Good Morning Mumbai
And then Anil Kapoor danced… and i don’t mean a mere jig or a shake of a leg. He did THAT dance, a dance that epitomised the swagger of the late 80’s early nineties superstar, a dance that even today i equate with total coolness. A dance i know only too well, only because for as long as i can remember my first bollywood experience contained within it this very ballet of style, hand before hand, knees bent, subdued running on the spot. Tezaab, Ram Lakhan, hell Parinda even all contained that signature swagger, and i admit to having once practised it for hours ……Anil Kapoor to me is still so very very cool (and this has nothing to do with the fact that i have a vested interest in marrying his daughter one day…no sir!). But all this is a single hundred and thousand on the ice cream sundae of cinematic brilliance that was and is Slumdog Millionaire (idiotic metaphor i know but i had what was called a “Bombay Sundae” the other day and it’s left an impression).
Let me begin by saying that this is by no means a review of the film, that’s been done to death and i don’t wear the credentials to academically dissect cinema, plus only real geeks review films online. Rather I’ll talk about what Slumdog shows and how i can relate to it in some way, why it exemplifies the Mumbai experience so very well, and why the hysteria it is creating (both good and bad) back home is so very important both within India and to India’s non resident communities worldwide.
I’ve been staying in Mumbai the last two months and have earnt the right to call myself a Mumbaikar, my cousin bestowed upon me the status, and i must admit it’s a bit of an honour, those hours having my personal space ripped to shreds on the local train are now battle scars i wear with pride, and i know i have experienced Mumbai in her full….. “her beauty and her terror” (to borrow a line from Dorothea Mackellar ‘s ode to my homeland) if you will. One of the greatest observations i can make about Mumbai is in regards to its uniqueness, a beast of its own, a mutation that continues to spread despite its decay and even now regardless of the fact that she is over populated ,ancient, and crumbling upon herself continues to seduce thousands each day, and give birth to even more, all this despite her being well past menopause. She is India at her most charming, and she is India at her cruellest, Slumdog shows all this with a balance that respects the city for what it represents to many and what it often delivers to its hopeful. The paradox is somewhat explained through the lives of the characters and one finds themselves not judging anyone in the film for their actions. It becomes evidently clear that life in Mumbai is by no means easy, and the 13 year old boy who seeks refuge in gang comradery, the street child that steals from foreigners, the prostitute who dances for her money have all made decisions to secure their own survival, and one can’t help but think how similar environs would’ve influenced oneself. No judgement is cast, nor should it, this is human existence at its most harsh, and few films show it without oversaturating the viewer with the demonization of someone or the other, particularly if the subject is a third world nation and the filmmakers foreign (shoutout to the Oscar winning Born into Brothels). Slumdog is not depicted through the sepia hued lense of the imperialist western world as many are claiming, it shows Mumbai as she is yet doesn’t look down on it, it is grassroots in its approach and therein lies its charm.
The film highlights several features of Mumbai through the questions that are asked of our young protagonist (played by Dev bhai Patel, the show however is stolen by the two younger avatars of Jamal’s character namely Tanay Chedda, and the brilliant Ayush Khedekar) whilst he plays contestant on India’s version of “Who wants to be a Millionaire?”. As each vignette unfolded i found myself ticking each experience Jamal went through with things i had seen and heard within my own experiences in Mumbai. I can see how the previous sentence can be misinterpreted, so i will explain, what i mean to say is what Jamal goes through you see on the streets of Mumbai every day, whether it be street children, racial disharmony, slum living etc. Slumdog portrays all these aspects and more compressing the entire Mumbai experience into celluloid, it almost makes the film “home brew” and it is essentially that which i was saluting. Probably one of the most poignant and graphic parables within the film is of the depiction of the 1992 Ayodhya riots and how it effects the protagonists, the very graphic death of Jamal’s mother probably one of the most haunting scenes in the entire film. Boyle really portrays this well, highlighting the hideousness of the situation in the way it needs to be shown, as an ugly reality of Indian society. One of the most frightening factors about India these days are the more common occurrences of communal violence, an illness cemented by the legacy of the right wing Hindu nationalist party the BJP, made even stronger by the dangerous sentiment of Mumbais own Shiv Sena (throw in the mob running the show in Gujarat and you have a hotbed of racism and religious fundamentalism that makes the bible belt of the USA seem tame). Many may say that was 1992 and things have improved since then but religious prejudice is alive and well within Mumbai. I’ve seen it i’ve heard it and really at times it scares me that the ignorance pouring forth infront of me is the byproduct of people who claim to be educated. A cousin of mine was telling me stories of how it is nigh impossible for a Muslim to rent an apartment in Mumbai these days, i heard firsthand of how someone was offended to see young Muslims celebrating “Makar Sankranthi” (a hindu festival) by joining in the communal flying of kites. But these days prejudice too has evolved as things always do in Mumbai to include the Christians, tales of offense due to the fact local Christians were festooning their houses during Christmas but were not doing the same during something as quintessential as Diwali (another hindu festival), the logic within such arguments is lost on me as well and its dangerous to laugh at them with amusement, this is not the attitude of a minority, this is a prevalent form of thought now amplified by the 26/11 attacks, somebody almost always needs to be painted the villain, and when its not the neighbours across the border its the nearest “representative” that is picked on with immediate effect
The Saffron Police
Seldom does a film so accurately portray a city and its people that one can see even the smallest nuances in behaviour mimicked on screen so precisely that it can’t help but bring a smile to the face of those with a strong enough eye. There’s a scene in the film where Jamal and his brother walk the alleyways of Mumbai’s red light district, what stuck out to me was the swagger with which the boys walked……. unabashed fearlessness. This is a characteristic you see so often over here, streetkids as young as five and six ruling the traffic signals and alleyways with a cocksure attitude that translates easily into a body language that is so commanding and cunning at the same time. When you step out onto the streets you are stepping into their world, and they will surely ask for rent. The problem is so far reaching and so enveloping that in order to survive in Mumbai you must grow a resistance to the children, and the methods employed are cruel. It was particularly difficult for me to start developing my repertoire i have a genuine soft spot for children and in every child i genuinely do the mental math and compare the state of this child with the luxury my five year old nephew basks in on a daily basis. It will probably turn many of you off to know the things i have said and done, i genuinely don’t write this for comedic effect or anything of the sort, im just attempting to show the grip Mumbai has on its people that one must more often than not compromise ones own sentiments in order to simply live, i am ashamed of myself but at the same time will confess to this being a necessity. But i will be honest, when a child taps me on the shoulder and makes the universal signal for hunger i at first ignore him/her, not making eye contact is quintessential in this game, but more often than not a threat is required, the second tap will come soon after and is usually more vigorous, the hand sign is shown again and i will say in my sternest voice a line borrowed from my cousin “Thappar khaoge? free mein millega” (roughly translated….. will you eat a slap? it comes for free), cruel i know, but necessary. More often than not there wont be any further insistence but if there is (and it happens every now and then) i rollup my sleeves and start to mumble to myself creating the impression of a violent onslaught, by then the child is long gone, moving on to another to receive roughly the same treatment again. The swagger is obvious, it takes strength i think to absorb that kind of abuse day in and day out, to be looked down upon as they are, and i think for me to survive like i have done i’ve had to blockout the backstories that are brewing in every tap i receive on my passenger side window as we drive through the streets. Boyle sums the predicament up brilliantly towards the start of the film, the montage of beggar children tapping on windows something all of us in the cinema hall could relate to. But i admit i will think twice before i lash out at another street child, i will see and know that this child has seen in his few years more than i ever will and that those eyes hold a wisdom that can only come from thriving in the harshest of realities, i have a respect for them and the swagger with which they conduct their lives is one i genuinely envy, but it is a respect that can never be shown.
For all the international applause Slumdog is receiving it is absorbing just as much criticism. From accusations of “tourism porn” and “exploitation” to the muddled condemnation extolled by the venerable King of Indian cinema His Holiness the baritone Mr Amitabh Bachan. This was bound to happen, parallel cinema and mainstream cinema have always fought a covert war in India, and within India it is the mega bucks of the masala film that rules the roost. Thankfully parallel cinema does have a niche as well and thrives in certain sectors of the country particularly Mumbai. Really the pioneers of alternative Indian cinema such as Rahul Bose and Nandita Das deserve applause for their efforts, the gusto and flavour they bring to Indian cinema in general is one that has dominated my education in the art. But back to Slumdog, and how it falls in loggerheads with the world of mainstream Indian cinema (Bollywood). The paradox of Indian cinema is one that befuddles the world, it is mutually mocked and lauded despite what people may believe and yes it is an organism of its own made to cater to the escapist need that many Indians feel they must dive into, it’s a need i can understand but at the same time i feel Bollywood is more often than not an arm of Indian hypocrisy. Anybody can tell you that and it is that hypocrisy that is alluded to in Slumdog (much to the chagrin of the holy white goatee). Bollywood is India at its most exotic, colour, dance, song, costumes and what not, it is the perfect export if you will, organically created it is something unique. A refined, finessed creation that shows India in the light that it sees itself in, it’s an art that has gained more momentum by the crucial NRI (non-resident Indian) dollar, that seems to be funding alot of what we see on screen these days. NRI’s are a funny bunch, living in the west they reminisce on the motherland and are more often than not caught in a time warp of what they believe their nation to be, choking on a romanticism painted pink by nostalgia more than true reality. It is very much these people that embrace the fantastical aspects of Bollywood and wear it with a badge of honour to show off to their western counterparts ….“look at what we are” they say as holi colours fly in the air and pretty young Indian girls twirl. It’s for this reason that Slumdog poses a threat to the fantasy, a film depicting the reality of India lauded by the Western press and film critics alike. The NRI is now in a dilemma, they are convulsing, the more exotic elements of their culture have fallen through, reality rears its ugly head and sucker punches them, they cannot masturbate their egos to the bollywood imagery this time round. How do they accept Slumdog? What is there to brag about? How do they remain proud? These are people who often scream about how the media only depicts the harsh realities of Indian culture not the positive….but what is there to celebrate? a new ultra rich middle class? why forget the reality, it is part and parcel of the “progress” that is being so readily marketed, so all hail “India Rising” it is the only India that indeed exists, there is nothing more to the country, let’s be happy in celebrating that and only that.
His Holiness the Baritone on his blog spoke rather bitterly about the lack of recognition Bollywood receives, lets quote the angry geriatric for fun;
“The commercial escapist world of Indian cinema had vociferously battled for years, on the attention paid and the adulation given to the legendary Satyajit Ray at all the prestigious film festivals of the west, and not a word of appreciation for the entertaining mass oriented box-office blockbusters that were being churned out from Mumbai. The argument: Ray portrayed reality; the other, escapism, fantasy and incredulous posturing. Unimpressive for Cannes and Berlin and Venice.”
I like to imagine the Baritone waving a grand old stick whilst seated in a wheelchair, his drip shaking with the same intensity of his arm as he types away ferociously on his laptop. Isn’t it sweet of him to lead this jihad in the power circles of world cinema? With all due respect Osama Bin Bachan Bollywood doesn’t receive the respect you so readily seek because there is a complete lack of originality stemming from it, and that is what is truly celebrated in any art. Bollywood is to an extent a synthetic fabric lotus floating on a stream of excrement, people look at the Lotus and are seduced by its artificiality all the while ignoring what lies beneath it. Boyle on the other hand takes the excrement and sculpts it into a thing of beauty and ingenuity, organic cinema, the power of a good story, honesty rewarded, taking the filth and essentially saying “this is what we are, but even within that there is magic”, and only a real Mumbaikar, a real Indian will appreciate that, because it is a a respect for the reality of the situation, accepting a situation fully for what it is warts and all, not running behind the artificiality and celebrating something whose existence can be contested. Really how long will we run around trees? How long will we quietly accept the cheap promiscuity of the item number? How long will we allow 40 year old men to play the role of a college student? I guess i speak this way because i think Indian cinema is an amazing thing, i love it and one day hope to be part of it, but as long as Bollywood continues to sidestep originality and forget evolving all together we will miss out on stories even greater than Slumdog. Hopefully Slumdog will begin a trend of change, cinemas is a very Indian art, i think it speaks to us more than any other art form, and hopefully when it accepts itself maybe India (and its smaller NRI minions) will start accepting itself too.
There is so much more that i can say about Mumbai at the moment, but i will refrain, i have regurgitated an awful lot in the above 3000 words or so, verbal diarrhoea, a chaotic mish mash of ideas that i have just typed away. But the above post does sum up alot of my thoughts on this great city, a city that i do definitely call home along with my place of birth and my real home (all of whom i love). It is a strange place that can seldom be described in words, it can only really be experienced, and if you cant catch a flight in, then the best way to experience it is in a cinema hall near you….. Slumdog Millionaire go watch it!
-n-
