The Good Side Of Bollywood

I'd almost forgotten how it felt to watch a clean, wholesome and thoroughly entertaining Bollywood movie. Now don't roll your eyes at me as though I'm some Hollywood-crazy wannabe. Bollywood actually has been churning out some pretty insufferable stuff of late; you can't blame me for fawning over every new Hollywood release while only coldly condescending to declare to anyone who'd listen that I have no time for the melodramatic trash that is churned out by Indian filmmakers. But every situation has a saviour, as they say, and I can confidently say that I have found, if only accidentally, the perfect balm to my Bollywood-aversion - the deliciously charming Jab We Met.

To put it very simply, the movie is a top-class entertainer. If Socha Na Tha, director Imtiaz Ali's first venture was a refreshing take on the quintessential Bollywood love story, then Jab We Met is more of the same, only considerably funnier. The plot, admittedly, is nothing much to write home about - there can be only so many variations of the boy-and-girl-meet-on-a-train-and-decide-to-embark-on-a-life-changing-journey-together pitch. Ali's execution of the trite, formulaic story, however, seems something like the wave of a magic wand - all of a sudden the situations seem more realistic, the characters more likable and the journey more fascinating. The dialogues are witty, the visuals stunningly dreamy (just why haven't our filmmakers explored Manali to the fullest?) and the melodrama is kept to a bare minimum. Did someone talk about the definitive Bollywood romantic comedy?

There are many things wonderfully close to perfection about Jab We Met, but none as close as the casting. Kareena Kapoor was born for the role of Geet, the high-strung Punjabi who lives life in its most dangerous and intoxicating fullness, and every single scene in the movie screams this simple fact loud and clear. For someone as prone to over-acting as her, Kareena shows remarkable restraint and poise, and some credit for this must definitely go to Ali. This girl clearly has oodles of talent; why do so few directors make full use of it? As she sprints across the railway station, completely out of breath, screaming, "Besharam, apni wardi utar ke phek de", you know you're watching a potential legend. Shahid Kapoor, though overshadowed by the sheer charisma of his co-star, puts in a thoroughly accomplished performance. The music is melodious and the choreography of the songs is breath-taking; however, you can't help but notice that the songs do more harm than good: slowing down the pace of the movie is NOT a good idea. But I can forgive one blemish in a movie which is otherwise so thoroughly entertaining.

The movie has a certain subtlety to it that transcends the loud Geet and her louder family. It has no sermonizing and no unnecessary tears, yet the difference between living one's life impetuously and taking life too seriously is brought out with mesmerizing vividness. The movie has one of the most heart-warming separation lines in the history of Indian cinema and it can also boast, quite unusually for a movie of this genre, of a brilliantly taut climax. Is this the best Bollywood romantic comedy ever? Ah, looks like I'm going a little overboard now. Blame it on the excitability of human nature. Or on the incredible star appeal of a certain Kareena Kapoor. Don't sneer, watch the movie.

Random Reactions

What have you done, J K Rowling?! You've completely ruined Dumbledore for me! (If you don't know what I'm talking about, you really need to read the newspaper more often.)

Also, I think I made a big mistake by including Kimi Raikkonen in my list of over-rated people. He fully deserved to steal the F1 World Championship from right under the grumpy noses of Lewis Hamilton (who's still my favourite driver), Fernando Alonso and McLaren. And did he do it in style!

ALSO, I hate it when Roger Federer loses, specially in a tournament final, as he did today against David Nalbandian at the Madrid Masters. By the way, has it become some kind of a fashion to defeat the top 3 ranked players in consecutive matches?

A Disease That Refuses To Go Away

I've been told that I write about useless, frivolous things (read: sports and movies) far too often on my blog. And while I'm not usually one to take criticism sportingly, I think being told anything about my blog is certainly an improvement over the cold ignorance that my blog is usually subjected to. So here's my first 'serious' post in quite a while:

Science research studies are in quite a terrific vogue these days. There are scientists doing research on the most diverse subjects imaginable, from analyzing the changes in the average person's favoured pastime to finding out the effects of blogging on general intelligence levels. And then we have scientists speaking disgustingly filthy garbage supposedly backed by some mysterious 'tests' that no one has ever heard of. Ladies and gentlemen, the eminent scientist going by the name of James Watson, THE James Watson, he of the legendary (at least for Biology students) Watson-Crick DNA model, has just become another publicity-hungry Paris Hilton, but without the good looks, of course. Apparently Mr. Watson is aware of certain 'tests' that prove conclusively that white people are inherently more intelligent than people of all other races, particularly those of African origin. Mr. Watson's remarks, pronouncing this extraordinarily dim-witted conclusion, came just days ahead of a lecture in Europe and more suspiciously, the release of his new book (any guesses why he wants all the publicity?) and have predictably sparked an outrage all over the world. He has, since, taken back his comments and apologized, but only after being suspended from his research centre and being forced to cancel his European tour. What I'd like to know, however, is whether making despicable racist comments such as these can be punishable by rigorous jail sentences in any court of law. Also, is there a way to take back the Nobel prize awarded to him in 1962?

We're living in the 21st century, yet the malaise of racism continues to haunt and disgrace us. Just a few days ago Australian cricketer Andrew Symonds complained about being racially abused by sections of the Indian crowds. While reactions to Symonds's claim from the Indian authorities have ranged from the ridiculous ("The crowds weren't doing monkey imitations; they were praying to Hanuman, the deity associated with monkeys") to the silly ("Symonds probably misunderstood the crowds because of language problems"), the Australians should hardly be in a position to cry foul over racist crowds. A year ago a number of coloured South African players were at the receiving end of racial abuse from the typically boorish Aussie spectators, and for years Asians have been mutinously insisting that the regular mistreatment that Muttiah Muralitharan receives in Australia has as much to do with the supposed illegality of his bowling action as it does with the fact that Murali, a true-blue Asian, has forever been close to overtaking the very white Shane Warne in the race to the highest wickets record. But this in no way condones the behaviour of the Indian crowds. Indian spectators, together with those from our beloved neighbour Pakistan, are by far the worst behaved cricket spectators on the planet, and these latest incidents have only confirmed this sorry fact. Most of the Indian authorities, however, would clearly love to condone every Indian spectator in their sight, as comments like "It was all a misunderstanding, we Indians are not racists" amply show. We Indians are not racists? How many times have you seen a North-east Indian walking unobtrusively along a street and a very audible comment like "Chinky chinky chow chow" not coming up from someone on the street? Don't rack your brains for such a memory, it doesn't exist.

I'm sorry, but racism is just as prevalent in our dear country as it is in present-day America or the Hitler-era Germany. We just don't realize it. We fawn over anyone remotely Caucasian or better still, with blond hair, and view every black foreigner with suspicious disdain. We even refer to blacks as 'niggers', blissfully unaware of how offensive the term actually is. We laugh openly at our Northeastern brethren (ever wondered how humiliating that must be for them?), and the worst part is, most of us don't even find anything wrong with that. Which is why I find it particularly annoying when Indians take the moral high ground and claim that "our beautiful culture has no place for racism".

This is, of course, not to say that Indians are the worst perpetrators of this abhorrent sin. Racism, sadly, is about as ubiquitous around the world as water. And no amount of political correctness, superficial 'equality' drives, Academy awards (did Halle Berry even deserve the award for Monster?) and Grand Slam victories (does a day pass by when one of the Williams sisters doesn't receive hate mail?) is going to change that. It comes naturally to most of us, just like the ability to walk and talk. Or as the wonderful Mr. Watson would like to prove, some of are just inherently racist. If the African-American race could be inherently dumb, then why not?

The Shame!

Lies, shame and misery. What is the sporting world coming to? We always thought Marion Jones was one heck of an inspiring lady. She was the woman who had set the 2000 Sydney Olympics alight with her audacious public desire to capture 5 gold medals in the track and field events. Her final medal tally - 3 golds and 2 bronzes - may not quite have matched her bold expectations, but it did firmly ensconce her in people's minds as a champion athlete, a woman to be revered and admired. Which is precisely why her stunning fall from grace, coming as it did in the midst of liberal tears and visible shame, evokes as much pity as it does disgust. Sure, Jones did cut a sorry figure as she tearfully admitted to a shell-shocked public that she used performance-enhancing drugs during the course of her stellar career. But when you think of all the times that you cheered for her apparently indomitable spirit and celebrated her famous victories, you do feel horribly cheated. How could she have had the gall to even smile at her adoring audience after her many race wins, knowing as she did that they had not come fairly? It's disgusting, there's no other word for it.

Sportspersons, I believe, have a greater duty than all others to be honest and fair when they're competing, for the simple reason that people consider sport to be the exemplification of the human spirit. I can forgive a businessman defrauding his way to success or an actor manipulating his way to the top, but when I see a sportsman celebrating the moment of his triumph, I know, or I assume, that there's an awe-inspiring story of toil and struggle that has led to his crowning glory. When we talk about sport, we talk about a phenomenon that is stripped to the bare essentials, a phenomenon that is a pure and fierce battle of wills - on the playing field, nothing else matters except your ability and desire to keep fighting. Besides, the fact that most sports events these days are televised makes everything all the more poignant. On so many occasions we actually see the sweat, blood and tears that go into the making of a champion, and that is why when we applaud the accomplishments of a sportsperson, our applause is truly heartfelt. And that is also why when a sportsman comes forward and confesses that he didn't actually deserve to be a victor, or more distressingly, that he swindled his opponent out of his well-earned success, we feel a sense of betrayal like no other.

The Marion Jones shame saga is not the only distasteful event to have disturbed the sporting population of late. Tennis is currently in the throes of its own match-fixing scandal, with no less than the No. 3 men's player in the world, Nikolay Davydenko, being at the centre of it all. What started as an isolated investigation into the irregular betting patterns over a match in which Davydenko retired against a hopeless opponent has, predictably, snowballed into a murky and far-reaching episode of conniving gamblers and suspiciously naive players. Scores of players, some rather well-known like Dmitry Tursunov and others remarkably unheard of, have come forward claiming that they have, at some point during their careers, been offered to throw matches by bettors. Of course, all of these distinguished players have proudly declared that they were conscientious enough to refuse the offers, but would it have killed them to report such incidents earlier? No one knows right now just how much of the tennis world is infected with the match-fixing disease, but honestly, will we even care when all the investigations are finally done and dusted? I hate to imagine tennis going the way of cricket - we have too few glorious sports to let them be eternally tarnished with nauseating evils like match-fixing. Sadly, however, the signs are all in place. The next thing we know, we'll be thinking things like, "Did Roger Federer really lose to Rafael Nadal?" I know, it's sickening.