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Hindustan Times
06-06-2025
- Hindustan Times
Iron maidens: 200 years after the first one, where will trains take us next?
Apu and Durga hear a strange sound, of a kind they have never heard before. They run run run through tall grass to find out what is making the noise. They emerge from the grass to a sight that takes their breath away. Unfortunately, Durga stumbles and misses the spectacle. Her brother Apu stares, riveted: a steam engine, huffing and puffing, is pulling a passenger train. This is widely considered the most memorable scene in Satyajit Ray's classic, Pather Panchali (1955). Railways spelt magic. For young Apu and Durga. For most of us. It has been 200 years since the spell was first cast. The world's first steam-powered passenger train made its first run, from Stockton to Darlington in England, a distance of just under 42 km, in 1825. (The first passenger train journey in India, that famous one from Bombay to Thane, occurred 28 years later, in 1853). Trains have, of course, changed everything since. They have democratised travel, sped it up and made it more comfortable; changed how goods are moved, drawn hinterlands closer to markets; allowed remote regions to participate to a far greater extent in economies. They became, almost immediately, an integral part of economic progress. Food security, real-estate, defence: none of it was quite complete without the railroad. It would take the world a while to get used to these new speeds (of 50 to 80 kmph, at a time when cars averaged about 40 kmph). In 1830, in fact, a Liverpool-Manchester train ran over British Member of Parliament William Huskisson. He was attending the opening of a new rail link when he stepped from a train onto the tracks, with a few others. He was clipped by a rake on a parallel line, in what became the first widely reported death by passenger locomotive. It's a fatal error people continue to make; perhaps the brain cannot adequately assess something moving so fast. Every year in Mumbai, India's densest rail commuter hub, an estimated 2,500 people die while crossing the tracks, most of them unable to judge the time it will take the oncoming train to reach them. *** Back to the 1800s, the railways boosted the growth of cities and of empires. It became possible to live scores of kilometres away from work, and easier to rule continents where one had only the slimmest sliver of a claim. As these new links connected harbour towns and interiors, making business more profitable for trading companies, colonial powers such as the British used them to solidify their reign. In the US, the railroad networks shooting out across the continent spawned a new generation of millionaires. They also boosted an upwardly mobile middle-class that grew rich on investments in such companies, which saw stocks rise rapidly from 1865 all the way to the early stock-market bubble of 1873. The collapse would be swift and devastating: a sad and since-recurring tale of a fast-expanding industry and adventurous investment firms taking a tumble together. In early echoes of a pattern that continues to be repeated, banks and businesses that had leaned on each other, counting on the continued railroad boom to see them through, fell like dominoes, in what became known as the Panic of 1873, a downturn that spread all the way to Europe. *** The trains themselves chugged ever-forward. What started out as one type of rake, a steam engine pulling a set of carriages, grew to encompass a myriad forms. There would be a lot more belching of smoke and fumes before trains began to go electric. In fact, the world's first underground railroad system, set up in London in 1863, was powered by steam until 1890. These chugging engines would move troops, supplies and letters from home, during the Great War. Great big steam locomotives would play the sinister role of mass deportations to concentration camps, about two decades later, in what would come to be called World War 2. *** Across the colonies, by this point, a strange thing was happening. Disillusioned by their continued exclusion from their own growing economies, and tired of their second-class status — even as they harvested the fields for cotton and fought in the wars on behalf of their foreign rulers — large colonised populations began to get restive. In vast and diverse regions such as India and Africa, the cheap, fast-moving passenger trains were one of the things that made it easier to reach out across vast distances, and differences, and unite. (English, as a common language, would assist in this cause too; as would the radio, as a means of communication and broadcast.) Think about how often one sees the train in the 1982 film Gandhi. Think about how impossible the freedom rallies might have been without the ability to fly across the landscape and be in two distant places if not at once then at least in one day. *** Then the wars were over, freedom had been won. The sense of wonder, captured so evocatively by filmmakers, writers, poets and painters, faded a fair bit as new marvels took over: cars, planes, missions to the moon. Sample these awe-filled lines by the Scottish poet Robert Louis Stevenson, in his poem, From A Railway Carriage (1885)… Faster than fairies, faster than witches, Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches… Here is a cart run away in the road Lumping along with man and load; And here is a mill and there is a river: Each a glimpse and gone for ever! A very different view emerges, less than a century later, in the Jethro Tull rock classic Locomotive Breath (1971; lyrics by Ian Anderson). Here, the train serves as a metaphor for much of what it, and the industrial revolution, have enabled: explosions of human industry, activity and habitation: In the shuffling madness Of the locomotive breath Runs the all-time loser Headlong to his death Oh, he feels the piston scraping Steam breaking on his brow Old Charlie stole the handle And the train it won't stop Oh no way to slow down… No way to slow down No way to slow down No way to slow down No way to slow down *** Japan built the world's first high-speed train, the Shinkansen or New Trunk Line, nicknamed the bullet train for how fast it flew. Special tracks minimised friction; aerodynamic design raised speeds. At launch, the Shinkansen had a maximum speed of 210 kmph, in 1964. Speeds have since inched up steadily, to 320 kmph, then 443 kmph and now a high of 603 km per hour for its maglev or magnetic levitation rakes. China has used high-tech trains to reinforce its claims over autonomous regions on its fringes, such as Tibet, in a move that doubles as a symbol of its reach and power. These trains reach new kinds of highs. The Qinghai-Tibet link is currently the world's highest railway line, stretching about 2,000 km across the Himalayan plateau, from Xining in central China to Lhasa in Tibet. *** India is now entering a new rail era, with plush trains launched for the Everyman and plans for high-speed links. The country's vast population still depends on this extensive network, with the Indian Railways clocking the highest number of rides taken in the world: about 8 billion, across its 7,325 stations. The Indian Railways is also the country's second-largest employer after the Armed Forces (about 1.2 million are employed by the former; 1.4 million by the latter). Millions of train lovers, meanwhile, feel the same kind of thrill Durga and Apu did, when they hear the clacking or hoot that indicates a train will soon whizz by. (Ambi Parameswaran is a best-selling author and an independent brand coach. His latest book is Marketing Mixology. He can be reached at ambimgp@
New Indian Express
21-05-2025
- Entertainment
- New Indian Express
Sharmila Tagore shines at Cannes 2025; gets standing ovation for Satyajit Ray's 'Aranyer Din Ratri'
In a recent interview with the The Hollywood Reporter India, Tagore had reminisced about the challenging shoot in the Betla forest during the hot summer and recalled staying in a modest "chaukidaar's room" while filming. "I had the chowkidar's room and I had a water cooler. In dry weather, it worked very well. These guys were in a shed with were in a shed with tin roof. So they would all joke about themselves and say 'I am Rabi roast, Subhendu would say I am sauteed Subhendu' because it used to be so hot. You cannot imagine how hot it was. We could only work from 5:30 AM to 9:00 AM and then again from 3:00 PM to 6:00 PM. Rest of the time, we just bonded and became good friends," she recalled. Tagore explained that Ray wanted to shoot during the hot summer because the trees were leafless. "He wanted a particular look and it was only possible in May because then the rains came soon after, and before that, it was all leafy and lush," she said highlighting the Ray's dedication to bring his vision to life. Satyajit Ray's contributions to cinema are monumental, with films like Pather Panchali, Charulata, and The Apu Trilogy earning international acclaim. His storytelling, characterised by humanism and social realism, has influenced filmmakers worldwide. The restoration and screening of Aranyer Din Ratri at Cannes serve as a testament to his lasting legacy and the global appreciation of his artistry. The presence of Tagore and Garewal at Cannes not only celebrated a cinematic masterpiece but also highlighted the timeless elegance and cultural richness of Indian cinema on the world stage.
Time of India
20-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Time of India
All eyes on ‘Aranyer Din Ratri' team as Cannes screens Ray's restored film
Kolkata: The attention of all cinephiles in India is fixed on the Cannes Classics screening of the restored version of Satyajit Ray's 'Aranyer Din Ratri', with Sharmila Tagore, Simi Garewal, and Wes Anderson in attendance on Monday. Tired of too many ads? go ad free now Cannes, they say, had an interesting and complex relationship with Ray, with only one of his films — 'Pather Panchali' — winning an award at the festival. However, Ray himself could not go to receive it then. In 1982, to mark the festival's 35th birthday, Ray and 12 other filmmakers, including Billy Wilder, Akira Kurosawa, John Boorman, Andrei Tarkowski, and Michelangelo Antonioni, were invited to Cannes. At the award ceremony, Ray recalled that the first international award he won was at Cannes. He was referring to 'Pather Panchali', which won the Best Human Document in 1956. "But there was no question of my being present here personally to receive the award," he said from the stage in 1982. According to Sandip Ray, his father's absence from the 1956 award ceremony was purely finance-driven. "Money was an issue for travelling to Cannes during 'Pather Panchali'. So no one went. That award now lies with the state govt," he said. Thus, it took 26 years after that event for Satyajit Ray to make his first trip to Cannes. Sandip remembers that his father was elated after the 1982 visit, Satyajit's Ray only trip to Cannes. But, in between, Ray's films competed for the Palme d'Or. Two years after 'Pather Panchali', Ray's 'Paras Pather' was in the feature film competition. But the Palme d'Or went to the Soviet war drama — 'The Cranes Are Flying' — by Mikhail Kalatozov. Tired of too many ads? go ad free now In 1962, 'Devi' competed for the Palme d'Or. But the 'Keeper of Promises' — the Brazilian drama film written and directed by Anselmo Duarte — won the top prize. The next Cannes stop for Ray was in 1984. But this year was interesting, with both Mrinal Sen and Ray having films in competition at Cannes. Ray's 'Ghare Baire' didn't win the main competition, while Sen's 'Khandhar' was in the Un Certain Regard section, which, till 1998, did not have winners. But why did Ray give Cannes a miss when his films were in competition at Cannes? "He went to Venice for his second film, 'Aparajito', which won the Golden Lion, Cinema Nuovo Award, and the FIPRESCI Critics Award in 1957. For 'Charulata' (1964), he went to Berlin, where the film won two awards. I think Cannes never really celebrated his films when they were in competition. The new wave directors liked Japanese filmmakers but didn't receive Ray's films with a lot of warmth. That is why none of his films, apart from 'Pather Panchali', ever won an award there, though his films were winning at other international festivals," film scholar, Sanjoy Mukhopadhyay, explained. However, Cannes organised two special screenings of Ray films — 'Ganashatru' (1989) and 'Pather Panchali' (1992). The Cannes Classics section, where 'Aranyer Din Ratri' was screened this year, also showcased 'Pather Panchali' in 2005, 'Charulata' in 2013, and 'Pratidwandi' in 2022.
Time of India
14-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Time of India
Adoor Gopalakrishnan inaugurates film appreciation workshop for children in Thiruvananthapuram
Thiruvananthapuram : Filmmaker Adoor Gopalakrishnan said that while making films has become easy these days, creating a good film has become a challenge. He was speaking after inaugurating a film appreciation workshop organized by the Kerala State Chalachitra Academy to develop high-quality film appreciation habits in said that a good film can cultivate good culture in us and it should reflect real life. He emphasized that the camp aims to impart the knowledge required to make good films. After the inauguration, the filmmaker interacted with the and camp director Rajesh Sharma led an acting training session. The children also attended a class on 'an introduction to visual language' by critic K B camp, organized with the cooperation of Guru Gopinath Nadana Gramam and the Child Welfare Committee, will conclude on May 17. As many as 50 children are participating in the the following days, prominent film persons like P Premachandran, Vidhu Vincent, K G Jayan, Manoj Kana and Appu Bhattathiri will conduct classes. There will be a poetry and music programme led by poet and Malayalam Mission director Murukan Kattakada on May 16 such as Pather Panchali, Bicycle Thieves, Elippathayam, Modern Times and The Red Balloon will be screened at the camp.
Express Tribune
26-02-2025
- Entertainment
- Express Tribune
Seeking love in lonesome cities
There is a distinct subset of cinema that invariably bores my parentsthe slow, meditative kind where "nothing really happens." Think: the languid sermons of Govind Nihalani's Party or the temporal sprawl of Satyajit Ray's Pather Panchali. Films that seem to resist the very rhythm of life. Arthouse cinema is hardly alone in provoking this reaction. After watching Alfonso Cuarón's rather mainstream Gravity, for instance, my dad asked me: where is the story? Surely, one character and one room could not be it. To its credit, Payal Kapadia's fiction feature debut, All We Imagine As Light, offers more than that. It has three women, an entire city, and a partial village to unravel a story steeped in longing. And what better city to host the tenuous intimacies of urban life than Karachi? On Saturday, Neutral held an exclusive screening as part of Chalti Tasveerain, its cinema initiative. For the first time in years, it felt as if a story had found its way home. Since its launch in October, Chalti Tasveerain has curated a diverse catalog, inviting audiences to two films each month. The initiative is helmed by Saif Quraishi - physicist, actor, filmmaker - and Sameer Haseeb Khan, a Karachi-based filmmaker with a background in journalism and advertising. Together, the pair are focused on building Chalti Tasveerain as a space to bring people together over a shared love of great cinema. Speaking to The Express Tribune about bringing Kapadia's film to Karachi, Saif said, "We reached out to their production team and followed the necessary protocols including the licencing fee. We just cold emailed them and it came about rather easily." An ordinary cityscape All We Imagine As Light follows the intersecting lives of Prabha (Kani Kusruti), Anu (Divya Prabha), and Parvaty (Chhaya Kadam) - three nurses from small towns now grappling with urban solitude and shifting desires. Prabha's unresolved past resurfaces in the form of an unexpected gift from her estranged husband, forcing her to confront the limbo of her marriage just as a new possibility for love emerges. Anu, restless and impulsive, tests the boundaries of love and social propriety, while Parvaty, a widow facing eviction, is forced to reckon with the city's indifference. Kapadia renders their dilemmas with remarkable tenderness, allowing emotions to build in hushed gestures and stolen glances, creating a world that is at once tangible and dreamlike. With a languid two-hour runtime, Kapadia's feature remains remarkably faithful to an alternative mode of storytelling - one that begins long before the reel starts rolling and lingers long after the credits fade. It is often difficult to articulate the experience of watching something that falls into the nebulous realm of slow cinema. What is there to recount about the three unhurried hours of cyclical mundanity in Chantal Akerman's Jeanne Dielman? She butters bread. She peels potatoes. She polishes shoes, folds laundry, bathes, dines with her son. There is nothing to spoil in a film that finds its rhythm in the ordinary. When I return home from the screening, my mother asks me, What was the story about? So I point at us, then at the misty night sky. Boundless, borderless, indistinguishable from Mumbai. The brown girl cinema Later in the film, Mumbai's oppressive rhythms change to the open expanse of the coastal village. As Prabha, Anu, and Parvaty step away from the city's relentless demands, they enter a space where time slows, and submerged emotions come to the surface. Prabha, in particular, experiences a moment of almost mystical clarity, a reckoning that is both deeply personal and universal in its resonance. Is this a miracle or a hallucination? Or perhaps, they both mean the same thing, far away from the city. Kapadia leaves room for ambiguity, infusing the film's closing moments with a luminous epiphany that resists easy interpretation. There is no writing on the wall, just chalkings full of love and promise in a dimly lit cave. And the weight of memory that the brown girl is all too familiar with. This brown girl, a nebulous figure in its own right, is relatively new to me. It was not until I was an undergraduate student living in Karachi, suddenly exposed to the city's scholarly circles that I began to see myself as one. She leads a double life. She knows how to hide and live better than anyone else. She moves through the lagging, rusted grids of the postcolonial metropolis, always in a state of fight or flight. Her joys belong to her alone, as do her sins. She is Anu, determined to live differently from Prabha and Parvaty. She is all of them. Over the years, I have encountered the brown girl time and again: in the confessional poets at impromptu open mics, in anonymous declarations of love scattered across Facebook groups, in the quiet defiance of pleasure pursued in secrecy. On screen, I last found her in In Flames (2023), embodied by a grief-stricken Mariam, haunted by a cityscape that loomed over her after a romantic rendezvous took a dark turn. Before that, she appeared as Biba, Mumtaz, and Nucchi in Joyland (2022) Saim Sadiq's critically acclaimed yet ruthlessly censored film. That same year, Fawzia Mirza's The Queen of My Dreams, a festival-favourite tracing a young Azra's journey through her mother's early years in Karachi, remained absent from screens here, unable to secure a release. There are countless stories where the brown girl longs to be seen and heard, and it is no coincidence that these are the first to be sacrificed to ideologues and censorship. But for one night, in a room so intimate it could hardly be called a cinema hall, the bureaucracies felt distant. With a quiet sense of wonder, I realised that Mumbai's heavy skies fade into the same deep indigo as Karachi's - and that all brown girls are on the run.
