Of Inspiration, Inspiring and Inspired

Of late my wall on Facebook has been flooded with criticism about Barfi being a movie where images, events and scenes have been copied from multiple sources. And like most things in India where we spend hours on pointless debates, the media has gone crazy discussing it, especially after it became India’s nomination for the Oscars. The debate over Barfi is unwarranted according to my view. If anyone is to be blamed it’s the selection procedure for the Oscars. If a 4 hour long cricket match can be sent to Oscars, even Barfi can. No one takes Bollywood seriously anyway beyond its immense monetary clout. With Ray, our last magician passed away leaving behind a void which till date is waiting for someone to fill up.

Barfi was a great movie. I really believe it. Everyone who saw it came out of the cinema feeling nice about the world around them. Once they looked at the news feed; that’s when opinions started to change. As a friend of mine commented, we rarely watch great cinema, we rarely listen to great music and therefore (I added) if someone does watch and uses them as an inspiration, what can be said.

The line between outright copying and inspired work is extremely thin. According to Jungian Archetypes every story in the world follows one of 15 root stories or archetypes. Simply speaking, every love story where the star struck lovers die in the end because their families never accepted their love is a story of Romeo and Juliet retold.

Whether the director should have acknowledged his sources is a matter of little debate. Yes, he should have. Should the timelines of the story be a little clearer? Yes, they should have been. Should the story be more real? Of course not.

Priyanka Chopra grows into her role and I believe in the second half delivers a performance better than anyone else. RK is brilliant and the newcomer doesn’t disappoint. All in all, it’s a movie tribute to some of the nicest works of world cinema.

Coming however to inspiration, no one can be a better subject than Woody Allen. His Love Story with Europe continues and this time he takes us to Rome with a collage of multiple story lines which have no connection whatsoever. As a Woody Allen fan am I disappointed? Of course I am. He is slowly inching away from the depth of human psyche that he loves to portray but then his every story is original and after a long time truly funny.

The subtleties of Allen are evident everywhere. I wish I could be like him. Having achieved what he would have set out for in the beginning of his career, he is now having fun. I wish I can get that license as I grow old. I wish I can one day make a marketing mix I want to make, without bothering about approvals, investments and internal selling.

I wish one day The Andy Warhol of the day calls me up asking me if he could paint my own Absolut Warhol!!!

The third part is about inspiring movies. When you watch a movie like Moonrise Kingdom or Hope Springs, you realize that some people in this world are still trying to make different movies. And there are some who know how to grace with age. If you have not seen Moonrise Kingdom, it’s highly recommended just for the sheer storytelling. It might also be considered over the top depiction of a disturbed love story.

Maybe as my first grey hairs come on, I must learn the same.

Majulah Singapura

There have been few cities in this world that I have despised. Come to think of it, there is not a single city where I have not felt at home. But Singapore is something different. Singapore is a city I have fallen in love with while trying not to.

She’s like that girl in the college who is way out of your league and yet you fall for her, head over heels. And you know what? Suddenly, you do go out with her for a coffee.

I remember the day I stepped into the city, far removed from the chaos of Mumbai I was used to love and cherish. It seemed straight out of a story book, where trains ran on time, people were polite and helpful and taxis were ready to ferry you over to your neighbour’s house without asking a question.

But the reason I have fallen in love with Singapore is because of the small surprises the city springs at me almost every day. The 24x7 grocery shopping, the coffee made out of a sock, the breakfast on kaya toast, the movie theatres without an interval suddenly breaking your concentration, the gardens, the walks and the public transport that apologises for the slightest breakdown in service.

The late night music on classical channel and the golden oldies, the walks on Orchard, getting lost in Vivocity, proudly proclaiming that one could find absolutely anything in Mustafa, everything makes Singapore dearer every day of my life.

It’s been more than a year here and everyday is a new discovery. Different sunsets greet you at the different look out points where if the clouds do not cover your view, chances are at ships will. But even then when the sun takes his first dip into the ocean, only to emerge brighter the next day, you feel nice that you are in a city that got urbanization right.

You remember the girl you went out for coffee with? Savour the moment while it lasts. Who knows what happens tomorrow?

Right Here Waiting

When I used to fly Jet Airways during my travels around India, during those long waits at the tarmac while we hoped for a queue number that is in single digits, the crew automatically would play a piano version of “Right Here Waiting”.

And then it was just another tune, a melody without a meaning. I would travel to all odd corners of India, work Saturdays and Sundays and then head straight to the office on the first flight on a Monday morning.

Tomorrow is a Saturday and I am still working but when I was leaving my home before the sun was up and I looked back a silhouette against the window in the wee hours of morning, Gold 90 FM in my cab started playing “Right here Waiting.”

In any story, it could not get more apocryphal but then life always is strange and gives you these little signs that times are changing. The song suddenly has a more meaning than what a 25 year old, working like a maniac could ever have imagined.

Today, the travels on Saturdays, working on weekends continue being a reality, (and a pleasant one at that as I really love what I do for a living and what gets me on these odd flights at strange hours) I seem to have found a new reason for wanting to come back home at the end if it all.

As I have always believed, the biggest changes in this world are always subtle.

The Land of Reawakening - II

You can read the first part here

Memory 4 – I was always a voracious reader and nothing would make me happier as a child than a good book; good food always came a close second. And while I was strongly a follower of the Brit Bard, having anglophile antecedents in school, a certain poet from Italy whose surname resembled Tamilian Surnames was always a favourite.

So when I stood in front of Dante’s House I realized how much I owed to the poets of the ages past, bards who sang of heaven and hell, life and death, hope and despair,

Memory 5 – 2 novels about Italy always fascinated me. Quo Vadis and The Last Days of Pompeii. So when I finally had the chance to visit Pomepii I never looked back. The city of ruins it is called but to me it looked more like an abandoned city - A city where people had just left their houses and would be back in a few moments. Pomepii stood, proud, defiant, dead.

Memory 6 – Pizzas were a staple diet in IIMB as we stayed up late to complete assignments and we thanked the Italians not just for teaching world football to defend but also for the pizzas. And thus it was a dream come true to stand on the road in Naples where Pizza Margharita was created in honour of their beloved queen in the three colours of the Italian Flag. So next time you don’t find the 3 colours on your pizza, do send it back as inauthentic.

Italy was much more than just these memories. It took me to an age where I always felt I belonged. In Milan, known for its High end Fashion, situated in one of the smallest churches imaginable sits Christ with his disciple having The Last Supper. You walk into the room with trepidation, wondering what lies awaiting you and then when you stand in front of Him, the rest of the world do not seem to matter anymore. This was an age where Light was shining across Europe. Knowledge was being unshackled from ages of darkness and from the play of light and darkness an artist emerged, who knew how to play with light – Caravaggio.

If ever you have a chance to visit Rome, forget everything else, forget the Colloseum, forget the fountains, forget even the pizzas, but ensure you visit Villa Bourghese. If there was one family who contributed as much to the Renaissance as much as they did to the intrigues of Italian and Papal Royalty, it must have been the Bourghese.

We were lucky to have the most fantastic guide to take us through the world’s greatest private art collection. The Baroque style of Bernini’s architecture comes alive in its rooms while the self portrait of Caravaggio and the play between beauty and decay in his pictures looks down upon you from its walls. You imagine what it would have been like to live beside the masterpieces looking down upon you. Baroque or the “in motion” style of art needs to be seen with one's own eyes. As we moved around the Bernini sculpture we could see how the world changes based on the perspective we were taking.

But your journey to understand Caravaggio does not stop with the riches of the Villa. You can walk out into the streets of Rome and with a little research you will know where to find David, where to look for a Bernini, where to find the 6 Caravaggio strewn across the city.

Take the walk in Rome and your Roman Holiday will be more than what you could have imagined.

Letting It Go

All my life I have been brand loyal. And before I knew the science behind it, I had found myself making choices which baffled many, sometimes even myself. When I got deep into it much later into life I realized few things, got more questions than answers and the fascination remained. A couple of months I made a decision which shook the very foundations of my life long belief system and my choices. And while making the decision I realized an absolute irrefutable truth about psychographic segmentation – we all have multiple personalities and rarely does any archetype explain an individual completely.

In the early nineties entire India was swinging to a song called, “Yehi hain right choice Baby” and we flocked to the stores to drink Pepsi while all of us had grown up on Thums Up. It was a difficult transition but we all made it. In a country starved for lifestyle brand, the eighties children lapped up the promise of Pepsi.

It was the brand of the rebel, of changing stereotypes, of a new India yet to find its place. When coke finally came in, the battle was already lost. It did a smart move by acquiring Thums Up but by then it had lost the moral high ground to fight for the minds of Indian youth.

It was My Brand. I respected Coke, admired their ‘Paanch’ campaign but always it was the brand of the others, of older people (who btw loved their old Coke coming back), a brand of the establishment. I continued to order Pepsi when we went out with friends.

But for the last few years Pepsi started losing the plot. It did too many things, stood for too many aspects of youth and you never knew what it was saying. Was it Sports? Was it Music? Was it Youth? I never knew. I still continued with Pepsi graduating from Pepsi to Pepsi Max. But almost always it was a choice forced due to a lifelong loyalty.

Coke in the meanwhile came up with their ‘Open Happiness’ campaign. The first few executions went over the top. I did not know what it meant. But to give them full credit, they stuck on with it and became better. The conviction behind their Masterbrand was phenomenal and slowly I saw myself liking the latest coke ads and while I did not want to let the rebel die within me, I saw him transform into a rebel with a cause.

The other day I went to the supermarket and suddenly I did not want to pick Pepsi anymore. The generational shift had happened. The eighties children had started moving onto their thirties and the new age Pepsi made small sense to them just as Lady Gaga remained incomprehensible. Coke had taken over the family space.

Will Pepsi again speak to me? Will a 20 year old relationship truly die? What will Pepsi’s new found mantra of focusing on Music do for me?

We wait and watch.

Fast Food Movie Reviews

As I wrote the review for Ek Tha Tiger I realized that it has been a long time since I have reviewed any movies and suddenly as I checked the list of movies I decided to write about, for good reasons or bad, lots of names popped up. So instead of a long drawn discussion on each of them, here’s a McMovie Review, if I can call it so.

Let’s start with Ferrari Ki Saawari. You probably have missed it. It apparently did not do well but then few good movies do. Watch it to understand how middle class India survives on dreams and hopes, how honesty is relative, how honesty and integrity generates goodwill and respect from almost every quarter of life, how a father tries to get a Ferrari for a marriage procession so that his son can go to his cricket training. Sharmaan Joshi excels in his act and probably would do good to stay away from the senseless comedies he makes at times.

Shanghai was one of the scariest movies I have seen in recent times. Rarely does a movie come which so blatantly portrays the reality of the realty sector in India and the nexus between developers and politicians and the entire debate between development and displacement. If you can get over the fact that Bumbada and Kalki kissed, you will be amazed at Emraan hasmi’s portrayal of the common man caught between the wars for land.

Kahaani was a fascinating movie to watch. Beautifully directed it brought to life the city of Calcutta which was as important a protagonist to the movie as Vidya Balan herself. Intriguing, taut and helped with a power packed performance by Vidya Balan it saw its climax against the backdrop of Durga Puja in Calcutta. And what could be more apt than the Female Power of Shakti triumphing over evil with a movie where Bollywood finally breaks its glass ceiling. Balan is our Fourth Khan!

I should not waste my time with Sherlock Holmes – A Game of Shadows but more and more I watch the franchise I realize this is something I can rarely digest. The histrionics of Holmes gets crazier and then you wonder if Robert Downey Jr. would be better off playing Tony Stark.

Brave was the new Disney Pixar offering for Summer. And while it had the brilliance of technology and a new Disney Princess, it lacked the heart of Pixar. The storyline had one single twist and you knew what was coming your way. I loved Merida, the latest addition to Disney princess but like everything in our times, she was the most obstinate little thing I have ever come across. I pity for her mom and absolutely love my sister for the way she has to handle my niece.

Iron Lady was one of the best bio pics I have seen recently. Meryl Streep brought to life Margaret Thatcher as accurately as possible. We lived with her through the unrest in Britain, through her struggles in the party, through the challenges in her own family life, through Falklands crisis. But it meant something more to an Indian. Her daughter travels in a black cab without security, her son works in South Africa without any political ambition. This is a country which has a dynastic monarchy. I wondered when we will learn to let go of our political dynasties.

And finally it was time for Hugo. Martin Scorcese gets better with age and in his latest film, he pays tribute to the man who gave us the magic of movies. In an unique way, the life of Georges Melies comes to our screens and we bow our heads to creativity, to craziness, to those few people who sacrifice themselves for following their hearts. Beautifully directed and scored, Hugo remains one of those movies which tell the story not just of a man, but of an age.

The Story of a Spy

Or maybe not. That’s what was going on in my mind as I came out after watching Ek Tha Tiger. One of my most memorable spies of course has been GunMaster G9 – our very own Mithunda saving India from the world’s deadliest villains.

Indian spies have it tough. Ask Sunny Deol. He had to even call his movie Hero – Love story of a Spy. Agent Vinod kept confusing people about whether he loved the girl or not and audiences kept away from Saif. We need our spies in our own Made for India format!

But Salman is in a different league of his own.

And therefore strangely Ek Tha Tiger is not an out and out Salman movie. Imagine a tiger in the forest and a tiger in the cage. This film is the cage of Yash Raj Films which keeps Salman toned down.

The movie to be honest is good. It’s not Jason Bourne; neither it’s Veer Zara but imagine Pierce Brosnan going all Hugh Grantish in a Bond movie and you would have figured the movie out.  And add to that a Katrina Kaif who seems to become better with every movie.

Salman’s entry is less than spectacular in terms of histrionics but fantastic in the use of the slo-mo camera. He doesn’t let go ever in the movie. It seems he feels the pressure of a prim and proper studio watching his every move. This movie was made to appeal to both the urban elite and the urban poor and thus Salman loses his T shirt only once in the movie.

His films in the last few years have 2 kinds of audience – the first who watches his movies to claim how mass minded and absurd it is. And the second, people like me, who still go to the movies to believe in the magic that Georges Melies had first shown us. We go to the movies to forget, to laugh, to cry, to love, to suspend reality as my dad calls it.

It’s the split that’s evident in India today and the stars who can crossover effectively are becoming rarer. Salman remains one of them. The intensity in his eyes is still the same that had made my sisters swoon in the nineties when Maine Pyaar Kiya had released. His buffed up body looks more chiselled than ever but nowhere in the movie does it look that he is having a lot of fun doing it. The humour is measured, the fights are less than fantastic and his dialogues lack the spice that makes him the darling of the masses. Thankfully Katrina does that with aplomb.

But in the end when ISI and RAW are both chasing them, and he is shot by his friend, he still rides the bike towards the plane and in one spectacular jump catches the open door; the prim and proper Singapore audience erupts in cheers reminding me of my past in Gaiety Galaxy.

People kept asking me how the movie was and my answer was simple – it lacked the rustic charm of Dabaang, but it was worth the ticket. That’s what Bollywood should be about – Paisa Vasool.