KAHIHI

Just a few days before the Oscars, I watched “The Artist”, a movie that was much talked about. I was rather a little skeptical to watch it. However, a conversation with Bollywood enthusiast and a columnist urged me to finally book a ticket at a “not-so-good, not-so-bad” theatre in Pune. I wish I could have got to watch “The Artist” in Regal, Eros, Sterling, theatres where I have enjoyed most English classics.

I had had enough of Apes, Spider-men, Lord of Rings, all sorts of aliens attacking our planet, and many other specially-abled creatures with high visual-sound effects.

“The Artist” was a welcome change for my movie watching experience. Black-and-White and Silent, a courageous thing to do in the times of 3D-VFX etc. A wonderfully crafted movie at the able hands of writer-director Michel Hazanavicius, and effortlessly portrayed on screen by Jean Dujardin and Berenice Bejo. The movie is an exciting ride with classical imagery and impressive-inventive filmmaking techniques. It is packed with apt adroitness, euphonious background music, impressive acting with right coalescence of exactitude and melodramatic hyperbole.

In its most entireties, “The Artist” is a work of perfection that B/W hue can be experimented with. I watched the movie once again yesterday. This time, I was transported to the golden era of our black & white movies, when our industry was still known as Indian Cinema and not Bollywood. While I am in no power to draw parallels between “The Artist” and our times of B/W cinema, watching “The Artist” for the second time echoed “Pyaasa” and “Kagaz Ke Phool” all the while; the themes differ though, While Michel's creation has a comical-happy ending base, Guru Dutt movies were dark with tragic ending, but both the creations are equally iconic.

When I talk to some people I know about Guru Dutt movies, ridges of cynicism get etched on their forehead. They consider Dutt’s movies to be slow, melodramatic, and archaic much similar to the reputation that silent movies have. I have seen only few silent movies (including our very own "Raja Harishchandra") and found them to be lissome and amusing contrary to the belief about silent movies. Silent movies focused more on acting skills as evidently referenced in Sunset Boulevard, “We didn’t need dialogues, We have faces”. Filmmaking essentially is a means of communication, expressive means of narration using gestures and body language, when talkies was yet to be defined or rather technique to capture sound was to be devised. Cinema-men’s predicament could have been similar; they had ideas but no means (technically) to convey it. And then facial expressions, body movements, use of eyes was the resort to portray emotions on screen, which appealed to everyone universally, a language could still have been a barrier but emotions are same across the world – an upper curve of lips meant smile and downward meant a frown. Chaplin used this means effectively and to the optimum level, which makes him undisputed king of silent movies.

Guru Dutt has such a widespread that he could have effortlessly made silent movies had he been in those times and he could have masterminded an equally picturesque “The Artist” in today’s times.

This 84th Academy Award winning film shot in black-and-white, is a pleasing experimentation of lights and shadows, of which our own Guru Dutt has been a master. Guru Dutt, a perfectionist with extraordinary vision. Like “The Artist” where language is no barrier to understand, Dutt’s movies too appealed universally and are a subject of research studies till date. I have watched “Pyaasa” over 50 times and each time I have found something new in it. For e.g. when I watched “Pyaasa” recently, I noticed when Dutt stands at the doorway with a halo-like effect behind him, and his hands stretched holding the door frame, it almost resembles like Jesus on the cross; wherein to my understanding, it was like Vijay (the poet in “Pyaasa”) had been crucified by the immoral & selfish attitude of the society, and possibly enlightening the people that what you seek is not the ultimate thing at all through his ‘yeh duniya agar mil bhi jaye toh kya hai’.

Like in “The Artist”, the reel hero (Valentin) and the real hero (director Michel Hazanavicius), concentrate on the form of art than the glamour, Guru Dutt too focused on the artistry and not on the success that is made of few awards or bunch of flowers, may be just like the “Kagaz Ke Phool”. Michel could have easily used the latest technology and effects to make a movie. But perhaps he wasn’t just making a movie, he was trying to make a difference. Much like what Guru Dutt tried to do at that time, when in the post-independence era Satyajit Raj was epitomizing poverty, Raj Kapoor was giving life to street characters of Mumbai, Bimal Roy was marching ahead with social issues, Mehboob Khan was glorifying romance-melodrama. And there was this Guru Dutt trying to differ by portraying a different point-of-view, nihilistic story telling. Dutt focused mostly on the hypocrisy of the society, the pseudo-morals they followed, and the exploitation of the underprivileged.

The poise of “The Artist” lies in the fact that though watching a silent, black-and-white movie, you are in no way conditioned to think that it is an old-fashioned ancient movie. Dutt’s movies had a similar virtuosity that effortlessly bestrode the demarcation between socio-contextual cinema and a form of prevalent movie without burdening the audience.

Dutt was gifted with great musical sense and he was a trained dancer too, which made his movies musically pleasing and aesthetic. He understood the depth of acting which made him a successful director who could make his actors emote naturally. Guru Dutt, a master of camera tactics, along with V. K. Murthy (the best cinematographer Indian Cinema has ever had), captured the best frames, they knew well when to take a long shot and when to capture the glitter in the eye (see Waheeda Rehman in Jaane Kya Tuney Kahi in “Pyaasa”).

“The Artist” a great collaborative effort by Michel Hazanavicius (writer-director), Jean Dujardin and Bérénice Bejo (main leads), Ludovic Bource (music), Guillaume Schiffman (cinematographer), went on to sweep the Academy Awards. Well, a kind of magic that Guru Dutt, V K Murthy, Waheeda Rehman, Abrar Alvi, S D Burman, Sahir Ludhiyanvi created 50 years ago and they could have surely done that today as well with striking screenplay, particularized cinematography, and mellifluous dialogues.

His movies went to become cult classics, with “Pyaasa” and “Kagaz Ke Phool” enjoying the status of finest films ever made with a mention in the prestigious Time. Unfortunately, Guru Dutt could not live so long to see his days of glory, and witness the resonating impact his movies have on hearts & minds of many across the world, they have cult following in Germany, and France, from where comes “The Artist”.

- Redam

One man I have believed who could facilely camouflage pathos with subtle quirky humour was Charlie Chaplin.

I saw and heard Kiran Nagarkar at an event during the recently held Kala Ghoda festival in Mumbai.

And I found second such man.

Nagarkar was there for a reading of his latest book, “Extras” a sequel to his most famous and critically acclaimed work, “Ravan & Eddie”.

I got introduced to Kiran Nagarkar through his “Seven Sixes are Forty Three”, English translation of his landmark work, “Saat Sakam Trechalis”. It took almost 20 years for him to publish his second book “Ravan & Eddie” (1994). Both these books are an incredible work of literary fiction that has been injecting me with inspiration.

It is unfortunate that we did not (will not) get to see his 1978 creation, “Bedtime Stories”, which remained banned (extra-legally as Nagarkar claims) for 17 long years and now is almost extinct.

His miraculous writing journey continued with 2001 Sahitya Akademi Award winning “Cuckold” (published in 1997) and then in 2006, 9 years later, he published “God’s Little Soldier”. Nagarkar proved his mettle as a prolific writer seamlessly moving from contemporary themes to stories with mythological background. “Cuckold” is a tale about sorcerous Meerabai's husband, Bhoj Raj. “God's Little Soldier” deals with a liberal Muslim boy’s tryst with religious orthodoxy.

My admiration for this man is not a yesterday’s deal. I have read and re-read him through his books and interviews for a decade, almost.

In Nagarkar is an abysmal thinker who has ideas and story-telling skills that are not only abstruse but also thought provoking. He keeps you intrigued and thoughtful throughout the book. He is a laudable caricaturist.

There are not many takers for him (however the little following he has is a serious mass fond of literature). He remains largely unfound.
“I sold only 1500 copies in 27 years and I have entered Guinness Book of Records for that,” jokes Nagarkar.
He bristles when Marathi journalists hurl questions at him about he not writing in Marathi; it is natural for a writer who initially and originally began writing in Marathi but could not go beyond a point and switched to English.
It is a sorry state for this state where art & culture were held high once upon a time. Sadly, the Maharashtra government, and more so the literary associations, have wretchedly failed to preserve our literature. I wish Kiran Nagarkar had Kolkata or Koshi as his workplace; he would have been an icon by now. Because unlike other places, these two states strive to keep their art, culture, literature alive; their focus is on “what” and not “who”.
And I also thank God that he did not send William Shakespeare to Maharashtra for he would have perished in 4 years alone, forgetting 400 years of immortal citizenship through literary works (pun not intended).

I have regularly felt and written about the slow decomposition of Maharashtra because of its rapacious leadership. A book makes a remarkable sale of 20000 copies and then 30000 in reprint in Germany. However, our nation (or state) cannot do a little for this splendid writer. We can’t expect a Kiran Nagarkar to go on Facebook, at this age, to blare his success and gather “likes” & “fans”. He doesn’t need to. The focus of our state’s literary associations has to shift from an irritating Bhalchandra Nemade to Kiran Nagarkar. Nagarkar deserves it; Nemade does not.

I am deeply moved by the way Nagarkar is being treated, imagine his state of anxiety.
Read his interview here - http://www.dnaindia.com/lifestyle/interview_literatures-little-soldier-kiran-nagarkar_1637677

Yet he covers his anguish with little giggles, smiles, and banter – the Charlie Chaplin.

- Amol Redij

Our books, which are our principal vehicles of expression, can reach people through impersonal mechanisms. This is what makes the world of books so uniquely democratic and accessible.

From the blog amitavghosh.com/blog/ dt. 6th Feb, 2012

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I’ll have no hiccups to rank ‘Mukhavata’ in the line of Dostoevsky and Marquez works, minus the sexual overtures. Arun Sadhu is a self-effacing author who believes in the power of fiction to ameliorate society and perhaps the only writer who shuns self-promoting in the realm where internationally recognized authors have surrendered.

Forget the promoting, interviews and reviews.

They accompany you like sycophants. Remember, reading is like wandering through a territory of solitude.

From the blog: DayWalker’s Dreambeats dt. 13th Oct, 2011

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These are two views expressed on two different blogs, both devoted to literature leading to the similar conclusion.

Amitav Ghosh (Author: River of Smoke) has expressed in this blog that was repeated in Hindustan Times of Feb7th saying: I suspect that most of us were drawn to the world of books precisely because it provided an island of quiet within the din of *tamashastan*.

In fact, the writer and the writing are omnipresent. But the bad fruits of Information Technology have poisoned the writer to fall unconscious. It’s a case similar to district editions of daily morningers where one gets information restricted to the particular district only.

All literature festivals are mostly successful only because of the attraction the readers feel about the writers and more than that the pleasure of handling the books they never could see in the local book stalls.

Akhil Bharatiya Marathi Sahitya Sammelan is a big annual event in Marathi literary world. This year it was in Chandrapur, coal mine city where the red and black clouds rule the environment along with Naxalite influence.

Everyone, but the hosts, was sceptical about the success of the event this year in Chandrapur. Many of the Marathi book publishers in Mumbai under this impression did mini events of publishing their books neglecting to participate establishing temporary stalls as the practice is.

Astonishingly the Chandrapurians and their neighbouring villages and townships proved everyone wrong. More than a lakh of appreciators of literature visited the conclave buying books worth more than thirty million. Hitherto a record figure. There were no great celebrities in large number. The President Vasant Abaji Dahake, though one of the most brilliant poets and novelists, is not a so called popular figure. However, his thoughts and analysis of why certain literary achievements in Marathi are not yet made on the large-scale universal level were eye opening and quite easy to understand even for the audience which doesn’t take the literature seriously.

The lesson that can be drawn from such an event is simple. People are hungry to read. They want more books on various subjects to see, handle and read. The local bookstall however big or sophisticated it may be doesn’t satisfy their choice. They want to choose the books and where else is a bigger opportunity than such events or medium and large scale exhibitions.

Where is the author in this? May be may not be. It does not make a great difference though his presence is expected and enjoyable.

However, when the author appears as a performer and if he has proved to be controversial, the things may go berserk. In this age of parochial thinking and disrespect, growing incidents happen, as in case of Salman Rushdie at the Jaipur Festival. The events of this kind are on such a rampant growth that someday it may happen to the innocent love story writers; who knows.

It’s the destiny of the writers. They don’t get this kind of glamour. “Instant” and “limelight-full”! It is temporary but the attraction is immense. One can’t resist it.

The actors are destined to this. They get immense fame at a go. The writers have to toil for it lifetime. But the fall also can be speedy. They are fastened together.

Another category is the reporters. They are on the forefront. They visit top notch politicians, dignitaries and rich people and hence know them directly making their life easier and so to say partially glamorous. They are showered with favours and gifts. The media displays them many times making them famous in comparison with the writers. Their editors are bereft of this like the directors of the actors. The writers have their own tiny islands that nobody is aware of.

This difference shall always prevail and the writers who know this shall march ahead winning over the time.

The media cannot make great writers. Maximum it can help shine them like a flash in the pan.

The Ramayan and Mahabharat, the works of writers, lasted over millenniums. Had Walmiki and Maharshi Vyas have to run after the media to promote them?

- Divakar Kambli

Just about 2 weeks ago our ‘insanely-histrionic, uselessly-emotional’ India celebrated a stupid festival called Valentine’s Day supposedly the day to express love. Well Indians don’t need any reason or logic to celebrate anything.

I saw fools buying red roses for Rs. 100/rose, huge soft teddies, pink heart shaped balloons. I mean how foolish can this get? Valentine’s Day is in fact a day of celebrations for these vendors of roses, greeting cards, balloons; they get buyers for any price they ask (dictate rather). The rates in restaurants are inflated. And these reckless love-struck aficionados don’t care, there are in a coma in a way, senseless.

Apart from the over vaunted day of celebration, what also irks me is why does anyone need one special day to celebrate or express love. Can’t love be expressed every single day, hour, minute, second, moments?

I mean…I drink all 365 days, doctor prescribed quantity of course. And I don’t need a 31st night to go berserk about drinks and getting drunk. I enjoy each day of my life and rejoice the evenings in wait of a new bright new day next morning.

31st nights, Valentine Days, Rose Days, Hug Days, Kiss Days, Chocolate Days etc. are rotten concepts of celebrating life. It gives people a high, gives them joy. It gives them thrill and a sense of having done something special. What a gloss, all gewgaw…errrggghhh.

Finally a source on the internet tells me: “There are varying opinions as to the origin of Valentine's Day. Some experts state that it originated from St. Valentine, a Roman who was martyred for refusing to give up Christianity. He died on February 14, 269 A.D., the same day that had been devoted to love lotteries. Legend also says that St. Valentine left a farewell note for the jailer's daughter, who had become his friend, and signed it "From Your Valentine". Other aspects of the story say that Saint Valentine served as a priest at the temple during the reign of Emperor Claudius. Claudius then had Valentine jailed for defying him. In 496 A.D. Pope Gelasius set aside February 14 to honor St. Valentine. Gradually, February 14 became the date for exchanging love messages and St. Valentine became the patron saint of lovers. The date was marked by sending poems and simple gifts such as flowers. There was often a social gathering or a ball. - (source: http://wiki.answers.com/Q/Why_is_Valentine's_Day_celebrated_on_February_14)”

I still don’t find that convincing. It all sounds deliberate that people made Valentine fall in love with jailer’s daughter and made Valentine the messenger of love. I mean Valentine and jailer’s daughter could have been just friends…kya ek ladka aur ek ladki kabhi dost nahi ho sakte?

Unless of course the story of Valentine’s and jailer’s daughter was like Maine Pyaar Kiya with Claudius playing Mohnish Behl’s part and roaring with a villainy smile – “ek ladka ladki kabhi dost nahin hote...yeh to ek parda hai parda ...kapkapati raaton main dhadkte hue dilon ki bhadakti hui aag ko bhujhaane ka....chupaane ka”…haa…haa…haa…

- P. K. Dastoor