Dhwanii - Issue 2

B-Sides

- Ameen Merchant

Everything was going well, as well as could be hoped for in a promotional preview (disguised as a discussion) about new "south asian" diasporic cinema. The event at hand was Bollywood/Hollywood, the closing gala film at the Vancouver International Film Festival 2002.

We'd all agreed that it was a sudden visibility indeed. All these films about brown folk: Kama Sutra, Monsoon Wedding, The Guru, and Lagaan at the Oscars, now Bollywood/Hollywood. Nobody mentioned the stereotypes screaming to be heard in those very titles. Too serious, and too obvious. Not to mention wrong target audience.

Before reaching this agreement, that all this Moulin Brun was a phenomenon sort-of, we'd glossed over (sound bite format) notions of identity, multiculturalism, "global village," shania-madonna, fusion food, NRI clout - and then right after the commercial break, the programme hostess dropped this:

Why do you think Bollywood is such a lifeline to India for south asians?

As I said, everything was going well, as well as could be hoped for.

Still, months after we'd mumbled some clever and quick response, and the programme had disappeared into the realm called "forgotten," the question and its truth are still haunting me. The queasy feeling has never left.

Lifeline.

Not the one that is on your palm, wrist and jugular. That's within. This one is literally out there - closer to the one they throw your way on Kaun Banega Karorpathi? when you're flummoxed for an answer and as the clock is ticking you have one phone call to Tanita in Tardeo, your current hope in god for money.

Manufactured Lifeline.

Call it a phone call to Bollywood without the hassle of a long-distance calling programme. 24/7. Which would you like: Digital, Satellite or DVD?

Even if the hyperbole seems staggering, the fact that Cinema a la Bollywood is an integral part of everyday "south asian" middle class life, no matter where you are, is irrefutable. DVDs of Kaante and Jism (Would that be Thorns in All your Sides?) fly out like too-hot-to-handle samosas in the Apna Bazaars of California and Manama. Bollywood related websites are both more hip than not, and just as many. London's West-end is grooving to Bombay Dreams. Organizers from Vancouver to Kuwait to Penang are overwhelmed by the response to their contractual traveling "star-nite" shows. And Hrithik Roshan is still a dreamboat no matter which place you call home or what your sexual pathology.

That's only one tiny stretch of the Lifeline.

And I haven't even mentioned fashion, cars, advertising, "star" sponsorships, award ceremonies and award categories, auditions, fan clubs, egroups, "star" searches, and soon, I am sure, something called Indian Idol. (No, don't ask.)

Yes, that’s the full scope of what I mean by integral. Accuse me of underestimating the influence and reach of questionable pop-culture, and I could only plead guilty.
Truth in Exaggeration hits you late, but hits you hard.

Now if I jump on to my bandwagon of one and gripe about sexism (starlets from a textile famine) perennial triangles (who’s the friend, and who’s going to die?) dialogues so tender you could die of schlock, inane plotlines (who’s the friend, and who’s going to die this time?) that seem like sorry excuses for songs sung in whispers to a roll of synthesized drums from the Congo (the tabla is so over) -

And say, please don’t get me wrong, I am all for a feel good flick and, of course, I like to dream a little, chill, and give in occasionally. I know the let’s get lost feeling and crave it too. But can’t dumb make numb soon? Dumb Day In and Dumb Day Out?

For that’s what we’re talking here, aren’t we? Not every week or second week, but everyday. That’s the full implication and reality of Lifeline. I do get it.

You are so negative, you huff.

I should know better, I know.

You are the one that takes this all so seriously. It is entertainment and you should take it and leave it at that. You do go on. You are the one that exaggerates! You can always choose not to watch or listen, can you not?

I know. And that last line is hilarious.

Tell me, what part of queasy didn't you understand?