LSD : The new La Dolce Vita

The Italian poet Pier Paolo Pasolini argued that, "La dolce vita was too important to be discussed as one would normally discuss a film.... The camera moves and fixes the image in such a way as to create a sort of diaphragm around each object. As each new episode begins, the camera is already in motion using complicated movements... like a quotation written in everyday language".

The same thing can be said about Dibakar Banerjee's LSD. Banerjee, armed with his digital camera, has done what Anurag Kashyap and Vishal Bhardwaj have only threatened to do. Where Dev D, Gulaal, Kaminey and Ishqiya showed embers, LSD shows us real fire. With one movie Banerjee has taken us into a brave new world. It will be a challenge for the viewers and the industry to follow him.

"You want video or no?" says a pop singer in his luxury caravan, unaware of the camera capturing his casting couch. Its a sting operation and the girl who is carrying it out throws playful glances at the camera as if to advertise herself. It is at once a shocking and voyeuristic shot.

Dibakar Banerjee's LSD is a culmination of three parallel, intertwining stories. The first is an amateur film-maker who follows the mockumentary format to make an unbelievably cheesy version of DDLJ. In the process, he falls in love with the actress. He elopes with her but is eventually caught. He captures the whole story on a hand held camera right up to its gruesome end. The second is a supermarket salesgirl who unwittingly gets stuck in an internet sex video. The third is a failed reporter, who tries to nail a pop singer for casting couch with his sting operation.

Banerjee's thesis is that the knowledge of a camera peering at us radically changes our behavior. That even everyday people become part of a voyeuristic experience is an ugly and realistic theme. His characters are overly insecure and unlovable, yet they are portrayed with compassion and unsympathetic realism.

LSD's importance and success will, most probably, not be understood in the short term. Much like Mughal-E-Azam, Sholay, Balachandar's Maro Charitra and Mani Ratnam's Anjali, LSD may have changed Indian cinema forever. Like La Dolce Vita, its greatness will be understood in the coming decades.

Devdas walks the streets of Istanbul

What is it about unfulfilled love that attracts so many writers? Is it the sheer force of passion lovers feel? Is it the chance to examine society through the constraints it imposes on love? Is it the deep examination of human values and feelings it allows? Such portrayals of love have produced some of the best novels, William Styron's "Sophie's Choice", Gabriel Garcia Marquez's "Love in the Time of Cholera" and Fitzgerald's "The Great Gatsby". But arguably the greatest work of unfulfilled love is Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay's "Devdas". Orhan Pamuk's "The Museum of Innocence" is probably the worthiest modern heir to this category.

Pamuk's protagonist, Kemal Basmasi, like Devdas, is born into a wealthy family. His education in America gives him a modern outlook and in 70's Turkey that means the freedom for women to lose virginity before marriage. At 30, Kemal is engaged to Sibel, a woman of the upper class Istanbul and educated in France. He is preparing for his engagement at the Istanbul Hilton when he runs into an 18 year old cousin, Fusun Keskin. Fusun, like Paro, comes from a poor family and works at a boutique. Kemal seduces Fusun as he prepares for the engagement and even invites her to the party.

But Kemal falls in love with Fusun. A few days before the engagement, lying in bed with Fusun, Kemal says "It was the happiest moment of my life, though I didn't know it..". But Fusun breaks off the relationship after the engagement and Kemal is left to nurse a bruised heart. As Kemal later wonders,"No one recognizes the happiest moments of their lives as they are living it, ... they still believe in the certainty of the happier moment to come. Because how could anyone carry on with the belief that things could only get worse?"

For the following decade, Kemal tries to capture the happiness of those moments. He breaks off his engagement with Sibel and leaves his rich Istanbul friends. He becomes, as he puts it "The Anthropologist of his own experience". Whether he succeds in regaining his love is the subject of this brilliant work. But the success is also strangely unimportant. For the means and reasons for actions are far more important than the ends. In the end, Kemal succeeds if only in displaying his love, as an artifact of personal history at the Museum of Innocence.

The novel also makes you wonder about the nature of Kemal (or even Devdas), as a man in a society that is at war with its own ideals. Is he just a hapless soul caught between the clash of ideas, ideals and reality? Is his rejection, patience and humiliation an atonement to his sin and the price of his enduring passion? Will his ultimate self-destruction make him a candidate for the pantheons of eternal love or is he just a spoilt brat. Pamuk's narration compels us to feel sorry for this victim of love. For as Rachel Menkin puts it in Mad Men, "I haven't thought about it till this moment, but it must be hard to be a man."

Like all of Pamuk's novels, Istanbul provides the setting. The city is painted with love and the landscape is replete with the history of each landmark. The Bosporus, the Nisantasi neighborhood, the Beyoglu film district, the poor slums and Europeanised restaurants become characters portrayed with unsympathetic but compassionate colors. Also on display are Istanbul's social strata, its dysfunctional institutions and ideas of the old world that clash with the new ones.

There could be many suitable titles to this novel, "The Pilferer of Trifles" (since Kemal steals everything Fusun touches), "The Collector of Love" (for Kemal's obsession of personal artefacts), "Love on the Bosphorus"(to signify the mingling of eastern and western ideas) and many more. And yet the best is "The Museum of Innocence". For love, the kind felt in the depths of the heart, is innocent and only the innocent and the idealistic can aspire to it. Love untouched by the realities that constrain it and misunderstood by the society that crushes it, is more than anything else, innocent. You need a book, a museum, to display such love, the city and the time it happend in.

If love can be believed in, felt, given meaning and a sense of purpose, why not have a museum for it. And who better than Orhan Pamuk to chronicle such a museum.

Ten rules for writing fiction

Guardians "Ten rules" is a delightful article for struggling writers .

Suggestions from various writers range from sublime to the absurd, generous to contradictory, practical to the pointless.

Some snippets:

Worrying: Margaret Atwood- "Prayer might work." That is so unlike the author of The Handmaid's Tale.

Cheeky: Rody Doyle - "Do not search amazon.co.uk for the book you haven't written yet."

Wise: Geoff Dyer- "Don't be one of those writers who sentence themselves to a lifetime of sucking up to Nabokov."

Cheeky2: Anne Enright- "The first 12 years are the worst."

Cynical: Richard Ford- "Don't write letters to the editor. (No one cares.)"

Practical: Jonathan Frazen- It's doubtful that anyone with an internet connection at his workplace is writing good fiction.

Pointless: Margaret Atwood- "Take a pencil to write with on aeroplanes. Pens leak. "

Moral fo the story though is simple: "No amount of self-inflicted misery, altered states, black pullovers or being publicly obnoxious will ever add up to your being a writer. Writers write"

Dopplegangers: Al Pacino and J.D.Salinger

What Indian hacks cant write.....

The IT department's comment, "'The Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI) has become totally commercial and all its Cricket is only incidental to its scheme of things. It is more into prize money for every run or wicket, which is nothing short of a gimmick.' " has barely been noticed in India.

Until, ofcourse, Gideon Haigh commented in his Cricinfo column. As Haigh puts it, "... does cricket make money in order to exist, or does it exist in order to make money? " Cricket, according to him, is simply a vehicle to make money. ".. BCCI invited corporates to participate directly in the commercial exploitation of Indian cricket by owning IPL franchises, essentially issuing them licences to participate in a massively lucrative oligopoly.".

What is more interesting is how little such statements are noticed by our press. Even the eloquent waxing from Harsha Bhogle, Kunal Pradhan, Bobbili Vijay Kumar, can't mask their powers of excluding important debates. So we read Bhogle gently chiding the BCCI about scheduling, Pradhan describing the poetry of Ganguly's batting and Kumar questioning the selectors. Its the bite that's missing.

So, my dear Indian hacks, please drop your "Match ka Mujrim" style reporting and start understanding and initiating the important debates of our time.

Pindari Trek Day 5 & 6

After a long tiring day, we decide to aim for Dhakauri. Since we already stayed at Khati and the view from Dhakauri was too tempting at sundown to miss. We started around 7:30 am at Dwali and reached Khati at 10:30 am. It was mostly downhill and quite easy. We had our lunch and started from Khati around 12 pm. But once we crossed a little distance, the rain came pouring down. We were completely drenched by the time we got to Dhakauri. Luckily the sun came out and we had a wonderful view of the valley and the dusk. We had some delicious Khichdi and went to sleep.

We started around 7:30 am and reached Loharket at noon. Lunch was prepared by the veritable Mr Chowki, now in jolly spirits and free of pressures. We paid our porters Rs 300 each per day with some tip. The bridge that connects Lohaket to Saung was broken at time. So you will need to walk/ take a short taxi ride to get to the broken bridge, then cross it and hire another taxi to get to Kathgodam.

Interestingly Mr Chowki, who lived in one of the nearby villages also wanted to ride along with us. We haggled with a taxi driver to get us to the broken bridge. Mr Chowki whispered to me, “As soon as we turn that bend, I will strangle the driver and we can take the car. ” Vasu was beside me and said “... and he turns out to be violent.” We bid our goodbyes to Mr Chowki and crossed the broken bridge carrying our luggage.

We came down to Saung and found a taxi to Kathgodam. We finally reached Kathgodam at around 8:30 pm. The taxi driver was an interesting character. The guy drove on slooping, loopy roads like an F-1 wannabe who was one with the almighty Gods. He had “Aithani” laminated on the rear window in ghost-like gory font. When I asked him about it, he said it was his surname.
I was relieved to have decent food and accommodation at a Kathgodam hotel. Over the week long trek I developed a healthy contempt for dal and maggi, that I’d previously reserved only for humans. After a week in the Himalayas, I seemed to be carrying most it with me.

(To read a Short Itinerary of the trip: click here)

Pindari Trek Day4

We woke up early and started off from Dwali around 6 am. Our goal was to reach Phurkhiya asap. The best view of Pindari generally fades by afternoon due to cloud obstruction. The path to Phurkhiya is almost completely uphill and through thick forest. But the path is well laid out and there is no chance of getting lost. We reached Phurkiya around 8:15 am covering a distance of 5 km.

We had breakfast and chai and started off to Pindari zero point. The distance from Phurkiya to Zero point is around 12 km. But suddenly there is no forest on the slopes. Its mostly bushes and shrubs. With the climate being dry, sunny and cold, these are the only plants that grow. Even as we walked in the naked hot sunshine, the chilly winds kept me from breaking a sweat. My mouth felt dry often and I ended up filling my water bottle from the waterfalls a number of time. Carrying a goggles/cooling glasses makes it much easier.

We reached Baba’s temple which is a short walk from Zero point. The long walk and dry, hot weather left us all tired. Baba served us some snacks and tea. Its almost amazing how the smallest of things make us happy in these place. Baba had served ajwain-ki-puri with some pickle. Surrounded by mountains and clouds, sipping tea, the taste the puri tasted even better.
Baba is one of those rare Himalayan entrepreneurs, who doesn’t have to sell soft-drugs to do well. He did not like photos or silly talk. To my surprise, he made it quite clear that the brats coming behind us were not as welcome at his place. He goaded us to get to Zero point when a few of us were giving up.

Finally three of us decided to walk the last mile, mostly uphill to zero point. The view was breathtaking. It lifted my spirits. The hill almost ends at Zero point in an avalanche all around you. From a distance you can see the ice wall of Pindari and stream originating from below it. Around me was a valley of dizzying heights.

After some snaps, we returned back to Baba’s hut and made some offering in the temple (since he himself would not accept money). Then commenced the long walk back to Dwali. In total we covered around 25 km and we were back in our tent around 4:30 pm.
It would have worthwhile to enjoy Zero point for a while longer. It was almost noon by the time we reached and most of the mountain tops were lost in the clouds. Reach Zero point before 9 am to enjoy the views fully. That will allow you some leisurely walks around Baba’s place.
Story about kufni and IAS guys.

(To read a Short Itinerary of the trip: click here)

Pindari Trek Day3

We started leisurely from Khati, around 7:30 am. Our target was to reach Dwali, then taking time and accommodation into account, we would try to push on to Phurkiya. The path from Khati to Dwali is about 11 Km, mostly level paths on mountain sides, with the occasional climb. I reached Dwali around noon. I was the first to arrive with one of our guides. I sat at a tea stall on the mountain side overlooking the green valley with is converging streams of river.

Listening to the roar of the river, the gentle sun, nestled among trees and hills, sipping warm tea, reading Eric Newby’s “A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush”, I thought it was all very bohemian. I asked myself, could life get better? The answer was, “Just rid the place of the damn Bengalis.” The bring along their huge luggage, stoves and concerns of food. Their porter was practically crushing himself under the weight of his luggage.

My friends slowly trickled in. Due to shortage of accommodation in Phurkiya, we decided to stay at Dwali for the night and push directly to Pindari the next day. By evening the IAS group and the brats caught up with us. As expected no book reading was possible with them around. It was much more interesting to listen in on the IAS guys. There was enough bickering and chaos to suggest these guys had no chance of leading, let alone reforming, a byzantine third world bureaucracy.

They repeatedly threatened to lodge a complaint against their guide. “No tayilet, bathroom na”. Their English was broken at best and hindi was much worse. The Gultis, like gultis from any other walk of life, mingled only among themselves. The other southies were the same.
“What yeej the condition man?”, more cribbing about rooms followed. It took them 10 mins to decide that a chlorine tablet for 10 ltrs needed to be broken into 10 pieces for ten 1 ltr bottles. Drinking water directly from the streams and waterfalls gave me little raptures of joy. Here were the future rulers of India trying to purify something that needed no purification. Even the girls had no Kiran Bedi-esque charisma. They looked like tortured housewives pushed into jobs for extra income.

(To read a Short Itinerary of the trip: click here)

Pindari Trek Day2

We woke up and started from Loharket quite late, around 8 am. The uphill climb from Loharket to Dhakauri is fairly tough. It took us around 4.5 hrs to go up the hill. To reach Dhakauri, we descended a couple of meters. On the way we came across the grave of a certain Mr Peter Kost with an engraving, “This is your paradise”. Repeated inquiries yielded no story of Mr Kost. He was now part of the landscape.

Dhakauri is a charming little place, consisting of dhaba shacks and KMVN. It’s not really a village, but a beautiful plateau like land with lush but short grass. The best part though is the view of the mountains of Kumaon. We enjoyed our lunch overlooking these mountains and discussed the various perils of mountaineering (our only experience was the we read).

Since we had the usual entourage of IAS guys and the school brats behind us, the lack of any accommodation in Dhakauri was fairly obvious. After almost 2 hrs of lazing around into he meadow, we decided to push on to Khati. Khati is about 8 km from Dhakauri. But mostly downhill, so we were able to cover the distance in about 3 hrs. The views offered on the way to Khati are quite majestic and villages are charming with flowers of various kinds coloring the landscape. A signpost on the way told us we were around 20 Km from motorable road.
We stopped for a bit of rest about 1.5 km from Khati. A small hotel/chai-shoop is nestled almost perfectly to watch the view of four mountains. Sundar-Dunga and Mektel on the left, Pindari and another I fail to remember on the right.

Once we reached Khati, I was surprised to find some good coffee, maggi and fell into conversation. An Englishman came over to talk to us about the availability of beer on Oct 2nd. He was planning a biking trip for his friends on the Pindari route. And surprisingly for an Englishman, he was interested in cricket. He’d even been to Pakistan to watch England play.
After dinner, which was fairly good, we found accommodation in the PWD guest house. Derelict, cold concrete structure planned with the best of intentions but constructed with the genuine Indian shoddiness. A signpost read Khati to be at 2210m above sea level. I went to bed and crashed for the day.

(To read a Short Itinerary of the trip: click here)

Pindari Trek Day1

We reached Kathgodam from Delhi. Kathgodam is a charming little station. The kind we see only on long journeys. While the waiting rooms and the adjoining bathrooms are surprisingly clean, the main entrance has a faux-colonial feel to it. Beyond the tracks lay the hills.
We bargained a taxi to take us to Saung for 3500. It was almost 9 by the time we broker for breakfast.We gorged on parathas and maggi. The ride was laborious. The day got hotter and dryer. The ride seemed to go on forever.

We finally reached Saung at around 3pm. To our horror there were no vacant rooms at the Loharkhet KMVN. The dormitory was booked by a private shcool and the rest of the place for some IAS trainees.

The watchman, lets call him Mr Chowki, was frenetic. While dusting bed-sheets and cleaning room, he would take breaks to yell at us, "There are no rooms. As it is I-yes offisuers are coming”. We waited, encouraged by our local guides to do so. There was a section of rooms vacant but they were under-construction. No power, no bathrooms, but a roof and the promise of warm bedding. We sat in the lawn infront of the KMVN enjoying the view.

A family of Israeli Tourists walked in. They were staying in a single room. By now Mr Chowki was increasingly nervous. The divine gods (read IAS trainees) could descend any moment. He yelled at the Israelis too, “I-yes offisuers coming. You shift. Bees laug group coming. I shift you.” The Israelis were tired and in need of some rest. Mr Chowki’s rant got on their nerves, but the fact remained simple. They had no choice but to make room for the arriving gods.

By now our frustration boiled over and we were tired of the I-yes offisuers affair. We did what people in helpless situations do, make jokes. “We should go and tell the Israelis. In India first come the bureaucrats, the God, then the firangs, then bloody Indians.” Navin added, “Bloody Indians dont come into the picture at all.”

We were deep in our debates when a bunch of young, noisy boys began trickling in. Now as far as 15 year old brats go, these guys were the worst. They were yelling, passing unsubtle comments about the Israeli girl, getting into fights with each other. They started flashing their torch lights over everyone. For once we felt like escaping into some quiet.

We walked downhill and found a forest department office. We scoured some meager food at a small kitchen in there. We were finally alloted a room in the under-construction building. It was cleaned up a bit and we were given some bedding. But since there was no electricity, we found a solar lamp which would last a couple of hours at best.

Just as we settled in, Mr Chowki appeared in our room and said he wanted the lamp. By now the gods had arrived in full force and they wanted to eat in the open. Clearly they could not do so in the dark. Inspite of our pleadings, he took the lamp away and left us in pitch darkness. A few minutes later Mr Chowki re-appeared with a lamp, only this one was going on and off every 5 secs, thereby creating a disco like effect. We begged him not to pamper us with a disco, we only wanted a room to sleep in. But he’d run away promising to be back. I walked out for a bit with a friend of mine. We saw one of the IAS guys trying to make conversation with the Israelis. Was there a government service in Israel, ....... etc?

When we had our fill of the disco jokes, it was switched off. Finally Mr Chowki brought a kerosene lamp. We refused dinner and went to bed.

(To read a Short Itinerary of the trip: click here)