Lounge 27 June by HT Media

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Saturday, June 27, 2009

Vol. 3 No. 25

LOUNGE THE WEEKEND MAGAZINE

FROM

SALIM SAM TO

BUSINESS LOUNGE WITH PI CAPITAL’S DAVID GIAMPAOLO >Page 8

Starting with this weekend’s ‘New York’, three big films attempt to redefine the portrayal of Muslims in Hindi cinema >Page 10

FRESHWATER CATCH Try a supersize pearl necklace, a black pearl ring or a flashy diamond and pearl cuff this season >Page 7

COMIC TURN

Tintin trivia, conformist graffiti and an irresistible confection called ‘nose’ >Page 12

Dilip Kumar was a weak Mughal prince in MughaleAzam; John Abraham is a young and liberal Muslim college student in New York.

HIGH WINDOWS

THE GOOD LIFE

MUKUL KESAVAN

DRESSING FOR A REVOLUTION

here’s a YouTube video of commuters in a subway in Iran, walking down the stairs to a platform, where they cluster, waiting for a train and then, even as you watch, a chorus begins and soon the place is echoing with people, mainly young people, clapping their hands and shouting defiance. The men are in shirtsleeves and trousers, but most of the women are wearing headscarves. There’s another clumsily shot film where you can barely see the assembled people... >Page 4

STALL ORDER

SHOBA NARAYAN

INCREASE THE ‘GAY’ FACTOR

s you read this, I might be marching in Bangalore’s Gay Pride march that takes off tomorrow from the conservative suburb of Basavangudi and ends at Town Hall. The police permissions still haven’t come through (I write this a week in advance) but the organizers are hoping that everything will work out. Last year, about 800 homosexuals, lesbians, hijras (eunuchs), kothis (effeminate homosexuals) and transgender activists marched at this now-annual parade... >Page 5

NANDINI RAMNATH

WHEN FORMULA FILMS FAIL

PIECES OF THE PUZZLE The first biography to be penned on A.R. Rahman is full of facts, but devoid of soul >Page 14

DON’T MISS

For today’s business news > Question of Answers— the quiz with a difference > Markets Watch

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SATURDAY, JUNE 27, 2009 ° WWW.LIVEMINT.COM

First published in February 2007 to serve as an unbiased and clear-minded chronicler of the Indian Dream.

FIRST CUT

LOUNGE LOVES | INDIA’S GOT TALENT

PRIYA RAMANI

LOUNGE EDITOR

PRIYA RAMANI DEPUTY EDITORS

SEEMA CHOWDHRY SANJUKTA SHARMA MINT EDITORIAL LEADERSHIP TEAM

R. SUKUMAR (EDITOR)

NIRANJAN RAJADHYAKSHA (MANAGING EDITOR)

HINDUS, MUSLIMS AND HINDI FILMS

One judge hogs the limelight in the new show that seeks to unearth talent

f you don’t count Aamir’s child star roles, Bollywood’s Khans have been entertaining us since the 1980s. Together, their impact is unbeatable. When I worked for the Indian Express in 2005, a colleague calculated that the net box office impact of this triumvirate since they first hit the big screen was an astounding Rs1,906 crore (and since then there have been many more Khan-propelled hits such as Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi, Om Shanti Om, Chak De! India, and Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna for Shah Rukh; Ghajini, Taare Zameen Par and Rang De Basanti for Aamir; and hmm…not much for Salman). In the post 9/11 years, interviewers have increasingly begun to ask these Khans—all are Muslims born in the same year (same as the husband, incidentally) and all embraced films seriously at roughly the same time—about their Muslim identities. Shah Rukh Khan, the most articulate of the three, has repeatedly given interviewers a crash course in Islam 101 and has said that he stands for a young educated India more than for any single community. All the three Khans are liberal Muslims who until recently never really discussed their religion or religious identity. Salman Khan was born to a Hindu NO BIAS mother and a Muslim father. Aamir Khan divorced a Hindu woman, then married another Hindu woman. And Shah Rukh Khan? Everyone knows the story of how he wooed Delhi girl Gauri Chibba and married her more than 15 years ago. Anupama Chopra’s account of the wedding in her book King of Bollywood: Shah Rukh Khan and the Seductive World of Indian Cinema, is great: “They married in court and then a traditional Hindu wedding followed, in which he rode to the venue on an elephant…Shah Rukh wore suits borrowed from the Raju Ban Gaya Gentleman costume department…He danced at his wedding longer and harder than anyone else. He was still only when he sat by his mother-in-law’s side, holding her hand for half an hour.” But then the Hindi film industry is full of stories like these. In fact, this is probably the only industry where Hindus and Muslims have worked together and played together so closely and so consistently since the birth of modern India. My favourite Hindu-Muslim parternships are Abrar Alvi-Guru Dutt and Yash Cho-

T New York: Abraham plays a Muslim hunk. pra-Sahir Ludhianvi. Chopra’s first film as director, 1959’s Dhool Ka Phool, featured Sahir’s blockbuster lyrics in the song Tu Hindu Banega Ya Musalmaan Banega, Insaan Ki Aulaad Hai Insaan Banega. Even the best film at IIFA (International Indian Film Academy) this year, Jodhaa Akbar, was the story of a Muslim king and his Hindu love. Yet despite the close ties between the two communities in the Hindi film industry, the Muslims on screen have been badly caricatured and stereotyped. In an essay in Global Bollywood, authors Kalyani Chadha and Anandam P. Kavoori argue that Muslims in Hindi cinema have been exoticized (in films about Mughal emperors), marginalized (as bit-part actors who play preachers, tailors, courtesans and qawwali singers) and demonized (as Pakistani aggressors, jihadis and fundamentalists). So it’s not an exaggeration to say that when big-banner Yash Raj Films makes a mainstream, candyfloss film starring Bollywood’s favourite butt John Abraham as the Muslim lead, it has the potential of being a historic film. And when this film is likely to be followed up by the Karan Johar-Shah Rukh Khan combination tackling modern-day stereotypes of Muslims, it could even be the change we’ve waited so many decades for. After all, if Johar could work his magic for gay India, why shouldn’t he succeed in portraying liberal, Muslim India? I don’t know about you, but we’re keeping our fingers crossed.

here are two reasons I had to get my hands on a preview copy of India’s Got Talent Hunar Hi Winner Hai which will air on Colors tonight. First, to figure out whether rival Sony Te levis ion ha d actua ll y ripped off this format (from th e in ter n ational or iginal—Britain’s Got Talent) in its show Entertainment Ke Liye Kuch Bhi Karega launched a few weeks ago (alas, the answer is yes). And second, to answer the question that’s probably on everyone’s mind: Does India have a Susan Boyle? Episode No. 1 doesn’t throw up any Susan Boyles, but India’s got Shekhar Kapur. In the first hour of this show you know you’re going to see a different man from the composed, internationally-acclaimed director you imagine he is. He’s always the last to press the buzzer indicating disqualification, even as fellow judges, actors

Sonali Bendre and Kirron Kher, roll their eyes at him. “Not the violin, no,” he tells Usha Shankar, “the most talented man in the world” before finally relieving us of a bizarre act. “Your talent is to talk about talent,” he tells the overconfident contestant. Kapur cries (and we’re not talking single tear trickling down Simi Garewal style but manly, heaving sobs) when, after a performance by disabled students, he addresses the youngest member of their dance troupe. He does a better Raavan laugh than the theatre actor with the hoarse voice and nine Raavan heads instead of 10. And he is thumping-borderingon-jingoistic in his praise of Orissa’s Prince Dance Group made up of one man dressed as Lord Krishna and 12 silver body-painted dancers, all labourers. The format, which you’ve probably seen on the copycat Sony show, is essentially similar. Here each act gets two minutes; the judges have individual buzzers and the performer must stop if all three buzzers are pressed; the audience doesn’t vote.

www.livemint.com Priya Ramani blogs at blogs.livemint.com/firstcut

ABHIJIT BHATLEKAR/MINT

gloves, but most of these are soon discarded. We don’t really mind, it looks clean and if we wanted glove-fingered vada pav we’d go to JumboKing.

The good stuff Finally, the vadas are ready; the pav is liberally rubbed with the fiery-looking lasun powder, stuffed with a vada and served on a paper plate with a tissue. There’s nothing like a piping hot vada pav—even the most mediocre ones are sublime if eaten fresh. But this one is not mediocre; it is, in fact, quite good. A crispy outside, with a reasonably spicy potato filling. The dough casing of the vada is not too thick, nor too thin. The pav is fresh and soft, not the crumbly, stale variety. This is how you want a vada pav to be—as authentic as the one’s served by the better street vendors.

The notsogood The red garlic chutney powder had a hint of raw garlic to it. And waiting half an hour for what is a snack on the go is unacceptable.

Talk plastic A vada pav costs Rs6. Parizaad Khan

ON THE COVER: PHOTO IMAGING: DEVAJIT BORA/MINT CORRECTIONS & CLARIFICATIONS: In ‘Where titans clash’, 20 June, the correct spelling for 1980 Wimbledon winner is John McEnroe. In ‘Sony’s fight after the fall’, 20 June, Manjit Singh is chairman of the board and interim CEO, Multi Screen Media Pvt Ltd; NP Singh is COO, MSM (Sony TV); and Danish Khan was a core member of the SET Max marketing team before he became head of marketing, MSM (Sony TV).

Sony emphasizes that its show is about entertainment and Colors says it’s all about talent, but in India it’s easy to mix the two up. There is cheesy stand-up comedy; rock band M Sonic from Assam (compere Nikhil Chinappa says he has never seen a better act in his life!); a man who sings in a girl’s voice; a man who breaks tube lights (total rubbish, pronounces Bendre); a man in a white body suit who ran away from home to be a yoga teacher in Delhi. Whether or not India’s Got Talent we’ll have to wait and see, but India’s Got Complexes. There are people who think they are extremely talented when in fact they have no broadcast future. There’s even a smiling, overweight, and very talented classical dancer from Jharkhand who says nobody in his hometown takes him seriously and that he is always ignored at performances because he doesn’t have the figure or the looks. All in all, India always makes for good television. More than 100,000 people were audtioned in six metros and the show captures the long lines and the backstage excitement of India’s potential talent. And until we find our Boyle (maybe it’s Robo Ganesh who does a puppet dance with his knees), India’s Got Shekhar Kapur. An addictive show. Every Saturday and Sunday at 9pm on Colors starting tonight and on for the next three months.

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LOUNGE REVIEW | SHIV VADA PAV fter ingesting 900 calories worth of vada pavs in less than 24 hours, Lounge is in a reliable position to tell you whether the newest supplier of the beloved Mumbai carb bombs is any good or not. The Shiv Sena has started an enterprise called Shiv Vada Pav to provide employment to Maharashtrian youth and promote Mumbai’s favourite snack. White bread and fried potato is not doing the arteries of already stressed out Mumbaikars’ any good, but we can’t seem to get enough of it. So, apart from roadside stalls selling the spicy burgers, the city also has two corporatized vada pav chains—JumboKing and Goli. Shiv Vada Pav has 22 kiosks so far in Greater Mumbai, and plans to ramp up that number to over 500 in a few months. Now as vada pavs go, JumboKing is as authentic as a “Made in India” pizza. It’s more quantity than quality, and has mutated into Schezuan vada pavs and paneer makhani vada pavs. Not for the sensitive of palate. To research my tasting assignment, I sampled a vada pav from a Maharashtrian family that sets up shop in Dadar every evening. They came recommended as the real thing by our in-house son of the soil. With that solid grounding, I was ready to take on more. Shiv Vada Pav at Shivaji Park is a cart painted yellow and orange. It’s supposed to start dishing out vadas from 10am, but we get our first one only at 11.15am, half an hour after we arrive. “Nobody comes that early,” says the young man at the counter, busy layering the top of his gleaming stainless steel cart with newspaper sheets. Four persons man the stall—two to make the potato patties, dip them in batter and fry them, and two to serve. Three are in orange shirts with the brand logo, one is in a Megadeth tee. They all start out wearing disposable

India’s got Shekhar Kapur

Showmen: The Prince Dance Group gets the thumbsup.

Priya Ramani

L4 COLUMNS SATURDAY, JUNE 27, 2009 ° WWW.LIVEMINT.COM

MUKUL KESAVAN HIGH WINDOWS

When Iran will be dressing for a revolution

STEPHANE DE SAKUTIN/AFP

people, mainly young people, clapping their hands and shouting defiance. The men are in shirtsleeves and trousers, but most of the women are wearing headscarves. There’s another clumsily shot film where you can barely see the assembled people for the darkness, but you can hear them chanting, “Allahu Akbar”, a religious motto that has, in the current crisis, been pressed into the service of political protest. More than one pundit has argued that the confrontation between Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s followers and Mir Hossein Mousavi’s over the former’s controversial election victory isn’t a fight between theocratic Muslims and secular Muslims. The fact that Mousavi is a long-standing member of the political establishment put in place by Ayatollah Khomeini’s Islamic revolution, the ubiquitous headscarves, the carefully Islamic idiom of the protests seem to indicate that this is an attempted reformation of the Islamic Republic, not a secular rejection of it. For a distant spectator, it’s hard to know if the Islamic style of the people protesting is an expression of their piety or a strategic acknowledgement of the norms imposed by an avowedly Islamic state. I visited Iran as a 15-year-old in the early 1970s, when the country was an anti-clerical monarchy run by an arriviste ruler who, despite the fact that his father had started as a gunnery sergeant in the Iranian army, had just finished celebrating two and a half thousand years of Persian kingship. In 1972, there wasn’t a headscarf to be seen in Tehran. The Shah’s father, the founder of the Pahlavi dynasty,

had, in a spasm of Atatürkian enthusiasm, banned the veil. His son, keen to be seen as a pro-Western modernizer, ruthlessly enforced the proscription. Women who wore the veil in public had it forcibly removed. In the poorer parts of Tehran, I remember seeing older women wearing the chador in a fugitive way, but younger women dressed in a style that seemed positively daring, at least to my adolescent Indian eyes. My abiding memory of Iran is of a place teetering on the edge of lewdness. In a department store, the Furushga Koroush, there was a poster in the sports goods section which had a woman in a bodysuit holding up the five Olympic rings. You had to look twice to see that the rings were intertwined sausages and that the crotch of the bodysuit had been cut out. When we (my parents and my brother) took a coach tour to Isfahan, we dined in a hotel restaurant where dinner was followed by a cabaret performance that was everything two repressed teenagers could have dreamt of. Later in the tour, we reached Shiraz, where we were taken to the imperial carpet manufactory where we were shown Persian rugs being made. The one on the loom was three-fourths finished and the guide, after taking us through the details of the weaving, asked us to look closely at the pattern on the carpet. We looked and saw no more than the motifs that we associated with carpets. He then took a pointer and showed us that each motif was a sexual tableau designed to look like a conventional floral or geometric design. We were shocked

Freedom song: Iranian women in Paris protest against the recent election results. and titillated and entranced. One lesson of this story is that despotic “modernization” in a conservative society sponsors a permissiveness that invites conservative retribution. The puritanism of the Islamic restoration that replaced the Shah’s regime was clearly a reaction to the grotesque Pahlavi bid to remake Iran in the image of Beirut or Biarritz. But the other thing it demonstrates is the power of the state to determine the way people dress. In the three cities I visited in 1972, I can’t remember young

women dressed in a traditional way. The absence of traditional costume, of the veil, clearly owed something to coercion, just as its pervasive presence in contemporary Iran is related to a bullying moral police, but in both cases there is more than coercion at work. Many young women wore elaborate make-up and Western clothes with great flair and enthusiasm then, and it’s probably true that some modestly veiled women in Tehran today wear the veil because they want to. In authoritarian countries people learn to

take their cues from the state and the ideology of the state becomes the common sense of civil society. In the matter of women’s costumes, the Indian republic has done rather better than the Islamic Republic of Iran. One of the reasons Reza Shah Pahlavi banned the veil was because he thought it was a physical impediment and stopped women from participating fully in “modern” life. I wonder what he would have made of the sari or the dhoti or the salwar-kameez and chunni or the full burqa complete with niqab, all of which you can see every day on India’s streets. India doesn’t prescribe costumes either to advance modernity or to safeguard modesty. This is not because Indian men are particularly evolved or ardently committed to the right of Indian women to choose what they wear; they’re not. The Sri Ram Sene’s goonery and the behaviour of male lumpen in Indian cities are reminders of that. The reason a conservative, patriarchal country like India doesn’t impose coercive dress codes is because its state is run by a pluralist democracy that has been compelled to acknowledge the variousness of its people in everything from language and religion to dress and deportment. Unlike Iran in the Shah’s time or now, the clothes women wear in India aren’t ideological statements. If the current turmoil in Iran creates a new order where chadors and camisoles can be worn in public without being emblems of defiance or conformity, Mousavi’s movement will be remembered as a milestone in the modern history of a great civilization. Mukul Kesavan, professor of social history at Jamia Millia Islamia, Delhi, is the author of The Ugliness of the Indian Male and Other Propositions. Write to Mukul at highwindows@livemint.com www.livemint.com Read Mukul’s previous Lounge columns at www.livemint.com/mukulkesavan

COLUMNS L5 SATURDAY, JUNE 27, 2009 ° WWW.LIVEMINT.COM

SHOBA NARAYAN THE GOOD LIFE

How to increase the gay factor in your life

s you read this, I might be marching in Bangalore’s Gay Pride march that takes off tomorrow from the conservative suburb of Basavangudi and ends at Town

Hall. The police permissions still haven’t come through (I write this a week in advance) but the organizers are hoping that everything will work out. Last year, about 800 homosexuals, lesbians, hijras (eunuchs), kothis (effeminate homosexuals) and transgender activists marched at this now annual parade, which marks the end of a week of events that Bangalore’s gay community puts together to celebrate itself and spread the message. This column is about the collision of worlds: the straight and the gay. When I was an art student in college most of my friends were gay. I went from viewing them as abnormal to being their friend. I admire gay people because they have to tread a path wrought with thorns. Their life pits conviction against convenience. For Nitya Vasudevan, who is doing a PhD in culture studies, this means swimming against the tide of the TamBrahm culture that she belongs to. Vasudevan is

the gay and lesbian cricket match, which is how I find myself, one Sunday afternoon, watching cricket and talking to gay people. First, there are the formalities. The archaic section 377 of the Indian Penal Code still deems homosexuality illegal in India. This means that I have to warn everyone I talk to. Are you sure it will be okay for your photo to appear in a newspaper, I ask. Will you lose your job because of this? Are you out—to family and friends? My guide is Siddharth Narain, a lawyer with the Alternative Law Forum. How do straight people like me access your world, I ask. He rounds up some people and instructs me on who to photograph, including Vasudevan and Joshua Muyiwa. I begin with the journalese. “I want to write a column about how straight people in Bangalore can access the gay world,” I say. Are there gay nightclubs like the ones in Berlin and New York? SHOBA NARAYAN

Out and about: At the gay and lesbian cricket match in Bangalore thoughtful and pretty, with light eyes, and in a sleeveless red tank top. “Identity is a huge part of being gay,” she tells me. “The hijras and the kothis, for instance, are able to celebrate their homosexuality openly—in the way they dress and talk—while most of us in the professional world play it down and try to appear normal.” I meet Vasudevan at a gay and lesbian cricket match. I am there because I miss my gay friends. I miss their refreshing take on life; their ability to balance risk with compromise; and the cool things they wear and try. After three years in Bangalore, I’ve had my fill of the wholesome mommy-wagon. I want change, variety, a contrast to my granola world. In desperation, I call a journalist friend in Mumbai and ask how I can access the gay scene in Bangalore. He mentions

No such thing, they reply. Come to Koshy’s, where we hang out. Or come to Golden Rose bar, off Brigade Road; or Bunkers. I make notes. Muyiwa writes about dance and culture for Time Out Bangalore. I have an easy way to measure my prejudices. I simply ask myself, would I want to be part of that world? Would I want my kids to be part of that world? My own answer is that I wouldn’t mind being gay (even though I am not) but I would have trouble if my children were gay. Not because I don’t envy the intellectual freedom and creativity that gay people possess. It is no accident that some of the world’s best photographers and designers are gay. I don’t want my kids to be gay for that oldest (and arguably stupidest) of reasons: No parent wants his or her child to struggle.

And the gay life in India, while rich in experience and texture, forces you to fight for social acceptance. And life is hard enough… You get the gist. How is it for you, I ask Nitin Manayath, who teaches communication at Mount Carmel College. And then I go through the drill. Are you sure it is okay to mention your name and your employer’s? Manayath is sanguine. The management of Mount Carmel has been incredibly supportive, he says, even though some people complained about his nose ring. The thing about being gay, he says, is that every human interaction is like coming “out”

all over again. When people at work find out you are gay, they think you are an ambassador for the gay community. They ask questions such as “Do I look gay,” and “What do gay people think about this”. So you have to explain and justify all the time. It reminds me of being an immigrant in a foreign land and the tiresome explanations it demanded. A nose ring is a small thing but it encapsulates the worlds I straddle. My mother (who doesn’t read Mint, which is why I can write this with impunity) thinks of a nose ring as a sacred ornament. She often asks me if I want to get my nose pierced. To

her, a nose ring is one of the solah-shrungar—16 ornaments or “love charms” that Hindu women wear. A nose ring is also what Manayath wears, just for fun, at the risk of appearing weird to the students who throng his communication classes at Mount Carmel College. So I have a request of Manmohan Singh and Sonia Gandhi. Repeal section 377. Decriminalize homosexuality. “Gayness” has been around for years; long enough to measure control groups; long enough to realize that it is biological; long enough for each of us to contend with the possibility that our kids might end up gay. And that

would be okay. I realize that the things we struggle for are the things that transform us; that a struggle, in retrospect, is what makes you who you are. Being gay may be a struggle, but it also just is—not a choice, not a consciously articulated path—but just part of who you are. Shoba Narayan plans to go to Bunkers after putting her kids into their bunk beds. Write to her at thegoodlife@livemint.com www.livemint.com Read Shoba’s previous Lounge columns at www.livemint.com/shobanarayan

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SATURDAY, JUNE 27, 2009

Parenting GROWING PAINS

That inbetween age Hannah or Serena? When you’re 13, your taste can change overnight

B Y N ISHA D AMANI ····························· riday nights are for sleepovers at my house. My two nieces and I eat shameful quantities of mint chocolate chip ice cream, and watch the movies and TV shows they like. I’ve been through my share of Hannah Montana and The Wizards of Waverly Place reruns, the Olsen twins’ New York Minute, The Lizzie McGuire Movie and all the High School Musicals. My favourite—books and movies—is always Harry Potter. He-who-cannot-be-named. Shudder. What an innocent, hassle-free world children live in! That’s what I believed until I met a newly turned teen, formerly known as my niece. A couple of months ago, as I lay awake at night, wedged between my 10-year-old and 13-year-old nieces, I realized things had changed. That night, I was discussing the latest Gossip Girl episode over the phone with my girlfriend when my older niece, Niriksha, walked into the conversation with: “But maasi, I can’t believe Serena

dumped Dan! I don’t like this new artist boyfriend at all!” What! This wasn’t an oohhow-lovely-it-is-to-feel-like-akid-again show for me. This was a legitimate, I-watch-this-in-myfree-time show. And Niriksha was too young for it! The show is about New York high school teens behaving badly. There is sex, underage drinking, drugs and some really atrocious parenting. A recipe for disaster for a 13-year-old. Of course, things weren’t that much different when I was growing up. My sister snuck me into Dirty Dancing when I was 11, Pretty Woman when I was 13. And I loved her for it. I decided to brave a conversation with Niriksha. “My friends and I watch 90210 (the new, racier one!) and Gossip Girl a lot. Some of my friends even watch the reruns on Fridays and Saturdays, and I am not allowed to call them at that time.” Does she identify with the characters in the show? “Not exactly. We know it’s about American teens in high school. It’s just fun watching it. But our lives are not like that.” Bravo! Great answer! So, what about poor Hannah Montana? Where does she fit in now? “Oh, we still watch it. Sometimes just to make fun of it. It can be pretty childish. But it’s time pass.” This poor child is stuck between a rock and hard place. She is too old for Hannah Mon-

Hannah Montana— The complete first season DVD: Rs999. tana, and too young for Gossip Girl. She watches both, but doesn’t identify with either. Common Sense Media (www.commonsensemedia.org), a non-profit organization for parents and children that rates shows and movies according to their age appropriateness, pegs Hannah Montana for eight-year-olds. Gossip Girl is rated appropriate for 15-year-olds, but most of the com-

ments about it are from children in the 10-13 age group—“This show roxs!”; “A little mature, with all the cussing, drug use and sex”; and “Watch with mom”. So, where does the new teen fit in? I have seen my older niece and her friends as excited about the release of Hannah Montana—The Movie as my younger niece. For different reasons. For a 10-yearold, it is about the movie-watching experience—the regular kid Miley Stewart, who doubles up as rock star Hannah. But for a 13-year-old, it’s about the moviegoing experience—an excuse to hang out with friends and make fun of their younger sisters for idolizing someone so “childish”. The movie is incidental. The new teen is a bit confused: Should we leave our comfort zone for unknown territory? A bit excited: We should leave our comfort zone for unknown territory! And a bit transformed: We have left it! Bye, bye, Hannah. Hello, Serena. Once in a while, they feel nostalgic and revisit Hannah, but the love affair is no longer monogamous. They have moved on to “older”, “cooler” and more “awesome” things. And no phone calls will be entertained during that time. As for myself, another Friday night comes up, and I realize I can discuss my favourite show with my newest girlfriend—formerly known as my niece.

LEARNING CURVE

GOURI DANGE

DON’T FOLLOW INDIANS I am a US national, currently living in India on a three-year assignment. Our children, aged 6 and 10, go to a good school here; we are happy with its academic standards as well as the values taught and inculcated. The children have made many friends and have settled well, and are made to feel welcome in many Indian homes. However, what we are finding difficult is the area of how to talk to and relate to the daily help, the chauffeur, the garbage man, the milk delivery boy, etc. Whereas we tend to acknowledge the presence of “staff”, wish them when they come in, give them instructions and not orders, it is different here. I see my children picking up from their friends the imperious or dismissive/offhand tone while talking to our staff. How do I (and do I at all) communicate to my children that this is wrong, and yet not get into criticizing the local way of doing things? We have always taught our children to accept and appreciate the differences in attitudes and views in different parts of the world. But on this count, I just don’t know. Some things may be the local custom or habit or a deeply entrenched system, but that doesn’t make them right. I can see that you’re trying hard not to be judgemental, so let me say it for you: The behaviour of many Indian adults as well as children towards their daily help and other workers around them ranges from indifferent to outright rude, sorry to say. Many Western visitors are struck by how we don’t even acknowledge the entry or presence of “servants” in our homes. Some Indian families and homes do bring up their children to talk politely, even affectionately, with the daily help, the driver and other people who work around the household, also wishing them when they come in and bidding them goodbye for the day, etc. Since being that way comes naturally to you and in your culture, you don’t need to be apologetic about it. If your children are picking up the local tone and attitude, I think you

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Copycats: Correct your children if they pick up habits you don’t like. should unhesitatingly correct them. You can explain to them that they do not need to “copy” the local way in this matter and, in fact, should not. If this leads to a conversation where your children then ask you if this friend or that aunty-uncle are bad people for talking that way to their staff, and you want to sidestep labelling anything good or bad, you can say that it’s not for you to judge. But by your insistence that things are done differently in your home and when your children visit other homes, it will become clear to your children that this is the preferred behaviour. You may find children visiting your home picking up on this and modifying their own way of speaking to your staff. Other people and youngsters in your situation have even faced resistance or ridicule from local people for “chit-chatting with the servants” in the homes that they visit. You can smilingly bat off such criticism if it comes your way if you don’t want to debate it with anyone! Teen queens: Gossip Girl is targeted at 15yearolds while (right) Hannah Montana is a favourite with eightyearolds.

MICHAELA REHLE/REUTERS

Gouri Dange is the author of The ABCs of Parenting. Send in your queries to Gouri at learningcurve@livemint.com

UNDER 15 | M VENKATESH

Back to Africa On the trail of an elusive leopard—all the way from South Africa to Zimbabwe

auren St John hasn’t let me down. She follows up White Giraffe and Dolphin Song with The Last Leopard, a touching story set in troubled Zimbabwe. To cut to the story, 11-year-old Martine is spending an idyllic holiday between school terms riding her white giraffe, Jemmy, at the Sawubona Game Reserve which, incidentally, happens to be home. Martine is no ordinary girl. She has the power to heal animals. Giving Martine com-

pany is Ben, an excellent tracker, her grandma Gwyn and their Zulu help, Tendai. The only exciting thing that happens is when an irritated warthog almost unseats Martine from her giraffe during one of their early morning runs through the park. The calm is shattered by a phone call from one of Grandma Gwyn’s oldest friends, Sadie, who runs the Black Eagle Lodge in Zimbabwe. Sadie, who has broken her leg in an accident, wants Gwyn and Martine to come over and help her till she gets better. Martine is reluctant, but sensing the importance of the event, agrees to accompany her. Ben, too, is ready to go with them. As they set off, Tendai’s aunt, Grace, who can read the future, has this to say: “When you jour-

The Last Leopard: By Lauren St John, Orion Books, 200 pages, Rs 550. ney to Zimbabwe, all the time you must stay together (Ben and Martine). Any time you be separated, danger will follow.” After a bone-rattling weary drive of thousands of kilome-

tres, they arrive at what looks like, to them, the end of the world. But one incident, during a break en route, shakes them up. Ben and Martine get separated as they trek up a mountain and Ben falls off the edge, escaping death narrowly. Determined to stick together whatever happens, the two help Sadie and her help Ngwenya get the place up and running. With no tourists, the Black Eagle Lodge is rapidly going downhill. Gradually, Martine and Ben discover that Sadie is being pressured by Rex Ratcliffe, who owns the Lazy J ranch next door, to sell out to him. They also find out that Ratcliffe runs a canned hunting (captured animals are shot by “hunters”, who then claim to have killed them in the wild) operation in Lazy J.

Ratcliffe wants something else. He wants Khan, the leopard that Sadie’s father rescued and let out into the wild. Leopards are an endangered species in Zimbabwe. Martine and Ben make up their minds to save the leopard at any cost. However, they are stunned when Ngwenya discloses that his cousin, Griffin, is also out to get Khan. In Griffin’s case, the motivation is that the leopard—as the legend goes—would lead him to the treasure that his ancestors had buried somewhere in the forests around Black Eagle Lodge. For the rest, pick up the book and let St John work her magic. The writer is the editor of Heek, a children’s magazine. Write to lounge@livemint.com

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SATURDAY, JUNE 27, 2009

Style t Curio Cottage: Kundan necklace with pearl beads, at Colaba, Mumbai, Rs4,000.

RETAIL THERAPY

Freshwater catch Don’t just rely on your grandmother’s classic pearl strands and drops. Instead, try a supersize pearl necklace, a black pearl ring or a flashy diamond and pearl cuff this season

qAldo: Glass pearl necklace at Atria mall, Worli, Mumbai; Ambi Mall, Gurgaon and Select Citywalk mall, Saket, New Delhi, Rs1,650.

B Y R ACHANA N AKRA rachana.n@livemint.com

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ABHIJIT BHATLEKAR/MINT

q Bungalow 8: Shell and pearl necklace, at Colaba, Mumbai, Rs6,900. ABHIJIT BHATLEKAR/MINT

q Bungalow 8: Shell and pearl bracelet, at Colaba, Mumbai, Rs1,900.

p Montblanc: Ring in white gold with black Tahiti and white freshwater pearls from the Magie en Blanc et Noir collection, at the Montblanc Jewellery salon, Taj Mahal Palace & Tower, Mumbai, Rs1.36 lakh.

p Miasma by Zoya: Marquisecut citrine earrings with black diamond and black Tahitian pearls from the Raghavendra Rathore collection, at Zoya, Dhun Abad building, Warden Road, Mumbai; and MBlock Market, Greater Kailash1, New Delhi, Rs1.46 lakh.

t h.ajoomal: Gold cuff with round diamonds along with offwhite cultured button pearls, at Senapati Bapat Marg, Lower Parel, Mumbai, Rs3 lakh.

ABHIJIT BHATLEKAR/MINT

q Jaipur Gems: Bracelet in yellow gold with round diamonds, coloured pearls, pink sapphires, iolites and green tourmalines, at 50, Cathedral Road, Chennai; and Hughes Road, Mumbai, Rs6,25,000.

t Zoya: Pearl and diamond ring set in gold, at Dhun Abad building, Warden Road, Mumbai; and MBlock Market, Greater Kailash1, New Delhi, Rs39,600.

qAmrapali: Unfinished natural pearl cuff set in silver, at Collage, Wood Street, Bangalore; Phulwari Cottage, Juhu Road, Mumbai; and Khan Market, New Delhi, Rs6,500.

ABHIJIT BHATLEKAR/MINT

p Lucea by Bulgari: 18K white gold ring with Akoya and Tahiti cultured pearls with pave diamonds, at the Bulgari boutique, Taj Mahal Palace & Tower, Mumbai; and the Oberoi, New Delhi, Rs2.18 lakh.

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SATURDAY, JUNE 27, 2009

Business Lounge DAVID GIAMPAOLO

Investing wisely for bigger slices of Pi This famously wellnetworked CEO’s career literally began with fitness first B Y S EEMA C HOWDHRY seema.c@livemint.com

···························· avid Giampaolo has spent the early part of the evening at Fitness First, the sprawling multi-level fitness centre at Connaught Place, New Delhi. Sure, the 50-year-old CEO of high-profile, London-based private equity firm Pi Capital is a fitness fanatic, but his interest in the fourth Indian branch of Fitness First goes beyond pumping iron for a lean look before a meeting. He wants to see how the newest branch of one of the world’s largest fitness chains, where he is an investor and a non-executive director, is doing. Over a glass of “sweet and salt” fresh lime soda (which this well-travelled entrepreneur has never tasted before) at The Imperial hotel in the Capital, Giampaolo looks happy to report that despite the downturn, the branch is doing well. Since January, this branch has signed on 2,300 members at minimum membership fee of Rs2,500 a month. Whether it is his conservative dressing style (pale blue halfsleeved shirt), his medium height, or the fact that he is soft spoken, it is difficult to imagine that Giampaolo was once called London’s most networked man in an interview in The Times, London. “I don’t like using the term networking. Let’s call it idea sharing, or just learning together. Networking is usually for lower-level people, for whom the first thing to do when they meet you is thrust their card out and say ‘Hi my name is Bob and I am a lawyer’. Nothing comes out of that,” says Giampaolo, who is no great fan of social and professional networking sites such as Linkedin or Spoke. “I am still a very tactile person. I like to read my Financial Times as a newspaper, not as an online supplement.” Giampaolo’s uber networker

moniker comes from his association with Pi Capital. Pi is ostensibly a private equity firm, but one with a twist. The firm works more like a club of high net-worth individuals (HNI) who, for a fee, meet frequently and are presented with investment opportunities. Members are free to pick and choose their investments (as opposed to a regular fund in which investors put in money largely at the behest of fund managers). Aside from providing investment opportunities, Pi Capital provides a platform for these highly successful people to interact and share experiences. Members also get access to financial reports, newsletters and savings on, among other things, business travel and Moët Hennessy products. Yes, including Dom Pérignon. “Being a member of Pi is the most classy, low key, professional and discreet way to meet other people who are at the same level as you,” explains Giampaolo. In the last 12 months, Giampaolo has visited India four times, and not just to keep an eye on the Fitness First network. “I am sometimes here to meet Indian venture capital funds, and at other times to sit in on rental negotiations with landlords in retail space for Fitness First. In fact, in the last few months, our phone has been ringing a lot. Landlords we negotiated with in 2006-2007 are now offering space at up to 50% discounts on rent. But rentals in retail space must come down more. It’s just a huge bubble in India right now.” With economies such as the US and UK unlikely to see growth for a while, Giampaolo is looking at other markets to make money. “Investing money is easy, but making money, that’s much harder. I need to deploy my capital in markets where I see real growth is yet to occur and where growth revolves around local con-

CURRICULUM VITAE

DAVID GIAMPAOLO BORN

9 October 1958

EDUCATION

Left high school at 16

CURRENT DESIGNATION

CEO, Pi Capital; and non–executive director of five private companies, including Fitness First

WORK PROFILE

After running several gyms in the US, moved to London in 1987 to expand the Bally gym network in Europe. In 2002, led a management buyin of Pi Capital

READING LIST

‘Fool’s Gold’ by Gillian Tett and ‘The Lives, Loves and Deaths of Splendidly Unreasonable Inventors’ by Jeremy Coller

WORKOUT SCHEDULE

He works out twice a week at the local Fitness First studio in London and likes to take long walks in Hyde Park

sumption rather than being dependent on export only.” For Giampaolo, that means markets such as Brazil, India and Malaysia. Indeed, India ranks higher on Giampaolo’s list than China. An educated and youthful population, democracy, a seemingly stable government and a well-defined legal system—all these factors put India ahead of China in his estimation. “My caution about investing in China vis-a-vis India is higher. And while India offers opportunities to make a lot of money through private investments, this will not be fast or easy money… Each investment here will have a five-to-seven-year holding period and we at Pi Capital will only make investments alongside a local co-investor.” This optimism about the country is reflected in the fact that Giampaolo is working quietly on an Indian chapter of Pi Capital. He resolutely refuses to share details of who will run Pi Capital India, or who will be invited to join the local chapter. But the select few, he promises, will find Giampaolo’s value proposition tempting. Pi Capital, he explains, is a conservative investor. Even during the boom years—2006, 2007 and 2008, when cheap capital fuelled global investment sprees—Pi invested only in six ventures. He points out that one of funds that Pi invested in is yet to spend even a single penny of its £75 million (around Rs590 crore) corpus: “I firmly believe that some of the best investments are the ones people don’t make.” Giampaolo dropped out of high school at 16 and started his career a year later with, first, a gardening business and then a gym in Florida, US. His subsequent career graph probably has much to do with his unique approach to managing investments: Giampaolo says he thinks more like an entrepreneur and less like a banker or accountant. “I look at the CEO, the business plan, the sales and marketing of the company, and try to understand the heart and soul of business, not just the back end.” The economic slump has helped validate this approach and the Pi Capital model: “There are two significant developments as a result of the very painful last 12 months: People want transparency in investments. Investors will now want to get closer to their money and that means their having a say in investment decisions. A complete alignment of interests between the investor and those investing on his behalf is the only sustainable model for the future.” Giampaolo dismisses reports that the worst of the economic downturn is behind us: “A lot of pain still has to work its way

I don’t like using the term networking. Let’s call it idea sharing, or just learning together.

Green signal: Giampaolo began his career with a gardening business.

through the system. Real estate prices have to fall a lot further. Western banks still have a lot of toxicity on their books that needs to go and the unintended consequences of the huge fiscal stimulus and bailouts will create new problems.” He draws a parallel with a book he read recently. Dead Aid by Zambian economist Dambisa Moyo, published earlier this year, contends that billions of dollars in aid has not helped reduce poverty or increase growth in Africa. Similarly, Giampaolo says, it would have been better if Western governments had not taken the bailout route, burdening the next generation: “When you have a huge party, you have to live through the hangover. Just popping pills will not work.” As dusk falls in Delhi, the hotel decides to fumigate its lawns. We are bundled indoors. “It is because they have to deal with mosquitoes,” I explain to Giampaolo, who looks confused at the sudden and insistent intrusion.

JAYACHANDRAN/MINT

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SATURDAY, JUNE 27, 2009

Play 5TH

CELL HARMONIX MUSIC SYSTEMS

GAMING

Nintendo

Fab four: (clockwise from left) Scribblenauts; The Beatles: Rock Band; Split/Second; and Afrika.

Unveiled at E3, these are the games to watch out for in the next 12 months

RHINO STUDIOS

B Y J AMIN B ROPHY-W ARREN ···························· hen the Electronic Entertainment Expo, known as E3, went to an industry-only format, fans complained that the conference had lost its spark. This year, it was a return to form with million-dollar booth displays from publishers such as Sony and Activision; hundreds of fans watching game trailers atop the rumbling floors at the Electronic Arts stage; and the embarrassing

industry tradition of “booth babes” walking the floor. Oh, and there were a couple of games being played as well. Here are 10 games you should look out for in the next 12 months:

Split/Second I hate racing games. I find them to be a lacklustre genre that’s shown little appetite for innovation. The exacting verisimilitude of the popular Gran Turismo with its fleet of licensed vehicles may satisfy car aficionados, but racing games are last on my list. So to my surprise, Disney Interactive Studios showed Split/Second, an inspired addition to the genre. When players jump, drift and draft, they earn “points” on a meter which can then be used to activate explosions on the track. But they’re not simply flaming barrels—entire portions of the level are decimated. At one point, an enormous jetliner careened down the middle of the course, à la the movie ConAir, destroying the players behind me. Think of it as Super Mario Kart for adults, the surreptitious banana peels being replaced by a helicopter firing at your opponents.

Splinter Cell: Conviction Inspired by Tom Clancy’s novels, the Splinter Cell series has been a popular franchise for fans of espionage and tactical fighting games. Conviction was one of the most realistic-looking games on the floor, with an array of gameplay features that give the players a lot of control. You can peek under doorways with a piece of glass and mark your enemies for headshots. At one point, the main character, Sam Fisher, threw an enemy out of the window, jumped out after him and grabbed the ledge, only to reappear at another window further down to finish off the remaining guards. Improvisation has been a mantra for French developer Ubisoft and Conviction seems to give players a lot of freedom.

DOUBLE FINE PRODUCTIONS

Roadie: The protagonist of Brütal Legend, Eddie Riggs, is modelled on actor Jack Black.

Milo One of the biggest announcements at E3 was the introduction of Project Natal, a motion-sensi-

BLACK ROCK STUDIO

tive camera system for the Xbox 360. British game designer Peter Molyneux showed off a brief demo of his new creation at the conference. Molyneaux said the game will pick up a variety of gestures, such as a player’s facial expressions and tone of voice, and use them to control onscreen characters. Milo, a young boy who is at the centre of the game, will then respond, telling you about his day and asking for help on homework. Milo has a lot of potential to create novel connections between players on and off screen.

character from one platform to another. But here’s the twist— the game conjures nearly any item you’d like. Want night-vision goggles? Scribble the word and the screen turns green. Need a time-machine to get a dinosaur to cross a gap? No problem at all. Can’t wait to devastate the level with an atomic bomb? Your wish is Scribblenauts’ command. What is Scribblenauts? Whatever game you want it to be.

release two years ago. But it was only a single-player game. Playing games alone is a necessary evil for me, so it was heartening to see that the latest addition to the title featured three-person cooperative play. This allowed me to position attacks with other players and race to finish puzzles while my teammates backed me up. Anytime I feel an intimate connection while playing with two people I don’t know is a good sign.

The Beatles: Rock Band

Splosion Man

Blueberry Garden

Creating personable characters is tough, but Austin-based developer Twisted Pixel has developed Afrika a reputation for producing proI’ll admit—the concept for Afrika tagonists likeable enough to star is a bit of a snoozer. You’re a pho- in a Pixar film. Last year’s The tojournalist travelling the Ser- Maw, which featured a voracious engeti, looking for animals, and but lovable purple space creature, taking photos of them. That’s it. was a favourite at the Penny There’s no fending off prides of Arcade Expo. Now they’ve lions, picking off anteintroduced a new lope from the hood of character who proyour Land Rover, or pels himself with defending a gagexplosions to escape gle of rhinocthe lab where he eros babies was created. from rapacious Twisted Pixel poachers. You can created a host get trampled by an of humorous elephant, but the animations for result is far from Splosion Man as gory—there’s a simhe runs, such as ple fade to black. But TWISTED PIXEL GAMES charging like an ape and Afrika works as a splendid palate- spreading his arms to do the “aircleanser for anyone looking for a plane”. To be released as part of break from shooters or horror the “Summer of Arcade” program survival titles. It’s also the best for Xbox 360’s Live Arcade downexcuse to plop down money for loadable program, Splosion Man an enormous plasma televi- was one of the more memorable sion—capturing a horde of wilde- characters of the show. beest at the waterhole on film looks as fantastic as a Discovery Scribblenauts Channel special. Warner Bros. Interactive surprised everyone with ScribblenaUncharted 2: Among Thieves uts, one of the most inventive N a u g h t y D o g ’ s U n c h a r t e d : titles I’ve seen in a long time. Drake’s Fortune was one of the The game takes the shape of a best-written games upon its puzzle as you try to move your

The biggest release ever for MTV Games and Harmonix’s Rock Band franchise doesn’t boast a lot of technological novelties, but just the idea of a video game featuring the Fab Four is exciting enough. The Beatles aren’t even on iTunes yet. Giles Martin, son of Beatles producer Sir George Martin, mixed the tracks and Harmonix developed a way for players to sing in harmony. One of the participants in the Indiecade independent game festival, this project from Swedish designer Erik Svedang bears a lovely, hand-drawn aesthetic and slightly off-kilter gameplay. Featuring a beak-nosed, hat-wearing gentleman exploring his garden, the game won the Seamus McNally Grand Prize at the Independent Games Festival this year.

Brütal Legend In another step towards the convergence of Hollywood and video games, Electronic Arts presented Brütal Legend, a collaboration between veteran game designer Tim Schafer and actor Jack Black. Featuring the voice talents of stars Lemmy Kilmister of Motorhead and Rob Halford of Judas Priest, players follow Eddie Riggs, the world’s best roadie for the world’s worst metal band. Activision, which previously owned Brütal Legend, filed a lawsuit recently to prevent the game from being published. Activision owned the game before developer Double Fine took the title to Electronic Arts. Write to wsj@livemint.com www.livemint.com We discuss Scribblenauts at www.livemint.com/scribble.htm

L10 COVER

COVER L11

SATURDAY, JUNE 27, 2009 ° WWW.LIVEMINT.COM

Out of the box: (left to right) Salim Langde Pe Mat Ro; Chak De! India.

FILM

THE NEW

BOLLYWOOD MUSLIM New York minute: In New York, John Abraham and Neil Nitin Mukesh play Muslim roles.

B Y S ANJUKTA S HARMA sanjukta.s@livemint.com

···························· n 27 November 2008, a film crew began work on location in Philadelphia, US, trying to replicate a terrorist attack. Most members of the crew, including the film’s director Rensil D’Silva, were from Mumbai. Before he arrived on location, he had spent hours in front of CNN watching the Taj hotel under siege—and the surreal paralysis of his city that followed. For him, as perhaps for most members of the crew, recreating a terrorist attack that day, in front of high definition cameras, was a disturbing, even eerie, task. Qurbaan (a working title), produced by Karan Johar (Dharma Productions), was suddenly akin to what was unfolding in Mumbai. The film’s protagonist, played by Saif Ali Khan, an “urban, educated, liberal” Muslim, in love with a Hindu girl (played by Kareena Kapoor), was in the throes of a crisis because of a similar terrorist act. “I will never for-

ABHIJIT BHATLEKAR/MINT

Reality: bites: Kabir Khan was in Afghanistan on 11 September 2001 and witnessed the US bombing of Kabul thereafter.

get that shoot,” D’Silva says. I met D’Silva more than six months after that day, at the ad agency where he works as creative director. “But now when I look back, I believe that the film, more so its main characters, are all the more relevant, and more contemporary in the post-26/11 world,” he says. The film releases in theatres, uncannily, on 26 November. It will be the Eid weekend. D’Silva’s hero (the screenplay is also by D’Silva), modelled on Muslim guys he interacts with in the city, can be monikered “the new Bollywood Muslim”—defined, unfortunately, more by what he is not, rather than what he is. He is not the decadent, sozzled nawab cavorting with courtesans; not “Khan chacha”, the benevolent other, wearing a Faiz topi, sneaked into the plot as a secular prop; not an underworld don or a don’s sidekick; and not a crazed, wronged jihadi. Ironically, in an industry dominated by Muslim directors, producers, composers, lyricists,

actors and junior artists, a Muslim character that doesn’t fall into any of these categories is rare. One that immediately comes to mind was created in the 1980s: Salim in Salim Langde Pe Mat Ro (1989), directed by Saeed Mirza, which subverted stereotypes for the sake of “mean streets” realism. It portrayed the existential and social frustrations of a young man from a lower economic class in Mumbai who resorted to extortion and petty crimes to defy the society. More recently, Iqbal in Nagesh Kukunoor’s eponymous film— again, a young man on the margins of society—had nothing to do with religious identity. But this year could be a watershed. On three occasions, Omar, Razwan or Asif straddle roles that,

}

Finally, he is not just the decadent nawab, the mafia goon or the wronged jihadi. Starting with this weekend’s ‘New York’, three big films attempt to redefine the portrayal of the Muslim in Hindi cinema THE LUCKNOW SET Muslim stereotypes include emperors, courtesans and jihadis

MughaleAzam (1960)

Chaudhvin Ka Chand (1960)

Amar Akbar Anthony (1977)

Dilip Kumar is Salim, a weak, hedonistic Mughal prince.

Guru Dutt is Aslam, a Lucknow youth who’s part of a love triangle.

Rishi Kapoor is Akbar, an amiable tailor, always in sherwanis.

Umrao Jaan (1981)

Nikaah (1982)

Farooq Sheikh is Nawab Sultan, a nawab in love with a courtesan.

Salma Agha is Niloufer, a divorcee torn between two men.

Bombay (1995) Manisha Koirala is Shaila Bano, married to a Hindu man in Mumbai during the communal riots of 1993.

Naseeruddin Shah is Gulfam Hassan, a Pakistani vocalist.

Rang De Basanti (2006)

Fiza (2000)

Iqbal (2005)

Hrithik Roshan is Amaan, a middleclass Muslim who becomes a terrorist.

Shreyas Talpade is Iqbal, who dreams of playing cricket for India.

in Bollywood, belong exclusively to Raj, Rahul or Prem—what Mukul Kesavan, in one of his Lounge columns called the “Hindu Everyman” that our Muslim stars—Aamir Khan, Shah Rukh Khan, Salman Khan, Saif Ali Khan and Farhan Akhtar—have been playing effortlessly, and successfully. Shah Rukh Khan played a Muslim in a lead role for the first time in 2007, as Kabir Khan in Chak De! India. The three big budget flms— New York, Qurbaan, and My Name is Khan (being filmed in San Francisco, US)—have urban Muslim men as pivots of the plot. They are not just victims or perpetrators, but also the romantic hero, the man who fights the odds, and the average

Sarfarosh (1999)

Kunal Kapoor is Aslam, a middleclass Muslim who, along with his friends, becomes a revolutionary.

Indian Joe in search of a life of material and emotional comfort. Their being Muslim has to do with the plot, not with the characterization—think Akbar (Rishi Kapoor) in Amar Akbar Anthony in denim, but the same guy in the narrative scheme. For the first time in the lavish cinemascope of big budget Bollywood, the liberal Muslim speaks, and propels the story. Omar in Kabir Khan’s New York, a Yash Raj film that released on Friday, is an educated Indian from Lajpat Nagar, New Delhi, studying at a New York college. He hangs out with two buddies, Sam (John Abraham), a Muslim raised in the US, and Maya (Katrina Kaif), in SoHo and Central Park. “I was very conscious of

A lot of white people may not like my film. They will hear the Muslim guy, who is never represented in film, speak against radical Islam.

how we perceive Muslim characters in our movies. While watching the Muslim guy, we tend to take it for granted that something will happen to him. That he will be wronged or that he will be the traitor or he will die soon.” the director says. The Muslim-ness of Omar and Sam has to do with the plot, and not characterization. The first half of New York is set on campus—the Yash Raj kind, where friendships grow through song, dance and candyfloss banter. The second half unfolds in the backdrop of the World Trade Center attacks. Sam is detained by the FBI and Omar, outraged at the injustice, chooses a violent path. The second half has the dark, chilling edge that was seen in Hollywood director Gavin Hood’s film about the politics and pain of post-9/11 detentions, Rendition (2007). “After 9/11, my US visa got rejected a few times because of my name. I was told my last name was “vague”. This got me thinking about my own identity as a Muslim,” says Kabir Khan.

(Incidentally, when Neil Nitin Mukesh arrived in New York for the shoot, immigration authorities detained him because they could not believe an Indian could be so light-skinned.) My Name is Khan, being directed by Karan Johar and scheduled to release on 20 February next year, is the story of Rizwan Khan, brought up by his mother in the Borivali suburb of Mumbai. He moves to the US and falls in love with Mandira, played by Kajol. He suffers from Asperger syndrome, a kind of autism that impairs his social skills. After the World Trade Center falls, the FBI mistakes his disability for “suspicious behaviour” and arrests him. In Shah Rukh Khan’s own words, “It is not about a disabled man’s fight against disability. It’s a disabled man’s fight against the disability that exists in the world—terrorism, hatred, fighting.” It is probably not just coincidence that in all three films, the backdrop is America or New York. The 11 September 2001 attacks, themselves a tragedy of cinematic dimensions, have inspired films all over the world, and brought the issue of racial profiling into the world’s consciousness. Indian film-makers are seven years late in using that opportunity despite the fact that much of our contemporary history is doused in—and even shaped by—communal violence and discrimination. Is it because, when set in the American context, the misrepresentation of Muslims plays out in a global, more universal context, and allows film-makers the freedom to make statements without offending local or national sentiments at home? Kabir Khan says: “I was in Afghanistan during that time and when, after 9/11, the US bombings began, I internalized some of the brutalization that was going on in the name of (the) ‘war on terror’. But it was much later, when Aditya Chopra gave me a two-line brief of a story about three youngsters in New York, that I decided to set it in post-9/11 America.” He says he wants New York to be a story about people first, rather than a 9/11 film. “The political backdrop should not intrude in the human story,” he says. But it wasn’t D’Silva’s purpose to be neutral: “You can’t be objective or neutral with issues like racial discrimination or terrorism. A lot of white people may not like my film. They will hear the Muslim guy, who is never represented in film, speak against radical Islam.” D’Silva’s film, “a political romantic thriller”, has a scene in which Saif Ali Khan’s character has a verbal face-off with the radical Islamist. While the American backdrop does facilitate a universality, it can also be limiting, alienating issues that are specific to the Indian context. Syed Ali Mujtaba, a Chennai-based critic and scholar of Islamic studies, says: “A film like New York will appeal much more to the NRI audience. For most Muslims living in India,

the discrimination is at a more basic, survival level: in education, job opportunities.” A recent film where the local and the universal met is the 2007 Pakistani film Khuda Kay Liye, set in post-9/11 America as well as Pakistan. Like New York, Khuda Kay Liye dealt with the illegal detention of Muslims and also portrayed the hypocrisy, prejudice and backwardness of Pakistani society. Naseeruddin Shah, who played a role, says: “I agreed to do this film because the role I was offered was that of a Muslim cleric who is against fundamentalist Islam. It made a very powerful point—that Islam is about tolerance and humanity.” Mujtaba believes that although today’s Indian directors are more conscious of stereotypes and try to avoid them (he cites the example of the role played by Shah in last year’s A Wednesday)Bollywood has a long way to go. “Many Indian films have tackled communalism in India, but mainstream Bollywood has the power to change perceptions because of its sheer reach.” Different stereotypes of Muslims in Hindi films have emerged with every successive era since the 1950s—on screen and behind the scenes. The most lasting and meaningful relationship between Muslims and Hindi cinema has been through lyricists and scriptwriters. In the 1950s and 1960s, young Muslim poets and writers from Uttar Pradesh, such as Naushad, Sahir Ludhianvi and Majrooh Sultanpuri, brought in their experiences and songs, and gave Hindi films a sophistication and depth. But on screen, their work found expression through many Muslim stereotypes: hedonistic nawabs, alcoholic poets. In the 1970s, in the Bachchan heyday, most films, including Muqaddar Ka Sikander and Sholay, had Muslim men who wore the sherwani, chewed paan and recited Ghalib’s poetry almost every time they appeared on screen. In the 1980s and 1990s, the Muslim don mirrored real stories of the Mumbai underworld—either as victims (the 2008 film Aamir directed by Rajkumar Gupta was a one-sided portrayal of Muslim victimhood) or as criminals, a time-tested Bollywood tool used effectively by Danny Boyle in Slumdog Millionaire (2008). Nasreen Munni Kabir, the documentary filmmaker and author who has chronicled Hindi cinema, says, “I am not sure there are many Muslim characters in the movies beyond the ‘bad guys’ and ‘terrorists’ to have a real sense of whether the Muslim characters have evolved or not.” Her scepticism is healthy. Can the three forthcoming films undo years of stereotyping? Or are they going to sweep the hard truths behind glossy sets? Kabir Khan is not sure he has broken the mould. “When are we going to have a hero named Kabir whose religion has absolutely nothing to do with why he’s in the story? I couldn’t to do away with Omar’s Muslim-ness entirely.”

L12

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SATURDAY, JUNE 27, 2009

Travel FLANDERS

The 9th Art: (far left) Bobbin Lace is a speciality of Bruges; and celebrate the Year of the Comic Strip in Brussels by admiring the murals on buildings.

Comic turn Tintin trivia, conformist graffiti and an irresistible confection called ‘nose’ SEEMA CHOWDHRY/MINT

B Y S EEMA C HOWDHRY seema.c@livemint.com

···························· here is only one perfect way to start a holiday: on a full stomach. When a quick walk around the central square in Brussels at 9am on a Sunday did not yield any outlets serving waffles, or fries doused in mayo, I ended up at Café Arcadi, at the mouth of St-Hubert Galerie du Roi (a shopping, art and theatre district which opened in 1846). My tour of Brussels and Flanders (Gent, Bruges and Antwerp) started with a Tarte Framboise on a crusty base, laden with whipped cream and raspberries. At the end of that calorific breakfast, I could only wish that my companion had not chosen to order in French. After all, almost everyone speaks English in Belgium and, if we had stuck to it, we’d have probably got the strawberry pie we had been eyeing instead of the slightly sour Tarte Framboise. Another place where I missed the Queen’s language was the 20-year-old Belgian Comic Strip Centre. Most of the panels tracing the history of comic strips are not in

Tintin country: A replica of the space rocket from Explorers on the Moon graces the porch of the Comic Strip Centre in Brussels.

English. However, a free copy of the guidebook in English—available at the ticket counter— proved most helpful. Housed in an Art Nouveau building designed by Belgian architect Victor Horta, the three-floor museum brings under one roof the history of the 9th Art and its creators. That bubble-speak is big in this part of the world is evident from the 700 comic strip authors who have called this city home and the 36 events planned in Brussels alone this year to celebrate the Year of the Comic Strip (www.brusselscomics.com). Though a museum dedicated to Hergé, the creator of Tintin, opened outside Brussels earlier this month, the second-floor section at the Centre contains enough trivia devoted to the boy reporter to stun all but the most dedicated fans. Did you know the first Tintin strip ever published

was called Tintin in the Land of Soviets, or that it came out in 1930? Or that his only sidekick in his early years was Snowy, with Captain Haddock making his debut as late as 1941 (The Crab with the Golden Claws)? The theme carries over on to the walls of the Pentagon area of Brussels. Not in schoolboy drawings, no, but in 31 facade frescoes, most of them three or four floors high, of legendary comic characters such as Gaston Lagaffe, The Smurfs, Roze Bottle and, of course, Tintin. Even if comics leave you cold, you have to make the trek to see two artworks: Viktor Sackville’s mural, based on a comic strip about a James Bond-like detective, and the Tintin, Snowy and Haddock mural. They are both near the Manneken Pis, a 2ft-tall bronze statue of a little boy urinating. The day I visited, Manneken Pis was

dressed in an Austrian peasant’s garb. The kid apparently owns close to 800 outfits, including an Elvis costume and a Japanese kimono, collected from the world over, which the city council clothes him in from time to time. The city’s creative spirit is reflected in its graffiti as well. I was constantly surprised by the appearance of pop art in the most unexpected of places: a white and pink cat on a bicycle outside a construction site, an alligator chained to a water hydrant on the street. My understanding of the region’s freewheeling nature, though, was modified when I learnt that in Gent (a 30-minute bus ride from Brussels), teenagers were actually given spray cans to create new artworks in a passageway “dedicated” to graffiti. Conformist wall art—whatever next? How about an utterly irresistible confection called “Nose”?

While the rest of the world recommends Belgian chocolates, waffles and fries, Gent hard sells its seasonal sweet—nothing, I promise, to do with the olfactory organ— and the Mostaard Fabriek. The latter, a mustard sauce, must be purchased only from Vve Tierenteyn-Verlent, at Groentenmarkt. The shop stocks only one type of this really pungent mustard sauce, the recipe for which is supposedly 219 years old. Its potency hits home when you smear the stuff on to a salami sandwich. If your eyes and nose do not water, then you’re made of stern stuff. The best way to make your way around is by walking the cobblestoned streets. But after a couple of hours, be prepared to envy the locals who scuttle about on their sleek, flashy Vespas or sturdy bicycles. I know I did. On some days, my feet hurt so much that I was tempted to try recumbent bicycles (the rider cycles in a reclining position), even though the only way to learn to use this bike is to take a couple of hard falls first. The alternative, in Gent at least, is to take a boat ride on the canal. In Bruges, opt to tour the city in a horse-drawn carriage. Unlike cosmopolitan Brussels or university town Gent, Bruges is a slice of medieval Europe. I spotted an elderly woman in the doorway of her home working with multiple bobbins to create an exquisite piece of Bobbin Lace, a speciality of the town, almost as famous as its chocolates. All aficionados, in fact, must make a point of stopping by the Choco-Story, a museum that traces the 2,600-year-old history of chocolate and its journey from Mayan civilization to Spain, not just in words and pictures but also through ancient utensils and equipment used for making chocolate-based drinks. Enter the “Selfish”, a one-serving chocolate-drink pot, or the tea cosy-like pot covers—I especially liked one that uses a doll’s head for a handle and has a frilly dress to cover the pot. If you enjoy cooking as I do, pick up a pack of unsweetened cocoa butter from the museum’s souvenir shop. While we are familiar with Belgian chocolate brands such as Godiva and Leonidas, Bruges and Antwerp have speciality chocolate shops. The starting price for a kilo of chocolate at Dominique Persoone’s Chocolate Line in Bruges—one of the three stores in the world to be featured in Guide Michelin—is €44 (Rs2,982). Antwerp has the Del Rey, famous for its pralines; I opted for the diamond-shaped ones in creamy bourbon vanilla flavour. Any ideas of shopping for the other kind of diamond in Antwerp were nipped firmly in the bud by Vera, my guide. “Don’t enter any store that has a ‘50% discount’ sign on diamonds. How can anyone give discount on a diamond… hmm?” Chocolates, I decided, were a girl’s new best friend. Especially in these recessionary times. CHILDFRIENDLY RATING

GRAPHICS

AHMED RAZA KHAN/MINT

From art competitions at musuems to street festivals and, of course, the neverending supply of chocolates and fries, Flanders is great for kids.

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Go green

FOOT NOTES | SUMANA MUKHERJEE

The good get going

eing an eco-conscious tourist doesn’t mean you have to volunteer to clean up the world. Simply abide by TripAdvisor.com’s green travel-planner to minimize your vacation footprint. u Look for certification from organizations such as Sustainable Tourism International and the International Ecotourism Society to distinguish between hotels that simply have a “nature” location and those that follow specific plans to minimize impact on the environment and promote the local economy. u Buy food at local markets. In subscribing countries, seek information about fair trade and sustainability practices at shops. u Use public transport or

in the Kibale forest, one gorilla-tracking expedition in the “impenetrable” Bwindi forest and overnight stays at the Gorilla Forest Camp and Mihingo Lodge. Or sign up for fall trips to Easter Island and Mongolia. Easter Island, in the middle of the Pacific Ocean—the nearest island is 1,900km away—is a six-day tour (cost: $6,000 per person), inclusive of walks that take you close to the mysterious moai, the gigantic sculptures that have stood guard over the island for hundreds of years. Also, meet the descendants of this ancient culture and spend an evening in the home of a local artisan family. We’d put our money, though, on the Mongolia trip. The 13-day visit (cost: $5000 per person)

Helping hands: (above and left) Mongolian women.

benefits three charities, including the Mongolian Women’s Fund, and takes a limited number of visitors from the Gobi desert to Lake Hovsgol, via Ulaan Bator, and includes interactions with local cultural groups and philanthropists. All Elevate prices are exclusive of international airfare, passport and visa fees, and insurance. Fifty per cent of the tour cost needs to be paid up at the time of booking and the rest 90 days ahead of departure. To book a trip, drop them an email at info@elevatedestinations.com. Write to lounge@livemint.com

orget sun-drenched beaches and tripping, all-night parties. This is about palm groves, sprawling paddy fields, a gently flowing river, and twittering birds. While shacks and sunbathers stack up cheek-by-jowl on Goa’s beaches, Divar island remains tranquil. Devaaya Ayurvedic Retreat, a tasteful, well-maintained hotel on the 18 sq. km island on the Mandovi river, is the place to stay. Its architecture is Old Goa-Portuguese, colours Mediterranean, gardens beautiful and hospitality warm. Even in blistering October, a pleasant breeze picks up in the afternoons and cools things down. In any case, the air conditioning at Devaaya is one of the most optimal I’ve experienced—not warm and never too cold. If you’re lucky enough to snag a room overlooking the river, you must catch at least one sunrise. Then, since you’re awake anyway, head out for a walk (local guides can be booked, though ours, in true Goa style, didn’t show

B Y S . M ITRA K ALITA ···························· t began as a horrible holiday. Lucky for us, we were in Amritsar. And if there’s one place where everything can go wrong and yet the world can still seem strangely right, it is this spiritual and cultural capital of Sikhism. And because the city’s showpiece, the Golden Temple, is open 24 hours, ultimately there’s little harm if the schedule doesn’t go according to plan. See, we had a Plan. We were to make a day trip to Amritsar and then head to McLeodganj to satisfy one lover of hikes (my husband) and another of Buddha and the Dalai Lama (my father). We were to take a 6.40am train to arrive in Amritsar in time for a dhaba lunch, catch a quick glimpse of the Golden Temple and Jallianwala Bagh, watch the retreat ceremony at the Wagah border. And then drive straight to the hills. Instead, by 6.42am, my BlackBerry had gone missing from my purse, just after we’d fought our way into the train and I’d had to grab my screaming daughter or risk losing her forever. In 30 sec-

onds, I had lost the numbers of every car, taxi and hotel that we had booked. The train was more than an hour late, pulling into Amritsar just before 3pm. We found a taxi driver willing to take us around the city for Rs600, which sounded like a bargain. He would be the umpteenth dampener on our Plan, though. “Madam, you cannot tour the city now. If we don’t leave for Wagah now, you will miss the ceremony,” he said. “I don’t believe him,” I said to my husband. “He just doesn’t want to waste petrol.” “Well, do you want to risk it?” “No, I want to eat.” So we did. The driver said a recommended joint would be too crowded and suggested we eat along the way. When he pulled into an empty parking lot attached to a water park, I groaned. But the succulent Patiala chicken, the crisp naans and a creamy dal makhni shut me up (for the record, the restaurant’s name is Waves, and it is just a few kilometres before Wagah). By the time we arrived at Wagah at 5pm, the crowds had gathered. To the strains of Rang

de Basanti, we found seats to watch the action. The sight was at once comical and emotional. The soldiers were decked out in boots, suits and feathers, and my daughter and I would go on to copy their goose stepping that night to giggles. The Indian side was a sea of pomp and patriotism; the Pakistani side an ocean of austerity and men Majestic: At in white. Their guy with the mike who said “Jiye jiye” to the crowd’s “Pakistan!” was deep-throated and dignified. Ours was less military, more deejay: “Hindustan!” he’d squeak to our roaring “zindabad!” I just didn’t expect to get so emotional over the whole thing. “That’s where Dadi was born. It’s where Dadu was born,” I told my daughter about my inlaws. “It’s where Saba aunty comes from.” A million images of the way Pakistan has been a part of my life flashed through my mind. The day we filed for our marriage certificate, and my husband was asked his parents’ birthplace. He said, “India.” And then corrected

up). Just outside Devaaya’s gate, there’s a ferry to Vashi island, a paradise of green, with numerous abandoned mansions and a slice of Goan village life far from the Take a dip: Devaaya Ayurvedic Retreat. tourist buzz. Also visit the village of jetties (both are about an Piedade on Divar, with hour from the airport). From beautiful old villas and there it’s a 15 to 20-minute snippets of a charming world drive to Devaaya. A threegone by. It’s on the islands nights, four-days “regular” here that, in 1510, Portuguese package (including breakfast settlers decreed that the and dinner, boat cruise, locals must turn Christians to sightseeing tour) costs keep their land. Chorao Rs14,999 for two through 31 island nearby offers the Salim July, and Rs15,999 from 1 Ali Bird Sanctuary on its August. An “apex” package western side. for the same duration and On your return, cool off in heads costs Rs9,999 through the pool and book yourself a 31 July and Rs10,000 from 1 massage or other Ayurvedic August. Multi-day wellness treatment at the hotel’s spa. and panchkarma packages Devaaya Ayurvedic Retreat are also available. is only accessible from the (www. devaaya.com; Tel: mainland via ferry. Free 0832-2280500). ferries run every few minutes from Ribander and Old Goa Niloufer Venkatraman NARINDER NANU/AFP

The golden lining In the holy Sikh city of Amritsar, almost everything goes wrong—except the trip itself

NILOUFER VENKATRAMAN

The other Goa

Travel just for the sake of it doesn’t sit so easy in these uncertain times he causerati have hit the trails this summer and the agenda stretches from saving the world to, well, saving electricity. More grown-up than gap-year volunteering and offering many more options, VolunTourism—as the trend was just crying to be labelled—is a phenomenon that can’t be ignored. Elevate Destinations (www.elevatedestinations.com) says it promotes “responsive travel” by giving a percentage of its profits to promote pet causes in destination countries. Banish thoughts of hard living and bucket loos, though: Wherever possible, Elevate chooses eco-luxury accommodation that segues perfectly well with its “making a difference” philosophy. In July, August and September, travel to Uganda on the Great Apes of Africa tour (cost: $3,800, or around Rs1.8 lakh per person on a twin-share basis), which benefits the Dian Fossey Gorilla Fund. The eight-day trip includes two chimpanzee-tracking expeditions

destinations go, TripAdvisor members shortlist the following (in no particular order): Kenya (for promoting minimal-impact tourism), Kerala (for multiple protective regimes), Queensland (for the proximity of the Barrier Reef, a 4-mile beach, a rainforest and a wildlife sanctuary), Costa Rica (for its very successful blend of ecology and economy), St John, Virgin Islands (for the Stay back: Don’t feed elephants. 7,000 acres of beaches, parks and highlands bicycles. protected by the US u Switch off lights, fans, National Park Service), ACs when you leave the Chilean Patagonia (for room. mountains and seas unspoilt u Plan so that you take by industrialization), Croatia away everything that you (for successfully protecting a brought in. No exceptions. staggeringly beautiful u Don’t feed wildlife. landscape despite a Human food isn’t always the disturbed history) and San best thing for animals. Francisco (for its dedicated u And yes, continue to conservation department reuse towels and sheets. and excellent public So far as eco-friendly transport system).

the Golden Temple, cleanliness is one expression of devotion. himself, “Pakistan.” The New Jersey clerk sighed. “You don’t know where your parents were born?” “Lady, even they don’t know the answer to that,” I snapped back. On the border, those questions and emotions grow increasingly complex. They can crescendo into louder chants of “zindabad” and more flag-waving or, if you are like me, into quiet appreciation of how our raucous party and their stoic celebration can co-exist. From Wagah, I made the driver speed back to the city, fearful that Jallianwala Bagh would close. We got there just in time, the darkness even making the place seem holy. My daughter was amazed at how General Dyer got his troops in through such narrow spaces.

We peered down the well from which 120 bodies were reported to have been retrieved. Few others were around—a shame, because the place is lit up beautifully, yet eerily, in a fitting tribute. Before we had even made it to the Golden Temple—really the reason to visit Amritsar—everyone was dragging. After resting in bargain rooms (Rs300 at the NRI guest house across the temple), we headed to the temple at 9pm. We had really saved the best for last. As soon as you wash your feet and walk up the steps to catch a glimpse of the gold, you cross a threshold from the ordinary to the majestic. At night, the dome is reflected in the waters, which dance and sway and give the

whole place a surreal feel. But the best part about visiting the temple at night is that there are no lines and few outsiders (read non-Sikhs). It is a glimpse of cleanliness and pure devotion, and how the two have everything to do with each other. Sikhs scrub the marble floors at midnight. More dangle from the bejewelled chandeliers inside, dusting. The whole place smells of Brasso. It is divine. We opted for the langar (free kitchen at temples), which the husband initially resisted. He wanted the dhaba. My thrifty father told him to give it a shot. Papa ate five rotis, husband ate six, I had two, daughter had one. The pickle and the kadha prasad were fabulous. Stuffed, we rolled back to the hotel. We woke at 5am to catch our hired taxi to McLeodganj—one that would stand us up. We tided over the delay with chole bhature, paneer parathas and steaming cups of coffee at Bubby Vaishno Dhaba. Unbeknown to us at the time, our holiday of errors would only continue: The next driver would have no insurance and would get ticketed on the PunjabHimachal Pradesh border. A flat tyre would leave us stranded. The train back would be 5 hours late. We looked on the bright side as we waited. The lag allowed us to walk over and view the temple in the daylight, after all. Every cloud has a silver lining, the saying goes. In Amritsar, ours glistened in gold. Write to lounge@livemint.com

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Books AR RAHMAN: THE MUSICAL STORM | KAMINI MATHAI

Pieces of the puzzle

PHOTOGRAPHS

COURTESY

PENGUIN INDIA

The first biography to be penned on AR Rahman is full of facts but devoid of soul B Y L ALITHA S UHASINI ···························· uthor Kamini Mathai first approached composer A.R. Rahman for the biography six years ago and the book does show some evidence of her perseverance. She’s tracked down various connections, including some complete unknowns—such as Boologarani, a distant relative, now cut off from Rahman’s family—to demystify the life of Dileep Sekhar, the man who later became A.R. Rahman. Mathai, to her credit, also manages to write without allowing awe to seep into her narrative. For the most part, Mathai has humanized the largerthan-life hero that Rahman has become and that is probably her biggest strength as a biographer, next only to the waiting involved to get close to a man like Rahman. A.R. Rahman: The Musical Storm begins at the most important turn in the composer’s life this year: the Oscars. The beginning scratches the surface of the impact the Oscars had on Rahman—there’s nothing about how he went completely underground for a while to overcome the frenzy around him and the subsequent developments. The chapter has four pages. But the next chapter makes up for what looks like a hurriedly put together first chapter with neverbefore revealed details of the life and death of his father R.K. Sekhar. Sekhar, who was known as Tiger Sekhar in the studios, was the polar opposite of Rahman at work. While Rahman is known for his freestyle approach to music and artists—both playback singers and instrumentalists—Sekhar was a terror as an arranger.

AR Rahman— The Musical Storm: Penguin India, 249 pages, Rs499.

There are several events related to Sekhar’s death which had an irreversible impact on Rahman. Some of them, such as the claim that Rahman believes in numerological voodoo, are shockers. Mathai has mentioned how closed Rahman can be. So others shape Mathai’s effort to complete the puzzle that Rahman leaves before her—among them, composer T.A. Johnson, who Rahman first worked with as a keyboard sessions player; percussionist Thumba Raja, who has known Rahman since his Dileep days; and M.K. Arjunan, a leading composer in the Malayalam film industry who saw Rahman’s family through the tragedy after Sekhar’s death. But Mathai’s writing left me unmoved. The next chapter on Roja also tells us how Rahman’s awardwinning soundtrack came to be, but there is not a single comment from Mani Ratnam, the director of Roja. Ratnam has worked with Rahman on nine films, with the

AUTHOR Q&A | KAMINI MATHAI

Rewind: (above) Rahman in his studio; his father R.K. Sekhar (sitting) at a recording.

10th now in progress, but all there is in the book is a borrowed quote. Composer Andrew Lloyd-Webber’s voice is also missing. Considering Lloyd-Webber is the man who, to a large extent, helped Rahman come out of his shell, he should have been interviewed. The editing is extremely poor.

B Y V IDHYA S IVARAMAKRISHNAN vidhya.s@livemint.com

···························· n 2003, a Chennai-based journalist and author was on Penguin’s shortlist of three-four writers for an A.R. Rahman biography. Finally, the publishers gave Kamini Mathai the go-ahead when they received her outline of what she wanted the book to be. After six years— during which she interviewed the composer, went in search of his roots, interviewed scores of people from his past and present, wrote and rewrote—Mathai’s book was launched a fortnight ago. In an interview with Lounge

at her Chennai home, Mathai spoke about how she got Rahman talking, the people she met, and why this is not an authorized biography. Edited excerpts: What did your book outline to Penguin say? At that point, I didn’t know too much about Rahman. I vaguely knew about Roja (Rahman’s first movie as a music composer), that he was a Hindu and had converted (to Islam)—the basic stuff. I didn’t know how exactly to write about somebody so young. I told them in my outline that I would make the book go back and forth between the present and the past. I was very excited when I was asked to go ahead, but I knew it was also going to be very tough because Rahman wouldn’t meet me easily. The first meeting itself took me around nine months. How did you first get in

Write to lounge@livemint.com

SHARP IMAGE

‘He always said he wasn’t ready for a biography’ The biographer on how she shaped the narrative of Rahman’s life

Some details are repeated annoyingly across chapters, and sometimes in the same chapter. For instance, the fact that Rahman likes to wear clothes that have a spot of green and black occurs twice in the chapter titled Faith. The fact that directors Ratnam and Rajiv Menon sent Rahman away on a work holiday so he could clear his head and compose better is mentioned in the beginning and at the end. Several details from a chapter titled Home, which mention how Rahman’s mother Kareema looked after her son and shaped his career, have been dealt with in earlier chapters. It’s almost as if the writer and publisher were left to fill a certain

number of pages and ended up being repetitive. The book could also have done without literal translations from Tamil to English, such as when Rahman is quoted as talking about Lloyd-Webber in a chapter titled Under the Spotlight: “Where is he and where am I?” There’s a footnote explaining who well-known percussionist Sivamani is, but one of Rahman’s bandmates, Jim Satya, pops up more than once without a footnote explaining who he is and what kind of a musician he is. There are four pages of photos, out of which three pictures have never been seen before—one with his last band Nemesis Avenue, another with his band Roots and a solo shot of him in a studio. A lot of research has undoubtedly gone into the book. All the facts are there. But rarely do we get to know the real Rahman. If there’s one thing missing in the first ever biography of Rahman, it’s soul.

touch with him? I went online and tried to read as much as I could on him— anything that I got—and I started making notes. First, I sent him an email introducing myself. I would keep bombarding him with mails—every two weeks, so he didn’t get irritated. While that was going on, I would read up about him, buy his music, listen to it. Every article I came across on him, or anything that I came across about him, I would make notes of the characters in it, then set about finding (out about) those people—his father R.K. Sekhar, who was in the Malayalam film industry, and some composers. I found all his band members and spoke to each of them. I went back and found out who the principal of his school was. Was Rahman receptive to the idea of a biography? To be honest, no. He was receptive in the sense that he

Chronicler: Mathai at her Chennai would let me speak to him, he put me on to his mother, he’d answer my questions—he was the usual, polite Rahman. He always said he wasn’t ready for a biography. He is known to be a shy person, and doesn’t talk about his private life. I think you have to be really, really close to him to finally get him to open up. He is very guarded about his past, about everything. So, I had to have eight paragraphs of information

and then ask, “Is this true, or why did you say this?”, then he would open up. You have to be specific. You spoke to nearly 100 people. Were you able to verify everything? With Rahman, yes. Some of the things, I would just get a “yes” or “no”. So, that way, it would save me time. I got at least dates and years and things like that verified. Was it difficult to get in touch with people associated with Rahman or his father? Ah, yes. Somebody told me that Rahman’s father used to live on a street in home. the Mylapore area (in the heart of Chennai). I went to that street and was generally yelling “R.K. Sekhar family—anybody?” I went from door to door. I found this lady, Boologarani. She gave me this booklet, a family tree. Rahman’s father’s picture was there; Rahman’s grandfather’s picture was there, too. This was the only thing that gave me exactly when Sekhar was born, because Rahman himself told me he didn’t know. What struck you the most

about him? That he is actually so simple. One of the people I met told me he didn’t want to buy his BMW—he would go around in whatever car he had. The simplicity was striking. Have you sent a copy of the book to Rahman? I sent him some chapters, but he had told me that he wanted it to be an unauthorized biography. I got an SMS from him saying he agreed it was unauthorized. So why the confusion about the book being an authorized biography? I don’t know. Nowhere have I stated it was authorized, nowhere has Penguin stated it is authorized. There was a PTI report that came out saying it was authorized. I sent Rahman a mail saying (that) wherever you see the word “authorized” you can be assured they have not spoken to Penguin or me. He wrote back saying: “I understand. Do clarify wherever possible.” Finally, does Rahman’s music really reflect who he is? He says it does. He says that all his music has a little bit of melancholy in it—a touch of sadness, because that’s how his life has been.

BOOKS L15

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THE MIDDLEMAN | SANKAR

CRIMINAL MIND

Trials of the ‘jobless’ hero AFP

A portrait of 1970s Kolkata, when human striving and beliefs lost out to the market

B Y C HANDRAHAS C HOUDHURY ···························· ven in a time of downturn, most educated young Indians today inhabit a job market miles removed from the India of the decades preceding liberalization. But public memory is always short, and one generation’s shared experience often erases that of the previous one. The array of urban job options available today to the graduate, or even someone who’s just finished school, will probably ensure that in a decade we will have all but forgotten the moment in middle-class Indian life when, to quote a line from Sankar’s novel The Middleman, “if you had a job you were blessed”. Sankar’s novel—famously made into the film Jana Aranya by Satyajit Ray on its publication in Bengali in 1973, but only now translated into English by Arunava Sinha—beautifully evokes a world of competitive examinations, newspaper classifieds, job interviews, family recommendations and nepotism. At the same time, we see the desperation of those left behind in the race for financial security, the respect of society, and marriage and family, through the gateway of employment. In a short, charming afterword to the novel, Sankar discloses how he himself worked as a middleman in his impoverished youth. Although his novel describes the particulars of a time and place that may have now disappeared, its sympathetic portrait of human striving and shrewd understanding of the ways of the world make it at once a great novel of both business and family. The protagonist of The Middleman is Somnath Banerjee, the youngest son of a retired judge. Unlike his two elder brothers, who have done well for themselves and made good marriages, Somnath is a struggler, an unexceptional individual seeking a place in a world which has its own peculiar ways of judging merit. Although Somnath is badly off, his family is not in need of his income. His struggle is personal, not familial, and there are many supportive presences at home, including his tender-hearted sister-in-law Kamala. Some people have it worse, such as Somnath’s friend

City hub: Kolkata’s famous New Market area in 1976 drew enterprising youth by the droves. Sukumar, who must find a job urgently to support his large family. Sankar expertly depicts the fellowship of these two hopefuls, but does not fail to remind us of their differences. Somnath realizes that time is running out: “If he couldn’t become self-reliant now, he would no longer remain human.” On the advice of an acquaintance, he decides to go into business. The novel now leaves behind the world of the salaried (except for brief glimpses into the life of the luckless Sukumar) and moves into the adjacent world of entre-

The Middleman: Penguin India, 192 pages, Rs200.

preneurship. What should Somnath buy and sell? How are contacts to be made and how is business to be generated? Can one hold on to one’s own values in the world of commerce, or is one to fall in line with the rest? Sankar makes us consider all these questions through the figure of Somnath, and his portraits of smalltime traders, speculators and agents are vivid and memorable. Somnath realizes that to succeed in such a world—which is, after all, the only world which has offered him an opportunity to be human, albeit a morally impoverished human—he will have to jettison some of his beliefs and compunctions. Just as Somnath has two elder brothers, so too could Jana Aranya be said to bear a familial resemblance to two novels that preceded it in the world of Bengali fiction. These are Sirshendu Mukhopadhyay’s Ghoonpoka (The Woodworm, 1967) and Sunil Gangopadhyay’s Pratidwandi (The Adversary, 1969). As their very titles indicate, these books, too, are about the corrosion of values and the alienation of the protagonist from society. But although it has had to wait the longest to be translated, Sankar’s novel is a more satisfying experience than the other two because of the excellence of

its narrative craft. Although it is written in a smooth, unornamented prose, the novel has a deceptively simple narrative. One would have to draw a diagram of the plot to see how deftly Somnath’s encounters with the different people in his life, his shuttling between home and the world, are laid out. There is a heartbreaking tenderness about some of the family scenes, and then a powerful hunger and ruthlessness about the world of deals and commissions; yet these realms are not a pair of simple contrasts, and at times it appears that it is the family that is unreasonable and the world of commerce a better arbiter of worth. Although Sankar’s language is naturally something that would not lose much in translation, Sinha’s skill is especially evident when it comes to his magisterial rendering of dialogue. This is transparently one of the greatest of modern Indian novels, and though it has crossed the borders of its language belatedly, its second innings is sure to be even longer than the first.

Numberdar ka Neela

recreate that lost world through the tale of, as the publisher says, “Wazir Khanam, mother of the famous poet, Dagh Dehlavi, who takes a series of lovers and husbands, including Metcalfe and a Mughal prince, Mirza Mughal.”

Write to lounge@livemint.com IN SIX WORDS A rich, relevant translated Bengali work

BOOKS LIST | MUSHARRAF ALI FAROOQI COURTESY RANDOM HOUSE INDIA

The author and translator on his favourite books in Urdu

usharraf Ali Farooqi is a Toronto-based author, novelist and translator whose translation of the Islamic epic The Adventures of Amir Hamza by Ghalib Lakhnavi and Abdullah Bilgrami was acclaimed in 2008. On the eve of the release of his next major translated work, Hoshruba: The Land and the Tilism, a fantasy epic about a magical land of fairies, dragons and talismans, Farooqi tells Lounge about his favourite books in Urdu. “I have chosen these books for the beauty of their language, their intense storytelling, and their breathtaking scope. They include novels, short stories and dastans,” Farooqi says.

BY SYED MUHAMMAD ASHRAF

This is a novel about a village administrator who creates an instrument of terror that ultimately turns on him. Its narrative is uniquely constructed, almost like a mathematical equation.

Simia BY NAIYER MASUD

This novel, a cosmic fable, is important because it’s penned by Urdu’s greatest contemporary master of the short story.

Kai Chand Thay Sare Aasman BY SHAMSUR RAHMAN FARUQI

It is one of world literature’s greatest masterpieces. Faruqi brings his scholarship of IndoIslamic society to

Savar aur Doosray Afsanay BY SHAMSUR RAHMAN FARUQI

This is a collection of short historical fiction about the literary figures and culture in 19th and 20th century India.

Mitti ki Kaan BY AFZAL AHMED SYED

Syed commands both the nazm and ghazal genres. This collection is representative of the finest Urdu poetry in modern times. Sanjukta Sharma

ZAC O’YEAH

HISTORY ON HIS MIND

n a kosher slaughterhouse last week, a chicken turned on the butcher and announced, in fluent Aramaic, the imminent advent of the Messiah. According to newspaper reports, the miraculous chicken offered a number of startling predictions. The detective anti-hero of The Yiddish Policemen’s Union (2007) supposes that “strange times to be a Jew have almost always been, as well, strange times to be a chicken”. The strangeness of times is a sort of refrain running through Michael Chabon’s novel, which has as its premise that the Jews settled in Alaska after World War II rather than in Palestine. However, they only got the country on a lease and a few months from now—the plot is set roughly in the present—their promised land reverts to the US. Its population of some three million is facing imminent homelessness again. Under these conditions, the murder of a junkie in a seedy hotel may seem like the least of problems, but homicide detective Meyer Landsman digs stubbornly and—just as the chicken predicted—the case turns out to have shocking ramifications. The story idea came to the Pulitzer Prize-winning author when he found a Yiddish phrase book in a bookshop. While phrase books can be handy—for instance, in north India a foreign traveller might find use for a Hindi one—the Yiddish book’s implausibility struck Chabon as he pondered phrases such as “I need something for a tourniquet”. In what sort of country would this phrase book be useful? A fantastic story premise hinges on its minute details because once an author begins asking himself “What if the world were different?”, he has to pretty much reimagine everything. I’m not thinking of science fiction here, Alice in Wonderland or even Harry Potter—but rather of books which depict our everyday world with some major twist. Apart from portraying the linguistic peculiarities of a Yiddish nation, Chabon seems to have reworked our entire modern history in his mind. For instance, we read between the lines that Lee Harvey Oswald’s bullet hit Jackie instead of John F., and so the most glamorous first lady in American history is Marilyn Monroe Kennedy. This kind of tiny but inspired puzzle-piece shows how meticulously Chabon has thought out his premise, to make the incredible seem plausible, which is essential in a novel with a fantastic setting as its centrepiece. But the work of crafting an adequate amount of credible detail is so tricky that this particular sub-genre (“novels with fantastic settings”) has unfortunately remained largely unexplored by crime writers. It is understandable, since a book ends up in double jeopardy: BLOOMBERG

Fact and fiction: Chabon’s fantasy fiction is inspired by history. First, you need readers to accept your plot (and detective novel readers are one conservative bunch when it comes to crime and punishment); second, they must accept the implausible setting. Considering the difficulties involved, why would a writer take the trouble to create an alternative world? Well, sometimes he might like to explore an idea that is so extreme that normal fictional settings won’t suffice. Within crime fiction, another notable book comes to mind: Len Deighton’s 1978 best-seller SS-GB, in which homicide detective Douglas Archer finds himself working in a Nazi-occupied Britain. Interestingly, life goes on in a humdrum way in 1941 although circumstances are very, very different. The King is locked up in the Tower of London, Churchill has been executed, Marx is being exhumed at Highgate Cemetery to be handed over to the Red Army as a token of Nazi-Communist friendship, and SS-Gruppenführer Kellerman heads Scotland Yard. Archer tries to let none of this disturb his police work: A stiff with strange burns and two gunshots in the chest has been found in a dingy flat full of black-market wares in Shepherd’s Market. As in Chabon’s novel, the seemingly straightforward case turns out to have cataclysmic ramifications. Here it is worth noting that Deighton, apart from writing popular Cold War-thrillers, also wrote historical war accounts, which is perhaps how the terrifying thought occurred to him: What if Hitler had won? To return to The Yiddish Policemen’s Union, its success is proved by the fact that the reader, in the end, feels regret that he will never be able to visit the Jewish nation of Alaska so evocatively rendered in Chabon’s novel, and put that curious Yiddish phrase book to use. Zac O’Yeah is a Bangalore-based Swedish writer of crime fiction. Write to Zac at criminalmind@livemint.com

L16 BOOKS

SATURDAY, JUNE 27, 2009 ° WWW.LIVEMINT.COM

GENDER

Behind Tihar’s pink walls PHOTOGRAPHS

RENUKA PURI/IN CUSTODY: WOMEN

TIHAR

A tour with two women who have documented the life of female inmates in India’s most famous prison

Jailbirds: (clockwise from left) The crèche at Jail No. 6 is managed by Navjyoti, an NGO; authors Renuka Puri (left) and Amba Batra Bakshi at the entrance the jail’s ward No. 6; an inmate with her toddler; an inmate training to be a beautician threads a fellow inmate’s eyebrow; and inside a ward.

In Custody— Women in Tihar: Roli Books, Rs395, 96 pages.

HARIKRISHNA KATRAGADDA/MINT

B Y S EEMA C HOWDHRY

her Stella ma,” Puri tells me later. The idea for a series of photographs inside the women’s cell came to Puri after an assignment on a computer literacy programme for Tihar inmates for The Indian Express in the late 1990s. “I was struck by how clean the space was and how totally unlike what we imagine prison to be like,” she says. Initially Puri shot images for a group show by women photographers held in 1999. After the show, Roli Books commissioned her to do a book on the same topic, and in 2002, she decided to rope in Bakshi, a colleague at the time, to co-author the book. For the first couple of months that Bakshi visited Jail No. 6, she would spend time making small talk with inmates. “I spent time at the crèche or in the weaving or sewing rooms, and would talk to the women who wanted to talk to me.” As she became friendlier with the women, they would talk to her about their life before prison, the crimes they were charged with, and how their cases were progressing. In 2005, the manuscript was ready and Bakshi moved to Bangalore. She was visiting the jail after four years. Puri still visits occasionally.

seema.c@livemint.com

···························· or the rest of my life, Tihar, South Asia’s largest prison, will be associated with the colour pink. To see policemen training their rifles from ashes-of-roses-coloured conical towers is absurd, and yet that colour soothed my nerves, which were somewhat frayed at the prospect of going on a jail tour. My destination was Jail No. 6 and accompanying me were photographers Renuka Puri and Amba Batra Bakshi, co-author of In Custody: Women in Tihar. Puri has been a visitor to the complex since 1998, while Batra spent 10-12 hours every week for a year (2003-2004) at the jail to research the book. Anand Prakash, the head constable and the man with the keys to all the outer locks, ushered us in through the mini door built in the outer gate, and towards the body-search enclosure. A woman constable frisked us and our wrists were stamped before we were allowed inside the jail, which houses 456 women and 51 children. As I stepped beyond the second iron gate, I saw an inmate— a middle-aged woman in a cotton salwar-kameez, holding a red umbrella and two mannequin busts with blonde and brunette wigs. “She must work at the beauty parlour,” explained Bakshi as the woman sauntered past. Last year, Habib’s Hair Academy set up a training centre at the jail

and many of the inmates have been encouraged to take courses in beauty parlour management and hairstyling. “Even four years ago, even when there was no academy, women used to throng the parlour, especially before festivals such as karva chauth, to dye their hair with henna or burgundy-coloured hair dye,” says Bakshi, who has got a pedicure here herself. The lawns and the hedges between each of the 18 wards of this jail are trimmed neatly. Inmates stroll casually through the long corridors of the wards. There are no uniforms and I catch glimpses of women in salwarkameez, trousers, spaghetti tops, capris, shirts and skirts behind the gates with metal rods. The wards are narrow, long rooms with multiple windows with grills. There are coolers in all the common areas, such as the weaving and sewing

Every woman is allowed to personalize the wall behind her bed and keep her possessions close by rooms and in the children’s playroom. “Every woman is allowed to personalize the wall behind her bed and keep her possessions close by,” explains Puri, “but children spend mornings in the crèche and then sleep with their mothers in the cell.” As we walked towards the

crèche, next to the sewing and weaving rooms, colourful swings, slides and a mini merry-go-round came into view. In a large hall, children under the age of five were having lunch—rice, dal and rotis. Unlike their mothers, they were in uniform—cherry red skirts or shorts with white and red checked

shirts. They waved happily at us, keen to know why we were visiting. The commotion brought Stella, a tall Nigerian inmate, out of the adjoining playroom. Happy to see Puri, she took her around, pointing out the improvements at the crèche. “The children love her and call

In Custody: Women in Tihar was published recently and has 98 images. www.livemint.com Bakshi discusses Tihar at www.livemint.com/tihar.htm

www.livemint.com

SATURDAY, JUNE 27, 2009

L17

Culture STALL ORDER

OBITUARY | USTAD ALI AKBAR KHAN

NANDINI RAMNATH

When the formula fails

The sarod maestro was also the pioneering ambassador of Hindustani music

airless, and seems to be part of an ongoing experiment to understand the ways of the box office. The entertaining Dhoom had dollops of spontaneity. Its sequel was much more calculated but still made more money than the first one because all the planets were perfectly aligned. But it’s hard to maintain this level of planning and precision. One of the studio’s most enduring films isn’t its recent hit Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi, but Chak De! India. The movie threw a few surprises the audience’s way (Shah Rukh Khan cast against type, no heroine to wrap his arms around, hockey). Director Shimit Amin went beyond the insistent patriotism in Jaideep Sahni’s screenplay and gave us that rare YRF product—a film that is passionate, vivid and respects the audience’s capability to handle unpredictability.

BY PANDIT SHIV KUMAR SHARMA ························································ f one were to list the all-time greats of Indian classical music, Ustad Ali Akbar Khan’s name would come very high on it. He gave a new language to sarod. By language, I mean the tonal quality of his sarod, the musicality of his playing and his varied repertoire, which he received from his father and guru, Ustad Allauddin Khan saheb. It is often said that Indian classical music is improvised. Actually, for most of us, it is a “planned” improvisation, but in Ali Akbar Khan’s case, it really was genuine improvisation. I shared a very personal equation with him. He left India and had been living in San Francisco for the last 40 years. Whenever I was visiting, he would call me over for a meal, which he would cook himself. His favourite dish was yellow dal. After meals, we would sit and talk for a long time. Khan saheb had a great sense of humour, though looking at him you would never have guessed it. He would tell hilarious stories. He had no airs and was down to earth—I never once heard him say how he had played a great concert or how he had mesmerized the audience. While he did come to India off and on, unfortunately, for the most part, the younger generation here was not Making magic: Ustad Ali Akbar Khan. aware of him. India’s loss was America’s gain. He taught sarod and other instruments, as well as vocals. It is very boring for a performing musician to teach beginners, yet he did it for 40 years. Ali Akbar Khan’s greatest contribution has been to give a new dimension to sarod and to instrumental music in general, as well as to the next generation of musicians. I feel he should have performed more often in India, but he couldn’t as he didn’t live here. I asked him once why he left, and he said he had wanted to establish a school in Kolkata and approached the government for land but got a cold response. So he decided to spread Hindustani classical music abroad. He took many musicians with him to the US; Zakir (Hussain) was the first tabla player to teach in his school, and many others followed. In his later years, Khan saheb had wanted to go to Maihar in Madhya Pradesh, where he had grown up. Baba Alauddin Khan was a strict guru who made his students practise for hours on end. Bored by these practice sessions, Ali Akbar Khan ran away to Mumbai one day, when still in his teens, and got a job at the radio station. A couple of months passed when one day, during a radio broadcast of a santoor recital, Allauddin Khan recognized the player as his son even though the name announced was different. He sent people to Mumbai who coaxed and cajoled the boy to return to Maihar. People such as Ali Akbar Khan are born musicians, their talent the result of samskaras (traditions) from previous births. His music rooms in Mumbai and San Francisco had altars with devis and devtas. This was the legacy of his father, who religiously visited the Sharda Devi temple situated on a hillock in Maihar.

New York released on Friday.

As told to Himanshu Bhagat

The release of ‘New York’ doesn’t come at an easy time for big daddy Yash Raj Films; hits have been few since 2007

he occasion was the press show of Laaga Chunari Mein Daag. For once, we reviewers had shown up ahead of time (the publicity agent had warned us to be punctual). The guards at the gate looked us up and down and let us in, but then halted us a few metres past the entrance. We didn’t have clearance to proceed. After a few awkward moments, we were led to the foyer of the building that houses the preview theatre, but were not allowed to go further. The head of publicity for the studio imperiously dismissed protests that we had deadlines to meet. We were finally let in. Laaga turned out to be only the latest in a long line of stinkers that the studio had been releasing into the air. Since we had made it past the gate with our most potent weapon of mass destruction— our brains—intact, we let fly. Yash Raj Films (YRF) hasn’t relaxed its security drill, but a few cracks have appeared in the facade in recent months. The studio finally has friendly publicity officials in place, and it seems to be willing to concede some ground to the same media that had marvelled at its thumping box office successes a few years ago. YRF is also probably hoping that the paying public that had rewarded its film-making adventures in the past would return, erasing memories of such films as Jhoom Barabar Jhoom, Neil ’n’ Nikki, Thoda Pyar Thoda Magic and Tashan. YRF’s latest release New York may even give detractors of the studio’s superficial romances and unfeeling dramas something to think about. New York, directed by Kabir Khan (Kabul Express), is an attempt

The master as teacher

Cinema vérité? Yash Raj Films tackles the ‘real’ subject of terrorism with glossy stars. to find an Indian side to an American problem. It’s about three Indian students in New York on 11 September 2001. One of them is arrested and tortured in the post-9/11 crackdown because he’s a Muslim, and their friendship is severely tested. It’s, like, a serious movie. New York will probably be touted as proof of its producer’s boldness in experimenting with unusual subjects. My own expectations are a bit low because of the cast involved (John Abraham, Katrina Kaif, Neil Nitin Mukesh, thespians all) and a nagging irritation about the choice of subject. How far do you need to go to find Muslims being subjected to systemic abuse? How about Surat? Or Srinagar? New York’s release doesn’t come at an easy time for YRF, one of the most mythologized banners in Bollywood. The company has suffered a loss of face and shrinking bank balances over the last two

years, which is all the more shocking when you consider its string of successes between 2004 and 2006. Until its movies began to tank in 2007, starting with Ta Ra Rum Pum, YRF had the recipe for success down pat. Pick a safe subject that will appeal to Indians both resident and non-resident. If the subject is risky, soften the blow. Take Fanaa (2006), in which Kajol’s good Kashmiri Muslim balances out Aamir Khan’s home-grown jihadi. Run through the list of genres (drama, romance, rom-com, action, animation). Cast bankable stars, ensure glossy production values and winning soundtracks, shoot at good-looking locations. Control the media exposure to and coverage of the film. Rinse and repeat. Films such as Aaja Nachle and Thoda Pyar Thoda Magic (Neil ’n’ Nikki is another story altogether) weren’t terribly offensive. But they were unusually boring. The average YRF film is synthetic and

MUSIC REVIEW | MOVING ON

Burning blue Soulmate is a stronger shade of blue in their second disc, the kind that mellows with time B Y L ALITHA S UHASINI ···························· fter watching vocalist Tips (Tipriti Kharbangar) twitch and uncoil on stage as she exorcized some of her own demons and raised a torch to the biggest god of rockdom, I expected a lot of that bite in Soulmate’s new album. But Hendrix is an experience like no other. And as her partner and Soulmate guitarist Rudy Wallang put it, paying a tribute to Hendrix feels like playing the guitar for the first time. But to the band’s credit, Moving On is an incredibly good

blues album, and coming from the most successful blues act in the country, that is a big deal. The band seems to be describing its evolution in the title track: Getting older, a little bolder/ Building up my confidence/ I’m getting stronger, a little wiser/Casting aside all pretence. The sound is more mature—this is the band’s eighth year on the circuit, and this progression to mellow vocals and guitar is inevitable on the blues road. A coming of age of sorts. Although I don’t like Tips “a lot less meaner” even inside the studio. Thankfully, she’s anything but on stage. But wait a minute. Before I could take in Tips’ new blue in tracks such as Set Me Free, I had another surprise coming. Is Rudy doing a Clapton on me in Remembering Rory? While

Moving On: Soulmate, Blue Frog, Rs299. the plucking was leaning ever so easily towards Slowhand, the vocals and arrangements (except for the finger-kissing drum-roll start, clearly the handiwork of a Deep Purple lover that Shaun Nonghulo might be) in Come ’Round My House sure took me back to

Clapton’s record Back Home (2005). Rudy’s rock and rollin’ in Kool Kat Strut, the other instrumental in the track besides Peace Prayer and Come ’Round My House. Kool Kat Strut is also where drummer Sam Shullai displays, as always, remarkable restraint, a rarity in most percussionists. Bassist Ferdy Dkhar also steps out of the shadows here. The songwriting has evolved, especially in tracks such as Smile at Me, which you and I can relate to. But there’s a bit of gassing around in She is —I mean the guitar chops and wails are all great, but while a line such as Clever as a Vixen has an old world ring to it, it’s a dud line that sticks out. Just how many more songs do we want to hear about women

being a paradox? Stay Away would be a blast on stage. Tips is back. It’s the hell’s angel you heard in I Am from Soulmate’s self-titled debut. In this one, she’s seething, spitting fire and threatening “to set those hound dogs”. I’ve promised myself another evening of Soulmate. Thing is, it’s tough to get Rudy’s blues out of your head. And tougher to take your eyes off Tips even when she’s wearing a scowl on her lips, feathers in her ears and a tambourine on her head. You go hit the bar and plug into the band. The album is worth every rupee you burn. Lalitha Suhasini is a freelance music journalist. Write to lounge@livemint.com

L18 FLAVOURS SATURDAY, JUNE 27, 2009 ° WWW.LIVEMINT.COM

DELHI’S BELLY | MELISSA A. BELL

TRAVELLING TIFFIN

MARRYAM H RESHII

When book nerds turn party animals

PÂTÉ, CHETTINAD STYLE

Books rock: The launch of Palash Krishna Mehrotra’s Eunuch Park earlier this month in New Delhi, where the band Menwhopause played.

PHOTOGRAPHS

Book launches in the Capital are no longer boring dos. Think treasure hunts, rock acts, performance art

t started innocently enough. I would roll my eyes and tell my friends: “Oh, I’ve gotta go to this thing for work. Yeah, just this book launch. I should be out of there in an hour.” It was like an ingrained Pavlovian response: Don’t act excited about books. Books are not cool. Do not let anyone know that you’re a closet nerd. Sure, you can try to convince me, as my mother used to when I was a child: Reading is Cool! Trust me, for all the Harry Potter hoopla and Salman Rushdie with his model girlfriends, I doubt many of us would be caught behind a red rope discussing the nuances of Jane Austen’s History of England. Even so, I secretly wish I were an Upper West Side New York book publisher, ensconced in tweed and cigar smoke, chuckling over that time Updike and I got into a bit of trouble in Nantucket. Hence, I would go off happily to these book launches in the hope that some of the tweed would rub off Mark Tully’s shoulders as I passed by. But a few months ago—perhaps it was at the launch of Sam Miller’s Delhi: Adventures in a MegaCity under leafy trees at Lodi, the garden restaurant, with a glass of wine in my hand—that I suddenly realized my wonderfully stodgy book events were no longer quite so stodgy. One after another acquaintance drifted by—a model and her boyfriend, a film director, a photographer. I thought, “What are they doing here?” Same thing as me, it turned out: attending a Page 3 event. Two years ago, a typical book launch took me to the India Habitat Centre, where a packed auditorium would listen in rapt attention as Andrew Whitehead of the BBC read a harrowing,

tragic escape from A Mission to Kashmir. After a question-and-answer session with very serious questions asked, I would mingle with the crowd over tea and buttery cookies, feeling out of place amid people intellectually beyond my league. Fast forward to 2009. It’s 10.30 on a Saturday night and the Park Hotel poolside is jam-packed with beautiful people. I squeeze through a gaggle of short-skirted models giggling around the music booth bumping Eastern European tunes (a mix Rana Dasgupta made specifically to match the theme of his new novel Solo, I’m informed). I push past uniformed waiters, grabbing a glass of wine on the way. Finally, at the edge of the pool, I find a friend regaling artist Subodh Gupta with some tale that has him bending over with laughter. We all air-kiss hello. It feels odd to try and readjust to this new paradigm. Suddenly, my secret adventures in the book world are becoming the most

Even ‘The New York Times’ recommended Delhi’s book parties last month in its travel section

popular events in town. “Hey, Melissa, can we go with you to that graphic novel launch?” “Are you going to The Imperial for the book party?” “Do you have an extra invite?” Delhiites always bemoan the lack of a night life. The clubs are far-flung—in Gurgaon, in Noida. People prefer farmhouse parties, where you only ever see the same friends you’ve seen since kindergarten. But suddenly the book launches have stepped in to play the role of social event manager. Even The New York Times recommended Delhi’s book parties last month in its travel section. And with publishing houses pumping out new volumes, there is no dearth of events. Sure, the slowdown may mean that instead of 200 launches, we’ll see about 180 this year. But that’s still a new book and an accompanying launch almost every other day. And unlike everything else that completely dries up in the summer, the books still keep coming. Rather than perhaps a big-ticket event a week, the number has dropped to every other week. It’s not just the free wine or a night out that keeps people coming. Each launch, as if in a great effort to stand out from the crowd, seems to be getting more entertaining and becoming more of a spectacle. I stumble in late to the launch of Omair Ahmad’s The Storyteller’s Tale and nearly interrupt a sitar recital. A few minutes later, a qawwali starts. Besides his book launch at Lodi restaurant, Miller, in

HARIKRISHNA KATRAGADDA/MINT

collaboration with Penguin India, conducted walks around the city and held an elaborate treasure hunt with the help of Google Maps and Facebook to promote the book. People scurried through streets until one couple reached the prize: Rs5,000, to be spent on Penguin books. At The Lost Flamingoes of Bombay launch at the British Council, author Siddharth Dhanvant Shanghvi added a rather peculiar musical event. At the author’s request, the doors were locked, the lights dimmed and techno music swelled. Over the music, the recorded voice of the author came on, reading out one of the sex scenes from the book. The author stood silently in front of a fidgeting audience. The book didn’t receive the kindest of reviews, but it did sit on the Oxford Bookstore’s best-selling list for some months. The erudite atmosphere of a book launch may have been lost in the din of the techno music and the rush to the bar. I did manage to feel momentarily learned when I found myself in a discussion on the merits of Samuel Johnson’s biography with a Delhi University professor. But I have to admit, I was a bit distracted by a stylist and a rock musician flirting behind us. As I headed off for a vacation last week, I got an insistent email from a friend: “Eunuch Park launches on Thursday. You in?” Palash Krishna Mehrotra’s book party would feature a reading and a performance by my favourite local band, Menwhopause, at the Café Morrison bar. I wrote back, “Should I cancel my trip to Italy for it?” He answered, “Yes”. I don’t think my friend was kidding. For upcoming launches, check out the events page at Penguin Books India (www.penguinbooksindia.com). Also visit HarperCollins Publishers India (www.harpercollins.co.in) and Roli Books (www.rolibooks.com) for details on more such events.

’m not sure how much of it was the undoubtedly excellent food or how much the sheer magic of the place: The Taj Group’s real star property has got to be Gateway Pasumalai in Madurai. It is never talked about, let alone hyped. But enter the gate, drive up the one-and-a-half-kilometre-long driveway, dodging wild hare and mongoose, and enter the porch of this erstwhile Madura Coats bungalow, and you’ve left the present-day world behind and entered the British Raj. Since it’s built at a slight elevation from the rest of the town, you can see all the way to the Meenakshi temple while strains of devotional music are carried to its gardens by gusts of wind. You can feed peacocks with crumbs from your table. Chef Raj Sekhar’s local menu revolves around the food of Madurai which, according to him, is a melting pot of Chettinad food overlaid with influences from as far away as Kerala. The six or seven messes in the city are run by members of an extended family who reportedly hail from the Chettinad region. Amma Mess and the others have influenced local tastes to such an extent that Madurai is now more or less synonymous with Chettinad food, though Karaikudi (a prominent town in the Chettinad region) is an hour and a half away. Dhabas specialize in kothu poratta—a flaky paratha shredded and griddle-cooked with pieces of meat and fistfuls of spice. Sekhar is of the opinion that their provenance is Kerala. You’ll encounter all this and more in the turn-of-the-century dining hall at the Gateway, where I shared a gigantic table with the chef’s enchanting three-year-old daughter, dressed up as a fairy as compensation for having fractured her arm. Sekhar’s efforts to build a bank of home-style Chettinad cooking have resulted in periodic food festivals where he invites Karaikudi housewives to cook their specialities in the Taj kitchen. Unusual dishes that he has encountered have included raktam curry—a preparation made from lamb’s blood that, he claims, has the appearance of scrambled eggs! The single dish that stands out in my memory has to be Mulla Poriyal—lamb’s brain stir-fry. It had the elegance and subtlety of a French pâté, except that in the background was a melange of spices. Sekhar himself had never before encountered a brain preparation that was not a curry. In north India, all you’ll get is brain broken up or served in chunks, but always part of a flowing sauce that contains onions and/or tomatoes, plus enough spices to distract you from the principal ingredient. On the other hand, though Mulla Poriyal did not have the texture of brain, the pale brown colouring came more from the fried onions than heavy spicing. None of which answers the question: Did I enjoy the meal because of its quality or because of the unmatched experience? RAJ SEKHAR

Browning glory: This brain stir fry is flavoured with fried onions.

Mulla Poriyal Serves 2 Ingredients 250g lamb brain 2 tbsp refined oil 1 star anise 1inch cinnamon stick 1 tsp urad dal 1 tsp whole cumin seeds 1 onion (medium size) 3 garlic cloves (sliced) 2 green chillies (sliced) 10-12 curry leaves A pinch of turmeric powder ½ tomato (sliced) Salt to taste 3 tbsp fresh coconut (grated) 1 egg 1tsp coriander leaves (chopped) Method Wash the brain under running water and dice. Heat oil in a pan, add the star anise, cinnamon stick, cumin seeds, urad dal and saute lightly. Add the garlic, onions, green chillies and curry leaves. Sweat the mixture on slow fire. Add a pinch of turmeric powder and the diced brain to the mixture. Keep stirring until the brain combines with the mixture. Add the tomato slices and beaten egg. Continue cooking for 5 minutes. Lastly, add the coconut. Check for seasoning and garnish with coriander leaves. Recipe courtesy Raj Sekhar, executive chef, Gateway Pasumalai, Madurai.

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Hard sell: A qawwali recital at the launch of Omair Ahmad’s book.

See a video of Palash Krishna Mehrotra’s ‘Eunuch Park’ launch at www.livemint.com/eunuchpark.htm

www.livemint.com Every Monday, catch Cooking With Lounge, a show with video recipes from wellknown chefs, at www.livemint.com/cookingwithlounge