PIKU - Life and Constipation - The startling link !

The two looked at each other.

“ For long ‘, they said , ‘we have been relegated to the hidden crevices in regular conversation constructs, mentioned only in brackets, whispered about or referred to with numbers 1 and 2”

“We feel emancipated now. Freed from centuries of being the discriminated but important part of the daily household conversation”

Fresh from their new found celebrity status the Western and Indian commodes glittered. Not far in a fertility lab microscopic living organisms smiled knowingly. They too owed their new found status of being referred to in casual banter without any cringe to a skilled Bengali story teller.

Shoojit Sircar( Vicky Donor) is clearly on a mission. Messiah of the hidden performances of the human body. The neglected and yet the most important. The shunned and yet the emancipators of human burden.

Imagine using a unique theme of constipation as a fiber to hold the err…stool of the story together. Shoojit with his unique tales somehow brings out the embarrassment in you, beats it till it cries out that it is ok to shit or sperm. See for instance the uncaring ease with which we use the word shit now which otherwise could have been relegated to alternate use of medical terminology of stools, excreta and the like. You find the description a little too disgusting? You have not heard anything yet!

Please walk into the dining room of Bhaskor Banerjee with an ‘O’ mind you and his not so virgin daughter PIKU who gets more ruffled with the slight at being referred to as sexually independent not because it is embarrassing but because as she describes, it is a need.  You sit up straight and think hello this is interesting! Where is this heading? Never seen a movie like this before.

And Shoojit does not let you down as he allows you to immerse headlong into not a story but a splice of events from the life of the forthcoming but constipated father and his professional independent but caring daughter. The stage is set for a false highlight every few minutes as you hope that Mr.Bhaskar , otherwise an hypochondriac, is able to relieve himself of his fibrous deteriorating burden within the rotund belly that he sports but there is disappointment and you start mentally working out what you could have probably done in his position. Hot green tea? Lots of warm water? Butter milk? Fasting for a few days?  Wow this is actually heading to be a medical thriller. The Bengalis in the movie are really cute. They can discuss it unflinchingly while you quietly put down the packet of chips that you brought along and refuse to slurp on the cold beverage containing apparently 24 packets of sugar.

Into the continuous banter of daily activities of laundry, lunch, pills, failed extermination of the stools enters the owner of the taxi service which services PIKUs office and always has a negative fallout. But then the owner Rana Chowdhury has a soft corner for the indifferent PIKU struggling to catch her attention by flashing his owner status as well as being a friend of the partner of PIKUs firm.

As all Bengalis do Bhaskor has an ancestral home that PIKU hopes to sell off to tick off one of the burdens in her unmanageable list of activities but Bhaskor is only too horrified at the thought.  He also does not want his daughter settled down pushing away suitors in a Sholay style by describing her unflatteringly.

Bhaskor decides to travel to Kolkatta giving a road movie status to the movie from thereon. Failing to find a driver to accompany PIKU who the drivers find annoying, Rana decides to accompany the duo himself driving their car from Delhi to Kolkatta. The journey is a filamentous threading of various facets of human nature cleverly strewn across the length of it with constipation being a clever ploy to hold the comic attention.

It is not a tale to be revealed in miniscule detail but a string of incidents to be enjoyed as excellently written characters populate the journey from Delhi to Kolkatta till Bhaskor reaches his ancestral home and decides the fate of his ancestral home while new relationships flesh out.

The script is boss here. Dialogues are freshly baked from a creative oven. Nothing too casual or clichéd. Direction is totally unobtrusive almost as if the director was invisible and the robotic cameras weaves in and out as ordinary people go about their routines. There is not one false bat of an eyelid of any character to reveal they are not living out their roles. All the characters from the aunt (Moushmi Chatterji) the man servant Budhan (Balendra singh), Pikus partner Syed Afroz – (Jishu Sengupta)           are brilliantly cast. It is a treat to watch them go about their activities with uncharacteristic ease. Even a small exchange between Bhaskor and their house maid are utterly realistic.

It only reinforces the superiority of cinema does not emanate from the budget but from superior writing, superior character development who lend additional reinforcements to a story line and keep viewers gripped with simplicity.

What is absolutely outstanding is the act by the three main leads. Exceptionally brilliant Deepika manages to hold her own with the towering Amitabh Bachhan reliving his Hrishikesh Mukherjee days of film making with some truly realistic moments and a casual unflappable Irfan who steals scenes whenever the camera pans to him with a simple smirk, shocked questioning eyes or a silly smile. None of them act. They seem to have been living the roles while the cameras invisibly shot them. Moushmi Chatterji seemed to hold herself back and yet nevertheless impressed

Some of the scenes like the ones where Deepika struggles with her internal desires and her softening approach to her suitors reflects on her face as a unanswered puzzle, the scenes by the Banaras riverside, the tense standoff on the highway, some chuckle worthy depictions of the digestive system, Deepika conveying so many messages with just a flicker of her eyes, silent stares between the protagonists open for interpretation, all stand out.  The list is endless. In short Deepika has crowned herself the best on the scene today, Mr.Bachchan tells us why he is still no 1 to 10 and Irfan shows us why Hollywood reaches out to him repeatedly.

In short a 4 starrer that deserves 5 stars thanks to these actors

Suffice it to say that you will sit with a silly smile permanently etched on your face till the end.

*****

India’s daughter can give it back guns, noisy iron rod, ciggie punches et al

**1/2

It is ok to roast and beat up people to pulp with irons rods these days or so it appears. It seems to be what gets the eyeballs. So one should not grudge sturdy iron bars that go crunch crunch on all bones in sight. If you thought Badlapur was violently gross wait till you see this one. And the sad part is this violence is for real. It is the case of art imitating life. Coincidentally or otherwise the premise of these stories always ends in up some towns north of the country, close to the capital. Is the movie industry not so subtly trying to give a message? Or is it because the instances of rustic raw criminality there are so numerous that it cannot be missed. Ordinary people exhibit courage in scenarios  gut wrenching enough to make the most strong hearted go weak in the legs.

The director in a tearing hurry to set the premise, packs the first few minutes with many aspects of the urban working woman, some relevant and some not so, to the latter part of the movie. Like the central female character is an advertising professional in a corporate company who smokes, has had a cross cultural love marriage established purely by cooing sexily in a south Indian language, is confident, mischievous, raring to go and explore the country side with gay abandon and of course loves to initiate intimacy with her partner. All this is put together so breathlessly, that perhaps the director was worried that we might misconstrue the victim who is also the main protagonist as an ordinary submissive wife and actually derives her strength from smoking and being of liberal values. Really?

While you are gasping and wondering about the opening shot that has a minor parallel story of hooligans scaring her while driving on the streets of Delhi  and she attempts in vain to book a case and instead is given a fatherly sermon of how she should perhaps avoid venturing out at late night. ( You naughty Delhi lawyers look what you started now )

The director is restless by now and decides that it is time to drop the unsuspecting audience right into the middle of a rustic rural setting alongside a bypass of the main highway in question. To be fair this story there on jerks you up and gets you all agog with admiration for the cinematic-ally natural brilliance with which it is handled and setting the the tone for the rest of the movie where urban male egoes clash against an equally explosive rural male ego. The couple out on a holiday and stopping by at the roadside hotel are sucked into the middle of a tragic honor killing. A honourable intervention driven by need to pander to ones ego goes wrong and takes the holidaying couple on a chase filled with bloodbath and bones crunching all around before ending in a climax straight out of Nana Patekar’s Prahaar.

There is a slightly weak and not fully fleshed out story of honor killings in the north of India and subtly suggests that there is no democracy beyond the frontiers of Delhi ‘s Gurgaon which it appears is a fully self governed violent world of its own. Aunty Leslee must be rubbing her hands in glee over this submission. But India’s own daughter Anushka decides to take things in her own hand and hopefully gets some semblance of a justice.

How she does it does makes you want to applaud the very tight and slick direction from the director Navdeep Singh. While there is nothing startingly new about the tale that one has maybe heard on the news channels every other day, there is a taut narration coupled with action  that the director uses to hold your attention. You may want to uncheck that strong grip you have on the theatre's armrests when the going gets tough and orthopedists are badly required.

No one can take away the fact that Anushka puts her life into this role as a producer and more as an actor and is given able support by her supportive movie hubby Neil and a scary performance by Darshan of Mary Kom fame who I felt was not fully exploited.

There are spurts of extremely admirable detailing ( watch the scene where they chase the offenders for the first time or when the female protagonist hurls abuses at her enemies in frustration while throwing stones at them, erasing abuses on the walls of a public toilet or simple horror drawn up by a villager leaning against a car window) and else where the director seems to be in a tearing hurry and is probably  in a mode of ‘let’s get on with it and finish it’. This is obviously a director to watch out for.

Obviously the recall value is maximum with the grating iron rod that reverberates through the theatre. The cast performance is of top order from most of the main cast. The plot is smart but too thrifty on creativity

I can only applaud week after week as new directors emerge on the scene to take us far away from the world of murky B graders. The movie is topical and almost felt like a silent answer to the documentary. We know how to handle it when things go wrong. India’s daughter can give it back guns, a noisy iron rod, ciggie punches et al

Choking on Nobility

I think it was the teaser that hit me first. We know that certain foreign channels make excellent documentaries. They work on the subjects like they would for a movie. They take their documentary making quite seriously. Good art, great sound, smart cuts, excellently timed fade in and fade outs accompanied by a manipulative background score are normally above the bar. It was very clear that this one clearly with the capital city gang rape as the fulcrum was not going to be different.

He wore a neat almost new checkered blue shirt (I wondered in jail?), had a freshly trimmed beard (sounds nasty but seemed like professionally trimmed) and a funnily confident smile on his face. No camera consciousness something that comes after being in front of a camera for long.  He spoke with smugness that one found on simple people who win competitions on TV and are asked how they felt.

She asked for it. She resisted. If she had not probably she would have been let off. In a very matter of fact way. The teaser jerked me up at this stage. This was not cinematic victory. This was a certain abusive rawness that was being commented upon a subject who was no more and that by a perpetrator who suddenly seemed like the main protagonist. Disbelief. I watched the teaser again. There were a couple of more people from the legal field who spoke like some villains in a B grade cinema.

I willed myself for a moment carried away by the slickness and the suspense of what was to come, as classy documentary creativity. It was seconds before uncontrollable repulsion rose within me. Did he just say those things? And they actually filmed it. The combined scenario of the well clothed man mouthing what seemed like well-practiced and nuanced rubbish felt rigged to perfection.

I wondered how they must have hit on the whole idea. Some International festival awards in place. Creative team sits  moping around papers with articles on sensitive subjects cut out.

“Look here’s one. It has all the elements in place. The same country from where the previous award winner on slums came from. We have plenty of poverty, nasty guys, victim with an already established international sympathy, weak authorities who fall over themselves and get overwhelmed when they have external requests for shooting especially if it comes from established brands”

“So then what is the underlying theme of this motion work that we want to make? Should we study the xyz spring type uprising that exploded following the incident. Should we focus on the weak decision making in the law system there? A definite lack of will to punish ‘

“No wait perhaps we could focus on gender inequality that causes rape there”

“Yeah but rapes happen everywhere, almost multiple times more in well developed countries”

“Yeah true but these masses don’t know that. They are suckers for anyone who shows them their reflection. More so they lap it up if it comes from outside.”

“But will this not be a repeat of the countless debates that happen already in their country. Their channels already have an international class and do give ours a run for our money in coming up with fiery political and social debates”

“No, not if we get an USP element into our story. We interview the perpetrator, put in a clever clause to protect our editorial rights, spread the social research buzz words and they will lap it up”

A fictional conversation. But somehow cannot help feeling that is what then leads to an in depth doctoral research on culprits heading to the gallows. They need to be rehearsed of course. After all they are the uneducated criminal scum from the bylanes of poverty who cannot really make a clear judgment on right or wrong let along speak with eloquence. 

The authorities sense trouble. The social media is abuzz. The divided media catches on. The channel that was to telecast it is cautious. The players on the other side who do not have the telecast rights go all out searching for the ulterior reasons and in many cases hit the right spots.

The maker panics. They need to put on their cap of righteousness. They were here to save the world and the country from this problem of rabid men who go on a raping spree all over the country apparently. To focus on sociological analysis of why men rape.No wait. Let’s change gear to a more noble pursuit. Let’s make it about gender inequality. The pseudo crowds which haunt twitter accounts and have twitching fingers will simply let the message go viral. There was this poor maker who came with a noble pursuit …sob… and was being hauled over the coals for the wrong reasons. The man recounting the violent rape in detail is actually going to free the masses from this whole gender inequality issue once they watch it. 

Please believe me. It is only these 54 minutes of outstanding creativity which is going to transform the men of this nation and let their women live and get me that award. Oops. Strike out that last sentence. Sob. Gender inequality. We even got two perverts from the professional fields who are supposed to fight out and hopefully free these rape re-tellers elucidate in detail. Again carefully cultivated to speak freely. Wonder what they must have been told. This is your chance at glory. The translators must have told them to speak from their heart. Let the world hear of your manly views. We can prod you on if you forget. There must be some applause at the end of each take too as the men look mighty pleased with themselves.

The well-dressed criminals move into the frame from a deep chamber within as doors clank with an authority. Framed against a plain background. Perhaps to pivot all attention to the process of freeing gender inequality. But what emerges as he begins to speak is a detailed remorseless and in fact sounding like your favorite story teller, of how those with him pulled out the entrails of the victim. That must have been the core of this victorious exercise. They had got their winning shot. Something that could make the world gasp.  Show how this country seemed to reek of repulsive men whose actions bordered on the cannibalistic. Suckers within the country and outside would lap this up. Achieving the heights of atrocity that a human can render to a fellow being. It did not matter that this was one of the 0.7 Bn. They were sure this was how the rest behaved. And they would make sure the world believed.

Now the most important part to get a local stakeholder believe in you. One had to find somehow with an international class to partner with where they could conduct soul searching discussions. One is never sure if the local stakeholder got innocently trapped believing they were indeed contributing to a global social issue. Really helping the country

There are pleas to the topmost authority in the country. Please note that I have come to 

save your country. Deliver your nation from the burden of gender inequality.  Then the rest is left to us the millions of self-appointed critics and decision makers of the country who have their own tools to let the world know of what they thought of the issue.

It is very important in all such cases to pronto take sides with nobility in this case gender inequality. And if you have your own grouse with the authorities accuse them of throttling your freedom. Combine the two and you have an explosive mix.

So the self-appointed conscience keepers of the nation which incidentally of course includes yours sincerely and who of course do this in their free time after they have earned their daily bread and have settled down in the time slot between that evening social drink with other butterflies from the society and the timing of the favorite soap, punch away at the keyboard of their smart phones on all the social networks. Anger, esteem, furious at the so called clamping down of freedom of expression, saving the nation, our own pop justice assuming the role of freedom fighters of today’s society colonized by apparent dictatorial authorities.

Look at the anguish of the maker. See how pained the person is at the opportunity to change the world being taken away. We need to get every citizen watch this by coercion even if that means taking away another form of freedom. Freedom to choose to decry this work.  Some lead the expression. The mob follows. Safety in numbers. So there is a mass social movement on how the work should not be banned. Let’s not disrespect the English version of “Aap ko Kaise lag raha hain”.

Nobility be damned the sponsor decides things are going out of hand. They have commerce to take care of. The new authorities are a different tough lot. Need to move before they do. Lest the world will never get to know how this country is deteriorating. 

What’s it about this nation that seems to draw social issue guardians like bees to honey. For one this nation with strength of its population never seems to fade away on the economic charts. If anything it looks stronger than ever before. Economy world over faltering. Some regions destroying themselves standing on the rusting stools of misunderstood ethics of a way they follow. And there was this country that seemed to enjoy their growth, entertainment, cricket, poverty, richest billionaires. Something surely must be wrong with this country. Yes they worship their women but don’t respect them. Pick out an illustration will you. And damn them with that. And in the process of course arouse curiosity around the world and roll in the moolah.

It seems like so much of a paranoid theory of what’s wrong with the situation, the world at large. But dig in deep. There are hardly any institutions who position themselves on pedestals of real ethical nobility. Be it governments, companies, media houses. And digging you find a curious and intriguing web of connect between all of them with their hidden conflicting motives.

I tell my friend nothing ever is as clear as it seems. Glorifying this work is as insane as decrying it and suspecting it to be a global conspiracy at work.

At a much simplistic level what bothers me is that there is hardly anything here that has not been debated countless times, wept for, felt for, aroused passions, resulted in enacting of laws and brought about a continuous change in the treatment of harassed men or women. So why then are we allowing ourselves to be trapped in this Stockholm syndrome of fuzzy but manipulative world opinion because of pretentious nobility? I am choking on it.

There is honestly no right or wrong in opinions but what needs to be done is not to create a vote bank abroad, appreciating their views of us, but take a 'selfie' of our nation with us in control of the ethics camera.

Don’t choke on nobility.

Badlapur on the tweeters !

Do not miss the beginning. The advertisements had warned us. But the director perhaps was not forewarned of the battles that on time regulars like us faced. Indians love walking into the theatres after the lights have settled off for the show thrust their ample behinds at seated patrons as they squeeze past. Wait, we forgot they have a lovely family discussion about where their seats are likely to be in front of other patrons who patiently watch the group to move on. They then make their way balancing the host of goodies and drinks and in the process also trying to munch. There are 5 guys in the rows ahead of us tweeting about the first scene with their screens set at full brightness. There is a man in the row behind us explaining each word to his wife loud enough for half the theatre to hear. No Sriram you must factor in these aspects before alerting us not to miss the beginning. Yes the beginning looked quite natural.

Varun thankfully not looking like he walked out of ‘Student of the year’ but looking as fresh cavorts with Yami in what looked at the beginning like trendy flashbacks. Back to a happy family with kid. Before the happy family scenario can settle in things go wrong and youthful marketing whiz kid who sells pushups is suddenly relegated to finding his own closure on an event that shatters him physically and psychologically. It is indeed so difficult not to destroy creative works while trying to give insight into the work and at the same time not reveal too much and spoil the fun for the future audiences.

The story is laced with well etched out characters like Nawazuddin Siddiqui, Huma Qureshi, Vinay Pathak, Radhika Apte and Divya Dutta. These characters stay with you. Even bit role characters like that of a police officer Mishra stay with you. The story plods along in a relaxed but very disjointed manner shuttling between flashbacks and the current day as prisoner Nawazuddin Siddiqui spending his days in prison while lady love Huma Qureshi playing a sex worker waits for him outside. Divya Dutta in the role of a social worker looks satisfied with her role and looks different from her more strongly scripted role Bhaag Milkha Bhaag.

The director appears to handle the film in different moods along different segments in a Quentin Tarantino nonlinear film making style You get the impression that he is not sure if he belongs to the Anurag Kashyap camp of realistic movie making or a hardcore thriller of the RGV heyday.

A lot was expected from Varun after his ‘mudder’ teaser a scene where he simply excels and he does not disappoint. But unfortunately for him Nawazzuddin just races leagues ahead. He burns the screen with his rocking natural style and approach. He makes his characters so believable that you do not believe that he is a good man in real life.  Huma Qureshi is one of the most beautiful actresses and one who can act. Vinay Pathak is tastefully subdued and shows the strength in not overplaying one’s role. Radhika Apte playing the businessman’s wife does justice with her sincerity.

I just love the shades of grey throughout the movie. There are no black and white characters in the movie and even the main protagonist is not spared when he is accused by a murderer of being worse than him because he was acting without any real motives. That was a stunner of a dialogue.

One may wonder at the total lack of clarity or relating of any storyline in this review but just talking anything about a storyline will kill the experience of the movie for those who want to watch it.

For me the movie has outstanding performances, excellent characterization, and story with good scope not realized, restless editing and jerky story telling.

There is a lot of anger built up throughout the movie and the last thing you want to do is to pick up each phone as you walk out and crush it under your feet as patrons tweet away giving out the unusual ending. What spoilsports! Wish we could do a Badlapur on the Tweeters!

You cannot peel your eyes away from Nawaz, Varun, Huma, Vinay, Radhika, and Divya in that order. But the movie does leave you feeling short of full satisfaction. It will get accolades for Sriram, Varun and Nawaz will walk off with the best supporting actor for many award ceremonies in future.  Now if only the story had been believable and fully realistic.

Hello Teacher

The little boy in the light brown uniform shorts and a nice cream shirt looked around the class. There had been a reshuffle of his classmates of Grade One (We called it ‘Standard One’ then) and he could see new faces. The lack of familiar faces did not bother him as much as the fact that he was told that his favorite regular teacher of Class I, who incidentally was also his neighbor aunty, was no more his class teacher. He had tried to reason with his parents urging them to speak to the principal to perhaps retain the teacher. The first experience in life of ‘who moved my cheese’ was already in action. 

It was also not the old class room anymore. The comfortable one on the ground floor in the main building looked out of reach now. They had shifted to a new two storey building painted in light pink and looking more beautiful but less sturdy than the school’s majestic main building. The new building still appeared unfinished, debris still lying around near the staircase well. The little boy was irked by the sight of the unseemly pebbles with cement sand piled up near the entrance. He would later see the peon always struggle with the collapsible gates which usually got stuck on its railing because of the small grits but it did not seem to occur to anyone to get it cleaned. The spanking new steel bodied water cooler stood on the ground floor at the first right turn. If you turned left you got the coveted A division. One always suspected that there was an order in the division. The children in class A always appeared bright and snobbish or was it his imagination? And to the right were the B, C and D divisions.

The benches were new too. Most of the wooden benches were yet to feel seasoned. One sat and the little prying fingers searched for that ubiquitous clay that felt so nice to dig out from their hallowed natural pits in the wooden desk. Running around the class was a very unsafe affair and the first casualty was always the knee knocking around the almost curved corner of the benches provoking immense ‘cry out loud pain’. But these very desks after seasoning provided experts with an opportunity to practice drums on them. Seeking out the right sound was an art.

The teacher walked in with a pale blue white sari. She was very tall well built. To a seven year old the teachers always appeared 6 foot tall women. Stern women, most of the time unsmiling beings, who always were in love with your homework. One look at the stern teacher as she set her paraphernalia of books, ruler, fresh chalks, and mandatory attendance register on to the wooden table and looked at the class. The unified sound of the chorus “a gooood morninnnnngggg teeeaccher” rent the air. There is no better way to depict the stretched out sing song greeting.

To the boy, she almost looked like a taller and healthier version of his Class One teacher who was more slender but strict, quiet but a task master. He watched from his first bench seat where he found himself by default due to his diminutive height. He wondered how this teacher could turn out to be. He did not like school at that moment. Why oh why did everything have to change so quickly? Why did the school not continue the same teacher till they became very big? He wondered. He was broken from his reverie by the teacher taking the attendance. She was calling out his name and actually gave him a smile as he picked his hand up with practiced ease and greeting “present teacher”. Hmm she was warm after all. It was just a day or two for him to realize that this was going to be his second best teacher and he was settling into the loss of his first grade teacher.

We just called her Lobo teacher. And I can safely say that she must be one of the breed of rare teachers who ran the class like her home with all the children like her own family members. She was amazingly dedicated. All teachers have favorites though they may deny it and I remember as a vivid childhood memory that Balbir and I vied for that spot.

On an occasion in the second grade during the finals all the children seemed to have erroneously copied the wrong exam papers and date combination. It was around 9pm and we opened the door to find Lobo teacher anxiously asking for my calendar. Without any explanation she quickly went through the dates and advised my parents of the correction. She hurried down and we ran behind her. Lobo Uncle was waiting with his Phillips Bicycle (I remember that because it had a closed chain cover that I loved) set to go to the next student’s house. Lobo teacher quickly asked me for a number of houses of my fellow students. Even then I was amazed and open mouthed at her dedication towards the welfare of her children.

She was an extremely progressive teacher. One afternoon when the school periods were over and we were supposed to have a free games period, Balbir and I went to her with a path breaking news that we had heard of. Apparently there was this new marvel where one could see moving pictures on a small screen. They had this in the badminton wing of the officer’s club. Could we go there, have a quick look and come back? She gave one look and seemed to appreciate our honesty. The club was not too far from our school ground. She seemed to ruminate on the risks. Then she sighed and said “Ok but only if you are back in 20 minutes and also explain to me how it works”.  Our joy knew no bounds. Balbir and I ran as fast as we could, arriving huffing and puffing at an already crowded club where everyone stared in the dark at the invention called television. It was already old for the world but new for India and even newer for our isolated reclusive town.  We were amazed and gaped at the badly snowing black and white screen as Gavaskar batted against the West Indies and I came to associate the static sound with high level technology for a long time to come.

We were routinely shuffled around when our regular class teachers were absent and distributed to different divisions. My favorite lookout was Division A where I had my favorite friends. I was also fond of the savvy teacher Mrs. Bajaj. Roy teacher actually more Roy aunty for me was the class teacher of division B and being a family friend and having nurtured me from childhood felt responsible towards me and kept heralding me back to her class. It was also then a childhood chivalry to help teachers carry their books home and the chosen one was usually considered the teacher’s pet. In one of those affectionate moments Roy teacher beckoned me to help her carry books home that evening. I was already annoyed at having being pulled out from Division A and my friends. So in a rare moment of childish bickering murmured to Balbir that I was not her servant. Now Master Balbir took this as a great opportunity to warm up to the teacher and dutifully reported it to her.
The news reached my home and my class teacher Mrs. Lobo the next day. Roy Aunty was very emotionally disturbed that I was not responding to her honest affection.

Back in class the next day a grim Mrs. Lobo walked in and told the class that she had heard something that had her disappointed and crying. She then looked towards me and asked if I had said something wrong to another teacher. That was enough for me to burst into tears. She held me around the shoulders and gave me the lesson of my life. Never bicker about others behind their backs and more so your elders. She said she felt sad that a child of hers had displayed this behavior. I went back to my seat.

She then put her second act into play. She asked who would fetch her glass of water from the water cooler. Up went my hand.
I waited with bated breath. That was my copy righted area of action. No one could fetch water for my Lobo teacher other than me.

But Mrs. Lobo wanted the lesson learnt sharp and deep. She pointedly looked at me.
“I hope you won’t feel that you are my servant? Will you?”

I nodded vigorously “Never in my life teacher”
“Good, Navin will get me my glass of water”

I secretly wondered if she had really wanted water or she just wanted a moral ending to the story. One stronger block added to personality building of her children. A job that teachers took so seriously in those days.

I recall the three years of the primary division as the real foundation of our personality and ethics. And am I glad that we had such a wonderful mason of character to help build us.

Going to secondary was painful. The pangs of separation were indeed bad. I kept going to the staff room.

“Lobo teacher will you come back to our 5th grade class as our teacher?”

At first she found it cute but then repeated approaches made her feel that this hangover was real bad for her children. She decided to get tough with us and in a moment of false display of anger she shot back
“Enough now you are grown up children and you should love your next teacher as much as you do your previous teachers. I do not want to see you approaching me again on this”

We were shocked not sure why our favorite teacher was so angry with us. Our minds numbed. Was it wrong to love your teacher and affectionately hope that she continue with us?

Again it was a ‘who moved my cheese’ moment.

We kept approaching her, wishing her vigorously every time we passed her home on our bicycles finding excuses to wish her a Happy New Year or Happy Christmas.  But as years went by she seemed remote and barely recognizing us. For us she was a very important block in our memory but she seemed to be letting us go.

Life moved on but I never forgot Lobo teacher. Decades later with the electronic world finding raging inventions like the internet leading to revival of real time nostalgia and networking with the past, I desperately searched for her. Quick checks with alumni seemed to yield no results. No one that we knew seemed to know where she or her children were.

Till recently my childhood friend Lizzie, Joseph teacher’s daughter decided to put an end to my agony and crowd sourced my query of finding Lobo teacher. And amazingly leads were provided finally getting me her phone number in the US of A.

I rang her up one Sunday morning their time. A shaky female voice came on the phone.

'Hello'

'Uh Hello Teacher'

'Hello. Who is this?'

'Uh Teacher good morning. My name is Navin. Navin Dutt. Your ex-student decades back.'

I wait. There is a long pause.

'Navin. Yes good morning. Navin. Yes. I remember you'

I slumped into a chair. My joy knew no bounds. It seemed to bring a closure of sorts.

'Navin. Yes. I do not remember your face but I remember you.'

'Teacher do you remember Balbir and Mili …'

'Yes those names are very familiar. But you know I am quite old now and it is really difficult to remember things.'

And then we talked for 20 minutes. One of the most memorable 20 minutes of my life. I filled her in all the events since school. She listened patiently.

Then she apologized herself. She needed to go to church.

There was a beautiful closure to an open loop in my life. The teacher who had set the mortar of values in my younger days was reconnected and told that the values hopefully still stood strong and her efforts were not wasted. I just had to let her know that I owed it to her for a beautiful period in my life so memorable that I remembered minute details of it exemplary of the strong impact it had.

I hope to call her again soon sometime.

'Hello Teacher. Thank you for everything.'

Whatever happened to Funny Farah ?- HNY

“ Hey heard you just got back from HNY?, So how was it ? “

It was my neighbor quizzing me as I bent over to unlace my shoes outside my door step.

“ Yes Shirish, did you watch that promo on KBC yesterday. Simply hilarious. Mr Bachchcan Sr was in form. He shared such wonderful camaraderie with his son that it was an affection surfeit sight. Farah was her usual school teacher self and freely interacted with Mr.Bachchan, while SRK did not spare any punches left over from the previous promo shows. Very well written script for KBC promo”

“ No Navin, I mean how was the movie itself? You just came back right?”

“ Hahaha did you watch Comedy nights with Kapil. The one where the whole cast of HNY created a minor storm of fun and frolic with some of the best one liners I have heard in a long time. I wanted to watch it again. In fact recorded it. And that boy Vivaan who stole the show. I remember thinking he must have some outstanding role in the movie. A new star arrives maybe.”

“ Yeah I remember that. But can you please tell me what you thought of the film?”

“ Oh yes do not forget that NDTV promo we saw the other day when half the cast cried on the show. Sob. What emotional camaraderie! Lovely. Sob. They must really bond. And I remember thinking with such an intense level of bonding something exceptional must be happening”

(Scream )“ Navin are you trying to evade my question. Can you please tell me already how the movie was ? “

“ Oh no not at all my intention ‘ ( I just hold my temples a bit tight to ease the pain in the core) . SRK opens the movie with his properly top lit to form shadows, 8 packs highlighted by dirty sloshy water as he boxes to lose in a competition which is a mystery in India. He wants to avenge his father a safe keeper’s criminal elimination by a tycoon who wants to lose diamonds and keep it too. Confused. Watch the movie. All well explained with flow diagrams to the sewer level. There are pyrotechnic ridden shots of Palm Jumeirah where a dance competition is hosted with the most lavish sets with surreal dancers who land up with spontaneous dances, where a dim witted audience either throws eggs and tomatoes or goes gaga over emotional Indian dances. There are some diamonds to be stolen. Yes the same – Charlie’s (SRK) father’s diamonds. Helping him in this endeavor are Uday Chopra – Oops sorry Jr AB obviously inspired by Dhooming Uday, Madhuri Dixit – ooops sorry Mohini-( played by Deepika). Really there are lots of discussions on how to barf , something about oxygen chambers, laser lights, diamonds like Shalimar ( Really do people steal those still), fights on every conceivable site in Dubai.”

“ Wow that sounds exciting, lots of songs, colors and Farah. Must have been fun?”

“Actually please ignore the silly antics of a talented Jr AB who actually excels at subtle comedy but is made a buffoon here, a  wasted Boman, and sincere Sonu who wants to do well but is not able to, over discussed Vivaan, . It is only Deepika who does not care about the boundaries of her role and oversteps it much to the comfort of audiences like us and is actually hilarious in most spots. Wow she is getting into her own. SRK does his best for his own production with help from Chak De stubble,  some dance moves on outlandish dance stages and dances to mediocre songs and yet looks worried throughout about the way the movie is apparently going”

“ So you liked it or not?”

“ You know what I actually want to watch a recording of the promos. They were great fun. At least they held lot of promise and seemed to have some semblance of editing, coherence in plot line ( all of which actually fitted into a teaser)”

“ Still not answering me ?”

“ No No I loved the credits. The best part of the Movie. The producer as always glam. One fantabulous scene of Jr SRK with the senior. One of the most natural not over the top scenes. And the cute three children dancing after locking up their mother Farah Khan inside the vault. You naughty children how did you know what we wanted to do ? “

“ From what I can gather you are suitably impressed to give it a 5? “

“ Buzz off will you. It’s 2 and nothing else. If ever I budge a half it is because my son threatened me with dire consequences just in case I wrote something condescending about the film ( Dad I saw the dour look you had on your face throughout the movie. Remember I love SRK please) . So please do not ask me again. I need to rush in and detox myself by watching the promos again. Ah those wonderful funny promos. See you “

My Dearest Vishal Sir

“Vishal Sir, was salivating when I heard of the four star and the five star ratings. So I went sir to watch apparently the best movie of recent times unfold itself. And I am back home sir. Speechless. Still trying to fathom if I need a checkup. I know Sir, Shakespeare and all that...Yes Sir, you are not to blame. Shakespeare is. Only one question Sir, I hold you in the highest esteem as one of the simplest directors who makes Hindi films that have the sheen of Hollywood films but Sir how did you manage to make such a confusing movie and yet earn the hyperventilating support of the entire critiquing junta:)

Yes sir, you are saying I should get myself checked-up? Ok sir but then so should half the characters in the movie. Outstanding photography, mind-blowing Tabu and KK and almost excellent Shahid, bold attempts to touch sensitive subjects in passing but not well balanced for both stakeholders of the region, the people and the state, haphazard story line and a very bad narration compounded by a confused script. Kudos to Indian Censor sir for allowing this. What! They did not watch? You mean like they were busy cleaning? Oh Ok sir. Please do not be mad Sir. I am still unable to fathom how to give anything beyond 2 1/2 stars!”

(My friends insisted on a more traditional view so here goes :) )

I am gasping right from the opening sequences as the camera pans and caresses the stunning landscapes of Kashmir. ‘Shot on actual sites without any disturbance‘ the credits say at the end. It is ironical that violence co-exists with such ethereal beauty. The people too seem like they were only too happy living their quiet life in the mountains but the echoes of gunfire seem to tell a different story. Vishal takes his Hamlet adaptation ( I think full credit to Vishal for making Shakespeare more popular than he was) to this valley and following in the footsteps of Mani Ratnam attempts to analyse the core issues while juxtaposing them with his favorite sub stories of deceit, extra marital affairs, extreme violence, pathos and more dangerously  trying to depict a soft erotic undertone to a son’s extreme love for his mother.

The army is clearly not in Vishal’s good books as they seem to consist of people who either torture or arrest individuals who utter names of international cities in forbidden neighborhood territory.  The boy Shahid playing Haider underplays his role heavily making you look forward to a explosion that seems imminent but unfortunately never happens. A journalist Shraddha Kapoor funnily not able to pronounce simple words despite her background rescues him from the law keepers. He comes home to find it destroyed as his father has been taken away by the law keeping forces for treating militants and to his shock finds his mother in a not too shocked state ensconced with her brother in law. He is torn between his extreme love for his mother Tabu and his angst at her almost transparent illegitimate relationship with his uncle KK Menon.

The militants reach out to him and then he embarks on a dangerous journey not sure of what is right or wrong, all his misgivings centered only on the insecurity in the relationship with his mother. Does he turn militant or does he satisfy himself with just seeking revenge against his uncle.  The movie takes its own long road to the end.

I was completely disconnected from the story as much as Shahid seemed to be with his role. The briefing has obviously confused the brilliant actor. He is not fully clear what his state of mind should be or perhaps that was the Shakespearean brief ?

Tabu seems to be enjoying her reclusive sinful role and her matronly instincts surface only when her son is around. To her credit she is one of the highlights of this movie. KK Menon with a fully author backed role chews away at it with full vigor. He is an actor par excellence. Shraddha is around and will grow into a good actress if she remains restrained but nothing much to speak about here.

Irfan, Kulbhushan kharbanda and a controlled Narendra Jha have fleeting roles and one wishes one saw more of them.

I cannot even string together a streamlined storyline if I wanted to relate here. It seems like a loose cohesion of fragmented bits of outstanding creativity.

Things that jarred for me. Attempts to make Shahid look taller than Tabu all the time. If that is not consistently maintained in the movie throughout, the audiences can make out the geometrical aberrations. A song towards the climax straight out of Karz where a reborn Rishi Kapoor dances and tells the tale of the deceit and murder. Even the lyrics sounded suspiciously similar.

There is always an international sheen in Vishal’s movies and that standard is maintained if not excelled. He does not get you embarrassed with his movies if shown to an international audiences like some of the other dance dramas but makes you feel angry that he does not better himself with a more coherent storyline and less biased approach to the militants or the military.

He experiments dangerously with the mother – son relationship and one holds the seat handle tight every time you sense something unusual about to happen. I wondered if that was necessary just to be different. The background music is appeasing with Kashmiri sounds dominating.

You emerge from the hall not feeling enlightened about the scenario in that troubled state but with one clear message that revenge begets revenge but it comes in too late by which time you are beyond caring.