IZZ ALL WELL?

I am not a film critic.

I am a teacher, with a decade's experience in dealing with students who just want to 'pass'. Rare is the student who loves the subject passionately, but when I do find such gems, the whole teaching-learning process gets transformed into a vital and uplifting exchange.

I was a student, who got 'good marks' in all subjects but always wanted to study 'only English Literature' since I was six-seven years old. I had to face a lot of flak when I abandoned science altogether after my I.C.S.E and chose a 'pure arts' option. At least, my Maa and Baba never questioned my choice. Thank God I was a girl, the pressure to conform is much more for boys (as in the Spouse's case - he spent two unhappy years studying science for his plus-two before coming back to his passion - Literature).

I am a mother, and I deeply, desperately want my daughters to study any subject they really really like and do some work that they enjoy. I am scared of the pressure to perform they will inevitably face and the comparisons that will challenge their individualities, and the race for money-car-club-jet-status that can so easily trip their free souls.

So, when I saw 3 Idiots, I kept feeling, "Yes! This is exactly how I feel. This is exactly what I always wanted to say about our quote-by-rote, madam-please-give-us-notes, madam-please-tell-us-the-IMP-questions, madam-will-this-help-me-to-get-35%, education system.

Thank you, Rajkumar Hirani, Aamir Khan and Vidhu Vinod Chopra, for showing us who the idiots really are.

THE IPL FINAL : THRILLS WITHOUT PASSION

The IPL is over, long live cricket! Rajasthan Royals, led by the crafty Shane Warne, defeated Chennai Super Kings, captained by the cool Dhoni, by the proverbial last-ball –whisker. There were spills (Parthiv Patel’s last-over fumbling comes to mind) and thrills galore …an appropriately well-contested final, inappropriately over-dressed cheerleaders (does anyone even glance at the male jack-in-the-boxes?).

The cricketers played to the gallery (some sixes went beyond), the gallery (with its eyeball-grabbing assortment of stars) played to the media (Aamir Khan displaying his toothy debutante nephew Imran) and everybody either paid or made money.

Gautam Singhania, Aamir Khan and Sachin Tendulkar standing side-by-side in the VIP stands made a telling visual synopsis of the IPL: Corporate + Bollywood + Cricket = IPL.

But this media-created, money-backed hype does not translate into passion. And sports, genuine sports, is all about passion. It is about cheering from the heart at a win, it is about heart-wrenching grief at a loss. It is also about taking sides passionately.

You can support an individual (a Becker, an Agassi, a Venus) or a nation (your own or Brazil – in football, that is) or a team (Man-U, Mohunbagan). This support of the fan is won by a history of togetherness – player and fan triumphing or agonizing together to form that special bond that is sport’s gift to the ordinary person.

Hype is shallow, lasting till the match ends and the stars go home; support runs much, much deeper. The most natural support is for teams or players belonging to one’s own country; created from a sense of identity and creating a new sense of pride.

Money can buy cheerleaders who jump up-and-down with practiced perfection, it cannot buy the sea-wave-like roar of noise when countries clash in the World Cups. It cannot buy the fans dancing impromptu on the streets long after the match is over.

IPL was fun and forgettable. True sports leaves behind memories.

AND THE (CRABBY) HEADLINES ARE...

I must have got hold of the wrong end of the newspaper today. I feel really CRABBY, like Lucy Van Pelt. And since I don’t have the Peanuts gang to snap at, here’s my WHAT’S WRONG WITH THE WORLD TODAY cribsheet, comprising only peanutty, irrelevant, random news:

There’s this fairly inconsequential film-director, Anurag Basu, who has apparently said that the extremely consequential AMITABH BACHCHAN should retire from films. Of course, it’s none of his business. Of course, it’s just another stunt to steal some limelight off a bona fide celebrity. Of course, the media/public/public-as-perceived-by–the-media are busy debating and dissecting both AB and the ‘ab-wannabe’. My advice is, Anurag, Get a Life (‘in a Metro’, or wherever). Mr Bachchan may have feet of clay (very murky, Amar Singh-ed clay at that), but the rest of him is pure 24-carat gold.

Many Maharashtra legislators are up-in-arms against the introduction of sex-education in schools. Methinks that the right-wing is wrongly focusing on the SEX -taboo and forgetting about the EDUCATION bit. Granted that children learn about the birds and bees (and babes) from friends, films, F-TV, filth-on-the-Internet and maybe, if they are lucky, from their family, but, as a parent and a teacher, I support a structured syllabi which teaches (under sensible surveillance) the basics of what-to-do and how-to-do and why/why-not-to-do and what-happens-if-done, if only to take away the surreptitiousness from sex.

These same shouters are trying to ban the hotpants-clad cheerleaders from prancing (and panting) at the Indian Premier League Twenty-20 cricket matches. I feel that if Twenty20 cricket is like instant noodles, then the cheerleaders are the seasoning – from the spicy jalapeno-masala of the Bangalore babes to the more sedate, capsicum-covered Mumbai maidens. Are they “obscene”, or should they be seen – that is the question for India’s morality-Hamlets. There is definitely something rotten in the state of Indian cheer-lessness. The moral police should remember that brevity is the soul of cheer-leading. Anyway, if they (the cheery-squad, not the dreary morality-brigade) are banned (I hope not, even eyeballing their silly gamboling burns some calories), then Shah Rukh Khan can always exhibit his six-packs. And the rest is only cricket.

That brings me to a personal CRIB. Despite ardently gymming for the past few weeks, the fat-iceberg around my middle refuses to melt. No amount of global or local warming (-up exercises) is helping. Far from becoming a sexy yummy-mummy, I seem destined to remain an educated tummy-mummy. And also to remain, like Lucy, a regular fussbudget and a “very crabby person”.

MISS IN-(ANE)-DIA

The Pantaloons Femina Miss India contest, 2008 edition, was telecast tonight with a lot of fanfare and media-hoopla. Pictures of the three PFMI (now this abbreviation is just ripe with possibilities!) winners - all glossy hair, fixed (in more ways than one) smiles, toned arms waving at us lesser mortals - were splashed across the front pages.
Later in the year, these three manufactured beauties will venture abroad, hoping to conquer the Universe, World and Earth.
I have no moral issues against beauty contests. A Ford Supermodel contest makes business sense: to select certain humans who have the looks, carriage and attitude to catwalk on the ramp or be clotheshorses.
What I find ridiculous is the attempt by the Miss India (and Miss Universe/World/et al) organisers to showcase their pageant as a platform for women's progress and personality development. To prove it, they have introduced a subcontest - Times Miss Sudoku!
I am sure somebody did manage to solve the sudoku in the end, and ended up with a crown on her brain, er, head . But my point is, even if intelligent/brilliant/exam-toppers (in India, the terms are co-referential) enter the pageant, it is because they hope to pursue a career in Hindi movies (Bollywood is the Valhalla of retired beauty-queens) or fashion (model>choreographer>designer in ascending order of age) or, at least, television (the idiot-box embraces all the Bollywood-rejects).
So why pretend to serve the nation? These girls are not role-models. They are models, period. They are not social ambassadors. They are brand-ambassadors. They are chasing name, fame and tinseltown glory, while taking a year out after winning to pose prettily with sundry orphans/AIDS patients/tsunami victims and pay (collagen-plumped)lip-service to the "IN"-charities.
So, let the contests roll on, with the assembly-line beauties striding across the conveyor belt with clone-like sameness, year after year. With a little help from the cosmetic surgeon, dentist, hairstylist, fashion designer, make-up person, etiquette-and-grooming-(and toilet?)-trainer. All bankrolled by adoring parents.
Let the judges try to catch the colours of a rainbow by dissecting beauty into 'sexy legs', 'golden skin', 'beautiful hair/eyes/smile', or 'perfect-ten figure'. Totally laboratory-like, totally surreal!
Let the contestants preen and pout, pose and pirouette. They make pretty plastic photocopies of each other, like Andy Warhol's prints.
But DO NOT let them parrot well-rehearsed answers to well-worn questions (read: cliches from the how-to-win-a-beauty-contest handbook). This year's make-or-break question was whether "WESTERN (as in evil?)" influence was responsible for the rising divorce rates in our dear-old-family-loving-husband-worshipping India. A question on which sociologists do their Ph.Ds; a question on which fundamentalists plan their andolan (propaganda). But the smug PFMI contestants answer-with-a-smile in 60 seconds flat.
So dear, dear organisers, do away with the pseudo-thought-provoking, genuinely-yawn-inducing Q-and-A rounds. Let the BODIES (part or whole; same-to-same) rule!
P.S : The only spontaneous answer ever recorded was Madhu Sapre's answer in the 1992 Miss Universe contest, when she was asked what she would do for her country if she were the head of the nation. A spunky sportswoman, she said she would build more stadiums to promote sports. Straightforward and non-conformist, Sapre lost the competition.
Q.E.D.
P.P.S: Alongside the front-page report of the PFMI winners in today's The Times of India, there is another report of a Supreme Court judgment, sentencing a man to two-years in prison beacuse he drove his wife to suicide with his callous taunts about her 'dark complexion'.
So, although we have a regressive pageant, we also have a progressive court. Thank God for that.

Film"fair (?)" Awards

The 2008 chapter of a popular Hindi fim awards show was telecast on 2/3/08 (on Sony channel). The humorous, if rather 'unfair', digs of the polished and brash anchors, Shahrukh Khan and Saif Ali Khan, teetered on the edge of libel. The awards tried to be 'fair' (even the main sponsor was a 'fairness' cream) - honouring both the everpresent Shahrukh Khan (best actor for Chak De India) and the never-present Aamir Khan (best director/ best film for Taare Zameen Par).

But why do Hindi film awards never really have the suspense and anticipation of the Oscars? The popular winners are as predictable as a typical Hindi movie storyline. Though, with storylines in Hindi movies moving away from the tried-and-tested, can we also hope that the awards, too, will become more innovative and 'fair' (and less an appeasing of coteries and cliques)? Or am I being 'unfairly' harsh?