in bits and pieces
Magic of the Mountains
Directed by Mushir Ahmed.
This collage of beautiful images was winner of President’s Gold Medal for the Best Documentary Film at 3rd National Film Awards of 1955.
And it has bits of Kashmiri music filtering in and out. (I believe legendary Raj Begum can also be heard in one of the songs.)
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| Ajay Raina offering details to a man who wanted to show film about Bhands to his young students (‘The Play is on’ by Pankaj Rishi) and wanted to know more. |
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Snapshots:
A young man told Ajay Raina why in his film ‘Tell Them “The Tree they had Planted, Has Now Grown’, it seemed he was trying to balance things out. What didn’t he just point out ‘wrong’ as wrong? Why didn’t he put the blame somewhere
Ajay explained.
I remember when the film first came out in 2001, it was kind of a wake-up call. I call to return back to ‘our’ stories. It was inspiring. I was in college and there yet existed no middle discourse on Kashmir. No proper conversation. Thanks to the feast, I got a chance to talk to the filmmaker. Mostly talked about films and memories.
I asked the questioner if he was worried about Muslims, did the film make him fear them. He laughed and replied, ‘Why should I be! I am a Muslim. But a wrong is a wrong and has to be pointed out.’ He was concerned about the new trend of public Janmashtami celebrations in Kerala.
While talking about the films and the cultural spaces in Kashmir, Ajay was kind enough to introduce me to the audience and asked me to speak a bit. I mostly talked about other things. Like the fact, how Malayalam is living thriving language, that how the entire discussions on the films were mostly held in the local language. Something that the Kashmiri in me finds surprising.
Met ‘Cine Nun’, Sister Jesme, author of Amen, an autobiographical work dedicated to Jesus and critical of sexual repression in Catholic Kerala. She said she believed in Catholic Aesthetics.
A man asked me about my religious beliefs. I answered I had none worth speaking. He then introduced himself as a Rationalist born in a Muslim family. He wanted to know why wasn’t there a secret society of Rationalists/Atheists in Kashmir…could it be formed…would it help? I told him there are enough secret societies and enough open secrets in Kashmir. He asked me why was I wearing a naerwan.
A man asked me where was I from. I told him I was from no where in particular. ‘Good. I thought you are from JNU. I have lived in Delhi for 30 years.’ He then suggested a solution to Kashmir. ‘Kashmiris should be kept naked. They carry guns in pherans.’ I was reminded of a story about Akbar and the reason why it was said he introduced Pheran to Kashmir. ‘To make fierce Kashmiris effeminate,’ said Kashmiris to Angrez log.
A young student was happy about watching the films, it helped him know more about the Kashmiri friends he had back in Mangalore.
An old man, a teacher, asked Ajay Raina more about Bhands. He wanted to introduce his students to the folk art of Kashmir.
What are the odds that a Bond flick would have two Kashmir born actresses in it? A million dollar odds.
Zaheera (credited as Zara) in her debut film ‘On Her Majesty’s Secret Service’ (1969). She played the role of Indian ‘Angel of Death’ in this Bond flick.
Joanna Lumley who played the English ‘Angel of Death’ in the film was born in Srinagar in 1946 to a British Indian Army officer.
Based on these facts, I declare ‘On Her Majesty’s Secret Service’ (1969) to be the official favouritest Bond flick of all Kashmiris.
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Previously: Peter Fleming in Kashmir, 1935. The younger brother of Ian Fleming, creator of James Bond fame.
The Rafi song from Shabab (1954) [movie link], the initial line is from Zauq and rest of the lyrics are by Shakeel Badayuni.
Shabab (1954) was inspired by love story of 11th century Kashmiri poet Bilhana. The original story is available as: Bilhaniyam, play written by Narayana Shastri, then there is BilhaniyaKavya and the Bilhaniya-Charitra. And as Bilhaniyamu, a late-eighteenth-century Telugu reworking of a Sanskrit poem, deemed immoral in Victorian era. The episode is said to taken place in court of King Anhil Pattana of Gujarat, and may or may not have been biographical.
In the story, Bilhana is introduced as a blind man to a Princess he is supposed to teach. The princess is introduced to him as a leper. All this so that the handsome man does not seduce the Princess. But the ploy is exposed when Bilhana accidentally, in a moment of joy, describes in lucid details beauty of book. The veil of deception is lifted. The two naturally do end up falling in love. The King, of course, is not happy. So, ‘Off with the head’, he goes. While in prison, Bilhana composes 50 erotic verses that come to be known as Chaurapanchasika (the Fifty Stanzas of Chauras)[a vintage English edition]. There are multiple versions to the story. In the Southern version, the King is impressed by the verses, and the two get together. In the Kashmiri version, the poet awaits the judgement.
In the film version, to keep with the cinematic trends of the time, Bilhana meets a Devdas-ish end. And so does the heroine.
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Interestingly, there is South Indian film from 1948 called Bilhana inspired by the same story.
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| Palladium. October 1947. |
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| Remains of Palladium Cinema Hall, Lal Chowk, Srinagar. June, 2008. Burnt down in 1992. |
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Cut out this bit about Ghulam Rasool Santosh (Srinagar, 1929 – Delhi, 1997) from docu “Contemporary Indian Painting” (1985) by K. Bikram Singh. [Full film here]. famous for paintings replete with tantric motifs. Trained under N.S. Bendre.
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| Gandharbal Kashmir by N.S. Bendre. Previously: Kashmir Canvas of Bombay Progressives |
G. R. appended his Hindu wife’s name ‘Santosh’ to his after marriage. Daughter married a Hindu and son a Sikh. Lived in Delhi.
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My favorite G. R. Santosh anecdote that I first heard at Hari Parbat from an uncle:
When pandits started building a ‘modern-updated’ temple on Parbat, G. R. Santosh was a much saddened man. He had spent quite some time studying the hill looking for tantric motifs in its rocks, offering an entire aesthetic theory based on what he saw in the hill. Now there was a wall coming around the main syen’der-ed rock. He pleaded, he cried, told them to stop and not mess with the yantra. The work continued. A new temple came up around a rock caught in between marbled walls. A work that still continues.
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I spent this Sunday doing nothing but watching films and just films. Traveled from Cochin to Trivandrum to catch some short films made by Kashmiris on the “Pandit” experience.
First up was in “showcase” segment Siddharth Gigoo’s The Last Day (12 min.). Siddharth Gigoo was already was a poet, then a novelist and now he is a filmmaker. The scene he picked to shoot is something that a lot a pandit’s witnessed and can relate to. Old pandits slow dying in Jammu with fading memories of Kashmir. The execution is simple. Not bad for a first attempt.
Second up was Rajesh Jala’s 23 Winters (30 min.), competing in ‘Fiction’ category. The story follows the “Back to Kashmir” trip of a pandit in Delhi named Bhota (a popular nickname among pandits of a certain generation) who is suffering from schizophrenia. It makes strong use of visuals and sounds to put the viewer in the mind of the protagonist. The experience is unnerving. Specially when you know it is not fiction.
The director was present at the function, so later had a little chat with him over a coffee (which he generously sponsored). Rajesh Jala was living with the real life protagonist Bhota as a neighbor in a Delhi camp for nine years. When he started shooting him last year, he didn’t know Bhota was going to visit Kashmir and have a breakdown. Rajesh went back to Kashmir to trace him and get him medical help.
I could hear sneers in the hall during the screening. Rajesh probably heard that. Even though I didn’t ask, he did mention its not a film for everyone and its the only way he could have made this film.
The use of radio sounds in the film reminded me of a little video I made around 4 years ago:
In addition to these two movies, there was Firdous/Paradise (11 min) by Tushar Digambar More. What this film offers is the ‘military’ experience of Kashmir. The episode takes place inside an abandoned Pandit house where a group of troops and a local Muslim villager, under some sort of protective custody, take shelter during a “cordon and search” operation. Here they share a brief conversation on the former owners of the house. By the end of the story we realize, unknown to him, the helpful and decent villager has lost his house to the operation.
The surprise for me in this little film was a sequence in which an officer goes through an old family album he finds in the house. The bits and pieces from this blog have again helped someone fill a gap.
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| A screenshot from the film |
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| Photograph of of a Kashmiri Pandit Family taken in front of their farm house at a stones throw from the famous Neolithic site of Burzahom, Kashmir in 1930s. Shared by a reader, Man Mohan Munshi Ji, in 2010 |
Although the makers didn’t give credit or a line of thanks. Some of those images are from this this blog. Some from vintage books. Some shared generously by readers from their private albums.
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Oddly enough there was a Bulgarian film too that somehow reminded me of Kashmir. Tzvetanka by Youlian Tabakov (66 min). This stylish documentary tells the story of modern Bulgaria, mapping it to the events in the life of a girl born in a bourgeois family just before World War 2. By the end of the war, her idyllic life is destroyed with the coming of communist regime. The regime ends in 1989, democracy comes, she thinks the world will now be a better place. It turns out to be a mirage. She realizes world is still the same. It’s the same men from the regime now championing the cause of democracy. Revolution came and nothing changed. It is clear that this woman has seen a lot in her life and yet her love for life is unshakable and inspiring.
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After catching these films (and around 15 others), I headed further south to Kanyakumari. Where I was greeted by this:
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A seven year old kid goes to a late evening show of a Mithun movie with his father and an uncle. Two men walk a kid and a green atlas cycle to a theater. The theater looks like a palace. The kind you read in storybooks. It’s majestic with all its pillars and high ceiling. After buying tickets from a pigeon hole in a wall at the end of chain cage. They walk into the hall through a small door that didn’t befit a palace this size. Inside, a sudden darkness seizes him, terrified, he holds on hard to his father’s hand. Father, it seems, can see in the dark. Just like a cat. The kid doesn’t realize that it’s just that his father has spent too much time wading through these aisles. They find the seats, somewhere near the front, just as the kid’s sight returns. He sits feeling the handle bars of a flat wooden chair with his hands. He turns and a strange setup confronts him. A wall with what appears to be giant purdahs hanging at two sides. It suddenly lights up. His eyes follow a beam of light. The source somewhere high at the back. He looks back but can’t make out anything in the darkness. Just a lit little window. It was then that his father asked him,’Where’s Bh’Raja?’ Uncle was missing. Father asks the kid to get up and look around to see if he can find. The boy gets up reluctantly asking,’How do I find him in this darkness? I can’t see!’ Father a bit disappointed in boy’s intelligence, ‘You just call out his name.’ The boy starts walking towards the back of the hall, towards the light window box, all the while meekly ringing out a name, ‘Bhaeiraaj Nanu. Bhaeiraaj Nanu.’ He is embarrassed of the thought that other people besides Bhaeiraaj Nanu might be hearing him. He realizes the light box at the end is too far. He doesn’t want to loose sight of his own seat. The thought of being lost in that big hall among stranger, frightens him. He makes his way back faster.
‘Couldn’t find him!’ he exclaims with a puff, as if tired.
‘Look down at the front. Try the lower stall. He must have bought a stall ticket for himself. That’s where he likes to sit.’
‘Stall?’
‘Down. At the front. Go look.’ Father know the kid has a lot to learn. A couple of more trips and he too would think himself the lord of this theater.
The kid walks to the front. There’s a wooden railing at this end. He grabs it. He get’s still closer and sneaks a peek down. Down, there’s a big dark pit. In the white light coming off the screen he can see heads of people seated in chairs. Some hurriedly walking to their seats. Some walking at leisure. As vertigo starts to set in, he takes a step back. Still holding on to the railing, he starts chanting, ‘Bhaeiraaj Nanu. Bhaeiraaj Nanu’. He is sure uncle is down there. He chants a little louder. The walls of the hall respond back with a faint echo. The force in his chanting increases. He doesn’t care who is listening. He cries out still louder. ‘Bhaeiraaj Nanu. Bhaeiraaj Nanu.’ Just then the screen comes alive with colors. A second later, hall is drowned with a cracking sound. And then trumpets blow. The show had begun. The kid ran back to his seat praying his uncle is really down in stall.
‘Couldn’t find him.’
‘Alright. Now, let’s watch the film.’
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Bhaeiraaj Nanu passed away a couple of years ago. He died in a road accident on his way to “back to Kashmir” trip with some old friends. He was an expert ticket buyer. Father tells me getting a Palladium ticket wasn’t easy. For a new show, the lines would be long and the crowds maddening. Theater owners had a man employed solely for controlling the ticket buyers. And this man would do his job by whipping people with his leather belt. Or just by the sight of his belt in hand. The ticket booth was at the end of a caged structure. An expert ticket buyer was one who could, like a lizard, crawl on the sides of the cage, over the heads of men standing in queue and forcefully place his hand into the booth’s pigeon hole for tickets.
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| Palladium cinema, Srinagar. Probably early 1980s (based on the film) Credit: Wish I knew who uploaded the photograph so I could give proper credit [update:2020.Sept. The photographer is Noor Mohammad Khan of Pakistan. Who was visiting Kashmir in 1980. He has a beautiful collection of Kashmir photographs of his travels.] |
Another image (down). Possibly from the same set (although I couldn’t confirm)
Palladium, 1983.
Via: Aga Khan Visual Archive, hosted at Mit Libraries. The archive offers ‘Images of architecture, urbanism, and the built environment in the Islamic world’.
 A Zoom-in on the notice board hanging from the theater. |
| Palladium cinema, Srinagar. [1930s – 1992] Shot by me in Summer of 2008 |
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Another one on philim culture in Kashmir. Source: Unknown (came across on Facebook. I wish people of the network would start citing sources more often). Year: Probably early 1980s.
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| By Raghubir Singh, Kashmir: Garden of the Himalayas (1983) |
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Previously:
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| 15th May, 2013. Kochi. |
Kashmir had Khar, T’char, Wattil and Kan’hapin, it was in Jammu that I first saw a Jugnu. But the only Jugnu story I know comes from Kashmir and has been told once too often to me by mother. Kashmiris have been telling venerative stories of thieves for ages but this one is more recent.
There once was a thief in Kashmir who took his name from Dharmendra’s film titled Jugnu (1973). Inspired by the film he took to leaving letters at crime scenes, all of them marked ‘Jugnu’. It is said, one night he climbed into a house and not finding anything else worthwhile, served himself dinner, eat and left. Next morning the victims found a letter in the kitchen. It went something like this:
Jugnu aya
Gad’e Khaya
Bahut Maza aya
Jugnu came
Had fish
Relished
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Said ‘L’ Humanite:
“A real discovey and revelation! ‘Pamposh’ is one of the most poetic works, completely impregnated with the most delicate sensitivity! The image are of rare beauty! This film reaches in its simplicity a rare nobility and grandeur…It is a typical national work, which is not only a picturesque evocation of manners and traditions which are not common to us of a distant and mysterious folk, but also prescribes us the human content of a rare healthiness, a rare grandeur and emotion…”
Pages from ‘The world of Ezra Mir’ (2005) by N. J. Kamath.
Not so uncanny that the film Indian film in color should have been shot in Kashmir. And the film’s Kashmir connection would be the music by Mohanlal Aima.
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