I'm not a Bollywood Blogger But... I

I pre-date Bollywood. In fact I detest the word. First, my pet peeves:

1. While to most people outside India, all Indian movies are Bollywood, the word refers *only* to the Mumbai-based Hindi film industry. This leaves out the rich (though dying in some cases) regional cinema, as well as artsy, small films that don't have blaring songs, a million costume changes and OTT melodrama. And now the monster that is Bollywood is gobbling up these little and little-known movies created by India's other film industries. A shame!

2.The word itself was coined by some smart-mouth BBC guy in a totally pejorative way, making fun of the Hindi film industry. It was, as we know, a combo of Bombay + Hollywood. So, shouldn't it now be Mollywood to reflect the name change? The Shiv Sena needs to get on this ASAP.

3. To die-hard fans (and even not so die-hard ones) this makes the largest film industry in the world (at one point it made 900 odd movies a year!) a poor reflection, an even poorer cousin and a totally destitute hanger-on of Hollywood. Whereas, of course, the hindi film indstury developed almost simultaneously with its Western counterpart and is almost as old. Plus, even as Hollywood has almost decimated film industries in other countries, hindi film fans have held strong and so has the industry. The movies are so different from Hollywood, that its world-wide fans (not just Indians and diaspora but in the middle-east, other parts of Asia, etc.) remain loyal and growing, making it *still* the largest, though not the richest film industry in the world.

4. A few months ago, during the episode of the pink sari and the holy cows, one of the people who later went on to bemoan her lost freedom of speech aka being able to get away with stereotyped racism complimented me. So, why am I bitching? All will be made clear now. I was wearing a turquoise skirt.
"You look so pretty in that color."
"Thanks," I mumble always uncomfortable with compliments and perhaps sensing what was to come.
"You know you remind me of this Bollywood movie I saw."
"Really?" I cringe.
"Yes...oh what was it? Yes...Bride and Prejudice."

I politely made my escape after thanking her again. Yes, I'm a coward but I try to be a polite one. Bride and fucking Prejudice is *not* a Bollywood movie. Correction, it's not an Indian/Hindi movie. It's made by a British woman of Indian origin. . Perhaps it's a diaporic tale or a story about immigrants. While we are on this topic, Gandhi, Bend it Like Beckham, or Slumdog Millionaire are not Bollywood movies either though I have sometimes seen them classifed as such. They are British movies, made by British film-makers that happen to have Indian stories and/or actors. This doesn't mean these movies are not great. Despite its problems Gandhi is one of my favorite movies and so is Bend it, but they are *not* Indian movies.

Calling any of these movies Bollywood is like saying Captain Corelli's Mandolin was an Italian film or The Da Vinci Code was a French-Vatican City-Scotland production. Perhaps all those movies supposedly in NYC but filmed in Vancouver are Canadian? Putting in a few shimmery costumes in a movie alongwith pretty ladies and dashes of tragic things like poverty and the proper behavior of girls in immigrant families do not an Indian movie make.

Indian movies (Hindi or not) have their own sensibility, their way of being and more than that they are Indian because they are made in India by other Indians for Indians inside the country and the diaspora. This doesn't make them better or worse...for we know they regularly still churn out dreck. It's just what they are and what they are not.

And even as a diasporic Indian who has not lived in India for a couple of decades there are evenings during which only an Indian movie will do, some emotions that are only plumbed when Amitabh speaks and Vinod twirls his moustache and SRK trembles his voice. It's part of me, in my blood and even as I despise certain aspects of Bollywoodism I cannot escape it.

So...I am not a Bollywood writer but in the spirit of Bollywood Blogging about the best movies of the 1970's, put into my motion by a wonderful blogger called bethlovesbollywood.blogspot.com...I will write I'm Not a Bollywood Blogger But...II tomorrow. And yes, it will be about the 1970's.

Predestination

The question is this: are we what we're supposed to be? I mean, here I am, trying to write a lighthearted romp by the side of a river and it turned into one of my earliest stories published on the web, A Sound Quest, a dark tale of child molestation. It remains one of my favorite short stories (by me) ever. (the site seems to be down today. will update if anyone is interested in reading this)

I know I can do writing exercises and whatever and break myself of this habit. I can consciously guide myself towards writing other stuff. And the thing is I think in person I am not this dour, too-serious woman (reference my last post). In fact some would say I even have occasional bursts of genuine humor. No, really!

When I was a kid I was obsessed for a while with Readers Digest Condensed books. You know, several issues of RD in one bound volume. Whatever! While I've forgotten most of the Dramas in Real Life, Humors in Uniform, and other lovely banal pieces, I do remember this one short fiction piece. I don't remember the title, but the main thrust of the story sticks with me, decades later.

So, there's this young man and woman who eye each other across a crowded compartment of the London tube. The guy eyes the girl, the girl flutters back at him, that kind of thing. The compartment is so very crowded that they can't even get to stand next to each other, just look at each other. Thrilling! Then one day the guy whips out a sketch pad and a pencil, and with a look of concentration starts very obviously sketching the girl. He does this for days, no doubt piquing the girl's curiosity.

Finally, after weeks, he passes her a note and they meet for a date. She wants to see her sketch. He hems and haws, laughs nervously. She gets even more insistent. He shows her the drawing. It's Henry VIII! Is this how I appear to you, she asks, deflated? (Okay, I was a 9-year old Indian kid at the time so I had no idea who the heck Henry VIII was. Now I envision him clutching a giant turkey leg as he stares out of the paper, but I digress).

No, you're lovely, beautiful, he assures her. The thing is that no matter what he drew or how much he tried not to, everything he ever sketched turned out looking like Henry VIII. And that is how I feel. If I let thing go naturally (except when I blog) everything I write turns out to be dark, depressing stuff.

That's okay I guess...but sometimes I'd like to, you know, draw George III or even Lord Mountbatten.

On a totally tacked on now for something completely differen tnote......do you have to be Indian to find this video of a white guy parodying a Bollywood song hysterically funny. I love his expressions, the lip synchs, the hip gyrations...and that old song staple, when he momentarily loses sight of his lady-love and is distressed. Enjoy!

Cultural differences

Strange isn't it how culture affects even the smallest things? Last year, during thanksgiving we spent a few days in Greece. There was a cab driver who was so happy we were from India because he loved old Indian movies. "Nargis," he said was a "beautiful, beautiful woman," as he kissed his fingers in appreciation. And then he said, "she wear olive on forehead. Very nice."

An olive? Ah, a bindi. A cultural approximation of something familiar (not surprising for a country where olives and olive trees are everywhere) with something foreign...an actress with a bindi on her forehead.

And I remembered that years ago, an American asked me about the bindi (one of my fave questions along with arranged marriage and bride burning..Arrrghhhh). "Why do they have something that looks like someone shot them in the foreheard?"

Everything I Learned about Switzerland I learned from Bollywood...

Well, from before Bollywood was called Bollywood. When it was just the Hindi film industry. This is what I learned then (and then what the reality is):

1. The skies are always bright blue and the weather always perfect for cavorting (it's been raining almost non-stop this month and the skies are quite grey)

2. If you are female you are impervious to cold as evidenced by your ability to run around in the thinnest chiffon possible. Men--those unlucky bastards--do feel the cold because they need to wear turtlenecks and pea coats (not true, as evidenced by me walking and shivering by the lake...in summer...brrrr)

3. You open your mouth and out pop the lyrics of Gulzar, accompanied by some soulful music (So not true...though I am awakened by braying donkeys outside my window....not Kishore Kumar or Kumar Sanu or whoever)

4. All train stations are picturesque and perfect places for singing and dancing (yeah, well, not unless you want to be stared at and laughed at).

5. It always looks beautiful no matter what (ok...well, that one is true. It is an amazingly beautiful country)

I just have one thing to say to the Indian honeymooners (and assorted Asian tourists) who spent an inordinate amount of time by the flower clock by the lake. WTF? Why are you so fascinated by this thing? There's an actual big mechanical clock and then someone plants flowers over it. Why is it such a big deal? Stop wasting your film and digital space. *Phew*