Santacruz Millionaires

'How many a times must a man turn his head,
pretending he just doesn't see?'

- Bob Dylan, Blowin' in the wind

The controversy generated by Amitabh Bachchan, now reached international media has slightly marred the buoyancy felt by the success of Slumdog Millionaire. The age-old – albiet clichéd – complaint from the mainstream filmmakers that if you glorify poverty in India you could win international awards is actually beginning to irritate now. This attitude is almost fifty years old, first surfaced when Satyajit Roy won accolades internationally for his Pather Panchali. Having nourished this during the 70s, Bollywood almost started believing in that, which is what Bachchan has indiscreetly expressed in his blog. He has a reason to grumble.


Pather Panchali

Historically Bollywood was never concerned about poverty. In the 50s and 60s, the Hindi actors wore suits, smoked imported cigarettes and visited nightclubs in brazen replication of Humphrey Bogart, Cary Grant and Spencer Tracy. Actresses (in order to protect the Indian culture) wore expensive sarees and were content with showcasing fancy hairstyles. Even Guru Dutt displayed poverty only as a stylish ornament for a romantic and principled artist.

Towards the new century Bollywood got more daring in their outlook. Men dropped their suits and took on designer jeans and sports jackets (because their counterparts in Hollywood did the same) and women took on skimpy attires a la Hollywood and entrusted the job of protecting Indian culture to extremist Hindu organisations. Since studios vanished, the filmmakers could thing big for their locations. People in Bollywood films began to live in palatial bungalows, even if they held only government jobs. The attire and lifestyle of the characters got immensely richer not because the story demanded but simply because it looked good in the camera.


Kabhi Kushi Kabhi Gham

Because poverty doesn't look good you know. Who wants to watch a dying farmer's hut anyway? Being far removed from Indian reality, their eyes and ears are glued to the west coast of the states where they seek inspiration for their latest talk shows, game shows and even film stories. Suitably many directors don’t even base their stories in India anymore because it is very difficult to make India look good on screen. These days, their stories are based in New York, London and Australia, with Indian actors of course.

Movies like Kabhi Kushi Kabhi Gham gave a whole new dimension to this phenomenon. The father standing at the lawn in front of his palatial mansion awaiting his son who (wearing designer labels) alights from the family owned chopper and runs towards his father in slow motion at the backdrop of swirling fan blades; Return of the prodigal son never looked so good; and so rich.

Watching these films, the thinking audience wondered, do people live in such places in India? Do such places really exist in India? 'Yes', my wife nudged gently, 'you obviously haven't seen the houses of Ambanis and Birlas.' Well, are the stories of non-Ambanis not worthy enough to tell? And then the film went onto become one of the all time blockbusters.

When the filmmakers struggled so much in choosing attires in line with latest fashion and ran pillar to post for the most spectacular mansion for their protagonist to live in, it is difficult to digest when a lone filmmaker wins international accolades by showcasing actors with dirty loincloths. Those who criticised Satyajit Roy were the fathers and grandfathers of today's filmmakers. Most of them wouldn’t have seen a single film of Roy and hadn't probably visited even the nearest slum from their sprawling mansions in Mumbai. When one doesn't see, the dirty underbelly doesn't exist, and what doesn't exist can't be shown.

A character from Arvind Adiga's The White Tiger says, 'you can take almost anything you hear about the country from the prime minister and turn it upside down and then you will have the truth.' The same can be said about mainstream Bollywood films too.