Reeling under Reality

Indian Cinema seems to be undergoing some metamorphosis. The recent spate of reality movies substantiates the fact. Call it deglamourisation or working with a low budget, the trend seems to be only growing. Finally film makers are reconciling to the fact that the average Indian does not identify with the on screen icons who can sing, dance, cook, work, romance or do just about anything to perfection.

The dancing around trees started in the early eighties. Family stories of boy meets girl, he finally conjures up courage to give her a rose and in order to marry her he has to overcome several obstacles on the way and finally the couple lives happily ever after. Then came the nineties when trees became a little scarce. So the setting was a lot more urbanized. The economy had just opened its arms to foreign shores. The film makers gave us NRI dreams. Having an American accent however still did not deter heroines from singing Hindi Bhajans when needed. Then came the era of lavish sets, actors wearing designer clothes even to college and dreaming of dance numbers at exotic locales. The films always helped people plan their next foreign holiday. It started with South east and Middle East Asia. Singapore’s Merlion or Sentosa island; Malaysia’s freeways; Dubai’s skyscrapers or creekside; Taipei’s Petronas towers soon became passé. So the film makers took us to more exotic places – New Zealand, Switzerland, Amsterdam, New York etc. If shooting was allowed on the moon we would soon be identifying our favourite craters too.

As if to say films are not enough the television is bombarded with a similar clichéd set of events. Extra marital affairs, polygamy and children appearing out of the blue are part of their daily lives. Plastic surgeries, loss of memory, dead people being resurrected are considered as normal as getting married or falling in love. Housewives are dressed immaculately from top to toe only to churn up a plot against their conspiring sister in laws while churning the kheer in the kitchen. People never seem to get old and family expands many fold in no time at all. Knowing very well that women would be their target market nearly everywhere there is always a matriarch, strong women characters who seemed to be worshipped by all and sundry.

Hindi filmdom seems to be the single largest consumer of glycerin. The pharma industry must be thankful to all the on screen crying and we should be thankful for the entire tear gland cleansing that the films do.

I ve always wondered if art and cinema are supposed to mirror life, then why do nearly all our films portray a larger than life image? Does dancing on a snow capped mountain at near freezing temperatures in a chiffon saree without a single strand of hair out of place ever happen in real life? All protagonists have perfectly toned bodies, glowing skins, well flexed muscles and are immensely talented. All stories have to have a happy ending.


We all may like to see the knight in shining armour sweep the damsel in distress off the floor and the couple gallop gallantly towards the full moon on a perfectly calm windless night. As a race we might find that entertaining. It may indeed give us a break from the daily brawls with our neighbours over the TV volume or the elbow fights with our perspiring co passengers on our way to work.

All said and done Bollywood is a religion in India. We worship our films and stars quite literally. If not for them we would have such a dearth of ice breaking conversations, shaking a leg on the dance floor or ideas for breaking a surprise on any special occasion. It is our staple form of distraction.

But how long can the same formula entertain? Anything becomes stale beyond a point. So its time the pink and popcorn, mushy and melodramatic, dance and romance, masala and muscle type of movies take a back seat and give way to the more down to earth, realistic, identifiable and sensible movies. Most of these movies are made by newcomer film makers. They often portray life real incidents. The characters are not super human and do not possess God like qualities. You don’t need to carry spare tissues to the cinema hall. They may not make you laugh or cry. But surely make you think.

Real or Surreal ?

She was scurrying her way through. With only five minutes left she could not afford to look this way or that. She was late as always. It was the same story everyday. Despite her best attempts life never seem to change in that respect. She cursed the traffic under her breath and walked past the parking lot. It looked the same everyday. About 300 square meters covered by a blue sheet. Heaps of cars in different shapes and sizes dotted the area.

It was an unusually gloomy day. The pallor was so palpable. The blue parking lot and the grey building never uplifted any spirits. The weather also abetted her melancholy. Thick dark rain bearing clouds cast their shadow effectively blocking the sunshine. She looked up at the sky to glance at the clouds. Stopped short. The world around her stopped and her head was reeling with the momentum of a wheel in a racecar. The loud shrill horn of a car behind her shook her up sufficiently to bring her back from her stupor. Swallowing hard she gave way to the vehicle behind her.

She just could not believe what she saw. She was hoping her mind was playing games. Up there on the abestos sheet above her head she saw a little child lying face down. The child lay motionless just above her head. She brushed the hair off her face and squinted her eyes just to make sure.It is chilling to say the least. Looking up at the apartment just above, everything seemed to be normal. Just to make sure that she wasn’t sinking into a quagmire of any hallucination she bit her lip hard. It was true. A bouncy baby boy all dressed up in blue was lying lifeless on a roof. Blue t-shirt and shorts with a little belt around his waist; black shoes and white socks, hair neatly pulled back – he looked like he was on his way to kindergarten.

From what was visible he looked full of health and colour. Well nourished and well brought up. He seemed pampered and plump. A picture of welfare and well-being.

How could even the most hardened criminal do that to a child? The soft blue eyes, a chirpy gurgle, the impeccable demeanor swathed in innocence were enough to melt any heart of stone. The soft supple cheeks, the firm grip of those tiny little fingers and the sweet smelling breath of a baby will make anybody smile.

Could it be filicide? Could anyone kill his or her own child? Could anyone on earth have such morbid intentions? Could a child breed such antagonism to bring about such extreme actions? Could a child ever provoke a murder?

Or could it be fatal carelessness? Negligence regarding a young unsuspecting life? Can something of that kind ever exist in this planet? A human’s instinct of care in any situation over powers it. A child falling off an unattended open window was never heard of.

Or was it a dream? The first pat of raindrop confirmed it was as real as ever. Life seemed to go on as normal. Shops just opened up for the day and raring to go. The usual early morning traffic and people honking their way through. Even in the apartments women drying clothes in the balcony. Little occasional faces peeping out of the window. What it made it all the more bizarre was life went on as normal.
Her heartbeat was fastening now, nearly pounding against her ribs. Her breath was shortening. She walked closer. Even the cloudy sunshine less early morning air caused beads of sweat to form on her forehead.

She drew closer with her gaze fixed on the little one.

Suddenly she laughed. A loud guffaw and closed her eyes tight -enough for the man getting out of his car to give weird looks.

In 30 seconds and a whirlwind of thoughts in her head she was relieved to get the revelation that it was but a toy. A life size life like toy of a boy.


This surreal experience actually happened to me not so long ago on my way to office.