Not Another Love Story

By Piyush Roy

Tamasha Poster

Aristotle had famously opined about there being only two kinds of stories – tragedy and comedy. Paulo Coelho added two more to argue that writers basically juggle between various combinations of four plots – a love story between two people, a love triangle, a struggle for power story and the tale of a journey or adventure. Christopher Booker in his The Seven Basic Plots (2004) had researched and revealed that everything ever written, or told on screen basically boiled down to seven plots. Bharata-muni in ancient India’s exhaustive theatre manual, the Nātyasāstra had listed 10 kinds of play, while mid-twentieth century French writer Georges Polti had acknowledged 36 dramatic situations.

Director Imtiaz Ali, on the surface of it, perhaps knows only one. Girl meets a boy, one of them is battling a past inner demon, they share a brief memorable journey or slice-of-life experience that changes them forever, they agree to part, but circumstances make them meet each other again. Loss enriches them (as human beings), love liberates them.

Tamasha, his latest release starring two of our generation’s finest actors, Ranbir Kapoor and Deepika Padukone, a pair born to romance only on celluloid like Raj Kapoor-Nargis, Amitabh Bachchan-Rekha or Shah Rukh Khan-Kajol, re-fiddles with those often seen emotional tangles, albeit this time, to tug like few before. Auteur Imitiaz Ali’s (Socha Na Tha, Jab We Met, Love Aaj Kal) latest phase of creative ascendance (Rockstar, Highway…) continues, and how. This time, it’s flawless in a way that the signature attributes of his narratives – a love story, good characters hurting within, artistic backdrops, lyrical songs, insightful conversations, evocative background music – fall in place flawlessly, to give us one of the finest experiencing of a ‘couple drama’ in recent times.

Mid-film, when the character of Ranbir realises that the character of Deepika is not in love with the person that he is, but what he had acted out in a mutually agreed charade at their first meeting, he breaks down to scary emotion spasms of control and let go. Devastated already; Deepika’s character still tries to hold him, recover him, for her belief that if he could make a stranger feel special, there has to be something special within him. But his ego won’t let her do that. He doesn’t show his hurt, or his tears. Hesitantly she tries to nurture what she knows, only she can restore. He walks away. He wants to hurt her, deliberately, even though she had hurt him unknowingly. She wants to help; but her choice of words fail her. Her compassion, he reads as pity. It alienates him further; it devastates her further more.

Tamasha 1

What we witness is a real fight between couples intensely in love. Those are neither picture perfect, nor deep poetic moments to be lamented in leisure. Real lovers’ tiffs are not always forgiving either, and more than occasionally there also manifests that urge to give it back, just to win a goddam argument irrespective of who was right or wrong. We all nurture multiple personas within, and at least one palpable double, for the virtual world where we increasingly spend our exciting other half-lives or lies, often in complete contrast to the ordinariness of our daily realities.

Tamasha is a director’s film, right to the focussing on the toothless grin of an aged Sardarji singer extra or a mumbling mountain raconteur’s sudden rage at the hero’s lazy escape into crowded silences. Director Ali makes Ranbir and Deepika bare themselves to the sheer grotesqueness of stripped emotions as their ravaged faces become a mirror to their hidden capabilities to hurt, lust, implore or explode! Little comfort or background support is offered to the actors as they furiously hold and grapple with raw, helpless, naked turmoil. Deepika’s acting in those moments is comparable to Shabana Azmi’s drunken brawl in public with her husband’s mistress in Arth or Meena Kumari’s pleading rage against a philandering husband in Sahib Bibi aur Ghulam.

Take a bow Ranbir and Deepika for yet another feather in your crowding acting caps. As regards Ali, Tamasha’s auteur experimentation with magic realism (a rarity in Indian cinema, exception Buddhadeb Dasgupta), is in the league of Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children achievement in the literary space. Dig deep, and many-a-matching style articulations will surface.

The film celebrates the art of storytelling – imagination, characterisation, freedom, fantasy – and the need for story tellers in a world increasingly getting regimented, codified, conforming, ordinary, critical and intolerant. That is the auteur plea, screaming at strategic drama moments against the stifling of choices in – talents, careers, relationships, or simply just how we are to be – in a majority conforming society. Tamasha thus, also is Ali’s most rebellious film to date. Naturally, the reactions to it, have been either of outright rejection or absolute adoration. The director does not seem to be wanting to negotiate a please-all middle ground or consensus. The film’s intense blend of emotional hedonism with magical realism, foil with fantasy, hate with love, is in the league of similar world cinema triumphs like Bernardo Bertolucci’s Last Tango in Paris (1972), Jane Campion’s The Piano (1993) or Wong Kar-Wai’s In the Mood for Love (2000).

Tamasha is not for those for whom the idea of love is about conformity, sanctity, loyalty, sacrifice, old world style wooing and pining, kasme-vaade, pyaar, wafa, etc. No, this is not about love that confirms and continues, or destroys and recreates, it is about love that liberates. The emotions and the nature of their expressions is far from ideal here. They will disturb and disconcert in their raw honesty and passion. Don’t watch Tamasha, if you haven’t lied to your love, been raised and ravaged by the lust for your love or ever stifled a lover in the passion of your love. And if you have love’s every labour lived – hurt to lust, heat to dust – one viewing is too heady to handle. You will have to return to savour this mayhem of emotional tamasha again and again, with every viewing assuring the ‘rejoice’ of a new reveal!

 

 

“Our Mahabharat has upped the benchmark for TV content in India”

Piyush Roy with Creative Director and Producer Siddharth Kumar Tewary and actors on the set of Mahabharat
Piyush Roy with Creative Director and Producer Siddharth Kumar Tewary and actors on the set of Mahabharat

SIDDHARTH KUMAR TEWARY, the 35-year-old creative director and producer of the biggest series in the history of Indian television, Mahabharat, belies most of the conventional images of an Indian mythology film or television maker. Coherent, contemplative, consistent and contemporary, he embodies the tone and tenor of his show that has definitely upped the benchmark for costume dramas in India. Starting with pan-Indian location shoots in the Himalayas, Jammu & Kashmir, Rajasthan and Madhya Pradesh, the monsoons may have compelled the drama’s biggest event the Mahabharat war to a chrome screen in a Gujarat studio, yet the show’s quality of content is still ahead of what one sees on Indian television today, in spite its over emotive war sequences of late.

Tewary in a candid chat with PIYUSH ROY, the Arts & Culture Editor of The South Asianist on a rainy evening at his Mumbai office reflects on the charms and challenges of a 21st century adaptation of the world’s longest epic and discusses its still abiding resonance and relevance.

This is not the first time Mahabharat is being adapted on the Indian television. What was your creative brief? 

My journey of making the Mahabharat started in 2009 though its telecast on the Star Plus channel commenced only in 2013. The channel’s visionary CEO, Uday Shankar’s lone brief to me was – ‘Along with new writing, I want you to break the way people look at television. I want you to take television content in India to another level of execution and production values.’ We have tried to make a show that is able to hold the attention of a new generation of viewers who have grown up watching an Avatar or Lord of the Rings.

What according to you is the attraction of Mahabharat as a TV series and a timeless tale?

I believe that Indians are god fearing and god loving people. So mythology can never, not excite our audiences. The challenge is how you make its telling exciting. People like characters and then they watch a story, they don’t like a story first and then watch its characters. And to make people like characters, there has to be emotional connect. Mahabharat is a treasure trove of human emotions. It is said in its opening verse – ‘what is here will be found elsewhere, what is not here is nowhere…’ Every aspect of life is there in the Mahabharat. You cannot think of a better story in your lifetime.

When the Vedas were written, only a few read it. Not many know about it even today. So Mahabharat was written to understand the essence of the Vedas in an entertaining way. It is said, if you read the Mahabharat you have read the Vedas. What are the Vedas trying to say? It’s not telling that war is bad at the end of a war. It is trying to tell you a story, with a sub-text and a lesson within every plot on how to lead a quality life. That’s how we cracked the idea of getting the character of Lord Krishna to share the epic’s ever relevant messages as seekhs (relevant life lessons) that have become extremely popular.unnamed

Abridged and edited videos of Krishna’s teachings on different aspects of life from the series have acquired an independent, stand alone following of their own as evinced in their extensive sharing and viewing in the Net space. How did you come up with the idea of giving the ‘sutradhaar’ (narrator) role to Krishna?

Krishna in our show is not a conventional sutradhaar. A sutradhaar is one who connects the dots. He doesn’t connect any dots. If you see what he says and does, there is no connection between the previous scene and where he takes you. The normal storyline is flowing, where in Krishna comes to talk about the deeper philosophies, the subtexts around what we saw and how it connects with our world. The viewers hear him say, ‘Don’t try to be better than the best. Try to improve yourself and you will become the best.’ He is basically our voice to the nation, articulating whatever we have understood of the Mahabharat and thought to be worth emulating. We have given those thoughts to Krishna’s character to share them to the world, and the actor Saurabh (Jain), has taken its impact to some other level as a performer.

The popularity of actor Saurabh Jain’s Krishna has rekindled memories of devotee fanzine associated with ‘god’ protagonists in Ramanand Sagar’s Ramayan (1987-88) and B.R. Chopra’s Mahabharata (1988-90). How did you go about casting for the mammoth series, which has at least 20 characters of a protagonist’s calibre?

Casting for the show was a critical process. The biggest question posed to every actor was, ‘Why does he/she want to do the show and what’s so unique about their role for them?’ We primarily targeted at getting actors hungry for good work, who wanted to prove a point and go all out. You cannot work on a Mahabharat just with the intention of making some money because shows like this don’t happen every day. You have to be prepared to give the time, effort and energy it demands to understand each character and come and ask the director 100 questions around its characterisation. Only those people who wanted to make a difference to their lives and were ready to give it their soul like me were cast. All of us working on the epic had one goal – to make our lives memorable!

What’s your take on the ongoing debate on whether Mahabharat is mythology or history?

I believe that Mahabharat is history. It was first written as an account of 18 days of an ancient war by sage Ved Vyas, called Jaya (Victory). Subsequent story tellers added the back stories to make it the Mahabharat that we read now. History is normally written about people who ruled. Mahabharat is a story of rulers, who ruled India centuries ago. Over generations many things have been added to the core narrative to make it a sort of mytho-history because some events do make one think it to be myth or a leap of faith. Most fiction normally comes with an expiry date of appeal. Can any fiction writer writing something relevant to today’s times claim that it will be relevant to readers’ centuries later? It’s impossible! Yet this is one story where everything written centuries ago is relevant even today. So it has to have been based on real people and events.

How did you balance the limits of historical authenticity with the liberties of mythology in your interpretation?

Research data on the period varies from observations like lack of colour in that era to a possibility of its characters living in caves, and the like. I wanted to make a grand visual epic, a representation that you would see and say ‘wow’ because if you ask a common person his perceptions about lifestyle in an epic, he or she would say that they perhaps drank in golden glasses. There’s a public perception every mythology or historical caters to. You can’t change those perceptions overnight. You can make it evolve. Our agenda was to evolve that perception while retaining the grandiosity of an epic by making it believable enough for the audience to say, ‘Yes they must have lived like this.’ Fact is that nobody knows how they lived. At best one can debate on the basis of something written by someone, but what’s the guarantee about its veracity? We hired specialists from various fields as consultants and told them about our vision. My brief to Oscar winner Bhanu Athaiya, who designed our costumes, was that the characters shouldn’t look from another country. They should look Indian, but be dressed in a way that if one looked at their jewellery they couldn’t say it to be today’s jewellery or costume, and she came up with this idea of hand embroidered costumes. Dr. Madhavi Narsalay, of the Department of Sanskrit, of University of Mumbai had given us the maps that we have used for the then Indian kingdoms and their territories, like today’s Kandahar was the Gandhar of that era.

unnamedThe war sequences have been critiqued to be tad too emotive. What’s your take on the last major ‘modern’ adaptation of the Mahabharat by Peter Brook (1989)?

Worldwide, any form of entertainment without emotion won’t work. Nobody is interested in just watching two people fight. Action without emotion is zero! However, if you are making the Mahabharat for the West you cannot make it the way we have done. You have to understand that their lifestyle and culture is different and condition your telling accordingly. For instance, there if something doesn’t fit you in a store you don’t give it for alteration you go for the next option that fits best. There the shops shut at 6 pm, here business picks up after 6 in the evening. I could just go on about the differentials… Fact is that our worlds are different. If you are making Mahabharat for that world, you might do it Peter Brooks’ way, but it didn’t appeal to me. I am a massy guy in my head so too much intellectualisation doesn’t work for me. A show has to talk to me, make me think, but in an entertaining way, it has to move me emotionally.

The year-long, 250 episodes plus, Mahabharat series comes to an end in August 2014. What’s next?

I am currently working on two historical projects one on Razia Sultan (India and the world’s first Muslim empress) and another on Ashoka the Great. After Mahabharat, the old style of making periodicals and costume dramas will no longer work in India. We have thus set a benchmark in a way. Normally TV soaps are written in the simplest possible manner to appeal to the lowest common denominator as people are not supposed to be thinking while watching TV. Our thought was to also attract those who want to engage with some thoughts and philosophies. That has also become the crux of my life – to entertain people and through that give a message, if I can, that life is good!

On-set, filming Mahabharat