Afwaah: Rumours in New India

After getting eclipsed by the propaganda movie Kerala Story in theatres, Sudhir Mishra’s Afwaah is now making its OTT debut and will be screened on Netflix from June 30. Interestingly, despite being a top draw and hogging most shows at multiplexes, Kerala Story is now struggling to find an OTT release.

Set in a town in Rajasthan, Afwaah captures the burning issues of ‘new India’ such as communalism, misuse of social media to circulate and amplify fake news, beef politics, and the toll it takes on different strata of society. All of this is narrated by Mishra in his trademark riveting fashion, reminiscent of his suspense thriller Is Raat Ki Subah Nahin. 

The opening scene sets the tone. A political rally passes through a communally sensitive area and a local politician (Sumeet Vyas) makes inflammatory speeches. This leads to communal violence, resulting in the killing of a meat seller by the politician’s henchman (Sharib Hashmi). 

Mishra then weaves in many strands – the politician’s fiancé (Bhumi Pednekar), who is also the daughter of a veteran politician, is upset with the goings on and decides to cut asunder ties with family. 

Her path crosses with a US-returned Indian Muslim advertising professional and TedX speaker (Nawazuddin Siddiqui). She tags on to him to escape from her family members and professed well-wishers. Meanwhile, after the riots, Hashmi is told by his boss to lie low. But he soon discovers that there is a danger to his life and decides to flee.

Both Siddiqui and Pednekar keep the high-voltage drama going and they are joined by Hashmi who too is on the run. Amid all this Mishra brings in love jihad, beef politics, and the rise in communal temperature. It climaxes with the dance drama of a high-brow literature festival coming face-to-face with the anarchy outside the fortified venue. 

The movie’s theatre release coincided with that of Kerala Story, a film about some girls from Kerala joining ISIS. The film was economical on facts and high on propaganda. 

But it had the blessing of the ruling establishment at the Centre. In fact, during his whistle-stop election tour in Karnataka, the prime minister had praised the film and taking cue many BJP-ruled states made Kerala Story tax-free. Many ministers made a beeline to theatres, with cameras in tow, to watch the film.

All this hype paid rich dividends for the movie’s producers at the box office. On the other hand, Afwaah had a modest opening in most cities. It opened to just single shows in some theatres (with many having screenings after 9 pm). Such a limited opening was a disaster foretold, as people were reluctant to go to theatres located far away and at odd times.

Hope the OTT release will provide the movie a new lease of life. 

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Gitanjali Aiyar: An Icon of Bygone Era

 

In this era of screaming TV anchors and high-decibel debates that resemble a bout in a wrestling ring, the passing away of Gitanjali Aiyar reminded us of far more dignified, though somewhat staid, times of television news in India. Those were the early days of television news in the country and unlike a newspaper reporter or a radio newsreader, a TV newsreader has a face, and viewers were getting used to this novelty of seeing them regularly in their living rooms.

Gitanjali Aiyar, along with Neethi Raveendran, Minu, Komal G.B. Singh, Rini Simon, Preet K.S. Bedi, Suneet Tandon, Tejeshwar Singh and others became household names in the 1980s, when Rajiv Gandhi government went on an overdrive to spread the footprint of the country's lone television network Doordarshan across the country. TV towers were getting inaugurated on a daily basis in every other district, and it was seen as part of Rajiv Gandhi’s vision to take India to the 21st century.

For the viewers, this sudden burst of visual treat was very alluring. So far he/she had to go to the nearest cinema hall for visual entertainment. Moreover, the TV offered much more: global sporting events like Olympics, Asian Games and live telecasts of cricket matches, all of which could be enjoyed from the comfort of your homes. It was also a great boon for the invalid and the aged who could not go to cinema halls.

Though the government succeeded in making the television hardware ubiquitous across the country, the programming part remained very Delhi-centric, and heavily skewed in favour of the Hindi language. Since the state-owned Doordarshan enjoyed a monopoly over the airwaves, viewers were actually a captive audience with no other alternative. Satellite television and dish antennas were yet to make an entry.

Amid all these limited offerings, there was a 20-minute English news bulletin at 9 pm, which many of those residing in the non-Hindi belt looked forward to. Those were pre-teleprompter days and news readers had the unenviable task of reading through the paper and maintaining occasional eye contact with the viewers.

With her crystal clear accent, lean build, and immaculate sartorial sense, Gitanjali Aiyar soon endeared her viewers. Women used to gawk at the saree she used to wear and compare them with that of fellow women newsreaders.

However, many people did not know that Gitanjali Aiyar was actually a Maharashtrian and her maiden name was Gitanjali Ambegaonkar. Hence, she sometimes used to trip while pronouncing some tongue-twister names of South Indian cities and their people. This used to roil those residing in the south of Vindhyas – how could an Aiyar pronounce Kozhikode or Thenmozhi wrongly? Some even used to shoot off angry letters to the editor in English dailies.

Being a government-run institution, Doordarshan news was a bland fare as it had to go by the sarkari rule book. What passed off as a news bulletin was actually a caravan of speeches, book releases, and planting of trees (all mainly in Delhi) by telegenic Rajiv Gandhi. Things like 'breaking news' or 'flash' were unheard of and there was a yawning gap between what we saw on television and what we read in newspapers and magazines. The latter appeared to be closer to capturing the rough and tumble of Indian politics.

Towards the latter part of Rajiv Gandhi’s tenure, the country was rocked by Bofors, Shah Banu case, Ram Janambhoomi, and other controversies, but Doordarshan managed to remain hermetically sealed from all the heat and dust it generated.

The entry of satellite television in the late 1980s began stirring things up. It provided a glimpse of what BBC or CNN television news looked like. The launch of homegrown news channels like Star TV News and vernacular offerings in the mid-nineties raised the bar. Soon Doordarshan news had fewer takers and it got relegated to an also-ran status amid a gaggle of newly-started TV channels.

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