Please follow my blogs through this new blog, Caliban's Beast.
Thanks!
Thursday, 29 April 2010
Sunday, 17 January 2010
3 Idiots
Went to see it with trepidation: a 40 year-old lead masquerading as a college student was a recipe that was sure to go horribly, predictably, utterly, irredemiably, excruciatingly, writhingly-embarassingly wrong.
So as penance the least I can do is give a constipated smile here :-\
There. I was wrong.
Loved every moment of it - almost. Loved the oh-so-real contrast of Chatur. Loved the downplaying of mushy-mushy moments. Loved the absence of cynicism. Most of all, loved the unabashed idealism; not the preachy Swades kind, but a more believable kind of let's-go-about-it-and-let-the-devil-take-the-hindmost-kind of glowing goodness.
The childbirth sequence is painful, but it is a small price to pay. The only other crib: why make the prospective dulha, the Wildesian guy-who-knows-the-price-of-everything-but-value-of-nothing, a caricature? (Sigh! I'm in the mood for hyphens today. Well, let me make the most of it)
To me the standout thing about the movie was the attempt at mainstreaming hitherto obscure elements of India and Indians. Wangdu is the unlikeliest of names for a hero in Hindi commercial cinema. Here it was slipped in without a whiff of majority-smarminess that we often see when dealing with any minority issue. The Muslim character and his family are not built-up as a shining beacon of secularism - they are a regular family with regular problems who happen to be Muslims. Chatur could have been seen as a madrasi-from-uganda jester who mixes up his tenses and genders while wafting in noxious farts; but we see him as a desperate anally-retentive man who takes himself so seriously that he loses any sense of proportion that might have given him a peaceful night's sleep. We don't make fun of him. We want to shake him by the scruff of his Hugo Boss jacket and drill some sense into him.
The Director played by Boman Irani teeters on the edge of caricature but redeems himself as only an artiste can. It is not difficult to find such people in our campuses and schools - isolated from the world by years of cotton-balled environs, so devoid of a sense of otherness! I know of headmasters and teachers and lecturers who are uncannily like the character we saw - maybe each with different tics and idiosyncracies, but vivid in their colouration as exotic as a menagerie.
All of these elements mingled in this film and they crafted a story for us that was both overdue and is boilingly-hot. After this film one should not now be surprised to see many more youngsters in our IITs and IIMs and RECs questioning the relationship between career and desire. They have found an ally and a tongue. However, it is not just Kapil Sibal who is responsible to open the windows, it is actually the parents and teachers and employers who need to look out of this opened window and realise that the horizon really meets at infinity.
So as penance the least I can do is give a constipated smile here :-\
There. I was wrong.
Loved every moment of it - almost. Loved the oh-so-real contrast of Chatur. Loved the downplaying of mushy-mushy moments. Loved the absence of cynicism. Most of all, loved the unabashed idealism; not the preachy Swades kind, but a more believable kind of let's-go-about-it-and-let-the-devil-take-the-hindmost-kind of glowing goodness.
The childbirth sequence is painful, but it is a small price to pay. The only other crib: why make the prospective dulha, the Wildesian guy-who-knows-the-price-of-everything-but-value-of-nothing, a caricature? (Sigh! I'm in the mood for hyphens today. Well, let me make the most of it)
To me the standout thing about the movie was the attempt at mainstreaming hitherto obscure elements of India and Indians. Wangdu is the unlikeliest of names for a hero in Hindi commercial cinema. Here it was slipped in without a whiff of majority-smarminess that we often see when dealing with any minority issue. The Muslim character and his family are not built-up as a shining beacon of secularism - they are a regular family with regular problems who happen to be Muslims. Chatur could have been seen as a madrasi-from-uganda jester who mixes up his tenses and genders while wafting in noxious farts; but we see him as a desperate anally-retentive man who takes himself so seriously that he loses any sense of proportion that might have given him a peaceful night's sleep. We don't make fun of him. We want to shake him by the scruff of his Hugo Boss jacket and drill some sense into him.
The Director played by Boman Irani teeters on the edge of caricature but redeems himself as only an artiste can. It is not difficult to find such people in our campuses and schools - isolated from the world by years of cotton-balled environs, so devoid of a sense of otherness! I know of headmasters and teachers and lecturers who are uncannily like the character we saw - maybe each with different tics and idiosyncracies, but vivid in their colouration as exotic as a menagerie.
All of these elements mingled in this film and they crafted a story for us that was both overdue and is boilingly-hot. After this film one should not now be surprised to see many more youngsters in our IITs and IIMs and RECs questioning the relationship between career and desire. They have found an ally and a tongue. However, it is not just Kapil Sibal who is responsible to open the windows, it is actually the parents and teachers and employers who need to look out of this opened window and realise that the horizon really meets at infinity.
Tuesday, 29 December 2009
On Avatar
The special effects are so dazzling and the digital world of Pandora is so bewitching that one postpones the niggling feeling that this is a story that reeks of Judaeo-Christian simplification of a heathen world. Poor, simple-minded, artless children of nature, tramelled under the foot of a superior race of humans (all Americans, mostly white).
Whilst the innocents talk environmental cliches, the one neat trick all Pandorans have is the tassled synaptic ends that act as USB connectors to a massive Central Consciousness Centre (Oh! Sri Sri, we missed your gabble!), which later reveals itself as a large tree built with Faerie Lights. This idea is a cool one and would have been plausible had the contrast between the simple-mindedness of the ten-foooters and the sophistication of the inter-synaptic connections not been too great. Imagine! The Pandoran Pterodactyls, the 6-footed horses (more like Threstals, really), all were instantly docile the moment the mutual tassles connected; imagine the transformation of the 'soul' from a human - an alien race - to an ten-footer (though Sigourney Weaver does not make it): breath-takingly advanced. (One curious aside: I don't remember any Na'vi eating in the film. There is only a brief shot of the gurrl drinking off a Pandoran lily and that was more to show her limpid eyes and trembling lips than victualising)
To then imagine the same people to go into that chanting trance like the chak-chak dancers of Bali and to seek a messiah to emerge from the enemy race. Of course it had to be the Human who would tame the red Pandoran pterodactyl! (How could we have doubted that!). Ah! finally a person who shows the poor natives what the real stuff is about. Poor duds, what did they know! Well. dunno about you, but I found it a tad too similar to the telling of the history of the heathen world from the eyes of Roman Catholic conquistadores. A history that still helps the West stereotype just about everything that is Eastern, and hence by default, Dionysian.
Look also, at the other actors: the military commander of evil intent - he seemed to have not a single redeeming bone in his body - the glowing facsimile of Lucifer. Along with Ribisi (Phoebe's kid-bro from Friends) they were more the Judy and Punch from the neighbourhood Pantomime. There is a moment where Ribisi is shown to be in two minds, he seems unsure. Hopefully it is meant to portray an inner turmoil. We have no way of getting any deeper for this nano-second of insight has not been developed further. The commander suffers from no such pussy-footedness. He is of the brawny Republican mein - perhaps a Cheney in one dimension?
What boggles the mind is that such majesty of technical sophistication in the film was matched with the characterization that only a Jellyfish would consider nuanced (hang on! perhaps that's insulting to the Cniderians, maybe the amoebas then?). The story could still have been a simple one (well, there's only so much one can absorb after being bedazzled with such digital artistry), but surely some realistic layers could have been introduced in the Humans and the Na'vis? Some controlled nuances of the heroes and villians? (did you see a baaaaad Na'vi? No, only one who is jealous and blinded-by-love). It would then have been a memorable movie.
In the end, all one remembers is the awesome spactacle of Pandora seen through 3-D glasses. Nothing more.
Whilst the innocents talk environmental cliches, the one neat trick all Pandorans have is the tassled synaptic ends that act as USB connectors to a massive Central Consciousness Centre (Oh! Sri Sri, we missed your gabble!), which later reveals itself as a large tree built with Faerie Lights. This idea is a cool one and would have been plausible had the contrast between the simple-mindedness of the ten-foooters and the sophistication of the inter-synaptic connections not been too great. Imagine! The Pandoran Pterodactyls, the 6-footed horses (more like Threstals, really), all were instantly docile the moment the mutual tassles connected; imagine the transformation of the 'soul' from a human - an alien race - to an ten-footer (though Sigourney Weaver does not make it): breath-takingly advanced. (One curious aside: I don't remember any Na'vi eating in the film. There is only a brief shot of the gurrl drinking off a Pandoran lily and that was more to show her limpid eyes and trembling lips than victualising)
To then imagine the same people to go into that chanting trance like the chak-chak dancers of Bali and to seek a messiah to emerge from the enemy race. Of course it had to be the Human who would tame the red Pandoran pterodactyl! (How could we have doubted that!). Ah! finally a person who shows the poor natives what the real stuff is about. Poor duds, what did they know! Well. dunno about you, but I found it a tad too similar to the telling of the history of the heathen world from the eyes of Roman Catholic conquistadores. A history that still helps the West stereotype just about everything that is Eastern, and hence by default, Dionysian.
Look also, at the other actors: the military commander of evil intent - he seemed to have not a single redeeming bone in his body - the glowing facsimile of Lucifer. Along with Ribisi (Phoebe's kid-bro from Friends) they were more the Judy and Punch from the neighbourhood Pantomime. There is a moment where Ribisi is shown to be in two minds, he seems unsure. Hopefully it is meant to portray an inner turmoil. We have no way of getting any deeper for this nano-second of insight has not been developed further. The commander suffers from no such pussy-footedness. He is of the brawny Republican mein - perhaps a Cheney in one dimension?
What boggles the mind is that such majesty of technical sophistication in the film was matched with the characterization that only a Jellyfish would consider nuanced (hang on! perhaps that's insulting to the Cniderians, maybe the amoebas then?). The story could still have been a simple one (well, there's only so much one can absorb after being bedazzled with such digital artistry), but surely some realistic layers could have been introduced in the Humans and the Na'vis? Some controlled nuances of the heroes and villians? (did you see a baaaaad Na'vi? No, only one who is jealous and blinded-by-love). It would then have been a memorable movie.
In the end, all one remembers is the awesome spactacle of Pandora seen through 3-D glasses. Nothing more.
Tuesday, 15 December 2009
Rajkot Drama
825 runs scored in under 8 hours. 15 wickets given scoring them.
One team lost by 3 runs.
A remarkable match. Because in the end it was not the 414 that India scored that won them the match. A huge score by any reckoning. Yet, one cannot say that it was the scoring of 400 that led us to win.
Nor was it the 411 that SL scored chasing. Under any circumstances one would have thought that a team scoring 400 would have won. Well, they didn't.
India won because it held its collective nerve in the last two overs. So it didn't really matter to all of us who were watching if the score was 400 or 200. The important thing in the 50th over was was that Ashish Nehra should not give a 4 and should preferably take a wicket every ball. I did not think of 414. And I bet you didn't either. It was all about Nehra bowling those yorkers and SL not being able to score of the last 6 balls. The actual score was inconsequential; it could have been anything!
However the match will always be remembered, not for its close verdict, but for the two teams that scored 400 apiece. In a way it is fair - after all, we have seen so many close matches with all kinds of scores. But nail-biters with 400 runs apiece? well, just 2! This and the one that SA and Oz played in 2006.
The cynic would say that there now is no need for the bowler. They anyway get carted for boundaries. They might as well have bowling machines instead. Yet while watching this match, it is impossible to imagine India winning had Zaheer and Ashish N. not bowled those yorkers in the last two overs.
However, the credit, 100% credit, to make this match a nail-biter goes to the SL team. As Sanga said, they did not, 'roll over and die' (haha, Oh! the wit of a budding lawyer) thinking of chasing 414. They matched India blow for blow and held a slight advantage at the 35 over mark.
Which is why I would have given my MoM to the 160 by Dilshan. Maybe the adjudicators could have been cheesy and given it jointly to Viru and Dilshan? This SL team is a proud team and Sanga is the most gracious of leaders. Perhaps is is better to not rub in the salt and give this the flavour of a 'consolation' by going joint or giving it to Dilshan. You know what? I think, it's fine that SL walk away with the head held high and without people throwing scraps at them.
It is amusing to see Mahi do the deliberate nonchalant act after we win. He does this after every match of consequence. It looks cool. Suits Mahi.
One last thing. I don't want to make a big deal out of this. But I can't help mentioning that the last two Test matches and this ODI were far more riveting and satisfying than the two 2020s. I'm just saying...thats all.
:-)
Well, in the end we won. Good for us.
One team lost by 3 runs.
A remarkable match. Because in the end it was not the 414 that India scored that won them the match. A huge score by any reckoning. Yet, one cannot say that it was the scoring of 400 that led us to win.
Nor was it the 411 that SL scored chasing. Under any circumstances one would have thought that a team scoring 400 would have won. Well, they didn't.
India won because it held its collective nerve in the last two overs. So it didn't really matter to all of us who were watching if the score was 400 or 200. The important thing in the 50th over was was that Ashish Nehra should not give a 4 and should preferably take a wicket every ball. I did not think of 414. And I bet you didn't either. It was all about Nehra bowling those yorkers and SL not being able to score of the last 6 balls. The actual score was inconsequential; it could have been anything!
However the match will always be remembered, not for its close verdict, but for the two teams that scored 400 apiece. In a way it is fair - after all, we have seen so many close matches with all kinds of scores. But nail-biters with 400 runs apiece? well, just 2! This and the one that SA and Oz played in 2006.
The cynic would say that there now is no need for the bowler. They anyway get carted for boundaries. They might as well have bowling machines instead. Yet while watching this match, it is impossible to imagine India winning had Zaheer and Ashish N. not bowled those yorkers in the last two overs.
However, the credit, 100% credit, to make this match a nail-biter goes to the SL team. As Sanga said, they did not, 'roll over and die' (haha, Oh! the wit of a budding lawyer) thinking of chasing 414. They matched India blow for blow and held a slight advantage at the 35 over mark.
Which is why I would have given my MoM to the 160 by Dilshan. Maybe the adjudicators could have been cheesy and given it jointly to Viru and Dilshan? This SL team is a proud team and Sanga is the most gracious of leaders. Perhaps is is better to not rub in the salt and give this the flavour of a 'consolation' by going joint or giving it to Dilshan. You know what? I think, it's fine that SL walk away with the head held high and without people throwing scraps at them.
It is amusing to see Mahi do the deliberate nonchalant act after we win. He does this after every match of consequence. It looks cool. Suits Mahi.
One last thing. I don't want to make a big deal out of this. But I can't help mentioning that the last two Test matches and this ODI were far more riveting and satisfying than the two 2020s. I'm just saying...thats all.
:-)
Well, in the end we won. Good for us.
Thursday, 15 October 2009
Generosity of companies
On the Thursday before Diwali night, I was given a box of chocolates. This brought back a flood of memories. My first 'meaningful' employer was Reliance and I joined the Patalganga factory as a trainee some 15 years ago. Within 2 months of joining, during Ganesh Chaturthi I received a bonus of 6000 rupees and a small box of sweets. During Diwali I received a bonus of 30,000, free coupons worth 7000 rupees (to 'buy' clothes, food, goods, et al) and a kilo of kesar kaju katli. We would also get regular supplies of Godrej towels (large ones), Cinthol soaps so that we could shower and clean up after getting our hands dirty in the plant. (I just took them home. Officers were not supposed to bathe in the factory like the 'common' technicians). Besides, we always got all the safety equipment that we ever wanted and uniforms (along with stitching charges). Plus we were fed every 2 hours, all 24 hours. late work meant getting dropped home in a car all by myself. This happened in all the four years that I was with them. The bonus amount kept mounting each year. I was a rich little bugger.
Since then I have been with 5 other employers, two of them for decent periods. Never have I seen that level of generosity. In fact, it embarrasses me to say that the other two places have been piteous, not just by Reliance standards, but by any reasonable standards of generosity. It left a hollow feeling of being seen as a burden. Such bitter aftertaste! It seems that generosity is now only shown to the top layer of leaders in the organization, who, by the way, are extraordinarily well paid and perked and who, seem to need the generosity least. I have always wondered how a 16 hour flight is more harrowing to the CEO who needs to travel first class. Must be some Vishnu-induced metaphysics where for the hoi polloi, it's merely a 2 hour jaunt across the Atlantic.
Have we, I wonder, outgrown the era of generosity? Have we entered, some would say re-entered, an era of gracelessness? Of course, I'm sure it works both ways. Employees too are so mercenary nowadays. It is the norm to be so.
Well! there you are! I meant this to be the post for Diwali.
Happy Diwali anyway!
Since then I have been with 5 other employers, two of them for decent periods. Never have I seen that level of generosity. In fact, it embarrasses me to say that the other two places have been piteous, not just by Reliance standards, but by any reasonable standards of generosity. It left a hollow feeling of being seen as a burden. Such bitter aftertaste! It seems that generosity is now only shown to the top layer of leaders in the organization, who, by the way, are extraordinarily well paid and perked and who, seem to need the generosity least. I have always wondered how a 16 hour flight is more harrowing to the CEO who needs to travel first class. Must be some Vishnu-induced metaphysics where for the hoi polloi, it's merely a 2 hour jaunt across the Atlantic.
Have we, I wonder, outgrown the era of generosity? Have we entered, some would say re-entered, an era of gracelessness? Of course, I'm sure it works both ways. Employees too are so mercenary nowadays. It is the norm to be so.
Well! there you are! I meant this to be the post for Diwali.
Happy Diwali anyway!
Friday, 25 September 2009
Match schedule in Champions Trophy
Before India plays her first game, SA, SL and WI would have finished 2 of their 3 matches. India play Pakistan, for whom it will be the second match. Intriguingly, Pakistan then have to wait till the 30th for the last match with Australia; same as WI who will play us on the same day.
I wonder, why this lopsidedness?
Has it something to do with an early Indian departure? It's known that with the exit of the Indian team, the TV spectators too drop drastically. Some companies now release the new adverts only when assured of an Indian presence in the 'second week'. I cannot recall this kind of 'adjustments' being made in the itinerary for past world cups and major tournaments.
While it makes sense to ensure that everyone profits from cricket, it will be wise for the administrators to keep the interest of the game itself as the highest priority. For example, if a schedule is designed where a team goes off the boil (as Pak or WI might), it is not fair to them.
I'm not suggesting that the current schedule is inimical, but if the administrators are not vigilant, it will drift into that territory without them realising it.
I wonder, why this lopsidedness?
Has it something to do with an early Indian departure? It's known that with the exit of the Indian team, the TV spectators too drop drastically. Some companies now release the new adverts only when assured of an Indian presence in the 'second week'. I cannot recall this kind of 'adjustments' being made in the itinerary for past world cups and major tournaments.
While it makes sense to ensure that everyone profits from cricket, it will be wise for the administrators to keep the interest of the game itself as the highest priority. For example, if a schedule is designed where a team goes off the boil (as Pak or WI might), it is not fair to them.
I'm not suggesting that the current schedule is inimical, but if the administrators are not vigilant, it will drift into that territory without them realising it.
Thursday, 17 September 2009
Case of Pot Calling the Cattle Black
The cattle controversy with Shashi Tharoor is another example that shows what big hypocrites we really are. To me the bigger tragedy was that it also showed how absolutely devoid of humour we are as a nation. Especially, the kind of witty, self-deprecating style that we see in the Brits and Aussies. They don't mind taking a piss at their beloved icons - be it the Queen, or the Prince of Wales, or Beckham or anybody at all! As Bill Bryson writes in his book, 'Notes From a Small Island', this humour comes from the affection that they have for the people that they choose.
The trouble with us Indians is that we love to laugh at people. Never with them. In the 70s and 80s, while growing up, the jokes were on Madrasis slurping sambhar, Bengalis eating rotten fish and Marathis licking kadi from the elbows upwards. Not exactly scintillating, as you might observe. Sardarji jokes continue unabated. Though, to be fair, in the interim we Indians have 'grown up' and hence these jokes on regional stereotypes have undergone a change - some of it is brilliant - case in point, Lola Kutty and her on-the-fly wit.
The laughter channel on TV still has most fare directed at someone and at someone's expense. Whereas, with a little bit of improvisation the whole thing can be presented such that we laugh with the people and not at the people.
In the meantime, will Rahul baba tell his amma to tell Jayanthi amma to just pipe down on the 'insensitive' use of language when talking of the 'common people' who travel in the said cattle class? This shrill hypocrisy that is on show for the last two weeks about solidarity to the poor is making me want to puke.
The trouble with us Indians is that we love to laugh at people. Never with them. In the 70s and 80s, while growing up, the jokes were on Madrasis slurping sambhar, Bengalis eating rotten fish and Marathis licking kadi from the elbows upwards. Not exactly scintillating, as you might observe. Sardarji jokes continue unabated. Though, to be fair, in the interim we Indians have 'grown up' and hence these jokes on regional stereotypes have undergone a change - some of it is brilliant - case in point, Lola Kutty and her on-the-fly wit.
The laughter channel on TV still has most fare directed at someone and at someone's expense. Whereas, with a little bit of improvisation the whole thing can be presented such that we laugh with the people and not at the people.
In the meantime, will Rahul baba tell his amma to tell Jayanthi amma to just pipe down on the 'insensitive' use of language when talking of the 'common people' who travel in the said cattle class? This shrill hypocrisy that is on show for the last two weeks about solidarity to the poor is making me want to puke.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
