Sridevi: Ye Lamhe, Ye Pal, Hum Barso Yaad Karenge

Murali closed his eyes and sank into what P G Wodehouse would term ‘the dreamless’. The first thing that he saw on opening his eyes was a picture of Sridevi.  It was on a strategically placed calendar.

“This is the way I want it. The first thing that I want to see on waking up,” he told a bunch of his hostel mates including yours truly. We all smiled and understood.  Despite the fact that Murali was swotting for his 12^th standard examinations and perhaps seeing a portrait of a deity first thing in the morning would have been more appropriate. 

What is worth noting is that the conversation with Murali happened around 1980 when Sridevi was unknown beyond South India   A quarter century later another friend told me that he too had succumbed to what we shall call the Murali Method! Except that he was at least a decade younger.

That was Sridevi for you. Her appeal transcended generations and bridged the North –South divide. She was not of course the first south Indian actress to do that. That would be an injustice to the long list of South Indian actresses—Vyjayanthimala, Waheeda Rehman, Hema Malini, Rekha-who preceded her into the Bollywood industry and made more than just a mark. What set Sridevi apart was her ability to attain near demi goddess status at a time when movie goers were still held in thrall by one Mr  Amitabh Bachchan. She went on to become the first  lady Indian superstar. 

To recapitulate her well chronicled career when she came to Mumbai, she was already an established star in south India. Her Hindi debut (discounting the role of the child in Julie) was in  Solwa Sawaan which bombed at the box office. Her next movie Himmatwala which came after a gap of about  5 years set the box office on fire.  This led to a fruitful pairing with Jeetendra in many more movies. Together  (sometimes along with Jayaprada) they rode and at times shaped  a wave that reflected much of the eighties. None of these movies could be termed as refined or cultured.

But when the chance came she produced a body of work which would live on for generations. Like the immortal take off on Chaplin in Mr India, the double role in Chaalbaaz, and the genius of a performance in Sadma as a grown up woman regressing into a child. Who can forget her beauteous  looks  in Chandni or the double role in Lamhe of both mother and daughter. The daughter being in love with a man old enough to be her father What is more this gentleman had loved her mother but never secured her affection.

There was  however a jarring note to Sridevi’s performance in Hindi films. Every time I catch up on an old Tamil movie starring her, I am struck by her utterly natural  looks and  performance. This was before she underwent surgery on her nose. Now I don’t know why this was done. Maybe it had something to do with fitting into what was considered the right look for a Bollywood actress.  I don’t pretend to be a film critic but her performances  in Hindi movies I thought were a little overdone. Slightly exaggerated.  Yes, this brought her immeasurable popularity but at the cost of being natural. There is a price to be paid for success after all.

It would however be downright silly to not acknowledge her genius.  She was at the end of the day a powerhouse of talent whose body of work would live on long after her.

Millions of Indians would know as they mourn today that there quite simply won’t be another Sridevi. Their feelings can perhaps be best captured from this excerpt from the title song of Lamhe :

Ye Lamhe Tho Hai Bohath Haseen, In Lamho Par Kuch Likha Nahi, Ye Abaad Karenge, Ya Barbaad Karenge, Ye Mausam Chale Gaye Tho Hum Fariyaad Karenge, Ye Lamhe, Ye Pal Hum Barso Yaad Karenge

RIP Sridevi!

Inder Malhotra: RIP

It was with a bit of shock that I read about the death of veteran journalist Inder Malhotra about a fortnight back. Shock since it represented a breaking of the link with the past.

In the eighties as an impressionable teenager, I grew up reading the editorial pages of the ‘Times of India’. I cannot claim to have understood every scholarly word written there but it certainly shaped my desire to be a journalist. My favourite writer in those pages was Inder Malhotra. I looked forward to his columns especially ‘Political Commentary’ which if I remember correctly used to appear on Thursdays.

I really appreciated his quiet and understated way of writing. That was perhaps the reason that although he was a well known and respected journalist in political and media circles he was not quite a superstar in the public eye. His language held me in thrall. One frequently used expression of his was “More honoured in the breach than the observance”, which means that a particular law is broken more often than adhered to. Subsequently, I realized that this expression is from ‘Hamlet’ but then it captured the essence of the man’s writing: understatement.

Another reason that I shall remember Inder Saab was his ability to stand above the crowd. In 1989 when the media was in the midst of a frenzy writing about the general elections which the Rajiv Gandhi led Congress (I) was to lose, he kept writing about the deteriorating situation in Kashmir which he said had greater ramifications than Punjab.  The rest is history.

Life’s journey has taken me from being a journalist to a communications professional. But it has not diminished my admiration for the late journalist. That was the reason for me ordering a copy of his book ‘Indira Gandhi: A Personal and Political Biography’ from a well known e-commerce portal. Sure enough delivery was promised but a few days came the message that the book was not available and the transaction on my credit card would be reversed. It saddened me deeply but in a way seemed to capture the essence of  the man : understated but not too well known outside select circles. 

RIP Inder Saab. My life will always be tinged with the regret that I never met you.

The best Vijay Played by Amitabh Bachchan

The other day I was flipping TV channels as is my wont.  It was not surprising to be able to watch two of Amitabh Bachchan’s classics –Deewaar and Kaala Patthar (both directed by the legendary Yash Chopra) on two different channels. It was also not surprising to know that Bachchan went by the name Vijay in both movies. A quick Google search revealed that  Amitabh’s character went by the name Vijay in more than 20 movies. This brought to my mind the question as to which was the best Vijay? Not in terms of portrayal but in terms of character. 

While I cannot claim to have seen all the movies in which the superstar was named Vijay, I am choosing four that I feel are relevant. They are Deewaar, Trishul, Shakti and Kala Patthar.Deewaar for reinforcing the persona of the angry young man created by Salim –Javed in Zanjeer,  Trishul for a standout performance, Shakti for being pitted against another legend Dilip Kumar and Kaala Patthar for reasons that I shall spell out later.  

There are obvious similarities in the Vijay of Deewaar and Shakti. In both movies, he is taking on the system. Indeed in both these movies  his professional career as a criminal  is shaped by his personal angst. In Deewaar, his father a respected union leader barters away the rights of the workers that he represents in order to save the life of his family held hostage by the factory owner. His unfortunate father unable to face himself or the wrath of the workers whom he is forced to betray runs away and Vijay in turn has to live with the mortification of a tattoo in his arm which declares that his father is a thief.An act by irritated workers.

This in turn fuels anger in Vijay’s mind against his father and is one of the driving forces for him turning smuggler. In Shakti his father Dilip Kumar refuses to release a smuggler as ransom when Vijay is kidnapped by Amrish Puri. Vijay nevertheless manages to escape but he develops a deep contempt for the law to which his father is wedded to as well as is never able to get over the feeling of betrayal as by his father.  This again impels him to turn criminal. 

Now the father in Deewaar deserves sympathy for being caught between the devil and the deep sea but not censure. Clearly Vijay was wrong. The father in Shakti is worthy of the highest admiration for putting duty before family. While the son’s anger is understandable there is absolutely no case for becoming a criminal.

In Trishul, Vijay is clearly on stronger ground. A child born out of wedlock he is brought up by his troubled mother as she is deserted by her lover Sanjeev Kumar in favour of a rich girl. Vijay clearly seeks revenge for his mother’s suffering by trying to destroy his father’s business empire.While there are shades of grey to his character like when he tries to disrupt the romance of his step brother Shashi Kapoor (named Ravi , what else ?) with a ravishing Sheetal ( Hema Malini), he redeems himself by returning his father’s property and by finally winning over his entire family including his father to his side.

While all the three were powerful characterizations, two of them  Deewaar and Shakti  had one thing in common: The fight was primarily with the environment and this was born pout of personal angst.  And a false sense of grouse against the father. Trishul of course was more a case of a son seeking justice for his late mother. And revenge for his  own illegitimacy. 

This is where I believe that the Vijay of Kaala Patthar stands out . Consider the circumstances. He is the captain of a ship caught in a storm and instead of doing his duty by putting the lives of passengers before his own, he opts for personal safety by fleeing the scene. He is disgraced, and dismissed from service. What is more his own parents ask him leave the house. Enough grounds to embitter a man and cause him to turn criminal. This is where the twist in the character comes in. Far from turning against the world he acknowledges his own weakness and is ashamed of it. He hides in a remote village and works as a coal mine worker in near sub human conditions. The workers there face death every day in the course of their duty. He is drawn to their cause and has run ins on their behalf with the mine owner played by a really nasty  Prem  Chopra. Along the way he finds love in Raakhee . Finally redemption comes when he rescues workers trapped in the coal mine which is being flooded. He has the option of remaining safely on the ground but much against the advice of all, he goes down into the mine to rescue the miners.  He finally succeeds in regaining respect in his own eyes and the icing on the cake is being welcomed warmly by his parents when he comes back to safety.  

Truly the story of a man’s triumph over himself. Can anything be more heroic ? or positive ?

    

The Two Minute Cook

In 1989 when I set out on my journey in life as a professional after my graduation my first stop was the Advertising Agencies Association of India where I did a short term course in copywriting. While I dreamt of writing those dream ads (and still continue to do so !) I was introduced to the case study on Maggi noodles  which now appears to be in the midst of a gathering storm with it being accused of having more than permissible levels of lead and monosodium glutamate. The case study was of course on something different. It taught us as to how Maggi had created an entire category and how it was the answer to the needs of the modern city woman who went to work but still could rustle up a meal in just two minutes.  It was not just about two minute food but a powerful statement on how the contemporary  young urban woman could do justice to her twin roles as a professional and home maker.

 
Naturally, the success of Maggi spawned many clones.  Some survived while many fell by the wayside.  What however was indubitable was that a new category had been created. The makers of instant coffee, Nestle, had now come up with instant food. Long before instant gratification was on offer in the form of the internet and social media.  Fast to cook. Good to eat, the company proclaimed. And millions across India agreed.

Maggi was not about two minutes of fame though.  For three decades, it has ruled the roost in its category.  Maggi has however been my route to fame. You see my entire claim to being a cook is based on the fact that I can make Maggi. You could call it my claim to two minutes of fame.  I can cook nothing in life but Maggi. Cooked and ate it long before celebrities who too find themselves in the midst of the present controversy endorsed it.

And yes I join the chorus:  fast to cook, good to eat.  The lead and the celebrities can wait.

PS: I am not taking sides in the current controversy but merely conveying what Maggi has meant to me.

Babu Mama: Thanks for the Memories.

 

“You must stop reading trash and start reading the classics,” said Babu Mama (uncle) to a 12 year old. The 12 year old was me and trash was a new word to me at that point in my life.  The response had been prompted by my desire to buy some books featuring the Hardy Boys written by Franklin W Dixon.

It was typical of Babu Mama that he bought me a couple of Hardy Boys books. He had come all the way from Bangalore to Mumbai where we stayed to see off myself, my mother and brother as we embarked on our journey to Accra, the capital of Ghana in West Africa where my father had been transferred.  It was also typical of him that he took over most off the load where packing was concerned from my mother.

Also in my younger days when I asked him for Rs 50 he would part with Rs 100. Babu Mama was the soul of generosity. These and other thoughts came flooding to my mind when I heard from my mother that he had breathed his last after being troubled by various ailments over the last few years.

There were other thoughts too that crowded my mind. My journey from Chennai to Bangalore as a 13 year old to do what else but spend time with mama and my cousins during the Christmas vacation. It was my first sole journey made more memorable by the fact that some of the leading Indian cricketers of that time (1978) Chandrashekhar, Prasanna and Kirmani traveling in the same train. Catching a glimpse of those deities of Indian cricket at that time was an experience in itself.

By a strange coincidence, I was to repeat the Bangalore –Chennai trip and back a few days after his death. This time of course there were no cricketers. Today’s cricketers of course fly except when there is no choice.

Another fond memory of Babu Mama was when during another trip to Bangalore during another vacation as a 14\15 year old I visited a popular eatery and paid a handsome tip. My uncle could not get over the amount that I had given away and he ribbed me about it for a long time.

It is this kind of jolly and generous nature that endeared him to all of us cousins and made him such an integral part of all our childhood memories.

Earlier this year came the definitive memory when my father passed away in Mumbai. Despite his ill health he came with his son Badri and Kamala Mami to condole my mother. He flew in and out of Mumbai the same day adding to his hardship. That is something which we as a family can never forget.  It was therefore a huge relief to me that I could see Babu Mama one last time before he breathed his last.

And yes over the years I did read the classics largely the abridged versions. And I will give the same advice to my eight year old son Sanjiv when the time comes.

Thanks for the memories Mama. RIP.

 

 

The Art of Making Simple Things Complicated

A few days ago I was struck by the deafening sound of silence.  Not quite. The cell had stopped ringing but the heart had started beating faster. It was the start of the work day and there were innumerable calls to be put through the day. Right from clients to colleagues would be trying to contact me all through. How was I to cope?

And then the heart gladdened. For the cell rang again but the heart sank further when the cell stopped ringing almost immediately. Nor could I put through calls. The landline on my desk which was primarily used by me as an intercom now literally became my lifeline.

I was also surprised. I had been with this service provider for eight years and not even once had I been in a spot of bother. The phone had functioned albeit a little intermittently even when Mumbai was ravaged by rain & floods on July 26, 2005. Then I began thinking a little rationally.

Since I was not without influence with this service provider I decided not to go through the usual customer care route but pulled out the stops. Soon enough I got a call from customer care. What exactly was the matter the voice at the other end asked solicitously?  “Well,” the voice said, “why don’t you shut down your mobile phone and restart it. These things happen sometimes and are but temporary problems,” the polite voice continued. “Okay,” I said with the air of a man who had attained enlightenment.  I rebooted the cell and sure enough it was crackling again. The heartbeat went back to normal almost instantaneously and suddenly the mind began thinking clearly. “Why hadn’t I done this in the first place? Isn’t it what I did every time the PC gave me trouble? The IT helpdesk came into the picture only when this did not work. Come on it was a bit like your grandma’s remedy. “

Then I realized that this little incident had taught me one simple truth of life. Often we don’t think of or do the obvious. Not because we don’t want to. It is just that we end up making life complicated for ourselves. I mean we sometimes excel at the art of making simple things complicated. At times, like in this case it is brought about by panic. And sometimes by reasons we cannot fathom.

I then made a promise to myself. Next time I was confronted with such a problem, I would put on my thinking cap. And keep panic at bay. Then the obvious solution would occur. Then life will be all about keeping things simple. And not about the art of making simple things complicated.

A Tribute to the Famed Gujarati Hospitality

There were just a few minutes left for the train to move out of Ahmedabad station at around 9.15 pm when the realization struck me that I had to get some food for the overnight journey to Mumbai. At the same time one of persons in the adjoining seat said that there would be no dinner service in the train that night. This was confirmed by one of the vendors who had come into the train. My mind was filled with terror and I cursed myself. I had arrived at the station well ahead of schedule and could have easily ordered and packed the food. But under the mistaken impression that food would be served on the train I had not bothered to stock up on food. As Sherlock Holmes would have said, “Elementary my dear Watson”, or in this case Ravindran. I was now in the horns of a dilemma. I could have got off the train and tried to get my dinner. This also meant that I could miss the train if I did not make it back in time. It was again Elementary. Ravindran chose to play safe, remain in the train and prepare myself for a long night of hunger The train had just started moving and the rumblings were not far from the stomach. “Do you mind having some food, a kindly voice enquired it belonged to an old lady Subsequent enquiries revealed that she was traveling to another part of Gujarat with her daughter in law and two grandchildren Mind! Does one mind Manna from heaven? Soon I was tucking into some typical Gujarati food comprising of Dhokla and Tepla. When I was offered a second helping, I shamelessly accepted it. The rumblings in my stomach were stillborn. A full stomach enables a man to reflect. And reflect I did. On how during journeys strangers were drawn to lending a helping hand to each other. Just two days back on the trip to Ahmedabad from Mumbai a lady had bought me tea when she realized that I didn’t have necessary change. She had later refused to accept money when later I had managed to secure the change. A manifestation of the famed Gujarati hospitality. It was in evidence in even greater measure two days later. After a few pleasantries we all retired for the night. Next day when I woke up close to Mumbai, my Samaritans had already disembarked and nowhere to be seen. I realized that in my joy in securing food I had actually forgotten to aske their names. I wish to thank them as well as the lady who bought me tea earlier for the famed Gujarati hospitality. Thank you friend and let us hope we meet again in the journey of life. This time it will be my turn to return the hospitality.