Le prime del 30 ottobre 2015: Titli

Nel 2014 Titli era stato proiettato in prima mondiale in concorso a Cannes nella sezione Un certain regard (clicca qui). La pellicola è diretta da Kanu Behl, che ha collaborato anche alla sceneggiatura, e prodotta da Dibakar Banerjee, per conto di Yash Raj Films, e da Guneet Monga. È alquanto significativo che Aditya Chopra, proprietario di YRF, abbia finanziato un progetto la cui storia verte intorno ad una famiglia decisamente poco bollywoodiana. I personaggi, in Titli, sono descritti come disgustosi, brutali, violenti. Quanto al cast, Ranvir Shorey è affiancato da Lalit Behl, attore teatrale e padre del regista. Kanu Behl è una vecchia conoscenza di Dibakar Banerjee: i due, insieme, avevano redatto la sceneggiatura del clamoroso Love Sex Aur Dhokha. Trailer. Approfitto per segnalarvi l'articolo Kanu Behl’s indie film, Titli, may change the game for Indian cinema, di Aparna Pednekar, pubblicato il 31 ottobre 2015 da Brunch: 

'It’s actually dark, brutal and psychologically violent. Its principal characters are a dysfunctional family of carjackers in a gritty city that Patiala-born Behl knows like the back of his hand. They’re each more repulsive than the other, with the youngest, called Titli, trying desperately to escape the family business, and thus, the family. Powerlessness manifests as several kinds of cruelty in Titli. The film’s language alone caused alarms to go off with India’s censor board, which asked Behl to tone down the abuses before its India release. (...) Behl (...) wants to drag the squalid desi family and its skeletons out of the closet with viciousness.

All in the family

The son of writer-actor-director parents, Behl says he practically grew up backstage at theatre productions. (...) Behl, who faced the camera at age 12, remembers them shooting for 72 hours at a stretch. (...) Behl’s strained relationship with his father and memories of domestic discord not only found their way into Titli’s screenplay but into the casting too. (...) “I looked at a lot of senior actors for the part of Daddy, but couldn’t find anyone to nail the character’s energies,” he says. “It’s a very silent, inexpressive role with a latent intensity.” Behl eventually cast his own father Lalit (a National School of Drama alumnus) as the seemingly powerless father figure. Lalit Behl was the only one from the largely unknown cast to find himself working without a script until the last day of the shoot. The strategy was part of Behl’s (...) arsenal of unusual methods to push their actors. 

Ranvir Shorey, who turns in a hard-hitting performance as Titli’s hot-tempered elder brother, Vikram, attests to the unorthodox preparation. For a workshop, he was left in a room with Senior Behl where they were asked to share personal information that they’d never revealed to anyone else. “We wept like babies, sparking off a lifetime bond,” Shorey recalls. The unrelenting violence of the material, however, hit a raw nerve with Shorey. “I’ve had my brush with corporal punishment as the youngest of two brothers with a heavy-handed father,” he explains. “But in this film, I play the perpetrator of violence. The material became too close; a little out of control.”

The big fat Indian indie

It’s easy to think of Behl’s film as one of those “other India” films: festival-friendly stories about hope rising out of third-world squalor. But Behl says that Titli isn’t a “look down at an issue from a Western gaze” or a film that exoticises India. He and co-writer Sharat Katariya began writing the film during 2013’s Nirbhaya rape case as they tried to “achieve a larger understanding of the violence in our world”, an attempt (like so many of us made) to look at patriarchy and oppression in the context of violence. “It was always a very ‘us’ look at our lives,” Behl says. But he is heartened that even non-cinema people have embraced the film and its universal theme of family dysfunction. (...)

Titli, however, has more than just a brutally honest Indian idiom working for it. It’s co-produced by an odd pair - Dibakar Banerjee and Aditya Chopra. (...) The duo gave it a heft and marketing push that many indie films don’t get, with or without success abroad. Banerjee considers the partnership a massive advantage, but he’s also terribly realistic about independent cinema in India. “Independent films take long to gestate here,” he says. “With 800 films releasing in 52 weeks, it’s a struggle to hold on to the theatres and YRF helps us do that. In the next five years, we are going nowhere if the quantity of screens doesn’t increase and distribution channels don’t change. For now, for our audiences, a film like Titli is not a bad second option, after a Salman Khan film,” he adds wryly.

Protégé rising 

Banerjee rounds out Titli’s crew (which includes Aditya Chopra, Katariya and Behl’s ex-wife and the film’s editor, Namrata Rao). His intellectual, detached mentor-protégé relationship with Behl, who assisted him on Oye Lucky! Lucky Oye! (2008) and co-wrote Love Sex Aur Dhokha (2010), works well for both men. “Kanu has unplumbed depths which he does not reveal,” says the ace filmmaker. (...) “Our relationship is focused on the job at hand. The only impassioned discussions, bitching and fighting sessions we’ve had have been on films. We’ll finish work on a film, won’t talk at all, then call after a year and pick up [on work] without missing a beat,” Banerjee adds.

Having lost out on the opportunity to direct Titli (it was his first reaction when he heard the script), Banerjee makes sure he has the last word on the film’s desi appeal at least. “The average Indian, I believe, is quite mental,” he says. “We’re a country in the throes of a nervous breakdown, living on the edge of reality, which is why we need the outlet of escapist cinema. But that also makes us schizophrenic. In this scenario, a film like Titli provides some kind of a connect with reality”.'

The indie scene in India is building up to a crescendo

Spettacolare l'articolo The indie scene in India is building up to a crescendo, di Satarupa Paul, pubblicato da Brunch nel numero in edicola ieri, articolo dedicato alla scena musicale indiana indipendente, alternativa, non correlata con l'industria cinematografica e con le colonne sonore, né con la tradizione classica. Festival, locali, concerti, nuovi gruppi, nuovi generi, testi in lingue regionali, video: il pezzo analizza e illustra il fenomeno in modo piuttosto accurato. Di seguito un estratto:

'Winds of change

In the last five years, India has become a cauldron of a steaming, brewing independent music scene - scores of bands, acts and artistes are emerging from every part of the country, and they’re experimenting with sounds and cross pollinating genres like never before! The credit, in part, goes to the many music festivals mushrooming across the country, an ever-increasing crop of venues promoting live gigs, big brands sponsoring indie-exclusive TV channels and programmes, and a growing social media presence of the bands and acts. But behind such organised marketing initiatives, what has really changed is the passion and dedication of the artistes themselves, to push the envelope just a little further. And the mindsets and attitudes of people towards an alternative culture. (...)

Rewind, Stop, Play

The newly-independent India of the 1950s was just beginning to come of age. Its small population of westernised urban citizens was trying to find ways of expressing itself and music was one of them. In his book India Psychedelic, the Story of a Rocking Generation, journalist Sidharth Bhatia writes, "The music of choice in the 1950s was either jazz or soulful songs by the likes of Frank Sinatra... Jazz, for all its working-class, ghetto origins in the US, had morphed into the music of choice of the urban upper classes." By the turn of the decade, the Beatles were setting off a storm in England that would sweep the entire world. "In socialist India, too, youngsters put on their dancing shoes to groove to this new sound, so different from anything they had heard till then," writes Bhatia. "Some were sufficiently inspired to grow their hair, put on their bell-bottoms and pick up their guitars. And the Indian pop and rock revolution was born."

Madboy/Mink

When everybody danced

Rock and its many derivatives - soft, hard, metal - continued to rule the non-Bollywood music scene in India over the next decade into the ’70s. In the early 1980s though, rock began to be overshadowed by disco - a movement started almost single-handedly by a musician from Bangalore named Biddu. (...) Simultaneously, there was another influence entering the Indian indie scene. According to an essay by electronic music producer Samrat B in the 2010 HUB yearbook, India’s first and only anthology of electronic music, “The late ’80s in Goa saw the rise of tourism... Electronic music and sound was arriving to Indian shores via DJs, writers, filmmakers and tourists... It is in this socio-cultural melting pot that the popular, psychedelic electronic music form now known as ‘Goa trance’ was born.” With the arrival of music channels on television in the mid-90s, music enthusiasts in India started getting influenced by Western rock sounds again - but this time the sounds were harder and rapidly changing. Bands that formed during this time evolved their styles from rock to alternative rock, progressive rock, metal and others. It was only natural for the independent scene of the ’90s and 2000s to take these musical influences forward and lead up to this current decade - a time of widespread popularity of electronica and its many sub-genres, and of a resurgence of older genres like disco, cabaret, jazz, blues, rock and more - all permuted, combined, mixed, remixed and fused with each other, with a garnishing of traditional Indian influences. (...)

Prateek Kuhad

Brunch recommends - Seven promising new indie music artistes you should listen to:

- Tritha Electric, Formed in: 2011, Based in: New Delhi, Genre/Sound: Indian classical-folk-Western psychedelic-punk

- Madboy/Mink, Formed in: 2013, Based in: Mumbai, Genre/Sound: Funk-nu disco

- Prateek Kuhad, Started performing live in: 2011, Based in: New Delhi, Genre/Sound: Indie folk-pop

- DJ Kerano, Started performing live in: 2015, Based in: New Delhi, Genre: Progressive house

- Alobo Naga & The Band, Formed in: 2010, Based in: Nagaland, Genre: Contemporary progressive rock with pop sounds

- The Ganesh Talkies, Formed in: 2011, Based in: Kolkata, Genre: Alternate-rock-pop-Bollywood kitsch

- Peter Cat Recording Co. (PCRC), Formed in: 2010, Based in: New Delhi, Genre/Sound: Gypsy jazz-cabaret'.

DJ Kerano

Alobo Naga & The Band

The Ganesh Talkies

Peter Cat Recording Co.

Why Vidya Balan rules

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Brunch, il supplemento settimanale di Hindustan Times, offre sempre interessanti approfondimenti di argomento cinematografico. Vi propongo la copertina del numero speciale trimestrale di novembre 2011-gennaio 2012 dedicata ad un'irriconoscibile Vidya Balan, nonché il lungo articolo Why Vidya Balan rules, di Vir Sanghvi, del 17 dicembre 2011. Di seguito un estratto:

'For two weeks now everyone I know and possibly most of urban India has been going crazy about Vidya Balan. Nearly everywhere you go she is the subject of discussion and the conversations are nearly always flattering. The obvious point of reference is The Dirty Picture. For two months before the movie released, Vidya was everywhere. Never before in the history of Indian cinema has a star done so much publicity for a film. And The Dirty Picture was not even a big budget special effects extravaganza. (...) But Vidya appeared on every television show you could think of (and many that you would never have thought of) and in every print publication. (...)

Could it be that everyone loved The Dirty Picture? The box office figures suggest that it will be a massive hit not just relative to its (somewhat modest) budget but compared to most other films released this year. Obviously, this is a picture that everyone has seen and liked. Or it could be that they all think that Vidya is terrific in the movie (which she is)? Few actresses could have carried off that role with so much aplomb and managed to hold their own against an actor of the calibre of Naseeruddin Shah who gives one of his best ever performances. (...)

My view is that India has fallen in love with Vidya Balan all over again (...) not because of her current ubiquity or because of any individual film but because we have finally come to terms with who she is. In an industry full of size zero figures, dancing bimbettes and self-consciously trendy bejeaned muppets, Vidya comes off as a breath of fresh air. Basically, it’s this simple: she is a real person. Everything about her is real: the curves, the little roll of fat that she makes no attempt to hide, the clothes that she chooses herself, the roles that she agonises over before finally selecting one that suits her, the hard work she puts into each performance and then into the promotion, and most of all, the guts she demonstrates in finding her own path against the advice of nearly everybody in Bollywood.

We talk of Vidya’s courage only in terms of her willingness to play a southern sex symbol in The Dirty Picture. But compared to the other things she’s done in her life, this is no big deal. In fact, her whole story is one of courage in the face of impossible odds. Born and brought up in Bombay to a middle class south Indian family, Vidya had a dream: to become an actress. But while other girls with that dream would want to be glamorous heroines, Vidya focused on the acting itself. (...) Vidya’s parents insisted that she (...) studied. She did her BA and then an MA in Sociology. “My father said that I could always become an actress,” she recalls. “But I couldn’t go back to college later in life. So I had to first finish my education and then I could do what I wanted. At the time I was not pleased but now, I can’t thank him enough. My parents were absolutely right.”

The education explains why Vidya started off late. But nothing explains why things kept going wrong for so long. She was eventually signed up for a Malayalam film and though it wasn’t the Bollywood career she dreamt of, at least it was a beginning. Moreover, she was starring with Mohanlal. (...) But Mohanlal had a problem with the film’s makers. And so, halfway through, the movie was abandoned, never to be completed. Because Mohanlal is such a big deal in the south, it was unusual for one of his movies to remain incomplete. And the film industry, ever quick to blame a newcomer, decided it was because Vidya Balan brought bad luck to the project. (...) What followed was heartbreaking. In the initial flush of excitement after she had been cast as Mohanlal’s heroine, she had signed a dozen Malayalam films. She was sacked from every single one of them.

She tried Tamil cinema and found a role. There too, things went wrong. The producer also decided that she was a jinx and she was replaced. She signed a second Tamil film, got to the sets and discovered that it was a sex comedy. She had been signed up under false pretences. Naturally she walked out. And as naturally, she was replaced once again. Desperate to find some work at least, she agreed to act in a (...) music video directed by Pradeep Sarkar. This time she was not replaced and the video was completed but there was a fight between labels and the release of the video was stalled. So, after three years in the film industry, Vidya Balan had been replaced in twelve Malayalam movies, two Tamil films and had made one music video which had been caught up in a legal quagmire and not released. (...) I asked her about her state of mind during that phase. She says that it took every ounce of will power to keep from giving up. (...)

Then, slowly, her luck began to change. She was cast in a Bengali film and discovered that she was a Bengali at heart and learnt to speak the language fluently. (She even sings Bengali songs, one of which she sang on camera for me when I seemed somewhat dubious about her linguistic abilities). Pradeep Sarkar (...) had planned to make Parineeta for producer Vidhu Vinod Chopra and insisted that Vidya would make a perfect heroine. Naturally, Chopra was leery of investing money in a first-time director and a virtual newcomer as an actress. He insisted on auditioning Vidya and she says she has lost count of the number of auditions she did over a period of several months. Finally, Chopra gave in. He agreed with Sarkar that she was the perfect choice for the role and agreed to sign her. (...)

Lage Raho Munna Bhai gave her the stamp of commercial acceptability and it would have been easy enough for her to have joined the Bollywood rat race since success seemed to come so easily and naturally to her. But after some strange films (...) in which she tried to pretend to be what she is not a Bollywood bimbette Vidya decided that this was not part of her original dream. (...) The reason I like Vidya Balan (...) is because she was ready to start from scratch again. She was willing to walk away from one kind of success. She was ready to take risks that seemed like commercial suicide. All because she still believed in that original dream, not in the commercial fantasy that it had morphed into.

The films that have come in the latest phase of Vidya Balan’s career are not those that a commercially savvy actress would have signed. She agonised for three months before agreeing to do Paa even though it offered her a chance to act with Amitabh Bachchan. (...) It wasn’t that she minded playing Amitabh’s mother. It was just that she was terrified of screwing up. As it turned out, she was brilliant. She was terrific as a deglamourised Sabrina Lal in No One Killed Jessica. And she was even better in Ishqiya where she played the kind of character she developed further in The Dirty Picture: a woman who is willing to use her sexuality in the advancement of her own interests.

Even so, The Dirty Picture represented a huge risk. Hindi cinema no longer requires its heroines to be virginal angels of innocence. But I can’t think of a single other film where a heroine is shown as seducing a man simply to advance her career and is still treated as a sympathetic character. And then there was the terrible visual deterioration that her character suffered at the end of the movie. Which heroine would agree to do all this without wondering about the effect on her stardom? But Vidya took the risk. She liked the role, she said. It offered her a chance to take a character that society looked down on and to invest that person with dignity and depth. Her character didn’t have to be somebody you felt sorry for. You just had to accept that she was an independent woman making her own choices in her own interests. “‘Treat her with respect,’ was my motto,” she says. Now that the risk has paid off and the film is such a stupendous success, it is easy to say that Vidya was right to take the role. But had it gone wrong, it could well have been career suicide.

Except I don’t think that Vidya cares too much about that any longer. She doesn’t care about image or about body issues. She’s happy to be a star. But she’d much rather be an actress. At some level, I think all of us recognise that in Vidya we are dealing with a real person who is making real choices and not with some machine-made, image-manipulated Bollywood star. We respect her risks. We admire her resilience. And we know that even if we didn’t do all of this, even if we didn’t go to see her movies, it would not make that much difference to her. Because after those years of disappointment, rejection and experimentation, Vidya Balan has found her destiny. And her destiny is simply this to be her own person. To be Vidya Balan'.

The name is Bond, Ruskin Bond

Il numero di Brunch in edicola oggi include un'intervista concessa a Prachi Raturi Mishra dallo scrittore Ruskin Bond, nato (e residente) in India da genitori britannici, autore delle opere da cui sono stati tratti i film The blue umbrella (magnifico) e 7 Khoon Maaf, entrambi diretti da Vishal Bhardwaj. The name is Bond, Ruskin Bond:

'You’ve lived in Kasauli, Shimla, Jamnagar, Dehradun, London. What made you settle in Mussoorie?

A few years after my father’s death, my mother sent me to the United Kingdom for “better prospects” in 1951. Those four years were not easy. I had grown up in Dehradun and I missed my friends, my simple life back home. In fact, it was while I was in the UK that I started writing my first book The Room on the Roof. (...) I would work in the day and write at night. I did all kind of jobs to sustain myself. I worked at a grocery store, in the public health department and what was then Thomas Cook and Sons. The last job was particularly interesting but I got fired from it. I had a young woman who was my boss but she soon started having an affair with a fire attendant and was thrown out. I had to manage the show and I must say I made a mess of it. I often took calls and had to do hotel bookings. I never did and in fact don’t still get the hang of bed descriptions. So I often separated people who wanted to sleep together! Then I moved to London and worked at a photo studio. This was an interesting job. All this while though, I worked hard to find a publisher for my book. And when I did and got an advance of 50 pounds, I knew it was enough to get me home to India. Those days one travelled by ship. The tariff to get to India was 40 pounds and I still had ten pounds left!

What were the early days like?

I came back to Dehradun. To begin with, I was very ambitious. So I wrote short stories and poems and religiously bombarded newspaper and magazine editors with them. Sometimes I got lucky and some got selected and I earned a few hundred rupees. Since I was in my 20s and didn’t have any responsibilities I was just happy to be doing what I loved doing best. Also, when you are young, things happen around you rather than to you. So I still remember I was in school when I received a letter that my father was no more. I also remember how I was watching Blossoms in the Dust with a few friends in a hall in Dehradun when the show was stopped midway and we were told that Mahatma Gandhi had been shot. I guess I just trudged along. Fortune and name came much later. I also wrote for children and three of my books were published in London so that lifted my income to some extent. In the summer of 1963 I decided to move to Mussoorie because it had always been close to my heart. Also, it was the closest to Delhi and I wanted to be in touch with all the editors and publishers. I edited a magazine called Imprint from Mussoorie for about four years. It was in the 1980s that Penguin decided to come to India and asked me to work on a few books. I already had hundreds of short stories that I had been writing.

If not an author, what would you have been?

I wanted to be a tap dancer when I was very young. I also wanted to be a footballer and I did play decently. (...) I can still kick the ball well, running after it is another thing altogether. (...)

Do you still use a typewriter to write?

Well, I still have three old typewriters lying at home. Now I only write by hand, something I have always liked. The computer hurts my neck. Besides, I still have decent handwriting so I guess nobody minds much.

What is your day like?

Lazy. I do write every day but I respond to weather. So if it’s a nice sunny day, the kind I love the best, I am in a good mood. When it rains and snows, I am usually a little grumpier.

You have written love stories, children’s books, ghost stories. What do you enjoy writing the most?

It’s difficult to pick a favourite. I guess some of my early short stories like Night Train at Deoli. When it comes to writing, I keep moving between genres. The 1950s and 1960s is what I could call my romantic period... Night Train at Shamli, and The Eyes Have It. Writing for children is fun and in fact recently I had a young boy ask me why there are so many leopards in my stories. I told him, “Well, I’ve always had leopards prowling around the places I grew in.” Also, I guess I just like leopards. I must admit I write ghost stories when I run out of people. I often use my dreams to get inspired for these as I guess dreams have a ghost-like quality to them. But yes, as I grow older I enjoy writing humour because you learn to see humour in a lot of things.

Did you ever get close to getting married?

I did have my share of falling in love. I got close to marriage once or twice but I was finally rejected. You see, I was a very attractive young person. But combine that with being an author who didn’t make much money in his 20s and 30s. Looking back, I have no regrets. A young boy Prem came looking for a job in the early 1970s and I became his default father. Soon he married and had children. Today I have three grandchildren (...) who also have children. So we are actually three generations of the family in the house. (...) I guess I am lucky. I don’t really live like a single old man.

How do you write in a house full of so many people?

An author should be able to write anywhere. In a busy train, in a roomful of people. Once you are in your own world, the surroundings don’t matter as much. Plus l guess I like the feeling of the family around me. It probably helps me make up for the lonely childhood I had'.

Meet the Indian superheroes

[Archivio]

Vi segnalo l'articolo Meet the Indian superheroes, di Veenu Singh, pubblicato da Brunch l'8 dicembre 2013:

'Homegrown superheroes have been around for more than 25 years. Raj Comics’ collection of desi superhero comics have garnered a huge fan following not just in India but even in countries like Nepal and Bangladesh. Started in 1986 by publisher Raj Kumar Gupta, Raj Comics first began as Raja Pocket Books and published detective novels for children. Fuelled by the collective passion of Gupta’s three sons, Raj Comics gave a new lease of life to Indian comics, and also created a range of Indian superheroes. “When we were kids, the only Indian comics available were Amar Chitra Katha,” recalls Manish Gupta, CEO of Raj Comics. “Indrajal comics were almost dead. So there was a big gap. We decided to create our own Indian superheroes (largely based on Indian mythology) by getting some of the best creative writers of that time - Pratap Mullick, Dilip Kadam and Anupam Sinha - to flesh them out.” Today, though mostly published in Hindi, the comics also have special editions in English and are branching out in other Indian languages. (...) A look at some of the best-known Indian superheroes.

Nagraj

Nagraj

Who is he: The very first superhero, created by Raj Comics in 1986. The inspiration came from Spiderman. Raj Kumar Gupta, owner of Raja Pocket Books, was the one who suggested that he should be called Nagraj - the king of snakes. Nagraj’s blood cells have the power of snakes.

He fights against: Terrorism. Nagraj is known as the nemesis of all terrorists.

Area of operation: A fictional city called Mahanagar.

Look and costume: Nagraj doesn’t have a specific costume, but his body is covered with a snakeskin. He wears pink underwear and has a snake for a belt. However, when Nagraj needs to mingle with ordinary people, he covers the snakeskin. Even his hair is set in a way that it forms an ‘S’ shape. Currently, Nagraj is shown working as the manager of a security agency Snake Eyes. His new name is Nagraj Shah.

Personality: Nagraj has high moral values. He drinks only milk, he thinks it’s cool and healthy to drink milk. He is known to go to bars and ask for milk. (...)

Friends: Panchnag, a group of five superheroes who help Nagraj.

Love interest: While it’s not exactly a romantic entanglement, Saudangi is a snake woman who actually lives in Nagraj’s body and comes out to help him whenever he needs her.

Doga

Doga

Who is he: A man with a past. Doga has a dog-like mask on his face. That’s because he was brought up in inhuman conditions. After he was born, his parents dumped him in a dustbin. A daku [bandito], Halkan Singh, picked him up and used the baby to save himself from the police. But after that, he took the baby to his hiding place and the child literally grew up with the dogs and was even treated like one. Doga has a big following, including filmmaker Anurag Kashyap, who is reportedly making a film on him.

He fights against: Any evil against humanity. He believes in uprooting problems rather than addressing the symptoms.

Area of operation: Mumbai. (...)

Look and costume: Doga dresses like a normal human being during the day. He goes by the name of Suraj and works as a gym instructor.

Friends: He has some sidekicks like Lomri (a fox) who loves him (though Doga is unaware of this) and Inspector Cheetah. Doga also has an army of dogs that work for him. He understands their language and values their loyalty. 

Dhruva

Super Commando Dhruva

Who is he: The son of circus acrobats; he is a trained acrobat too. His parents were killed in a fire, which seemed like an accident, but wasn’t. So he became a super commando to avenge their death. He was adopted by the police officer on the case.

He fights against: Any and all kinds of crime. But Dhruva always works within the law.

Area of operation: A city called Rajnagar.

Look and costume: He doesn’t have any specific look. His costume is very similar to that worn by circus acrobats. He has an array of gadgets to help him in times of trouble. His bracelet has a starline rope, and small blades pop out when needed. He always wears skates and a utility belt that stores flares and smoke bombs. He rides a motorcycle and is an expert at it. (...)

Personality: Super Commando Dhruva is the only superhero within a family setting and he upholds family values. He has a sister (the daughter of the police inspector who adopted him) and is very close to her.

Friends: He has his own commando force of Peter, Karim and Renu.

Love interest: Natasha is the daughter of Rajnagar’s biggest criminal and had her own force. But after meeting Super Commando Dhruva, she fell in love with him and is now a part of his squad.

Parmanu

Parmanu

Who is he: Parmanu has the power of atoms in his special suit, designed by his maternal uncle who is a scientist. His parents and schoolfriend were murdered and he was saved by his uncle who raised him. Now, Parmanu wants to take revenge with the help of this special suit.

He fights against: Criminals. He never takes the law in his hands though.

Area of operation: Delhi.

Look and costume: During the day, he is inspector Vinay, but in a crisis he dons his special suit with which he can fly as well as transport himself to any place. Parmanu can even reduce his size. He uses the power of atoms to create atomic blasts.

Friends: Pralayanka (Mamta Pathak) is like a superwoman who likes Parmanu and helps him. Sheena Mathur is the love interest of inspector Vinay. Probot is the robot created by his uncle to help Parmanu.

Bhokal

Bhokal

Who is he: Bhokal was born in the fairyland of Parilok but when some people from Earth killed his parents, he came to Earth to seek revenge. But a strange thing happened when he visited our planet. He found out that his real parents were also Earthlings.

He fights against: Any injustice or crime.

Area of operation: A fictional city called Vikasnagar, ruled by a king called Vikasmohan.

Look and costume: Bhokal dresses like a warrior as he is a warrior in the king’s court. But when he utters the word ‘Bhokal’ he magically dons his superhero persona - green and pink armour and a magical, unbreakable sword and shield.

Friends: Tureen (she is his wife now), Shootan (he can hypnotise anyone), Atikroor (powerful and heavy set). (...)

Shakti

Super Woman Shakti

Who is she: Shakti was a regular married woman who was severely wronged by her husband. He killed their girl child and when she found out, he tried to kill her too. But Kali the devi saved her and gave her the power to save women in distress. Shakti lives as Chanda in Delhi with a friend and works as a nurse in a hospital.

He fights against: Those who commit crimes against women.

Area of operation: Delhi.

Look and costume: Shakti has a very contemporary look. She wears a tiger skin and has a third eye (usually covered with a headband) that opens in extreme situations. She can generate fire with her hands and has the ability to change any metal into a weapon.

Friends: She works alone.

Parmanu

Doga e Shakti

Shakti

The brave new world of indie films

[Archivio] Vi segnalo l'articolo The brave new world of indie films, di Parul Khanna, pubblicato da Brunch l'8 dicembre 2013:

'Indie films demystified (...)

The generic definition of an indie film points to a small-budget project made and distributed by an independent source, without the intrusion of a big studio. But in India, distribution is a big hurdle, and most times, it happens only with the help of established studios. So our indie films are often made with money from independent sources or a producer who chips in. (...) An indie film could also be made by collecting money from multiple sources. (...) Unlike the parallel cinema movement of the ’70s and ’80s, which focused on social injustices and everyday struggles, today’s indie films are not bound by any one theme. (...) Song and dance routines are optional. (...)

Stories with passion

The reasons driving India’s new-age indie filmmakers are varied. (...) Most indie filmmakers cite world cinema and satellite television as influences and with changing technology, they also have a better means of telling their story than before. A film can now be shot on a digital motion picture camera. (...) Software for editing and music is easily available. (...) 

The roadblocks

If indie storytelling and filmmaking is original, then so are the ways to make and sell it. Big stars will fill theatres but cost money and compromise creativity. Even B-listers are often inaccessible. (...) Often, in the indie world, the star is not a person but a script. (...) Others cut location costs, edit everything on paper and plan better, so the project is more efficient. (...)

Changing tastes

Small films don’t always mean small successes. (...) This change in the way movies are being consumed is forcing filmmakers and production houses to change their thinking. (...) For big studios and stars, fringe films are also a means to invest in new audiences of the future. (...)

Release obstacles

While the nature of the stories has changed with indie cinema, other aspects are still fraught with old challenges. Once a movie is made, it just lies waiting for some Prince Charming distributor to pick it up. For films to be distributed and earn money, they still need to have stars. One reason distributors offer for not helping indie films is that they still aren’t drawing enough people to theatres. However, filmmakers complain that often films lose audiences because they aren’t advertised enough. But with promotion costs often running into four times an indie film’s budget, they’re understandably hard to promote too. (...) Several European countries (and the USA as well) make films direct to DVD or TV, solving the problem of distributors and cinema audiences India does. Add to it the threat of piracy, and it’s anyone’s guess how much money such a film will make. All of which means studio backing is an indie filmmaker’s only hope. Most indie filmmakers say the problem with the Indian distributor is that he acts as the spokesperson for what the audience wants. The distributor filters films even before the audience gets a chance to see them. (...)

Eyes on the world

All our indie films benefit from doing the festival circuit before they come to India. (...) [Anupama] Chopra, a regular at Cannes for years, says that there is a palpable change in our perception on the world stage. "For years, we had an Indian presence just on the red carpet. (...) This year, at Cannes, there were five movies officially selected." (...) The scene is evolving in India, too. (...) With an eye on a growing need for filmmakers to be trained like those in the Sundance Screenwriters Lab, the National Film Development Corporation of India has launched a lab of its own. (...) Still, non-mainstream cinema needn’t and shouldn’t be a byword for boring. That would be the death of the genre. No movie or filmmaker, by default, becomes good, just because it is indie'.

Shah Rukh Khan e Deepika Padukone: Brunch 18 agosto 2013

Chennai Express al botteghino corre come un treno, e la coppia Shah Rukh Khan-Deepika Padukone in questi giorni è ovunque. Vi segnalo l'intervista concessa dai due attori a Vir Sanghvi, pubblicata oggi da Brunch, e un video. Shah Rukh Khan and Deepika Padukone in conversation with Vir Sanghvi:

'You are always held up as a classic example of an outsider in an industry that is now dominated by families. And you got to the top. You stayed at the top. But you are also an outsider in the Mumbai sense. You are from Delhi but you have conquered Mumbai.

Shah Rukh: I like to be a bit humble and say, I have conquered the hearts of people around the world and India. The city doesn’t matter. (...) I don’t want my children to get stardom as an heirloom. They need to do their stuff. I will be proudest if they don’t become actors. I will be proud if they do. It’s their choice. I don’t want to start with the family business of Khans. There are enough Khans in the industry, we don’t need another one, unless I change my name to something else, maybe Arora.

You are known across the world as a symbol of manhood. You are giggling?

Shah Rukh: I am personally very shy, even in films the stuff I do, I have trouble doing it. My actor friends will tell you. Deepika will tell you. My concept of manhood anyway is different. The more gentle you are with women, in behaviour, treatment, physicality, the more macho you are. I am like that. I have no problems in letting a lady know I will take care of you. And, I will not take care of you by saying, roses are red, violets are blue, and I will smash anybody who looks at you. I will look after you, I will hold your hand, I will open the door, I will feed you. I was teaching my son how to behave with women. My wife got very upset thinking I was teaching him other stuff. The only thing I told him - the less you have to stand in a crowd with boys to tease one girl, the more manly you will be. Manly is the gentlest, kindest and sweetest you can be to ladies'.

Indian fashion's greatest hits

Parliamo di moda indiana. Quali sono i capi assolutamente irrinunciabili? Eccoli illustrati nell'articolo Indian fashion's greatest hits, di Yashica Dutt, pubblicato oggi da Brunch:

Abito Suneet Varma

'The corset blouse - Introduced by Suneet Varma in 1992

It was the ’90s and India was trending on the global fashion scene. Madonna had discovered mehndi (cue the 1998 video of Frozen); Gwen Stefani, with an Indian boyfriend as her favourite arm accessory (Tony Ashwin Kanal, co-member on the band No Doubt), was taking a go at bindis and saris; and Indo-Western was the cultural scrawl on every wall. It was an opportune time for Suneet Varma to showcase his metallic breast plate (with a sari) which soon morphed into a corset blouse. “I showcased it in my first collection in 1992, inspired by my corsetry training in France,” recalls Varma. “It really struck a chord at that time because I realised that women like things that celebrate their sexuality, yet contain them perfectly. And that’s exactly what the corset blouse did.” (...) An entire generation wore it with saris, lehengas, skirts, jeans and shorts. (It’s still around). But its biggest success lay in the wedding market, where it became the blouse-that-wasn’t-a-blouse. Every actress wore it. (...) This Victorian undergarment, originally viewed as a form of bondage, turned into a trend that altered the Indian wedding costume forever. Twenty five years later, Varma still includes at least one corset in every show even though the material has changed from metal and satin to polyester taffeta and stretch lace (the latter’s lycra-esque properties effectively eliminate the stiffness and discomfort associated with a corset). “There are so many badly made copies floating around in the market that I often feel bad for the women wearing them. They end up flattening the bosom as opposed to enhancing it like corsets should,” says Varma.

Kareena Kapoor (abito Manish Malhotra)

The sexy sari - Introduced by Manish Malhotra in 2000

The sari is back in fashion. Not that it ever really went out. But it did get banished to the neglected recesses of women’s closets, only to be aired at weddings or formal functions. And then it came out, in a slinky, glamorous reincarnation as the sexy sari - worn with deep-cut, cleavage-baring blouses - in fabrics like net, satin, chiffon and lace. The man responsible for its rebirth was Manish Malhotra, who, after giving Cinderalla-esque makeovers to Urmila Matondkar in Rangeela (1995) and Karisma Kapoor in Raja Hindustani (1996), showcased his sexy saris on the runway in 2000 and gave India its hottest party outfit. “I was really inspired by the delicate saris of the ’60s and the chiffon saris in Yash Chopra movies,” says Malhotra. “So when I started doing clothes, I removed the clutter of embellishments that we saw in saris of the ’80s, made them sensuous by using fabrics like chiffon, satin and net and brought in pastel colours, tangerine and icy blue. It changed the way people looked at a sari.” That Malhotra’s biggest endorsement came from Kareena Kapoor, who is often seen wearing slinky cocktail saris, helped too. Today, a sexy sari doesn’t necessarily come from his brand anymore. With net, chiffon and satin gaining immense popularity on their own, armies of women are getting customised saris, with Malhotra’s designs (that are all over the Internet) providing the requisite mood-board.

Abito Ritu Kumar

Zardozi embroidery - Introduced by Ritu Kumar in 1973

If it wasn’t for Ritu Kumar, our elaborate, lavish, ethnic costumes would be embroidered in plastic thread on cheap base fabric. Because that’s how zardozi looked in the early ’70s, when Kumar chanced upon the original technique in miniature Mughal paintings. Zardozi was actually fine embroidery in gold and silver thread on fabrics like satin and silk, favoured by the kings, queens and the aristocracy of the Mughal era. By the time Kumar stumbled upon it, karigars [artigiani] had resorted to using plastic thread for the embroidery and zardozi was on its way to becoming a dying art. “At that time, there was no ready-to-wear bridal range of clothes,” says Kumar. “People went to Benaras to source saris or to Rajasthan to get lehengas. Back then, there were almost no garments for us to refer to, apart from a few museum pieces or clothes that people had inherited. So we were like barefoot doctors, venturing into the interiors of the country, looking for craftsmen and experimenting with techniques. But we didn’t know where we would sell. There were no set parameters.” Little did Kumar know that this style of embellishment would eventually become one of the biggest fashion exports of the country, launch industries and become the source of livelihood for thousands of karigars. Zardozi might be synonymous with wedding finery, but it has now made its way to every swathe of fabric you can imagine, from home accessories, bags and shoes to even furniture.

T-shirt Manish Arora

God-printed t-shirts - Introduced by Manish Arora in 1997

It was so bad that it was cool. When Manish Arora burst on the Indian fashion universe with various saturated prints of technicolour Indian gods and wild street art in 1997, everyone was taken aback. “They would say, ‘This is all good but who’s going to wear it?’” says Arora of the initial reactions to his controversial T-shirts, the Big Bang moment for Indian kitsch. It is a movement that has since exploded to overcome almost every area of design in the country, from restaurant interiors to theme weddings and home furnishings. (...) Arora recalls that it all started with a trip to Kinari Bazar in Delhi. “It was so colourful with god statues and their big eyes, groom garlands made out of rupee notes, synthetic materials and bright fabrics. I put all of that on the ramp. It was a big risk, no one had done it before.”

Sonam Kapoor (abito Jani-Khosla)

The Anarkali - Introduced by Abu Jani-Sandeep Khosla in 1988

If, a few years ago, someone had mentioned the word ‘Anarkali’ to you, your mind would have conjured up images of a beautiful Mughal courtesan. But today, what comes to mind is an inverted pomegranate-shaped silhouette that is ostensibly the Indian version of a ball gown. Popularised by Hindi television shows, worn by every socialite on carpets of varied colours, hawked on fashion e-commerce websites as the fastest-selling item of the day, the Anarkali has moved into India’s wardrobes as a resident staple, at least for now. Abu Jani-Sandeep Khosla showcased the contemporary Anarkali at their first show in 1988. It was constructed by cutting three gold-bordered Kerala cotton saris and was 52 inches long. “We were hugely inspired by Meena Kumari’s costumes in Pakeezah and created floor-length Anarkalis which were worn by Jaya Bachchan,” (...) says one half of the duo, Sandeep Khosla. “They were an instant hit because of the grand statement they made and the ease of movement they allowed. Then magazines and newspapers picked it up and the trend took on a life of its own.” The trend has seen variations by almost every designer, most notably by Manish Malhotra, whose red-carpet Anarkali appearances by Bollywood actresses created a new level of frenzy for the garment.

Abito Monisha Jaising

The kurti - Introduced by Monisha Jaising in 1998 (...)

Adapted as beach wear, a barbeque party staple and termed as the ‘Indian embroidered tunic’, the kurti, which was reinvented by Monisha Jaising, has been fashion’s greatest hit not just in India but all over the world. (...) “In 1998, I was sitting at my drawing board trying to come up with something that women could wear with jeans to a temple,” says Jaising. “And then I came up with a kurta-like silhouette which had the same embroidery as you would see on a kurta but was shorter in length and cut closer to the body. The first kurti was in mul fabric.” Once she started retailing her kurti at a store called Scoop in New York, the figure-forgiving silhouette was picked up everywhere. It has since evolved into kurti dresses, kaftans with belts and was one of the biggest trends of early 2000s. “It became like a classic white shirt or a little black dress. Everyone had their own version,” grins Jaising.

Completo Rajesh Pratap Singh

The pintucked kurta - Introduced by Rajesh Pratap Singh in 1997

Brocades had taken over, embroidery was creeping into every wardrobe and clothes were swimming in a mad swirl of colour. Then in 1997, the quiet, powerful minimalism of Rajesh Pratap Singh’s pintucks took over. Inspired by the classic banker’s stripes, he created a series of shirts and kurtas for men and women with 3D strips of pintucks (narrow folds of fabric sewn in place) running along their length. It soon became the uniform of the working woman in India. "People were looking for a cleaner texture, an alternative to embroidery that worked well as daywear (cotton) and evening wear (silk). Pintucked kurtas filled that space," says Singh. Popularised by Fabindia, pintucked kurtas also surfaced as the no-fuss choice for students in Delhi and Mumbai'.

Dibakar Banerjee, the best director today

Vi segnalo l'intervista concessa da Dibakar Banerjee a Parul Khanna, pubblicata oggi da Brunch. Dibakar Banerjee, the best director today:

'Your filmmaking is influenced by...

My first influence is my family, which has consumed and created entertainment. We would read, listen to the radio, put up plays during Durga Puja in Delhi. Doordarshan is another influence, it gave me a chance to see regional and world cinema. I would also visit all the film festivals in Delhi. My non-Bengali friends, my life in Delhi have been a huge influences too. Mumbai, where I live now, my life here, it's transformation from a manufacturing city to a services city, all have had an impact on me. My days at National Institute of Design in Ahmedabad opened up an unknown western to me. My wife has been the deepest influence. She's very aesthetic and she has created this beautiful life full of arts, books, poetry and even plants.

You signed a three-films contract with Yash Raj. Is that a rite of passage into the elite club?

What rubbish! This is what I don't like. This bracketing of people. What is elite about working with YRF? I discovered that Aditya Chopra and I are very similar - we both are extremely professional, prefer our films to speak for themselves, don't give interview to be in newspapers every other week, and are passionate about films. We were very clear since the first meeting that I have the creative controls and YRF will be in-charge of marketing the film. It will be my vision. The alliance was based on the clear understanding that if YRF changes my way of filmmaking, it will lose out on what they set out looking for.

The industry is celebrating outsiders...

Yes, people from film families and outsiders are co-existing. The reason the audience watches a Dibakar or Anurag [Kashyap] film is same as Zoya [Akhtar] and Karan [Johar] films - good filmmaking. Karan made his first film when his father wasn't doing too well, he had to go through a number of hardships. And these people have to prove themselves much more. I have nothing to lose, it's like someone pointed out to me, 'Even if your film fails, you will be put on a pedestal and stories will be written about your edgy way of filmmaking'. But people are very harsh on these guys. So, everyone's working with some or other handicap. For one Karan Johar who has made it, there are five who haven't. The basics for survival are standard for everyone - a little more passion, a lot more hard work , a much better vision - than the other person.

Is your story of struggle very romantic?

Unfortunately, no (laughs). (...) When I was working in the advertising world in Delhi, it was at its peak. (...) I was this hotshot Ad guy, making a good amount of money. Even after I shifted to Mumbai, my wife, who's into the corporate world was making enough and while Anurag was struggling and making ends meet, I was living in a posh flat. And have never worked under anyone or struggled for money since I was 26.

So making your first movie, Khosla Ka Ghosla was a cakewalk? (...)

I came from an advertising background, I had shot 50 commercials, so I pretty much knew the mechanics of filmmaking. But the struggle started when I moved to Mumbai in 2004. There were no takers for the film. Every distributor had seen the film but no one wanted to take it. I was in wilderness then. I was sort of in a black hole. But when that two-year period ended, I knew I was invincible, I had learnt most things about life and films in that time. I had become negative and I was going to give up (a friend had told me that the moment you stop expecting, things happen), and just when I did, it got taken by UTV Motion Pictures.

You are one of those people who run away to the woods to write?

No, no, I grew up in a family of six, in three rooms. One room had my parents, one was the drawing room, in the third room, it was my grandmother, the TV, dining table, me, my sister, me and the cupboard full of books. I learnt study to study with the TV on. So I am capable of doing my shit, it doesn't matter where as long as the weather is good. Of course, I always co-write. I want to stay away from the trap of a director writing - scripts become too indulgent, directors have a bloated way of writing. So if I collaborate, we can just stick to good storytelling. I have co-written Oye Lucky! Lucky Oye! and Shanghai. (...) I also (...) co-wrote Love Sex Aur Dhokha. (...) And I take inspiration from everything around me - books, music, normal people I meet, something someone said while we are rolling on the floor and drunk. Like Karan said something hilarious yesterday, and I was like, 'this as to make way into a film'.

Women are kind of non-existent in your films.

I haven't a clue. I think I need to get myself examined (laughs), because 60 to 70 per cent of my team - scriptwriter, assistant director, art director - comprises women. Maybe, because in my head I don't see men and women as separate entities, but again I feel women are more organized and structured than men'.

Graffiti and street art have arrived

Vi segnalo l'articolo Graffiti and street art have arrived, di Manit Moorjani, pubblicato oggi da Brunch:

'If you have to pick someone up from Delhi airport, and you start from Lajpat Nagar or Malviya Nagar, you will get to see nearly one-sixth of the city’s graffiti as you drive. (...) Graffiti artists started spamming our city walls more than five years ago, and today, you can’t miss their creative outbursts. Although provocative graffiti is often removed, it always seems to come back. (...) By now, our underground ‘public’ artists have already evolved into two separate sects - the graffiti artist and the street artist.

LPG fuel hike, Daku - Delhi

Not quite the same

Graffiti is a form of lettering. A graffiti artist spray paints his name or a symbol on a wall in the form of a stylised signature (which is often very colourful). In true graffiti spirit, especially in the Western sense of the term, this signifies ‘possession’ of the particular wall. However, in Indian cities, most artists are doing it to rid dirty walls of the eyesore that are paan stains! As Sun1, a popular artist from Mumbai, puts it, “India is full of colour, and what better way to showcase it than on the walls?” He uses a variety of fonts, characters and colours to beautify walls. “Now people even stand and watch me do it. They are always curious as to what colour I will use next and how.”

Street art, on the other hand, is any type of visual art created outdoors - whether it’s a spray-painted mural, stencil art, sticker art or even street poster art. It’s more than lettering. It represents an idea - a picture or a set of words. Whether it is the ‘There goes Mumbai nightlife’ stencil job in Versova by an artist who goes by the name of Tyler, or the signature ‘Daku’ emblazoned in Devnagari on a colourful wall in Okhla, in south Delhi, the impact is unmistakable. “Most graffiti artists want their name etched in the popular psyche. The charm of street art is when it is discovered in the morning - when bystanders wonder who’s done it,” says Daku, who first began doing graffiti in the Devnagari script. These days Daku, who prefers to use this assumed name, displays his wacky street art on the roadside too: stickers are stuck over ‘Stop’ road signs saying ‘Stop Pretending’, ‘Stop Promising’ and ‘Stop Shopping’. And then there is his celebrated LPG price hike piece showing an LPG cylinder shooting upwards in the form of a rocket.

However, both these guilds - the graffiti and street artists - could be working with or without legal sanction. They might take permission from owners or authorities to paint walls (although most graffiti artists seldom do), or they might go out hooded in the night with spray cans, wait for an opportune moment, do the deed and silently walk away. But both create art that reaches out to people, and in most cases has an underlying message.

Brainwash, Tyler - Mumbai

Let us spray

The heyday of graffiti was in the early 1980s, coinciding with the popularity of New York’s hip-hop culture, when gangs marked their territory with the spray can. That was also when it became a tool of protest in London and Berlin, around the time of the aerosol boom. Today, graffiti has become almost beautiful (even though it’s still illegal in most parts of the world). It has become a medium for artistic expression without restriction.

"My graffiti does not come out of any rebellion. For me it’s all about my own unique style of writing, which is different from how another graffiti artist does it," says Zine, one of Delhi’s most active graffiti artists, who has seen the scene grow from 2006, when there were just a few players, to the present when even school kids are involved. "In my graffiti, every letter that is painted is a letter that I have made. It’s about my own individuality. Graffiti is a form of calligraphy, but it is different in a way that it is much bigger than calligraphy. It is an art form that is out there on the streets. Many of the young kids who come for our graffiti workshops have their own styles. The idea is to have fun and not take it too seriously," he adds.

Most practitioners view graffiti and street art as a vibrant art form that livens up the landscape of our concrete jungles. But there are many others for whom it is a way to speak out. Mumbai’s Tyler, for instance, has made some of the most popular and revolutionary street art in the city, and believes that the spray can is the biggest weapon available to the common man. “People have stopped caring for each other. There is garbage on the streets and ugly political hoardings and advertisements everywhere. We need to wake up society with art or with words,” he says. “When I go out at night and spray what I think about the system, for those moments, I have beaten the system. With graffiti, there is no message. The medium itself is the message.” Tyler’s ‘Never forget the world is yours’ work (with the postscript ‘*Terms and Conditions apply’) in Mumbai won him worldwide acclaim. In the two years since he began working, he has clocked almost three artworks a month.

Brinda Project, Harsh Raman - Delhi

Hue and cry

For Delhi-based street artist Harsh Raman, painting on the city’s walls is a ticket to showcasing his art to the masses, who don’t have time to visit an art gallery. “The beauty of street art is that once I’ve finished my painting, it’s out there and does not belong to me. You can’t buy it either. But you can check it out anytime,” says Raman, whose stunning artwork of a Bharatanatyam dancer cosmetically transforming into a samba dancer on the outside walls of Hauz Khas Apartments, done in tandem with Brazilian street artist Sergio Cordeiro, is one of the city’s highlights. “Before I started painting on the Hauz Khas Apartments wall, all I could see around me were banners and advertisements - people selling things. But all I wanted to see was something interesting that could bring a smile to my face. The only purpose of drawing art on the streets is this engagement with the public,” says Raman, who was also the assistant art director in Prakash Jha’s films, Aarakshan and Chakravyuh.

Brinda Project, Harsh Raman e Sergio Cordeiro - Delhi

Almost legal

The majority of graffiti artists start young. Delhi’s Zine, while still in school, was inspired by the graffiti on the walls outside his school in Vasant Vihar. “Those walls spoke to me. While going to school, we’d suddenly find new artwork on the walls, and that felt amazing. And once I had done it myself, I had to do it again and again,” he says. Delhi-based teenager Slik, too, began by spray painting his alias at the Khan Market parking lot late at night. But he always made sure he was back at home in time for school. “My city is full of spit stains on the walls and I want to cover them with colourful artwork, without hurting other people’s sentiments. Of course, I do this on a student’s pocket money,” he says.

With the growing popularity of street art in our metros, acceptance is also growing. So artists such as Zine are abandoning their secret identities to produce even more elaborate and intricate designs. Zine recently sought permission from the Panchsheel Park taxi stand to paint their wall with his name - after showing them his earlier work. Shedding their apprehensions, the cabbies gave their assent and he painted the mural in front of them. It is now one of the coolest-looking cab stands in Delhi. “Painting at night gives you an adrenaline high. It’s for the kicks. But apart from the artists, everybody else now also seems to like street art and graffiti,” says Zine'.

Zine - Delhi, Panchsheel Park Taxi Stand

Bollywood Art Project, Ranjit Dahiya - Mumbai

Kolkata