Item Number: February 2015

Thursday, February 26, 2015

a QISSA of confusion.

They say the mystery and eccentricity of folktales is something that always remains with you. As a child I don’t remember questioning Bikram and Baital or any of their 25 tales. But today, I do find myself wondering what the fuss about

the 110 minutes of Qissa is.

Set against the backdrop of Punjab, Qissa is the story of a father and his child. Umber Singh (Irrfan Khan) obsessed with his desire for a male child, decides to bring his fourth daughter (Shome) up as a boy. Along the way he’s successful in depriving the mother (Chopra) of a voice and a conscience, and through the years, he manages to cheat the other sisters and the entire village about Kanwar’s chromosomes.

As Qissa progresses we get pulled into the dark twisted undercurrent of a fathers sick persistence of believing the daughter to be a son and in turn, her mental struggle to live up to the fathers expectations by defying all odds to play being something she’s not.

To be honest, it is but a story, unreal, and that which defies logic or mathematics. Given that, I sat through, wanting to know how the delusional father dealt with Kanwars puberty, no facial hair, questions about peeing in the open, breasts, or falling for a girl. At some point I was expecting Kanwar to break down burdened by her true identity, but what further perplexed me was a marriage, the fathers incestuous behavior to ensure a male legacy and an indistinct conclusion to the Qissa.

Unfortunately, what emerged was the feeling of listening to a bored child, weaving a story as he went along. A lot many said this was not a film to think about rationally, the story was as captivating as was the acting, and that one would just be riveted in the tale.

Is that the criteria then for mass hysteria and global awards?

Take a Paheli, for instance, even though a tale about a spirit, but the lack of logic was made up with some mathematics.

Despite loosing it’s path in parts, and the screenplay dragging a bit, have to give it to Anup Singh and Madhuja Mukherjee for being brave to experiment. Brilliant performance by Dugal. Shome came around towards the end, Khan and Chopra had no challenge.

Through the film I was disturbed about how a story of female oppression completely left a mother’s point of view out, the character was so inconsistent and conveniently disappeared from the screenplay at all times when her presence would have created a fork in the story.

Is this what got the foreign markets to sit up and take note? There is a lot more to story telling and to India.

The end did leave me haunted, wondering a little and confused some more. I do not however, take that as the objective of the film and yet success.

About Me

Ok, so I’m 5ft 9, about 139 pounds, big greenish brown eyes, long curvy lashes, a curvier body, soft curly hair and an electrifying smile. This impression exists in my head…and now in yours.

It’s not because what I look like makes me uneasy, but this is the number that I’d like to turn up in, someday.

Hence, the ‘Item Number’. A lot many maybe familiar with the term and all that it implies but for the ignorant read on…

I’ve always associated myself with the term ‘Item Number’ which however until recently was a phrase loosely used in Bollywood to describe a filler, a foreplay before the formidable act, a thesaurus for sleazy dance, an excuse for skin show (not always attractive).

All that is now the past. With cinemas growing sensibilities, the stigma attached to the phrase no longer exists and in fact, is now glorified by a list of A grade celebrities gracing the screen with their special performance, adding glam value to an otherwise submissive script.

However in spite of the recent but growing respect, the meaning of the phrase ‘Item Number’ has never changed for me. An item number is an exhibit out of the ordinary plot line, sometimes provocative yet necessary, it sometimes lends itself to the situation but other times it’s forced. It’s long enough to make you smile, but short enough leaving you longing for more. Sometimes special. Sometimes over the top. But never subtle.

I believe, if we search deep inside, we all yearn to be an item number (yes even you!)

It’s the longing to be special. To be provocative. To be able to tease ones boundaries. To be different. To be the one. To make people sit up and notice.

If only for an hour, if only for a minute or even a second.

When you hear the crowds cheer (even if it’s just in your head), respond to every appreciative/envious glare with a radiating smile from within, when you know the stars are shinning in this moment, only to make you look brighter, and you almost throw your hands up to the universe miming a big ‘Thank You’ that’s when you know you’re an Item Number.