The Expressionist

The surroundings were misty. (Or misty may have gone my memory!) The incense vapours from the nearby Vishwakarma puja pandals hung low over the township. I must have been then 3 to 4 years old. It was beside the fly-over connecting the temporary and permanent townships, in a tin-roofed shack that I first saw him. We entered through a wooden door, whose ends had rotten away with the recent monsoons of Bihar. He dodged under a low wooden bar that held the roof and appeared through the smog before us. His name was Prakash, meaning ‘expression’. But, none of us called him by that name. He was ‘gunga maali’/ ‘boba maali’ (meaning 'the dumb gardener') to all and ‘Maali uncle’ to me.

Maali uncle was hearing and speech impaired. People said he wasn’t so by birth. It was a fatal accident that had left him thus. He was a short-heighted, lean, curly-haired man, with thick lips. Our association with him was through Roy Chowdhury Jethu and Jethima, who were (and still are) our very intimate family friends. Since I’ve grown up far away from my relations, owing to my father’s transferable job, I regarded them as my very own and hence called them as Jethu-Jethima, without caring to mention their surnames. We had just shifted to our C-type quarters in Kahalgaon, and were urgently in need of a gardener to look after the bare plots of land in the front and the back courtyards. And, so, Jethu-Jethima mentioned ‘boba maali’ to us. It was, I remember, with great difficulty that my parents had communicated with him on the first day to ask him to come to our house. He was near illiterate and ‘read’ by matching the designs of the calligraphy, i.e., whenever he needed to read something, say a quarter number, he’d have it written on a slip of paper and then he’d find his destination by matching the letters on the slip with those on the wall. That is how probably he managed to find our house too: C-27.

The eight and half years that we lived in C-27, Maali uncle worked to make the NTPC quarter a sweet home. Those were the years that I started graduating from a blob of living matter towards a human being with senses. Maali uncle therefore had been an important part of my first senses, my growing mind and my childhood. He had a distinct smell on him: the soil that he played with the entire day rendered him an earthy scent. His quiet arrival was marked by that distinct odour and the swish-swash of his movements through the grass and the click-clacks of his shrub-cutting tools. Years after years, he cultured all kinds of plants from cactuses to creepers to rose bushes and big marigolds, dahlias and petunias. He brought colours and fragrance to our dull township life.

Sometimes, Maa would explain him things that she wanted him to do with frantic movements of her hands, which he would quickly pick up and respond with half-sounds straining his weakened vocal chords. It was not only a tricky task to ‘talk’ to him, but a trickier task at times to get what he was trying to ‘tell’ us. The mode of communication would often make us fall into peals of laughter. It’d be a most heartening time to see when he’d try to tell us ‘who’, ‘whose’ or ‘whom’. For example, while referring to me he used to point towards his left brow, to mention the famous black mole beside my left brow and would gesticulate with his palm faced ground-wards, to mention a little girl. While talking about my mother, he would first refer to me through the same gestures and then would signal with his palm faced ground-wards a level higher than himself and then point a dot on his forehead to convey a woman. While referring to Jethima, he’d make the same signs of showing his palm a level higher than himself, to mention someone tall and then would shift his elbows awide, to talk of someone stout; for Jethima was a person of large proportions.

After a year or two, when Jethu-Jethima moved to their D-type quarter, Maali uncle also left his shack beside the fly-over and moved to their outhouse. A disciplined man by nature, Maali uncle led a happy married life. As far as I recall, he had three children: Manoj, Anuj and Khushboo. The eldest son, Manoj bhaiya, often helped him in his errands. Maali uncle saw to it that his children learnt to read and write and sent all of his children to school. We later heard that the eldest son passed from an ITI college. His wife was a very practical-minded person. To generate more earnings, she stitched blouses and made a judicious use of whatever income came in, managing even to make some savings. He had a great regard for his wife. When he had to take leave showing extreme urgency, he would usually flare up his eyes and with an expression of extreme exigency would run his forefinger through the parting of his hair, indicating his wife.

Well-known for his intelligence and sharp senses, Maali uncle served us in several ways other than gardening. From small jobs of mechanic, electrician and driving, he even rescued many from precarious situations. Once, one of our switchboards short-circuited and a foul smell started coming. We couldn’t detect the source of the stench. My mother, the one who spends much time in the house, had been nauseated like heck, until Maali uncle came by chance to attend the garden. He volunteered to probe the situation at once. Through his strong smelling senses, he sniffed along the walls and reached the switchboard. He unscrewed the board out and discovered a dead lizard.

Another time, a couple of monkeys had entered our quarter. They climbed on the top of our Godrej Almirah and found it a most suitable place to empty their bladders. They refused to leave until minutes later, Maali uncle came and chased them out with a long stick. It was him who later helped us clean up the mess. A motion with his fingers pointing at himself with a nod of his head expressing “Everything will be fine. I am with you.” would put my parents at complete ease. He was the embodiment of the proverb “A friend in need is a friend in deed”.

He was also the unofficial decorator in all the birthday parties. With all the care and innovation with the rolls of crape papers, balloons and glitters, he’d put up a great show. He’d climb up a stool and from the motor of the ceiling fan, coloured ribbons would flow down to the far end of the walls. He’d even wrap the return gifts in beautiful packing papers. With the papery ribbons, he’d ‘write’ on the wall the purpose of the celebration, very much in the way as he ‘read’. I remember, on my birthday celebration every year, Baba used to write on a paper “HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MIMI”, which would be copied neatly on the wall by Maali uncle.

Within a few years, he had bought a plot of land for himself and in fact began the construction a large house. He would often ‘talk’ to us about the number of floors, number of rooms and toilets he’d built in his house. It was a piece of quite amazing news for a while in the township households, as for many of us a house was still a distant dream.

It was Maali uncle, who helped us decorate our new D-type quarters. There was a hidden artist in him with a high aesthetic sense. We have never had many showpieces. All we had were a few sets of bone-china dinner-sets and tea-sets and abundant books. He adorned the showcase with the china and cutlery, while we took care of the books. We all worked together. He did the job so well that visitors would give us compliments for our otherwise simple abode for the whole of the three months that we stayed in those quarters. He was like a family member and seldom asked for extra money.

In April 2002, we left the place. The packers and movers were yet to become popular. So, we had our personalized packer. Yes, Maali uncle did all the packing with cardboards, newspapers, cartons and straws. He packed each piece of cup, saucer and glass with the utmost care and each bit of furniture with the touch of a loving home-maker. He sweated at it for one whole month and did it all with so much efficiency, that just seeing him at it put my father out of all worries.

Coming in Orissa, we unpacked the things all by ourselves. In unwrapping each piece of china and each bit of furniture out of the wooden cases first, then the cardboards, the straws and lastly the newspapers, in every step we realized what we had left behind. His dainty touch was in all of it. We dragged the boxes; arranged the beds, the tables, the chairs, the sofa sets and decorated our new quarter all on our own. We were short by one family member now.

Turtles Can Fly

To wholly understand this film, we must assess what we mean by children's cinema. Where can the possibilities that can be explored by the genre be limited? Further, is it cinema meant for children, or cinema made by children? The clues to these we shall find as the journey wears on. Till then, keep your head clean.

Bahman Ghobadi lends the film its colours from, among many things, a variety of well-drawn characters. There is Satellite - so called for his fame throughout the Turkey-Iraq border, where the film is set, as a proponent and installation-expert of dish-television. But Satellite has a more important role as well: he is able organiser of boys in the refugee camps. He divides, supervises and directs the large group, which includes several handicapped boys, to nearby fields for combing landmines. These are sold off for money - much needed and equally missed, if not more, in the war-ravaged country. There is a disconcerting ease and dexterity about this affair - the little boys hesitate little while toying with death or, worse, crippling injury. The whole unthinking simplicity of it, almost petty errand-like, takes us close to the human tragedy of war-torn people. If one must embrace fatal peril to live a day more, so will he! This queer coexistence of life and decay is also quietly evident in the village landscape, where many of the homes are abandoned battered battle-tanks and missile launchers. Satellite is not immune from the snobbery of being a leader, neither can he help being smitten by Agrin. This young girl has a beautiful face, unassuming and quiet; the pall of gloom and pain only helps accentuate her personality. Agrin is remarkable in her silence, her intense eyes are ever on the look for some saving grace: a purpose to justify her existence. Silence shields away her torrid past - she was raped in early childhood and her family was eaten up by war - the first fact no one but her brother Henkov and herself is aware of. She is burdened with a relic of that sad incident, a physical reminder of what she wants to forget: a little child Riga. Riga is blind - possibly God's wish to keep him oblivious of and untainted by the ugliness of this world. As he gleefully rends the skies with his bubbling peals of laughter and innocent weeping, there is no way that one can stop the tears rolling down. Riga speaks to humanity's conscience, consistently posing our minds the crucial and difficult question - why some people must go through such terrible oppression and injustice - and at the same time appealing to our heart through his ironic innocence. His father is some cruel beast unknown to him, one whom even his mother does not possibly remember! Yet how different the river is from the source. When Riga goes plaintively crying out to his parents amidst war-debris, silence answers him back. For he is a child of severed circumstances. Silence is Henkov's shield too: behind it he holds a pained empathetic heart, at times brimming with rage, but unfailingly humane. Even optimistic - which is a difficult quality in someone whose consciousness has been marred at every stage by terrifying incidents. He wants to live, whereas Agrin wants to escape into the soothing skies. She cannot make peace with her circumstances anyhow. Henkov's concern and love for little Riga is deepened by his sister's neglect of him. While Agrin is always spurred to abandon the child, her brother wants to draw him closer and safer.

Satellite, inspite of his seeming arrogance, has a soft heart. His concern during a bomb-scare is not only for his own associates but every refugee boy in the area. His attempts to win over Agrin are earnest and innocent. Acting as counter-foil to the illustrious Satellite is his second-in-command Pashow and faithful disciple Shirkooh. The latter is mostly introduced for comic relief: ever-inquisitive about the meaning of "USA", "Come on!", "Hello mister" and suchlike; getting bullied by elderly Esmaeel and relating the grave injustice meted out to him with a rare touch of both humour and compassion (you smile at first as Shirkooh rattles off teary-eyed, then realising his innocence you suddenly feel like comforting him with love). Pashow is ever-ready to follow in his leader's steps. The sight of him, disabled leg dangling carelessly, running behind Satellite in swift strides with the aid of his crutch is one to behold. Ironically, the leader has to follow in his second-in-command's steps later as he falls victim to a landmine.

There is a scene where Riga is abandoned by Agrin just beside the barbed-wires between Iraq and Turkey in the hope that the Turkish guard on the other side will shoot him. As the little one wrenches hearts with his tears, Satellite and Pashow are passing by. Driven both by curiosity and compassion, the two come to Riga's rescue. To make him smile and 'chide' the guard, Pashow grabs hold of his defunct leg and points it like a gun towards the Turkish guard with mock-menace. It is a fine example of the director's ability to reach into the most cornered recesses of the human mind - the image conjured up is brutal and shocking in a playful non-chalant way.

In another sequence, Riga finds himself alone in a mine-plugged field. A step in any direction could spell danger. When Satellite hears of the incident, he reaches the spot. Riga's position is precarious, yet blindness blocks off any awareness of his surroundings. As he stands there scanning the air about with his senses, Satellite must find a way to save him. This emboldens the humane side of him already revealed before: his concern for others is unaffected by any factor save the immediate need for it. The crisis also adds an unknown dimension to two fringe characters - so troubled are Pashow and Shirkooh about Satellite's safety that they are ready to take the risky plunge themselves. Their leader however vetoes any such intervention. The repeated tinkling of a bicycle-bell ensures that little Riga is delighted, while also drawing his attention to the repeated warnings not to move from his spot. Ears strained to follow instructions, Riga ponders for a while before bursting into renewed peals of merry laughter and jumping here and there egged on by the sonorous cry of the bell. And just as Satellite crawls to touching distance of the child, a mine goes off. A scene with palpable taut tension, yet one that evokes the deepest of empathy for both Riga and Satellite, while offering a glimpse into the hearts of as many as three characters; culminating into an emotional upsurge. Once again, Ghobadi displays his fine understanding of human psyche - Riga's joyous laughter in such a grave situation can only be called a cathartic experience for the viewer. The director defeats expectation when the mine explodes, and yet does not come off as one merely looking to disappoint or shock his audience.

The skies accept Agrin's prayers however. She flies into them from a cliff, burying her troubles in a war-torn land. Strife swallows up Riga too - not so much one fought with guns, as one between Agrin's troubled heart and conscience. The only one left of the family is the compassionate, quiet and brave Henkov. His clairvoyance comes a little too late for help. The only memoir of the past Agrin leaves behind are her slippers, a souvenir the pained Henkov keeps with him.

It is fitting that a bitter condemnation of war should end with a dark realisation. Throughout the film, Satellite is in awe of the American legend. A concoction of iconic images and catchphrases - Titanic, Washington, San Francisco, Bruce Lee and Zinedine Zidane (an aberration Pashow rectifies) - is part of that hallowed glossy dream (the distance - psychological and geographical - helps no doubt). Besides, America is noble: they'll rid Iraq of Saddam's terror-reign. And yet, as the depressing deaths of his sweetheart Agrin and endearing Riga touch him, the legend corrodes gradually. So when, in the final scene, a relieved and excited Pashow exclaims "Look! Didn't you want to see the Americans?" as US troops file by, Satellite turns his back on them. His silence - that most potent weapon Ghobadi uses throughout the movie - reveals his deepening doubts if there really is a good side to this war; if really anybody's victory calls for celebration. (A note: I am aware some critics perceive Ghobadi's leanings to be pro-US. However, that is not evident in the film. Kurds are initially portrayed wishing for US intervention, but through the protagonists - Satellite and Henkov - the denunciation is of war itself, without colour and without side.)

And yet for such a bleak subject, the treatment is not all brooding and ominous. There is humour centering around the Islamic dogma of chastity in thought - the village governer visibly shakes as he encounters a "sexy channel" on TV. There is, of course, amusement in the dialogues between Satellite and Shirkooh and Esmaeel. There's a hint of dark comedy too: as a gift to his dear injured boss, Shirkooh brings along the broken hand of Saddam's gigantic statue (the demolition of which has now become an iconic spectacle). The director's palette comprises of poetically composed shots - the distribution of colour across the screen is remarkably refreshing (of the same school as Majid Majidi's work). The camera does not rely on daring tricks, and yet makes efficient use of props in the locale. One memorable illustration has Satellite perched on the very head of a cannon whose shaft can be moved about, and the scene ends as he is slowly lowered down with just Satellite's ever-present baseball-cap ducking out of sight at the last moment.

Now, to think of my questions at the very start of the essay. For one thing, I am certain that none of the kids who caught the show with me at Nandan completely understood what they witnessed though they may have laughed at the jokes, felt at one with the joyous laughter of Riga and sympathised with the plight of the affected. Which is quite a lot: the audience just connecting at an emotional level, even if not comprehensively analysing cinematic theme and technique, is something any great director would wish for... in fact, wishes for! Analysis is only for academics, enthusiasts and the like. It is also noteworthy that the simplicity and purity of emotions portrayed could only have rested in a child's bosom. This is children's cinema. Relegating the genre to fluff like Hanuman Returns (sorry Anurag Kashyap, I love almost every other film you've directed!) is underestimating a child's inherent emotional and intellectual faculties. That's a mistake every sensible filmmaker - and broadly every sensible adult - should avoid.

To end with, one of the very best films I've seen. (It, along with Majidi's films and Mohsen Makhmalbaf's Kandahar, has awakened me to the Iranian New Wave - thanks in no small measure, Mr. Ghobadi.) Oh, and Hossein Alizadeh's background score is gorgeous. Not merely an embellishment, rather an essential part of the film's being.

Rewind... Fast forward

I've been rather desperate to get down with writing some movie reviews for the past two weeks, given that my diet of cinematographic pieces, old and new, has been rather steady-- at least, one a day, and on some, two-- for the same period. Whenever I watch a film that I really like and have something to say about (which isn't always: some I love, but don't have anything to add in the form of appraisal or criticism), my temper gets a bit itchy unless I get down to the job. Given this nugget of a fact-- it's not without considerable restraint on my part that I've kept my promise of not writing a movie review after three straight ones preceding this current post! But, also, keeping in mind my record and inherent ability to be simultaneously dual, and possibly treading on what the great Siddhartha called the Middle Path-- this actually is a movie review, and a book review, and something more. Not with much of a disguise, I suppose. My aim is not to write the great mystery novel anyway. Enough of this bullshit beating about the bush and let's get down to the heart of the thing, if that's the phrase I was really looking for (if more-or-less avid readers find a shade of Wodehouse-ian humour in this introductory paragraph, it's not completely unfounded, let me assure you!)-- children.

Now, of course, children are cuddled by almost everyone-- as they indeed should be, till it doesn't start getting on their nerves-- but it's no small wonder when you start realising that the adjectives that qualify a little child are not just "sweet" and "cute". If anything, their ability to detect the true essence of almost anything that really matters is nothing short of uncanny-- I've met lots of kids who can make out good people from bad, though they can't of course articulate what it exactly is that makes a man good or bad in the first place. It is intuition that guides them in making choices like these, and funnily enough, they have little in the form of experience that helps them form an intuition. Isn't that a mystery then, how they know the very basics of moral judgement (be it in a rudimentary stage) without any external influence of any sort! To me, it is. That it is without any external influence is actually a great thing if you ask me-- the child's conscience still retains the pristine purity of something untouched by artificiality or evil, of any form. The sad thing is that in one of every thousand cases or so (or maybe an even smaller fraction-- I don't know what!) as the child grows up, his intuition is shaped by external factors, and shaped in a bad way. Which, of course, is mostly due to a grave mistake on the part of parents. Instead of clearly telling the child what is right and wrong, most parents try to shield children completely away from all wrong-- knowing well in their hearts that evil is sure to creep into the untrampled consciousness of the little one sooner or later. 'Creep' is the word, because it catches the child unaware, slowly tempting him into falsehood and untruth, all along quiet and imperceptible. Wouldn't it have been better just to show evil for what it is, maybe in a suitable and subtle manner, and give the child a fair idea of what he must resist as he starts absorbing the 'practical' ways of the world? That's just one of the several complaints about parenting I have, but digress I must not (maybe, if time and my whim destines so, I'll post a long essay on the subject-- something which has been drafted and saved permanently into my memory).

So where was I? Intuition. Which brings me to another I-word: intellect. The intellect of the child far outshines that of the grown-up. Be it the willingness to listen to the yarns from old grandpa or grandma, the instinctive questions that prop up as he starts learning the basics of science, and in my personal opinion (one that is thankfully shared by many great philosophers of the day and yore), some of the deepest questions in philosophy-- where did we come from, where did he come from, and where do we go; why is it that the Earth has been chosen for human existence of all heavenly bodies that we do know of, and what exactly is it that we are living for... Too many questions, and not without surprise, too few answers. Or maybe, too few people capable of understanding the questions to even start thinking about the answers! Predictably, a lot of these questions are dismissed as random banter-- but of course, that couldn't be far from the truth. It isn't hard to see why the gurukul system admitted mostly little children (at least, that's what I know!)-- the guru knew well enough that the most thoughtful and intelligent questions would come from the little toddlers barely capable of speaking clearly, and that these little children would be both the most attentive and intelligent audience he could wish for!

Another I-word for the record: imagination. That a child has in plentiful! There is no bound to his imagination-- and even the most unnoticed and silent of objects lying about in the melee of our day-to-day life can fire up his own wishful world of seeing what adults can't. Uh, adults can see little anyway-- they spend all their lives chasing nothing, nothing of real value anyway, and die unhappy. Well, most of them do. They are interested in what they call the real world, and tax their brains on stock markets, success, fame, money, power and what not. They sometimes have loads of that, and still they want more. And still more. They do not see that happiness eludes them, that peace leaves them sooner than they could have imagined. Oh, I forgot, adults can't imagine! They scorn the child for his ability, and ask him to prepare themselves for the fruitless endless chase of whatever practical mumbo-jumbo it is that they pursue. Not for once do they see that reality extends beyond what meets the eye. Reality is, in essence, abstract; well, real reality is, anyway! You create your own reality, and what is real to one may not be to others. Isn't it wise to practise and learn the art of creating reality than seeing what every other average Joe can-- a reality that has been met with common consensus (which naturally, following the example of the highest common factor, stands as the thing of least worth)?? The grown-up does not realise this, but he is scorned by children far more than he scorns their apparent childishness. When a child imagines a thing that is beyond the realm of 'practicality' (in my opinion, one of the several catchphrases which most adults use without pondering over or even knowing it's meaning!), he silently taunts and challenges the grown-up. Some of the greatest innovations and discoveries have in fact been extensive evaluations of little observations that children noticed. Recall: James Watt was a little child when he noticed the kettle singing, and his mind suddenly wondered why was it so. Was there a ghost somewhere inside that made the kettle hum so, and rattle its lid about? From that grew possibly the greatest invention of the industrial revolution: the steam engine! Think of our little Ishan, the protagonist of Taare Zameen Par, who imagined a great lot and painted his imagination in bold colours!

The child's ability to feel and express emotions far extends that of his elders. Whether it be a sudden unprecedented smile, or the look of wonder at having discovered a little something that has a natural charm of it's own, the quiet serene look of having all that he needs in the world, the playful cackle that precedes a small act of mischief, the hung-down face on the brink of bursting into tears... It all identifies the capricious child, and sets him apart. None of it is plastic, there because it has to be there, made-up or silly! He encompasses the whole world in his own little expressions of joy and sorrow. He is the antidote to the cynic's bitterness, a little reason to live on between the madness of this world that is both unthinkably cruel and randomly kind. The child feels for his dear ones without knowing why he must. He has guilt and conscience, and when he has done a little something wrong, his face expresses it better than words can!

When the wise sage called children the messengers of God, he wasn't joking at all. If there is hope for mankind, it is in following the way of the children. In deciding what is truly necessary to be happy and contented, in simple little ways much like toddlers, and what is lumber and can be easily laid down for good! If there is one thing that you can start doing today, respect little ones. A little less respect to elders would do no harm, believe me. As for me, in the footsteps of countless philosophers, thinkers, artists and my dearest friend, I vow never to grow up! :)

In case you're wondering what made me write this post, there are a few people I'd like to mention, without taking their names. My most baby-like dear friend, of course, and a little niece who adores me, and another very sensitive little child I know. And some people who have years behind them but are still child-like in many an aspect. Among other inspirations: Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's The Little Prince, parts of Khaled Hosseini's The Kite Runner, and Majid Majidi's Bacheha-Ye Aseman (Children of Heaven). All lovely pieces about the delightful world of children. Makes me want to become a leedle kid yet again!

P.S.-- Now some childish banter on my part. I was expecting a wee bit of extra response to my previous post on Ikiru, ah but anyway... Now, I suppose, I can get back to movie reviews yet again.

E.T. - The Extra Terrestial

If I had to name one of those movies that I shall remember fondly all throughout my life, E.T. is a must on that list. Not because it's sweet: many films are just sweet. E.T. is much more than that-- it touches my heart everytime I watch it. Even yesterday, as I watched the film for the umpteenth time in two years, I felt tears swelling up in my eyes. But I don't rate the film so highly just for it's very emotional content: I am an ardent fan of it because the film so beautifully shows us that even the weakest of beings on earth, in fact the universe, have a huge power in them. A power that beats the darkest of thoughts: love! Simple as it may sound, I feel that no other emotion is as brutally tortured and profaned (as Shelley said) as love. But I won't go into how most of us have profaned the greatest of all emotions: there'll be a separate post for that coming up in a few days (since Valentine's day is just round the corner). And since the film is such an old one, I don't have any qualms in revealing spoilers. I shall talk about the film in detail, and hopefully in it's whole entirety.

The film begins with a group of alien botanists collecting bio-samples in a California forests. As US government agents arrive at the scene, the aliens hastily flee in their spaceship leaving one of their kind behind. Meanwhile, in a California suburb, a young boy named Elliott has to cater to the orders of his elder brother, Michael, who is having a round of games with his pals. As Elliott rushes out to fetch pizza, he notices a strange creature by the house. While Elliott is himself quite frightened to see the alien, the alien is also initially quite terrified to the boy, most probably because he (and his kind) has already been chased by humans (US government agents). Elliott's family doesn't believe when Elliott tells them how he had spotted something strange roaming around the house. Just to prove his suspicions right, he lures the alien into his house by leaving candies in the forest leading into his bedroom.

Elliott discovers that inspite of his initial fears, the alien is a friendly being. To amuse the young boy, E.T. imitates the movements of Elliott. The two strike a sudden kinship, and a very tired Elliott finally doses off to sleep on his sofa. Next day, to avoid school, Elliott feigns illness, and spends the day playing with his new friend. That day, Elliott also introduces E.T. to his elder brother, Mike, and very young (and very cute!) sister Gertie. The three siblings ask E.T. about his home, showing him their own location on the map and the globe. E.T. levitates some balls to show that he is from outer space and points to the representation of the solar system in the encyclopedia. E.T. also heals a withering plant to show his powers of healing the dying.

Elliott and E.T. now share a psychic link, which becomes apparent because Elliott begins referring to himself as "we". Because E.T. drinks quite an amount of beer, the psychic link to Elliott makes the boy feel extremely drowsy at the dissection class. Under a sudden impulse, Elliott decides to free the frog to be dissected by him-- an example soon followed by his classmates. As E.T. watches two lovers kiss each other on T.V., the psychic link works again-- this time leading Elliott to kiss his crush at school!

Meanwhile, E.T. learns to speak by watching Sesame Street on T.V., which amuses the little girl Gertie very much. She tries to tell mum several times that her friend E.T. has learnt to speak (though, mum is totally unaware even of the existence of E.T. in the house!), but mum is so busy that she can't even stop for a moment to listen to her daughter. A very fitting and notable portrayal of usual parental attitude towards children: that of negligence. Elliott and Michael arrive at home to see E.T. not present in Elliott's room, much to their worry. And then they discover their friend in the toy-store of their little sister. Gertie cheerfully tells them that she taught E.T. how to speak, and just to celebrate that occasion she has dressed E.T. in a brilliant women's attire (again, much to the dismay of the two brothers). Both Elliott and Mike are happy to see that E.T. has learnt to speak like humans: and they hope to have some free conversations with their friend. But E.T. only keeps on muttering 'E.T. phone home', by which Elliott understands (as a loner himself) that E.T. is feeling terribly homeseick by now and wants to go back to his own home. And so he and his elder brother decide to devise a 'phone' to contact E.T.'s own kind. They chance upon some trash in the garage, in the process also discovering an abandoned shirt left behind by their father, who recently has had a messy divorce with their mother. The shirt re-awakens some lost happy memories of early childhood in both Elliott and Mike. Elliott has his hand cut by a sharp-edged gearwheel, but E.T. heals that in an instant with the miraculous power of his glowing finger (while Elliott looks on disbelievingly).

On Halloween, Mike and Elliott dress E.T. up as a ghost, and lie to their mother that the ghost is actually Gertie (who separately leaves for the halloween party). With their crude model of the 'phone', Elliott leaves for the forest with E.T. on his bike, with the promise that he shall return home before the evening ends. Meanwhile, on the way to the forest E.T. uses his powers of telekinesis of make Elliott's cycle fly-- a stunt that the boy is initially afraid of (due to his fear of heights), but later ecstatically enjoys. The brilliant and historic scene of Elliott's cycle against the backdrop of the huge white moon remains on of my most favourite cinematic moments. But the call to E.T.'s home takes a lot of time, and Elliott can't help but break the promise he had given to his brother about returning home in time. Meanwhile at home, mum is worried about Elliott's absence, and she calls in the police for help. Mum thinks that Elliott must've fled due to the emotional turmoil he has undergone due to the recently concluded divorce. Elliott sleeps in the forest through the night, and wakes to find his dearest friend missing. He returns home a sad boy, much to the relief of mum. Mike meanwhile goes to the jungle in search of E.T., followed slyly by a government agent, and finds the alien in a very ill state. Back home, with both Elliott and E.T. very ill, the siblings decide that it's time to reveal the truth about E.T.'s identity to mum. Her reaction is that of panic-- she thinks that the presence of an alien is nothing but a danger to her children, inspite of their assurances that the creature is a friendly and harmless one (I vividly remember how E.T. smiled at mum, inspite of it's visibly impoverished state!).

But as she is about to flee with her children, government agents surround the house and enquire about E.T. A huge contingent of scientists arrive, with their frighteningly developed machinery; and they quarantine both Elliott and E.T. Elliott cries in vain for the scientists to leave him and his friend alone, but in vain. Elliott feels the psychic link between him and E.T. suddenly disappear as E.T. collapses into a condition of near-death. It further pains the boy when his friend is subjected to almost inhuman medication and treatment. But just as the scientists give up on E.T. declaring him dead, Elliott notices a withered flower suddenly regain its life. He visits E.T.'s 'coffin', only to find in surprise that E.T. has been able to establish contact with his own kind, and that he has miraculously healed. When E.T. is put in a van to be taken as a (dead) specimen of living beings from outer-space by the government- authorised scientists, Elliott and his brother Mike devise a plot to take E.T. to the waiting spaceship in the forest by 'hijacking' the very van the scientists use! Mike signals his friends to wait for them at the park with two extra bikes. What follows is a game of cat-and-mouse chase-- Elliott and his friends on bikes competing with the agents in cars. And just as the boys near a capture, E.T.'s telekinesis saves thair day! They all fly to the forest on their bikes to find E.T.'s spaceship waiting for them. Meanwhile, mum also arrives with Gertie and a sympathetic agent, Keys, on the spot. E.T. bids a very emotional farewell to every one of the family, and especially to Elliott, saying 'I'll be right here' with his glowing finger pointing to the heart... A rather poignant, very emotional and brilliant cinematic moment: again, one of my eternal favourites. A subtle statement that all one needs to follow throughout his/her life is the heart: the epicentre of all emotions, thoughts and ideas. Above everything, a fitting tribute to universal love. And with that, E.T. leaves his dearest friends behind, which other than Elliott and his family, also includes the thoughtful and emotional viewer (like me)!

But still, you don't leave the cinematic journey with a heavy heart: at least, I never do. After all, there is so much to and be happy about in this superb film: firstly, that without love, life is nothing but a dull and dreary drag-on. Secondly, the film so brilliantly and simply shows the Christian concept of a messiah from another world arriving and pumping in a whole lot of happiness and love in our troubled lives. In fact, a lot of film critics still do equate E.T.'s character with Jesus Christ. Thirdly, the film also subtly (albeit minimally) shows what is wrong with parenting today: most parents don't even care to listen to what their children have to say, even if they mostly speak very childish and simple things.

I think it would be apt here to mention that some of my classmates have opined that the film is extremely childish, and rather boring. I can't figure out why: have the children in them already died? And have their imaginative capabilities gone so dry that they have trouble accepting the basic fact that a alien can exist in reality? As far as I know, even the greatest of scientists won't dare to oppose the theory that aliens do exist in some part of the universe we are yet unaware of. In fact, a lot of them would stress that rather strongly! Or should I take it this way: that every non-masala or non-action film is a waste of time for them? I am also quite unsure of the fact if they would have been appreciative of the movie had the alien been replaced by some human? In any case, it doesn't take away the fact that I like the movie, and so do the greatest of movie critics in the world.

P.S.-- I am aware of the fact that Satyajit Ray had penned a script called The Alien to be made into a Hollywood film: a project that finally never saw the light of the day. But that doesn't reduce the value of this Spielberg classic-- even if I assume that Spielberg had a copy of Ray's script to his aid, if it were not for his brilliant direction, this movie would not have been the classic it is.

And yes, I didn't like the Bollywood version of this film-- Koi Mil Gaya, simply because it had too many unnecessary scenes and sequences. The only positive factor I found in KMG was Hrithik Roshan's commendable act as a mentally-retarded boy. That's all for now!

Taare Zameen Par - A Child's Review

There are films that make you laugh, and there are films that make you cry terribly. Having grown up in India, a country reputed for a film industry churning out either mindless laughathons or melodramatic sob-stories, it's difficult to get to watch the genuinely funny, or genuinely emotional film. And Aamir Khan gifts us both! Taare Zameen Par gives one lots of reasons to both laugh out loud and feel extremely sad. It's a story that relates to everyone of us in the world who have biologically grown up and yet never cease to look at the world through the eyes of innocent children: we can all see the Ishan Awasthi in ourselves, and with more or less intensity, we have all felt the same emotions cross our mind. And that is where TZP succeeds: it brilliantly connects with the viewers. While the antics of Ishan are sure to draw many a laugh (not through spurious rib-tickling humour, but the eccentricity which defines a fantastic childhood), his sobs are also quite certain to melt the hearts of those who have even a tiny morsel of love left in themselves.

To put the theme quite simply: this is the story of a dreamy boy. A boy who had the courage (and I don't say 'courage' because I don't find a better word) to look at the world through different eyes. Someone who could spend his day staring at a puddle of mud stuck in the craters of a road, or the birds flying high in the sky. Or even the little unknown fishes swimming in the drain by the road. This is a story of how the boy, inspite of his markedly different attitude towards life, still managed to attract criticism and wrath for being different. This is a tribute to the Apu-s blossoming in the jungle of bricks and amongst the 'racehorses' running life's 'race' in the cities of India (even if you think the parallel to Pather Panchali is too much, kindly wait till I end this post!). This is the story of Ishan Awasthi.

[Warning: I am revealing a lot of details about the film. So, forgive me for the spoilers!]
The story starts with all the teachers reading out the marks that the students have got in class tests held in Class III, St Xavier's School, Mumbai. And each time Ishan Awasthi manages to score the least of the lot! But no, Ishan isn't worried even a bit about his marks. The day at the school ends, and Ishan is by the drain outside his school, catching little fish using a homemade net, and putting them inside his water bottle! Ishan reaches home, discovers his favourite couple of dogs in his garden and without a bit of hesitation feeds them his test-papers! And that's just a little fun that Ishan has all throughout the day. And so he carefully pours out the fishes from his waterbottle into his personal collection of guppies, and then deliberately annoys his mother. Ishan's life is in complete contrast with that of his brother Yohan, the class-topper, avid sportsman and in short, Mr. perfect-son. But inspite of their differences, Yohan has a soft corner for his brother, whom he dearly loves. The only member of the family not happy with his less-than-genius freaky boy is Ishan's father-- who can't bear to think that while his elder son is everybody's favourite, his younger son is at the end of everybody's complaint: from teachers to neighbourhood parents. And while everyone in house is running about preparing for another day of hardwork, Ishan sleeps peacefully and blissfully in his room amidst an assortment of colours, paintings and toys.

Inspite of Ishan's mother's best efforts, she can't help her son with his studies because he easily forgets everything he learnt the previous day. Ishan can't follow his teacher's orders of opening page no. such-and-such and chapter no. such-and-such, which annoys her-- she thinks that the boy is deliberately pretending not to be able to follow her simple instructions. Worser still, Ishan can't read a word out of his English book! He's ordered out of the class, but given the 'bindaas' boy Ishan is, he takes the opportunity to indulge in his childish pranks. (Needless to say, punishments never perturb Ishan: he has grown both used to and rather fond of them!)

On the day his test-papers are distributed, Ishan cuts his classes-- roaming around in the streets of Mumbai by himself; staring at the pigeons flying, the ice-candyman spraying brilliant colours on balls of crushed ice, and even the most ordinary and common man making his way through the street. That night he cajoles his brother Yohan to write a false absence note for him. But Ishan's misdeeds are discovered by his parents, and when they visit school, they find a barrage of complaints against Ishan waiting for them. And hence Ishan's father decides that he'll have his son sent to a boarding school, in which one of his friends is a trustee. Ishan, of course, is quite angry with his father (brilliant expression of anger from Darsheel, by the way!), but nothing can dissuade his father now.

And hence inspite of all his wishes, the little boy is sent to a boarding school. Ishan can't bear the pain of separating from his family, and especially his mother (the person he loves most). The scene where the family leaves Ishan behind is brilliant and full-to-the-brim with emotion: the viewer can feel, almost tangibly, the pain wrenching Ishan's heart. The song 'Maa' brilliantly brings out the emotions that swirl around in Ishan's heart-- and kudos to Prasoon Joshi, the lyricist, for immortalising the feelings of a child towards his mother (I think Shankar Mahadevan also deserves special mention for his excellent and soulful vocal performance on the track).

It's too much for a little child to resist the heart-break of staying away from the family, and when that is compounded with a feeling of desperation and extreme loneliness, Ishan starts feeling that his mother deliberately left him back. He cries every night in the hostel bathroom, but no one can help him. Ishan's reception at his new school is the same as his old one. He still can't follow lectures, obey instructions, or for that matter, even read out a few lines from his reader! During the hindi class, the teacher orders Ishan to sit beside the topper of the class Rajan so that the company of a 'good boy' may help Ishan with his studies. That, quite incidentally, is a blessing in disguise-- for in Rajan, Ishan finds a confidante and a friend who understands his needs. Moreover, Rajan realises that Ishan has an inherent ability to see beyond the ordinary-- the only problem with the boy is that he cannot properly comprehend or express everything. Ishan is still regularly punished by his teachers, most notably the one teaching arts, which of course complicates matters for the already gloomy and depressed boy.

All until one day when the arts teacher leaves for New Zealand and a stand-in man named Ram Shankar Nikumbh is brought in to temporarily fill in the role. And Nikumbh is none other than Aamir Khan! (Aamir shows us that he is more of a dedicated director in this movie rather than an actor, and that is why he chooses to enter the scenario only at intermission, placing the huge responsibility on carrying the first half almost entirely on Darsheel's shoulders: of course, a job that Darsheel more than ably accomplishes.)

Nikumbh is vastly different from the other teachers in the school. He is originally one of the teachers associated with the Tulip's school: an institution for the mentally retarded and physically challenged. While the other teachers are engrossed in their 'duty' to make 'racehorses' for life's 'race'-- Nikumbh understands that children must be allowed the freedom to imagine and make their own decisions. The role of the teacher is limited to that of a guide only-- children cannot simply be spoonfed some knowledge, or dry facts, and be expected to really shine in life! But above everything else, it's his attitude towards the students in which he is most different from others: he lets the kids have their share of fun, laughter, music and dance (another brilliant song 'Bum Bum Bole' actually expresses Nikumbh's feelings about education, Wordsworth-style!). The children are overjoyed to have such a friendly teacher, who not only lets them sing and dance, but also gives them the freedom to express whatever they want, in whichever way they wish to! But Nikumbh notices that a boy sits quietly throughout the arts period. Through his interactions with Rajan, Nikumbh comes to know about Ishan's problems with dyslexia and loneliness. Having been a dyslexic in his early life, he realises how suffocating the world must seem to Ishan, and therefore he sets foot on a mission to save the boy from emotional collapse.

Through a thorough study of Ishan's notebooks, Nikumbh spots a distinct trend in the mistakes the little boy commits. Since such a delicate matter needs the counsel of parents, Nikumbh himself reaches Ishan's house. Upon reaching, he is clearly dumbstruck. Firstly, he discovers the avid interest in art that Ishan has, and yet failed to show in the previous few weeks. And secondly, also more sadly, Ishan's father just refuses to believe that his son has learning problems: he still opines that Ishan must be seeking for excuses to skip studying. Nikumbh is much disappointed after his conversation with Ishan's parents, and especially his father: he discovers another one of those pathetic parents who are so concerned with (quite literally) cultivating/growing geniuses in their homes, that they forget the basics of human understanding and compassion. But Nikumbh does give a cheeky reply to Ishan's father before he leaves for his return back to school.

Nikumbh talks to the principal about the boy's weaknesses and personally requests for separate examination procedures for the boy, at least for the time being. He persuades the principal with strong arguments: showing him Ishan's brilliant paintings, surely the sign of a boy with above-average intelligence! And finally he personally undertakes the responsibility to train the boy in developing good language and mathematical skills. Somewhat hesitatingly, the principal agrees. And hence begins Ishan's journey towards overcoming the problems that threaten to destroy the very essence of his life. As the days pass by, Ishan slowly and steadily progresses until he can read and write for himself. Meanwhile, Ishan's father comes to 'visit' Ishan: actually meaning to remind Nikumbh that as a parent he was doing his part-- how? He proudly declares that his wife has read every article about dyslexia on the net. To which Nikumbh gives a tongue-in-cheek reply: something that is too much for the shameless man to stand. As he is about to leave Nikumbh's art-studio, he discovers Ishan quietly reading out a notice from the pin-board. The man is so moved to tears at his own foolishness and insensitive nature towards his own son that he can't bear to stand there for even a second.

Meanwhile, Nikumbh arranges for an Art Mela. Open for everyone, especially for the school staff and students, along with the Tulip school-children. The teachers do attend, most of them with a wish to just show the principal that they had attended the mela, but something forces them to stay back (Shan't reveal what, for that'll take away half of the fun regarding the Mela!!). But Nikumbh can't spot Ishan. The boy arrives after a long time and willingly chooses a lonely corner of the place. And Nikumbh starts his portrait of his own reflection, a student he had seen grow up before his own eyes in a certain sense: his dear Ishan. Funnily enough, even the initially unwilling teachers have their share of 'art' (You'll laugh till your stomach aches as you see them draw, and that's a guarantee!!). Both Nikumbh's and Ishan's paintings are shortlisted as the best but Ishan is ultimately awarded. Ishan can't bear the emotions overwhelming his simple mind, he breaks down and embraces his teacher! And all I can say is, that was brilliant!! The film ends with Ishan going back home with a happy family with the promise that he'll return to school later. I think it wouldn't be unjustified to say that the footage accompanying the end-credits was truly excellent: an honest portrayal of childhood in all its innocence and glory.

Darsheel is the best child-actor seen in Bollywood in decades. I shall miss him in case he doesn't do more films henceforth. On the other hand, I shall also eagerly wait for Aamir to direct more films. This man never ceases to outdo himself as the days pass by! Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy get their due credit with a mighty nice soundtrack-- the songs were touching and very relevant to the essence of the movie.

Now the inevitable comparisons with Black. Aamir himself is much critical of the film, and going by the recent trend of comments on other blogs I visit, most people have rated Black as the 'greatest ham-movie of all time'. I disagree. Black shall still remain one of my most favourite hindi-movies inspite of everyone's verdict against it. For one, I believe in my own heart; and Black moved me really well (perhaps, more on the defense of Black later!). And so did TZP. The two stories compare because at the core of the matter, both are about student-teacher relationships. And both are about the triumph of human spirit against all odds: and as such, both are brilliant in their own ways.

Wait, I remember saying something about Pather Panchali back at some point in my post. I don't take that one back! Yes, Ray was much more accomplished a director than Khan is, but in both their debut films, these two men chose to deal with different and sensitive subjects: that of children losing their identity and imagination in this big, bad and insensitive world. Apu was born in Nishchindipur, Ishan in Mumbai: and yet both were kings in their own worlds of imagination. Both loved the mysteries of nature, and both were enchanted by the colours of life. And in that sense, Apu and Ishan are just two names for the same person: only the time and place have changed, nothing else has changed much! Interestingly enough, Aamir himself graciously accepts the superiority of Ray over himself: and if you ask me, I have no problem in embracing such honest and hard-working (should we also add 'perfectionist'?) an actor and director as Mr. Khan.

And finally let me end with an observation of mine. I'd been to the cinema to watch this movie and the guy sitting next to me went out with his cellphone ringing at least ten times throughout the whole duration of the film. At the end of two hours, he asked his girlfriend an all-important question: "darling, what is this film about?" :) And finally forty minutes before the film ended, the couple left altogether for good. That's what Indians come to the cinema for! :D

P.S.-- You may also like to visit the film's official site, http://www.taarezameenpar.com/