Anything does happen over Koffee

Each and every time it airs, it becomes the buzz of the town. Who has he invited? What’s going to set the gossip mills running this time? Who said what and what not? From the lavish sets and garish silver shoes to the excessive display of haute couture, the show never lets you down. Be it a prime time slot on one of the country’s most popular channels or making the crème de la crème of the Hindi film industry clear their diaries for him, Karan Johar sure knows how to get things done.

Koffee with Karan (KWK) is a talk show known for the gossip and revelations and controversial statements made by the celebrities that make the page 3 presstitutes moan in orgasmic delight. The news ink never seems to dry out printing one gossip after another and keypads get punched effortlessly to dish out the meatiest of the scandals, because whether we like it or not, that is what sells. A lot.

But that’s not just what makes the show sizzle and swirl and has tongues salivating and wagging for more. No doubt, gossip matters, but what seems to nudge the adrenalin levels a notch higher are the innumerous implicit but most of the time explicit sexual innuendoes. It’s as if the show just can’t do without them.

When the season began, I was one of those looking forward to watch. In anticipation I must add. The previous seasons had been a fun watch and frankly we all like gossip, we belong to a species which thrives on being curious about everything that does not matter to them. My happiness however was rather short lived.

While candour is obviously not meant to be USP of the show, the wit and presence of mind Shahrukh Khan and Twinkle Khanna displayed in the initial episodes made me wonder if KWK had finally evolved.  It didn’t take long for my bubble to go burst.

Source: www.ndtv.com

Couple of episodes down, Ranbir Kapoor and Ranvir Singh made an appearance on the sets.  Every single sentence spoken was punctuated with some or the other reference to sex or porn or lust... I could go on. If that wasn’t enough, we were subject to ‘lush vicious’, whatever that means. Wait a minute, it doesn’t mean anything, because the word doesn’t exist! If the cheap sex jokes were not enough, the mediocrity of the spoken word could make one cringe. It sold. The audience lapped it up and seemed to beg for more. Nothing else can explain the consistency with which the trend continued across most of the later episodes or the TRPs that shoot through the roof.

If sexual talk isn’t the in thing this winter, it probably serves as a wonderful cover up for the dumbness most of the celebrities put on public display. With IQs threatening to go below their shoe sizes and making statements that are about as dumb as a box of raisins, the one thing all of the actors seem to get are sexual references. Be it a tiny pinky hair dryer which according to Alia Bhat, vibrates (!!) to gay hand gestures (really Ranbir?) and the all-important questions on phone sex and the mile high club, it’s all what celebrity lives seem to be about. If none of this is enough, implicit references to KJo’s sexual preferences bring out the snickers. Gay banter. It can’t get any more old school than that, can it?

It all boils down to an easy to miss remark Aamir Khan makes in one of the episodes, “Koffee with Karan pe aaye hai, kuch to bolna hi padega”

Why can’t the show be about intelligent conversations, a peek into celebrity lives albeit revealing but minus the cheap carnal references? To get to know the celebrities as who they are and not the dumb sex maniacs they get portrayed to be?

Ranbir Kapoor made the only sensible statement in the otherwise ridiculous episode, that its high time KWK moves on as far as his relationship with Deepika Padukone is concerned.

If you ask me, it is high time KWK just moves on.

Bhaag "Aaji" Bhaag

I think I am growing old. No, I don’t just think, I am sure I am growing old. What else can explain those aching bones and a waist that refuses to bend? Every morning I look for those tell tale signs; that graying strand of hair and the almost invisible wrinkle under the eye. Sighs of relief escape me each time I notice their absence. Oh! It gives such a glorious start to my day. 

If only I would stop at that. But no, I love pulverizing whatever is left of my self confidence; I exercise. Ram Dev ji would be so pleased to see how earnestly I roll out the yoga mat and begin the warm ups. I sail through those mind you; it would make Babaji’s chest puff up with pride. But my happiness is short-lived. Always.  If only exercise was about warm ups, life would have been so much simpler don’t you think? But no, the gods have to conspire and make me remember them all through the ordeal they put me through in the name of exercise. 

I began the regime today, like I do every day. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out; I told myself and took the plunge, bending forward with my squealing arms only to topple over. Oh, it was a plunge alright. Next I targeted the back which was behaving as stubborn as ever; I didn't have to spend too long ignoring its screams, before I knew it my legs gave up and I came crashing down.  The body had rebelled, like it did every day. Yeah, I was growing old. 

But the eternal optimist in me wouldn't give up. Today would be different. What is it that old people do to stay healthy and fit? Walk! I pulled on the sneakers and walked around the park next door. Briskly at that. Overtaking each grey haired soul I met. Oh was I happy and gay, the glorious start to my day was back! Should I run next? I wondered rather smugly. But some long lost sense woke up in me and made the head vigorously shake a No. Maybe some other day...

It was time to get home, time to take this wonderful start to the day to an even more beautiful end. I switched on the laptop and had just begun relax when I clicked on this video that brought my world crashing down. This “Aaji” had just come along in her “Navvari” to run over my dreams. 

I slammed back in my seat, hearing a stiff muscle let out a spasm in the process. Stifling a groan; I told myself that it was nothing but age catch… Damn! My favourite excuse had just died a sudden death. There went my track suit and running shoes waiting for next year’s resolution. Err… I mean 2015.

Aata Majhi Satakli!

Source: www.communistats.com

It was a boring Sunday night made exciting by the time spent flicking the remote buttons. There was not a single season that we hadn't already seen nor was the reality in the shows as real as we would like it to be. To make matters worse, the movies on air seemed worse than Krrish 3. With not much of a choice and even lesser to lose we decided to spend some “quality” time watching Himmatwala. That’s how bored we were.

Initially we thought it was the 1983 moving starring Jeetendra. We were more than eager to jump into the time machine and experience those village fights, evil zamindars and munshijis and emotional Mas who cry rivers of tears each time their invincible son is hit with the local goon’s lathi. Joining the bandwagon would be the oppressed behans and the heroines with their thumkas, dancing around trees and in melas, not particularly in that order.  

It turned out to be the 2013 remake, with Ajay Devgan flexing his brawny muscles and Tamannah venturing into big bold Bollywood with a yesteryear remake.  Given how boring our night already had been, this dampener was not all that surprising. However the optimist in us saw the silver lining that was vehemently shying away from any little sanity we had left last night. Ajay Devgan was known for his powerful and intense roles in Zakhm and Hum Dil De ChukeSanam. He would have definitely breathed in some freshness into this role, wouldn’t he? He would surely be better than Jeetendra. With that thought planted firm into our minds we relaxed against the cushions, put our feet up in the air and began munching the popcorn.

Our optimism did not last long. Twenty minutes into the movie and we had already begun feeling the absence of good old Jeetendra in his made to fit white trousers. Those (in) famous snowy white shoes that I couldn't stand sight of at one time were drearily being missed right now. I was mentally taking back all the sarcasm that I might have let out in the past about this particular Kapoor.

Source: www.wikipedia.com

Yes, those fights, the cunning saala, the cruel zamindar and the Ma clad in all white were all there. So was the vulnerable behan screaming “bachaao” and the Zamindar’s feisty beti going all demure and innocent on meeting the Himmatwala. But the charm and rustiness so characteristic of the eighties was entirely missing.  No doubt Ajay looked as much the Hero, but the style that is characteristic of Jeetendra was nowhere to be seen. Tamannah looked very much at home in the apasara outfits but could in no way match the screen presence that Sridevi had. Mahesh Manjrekar probably snarled his best for this shoot but his feet were too small to fit into the shoes the Late Amjad Khan left behind. Leela Jumani as the behan need not even be spoken about, there are few who can match Swaroop Sampat’s innocence and simplicity, Leela surely is not one of them. Paresh Rawal would have been the only saving grace for the remake if any, had he not decided to ape Kader Khan instead of using his own versatility.

Last and equally bad were the songs. If dancing on huge drums coated with holi colours made us roll our eyes then, they made us wish for a fast forward button on the remote now. The lesser said about the music the better, esp. the remixed scores.

We couldn't get through the entire three hours. It was plain impossible to do so. Watching the actor who gave us “Zakhm”, doing this movie had begun to hurt a lot more than expected. No doubt the original was gaudy but it somehow seemed less garish after watching the remake. Even an item number could not pep this one up.

There was only one thing that could salvage whatever was left of my Sunday night- I picked up a PG Wodehouse to curl in bed with. 

Thinking Out Of The Box (Office)

It is a silver lining yet one cannot deny the cloud is grey. Rarely does a Bollywood actor catch the attention of India’s intellectual strata for the brain and not the brawn, even more so a female actor. And when they do, videos go viral on Facebook. 

Kangana Ranaut had her claim to fame with many Bollywood indifferent folks with what they called her rather dignified and sensible interview on Front Row a few weeks ago.  She spoke with good composure and seemed to understand the questions enough to give relevant responses said they, doing their bit in moving the video around social pages. She was applauded beyond measure, having achieved a feat most actors couldn’t. All she did was make sense.

We revel in the glitz that Bollywood showers on us and they, in their ability to do that. When the moon turns blue once in a while, we come across an Actor who has some substance to show beyond his/her scenes and dialogues. It turned a shade of blue the day Kangana was invited onto Front Row.

Evolution is meant to take place everywhere, including the film industry. With every movie, with every role, the acting talent is supposed to mature and amplify; enthralling the audience and making them want more.  With talent, the ability to converse in the reel real world ought to get established as well… esp. with the media being their constant companion. This is where the cloud turns grey.

Source: www.zimbio.com

Most actors today are unable to hold their ground with the media and the common man. Unlike their predecessors the exposure actors have to the paparazzi is tremendous; they can either make or break them. In this struggle for stardom the actors often fall short and the media gets what it wants; juicy dishy news to fill up newsprint and news slots the next day.

It probably infuriates and makes their blood curdle but this love hate relationship is one they cannot do without. Good or bad, it is what gives them the celebrity status, the absence of grey matter notwithstanding

.

There is a mixed bag of them, some with degrees that would put yours and mine to shame, others belonging to the “elite” group of dropouts while many whose destiny shone the day they were born into a filmi clan - All gyrating to remixed music, overcoming society to win their love and fighting terrorism at the drop of a hat.  And there I suppose lies the problem.

Cinema has hardly evolved over the years; it has been frozen in time. There have been times when the ice might have shown signs of melting only to freeze again. With the genre remaining unchanged and there being a lack in variety, it is but impractical to expect the actors to grow.

Source: www.wikipedia.com

In the yesteryears directors were ready to toe the line and explore literature such that it had an impact on Indian society, actors experimented with their roles and open mindedness was commonly accepted. There were your usual run-of-the-mill masala movies but we also had an Ankur and a Saraansh that molded the very definition of cinematic art. Neecha Nagar won the top honours at Cannes, an achievement yet to be repeated. The golden age of Indian cinema was said to last from 1945-1960 with many directors even defining a middle cinema that cut across main stream and art with movies such as Ek ruka hua faisla and Rajnigandha.

Unfortunately for us, realism in Indian cinema and the middle ground that directors arrived at was soon replaced with commercialization. Fast forward a few decades and we had only masala continuing. The only difference being the star crossed lovers, rigid parents, wicked step moms and dads had been joined by across the border terrorists and greedy backstabbing politicians. Hazaaron Khwaaishein aisi, Black Friday, Ship of Thesus and the likes do make an appearance once in a while, usually when the pigs begin to fly.

Pre-Independence movies dealt more openly with sex and kissing, come 1947, the mindset narrowed down and anything that remotely indicated towards these topics were considered a taboo by the censor board. Ironically speaking the negative effect on society was much less then, than it is today.

source: www.dnaindia.com

In recent times, Originality has taken the back seat and remakes have become the order of the day. Movies here cannot do without the song and dance. Whatever the situation maybe, characters break onto the dance floors and swing around trees. Melodrama and music are two wave’s movies ride high on today. Speaking of ironies, they peek in here as well. While Indian directors spend most of their time scouting around for the right movie to remake, western film makers take inspiration from Indian musical movies to make Moulin Rouge, Phantom of the Opera and Mamma Mia. Tit for tat one would say but inspiration and remakes are hardly synonymies now are they?

In the world of remakes one would still appreciate if movies such as Black Swan or As good as it gets made it to the list, alas we have to make do with Liar Liar more often than we would want. Why don’t they make the cut anyway? The answer lies with the lower middle and reserved classes- a large section of the movie going crowd, the one who bring in the moolah, decide the box office outcome and makes the movies makers and actors very rich and happy.

Masala and Item numbers are what they want to see, it is what they enjoy, and it is what they pay for. Parallel cinema seldom sells and is limited to the smaller theatre halls catering to a much smaller audience. One brings in the money and requires not much talent, the other demands skills but pays you peanuts, isn’t the popular choice made obvious? One shoots you to stardom, the other only wins you the Jury awards, and it isn’t rocket science to guess which path is chosen more often.  

Since talent is not in the reckoning anymore just about anyone who gets a second look makes it to the league. If you acquire some skills along the way, nirvana would be just round the corner.

Our reasoning power has long gone dormant as far as Bollywood is concerned. It pleases the mind when once in a while we see a Lunchbox come along; at other times we just make peace with what is put in front of us, letting common sense take a much needed holiday and allowing our overworks brains to recharge.

And we live, coexisting with a mundane form of cinema, over spilling with glamour and allure, celebrity antics and tantrums and page three’s that never run out of juicy bits of gossip and do not have an ounce of intellect to call their own.

… So when a Kangana Ranaut comes along and speaks a language we all understand, videos go viral. They deserve to.