DIPANKAR GUPTA
Slumdogs arouse instant interest because they laugh, bark, bite and bitch out in the open. They gambol in the sun and the rain without shoes, but can plot in alleyways for blood, lucre and less. Their lives are hard and brittle, but when they are generous they can make you cry.
As this rapid play of emotions is there for all to see, we are alternately repelled, attracted and awestruck. When they are chuckling and playful, we wonder how laughter can crack through poverty. When they claw and scratch we put it down to their bestial nature. We see them one act at a time: one winsome smile, one cruel swipe, a suckling child, a leery ganglord. Slumdogs can break your heart and smash your face, but always in full view.
The truth is that we are not very different from them. We go through the same feelings too, but much of them covertly backstaged. The higher we go up the ladder, the less our emotions are on display. When we at last come to royalty any public show of feelings is incorrect, even lese majeste. As their lives don't obey the ways of flesh, a chance to sup with nobility upwards is worth paying an arm and a leg for. Such is the aura of taking a peep backstage.
In shanty garibkhanas there is no backstage. Place a camera on a tripod and it will film a riveting story on its own. Slumdogs can be now good and now bad, just like us. What makes them different is their total transparency. If they look childlike it is because they can neither crave nor curl in privacy. Their running lives are like a real-time movie. This is quite unlike palace rats. They disappear from their balconies in a blink to backstage with a chosen few. At one end, even the blind can see and at the other only the select have eyes.
For those of us caught in between, both extremes are compelling, but for different reasons. How can the poor laugh and weep, and the rich love and care? So if one does a half-way decent job of portraying either end, a hit is made. Slumdog Millionaire may have stolen the show this year, but not too long ago it was The Queen. The real test, however, is in presenting the lives of people like us part backstage, part proscenium. This needs rock solid talent, or forget it! People won't buy balcony seats and popcorns to see their kitchen sinks on screen.
The truth is that we know little of slumdogs, and even less of palace rats. The purists, however, only wag their fingers when it comes to the depiction of poverty, never that of riches. Between the two it is likely that the poor have a better shot at being correctly cast than the affluent, who also stoke our imaginations. What do we know of the very rich? We imagine that they do what we do, but only better somewhat like our gods. And when a prince shoots his family, we are stupefied. A slumdog could have done that, but a palace rat?
A researcher or film-maker can barge into a slum home any time no permission sought or needed. On the other hand, an upper class door does not yield under pressure. This is why both academics and artists can make a lifetime's reputation purveying the lives of the poor. The very rich tend to lead underground lives. Their clubs, landing strips and private yachts are out of sight, and left mostly to imagination. That is why even salacious gossip about them by domestic helps is snapped up by publishers.
In the old days when Holi was a true saturnalia, subaltern peasants parodied the lives of their masters within a limited repertoire. They only mocked, in role reversal mode, the way their superiors interacted with them front stage. How potentates, oligarchs and landlords backstaged in their hunting lodges, or with their drinking buddies, was well beyond the ken of the poor. As these areas were out of bounds for them they rarely figured in carnivalesque renditions. What the uncouth mobs made fun of was limited to what they could see.
In a way this applies to us too. Knowing about other lives is tempting, especially from the comfort of a library or theatre. As the rich are well-hidden, reality buffs shift attention to the very poor. Slumdogs have no problems if a camera is rolling or a notepad flipping. As they have nothing to hide, the likelihood of coming up with a realistic account of their lives is much greater than it would be with other classes. This is why clever people seeking quick fame take a short cut through the slums.
The middle classes can hardly say anything interesting about themselves without investing a lot of talent. Where is that good book on the Indian middle class? On the other hand, the walls of the rich are too high for a quick pry. This is why hovels are such a draw. As script writers and researchers are rarely ever from the slums, they go about their job with a kerchief to their nose. Yet, this is the only life they can write, or make films, about with some degree of credibility. C'est la vie!
The writer is a professor of sociology at JNU, New Delhi.
As this rapid play of emotions is there for all to see, we are alternately repelled, attracted and awestruck. When they are chuckling and playful, we wonder how laughter can crack through poverty. When they claw and scratch we put it down to their bestial nature. We see them one act at a time: one winsome smile, one cruel swipe, a suckling child, a leery ganglord. Slumdogs can break your heart and smash your face, but always in full view.
The truth is that we are not very different from them. We go through the same feelings too, but much of them covertly backstaged. The higher we go up the ladder, the less our emotions are on display. When we at last come to royalty any public show of feelings is incorrect, even lese majeste. As their lives don't obey the ways of flesh, a chance to sup with nobility upwards is worth paying an arm and a leg for. Such is the aura of taking a peep backstage.
In shanty garibkhanas there is no backstage. Place a camera on a tripod and it will film a riveting story on its own. Slumdogs can be now good and now bad, just like us. What makes them different is their total transparency. If they look childlike it is because they can neither crave nor curl in privacy. Their running lives are like a real-time movie. This is quite unlike palace rats. They disappear from their balconies in a blink to backstage with a chosen few. At one end, even the blind can see and at the other only the select have eyes.
For those of us caught in between, both extremes are compelling, but for different reasons. How can the poor laugh and weep, and the rich love and care? So if one does a half-way decent job of portraying either end, a hit is made. Slumdog Millionaire may have stolen the show this year, but not too long ago it was The Queen. The real test, however, is in presenting the lives of people like us part backstage, part proscenium. This needs rock solid talent, or forget it! People won't buy balcony seats and popcorns to see their kitchen sinks on screen.
The truth is that we know little of slumdogs, and even less of palace rats. The purists, however, only wag their fingers when it comes to the depiction of poverty, never that of riches. Between the two it is likely that the poor have a better shot at being correctly cast than the affluent, who also stoke our imaginations. What do we know of the very rich? We imagine that they do what we do, but only better somewhat like our gods. And when a prince shoots his family, we are stupefied. A slumdog could have done that, but a palace rat?
A researcher or film-maker can barge into a slum home any time no permission sought or needed. On the other hand, an upper class door does not yield under pressure. This is why both academics and artists can make a lifetime's reputation purveying the lives of the poor. The very rich tend to lead underground lives. Their clubs, landing strips and private yachts are out of sight, and left mostly to imagination. That is why even salacious gossip about them by domestic helps is snapped up by publishers.
In the old days when Holi was a true saturnalia, subaltern peasants parodied the lives of their masters within a limited repertoire. They only mocked, in role reversal mode, the way their superiors interacted with them front stage. How potentates, oligarchs and landlords backstaged in their hunting lodges, or with their drinking buddies, was well beyond the ken of the poor. As these areas were out of bounds for them they rarely figured in carnivalesque renditions. What the uncouth mobs made fun of was limited to what they could see.
In a way this applies to us too. Knowing about other lives is tempting, especially from the comfort of a library or theatre. As the rich are well-hidden, reality buffs shift attention to the very poor. Slumdogs have no problems if a camera is rolling or a notepad flipping. As they have nothing to hide, the likelihood of coming up with a realistic account of their lives is much greater than it would be with other classes. This is why clever people seeking quick fame take a short cut through the slums.
The middle classes can hardly say anything interesting about themselves without investing a lot of talent. Where is that good book on the Indian middle class? On the other hand, the walls of the rich are too high for a quick pry. This is why hovels are such a draw. As script writers and researchers are rarely ever from the slums, they go about their job with a kerchief to their nose. Yet, this is the only life they can write, or make films, about with some degree of credibility. C'est la vie!
The writer is a professor of sociology at JNU, New Delhi.
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