Country cousins

A creative medium that once united the country is now under attack, being rendered less effective as glue

It would be easy to make fun of Deshdrohi. The posters have C-grade written all over them. Kamal Rashid Khan, the producer, is a mousy man with a wooden expression and an accent from the Hindi films of the 8217;70s; the fact that he has written the dialogue, story and screenplay and is also the leading star of the film says something about his motivation. The cast is stuffed with bad guys Ranjeet, Raza Murad, Shakti Kapoor, Kader Khan, Prem Chopra and nubile young things Gracy Singh, Hrishita Bhatt, Kim Sharma, Rozza Catalano. And reports from at least one brave viewer suggest that rather than the darkly realistic film it purports to be, Deshdrohi nbsp;is actually a cocktail of bad, 8217;80s-style, Bollywood scenes.nbsp;Indeed the trailer offers some telling glimpses of what the film is likely to offer: the hero making a dramatic speech about every part of the country being his natural home; the hero shooting cops; the hero shooting commandos; the hero being shot repeatedly and spurting blood from multiple wounds; the hero falling to the ground; the anxious heroine standing helpless on a dark, empty street.

Ever since the Maharashtra police recommended a temporary ban on Deshdrohi, the film8217;s maker has been reported to be making valiant efforts to get his film screened in Maharashtra. Kamal Rashid Khan comes across as an unlikely torch-bearer for freedom of expression. In his real life avatar he is fond of posing for the media in a black-and-white leather jacket, dark glasses, jeans with a Che Guevara imagenbsp;stamped above the knee and a chain around his neck with a revolver-shaped pendant. Given these circumstances it is hard not to be amused. But hard as it is it seems, one must take him seriously: for the film and its banning raise concerns about India8217;s future unity.

This patchwork of languages, religions and communities is kept together by many factors, among which are the various laws written to protect differences and the all-inclusive glamorous appeal of Bollywood. Over the last few years we have witnessed the unhealthy trend of state governments banning films while citing 8220;sentiment8221; or a potential law and order problem Parzania and Fanaa in Gujarat, Jodhaa Akbar in Rajasthan and Uttar Pradesh and now Deshdrohi in Maharashtra. A creative medium that once united the country is now under attack, being rendered less effective as glue.

And then there is the plot itself. As far back as one can recall Bollywood has been making films about the country bumpkin8217;s encounter with the big bad city. Raj Kapoor was of course the quintessential representative of this genre but possibly every major male star since Randhir Kapoor in Ponga Pandit, Govinda in Pardesi Babu, Shahrukh Khan in Chaahat, Aamir Khan in Raja Hindustani, Akshay Kumar in Namaste London to name a few; even female stars are now being cast in that role, for instance Rani Mukherjee in the melodramatic Laaga Chunari Mein Daag played a Banarasi lass corrupted by the city. The story is fairly standard and predictable 8212; naiuml;ve country boy comes to seek his fortune in the city, falls in love with a posh girl, gets cheated by a bad rich man and somehow, usually with the aid of his earthy intelligence, wins the girl and turns the table on his opponents.

The success of this formula lies in our identification with the protagonist. However gauche he might seem next to the fashionable heroine, however gullible and inept as compared to the suave urban villain, he is lovable and charming and we are meant to root for him because we know that his simplicity and goodness make him the truly worthy one. But we are also supposed to root for him because, however much we may covet the trappings of Western sophistication, in our hearts we know that he represents the true, the authentic, India. If one considers Deshdrohi as a stand-in for the country bumpkin then in the one shot of the hero being pumped with bullets we know what we have done to him. We have treacherously abandoned him.

Before the emergence of the electronic media and the multiplication of revenue streams, before thenbsp;corporatisation of Bollywood and before Karan Johar, there were always men in Dev Anandnbsp;haircuts arriving in Mumbai from the hinterland hoping to convert their savings into that one life-transforming hit. Kamal Rashid Khan seems like a throwback to that era. Ironically he may be the one who finally succeeds.

Shah is a Mumbai-based writer

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