Aparita

Toronto Star, [12/14/2001]

Bollywood import arrives today, and the music has fans ready

“I know! This must be the song where Shahrukh Khan and Kajol are getting married,” exclaims my roommate.

“Hritik is Shahrukh’s brother, of course. Kareena must be Kajol’s friend. So, Hritik probably sees Kareena for the first time in this song.”

My roommate and I are cruising down the 401, busy dissecting the plot of the much-awaited Bollywood blockbuster, Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham, while listening to its soundtrack. Shahrukh Khan, Kajol, Hritik Roshan and Kareena Kapoor are Bollywood superstars acting in the movie, which opens today.

It’s hard for us not to get sucked into the latest Bollywood mania that’s gripped the South Asian community.

The selling of hugely popular Indian films is a marketing marvel that flies under the radar of most mainstream media and fans.

Advertising for new Bollywood releases in Toronto is relegated to ethnic media. The movies play mostly in two Indian cinemas (Woodside and Albion). Yet, over the past two years, several Indian movies released in North America have had multi-million-dollar box-office grosses. During a shared opening weekend in Toronto in 1999, Bollywood blockbuster Taal grossed almost as much as Stanley Kubrick’s highly publicized Eyes Wide Shut.

But Indian film distributors have some special tricks up their sleeves that help get their films noticed by their target audience.

Soundtracks of upcoming flicks are released months before the movie, and Indian TV stations like B4U (Bollywood For You) or Sony India, available via satellite in Toronto, show snippets of the songs repeatedly on their version of music video shows.

And contests organized in the local ethnic media for free movie tickets and posters displayed in the Indian movie theatres ensure people are aware of new films.

So Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham’s soundtrack can be heard blaring from many of the shops in various South Asian neighbourhoods. Indian video stores have posters of the movie plastered on their windows.

Then there is word of mouth. A regular practitioner of that art, my Sri Lankan friend Sukaneya Subramanian, already has four dates for the movie - the first one with her family, another with afriend, another with a curious Canadian co-worker and a fourth one with a gaggle of girls. I admit to having told my friends about the film rather breathlessly.

Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham is the second film by Indian director Karan Johar. His first was Kuch Kuch Hota Ha, which did big business, both in India and North America, with Toronto one of the largest markets.

Kuch Kuch Hota Hai is about the love-triangle of college mates Rahul (Shah Rukh Khan), Tina (Rani Mukherjee) and Anjali (Kajol). With its catchy soundtrack, designer duds and fantasy-like setting - the college the trio attended looked more like a Beverly Hills 90210 campus - the movie was lapped up by South Asians young and old.

In his second movie, Johar is apparently playing his cards right again.

“It’s all about loving your parents,” says the advertising tagline for Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham. In thecurrent Bollywood culture, permeated with mini-skirts and tube-tops along with sheer saris and salwar-kameezes (long tunic and pants), Johar is adding the requisite element of tradition.

By casting six of Bollywood’s hot-property actors, Johar is leaving nothing to chance. The film features two Indian superstars of yesteryear, Amitabh and Jaya Bachchan. The lead pair of Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, Shahrukh Khan and Kajol, is also in Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham. And two of India’s latest heartthrobs - Hritik Roshan and Kareena Kapoor - join in.

The actual plot of the movie is that of a family drama with a potpourri of romance, tragedy, comedy and songs thrown in.

The Raichands are a happy, loving and very well-to-do family. There’s the patriarch, Yash (Amitabh Bachchan), his wife, Nandini (Jaya Bachchan), and two sons Rahul (Shahrukh Khan) and Rohan (Hritik Roshan). Unfortunately, Rahul decides to marry Anjali (Kajol), whose middle-class family background doesn’t quite meet the standards of papa Raichand. Rahul and Anjali leave the house. Now it’s up to Rohan and Anjali’s younger sister Pooja (Kareena Kapoor) to get them back together.

Shot mostly in London and Mumbai, the budget of the film is said to be about 450 million rupees ($9.4 million), making it Bollywood’s most expensive film to date.

According to India Today, a current affairs magazine, Johar’s producer father had originally budgeted the film at 250 million rupees, but when the cost of shooting the first song alone was 3 million rupees, he gave up trying to keep the budget down.

So watch for songs showcasing glittering fabrics, genuine hand-embroidered Jamevar shawls, custom-made chandeliers and the 50 svelte blonde dancers imported from England.
Indian movie pundits are touting the movie as a hit even before its release.

The expectations from Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham’s Toronto audiences are equally big. Especially my friend Sukaneya. She’s desperately hoping it’s worth watching four times.

Toronto Star

After a month of Ramadan fasting, Muslims find self-denial pays off with elaborate meals

Melt-in-your-mouth sheek kebabs (minced lamb kebabs). Deliciously fragrant biryani (rice with meat). A simpering nihari (thick gravy prepared with lamb) served with hot, hot kulche bread. Fiercely spicy baghare-baingan (stuffed eggplants). And, of course, the traditional sheer korma (almond milk drink) and seviyan (vermicelli pudding.)

Growing up Hindu in New Delhi, even I looked forward to Eid-ul-Fitr, the festival of breaking the fast at the end of Ramadan. I’d be invited to my Muslim friend Sarfaraz’s house to share the feast his mother had conjured up.

She wouldn’t bat an eyelid when a group of us showed up at her doorstep, since there was always a steady stream of people going in and out. The older ones would exchange sweets, the younger ones would get gifts, usually money, from the elders. And they, too, would partake of the food.
Ramadan is the ninth month of the lunar Muslim calendar.

During these 29 or 30 days, from one new moon to the next, the faithful fast from dawn to dusk, abstaining from food, drink, tobacco and sexual activities as long as there’s light enough to enable the eye to distinguish between a black thread and a white thread held at an arm’s length. In practice, the fast is governed by the morning and evening calls to prayer.

The morning meal must be finished before dawn. After sunset, the meal is called iftar. Those who are old, ill, pregnant or menstruating do not fast, and travellers are exempt during their journey: Some can “make up” for their missed fasts during that year. At the end of the month, each person may give a month’s ration of food to the needy. Those unable to fast may give a year’s ration.

Fasting has been, and in many cases still is, an integral part of Judaism, Christianity, Hinduism, Buddhism and the Baha’i faith. The idea of self-denial and noting one’s unworthiness in the face of God by fasting is common, whether it’s limited to a specific day or prolonged.

Fasting has also become commonplace in alternative health practices and fad diets. People undergo juice fasts and mono diets (eating a single food, like grapes) to cleanse their bodies of toxins. It’s also supposed to give the digestive system a rest.

But denying oneself sustenance, especially for religious purposes such as Ramadan, poses an inherent duality. The fast ends with a feast. The idea isn’t to gorge yourself silly, although some people do. The purpose is to share the bounty. It’s almost as if to truly appreciate the special food, you have to achieve a certain pitch of hunger.

Ramadan feasts vary from region to region. It’s customary to break the fast with a date, in the custom of Mohammed. Packed with carbohydrates, dietary fibre and natural sugars, dates are also a powerhouse of energy.

In Sudan, people drink a cup of tea to return shrunken stomachs to normal size. In Ethiopia, barley soup is easy on the stomach. Samosas and stuffed grape leaves are popular in Egypt. In India and Pakistan, the mild curries called kormas, biryani or pulao rice dishes and kebabs are common fare.

Habeeb Salloum, a Toronto freelance writer who has often visited Morocco, is enthusiastic about harira, a rich chick-pea soup traditionally served in that country to break the fast. While not a practicing Muslim, Salloum has twice observed the month-long fast on his visits to North Africa.

“Harira helps relieve the body from the day’s fasting,” he says. “And after a main course of tajine (fragrant stew), they eat bariwat, a honey-dipped sweet.”

In India and Pakistan, the popular sweets are jalebi (fried fritters dipped in a sugar syrup), kheer (rice pudding) or ice cream.

During Ramadan, Muslims invite relatives and friends to break the fast at iftar parties. It becomes a communal as well as a culinary activity. And during Eid-ul-Fitr (which will fall either Dec. 15 or 16, depending on the sighting of the new moon), people open their doors and prepare enough food to feed hundreds of guests.

The Merchant family of Thornhill used to host large iftar and Eid parties. This year, they are inviting only 14 people, including their children’s friends.

The spacious kitchen in their four-bedroom condominium is abuzz with activity when I visit recently. With an hour left before sunset, Fatima Merchant, dressed in a brown tunic and pants, directs daughter Farah and niece Rubina Nazir Ali in the kitchen.

“I usually prepare everything beforehand,” says Fatima, instructing Rubina to add lime juice to a fruit salad.

Anwar (Andy) Merchant, Fatima’s husband, hovers around the dining table, lighting decorative candles. Guests are ushered into the main living room. Shrieks of laughter can be heard from the room where the children are entertaining their friends.

The kids understand the religious significance of Ramadan but also see it as an opportunity to socialize. Most started fasting on the weekends when they were 6, building up to the month-long fasts as they grew older.

“But we always wanted to fast more than that,” says Farah. “There was a sense of accomplishment.”
Although they have no trouble fasting, they say, it can be exhausting during exam times and when Ramadan falls during the long days of summer.

“I just change my three meals around,” says Tarek Merchant, a boarder at St. Andrews College and an avid tennis player.

He eats a bigger meal at night before hitting the books and another in the morning, but continues tennis practice.

“I go after 6: 30 p.m., so it’s not bad,” he says. “I break my fast at 5 p.m., which helps me digest the food.”

Growing up in Kingston, where there wasn’t a large Muslim community, the children were often met by bewilderment from their friends.

“I hated all those ‘What if’ questions,” laughs Nadine Mouftah, Farah’s friend. “‘What if your mouth is open and a fly enters it? What if you forget?’”

They found themselves dispelling misconceptions.

“If you accidentally drink or eat something, you are still fasting,” says Syma Merchant. “It’s the intention that counts.”

Outside, the sky slowly darkens. The dinner table quickly fills up with appetizers and other dishes. There’s veal korma, mixed vegetables, chana masala (curried chick-peas), samosas, chicken wings, sheek kebabs, pita bread and hummus, potato cutlets stuffed with meat and boondi ka raita (tiny chick-pea flour dumplings in yogurt). Sitting in the middle of the table is a plate of dates, which Fatima begins to hand out.

Rubina wonders whether the salt in the food is all right. “We can’t taste the food,” she laughs.
Meanwhile, in Mississauga, children run amok in the small garden of Farah and Fahad Dawood’s house.

The Dawoods are hosting an iftar for their two children’s friends, aged 5 to 9, who attend the same Islamic school. Two of the 9-year-olds, Hamza Sanoushi and Shadman Chaudhary, are fasting on weekends, although all of them claim they are fasting too.

Farah is in the kitchen preparing the children’s favourite snacks - chicken balls and dahi-puri (wafer-thin wheat balls filled with yogurt). In the adjoining TV room, a debate rages about whether to watch Digimon or Men In Black.

“They always get invited to their parents’ iftars,” says Farah, as she lays out the table. “I thought I would have one just for the kids.”

Sometimes, Muslims break the fast with just immediate family. Shaha Husain, the woman behind the Mezban line of bottled condiments, is cooking food for her three children. Her compact midtown apartment is calm.

The table is already laid out with sliced bananas in lime juice, lentil salad, chewy flatbread, cucumbers and yogurt, a tray of dried nuts, some lemonade and a plate of dates. Samir Husain, Shaha’s son, periodically peeks in the oven at the banana tart he’s baking. “Too many bananas in the house,” he grins, hoping this recipe he just made up will turn out.

Dressed in a rust coloured silk sari, Shaha sits down and slivers almonds for chicken pulao. “This is a festive time for us because this is the month that the Qur’an was revealed to the Prophet,” she says as she wipes almond dust from the coffee table.

“The idea is to discipline yourself and understand how the needy feel. You also break habits. Keeping roze (fasts) was good for my father. He was a chain smoker but gave up smoking during Ramadan. He would continue without it for six or eight months after Eid, and then slowly get back into it.

“Your body adjusts to it,” she says. “Fasting from sunrise to sunset for 30 days is not hard if you have the willpower.”

Bustling around in the kitchen as she puts the final touches on the pulao, Shaha explains that easily digested meats such as chicken and seafood are preferred during Ramadan. Thirst-inducing garlic and salt are used minimally. A heavy breakfast is followed by fresh fruit. “Some people eat steak and eggs,” she says.

Although Zannat Mirza, a registered dietician, is dismissive of the supposed health benefits of fasting, she does advocate a smarter way to fast. She advises waking up early and eating a protein-rich meal to sustain yourself for the day.

“The key is not to overdo it, even if you are hungry. Pace yourself. Drink lots of fluids,” Mirza says. “Water, juices, milk, soup.”

Shaha, reminiscing about Ramadan in Hyderabad, capital of the Indian state of Andhra Pradesh remembers using a lot of yogurt in cooking. “It’s cooling,” she explains.

“When the sun sets, you break the fast with a little bit of food. Then you pray and have a bigger meal in the evening. It was special there. We would wait for the azan (call for prayer) and then break our fast.”

There’s no azan here, but as the sun sets, Shaha takes a date. She slowly whispers a small prayer before popping it in her mouth.