Cinema and the Muslim

The influence of popular Hindi cinema—mainstream, commercial, popular films with their base in the teeming metropolis, Bombay (now Mumbai)—has emerged as an unmatched cultural force over the past decades since its establishment as an essential element of popular culture in South Asia. The choreography of drama and melodrama, music, song, good and evil, and action—the essential markers of a commercial Hindi film—has, over the years amalgamated another socio-political element in its larger narrative—the imagination and representation of the Muslim, and as a consequence Islam, in popular culture. The article, thus, aims to understand the dynamics of the portrayal of the Muslim in general, and the Indian Muslim in particular in commercial Hindi cinema, particularly contemporary commercial Hindi cinema, in an age when the lines between the real and the imaginary have blurred irrevocably. The Ramjanmabhoomi agitation and the rampant bloodletting that followed the demolition of the disputed structure at Ayodhya generated interest in the imagery of the Muslim in propaganda literature easily available all through the northern plains. This image of the Muslim, as the invader, the mlechcha, the outsider, the “abductor” of chaste Hindu women then became the mainstay of popular portrayal in Hindi films. An entire generation of Kashmiris involved in the movement for azaadi in the state, which later came to be supported by foreign mercenaries as well as the Western imagination of the “Moslem” as terrorist specifically after 9/11 attacks on the United States of America have fuelled a similar image of the Muslim as traitor and, most importantly as a terrorist. A careful examination of the popular Hindi films released between 1991-2012 provides enough ammunition to make clear a trend that possesses the ability to both disturb and unnerve scholars and observers of cinema. The analysis of the selected films is based on three distinct categories—films that portrayed the Muslim as a communal aggressor, those that represented the Muslim as a terrorist, and the “secular” portrayal of the Muslim in what can be termed as the New Wave in popular Hindi cinema. Several scholars, such as Robert Rosenstone and Dana Strand claim that written history as well as cinematic representation of history is history that is represented and not the past itself. Such representation is mediated by factors beyond just the content and the context. Janet Ward posits the “intentionalist” nature of the cinematic interpretation of the Holocaust. The agency of the powers behind the cinematic representation, therefore, emerges as essential elements in the equation. Edward Said’s discourse on “Orientalism” is evoked to deconstruct the representation of Eastern cultures in modern day American cinema . Noam Chomsky and Edward Herman’s propaganda model remains a useful tool in the hands of researchers seeking answers to the distortions delineated in the mass media of which cinema is a part. The Marxist theorization on mass media assumes that all forms of mass media remain within and are controlled by the wider economic, social, and political superstructure of capitalist discourse. A large majority of film theorists emphasize on the “image” being the centrepiece of cinema. Andre Bazin defines cinema as pictorial imagery produced by photographic means and displayed to produce the impression of movement. The “imaginary signifier” remains at the core of Christian Metz’s works on cinema and presupposes the existence of imagery that fascinates the spectators through absent presence, triggering powerful psychic responses. Opposed to this essentialist conception of cinema, Gregory Currie holds forth on the “natural” theory of cinema. Film semioticians, on the other hand describe cinema as a discursive form, which depends on constructed codes, which lead to meaning production. No discussion on representation in Indian cinema can be complete without a discussion of the historical and economic processes that contributed to the emergence of the Indian film industry as one of the most potent cultural forces in history. Representational modes in Indian cinema, particularly popular Hindi cinema evolved over time to form four epochal categories—the Muslim in empire cinema, the Muslim in Partition cinema, the Muslim in Islamicate cinema, and the Muslim in non-Islamicate cinema. Then came Mani Ratnam’s Roja (1992), arguably the first film to blatantly portray the Muslim as a terrorist. In order to arrive at a conclusive analysis of the “communal” aspect of Muslim characters in the films released between 1991 and 2012, let us glance at four Bollywood films that present a comprehensive picture. While on the one hand both Dev (2004) and Shaurya (2008) establish the context of the events and politics that intersect to produce a communal cauldron, Pinjar (2003) and 1947-Earth (1998) further clarify the presence of the “positive” Muslim in Partition narratives, both among those that did not migrate and those that did, building an imagery that tends to remain within the constraints of a discursive yet dominant discourse that imagines these positive Muslims as set pieces in the larger project of nation building. Black Friday, unapologetically divergent from the other films under consideration, postulates the “other” point of view, first creating a framework for the perpetration of a terrorist activity, then deconstructing the police procedural that led to the capture of the accused and their subsequent interrogations that reveal their motivations. Films, such as Fiza (2000), Sarfarosh (1999), Kurbaan, New York, and Black and White (2008) are significant contributions in constructing the image of a Muslim as a terrorist. Here, it is imperative to mention the sub-set of the overarching period delineated for the purpose of analysis used to analyse “terrorist” films. While Fiza and Sarfarosh represent the post-Babri period (1991-2000); Kurbaan, New York, and Black and White belong to the post-9/11 period. The representations are found to vary considerably. The representation of the Muslim as the communal aggressor leads to a further and continued observation of selected films, which initially appear to traverse familiar territory in terms of the popular imagination of the Muslim “terrorist”. The results obtained from the analysis of films mentioned above are unique and provide the bedrock for the development of the argument that supports the “positive stereotyping” thesis. Arguably however the manner in which the Muslim terrorist is imagined in the post-9/11 scenario is markedly different from the representation of the Muslim terrorist in films such as Fiza and Sarfarosh. The analysis throws yet another fascinating outcome. There seems to emerge an unmistakable trend towards a “secular” portrayal of the Muslim in the films under scrutiny. Films like Gangs of Wasseypur Part 1 & 2 (2012), Kahaani (2012), Rang De Basanti (2006), and Chak De India (2007) portray Indian Muslims as central, mainstream characters, capable of taking the narrative further. Films such as Jodha Akbar (2008) and Veer Zaara (2004), particularly with regard to their portrayal of the just Muslim emperor as against the popular majoritarian discourse of the medieval Muslim rulers being iconoclasts and zealots and the modern Pakistani youth being prepared to leave the ghosts of the Partition behind, are powerful imageries, which cannot be ignored. Muslim characters in New Wave popular Hindi cinema are divested of all markers of their faith, causing an invocation of Max Weber’s theory of secularization, followed by Francis Robinson’s works on secularization of public life in South Asia . The Muslims, it must be therefore said, are being considered against conceptual frameworks like “inclusion” and “assimilation”. An overwhelming predominance of “positive” Muslim characters in films produced between 19991-2012 signifies a struggle for discursive space between the “positive” and the “negative” Muslim where the positive Muslim, barring a few instances, emerges as the victor. This is in consonance with the dominant discourse, which posits the Muslim as a set-piece in the nation-building project. Any and all challenges to this overarching discourse are embodied in the person of the “negative” Muslim characters in popular Hindi films. It is noticed that “terrorist” films too must adhere to the dominant discourse where terrorism and terrorists are represented as a challenge to the Hindutva discourse of the essential function of the Muslim in the larger nation-building project. Here again, the problematic of representation resurfaces, positing on the one hand the positive Muslim defined as per the tenets of the Nehruvian nation-building project against that of the largely exclusionary right-wing majoritarian discourse. Also significantly important is the impact of the rise of global Islamic terrorism, the 9/11 attacks, and the “war on terror” unleashed by the United States and its allies on several regions of the world. Popular Hindi cinema is seen to respond to trends in international politics by identifying the Muslim terrorist as a non-state actor and locating him in foreign lands. The tendency for “positive stereotyping” runs through the development of the secularized identity in the New Wave of popular Hindi cinema. Even as secularization has occurred, the adherence to the dominant discourse, particularly the tenets concerning the proclivity of the Muslims to aggressive behaviour and violence, appears to have solidified. Religion, therefore, has been driven away from the cinematic sphere, but the secular Muslim seems to exist within the framework of the hegemonic Hindutva discourse on the “ideal” Muslim. The progression, therefore, suggests that the majority is defining the image of the Muslim through popular Hindi cinema.

Transcending boundaries, breaking stereotypes

This is perhaps not the first time that television content from Pakistan has been welcomed with open arms in Indian living rooms. Indians growing up in the 80s would find it difficult to not recall the fondness with which they consumed Dhoop Kinarey (1987), arguably one of the best known Pakistani television series in India. In the decade of the 90s, Tanha (1997-99)—a collaborative project between the television industries of the two countries—made waves on the small screen, particularly remembered for its soulful title track rendered by the legendary Late Jagjit Singh. During the satellite revolution in South Asia, Indians routinely switched on their television sets to receive PTV on their ubiquitous cable TV networks. Although one could argue that the impact of television content from Pakistan is restricted to north India due to linguistic affinity, the warmth generated by any programming from across the border is unmistakable. The recent foray of Zee Network into the collaborative minefield could be described as nothing short of revolutionary. Their entertainment channel—Zindagi – Jodey Dilon Ko—marks the beginning of a tantalizing new prospect primarily in terms of the possibility of cultural exchanges between the (sadly) territorial rivals. Notwithstanding its utility as a tool for Track II diplomacy, beaming of syndicated content from Pakistan could be regarded as a huge opportunity for the permanent destruction of stereotypes about the “other”. It would not come as a surprise if the evident cultural similarity between the people of the two countries shocks a few quarters in India. After all, structures and institutions in India, including the system of education, media, and socialization mainly of the coming generations, have done more harm than good to the process, if any existed in the first place, of breaking established stereotypes and engendering common cause with the neighbor. Pakistan has not done any better either. Cricket and cinema have, however, remained the most enduring bridges between the sparring neighbours—a pity considering the enormous potential the countries would accrue if their creative energies are channelized in the right direction. The prospect of reversing the negative stereotypes that pervade the psyche of common Indians with regard to common Pakistanis, now that Zindagi is up and running, is mammoth. First, the programme content remains head and shoulders above the average Indian daily soaps with regard to scope of the narrative, coverage, social issues understood and addressed, and most importantly location of the subject matter in relatable milieu. The daily viewer is not subjected to jarring displays of restrictive and exclusivist opulence, the stories and characters coming across as common men and women with very typical and very similar problems to deal with. Second, the television content provides a glimpse of the upwardly mobile, aspirational Pakistan, faced with the seemingly insurmountable issue of a gaping class divide. Viewers in India have been quick to latch on to the lovely relationship between a lower-middle class young woman, Kashaf Murtaza, and a wealthy young man, Zaroon Junaid, erstwhile rivals in college, in Zindagi Gulzar Hai, the flagship show along with Aunn-Zaara on the channel. Subsequent programming, even if akin to certain Indian soaps of the past have been bringing alive elements of the Pakistani society which find resonance in the Indian half of the subcontinent. Consider for instance the excellent show Kaash Main Teri Beti Na Hoti which portrays a beautiful young woman born to excruciatingly poor parents who trade her womb for money, marrying her off to a disgruntled yet filthy rich young man. Even though the narrative is reminiscent of Agle Janam Mohe Bitiya Na Kijo, such clarity of concept has rarely been in evidence in Indian television entertainment programming. Well mounted and performed, the show lends itself to comparison with its counterpart, Kitni Girhain Baaki Hain, an ode to the travails of women in Pakistan with significance across South Asia. Haven’t we heard of lustful employers dishonouring virginal women forced to work as maids or libidinous relatives devouring female family members? How familiar is the story of young lovers parting because of social constraints to descend into degenerate lives? Kitni Girhain… brings alive lived experience; a welcome change from saas-bahu sagas, it is a series of short films strung together. The programme is different from crime shows such as Savdhan India and Crime Patrol in that it does not restrict itself simply to crime against women, but explores the socialization propelling the misdemeanor. To view the characters as part of our society and milieu with undeniably identical life stories would not be misplaced. For the Indian woman, therefore, the Pakistani girl facing torment from the society for being a tomboy and having a mind of her own reflects a disconcertingly similar reality. Most Indians might be discovering these similarities for the first time, particularly true of the next-gen viewer unmindfully numb and comfortably unaware of the shared history between the countries of the subcontinent. While television viewers with roots in present-day Pakistan would feel affinity with the cultural ethos of the characters depicted in the programming, largely in terms of the Punjabi ambiance of most of the serialized stories on air at present, a young viewer devoid of any feeling of kinship and fed on propagandist as well as true accounts of Islamic radicals and terrorists emanating from Pakistan would most definitely be surprised to discover a number of new facts about the demonized neighbor. Some of those facts might be with regard to clothing and attire, especially of Pakistani women. A section of Indians would be quite shocked to realize that all Pakistani women are not clad in black burqas; in fact the almost complete absence of burqas and hijabs from the landscape of the programming in question would have come as an eye-opener for a few. Although it is true that these television programmes do not depict the Pakistani society it its entirety and are reflective of only the aspirations of a wealthy, upper middle class setting, they provide an indication to the transformations taking place in Pakistani society even as the old order refuses to die down. For generations of Indians force-fed on the fearsome imagery of rabid mullahs running amok in the neighbouring country, controlling the day-to-day lives of people, the images beamed on Zindagi are a revelation. Yes, large swathes of the country are being taken over by the hyper-radicalized and Talibanized zealots and their brand of Islam, but the aspirations of the English-speaking, liberal Pakistani are not very different from counterparts in India. What programming on Zindagi does best is take this liberal, sophisticated Pakistani into the living spaces of similarly liberal, educated and sophisticated Indians bridging the perceptual gap and breaking stereotypes. If bridges are to be built and an atmosphere of trust created, the doing away of stereotypes would be a positive beginning.

Lack of research does Bhaag Milkha Bhaag in

I am not sure if it was predestined that I return to blogosphere with a critique of Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra’s biopic on legendary Olympian Milkha Singh—Bhaag Milkha Bhaag (BMB); but this is how it is and preordained or not, I am compelled to put my thoughts on paper about a cinematic endeavour that has been written about much, praised to the skies, and draped with all trappings of glory that one would associate with cinema and its offering to the masses, which is often not discerning enough to question the alarmingly jingoistic, reactionary, and one-sided yet commercially viable representation to which filmmakers often resort. Fact of the matter is that BMB is completely off the mark, both historically and politically. And here I do not mean the various romantic interludes that Mr Singh had with several women, but the manner in which the trauma of Partition is imagined and depicted in this monolith of a film, which could have done with crisp editing as well as good and correct research. Let us first go over and understand the major historical inaccuracy that inflicts the script right from the opening sequence, which begins with Milkha Singh leading the 400 metre race at the Rome Olympics, a race he loses and falls to fourth place because of a split-second mistake he makes—he turns to look back. And what exactly is he looking at? Well, the viewer is made to believe that Mr Singh had a quasi-spiritual experience on the race track and presumably in his mind’s eye witnesses the bloody murder of his father in course of the violence that rocked the subcontinent in 1947. In that instance, he imagines himself running through the fields of his village from what the audience views is a horseman. Mehra wants his audience to believe that the turbaned horseman who looks like a medieval invader, invariably Muslim, is a Pakistani. It is actually hard not to mention that the sequence, which should have probably elicited strong reactions from its viewers is pretty laughable. The depiction remains grossly shrouded in mystery since neither the attire or the circumstance seem to be accurate. First, the horseman or horsemen, I should say, who looks and behaves like a medieval savage, does not have a face. It seems, therefore, that the filmmaker intended to create a temporal distance between the visage of the sword-wielding “Pakistani” and the victimised “Indian”, where the audience becomes one with the bloodied victim and his kith and kin. This distance is further enhanced as more of these horsemen come into view as the film moves along. All of them seem to be attired in curious black robes as if the raid by the Pakistani’s on the village was colour coordinated and choreographed by an ace. It is hard to believe that the research team that worked on the film did not delve deeper. It should not have been too difficult to find references for the correct attire that the newly created “Pakistanis” wore in 1947. Any in-depth account on the history of Pakistan chronicles the changes in overall attire that came about through the years after Partition, during which the common folk in undivided Punjab wore lungis, dhotis, turbans (of course, but not the kind depicted in the film), and shalwaar-kameez; this was true across community boundaries. It is only in the mid-1980s that the shalwaar kameez began to emerge as something of a national dress to coincide with the pro-mujahideen stance of the then President, General Zia-Ul-Haq. I tried to reason in my mind that perhaps the director wants to categorise the Pakistani swordsmen as soldiers of the Pakistani army or the police, in which case they should have been attired in khaki trousers and shirts! Then again, if the swordsmen were intended to be represented as tribal invaders—ostensibly the Pathans who invaded the Kashmir Valley, the depiction is historically flawed. Second, Partition violence was participatory. Therefore, the manner in which it is exaggerated shrouds it with an uncanny yet incendiary intention to fuel, create, and percolate an extremely untruthful image of the “other”. There have been remarkable, sensitive cinematic instances, which depicted the violence and not too long ago in the history of Indian cinema—1947-Earth, Pinjar, Train to Pakistan, Maachis are some examples. All the research team of BMB had to do was to take a look at the Partition sequences filmed by the respective filmmakers, although a few of the films listed were criticised for being diabolically jingoistic. On the contrary, lack of research and perspective has really led to the acquisition of an unflattering epithet for the film, which I guess Rakeysh Mehra envisaged as his magnum opus—that of a film with the most inaccurate depiction of Partition violence in recent times. The script attempts to insinuate a diversion from the act of forgetting for a generation that has moved on from the horrors of the Partition, on both sides of the border. It creates an imagery of the “other” that not only permeates the imagination of the Muslim on the other side of the barbed wire, but also in not a very subtle fashion leads to an imagination of the Indian Muslim as a medieval savage, a murderer of Hindu and Sikh men, and despoiler of Hindu and Sikh women. One would think a man who created magic on the silver screen with Rang De Basanti could do better!

Back on the blogosphere

I am back on the blogosphere and intend to stay! Look forward to roaring out my views on cinema, movies, films...whatever you may like to address this absolutely fascinating and captivating human endeavour.

My take on Shootout at Lokhandwala

This has been a busy week particularly with regard to my film viewing schedules. Started with Life in a Metro which should have been named Sexual Life in a Metro as all Anurag Basu did was dwell on sleazy underbelly of corporate culture and human relationships. Fair enough, to each his own. The other film I watched was Shootout at Lokhandwala. Given a choice between romance and guns, I’d go for guns any day. The film comes hot on the heels of the Sohrabuddin Sheikh fake encounter case grabbing headlines and eyeballs in the media. Less importantly are the Khwaja Yunus custodial death case and another fake encounter case in Gujarat that of Javed Sheikh who was gunned down in cold blood by the Rajasthan and Gujarat police in 2004. All three cases are preceded by a long and sordid history of fake encounter killings and the people with blood on their hands are the usual suspects – the police and the armed forces. Kashmir has seen the worst encounters over the past many years. Some of them find publicity and media coverage and become iconic while the rest (and the numbers are staggering) remain stacked in the dusty alleys of the establishment.Was the Maya Dolas encounter in 1991 a real one? The Bombay High Court ruled in favour of the Anti-Terrorism squad being led by Aftab Ahmad Khan, which planned and executed the whole operation. Human rights activists and citizen’s group thought on the contrary. The encounter they said was a set-up. Khan had been on the D-gang payroll and had been sounded off after Dolas got too big for his boots. The families of the five men who were killed (and according to Shootout…quite brutally at that) petitioned the court saying that their children were killed for a crime they did not commit. However, all records (I have done some research on this) state that Dolas was indeed an extortionist who fell on the wrong side of Big Bhai in Dubai and was killed in a police encounter which involved loads 327 policemen and sophisticated weaponry and put the lives of close to 102 men, women and children living in the heavily populated Lokhandwala area on 16 November 1991 in danger.The film does not provide answers to this vexing question. But is it supposed to? I don’t know. It is a film-director’s take on an incident, which has long been lauded as the longest encounter ever in the annals of the Mumbai Police. In portions, the screenplays veers towards hero-worship of the police officers involved in the operation, there are other sequences where the film-maker makes an attempt to provide a humane face to otherwise ruthless gangsters. It is much like a see-saw. The film begins with three large blood stains on the lane in front of Swati Building, the residential block which had housed the Maya and his boys for weeks and ends with the bloodied faces of the slain criminals. Was it correct to hound the men in the fashion that the Mumbai police chose to follow? The question is raised over and over again by a television reporter (played by Diya Mirza) fuelling an ideological and ethical debate.My only problem with the film is the unnecessary and useless song and dance sequences and characters like the bar dancer (Aarti Chhabria) and Bua (Tusshar Kapoor). Kapoor not only failed to portray the sharpshooter to any devastating effect, his command over dialogues was grotesque. He should probably only stick to comic roles and leave the gangsta flicks to Vivek Oberoi. It was nice to see him come back into his own after the searing role in Company. He is superb as Mayabhai, the young extortionist who rebels against the D-Company. Rohit Roy is decent enough in a small role while Shabbir Ahluwalia, Ekta Kapoor’s blue-eyed boy makes a foray into Bollywood as RC, the young associate who cannot get over the fact that he murdered a family in cold blood.Scenes to die for? Quite a few. ACP Shamsher Khan kills one of Maya’s cohorts (played by Aditya Lakhia) in front of the media, police, and Lokhandwala residents. It is effective, gory, and sets the pace for the rest of the sequence. But again it is difficult to judge the tenor of the filmmaker’s ideological leanings (whether in favour of the police or ethics in general) from this one scene; however it does raise a few questions about the methods the police uses to bring criminals to its knees. At one level the film propagates the infallibility of the police’s patriotism while on the other it raises a few uncomfortable queries about the fact that criminals too need to be treated like human beings and have rightful access to the institutions of law and justice. The verbal duel between Maya and ACP Khan too is well-shot and modulated. Dutt is a model cop – uncorrupted, patriotic, and dedicated and he does a brilliant job of his role (as usual).Yes, one more thing. The presence of just too many stars from the commercial pantheon pulled the film back a bit. But who could have played Maya better than Vivek Oberoi?

Encounters: to be killed like dogs

I recently read a rather pointed, well-researched and blow-by-blow account of the encounter that had the ATS progenitor, A A Khan pitted against the notorious gangster, Maya Dolas (born Mahendra Vithoba Dolas) close to 14 years ago. The piece that appeared in the Mumbai tabloid, Mid-Day obviously was inspired by the release of Bollywood's latest take on Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs -- Shootout at Lokhandwala. The film dramatises the encounter which according to some accounts was stage managed by the police to eliminate the foulmouthed Dolas at the behest of underworld don and Dolas' estranged boss, Dawood Ibrahim. Others critiqued it as cold blooded murder by the men in uniform of five petty criminals who possessed less than half the ammunition carried to the site by the police. The police used more than three hundred to kill five.Perhaps a case of being overprepared? Were 300 policemen required to tackle five men? Is it fair to not allow the criminal to have proper recourse to justice and a trial? After all, every man, woman, and child born free has a right to be heard. Why does the police prefer to 'Shoot to kill' when arresting the man alive could lead to vital leads in very many cases? The gangsters could have been caught alive and tried for murder, extortion, arson, whatever.Ditto for Sohrabuddin Sheikh, Ishrat Jahan, scores in the Kashmir Valley, Khwaja Yunus, Javed Ahmad...many more. Yes Sohrabuddin Sheikh was a criminal, an extortionist. But the Gujarat police have no records to show that he was a Lashkar militant, the charge on which he was shot in cold blood. What about Kausar Bi? Was she also a militant? Ishrat Jahan -- university student, amateur tutor, shot point blank in an 'encounter' in Ahmedabad. How on earth was she shot in the head and chest if she was fleeing and trying to escape the police? The windshield of the car she was travelling in was smashed completely. The rear shield was intact. How? Khwaja Yunus -- software engineer in Dubai, picked up after the Ghatkopar blast in Mumbai, never returned home. The police has been accused of killing him in custody. The 1993 Mumbai blasts led to a flurry of arrests and torture recounted impeccably in S Hussain Zaidi's book and then filmed to perfection by Anurag Kashyap in his project which goes by the same name. The film showcases the torture scenes brilliantly, the macabre violence of it all is outlandish and scary. Thus, it is but childish to either believe or expect the police to adhere to and abide by rules. If the police manual permits torture, in fact lists it as the only method to extract information, then it is but usual that the men in uniform do not think twice before torturing suspects. And mind you, these men (sometimes women) are only suspects. The question then is -- Is is fair to get down to torture purely on the basis of suspicion?Coming back to the Lokhandwala encounter, the police denies that the underworld bosses has any hand in the encounter and claim that it was absolutely legitimate and true. The incident had been forgotten until film-maker Apurva Lakhia (of the Mumbai Se Aya Mera Dost and Ek Ajnabi fame) decided to dig into the past and come up with a film on the encounter that shook Mumbai in 1991. He has been accused of glorifying violence and creating iconic figures out of misdirected youth ending up as gangsters. Shootout at Lokhandwala is a violent film. After all it is based on an extremely violent episode where a lot of blood was spilt. Not only did the police put the lives of close to a hundred and fifty Mumbaikars at stake by firing indiscriminately at the dilapidated flat where Maya Dolas, Dilip Bhuwa and three others were holed up for some weeks, it also converted the entire residential area into a war zone for close to six hours at the end of which the five gangsters were killed and two policemen injured.So does the film justify the methods adopted by A A Khan? Apurva Lakhia would like to think so but Shootout... actually ends up not taking sides at all. If anything Maya Dolas emerges as a somewhat wronged antagonist who was not allowed a shot a justice. I have written about the film in the other blog I frequent and write for -- Passion for Cinema. I'll extend my argument a little bit here and say that the police went overboard. And Lakhia goes overboard in trying to make a case for Khan and his boys while all he ends up doing is convert Maya and his gang into reel heroes. Let me explain. SI Javed Sheikh, drafted into the ATS by Khan specifically because of the wide network of informers he had in the Muslim dominated areas as well as the underworld drags one of the men out of the building, alive, before Khan shoots him down in full view of the heaving, screaming crowds. 'I said Shoot to Kill meaning shoot to kill,' he says before gunning down Maya's cohort. The fact that the shooting happened in front of a thronging crowd made it look like a spectacle. The 'Breaking News' phenomena is made full use of the film as television journalist Meeta Mattoo (yet to decipher if the real encounter was filmed or not) played by Diya Mirza follows the cops to Lokhandwala. She questions the ethics of the encounter throughout the film, from the first frame to the last. Her expression after having witnessed the killing of the criminal says it all. Disgust is writ large over the character's face even though she happens to be an admirer of Khan's ways. The police, according to the rules are supposed to shoot a man only in extreme circumstances and that too below the knees to decapitate the person. This is true even for encounters. Under no circumstances are they supposed to cross the line. But they do, day after day across India, there are reports of encounter killings. Ahmedabad gangster Abdul Latif was shown bail papers, ordered to escape and then shot at. Hardly an encounter!Thousands have disappeared in Kashmir and never returned. The lucky ones have found column space in newspapers as victims of fake encounters. Others are just numbers, statistics. The police (as also the army in Kashmir) is said to have staged fake encounters to boost their chances of promotion and to bag the cash award that comes with the killing of every militant. And mind you, all these men killed in so-called encounters are all 'dreaded' terrorists who pose a grave threat to the safety and security of India. After investigations by independent agencies and the media, the men turned out to be carpenters, teachers, tailors, farmers, shepherds, and even informers.Two men were killed in a staged encounter in New Delhi's Ansal Plaza some years ago. Eyewitnesses recount that the men were brought in a police jeep, the bandobast was complete with coffins and shrouds to take the bodies away. People too scared to bat an eyelid later said that the men were pushed out of the jeep and asked to run...the police shot them dead after a perfectly staged drama that went on for more than two hours. Just before Diwali, the encounter of alleged militants was a feather in the caps of the Delhi police.This is not to say that criminals are to be left free to hurt the society even more and not taught a lesson. The nature of the lesson needs to be questioned. The police went to Lokhandwala with an 'intention' of killing Maya Dolas and his men. The police manual describes and defines an encounter as an act of self defence. 300 people and Khan himself certainly did not need self defence. Thus, the encounter was intentional, cold-blooded. Was killing the only option? The film does not answer the question. Instead it raises many more. One of them is, well -- was killing really the only option? Repeated over and over again by Dia Mirza. Lakhia's attempt at glorifying the police actually doesn't work that way. It does otherwise propelling the ethical debate into the public domain. Amitabh Bachchan's question in the courtroom is misplaced and melodramatic. Would you be confronted by a gangster or the police? Ask the riot victims in Gujarat who were directed towards the murderous mobs by the police? Ask the families of the 14 Muslim men killed by the police at the Suleiman Bakery in the Bombay riots? Ask the wives of those who have disappeared without a trace in the Kashmir valley? The answers would be apparent.The film comes at an apt time. Televised debates have been held on the question of encounter killings in the past few weeks after the Sohrabuddin story broke. But Bollywood has from time to time dwelt on the issue. Ab Tak Chappan was apparently based on encounter specialist Daya Nayak's life. Company, D and Sarkar looked at the underworld quite effectively. Black Friday was an exceptional film. Shootout attempts it...and succeeds to a great extent. Bollywood finally creates a desi Reservoir Dogs-lookalike in the form of Maya Dolas and his men after attempts such as Kaante and the ilk. By putting police encounters back in the limelight, the film, even though overtly dramatic in parts is a great try. The sepia background makes Swati Building where the encounter happened look sinister, almost imposing. The battleground becomes the backdrop of a perfect potboiler. Masterfully edited, Shootout at Lokhandwala is crisp and pithy, something a film such as this rides on. And more importantly, it put the encounter question back in the minds of the people. But will there be a public outcry? One is yet to see a public outcry in cases involving the lowly and the downtrodden. Yet one question still remains-- will Manu Sharma, Santosh Kumar Singh or even Vikas Yadav, the offcpring of powerful men ever be killed in encounters?

Whatever in Jodhaa Akbar warranted protests!

Let me understand. Did saffron wielding mobs protest against Jodhaa Akbar because there is a historical debate over the name of the Rajput princess who married Akbar? Or did they pull posters down and force theatre owners to stop screening the film because it is perhaps the first mainstream, commercial, popular Hindi film which portrays a Muslim man marrying a Hindu woman? The second reason is much likely why there was such an outcry against Ashutosh Gowarikar’s magnum opus. Remember Mahesh Bhatt’s Zakhm or Mani Ratnam’s Bombay? Both films that applauded the union of religions – one monotheistic, the other polytheistic – through marriage. However, both films portrayed the woman as a Muslim, never the man. The notion of intermingling of the bloodline was clearly sidestepped. Jodhaa Akbar did just the opposite. Firstly, Gowarikar picked a story that had a Muslim emperor marrying a Hindu princess. Their co-mingling produced the heir to the Mughal throne. The period of Mughal rule, mind you, is regarded by the Sangh Parivar and its affiliates to be the most ruinous period of Indian history. For the saffron flag-bearers, they are the outsiders who sacked the land of the Hindus. That the Mughals were the only race that made Hindustan its home, that Jalaluddin Mohammad, heir-apparent to Mughal Emperor Humayun was born in the house of a Rajput noble, that he saw friendly alliances, including those of marriage as possible conciliatory ways to overcome the need for wars and bloodshed, that he was the greatest ever ruler to govern Hindustan and was conferred the title of Akbar (Great) by predominantly Hindu subjects does not matter to those who have come the view the world in terms of those who support the so-called Hindu cause and those who do not. The marriage of a Muslim man to a Hindu woman is thus sacrilege of an unpardonable degree. These are tumultuous times, the society at large is moving towards intolerance and bigotry. Gowarikar attempted something that did give him a resounding success at the box office; at the same time, protests for no rhyme or reason marred the release and run of the film. The narrative per se is flawless, at least historically. References to all events depicted in the film can be traced back to texts. The taming of the wild elephant, Akbar’s spiritual experience during the Sufi song sequence, the rebellion of Sharifuddin and Adham Khan’s killing can be traced back to any authoritative writing on Akbar and his times. In fact, those who know Delhi also know of Adham Khan’s tomb at the entrance to the Mehrauli area. The film, in a subtle manner, dwelt on the secular and syncretic aspects of Akbar’s relationship with his wife Jodhaa whom he had married not out of choice but in order to put an end to the communal strife that had broken out between the Hindus and the Muslims in the Rajputana and Gujarat regions. He viewed the marriage as a gesture of friendship towards his Hindu subjects. Those who watch the film carefully would note that the first offer of marriage is brought to the emperor’s court by Raja Bharmal of Amer, Jodhaa’s father. Akbar did not, in any way, force the princess to enter into this alliance. On the contrary, the princess was free to express her fears and concerns and in doing so she places two conditions that the emperor must fulfil before tying the knot. Her first condition was to do with conversion and the second, unheard of in Mughal courts till then, the construction of a temple in her quarters where she could install her family deity. Akbar nonchalantly agrees to both the conditions, marries the princess, and does not insist on the consummation of the marriage with a non-consenting Jodhaa. He, on the other hand, explains to his new wife, that under the laws of Islam, she is free to annul the marriage if she deems fit. Therefore, those who protest clearly did not even make an attempt to watch the film before falling prey to beguiling rumours. The Mughal emperor, a practicing Muslim, is also credited with having abolished the pilgrimage tax or the tirth yatra mehsul that had been levied on Hindu pilgrims from time immemorial. Despite flak from court clergy and the nobles, Akbar not only abolished the tax but also refused to accept an argument that claimed that taking the tax off would damage the exchequer. He clearly placed a high degree of importance on the confidence of his subjects, majority Hindu. Further, Akbar put an end to the practice of beheading defeated local kings and allowed them to live as loyal subjects of the Mughal empire—a rather humane gesture in times when bloody wars were commonplace. These instances go to show the extent to which the film adhered to the basic tenets of history. It would not be wrong to say that Jodhaa Akbar is perhaps the most historically accurate film to roll out of the Bollywood assembly line. Mughal-e-Azam, I dare to say, could be termed as a cinematic classic, but it was by all means a historical disaster. The film depicted the saga of love between Prince Salim (later Jahangir) and the exquisitely beautiful courtesan Anarkali. Historians of great repute and authority have recorded that Anarkali was part of Akbar’s harem and even bore him a child. According to them, there was no relationship between Salim and Anarkali. Despite this deep-rooted historical flaw, the film was allowed a safe run across India. It, in fact went on to become one of the biggest blockbusters ever. Why then, this objection to Jodhaa Akbar? The reason, as explained earlier, is the deepening saffronization of the Indian society that has created a rather wide chasm of hatred and mistrust. Pogroms like that in Gujarat have only contributed to deepening this cleavage between communities. There is a hardening of stands on both sides. In times like these, Jodhaa Akbar breaks new ground. It rocks the foundations of the Sangh dictum that Hindus can never co-exist with Muslims. Parallely, it also deconstructs and completely destroys the theory postulated at the time of Partition—that Hindus and Muslims are two separate nations. We have borne the burden of that flawed theory ever since.