Indian Idolatry

This piece of mine has been published today in the Wall Street Journal Asia. (Subscription link.) It was written on Monday, before Sanjaya Malakar got voted off American Idol.

By the time you read this, Sanjaya Malakar might well have been voted off of American Idol. If so, you won’t hear many groans of disappointment from India. Mr. Malakar, a 17-year-old of Indian and Italian descent, has mostly slipped below the radar here. But if he continues to capture the attention of millions of Americans the Indian media will change its tune, and not out of a newfound appreciation of Mr. Malakar’s singing ability. More likely, the local press will celebrate him as an Indian talent applauded by the West.

Hardly anyone here watches the American Idol singing competion, which is telecast on Star World, an English-language channel that, in India at least, caters to the elite. The domestic media have mentioned Mr. Malakar, now a finalist in the competition, just a handful of times, and that too in the context of the derision he has received in America. The dearth of media chatter here almost certainly results from the fact that the American press doesn’t have too many good things to say about him.

Of course, India has plenty of its own celebrities to gush over, some of them even less talented than the young Sanjaya. India produces more films than any other country in the world. Products from Bollywood (the Hindi film industry), Kollywood (the Tamil film industry) and Tollywood (the Telugu and Bengali film industries both claim that title) have audiences many orders of magnitude larger than those of the few Hollywood films that actually get released here. Successful music albums in local languages, mainly film soundtracks, sell in the millions, while the best a Western album can achieve is a few thousand. Indian Idol, the local version of the American show (which is itself an import to the U.S. from the U.K.), inspires national debate and heartbreak, while most people have probably not seen American Idol even once.

But even with this flourishing pop culture, many Indians still crave validation from the West. We see this every year before the Oscars, when a national soap opera unfolds surrounding which film will be chosen to be India’s entry for the foreign-language film category. (Only three Indian entries have ever been nominated, and none has won.)

The media celebrated when an Indian was chosen to umpire at Wimbledon. Indian writers become celebrities for life when they get big advances abroad, or win British or American literary awards. News of Madonna practising Yoga or pictures of Gwen Stefani with a bindi on her head are treated by the media as tributes to Indian culture.

When Indian actress Shilpa Shetty participated in the British TV show Celebrity Big Brother, her progress in the show received extensive coverage in the local media. Racist remarks directed at Ms. Shetty by a couple of participants on the show sparked outrage across India. When Richard Gere kissed her at a recent AIDS-awareness event, one local report began triumphantly, “We’ve always known Shilpa Shetty is a pretty woman, but now we have an official endorsement from a visibly smitten Richard Gere.”

This sensitivity to India’s reception in the West cuts both both ways, of course. As news of Mr. Gere kissing Ms. Shetty spread, protests were held across the country, effigies of the actor were burned, and one protestor even gave sound-bytes about how the kiss had “blemished the rich Indian culture.” When designer Anand Jon was arrested in Los Angeles for alleged rape and sexual assault, much of the Indian press wrote up the story as if he had been framed. And so on.

This all raises the question: Why does India care so much about what the West thinks of it? Perhaps it is a legacy of colonialism, or just the inferiority complex of a developing country whose economic progress has not yet been matched by cultural self-confidence.

Whatever the reasons, this preoccupation with the West is needless. The films coming out of India’s booming industry, for example, hardly need the approval of foreign audiences. Shekhar Kapur, one of the few Indian filmmakers to have worked in Hollywood, often criticises the use of the label “Bollywood” to describe Mumbai’s film industry. His point is that Indian films function in a space of their own, and draw large audiences that prefer it to any other cinema. The industry hardly needs to pay homage to Hollywood, and India doesn’t need to look West in order to appreciate its own culture.

Indian attitudes toward Mr. Malakar are likely to be shaped by how he is received in the United States. Mr. Malakar may be more American than Indian, and he may be singing American pop that hardly sells here, but if Americans choose him as their idol he will become a source of national pride. That is all good for Mr. Malakar—but what does it say about India?

Emptiness

In response to this post, and previous discussions of Tristesse, Sanjeev send me this magnificent poem by Stephen Dunn:

Emptiness

I’ve learned mine can’t be filled,
only alchemized. Many times
it’s become a paragraph or a page.
But usually I’ve hidden it,
not knowing until too late
how enormous it grows in its dark.
Or how obvious it gets
when I’ve donned, say, my good
cordovans and my fine tweed vest
and walked into a room with a smile.
I might as well have been a man
with a fez and a faux silver cane.

Better, I know now, to dress it plain,
to say out loud
to some right person
in some right place
that there’s something not there
in me, something I can’t name.
That some right person
has just lit a fire under the kettle.
She hasn’t said a word.
Beneath her blue shawl
she, too, conceals a world.

But she’s amazed
how much I seem to need my emptiness,
amazed I won’t let it go.

© Stephen Dunn.
Everything Else In The World.

Ah, alchemy…

“I don’t care! Take me home. I’m done”

Why do the sad stories of other people make us cry?

Could it be because they snap us out of our self-delusion, and show us that death is inevitable and happiness is always fleeting? Nah, let’s not be negative.

Anyway, do check these pictures out, sequentially. It’s brilliant work, and Renée C. Byer got a well-deserved Pulitzer Prize for it.

(Link via email from Gautam John.)

Music Video 2.0: “Voice” by Pentagram

It seems like a gimmick, but how it worked. Sometime back, the Indian rock band Pentagram got together with VH1 and announced that they were going to ask their fans to make a music video for their next release, “Voice.” Making a video takes a lot of effort: listening to the song dozens of times, coming up with a concept, getting together cast and crew and props and so on, shooting the thing, editing the thing, and so on. You’d have imagined a handful of nuts would enter.

Pentagram got 991 entries.

Yes, that’s right, 991 music videos. A decade ago, when I worked in first Channel [V] and then MTV and wrote for Rock Street Journal, many of us thought that Indian rock was just about to take off in a big way. We were wrong then—there wasn’t much of a following for it outside the college circuit. But if 991 people make music videos for a song, you’ve got to imagine that the number of actual Pentagram fans out there must be many multiples of that. Who knows where this could go?

Anyway, Pentagram eventually used a composite of the 26 best videos as their official video release. But the rest are available on YouTube. One that Pentagram vocalist Vishal Dadlani especially likes, and that Mohit brought to my attention, is an anti-reservation video by Varun Agarwal from Bangalore. Here it is:

I’ve articulated my opposition to reservations in these posts: “It’s the thought that counts, right?”, “Protesting the politics of reservations”, “The calculus of reservation” and “Don’t think in categories” (last two paras).

And now, below the fold, the final video of “Voice,” putting together shots from the 26 best videos they received:

Kissing Shilpa Shetty

image

Richard Gere wanted to demonstrate at a recent function, at which he was speaking with Shilpa Shetty, that the HIV virus cannot be spread by kissing, and he decided “to make his point by kissing first Shilpa’s hand, then hugged her, kissed her cheek, and finally bent over the surprised actress to give her a big kiss, Hollywood-style.” The report that excerpt is from finds this flattering, and begins:

We’ve always known Shilpa Shetty is a pretty woman, but now we have an official endorsement from a visibly smitten Richard Gere.

It also makes the valid point: “The curious thing is why Gere would choose to continually, and emphatically, keep kissing the actress in a show of safety—while neither of the two have HIV, to begin with.” Heh.

Meanwhile, in Varanasi, fans of Shilpa “burnt effigies of Gere.”

Members of the Shilpa Shetty Fan Club took to the streets raising anti-Gere slogans. They later burnt an effigy of the actor demanding that Gere either apologise for his indecent conduct or else leave the country immediately.

“Shilpa Shetty conquered all racial swipes to win Big Brother in England, but the Hollywood actor—by unnecessarily planting kisses on Shilpa’s cheek—has not only done disservice to the AIDS campaign but has also blemished the rich Indian culture,” Iqbal, who led the Shilpa Shetty Fan Club, said.

I think they’re jealous. They wish Richard Gere had kissed them instead of Shilpa.

Anyway, Indian culture is blemished now. What a pity. It was fun while it lasted.

(First link via email from Prabhu.)

Sona Mohapatra, and tristesse

I’m off to lunch in Bandra, which feels almost like an outstation trip given how little I commute, but before I go, let me leave you with the video of a lovely song by Sona Mohapatra, “Abhi Nahin Aana.”

What an unusual love song, a woman telling her lover not to come to her yet because she is enjoying pining for him. (The spoken bit at the end is outrageously sexy.) It reminds me of an email Sanjeev Naik sent me a few days ago, in response to this post, in which he quoted this excerpt from Francoise Sagan’s Bonjour Tristesse:

A strange melancholy pervades me to which I hesitate to give the grave and beautiful name of sorrow. The idea of sorrow has always appealed to me, but now I am almost ashamed of its complete egoism. I have known boredom, regret, and occasionally remorse, but never sorrow. Today, it envelops me like a silken web, enervating and soft, and sets me apart from everybody else.

Quite the web Sona spins.

(Comments are open.)