I was there.
I love sports and I love writing about it.
That's what I been doing for the past 30 years, having a ball of time.
Getting paid for practicing my passion and witnessing moments that go down in the pages of history...
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So which way does the dice roll? Perhaps the solution to this dilemma lies in that delectable paradox postulated by sociologist Ashis Nandy in his book Tao of Cricket. ``Cricket in an Indian game invented by the British,’’ wrote Nandy in explanation of the Indian obsession for the game. Much in the same vein, Slumdog is an Indian film made by an Englishman.
Critics of the film – and there has been a surprisingly large number from the Hindi film industry -- have argued that Boyle's sensibilities are that of an outsider; that he has chosen the time-held view of India as a poor, wretched country, and highlighted the poverty and grime, which is neither contemporary nor complimentary to a country that is poised to become as great in the near future as it was in the distant past. But I reckon that this argument is specious and reeks not a little of sour grapes.
This is not to say that Slumdog is the most brilliant film ever made, indeed even of the past year. Votaries of The Reader, for instance, run into millions worldwide. I suspect timing has played as key a role as the film’s umpteen other merits. In a world (especially the West) that has changed cathartically over the past 12 months, Slumdog appears to have captured the mood and hence the moment.
Of the scores of theories – many of them mired in psychobabble – explaining the rousing success of Slumdog, the most widely projected is that it is a film that symbolizes essential human hope and optimism. These are grim times, especially for the Western world that has been ravaged by recession and hit by unexpected hardships: joblessness, the loss of consumerist power etc. In this scenario, the story of a few young survivors in the traumatic, harsh world of Mumbai’s slums with a smile on their lips and a song in their hearts could be seen as a panacea.
But that is just one of several ways of looking at the film, of which the most credible to me seems that it is an interesting story rivettingly told through cinematic idiom. Boyle’s brilliance lies as much in the pace of the narration as in the pathos of the drama involving the kids from early childhood to teen age. The jump cuts, the flashbacks, the swift camera work in the slums and alleys of India’s most vibrant, yet hard-edged city keeps the viewer engaged throughout. Add to that superb acting from an ensemble of largely newcomers, foot-tapping music and a throbbing screenplay.
The objections to the film, and especially from many renowned denizens of Bollywood perhaps stems from the fact that this was a quintessential Indian story that anybody from B-Town could have done. Nobody did. Now many might, but it may just be a tad late. Of such stuff, perhaps, is history made.
And so all's well that wins the Oscars. And good on Mumbai which has earned worldwide attention for more reasons than the 21/11 terror attacks. And those lucky dogs, Boyles and Co, should all now become millionaires in the true sense of the word.
And now, will somebody now do something about the city's slums?
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