sit back and watch, but to stand up and take charge.

I felt a thundering inside me, as I watched the intelligentsia rub shoulders with the workers. Every ethnic community stood unified that night – the remote SoBoites who generally abscond from voting because it is beneath them, stormed the streets and asked for justice, pushed for change.

Of course this time it was because it was the Taj and Oberoi that got hit. Of course it was because these are places that we could have been at – on another day, at another time. And of course, it made people uncomfortable – for the first time, this made them sit up and take notice. It was unfortunately at the cost of so many people, so many people we knew, but all the same, it gave Mumbai a soul.

If we need a cause to get motivated, this is it. Let us not burn another candle in our lives – a candle that may brighten up a dark night, sympathise with a bereft one and watch out for a lost soul; but ones which eventually melt away into the night like stained wax. Let it not be another incident relegated to the archives of human thought – better left undisturbed. Let us wake every day with a fire that eats into us, ravages us, demanding that we do something, to make it right. Let it not take the loss of one more life before we hold onto our very evasive Mumbai soul.

Literature: Window to Pakistan

26 Friday Dec 2008

Posted by sitanshi talati-parikh in Publication: Verve Magazine

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Chick Lit, Interview, Literature, Moni Mohsin, Pakistani Arts & Literature, vervemagazine

Published: Verve Magazine, Speaking Volumes, December 2008

The Dairy of a Social Butterfly flits through Pakistani social life and lands smack in London. Droll and full of localised accents, the recently published book is a collection of London-based Pakistani writer Moni Mohsin’s columns over the past few years. Sitanshi Talati-Parikh catches up with the earnest writer to exchange a few words on the tenuous nature of relationships in the subcontinent, the role a writer plays and the sentimentalisation of literature

Dignified, self-assured and a tad bit scep-tical – I notice an imperceptible raise of the eyebrow denoting the discontentment at the way at which the talk on globalisation of language is conducted – in much the manner of a disapproving school marm. Originally from Pakistan, Moni Mohsin, lives in London with her family, and has been writing a delectably funny column for the Pakistani The Friday Times since the early 90s.

While her first book, The End of Innocence (2006) proved to be a promising debut novel, upon increasing interest in her columns, she shelved her plans for a second novel based in London, and went ahead with compiling her columns into a book. Launched particularly for the Indian sub-continent, seeing how the columns (which are also syndicated in India) drew a lot of interest during the Jaipur Kitab festival, Mohsin feels that she had found an audience for the book. Starting from 2001, the year of 9/11 and rounding up in 2007 with Benazir Bhutto’s assassination, The Dairy of a Social Butterfly is a witty and sardonic comment on the ‘social butterflies’ of Pakistan, especially the ones who find a summer home in London. With parallel events running in her book, for instance: ‘US concerned about Afghan border security, Butterfly concerned about her missing bike,’ the readers have enough to scoff at with the protagonist’s heavily accented language, lack of general unconcern and unintentional innuendos. The columns respond to events that take place in Pakistan: political and social events, big weddings et cetera. All of this is sourced through the news, Pakistani television and the social scandals discussed with Mohsin’s sister over the phone. “I go once or twice a year to Pakistan. I have children, so I am constrained by their school calendar,” says Mohsin with regret – as evidenced by the essay she has written exclusively for Verve.

Most writers of the diaspora tend to sentimentalise their country when they write about it. Mohsin reacts immediately with a very vociferous denial. Asking me, quite rhetorically if I thought Butterfly was sentimental, she races breathlessly on and lists Pakistani writers who are not in the least sentimental. Think Mohsin Hamid and The Reluctant Fundamentalist, Mohammed Hanif and A Case of Exploding Mangoes, or Nadeem Aslam. “In my novel, The End of Innocence, I talk about the honour killings in Pakistan and how horrible they are. We are not sentimentalising our country. You write about the smell of the earth after the rain, or the smell of freshly sliced fruit that fills a room because it is very particular to the subcontinent. If you live abroad, you realise that there are a lot of things you take for granted about the subcontinent. I always write about how when walking down a street in London, you know you are passing an Asian house, because of the smells that emanate – frying garlic and haldi. I don’t know if I am sentimentalising it, but it is there. Sometimes to avoid it would also be silly, because it exists. The challenge is not to romanticise it and to write about it with honesty and affection.”

Why not a novel about London where she lives, and why Pakistan, a place that she visits infrequently? “I thought I had to really know society before being able to comment on it. I have been hijacked by events, but my next book will be set in London. I am so involved with Pakistani society – so much is happening there, there is so much to be said. It is so vivid and new. The rest of the world is also interested in new societies and how they are shaping up.” Mohsin takes me back to a recent seminar in London, organised by Tehelka, in which they were trying to set up a dialogue between Pakistani writers and Indian writers and journalists and other cultural and political figures. A well-known film-maker said that there is recent interest in Muslims, ‘Muslims ka kaam karein’. “While he felt it was more of a trend, I don’t know. Generally in the subcontinent, interesting things are happening; people are producing interesting work and films. For such a long time, we in the subcontinent have been looking to the West and ignoring what is happening within ourselves and it is almost ‘declassing’ ourselves or ‘putting ourselves down’. Suddenly you feel you don’t have to. Pakistani and Indian writers and artists are making such waves abroad – you don’t have to look beyond our own backyard.”

While the interest is intense, is there openness for dialogue and understanding that extends beyond the arts? Mohsin firmly believes that Indians are less informed about Pakistan than the other way around – probably because Pakistanis have been exposed to Indian films for a long time and a greater percentage of Pakistanis travel to India. “Indians are possibly more naïve in that sense, and therefore readily believe everything they read about Pakistan. I think there is room on both sides for massive person-to-person contact; it is very important.” Mohsin, who also writes a column for a leading Indian daily describes how she is moved by the fluid dialogue between Malaysians and Indonesians. “They seemed to know each other, their works and their countries so well! Malaysians have houses in Indonesia, Indo–nesians work in Malaysia and such a free-flowing contact exists between them, that I thought what a pity that we don’t have that in the sub-continent.” I wonder why this is so, and Mohsin is quick to reply to my suggestive question, “I don’t think Pakistan is a closed society. It is very welcoming. Most people, Indians in particular when they come to Pakistan feel that hugely. What they are led to believe is so different from the actuality.”

Pakistani writers then shoulder a good deal of responsibility in setting the matter straight. “I don’t think I am playing a role in being an ambassador for my country – remember these articles were written for Pakistanis, they were not written for others, in fact, I thought they wouldn’t have a market outside. I’m just portraying what I see. And as a writer, your first duty is to tell the truth. It is not about me projecting my country abroad, it is just me commenting on my country. A writer’s job is to show a mirror to society, and I think all writers are trying to do that.”

Mumbai Unspooled

18 Tuesday Nov 2008

Posted by sitanshi talati-parikh in Art, Literature & Culture, Features & Trends, Publication: Verve Magazine

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Bollywood, India, indiancinema, mumbai, UTV, vervemagazine

Published: Verve Magazine, Screen, November 2008

Nine Mumbai-inspired movies have been released already this year. Sitanshi Talati-Parikh explores the city’s iconography, in a retrospective look at major Mumbai films

The throbbing, pulsating city has a million stories to tell. Every minute that ticks by on the Rajabhai Tower, something new happens, and it is the numerous faces of the city that film-makers strive to capture. Its myriad voices and its many tales, the sordid truths and the fantastical goings on. The city is at once a context for relationships and events, and often a hero or even an anti-hero. It is a city of romance, aspirations, gross inequalities, fundamentalism and cosmopolitanism, strength and unity and great divisiveness. It is the city of extremes and in that sense, remarkably a city of the world – a microcosm depicting the inane possibilities that surround us. Its distinctiveness, which only a person who has spent sufficient time in the city, discovers. The cutting chai and the Iranian tea houses, the Mercedes’ and the Mumbai trains, the five star hotels and Dharavi slums, art deco Marine Drive and the Victorian Kala Ghoda area, the meandering bylanes and the heaving buses that wind through these zones, the vendors and the businessmen, the young lovers and the social climbers.

City of dreams
In this deeply aspirational city, the rags-to-riches stories can be recounted by the dozen, whether one thinks of Guru (2007) or the Munnabhai movies, as throngs of people continue to relocate to the ‘big city’ in the hope of a better life. It is their tragic and often wondrous stories that need to be told, very often by those in the Bollywood film fraternity, who may have had similar experiences. Director, Anurag Kashyap, for instance, moved to the city, struggling initially, staying at the St Xavier’s College hostel and hanging out with a band called Greek. These experiences prompted him to make Paanch (2003), an urban crime thriller involving a rock band; while Black Friday (2007), about the Mumbai riots, was inspired by a book he read.

Dark alleys and grim landscapes
The city’s black side, its alter ego, is more evocative and larger than life. It opens up its dark and mysterious corners to the exploration of themes that are a grim reality. Johnny Gaddaar (2007), a noir crime thriller shot in black, white and red, explores the sinister elements in a person’s character, in much the manner of Ek Hasina Thi (2004). Aamir (2008), a thriller about fundamentalism, where an NRI Muslim goes through a freakishly disastrous time on arrival in Mumbai and Mumbai Meri Jaan (2008) about the serial bomb blasts in Mumbai on 7/11, which depict how the blasts led to chaos and irrationality stemming from fear and loss of control in people’s lives.

Cosmopolitan angst
A city that has rivers of gold and the greatest power struggles, is also home to a good deal of metropolitan frustrated violence – when aspirations are not met. Cosmopolitan angst is an equally prominent contemporary theme, as clearly portrayed by the reality-inspired Life in a… Metro (2007), Page 3 (2005), Dus Kahaniyaan (2007), Mumbai Cutting (2008), and even the pedantic Mumbai Salsa (2007). Reminiscent of Paris, je t’aime, Mumbai Cutting is less about love and more about the grim realities of the city. Dus Kahaniyan (2007) picks up on urban themes like extramarital affairs, drugs, violence and relationships. It makes one wonder if love actually exists any more – candyfloss has disappeared from its smoggy walls. Jogger’s Park (2003) picks up a theme of a relationship between an elderly man and a young girl. Exploring relationships and the varied kind of situations life places one in, is a trend of Mumbai-based or metro-based films.

Big city tinsel town
People living in smaller towns look at the movies depicting the big city life with great interest, while those living in the city naturally identify with it. Main Madhuri Dixit Banna Chahti Hoon (2003) is a film where small town aspirations for tinsel town come to life. TV artiste and upcoming big screen actor Sid Makkar provides some finer insight. Luck By Chance, Zoya Akhtar’s upcoming film, in which he plays a part, is naturally located in Mumbai, since the movie is about the film industry. Makkar finds that the majority of movies about Mumbai are steeped in reality – and “reality is entertaining”.

Platform rendezvous and car chases
While the Golden Gate Bridge of San Francisco or the Empire State Building (in lieu of the missing World Trade Centre towers) in Manhattan are iconic structures of the city, we find the Mumbai local trains as a constant motif in movies on the city. As the train thunders along, many a story is told. Think of Mumbai Meri Jaan (2008) on the serial bomb blasts, Life in a… Metro (2007) where a clandestine meeting takes place at the local train station, Chameli (2003) takes one from Lamington Road to Kamathipura, Kundan Shah’s Hero in Mumbai Cutting is about the local train commuter as the city’s unsung hero, or even A Wednesday (2008), Saathiya (2002) and Dombivali Fast (2005). Similarly, Taxi No 9211 (2006), is a thrilling cab chase through the streets of Mumbai, loosely based on Hollywood film Changing Lanes (2002) that takes place in New York.

Waves, sand and love trysts
Many an iconic love story has been told on the streets of Mumbai – Marine Drive, Chowpatty, Worli sea face, Bandra reclamation and Juhu-Chowpatty. Bluffmaster’s (2005) glamourous love trysts, Guru’s (2007) impassioned rise to fame starting with a determined walk on Marine Drive, Hum Tum (2004) finds the star-crossed lovers coming together on Chowpatty beach in true cosmopolitan fashion (ironically, not in Paris, the city of romance). Not to forget the coming-of-age of youths in Jaane Tu… Ya Jaane Na (2008), love sparks in Lage Raho Munnabhai (2006), and the problems of urban marriage Chalte Chalte (2003).

Monsoon saris and dewdrops
Come monsoon, the city bursts into a flood of romantic fervour. The wind-splashed windscreens and swaying palm trees on Chowpatty-Marine Drive are all symbolic of a dark sensuality. Huddled under the umbrella, a generation that grew up in the city feels the homeliness in its murky puddles and blackened sky-scrapers; while those who moved here looking for something better, have a wistful sense of allegiance and belonging. Think of the romance in Chandini (1989), iconic Raj Kapoor and Nargis in Shree 420 (1955), Amitabh Bachchan and Smita Patil in Namak Halaal (1982) and even the blossoming of love amidst grim city reality in Satya (1998).

The haves and the have nots
Anyone who arrives in the city cannot miss the straggly-haired, skinny street children that wander about looking for a benefactor. At every traffic signal and outside a food place you are accosted with them. Mira Nair’s Salaam Bombay (1988) that was nominated for an Academy Award (Best Foreign Language Film) told the tale of Mumbai’s street children which now, in Traffic Signal (2007), becomes a tale of a full-fledged business. As with any big city – but particularly in a city like Mumbai that sees so much disparity between the rich and the poor – emerge tales of inequality, angst and violence. Mumbai Express (2005) describes the economic disproportion in a comic tale of Dharavi slum-dwellers plotting the kidnapping of a rich businessman’s son, while Kidnap (2008) is a movie where an orphaned youth takes revenge for a false kidnapping charge. Chandni Bar (2001) describes the tale of a young village girl, who moves to Mumbai and is forced to become a bar dancer by her uncle.

Fundamental terror
Terror camps aiming for the greatest impact by hitting the most aspirational part of a country can be found making Mumbai their target – creating a great deal of threat and insecurity. Fundamentalism, power struggles and gang wars have been the overriding theme in most of the recent films on or about Mumbai. Where a cosmopolitan love story bloomed in Mani Ratnam’s Bombay (1995), the city also took its pound of flesh in the face of fundamentalism. A decade (1985-1995) that witnessed a bloody mafia war in Mumbai, led to a barrage of films being made about the behind-the-scenes of this underworld terror, exposing the policemen-politicians-criminals nexus at a time when extortion was rife. Ram Gopal Varma’s Satya (1998) and Company (2002), an expose of the underworld gangsters that were an intrinsic part of the city at the time, before the police ran a cleansing act with a great deal of encounters, it would seem that older movies like Don (1978), were simply a tip of the iceberg that was to become Mumbai mafia. Vaastav (1999) starring Sanjay Dutt was the making of a mafia kingpin, while Ram Gopal Varma’s Sarkar (2005) and its sequel Sarkar Raj (2008), starring Bachchan senior and junior, picked up from Hollywood’s Godfather (1972), to depict the reality of a mafia family that holds the city at ransom. Shootout at Lokhandwala (2007) tells the graphic tale of the 1991 underworld encounter that made Mumbai a war zone. Black Friday (2007), Aamir (2008), Mumbai Meri Jaan (2008) and A Wednesday (2008) expose the nakedness and vulnerability of our city, and question our placid acceptance or numb nonchalance towards the problems that exist.

Absurdist desperation
A Wednesday (2008) is about a bomb scare where a citizen takes matters into his own hands to prevent the continuous outbreak of violence that has made it a dangerous city to live in. At a stage when its citizens are fearful of taking the daily train, or even walking on the street, you begin to question protection provided by the city that is your home. It is an absurdist movie taking a freakish stance about a serious problem that is being evaded or ignored by a majority of the ‘snoozing’ public.

It appears that film-makers have shifted their stance from simply portraying realities, to sounding a wake-up call to the citizens. Where the older films would explore economic disparities, love and building a life in the city, the newer films are darker in their representation. Suddenly the trouble-makers are no longer families or individuals – it is a problem that society and the country as a whole, need to address. When movies on 9/11 are made, they depict the country and the people coming together. When the serial blasts happened in India, why is it that it seemed to be more of a cry for help and a frightening portrayal of our own vulnerability than an exultation of the greatness of spirit and bond of human race?

From the people, by the people
It is easy to see why UTV CEO, Siddharth Kapur feels that, “It hasn’t been a deliberate decision to have so many movies about Mumbai (UTV has been a part of Aamir, Mumbai Meri Jaan and A Wednesday) but these are times we are living in right now. There is bound to be an influence by the age of terrorism and riots. It so happens that a lot of film-makers have been born and brought up in the city or have been greatly influenced by the experiences in the city.” But that does not limit the story’s appeal. After all, the themes are universal. Rajkumar Gupta, director of Aamir, believes that while the city’s diversity has a major role to play, the answer can be as simple as the fact that Bollywood is based in Mumbai. After all, for the film-makers working within tight budgets, it is easier to shoot in their own city.

It is undeniable though that the city is a powerful influence for film-makers. A good number of films stem out of realities that are Mumbai. If the dark reality-scapes have become the identifiable norm, it is a true barometer of the soon-to-be-absurdist life in this metro.

20 is the New 40

18 Tuesday Nov 2008

Posted by sitanshi talati-parikh in Features & Trends, Publication: Verve Magazine, Social Chronicles

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comment, India, Quarter Life Crisis, Social Chronicle, Trend, vervemagazine

Published: Verve Magazine, Essay, November 2008
Illustration by Farzana Cooper

In a time when being young is ageless and wisdom is selective, the 20-something age group is in a different space from where it has ever been. Sitanshi Talati-Parikh ruminates on the phenomenon called the ‘quarter-life crisis’ and explores the factors that contribute to a generation on autopilot

Youth has taken on a new maturity, and a new sensibility has attached itself to age. What is it that makes one feel old – age, a thought-process, experience or wisdom? And what exactly, defines a crisis – an inability to deal with circumstances and life? The mid-life crisis is quite been-there-done-that; what is now in prime focus is the quarter-life crisis (QLC) referring to a period immediately following adolescence – a decade of chaos lasting from the early twenties to the early thirties of one’s life, a phenomenon recognised by therapists and mental health professionals.

Characterised by feelings of incompetence, frustration (with relationships and work), identity crisis, insecurity, stress, confusion, boredom, opinionated and short-tempered responses, loneliness, nostalgia towards youth and a pressure-free school life, an inability to deal with situations and to face the reality of responsibilities; the ‘crisis’ seems to hit everyone in the age-group that suddenly realises that they have to grow up, fast. These emotions tend to occur pretty soon after the youths enter the post-college-make-important-decisions-about-life-stage.

Tweens are in a tearing hurry to be teens, teens are in a tremendous rush to be 20-something-mature-and-in-charge-of-their-lives, while the 20-somethings just want to stay 20-somethings. Suddenly the buck screeches to a halt there – leading to obvious maladjustments. Those who take life by the horns get burnt out, and those who ponder and plan, simply don’t move. It is a generation of extremes. ‘How will I know what I want to do so early? I need to find myself, test waters, I need space!’ Or a grimly determined, ‘I know where I want to go, and I wanna get there fast!’

At an age when, post MBA or post graduate school, the younglings would be just stepping out of the shelter of their parental lock and into the world wide web, these kids are faced with too many options, too many choices and a cheese that’s highly indecisive and constantly moving. Whilst embracing change fondly, this uncertain generation opts to hide behind the cloak of experimentation. It is difficult to step out of the comfort zone: marriage takes a backseat as jobs and partners switch with remarkable ease, towns and countries are no longer ‘long distance’, corporate ladders are meant to be parachuted up, and the age at which life ‘settles down’ is not in the near future. As a young magazine editor puts it, “We are living in an ageless world – the whole notion of age has been ‘problematised’.” After all, 30 is the new 20.

And so, 20 is the new 30. With the ‘new maturity’ – a biological fact that the age of puberty is being advanced – by the time we have reached our 20s, we are thinking like we would in our 30s; and ironically, to hold onto a desperate sense of youth, the 30-somethings are thinking, looking and behaving like they are in their 20s. As you mature faster, you also want to stay ‘younger’ longer.

And yet, it gets more complicated! Medically, 30 is the new 40. Stress, high cholesterol, high blood pressure, mental angst and all the adjoining ailments are hitting the 20-somethings in supreme irony, as the medical world finds new means to extend life. Consultant gastroenterologist, Dr Chetan Bhatt, finds the “hurry, worry, curry” syndrome has found its mark. QLC is officially a part of the psycho-babble and the 20-something age group is the cash cow of today.

Dr Ashit Sheth, consultant psychiatrist at Bombay Hospital, feels it’s the transitionary stress of the last 50 years – with a changed lifestyle, values, exposure, and disintegration of the joint-family system – transition from dependency to independency. The media hype and advertising-generated consumerism is all about “what you want being more important than what you have”. Women especially, are leading dual roles, with increasing demands. There is an excessive concern about weight leading to anorexia; the yuppie population doesn’t have time to consummate their marriages; and it eventually can lead to silent depression. The solution, according to Dr Sheth, is a five-fold answer: “Accept, follow recommendations, alter demand and expectations, enjoy what you have and learn to value basic needs.”

Expectations and needs are at the crux of this problem, agrees Dr Bhatt. It is the time of low tolerance and instant gratification – why slog and wait a few decades to enjoy things that can be had in an instant? Instant coffee, instant marriage, instant divorce, instant travel, instant loans and instant break-downs. As the older generation reminisces about the pleasures of delayed gratification, the need to work hard to reap the rewards; this generation agrees – but now years become days and delayed becomes instant. Money flows in easily – the concept of ‘working hard’ has changed to ‘maximise returns’. The youth often has their priorities straight – earn a ‘pot load’, somehow, and retire early. ‘And what exactly is a pot load?’ A 26-year-old financial analyst, casually describes a crore of rupees a year as being thoroughly acceptable – in all seriousness – “to lead a comfortable life.” High ambitions and an unreal sense of a consumerism engulf the youth, creating fantastic expectations and setting impossible goals.

As the material world threatens to swallow up the fresh recruits ripe out of school, it is the frenetic pace, which leads the 20-something in the quest of more or an existential nothingness. It is the epitome of the psychological fight-or-flight syndrome, dealt with a querulous sense of foreboding and complete confusion. As questions pile up and the answers don’t, these 20-somethings turn to mind-numbing, mind-altering and mindless states of being, hoping to alleviate their sense of frustration. It is especially worrisome, when India’s median age currently is 24.9 years – with over half its population under 25 years of age. The 20-somethings are riding a fast bike and driving a hard bargain, and it is important for someone to sit up and provide a guiding light. As Dr Bhatt concludes, “Dreams are not what you see while sleeping, dreams are what makes you restless and don’t let you sleep.”