Popular Cinema and Music

Songs and dance in movies are a unique feature in Indian brand of cinema, at least in the over the top popular cinema. Music and songs are so intricately woven in the fabric of our movies that often a movie’s potential for being a hit or flop is heavily dependent on its music and songs.

Of course the first of the movies were mute and hence the script was written and performed in a novel way to get the message across to the audience by means of gestures and elaborate expressions of the actors. 

But as soon as the talking feature films made their arrival in the theatres of India, the songs sneaked into the movies as innocuously as spoken words. It was a normal thing to have song and dance along with the dialogues in movies.

This is not the case with world cinema where songs in movies is a rarest of the rare event, for the simple reason that songs don’t blend with the pace and entity of the script and risks jeopardizing the theme of a movie.  

How and why then Indian movies began to groove to the musical notes? 

Perhaps this trait was inherited from the nautanki, natak, swang, drama theatre which preceded the cinema by centuries. Even now in the hinterlands the travelling theatre groups and for that matter the annual stage-events of the Ram Lila performed by amateur artists continue to have song and dance and rhymed dialogues, half spoken and half sung and full songs at regular intervals.

So maybe, the pioneers of Indian cinema were too conservative and naïve to imagine a cinematic experience without the quintessential song and dance play up with the script and hence supported it passionately in holding the audience awake and interested in the happenings on the big screen, the bada parda. There could be a counter view that the audience might not like movies without songs!

The third decade of the last century produced the first talking film of India – Alam Ara.  

The 1931 release Alam Ara had seven songs, and that set the trend. As is the case with theatre and nautanki, the lead actors were to have a rich baritone, a powerful voice which could shoot a dialogue and sing a song without much a difficulty!

So we have the likes of KL Sehgal and others who performed both ways as actor and singer in the thirties and early forties. While KL Sehgal did enthuse the audience with his singing, others were at best tolerable singers. When it came to acting and dialogue delivery the singers did no better than what the actors did while singing. Still they were a hit and ruled the roost as motion picture was a new phenomenon and watching a movie was an extraordinary experience in itself. Moreover, singing actors were more authentic and familiar.

Soon the technological advance made it possible to superimpose vocals on actors which made way for lip-syncing. This was straight from heaven for it brought about the ultimate idea of playback singers in movies. Yes, from now onward, real singers would record songs and actors would do lip-syncing before the camera. More than anyone else the actors were much relieved by this invention. This heralded the era of music directors and playback singers.

The actors’ job became less stressed as now they were saved from mouthing out songs that required rhythm, sur and a pleasing voice. The lead actors could now focus on their acting solely. Likewise the singers were relieved too and yes, more that anyone else, the poor audience too had a better time in the cinema halls. The combination of drama and situational songs were to usher them in a surreal world for those two to three hours.

But it wasn’t just about fitting a song here and another there between the scenes, soon the film makers realized that song should be situation based or at times a scene should be so created as to fit a song in that situation. Either way songs have to go along with drama and support the varied emotions of love, sorrow, joy, separation, heartbreak, oppression, patriotism, morality, duty, revenge, resolve et al.

Soon the job of a lyricist and music composer became more demanding and important.  Music could make a movie hit, it can supersede a mediocre script and magnify a good story-line. Songs could also be a bridge between different parts of a story and could even be used as theme throughout the narration. They could also provide a break from highly charged emotional veritable or would augment elements of a script for an elongated effect.

However, with time, song became indispensable. Often songs are used without the question of a need. They are needed because a movie has to have them. A movie without songs is a rarity in popular Indian cinema. What would the audience talk about a movie if it didn’t have good songs? Indeed, script and acting are important but still songs are needed to complete the movie, it’s an indispensable part. Sound tracks can very well support an annoying script or irritating acting, so be on the safer side. Add five-six songs and let the audience too have a breather!

Songs could claim half of the movie budget and time. A movie’s song album is released weeks before the release of the movie and given a grand ceremony by way of music launch of the film. Money making is a costly job and stakes are high and so the value of music.

Whereas the Indian popular cinema has come a long way in the last 80 years, curiously the old charmer hasn’t changed much. The nautanki and Ram Lila continue to enthrall the countryside albeit they too have made some technical advances by means of hanging mikes and ruefully lip-syncing to popular Bollywood tracks in their act. 

Still the roots of Indian cinema are preserved in the form of nautanki party and Ram Lila and other such drama ensembles in the parts of the country to an extent.

Generally songs had instant effect on the naïve audience. They provided them a look into a surreal world. Easy lyrics tuned into hummable songs made it easy for them to remember the movie and became a pull-factor for masses to throng the cinema halls. 

Riot

The special court in Ahmedabad has decided the quantum of punishment for the 24 convicts found guilty in the Gulberg Society massacre in which 69 people were killed in the 2002 Gujarat riots. Eleven have been given life imprisonment while twelve got seven years jail-term and one convicted for 10 years in prison.

Both the parties i.e. the victims and the convicts have expressed disappointment and intend to go to High Court against the quantum of punishment/judgment.

In March this year, I visited Gulberg Housing Society in Ahmedabad. The place is haunting now. I had the impression of walking amidst the shrieks and cries of men and women being killed, burnt alive, and tortured. What remains of it now is a desolate, abandoned, housing complex with an undiminished blemish on mankind.

This is a small housing complex with a few two-story structures, and these are left untended since that horrendous day of February 2002 when a mob overcome with fanatical rage swooped on this hapless human habitation. Time, though, has had its markings. Bushes and creepers have grown and died and grown again on the balconies and elsewhere. Windows and doors have made a ubiquitous exit from the ground floors of most buildings, making the entry to the houses unhindered. The walls and ceilings are enveloped with soot and grime. The eerie calmness hangs in the still air now.

“Ehsan Jaffri fired at the mob sir, this triggered violence”, said my driver; a presumption many continues to hold here including the defense advocate in the case.  What was there a need to wield a firearm and pull the trigger even if a rampaging mob had attacked you with wanton fury and death was more a certainty than an escape to life? All attempts and requests for help had gone unheeded. The mob had its way, no one tried to stop it, 69 innocents were brutally killed.

Not very far from Gulberg Society lies Juhapura, a Muslim majority area in Ahmedabad. Some of the riot victims were shifted here, a very congested and underdeveloped area in the city. I had gone there to meet a witness to the riots but learnt that his son, also a witness, died the previous night. A janaza had passed by as we were entering the street. The old man’s sufferings haven’t ceased yet.

While on my way back, I happened to meet another victim. Having lost his dear ones in Gulberg Society he relocated to Juhapura. He works as a liftman on a meager pay of Rs. 4000/- per month. He said ten members of his family, including his wife and a son, were martyred. When I asked if he still felt any threat to him, he simply replied – “ab darr nahi hai, yahan sab Muslim hain na”. His sense of security is more to do with people from his own faith than to uniformed armed personnel provided by state and central governments on court direction.

Citizen Nagar is better known as Kachrapatti. The city garbage is dumped here and now mounds and little hills of filth and waste abound this place. Kachrapatti also houses many underprivileged citizens of the city, most of whom are daily wage workers, auto-rikshaw drivers etc. Approximately 20-odd riot victims and witnesses have been resettled here. This ‘resettlement’ colony is flanked by the garbage dump on one side and an industrial area on the other side. Stink from the garbage mounds has a constant stay in the atmosphere here.

A little more than a 100 kilometer from Ahmedabad lies Ode Gaon. In Ode Gaon lies a nondescript village, a human habitat of about 20 families who have lived here for generations.  The poor dwellers of this place had no inkling of what was going to befall them in those last days of February, 2002. They were killed, beaten, looted and their houses torched.

Menaz Begum, a frail, middle-aged woman, bony and grim, recounted the incident. Seven of her family members, including her two relatives who happened to be their guests that day, were killed. Her wrinkled face and misty eyes bear the narrative of her suffering and trauma.

Vis Nagar and Sat Nagar in Mehsana and Madni Nagar in Ahmedabad are other such small pockets where the riot victims have been put up. Sat Nagar is a Muslim village and a prosperous one as evident by the well-built houses and an imposing mosque, however, on the edge of this small village is a gully of the riot victims who were rehabilitated here. This street is in stark contrast to the rest of the village. The houses in here are not plastered or whitewashed. The occupants of these houses were relocated here after the riots destroyed their homes in other parts of the state. Madni Nagar in Ahmedabad has a ground-floor small 8” by 8” rooms symmetrically put in rows and built for the riot-victims with the aid coming from Saudi Arabia, South Africa and other countries whose names are mentioned on the name plates stuck on the front walls of these matchbox rooms.

There are other such clusters where innocent, poor, ordinary people went through gruesome atrocities in the riots that engulfed Gujarat, and in particular – Ahmedabad, Godhra, Himmat Nagar, Ode Gaon, Deogarh Baria etc. All those who perished in the riots and the 59 Kar Sevaks who were burnt in a train coach in Godhra that precipitated the vicious cycle of savagery, were innocent people. They died for no fault of theirs.  They did not know what wrong had they committed to incur such ferocious brutality.

And this is not the only time it has happened. Riots, like droughts and floods, occur almost every year in some part or the other in the country. But while droughts and floods are natural phenomena, riots are meticulously designed, timed and set off. 

(P.S. This post was originally written in May, 2016)

Again?

It was the second week of July this year. On a sunny, listless and hot afternoon the news came that a top commander of one of the Kashmiri militant groups had been neutralized in an ensuing encounter between the Indian army and the militants. The news instantly became breaking news and was all over the media tools. Burhan Wani, 22, had been wanted by the security forces for quite some time and his death was seen as a task accomplished. Things, however, were not going to be easy in the time to come. The valley was soon going to witness one of the worst phases of turmoil. Protests, stone pelting, curfew, pellet guns, azaadi, deaths, human rights, blindness, torture, atrocities, patriots, traitors – were to be the theme words in in national discourse for the next two months or so. In the succeeding two months Kashmir valley would writhe in flames, an interminable curfew would still the air and 70 lives would be lost and many more would go blind or partially blind and even more would sustain injuries. 

The valley had been relatively peaceful since 2010 and the 2014 incident-free election for the state assembly strengthened the belief that days of violent protests were gradually falling behind for the good. But there were indeed a sense of premonition creeping over the minds who know Kashmir. Summer is probably the best time to be in Kashmir and summer is also the time when the ceasefire violations and infiltration bids become more frequent. Kashmir, it again turns out, was just being patiently in wait of a dreaded summer. The neighbouring country did play its part, as it always does, in fomenting trouble in the valley. Burhan Wani’s death was followed by large gatherings offering prayers for the dead militant. The peaceful gatherings soon gave way to stone-pelting and violent protests. The CRPF in an attempt to defuse the volatile situation sprayed pellet guns on the stone-wielding protesters and this approach resulted in a number of casualties and blindness/partial blindness over a period of time. The clamour for a ban on pellet guns roused as the number of dead, blind and injured grew. Mehbooba Mufti, the chief minister of Jammu and Kashmir, proved ineffective in either preventing or calming down the protests. The Centre took it’s time, way too long, to react maybe because it was clueless as to how to deal with it.

Rajnath Singh, the Home Minister, visited the valley twice, tried in vain to hold an all-Party meeting to bring a sense of normalcy. Finally he announced the replacement of pellet guns with PAVA shells. PAVA shells are considered comparatively less harmful than pellet guns. But it was more the factor of time and fatigue that somewhat brought a fragile halt to the protests. Meanwhile, Pakistan went to great lengths to vilify India over Kashmir. The overt support and instigation by Pakistan to the violent protests in the valley further strained the already tenuous relations between the two countries. On 15 August, 2016, Prime Minister Narendra Modi marked a paradigm shift in Indian foreign policy by mentioning Balochistan in his Independence Day speech. In return, Pakistan alleged it was an attempt to divert the attention from Indian forces’ “atrocities” in Kashmir. 

Then, on the night of 18^th September, 2016, four militants attacked Indian army outpost in Uri and killed 18 of our soldiers. Articles of Pakistani markings were recovered from the bodies of the slain militants and India blamed Pakistan for the attack. Calls for revenge began. The BJP government and PM Narendra Modi, having ridiculed Manmohan Singh for being soft on Pakistan had a job in hand. But as always, India opted for diplomacy and passionately sought to once again expose and isolate Pakistan. If Pakistan accused India of committing human rights violations in Kashmir, India for the first time raked up Pakistan army’s atrocities in Balochistan and Pakistan sponsored terrorism in the region.

The blame-game reached the United Nations annual summit when Pakistan PM Nawaz Sharif accused India of committing human rights violations in Kashmir. India humiliated Pakistan by calling it ‘ivy league of terrorism’. Both the countries’ media as expected were busy feasting on war hysteria.

Back home, PM held meetings on the Indus Water Treaty and ostensibly explored the possibility of scrapping the treaty. There were talks that India would review the status of Most Favoured Nation to Pakistan. India also opted out of SAARC summit which was to be held in Pakistan in November this year. India was followed suit by Bangladesh, Afghanistan and Bhutan instantly and later Sri Lanka too decided not to attend the summit.

However, just when things were looking to be heading in the same old realm of tirade and diplomatic pressure, on 29^th September, Indian Army DGMO dropped a bomb shell when he informed the media that the Army had conducted surgical strikes at terrorist launch pads inside PoK and caused ‘significant casualties’ to terrorists and those trying to protect them. The DGMO Lt General Ranbir Singh further said that special commandos of the army involved in the mission returned unscathed. He emphasized that the surgical strikes were against terrorists and that the operation was over and the same had been conveyed to his counterpart in Pakistan. 

This is it!

But Pakistan has denied it tooth and nail. On the other hand they have accused us of violating the ceasefire and killing two of their soldiers the same night. Pakistan has termed India’s claim of surgical strike as baseless and instead accused India of cross border firing. However, experts say Pakistan’s denial of the strikes is good for India as that would hugely make it untenable for Pakistan to retaliate and escalate the situation. 

The surgical strikes or more importantly the official announcement of the same has marked a radical shift in India’s approach to dealing with the menace of cross-border terrorism. Never before has an Indian government been so explicitly vocal about its military covert operations let alone a military strike inside a territory held by another country. We have openly extended our support against the atrocities in Balochistan which Pakistan accuses is a handiwork of India’s RAW. A prominent Baloch leader currently perched in Geneva has already filed application for asylum in India. India has raised its pitch against the human rights violations in PoK and other areas and also Pakistan’s inability (read unwillingness) to punish the perpetrators of the Mumbai terror attack in November 2011 and the Pathankot airbase attack. 

The overzealous media is more than happy to maintain the current scenario of escalating hostilities. Some of the ministers from both the countries have been irresponsible in their statements most notably Pakistani defence minister who threatened launching of nuclear war. The war mongers in both the countries are enjoying a free run. The social media and 24*7 news channels are cashing in on the hysteria for TRPs. Pakistani actors and singers have been bundled out to their country. Pakistan has banned screening of Indian movies in theatres. India-Afghanistan trade via Pakistan is stopped. Border area villages in Punjab have been emptied out. Soldiers’ leaves have been cancelled. Once again vitriolic attacks on each other are the norm.

How long will it last? What could be the next move of both the countries? Are they going to war again? There are no gains to be had out of a war. The cost is too high. At this time I recall the words of a highly decorated retired IAF officer, who once said, “War is a funny thing. It leaves no winner but only destruction.”

Das volk

She sat by a pedestrian way with some shoe repairing tools, black and brown wax polish tins, worn out boots and sandals beside four different size brushes that lay neatly spread out on a piece of plastic sack before her. She was probably in her early 40’s, looked healthy, had a string of little white  flower buds  tucked into her black curly hair. She was wearing a bright yellow saree that matched with the pale yellow wall behind her back. This lady presented an unusual sight for she was a mochi, a cobbler.  

The air hardly stirred near Secunderabad railway station on that hot afternoon in April. It was a busy, congested place yet she didn’t seem to have any work.  As she sat idle, her eyes followed the crowd coming out of the railway station and crossing the road at the traffic signal. The footsteps passed by in motley fashion: some in a hurry for getting late to work, some sulking, unwillingly dragging towards school, some tottering and some in an alluring catwalk. The numerous pair of feet attires that clatter on the sidewalk in this dusty busy street not very often need any repair or maintenance by a skilled person, a cobbler. Even if there is work for a mochi it doesn’t bring much money as the pay for their work is fragmented in pittance. A shoeshine, replacing a ruptured sole, stitching the toecap, fixing a broken heel or mending a new biting boot; all these don’t normally fetch reasonable remuneration unless a customer is ‘generous’ enough.

There are basically two categories of cobblers:  those, like the lady in yellow saree, who have a permanent location or spot such as street corners, outside movie theatres, bus stands and railway stations etc; and those who go mobile with all their paraphernalia crammed in a rectangular wooden box slung over their shoulders. They walk from place to place in search of work in the bylanes and streets and markets and fairs measuring the earth on foot and exhaling the word ‘boot polish’ in a distinctly treble voice so that everyone knows that a mochi is around looking for work. In hard times, a sight is common where a prospective customer is surrounded by little boys vying with each other to polish his dusty shoes. In fact at places they could be seen scouring for dirty and unpolished pair of shoes and vigorously insisting on a shoeshine. It’s a tough job. Work doesn’t come easily and pays little.  

They sit at street corners and pavements and weather all the wrath of the torrid seasons of summer, winter and rain, living an uncertain, meager life of misfortune and of unpredictability of a square meal. And they are not alone; there is that poor rikshaw wallah, that bony labourer, the street vendors, street urchins, and countless others. Time has had little effect on their misery for they remain fettered in poverty, illiteracy and ignorance just like their fathers and forefathers. Unperturbed by the economic boom of an emerging ‘superpower’, their day begins and ends in a continual struggle for bread and basic necessities.  For them, life is precariously balanced on a shoestring.

Lost

Another day passes by

leaving void filled in mind

twisted, mingled, kaleidoscopic shades

stuck in tarred wheels of time

struggling, uncovering layer by layer

lost hues of emotions,

unhinged, floating about

a sketchy dream,

a search for identity.

PS: (Written in August, 2013)

Adrift

Lost in thoughts, 
mind somewhere wandering,

soaked in feelings…numerous,

pulling together old misty memories

days gone by catch you up

lifting you above the ground

joy, sorrow, smile and pangs of pain

unhindered, flowing aimlessly

like the first gush of water from melting ice,
in the world of chaos

my aloof self, breathing air of solitude

acquiring a lonesome attitude!

People around us

It is 10:30 in the morning, I have come out of my office to have a cup of tea which is more of an excuse to salvage a break from the monotonous work I have to do at office.
At the tea stall works a helper whose job is to serve tea to the customers, he is not more than ten years old – thin, round face with large and tinkling eyes and an amicable smile on his innocent face.
We all call him Chhotu, a common name thrust upon anyone of his age working at tea stalls, dhabas etc to make ends meet. The tea stall owner, though a very well mannered man to his customers, doesn’t deem it fit to extend his good behavior to little Chhotu.
At about 10 minutes walking distance from my office is a traffic signal. It’s late April, temperature is searing above 40 degree Celsius, and spring has made way for a dreadfully scorching summer.
As the traffic light turns red, a number of vehicles including cars of different make halt before the zebra crossing. It’s a busy road; the signal will last for 120 seconds much to the annoyance of the people behind the wheels.  As it is a common sight at most traffic signals in big cities, small-time vendors, beggars, street urchins jump into the scene trying to sell a variety of items such as cheap pirated novels,  magazines, water bottles, balloons, toys and what not. Two eunuchs dressed in vibrant outfits go from car to car asking for “bakhsheesh”.
As the light is still red, a man with long grey beard, in loose and soiled kurta-payjama grabbing a rag in his right hand, approaches a Maruti Swift and without saying anything begins frenziedly wagging the rag on windows, bonut, indicators etc, it hardly matters if the car indeed needs a cleaning. After he is done with it, he knocks on the glass of the window gesturing for his ‘mehantana’ or wage. Unperturbed by all this, comfortably listening to the radio fm in the air conditioned car, the driver doesn’t even care to give him a look – leave alone a five rupee coin!
The grey bearded man, in a failed attempt knocks again, waits for a few more seconds looking helplessly, then moves on to the next car.
Just about 80 meters’ distance from the traffic signal is a cricket stadium. Today is the first day of a test match between India and Australia. The match is scheduled to begin at 9:30 in the morning. It’s 7:30 am, I am on my way to office. But today, the road isn’t empty, that too, on a Saturday. On both sides of the service lane, I see some guys selling caps, hats, t-shirts, card banners with 4s and 6s written on them, fancy wigs, big plastic goggles that cover your entire face and not just the eyes. There are dozens of snacks wallahs as well lining up on either side of the road to the stadium.
One cricket match becomes a source of employment to so many people, although temporary.
Among all these, one guy somehow catches my attention. Rising some five feet from the ground, dark complexion, medium built, face devoid of any expression, eyeing on every passersby as a potential customer. He is wearing a multi-coloured wig, has some white hats hung on to his left shoulder, his right hand is holding three little painting brushes – green, white and saffron.
At 1:30, I come out of office to see the bustle has increased.  That guy is still at the same place and in the same position where I had left him in the morning at 7:30. Now, only one hat rests on his shoulder, but the wig is still there, probably he keeps this always on his head to stand out in the crowd -- a marketing skill.
As the day progresses, hopefully, he will have his entire stock sold out.
Let’s come back to the first scene – the tea stall or more aptly the chaiwallah ‘Chhotu’.  
Chhotu, like thousands of other kids of his age doesn’t know if there is a law (RTE) that guarantees him free education, and he might even get admission in a private school without having to spend a single penny as the government claims. Or maybe he knows it too well, he wants to continue his school education but he cannot.  He has to work, he is poor. He has to earn to support his family.
The pressure of earning a livelihood surpasses his ambition of making it big in life through education. 
Education, even if free, is a luxury he can’t afford!
Let’s talk about the middle-aged-grey-bearded man who wipes off car windows to make a living. He is not the only one in this profession, at least in Delhi. I wonder if this practice could be categorized as an ingenuous method of begging or more sophistically the opposite of forced labour for no one solicited his services to clean their already shining cars.
This is a tough job especially in an indifferent, unforgiving city like Delhi.
Maybe he can take some inspiration from the guys who stand outside the cricket stadium to sell hats and water bottles. With a little more effort he might even land a  better job. Maybe I am wrong, he perhaps tried it all and found his current occupation much more rewarding than selling hats and water bottles.