Part 1: Traveling in India not as someone who loves India, but as a tourist

Garlanded on the bus.

I haven’t had time until now to update the blog, and even now, it must be brief because I have to be up in less than eight hours for a sunrise tour of the Taj Mahal.

Yes, that means I have moved on from Delhi to Agra.

Though I love being in India more than I can put into words, I’m slowly coming to hate the tour experience. We are shepherded around the city like sheep, going nonstop at monuments until we’re returned to the hotel exhausted just before dusk. Or today, when our “oh, only six-hour!” drive from Delhi to Agra took from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. There is no time to shop, no time to walk around, no time to even seek out a restaurant other than the hotel’s before the sun goes down.

And in both Delhi and Agra, as two young, foreign female travelers, venturing outside in itself is a feat, and venturing out around dusk or dark is downright terrifying. The way many of the men in Delhi leer openly even during the day is enough to make one’s skin crawl.

So the tour’s stranglehold on our daylight hours has all but choked the life from my trip so far.

It means I haven’t seen a film. It means I haven’t entered any stores. It means our hotel was a 20-minute walk from Connaught Place but we never made it there.

A view of India from a tour bus.

It means I haven’t even had authentic Indian food in India. (Unless you count some godawful deserted Rajasthani-themed tourist trap restaurant the tour guide took us to in the middle of Haryana. Where the butter chicken I shared with my sister was like half-assed tandoori chicken dumped in pizza sauce.)

Yes, the hotel restaurants have Indian food — and yes, I’ve had fresh mangoes and idli and dosas at complimentary breakfast — but when you’re looking at a Rs. 1500 meal (yes, really), it seems easier to take the cheaper items on the menu.

In case you haven’t caught on, yes, the hotels are incredibly upscale. The Delhi hotel is probably the swankiest one I’ve ever stayed at — anywhere, period — and even with the favorable exchange rate, I’d never be able to afford staying there on my own. How a Groupon-bought tour package includes it astounds me.

Even from the swanky hotels, there are the little things to remind me that I am somewhere foreign. Going through bomb checks and metal detectors every time we get to the hotel is strange. The power flicked off at least a half dozen times a day in that swanky Delhi hotel. The waiters and I had several frustrating miscommunications the first night at the hotel restaurant. Each toilet I encounter flushes a different way.

Those things are frustrating at times, yes, but they are nothing compared to the frustrations I have felt in being made to be an entirely dumb American tourist in a country that I have long loved from afar.

It takes a himmatwala to say this about Himmatwala (2013), but I liked it!

Synopsis: Ravi (Ajay Devgn) returns to his family's village once he finds out his mother and sister were not dead as he had long thought. There he finds a village cowering at the grip of Sher Singh (Mahesh Manjrekar), his daughter Rekha (Tamannaah) and his brother-in-law Narayandas (Paresh Rawal). Of course the himmatwala (braveheart) is tasked with setting the village free.

Firstly, I DIDN’T THINK IT WAS TERRIBLE. (AND THIS IS NOT AN APRIL FOOLS JOKE.)

That bears being in all caps at the beginning of any discussion because no one I know in the blogosphere was willing to go see Himmatwala. The bad word of mouth even had me dreading the fact that I was hooked into it via the Bollywood group.

But… I didn’t hate Himmatwala!

In fact, I had a good laugh… or maybe a hundred!

They are the same and not.

If you didn’t like the original Himmatwala, don’t worry — I didn’t either. I gave up on it less than halfway in. Kitna boring hai!

But this version is definitely not boring. If you don’t like silly movies and heroic antics — aka Paresh Rawal and Ajay Devgn — or you are in fact one of the snobbish tight-asses I recently complained about, then you won’t like the bulk of it. But there are some plot tweaks and twists thrown in that even this queen of spotting the twists wasn’t expecting in such a film! (Hint hint: Ritesh Deshmukh’s appearance is short-lived but very important!)

But I think the crux of what makes this Himmatwala different from the first is that this Himmatwala is a slapstick comedy (hullo, Sajid Khan), and if you try to pretend it’s the original or take it seriously, you’re gonna have a bad time.

So, simple advice: Don’t take it too seriously.

There were some lagging moments, but for the most part, Himmatwala made me laugh from start to finish. There’s some mincing words, some putting crabs (ACTUAL CRABS) in people’s pajamas, asides directed right at the audience, a couple of visits from a tiger, the chicken dance (at a wedding!), some literal butt-kicking/bum pe laat (also at a wedding!), spoofing the infamous shower scene from Psycho…

Does Paresh Rawal’s squeaking voice get old? Yes. Are some of his lines flat? Yes. Does that negate the fact that he is hilarious and the master of comic timing and that he rocks that Dali-style mustache? Absolutely not.

Even the hero himself cracks some rib-tickling good lines when, of course, he’s not being overly serious and macho. If you’ve seen Singham or any of his movies since, you know Ajay Devgn is all about the ultra-dramatized hero role — and playing the titular himmatwala seems tailor-made for him. I’d say that this role is a lot more geared toward Ajay than the original was toward Jeetendra, though I can’t profess to be any great fan of Jeetendra anyway.

Have some fun, ji!

Less perfectly fit for the role is the heroine. Sure, she generates her own share of laughs, but I wish Tamannaah’s thighs hadn’t been on glaring display the whole time. C’mon, guys. They’re not that great. Really. And she’s fine enough that she didn’t bother me, but she’s certainly not the next Sridevi.

Sadly could have done without
Sonakshi, though I liked TGIF.

If you are expecting something groundbreaking and new, that Himmatwala is certainly not. If you are expecting something archetypal that will generate laughs with its ridiculousness, that it certainly is.

Oh, and wait, this movie is set in the 80s? Not just remaking the 80s? Could’ve fooled me, minus a few not

so special references to the year.

Though its tagline of “the 80’s will be back” seems to ring true since a Chashme Baddoor remake comes out next week.

A white girl's second (or third?) Holi

Last year, I shared with you the experience of my first Holi.

This year, I don't have as much fun information about the experience of Holi to share, but I do have some great photos. I went with a handful of people from my Bollywood movie club, and we had a blast despite some rather unsavory weather (we got rained on at the end).

I got soaked by water and color in alternating patterns — getting full on drenched with a water hose and then having a whole package of color dumped down your back is what Holi is about, right? — and this year my white shirt definitely didn't wash clean like it did last year. But my contact lenses were spared this year, and I knew ahead of time that my undergarments were going to come out a lot more colorful than they went in, so I was ready for it.

On the flip side, I think the weather kept a lot of people at home this year, and things were perhaps a bit more hesitant than they were last year, something I lament.

One of these years, I want to be in Delhi for Holi.

In defense of masala and “mindless” cinema

“Sometimes with Indian films, you have to take out your brain, park it at the door, watch the film and collect your brain on the way out.”

That’s how a friend — an Indian friend — recently described typical masala. It is, in a way, right. (Of course, I’d argue that it doesn’t only apply to Hindi cinema and the stereotypical Bollywood masala; it applies to many “mass-entertainment” films in any language.)

But I have recently experienced a great deal of backlash among desis, especially those in the U.S., who consider such cheap entertainment like popular masala as worthless and even despicable, a black mark on Hindi cinema.

When I mention that I’m more than okay with the singing and dancing and wild, logic-defying antics (all hail the supernatural powers of Salman Khan’s muscles!), there are inevitably frowns from these high-brow consumers of cinema.

But why, I ask, must films always be serious to have merit?

What is the problem with cinema that is, in fact, cinema? Not overly serious, instead accepting of the fact that cinema is not real life?

Isn’t that what fiction is meant for? It is, after all, not reality. There is a reason we turn to fiction as escapism. Books, movies, television — the medium makes little difference. We all want to escape to another place, time, story. We all do it in different ways.

I know it would behoove the nose-in-the-air serious-cinema elite to admit that, but that makes it no less true. They would prefer to believe that they never try to escape reality through fiction, but I contend that everyone does in some form or another, whether they admit it to themselves or not.

Why is using literature as a means of escape more acceptable, more high-brow, than using cinema as a means of escape?

To a degree, the sentiment has its roots in film history. Commercial film began as entertainment for the masses, with motion pictures at fairs and nickelodeons. Early commercial film also evolved out of vaudeville traditions, and vaudeville got its name from voix de ville, literally “voice of the city.”

Literature, on the other hand, has always been the game of the upper crust since it requires literacy and often a knowledge of prior classics. The novel was a distinctly middle class phenomenon, but even then, it was often aimed more at an upper-middle class than what we would consider “the masses.”

Oh, yes, have I mentioned that this defender of mindless cinema has a degree in English literature with forays into early film studies? Indeed, I am a schooled and trained critical thinker. I have been taught theory upon theory, formalism, postmodernism, structuralism. I can throw around “mise-en-scène” and other fancy terms.

So, yes, I can apply theory, criticism and intellect to what I watch. (You might notice that in some of my reviews here on certain films and the themes of postcolonialism.) I can enjoy a good mental workout through film.

But I am also a journalist. I deal with the horrible dark side of reality every day. Poverty. Crime. Death. Destruction. I love journalism, but it is definitely a morbid business, inescapably depressing in large doses.

So I don’t go into a theater to relive the things I face every day in reality. I go in to enjoy watching a piece of fiction and yes, even to stop thinking about reality for a while. It’s not a leap to say that I am using fictional film as a means of escape, and it’s entirely possible that you will look down on me for doing it.

But then my question is — why not? Why shouldn’t I enjoy cinema that is not reality? Why must art imitate life to be of value?

Why must I always use my brain to enjoy something? Must everything I consume be in the interest of bettering myself? (I will point out to you that if you answer “yes,” you should never eat dessert again.)

Why can’t a person just enjoy something without stopping to think about all things serious and weighty? Why is a good laugh something to be discarded as cheap rather than embraced as a piece of simple enjoyment?

It is true that I love to laugh maybe a little more than most. It has a lot to do with growing up in a house with a father who could be Jim Carrey and George Lopez’s comedy lovechild and in an extended family where reunion shirts with the slogan “It may be crude, but we’re O’Conners” were proposed. This somewhat out-there sense of humor means I love desi comedies in which nothing is too ridiculous as long as it gets someone to laugh.

And, really, the ridiculous antics of masala are very much the same: nothing is too ridiculous as long as it brings someone joy. The antics are both meant to make you smile — shaking your head, thinking, “Only in the movies” — and also to laugh. Dismissing them with a sneer or an upturned nose as grotesquely ridiculous is so closed-minded to something that occupies a quizzically odd place where the appropriate reaction is somewhere between “laughing at” and “laughing with.”

And, really, their goal is to bring you joy.

What is so wrong with that?

India goes to the 2013 Oscars (and loses...again) -- I'm sad and I'm not

This seemed a lot like India’s year at the Oscars. No, Barfi!, India’s official submission for foreign language, didn’t make it to the big night, but some noteworthy others did. Bollywood was represented by three of its best in unassuming roles in two of the year’s biggest films, and India itself was an integral part of one of those films where an Indian voice also sang its way to nomination.

Veteran Bwood actor Anupam Kher was there alongside such Hollywood brass as legendary Robert De Niro, Sexiest Man Alive Bradley Cooper and best lead actress Jennifer Lawrence. All, of course, part of the cast of Silver Linings Playbook, which was nominated for best picture.

*From 2009 Oscars, not this year's.

Also up for best picture: Life of Pi. I mistakenly assumed Irrfan Khan would actually be there. 

It wasn’t too long a shot, considering he had a much more integral role in 11-time-nominee Life of Pi than Anupam Uncle had in eight-time-nominee Silver Linings and that it wouldn’t have been Irrfan’s first Oscars (he was there in 2009 for Slumdog). But alas, it seems that we were not treated to Irrfan in an awards-show-caliber tux this year. And to add to the sadness of that, there was no Tabu to be seen either. (Though given that her role is smaller, I had less expectation of her being there.)

Nor were we treated to a major win by either film this year, despite the fact that the odds were good. (Insert obligatory Argo-you-know-what-yourself remark here.)

India International Film Festival Tampa Bay 2013: Planes, Trains and Autorickshaws; Gattu; and more

This past weekend, it was that time of year again: film festival time!

That’s right: another year of the India International Film Festival Tampa Bay. I actually enjoyed the selection of films this year much better than last year, even though I didn’t get a chance to watch Vishwaroopam, which I had been looking forward to. But as is typical of South Indian films, there were no subtitles. An all-too-familiar disappointment. If it were feasible, I would start learning Tamil and Telugu right away just so I could watch movies I want to see!

But anyway, on to what I did see:

NEW: Special 26: Smart, thrilling and full of wonderful mustaches

Synopsis: Based on a real-life 1987 heist that has never been solved, Special 26 is the story of a band of thieves who raid and rob businesses, corrupt politicians and the like posing as income tax or CBI officials. And they only steal black money, so the victims don’t like to report it. The crew is lead by schemer Ajay (Akshay Kumar), who is backed by P.K. Sharma (Anupam Kher), Joginder (Rajesh Sharma) and Iqbal (Kishor Kadam). But in the film’s first heist, Ajay and crew dupe police officers Ranveer (Jimmy Shergill) and Shanti (Divya Dutta) into helping them loot a corrupt minister’s home, leading Ranveer to swear revenge and take his case to resident CBI badass Wassim Khan (Manoj Bajpayee). As criminal mastermind Ajay works to plan one last big heist so the crew can retire, police mastermind Wassim is always in step with him.