Justice For SSR

Sushant Singh Rajput is unlikely to get justice. Why, you ask? Simple: Because the same factor that set the "Justice For SSR" ball rolling will derail the movement. And that factor is Us.

Sushant Singh Rajput

Have you ever wondered why the Palghar Sadhu Lynching incident didn't kickstart a mass movement of protest but the death of a 34-year-old actor did? Again, simple: It had nothing to do with "Oh Hindu Sadhus therefore ignored" (though that was definitely there), but the heinous, cold-blooded, long-in-the-making and utterly, absolutely ruthless manner in which a celebrity with a boy-next-door image was surrounded by a group of rich and powerful and pushed to a dark corner from which there was no escape except a long last fall over the edge into oblivion, and subsequently the media-police-politician-bollywood-underworld nexus that worked like a scarily well-oiled machinery to hush up the case, which reminded the country about the Dec 2012 atrocity in Delhi and roused the nation's collective conscience. It was, simply put, a question: "If such a terrible thing can happen to Sushant, then what hope do we commonfolk have?" It was a repeat act of the question that the country had asked itself at the time of Nirbhaya. This time, it was Sushant.

A major, major clean-up of the viper's den that bollywood has become has been overdue. Anyone not conforming to the rules is given a gentle push over the edge, a figurative hand in the back, and the rest is taken care of police investigations that find nothing suspicious, politicians who orchestrate their cadres in the guise of supportive fans, and media stooges who already have shiny, spanking-new clean chits out and waving in the air, pouring the milk of "child in a man's body" and "so much humanitarian work" and "weeps when he hears a 'lori' song and has to be consoled by his mum" on the blood of innocents dripping from the hands of the khans, the bhatts, the kapoors and the johars. Divya Bharti and Sridevi were drunk, Jiah Khan and Sushant and Parveen Babi were depressed... Same screenplay, different victims.

And this is where the secret of their escape route lies: the ability to orchestrate a whitewashing-and-hoodwinking campaign that has us eating out of their hands time and time again. We will forget all about Sushant the moment the next bachchan / srk / salman / ranbir kapoor film hits the theaters because to us, celebrating the glory of our stars who care two hoots about us matters more than innocent lives nipped in the bud in the most monstrous manner possible and justice and punishment...until the next dead body appears, hanging from the ceiling or drowned in a bathtub.

But remember one thing: the next guy or girl who falls victim to these hungry predators coming out of the scummy cesspool of unlimited power could be someone you love. I hope your breathless anticipation of the next bachchan / srk / salman / ranbir / deepika movie remains the same at that moment of utter despair.

P.S.: Here are some snaps of bollywood's A-listers with brothers Annel Mussarat and Nabeel Mussarat, two of pakistan's richest and most powerful businessmen, who often act as go-betweens between pakistan's ISI and the rich and the famous, esp of the Indian variety.
"Nothing wrong in being clicked with some businessmen, even if they're from pakistan," you say? Well, do remember that that is exactly how dawood ibrahim had dug his tentacles deep inside bollywood in the 1980s.

In Pictures below: Pakistani Businessmen Brothers Annel Mussarat and Nabeel Mussarat with various bollywood stars

'Moving On' in Hindi Cinema

 Considering the populist, across-the-floor and appeal-to-the-lowest-common-denominator pan-Indian (in name only; in actuality, Hindi Cinema has always a very pronounced North India-centric and Mumbai-centric tilt) format in which Hindi Cinema treats its narratives, the concept of 'moving on' from a relationship that is not working is not a common, or even remotely popular one. Here. at the end of the customary two and a a half hours, the hero and the heroine must unite, or (at least one of them) must die "to unite in the Afterlife". This is a concept that's more in keeping with Cinema of South India.

No wonder then that the best examples of 'moving on' I've come across in the highly unrealistic and often immature domain of commercial Hindi Cinema, the only two memorable instances, in fact, appear in two little-known Hindi translations of two South Indian films. Coincidentally, both Hindi films released within a few months of each other in the early years of this millennium and in the final years of the pre-multiplex era.

The first is Tusshar Kapoor's debut film 'Mujhe Kucch Kehna Hai' (2001), a remake of the Telugu film 'Tholi Prema' (1998). In the film, the hero is an immature and just a tad spoiled young man, who falls in love with a girl, the daughter of a family friend, who comes to live with his family. He's smitten and tries hard to get her, but keeps failing as she has her eyes set on higher studies and a career and doesn't want to lose focus of her goals. Ultimately he realizes that in order to get the girl of his dreams, he must grow up and make a man of himself, so he lets her go in the hope that when she is ready, she'll come back to him. The film ends on an open-ended but hopeful note. Most importantly, the hero harbours no bitterness, because by now he has figured out what he needs to do with his life.

The next one came a year later, in early 2002, and starred Aftab Shivdasani and Ameesha Patel. 'Kya Yehi Pyaar Hai' was the remake of the Tamil film 'Love Today' (1997). It is somewhat similar in terms of plot premise to MKKH, but different in that at the end, after the hero has lost his elder brother who was a friend philosopher and guide to him, he realizes that there's more to life than romantic love, and that more often we are in love with the idea of being in love. So he decides to make something substantial of his life as a tribute to his late elder brother, and although by now the heroine has fallen for him, he rejects her, though not spitefully or sadly, and goes off to chart out his own life path.

I believe it's because of the fact that both the films had their genesis in South Indian Cinema, we get to see a rare brand of maturity that's always been missing in the populist overindulgence of Hindi films.

For Your Eyes Only: When Moore Went Fleming-Level Classic

For most/many of us who were born in the 70s and grew up in the 80s and 90s, Roger Moore (and later, Pierce Brosnan) defined 007, but the truth is, Moore and Brosnan together took the film series away from the Fleming universe of gritty realism and in an absurdly campy direction with outlandish plots of world domination, cookie-cutter villains, and the overuse of downright farcical gadgets, until Craig rescued the films...and us.

A close analysis of the films tells us that beginning with The Spy Who Loved Me up to Die Another Day, every film was a subtle remake of one of the classic Bonds of Connery and Lazenby from the 60s (to illustrate: TSWLM, Moonraker, and Tomorrow Never Dies were all remakes of You Only Live Twice, The Living Daylights was From Russia With Love, Octopussy was Goldfinger, and A View To A Kill was Thunderball). By the mid-80s, a sense of ennui had crept in and it had everything to do with the OTT-ness that Broccoli and Saltzman were subjecting the films to, Moore's portrayal of a deadly Spy in the manner of a popular and elderly uncle more likely to crack a risque joke than kill someone in cold blood, and his advancing age. But the realistic and unassuming For Your Eyes Only more than makes up for the big, slightly bloated, money-churning megaliths that TSWLM and Moonraker are.

[Image courtesy: Google Images]

The story is a punch of two Fleming short stories, 'Risico' and 'For Your Eyes Only' (yes, it's not a full-fledged novel). Tidbits from other novels are thrown in, and the final product is very much like the highly underrated classic, On Her Majesty's Secret Service: Bond siding with a 'good' criminal to take on a 'bad' criminal (Drako/Blofeld in OHMSS vs. Columbo/Kristatos in FYEO). But after two drolly asinine outings to the depths of the oceans and the outer space, FYEO comes as a shot in the arm for Bond purists who love the classic touches of Fleming, whose Secret Agent was more of a cold-blooded killer than a wining, dining, smooth-talking Casanova, and the best examples of this in all of Moore's films come in FYEO, when (a) Bond goes to his late wife Teresa's grave to pay his respects and later (b) he kicks Locque's car from the top of a hill and sends it crashing. There's a latent sense of danger running through the narrative and the story is more localised and, knowing 007's history, more personal w/o being outside the purview of governmental action, something that a solo-flying Intelligence Agent would find himself entangled in rather than trying to stop cartoonish villains from taking over the world. As M would say, "Well done, 007."

Dark, Hard, Uncomfortable, Disturbing...Why?

Question:

Why is Joker (2019) a "dark and disturbing" film?

Answer:

In life, you're either a perpetrator or a victim: of bullying, of cheating, of adultery, of beatings; in short, anything that can be categorized under Physical or Psychological Violence that has caused major emotional scarring and trauma. Either way, you wouldn't want to see your real face, the one you keep hidden away from everyone around you, the one that's either filled with hate and cruelty or the one that has helpless, agonized tears streaming down the cheeks, blown up and projected before the entire world to see. (Ever wondered why people who cheat on their partners feel uncomfortable while watching movies or TV shows based on the theme of adultery and the ensuing problems? Yes, same reason.)

Disclaimer:

The above assessment may not fully apply to the real hardcore perpetrators. It may be noted that the higher your level of psychosis/sadism, the greater is your resistance to any discomfort caused by a representational depiction (of your action or anything similar) unfolding before you. This simply means that someone with an advanced case of psychosis/sadism would probably be at best only partially troubled while watching such stuff, and that too on all likelihood if she (or he) was watching it in the company of one of her (or his) victims. But by and large the assessment holds true.

Which is why Joker is a dark, hard, uncomfortable watch—because it is a stark reminder of who, or what, we are: either the monster that broke a helpless soul and turned it into a hate-filled nightshade, or the Crying Freeman that another monster has caused us to become.

[Image courtesy: Google Images]

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An Ode To Kumar Sanu

There is something inherently simple and sweet, yet indescribably poignant, about the early melodies of Kumar Sanu, the ones that turned him into an overnight phenomenon 29 years ago, and by a few light years at least, the most influential (playback) singer of India after Kishore Kumar. It is interesting to note that, like Rajesh Khanna and SRK, it is the first 5-6 years of his career in the 90s (he had made his debut with Yeh Desh in 1984, but we can disregard the years leading up to Aashiqui in 1990) that really made Sanu who he was, who he is, and who he shall remain forever: the voice that came the closest to Kishore Kumar's throne, beating all other legends and gods in the race to musical immortality through sheer dominance on public memory.

[Image courtesy: Google Images]

Personal favourite: the achingly heart-touching "Bas ek sanam chaahiye Aashiqui ke liye" (Aashiqui, 1990), with its will-o'-the-wisp-like hint of anticipated romance. There is hardly another song in all of the 90s that encapsulates the unbearable lightness of being that the free-est, happiest of virginal young souls experience in the carefree moments when they are on the verge of starting their journey on the perilous path of Love as-yet-unexperienced, without a worry on their brows. Masterly, delectable, piquant.

There have been so many absolutely marvelous Durga Puja songs/albums (i.e. released during the festive season) over the years, but I still keep associating Puja music primarily with Kumar Sanu and Aashiqui (the original one, of course, not the snivel-fest from a few years ago).

[Image courtesy: Google Images]

Happy 62nd, Sanu da. You made the 1990s almost singlehandedly super-memorable.

Legend. King. God.

Every actor worth his salt plays a particular type of character really well; so well, in fact, that it becomes nigh on impossible to think of anyone else in such roles. His performances in these roles become the index on which others are judged...and more often than not, failed.

Examples are aplenty. Rajesh Khanna made the intense, emotionally-torn-between-love-and-duty character entirely his own (and make no mistake, it still remains his, despite the best efforts of Mannatian pretenders); Amitabh Bachchan shall remain the last word when it comes to portraying the volcanic, superhot rebel with a greater social justice in mind till kingdom come; and hardly anyone can beat Mannatians when it comes to snatching other people's girlfriends and fiancees (Rolls Royces and Tata Nanos don't mix too well, but you get the drift...and hopefully the sarcasm too).

But when it comes to portraying the elder brother who holds together the mainmast of a middle-class family sailing through troubled waters - and here, an interview of Soumitra Chatterjee comes to mind - even god bows before Uttam Kumar. As Chatterjee had astutely observed, the character came so naturally to UK because he *was* that man in real life.

[Image courtesy: Google Images]

Even in an otherwise none-too-sparkling film like 'Dui Prithibi' (The Two Worlds, 1980), UK is the living, breathing embodiment of the eldest son/elder brother who stands tall amid the ruined moralities of his rapidly-disintegrating-in-values family that has tasted the sweet taste of money after several years of hardships and won't let go. The pregnant pauses, the sad headshakes, the silent, shadowed eyes...really, there's hardly anything more worthwhile than watching The Greatest Master of All going about wielding his craft even on an ordinary day in the field.

Legend. Goddess. Superstar.

Note: This post is from the perspective of a true-blue fanboy. Do not come looking for any kind of objectivity in this one.

[Image courtesy: Google Images]

260+ films in a career spanning 51 years. An awards list longer than her own cascading-waterfall, raven-black locks. Regular—and effortless—eclipsing of her super-illustrious male co-stars like Kamal Haasan, Rajinikanth, Mithun Chakraborty, Rajesh Khanna, NTR and Amitabh Bachchan. Being recognized by colleagues, critics and audiences alike as “the only female superstar of Indian Cinema” and “the best Indian actress of all time”.

All this together serves to describe but a little part of the phenomenon, the one-woman army that Sridevi was. For she was much, much greater than the sum of her parts.

The oval-faced, olive-eyed beauty who drove men to heights of such romantic frenzy that they would forget their marital status and pursue her (she ultimately married two of them over the span of a decade in her life, with the first ending disastrously). Actress par excellence, who incited such insecurity among her co-stars—heroes and heroines alike—that they would actually avoid being cast in a movie with her, for she left nothing for others to do once the camera was switched on. Refusing to accept inconsequential, glamour-only roles, even if they came with blank cheques and/or were opposite the mighty Bachchan. And driving millions of her fans, nay, devotees, to throes of ecstasy with her monolith-melting performances over and over again, with her unique blend of talent of a god-level prodigy, innocence of a child, face of an angel, and body of a supreme seductress.

Au revoir, goddess. There shall be, there is, not one other like you. Not one other shall command our unswerving, unwavering devotion like you did. And do.

And shall keep doing. Forever and ever.

[Image courtesy: Google Images]

Oh Deepika, Why Couldn't You Talk About Your Acting?

I recently came across a bunch of old (late-2011/early-2012) magazines on Hindi Cinema and was leafing through them when I chanced upon an interview of Deepika Padukone that coincided with the release of Desi Boyz, her moderately well-received late-2011 release. The interviewer's last question to her was: "Who do you think has a better body than you in bollywood?" To which she replied - and the interviewer comments praisingly on the confidence in her voice as she answers this question - "None."

[Image Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deepika_Padukone]

I wish the interviewer had asked her, and others of her ilk, questions on her acting prowess instead of her physical charms alone. I point this out for the simple reason that I do not recall ANY questions in that direction, i.e. Acting, anywhere in the interview, whatever little I remember of it.

[Image Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deepika_Padukone]

And I wish that the actress herself had made an effort to veer the interview towards a discussion of her acting chops. Needless to say that like the interviewer, she made no such efforts either.

[Image Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deepika_Padukone]

A telling comment of what sells in present-day bollywood. Sad.

Why, oh why couldn't you have focused on and talked about your acting, Deepika?

Triple Talaaq, Secret Superstar, And Some Random Thoughts on Women's Emancipation

Is the urban Muslim society in India heading for a change in sync with times vis-à-vis the role of its women in society and the arts?

The answer to that, hopefully, is 'Yes'.

The prime basis of this assumption is, of course, the overwhelming support Muslim women all over India have given to the central government's recent move to abolish the triple talaaq system, with a special five-judge panel of the Supreme Court of India endorsing the move and recommending that the government ban the unconstitutional practice by enacting a law. And in the midst of this sensational move to grant Muslim women their much-deserved emancipation from an age-old social evil comes another indication that India's urban Muslims may be opening up to the march of time: Secret Superstar, the movie.

With actor-filmmaker Aamir Khan throwing his weight behind the film as its producer and star, debutant director Advait Chandan's Secret Superstar is the story of brave and ambitious Insiya, a young Muslim girl - played by 17-year-old Zaira Wasim of Dangal fame - who aspires for musical stardom.

The urban Muslim society has often had to field accusations of not moving with the times, especially in providing opportunities to its women, though the last four decades or so have seen a marked improvement. The enforced cloistering of Muslim women in occupation and the arts is hopefully entering its final lap, and Secret Superstar, a league different from the orthodox Muslim socials popular in the late-60s and early-70s - Mere Mehboob and Mehboob Ki Mehndi come to mind - may serve as a clarion call heralding its end.

Kishore-Lata Romantic Duets: Random Ruminations Of A Hospitalized Pancham Lover

During my recent two-day stint at the hospital, during which I had to undergo a long-pending surgery due to an internal haemorrhaging issue in the lower abdominal region, I had the opportunity to re-visit some of my all-time favourite Kishore Kumar-Lata Mangeshkar duets composed by—who else?—RD Burman. I shared these songs on a Facebook forum dedicated to Pancham, but then, I thought, why not compile the separate entries in one place?

So here it is, my thoughts on some of the finest RDB-KK-Lata collaborations (in no particular order), dedicated to the Nightingale of India, the best Music Director India has ever produced, and the greatest (male) singer of India in his birth month. Enjoy!

[Picture Courtesy: Google Images, edited]

• Jagir (1984): “Chor tera naam hai”

[Tin Murti (1982): “Churi chhara kaj nei”]

One of the more fun, peppy romantic duets of KK & Lata.

Shakti Samanta in the 70s and the 80s specialized in making Bangla-Hindi bilinguals, like Amanush-Amanush, Ananda Ashram-Anand Ashram, Anyay Abichar-Aar Paar, Andha Bichar-Dushman, ANUSANDHAN-BARSAAT KI EK RAAT, etc. Samanta used to shoot every single scene in these films of his twice, once in Bangla and once in Hindi. Pramod Chakravorty joined the bilingual bandwagon with the superhit entertainer Teen Murti-Jagir in 82/84, but the difference was, Chakravorty only shot the scenes twice; the songs were shot only once, in Hindi, and used in the Bangla version as-is, with the songs dubbed over. This is why the lip-sync is off in the Bangla version. Watch the Bangla version of this song after the Hindi version and you'll know what I mean.

Nevertheless, that does not take anything away from this playful, naughty number. Both KK and Lata were well into their 50s when this song was done, yet they sound as youthful as the lead pair looks. Mithun is at his charming best, and although Shoma Anand could never really make it big as a heroine, she looks incredibly pretty in this song (and a bit like one of my paternal cousins). One other unique thing about this song is: despite being a romantic number, this one is as foot-tapping and dance-worthy as can be.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IsD3dkG-ljo

• Aandhi (1975): “Tum aa gaye ho”

If “Tere bina zindagi se koi” is a musing on a life of lost opportunities and “Iss mod se jaate hain” talks about the opportunities that stare one in the face at the beginning of youth and love, then “Tum aa gaye ho” is the quintessential ‘while in love’ ditty that completes the cycle by putting in the place the 2^nd of the three phases of love.

Suchitra Sen was an unusual choice; she came into the film when the original choice, Vyjayanthimala, declined as she was too much in awe of a certain Mrs. Gandhi, and surrendered completely to Gulzar's vision w/o demanding the slightest change anywhere in the script, unlike an earlier occasion when she demanded several changes in the script and Gulzar was compelled to say no to her. In this song, her heavy-duty makeup and her age show through—she was in her mid-40s when she did Aandhi—but the song itself, and the acting of the seasoned lead pair, one a fan favourite and the other a director's joy, more than make up for it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tSjrsT8pTbQ

• Nehle Pe Dehlaa (1976): “Saawan ka maheena aa gaya”

For me, the USP of this song, apart from the music, of course, is not KK, neither Lata, neither a very handsome-looking Sunil Dutt, but the stunningly gorgeous, the absolutely divine Saira Banu. I'd marry her. Any day.

Feast your eyes, ladies and gentlemen, on this heavenly queen of oomph!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5nNRkf6z3oc

• Bade Dil Wala (1983): “Tujhme kya hai deewane”

The third of the delightful KK-Lata duets from Bade Dil Wala, and this one is a classic romantic number. “Kaho kaise rasta bhool pade” is playfully romantic in tone, but is not picturised on the romantic leads; “Kahin na jaa” is more about lending emotional support to the partner in times of crisis. But this one hits the sweet spot of the bat much like “Saagar kinare” from Saagar, “Kasme Vaade nibhayenge hum”, and “Deewana karke chhodoge” from Mere Jeevan Saathi.

The one thing about this song that strikes me is how much, orchestration-wise, this resembles the Lata solo “Aisa samaa na hota” from Zameen Aasmaan, which came a year or so after BDW. It is possible that both songs were composed more or less together; BDW came later, maybe as a result of Chintu’s well-known tardiness (but this is conjecture on my part). However, it is entirely probably that whichever song was recorded first occupied RD’s mindscape significantly enough to influence the one that was recorded second. “Tujhme kya hai” has more of Lata than of KK, and RD gives her the same high notes in this one as in “Aisa samaa”. And like “Saagar kinare”, all the BDW songs have a very, very contemporary feel.

And yes, “Tujhme kya hai” also has a lot of similarities with “Jaane kaise kab kahan” from SHAKTI. It's like “Jaane kaise” is the eldest sibling, “Tujh mein kya hai” is the middle sibling, and “Aisa samaa” is the youngest sibling.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nOhlMk1fqjY

• Bade Dil Wala (1983): “Kaho kaise rasta bhool pade”

A return to gypsy camp after a long time since “Mehbooba Mehbooba” from SHOLAY and “Dilbar dil se pyaare” from Caravan. In the meanwhile, we have been subjected to the terrible “Kamaal hai kamaal hai” by Laxmi-Pyare in Karz, an otherwise fine album. And once again, like “Dilbar dil se pyaare”, it is Lata and not Asha doing the honours.

Musically, BDW is the best album among Bhappi Sonie's entire body of work, much better than anything he did with Shankar-Jaikishen or anyone else. BDW, Saagar, and Sitamgar are like Mere Jeevan Saathi of the 80s: flawless albums, less than desirable box office performances of the films.

For a long time, songs were seen as a tool, a means of releasing the tension that has been building up in the on-screen narrative (“Khaike paan Banaras-wala” from DON is the best example). This one is another fine example of a song being used to ease up on the tension: the hero, accused of a murder he didn't commit (very Vijay Anand-ish), is fleeing and comes upon a gypsy camp, where he and the gypsy girl hit it off and they break into a song. Not a strictly romantic song, but can easily be construed as one, given the chemistry of the singing-dancing pair and the lyrics. Close your eyes and you'll feel that this is a repartee between a romantic couple.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S6zRp3Pb020

• Alag Alag (1985): “Kuchh humko tumse”

The music in Kaka's penultimate home production was criticized by some for being “Laxmikant-Pyarelal-ish” for the use of dholak beats. The film, or its box-office performance, takes nothing away from this childhood favourite album of mine. What a delightful song!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8J--_4tI8Tk

• SHAKTI (1982): “Jaane kaise kab kahan”

Another top-notch KK-Lata number, but one with a twist: all the romantic frolicking turns into a sensuously-charged coming together of body and soul. Note how the tone of the song changes—to one of long-anticipated physical union as the song moves to the 3^rd antara.

This is also one of AB’s most romantic numbers, along with “Kasme Vaade nibhayenge hum” and MUQADDAR KA SIKANDAR’s “O saathi rey” by Kalyanji-Anandji.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4hsoOkXEpbA

• KASME VAADE (1978): “Kasme vaade nibhayenge hum”

Along with “Saagar kinare”, this one is THE definitive KK-Lata duet. Do I really need to elaborate on this?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W68p7_MYPF8

• Aanchal (1980): "Bas meri jaan bas"

More sensuous than romantic, with Rekha oozing oomph from every pore. Wonder what a certain Mr. Tall Man had to say to this!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iS84MRB7rUw

On "Aati rahengi baharein": Late-night Panchamania (And Bachchan-mania Too!)

Surprisingly, there are very few songs/sequences depicting things like birthdays, college life, etc. in AB movies. In all likelihood, the larger-than-life image that was created for him by writers and directors, as well as his aura, was responsible for that. Two rare birthday songs picturised on him and with him as the birthday boy are "Inteha ho gayee" from SHARAABI and this one from KASME VAADE.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CD2KC79uaes

Unlike the SHARAABI song, "Aati rahengi baharein" is comparatively a lot more low-key and straightforward, shorn of the high-decibel jing-bang orchestration that one gets to hear in 'urban mehfil' songs. There's hardly any hoo-haa either in the picturisation or in the composition. It starts off on a low note, to the mouth organ strains of "Happy birthday to you", and ends on a low-ish note as well, and this goes perfectly in sync with the fact that the birthday is that of a college professor. Just about the only high note is the brief mouth organ piece in the middle (when Randhir Kapoor starts grooving immediately before his antara), and that's in line with the character of the person doing it as well - a college-going, carefree, happy-go-lucky yuppie. This, then, is a song that ties up not only with the situation, but with the characters as well: a triumph of low-key composition meant for indoor use.

N.B.: there is one other indoor song in the film, the mujra number "Pyar ke rang se". Again, fits in with the mood, but does not do much in setting up the characters or advancing the story, unlike "Aati rahengi baharein", which gives the viewer a very good idea about the kind of relationship the three principle characters share.

The Yogi And The Halley’s Comet

Comparisons are odious and, owing to the lack of impartial objectivity it brings in its wake, often impractical and inadequate. Imagine the countless hours we, argumentative and opinionated Indians that we are, have wasted in Tendulkar-vs.-Dravid, Tendulkar-vs.-Lara, Uttam Kumar-vs.-Soumitra Chattopadhyay, Hemanta Mukhopadhyay-vs.-Manna Dey, East Bengal-vs.-Mohun Bagan, Kishore Kumar-vs.-Md. Rafi, Messi-vs.-Ronaldo, RD Burman-vs.-SD Burman-vs.-Salil Chowdhury, and Amitabh Bachchan-vs.-Rajesh Khanna debates, which more often than not have escalated into heated debates, raging arguments, and even fisticuffs, leading to ruptured bones and friendships.

Yet comparisons are often useful—they help to highlight the contributions of a person to his sphere of work and his immediate environment, helping the inhabitants and patrons of that universe to understand his importance and influence by juxtaposing his body of work against other, equal or greater influencers of the era.

And in Vinod Khanna’s case, no discussion on him can be complete without putting across the table the man who many felt could have had a tougher time at the stardom sweepstakes if it had not been for VK’s sudden sabbatical from films: Amitabh Bachchan.

VK is the one star-actor who has constantly and consistently been compared with Amitabh Bachchan. Of course, Bachchan being a far better actor was always destined to leave everyone behind and move light years ahead of all competition, but the parallels have refused to be erased and the comparisons have persisted: “What if VK had not taken that sabbatical?”

But for a change, we won’t be looking at a comparative study of the two star-actors in this article, but at some interesting ‘connections’ from the POV of trivia-loving admirers instead. So, read on.

The Sunil Dutt Connection on Debut

VK and Bachchan did several films together in the 1970s, from RESHMA AUR SHERA in 1971 to MUQADDAR KA SIKANDAR in 1978, the latter being the second-biggest hit of the 70s after SHOLAY (1975). But did you know that the debut films of both actors have a strong Sunil Dutt connection?

Yes, that’s correct. Directly (for VK) and indirectly (for AB), Sunil Dutt had a hand to play behind the debuts of both VK and AB. VK's debut film Man Ka Meet (1968) was produced by Dutt, while Bachchan landed His first film SAAT HINDUSTANI (1969) on the strength of, among other things, a letter of recommendation written by Dutt's wife Nargis Dutt.

When his rugged good looks cost VK a Salim-Javed film...

When Dev Anand's assistant Yash Johar decided to move out of Navketan Films and launch his own production house, he did so with DOSTANA circa 1977-78. Armed with a Salim-Javed script, Johar signed S-J's blue-eyed boy Amitabh Bachchan, along with Zeenat Aman and VK for the triangular love story, an unusual topic for S-J. To direct the film, Johar got on board Raj Khosla, director of blockbusters like Do Raaste (1969) and Mera Gaon Mera Desh (1971). One of the biggest hits of its time, MGMD had featured VK in a career-defining role—as Daku Jabbar Singh—and had also served as one of the prime influences behind SHOLAY.

During the shooting of MGMD, VK and Khosla had struck up a friendship that led to the duo collaborating on four more films over the next few years—Kuchhe Dhaage (1973), Prem Kahani (1975), Nehle Pe Dehlaa (1976), and Main Tulsi Tere Aangan Ki (1978)—so VK was eagerly looking forward to Khosla helming DOSTANA.

The moment Khosla heard the film’s story, he said: “Vinod can't do this film. He will have to go out.” Everyone was stunned! Khosla, one of VK's good friends and favourite directors was talking about chucking VK out of the film! Yash Johar and Salim-Javed tried to explain to Khosla that the actor had already been locked in for the film and had even started prepping for it. The AB-VK combo was a casting coup that had proved astronomically successful in the past few years and financiers and audiences were willing to shell out moonh-maangi keemat for a film starring the two actors, but Khosla was adamant.

Finally, after a lot of arguments, Khosla revealed why he didn't want his good friend in the film: “What is the story of the film? Sheetal (Aman) leaves Ravi (to be played by VK) and goes to Vijay (Bachchan), right? Do you think any woman in her right mind would be able to refuse a man as good-looking as VK? When I, a man, cannot take my eyes off him, how can a woman resist him?”

Johar and S-J gave in to this very valid reasoning and VK was replaced by Shatrughan Sinha. A better choice, many believe: thanks to the scorching AB-Shotgun chemistry, fuelled largely by the real-life friction of egos affecting the former friends, DOSTANA went on to become one of the biggest hits of 1980, with Sinha as Ravi delivering a towering performance that matched The Mighty Bachchan step for step.

Unfortunately for VK, he lost out on the opportunity to work with S-J after the 1974 hit Haath Ki Safai (Sauda, another film released in the same year, was based on a story by S-J, but the writer duo had their names officially removed from the credits when the makers of the film made unauthorized changes to the script).

Incidentally, 1980 saw the release of another mammoth hit. Like DOSTANA, this one too was a triangular love story, featuring two macho hunks as friends and the divinely delicious Zeenat Aman as the woman caught between them. VK played the sacrificing friend with aplomb and earned himself a Best Actor nod at Filmfare. But interestingly, this role had been offered to Bachchan first. The film? The humongously successful cult classic: Qurbani.

Rajput and the Rajesh Khanna Effect

Director Vijay Anand had signed AB and Dharmendra for two multi-starrers, which were to be shot simultaneously: RAM BALRAM (1980) and Rajput (1982). In Rajput, AB was supposed to play Manu’s (Dharmendra) younger brother Bhanu; the role of Bhanu/Bhavani in the film had been written specifically for him. AB agreed to do both films, but on one condition: He requested Vijay Anand to replace Rajesh Khanna in Rajput with another actor. His unwillingness to work with Kaka stemmed from the ill treatment He had suffered at the latter’s hands many years ago while working with him in director Hrishikesh Mukherjee's ANAND (1971) and NAMAK HARAAM (1973). Vijay Anand refused, saying that only Kaka could do justice to the character of Dhiren. Consequently, AB gracefully bowed out of Rajput and VK was roped in to replace Him.

Father to the Friend’s Son

VK played adoptive father to AB's son Abhishek in Players (2012), while AB played VK's son Akshaye's father in DEEWAAR (2004). This is the only instance of AB sharing a reciprocal on-screen relationship with a contemporary actor and their respective sons.

Seriously, where has all the colour and excitement from Bollywood gone?

Have a safe journey, VK.

[I just wanted to write something random but interesting on the actor and came up with this. This is not a "deep, insightful analysis piece", but merely a fun read.]

"Haal Chaal Theek Thaak Hai": Bidding Adieu To Muqaddar Ka Badshaah

...and Time has claimed one more bastion of the Most Colourful Era of Mainstream Hindi Cinema. The raw, animal, several-horsepower sexual magnetism of Vinod Khanna (6.10.1946–27.4.2017) has passed on into the big Eternity.

[Image courtesy: Google Images]

Tributes are pouring in as usual, most of it focusing on Khanna's handsomeness and machismo and how he had taken the concept of ubercool "maleness" to new heights, in conjunction with Dharmendra and the one man with whom Khanna drew the maximum amount of parallels, aka Amitabh Bachchan.

Some of us, and by that I mean the musically-inclined, have also been discussing Khanna's music on social media. And there, we are encountering a roadblock after only a few steps. You see, the number of truly iconic songs that the hunky actor could be associated with is considerably—and surprisingly—small, especially when compared against what his contemporaries can boast of.

Try making a list of the iconic songs Rajesh Khanna was associated with. The list will travel from the Earth to the Moon and back. Same for Dev Anand and Amitabh Bachchan, both of whom have a fantastic musical body of work to their credit. Ditto Randhir Kapoor and Rishi Kapoor. This is because the lion's share of Kishore Kumar and Rahul Dev Burman's best songs were picturized on these actors. But Vinod Khanna?

Well, let's see. So here goes, in chronological order:

1. Koi hota jisko apna - Mere Apne, 1971
2. Ruk jaana nahin - Imtihan, 1974
3. Humko tumse ho gaya hai - AMAR AKBAR ANTHONY, 1977
4. Amar Akbar Anthony - AMAR AKBAR ANTHONY
5. Chaahiye thoda pyaar - Lahu Ke Do Rang, 1979
6. Hum tumhein chaahte hain aise - Qurbani, 1980
7. Chhodo sanam kaahe ka ghum - Kudrat, 1981
8. Bachna rajaji - Jail Yatra, 1981
9. Teri har adaa hai haseen - Daulat, 1982
10. Moti ho to baandh ke rakh loon - Daulat
11. Lagi aaj saawan ki - Chandni, 1989
12. Jab koi baat bigad jaaye - Jurm, 1990

See what I meant? Hardly a dozen truly memorable songs from a career that started in 1968 and ended in 2017. And even here, many of the songs are not readily associated with Khanna. The AMAR AKBAR ANTHONY songs are associated more with Bachchan, with Kishore Kumar singing for the Megastar; most of the other songs on that list had Kishore da singing for Khanna, but the songs themselves are known more as "Kishore Kumar songs", not as "Kishore Kumar-Vinod Khanna hits". Compare this against the legendary singer's "Main shayar badnaam" (NAMAK HARAAM, 1973), "O saathi rey" (MUQADDAR KA SIKANDAR, 1978), "Main hoon Don" (DON, 1978), "Gaata rahe mera dil" (Guide, 1965), "Chingaari koi bhadke" (Amar Prem, 1972), and "Yeh shaam mastaani" (Kati Patang, 1970), and you will realize what I mean.

And yet, there is one song that tends to go almost unnoticed; a rare gem that few seem to be aware of, a song that got overshadowed by its more celebrated sibling from the same film (Mere Apne). But make no mistake: this is a song that is very unique...and uniquely structured. This song.

[Image courtesy: Google Images]

Firstly, the theme. The song is about a group of unemployed young friends, straight out of college, looking for jobs but not getting any: a common picture in the urban Indian society even today. Yet instead of tears and angry rants and bitterness, they channelize their angst through dark comedy and smiling sarcasm. What this also does is, it lulls the audience into thinking that in typical cinematic style, things will be all right by the end. This is why, to first-time viewers of the film, the tragic end comes as a bit of a shock even today.

The second thing is the lyrics, which resemble that of a letter a young college student in the city would write to his parents, esp. his mom, and siblings in his native village: "Don't worry, everything's fine." No flowery, ornamental filmic lyric here. Combine that with the low-key way it has been sung and the very basic orchestration—where the singers use their whistling as an instrument!—and what we have is actually the first-ever 'blank verse' song of Hindi Film Music, more than a decade before Panchamda's classic "Mera kuchh saamaan" (Ijaazat, 1988). Hats off to Salil Chowdhury for this one.

[Image courtesy: Google Images]

To me, more than any scene or dialogue, this song remains the greatest imagery of Vinod Khanna's suave, urbane machismo—the angry young man who has to shoulder his responsibilities as his family's beacon of hope while fighting a cruel, unmerciful system that churns out thousands of unemployed graduates every year.

The MUQADDAR KA SIKANDAR still rules supreme, but the Muqaddar Ka Badshaah is gone. That's how Muqaddar rolls.

Rest in a lot of peace, Vinod Khanna.

Old-school ‘Kaabiliyat’ (4.5/5)

Originality of content in mainstream Indian/Hindi Cinema has always been an area of much debate and vagueness, where masters of ‘derived inspiration’ have done battle with champions of fresh thoughts. Owing to the mass market-driven compulsion of catering to a pan-Indian audience, where the lowest common denominator can make or break a multi-crore venture, well-packaged entertainment has by and large lorded over novelty of ideas here, with both ‘manufacturers’ (since film folk nowadays insist on referring to themselves as an ‘industry’ – albeit a most disorganized one) and patrons traditionally preferring the former.

At this juncture, we are faced with a most interesting question: is originality overrated, at least in the realms of mainstream cinema? It can be argued that there are only so many stories to tell, and shrewd manipulation of the theme (and the resources at the maker’s disposal) by way of skillful direction and a smart screenplay often scores over original content, provided the treatment and packaging are done adroitly enough. Look no further than commercial Hindi Cinema of the 1973-1982 period, the era that has been arguably the most influential in defining India’s contemporary pop culture, the age of giants like Salim-Javed and Amitabh Bachchan. Many of their best works (jointly and separately) were inspired by other films, both Indian and international. DEEWAAR owed its roots to Gunga Jumna and Mother India; MAJBOOR took off from Zig Zag; SHAKTI had its genesis in DEEWAAR (and to some extent Thanga Pathakkam); ZANJEER took its inspiration from Death Rides A Horse, AGNEEPATH borrowed liberally from Nayakan, and SHOLAY had too many points of influence to list in a single article. Yet all these films are counted among the most well-crafted pieces of commercial Hindi cinema, having stood the test of durability and in turn becoming inspiration points themselves.

This brings us to Kaabil, produced by actor-turned-filmmaker Rakesh Roshan and directed by Sanjay Gupta, both master craftsmen of the masala entertainment genre. Neither man has ever been a stickler for originality: while Roshan took inspiration from diverse sources such as Return To Eden (Khoon Bhari Maang), Ram Aur Shyam (Kishen Kanhaiya), KASME VAADE (Kaho Naa…Pyaar Hai), E.T. (Koi…Mil Gaya), and Superman (Krrish and Krrish 3), Gupta successfully Indianized A Better Tomorrow (Aatish), The Juror (Khauff), Reservoir Dogs (KAANTE), Oldboy (Zinda), and Seven Days (Jazbaa). Kaabil keeps the tradition alive while serving as a good confluence point of both Gupta’s and Roshan’s individual approaches to filmmaking.

Rohan Bhatnagar (Hrithik Roshan), a young voice-over artiste, is introduced to Supriya Sharma (Yami Gautam), an independent working woman, by a well-meaning mutual acquaintance. It is literally a blind date – both are sightless. They click and before long, Rohan has successfully wooed Supriya. Expectedly, marriage follows.

Soon afterwards, tragedy strikes the lovelorn couple. Local goon Amit Shelar (Rohit Roy) and his friend Wasim (Md. Sahidur Rahaman) rape a vulnerable Supriya when Rohan is away at work. Since Amit is the younger brother of influential corporator Madhavrao Shelar (Ronit Roy), the investigating officers waste no time in hushing up the case; they even help Madhavrao abduct the couple to prevent them from going for the all-important medical examination that must be conducted within 24 hours of rape. Far from helping the distraught couple, the police label them as frauds attempting to blackmail the Shelars.

Supriya commits suicide after being raped for the second time. When Madhavrao taunts Rohan and tells him to stop pursuing the case, the grieving man, who has already given up on the law, decides to take things in his own hands and deliver vigilante justice to his beloved’s tormentors.

Kaabil is a shout-out to Bollywood’s great revenge dramas of the 80s and 90s, the direct descendant of films like ANDHAA KAANOON, AAKHREE RAASTA, INDRAJEET, and Phool Aur Angaar, where the hero, traumatized after the rape and subsequent death of his wife/adopted daughter/sister, sets out on a mission to visit vengeance upon the evil-doers. While the premise itself is nothing new, the treatment is clever, with the protagonists’ blindness adding a new dimension to an oft-told tale, but not without silently outlining how much modern-day Bollywood, despite its nose-turned-up-at-everything-retro attitude, is still dependent upon the formulaic, masala cinema of yore as far as drawing inspiration is concerned.

Hrithik is in fabulous form; this is probably his finest performance since Krrish in mid-2006. The goofy lover, the talented dubbing artiste, the broken husband shattered by his wife’s rape and suicide, the relentless machine of death – he does full justice to every aspect of the role. He moves through the narrative as a Great White Shark might move through the ocean: smooth and unstoppable. The scene at the shopping mall, where the young lover’s helplessness surfaces on getting separated from his girlfriend, and his dubbing scenes, especially his spot-on mimicry of Amitabh Bachchan to impress his new wife, deserve special mention. In many ways, the character of Rohan Bhatnagar is a direct throwback to Bachchan’s Angry Young Vijay of DEEWAAR, SHAKTI, and AGNEEPATH: dangerous, calm, calculating, and a resourceful risk-taker. He reminds one of textbook ‘blind man’ performances such as Sanjeev Kumar in Qatl, Denzel Washington in The Book Of Eli, and Naseeruddin Shah in Sparsh.

Yami Gautam is restrained; there is a great deal of poise in her portrayal of Supriya who, even in her darkest hour, puts her husband’s emotional suffering ahead of her own trauma. Rohit Roy is suitably slimy, while Ronit Roy channelizes the innate menace of Madhavrao very well. But it is Narendra Jha, the chief baddie from last year’s Ghayal Once Again, who is a revelation as senior cop Chaubey. Clearly, here is someone to watch out for.

The technical aspects of the film are well-rounded. Akiv Ali’s editing is sharp, while Sudeep Chatterjee and Ayananka Bose’s cinematography is polished. The numerous close-ups capture the expressions of the characters in fine detail. Shyam Kaushal’s fight sequences are ingenious and tight; since our man is blind and has to rely more on his wits and other senses than physical sight, it was necessary to keep the action short and focused. Rajesh Roshan’s music is a bit of a letdown: barring "Main tere kaabil", none of the other songs stand out and the remixed degradation of the Kishore Kumar classic “Saara zamana” (from YAARANA) into an item number is deplorable. Pity – one has always associated Rajesh Roshan with melodious music, right from Khatta Meetha and Doosara Aadmi to KNPH, and though Kaabil does not have much scope for music, one wishes he had done better.

Some of the first reviews of Kaabil mentioned how the screenplay focused more on Rohan than on Supriya and how the plot was regressive in its portrayal of a rape victim as a sullied, broken object. One feels compelled to disagree. Apart from the fact that the film is Hrithik’s home production and was always going to focus more on him than anyone else, Kaabil is Rohan’s story, told from his viewpoint, not Supriya’s. Expecting her to have an equal role would be akin to demanding Radha and Basanti be given as much screen time as Jai and Veeru. Supriya’s importance lies in the fact that her tragedy is the fulcrum on which the machine operates, but Rohan was always going to be the main power switch. (And honestly, did anyone really think the makers were going to bank as much on Yami Gautam as Hrithik?) As for the “regressive” bit, that too is a misinterpretation: as Rohan correctly deduces, Supriya gives up her life not because she is weak, but because she realizes how hard her defenselessness against her abusers is going to hit her husband. Rohan’s silence to Supriya’s offer of walking away arose not from any kind of ‘disgust’ at his wife’s ‘tarnished honour’, but more from a husband’s helpless, frustrated rage at not having been around to protect his wife from her predators.

Kaabil is not flawless – it is not explained how a dubbing artiste could manage to book an (expensive) apartment in a Mumbai high-rise, or why Supriya stopped working after marriage, or why the phone booth owner was always conveniently absent every time Rohan went there to make a call – but these are minor quibbles. The film definitely packs a punch. Watch it if you are a Hrithik fanboy/fangirl. Watch it even if you are not. Because solid old-fashioned entertainment, especially one that does not take recourse to lionization of criminals or distortion of documented history, is a rarity from today’s Bollywood.

[Image courtesy: Google Images]

[A shorter and slightly altered version of this post can be found here: http://www.tanyamunshi.com/lifestyle/reviews/quite-kaabil-film-review/]