It's Terminal - Bollywood director's who've lost the plot

Despite several warnings, I was brave enough to go and see the new Chashme Buddoor. Of course it would be naive to expect anything close to the simple yet wholesome enjoyment of the original. However, this new version is directed by David Dhawan - undisputed king of comedy and paisa vasool movies until a few years ago. How wrong I was. As is usually the case, the warnings were correct - it was a complete, utter disaster of a movie and a complete waste of time.

The disappointment of Chashme Buddoor, drove home a sad realization - many of my favorite Bollywood directors seem to have completely lost the plot - for good. Not only have their recent movies have been complete duds, but more importantly, their cinema has lost (at least for me) the very essence that made them so successful in the first place.

So here I am, chronicling the failure of a few of my favroite Bollywood directors. Over the next few posts I'll cover a few film makers who should know better than to make the rubbish they've been dishing out over the past several years. 

Be warned though - expect a coherent analysis at your own peril. Mostly this mini-series of posts will see me ranting about my personal disappointment of these wildly successful individuals who have not produced works which meet my ephemeral expectations.

Ram Gopal Verma

Alas, the maverick of Bollywood is no more.

He's been replaced by an impostor who displays the worst traits of the original master who gave us Shiva, Rangeela, Satya, Bhoot and many other good and great entertainers. Besides the cool movies he directed, he provided a terrific platform to a whole new generation of directors and technicians (Shimit Amin, Sriram Raghavan; Anuraag Kashyap - to name just a few) through his aptly named production house - Factory.

How bad has it got you ask? Take your pick from any one of the last 5 (maybe 10?) years of Ramu's efforts. I give you Department, Bhoot Returns, Nishabd and the benchmark by which duds all over the world should be judged - RGV Ki Aag. I will save you the frustration by not linking to any of these black holes of time.

With his most recent efforts Not a love story and The Attacks of 26/11, he's plunged to even greater depths. These attempts to cash in on sensationalist headlines with C grade movies are nothing more than the desperate acts of a man well beyond his prime. Even the great Amitabh Bachchan has been reduced to hamming, hawing and boring us with his turns with in a variety of roles for RGV.

As for the fans, any of RGV's remaining fans who watch his recent movies are only doing so in the faint hope that the original RGV might resurface with his craft intact.

Alas, the maverick of Bollywood is no more.

Subhash Ghai

First he gave us this in Vishwanath and Kaalicharan which shot Shatrugun Sinha to stardom and immortalised the eternal conversion of lions to loins ... along with from iconic dialogues such as

जली को आग केहते हैं, बुजी को राख केहते हैं
और जिस आग से बारूद बने उसे विश्वनाथ केह्ते हैं!!! 

Several more blockbusters and even more iconic dialogues followed...

I give you Subhash Ghai. The ultimate wannabe showman of Bollywood. The man whose canvas on screen was always larger than life. The man who loved telling us epic tales of love, betrayal, revenge in loud melodramatic overtones.

At his best, his movies embodied every caricature and stereotype bollywood is known for - only larger. Bombastics dialogues, massive sets, dollops of melodrama and operatic musical set pieces brought to life with a master's flourish.

Then the 90s called.

While RGV is blamed for being too inflexible during his prolonged (terminal) slump, Ghai has been the complete opposite. He has reversed his style dramatically with disastrous results.

Try comparing the maker of Kaalicharan, Karz, Karma, Ram Lakahan with duds such as Yaadein, Black & White, Taal and Yuvraaj. You'll find a film maker who's turned away from every element of his success in his quest to appeal to an audience that has moved on without giving him a forwarding address.

This is a real shame, since many of today's (commercially) successful movies such as Dabangg, Singham, Rowdy Rathore would be right up the Big Ghai's alley! Surely he can see that the best way to get his audience back is to show them what he wants to make and watch himself rather than what he "thinks" they want to watch.

However, after several decades in the industry, I doubt if we'll see any more blockbusters from The Subhash Ghai. More's the shame.

One two ka four, four two ka NONE!

Poems to inspire - the final part, my Movember swansong

As I bid farewell to my mo-carnation, I leave you in the dramatic company of the grand master of verse William Shakespeare. Among his various priceless works, he gave us the beautiful verse "All the World's a Stage" from his play As You Like It.

So, one last time, for your reading pleasure, a poem to (hopefully) inspire you. 

As always, do take a peek at my Movember page to post any of your own inspiring messages and make a donation for this worthy cause.
 

All the World is Stage
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything."

Poems to inspire - Part 2

This post comes later than it was intended. To compensate for my tardiness, I share not one but two poems from one of my favourite poets Robert Frost. Enjoy an inspiring read of The Road Not Taken, followed by an all-time classic - Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening. 

You could then also proceed to my Movember page to post any of your own inspiring messages and make a donation for this worthy cause.

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening    

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Poems for men (and more enlightened creatures)... in support of MOVEMBER

In the series of poems in support of Movember, we start with this beautiful verse composed by one of the greatest of Indians - Rabindranath Tagore. This one is as relevant today as the day it was first penned. Enjoy!

  

Where the mind is without fear...

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;

Where knowledge is free;

Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls;

Where words come out from the depth of truth;

Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;

Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;

Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action --

Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

 

 

 

I am participating in “Movember” (http://sg.movember.com) along with some of my colleagues. We will “attempt” growing a moustache during the month of November to help raise funds and awareness for men’s health issues.

Besides growing a killer MO, here are just some of the things I'm planning for this MOvember -

• I’ll be uploading photos here http://mobro.co/hitendhruv throughout the month to show progress – both for me and my colleagues
• As a bonus, all through Movember, I’ll be posting a weekly selection of some of my favorite super manly inspirational verses and poems on this blog
• Follow me on twitter https://twitter.com/HitenDhruv where besides other things, I'll keep you posted about my attempts to discover the best barbershop in Singapore to give my Mo the perfect shape
• Most importantly – Guaranteed gratitude from me, my team and all of MANkind 

YOU can support our effort, by going here - http://mobro.co/hitendhruv and making a donation via the “Donate To Me” or “Donate To Team” links. Unlike many other things in life, the size (of your donation) isn't important, every little bit helps the cause. Additionally, you can also help us by spreading the word among your friends, family and acquaintances.

Thank-you very much - if for nothing else, then just for reading until here!

ps – Highlights of my previous attempt at fund raising in 2011 for an Indian NGO Tulir (www.tulir.org). Generous donations by colleagues across Barclays helped us raise over SGD10,000

Virat Kohli: The new Ricky Ponting

He’s the new kid on the block. His stroke play is stunning, footwork precise and technique geared to attack without being reckless. After an indifferent start, he has learnt his trade quickly and made himself Mr. Dependable in the team’s star-studded middle order.

But what really sets him apart is his attitude. He never takes a step back. If a bowler tries to sledge him, not only does he give it back, he goes after the entire team. He doesn't care how his foul-mouthed outbursts look on TV. 

The opposition are made aware that for him, unlike his predecessors, there is no playing Mr. Nice Guy. If you want to be friends with him, cross over to the other side and become a part of his team. As long as you are the in opposition, he only wants to score sledges and runs against you. Niceties are for losers. And he my friends, is not a loser.

He was born to win and more importantly, he was born to demoralize the opposition into submission. He used to be Ricky Ponting. The baton has since passed to international cricket’s new enfant terrible.

He is now, Virat Kohli.

Additions to the 2016 Indian Olympics Squad

As we reflect on the Olympic sized hits and misses of the Indian athletes from various sporting disciplines, we must look ahead to the composition of our squad for Rio in 2016. To that end, let’s try and match some of our famous personalities with an Olympic sport they’d be most suited to. These will not only be our best chance for Olympic glory, but will also help kindle interest in these often ignored sports.

• Shah Rukh Khan – With comprehensive losses in all six games, its time for the men’s hockey team to get a dose of the Khan. He’ll be their coach, mentor and entertainer ensuring they get their regular supply of "सत्तर मिनट है तुम्हारे पास ..."

• Sachin Tendulkar – The un-retireable little master will be perfectly suited for the dressage equestrian competition. He will undoubtedly break all the records for longevity set by the 71 year-old Japanese rider Hiroshi Hoketsu. Hamaara Sachin will play on till he crosses the age of 100 because he is really passionate about the sport and is fully committed to it despite being the President of India for the last 25 years.

• Venkatesh Prasad, Ishant Sharma, RP Singh, Munaf Patel, Sreesanth, Praveen Kumar  - 100 metres sprint. They are our best chance to qualify for the finals. Fingers crossed, if the conditions are suitable, some of the deliveries they bowl will be quick enough for one of them to qualify for the final of this hallowed event.

• Deepika Padukone & Priyanka Chopra, supported by Bipasha Basu – Beach volleyball. Enough said.

• Mamta Banerjee & Sonia Gandhi – Syncronised swimming. Strongest prospect for the gold medal. Ever. Audiences and judges will be spellbound by the beautiful harmony of their themed performance of मरो यान मारो . The performance will be greeted by resounding applause as on tries to swim while the other simultaneously tries to sink her.

• Sunny Deol – Wrestling, Weightlifting & Boxing. Just make sure all the competitors and the weights are wearing Balwant Rai masks. Dhai kilo ka haath and that soul shattering scream will surely get us the all the gold medals in these disciplines.

• Salman Khan – Artistic Gymnastics. As the music blares to Dhinka Chika, the shirt artistically slips off. Pure gold. Medal.
  ps- Someone told him before the event that this event is for women only. Salman stared blankly and replied ”एक  बार जो मैंने commitment कर दी ..."

• Rajnikant – Are you kidding me?!? The main purpose of the Olympics is to select the strongest, fastest and fittest athletes for Rajni saar to beat in his own private Olympic games. Mind it.

How Not to Defend Your Home

You own one the largest house in the neighbourhood, with a particularly humongous family. Several years ago, after a violent showdown instigated by a nasty old uncle, your younger sibling decided to strike out on his own. Ever since he moved out, the little prick has been throwing stones at your family, damaging your property and even illegally occupied a part of your house.

You have tried various methods to sort it out. At several times, you have invited him home to resolve your differences. You’ve tried to go into business with him, hoping that mutual profit will help sway him to his senses. You tried appealing to your common religious and cultural roots. 

You’ve looked warily as he cozied up with the massive local bully and began working as his errand boy.

There were times, however, when you lost your cool. On at least four occasions, you got into bloody brawls with the jerk. Didn't end particularly well for either of you, but you felt that you'd shown him his place. You enjoyed some peace while he recovered from his thrashings, only for his mischief to start afresh.

Some years ago, he sent his thugs right inside your living room but you fought them back. 

You thought it was over. It only got worse.

A few of years later, a dozen of his goons walked in through your main door in broad daylight, even as you entertained guests and visitors there. They beat and maimed the guests bloody and made you look like a complete नपुन्सक(impotent / inadequate).

But you tried a provide a measured, civilised response. You wanted to appear to hold the moral high-ground. You started collecting evidence. You even set-up a special holding room for one of the goons who was left behind. You appealed to the neighborhood and the city to back your side of the argument. 

And you waited.

Meanwhile, one of your supposed friends - let's call him Uncle Sam, found out that your little brother was providing sanctuary to it’s mortal enemy! To top it off, since Uncle Sam faced a major tragedy in 2001, your brother has been fleecing billions of Uncle Sam's dollars pretending to "search and destroy" Sam's enemies! 

Uncle Sam knew better than to ask your neighbour for help. He decided to take matters about his security in his own hands. In the stealth of night, Sam entered your neightbour's house, killed his enemy on the spot and took off before your double-crossing neighbour stirred from his sleep.

Even as you secretly envied your foreign friend’s nerve, you decided that being neighbors, you needed a more mature and lasting solution. So you continued to wait for your neighbor to see the light of day. 

When things didn't change, you decided, some initiative was required. Despite having sworn off any discussions following the attack on your house, you offered an olive branch and set-up talks. You tried talks at home, at other people’s homes and even tried to catch a word at various group meetings. 

The six decade-old patterns refused to be broken. Not even a hint at reconciliation was offered. Despite the overwhelming evidence of your neighbor’s illegal behavior, you continued to mollycoddle him towards a solution. 

Stalemate continued. It would help if you saw the irony of this. 

But over the years, you’ve lost the ability to differentiate between being mature and being spineless. You have not learned that an opened palm for friendship when spat upon, must be clenched to make a fist of force. 

Above all, you have not learned that the defense and security of your home is not achieved by platitudes and appealing to noble ideals. 

It is achieved by physically kicking out your errant neighbour from what is rightfully yours; ensuring the consequence for him is at least a bloody nose and broken limb. 

Anything less, is just a meek surrender by a deluded fool. Whether it's your home or your country.

A fan breaks-up with Sachin Tendulkar

Dear Sachin,

It has been a while since we spoke. To be honest, we’ve never spoken… which was working extremely well for us. You kept performing on the field while keeping a (mostly) dignified silence off it and I reveled in your achievements. Until now. You see, over the past few months, things have changed between us. And I wanted to share my thoughts with you instead of letting them fester inside.

A long, long time ago, even before you debuted for India, you had a fan, admirer and defender in me. We played briefly in a Harris Shield match – I was carrying drinks for my school team, while you were smashing them to all corners of the Azad maidan. Ok, so we didn't actually play, but I’ve told too many people that I played against you for me to change my story after all these years! Sorry, I digress.

As you reached for your place among the cricketing gods, slowly but surely, your success began to translate into consistent wins for the Indian cricket team. We'd seen glimpses of your individual wonder – against Pakistan, England and Australia; but the team’s results still lagged often in stark contrast to your performances. By the late 90s however, the tide began to turn. We started winning consistently. First at home and like home conditions of Sharjah, Sri Lanka and Bangladesh. Then overseas. We became contenders, no longer playing to compete – we played to win.

I don’t know if you noticed, but I haven’t specifically mentioned your great innings or the beauty of your technique and stroke play. They have their place too, but it was the victories that we cherished over all else. And through all those victories, you were humility personified. You played for the team. Yes you were always important, but the team was pre-eminent. Team results mattered more than individual records. To top it all, we finally became world champions again in 2011 – things couldn’t get any better that!

And they didn't. They got worse. Much worse. Very quickly.

We were thrashed in England, Australia and narrowly beat the Windies. But all through this, the focus was on just one result – scoring your international century of centuries. After over a year you ended our misery.

Lo and behold – the 100th 100 arrived! The century to beat all centuries was delivered – and it wasn’t even good enough to beat Bangladesh. Within a year, the world champions couldn’t even reach the finals of the Asian championship.

This is where things got out of hand. During losses in England and Australia, we never saw or heard from you. You were like a hermit, cocooned in your thoughts and preparations. With the 100 under your belt however, you finally emerged to address us.

We were out of the tournament and had fallen dramatically in cricketing terms, so I expected you to reassure us - “..worry no more. The decline was temporary, made worse by the distraction of my meaningless milestone. But things are going to be back on track now. The team can get on with its journey. I however, would like to take my leave. It’s taken a year or so more than I wanted, but I hope you allow the indulgence. So long and thanks for the Ferrari!”

Those were the words I thought you wanted to share with us. Alas, you had different thoughts.

“Retirement?!? You’d rather call me selfish! I’m at the peak, why should I quit now? The team needs me. I love playing the game and that’s the most important thing.”

There have been parties, platitudes, awards, felicitations. Any tamasha that could be thought of has been performed. Heck, someone even made you a Member of Parliament.

Here’s a sobering thought which I never thought I’d have to mention to you – Boss, hume ab maaf karo. Please stop acting like the guest who has overstayed their welcome.

What are you playing for? The World Cup – Done (bonus - at home in Mumbai!!!). Test hundreds everywhere – Done. ODI double hundred – Done. Hundred in the 4thinnings guiding Indiato a win – Done. Leaving the game at your peak with an amazing sense of accomplishment – NOT Done.

Going forward, I wish you the very best as you create more meaningless records, give none of your attention to any legislation debated in the national Parliament and ensure your cricketing existence continues to be marginalised.

I am certain, your fans will continue with their blind support for you – except me. I’m sorry, it’s not you… it’s me. When the circus around the sport matters more than the sport itself, I tune out. I am sure we’ll never be friends, but if you want to, my comments section is always open for you.

Yours truly,

HD

Everyman’s Security... a true story

Not for the first time, our bus was halted for a “security check”. The passengers in the packed bus were getting restless as the checks increased- this one being the third within a distance of a hundred kilometers. Metal detectors had looked for absent bombs, tickets checked for truant travelers. The only threat the passengers faced was that of reckless driving and the abysmal condition of the bus!

Armed with a solitary lathi and chewing his cud-like tobacco ambled in a pot-bellied cop to impose the security check upon us. But it wasn’t his unprofessional and callous appearance that stamped this check in our collective memory. Living in India, we are used all sorts of security checks almost throughout our country. So for a routine security check to have cast such an indelible imprint on our mind was indeed an eye-opener.

He scanned around for anything suspicious as he walked the length of the bus. Having finished his stroll, he turned around to make his way back to the exit. Suddenly his eyes lit up. Those of us following his check were alarmed by his sudden discovery. His stroll now had an acquired purposefulness about it.

Walking up to a scruffy looking man he said, “Let’s see your ticket.” Even before he had finished this short sentence, the man not only produced his ticket but also got up for the mandatory body frisking. The most remarkable thing was that this man seemed to have expected this to happen and the only surprise for him could have been that the policeman took as long as he did to pick him out from the crowd!

The body-check revealed nothing suspicious and the ticket too was in order. In a pathetic attempt at sounding officious the cop inquired about the man’s destination, purpose and duration of his visit. He was answered precisely and promptly. Having completed his investigations, the cop triumphantly marched out of the bus allowing us to get on with our journey.

Something though, didn’t make sense about his check and the satisfied look he had upon completing his interrogation of that man. The cop hadn’t unearthed any terrorist; neither had he thwarted any conspiracy to bomb or loot the bus. It was a wonder he hadn’t checked any of the other passengers - there were several in the bus who were as suspicious if not more.

But then, I guess he didn’t need to. There was something about the man that had given the cop his cue.

That man was the only one in the entire bus who wore a white netted Muslim cap.