All quiet at the crematorium: A.K.Hangal

How the social hierarchy reveals itself is evident in how many people did not attend actor A K Hangal’s funeral. He lived to be 98 and half of these years were spent in the Hindi film industry.

This is showbiz, and most of the people in it make it a point to be present for various reasons. At one of the prominent funeral pictures, I spotted two well-known stars having a good laugh. Could the joke not wait? Or were they, as has become so trendy to say, “celebrating his life”?

Okay, so why were no prominent names who Hangal saab acted with present? They will run to see a newly-born baby who will come out all swathed to hide her from the world; they will rush to the hospital for an actor who suffers from fever or routine checkups; they will visit to condole the death of a parent/grandparent of one of them.

Of the few character actors present, Raza Murad did not mince words:

“The actors would’ve come if a political party summoned them. But they didn’t have an hour to spare to pay their last respects to the man who gave 50 years to the industry and worked with all top stars.”

I’d also ask the media the same question: where were they? They will climb atop trees to capture a baraat they are not invited to; they will sit for hours outside vanity vans waiting for some star, or even starlet, to turn up after giving 40 retakes to get a sound byte; they will do their Entertainment slots with loops that make no sense. Had they landed there, some stars might have turned up.

Of course, they tweeted about it, or gave their two paise worth.

“A K Hangal, passes away this morning!! A veteran, a gentleman, a congenial co artist and a master at his work” – Amitabh Bachchan

But he is not Uddhav Thackeray getting an angioplasty, right? Besides, what are those two exclamation marks for to announce a death?

“An era comes to an end. Theatre and film were enriched by him” – Shabana Azmi

So what happened? After all, he was part of the great theatre movement IPTA, a card-holding Communist that Ms. Azmi admires so.

“Undying father figure in world of theatre n hindi cinema lived for 50 years in this profession only because he was disciplined n a thorough gentleman, who would bring theatre discipline on sets of a film shoot too . He worked with me in ‘Krodhi’ n ‘Khalnayak’ and we used to call him ‘humble sahib’. Great soul, indeed” - Subhash Ghai

I suppose Mr. Ghai thought he was so humble he would not have wanted to feel conceited about people attending his last rites.

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This is only one of the concerns. More important is the fact that Hangal saab could not afford treatment when he fell seriously ill last year.

I have written this earlier, but let me repeat it. The day after it came out, the film industry woke up. Some contributed quietly, some raised issues of ‘doing something for our seniors’. Jaya Bachchan sent a message to be conveyed that his ‘daughter’ remembers him (he played her father in many movies) and her office will handle his medical bills. How dismissive is this. Office? Could she not visit him or just keep silent about who would manage it? Why this announcement?

Upon mild recovery, Mr Hangal was on the ramp in a wheelchair. The reason? Part of a fashion show was organised by designer Riyaz Gangji to generate money for the ailing actor, according to Mumbai Mirror.

Helpless to save his health

This was insensitive and gross. Was he a showpiece? Can there be no dignity in such charity? Imagine someone who was a “freedom fighter” - incidentally everyone is mentioning this having discovered one more use for their patriotic fervour - expected to display himself and his “abject poverty” to get a decent life. These people get mileage and our seniors have no choice but to go along.

Following this, another case was highlighted about someone leading a penurious life. The editor of Sholay, a blockbuster and pathbreaker of its time, was living in Dharavi. Shocking? Yes and no. How many of us ever bothered to find out who edited the film? What about all those researchers who did critical tomes on these movies? Why such discoveries now?

M.S. Shinde worked on a salary of Rs. 2000 and he has no regrets:

“I worked with Sippy Films on a salary of Rs 2,000 (per film) all my life. I didn’t mind the salary because they allowed me to take up work outside.”

At one time even film stars, the visible beautiful faces immortalised in black and white, led lonely forgotten lives. They did not invest their money and instead chose to flash their Bentleys. That was stardom and glamour in the pre-red carpet days. It also had to do with splurging arising out of insecurity if they had made it from the pavements.

Think also about art house cinema before it got sponsors and acquired marketing skills. A whole bunch of idealists would descend on the city and often crashed at someone’s place. Or took the train back home after performing in a few street theatre plays.

This is not to deny the genuine problems faced by our veterans, but before we dismiss it as callousness think about the hierarchy that has always been prevalent. Even today the actors are paid much more than the director. We won’t get into the subject of junior artistes, at one time called ‘extras’, who have to await their turn and often cosy up to the ‘provider’. It is not a business that is organised and therefore a risky proposition for almost everyone concerned.

Mr Shinde might have had it better if there was mandatory provision for provident fund and retirement benefits.

Newspapers and TV channels, if they do take notice do so in a patronising manner: to announce how people came forward to help after they ‘broke’ the story.

The Hindi film industry is acting out a farce with its fake philanthropy helped along by the media.

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I’m afraid, this should have been a tribute to a fine actor, but this attitude upsets me. About Hangal saab and his most-remembered character of the blind Rahim chacha is Sholay, I have some reservations. It was a stereotype, the token nice Muslim posited against the rough terrain of thakurs and dacoits. His blindness, of course, gave it added pathos of not seeing the bad and therefore understanding the good.

But I cannot forget being creeped out by him as the lecherous old skirt chaser in Shaukeen. I disliked him, so credible he was. He, Ashok Kumar and Utpal Dutt, all wonderful, formed the trio of shaukeens. Dutt was always stylised; Ashok Kumar had his mannerisms. A.K. Hangal had the ability to not act. After seeing him as the genial grandpa or the family retainer in other films, this was a shocker.

I mentioned elsewhere how it is perhaps our moral obsession that makes all tributes glorify his Rahim chacha character and of course, the famous line, “Itna sannata kyon hai bhai?” (Why is it so quiet here)

It was indeed very quiet at the crematorium, for no one was there.

There's a Mughal in your drink

How many of you give your children the health drink Complan? If you are Hindu then you are an insult to your religion. You are glorifying Mughals. The ad for the product is under fire by the Hindu Janajagruti Samiti (HJS) for this depiction:

In a class-room, a (Hindu) teacher asks a boy the name of father of King Jehangir. The student shows as if he is unable to recollect the name and the teacher asks the same question to another student when he answers the question immediately telling the name of Jehangir’s father. The credit of the boy answering the question correctly is given to ‘Complan’.

The organisation wants the company to withdraw the ad and all TV channels to stop airing it. I was surprised by the Hindutva droppings in my inbox were so darned serious. I took a look at the whole letter. Here's one bit:

“Why do you remember only the history of Mughals who oppressed Indians? We are living in Bharat; therefore, we should teach glorifying history of Indians. Teach children history of great kings like Vikramaditya, Harshavardhan, Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj etc. else an agitation would be staged in protest. Devout Hindus and Indians will boycott your products. Advertisements of companies like Cadbury and Amul which made mockery of history have been earlier stopped.”

I think all Hindu actors and models should be boycotted too if they wear clothes that are remotely reminiscent of the Mughal era. Why was the film Jodha Akbar not banned? What about Hritik Roshan and Aishwariya Rai? Designers creating Anarkali kurtas and angarkhas should be punished. No cuisine that has any connection with the Mughals should be cooked; those restaurants should be shut down.

Come to think of it, shut down all of Delhi; it has too many monuments. Rashtrapati Bhavan has the Mughal Gardens. The President of India should vacate that little house and apologise to Hindus for walking on those lawns and smelling the outsized flowers.

That leaves the Taj Mahal. All Hindu lovers posing before the monument on that ubiquitous bench are insulting their faith. I think Arnold Schwarzenegger who could not take a look inside since he visited on a Friday should be allowed to take over. He’ll manage it as well as he managed his housekeeper. Given that Complan is manufactured by a multinational it is only fitting that we hand over all things that remind us of the Mughals to the west. I really look forward to a ranch in Humayun’s tomb and Taco Bell at the Taj.

We are living in an age of the ridiculous. Someone really believes that because ‘Complan’ denotes brainpower in the ad and a Mughal king was mentioned, it would immediately suggest that only such knowledge is considered important. There is an ad for Taj Mahal tea where just a sip of it makes the Eiffel Tower disappear, such is the impact. Why not withdraw that as well? Or the soap ad where the mother teaches her child during a bath with a song that goes, “Babar ka beta Humayun, Humayun ka Akbar”?

I know she could have said, “Shahaji Rao ka beta Shivaji, aur Shivaji ka Sambhaji”? Look at it this way. The Mughals were obsessed with the good life – baths, scents, food, milk. The Hindu kings were spartan in their habits, and this is the message of what is unstated. The Mughals were good only for soap suds.

Anyhow, there are many ayurvedic products with rishi-munis telling us what to do with different parts of the body, and Baba Ramdev makes up for it by huffing and puffing. Our children are quite safe. Unless, of course, there comes an ad for male deodorant that would talk about the “Aurangzeb effect” or a hair salon that calls itself Babar’s Barber.

The over-the-top Pakistani press

A Pakistani columnist decides that “introspection is not as fashionable as Roberto Cavalli shades” and goes on to pen an ode to all the brands he can think about, not to mention referring to his country’s foreign minister Hina Rabbani Khar as HRK. Is that a trendy take on SRK, Shahrukh Khan, or Her Royal Kink? My views have already been expressed.

Masood Hasan’s column in The News lacks a sense of propriety and proportion. So much like outsized shades, isn’t it? These are the same ‘liberals’ who will take up for a Veena Malik whose contribution to foreign policy was to be cooped up in an Indian reality show. Take a look at the canapé-level arguments:

“Let’s get one thing straight. One dresses for the occasion. Anyone recall Angelina Jolie’s ‘designer’ outfits on her many visits to the Afghan camps? There is a time and place for all things. I think HRK didn’t quite get that right. She has many things going for her but maturity and a sense of balance seem to be virtues that Pakistan’s new foreign minister does not care about much.”

Angelina Jolie did quite the opposite with a devious purpose, by playing up stereotypes. There is also a huge difference between camps and a country. Ms. Khar was a visiting minister to India, a nation that is home to several flagship stores of international labels.  

“While she must have spent an enormous amount of time choosing her wardrobe and accessories – she has a talent for accessories as a gushing designer confided last week, one wishes there were men or women who could have briefed her on how she must conduct herself – but this is unlikely in a country where ‘yes sir, yes sir, three bags full’, is the most successful strategy.”

This tells us a good deal more about the gossip Mr. Hasan has his antenna up for rather than the minister’s conduct. The important thing is not how she was accessorised, but whether she made any false moves in her speeches. The way one conducts oneself depends on behaviour and not on what one wears. Unlike the President Asif Ali Zardari who referred to Sarah Palin as gorgeous in an official meeting, there was nothing remiss about the way Ms. Khar projected herself. She was indeed briefed, but about Pakistan’s political position that she reiterated. Perhaps the “yes sir, yes sir” types are not as adept as spotting labels as Mr. Hasan is.

The dear gentleman is doling out epithets with a double-edged sword. He calls Indian diplomats suave, but adds what can only be considered an Omar Sharif-like standup act. He states:

“The Indians thus dress so simply that you can mistake them for minions whereas they may be billionaires. They go to work in loose sandals and creased trousers or faded jeans but sit and make strategic decisions that run into billions of dollars and have the power to change the direction of their huge country. Simplicity is not a put on like our constant bowing and scraping to the Maker without any meaning or sincerity. Our rulers and high stake rollers live in mansions of glory. Indians richer than their counterparts here live in modest homes. Retired generals there live in small houses or high-rise flats.”

One understands the inherent feudalism in Pakistani society, yet one fails to comprehend the blinkers the writer wears, either while writing or when he visited India. Has he heard about the Ambanis, the Tatas, the Birlas, the Godrejs, the Premjis, the Narayan Murthys, the Reddys? Has he read about their private jets, their parties, their weddings, their lifetsyle, their homes, and of course their accessories? Our ministers often refuse to leave their bungalows even after their term ends and retired generals take their time retiring. He is clearly basing his “loose sandals” observation on something from R.K. Narayan’s books, or perhaps referring to some of the older politicians who prefer to dress in traditional wear, such as the dhoti or the mundu. Rest assured, they are not trying to identify with the common man, for they get into their limited edition vehicles too and have a neat collection of real estate and jewellery.

If there is anyone who reveals caste and class consciousness it is the writer. He obviously does not understand the implication of the term minions. It is insulting that he thinks Indian leaders could pass off as vassals only because of what they wear. Perhaps he was just served his rack of lamb marinaded overnight by a member of the staff who he treats like a minion.

One does not know whether Ms. Khar read up on India, as he admonishes, but he does not seem to have done so. Instead of telling us what he expected out of the discussions, he decides to make a list of the lady’s wardrobe ‘malfunction’. Indeed, Indians went overboard in noting her couture with unbecoming awe and Pakistanis with derision. The internal politics of her tax evasion is a matter that ought to be discussed and resolved by the people and her party. Her shoes have got nothing to do with it. Why should a foreign minister tell India “my country is struggling – with terrorism, suicide bombers, law and order, the Afghan problem, a poor economy and so on but that we would prevail if there is peace”? Mr. Hasan seems to be suffering from a perennial mai-baap hangover due to Pakistan’s helplessness with regard to the US.

Had she highlighted the details that are not a secret anyway would the honourable columnist step down from his pedestal and permit her the indulgence of accessories? Or would he expect her to be dressed up as a ‘struggler’? America is going through its worst debt crisis. What are its ministers supposed to wear? As one who has visited Pakistan a few times and seen both its elite and its interiors, I do not see how drawing attention to the social ills would take the peace process forward. Has Masood Hasan spoken to the law enforcement people, the Afghans, the terorists, the very poor, the suicide bombers and asked them how exactly they view the peace process?

What did he expect from this meeting when there have been others that brought nothing? I guess it would be expecting too much from someone who, while dissing the “lollipops”, spends considerable time reading up on the shenanigans of the “fash frat”. It is a pity that he feels Pakisanis have egg on their face. I suppose it is inevitable if all you concentrate on is the chinks in the chick’s armour.

An Hour at the Oscars

“Did you watch the TV?” asked my newly-exported friend from Ludhiana

“Yes, yes. Tanu weds Manu promos all over.”

“No, no, stop being so desi. We are world players.”

“I cannot watch the World Cup matches because Shane Warne is predicting everything before.”

“Don’t take that Aussie man’s name. He pataoed Liz and took away our woman.”

“Our woman?”

“She was married to tycoon Arun, no?”

“What tycoon? Anyway, what am I supposed to watch?”

“The Oscars!”

“It was telecast at 4 a.m India time and then 7.30 a.m…”

“If you can wake up early for that thing…you know what you like doing…your stupid writing…then this is international. You are so desi.”

“Right, but why are you so excited? I know who got the awards, so my general knowledge won’t suffer. Have you watched any of the films? What were your favourites?”

“Films? Who cares! There was one fellow who was like stuttering, then this woman who was doing some ballet-shallet, then some fighter, and even Facebook fellow was there. Hai, that was nice because all my relatives are on it, so we are all family.”

“If you have not watched any of the films, then what are you so enthusiastic about?”

“It is the whole atmosphere. The red carpet, the gowns, my, such lovely ones.”

“I saw this event on an entertainment channel and they went on and on about those stupid maxis, sorry gowns.”

“What is stupid, hain? Even Aishwariya Rai wore one and Mallika Sherawat wore one.”

“Oh, so they wore one each, that’s interesting. Did A. R. Rahman wear one too?”

“Don’t be mean. Bechara did not win this time, serves him right for leaving poor slumdogs, but he is so modest, he just kept smiling like a buddha.”

“You mean like the Buddha.”

“Oh, whatever. His wife they say was wearing Indo-Western fusion and carried a designer clutch.”

“I saw her wearing some thick dupatta. The western part may have been hidden.”

“What did you think of Ash and Mallika?”

“I did not notice what they wore. I was concentrating on their accents. Mallika spoke as though she was at a baseball match rooting for Rahman and Aishwariya said something about how nice it was to be ‘celebrating cinema like we do back home’. Very funny.”

“Chalo, this is global talk. You really must understand. I think Halle Berry’s nude was lovely.”

“I wish that was how she’d have been. She wore some ruffled stuff.”

“Ah, tell me more. I like to hear desi opinion on all this.”

“Sure. Even our media discusses it as though they were there and they are them, the same language, the same encomiums, the same kind of dissing. Heck, if the foreign press says it looked like table cloth, ours' modified it to table napkins. Original. Here, I have patience only for a couple of them. Penelope Cruz was in something shiny and looked a bit plump. And Cate Blanchett wore an atrocious dress with a yoke that looked like an upturned baby’s bib. Most were in red and most gowns looked either like some armour or like slips that needed something to be worn over them.”

“Wait baba, I must correct you. They have to show cleavage and their bodies. It is open society and even in India everyone is showing off.”

“True. I have no problem with revealing clothes, but they looked not quite complete.”

“This is high fashion, the best designers.”

“Is it about cinema or fashion? Why do these super actors have to announce which designer’s clothes they are wearing? If they have paid for them, then it is theirs.”

“Labels, darrrling, labels. You don’t understand.”

“I have seen some of the nighties on Linking Road and a few long kameezes at Crawford Market that don’t look much different.”

“This is desi mentality. It is the cut, the lines.”

“And the bulges. But why are we discussing this?”

“Okay, tell me about the speeches.”

“Speeches? Ooh-aah, I dunnowhattosaythisisjustsoaahsomepinchme…aah,sniff,owkhay, Imustthankgodthemazingteamthatmadeitpossible…ooh, Istillcan’tbelieveit…blah.”

“I am ashamed of you,” said my NRI friend. “As an Indian you should understand emotions.”

“Haan, butwhatemotionsarethereifyousoundlikeyouaresquirtingforthefirsttime?

“Whatttt arrr you saying?”

“Just being global.”

Anand Jon and the Immigrant Dream

Designer Anand Jon has been sentenced to 59 years in prison by a California court for sex crimes. He kept a conquest diary. He recorded in detail what he had done and to whom. The girls were said to be as young as 14; his abusive streak started in 2001. This picture was taken during the New York Fashion Week in 2004.


So, what are we on to?

His sister, Sanjana, has revealed there was mistrial on 15 counts. She has also said that one of the jurors attempted to take her out and she underwent a polygraph test for this allegation and passed it. The judge admitted juror misconduct but denied a mistrial.

I am also not terribly enthralled by news reports that emphasise how Jon was one of Newsweek magazine’s people to look out for. That is the real problem. Some have indicated racism. These are not issues that one can make quick conclusions about, especially when we see cases of rapists managing to keep pre-pubescent children underground for years.

The fashion and entertainment industries (remember Chaplin’s love for nubile girls?) are notorious for such abusive behaviour. However, there is a time span until which this can go on and all are most certainly not equal before the eyes of the very high society they sponge on and are sucked into.

In 2007 when the designer’s case came into public glare, I had written a column in the Asian Age about the immigrant and sudden fame. I shall reproduce part of it here:

Jon might well have been just another fresh off the boat immigrant. He did the unthinkable. He did not wallow in diaspora depression. Instead, he did what a small-town man in India does when he gets to the big city – lets it all hang out until someone notices.

He is not being merely held culpable for a crime – rape and lewd behaviour for which the courts have charged him – but for a sin in the rehashed morality that is overtaking America. Being surrounded by nubile girls and flashing what they now call his feeble credentials is not unusual. Paris Hilton, his client and friend, is certainly no babe-in-the-woods. Why did the accusations suddenly start rushing out in spurts?

Yes, he was given the celebrity treatment in India. The boy from Kerala had made it. It wasn’t Kerala, though, that laid out the red carpet; it was the metro matrons. Today, they pretend they did not know anything about him.

Were all those screeching “Sanjaya” fans merely interested in his singing abilities on American Idol? Just suppose he had won and gone around town with some of these teenagers, wasn’t there a likelihood of someone accusing him? And what about the American gay critic who went completely berserk in his fascination for the contestant, saying that he had a thing for pretty boys with big mouths? Why was the United States silent over this sexual innuendo directed at a youngster?

Sanjaya was their trump card until a trigger-happy South Korean took away their prime-time toy-boy. Papa Malakar could drop those exiled tears any minute – trained classical singer trying to make it in phoren land and getting into roots mode.

People love to watch angst-ridden sagas. Please note that all our diaspora writers and film-makers play the Western stereotype making full use of their origins. Most expats formulate their political opinions sitting in regional hovels. Is it any wonder that most of them have an immensely narrow vision?

Does anyone bother to question them about the immigrants who don’t quite make it? Does anyone ask them to prove their loyalty to the country of their birth even as they give their best to another land?

Anand Jon, besides a few karma-print clothes, did not try hard enough to market his desi-ness. He shamelessly aped the Sunset Boulevard vaudeville.

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In a related news item, sometime actress, Suchitra Krishnamoorthi, who did not quite make it has now revealed that she experienced the casting couch while struggling to get a break in Bollywood. She has recently recollected that “many years ago, I had gone to meet a very successful producer about a film role at a plush suburban hotel. They were looking for a new face to launch.” A report states that after a discussion about academics, family and work experience, the producer asked her to call her father to tell him that she was spending the night with him at the hotel and that he should pick her up in the morning.

Bollywood does have a casting couch. It is known. Some producers are blatant about it. But would a producer tell a wannabe to call up her father and tell him she would be spending the night with a strange man to get a job knowing that no parent would allow it and he would get into trouble?

She is the former wife of filmmaker Shekhar Kapur and had used his website to blast him in a poem not too long ago. The world is far too complex and answers too pat if that’s how we like them.

Designer exploiters

Getting disgusted won’t get me anywhere, but once again something at a fashion show has put me off. Look, why don’t these people stick to their sticks walking the ramp and stop messing around with social issues? The last time I got upset was when they had exploited toilet cleaners; now they are using blind women.

One of them embossed Braille on the front of one garment and the English alphabets at the back. She said, “It is the blind that feel and ‘see’. The ones that have vision are really blind. The blind don’t want compassion, they want respect.”

Is this respect? The bloody gall of designing clothes with Braille. Do they think that the visually impaired are stupid? Do they imagine that they are going to run their hands over their clothes to read about fabric and silhouette and such other details…or is it detailing? And as this picture shows, the blind women are not even wearing the so-called designer clothes; they were brought in as gimmicks.

If you want to help the blind then, even though it sounds insensitive, make your models walk blindfolded. Watch them trip (and please do not try a wardrobe malfunction trick to capitalise on boobless boobs) and then play some violin music to convey tragedy, darken the auditorium and flash the social message - the blind cannot see, but ‘see’.

Damn. They might even take this suggestion seriously.

Another cuckoo case this ‘season’ dealt with the issue of fascism. And how did he convey it? By using Nazi skinheads! As though we don’t have home-grown fascists. Here, too, we cannot get rid of our foreign obsession.

Some are now trying the no-makeup look with models dressed in sack cloth walking barefoot. Honey, if you are so desperate at least make sure the ‘super model’ has nice feet. Stop kidding around. Fashion is about clothes, beauty, upfront physical appeal. Leave the issues for another time.

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This is an extract from an earlier post…Fashion, my foot:

We need to shut shop. This fashion parody has been going on for too long and makes no sense. I believe there was one show where all the male models were dressed as Sikhs because it was a sporting line and Sikhs are sporty! What next, a cocktail line should have Malayalis because they drink like crazy, and a lounge line ought to have Bengalis for they are always lounging?

There is this Bong designer, Sabyasachi Mukherjee. I remember his early days when he would smile and do ordinary things with clothes which made them wearable. Now he talks about using leather and jute and all that crap and he invariably gets the models to look deglamourised in a trendy way – they mostly wear large glasses and bindis with any kind of outfit. It just looks terribly stagey and hardly dramatic.

What is the point being made here? That you can be a plain Jane and carry it off? Who the hell is some designer to convey that? These clothes are pricey and lack basic aesthetics. Talking about silhouettes is not going to change the fact that wearing long tunics over short capris will always make you look like you are a behenji who has rolled up her churidar for a little dip in the beach waters because your shauhar said, “Chalo ji, kuchch paaon tau geele kar lo!”

I am really tired of this….then they go on about cuts and lines. We are Indians; we have curves. Real curves. And we like it. As women. We don’t give a damn what some men, and to hell with designers being gay, want. If you care so much for the flat look then just dress your male models as women, like you made them dress like Sikhs. Not too tough. The androgynous look is what you want, and what you will get.