The Anti-Hero

These years, are the years of the Anti-Hero. The anti-hero in literature and film is someone who has a dark and dusky personality, always striving for imperfection. Because perfection, especially of the spotless, irritating kind, no longer appeals to everyone. In short, we want flaws.
Flaws are good. Flaws are interesting. Flaws heighten the interest and curiosity of the viewers and humanize the individual. Audiences are eager to see quirks, imperfections, deficiencies, blemishes and limitations… Anything to spice up the characters otherwise immaculate image and make them seem more real and fleshy. Characters, big or small, in literature or film, are merely sketched out, giving us an idea about their appearance and their demeanor. But their words and actions and the resulting consequences reveal their true personalities and idiosyncrasies and take the story further.
One of the biggest examples being Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes.
Holmes is crime-fiction’s favourite detective. He is famous for his frosty demeanor, arrogance, indifference to friendship or any interpersonal relationships, occasional drug-use, resolution to bend or break the law during a pending investigation coupled with unerring precision and vivid attention to miniscule details that’d be missed by ordinary mortals, an ability to discern order in chaos, and application of induction as logical reasoning which he mistakenly calls ’deduction’ (It took me two painful years of learning Logic at college to fully understand what that really was).
In recent times, Holmes was portrayed by Robert Downey Jr. in Guy Ritchie’s Sherlock Holmes, where he is exhibited as a very sarcastic 19th Century James Bond. Another noteworthy portrayal is by Benedict Cumberbatch (Doesn’t he have the coolest name?) in BBC series ‘Sherlock’, a recounting of Holmes cases in modern-day London. No offence to Mr. Downey Jr, but I do prefer Cumberbatch’s performance. Though both have been written in a way that they’ve maintained an admirable fidelity to the original.
Imagine Holmes being a warm, pleasant, sprightly young man, the kind that would make a good neighbor, dutifully lending you some sugar or salt when you need it. Ruins the effect doesn’t it?
Drawing vital DNA from Holmes is Dr. House MD, the Ebenezer Scrooge of the medical world. A cynical, sardonic, misanthropic doctor who unreservedly mocks people around him, and yet displays an exceptional ability to diagnose and treat cases while other doctors are left scratching their heads. He despises interacting with patients, instead focuses on solving medical enigmas before him and remains hell-bent on dwelling in his own misery.
They’ve rightly shown a pertinacious attitude of House that mirrors that of Holmes: their dedication to what they do, and the fact that they don’t give a hoot of what anyone thinks of them.
Dexter Morgan is another eminent character. Loving husband and father and a skilled blood spatter analyst by day. Serial killer by night. He conforms to a strict code when killing, choosing to kill only those who have a criminal record. ‘Dexter’ has a number of humorous moments to diffuse the tensions in a crime-heavy world. Outwardly, he appears as an amiable and ordinary law- abider, nose clean and head under water. When the longing to kill becomes overpowering while his Dark Passenger steers the wheel What makes it so engaging is to see how he expertly maintains the bulwark he’s built around him and at the same time can feign human emotions and keep his day job intact, armed with just an expeditious mind and a thorough knowledge of the human body. You can say that Dexter’s the murderer, but he’s a victim too. Without his Dark Passenger, most of us would have nothing to watch at 10 pm on Star World.
My favourite protagonist on television remains Dr Frasier Crane, Seattle’s eminent psychologist with his very own radio show, inhabiting an interesting world with amusing problems and a cast of kooky characters. Frasier, portrayed by Kelsey Grammer, is the Webster’s Dictionary definition of ‘snob’. Pompous, arrogant, eager to please, greedy for popularity, proud of being the true intellectual bad-ass that he is, he can quote Shakespeare to Tennyson to Kipling to O Henry from right off the top of his head. At one point, he says, “Let me be the Virgil to your Dante”, drawing a blank look from the person sitting opposite him. He’s terribly fond of the art, literature and music and appears to be an opera-junkie. His grandiose and dramatic manner is the cause for many of his woes and a myriad of embarrassing and complicated scenarios.
He’s shown also to have a very good heart, always wanting to help people with their problems and still believing in the goodness of mankind. Expertly solving everyone else’s trials and tribulations and yet at a loss when it comes to his own. You can’t really say that he’s got any obvious dark side but there is a sharp contrast in his personality.
And this doesn’t just apply to the world of fiction. We wouldn’t be even half as drawn to each other, if it weren’t for our peculiarities. We, as an audience and as readers, may never commit the same atrocities that the various Anti-Heroes commit because we know they take place in a fictitious world. We hold them at an arm’s length as we watch from the sidelines.
Marcus Aurelius says it best:”Conceal a flaw and the world will imagine the worst.”

Tales From The Oven

There is nothing that I hate more that the Bombay heat. Maybe Bollywood numbers and raisins in chocolates cakes. But the Bombay heat seizes the number one spot with its stentorian voice. On raising its ol’ Machiavellian head,it has a way of knowing what makes me tick. On waking up every morning I find myself melting rapidly like a candlestick. Drinking tea or coffee has become an occupational hazard, as it augments the already scorching heat. Sitting in front of a piping hot plate of varan-bhat or a smoldering pizza platter has lost its charms. At times, the fans in the house too can’t stop the calefaction.
The afternoon slot causes the most discomfort and I’m petrified of steeping out at around that time. I’m frequently tempted to put on the a.c. but refrain on account of a gargantuan electricity bill. Of course, Phoenix Mills is an ideal place to retreat since almost every square inch is cloaked in cool air conditioned brilliantness and I can stroll about with a smile since I don’t have to fret about the electricity bills. Movie theatres, restaurants, book shops… Once you get there, stay there!
Traveling by cab is somewhat of a mixed experience. It is quite pleasant as a there’s always a gentle breeze blowing as the car engines purr on. But once you’re stuck in a traffic jam and ensconced in the heat, the world becomes a hopelessly dark and desolate place. However on a brighter note, the beach slackens some of the pungent fumes.
The only thing I can do to keep calm and carry on, is distract myself and keep myself busy. Probably for the next few weeks until the monsoon graces us with its presence.
In terms of heat and temperature, Bombay seems minuscule compared to Delhi. God knows how folks over there get on with their lives.

Mummy, Tu Aavi Kevi

Play Review: 'Mummy Tu Aavi Kevi?'

‘Mummy, Tu Aavi Kevi?’ the title of the play as well as a recurring plea voiced by the three leading adolescents, is a Gujarati and English play directed by Manoj Shah.
Clocking in at 1 hour and 30 minutes, it tells the tale of three adolescents who, constantly being irked by their mother’s traditional habits, mannerisms, dressing sense and overall ‘Gujju-ness’, attempt to transform her into a hipper, cooler, ‘21st Century’ mom. Despite her protests, she eventually gives in to the makeover.
Laughter ensues as the kids try to juggle household responsibilities during her absence.
After her metamorphosis, as she saunters on stage in her new avatar, to the likes of ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ from the audience, and praise from her children she then immediately asserts her authority in a fit of highhandedness .The kids are flabbergasted at her behavior, prompting their speculation that they were wrong to have ever planted that seed of change and slowly coming to the conclusion that they preferred her the way she was.
Despite taking place in typical Gujarati family, it is littered with pop-culture references right from Justin Bieber to the more philosophical Franz Kafka and proves thoroughly enjoyable. It reflects a family trying to maintain a balance between traditional values and the modernity that society demands today.
The actors have done a fantastic job in portraying their characters. They have a keen sense of comic timing, deliver their lines faultlessly and keep the atmosphere alive as they dart back and forth across the stage, ensuring that your eyes are glued to the stage. The lighting for the play was good as it reflecting the varying moods of the characters. The performance was at Horniman Circle Gardens, a quiet and peaceful place to watch the story unfold.
The play poses a classic dilemma which would be faced by countless others in their lives. Do you pick on each and every little nuance, habit or trait of the person, and try to change them to accommodate your own needs? Or do you accept them as they are and promise to love them unconditionally, despite their blemishes and imperfections?
Sure, the play is aimed primarily at kids and adolescents, exemplifying the importance of a mother as the real well-oiled machine behind a family, adept at keeping the spinning plates in their positions with a stipend of only love and affection from her family. But it also exhibits basic human behavior: the fact that we’re afraid of change and don’t want anything disastrous to happen. Yet we go and try to change everyone and everything, for our own benefit and our own good.

The Royal Wedding

And so it begins, my post mortem of the royal wedding. I really wouldn’t have watched it if it hadn’t been for the fact that things like this rarely ever happen and that I was too frightened of getting out in the sweltering heat. Weddings as illustrious and majestic as royal weddings take place about once or twice every ten years. This one was replete with horse drawn carriages, the Household Cavalry and the Foot Guards, a fly-past witnessed at Buckingham Palace, the Archbishop of Canterbury and hats. Lots and lots of hats.
Hats of all shapes and all sizes, looking amusing and absurd, adorned the heads of more than half of the women attending the wedding. Victoria Beckham’s hat was small, dark blueish-grey in colour and had some kind of pointy, antennae-like things. One of Prince Andrew’s daughters had on a strange cream hat (if that’s what you can call it, in her case), looking suspiciously like a cut out of Mickey Mouse. There were others: elephantine and exotic, swallowing heads whole while slightly smaller ones were worn at a slant with subtler colours.
Correspondents from the BBC and CNN had started coverage for the event as early as 4 am GMT.
The CNN coverage of the wedding was especially humorous, with Piers Morgan, Cat Deeley, Anderson Cooper and Richard Quest. As they commented on the guests, you wouldn’t think they were correspondents at all. For instance, when Anderson Cooper mispronounced ‘The Mall’, it invited jeers and jibes from Piers Morgan and Cat Deeley. Another funny bit was when Richard Quest, who was outside the Abbey, began stressing on the fact that the buses which brought members of the bride’s family to Westminster Abbey weren’t buses at all, but were to be called ‘motor coaches’. Or when a Spanish diplomat’s wife arrived in a black dress and a very orange, feathery, bird-like contraption on her head, raucous peels of laughter followed.
The BBC, both BBC Entertainment and BBC World News, were a bit more somber.
The biggest question mark to loom over everyone’s heads was what Kate Middleton will be wearing. I’m not crazy about fashion or clothes even in the slightest way and yet I couldn’t help admiring the dress. It was simple, elegant, understated and beautifully designed by Sarah Burton. And the fact that she did her own hair and make-up , just goes to show how simple and straight forward Kate or Princess Catherine really is.
The ceremony was, in short, long with one hymn followed by another. But it was quite enjoyable, on the whole.
The news channels were also showing pictures of the two wedding cakes prepared for the wedding. Oh, the things I’d do to get just a bite sized morsel of the cakes!
As the year began with riots, revolutions, earthquakes and tsunamis, an occasion like this seems to have brought joy, disencumbered the grimness and gloominess, and injected some faith and confidence into the monarchy’s reign. Sure, it was an exhibition of wealth, downright Englishness and tradition, but there was something very modern to it too. It’s not something I’d ever do in a million years, but it’s sure nice just to watch it.
But a fair warning to those who want to get married soon. Don’t spend billions on a wedding of mammoth proportions. Just elope.