We liked Canberra. It has a typical capital city atmosphere. Capital in the administrative, and not commercial, sense. Rows of low rise administrative buildings. Impressive monuments and stately buildings such as Parliament House, large traffic roundabouts, and quiet in the weekends.
We were there over the last weekend in April – it was a long weekend with Monday being a holiday and the drive from Sydney is beautiful. They say Canberra is at its prettiest in spring, with the flowers in full bloom, but late autumn is also a feast for the eyes. In India, autumn is an alien concept, and my earliest recollections of that term are from references in Archie comics, where the teenagers’ parents are perpetually shoveling snow in the driveway (winter) or sweeping leaves in the yard (autumn). So with this trip to Canberra, I can confirm that the trees actually do turn various shades of orange and red, and present a rather splendid sight.
One of the high points of the trip was the visit to National Science and Technology Centre, better known as Questacon. As a healthy entertainment option for kids, there are few things to beat a museum full of working models and gadgets that invite children to press buttons and watch things happen. I remember from my childhood, the great fun we had on trips to the Nehru Children’s Museum and Birla Industrial & Technological Museum in Calcutta. I wonder if those facilities are still in good repair or have degenerated with time. With more stimulating (though not necessarily healthy) sources of kid’s entertainment now available, places like these seem to have sadly waned in popularity.
*********************
How cynical can a celebrity get, in peddling his personality to get even richer? I always thought of Shah Rukh Khan as an intelligent, cultured sort of chap based on his interviews. All that was shattered last week, when I saw him in a TV commercial, peddling a fairness cream. I think that is totally unacceptable in a country like India with its deep-rooted prejudice against dark skin. These celebrities need to use their power to impress young minds more responsibly, rather than exploit weaknesses in our countrymen’s psyche for their financial gain.
Aamir, please don’t disappoint me.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Bolly good time
Last night, the wife and I watched “Ishqiya”. Last week, we saw “Wake up, Sid” and “LSD”. All three are very good movies. Two are made by debutant directors, and the director of the third, Dibakar Banerjee, is only three films old. Will this period in history be looked back on as a golden age in Hindi cinema, I wonder? There have been so many good movies in the recent past, many of them by new film makers. “A Wednesday” and “Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na”, released last year, are other impressive movies made by first time directors.
What has changed since the time I was growing up? Why do so many more movies appeal to me now, than, say, ten years ago?
The language of our cinema has changed, and is more appealing to the young urban Indian – more everyday conversation and “underplay” rather than “overplay”. Filmy melodrama has been given the boot. Note that even tearful scenes nowadays very often end up with a twist of humour. Perhaps we have become apologetic about having a good unadulterated cry. Having a self deprecating laugh at the end of an emotional scene somehow makes the melodrama more acceptable. “Dil Chahta Hai” was a significant milestone in this journey. No one seems to say “Kutte Kameene! Tera khoon pee jaaoonga!” any more in our movies.
There is a rush of young directors, who have brought with them a much needed freshness to the business. When I was growing up, directors were men in their forties and fifties in safari suits. Now they are, quite often, men and women in their twenties and thirties in t-shirt and jeans. The younger generation no longer wants to spend a decade assisting someone before they strike out on their own. We no longer wait until middle age to buy a home, or make a movie.
While the average quality of movies has certainly gone up a notch, what I do miss a little bit is the “epic” movie with strong emotional content. Granted, the movie industry churned out a lot of crap in the seventies and eighties. But occasionally, there also came along a mind-blowing piece of emotionally charged cinema capable of producing goose-bumps and making the heart pump faster, even on repeat viewing. Are we capable of producing a “Shakti” or “Deewar” today, I wonder?
This minor point aside, I think it’s a great time for Hindi movie lovers.
What has changed since the time I was growing up? Why do so many more movies appeal to me now, than, say, ten years ago?
The language of our cinema has changed, and is more appealing to the young urban Indian – more everyday conversation and “underplay” rather than “overplay”. Filmy melodrama has been given the boot. Note that even tearful scenes nowadays very often end up with a twist of humour. Perhaps we have become apologetic about having a good unadulterated cry. Having a self deprecating laugh at the end of an emotional scene somehow makes the melodrama more acceptable. “Dil Chahta Hai” was a significant milestone in this journey. No one seems to say “Kutte Kameene! Tera khoon pee jaaoonga!” any more in our movies.
There is a rush of young directors, who have brought with them a much needed freshness to the business. When I was growing up, directors were men in their forties and fifties in safari suits. Now they are, quite often, men and women in their twenties and thirties in t-shirt and jeans. The younger generation no longer wants to spend a decade assisting someone before they strike out on their own. We no longer wait until middle age to buy a home, or make a movie.
While the average quality of movies has certainly gone up a notch, what I do miss a little bit is the “epic” movie with strong emotional content. Granted, the movie industry churned out a lot of crap in the seventies and eighties. But occasionally, there also came along a mind-blowing piece of emotionally charged cinema capable of producing goose-bumps and making the heart pump faster, even on repeat viewing. Are we capable of producing a “Shakti” or “Deewar” today, I wonder?
This minor point aside, I think it’s a great time for Hindi movie lovers.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Back home
The multi-coloured lights of the skyscrapers in Sydney's CBD adorn the night sky, as my train crosses the Harbour Bridge. In half an hour, I will be re-united with family after my week long India trip.
The two leg return flight via Singapore passed smoothly. I slept on the five hour night shift from Mumbai to Sing, having finally learnt that the handset has a Do not Disturb button.
The last day of the India trip was spent in Mumbai/Thane, to attend to some property matters. The work part completed, I treated myself to a head massage at a local haircutting saloon. Those who have experienced this with a barber in India may know that there comes a time in the routine, when the vibrating massage pad is held to one's ear, and a finger stuck inside it. The sensation that follows is simultaneously ticklish and very pleasurable. Not all barbers include this extra in their routine, but from my experience, most in Mumbai do. This barber, to my delight, was not an exception.
On the return flight, I managed to add two more movies to my previous tally of four notched up on the onward journey - "Blood Diamond" and "Sherlock Holmes". I was halfway through "Nine" and a sizzling hot number by Penelope Cruz when the crew announced our descent into Sydney.
*********************************
I don't know if it's parenthood or advancing years, but for a few years now, I find myself choking up during emotional moments in movies, which I saw through with a yawn and a smirk in the past. Must be finally getting in touch with my sensitive side.
The two leg return flight via Singapore passed smoothly. I slept on the five hour night shift from Mumbai to Sing, having finally learnt that the handset has a Do not Disturb button.
The last day of the India trip was spent in Mumbai/Thane, to attend to some property matters. The work part completed, I treated myself to a head massage at a local haircutting saloon. Those who have experienced this with a barber in India may know that there comes a time in the routine, when the vibrating massage pad is held to one's ear, and a finger stuck inside it. The sensation that follows is simultaneously ticklish and very pleasurable. Not all barbers include this extra in their routine, but from my experience, most in Mumbai do. This barber, to my delight, was not an exception.
On the return flight, I managed to add two more movies to my previous tally of four notched up on the onward journey - "Blood Diamond" and "Sherlock Holmes". I was halfway through "Nine" and a sizzling hot number by Penelope Cruz when the crew announced our descent into Sydney.
*********************************
I don't know if it's parenthood or advancing years, but for a few years now, I find myself choking up during emotional moments in movies, which I saw through with a yawn and a smirk in the past. Must be finally getting in touch with my sensitive side.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
In Bangalore
I am in the middle of a week long India trip, and am writing this at a little photocopying/internet browsing outlet (Rs. 10 only for 30 minutes) near my parents' home in Malleswaram.
Four days into my trip, I have ticked off the must dos (pani puri at Gangotri, some book and hindi movie DVD purchases, a bit of shopping for the kids, etc). Today we are off to visit some relatives, and will round off the day with dinner at a highly recommended restaurant with parents and mum in law.
The highlight of this Bangalore trip has been the newly built Mantri Square mall (claims to be India's largest mall - hmm...to be taken with a pinch of salt, I think) close to home in Malleswaram. It is a bit of a culture shock to see this new hip face of old Bangalore. It has most of the happening names in Indian retailing: Lifestyle, Shoppers Stop, an exclusive Tissot store, Taco Bell (I didn't know this existed here), Pantaloons, etc. Going by the crowds, the local residents seem to love it. Given the price tags, I am not sure how many people actually enter the place with an aim to buy, but at least it's a great place to spend a couple of hours on a hot summer afternoon.
Tomorrow, I am off to Mumbai to spend a day there, before getting back to Sydney on Friday night.
*****************************
I managed to catch up on a bit of recent Oscar fare on the flight to India: Hurt Locker, Blind Side, Up in the Air, and It's Complicated. Enjoyed Blind Side - sucker for predictable cinema about human goodness that I am.
Four days into my trip, I have ticked off the must dos (pani puri at Gangotri, some book and hindi movie DVD purchases, a bit of shopping for the kids, etc). Today we are off to visit some relatives, and will round off the day with dinner at a highly recommended restaurant with parents and mum in law.
The highlight of this Bangalore trip has been the newly built Mantri Square mall (claims to be India's largest mall - hmm...to be taken with a pinch of salt, I think) close to home in Malleswaram. It is a bit of a culture shock to see this new hip face of old Bangalore. It has most of the happening names in Indian retailing: Lifestyle, Shoppers Stop, an exclusive Tissot store, Taco Bell (I didn't know this existed here), Pantaloons, etc. Going by the crowds, the local residents seem to love it. Given the price tags, I am not sure how many people actually enter the place with an aim to buy, but at least it's a great place to spend a couple of hours on a hot summer afternoon.
Tomorrow, I am off to Mumbai to spend a day there, before getting back to Sydney on Friday night.
*****************************
I managed to catch up on a bit of recent Oscar fare on the flight to India: Hurt Locker, Blind Side, Up in the Air, and It's Complicated. Enjoyed Blind Side - sucker for predictable cinema about human goodness that I am.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Money, Maslow and me
It is only morning
but doesn’t seem that.
Can we forward to night?
My cola’s gone flat.
Considering that life’s primary pursuit is happiness, it doesn’t seem I am making a spectacular success of it. At the moment, life seems a series of humdrum days and nights rolling on relentlessly. It is an age old river maintaining its steady course towards the sea, the still surface interrupted only briefly by little fish bobbing to the surface.
There was a time when I thought money would bring joy. An uncle, who is now no more, summed it pretty well when he once said to me, “Upto a point, money is the most important thing in life. Beyond that point, it is the least important thing.” I guess I am beyond the Point. I am neither the Monk who sold his Ferrari nor anywhere near being a millionaire. It is just that I know enough about money and myself to realise that having a million bucks land in my account overnight will not fundamentally alter my state of happiness.
In college, Behavioural Science was a subject hardly anyone took seriously, and generally considered a bit of gas providing relief amid tougher subjects. Looking back, I think it offered at least one powerful tool to understand motivation – the Maslow hierarchy. I don’t recall the finer detail, but Maslow basically said that man is motivated by a hierarchy of needs, starting from basic physical needs such as food and drink. Once these are satisfied, one progresses to creature comforts like a nice car and comfortable house, and then onto the emotional affiliation needs such as love and affection of family and friends, recognition of the community, and so on. Once all these are satisfied, one reaches the apex of motivational needs – the need for self actualization ie. the ability to fully realise one’s inherent potential.
Flashing back to the recent past, I review recent moments of satisfaction. Visit from close family friends (affiliation), playing with kids (same), progressing from being a non-swimmer to doing a few strokes in the pool (actualization?), resolving a somewhat complex problem at work (ditto), writing a piece for this blog (ditto). Hmmm…maybe Maslow had something there.
Hail Abraham Maslow, facilitator of introspection. Long may his memory live.
but doesn’t seem that.
Can we forward to night?
My cola’s gone flat.
Considering that life’s primary pursuit is happiness, it doesn’t seem I am making a spectacular success of it. At the moment, life seems a series of humdrum days and nights rolling on relentlessly. It is an age old river maintaining its steady course towards the sea, the still surface interrupted only briefly by little fish bobbing to the surface.
There was a time when I thought money would bring joy. An uncle, who is now no more, summed it pretty well when he once said to me, “Upto a point, money is the most important thing in life. Beyond that point, it is the least important thing.” I guess I am beyond the Point. I am neither the Monk who sold his Ferrari nor anywhere near being a millionaire. It is just that I know enough about money and myself to realise that having a million bucks land in my account overnight will not fundamentally alter my state of happiness.
In college, Behavioural Science was a subject hardly anyone took seriously, and generally considered a bit of gas providing relief amid tougher subjects. Looking back, I think it offered at least one powerful tool to understand motivation – the Maslow hierarchy. I don’t recall the finer detail, but Maslow basically said that man is motivated by a hierarchy of needs, starting from basic physical needs such as food and drink. Once these are satisfied, one progresses to creature comforts like a nice car and comfortable house, and then onto the emotional affiliation needs such as love and affection of family and friends, recognition of the community, and so on. Once all these are satisfied, one reaches the apex of motivational needs – the need for self actualization ie. the ability to fully realise one’s inherent potential.
Flashing back to the recent past, I review recent moments of satisfaction. Visit from close family friends (affiliation), playing with kids (same), progressing from being a non-swimmer to doing a few strokes in the pool (actualization?), resolving a somewhat complex problem at work (ditto), writing a piece for this blog (ditto). Hmmm…maybe Maslow had something there.
Hail Abraham Maslow, facilitator of introspection. Long may his memory live.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
To believe or not to believe
An interesting discussion about religion on ABC’s Q&A show last week stoked my thoughts on the subject.
I do not have a relationship with God. When at a temple or a religious occasion, I bow my head and fold hands, more to blend in with the crowd than for anything else. Just in case God actually exists and listens to prayers, I occasionally ask for something, usually quite general and relating to the world at large, rather than to a specific individual.
I do not scoff at the possibility of God’s existence, for people far better than I are convinced of it. It is just that I do not find his existence necessary to explain anything that I have experienced to date.
The general tendency to externalize our problems, instead of looking for solutions within, has always been a bit puzzling to me. Isn’t one better of spending more time studying to clear an exam rather than visiting a temple to pray for a successful result?
Many people I know approach God to ask for favours – “please let me pass this exam”, “please let me get through this job”, “please let me win the lottery”, etc. Occasionally, they even offer God a bribe. “If you get me through this exam, I will break a coconut”. “If I get selected for this job, I will donate my first salary to the temple, etc”.
If God does exist, and these offers do work, I am not sure what to make of Him. In a normal human being, this would attract corruption charges.
God shows himself in mysterious ways. When I was an MBA student, idols of the Lord Ganesha started sucking up milk offered by devotees over a few days, unleashing a wave of religious hysteria across India. The country was divided in its explanations of the phenomenon, ranging from scientific theories such as capillary action, to sheer divine magic.
I wish He would show himself in some more obvious way, like a giant vision seen worldwide, putting all argument to rest and enabling people to get on with at least one big question in their lives resolved.
If God does not exist, he must surely be by far the most humungous scam perpetrated on mankind. Imagine the enormity of time and money spent on this fabrication over the ages.
If he exists, I am sorry for the skepticism, and wish to say Hello.
I do not have a relationship with God. When at a temple or a religious occasion, I bow my head and fold hands, more to blend in with the crowd than for anything else. Just in case God actually exists and listens to prayers, I occasionally ask for something, usually quite general and relating to the world at large, rather than to a specific individual.
I do not scoff at the possibility of God’s existence, for people far better than I are convinced of it. It is just that I do not find his existence necessary to explain anything that I have experienced to date.
The general tendency to externalize our problems, instead of looking for solutions within, has always been a bit puzzling to me. Isn’t one better of spending more time studying to clear an exam rather than visiting a temple to pray for a successful result?
Many people I know approach God to ask for favours – “please let me pass this exam”, “please let me get through this job”, “please let me win the lottery”, etc. Occasionally, they even offer God a bribe. “If you get me through this exam, I will break a coconut”. “If I get selected for this job, I will donate my first salary to the temple, etc”.
If God does exist, and these offers do work, I am not sure what to make of Him. In a normal human being, this would attract corruption charges.
God shows himself in mysterious ways. When I was an MBA student, idols of the Lord Ganesha started sucking up milk offered by devotees over a few days, unleashing a wave of religious hysteria across India. The country was divided in its explanations of the phenomenon, ranging from scientific theories such as capillary action, to sheer divine magic.
I wish He would show himself in some more obvious way, like a giant vision seen worldwide, putting all argument to rest and enabling people to get on with at least one big question in their lives resolved.
If God does not exist, he must surely be by far the most humungous scam perpetrated on mankind. Imagine the enormity of time and money spent on this fabrication over the ages.
If he exists, I am sorry for the skepticism, and wish to say Hello.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Naked Truth
Early this morning, 5000 men and women posed naked for photographer Spencer Tunick at Sydney’s Opera House. They braved the dawn chill, standing in their birthday suits, obediently following the photographer’s every command. Imagine 5000 people with their clothes off, doing as you please. Wicked! All in the name of art, of course. The photo-shoot was commissioned by the committee in charge of the ongoing gay and lesbian festival, Mardi Gras.
More noteworthy than the event itself, was the public reaction to it. This ranged from some quiet chuckles with a couple of risqué jokes thrown in, to genuine appreciation for this expression of individual freedom and choice. In general, Sydneysiders took this in their stride as something completely acceptable, even if not everyone’s cup of tea.
I have been trying to imagine the scene if someone attempted a similar project in India. What a logistical nightmare it would be! The five thousand people in the picture would be completely outnumbered by another twenty thousand trying to get a look in. Actually, things would not even get that far. The moment word got around, a couple of political parties would see a ticket to extracting their mileage for the month. They would cry hoarse about the insult to Indian culture and vow to prevent the event. They would do this without any debate on the subject or even considering the possibility that there may be nothing sexual about it. The police machinery would have to be brought into play in full force, for the event to go ahead.
There will be debates on TV about freedom of expression and how much is too much. I can just visualize Barkha Dutt moderating an animated discussion with someone like Shabana Azmi on one side and some stuffy cleric on the other. The cleric would say in a huff. “If you want to take off your clothes and do mujra in this studio, go ahead – who am I stop you?”
If a bunch of people want to get their clothes off and pose for a picture in a peaceful manner in a matter of half an hour, why waste so much airtime on it? Just get it over with and move on.
* * * * *
It’s not just the traffic in the western world that is more orderly. Even the weather-gods seems to follow a strict timetable. March 1 is officially the end of summer and the onset of autumn. True to form, overnight, the nights have become nippy, and darkness hangs around much longer in the morning.
More noteworthy than the event itself, was the public reaction to it. This ranged from some quiet chuckles with a couple of risqué jokes thrown in, to genuine appreciation for this expression of individual freedom and choice. In general, Sydneysiders took this in their stride as something completely acceptable, even if not everyone’s cup of tea.
I have been trying to imagine the scene if someone attempted a similar project in India. What a logistical nightmare it would be! The five thousand people in the picture would be completely outnumbered by another twenty thousand trying to get a look in. Actually, things would not even get that far. The moment word got around, a couple of political parties would see a ticket to extracting their mileage for the month. They would cry hoarse about the insult to Indian culture and vow to prevent the event. They would do this without any debate on the subject or even considering the possibility that there may be nothing sexual about it. The police machinery would have to be brought into play in full force, for the event to go ahead.
There will be debates on TV about freedom of expression and how much is too much. I can just visualize Barkha Dutt moderating an animated discussion with someone like Shabana Azmi on one side and some stuffy cleric on the other. The cleric would say in a huff. “If you want to take off your clothes and do mujra in this studio, go ahead – who am I stop you?”
If a bunch of people want to get their clothes off and pose for a picture in a peaceful manner in a matter of half an hour, why waste so much airtime on it? Just get it over with and move on.
* * * * *
It’s not just the traffic in the western world that is more orderly. Even the weather-gods seems to follow a strict timetable. March 1 is officially the end of summer and the onset of autumn. True to form, overnight, the nights have become nippy, and darkness hangs around much longer in the morning.
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