We need to talk about: Kabir Singh

I have a confession to make. When I first saw the trailer for Kabir Singh a couple of months ago, a part of me was looking forward to watching it. It looked gritty; had a tortured, self-obsessed character as the main protagonist, and it was being played by Shahid Kapoor- an actor whose body of work has not been as lame as that of your average Bollywood star. 

And then I watched it. 

I was first horrified by it, and then nauseated by the actor and director's attempts to justify it. Nothing they say in its defense can take away from the fact that to my mind this film is (spoiler alert!) unmitigated trash. 

Never mind the fact that it is entirely superfluous (it's common knowledge by now that the film is a frame by frame replica of the original Telugu version); what's truly devastating about it is that if someone were to hypothetically set out to intentionally make the worst possible film for women in our country at this point in our history- Kabir Singh might be it. 

That might sound needlessly hyperbolic, but let's be clear: India in 2019 is not exactly one of the best places for a woman to be. We seemingly reached a nadir in 2012 with Nirbhaya, and last year we topped a global ranking of most dangerous countries for women. Just this month, the Supreme Court of India refused to entertain a plea to make marital rape grounds for divorce. 

On the other hand, in 2018 the #MeToo movement arrived in India and took some powerful men at least a few notches down if not all the way; in Kerala, millions of women stood in solidarity for gender equality forming a “women’s wall” in the wake of the controversy at Sabirimala. There was/is still a long, long way to go, but things appeared to be slowly inching in the right direction. 

And then came Kabir Singh. 

In Indian cinema in general the hero / villain is very much a binary without much room for nuance. Given this, and the fact that the lines between reel and real are notoriously blurry, and the fact that we have a dearth of male role models, and the fact that Shahid is a popular and relatable star, was this film really necessary? 

The answer from those responsible for this monstrosity will be a resounding yes; the film after all has made 300 crores and counting. What may be less easy to count, however, is the number of times the misogyny, delinquency and toxic masculinity being normalised in this film will play a part in everyday acts of violence against women. 

And then there's Shahid Kapoor himself. I always thought that as most artists got older, they made artistic choices that reflected their own growth as individuals. I also, perhaps naively, thought the better ones among them would make art that was a response of some kind to the state of the world around them. 

If Kabir Singh is such a response, it is entirely the wrong one. As a young father to a little girl, would Kapoor be happy for her to be wooed in a few years' time by the kind of man he's immortalized with such panache? I dare say he's significantly increased the odds. 

Bollywood is - and always will be - a source of magic and comfort, and even this year there are plenty of other movies which tell the stories of ordinary men and women- stories that will fill your heart with pride and hope and optimism. India is full of everyday heroes, and Anand Kumar in Super 30 is just one of them.  
But Kabir Singh is one hero India didn't ask for and shouldn't have got.

We need to talk about: Kane Williamson

So much has been written about the New Zealand cricket captain in the aftermath of one of the most dramatic cup finals the sport has ever produced. He's been praised for his calmness under pressure, his grace in defeat and for basically being a near-perfect specimen of homo sapien. 

All of which makes me wonder what might have happened had he walked when he nicked the ball to the keeper in a crucial game against South Africa? Surely then he would have been elevated to the pantheon of the cricketing gods, seated on the left side of Bradman (Sachin’s on the right, obvs) with his blue eyes, immaculate beard and beatific smile? 

But Williamson didn’t walk, and instead went on to score a century and win a key game. And this is probably a very good thing, because it proves he is as human as the rest of us. 

There's no doubt he's a fine leader; and the way he goes about his business, both on the field and off it, suggests that he's a thoroughly decent man. But when he spoke about fine margins that led to their loss in the finals, did he also recall the extra fielder outside the circle when Dhoni was on strike in the semi? 

Admittedly, the manner of their finals defeat (if indeed it can be called defeat) was desperately unlucky. But given their overall performance throughout the tournament, Williamson will likely admit that they were also pretty lucky to have been in the final at all. 

This was a world cup of so many twists of fate - those pesky fine margins again - Brathwaite going for six with a run required just as he did three years ago but this time falling short; Stokes putting those demons of three years ago behind him and finally winning a cup; Guptill breaking India’s hearts by running out Dhoni in the semis only to be run out himself in the final; Dhoni trying valiantly to recreate the glory of 2011 but finding only mortality instead. 

And in the middle of the melee on that singularly dramatic summer evening at Lord's, Williamson stood alone. He looked shell-shocked, but writ across his face was also an acceptance that in sport, just as in life, you win some and you lose some. 

Professional sportsmen and women know this better than most, but it’s a lesson all of us would do well to remember.