this
is the episode i did all i could to miss when the promos started airing
back in early 2011. i could not believe that any hindi serial... any...
could actually come up with a story of a handsome suave sexy rich young
man and not fall flat on its face.
where were such men on our television?
in fact, anywhere in reality?
they
only lived in romantic novels, classic and not so classic... usually
they resided in the west and went to hollywood; oh please don't tell me
that guy who is trying to look cool swinging a golf club in that promo
is actually someone who can do that brash good looker tycoon thing. i
mean really... i have seen him in a couple of places... yeah something
about him, but that sort of role? he will surely be embarrassing.
who's
that girl on a scooter? so this is the "new" heroine, comfortingly
middle class, very indian and traditional but ha, gotcha, she is on a
two wheeler, she be modern. i was not too convinced, nor too sad i
wasn't.
after all who watches a hindi serial with any seriousness... or in fact, at all.
sometimes
i wondered about the tagline... nafrat paas aaney na de, mohabbat door
jaane na de. sounded nice. but no, i would not be there 6 june to catch
the first episode.
all was going well, i may never have reached
this page, had one fine evening i hadn't looked at the television and
caught sight of a young man walking toward a woman in red by a poolside.
yes, it was the same girl with crazy plait i had seen in a casually
perused episode earlier... but the man? yeah, he was okay, but surely
his chin was too pointed, he really couldn't be that smart... let me
see, yeah... oh he is going closer...
i had not realised of
course, but i had almost stopped breathing by then, and once the diwali
episode was done, i had to stay up till 3.45 am watching it repeatedly
on youtube, on my handphone as i lay awake and startled out of my
complacence.
soon i had seen all diwali episodes and some of what
came before. then one day i thought, must go back to the beginning...
and finally saw episode 1.
i found out how completely wrong i was
about many things. about serials and what they can offer a jaded middle
aged stubborn condescending woman. about girls on scooters. about rich
handsome smooth and sexy hindi serial heroes.
hai re nand kissore.
almost
in classical vein, iss pyaar ko kya naam doon? seemed to begin with an
invocation to the almighty. the large woman bustling about who turned
out to be the not to be ignored and rather lovable bua ji, said not only
krishna's name... but her first tartly flung word to a wedding guest,
"arri o rameswar ki dulhain..." _ o, rameswar's bride – brought ram into the little call to the
powers that be.
but even before that, two words had caught my
attention. the episode opened on scenes of an old city as we went down
its roads, to music with the clip clop beat of tanga, a horse drawn
carriage, in it. lucknow, said the super, then camera moved over the
gateway of a compound that had an array of homes, where clearly the not
so wealthy lived... and at this moment, a wedding was on, all the guests
sat in the large courtyard, while bua ji rushed about supervising
boisterously the daytime ceremonies.
the words on top of the gate... gomti sadan.
to
me, lucknow, a city i have alas never been to, says, nawab, wajid ali,
kabab, pehle aap pehle aap, but most of all... bhoolbhulaiya, the
fascinating maze. once you get lost in it, will you find the way out?
was
this an invitation to enter a maze? that would take us via its many
twists and turns and confounding puzzles to the ultimate destination...
and if so, what was its destination? surely not that pyaar that is so
difficult to name?
and gomti... why, it is the river of course. a
flow, a pulse, a course in it. and if i see the movement depicted in
the episode, there were two people moving from two different points to
the same place, it did seem to reflect a river rushing down its course,
in anticipation, of what even the river has no idea... usually rivers
flow toward the ocean... was it just chance that the protagonist's name
meant... the ocean?
would the river meet the ocean here, an
ocean that came surging from the skies and caught and held it in its
arms and gazed longingly into its heart?
am i being fanciful?
perhaps. but that is what the 28.56 minutes of episode always ends up
doing. in it i find a fabulously well laid out structure... an opening
where almost every element of story and what's important to ipk is
introduced, all major characters except one. the backstory is hinted at
poignantly. the issues of galat, sahi – right or wrong – come in. as does
zameer or conscience. and rajkumar, rajkumari. the contrast between the
protagonists' different worlds is clearly established. the characters'
essential traits are drawn and they are at counterpoint.
there is even jalebi and of course, the first meeting.
to
do so much in so little time and so smoothly is not easy, that too
while you are making sure you have a grand first episode with a wedding
and a fashion show and a deadly deal and a flashback giving enough
opportunity to jazz up action and drama. the creatives really worked on
this one and someone got the essence of it perfectly. like hot knife
through butter goes the episode, unerringly and gleefully moving from
scene to scene, taking us to the utterly delicious scoop at the end. oh,
somewhere around 10:50, it also manages to take the viewer to outer
space and heart attack.
there was a lightness and expert touch
to the whole thing. none of the usual "serialness" here. even the very
desi middle class milieu and people being portrayed was done with
understanding and yes, that thing so missed in our soaps,
understatement.
the wardrobe, the sets, the look, the feel, the
acting, a certain style to it all, realistic even. and a note of that
other thing often absent from this type of entertainment...
intelligence.
i noticed our lucknowi receptionist at sheesh
mahal properly on later viewings, he was such a perfect caricature,
spoke of a wacky fun sense in someone in the team. yeah, the man was a
cliche but pitched so right. that lost look on his face, he so genuinely
a poet, reminded me that in l.a. almost every waiter at the hotel was
an actor in waiting.
at
gomti sadan, while the merriment and the aunt's loud urgings to dance
and show joy got going outside, a lovely young woman at the window of a
room looked out, a worried air about her. in the background, a figure
in silhouette moved and a voice said, "jiji, jija ji phone nahin utha
rahe...," didi, brother in law is not picking up the phone. your ears picked
the soft "ph" sound. and now that i think of it, the villain of the
piece was also a jija ji, wasn't it?
the girl in a mustard veil
said she was scared, were they doing the right thing, and yet... to ask
for such a large amount on the day of the wedding.
in seconds we knew what the problem was... no need for fussy long winded dialogues.
camera
turned to look at the girl who said "phone" with a soft "ph." first we
saw her eyes, then her lips, her hands holding her sister's... and we
heard her gentle, light, childlike voice.
it was clear, she loved
her sister a lot and her father... she would not let his shop be
mortgaged for the dowry demanded that morning, she would go and speak to
her brother in law to be and settle the issue. a voice full of hope and
innocence... yes she was scared, but she would go see to the matter,
jiji, tum mat ro... you don't cry.
next thing we know, this girl
dressed in lehenga choli with lots of shiny gota, all decked up for a
wedding day function, is wearing sneakers and running out as her father
joins the revelers; after spending a couple of tender moments with his
daughter, the bride to be, he lets his martinet sister push him into
some dancing.
from his very first shot, shashi gupta looked like
an unusual man, a not too predictable father for this sort of family
and background. he actually wonders if giving his daughter in marriage
to a boy from a family that badgers for more money on the day of the
wedding is a good thing or not. his wife, garima, more entrenched in the
thinking of her set up, is aghast. they are ladkiwale, girl's family...
they must accept everything.
clearly, her husband is not really
convinced. looking at this calm, poised man, who has the bearing of a
wise and knowledgeable person, you begin to understand why he has a
daughter who can hare off to confront a brother in law to be on the the
issue of dowry. girls from gomti sadan don't do such things, this would
be considered too daring and even foolhardy by most. on your sister's
wedding day you do things expected of a girl... you dress up, you put
mehendi, you giggle, laugh, dance, act a little coy and wonder about
when your rajkumar will come, you don't steal your dad's shop's deed
and go off to some faraway hotel to make sure your family is not put
through any hell.
maybe shashi gupta has taught his girls to be not the usual gomti sadan girl.
and
as you watch the measured shots and the scene is coming alive with song
and revelry, you start noticing the sound, the music. not loud and
unnecessarily dramatic as you would expect from a serial... instead,
timely, catching the mood, and always apt.
for instance, as
shashi pauses by the pillars of the verandah and looks at his daughter
sitting outside, a soulful strain is heard for he possibly knows this
means she is going away, an exchange of smiles, and a beautiful pause in
sound as sadness comes, then the bride looks up and the song comes
in... sinuous, earthy, demanding that you enjoy the moment. lovely
interplay and understanding of conflicting wedding time feelings. plenty
attention to detail, thoughtful and sensitive direction, smart editing.
in the meantime, the girl who is scared but will go, has gone, we don't know her name, nor what she looks like.
and
did the song just say, "lal pari ban, banno hamari...?" red fairy?
really? i think if we look at this episode, we will find it is embedded
with ipk things, some obvious, some not so. of course, the pigeons are
here already too. there's something really thrilling about this game the
creatives seemed to have played here... i wonder if they planned this
or it just happened by chance. i wonder too if i am reading too much
into things.
the song stopped when the sister of the bride had
to come in... for she was not around. "ai payal, khussie kahan hai?"
asked their mother.
hey, payal, where's khushi.
and
at last we heard what she was called and also her pretty sister in
mustard and earth shades. at the question, we cut to the girl hidden
behind a scooter, bright blue, talking to herself... actually to devi
maiyya.
and
it was before the goddess, her true and deep friend companion and
confidant, that we finally saw khushi's face for the first time.
starting with earrings... earrings were going to be important too. and
payal...
when i looked at sanaya irani and later watched her on
that mad ride through crowded bazaar streets with two milk cans on
either side of her chariot, what struck me most were her flowing slim
figure and that elegant look which was really not that easily associated
with the quintessential north indian middle class.
she was too fair... too lissome... too sophisticated.
yet
those who cast her knew she would be just right. in fact, no one could
be a better khushi. in that contrast with the expected, that
unpredictable element was khushi given her distinctiveness, her specific
self.
whoever selected her did a marvelous piece of casting,
and we have heard someone else was considered for the role... she was
second choice.
but no one really could be more khushi.
light,
frothy, fey, carrying off the entire khushi get up with style and grace
and essential sanka, sanaya was really the character she had decided to
portray.
after her quick confabulations with devi maiyya,
wondering what to do about the sudden call to up the dowry to rs 20
lakh, khushi set off on her scooter for the hotel. a quest taking her to
an unknown place where she believed a good man would be found who'd
listen to her plea. well, she did meet a man...
i really enjoyed
the shots of lucknow streets, its colour, chaos, people, feel. and
sanaya was totally into the trip now, being the curious, full of life
khushi.
raju
singh's music for madcap sanka devi traipsed in... hoi hoi hoi hoi hoi.
it was a musician's understanding of a girl called khushi. she was
lively, spritely, noisy, fun, lilting, traipsing, unstoppable,
unavoidable and really gurgling along... if you're near her, expect
crazy stuff to happen hoi hoi hoihoi. her sound was unmistakably from
the land, indian, folksy, happy, chirpy.
by now raju singh had
already started establishing a sound scape that is different, distinct
and very conversant with the subject at hand. soon he will blow me to
another planet with a piece of music.
along the way khushi
stopped at a traffic light and in a well directed scene we picked on
both the creepiness and charm of indian roads if you happen to be a
girl. especially a girl rather beautiful on her scooter.
on the
one side were ugly lecherous men, being sleazy and derisive. makes my
skin crawl, because i know that is exactly how things are.
on the
other sat a corpulent clan on a burdened scooter, some five of them
squashed up. reminded me of the bajaj scooter ads of the seventies and
eighties. father and young son with large cheeks and boteroesque stance
looked at the girl in lehenga quietly. but a question in their eyes.
she warmed to this appraisal, possibly praying for something to take her mind off the other sick gaze.
she
gathered what puzzled large family, and made up a little tale. khushi
will remain prone to this trait. she said, she has a drama competition,
pronounced "kumpetition" in school, so is going dressed as a princess,
rajkumari, for that.
prompt came the question from the rather still boy, really? then where is your prince... your "rajkumar."
"phir aapke rajkumar kahan hai?"
and the sound of a chopper was heard at that very moment, around 10:50 or so... and she looked up.
a
strong vibrant note entered and captured screen, she turned to look at
the chopper. a story that touched both earth and sky, that had a flight
in it, a reach for dimensions beyond... in that little turn of her head
was there a hint of a different deeper sensing? a hint of telepathy of
an inordinate and stated kind some day? at present, it is all
unconscious...
and onto a famous landing.
a
helicopter flew in gracefully and banked circling an old mansion, a
classic haveli, with domes and minarets... the music picked up tempo
even as the chopper landed. someone opened the door, a group was waiting
impatiently on the grounds armed with mikes and questions... the media,
someone held them back.
the propeller hummed and circled.
music scaled up... low angle shot of a lean man with long legs, coming out, he is in a jacket and white shirt, wearing shades.
legs unfold, man descends, a grim dissipated look on face, an aloof stance.
he walks up in slow mo... directors left nothing to chance as they created the perfect entry for the world's most flawed hero.
he
came and stood on the green lawn, looking toward the looming building..
tan-tan-tan, the melody started to open up, he took off his shades. a
roll of drums, tempo lifting. a western, sleek sound, moving with a
power and grace, filling the entire frame and beyond, taking over...
declaring a presence. you wouldn't have to hear this sound many times to
know it or who it belonged to. one listen, and it will stay etched in
the mind, conjuring an image of a man not easy to look away from.
a profile shot... i have no doubt it got embedded in many memories instantly. and something said, strangely enough, all is well.
as
he stood, still, inert, like he was outside the pale of things... his
eyes told a story of their own. dark, turned inward, concentrated, in
their own realm.
legs slightly apart, body immobile, he stood looking at the mansion...
we
were no longer at gomti sadan where bua ji bustled and shook a mean
leg, shakin' the old kamariya too, and where people worried about dowry
and said "phone" with a soft "ph."
we were in the rich part of town where havelis
had helipads and many other things, some not so apparent, but which a
set of dark unmoving eyes could clearly see.
the stunning young
man in cravat and jacket who was slim and not too tall had a fabulously
commanding air, his face looked as if it were hewn from stone... and the
eyes. have i ever seen eyes like that. so deep and still with something
lurking right inside. an opaque shut down in them right now. yet you
could feel their sear.
power seemed to cling to him, and the air around throbbed with it.
if
anyone had told me that a 27 year old untrained actor from not the most
posh neighbourhood of delhi could have done this, i'd have of course
laughed on their face and said, pass me the whisky.
now i was
hyperventilating and thinking what's going to happen now. yes, exactly
like a kid. the story was in his slow walk, his complete cut off, inert
presence, as if the hordes of people thronging him were not there, and
in his orbs.
he stood and looked up at the imposing edifice, an almost sublime contemplation.
in
the meantime the reporters shot questions, and we heard he is "arnav,
sir," owner of raizada company, an international... multinational
company, so why had the owner come here for such a small deal. was there
a reason?
how succinctly, story is being told and taken forward, no need for long drawn out conversations and set ups...
the next question, the whole country wants to know when you'll marry. ah, so he is a bachelor.
then
the third question hitting at the core of this visit and telling us
this is key... "excuse me, sir, suna hai aapka iss shaher se bahut
purana rishta hai." sir, we've heard you have very old ties with the
city.
and
the drums pick up... asr music comes on, full throttle. he begins to
take long loping steps forward. he has not even bothered to glance at
the reporters once, obviously quite used to this mobbing and in no mood
for it.
but then at one point, he stops, just when he sees a
board with the words sheesh mahal on it...the only little detail in the
episode i felt was wanting. looked fake.
as he watches, memories come.
again
a wedding. but here the sound of shehnai, and a beautifully dressed
bride. who was she? with her stands a young boy, enjoying the whole
thing, suddenly the bride looks worried, troubled, the music changes, a
lady runs down the corridor, past the shehnai players. a gunshot and a
voice.
"maa!"
and we cut to pigeons flying out.
in
less than four minutes, the makers seem to have created an entire
character with history, innate nature, current scenario, everything in
place. had i just seen that much of this man and gone away never to see
ipk again, i'd still have known him in a funny kind of way. so strongly
and deftly thought out this bit seemed to me. and he hadn't even spoken
one word.
every time i see this landing, i wonder how barun sobti
got it so right. this was at a time when he was not yet familiar or
comfortable with asr, doing several takes for each shot. that day, they
couldn't find a tie that would work, so he had on a cravat; shoot having
been delayed and they having to stand outside in the heat for hours, he
was in a jacket. and if i am to believe the blog of the production house,
he kept his cool despite all the sweltering heat and confusion.
he
was looking very thin and young... yet the stature and power, the
conflicted, volcanic inner core, the shrewdness of a successful
entrepreneur and the arrogance, also a boundless youthful energy, he
wrapped it all into himself and exuded it with a stunning economy of
action and word.
as
the pigeons flew out we found ourselves on a balcony, a patio like
space, of the mansion. three men, two older and "arnav sir," sat around a
table. one of the older men was particularly ingratiating.
"ussulon
ke toh hum bahut pakke hain bhaiya," said this man, i am very firm of
principle. a pigeon fluttered across, almost touching a still, cold face,
a pair of eyes, looked up. ice in their depth.
in a ruthless
deal designed to stun the opponent, the young man bought over the
mansion. his look as he sat quiet, eyes trained on the older man, not a
muscle on his face moving, deal making, i did think of michael corleone.
there definitely was a don air to the man. and how calibrated were his
gazes, his turn of head, even the flicker of his lids. precise, clean
movements, each conveying so much.
finally, he pushed an attache
case full of money. and when the not too sharp older man said his aim
wasn't quite right, he stood up deliberately and leaned toward the older
man, towering over him... and opened his mouth for the first time.
a soft husky lethally arrogant voice said, "arnav singh raizada ka nishana kabhi nahin chugta!"
his first words were his name. a thing most important to him. his identity.
arnav singh raizada never misses his mark.
the older man quaked. the dealmaker went for the jugular.
"paisa mera shauk nahin, pesha hai."
money is not my hobby, it's my business.
then,
sure that he had done what he had come to do, he straightened up with a
satisfied air, wore his shades in one smooth movement, and all set, he
walked away, followed by his men, one of them had come along only to
hand over the attache case with money in it, he walked away from the
place.
the whole scene had a bated tense air, yet designed most stylishly, a mafia movie feel to it.
we
cut to khushi on the road... her phone dies on her, but not before she
has said that if a man has no zameer... conscience, no point in having a
relationship with such a man, "usse apne dil mein bithane ka kya faida,
jiji?" what's the use of letting such man rule one's heart, didi?
back at sheesh mahal the older man follows asr begging for understanding, speaking of principles and unfairness.
"ussul sirf bewakoofon ke liye hotey hain," principles are meant for fools, says asr... why does it sound faintly exciting?
"karobar mein sirf ek cheez maine rakhti hai... paisa." in business, only one thing has meaning... money.
"aur
zindagi ne mujhe pahele sikha diya tha ki agar zameer ho bhi, toh usse
maar dalo," a hollowing out of voice on the last few words... life had
taught me way back if you have a conscience... kill it.
neatly have we been alerted to the fact that khushi and asr stand on two opposite ends of the spectrum.
even
as he strides out, uncaring, he stops suddenly. takes off his shades
yet again... and says, "hai na?" then a slow smart swivel, a palat, his
first... "chacha ji?"
isn't that right, uncle?
as the
nonplussed older man looks on and then gets the point we learn of arnav
malik who was thrown out of this very mansion along with his sister by
this same man... when arnav was only 14/15 and he is now no longer
malik. raizada, he is only that.
deal done, revenge taken... we move onto the evening.
arnav
singh raizada in jet black sleek clothes, flanked by two girls in red,
walks onto a ramp, lights glitter all around, people wait, it is the
fashion show of ar, bulund. at sheesh mahal.
instantly, the media
comes asking questions... as always crossing the line... soon we have
the first of asr's english dialogues, a scathingly spat out through
gritted teeth, "that's none of your business!"
he so looks the
part. lithe, sexy, arrogant, the fashion magnate. then on the stage a
strange situation, a bit of creative license.
"arnav?" says a pleasant female voice. asr's eyes go alert, then shift, a little question in them. he turns.
light
falls across the new entrant, a beautiful woman dressed in fine saree
and diamonds. it is his sister. his elder sibling... the girl who was a
bride in his memory. the slightest hint of smile on his lips. then he
steps forward. a world of information in that little lip movement. about
an emotion. another main pillar of ipk, asr's love for this woman who
surprises him.
and in a flash a whole new side of this character
is expressed. a protective brother, vulnerable before that emotion he
feels for his sister. she is handicapped and walks with a limp, he
rushes to help her.
his sister looks at him with a warm bright
smile, but she asks hard questions. arnav singh raizada has not been
able to leave the past behind, his sister wants him to forget the
past... why can't he let go... and how can he think of turning their old
home into a factory... we hear he took complete responsibility at the
age of 15, didn't let his sister feel any burden and made their life
work.
he tries to say he has moved on, not stayed stuck in the past. she persists with her questions.
there's
only one thing to do, swivel around deftly and say with that beautiful
accent that says young, now, very westernized, "ladies and gentleman!
put your hands together for my sister, anjali jha!"
khushi
finally reaches sheesh mahal, it is dark already. she rushes in and
comes upon the dreamy, rose carrying, receptionist in galaband. is it a
poem she seeks? is she a poetess herself? khushi rushes away realising,
no point really. in the meantime, the red rose, another ipk symbol is
introduced with that quirky lucknowi twist.
khushi spins around asking for a way out of the bhoolbhulaiya with a ditty, and lands herself in trouble.
the
fashion show is on. in a well put together sequence, which is glamorous
in its own way and even if the clothes don't feel high couture, the
legs are long enough to create the illusion, we see models sashay on and
off the ramp.
asr sits watching. then as if the day has finally caught up with him, he puts his head back and closes his eyes.
in
that one gesture, everything he doesn't show but you know he feels. the
boy who was thrown out of his home, who lost possibly his "maa" when he
was but a kid, who has planned this minutely for years maybe, today at
last, he has succeeded to an extent. but the cost of this entire thing.
the churning of his emotions... as the show gathers momentum, maybe he
can just take a break for a while.
but a girl in a green lehenga has landed on the stage. who is she? the whispers start.
khushi
is horrified to find herself pushed onto a stage. again a bit of
creative license, but done well... she looks around terrified. her lips
move, hey devi maiyya she says under her breath.
she closes her eyes.
he opens his.
again that element of sixth sense.
his eyes turn unerringly in her direction. and stay there.
she
opens her eyes and would possibly have tried to run, but two girls in
red hold her as they walk past and take her with them down the ramp.
some inexorable force seems to have conspired to make sure the girl in green and the man in black meet today.
she
almost falls as people watch, the show is obviously getting ruined. he
stands up watching her as she stands transfixed on the ramp. their eyes
clash, his glowing and gathering fire, hers scared, embarrassed,
confused.
she turns to go and trips on a dupatta. the dupatta
from this moment on will come fluttering and finding ways for them to
meet again and again.
she falls.
without even looking like he is surprised or bothered, he coolly holds out his arms and she lands in them.
she holds onto him, staring, shaking.
he
looks at her, for a second there seems to be a lick of a flame in his
dark eyes. his gaze is fixed on her eyes, and then slowly it travels
over her face in a slow almost insulting appraisal, coming to rest on
her lips. the pale pink lips tremble, she heaves and holds on, totally
thrown by everything. he grips her firmly as he looks at her eyes again.
barry
dhillon, who wrote for geet earlier, wrote the dialogues. looks like he
gave us those unforgettable opening lines of asr. but really what made
it work was the cool, finely sussed out delivery by barun sobti... might
have become too rambo otherwise.
raju singh's music was smooth,
different, urbane, and for that asr music, he deserves some award or
something. music was one of ipk's major strengths right through.
hrishikesh gandhi's camera and creative work by all in the team was wonderful, especially the art directors'.
nissar
parvez directed this episode with man singh, i will always be grateful
to the two directors for crafting this episode with so much care and
detail... there was a lady sewing in the background while shashi gupta
and garima spoke, so very real in that setting, another lady pounded
spices in a huge spice grinder, people rushed around doing things one
does in that situation, little things had been thought through, and the
whole piece sparkled... it had the lightness and joy of khushi, below it
lay a layer of intrigue, a darker thing, surely that reflected asr.
i
am still reeling from the effects of long legs languidly unfolding and
stepping on the ground. of eyes that are shut but their secrets call. of
a voice low and husky and menacing yet oh it caresses. a slow turn of
head. aviators being taken off... put on. the bad boy has arrived
arrogance intact.
