Solving the Khan-undrum

The three Khans of Bollywood - each a superstar in his own right. Each having dominated the industry for so long that despite the rise of, arguably, better acting Khans like Irrfan and the long standing Saifs of the world, the trio doesn't need their first names for identification.

Battle lines have been drawn among the three on numerous occasions with a each of the Khans drawing a rather equal share of accolades and his own fair quota of brickbats. Yet, the question of who's the best of the three Khans has always got both Bollywood pundits and the audiences scratching their heads or each other's faces.

In such cases, I believe that the word of ten people holds more weight than that of one, and that of a hundred even more. So, indeed the opinion of thousands should hold enough weight to lead to some conclusion. Where will I find this, I thought. IMDB. The folks at IMDB have been kind enough to put up an updated copy of their database here - which in its excel form is extremely tough, yet not impossible, to sift through.

After a painstaking few days poring over excel sheets, I found what follows in this post. A lot of it is hardly surprising and merely proves what most of us have already believed. But quoting our flamboyant turbanator Mr. Sidhu (who was probably quoting someone else), "I use statistics like a drunk man uses a lamp-post; for support, not for illumination".

Here's a quick glance of the line-up:

It is tough to find a set at such similar stages of life and career. Let's dive deeper with some very basic metrics.

The ratings table (cleaned up voice-overs & appearances as child-actor)

Salman & SRK have about double the number of movie as compared to Aamir. No surprises there - Mr. Perfectionist has always been more frugal with his role selection. In terms of the number of votes cast, Salman comes as a bit of a surprise (Note: That says quite a bit about the Salman fan base; it is not composed of a largely IMDB visiting populace). On this count, Aamir pulls away with some dazzling numbers: Just the votes on 3 Idiots, Taare Zameen Par, PK and Lagaan are equal to the total votes cast for Salman's 96 movies.

Sometimes less is, indeed, more

Aamir wins hands down on quality of votes as well with the average rating on his movies almost an entire point above that of SRK. The chart on the left should help by drilling down further into their montage of films.

Check out how SRK has done an equal or, perhaps, higher number of well-rated (7 & above) movies than Aamir, However, doing a lot of sub-par (< 5.0) movies hurt him. Salman, of course, went full throttle in that bracket and undid any good work he had managed to dole out. Interestingly, Aamir & Salman's highest rated movie is the same: Andaz Apna Apna (1994) with a rating of 8.8. Salman had to wait over 20 years to deliver another 8-above with Bajrangi Bhaijaan (2015) while Aamir dished out 7 others in the same period to take his total of 8-above's to 9 (Jo Jeeta Wahi Sikander in 1992 was another one)

SRK also has attained the 8-above marker an impressive 8 times. However, our analysis has yet not laid stress on recency: an important factor in an actor's current value. All 8 of SRK's 8-above's came prior to the current decade with 4 of them in the last millenium. Aamir, keeping in mind the niggardly fashion in which he went about his movies, has done better to have all of these but 3 in the 2000s. This cumulative rating average over the years chart should help you picture this fact better.

Cumulative rating over the years shows Aamir's steady rise

But it might be too soon to discount the Bhai fanaticism...
One glance at the ratings table in the beginning of the post tells you Salman garnered the lowest average rating. Yet, the moment you start weighing the average by votes everyone jumps up a rating point. The percentage jump, however, is the highest for Sallu bhai - an indicator that his fans are far more likely to vote when they like a movie than otherwise. This could be called higher fan intensity.

Who is the most versatile (or experimental) of them?

Who would've thought Salman would be the most diverse?

Apart from just the objective rating scores, I felt it was important to see the diversity of movie genres each of the Khans has featured in. Each movie on IMDB is likely to have more than one genre mapped to it. Since, it was nearly impossible to assign priority weights to each genre based on prominence in the movie, I have split weights equally (e.g. if a movie is listed as Comedy, Romance & Drama, that gets counted as 1/3rd of each genre).

Comedy and Romance find a larger place in Salman's portfolio of films than any of the other Khans. Remarkably, the King of romance SRK is lagging both the Khans in % of movies under the 'Romantic' genre. He, however, as expected, takes the cake as far as 'Drama' goes.

Lastly, to get who was the most diverse, I relied on my favourite statistical measure - the Herfindahl-Hirschman Index - taking the percentages in each genre for each individual only to find that Sallu bhai emerges as a winner in this round.

I also chanced upon some exciting tid-bits, a few of which are listed on the left. For the record, Salman has played 'Prem' 12 times so 'Prem - naam to suna hoga' would have been more apt. Also, the only tele-drama all three Khans have made guest appearances in is.. wait for it... Diya aur Baati hum.

I would, of course, not venture a claim to the 'Best' Khan for two reasons: 1) 'Best' is highly subjective and, 2) I have no intent of being lynched by the mob whose favourite I do not consider or get run over by a car.

Nevertheless, this analysis did prove quite a few things:
1) the money a movie/ star makes has absolutely no correlation to its rating,
2) being picky helps in improving quality of work, and
3) you can get data to talk in any way you please!

Such concrete. Much jungle. Wow.

Engaging in conversations with kids, especially the ones in the post Power Rangers and pre- Asimov age range, has never been my forte. Just the other day, placed in a similar situation with my 12 year old nephew, I resorted to the non-polemical "What's happening at school?" question. With a face that, unsurprisingly, did not betray a sense of enthusiasm, he recounted the rather long list of 'home activities' assigned to him - one of which was to write a 500 word description of the 'Road to my house'.

Though our conversation soon drifted to sports and movies, this seemingly unexciting task of describing the road one takes everyday transported me to the sights and sounds that greet me during my half hour drive to office, meandering through the dusty lanes of Gurgaon. No two days are the same - something that prevents any account of the experiences from being exhaustive. Yet, there is one peculiar element that makes its presence felt every single day, with unequivocal non-chalance.

Who can forget the pug that diligently followed his boy-master in those old Hutch ads? And who can forget Babe - the non-conformist, adorable pig? Or pictures of neat, well-fed cows grazing green pastures and lovingly staring out of Social Studies textbooks?

The dogs, the pigs and the cows on the streets of Gurgaon look nothing like them. 

The canine members go about looking ill and lounge about like algae. So much so that, at times, their inactivity in the face of my approaching wheels makes me believe they have a latent suicidal urge. The pigs are quite the boar (homophone joke cue), playfully flaunting their tar-dipped coats. And the cows' stare at you as if you just told them that Chetan Bhagat is your favourite author. To top it all, the number of these creatures on the streets is such that if I had a penny for each of them, I would replace every single one of the characters on Big Bang Theory. They, of course, make up the cream of the 'Gurgaon is safe for..." pack.

The real cattle class has it way easier than Tharoor's

There was a time I wouldn't have had this kind of vitriol, especially not so for pigs. That, however, changed on a fateful Wednesday morning about four months ago. As I was happily driving to work, overdosing on the radio airplay of Arijit Singh songs, and hurling abuses at mindless drivers and pedestrians with my windows conveniently rolled up, I saw a black dot dash across the other end of the road and fling itself into the air. I heard a thud on my front bumper and barely regained my wits to look into the rear view mirror to see a hideous pig shake off the impact and walk off the road. My car's bumper wasn't as fortunate. When I recounted this incident to friends and colleagues later, it amused me that nine on ten responses included the words "Did it die?" and "pork", mostly in the same sentence.

That day, I went back home and played Angry Birds for two straight hours. It was satisfying.

As someone has rightly said, "To driv-err is human, to misgive is swine".

Up the social ladder

Nervous parents queuing outside - some chanting prayers, others biting their fingernails, waiting as their children exit the room in a steady stream. There is a mix of emotions, ranging from the morose to the ecstatic, the deluge of tears to the jubilant dance. Joy. Sorrow. Anger. But most importantly, hope.

Though a sight eerily similar to the one outside any competitive exam in India, this isn't essentially one of those. This time the whole nation is watching. And these kids are competing to become the next big singer/ dancer/ movie star.

Now, I am an unabashed fan of talent shows as simply viewing people pushing themselves, and pushing the limits of human excellence, excites me like nothing else. It is, of course, infinitely mind boggling with kids - confidently facing the heat from the likes of Simon Cowell or bravely facing the train wreck that is whatever Anu Malik says.

Though, it is fascinating to see the passion some of these kids have towards the art they are pursuing, at times, one is led to believe that a large number of them are living the unfulfilled dreams of their parents. It is not uncommon to see kids and parents break down, either on failure or describing how they went through hardships. It is remarkable how the stories of hardships get maximum footage while the display of skill flashes in small spurts. Misery sells. And how.

With their proliferation across the smorgasbord of channels, talent (and game) shows have become the new means for upward social mobility. Academic distinction in certain exams has, since long, been the way to uplift one's social status. This is especially true of developing economies which have tasted the fruits of advancement but suffer from huge disparity within sections of society, separated by intangible yet very rigid boundaries of caste and ancestral wealth. The JEE for admission to the Indian Institutes of Technology was (and to a lesser extent is) one such exam. While the aristocrats in the newly formed India could afford to send their children overseas for higher education, for the teeming middle class, the institutes provided a passport for the new dawn Panditji had promised at the fateful stroke of the midnight hour.

Our not-so-friendly neighbour China has a (surprisingly) far more draconian form called the gaokao. Ghastly images of sleepless, ill-fed aspirants, rummaging through huge tomes, residing in decrepit  buildings have, from time to time, surfaced on the internet. This is after some of the parents have spent their life earnings in getting them the necessary training - offering us a preview of how critical that one selection could be for them and, possible, their generations to come.

These tests are purported to be the greatest leveller. Because, merit is the sole criterion.

Higher education tests in the US, present a significant contrast. While the state has been successful with secondary education, the university system is still dominated by private schools. These private schools increasingly favour candidates who can pay the entire fee for the course. Even the 'well-rounded' standardised tests with their emphasis on vocabulary and writing inherently carry a bias for a upper class upbringing. Standardization of tests, as is largely seen in systems like that of the US, promotes an inherent bias in testing.

It is fascinating to see how societies evolve. How the privileged become the privileged, then erect barriers for outsiders, and how the oppressed find newer means of breaking through the glass ceiling and challenge the status quo again. 

Education and talent will always remain powerful tools for the ones left behind to break from the accepted social order. The interplay of classes and the struggle to rise up the echelons will continue to occur till human stupidity ensures the annihilation of the entire race.

Of voices seldom heard

Brought forward, at times, by deep anguish,
Or well up I do in moments of joy.
I make my way in the most heartfelt hug,
And present myself in that aching goodbye.

Sheepishly do I surface at the brim,
Treacherously does my head dangle.
The heaviness within bears me down,
Briefly in the whiskered parapet I entangle.

Downwards I glide before I know,
Daintily meandering the gentle cheek.
With a moment's pause I fling myself,
My friend, I aren't a mark of the weak.

I look back up in the midst of my fall,
I see it, my coterie, come along.
We touch the ground before we know,
The downpour turns into an eerie song.

Motionless, I sit here in silent consent,
As others of my kind join me.
Our heads bowed in gloom, and backs bent,
Under the weight of silent melancholy.

At times heartless feet trample me,
Sometimes I splutter on the earth's rusty face.
Frequently, I am met with a remorseless shrug,
At times, spurned with pitiless disgrace.

Yet, on occasion, there's a palm outstretched,
That ensconces me in its soothing grip.
Those hands, I tell you, are for the keeps,
Hark! Hold on, and let them not slip.

The Shape-shifter

It is the wakefulness of the night,

Also the deep recess of slumber.
It jives in drunken revelry,
Reclines in a mood utterly sombre.

It gallops amidst endless chatter,
Then rests beneath sheets of silence.
Twinkles through conversing eyes,
As they rebel against the shyness.

It is in the tolling of the temple bell,
In the cry drowning the death knell.
Remains ensconced in that warm hug,
And in her cheeky, playful tug.

It's in the sounds of the sea,
And the gentle touch of breeze.
In the shade of flowing hair,
In her unwitting elbow squeeze.

It's the flower basking in the sun,
And in the grin behind the veil.
It is the heart’s most ardent wish,
But more often, its greatest ordeal.

Love, it be told, is a boggart.

Gurgaon, Bad Gaon

It's been just over three months since I packed my bags and moved from the city of dreams and Bolly-culture to a city where the Kingdom of dreams is the closest thing anyone has seen to culture. I would have been glad to present an all-informed viewpoint on the perennial Mumbai vs. Delhi debate. However, in my three month stay in NCR, I have been to Delhi as much as I ventured north of Bandra in my two years in Mumbai. Once.

Still, Gurgaon was surely something I could and wanted to talk about. Gurgaon is a quaint, dusty town in most parts. It is a steel and glass laden metropolis in the rest of the pockets. My initial attempts at describing the city in verse had only shaped thus...

Not far from the heart of India,

Thrives a city rising on its feet.

Few verses ever tried to capture its colours,

Time for one such ’tis meet.

Towers of concrete mar its skyline,

Clouds of dust loom in the sky.

A rattling metro threads across it,

Its teeming millions it does tie.

... when I realised that the poetic form was way too romantic for what the city stood for.

Romance is music. Music in G-town (sounds cooler, innit?) is limited to the cacophony of blaring car horns and giant drillers. If you happen to be riding in the midst of the traffic, the roads will make sure you dance to the uncanny rhythm as well. This, however, is only till you meet the party pooper standing right ahead of you, complete with a peering gaze that forces you to stop in your tracks. That of the wandering cow. You might be alone but they rarely are, their tongues playfully running over the other's face, subjecting you to a PDA you never asked for.

Something like this is what I am talkin' bout

And this is during the day. It is hard to describe the Gurgaon roads in the night time. As per the holy texts, in the Beginning, God said, "Let there be light", and it does seem that the municipal council of Gurgaon are the most disobedient of atheists. What makes this situation even more ridiculous is the number of tree trunks that keep popping up from nowhere in the midst of crowded roads. 

And it is the contrasts that are discomforting. There are places where one can enjoy the most delicious of world food in the most luxurious of environs, yet the approach to them is a road indented with craters the size of Deepika Padukone's ... courage. 

Central Park(ing)

A lot of the above is the fault of each and every inhabitant. The utter disrespect for rules and apathy to the common good is mind numbing. I clicked this picture on the left on a bustling evening. The spate of cars one can see is actually a passage in-between the dividers which the car owners thought was fine to park in and block. Their car is parked is all they could care about.

A massive shift in scenario is difficult in a social milieu where the men climax by thrusting their car keys to the sound of whirring engines, and the women (those who get approval to come to being) either keep their mouths shut or blind themselves in a heady mist of rouge and talcum powder. 

However, all is not lost. Gurgaon is still more of a town eyeing the future of a city. The elements of transformation are at work, every single day. And change is slowly, and surely, brewing. Or rather, micro-brewing.

Kitaabein bahut si likhi hongi tumne...

The last few days, more like the last couple of months, have seen the pillars of the nation - the government, the bureaucracy and the judiciary descend into a veritable kitty party. In the beginning, everyone is eating, drinking and hi-fiving and all that. The moment the crowd wraps up, the sly ones take to bitching and totally irrelevant slanderous talk.

Yes, grumpy old men and women, at times, behave alike. And if this blog were any popular, I would be joining the ranks of Airtel, sitting on the National TV and participating in a debate one-sided fireball slinging match with the Goswamis and the Dutts.

But, I digress. It is amusing how everyone is clamoring for their last bit of flesh from the Congress carrion. Indeed, the rise and fall of the Indian National Congress has many valuable life lessons. Besides, of course, those of not letting your sons dope too much, and arranged marriage.

One must, however, note that Natwar Singh's latest book might be the sole proof of RaGa ever having seen a task through. Convincing his mother to take such a big decision is especially commendable since he did nothing that Indian kids are supposed to do - like scoring more than Sharmaji's kid, finding a homely bahu and not throwing tantrums and tearing paper and jazz.

Soniaji's remark in the face of crisis was astounding. "I will write a book too.", she bellowed. Theek hai!

It bewilders me how the book is a revelation anyway. If you really thought the reins of the country were in the hand of Manmohan Singh or bought the 'inner voice' rant of Ms Gandhi, you must be the kind of person who believes that WWE is for real, and that Santa Claus is imaginary. No! shut up. I dare you. Ahaan? But my stockings were full last Christmas!

In all of this, the only person I feel for is poor old Mannuji. Maybe, after a decade of silence, he will write a book too. Or better, someone writes a book and tells how the PM we saw was a robot and we find good ol' economist Mannuji gagged up in a cellar. And like he freed our economy in the 90s, the thankless billion go and set him free as well.

P.S. I feel sad for having one-sidedly bashed the Congress, esp. as I am no BJP fan. But I fear the age-old expression - what was it again? "Shah, aur Maut"!