'Who couldn't resist a smirk on discovering that in Lucknow the slang for homosexual was 'chhota-line wallah' because the station there took both the broad and metre gauge?, writes Ian Jack in a prologue to Mofussil Junction, Indian Encounters 1977-2012. The lines lead me to a clutch of films on this human group that me has been seeing recently: Brokeback Mountain, Aligarh, Memories in March and My Brother, Nikhil. Have seen them twice and some snatches more and they remind me of the chemistry lab in Hindi High School where me was parked for practicals; labelled bottles and jars of acids -- sulphuric acid, nitric acid and many more -- stood in ranks on glass shelves; concentrated sulphuric acid, H2SO4, being perhaps a dangerous customer. In India, humans have labels, many: caste, sex (male, female, nongays, gays), religion, colour, language (English, Indian languages); females and gays are dealt in the same way, cruelly; in Memories in March, Deepti Naval pleads with Rithuparno Ghosh to take home a fish tank; 'no, do not like fish tanks, of putting everyone in a box,' Ghosh replies. Yes. Boxes. Displaying identity like Saivite and Vaishnavite caste marks. 2016 India is cruel to humans playing out their lives in these films; lives which have no say on their sex; they have to live with it and me wishes courts will make up their minds fast. Perhaps, the Supreme Court should see these films before writing their judgements; they could start with the 2005 film, My Brother, Nikhil, by Onir on an AIDS patient, Nikhil Kapoor (played by Sanjay Suri) and his sister Juhi Chawla (Anamika); Juhi sticks to her brother; its about relationships, natural for Nikhil Kapoor, unnatural for his parents; the film flows like the Mandovi in Goa. Twice over seen Memories in March and Aligarh; Aligarh can be termed a classic; a film that will stay on; there is no fiction, only facts; bare, brutal and brilliant is Manoj Bajpayee; 'Love is a beautiful word,' says Manoj to Rajkummar Rao, boating perhaps the Jamuna; director Hansal Mehta keeps to the bones of the story; the legal scenes could not be otherwise. For me Aligarh is a notch in front of Memories in March with Deepti Naval and Rituparno Ghosh; not many have written of her; in Firaaq and Memories in March, she shakes the viewer; sound-speech links in Memories are indeed rare for an Indian film; directed by Sanjoy Nag, Memories and Aligarh butt me. A fair deal for those in hiding. Perhaps, Brokeback Mountain is the weakest going on and on ... unwinding to a few seeable last shots. Our directors have offered an unfortunate set of humans a better deal; insisted on they being humans. Indian cinema has grown beyond Ray. It can be proud.
Sunday, November 20, 2016
Of others....they are ours
'Who couldn't resist a smirk on discovering that in Lucknow the slang for homosexual was 'chhota-line wallah' because the station there took both the broad and metre gauge?, writes Ian Jack in a prologue to Mofussil Junction, Indian Encounters 1977-2012. The lines lead me to a clutch of films on this human group that me has been seeing recently: Brokeback Mountain, Aligarh, Memories in March and My Brother, Nikhil. Have seen them twice and some snatches more and they remind me of the chemistry lab in Hindi High School where me was parked for practicals; labelled bottles and jars of acids -- sulphuric acid, nitric acid and many more -- stood in ranks on glass shelves; concentrated sulphuric acid, H2SO4, being perhaps a dangerous customer. In India, humans have labels, many: caste, sex (male, female, nongays, gays), religion, colour, language (English, Indian languages); females and gays are dealt in the same way, cruelly; in Memories in March, Deepti Naval pleads with Rithuparno Ghosh to take home a fish tank; 'no, do not like fish tanks, of putting everyone in a box,' Ghosh replies. Yes. Boxes. Displaying identity like Saivite and Vaishnavite caste marks. 2016 India is cruel to humans playing out their lives in these films; lives which have no say on their sex; they have to live with it and me wishes courts will make up their minds fast. Perhaps, the Supreme Court should see these films before writing their judgements; they could start with the 2005 film, My Brother, Nikhil, by Onir on an AIDS patient, Nikhil Kapoor (played by Sanjay Suri) and his sister Juhi Chawla (Anamika); Juhi sticks to her brother; its about relationships, natural for Nikhil Kapoor, unnatural for his parents; the film flows like the Mandovi in Goa. Twice over seen Memories in March and Aligarh; Aligarh can be termed a classic; a film that will stay on; there is no fiction, only facts; bare, brutal and brilliant is Manoj Bajpayee; 'Love is a beautiful word,' says Manoj to Rajkummar Rao, boating perhaps the Jamuna; director Hansal Mehta keeps to the bones of the story; the legal scenes could not be otherwise. For me Aligarh is a notch in front of Memories in March with Deepti Naval and Rituparno Ghosh; not many have written of her; in Firaaq and Memories in March, she shakes the viewer; sound-speech links in Memories are indeed rare for an Indian film; directed by Sanjoy Nag, Memories and Aligarh butt me. A fair deal for those in hiding. Perhaps, Brokeback Mountain is the weakest going on and on ... unwinding to a few seeable last shots. Our directors have offered an unfortunate set of humans a better deal; insisted on they being humans. Indian cinema has grown beyond Ray. It can be proud.
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