Shagoon (1964)

Dare I repeat myself by admitting that one of the reasons I wanted to see this film was the music? Shagoon (which I think should have been spelt Shagun) combines Sahir Ludhianvi’s lyrics with Khayyam’s music, to stunning effect. But my other reasons for watching this film were equally valid. It stars the matchless Waheeda Rehman in the only film where she co-starred with Kamaljit, later to be her husband. What chemistry there must be here, I thought. Plus the film featured some of the most dependable character actors of Hindi cinema: Nasir Hussain, Achla Sachdev, Pratima Devi, Chand Usmani. This one had to be worth seeing, I thought.

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Forthcoming books – and a contribution

Apologies for the long silence. It isn’t as if I’ve packed up pen and paper (rather, my laptop) and gone off to vegetate somewhere. There are things happening in my world of writing; the problem is that writing takes such a long time. There’s many a month between the inception of an idea and the day the book hits the shelves… I have a book coming out probably in October 2011; this will be the sequel to The Englishman’s Cameo, and I’m currently writing the sequel to that book. So, Muzaffar Jang fans have something to look forward to – both this winter, and the next.

In addition to that, Westland-Tranquebar will be releasing a collection of my short stories – all on the theme of dark humour – probably in November 2011.

And, meanwhile, here’s another book to which I’ve contributed: The Popcorn Essayists: What Movies do to Writers. It’s an anthology of film-related writing from well-known Indian writers who don’t typically write about cinema: Manjula Padmanabhan, Sumana Roy, Amitava Kumar, Anjum Hassan and others – including me.  Published by Westland-Tranquebar, compiled and edited by Jai Arjun Singh, the book will be formally released in March 2011. It’s already available online on Flipkart, though, so if you live in India, you can order it here.

The stories in this book promise to be very interesting. If you’re a cinema buff, don’t miss this one.

 

Oh, and yes: an excerpt from my essay for The Popcorn Essayists: What Movies do to Writers. I contributed an article on one of my favourite themes from cinema, suspense thrillers from Hindi cinema in the 1950s and 60s. The piece is called Villains and Vamps and All Things Camp, and here’s a sneak peek:

“The spy kings also seemed to command the hottest molls and the most ingenious torture equipment. I suppose finances come into that; you can’t have Helen as a ‘secretary’ who operates a machine that slowly grills the hero over a bed of coals, when all you’re doing is running a backyard bootlegging outfit. But ooh, the spy kings, with their truckloads of dirty money! They were the ones who could afford the works: the leopard skin-hot pink satin-mirrored ceiling dens, the bars crowded with bottles of Vat 69, the hordes of henchmen clad in too-tight pants and T-shirts.

 

There’s something so giddily, gorgeously glorious about it all.”

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Classic Actresses on Postage Stamps

Nothing as expensive as what I bought myself for my birthday, but yes, I’ve just acquired something I really like. Last Sunday, I visited Indipex, the International Philatelic Exhibition, currently being held at Delhi’s Pragati Maidan. Not because I’m especially interested in stamps, but because besides the auctions and the exhibitions and the sales of stamps, India Post also had an important new release scheduled.

[Note: You can click each of the images in this post to see a large image].

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The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946)

I’d meant to review this film in time for Lana Turner’s birthday on February 8. But other things kept me busy, and what with trying to meet a deadline for my novel and write a short story before I lose the thread of it and watch an irresistible film (The Black Rose) which I’d just gotten hold of… well, better late than never. Belated happy birthday, Ms Turner! And RIP.

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Naujawan (1951)

My introduction to this film occurred when I was perhaps 12 years old. At the time, my sister and I relied mainly on Doordarshan–India’s sole TV channel way back then–for entertainment. A half-hour programme of Hindi film songs called Chitrahaar used to be among our favourite programmes. One day, on Chitrahaar, we saw Thandi hawaaein lehraake aayein. Both of us had heard the song before; one couldn’t live in the same house with a music-lover like my father and not have heard it—but we’d never seen it.

I don’t recall the exact conversation that followed, but I think I can paraphrase it pretty easily.

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