The Young And The Restless

Last month saw the release of Rakyesh Mehra's 'Rang De Basanti', a film that trains its sights on a rootless, disenchanted generation of Indian youth and juxtaposes their lack of purpose with the firebrand nationalism that drove youngsters like Bhagat Singh, Rajguru and Sukhdev on a revolutionary path. The film's protagonists represent the typical attitudes of contemporary college-goers, at least in urban India, who have accepted the rot in our society as a given and are content either planning for a bright future abroad, or too busy having fun to think of life beyond the campus. For their generation, the sacrifices made by people their age during the course of India's freedom movement seem irrelevant and wasteful. It is obvious to them that the India they've inherited has nothing to be proud of and corruption and nepotism are a way of life that cannot be done away with or fought against.

When these youngsters get an opportunity to play the youth revolutionaries of the 1920s in a documentary film, their perception about life starts undergoing a subtle change. A personal tragedy finally awakens their conscience and suddenly they cannot turn away from the viciousness of the political system. They set off on a path of violence and nihilism – the same approach Bhagat Singh and Co. adopted towards their oppressive colonial masters. Much has already been written about the irrational turn 'Rang De Basanti' takes in its last quarter and the director has been criticised for offering a simplistic, unviable solution to this country's problems. Never mind the fact that the film's wonderfully constructed screenplay builds up a perfectly logical base for the climax.

But while this ending has irked many, nobody batted an eyelid when another 'youth' oriented film last year threw up the most outrageous resolution possible. Shaad Ali's 'Bunty Aur Babli' is a classic representation of the aspirations of small-town India. Bunty and Babli run away from the claustrophobic environs of their homes in search of greener pastures. They both want to 'make it big'. But mere material wealth isn't lure enough – they also want to become famous and make it to the front page of newspapers. In order to achieve their dual goals, they join hands and go around conning people all across North India. Although none of their heists have any logical base, the audience is thrilled to know that Bunty and Babli never get caught. The dumbest DCP in the history of Indian cinema (played by Amitabh Bachchan, no less) finally nabs them and then, funnily, finds the kindness in his heart to let them go. Since he's a law unto himself, there's no questioning of his judgement by anyone else in the establishment. But the icing on the cake is that after being let off by the law, Bunty and Babli cannot adjust to their sedate life as 'respectable' citizens and the DCP once again comes to their rescue by hiring them to help the police department track down other conmen.

Typically, because a film like 'Bunty Aur Babli' is positioned as an 'entertainer', the perception is that nobody is going to take any message from the film. But that's far from true. 'Bunty Aur Babli' represents the psyche of a post-globalisation generation – a youth whose dreams are firmly hooked to fame and fortune. These are the youngsters who queue up for days on end in the hope of becoming the next 'Miss India' or 'Indian Idol' or some such quick-fix celebrity. Their icons Abhishek Bachchan and Rani Mukherjee show them on screen how easy it is to con the system and get away with it. Moreover, the signal they convey by their sheer callousness is that there is no shame in leading a life of crime. Contrast this with the climax of 'RDB' where the protagonists apologise for their actions, admit that the path they have chosen isn't the best way to tackle the nation's problems, but also emphasise that it is up to the citizens and particularly the youth to effect a positive change in this country.

A message similar to the one conveyed by films like Mani Rathnam's 'Yuva' and Farhan Akhtar's 'Lakshya', both of which didn't fare well at the box-office despite featuring popular stars. While 'Yuva' suggested that the youth must join active politics in order to stem the rot in Indian society, 'Lakshya' emphasised the need to find a purpose in life – which, in the case of the protagonist is joining the army and defending the country's borders. Analyse the options offered by these two films and place them next to 'B&B' and you'll know why the latter was one of the most successful films of last year – "Kajra re" notwithstanding.

There is no room for idealism in Indian society today, and therefore there's no scope for idealistic heroes in cinema either. Last year, Sudhir Mishra's 'Hazaaron Khwahishen Aisi' delineated a story of three youngsters growing up in the turbulent '60s and '70s. Those were the days of Che Guevara, communism, political mobilisation of the youth and their active participation in the Naxalite movement. The three central characters in the film represent three different attitudes. Siddharth, the son of a retired gives up his comfortable life and tries to create an awakening amongst the landless peasants of Bihar. His girlfriend Geeta initially follows him around out of love, but gradually finds herself drawn towards the marginalized sections of rural India. Vikram, a small-town youth realises that the system is waiting to be exploited and he makes a career as a political fixer.

At the end of the film, the hard blows of realism shatter Siddharth's idealism and he runs away to England. Vikram's power and money cannot save him from a becoming a vegetable when he's ruthlessly crushed by the very system he's fed on. Geeta continues to have conviction in her beliefs and works selflessly in some far corner of the country. One generation after the period in which the film is set, the Siddharths and Vikrams of this country are thriving and prospering, while the Geetas have vanished and nobody has noticed their absence.

'Hazaaron Khwahishen Aisi' came and went without much ado. Around the same time a certain film called 'Kya Kool Hain Hum' rocked the box-office. Respectable audiences of our spiritually evolved and morally upright nation revelled in the antics of two 'lovable' young men who spend their time panting after short skirts and duping others to lead a good life. As the film's title itself suggests, their actions are considered 'kool' and going by its success (enough to spawn a dozen me-toos and a sequel!), a large section of the film-viewing public seems to endorse this description.

The question that needs to be asked here is whether cinema, by virtue of being the most accessible and therefore the most powerful medium of communication has a function beyond mere entertainment. It does. Most cinemas of the world reflect contemporary reality and tackle issues relevant to their time. This is true even of Bollywood's escapist formula. However, good cinema – like all other arts -- doesn't just mirror social trends, it also has the power to shape the future. But when audiences routinely reject sensible cinema, the signal they are sending out to financiers and producers (whose only interest in the profession is glamour and the green bucks) is that trash sells. Last year, the one ray of hope in the midst of all the mayhem created by 'Bunty Aur Babli', 'Kya Kool Hain Hum', 'No Entry' etc. was 'Iqbal', a small film about a small-town youth's aspirations. But again 'Iqbal' was a story of individual triumph and not of collective will. As writer Javed Akhtar rightly said in a recent magazine interview, "Now we have no collective aspirations or dreams so we don’t have heroes. Do we have a dream? Sure, but only for ourselves."

Which is why, when a film like 'Rang De Basanti' sets out to 'awaken a generation', it deserves to be applauded for its intent alone.