Ain't nothing better than a Hound Dog

P.Ramakrishnan meets a group of dachshund devotees whose pet project revolves around their four-legged friends

Hiking up to the house of Esta Overmars, the host of the first and "biggest dachshund party of Hong Kong " in Mui Wo on Lantau at the weekend, the battle cry for every new entrant is, "look out!"

Guests dodge dachshie-doo near the entrance as if manoeuvring on a battleground. Meanwhile, a family of three dachshunds have taken over one of the more comfortable chairs on the lawn and a gang of six races up and down the embankment, while others are busy getting their tails and ears scratched by their owners, oblivious to the fawning fans gathered. A gorgeous golden retriever and a fluffy white terrier have gate-crashed the party but this is a bash that bars no age, gender, race or breed.

Forty dog owners have assembled for a forum on dachshunds, but little goes to plan as their 30 charges take delight in each other's company and the various competitions that have been arranged.

A distant cousin of the basset hound, dachshunds, also called badger dogs, hail from Germany, where they were originally bred as hunting dogs. Their short crooked legs are deformations, conditioned over the years to help them dig and burrow into fox and rabbit holes. They can be short-or-long-haired and come in an assortment of colours as they are mix-bred to suit climates and conditions, as well as fashion.

Ignoring the pooches doing biped impressions on her lawn, Overmars relates the sad tale of her first dachshund, Webster, whose death last year is the reason for the gathering. "He was taught how to swim and he was very happy, but he took in too much seawater one day and got bloated," she says. "He couldn't be helped in time so he died. So I built the Harry and Potter Web site [named after her two eight-month-old dachshunds] dedicated to information on taking care of this particular breed. We've all come together today to help each other with problems, to learn from each other's
experience."

While life-saving firsr-aid for canines is discussed, the short-distance race begins. Shamshuipo resident William Fung introduces me to his injured pet Michael. "He's got a back injury and he was operated on but he needs his doggy-wheel-chair for long -distance walks and runs."

Lady luck hasn't been kind to Michael, who gets into a scrape with an unfriendly neighbour trying to jostle for position before the relay. As the dog whines and hides between Fung's legs, his owner recalls: "Coincidence chose us. Late one night, I was going out to get my dinner and I saw him tied by rope to a lamp post. I asked around and heard that somebody had dumped him. I couldn't leave him and now he's with me. I've had him for almost six years."

As owners try to coax their prized possessions into reaching the finishing line, a few stop at halfway and return. Emma, Mary and Bruce Paterson's long-haired non-starter, cowers back but their other dog, Molly, goes for gold. "She is the alpha. She is fiercely possessive about her soft toys and putting one as the target at the end helped," Bruce says about Molly, while carrying Emma out.

Molly, who later wins the Miss Hong Kong framed certificate and a toy, is a crowd favourite. Posing for the camera, she hides a stuffed monkey under her chin to the adulatory flashes of the photographers.

"She is a 'therapy dog' so very docile," Mary Paterson says. "I've taken her into a school with children with cerebral palsy and they would make sudden jerks and movements but she'd just lie there peacefully."

Priscilla Wong, on the other hand, has a trio of snappy and suspicious dogs: Roby, Abu and Tanny, who refuse to stay still for a photo. "Oh, they have minds of their own," Wong despairs.

Overmars later comments: "Owners affect how the dogs will eventually be. They can be happy, they can be perfectly nice dogs like my Harry and Potter, especially if you've had them since they were puppies."

Wong runs Lazy Bones, a small shop on Lockhart Road, Causeway Bay, which sells dog toys, accessories, clothes, collars and leashes. She is also an event organiser. "We have parties for dogs every two months," Wong explains, adding that the next event takes place on March 2. "We all get together and go out for walks in different places. Usually about 30 people, 20 dogs turn up."

The second competition tests owners, who are blindfolded and asked to feel the pelt of six dogs, one of which is their own. Boris Chan sneaks into the circle carrying his golden retriever Vincy, but the impatient eight-month puppy does a runner.


By the end of the day, exhausted guests sweat it out and carry their dogs, perfectly relaxed in their arms, down the slope. A couple pleading with their pet to come out from under the chair are among the last to leave. Overmars grins: "Dachshunds own the owner, not the other way around."

February 13, 2003

Blonde Ambition

When Art Beatus Gallery exhibited rare photographs of Marilyn Monroe at Exchange Square, people from all walks of life took a moment to pause and let this blue-eyed beauty, who died 44 years ago, take their collective breath away yet again. The enigmatic, the erotic, the eccentric, the electric, the one and only Monroe still captures the imagination as no other blonde could or perhaps ever will.


"In Hollywood a girl's virtue is much less important than her hairdo. You're judged by how you look, not by what you are. Hollywood's a place where they'll pay you a thousand dollars for a kiss, and fifty cents for your soul. I know, because I turned down the first offer often enough and held out for the fifty," Marilyn Monroe once said, I'm sure in that breathless rasp of a voice, but I can't confirm it. When she died in 1962 at the age of 36, my generation was resigned to know only of her legend, not her.

Had she been alive, she would have turned 80 this year. In the age of instant celebrity where neither looks nor talent in its remotest origins are any longer a prerequisite to fame, an interview with Monroe would have been a major "get".

For not only was she the biggest movie star in the world (kindly note that I don't say actress), she was a true blue enigma, and even in death remained as much for decades onwards. Impossibly beautiful and not without talent, her life was so deliciously intriguing. She created reams of tabloid fodder before the tabloid was even invented. The lovers, the husbands, the movies, the glamour, the diamonds, the President, the songs, the mafia, the drama on screen and off - she had it all, and there were convoluted links that snaked their way up to her deathbed.

For those all too familiar with the origins of this flickering candle in the wind (a nod to Sir Elton John for coming up with a near-perfect homage to her in song), kindly skip the following paragraph.

Born Norma Jean Mortenson on June 1st, 1926, in Los Angeles, Monroe spent most of her youth in foster homes as her father abandoned her family while Gladys, her mentally unstable mother, was in and out of asylums. The only thing Norma Jean inherited were good looks from her mother, who worked as a film cutter. Not many remnants of Norma Jean's pre-blonde, impoverished years remain, but disturbing tales of abuse and near rape litter biographies of the soon-to-be-legend. At the age of 16, she married James Dogherty, a young aircraft plant worker. That lasted for about four years and was one of many to come (figures of her romances and marriages bordered on Elizabethan, I mean Taylor not the times). She did say, somewhat glibly, "A smart girl leaves before she is left."

By 1946, Monroe was modelling swimsuits in her newly-acquired single status and bleach blonde incarnation. When her pictures landed on the table of Howard Hughes (the madcap multimillionaire director and aviator), he ensured that she got a US$125 per week contract with 20th Century Fox. Some forgettable films followed but cameos, like the one in All About Eve (1950), did get her noticed.

In 1951, Monroe, still a newcomer to the silver screen caught photographer Sam Shaw's attention. Reportedly fascinated by her near-perfect vision that his lenses captured, a life-long friendship and bond was born. He shot some of the rarest and most iconic photos, including some very controversial nudes that found their way to the cover of Playboy - a first for an actress whose career catapulted her into the irreversible orbit of global fame.

But did that happen because of her topless shots or in spite of them? Hard to say, even in hindsight. She simply said, "I love to do the things the censors won't pass," and even the moral police of the time couldn't stop Monroe from doing whatever she wanted to do.

More movies, a growing fan base, a warm reception by the then oh-so-tame media and critics led to Monroe landing a lead in Gentlemen prefer Blondes (1953), the same year she started dating baseball great Joe DiMaggio. The following year she married and divorced him. The union lasted eight months, but Dimaggio famously placed half a dozen roses at Monroe's crypt in Corridor of Memories, for 20 years after her death, three times a week. When asked about his relationship with his former wife, he famously muttered, "I've never thought that was anybody's business but my own."

DiMaggio, like most men who encountered the elusive beauty, was left in the wake of her unprecedented fame and mystical charms. Even the actresses of her time were intrigued by her palpable charisma, "When you look at Marilyn on the screen, you don't want anything bad to happen to her. You really care that she should be all right... happy," said Natalie Wood.

"She had flesh which photographed like flesh," said director Billy Wilder. "You feel you can reach out and touch it. Unique is an overworked word, but in her case it applies. There will never be another one like her, and Lord knows there have been plenty of imitations."

Even that bastion of movie machismo, Clark Gable, was positively gushing like a teen with a crush when he said, "Marilyn is a kind of ultimate. She is uniquely feminine. Everything she does is different, strange and exciting, from the way she talks to the way she uses that magnificent torso. She makes a man proud to be a man."

Despite the long train of admirers pelting her with bouquets of compliments, the golden bird was trapped in a gilded cage. And she knew it. "I was never used to being happy, so that wasn't something I ever took for granted," she said. "I did sort of think, you know, marriage did that. You see, I was brought up differently from the average American child because the average child is brought up expecting to be happy - that's it, successful, happy, and on time."

Well, none of her marriages lasted, she was often late or absent from her film sets (which got her thrown out of many films) and by many accounts (her ex-husbands, friends and directors), Monroe found happiness only fleetingly. Her third marriage to writer Arthur Miller lasted less than five years and rumours of her dalliance with President John F. Kennedy was manna created for the paparazzi.

Marilyn's off-screen antics engulfed her, and her work in the 32 or so odd films seem secondary, but she desperately craved recognition solely for her work. While talking to a reporter, she once said, "Please don't make me a joke. End the interview with what I believe... I want to be an artist, an actress with integrity."

But Marilyn was so much more. Reflecting on her life, career, performances and even her final few photographs, the word tragedy floats about like mists of Chanel No 5 (the only thing she wore to bed)in the wind.

As it is said, tragedy isn't just what happened, but it's what could have been.


The Marylin Monroe Exhibition
Art Beatus Gallery
Shop 301-302, One Exchange Square Podium
Central, Hong Kong

A Model Designer: Bollywood Celebrity Designer Manish Malhotra and the magic of movies

All the stars were aligned in the right place at the right time for Indian designer Manish Malhotra when his sterling career was ignited. Bollywood stars that is. P.Ramakrishnan met the man who dresses the most beautiful women in the world and almost single-handedly revolutionised Indian fashion in Hindi films.




It was more of a circus tent than a skirt. Blue and yellow stripes that reached the poor girl's ankles and a skirt that twirled like a pancake when the actress turned in song, in film. Her belly-baring, off-the-shoulder pink blouse was studded with dangling sequins. A lot of them. If the lights went out, people could follow her top like the northern star. Her hair was in a ponytail. No, a side ponytail - it was the '80s. Not to forget the blue eye-shadow and pink, heavily glossed lips, like she just ate a glazed chicken before she stepped on stage.

Oh the horror!

Throughout a large chunk of the 1980s and most of the 1990s, Indian cinema was a litmus test on how foul and amuck fashion could go. A land of hand-embroidered perfection, pashminas and nine-yard saris, there wasn't a sorrier sight than a leading Indian actress clutching the branch of a banyan tree yet looking like a Christmas tree when she tried to wear a Western outfit.

All that changed slowly and steadily when former model Manish Malhotra stepped into the limelight courtesy of some very high profile friends.

"Oh I just love [Indian actress] Sridevi", he exclaims. "My big break came when she, (the biggest actress in Bollywood at that time), let me do her clothes on film, my greatest passion. It was a dream come true and I learned a lot from her. All about fabrics, patterns and colours, and what would look good on screen and what wouldn't. She let me experiment and my model was the number one actress in Indian cinema. What more could I ask for?"

Apart from the curvy south Indian actress, Malhotra also designed for a host of young starlets on the rise. When he did the complete look and makeover of actress Urmila Matondkar in the film Rangeela (1995), he collected a special Filmfare award (India's Oscar equivalent) for his contribution to the film. And from then on, there's been no looking back.


Now one of the top designers in India, he was in Hong Kong as Moet & Chandon paid tribute to him, amongst other Asian designers, in a gala evening hosted at the Four Seasons. Each designer brought an outfit, inspired by the champagne and showcased it to an international mix of about 1000 VIPs. When his first model appeared in a glittering bikini blouse, smothered under a gorgeous, highly embellished sari, spontaneous applause erupted throughout the audience. By the time all his models stepped out and he joined them in the finale in his own white Sherwani top and blue denims, whispers among the crowds queried if the handsome young designer was a model too. Well, he was.

"I'm flattered that people think so but with my paunch, but believe me, I'm not! I did it very briefly a long time ago but I'm very happy creating," he says, pleased as punch at the fawning conjectures.

Apart from creating makeovers for several high-profile folks in India, he branched out to create his own namesake diffusion label in 2004. For those who think a pop over to his shops for an easy sale in the land of rupee is in the offing, think again. It costs a pretty penny to land an outfit from his collection. "I am very particular about quality and colour, fabric and patterns, and everything. I don't cut corners anywhere," he says. "That's just not my style."

A close friend to every single top celebrity and socialite in India, Malhotra arrived in Hong Kong having festooned his multi-plumed cap with yet another feather. "I just received the MTV Style award for the clothes I created for both the men and the women in the film Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna (Never Say Goodbye). I've designed for men for years and it has been a great experience."


Be it the rather eccentric Michael Jackson, the exquisite Cate Blanchett, or the effervescent Reese Witherspoon, Malhotra's creations have wrapped Hollywood bodies too. "For one-off projects really," he clarifies. "For example Reese wore one of my outfits in Mira Nair's Vanity Fair but I'm not really that enthused to try my luck in the West. I'm very happy in Mumbai. If all goes according to plan, my film directorial venture should take off in 2007. I'm more excited about that. God willing, I can start next year."

There's no denying his talent and his innate knack for setting trends but as Malhotra humbly says, "Yes I do think I was in the right place at the right time. The industry was slowly going through a change and I found directors that were willing to support me in my vision of how a film actress should look. More subtle but sophisticated cuts, more conscious decisions on the over-all look. Then when actresses insisted on working with me, well, then the battle was nearly won!"

So it's goodbye to Bollywood babes when his first film as director takes off?

"No, I love designing clothes but it doesn't mean I can't do other things,"he says. "I have my own successful talk show, I've been going over the script of the film, the casting, the new shop that I opened in Dubai, fashion week, coming here to Hong Kong, I'm flying to a shoot straight after..."

And to think that all this sprang from the... what was it, a bicycle or toothpaste modelling shot? 

He laughs and says,"Oh God, you know there was an actor whose wardrobe I was fixing and he was teasing me the other day because he found an old photo of me in some magazine where I was modelling on the beach wearing blue socks! Blue socks at the beach!" he says covering his face in sartorial shame. "We all make mistakes... and then we recover!"

help it's art! Interview with French artist Laurent Pernot in Hong Kong: Le French May

"Oh my God, there's a body on the floor!" whispers a lady and as she sidesteps the recumbent girl in a puffy white wedding dress, lying in the middle of 1a space gallery. The body isn't outlined in chalk with a police barricade around it, instead, a sign next to it, simply says, "For Ever (2004), Artist: Laurent Pernot". The young French artist sheds light on the dark beauty of his near-gothic art for P.Ramakrishnan, as his exhibition, "Au delia des miracles" (Beyond Miracles) enraptured Hong Kong. 

 During a lunch interview with Laurent Pernot, 26, there were all the flaky accoutrements of an artist: discussion on purpose, incarnation, the symbolic relationship between the known universe and mankind, memories, beginnings and endings, life and death, liberty, sensuality, desires, contradictions, ambiguities, being and non-being. But what really intrigues the mind is how such sombre work churns out of someone so young, bright and... clad in pink. 

With a matching pink wristband to boot, the soft-spoken Pernot belies expectation. Shame on me for judging a book by its cover, and the artist by his artwork; why should the creative output be a direct reflection of the creator? Like a happy tourist still on the cusp of delight and adventure, Pernot's work is part of Le French May and when we meet for the interview, he's still amazed by Hong Kong, despite the dreary humidity, heat and the over-peopled lanes of Central. 

Judging by his work, I was expecting a man with a shock of black hair, kohl-strewn eyes, tattoos and a cigarette haze shadowing his every gothic, all-black-attired movement. 

 "That's amazing, there's an art gallery right in the heart of the city in Hong Kong?" he says as we pass the oh-so-expensive Opera Gallery. 

Where was the bah-humbug attitude? 

The tinge of angst and dark lore that's nearly palpable in his work? For example, there's a piece titled Gravity, a young boy, with white feathered wings attached to his nude torso, who seems almost in tears, lost in the shadow of the dark side of the moon. An angel in blue. 

"You know I had seen this boy often and there was a strange mixture of child-like innocence and seriousness that I found very mystifying," says Pernot, trying to pin down exactly why the teen was chosen specifically to pose for the image. "He was between an adult and a child, he would play but he was so serious. He had this sadness in his eyes and I thought he would be perfect for this idea of an angel wanting to fly away, but can't. Between two worlds..." 

Nodding vigorously as one does when one claims comprehension but is nowhere near it, it's easy to appreciate the visual for what it is. The soft focus video clip of the angel struggling to get airborne, and failing after several attempts, is superscripted with a dramatic soundtrack, an atmospheric piece exemplifying his failure in flight. 

"My reference is the Greek mythological character Icarus. He is the Icarus of our world."

According to legend, Icarus died by falling into the Icarian Sea when he flew too close to the sun, which melted the wax holding his artificial wings together. The reference makes the image seem even more morbid. What makes the experience of this exhibition different at the most literal level is that there is no still canvas or sculpture to meander around. A constant change is the unwritten, unclaimed motif. The video installation pieces are in perpetual motion; for example The Uncertanity of Stars" is spectacular to watch. A curtain made of silk wires hangs in a dark corridor, whilst a thin screen allows anyone to pass through the projection. Lo and behold, thousands of particles of light, like falling stars, appear in a gush. 

"It is an endless fall of time. Gravity. And little by little, luminous shapes arise among the stars, like comets moved by an elusive force, upward and downward. The shapes look like northern lights, when I first experienced them in Norway," says Pernot re-imagining how this piece came to be. Eerier still is the Corpse Bride - no connection to Tim Burton's dark comedy. Or perhaps there is? I forget to ask, though he did say he was a fan of film as much as he was of artwork around the world. For Ever is the one that's most disconcerting. The image of a woman is projected (by hidden light cables) onto a bridal dress, making it come alive as the body suddenly inhabits the outfit lying on the floor. 

Is it part of a fairy tale? The Sleeping Beauty? Or the tragedy of Eurydice, who lay dead soon after her wedding? 

"I really want the audience themselves to decide what it means to them," says the artist, leaving an audience like me in a tizzy. I was among those who stepped away quickly as the image swelled and faded, like a woman arising from the land of the dead, a memory refusing to disperse and clinging on for dear after-life. Objectively speaking, all art is subjective. 

One man's Guernica is another man's garbage, but it needs to be noted that the response to Pernot's work has been almost unilaterally appreciative. He lives and works in Lille and Paris, a fresh graduate from Le Fresnoy National Studio of Contemporary Arts (Tourcoing, France). At a young age his work has taken him around the world with a series of exhibitions; be it in China for the Biennial of Wuyishan or at the Miro Foundation of Barcelona, the Intercross Creative Center of Sapporo, in Japan, as well as Finland, the UK, Germany, and Slovenia. 

 "I never thought that my work would take me across the world and it's really wonderful to see the reaction of people from different countries. I'm as intrigued by the places I visit and the questions I get from people..." "...As they are of your work?" I end the sentence for him. One can't help but fall into a dream-like state where things are a haze of mirages, memory fading light and altered visions, all of which is palpable through his exhibition. 

 As Pernot goes over the myriad collection that he's brought into Hong Kong and tries to enlighten me with theme and theory, I try to guesstimate what the piece Help is all about. The word 'help', made from neon, is placed in a corner between two walls , behind a large spider web made entirely of wires and pearls. If every art work can mean whatever it means to it's audience, I state claim to the fact that the piece is a cry from all young struggling artists, shining brightly in this dark and deceptive world. The piece in fact isn't called 'Help', it is laboriously titled, We all are looking for a Prophet. 

Pernot smiles benevolently and says, "The word or sound of 'help' is understood all over the world. It is a request for assistance, relief, from an individual or through collective support. It is a cry of fear, a message of loneliness or anguish. It's an interesting word as it focuses on the very special aspect of human kind, which reveals a few aspects of our survival: solidarity, complementary, interactivity. In this case, the permanent message "help" is appealing to us in the darkness, despite the absence of the supposed predator (the spider). Hence, it seems to be useless, without any witness. Who is appealing to us? What help? Where is the spider? Who is the spider? Is there really any spider?" 

 Er.... how existential. 

 "Right!"

The Reign of Rykiel

Most have only seen that shade of startling red and particular coif on the crowned heads of Europe; Queen Elizabeth I had that shade of rouge in her frizzy bob and it was all the rage circa 1558. There are other portraits of various European royals with similar gravity defying cuts too in erstwhile eras. Surely no less than royalty, "The Queen of knits" Sonia Rykiel, is the uncrowned doyenne of Parisian fashion. She speaks exclusively to P.Ramakrishnan about her Asian visits and influence, prior to the unveiling of her latest collection.

Images courtesy of The Swank.


In an age that extols thinness, there is no greater model for the sartorial styling of Sonia Rykiel than the designer herself. With a bone structure that models dream of and photographers lust after, a slim silhouette that drapes her signature knits in ways that Twiggy couldn't pull off with as much panache, her dreamy eyes and insouciant smile all make for intriguing images.

To label her merely a 'designer' is a near insult; singer, writer, artist, inspiration, icon, novelist, social commentator, thinker, mother, actress and so much more, conversation with the legend is typically French-cryptic, loaded with double entendre (and not in a vulgar way for she's never done anything vulgar in her 77 years). In saying little, she says much.

A profession that constantly demands new samples of creative fecundity every season, Rykiel has been in the business for nearly 40 years. To be precise, it is 38 years since she sent back a sweater (eight times) during her second trimester in 1968 when she couldn't find chic, comfortable maternity wear. She simply says, "I became a designer by accident, it was not planned."

Her husband owned a shop and she created a few items, mostly for herself, but when ELLE magazine put one of her knit ensembles on its cover, there was no going back to her original plan, which was "to get married and have 10 children."

Through an unprecedented career that still finds renewed and constant interest, Rykiel's knitwear is a signature look that she can't escape. If the showing at her namesake store in Central was anything to go by, the ones doling out their black Amexes were happy to embrace her latest inspired collection of shirt-dresses, minis, boat neck sweaters - all in short and loose silhouettes. As Suzy Menkes said of Rykeil: "She has a way of embracing the new without changing her merry romps on the runway, where the models exude an ooh-la-la cheerfulness."


The surprise for those who sat in the haloed front row of her Spring/Summer 2007 show in Paris was the fact the models were smiling their way down the catwalk in colourful ensembles. The colour wasn't the innovation, but getting the feline models to Cheshire grin their way through to the end of the catwalk was, as instructed by Rykeil's team as she presented a joyful collection unlike her counterparts and their grim and theatrical runway shows.

The novel idea of happy models culminated with the designer and her daughter Nathalie coming down the runway laughing, skipping and nearly dancing their way to the end. It's one of many innovations that Rykeil has placed on the catwalk. For example, she was one of the first few to put words across the front of her sweaters, with unequivocal statements like "Je deteste le cinema" ("I hate the movies" - a proclamation that came soon after Robert Altman did a caricature of her in his film Pret-a-Porter).

Not satisfied with writing a few letters on tops and behind jerseys, she penned novellas like "Les Levres Rouges" (Red Lips) and "Je La Voudrais Nus"(I would Like Her To Be Naked), and a book of fairy tales Tatania, Acacia among other books and articles. The lover of words famously said in the international Herald Tribune, "I feel more like a novelist than a fashion designer. Someone who writes a new chapter each season, including everything I see around me."

So who is the woman wearing a long sweater with the words "I Love Black" across her breasts?

"Any woman who wants to wear fashionable clothes and can manage to wear them, as long as she is able to to play with it," she responds. "These clothes are made for a woman of no specific age, any woman can wear them as long as she knows herself and her body well. It is also a fact that our customers are becoming younger, as the collections are improving a lot. But the clothes can fit any woman, a woman with a body like mine, or like Nathalie's."

Describing the kind of women she wants to sport her emblematic creations, Rykeil says, "She is not defined. She is mysterious, intelligent, attentive, and she likes to play. She is also involved in today's world and issues, politics and all the ecological problems."


But do the warm, wool peasant tops with matching voluminous skirts in baby pink fit the climate, political or environmental, of our city? "We already changed some fabrics and colours for the climate. The wool is fresher, and there is a lot of cotton, and light fabric. The clothes are very easy to wear," she assures. "It's very important to me that I know my client, the worldly woman who dons my clothes."

For someone whose work influences international fashionistas, the French icon has never even dreamed of moving to New York, London, Milan, Tokyo or any of the capital cities that she's wildly popular in.

In her monarchical splendour, she once said, "You can create fashion everywhere in the world, but the place where you are crowned is Paris. It's where you are the queen."

Published in Kee magazine. 

Daring De

She juggles home, husband and six children, three weekly columns and a weekly talk show on TV, churns out a bestseller each year and is more often than not hopscotching around the globe promoting, speaking and shopping! She's a woman undeniably in control. P. Ramakrishnan had an exclusive conversation with Shobhaa De, superwoman... in a nine-yard sari. All images by Ayesha Broacha.



Apparently the spotlight on Indian authors wasn't just a transient fad that escalated when The God of Small Things was deemed Booker Prize worthy in 1999, followed by Jhumpa Lahiri's turn to collect the Pulitzer for The Interpreter of Maladies the year after. There's so much hullabaloo for the penmen and women churning out prose and poetry out of post-colonial India.

Shove all that hype under the Persian carpet with a stiletto 'cause one woman outsells all the laureates put together; Ms Shobhaa De.

De,56, easily India's most recognisable and glamourous columnists, is as much a newsmaker as she is, in her own words, "a chronicler of our times." Not too long ago, India Today, after years of scathing reviews and unflattering portraits, deemed her one of the 50 Most Influential People in a nation of one billion. Tongue in chic, she raises her perfect eyebrows when a complimentary review was published in the weekly, days after her latest (her 14th) book hit the stands, "I must be doing something wrong."

Thoroughly amused, if not bemused, by the acerbic reviews, she remains firmly unapologetic of her work, her words, and herself. Her latest book, Spouse, The Truth about Marriage sold out its first print in 48 hours of release in New Delhi and the second edition recently reached our smog-filled shores. "Someone collected the worst reviews published ever and I think I had the most - around 315 of them from Asia alone," laughs De. "But it didn't stop me. I write because it keeps me sane, because I want to write, I need to write. I write for me, not anyone else."

The media at large slapped her with a label; the "Jackie Collins of Mumbai" - words that make her flinch even a decade after the article appeared in print. She reveals, "I've never met Jackie Collins but the comparison irritates me because I find it so completely absurd and irrelevant. It was just a lazy description by an American correspondent writing my profile in TIME magazine to make me accessible to an international readership because at the time, my first book was out and instead of just saying this person from India has written this book, he just thought it would be easier to say she's the Jackie Collins of Asia. It was the correspondent being cute and it's an albatross around my neck."

Her neck is currently swathed in a shimmering, sequined scarf and she sits on a table at a coffee shop, surrounded by samples from her shopping spree. Chairs brought in for the interview are regally ignored while a photographer clicks away for a local paper. She strikes confident poses - remnants from an early tryst with a short-lived, self-aborted modeling career. If her sharp profile is an asset, her sharper mind is a fusillade, carefully hidden under coiffed auburn curls.

Bollywood would have been the next inevitable step for this top model in Mumbai in the 1970's, but instead of appearing onscreen - despite offers from Oscar-winning auteur Satyajit Ray - she became the editor of the now-iconic Indian film rag, Stardust.

Yes, as cheesy as it sounds, it was indeed a journal of what the fine feathered folks in the Indian celebrity circuit were up to. Fan-zines litter the Indian market but she chose to wipe the halo away from the screen demi-Gods (let's not forget India is a country that erects temples for their favourite actors) and wrote defiant editorials - a trend hitherto unchanged.

She found fame early but found the famous, boring, "Some movie stars are big babies but that's their problem. I have my job, they can do their's," she waves her diamond festooned hand about, shooting away imaginary flies, "I think Indian celebrities [not unlike Hollywood!] are too accustomed to puff pieces and a level of sycophancy that I find sickening. There are people who are constantly feeding that ego. I couldn't do that."

She does refrain from commenting on newcomers that hoard Bollywood, the Indian film capital. No potshots at the upcoming youngsters or star-children who she feels need time to grow into their boots. Perhaps it's that maternal instinct kicking in, after all she's a mother of six aged between 16-32!

She does however, bring down the titans of Asia.

India's most popular actor Shahrukh Khan reacted very badly to a recent column penned by De. Brought to court to speak out against the Indian mafia, he turned into a hostile witness and retracted his statements made to the police. De called him a coward point blank.

The most powerful man and Bollywood icon a coward?

The PR machinery spun out of control. The King of Bollywood, whose Pepsi posters are visible in every nook and cranny in Mumbai, vehemently spoke out against her, "I could have got pissed off when I read Shobhaa De's article in which she called me unmanly.I told her I was disappointed in her. And I never do that for articles. I could have got really angry. There's a saying, let the dogs bark, the elephant's will go on. When you don't know the facts, you don't open your mouth, because the facts can scare the pants off you. And I told Shobhaa De so. She doesn't know what she's talking about."

Oh but she does.

Despite insisting there is no plan to keep herself in the news, Ms De has done nothing to hop out of it either.

"I don't live my life to outrage India. I'm not there to shock anybody. I say what I
believe is the right thing to say, to state if it ends up breaking the rules, then the rules get broken but it's not by design. It is not a strategy."


Then why say the biggest star in India has "no balls"?

"I never said that. I don't use that kind of language,"she says curtly. "I may have called Shahrukh a coward along with the other stars who went back on their word. But it wasn't me alone that said it. People respond very strongly to whatever I say. I'm flattered that seem only to react to what I say and ignore everything else."

Despite having left film journalism, being married to wealthy businessman Dilip De, the high-profile couple attend parties where running into a star she's written about might make the meeting awkward, I presume.

I stand corrected.

"It never gets awkward. Never ever. We're not children. Shahrukh called me up the day after the column and explained himself. I told him to speak to the press, why tell me?"

On actor Hrithik Roshan's wedding day, the national papers arrived at the doorstep of both his parents and his to-be-in-laws homes with reports of his affair with one of his co-stars.

The poster prince for good Indian values a pre-marital adulterer? A De exclusive. Fervent denials followed the same day from both parties and De was again demonised. Threats of lawsuits (long since quashed) followed. How could she say that he was "caught cootchie-cooing" with another actress when she wasn't in the picture?

"I stand by that completely. I found out that information from a very good source and an eye-witness and and it happened on a British Airways flight and I challenge Hrithik to deny it," states De.

He did deny it.

"Oh he can deny it. All stars deny anything that they find an unacceptable part of themselves but I can challenge him any time to the veracity of what happened on that flight, and that they were having a scene and they probably still are! But that's none of my business whether they are or not, but its just that I don't like hypocrisy and I don't like pretense."

But he's the golden boy of Bollywood...

"Was. Past tense. He's not anymore baby! At the time, he was projecting himself as this family guy, totally madly in love with his new wife. He may as well be, I'm not even doubting the depth of his love but whatever happened on that flight, happened on that flight. He cannot challenge that. He'd be stupid to."

Listed, with Sonia Gandhi, as one of the most prominent personalities in India, De tries - but not too hard - to let her displeasure be known. "What astonished me about the selection was the fact that there were only four women in it, in the seventh biggest democracy in the world, when you handpick 50 and out of which only four women seem to count, one of whom happens to be a political leader by default, that to me is a little depressing."

Having polished her talons and perfected the conversational approach to her column, with splatters of 'honey', 'no baby' and other socialite catch-phrases, she's the one that notes that Sonia Gandhi was wearing Gucci shoes while being sworn in at Parliament in New Delhi.

"Will any other country on the planet have a foreigner as its leader?" she asks rhetorically.

In the husky yet clear-cut tone, her cadence picks up as she states, "I like the idea that women who find themselves on various lists for whatever reason as influence makers and as opinion makers, should do so on the strength of their own personal achievements, not because they are married to someone, not because they belong to a certain family and have things on a platter happening for them. That they should have risen to whatever position like Mayavati [a minister in India] has and shown courage, merit and should be inspirational figures in their own right which has nothing to do
with their social position and standing."

As we meander through topics, it comes to mind that there hasn't been much discussion on her novels. The work she does at her dining table at home, eight hours a day, three columns each week and a book every other year, while bringing up six kids.

"The moment I'm done with a column, I forget about it. When people come and ask me what I said at that time, on that day, I go blank. I've moved on. They haven't."

The novels well behind her, she's the woman behind one of India's most popular soaps on television too. De's repeated appearances in the social pages, in addition to her national columns, headed with glamourous photo bylines, indicate a workaholic who's moved bag and baggage to an office. On the contrary, she rarely leaves home.

"Anything that's going to take me away from my kids is unacceptable. I don't like
the idea of latch-key kids, letting themselves in, fixing themselves a snack, doing their homework in isolation, waiting for mom and dad to get back. It's something I find abhorrent," she says. "I feel very sorry for kids who do it all by themselves when their parents are out. I am a hands-on mom and I will not compromise that, no matter how lucrative and how wonderful a contract may be."

She wrote and conceived the eight-women led soap Kittie Party and its tremendous success has led to her latest venture, a political drama titled Swaarth (Self) with a cast of India's top television stars. Having shot the pilot recently, it should air soon.

There are no literary prizes to boast of, and no major awards, but when an influential political magazine gives an honorary award of sorts by listing her among billionaire businessmen, ministers, priests and legendary artists, it must be a vindication... if not a jaw-dropping surprise.

The final word, as always, belongs to Ms De.

"I think it has a lot to do with establishing a track record of credibility and over 30 years, I think I have earned that position, because what I say through my column and my books has reinforced the image of someone who speaks up when she has to. There may be times when what I'm saying is not very palatable, but I've always exercised my right to say it, say it responsibly and to say it strongly,"says Ms De, trying to fathom why her sharpest critics eulogized her after three decades of verbal vitriol.

"So you always get people who don't agree with you. Dissent is very much part of
democracy and I'm completely OK with that, but once you attain a certain level of influence, to be able to sustain it for a decade or more needs a lot of hard work. It needs a great deal of genuine commitment to what you're doing and you must be able to stand up and be counted."

Mass Appeal: Italian designer Massimo Calestrini's interview in Hong Kong

Italian designer Massimo Calestrini's brief sojourn to Hong Kong and rendezvous with the creme-de-la-creme was a heady mix of shock and awe. P.Ramakrishnan chats with the designer whose work is much like him; unique and inspired. Images courtesy of On Peddar.


Deep in the recesses of Nicole Kidman's wardrobe, engulfed between swathes of Chanel and a private collection of Bottega Veneta, there lie remnants of her favourite mistake; gifts from an ex-lover. No, not from him, but a certain rocker who saw a vivid, ostrich-accordion-pleated handbag, with an emblematic, twin-tailed golden gecko hanging off the side, and he thought it perfect for the Australian screen-siren.

The lover was Lenny Kravitz, and the bag was unmistakably, a Shiro.

A baby in the world of fashion, the brand and it's maker, Massimo Calestrini, went from the crawling stage to a full-throttle run, taking off while newcomers struggle to get into Vogue.

African-born, Italian designer Calestrini's collection of reversible, dual-fabric, interchangeable, twin-hued jackets, bags and accessories, are as much a reflection of the creator as they are of the diverse cultures that his pan-global travels and residence have borne him.

Born and brought up Asmara, Eritrea, Calestrini moved to Addis Ababa (Ethiopia) with his family and then Yemen, Rome and Modena. A personal history that the Lonely Planet would like to pick his brains on, Calestrini's peculiar gift of noticing beauty in everyday objects, nature and his surroundings has served him well. His clothes and accessories are a hybrid of the familiar with a novel presentation. His design emblem is in fact a Shiro, the rare dual-tailed lizard that old African tribes consider a very lucky talisman. According to legend, if you can find a two-tailed lizard, you will be lucky for the rest of your life and luck certainly has favoured this fashion freshman.

The stars in style have grabbed many of his exotic creations from his line launched just three years ego. From the lapels of jackets to the bags and belts, the embellishment on suits to entire overcoats, crocodile skin and motifs loom large in the Shiro collection. It's even peeping out of fur-lined trench coats and shoes.

"I am inspired by nature, by all that I saw in Africa," says Calestrini while seated at a popular restaurant in IFC mall.


A visual festival of his colourful, impeccably tailored collection is shown to a select few, already aware of his brand.

"I've been to Hong Kong before many times and it's such an exciting city," he says with that unmistakable Italian accent. "For me, it is such an interesting market. China and India are places that are very exciting for the fashion world. I have seen beautiful ladies in their cheongsams carry my bags in contrasting colours. And I have seen women in saris with my bags with the long, thin straps that fall down to the waist, in the same colours as their saris. It's so wonderful to see my designs within such diverse cultures."

That final expression crops up repeatedly in conversation as the aesthete finds marvel in everything from the mundane to the marketable, from the rich colour palette of Africa to the symmetry of the table setting in a restaurant. "All the cities in the world that I go to inspire me in their own way," says Calestrini, dressed in his own creations. "Africa is obviously a big part of my theme in my collection but even in Hong Kong, I see that people like clean lines, not too fussy, there's symmetry. See that row of glasses on the table - see how perfectly aligned they are? And the row of lights hanging above the bar, the rectangles are aligned so finely?"

For all the joy he finds in the simplicity that he sees, the highly embellished, often colourful and textured items that churn out of Shiro seem a bit extreme, pieces that might possibly seem incongruous when placed next to the muted shades of Hong Kong's teeming business masses.

"My clothes are for people with passion, who aren't afraid of a little colour. You know if I don't like a person, then I don't sell to them."

Stretching back,he elaborates, "There is this woman in Italy, who owns and runs one of the largest boutiques. She wanted my collection but I wouldn't give it to her. I thought she was very vulgar and had no style. You know she went crazy! But that is me. Then, there was this couple I met in Four Seasons hotel, these beautiful Indian people and they were so elegant, so I invited them to my show. Then weeks later, they wanted to have dinner with me on their 25th Anniversary, and I said, 'Why me?' Their son was in Washington, their daughter in India, and their other son in Hong Kong, but they were in Milan with me. We had such a wonderful time. Later they sent me a gift; a classic Mercedes. I was shocked. But I always believed, you do good and good things happen to you."


The response to his collection shown in Hong Kong has bordered on great, not just good. The Shiro Collection, now available exclusively via On Pedder, include clothing, bags and accessories fashioned from exotic materials such as crocodile, ostrich, python, lizard, mink and sable. The crocodile and ostrich skins are hand-treated in Africa, following traditions that maintain the natural aspect of the skins. What sets this collection apart from the cookie-cutter cluster of fashionable trinkets is that they are all unique; each piece has an individual serial number and is made by Italian artisans.

The crocodile and ostrich jackets and bags are Shiro's most famous items. The jackets are made of incredibly soft, hand-treated crocodile leather, dyed in fancy hues (fuchsia, turquoise, red, green)or simpler colours (dark brown, black). The furs include light and glamorous sable, sheared mink trimmed with crocodile and cashmere coats.

Truth be told, it takes a woman of some chutzpah to pull off the bold look. So who is the woman who can best represent the brand?

"There are many beautiful women that I would love to dress, like Cameron Diaz," says the designer. "So many. I don't have one particular celebrity muse or model, but there's going to be a well-known person, not American, of mixed origin that I think will represent my vision well."

He pauses before continuing. "You know, in fact, I do have a muse. She is an African princess. She's from a royal family, Mary Haile Selassie, the Emperor's daughter, the person that received me in Ethiopia and that made me realise that there was a lot that I could do. Years later I found out that she had helped me without me even realising it. Her intelligence, modesty and elegance have left a mark on me. I have always admired her style. She had a dark complexion and long curly hair. See this brooch?" he asks, pointing to a cluster of diamonds studded on his shirt collar. "It's a 1910 Cartier. She gave it to me as a gift. I've designed some outfits for her and when I see a model in comparison, wearing the same thing, it's nothing. Style is an attitude, it's about how you carry yourself. Some people just have it, and others can only imitate it."


As the interview draws to a close, Calestrini makes sure he is keeping himself, and those around him, in stitches. "When I was little, I used to have cheeks of crocodile for breakfast. When I was younger, you know I was bitten by a crocodile, so when I grew up, I have crocodile in all my collections. Revenge." As the words are met with bewilderment, he bursts out laughing. "No, no, I'm kidding of course but it's fun to shock the media here you know?"

Indeed.

Kick the Girls and Make Them Cry

Boys don't hit girls but Joey Lee willingly stands up to gym-toned gorillas as they kick her hard. Well,to try and kick her as she trains for Xplosion, the international Muay Thai competition. She's been on a winning streak and if her trainer's words are anything to go by, she's well on her way to becoming a World Champion. P.Ramakrishnan meets this "tough little girl" who kicks ass. Literally. Images by William Furniss.


With her hair perpetually in a ponytail, and with an easy smile and general effervescence, Joey Lee's the kind of girl who would win Miss Congeniality at any event. But she's not heading to any competition with an evening gown and bikini round. Her competition may have voyeuristic masses of screaming men, but her stage is a square-shaped battle ground and bruises, blood and bone-crunching, though not expected, are still anticipated by the wolverine crowds that congregate to watch this sport.

Traditional Muay Thai's history is distilled from Thailand, where, historically, it was a martial art used only by men in the military. Known as "The Science of Eight Limbs", hands, shins, elbows and knees are all used extensively. A Muay Thai competitor has the ability to execute strikes using eight points of contact. If late night forays into Cable TV's numbing pleasures have gotten to you, you might have witnessed the versatile, brutal martial art on 3:00am shows, and been riveted for its heated, quick and intense exercises of pain and submission.

Women were not allowed to take part in this often bloodless but bruisey sport until quiet recently. It's definitely an acquired taste and as Michelle Moldowan, Lee's childhood friend, points out, Lee wasn't born into it.

"When I knew her back in Canada, she was a very sporty, competitive person but she certainly wasn't kicking people around at an early age. I knew her from basketball and she was very determined, and in fact I remember not liking her much when I first met her!" She smiles, gives Joey a look and continues with brutal honesty, "She is just very focused on what she does, and she does it well. You have to admire
that."

While many train since tender ages, Lee has only been doing this for the past six years and is already ranked among the best in the field. With gender no bar, she has sparred with guys and gals with equal ease.

"The biggest challenge doesn't really, come from the physical aspect of this sport," she says. "As a female, its really, really hard to find a good training partner. For a competition you have to spar quite a bit and when you have, pound for pound a sparring partner, you have to find someone who's on the same level as you and someone who's the same weight. So experience and weight wise, it's really difficult to find women to train with. So you end up sparring with guys quite a bit, guys who are either heavier than you, who don't go very hard to go down to your weight. Or you end up with guys who are very green who go nuts and you end up getting hurt."

Watching others hem and heave in the ring as bullets of sweat drip down, this is one of the fastest ways to loose weight, tone and train at Pure Fitness, where Lee has a daytime gig as a personal trainer. Many have seen her kicking around at IFC, in her shimmering, trademark pink shorts as her legs go up to smack the training boards that her sparring partners sheathe their arms with. Sharp slaps of contact reverberate in the gym and they punctuate the Hip-Hop, Techno muzac that runs in endless cycles. How this little frame of a body can execute such sharp bursts of energy is beyond comprehension.

During a quick body check for perforated injuries and post-fight collateral damage, she appears surprisingly unscathed. "The only injuries I've had are two black eyes-both from training, not from actual fights," she says with a laugh. "I've had a hyper-extended elbow, which is also from sparring; I went to throw a cross and she went in for a hook and hit me right in the elbow. Flexibility wise, that's beyond the proper range of motion so tendons get stretched and that's not a nice feeling. Otherwise, I've had one badly bruised knuckle and swollen hands, but no major injury. I punched a girl on the skull and even with gloves on, I bust up my hands more than I hurt her head."

Indeed, everything's a life lesson in a sport where if you're still standing straight and walking out calmly, you're the winner at large. "No bleeding noses, no major bruises and all my teeth are still there. But they're all fake, but is that what you're asking me?" Oh she kids too.

Rigorous training, four to five times a week, particularly just before a fight means that Lee will drop anywhere between 10 to 11 pounds. Gearing up for her next match, her bags are neatly packed and she's representing Hong Kong (she was born here) in a world arena, while her family has its collective fingers and toes crossed, wishing her luck.

"My mom is very supportive but after seeing my first fight, yeah, she couldn't come to any more," she says reflecting on those back home, half a planet away in Canada. "No mother really wants to see her kid get beaten up, which is cool, but she's been supportive of everything I do."

As we go to print, Lee is training for her next big fight in Australia with her trainer Pierre Ingrassia, who says his "tough little girl" has it in her to be the best.

"Not just the best, but the World Champion. There's no one around that's as good as her. With the right support and training, she's the one to beat."

World you have been warned.


Also see feature 24 hours: Joey Lee

The Last Emperor: Amitabh Bachchan

It is difficult not to enthuse hyperbola when discussing Amitabh Bachchan. He is, indubitably, the most famous Indian alive. The brightest luminary of Indian cinema and star of 160 plus Hindi films, he also had a triple turn of back-to-back box-office smashes earlier this year. None too shabby for a sexagenarian grandfather in his fourth decade in Bollywood. P.Ramakrishnan was in conversation with... the last emperor.



He gets up from his wooden chair, struts in his khaki uniform and faces menacingly
at the stranger in front of him. With a swift kick to the front leg of his guest’s chair, he knocks his surprised visitor to the floor. In an ominous tone, Vijay Khanna (Bachchan) growls, “This is a police station - not your father’s house where you can do as you please.”
- Scene from the film, “Zanjeer”, 1973

Loops of different movie reels roll in my mind - images and dialogues familiar to billions of South-East Asians, besotted by the Bollywood icon. In a telephone interview with Amitabh Bachchan, 63, I’ve been put on hold hours after he landed in Mumbai after a trip from Los Angeles for a film shoot and premiere. I try to remain calm and professional as the rich, deep, Godly baritone gets back on line.

“I used to attend premiers of my movies across America in the late '70’s and '80’s, but have not done so recently. I’ve had to carry press clippings with me after 9/11 in case there’s trouble with immigration, but there hasn’t been. I don’t think September 11, the aftermath, affected the Indian film industry a lot. If you make a good film, it’ll run,” he says, sounding none too wary after his transatlantic flight.

Well, jet-setting around the globe is part and parcel of a movie star, perhaps the biggest star in the world considering the vast reach of Bollywood that spans the Middle-East, South-East Asia and even Russia. Subtitled DVDs that spring from Mumbai even reach Iceland, such is the mass appeal of “the Big B.”

In a realm far removed from his humble beginnings, Bachchan's own life would make quite a caper. Born to Teji and Harivanshraj (a renowned Indian poet/author) Bachchan in 1942, in the historic city of Allahabad, he was not an overnight success. Notoriously nepotistic as Bollywood is, he had no connections to the film industry and no film was ever bank rolled on his father's account. There were years of struggle that followed a clerical career in Calcutta, which he chucked in pursuit of fame and film. Known to few, seen by fewer, his early releases such as Saat Hindustani (Seven Indians, 1969) and Reshma aur Shera (Reshma and Shera, 1970) had him in minor roles.

"I have not forgotten the days of struggle but I don't romanticise about it. Everyone has periods of difficulties that make them who they are, life's ebbs and flow hits one and all and I was no exception. I can say this distinctly though, I've never forgotten the people who treated me with kindness, of whom there many," he says, brushing aside further nostalgic trips down memory lane.

In 1971, Bachchan was cast as the best friend of the lead star Rajesh Khanna in the film Anand, a supporting role where, finally, critics took note of his magnetic persona, and his emotive speech. The first ignition of fame was gaining momentum, a spark was lit.


In the film Zanjeer (Chains, 1973), passed up by the leading stars of the time, Bachchan was cast as a ferocious police inspector, fed up by the corruption that permeated all strata of society. It was the right film, at the right time that catapulted the young unknown into the orbit of legend. A star was born, after a lengthy, nine-film pregnancy.

In the decade that followed, Bachchan did roughly five films a year (they don't call it the biggest film industry in the world for nothing) with at least three blockbusters each year. While India Today labelled him "the one man industry", Jeetendra, his contemporary, commented,"As a superstar, he is No:1 to 10!"


A half-eaten apple lies on the ground. A nameless, tall man in semi-tattered clothes walks by. He sees the apple. He hesitates, looks around, pretends to walk away. Returns. Looks around again. Hesitates further. Assured no one's watching him, he swipes it from the ground and takes a bite; the first morsel of food he's tasted in two days. A look of satisfaction transforms his starved face for a moment. Unknown to him, a journalist is watching and recording every moment.

That man could be somebody, someday, she thinks to herself.
- from the film, Main Azaad Hoon (I am Free, 1989)


Not unlike Hollywood, Indian stars rarely speak to the press except for when they want to promote their film. With trepidation, I venture to ask Bachchan not about his vast successes, but his box-office duds instead.

Main Azaad Hoon (I am Free) for instance. A songless tragedy about a poor man, made into a folk hero by a journalist, the Indian-ised version of Frank Capra's "Meet John Doe"(1941) was a turkey at the turnstiles. "That film had a very fine script," he says without hesitation. "Javed Akhtar [screen writer] and I were working together after a very long time. It was brilliantly written by him and it was equally well executed by Tinnu Anand [the director] and I had a great time doing that role. I think it was a very sensitive film, it was very timely. It didn't have the usual commercial ingredients of escapist cinema, but I thought it was a very dramatic film. Obviously, it didn't do as well as expected and... that's the end of the story."

So can an Indian film, without the standard commercial staples of multi-coloured song-and-dance ever work? "Indian movies come with certain expectations," he says. "A mixture of song and dance, comedy, drama, action and emotions are served together. If a film is offered to me without the usual elements, I see no problems in doing it. I am not disheartened by commercial failure."

I would take his word for it, though history says otherwise. At his career's peak, Bachchan, rarely strode from the typical Hindi film. The fancifulness and false reality of Bachchan blockbusters was a tired (albeit successful) formula. In these "angry-young-man"films, Bachchan (often named Vijay, i.e. Victor) was the proletariat stalwart who fought, single handedly, against a dozen goons sent by the opulent, evil businessman/politician. Of course, almost always, the hero strutted out unscathed or died a heroic death after spluttering a verbose monologue. A hardcore hero to the core.

To be fair, Bachchan did on occasion step into more serious cinema. For example, in 1977, Bachchan starred in a tragedy, Alaap (Prelude), a well disguised political commentary on the times by writer/director Hrishikesh Mukherjee. However, it barely created a murmur at the box office despite its impressive cast and music.

"I've always enjoyed working with Hrishida. He is a marvelous writer and director, more so a marvelous person. I've done my maximum number of films with him and I miss working with him. As a formidable editor and director, he was never indulgent with scenes and cinema, it got to the point quickly. The box-office status of the films didn't change our equation."

Bachchan was applauded by many critics for the films he did with Mukherjee and many lament that after the writer/producer/director retired, Bachchan was left to work with directors who were too in awe of the star to encourage him to try and stretch his horizons.



In past interviews, Bachchan's wife Jaya Bhadhuri, a celebrated actress herself, said she "doesn't believe in my husband's kind of cinema" and is a staunch critic of his films.

Within the Indian film industry, few criticise Bachchan. But in a rare interview a few years ago, legendary Lata Mangeshkar, the most successful singer in the history of Indian cinema, found fault with some of his films from the late 1980s. When I ask Bachchan about this, he says, "It is her opinion and I respect it, she's entitled to it."

Throughout the interview, Bachchan gives fluid and erudite answers, except when I ask him questions about the critics who've taken potshots at him. Then, and I can hear it (when I play back the tape!); he is less articulate and sounds a bit defensive. "It is their prerogative," he said at one point. "They should be given the freedom to express it and we, as actors, accept what they say."

Knowing the answer, I ask, has he ever had a problem with the Indian media?

"I don't think I've had a problem with them. Well... there was a problem, several years ago but that was amicably sorted out."

Some stars occasionally stop talking to the press, I point out, knowing he would know I was referring to his one time prohibition of press interviews. ALL press interviews. He created the first media ban in India - which did nothing to cease his marvelous cinematic career.

"Yes, I was under that [stars who ban the press] bracket... but that episode is over."




Bachchan is soaked in sweat and blood, clad in torn pants, a disheveled shirt and a red bandanna. When he comes onto the screen, the crowd roars, claps and whistles. You haven't witnessed Indian cinema, until you've seen a Bachchan film at a theatre filled with voluble fans.


This was in Southern India, in 1993, while I was attending my first movie ever with an all Indian audience, on Indian ground. The crowd claps at his dialogues and one-liners, some throw coins and lemons at the screen; like they do at the temples in Chennai, showing their reverence for the Gods.

During a song sequence, some dance in the aisles, others on their chairs. Suddenly, some break free and run towards the platform below the screen, to dance on stage. The show is halted. The police come, shuffle the over-enthusiastic fanatics away from the white screen. Calm is restored and the movie continues. I sit agape. You sense the power of this uncommon man with the common man.

He is no less than God for many ardent fanatics. He has his own temple in Calcutta, where devotees worship his photographs and a life-size sculpture. Attempts to buy his wax-replica from Madam Tussaud's in London were aborted (exorbitant costs of buying and shipping). But at the temple, fans can still hear the dialogues and songs from his films that continuously play on speakers. Naturally, his photographs, films, audio tapes, books, magazines and posters are on sale nearby.

He tells me the idol worship makes him a little uncomfortable ("It's highly embarrassing and I am humbled by my fans"). But the string of awards he's received in recent years is an annual tradition he's quite comfortable with, I think to myself. I'm corrected yet again.

"It means a lot to get this recognition," he says. "I don't crave it. I don't think I deserve it, but if it's given with good intentions, I welcome it and humbly accept it."

His own clothes are different. Impeccable, designer-labelled, even his accessories are stamped with an international logo. The eyes have a tinge of grey, his goatee is white and while his hair is jet-black, the cheeks sag a little. Alas, the man is mortal. This time, I see him at a press conference with his family. There is another Bachchan on the horizon of Indian cinema, trying to make it under his father's gargantuan shadow. The set phrase, "Nothing grows under the shadow of a Banyan tree," comes to mind from author R.K.Narayan.

Abhishek, Amitabh Bachchan's only son is trying to get a foothold in the film industry whilst Amitabh now cuts a fine father figure in the select films that he does. Four thousand miles away he may be, but even I can hear paternal pride on the phone, when I ask him about his son and the new generation of stars.

"I like all of them, they are all very talented and they're very well equipped, certainly more equipped than I was when I started. They have a huge sense of competition, a great passion to succeed and I think they work with heavier odds than we did at our time because they have to face an audience which is less tolerant. People have been tolerating me for a long time! But they have to be absolutely bang on at their first attempt," he says.

Before winding up what turned out to be 45 minutes and 36 seconds of talking with India's biggest star, I wonder if he had ever considered any other profession? "No I haven't. I'm just about managing this one!"

As the echolocation of his rich laugh fades, he continues. "I guess there are several roles that an actor wants to do but it's difficult to say offhand what they would be. If you get satisfied creatively, then that's the end of your life as an artist."


KEE Magazine, Summer 2006

* Kee would like to extend its gratitude to Mrs. Mira Mahtani and Ms Rosy Singh for arranging the interview.

Images courtesy of Dharma Productions, B.R. Films

Savoir Faire: Michael Wong: Interview with Hong Kong star

Hong Kong actor Michael Wong was in conversation with P.Ramakrishnan while he was blowing smoke up... at the Cigar Divan in Central. Images by William Furniss.



According to Will Smith’s chart buster “Getting Jiggy With It”, the cigar is “for the look” but he doesn’t light it. For Hong Kong actor, model, producer and writer, Michael Wong, the cigar is all about the taste, the flavour, the mood and so much more.

As we meet for an interview at the Red Chamber Cigar Divan, which is adjacent to the iconic Shanghai Tang flagship store in Central, Wong settles himself into a lounge chair and lights up one of his favourites. “I love a good cigar and I’m so grateful that David Tang has this place set up for us aficionados,” he says. “A great cigar does cover the full range of emotion, it’s always there for you at the right time. It;s that great companion that’s there when you’re in a contemplative mood, if you’re ecstatically happy… whenever.”

Before we continue, let me narrate you this cigar and David related tale,” he says with a laugh. “I owe him! I had asked him a favour a few years ago, when I was doing a series with Dennis Hopper. I wanted to give Dennis a gift on behalf of the cast and crew and so I called David because I knew Dennis loved his cigars. David generously gave me a box of Sir Winston and Trinidad, but unfortunately, the timing didn’t work out. By the time I got back to location in Shanghai, Dennis had already left and I had to share the cigars with the crew!”

So you feel guilty about that?

“No, not even that. What I felt really guilty about was that I called David on the phone, and I was in a taxi back here in Hong Kong and he must have been in the London. I was in a really giddy mood, and I must have woken him up. I was yelling, “Wei, wei, wei!” And I was laughing because I was in the car with friends and joking around and finally I heard him say, “I can hear you, who is it?!” and I hung up! I was so embarrassed! PS: Dear David, that was me on the phone that time and I owe you an apology, and my extreme gratitude in accommodating me.”

Even the people watching the photo-shoot join in the laughter.

American born, 6-foot tall, Hong Kong movie star Michael Wong has acted in over 60 films in the last 23 years. Li Cheng (also known as Miles Apart) was the first film he directed and co-produced, while he has also modeled for international brands and appeared on television shows. Married to the glamourous model Janet Ma, and brother of fellow actor/model Russell, Wong’s high-profile career so far has been a wild concoction of hits and misses.


Reflecting back, he says, “I think it was in a movie I was working on in 1995 when I first had a cigar on film. The projection of the mafia or bad guys smoking didn’t really bother me. When I played the role, I was the good guy in the film who was smoking. I convinced the director that it should be a trait in the character. I was lucky that he agreed with me so it was a great excuse to smoke during the day - as part of the job.”

Wong insists that he never smokes in front of his children and if there are kids around, he doesn’t like it when people light up either. “Places like this divan, or a cigar chamber, I think men should be gentlemanly about smoking cigars, be in company that permits, no, company that enjoys it as much s you do. All good cigar smokers are gentlemen first.”



Red Chamber Cigar Divan
Shop M1, Mezzanine Floor
Pedder Building, 12 Pedder Street
Central
Tel: (852) 2537 0977


Cover story, The High Life