On Cinema and its Technology

Motion Pictures is a product of technology. Cinema is the application of technology to produce something aesthetic. Great Cinema is the result of the subtle influence of technology on our mind and soul.  And how does technology in Cinema actually achieve this purpose? By playing a support to art. Specifically, playing a support to what art intends to achieve.

Cinema need to see the role of technology in two disparate areas: Visual and Aural. Starting with visual, Cinema began as visual only medium. Over the years, technology in this area has developed from Black & White to Coloured, from analog display to digital. From live subjects to animation (which itself has had a parallel growth from hand drawn sketches to cutting edge technologies like Motion Capture). With such developments taking place, it’s hard not to “show-off” the magnificence of technology. Case in point, Avatar (2009). Or Titanic (1997), for that matter (Coincidentally, they were both directed by James Cameron (Ironically, the same guy who made two of my favourite Sci-Fi movies of all time, The Terminator (1984) and Terminator 2: Judgement Day (1991)). Both of them had average story lines. Yet, they generated humongous profits, by the sheer display of technological magnificence. No doubt it is great business, but is it great art? If at all, I feel the need to see the naked display of technology, I can go to any expo which are held the world over.

Ubiquitous in Bokaro

u·biq·ui·tous/yo͞oˈbikwətəs/(Adjective): Present, appearing, or found everywhere

From the experiences of my travels far and wide (It’s an exaggeration really. But I thought the phrase “far and wide” had a nice “ring” to it!), I have learnt that there is a well nigh chance that you might not had heard of Bokaro. And I can’t blame you for it. It was your Geography teacher’s fault that she (could be a he, but statistics are more in favour of women) did not teach you about some of the more important industrial towns in the country.

In case you have heard about it, chances are, you either belong to Bihar/Jharkhand, or are a nerd (I use it in a positive sense. If it’s any comfort, I am one). Now Bokaro is famous for two things and two things only. One, for it’s steel plant, among the largest in Asia, and two, for being an assembly line for producing IITians. Spending 18 years in the city (and a  few months, counting the number of visits later on), the aforesaid two traits of the city have ceased to amuse or interest me. However, this time round, when I visited Bokaro (probably the last time), I, for the first time viewed it from the eyes of an observant outsider. And noticed “stuff”, which I otherwise always were in front of my eyes, but I took their presence, good or bad, for granted. They weren’t as obvious as the local hatiya which would come up twice every week, and sell you poor quality vegetables at exorbitant prices, or City Center, wherein you were bound to meet someone you wanted to be the last person to meet (for my parents, it were their respective bosses, and for me, it were my parents. Oddly enough, my girlfriend back then thought the same about hers!). But they were still there, all the time. Much like the waiter’s spit in your restaurant food. Disgusting they may be, but they only add to the overall flavour.  So without much further ado, here are three of my favourites:

Unrequited Love

Ah! The charm of unrequited love!

For it has begat a hundred odes,

of a time long gone,

when a couple of hearts,

set path for opposing roads

 

Ah! The pain of unrequited love!

For it has moved a thousand ships,

made man his own enemy,

and vanity his hallowed jewels,

to kiss those quivering lips

 

The Power of Dissociation

“I want to go to Hallé’s concert to hear Norman Neruda this afternoon. . . . Her attack and bowing are splendid. What’s that little thing of Chopin’s she plays so magnificently: Tra-la-la-lara-lira lay.” Leaning back in the cab, this amateur bloodhound caroled away like a lark while I meditated on the many-sidedness of the human mind.

- A Study in Scarlet

For the uninitiated, the aforesaid lines are written in awe of Sherlock Holmes by his chronicler, Dr. Watson. This, for the fact that Sherlock Holmes had a strange capacity to switch modes in the middle of an exciting case; but only when he would decide that “there is nothing more we can do for the day” (sic)

All of us meet people who baffle us in real life; much like Sherlock in fiction. And much like him, there are people in the real world, who display similar if not the same characteristic trait. I like to call this trait, “dissociation”. Dissociation can mean different things to different people; dissociation from overt emotions that cloud judgement, dissociation from material gains, to name a few. While all these definitions hold true, the one I intend to talk about here is the power of dissociation from other events happening simultaneously.

Ah! Delhi

It took me a trip to the hills to realise that the relationship I share with Delhi is the same I share with my girlfriend (Ladies, this is a piece of fiction, if you know what I mean! If you don’t, I won’t be interested in you anyway); I can’t stand her when I am with her, but once I am away from her, I miss her like hell (Ladies, and a few special men, this is the part where you go Awww…)

Make no mistake, I love Delhi. I love its architecture, its vibrant mix of culture, its art, its winters, its momo and paratha stalls…the list goes on. Strangely though, I did not miss any of the aforesaid characteristics when I went out of town for an extended vacation. I missed Delhi, but was unsure what exactly made me miss it so much. It was only when I returned back, felt the reassuring pungent smoke of the vehicles choke my nostrils and listened to the soothing music that is the lively use of expletives among the locals that I realized I missed Delhi for the awesome plethora of nuisances that it provides me on a daily basis. And I love all of them. Similar to how I love saas-bahu serials; l love them precisely because of their ability to piss me off.

Stranger

That stranger could have been me. But it wasn’t.

Drenched in the rain, a ride asked that fellow

I chose to ignore, leaving him behind

I could choose otherwise though

It was easier to be blind

That stranger could have been trusted. But he wasn’t.

It was easier to be blind

I could choose otherwise though

I chose to ignore, leaving him behind

Drenched in the rain, a ride asked that fellow

That stranger could have been me. But it wasn’t.

Much Ado About “Indian Culture”

“No culture can live, if it attempts to be exclusive”

 - Mahatma Gandhi 

There is always some vanity associated with a country’s culture by its citizens. To an extent, it is justified, for it defines their identity. India is no exception to the aforesaid rule. However, the problem arises when it tends to border on fanaticism. And that is unwarranted. There are examples aplenty, wherein extremists have resorted to extreme measures in order to “preserve the Indian Culture”. 

In the wake of such incidents, we need to address an essential question in order to enlighten ourselves on Indian Culture and consequently put a tab on all the human suffering occuring on account of its misuse: WHAT IS INDIAN CULTURE? 

In other words, come up with a “definition” for Indian Culture (As we shall see later, it’s a vicious circle in which it is this “definition” of Indian Culture, which is the problem as well as the solution). 

Let’s start simple (and hopefully, try ending it that way!); Indian Culture is made up of two words: Indian and Culture. In order to be able to “define” Indian Culture, all we need to come up with a “definition” of these two words and try to understand the meaning and significance when they combine.

Faith

I believe I can fly

reach for the sky

pluck the stars beyond

then rest to cry;

those tears of joy abound

that rain the ground

that quench my thirst

and then flow around;

offering to each one

hope when there is none

murdered by their failures

urge them to run;

On Cinema and its Existence

Cinema is the most beautiful fraud in the world

-Jean-Luc Godard

No medium more effectively captures and subsequently magnifies the traits of that wonderful journey called life. Consequently, the joys as well as the sorrows, the aspirations as well as the disappointments,the comedies as well as the tragedies, the immortality as well as the fallibility of the characters of the medium, however surreal, appeal to our senses like no other art form. While seated in a Cinema theater, it takes an extremely dispassionate person not to associate some emotion with the character on screen, which need not be the same emotion that the character portrays or is trying to invoke in the audience (though such an effect is the hallmark of great Cinema).

All this, despite the knowledge of the fact that “its just a movie”.

However, if one were to try and understand the raison d’être of a Cinema, or particularly, a movement¹ in Cinema, he would be surprised on discovering the correlation between various social indicators and the movement itself.  So much, so that one could include Cinema as a qualitative but powerful and important social indicator. The raison d’être is pretty straightforward: No film maker wants to lose money. Leaving aside all artisitic passion associated with Cinema, the hard reality is that film making is an expensive proposition and no film maker can afford to lose money. At least not consistently, however brilliant he and his films may be. He is compelled to make movies which appeal to the mass sensibilities. And this is where Cinema is such a powerful microscope of the society.

Reflections of Self…

I ain’t a poet,

these lines I write

ain’t my cup of tea.

The ink flows, just

to remind me;

that maybe it’s me,

maybe it’s me.

 

Since long it’s been

those fingers guided me

through the lanes I could see.

My feet now move, just

to remind me;

that maybe it’s me,

maybe it’s me.

 

Been through the highs,

and so through the lows

What else should it be.

They keep running, just

to remind me;

that maybe it’s me,

maybe it’s me.