Ariza | Hyderabad | 17 July 2011, 12:46am
Even beyond the first glance there is nothing in common between the nice lady who sells tea near my house and Ileana. This particular nice lady selling tea on a kerosene stove is short, dark with broad shoulders strengthened in the rigors of hardship and a quick mouth that could snap any smart talking man while Ileana is…well…Ileana. Yet if ever a Telugu film was to be made celebrating the life of my tea woman, it probably would star Ileana.
Don’t get me wrong. I am not here to write yet another critique of Telugu Cinema. No, I am here to celebrate it: For no other film industry, anywhere in the world, can claim the honor of taking so many gawky teenage girls and transforming them into stars. Here are my facts: From Vyjayantimala / Hema Malini / Sridevi to Asin / Genelia. It seems to me that without Telugu cinema most of these girls, if not all, would have been glorified extras in Bollywood.
There is little written information about the intentions of those first directors who started this trend. For example, it appears that the only reason Jayaprada was chosen to be in Sargam (1979) by director K.Vishwanath was because she starred in its original – Siri Siri Muvva (1976). Perhaps it made practical sense to work with someone who knew the role well, or perhaps it was just a psychological comfort of having a familiar face on the set in an alien world? However, it is revealing that no-one stopped to worry about such pedestrian matters as language. In this first age of actress export it was south Indian girls who conquered the north. At one time Sridevi, Jayaprada and Hema Malini were bigger stars than Zeenat Aman or Parveen Babi.
There were obvious advantages: Telugu films (South Indian films generally) are male centered. This meant that the girls could get away being bad for a long time…. only….only they HAD to look good. Then there was the question of discipline. The fast turnaround time of Telugu films meant that discipline was not just appreciated, it was demanded. To beleaguered Hindi film producers of 70’s/80’s reeling under the pressure of temperamental stars this must have been almost magical. They must have wished that they could send their girls over to Hyderabad on a strict training regimen. For this is exactly what they did!
And so in our era Hindi girls travel south. Some have flops behind them (like Nagma) while others are brand new. But, they all look good and none of them can speak Telugu. If lucky they have a quick hit and are offered more films for extra cash. Just keep looking good, they are told and while here in Hyderabad they keep chipping away until at an opportune moment they jump to Kollywood or Bollywood as an accomplished actor. Everyone’s happy – right? Yes, except that now we have, for eternity, our favorite Telugu films of the last decade perfect but for the heroine miming gibberish while a dubbing artist is delivering relevant dialogue.
Again, if I had to guess, I would say that these satin white north Indian girls represent a projection of us: the Telugu self. It means that while the nice lady near my house is serving tea and filling into her red saree, she has a mental image of herself as Ileana. Now only if she could expect her man to look like Salman, this equation can be balanced.
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Ariza | Hyderabad | 11 July 2011, 12:17am
If ever written, an obituary of Hyderabad will have one entire chapter dedicated to the loss of its lakes.
No one knows if it was a deliberate strategy, but by the time the kingdom of the last Nizam acceded to the Indian Union there were no less than 900 lakes in Hyderabad. They made perfect sense for a city built on a large plateau which must face the inconvenience of finding potable water in its rocky underground. Yes, they provide an access to drinking water and yes, they are a source of fresh fish in a land locked city, but most importantly they provided a relief to the eye. Like Mr. Melville said, there is magic in it.
Say you are in the country; in some high land of lakes. Take almost any path you please, and ten to one it carries you down in a dale, and leaves you there by a pool in the stream. There is magic in it.
- Hermann Melville from Moby Dick
I should know, because even years later I still remember that grey monsoon morning when a friend and I set out on a drive around the AOC centre. It was one of those mornings that only a Hyderabadi will know, the kind that comes after a long dry summer that makes your body crave cool air. Such days make you feel adventurous and as we drove around my friend noticed an un-laid (kuccha) road that seemed to go no-where. “Take it” she said “let’s explore!” and we drove inside past a service railway line and were just about to give up when right up in front of us was a large peepal tree, a small temple and a tiny lake. I think it was my atheist friend who said: “Thank God for the temple. It will ensure this lake never gets encroached!”
Sometime before 1573 Sultan Ibrahim Qutb Shah ordered digging to commence on an artificial lake. It was to serve the irrigation needs of his capital and would store drinking water brought from the Musi. The lake would be called, after the king, Ibrahim Sagar who entrusted the responsibility to his Son-in-law Hussain Shah Wali a direct descendant of the famous Gesu Deraz of Gulbarga. Spreading across 8 Sq Kms this lake would be the largest man-made lake in Asia. Hussain plunged into the work with dedication and watched over an army of workers dig out a ditch whose sheer size became legendary as hundreds of citizens came over in their caravan’s to watch. No wonder that by 1578 many nobles considered its completion a feat of singular importance and admired Hussain’s unwavering dedication. In deference to this popular opinion Sultan Ibrahim did something unthinkable of kings – he decided to name the lake Hussain Sagar.
Hence begins the life of one of Hyderabad’s oldest lakes. For over 400 years it crops regularly entwined with the history of the city, with its fate. For here on its banks the generals of Aurangzeb set camp during that fateful seizing of Hyderabad and here on the opposite side would be built a new city by yet another new conquering breed - Secunderabad. Hussain Sagar was here when 17 inches of rainfall inundated Hyderabad in September 1908, remembered in the history of the city simply as the “Great flood” and which prompted the damming of the Musi and construction of two other reservoirs: Osman Sagar and Himayat Sagar. Then in 1930 it stopped being a source of drinking water to the city and became what it still is – a recreational spot.
From 1948 on the story of Hussain Sagar is the story of every lake in Hyderabad. Now the new capital of a large new state, Hyderabad began to attract inevitable industrial attention and prosperity. Drainages crept underground and began to snake through the city carrying their waste into the docile waiting lakes – as the city looked the other way in that in typical Hyderabadi fashion. At one point about one million liters of industrial effluents flowed into Hussain Sagar every day. In 1989 divers blamed low visibility of the polluted lake for not finding the 72 foot large Buddha statue lying drowned in the waters of lake!
In 2000, a new city, a triplet to Hyderabad and Secunderabad cropped up with the unveiling of Cyber Towers. It was called Hi-tech City. Somewhere near this new city was a lake the locals called Durgam Cheruvu. Driving through an inaccessible road one summer morning in 2001 I was surprised by the size of the lake: large, serene and smiling at the summer sky it seemed everything Hussain Sagar was meant to be 400 years ago. Then came the rock blasting as Cyberabad carved itself out of the rock and Durgam Cheruvu became prime property. Now, I drive past this lake every-day, gone is the gleam in its water and shrunk by the incessant reclaiming of land underneath it nevertheless sits decked as an attraction. It reminds me of a bride who, knowing her new husband only sees her as an investment looks sad & lost in glorious bridal attire.Permalink | Comments (3) | Trackbacks (0)