hey, girlfriend

shroffie is a bit of an enigma. she doesn't say much, preferring to stare into the distance as if negotiating battles on some distant island. but her smile – now that’s a revelation. it lifts her, almost physically, from the reticent to the gregarious, letting her bloom suddenly, making you wonder why she doesn’t smile as often. then again, maybe she shouldn’t. if one were to see a bright, red rose at every step, would that single, brilliant flower in a field of green be as tempting?

our original item girl

it’s an intriguing image. that of a tallish, middle-aged man in glasses staying up into the late hours, watching movie after movie, eyes taking in every movement of a particular woman on screen. the woman in question shakes like a dervish, gliding across polished floors, bright dresses and fiery tassels glittering. at times, the men on screen call her lilly. at other times, she plays a kitty or suzie. what’s undeniable, however, is that the screen loves her. that and the fact that the men wooing her onscreen don’t have to act too hard.

and who can blame them? or the man in glasses, for that matter? once you get a peek at helen, eternal diva of the indian film industry, it’s hard to take your eyes off her.

jerry pinto, man in glasses, is the latest to kneel before helen and acknowledge her mastery over her art. he does it with his latest book, helen: the life and times of an h-bomb (penguin india) – an entertaining, yet thorough guide to the actress’ colourful oeuvre.

pinto’s role as chronicler is, in a sense, apt, given he is as much an outsider to bollywood as his subject once was. helen often served as a ready stereotype. she was usually present to depict the immorality of a western or, more often than not, a christian woman. is that what attracted you to her story, i ask him. “as a roman catholic boy who watched hindi cinema, i think i could always see that catholics of any description were seen as outsiders in commercial hindi cinema,” he replies. “in the book, i argue that this was simply a question of who went to see hindi cinema and who didn’t. while bollywood was willing to make secular gestures by representing muslims as positive characters, parsis and catholics could easily be caricatured because they were ‘westernised’ i.e. they did not watch hindi cinema. in that sense, therefore, yes, i felt i was an outsider looking at another outsider.”

like helen, pinto has taken a long, circuitous route to get to where he is today. from freelancing as a journalist to teaching mathematics and journalism, he has written tv scripts, edited a travel dotcom, dabbled in corporate communications, published a book of poems (asylum), written an entertaining book (surviving women), and is now executive editor of a magazine called man’s world.

see what i mean about a circuitous path?

interestingly, the book came about despite helen denying all requests for an interview. was she averse to the idea of someone telling her story? “i suspect helen has probably had enough of people asking her inane questions about her life and times,” says pinto. “if you think about it, there have been four films made on her. she did not participate in the last two. quite possibly, she simply did not feel that she had much to say. or perhaps she simply did not know who i was, where i was coming from and how i was going to write about her. so, in the end, i gave up. but not without a heartfelt sigh…”

so, he gamely plodded on, going through a career spanning little over 30 years with a fine-toothed comb. the fun part, says pinto, was watching the movies. “the difficult part was reading some 200,000 words of notes and trying to figure out what should stay and what should go. how does one sum up in a paragraph the huge grab-all narrative so as to contextualise helen?” it was a question that took him three years to answer.

the result is an extremely enjoyable book. it neither bores you with detailed analyses, nor does it lose its sense of playfulness – rare when compared to most ponderous works on hindi cinema hitting shelves these days. jerry pinto obviously adores helen, and his enthusiasm is contagious. i ask him about gauging the impact she had on the evolution of the film industry, and he points out that the best of hindi commercial cinema uses melodrama as its central theme. “she offered a range of dangerous women, effortlessly reinventing herself as dancer, gang moll, faithless lover, chinese spy, spanish countess. if there were no helen, we would have had to invent her.”

i tell him that, agreed, she was pretty and she could dance, but so could so many others. how did she succeed where so many failed? he believes that even though helen herself has attributed her success to a combination of good genes (french father, burmese mother, spanish grandfather) and discipline, it goes beyond that. “i think the reason can only be sought (and therefore never found) in the peculiar alchemy of the interaction between audience and actor that turns some into stars and allows others to fade.”

there’s more to it, of course. without helen playing a foil, and without her fall from grace in a majority of her films, the hero’s victory wouldn’t be half as convincing. pinto agrees. he says that, even when the comic comes courting, “and helen was wooed on screen by every joker from rajendranath to mehmood,” his questionable masculinity throws the hero’s virility into clearer focus. without helen, the heroine wouldn’t be as pure, or the hero as good.

“in no other cinema anywhere in the world has a dancer worked for 30 years, vamping three generations of hindi film stars,” pinto points out. “in general, it is the men who last long and the women who fade. here is the first woman who reversed that trend, who defied the gender bias.” he says he found it surprising that a large number of women were as fond of helen as men were. i ask him if anyone among the current crop of actors is capable of playing her, if her story ever makes it to film. “no,” says the writer.

as for the majestic helen, she says little these days, resting her feet after decades of shaking them in gay abandon. jerry pinto believes she has withdrawn a little from the world of cinema. “i believe the process of iconisation has happened without her consent or connivance. she just did what she did and left it to everyone else to figure it out…”

a 21st century pilgrim

the 28-year old german man sitting before me looks nothing like a sadhu. he's supposed to be one, according to the press release accompanying his first book, return to la paz. but he simply doesn't look the part. "i'm thomas reissmann," he says, smiling, fingers playing carelessly with a string of beads around his neck. he refuses my offer of tea or coffee, asks for water, and says he's ready to answer any questions i might have.

and yes, i have questions. you would too, if you knew what i know about mr reissmann.

to begin with, there's that little detail about his growing up behind the berlin wall. when it collapsed, he decided to make up for lost time and see the world. he began with high school in california, followed it up with courses in tourism management in the uk and australia, then opted for a research assistantship in costa rica. and still, he travelled. to thailand, cambodia, new zealand, and india.

along the way, reissmann found himself in south america, indulged in shamanism and a drug called ayahuasca, and was briefly involved in the region's deadly drug trade. then, one morning, he decided to stop, catch his breath, and write about his extraordinary life. the result was return to la paz. a bizarre account, but a true one nonetheless.

now, wouldn't you have questions?

i start with the wall. put up to separate west berlin from east berlin and the surrounding territory of east germany, it existed from 1961 to 1989. to try and get across meant death. in all, 192 people were killed trying to cross over. more than 200 were seriously injured. thomas reissmann spent his first 13 years under the shadow of that imposing structure. "it was difficult," he tells me, slowly. "i remember looking over and seeing shiny cars, happy people. it was difficult knowing about this different world beyond, and not having access to it. when it finally fell, people partied for weeks. it was a symbol of the collapse of a repressive system. the funny thing is, i look at israel today, and it seems as if it's trying to do pretty much the same thing."

considering the value he sets on searching for a higher, personal truth, i find his choice of subject – tourism management – a little odd. "it fits in, actually," he says, "because there's always something spiritual about travel. it's always a pilgrimage of sorts."

reissmann claims to carry all his worldly possessions in his backpack. he has no fixed home or income, and works whenever and wherever he can in order to support his next trip. i point out that indians believe freedom comes from within. they need not travel to find it. he agrees, but only partly. "when i visit third world countries, i find extreme poverty and a complete lack of the distractions that enable westerners to escape. people here are compelled to look within themselves, simply because there is little potential for movement without."

looking for less weightier matters, i ask if sadhus have girlfriends. reissmann blushes. he does have one. she lives in the uk and meets him whenever they both have time. "it's always as if we are meeting for the first time," he says. "it's always a new experience."

leaving romance aside, i turn to something more practical, like his backpack. what's in it? "a lot of books, a laptop, video camera and mp3 player." i smile. reissmann smiles too. he knows there's something incongruous about what he has just described, but thinks of himself as "a 21st century pilgrim."

we decide to talk about the book a little. an interesting chapter involves the hallucinogenic brew ayahuasca. called yagé in colombia, and ayahuasca in ecuador and peru, it is prepared from segments of a species of vine called banisteriopsis. "it is boiled for around eight hours," says reissmann, who admits to having spent at least one night under its influence. "when it cools, it's a thick, red-coloured concoction. a glass is enough to affect you for three to five hours. some people have visions, others throw up."

another book is already in place, in the manuscript stage. "it's called generation zen and is inspired by robert pirsig's zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance. it is a philosophical discussion, but it's also a story of love."

i wonder about how long he can continue with this seemingly rootless existence. the only hint of semi-permanence comes from an interesting plan he has in the offing – combining his professional tourism training with ecology and spiritualism to launch what he calls 'eco-spiritual tourism'. yes, india definitely will be on the itinerary, he assures me.

what about regular things – family, children, pet dogs running around the backyard? "i think i'd like to have it all, at some point," says reissmann. "i'd also like to keep travelling and writing, and be able to support projects that are of some importance to me."

i have one last question before he leaves. as a spiritual being moving in capitalist circles, is there something he would like to tell the movers and shakers of corporate india? "i would like to ask them if they are happy with the way they are living," he says, suddenly serious. "if they genuinely are, i have no problems with that. i also think the men in suits have the potential to make a difference."

with that, reissmann is off, although he's not sure where to. "i don't make plans because they are pointless. they rarely work out, and they are boring." we part with a handshake. he turns towards the unfamiliar adventures of his world; i head for the staid familiarity of mine.