Deewaar(1975) - A Review by Neeraj Mainkar

Younger audiences (and especially newcomers) introduced to Hindi cinema by the stars of the 1990s must often secretly wonder why Amitabh Bachchan is such a big deal. He has never had the bulging biceps and ripped body of a Hrithik Roshan. Even in his early films, he couldn't dance nearly as well as Shahrukh. Few of his movies offered elaborate song and dance numbers like those favored today. Sure, he might have turned in some first-rate performances — most recently, in films like Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham and Baghban — but nothing about him seems to *quite* justify his status as superstar-of-the-millennium. Right? If you muse upon these questions but are afraid to address them to your esteemed elders (Bachchan groupies all), then I have the answer for you:

Go rent Deewaar.

Every once in several decades comes a movie that breaks all the norms and still manages to become not only a runaway success but also an established classic. Deewaar is one such movie. Thirty years after its release, Deewaar remains one of the most famous movies Bollywood has ever produced. Those who love Hindi cinema for its extravagant song and dance routines, its masala mix of romance, comedy, action and melodrama, and its over-the-top emoting may be surprised to learn that this 1975 explosion-of-a-movie is conspicuously devoid of such characteristic elements. Yet Deewaar is certainly a mainstream Bollywood film. It just happens to be a phenomenal one.

Deewaar begins with a terrible choice: in order to save his family's lives, Anand Verma (Satyen Kappu), the union leader of the local mine workers, betrays his constituency, surrendering to the mine-owners’ extortionate demands. In return, he is humiliated and ostracized by his community. Unable to bear the shame, Anand absconds, leaving his wife, Sumitra Devi (Nirupa Roy), and his two sons, Vijay (Master Alankar, Amitabh Bachchan) and Ravi (Master Raju, Shashi Kapoor), to fend for themselves.

Ravi, the youngest child, largely escapes the backlash, sheltered from the community by his mother and brother. Vijay, on the other hand, bears the brunt of the trauma; he becomes the target of brutal public humiliation. The consequences of Vijay and Ravi's very different experiences only intensify as the brothers grow up. In a desperate bid to give his mother the material comforts he thinks are her due, Vijay takes to a life of crime. In contrast, Ravi, disgusted by repeated rejections in a job market powered by nepotism, decides to enroll in the police force. Inevitably, the siblings' differing ideologies lead to an epic moral clash that creates a "deewaar," or wall, between them. This wall becomes insurmountable when Vijay's mother refuses to accept his ill-gotten riches, and forsakes him to live with Ravi. Ultimately, Vijay's misery compels him to seek redemption, but his attempt to obliterate the wall dividing his family will exact an unthinkable price.

Deewaar is, in one word, taut. From start to end, the movie is unrelentingly tense, tight, somber and serious. The movie has virtually no comic relief, setting it apart from almost all other Bollywood movies, including the much-vaunted Sholay, which resorted to several comic sequences. Deewaar countenances no such interruptions, but the seriousness of the film works for two vital reasons: the absolutely amazing, scorching and explosive under-acting by Amitabh Bachchan; and the screenplay and dialogues by Salim-Javed.

To say that Amitabh has acted really well in Deewaar is like saying Niagara Falls is a really big waterfall: it misses the enormity of the fact by several million gallons. To lovers of true cinematic acting (and yes, there are some such fans even in Bollywood), Deewaar offers a true, unadulterated, powerhouse performance unparalleled in Hindi cinema. There is no living (or dead, for that matter) actor who could have performed some of Deewaar's most muted and yet powerfully moving scenes -- scenes in which Vijay’s silent anguish abruptly transmutes to violent eruptions, literally burning up the screen with intensity, anger, brutality, vulnerability and gritty resolve. To the small but fiercely loyal group of Amitabh fans, Deewaar is and will always be his best performance. To some of us, it defines the gold standard in Hindi film acting. It is Amitabh and only Amitabh who turned this movie from a typical over-the-top melodrama with great dialogues but no good songs into a gripping three-hour experience that leaves the audience mesmerized (and in an overwhelming majority of cases, crying uncontrollably as the end credits roll).

Amitabh, with his characteristic humility, once said in a BBC interview that the script and screenplay for Deewaar was so good that the movie would have been a runaway hit no matter who had played Vijay. Well, Mr. Bachchan, as much as we love your humility, we beg (nay, insist!) to differ. To this fan, as to a million others, Amitabh and Deewaar are inextricably linked. One cannot think of one without thinking of the other.

As for Salim-Javed...apart from developing what is arguably the tightest script ever written for Hindi film, the pair should have gotten an award for the sheer number of quotable lines in Deewaar. Even more so than Sholay, the dialogues from Deewaar constitute a database of classic one-liners (in some cases, two- to three- liners). Consider:

• “Main aaj bhi pheke hue paise nahi uthhaata," or, “I still refuse to pick up money that’s thrown at me,” as Vijay says to Daawar. Cinema houses in Bombay used to reach ear-shattering levels of cheering, whistling and applause after this ever-popular line.

• “Main jab bhi kisise dushmani mol leta hoon, saste-mahenge ki parwaah nahi kartaa,” or, “Once I decide to pick a fight with anyone, I don’t care about what it will cost me." (Vijay to one of Samant’s henchman)

• “Uff tumhare asool tumhare aadarsh!! Kis kaam ke hain tumhare asool!”, or, “Oh, your damn principles and your damn values. What good are your principles!!” (Vijay to Ravi)

• “Mere Paas Maa Hai!!”, or, “I have Mom.” This line, spoken by Ravi to Vijay, has become so incredibly famous that it might as well the the tag-line for the film: it has become the definitive dialogue with which the whole movie is associated.

Salim-Javed have often admitted that the reason Amitabh fit so well into his role as Vijay is because they actually wrote the screenplay with him in mind. Despite this, one has to give credit to the duo; they outdid themselves in terms of crisp and subtle dialogue-writing. The development and treatment of the story is by far one of the most believable ever showcased in a mainstream Bollywood film. So, unlike SRK’s character in DDLJ (or in scores of other equally fancy, urbane movies), the background of Vijay’s extremely poor, destitute boy-turned-misguided-criminal character in Deewaar does, in fact, have the ring of believability . Take a walk down any busy street in Bombay and you will see dozens of potential “Vijays” shining shoes just like the character does as a boy in the movie.

But Salim-Javed’s script was a daring detour from the mainstream in more ways than one. Consider the oddities. The leading man has no songs in the movie. There is absolutely no comedy - no Johnny Lever or Asrani anywhere in sight. The only relief comes through the use of three rather forgettable songs. Meanwhile, the leading lady (played convincingly by Parveen Babi) is a hooker, who -- as the narrative explicitly insists -- has sexual relations with the hero. (Recall that this was 1975. Heck, even in 1995, in DDLJ, doesn’t SRK’s character get into a long explanation about how he knows “what the honor of a Hindustani woman is?”) True, both characters' occupations entailed a set of moral values that are less-than-perfect by Indian middle-class standards, but the screenwriters still took an enormous risk by depicting some pretty bold scenes . Yet the power of the script was such that in the end, audiences were rooting for both characters with great sympathy and support. Finally, the leading man is an atheist (albeit superstitious). Not only that, one of the now-famous temple scenes has Amitabh clearly defiant and contemptuous towards God. Quite an audacious step, considering modern heroes are always shown to be terribly pious and godfearing.

While the entire movie is emotionally gripping, there have been, over the years, a few scenes in Deewaar that have reached almost mythical proportions of popularity because of their absolute cool-Amitabh factor or intensely charged melodramatic content. Indeed it may not be an exaggeration to say that these scenes are to Deewaar, what songs are to most other Bollywood movies. In other words, they have been listened to (and watched) over and over and over again by millions and millions of people. They are:

• The scene in which Vijay meets Daawar (a mafia boss) for the first time, and Daawar makes a business proposition to Vijay.

• The confrontation scene, in which Ravi and Maa find out about Vijay’s mafia links.

• The all-time famous temple scene, in which Vijay confronts God and pleads for his mother’s life.

• The penultimate scene of the movie with Maa cradling Vijay’s head in her arms.

Finally, the most significant evidence of Deewaar's superiority is the fact that unlike other hit movies like Sholay and more recent ones like DDLJ, no one has ever dared to copy it. It is the one film whose magic other film-makers realized could not be duplicated. The confluence of extraordinary acting and a uniquely brilliant script cannot be converted into a formula and regenerated ad nauseum. In the end, that may be the biggest tribute Hindi cinema can pay to this all-time, genuinely inimitable classic.

The Murky Racism of the North

There is apparently a popular saying in Pennsylvania that, as of yesterday, I have heard a half a dozen times now that goes something like this: "Pennsylvania is Pittsburgh and Philadelphia at two ends and Alabama in the middle." Quick-witted readers can surmise easily that what is being said in that line is the fact that Pittsburgh and Philadelphia are the progressive liberal intellectual havens stuck in two ends of what can only be described as a Southern style population of backward, conservative racists. So this gives you a chance to replace "Alabama" in that line with your favorite flavor of an easy-target southern state like Mississippi or Louisiana.

In my years of visiting the North-East and now living here for the last month I have time and time again come across this smug attitude that somehow being racist is a uniquely Southern quality. When I have told a variety of NorthEastern whites (most of whom have actually NEVER visited the Deep South) that I lived in Louisiana for 22 years, the range of responses I have received have been nothing short of amazing and, if I may be so bold as to say, ignorant. Here's a sample of the responses I have heard so far:

1] OMG, I could never live in a state that was so racist.

2] Don't they still lynch black people there?

3] I hear they still practice segregation down there.

I must admit this last one is the most jaw-dropping response of all. All you have to do is look out the window from the high-needs elementary school in the North part of Philly where I teach and you will see segregation in all of its glory fully practised in Philadelphia!!! The area of the school that I currently teach in is desperately poor and almost 100% black. I have toured other predominantly black and minority high schools and every single one of them has been in areas of Philly where I see no white people.These are areas that are again predominantly black and deathly poor. This is not segregation? Or let me ask the question in a different way. How is this segregation any different from New Orleans, Louisiana or Mobile, Alabama or for that matter anywhere else in the country? Am I supposed to believe that the segregation in New Orleans is all because of those racist Southern whites and the segregation of the North is just well, you know, miraculously because of something else?

The interesting irony about white folks in the North though is that every single white person that I have talked to or interacted with in the Northeast comes off sounding so incredibly open-minded and progressive that you would find it hard to believe that anyone here holds even remotely racist views. Most of them sound like compassionate liberals who, for instance, will decry the state of the Philadelphia school system, the poor condition of the black neighborhoods and how the education system is failing minority children. But oh no, its not because of racism. Obviously only Southern whites have the market captured on that ill of society. To an outisder like myself who is neither black nor white and is neither from the South or from the North such talk stinks of delusional hypocrisy. If such an overwhelming majority of white folks in Philadelphia are open-minded progressives why does the city look just as segregated as Baton Rouge, Louisiana or Mobile, Alabama? Why is the school system in Philly failing toward blacks and minorities just as badly as in the South? Why are the poor neighborhoods in Philly pretty much all black just like in New Orleans??

I have embarked upon a new life in the North East and I can't wait to find the answers to these questions. I want to live here long enough to break open the outward progressiveness of liberal whites in this region of the country and diagnose where the racism is still hiding. Because as the title of this essay says its way murkier than the simple, open racism of the south.

In that sense handling racism in the South was much easier. As a dear African American friend of mine who moved back to the Deep South after living in the NorthEast for a decade said, "Racism is easier to deal with in the South. You know within a minute of talking to a person in the South whether they're prejudiced or not. Racism that I faced in the NorthEast on the other hand was way way more poisonous and murkier than anything I had ever experienced living in the South. Its harder to pinpoint and it took me longer to sense that a racism of much more subtle variety was being practised up there. A racism that is covered with practised speeches of liberalism and social justice while happily implementing practices that are in contradiction with their outwardly stated beliefs." As an Indian man who lived in the South for two decades and is now living in the NorthEast I only now have begun to understand what he meant. From what I have seen so far, whites in the NorthEast, as far as I can tell, practice the same kind of urban to suburban mobility as southern whites do. By that I mean, many of them live and celebrate living in diverse neighborhoods as a single student or professional or as married (without children) couples. Then when they have kids, they move to all-white suburban neighborhoods with "good" school districts that are attended by other affluent whites (and of course those high-performing Asian kids for that tad bit of diversity). How is this "white flight" any different from what I saw living in Baton Rouge where most whites after having children would drive in hoards to Ascension or Livingston parish? I will tell you what the difference is. In the South about half of those white folks will tell you to your face that its because they didnt want their children going to schools in crime-ridden black neighborhoods. You may balk at their explanation but at least its honest and easy to fight against. In the northeast, the stated reason given by a white couple (one that I talked to just yesterday)would most likely be 'Well we just wanted a good education for our children. Its different when you dont have children and we would love to live in a more diverse neighborhood but we couldn't". Yeah great! But the outcome in both cases is the same! Segregated School districts!!

So to those Northeasterners who still describe their state as being two progressive cities at two ends with Mississippi, Alabama or Louisiana stuck in the middle, I say to you: "Look in your backyard before you label all racism as Southern. To describe the problem of segregation and utter neglect of poor minorities in your own Northern state in this way is at best trite and at worst, conveniently irresponsible. By allocating a regional adjective to your own brand of racism you are in effect saying that a Northeasterner couldnt possibly be inherently racist. That all racism by its very definition is Southern in form and function. "

The Northeastern urban, chic and educated racism that is causing the same symptoms of segregation in Philadelphia as in New Orleans is much murkier, much more subtle, and much more devious than the straightforward redneck racism of the South that is easy to spot and easy to incriminate. Its about time to own up to it and stop labeling it as southern. In other words, there is no Alabama between Pittsburgh and Philly. Its all very much Pennsylvania!!!

Language, Music & Class

I don’t know why, but perhaps because of a conversation about music last night, and perhaps because of my impending India trip next week, I was reminded of a very important period of my life in India when I first became aware of a social class system that had far-reaching effects on my thinking and how I view the phenomenon of westernization in India. I realize that it has resulted in some very deep-seated sentiments about westernized Indians in my mind and makes me fiercely protective of what I call the large, still unanglicized population of India. I feel that way because I feel like I used to be one of them.
I was raised in a suburb of Bombay called Vile Parle (East) which was a well-known Marathi cultural center. In a melting pot city which invited migrants from all over the country, Vile Parle (east) clearly had two principal communities- largely Marathi and some Gujarati. Vile Parle (east) was well-known for its Marathi literary stalwarts that it boasted as its famous residents among many- people like P.L.Deshpande and Vijay Tendulkar. Kishori Amonkar, the legendary classical Indian singer lived in Vile Parle (East). It was famous for its active Marathi theater artists. And it was famous as an extremely successful education-oriented community. Some of the city’s top educationally successful schools (most were Marathi medium) were in Vile Parle (east). Even with its famous residents, however, the majority population was very very middle class Maharashtrian. While many people could of course speak English, the culture was very non-western. Marathi was spoken everywhere with of course a sprinkling of Bombayite Hindi. My extended family was very much an integral part of this community. My parents were Indian music lovers, lovers of Marathi theater and before we knew it, my sister and I were immersed in a very exciting and active community of Marathi literary and theater scholars and artists. In addition, since my parents had grown up in the North, there was huge love for Hindi literature.
Within our family also, my parents taste in the arts was a very interesting mix. In terms of literature, my parents exposed us to English, Hindi and Marathi literature in equal parts. Speaking and writing good English was stressed enormously and I remember my father being a stickler for using correct grammar in English. He himself wrote and spoke excellent English. So we had books in the house that ranged from all the classic English authors like Dickens and Hardy but also Premchand in Hindi and P.L. Deshpande in Marathi. When it came to music however, my parents were, much like the rest of India, hardcore Hindi film music fans. Names like Rafi, Kishore, Lata and Asha were household names in our family. The first thing my mother did when she woke up in the morning was to turn Vividh Bharati on. My mother, an excellent singer herself as I have already told you, inculcated in us a taste of old Hindi lyrical and melodic music that has to this day defined both mine and Varsha’s taste in music. My father, a huge fan of Hindi films and film music himself, encouraged this whole-heartedly. Discussion of western culture in our house was typically about western efficiency and progress in science and technology that had happened in the west (these discussions were mainly within the context of the fact that we had lived in Europe for a few years when I was little). But there was no western music in our lives and very few western movies. In this culture and environment, I considered myself completely one of the “haves”. I never felt out of place. I never felt like I didn’t belong. I never felt lower and lesser than anyone else in a cultural sense.

Imagine my shock then when the year was 1981 and after finishing 10th grade in Vile Parle (east) I went to attend Mithibai Junior College which is in Juhu (Vile Parle West) which was less than 5 miles away on the other side of the railway tracks but a million miles away when it came to some elements of culture.
It was at Mithibai that I first became aware of what westernized culture in India was about. It was a culture that I had never been exposed to growing up in Vile Parle (East). I started to notice that there were more than a handful of boys and girls that were dressed way more fashionably than us in VP east. They only spoke English with each other. If you spoke to them in Hindi they would answer back in English. They would throw names of English sounding groups or bands from the UK or the US (and the only English band I had heard of at the time was The Beatles). They had girlfriends and boyfriends (unheard of in Vile Parle (east)). I started to become aware of the class difference between me and them. Boys like me who came from typical Hindu, Muslim or Sikh middle-class or lower middle class backgrounds were the ones who spoke in the Bombayite street Hindi whereas these guys spoke sophisticated "convent" English. It wasn't just that these guys spoke English (cause I spoke good English too) but the fact that they ONLY spoke in English. It wasn’t that they listened to western music but the fact that they ONLY listened to western music. It wasn’t that they watched American movies but the fact that they ONLY watched American movies. They made fun of Hindi film music and watching Hindi films. If you spoke to them in Hindi, they exhibited this amused displeasure while answering you back in English. Interestingly though, the labels associated with these kids was "High-Class" or the more common "Hi-fi". I started to understand other labels like the "Khar-Bandra crowd", the "Jamnabai crowd". They were the “cool” crowd!! I used to watch these folks with riveted interest and it didn't take me long to figure out that this was an out-and-out English versus non-English, western versus Indian class system. In this class system, they were the exclusive few haves and I was one of the larger group of have-nots. I noticed that these higher class kids were either rich Hindus or Muslims or middle-class Christians. That proved to me that membership in this clique had little to do with money and riches and completely to do with (exclusively) English and western tastes. I started to wonder what it would take for me to be accepted as part of that group. At first, I was embarrassed about the fact that all I knew at that time was Hindi music and all I had watched was Hindi movies (even though that would be natural in India). I was embarrassed that I didn’t converse in English like them. I would try to sit with them and they would make fun of my Marathi language TV sitcom that I used to act in. But then slowly but surely this embarrassment turned into a strong resentment. I resented the fact that in my own country, in India, I was being made to feel lower than someone else because I had Indian tastes ad background? I developed a strong distaste for that whole culture that assigned me a lower status because I wasn’t westernized like them. And yet, I wanted to penetrate that group.
I don’t know how or when though, but I consciously decided to use my skills in languages and in music and singing to beat them at their own game. I consciously decided to start speaking only in English with them every chance I got, watch more English movies. Around that time my friend Chhotu lent me a tape of Billy Joel. I remember going home and listening to the tape over and over and over again figuring out the American accent and writing down lyrics and singing along. In a few months time, I got hold of more Billy Joel tapes from my friends and I had memorized almost every Billy Joel song there was. Then one day when we were sitting in the canteen in Mithibai and I started crooning out a Billy Joel song, I remember how distinctly many of these kids looked at me with surprise and a hint of admiration. From then on, I was seen as an acceptable member of this circle. Why? Because I was speaking excellent English to them and immersed in western music and had in their eyes reached a level of sophistication that they considered worthy of interaction with. But deep inside, I was always extremely resentful of this culture. I always kept a distance from them but started to “commute” between my Indian, Hindi music and Hindi speaking folks and these westernized, English speaking and English-music-listening Indians!!!! I told myself I had nothing against anyone choosing to listen to a certain kind of music because they preferred how it sounded but that I would never stand for using a musical taste to determine class.
My impressions of the deep disdain the westernized community in Bombay had over Hindi music and movies was only reinforced when I heard a recent interview of the famous Bollywood producer director Karan Johar. When he was asked the question about when his love for movies was born, his answer was a complete reaffirmation of my experiences on the other side. He humorously admitted that the kids he hung out with in South Bombay didn't "associate" with Hindi movies or culture. He even said that even though his father was a famous producer of Hindi movies he would keep that a secret among his friends. One time, when his friends pointed out a cinema poster with his Dad's name on it as producer, he vehemently denied that that was his father. But all through that time, he was a closet Hindi movie fan.
It is hard to imagine cultural snobbery like this happening in any other country. Can you imagine an American kid trying to hide the fact that he likes American movies??? Of course, with times the situation has only become worse. Ironically, the most unlikely place this is apparent is in the Hindi-speaking standard of today's Bollywood movies itself. It is no secret that star-sons and daughters that enter Hindi movies today have such little exposure to Hindi-speaking that they have to hire Hindi speaking coaches just to learn to speak what should be their own mother tongue. Even when they manage to speak full sentences, their accents are so anglicized that it would almost seem as if the actors and actresses just landed here from the US or UK.
I for one have redefined my approach since those days in Mithibai. As much as I speak and can write good English, when I visit Bombay now, I unabashedly speak Hindi or Marathi in every south Bombay, Bandra or Juhu place I visit for shopping or in restaurants unless I am with someone who has legitimate reasons for not being familiar with Hindi(such as someone from the South or someone non-Indian). If I am supposed to be ashamed of speaking in Hindi or Marathi in Bombay, where am I supposed to speak it with pride?? In the US?

SO its 4:30 a.m. on Monday morning and I can't sleep so I have made a decision this morning to start this blog. What am I going to blog about? I really don't know right now. But I have always wanted to write so I think this would be a great medium thats been around for a while to start a writing hobby.