Two actors and their 'blind' powergames

Michelle, her body twisted with helpless longing, asks her teacher, “Will you kiss me, please?” His age does not matter to her. He is the only man who she has known at such proximity, the one who has taught her – a blind, deaf, mute girl – to understand words by feeling them on her hands and through those tortured breaths that throw up disjointed sounds when fingers touch her mouth.

Her life may be the colour of a moonless night, as Sanjay Leela Bhansali has shown so brilliantly in the film Black, but within her the storms have shades and layers that she is trying to grope with. “Will you kiss me, please?” she pleads with the one man who understands her suffocation. He turns his face away only to return his gaze and see her bundled up in the chair, knowing that no man will give her physical love ever. He holds her and gently brushes his lips against hers. Next morning he disappears. As she says later, “He gave me the respect of a woman, but felt too ashamed of his act…”

She internalises her gratitude, tapping away on a Braille typewriter, a sound she does not hear, and smiles with lips that she herself cannot see. She can only feel the denial, the weight of holding back…

This was my opinion on the film that I had written about. My views were based on hands-on experience with people with disability. As I wrote then…

During a demonstration on one White Cane Day, I had joined the group. The local corporator and another politician asked some of us to come along to Jogger’s park. It was around 8 pm and dark. While the rest of the lot were huddled in conversation, Arpan Singh and I decided to take a stroll on the mud-track. I was wearing heels so I had to tread carefully. To Arpan all walking places were the same, and darkness and light made no difference.

Suddenly, he stretched out his arm and touched a leaf. “There is so much greenery here,” he said. In the dark I, the sighted, could not see any greens. “It is wet,” his voice trailed off as he ran his hands over the foliage. We reached the low wall and sat for a while. He was swaying gently as one would to the music of the swelling tides as he inhaled the scent of flowers of the night. I did not wish to interrupt his reverie, but when his face broke into a smile, I told him that the waves and the fragrance were indeed overpowering and soothing.

“No,” he said. “I have been thinking about those wet leaves.”

The touch of night-dew had not left him.

- - -

It is disturbing to see Aamir Khan and Amitabh Bachchan battling it out about the sensitivities of such cellulouid portrayal. Both are smart businessmen, and Aamir has a film based on children and their needs due for release, his first directorial venture. It is disgusting to rake this issue up now only to tell us that he is sensitive. And just in case they don’t know most people with disabilities are treated in a horrible manner.

Here is what the two actors have to say about the film…

Aamir Khan: “I didn't like the film. I found it very insensitive, it sends out very wrong signals. It was extremely manipulative…Most importantly, it was about a child who had these problems, an alcoholic person comes and says you have to leave her alone with me for forty days, and he slaps her around. I don't know of any parent who'd agree to that. Black reminded me of The Taming Of The Shrew, and I found that very disturbing. It was a film about 'I can teach a bear how to dance’.''

Amitabh Bachchan, who won a National Award for his work in Black:''If Aamir is unhappy with this, let him demonstrate otherwise. I would be keen and anxious to educate myself on any prospective change that he might introduce to cinema. With due respect, all the films that he features in and that I have had the great pleasure in watching, have all adhered to the very qualities that he dislikes in Black. From using the distinct handicap, or to be politically correct, challenged condition, of a crippled human in his cricket team in Lagaan, to the 'sensitivities' of a blind girl in Fanaa.”

Taslima, ho-hum and Husain

"I am withdrawing the controversial lines from my book Dwikhandita. I had written it in 2002 and had no intention of hurting anybody’s sentiments," she added. She pointed out that since some people in India were upset with these lines, she had decided to drop them.

Rubbish.

I am so tired of this woman, and she has gone and proved me right. (Read my earlier blogpost and article, if you wish.) If she is so convinced about her position, then why the cop-out? People talk about freedom of expression. What about the duty to stand by your convictions? "After these portions are removed, I hope there will be no more scope for controversy and I will be able to live peacefully," she said. She just wants the licence to live in our country because no one in the West will bother about her substandard literature.

What is worse is that even some so-called Muslim leaders (who has given them the right to be leaders of the community?) have been saying that we must have M.F.Husain back and then we will discuss Taslima. These same blokes do not care about Husain and violently disagree with him; now when it suits their agenda he becomes a ’Muslim’. I don’t like MF either. But the two situations cannot be compared.

Husain is an Indian citizen and by drawing semi-nude portraits of Hindu goddesses he is not hitting out at the religion. As a matter of fact Islamists have accused him of pandering to the Hindu religion, especially his paintings of Lord Ganesha. Before pointing fingers at him his opponents should take a tour of the temples and see the sculptures for themselves. Will they want those to be wiped out? If anything, I would accuse Husain of being not an artist but an illustrator.

Let us please re-visit the work of Taslima. She had got into trouble not only for her Islam-bashing, but because in her memoirs she had mentioned some big names from Kolkata’s literary and academic circles and her liaisons with them.

The only thing common between the lady and the painter is probably their obsession with studs. I have nothing to go by to comment on Taslima’s variety, but Husain’s are indeed gorgeous.

Wat men?

While I am completely besotted by 'my area', the stretch between Chowpatty and Marine Drive is great fun.

I was at the Catholic Gymkhana after ages. I imagined a conversation that might have taken place between one of the regulars and me...Betty spots me and waves out. I make my way towards her table.

"What men, where da hell you are? Went Dubai or wot?"

"No, just been lazy."

"Ah, having fun haan. Gud-gud. Dis weder no, jus terrible. Was telling Rodney yesterday only to put AC in all da rooms, but dat Ambani fellow now wants to save power. Like wot hippocrit. Dey have ten-ten car, full blasting AC, also helicopter and we poor peepals suffer."

"You are not poor."

"Come yaa, for dem I am like chillar only. Poor peepals live in open so deer system used to all dis."

"Did you have problems getting here? The traffic..."

"Donn even ask. One ting is dis stupid old car. Told Rodney to buy new car, he sez no wait we will go to Emrica or sumting. I told him first take me to Panjim den we will talk of Emrica."

"You know the traffic was because..."

"I know, I know. Doze peepal are taking out morcha. Wot use? Bush is not coming to Bombay. And even if he came he would be coming in helicopter and going straight to Taj or Obroy. Deez fools jus want to waste time of poor peepal like us. Anyway for-get all dis politics. Tell me what are you doing dees dez?"

(Friend interjects, "Writing.”)

“You are crazy men. Get life and start using kompitter."

"I am.."

"Gud. You mus go fast with time. Deez days on internet you can find recipes, and for my Maggie I told Rodney der are nice boys. I showed him one foto, he sez boy's name is Orlando Bloom. I told wot is wrong, rose by any name will smell sweet only. He sed no we can't...imagine rejecting boy widout even meeting or talking."

"Ah well.."

"So I tell you kompitter is best ting. For you recipe and boy no use, so you can do shopping."

"I prefer feeling the stuff before I buy it."

"Damn, why you need to have feeling for everiting? Real pucca emoshnal fool. In dis weder who want to go out and buy? You start swetting like pig. Did you try ham sandwich?"

"Er...no.."

"Forgot, you don't eat pork. You must be starving den. No pork, even chicken dangerous. Doze birds also get bledy flu. Instead dey should get diariah and everiting from system will be out."

"It's okay. I can survive on vegetables."

"I know dis place. Dey make wedge kebabs, it look like real ting, I swear."

"It is real thing."

"Ah, I knew der mus be some michif. I must tell Rodney to try...dey surely put lamb in it. He was saying who wants to eat doll and baaji."

"It is...never mind. I must leave."

"Okay, dear. Donn mind my asking, but why Muslims donn like salami?"

"I guess they prefer salaami"

- - -

Had written it when Bush was visiting India a couple of years ago. The language is very Bombay-Catholic, though it may spill over into other areas of the country. Reproducing it here because I think this blog is getting a bit morose these past few days.

Sanjay brings Gandhi alive!

ALLAHABAD: Bollywood star Sanjay Dutt may be in jail in the 1993 Mumbai bombings case, but a Gandhian institution here has decided to honour him for promoting the Mahatma's ideals through his role in Lage Raho Munnabhai.

Damn. You know when we write anything that questions the judgement against Sanjay or the tone of it, then we get termed jihadis. Now, 93-year-old freedom fighter Mewa Lal Gupta, head of the Gandhi Vichar Andolan, will honour the actor at Yerawada Jail for his “unparalleled contribution” to promote Gandhian values.

Said the gentleman, "We have taken note of the fact that what the entire nation could not do in independent India has been achieved by Sanjay Dutt through his role as Munna Bhai. The extent to which the message of Mahatma Gandhi could be spread through the film was incredible. I am really impressed by the overwhelming impact the film made on the minds of common people."

I am sick of the film, sick of Gandhian values and sick of how we are becoming a nation of sycophants of some philosophy we rarely practise and know precious little about.

The common man or woman only knows that this character called Munna Bhai talks to the spirit of Gandhiji and instead of using violence tries to win over people. However, there is this rather telling scene when someone keeps slapping him, then Sanjay’s Munna hits him back and tells his buddy Circuit that Gandhi has said if someone slaps you on one cheek offer him the other, but he hadn’t told them what to do when someone hits you on both.

That is the essence of the farce: A limited understanding.

If it ain't me, babe, then it ain't anyone...

I got this gorgeous Thanksgiving e- card. It was addressed to “My dearest adorable F!” Feels good, even though I know it is a lie. It is a lie because I sent it to myself. I do that. One cannot wait for others to do something for you.

What would I want to be grateful to myself for? I would say:

Thank you for sitting on a high horse, but that makes me realise you can ride…for walking with your nose in the air, so I can see its sharp contours more clearly…for not asking people to come to you because if they cannot see you they never will…for getting the hell out so that they can sleep well…for not feeling the compulsion for nice gestures because you have internalised every feeling…for the laughter, clear as crisp air, and the tears that drop on parched earth…for learning to walk the razor’s edge and enjoying the trail of blood…for touching me in places no one knows about…for leaving parts untouched so that there is something always to discover…for seeing yourself in the cracked mirror for you know where the distortion lies…for not aging but growing up everyday, even if it is in the wild!…for still looking wide-eyed at the sky…for writing things that just ‘hit you’…for leaving always with a spring in your stride for you do not wish to touch the earth…for entering my being and making a home in my life…for living with me always and promising to die together…for the self-obsession that makes you look deep…for finding your way in the dark…for learning to light up your own life…for building a home with matchsticks…for running your finger through flames…for sounding like a Hallmark card now but not trying to cash in on it!

Some of you may think this is crazy. It probably isn’t a sane thing to do.

Since I am talking, here… I also record voice messages for myself, mostly songs…and when I listen to them, although I know where they emanate from, they feel different. Like something superimposed on me or something wrenched away.

- - -

No words of thanks for others?

Those who came and waited
I hope you did not get tainted
By the dark shades
The sharp blades
But then this place wasn’t meant to get sainted

Those who left for good
I still think it was a swing of mood
Though you took the right decision
To avoid the friction
And chose abstinence over food

To those who might later enter
And circle around to find the centre
This is what life is about
A li’l bit of in and a li’l bit of out
For that you don't need a mentor

La-la-land

Despite having travelled overseas quite extensively, I find some American aspects truly hard to digest.

You enter a restaurant and just when you are half-way through the humongous portions, or merely pausing for breath or to contemplate your fingernails, you will hear a rather chirpy voice asking you, “Are you done?” When your eyes meet his or hers, there will be another salvo, “You still workin’ on it?”

Done? Working on it? I am surprised they don’t tell you, “Righto, enjoy masticating!”

Jaahils! This is food. This is ‘peit puja’. Only we understand the sheer devotion towards a culinary experience. Mind you, I am not talking about some fast-food joint. These were proper places.

At one, the girl waiting tables wore her cap backwards. It was a sushi bar, for god’s sake.

At a restaurant in the genteel Los Gatos, there was a cocktail named Tsunami Relief…Malibu Rum, hypnotiq, pineapple juice. Talk of insensitivity.

A ‘tall’ coffee is a small one. Why? Nobody knows.

If someone asks you, “So, how you doin; today?” you just cannot respond with a tepid, “Fine, thanks.” You have to sound like you have returned from a massage parlour…”Grrreeeaaatt…”

And then there is the other exclamation, more like punctuations.

“Hi there. What can I do fer ya?”

“I need a …”

“Un huh..”

“The names of a few home delivery places…

“Un-huh…”

“So, do you have them?”

“Un huh, jussamoment... Un huh, hey-you-ah”

Names are rattled off.

“Thanks…”

“Un huh…”

“I’ll call them now…”

“Aaan haanh!”

Finally, a climax is reached.

Dis n dat

Someone sent me a link to some excerpts of an interview of ‘Top Chef host Padma Lakshmi’ in the latest issue of Vanity Fair. It is a known fact that most interviewers don’t bother to counter-question. After reading those bits, I don’t think “The lady's like a sailor!” She is just vocabulary-ly challenged.

Here are some of her replies. There are a few counter-queries I would pose, if I were the one conducting the interview.

PL: On the Top Chef Emmy nomination: "[It] was a big fucking deal.”

Me: Erm…was that the deal?

PL: On life without her ex-husband, Salman Rushdie: "I'm really fucking sad."

Me: Bad for the guy you are with. It means you are sorrowful while at it, right?

PL: On her new cookbook: "Finishing the fucking book was like being in labor for two years!”

Me: Shouldn’t you have worn a condom?

PL: On hosting dinner party: "I pulled this out of my ass."

Me: Is that why the guests called it shit?

PL: On an AIDS charity she supports: "…we’re doing a campaign and an event and you should buy a fucking table.”

Me: Are you trying to say if you do it on the table, then you ain’t get no AIDS, but AIDS gets aid?

PL: On telling the press if she had a boyfriend: "My husband would call fucking Reuters."

Me: So, everytime you and Salman were at it, he said “Let’s Reuters”?

PL: On a tabloid's coverage of her bra size: "…they said it was 36C. I said, 34C, motherfucker!”

Me: Does it not mean that mamma-obsessed tabloid fellows like it bigger?

PL: On her current living situation: "Now I’m staying in a fucking hotel with all my shit in storage."

Me: Are you saying you live like a stowaway in your own room?

- - -

Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt plan to buy an Ethiopia-shaped house in Dubai. For those who don’t know, these are private islands with an exclusive beach and strip of sea where you can live in ultimate luxury. The mansion and surroundings will have the concept of particular country. Many Hollywood biggies have already bought such homes. I find the Jolie-Pitt move insensitive.

This is like making a spectacle of a country that has suffered politically, economically and socially. What is the point adopting children when you are going to treat this as some farce? Ooh, we will take Ethiopia so baby Zahara can romp in the silken sands and we can sun-bathe?

- - - -

End Quote

“ Philanthropy seems to me to have become simply the refuge of people who wish to annoy their fellow-creatures.”

- Oscar Wilde