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That ’90s Movie
Aarzoo or Aarzoo Not Crazy, Watching this Tripe?
Dilip D’Souza The late 1990s: when the world obsessed about a false alarm called Y2K
Aarzoo is a stereotypical 1990s Bollywood potboiler. But perhaps it's only in looking back on it from these years later that we realize how typical it is: the story, the clothes, the mistakes. But its sheer stupidity is something that needs no looking back to discern; it was evident at the time.
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o there I was, one day during the World Cup in 1999, reading peacefully through the newspaper, skipping past its daily dose of World Cup related ads. That skipping meant I finished the paper in seconds flat. Just another morning in a time of World Cup hoopla, nothing more. Everyone that makes any product at all was working hard to find their own link to the World Cup, and why not? I wondered only this: What would happen on June 20, when the Cup would run over and be done with? No matter. Mine wasn't the place to worry about such imponderables. But my otherwise skipping eyes did happen to pause at an ad from Bajaj. "920 million Indians will be screaming every time India plays," it said, or I think it said and I have no idea how to find the ad, so you'll just have to take my word for it, and also for asserting that India's population in 1999 was about 920 million. The ad continued: "Don't be surprised if 13 million of them are screaming a little bit louder than the rest."
Words to that effect, of course. But why should those 3 million be screaming a little bit louder? Because those were the Indians who owned Bajaj products. It wasn't that they were screaming their frustration with those products, as you might ordinarily imagine. No: "If you are really passionate about 2 wheelers, you undoubtedly own a Bajaj. You bring the same passion to other things. Like your favourite sport, cricket." Now you get it. It's that common advertising technique at work: just make the ludicrous connection to the World Cup; no matter how ludicrous, just make it. You own a Bajaj. You are a passionate dudette. You scream passionately about the World Cup. Obviously. We must love ludicrous. How else was I to explain this ad? How else was I to explain a film I saw at the time, an execrable mess called Aarzoo? How else can I explain why I sat through every second of its three hours? Early on, Aarzoo has an "aaj se bees saal pehle" literally, "today from twenty years before" - flashback. Now I know you probably have very little idea what I'm talking about. After all, Aarzoo is only the 19,348th (yes, I counted) Bollywood film in history to include a flashback to 20 years ago. So naturally I cannot expect you to know what such a phenomenon is. So try to understand: the film's story has roots in certain dramatic events from twenty years before, and those dramatic events must be spelled out. What a radical concept, yes sir. Who said Bollywood wasn't innovative? Anyway, the flashback opens with a shot of a man reading ‘The Times of India’ in his garden. He folds it in time for the camera to zoom in on his face, but not quite quickly enough for you to miss a headline on the sports page. It says: "Donald takes six wickets in Test
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against West Indies." This, of course, refers to the magnificent South African bowler Allan Donald, familiar to cricket fans then and probably today, probably even if you are not a screaming owner of a Bajaj product. Only trouble is, 20 years before 1999, that is, in 1979 - Donald was all of 11 years old and while I remain a great admirer of the man and his bowling, I must admit that I don't think he took six wickets against the West Indies when he was 11 years old. And even if he was a strapping child prodigy, in 1979 the West Indies and South Africa had never played cricket against each other. Never.
authentic 20-year-old vehicle for his actors to shoot guns from? An Ambassador, say, the car that would fit the bill even for a 200-years-ago flashback scene? Yes again, because ludicrosity is still at stake. Then the film is set in England without being set in England, if you know what I mean. That is, the families live in these fabulous English mansions that are surrounded by vast estates, the occasional view outside is full of London Transport double-decker buses and white English faces and such like. But as soon as there is some actual action outside, as in the hero chasing the heroine or kidnapping her son (his son Film: Aarzoo too, but I wouldn't want to give that Director: Lawrence D’Souza away), we're back in the middle of No, far from being 20 years old, that issue Cast: Madhuri Dixit, Akshay Lokhandwala in Andheri, or Joggers' of the times was less than four months old, Kumar, Saif Ali Khan, Amrish Park (where joggers park their cars) in dating to a WI-SA series in SA in early Puri and Paresh Rawal Bandra. Evidently, the high fliers of 1999. Is it too much to expect a director to Aarzoo step out of their English Music: Anu Malik produce an authentic 20-year-old paper for mansions straight into the rough and his actor to read in a scene like this? tumble of Bombay's neighborhoods. Remarkable life Yes, because ludicrosity is at stake. Still, in that 20they must have. Speaking of high fliers, the hero years-ago flashback, an evil man pulls up outside the purports to be a pilot. He wanders over to meet the sub garden and one of his henchmen pulls out a gun and -hero (he dies in the end, but I wouldn't want to give shoots the dude with the Times. Dead. Which is, I need that away) high in the control tower of a little airport to tell you because I'm positive you didn't realize it, the that is, again, obviously in England. Sub-hero is dramatic event that is key to the whole film. Anyway, fretting, because a strike by pilots - one that has evil man and henchman pull up outside the garden in, curiously exempted our hero - is going to cost him and shoot from, a shiny Maruti van: you know, that millions of rupees in damages because these papers boxy Omni thing. But tab se bees saal pehle, as we oldhere in his hand simply must reach Cochin today and timers can tell you, there were no Omnis in existence. who's going to get them there if the pilots are on Is it too much to expect a director to produce an
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strike? Sub-hero being too stupid to consider nonstriking lounging-about jobless hero as a possibility, hero has to actually suggest it to him: "I'll take the papers for you," he says. "After all, Cochin is only a half-hour flight away." Now not even in a jet from Bombay is Cochin as little as half an hour away, and here our man takes off in a piddly lawnmower-engine-powered putt-putter from an airport in England, aiming to land in Cochin in half an our. The world is getting smaller every day, apparently. Tell me another one. Here's another one. Hero's little putt-putter is booby-trapped and meanders all over the sky in distress while hero fiddles futilely with switches and something above his left ear and an anonymous voice keeps intoning: "Bail out, Vijay! Bail out!" Through the glass, you see the lush green English countryside stretching for miles in every direction as hero fiddles away futilely. Then the puttputter explodes into the Interval and you get yourself some popcorn to take your mind off the Rs. 70 (1999 prices, remember) you have wasted on this idiocy. Much later in the film, a brief scene shows hero's unconscious body (he doesn't die, but I wouldn't want to give that away) washed by the waves on the seashore near Cochin. How he landed there while falling out of a very English sky is not explained. Though - silly me! - there is the geographical oddity that in Bollywood, Cochin is only half an hour away. So yes, our hero survives this explosion or bailout or whatever it is. At some point, he finds sub-hero's little temple of love to heroine: a gazebo crammed with drawings and photographs and diaries filled with lovenotes that clearly indicate sub-hero needs psychiatric help urgently. But hero is instead consumed by Bajajlike passion and jealousy and vows revenge. He starts by setting fire to the gazebo. Now heroine has lived all her life on the estate where the gazebo stands, but evidently has no idea it exists. Now that it is blazing to the ground, she runs unerringly to it and finds one of those diaries, scorched and mysteriously full of holes. No matter, she is still able to read every single word in it. That's because sub-hero's love-notes were written with infinite care, curling precisely around the holes and burn marks that he knew would appear one day. No, not a single word is absent, or so much as damaged. Heroine has lived all her life with sub-hero, but evidently this is the first time she realizes just how much he loves her. She looks mightily impressed by his rare knowledge of exactly how to place words so they will escape being burned. Later, heroine meets hero. The Critique
She recognizes him despite the vast bushy moustache he has grown during his sojourn in Cochin, or perhaps while falling out of the sky. She explains to him how wrong he is in seeking revenge. No time to waste, she says, because sub-hero is on his way to confront some very evil men and his life is in danger (He dies in the end, but I wouldn't want to give that away). Not only that, it is our hero who has teamed up with these same evil men for revenge. Hero hangs his head in sorrow at his dreadful mistake, then picks up his bag and trots off to the rescue. No time to waste, he knows. Still, he finds time to shave off his moustache, change into a clown suit that makes him look like a prize dolt, and find - yes - a hang-glider to transport him. That's how you next see him, sailing ponderously to the rescue of sub-hero, fighting gang of evil men in, of all places, an English cemetery. Movie ends. You thank someone for small mercies. Even so, he refuses to refund your Rs. 70. By the way, I hope you noticed how I managed my own ludicrous connection to the World Cup. I was writing about the ludicrosity of Aarzoo, but given that I saw it during that cricket extravaganza, given too that Allan Donald figured in both the film and the Cup, I knew I just had to insert a reference to the World Cup. My advice is, scream loudly about the stupidity of this film, but louder still about your Bajaj scooter. And never forget: it will get you to Cochin in half an hour. Diilip D’Souza is a Mumbai based writer and journalist. His book on the farewell test of Sachin Tendulkar, titled—Final Test: Exit Sachin Tendulkar has recently been published..
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Photography
Life in the ’90s
Gu Cha Some memories can’t be replaced.
Amar Chitra Katha
Childhood
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Delhi – This city is insane Thoughts on Khushwant Singh‟s „Delhi: A novel’
Archit Aggarwal Time when a candy could bring a smile on one’s face.
“Once through this ruined city did I pass I espied a lonely bird on a bough and asked „What knowest thou of this wilderness?‟ It replied: 'I can sum it up in two words: „Alas, Alas!”
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happened to be in Delhi during the last summer. To an outsider, Delhi is a city of monuments, broad roads, government offices, corrupt policemen, noisy bazaars, narrow dusty lanes and mean people. With these same preconceived notions, I came to the city and I realized that there is nothing wrong to it. Every person you meet is fearless and frank, independent and quick. While travelling in a bus, I overheard people discussing the type of whores they could find in the older part of the city: young and old, expensive and cheap, with bosoms wobbly and firm. Delhi changes you in a way you find hard to believe. This city teaches you. This city acquaints you with reality. This city tells you your worth. This city makes you stronger. This city is insane but it makes you saner. With an intention to know more about the city, I bought Delhi - a novel from the nearby flea market. Though I hadn’t expected it to, the book turned out to The Critique
be more than just another work of fiction. It was very informative and in parts, a surprisingly lucid read, but nonetheless, it was nauseating and disturbing in equal measure. It is the story of a journalist who returns to India after ‘having his fill of whoring in foreign lands’. Owing to his deep knowledge about the past and present of the city, this out of work journalist gets the job of a tour guide for royal guests. As he takes his guests to various places, the narrator discusses the history of Delhi from 1265 A.D. to 1985 A.D.- through ten tales of ten different times. Delhi has been ruled by various rulers during this time span of seven centuries and Khushwant Singh did indeed discuss most of them. Starting from Ghiyas ud din Balban to Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya to Amir Khusro and the Khiljis. the Sikhs and the Jats, coming of the British, the freedom struggle, independence, partition, Gandhi’s shootout – every major happening has been described 8
masterfully. Towards the end, Singh talks about the Operation Blue Star and ends the book with the assassination of Indira Gandhi.
aspects of the city. For instance, there is this scene where he points out the blatant corruption prevalent among the contractors and builders. A Sikh contractor, who has just bought an automobile from the money he has made in building the new capital, takes his family for a drive to Qutub Minar for a picnic. As he lies on a dhurrie gazing up at the magnificent tower, he reflects:
This is just one half of the book which runs in alternate chapters. The other story which runs parallel to the history is the relationship of the narrator with Bhagmati, a scuffy and dark eunuch or hijra. Bhagmati is a prostitute who was picked up by the protagonist from the roadside when she “I wondered how much the was released from Tihar Jail. In Bhagmati, contractors had made out of the job. the narrator finds an excellent bed partner It was obvious they had stolen a lot of who never refuses to satisfy him sexually. stone and marble from older Every alternate chapter in the book is titled buildings. Did they pass it off as new? ‘Bhagmati’ in which Singh has vividly Did they have to bribe architects and described every act of their love making in overseers to have their bills passed?” excruciating detail as well as many of his Delhi is surely an overstretched book. It other sexual adventures which are eerie and Book: Delhi A Novel is a strict no-no for those who are not erotic beyond imagination. Khushwant Singh is at his lecherous best in this Author: Khushwant Singh fine with erotic text. If one says that the Published: 1990 book is badly written, it won’t be magnum opus of a novel that he claims, hundred percent true, because as far as took him 25 years to write . the chapters about history are concerned, the writer has The humor, as is in the book, is mostly ridiculous. At quite impressively showed off his writing skills. one point in the book, more than 1500 words are used to describe different types of farts. But still, too much sex and nonsense humor are not the only drawbacks of the book. Foul language has been used almost unnecessarily all throughout the book and Singh doesn’t hesitate a bit while referring to Mahatma Gandhi as ‘an Old Fox’ or Indira Gandhi as a ‘bitch’. But let’s not judge it on those counts. Khushwant Singh is not the one to shy away from the unflattering
In the end, Mir Taqi Mir has summed it up only too well: Dil va Dilli dono agar hai kharaab Par kuch lutf us ujde ghar mein bhi hain" (Both heart and Delhi may have been worn out But some little pleasures still remain in this ruined house).
“That's Delhi. When life gets too much for you, all you need to do is to spend an hour at Nigambodh Ghat, watch the dead being put to flames and hear their kin wail for them. Then come home and down a couple of pegs of whisky. In Delhi, death and drink make life worth living.”
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