My knowledge of Indian culture and history is tiny. It's interesting that many foreigners know about happenings in America, but it doesn't seem so reciprocal. I guess I'm not very aware of lots of world events, largely due to lack of effort. But I'm learning where I can.
Varun's grandfather died a few months before he was born, but fortuitously we were able to see a glimpse of his legacy through a family friend. Ravi seemed more than delighted to show us around Parliament, where he and Varun's grandfather worked along side for more than a decade. While it was an interesting visit in terms of learning a little politics, I was really happy to get to meet more locals and get a feel for Indian culture.
It quickly became clear that Ravi is very well-liked. He shakes the hands of dozens upon dozens of people as we walk around and in between the Lower and Upper Houses. He exchanges a lot of backslapping with his colleagues, and I see how all of his gestures are disarming, endearing, light-hearted, and good-natured. He reminds me of my father in the same way Dad knows everyone around the neighborhood or at the airport. They both clearly love their jobs, and it's largely because of the rapport they've built with the countless people they've befriended.
Ravi takes us to the cantina for a short break where we indulge in coffee and what I call the Indian coffee cakes: idli and vada with coconut chutney, and gulab jamun smothered in syrup. Every meal on this trip has been amazing, but these South Indian treats are especially delicious (especially after all of the day's walking leading up to it).
Our bellies are full (for now) and we wander through the rest of the facilities with big, sated grins. Their library looks amazing, containing texts from all languages including many of India's regional languages. It's amazing to think of the diversity that comes from a place I once thought do homogeneous. I didn't even realize that Sikhs are of a separate religion. Even the parliament represents dozens of political parties, including two communist parties differentiated by religion. If we can see the difficulty of the bipartisan system (consisting of a handful of religions) going at it so zealously, then what must Indians face with dozens of languages and countless religions, all of which are just as integral to their cultural heritage? This is the sound of my brain popping.
Making our goodbyes, we head towards a little facility that we happened upon earlier in the day. I must mention that most of the properties along any given street are behind gates. The gates are sometimes open but it is unclear whether the guards will permit entry. From experience we've found that the guards kindly escorted us out of an area if it's off limits, so we decide to take advantage of the "see what happens" method. I imagine the guards are there to prevent the many homeless people from sleeping on the lush properties.
In this instance we are drawn in by a modest banner saying something about a bazaar and film festival. Approaching the building we see another banner: 9 award winning films are to be shown over Friday through Sunday. Very cool. (The next film doesn't start for a while so we met up with Ravi for the aforementioned shenanigans.)
I can't say I'm even remotely acquainted with Indian cinema. The snippets I've gleaned of the Bollywood scene don't appeal to me at all. But a few minutes into the first film, Kurmavatara, quickly shattered and expanded that view.
Although a fiction, Kurmavatara is rife with history (particularly about Gandhi) which is something I've been seeking more of. The film itself is about a television director trying to make a daily TV serial about Gandhi. The fictional director hears about a man who bears a striking resemblance to Gandhi and wants to cast him in his serial even though he has no skill in acting. Rao is so dedicated to his government job that he is reluctant to take part, but pressure from his family and their poor living circumstances forces his hand.
Remarkably, this is similar to the case in actuality. Girish Kassaravalli casted a person who was not an actor (Doctor Shikaripura) to act as a person who is not an actor (Rao) to play Gandhi. This film takes advantage of the layering to create tension between director and actor. We see the fictional director's authoritative stranglehold on how Gandhi is supposed to be perceived, constantly comparing his serial to other acclaimed films. His vision is specific, and you can't help but wonder how much of this is representative of Girish's personality as a director.
Over the course of the film, Rao begins to read more about Gandhi's life (at the very frustrated director's behest) to understand his emotions in lieu of the country's potential separation. As he learns about Gandhi in this way, he begins to challenge the director's vision. "Gandhi wouldn't do that." Now we are playing with conflicting truths, both stemming from literary and filmic representations of a man. This elicits a constant need to assess which reality is more valid. What we choose or want to accept. I mentioned Wallace before, and I'll mention him again. The overlap here is remarkable to me.
The other two films were interesting but I didn't engage with them in the same way. They also depicted more Indian history, providing a lot of texture and nuance to my budding understanding of this new world. This is the part where we break into song. A Whole New Woooorld. Yes, India is just like Aladdin. Varun is the genie, I'm the sultan (my beard is getting there), and Nicole is definitely the monkey Abu. In our version of this story she slings feces when she's tired, hungry, or happy.
I do want to mention the last film we saw: Mr and Mrs Iyer. This film is about two strangers who meet on a crowded bus heading to Calcutta, one of which is wielding a shrieking infant. The bus is chaotic, loud, cramped, and the last place these people want to be. Halfway during the ride they reach a road blocked by traffic. When they learn that anti-Muslim extremist groups are creating turmoil, roads are closed and a curfew is instilled to protect people. At this point a witching mob emerges from the trees and forces their way into the bus, interrogating the Indians on the bus to weed out the Muslims. They force one man to bare his penis when his name is not proving sufficient. We quickly learn that our dashingly handsome male lead is Muslim, and in an act of bravery the female lead places her baby in his arms and gives him a Hindi name.
Sure, you could just watch a trailer to get the gist, but I wanted you to have some context for my critique. The rest of the film plays out as the newly wed couple flees to a remote cottage where their fear of the mobs brings them very close together. Mr Iyer is desperate to flee and save himself, but now Mrs Iyer fears being abandoned and pressures him to stay (the film seems to forget that there's a bus load of people stuck in a nearby town who can help, and/or that she was perfectly equipped to handle the ride alone before they met).
Unfortunately the film wavered along this line for too long, having moments of profound connection totally undermined by the detached aloofness of Mr Iyer and the pining, helpless Mrs Iyer. One conversation they had was absolutely amazing, in which he acknowledges how he was saved by being named by a woman, which is something a man normally does. This was a potentially very empowering moment, but I felt like it was wasted by the director when it was glossed over and didn't actually change their attitudes. I can't help but shove my bias straight into this one.
Now the interesting part. Who am I kidding? Everything I say is utterly amazing! (If you're still reading this monstrosity, I think I owe you a debt of gratitude in the form of alcoholic beverage).
There was one question I wanted to ask in the Q&A (can you imagine what it might be?) and I was so happy that someone else asked the same thing that was stewing in my brain. A young girl introduced herself to Aparna and expressed her gratitude for such an honor and proceeded to ask why Mrs Iyer felt so helplessly dependent on Mr Iyer. In my idealist magical fantasy land this question would provoke a life-changing discussion and shatter what I find to be an absolutely limiting vision of a woman's role in a film (which totally failed the Bechdel test, by the way) and in life. My young heroine, however, was sadly met with a dismissal of her question. "Is that really what you thought? Are you married? Do you have a child?" I was quite disappointed that the director wouldn't even entertain the possibility of this interpretation, especially something that was so painfully obvious from my perspective. My disappointment eventually turned into a shameless tyrade of petty criticisms before I could swallow my pride and accept the reality that not everyone thinks the way I do.
I still feel a little outraged. If I had any courage I would've shouted out in objection to Sen's comments, but I feel as though being a man and foreigner automatically nullifies any clout I might have. I just want her to question her own message, I thought.
But the fact that a young girl would identify and question this romance gives me great hope. The act of challenging such a thing in front of someone so revered means that women in India (and hopefully everywhere) are becoming more independent in their thinking. But perhaps it just comes down to a matter of taste. Surely many people find this representative of their ideal relationship, and in my case I fixate on these glaring details. I don't like to be so contrary, but it's more of a defensive reaction on my part. I wouldn't want somebody to dismiss my feelings either.
I'll spare you any more reflections, but I simply had to convey how stoked I was to come upon such a gem. Not only did we get to see three fascinating films over the weekend (we came back on Sunday), but we were treated to a Q&A with the director after each screening. Getting to hear each director's thoughts and stories regarding the film really enriched the experience. And on top of that, it started to give me a greater appreciation for the complex diversity that makes up India (even if I didn't particularly "enjoy" a film, it was still a catalyst). I'm excited for whatever comes our way next.
Tonight we are taking an overnight train to Bombay. Supposedly it will be even dirtier and more chaotic than Delhi. At this point we haven't fallen ill and our stomachs are in relatively good shape (the oily street food can sometimes take its toll, but nothing inordinately painful). I fear the worst is yet to come, but we take what precautions we can.
I should also mention that we've been sterilizing our own water from the tap with a UV light. My first sip was a leap of faith, and for hours after I was questioning every little feeling going through my stomach or sound in my bowels. It doesn't taste very good, but at least we're not beholden to street vendors selling bottled water. A two liter bottle only costs about 50 cents, but it's more about the principle of minimizing waste. I'll save you any further preaching, but you should realize by now that I'm just better than everyone else.
Varun's grandfather died a few months before he was born, but fortuitously we were able to see a glimpse of his legacy through a family friend. Ravi seemed more than delighted to show us around Parliament, where he and Varun's grandfather worked along side for more than a decade. While it was an interesting visit in terms of learning a little politics, I was really happy to get to meet more locals and get a feel for Indian culture.
It quickly became clear that Ravi is very well-liked. He shakes the hands of dozens upon dozens of people as we walk around and in between the Lower and Upper Houses. He exchanges a lot of backslapping with his colleagues, and I see how all of his gestures are disarming, endearing, light-hearted, and good-natured. He reminds me of my father in the same way Dad knows everyone around the neighborhood or at the airport. They both clearly love their jobs, and it's largely because of the rapport they've built with the countless people they've befriended.
Ravi takes us to the cantina for a short break where we indulge in coffee and what I call the Indian coffee cakes: idli and vada with coconut chutney, and gulab jamun smothered in syrup. Every meal on this trip has been amazing, but these South Indian treats are especially delicious (especially after all of the day's walking leading up to it).
Our bellies are full (for now) and we wander through the rest of the facilities with big, sated grins. Their library looks amazing, containing texts from all languages including many of India's regional languages. It's amazing to think of the diversity that comes from a place I once thought do homogeneous. I didn't even realize that Sikhs are of a separate religion. Even the parliament represents dozens of political parties, including two communist parties differentiated by religion. If we can see the difficulty of the bipartisan system (consisting of a handful of religions) going at it so zealously, then what must Indians face with dozens of languages and countless religions, all of which are just as integral to their cultural heritage? This is the sound of my brain popping.
Making our goodbyes, we head towards a little facility that we happened upon earlier in the day. I must mention that most of the properties along any given street are behind gates. The gates are sometimes open but it is unclear whether the guards will permit entry. From experience we've found that the guards kindly escorted us out of an area if it's off limits, so we decide to take advantage of the "see what happens" method. I imagine the guards are there to prevent the many homeless people from sleeping on the lush properties.
In this instance we are drawn in by a modest banner saying something about a bazaar and film festival. Approaching the building we see another banner: 9 award winning films are to be shown over Friday through Sunday. Very cool. (The next film doesn't start for a while so we met up with Ravi for the aforementioned shenanigans.)
I can't say I'm even remotely acquainted with Indian cinema. The snippets I've gleaned of the Bollywood scene don't appeal to me at all. But a few minutes into the first film, Kurmavatara, quickly shattered and expanded that view.
Although a fiction, Kurmavatara is rife with history (particularly about Gandhi) which is something I've been seeking more of. The film itself is about a television director trying to make a daily TV serial about Gandhi. The fictional director hears about a man who bears a striking resemblance to Gandhi and wants to cast him in his serial even though he has no skill in acting. Rao is so dedicated to his government job that he is reluctant to take part, but pressure from his family and their poor living circumstances forces his hand.
Remarkably, this is similar to the case in actuality. Girish Kassaravalli casted a person who was not an actor (Doctor Shikaripura) to act as a person who is not an actor (Rao) to play Gandhi. This film takes advantage of the layering to create tension between director and actor. We see the fictional director's authoritative stranglehold on how Gandhi is supposed to be perceived, constantly comparing his serial to other acclaimed films. His vision is specific, and you can't help but wonder how much of this is representative of Girish's personality as a director.
Over the course of the film, Rao begins to read more about Gandhi's life (at the very frustrated director's behest) to understand his emotions in lieu of the country's potential separation. As he learns about Gandhi in this way, he begins to challenge the director's vision. "Gandhi wouldn't do that." Now we are playing with conflicting truths, both stemming from literary and filmic representations of a man. This elicits a constant need to assess which reality is more valid. What we choose or want to accept. I mentioned Wallace before, and I'll mention him again. The overlap here is remarkable to me.
The other two films were interesting but I didn't engage with them in the same way. They also depicted more Indian history, providing a lot of texture and nuance to my budding understanding of this new world. This is the part where we break into song. A Whole New Woooorld. Yes, India is just like Aladdin. Varun is the genie, I'm the sultan (my beard is getting there), and Nicole is definitely the monkey Abu. In our version of this story she slings feces when she's tired, hungry, or happy.
I do want to mention the last film we saw: Mr and Mrs Iyer. This film is about two strangers who meet on a crowded bus heading to Calcutta, one of which is wielding a shrieking infant. The bus is chaotic, loud, cramped, and the last place these people want to be. Halfway during the ride they reach a road blocked by traffic. When they learn that anti-Muslim extremist groups are creating turmoil, roads are closed and a curfew is instilled to protect people. At this point a witching mob emerges from the trees and forces their way into the bus, interrogating the Indians on the bus to weed out the Muslims. They force one man to bare his penis when his name is not proving sufficient. We quickly learn that our dashingly handsome male lead is Muslim, and in an act of bravery the female lead places her baby in his arms and gives him a Hindi name.
Sure, you could just watch a trailer to get the gist, but I wanted you to have some context for my critique. The rest of the film plays out as the newly wed couple flees to a remote cottage where their fear of the mobs brings them very close together. Mr Iyer is desperate to flee and save himself, but now Mrs Iyer fears being abandoned and pressures him to stay (the film seems to forget that there's a bus load of people stuck in a nearby town who can help, and/or that she was perfectly equipped to handle the ride alone before they met).
Unfortunately the film wavered along this line for too long, having moments of profound connection totally undermined by the detached aloofness of Mr Iyer and the pining, helpless Mrs Iyer. One conversation they had was absolutely amazing, in which he acknowledges how he was saved by being named by a woman, which is something a man normally does. This was a potentially very empowering moment, but I felt like it was wasted by the director when it was glossed over and didn't actually change their attitudes. I can't help but shove my bias straight into this one.
Now the interesting part. Who am I kidding? Everything I say is utterly amazing! (If you're still reading this monstrosity, I think I owe you a debt of gratitude in the form of alcoholic beverage).
There was one question I wanted to ask in the Q&A (can you imagine what it might be?) and I was so happy that someone else asked the same thing that was stewing in my brain. A young girl introduced herself to Aparna and expressed her gratitude for such an honor and proceeded to ask why Mrs Iyer felt so helplessly dependent on Mr Iyer. In my idealist magical fantasy land this question would provoke a life-changing discussion and shatter what I find to be an absolutely limiting vision of a woman's role in a film (which totally failed the Bechdel test, by the way) and in life. My young heroine, however, was sadly met with a dismissal of her question. "Is that really what you thought? Are you married? Do you have a child?" I was quite disappointed that the director wouldn't even entertain the possibility of this interpretation, especially something that was so painfully obvious from my perspective. My disappointment eventually turned into a shameless tyrade of petty criticisms before I could swallow my pride and accept the reality that not everyone thinks the way I do.
I still feel a little outraged. If I had any courage I would've shouted out in objection to Sen's comments, but I feel as though being a man and foreigner automatically nullifies any clout I might have. I just want her to question her own message, I thought.
But the fact that a young girl would identify and question this romance gives me great hope. The act of challenging such a thing in front of someone so revered means that women in India (and hopefully everywhere) are becoming more independent in their thinking. But perhaps it just comes down to a matter of taste. Surely many people find this representative of their ideal relationship, and in my case I fixate on these glaring details. I don't like to be so contrary, but it's more of a defensive reaction on my part. I wouldn't want somebody to dismiss my feelings either.
I'll spare you any more reflections, but I simply had to convey how stoked I was to come upon such a gem. Not only did we get to see three fascinating films over the weekend (we came back on Sunday), but we were treated to a Q&A with the director after each screening. Getting to hear each director's thoughts and stories regarding the film really enriched the experience. And on top of that, it started to give me a greater appreciation for the complex diversity that makes up India (even if I didn't particularly "enjoy" a film, it was still a catalyst). I'm excited for whatever comes our way next.
Tonight we are taking an overnight train to Bombay. Supposedly it will be even dirtier and more chaotic than Delhi. At this point we haven't fallen ill and our stomachs are in relatively good shape (the oily street food can sometimes take its toll, but nothing inordinately painful). I fear the worst is yet to come, but we take what precautions we can.
I should also mention that we've been sterilizing our own water from the tap with a UV light. My first sip was a leap of faith, and for hours after I was questioning every little feeling going through my stomach or sound in my bowels. It doesn't taste very good, but at least we're not beholden to street vendors selling bottled water. A two liter bottle only costs about 50 cents, but it's more about the principle of minimizing waste. I'll save you any further preaching, but you should realize by now that I'm just better than everyone else.
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