From Dhobi Ghaat to the Spanish Dry Cleaner
Between a Thursday and Friday in the middle of October, and in the short span of 20 hours, I found myself contemplating how the very humdrum task of washing & ironing clothes can be undertaken in two ways which are a world apart yet give you the same end result.
On Thursday evening in Central London I found myself in Leicester Square watching the UK premiere of Kiran Rao's Dhobi Ghaat. For this I must thank some of my friends who tipped me off in time, so I could buy the much-in-demand tickets at the London Film Festival. And I also escaped a potential anticlimax, by reaching the 'venue' early only to discover it was the wrong venue (not the South Bank!) but still in time to grab a friend and rush to the correct one.
Dhobi Ghaat (literal translation Washerman, River Bank or 'the river bank where they wash, dry the clothes') is another take on life in Mumbai. Its Kiran Rao's debut film as writer/ director. The story has a mix of 'modern western' characters and 'traditional Indian' ones. There are a several sub-plots going on but this is really the essence of India and especially Mumbai where the hugely contrasting life of its dwellers is more striking than their commonalities.
http://www.disoriented.net/photo/2008/01/MahalaxmiDhobiGhat/2
(Angus McIntyre)
There is the usual 'colours & people of India' section that still seem mandatory for a film designed for a western audience. The difference though is in the way Kiran moulds her characters and leaves them to go down untrodden lanes finishing neither with the burfi-sweet, all-is-well ending nor with a complete tragedy but instead with a big dose of this-is-life-deal-with-it reality.
As for the 'Dhobi', he does play a significant part in the film and I reckon Prateik Babbar (son of ex- film star Raj Babbar a I found out recently) might be on way to becoming the next heart throb. He is certainly high on my list ;-) We spotted Kiran Rao outside the cinema hall, after her talk with the audience, and she chatted to us in a pleasant and down-to-earth to manner.
And now you think, whats with the Spanish Dry Cleaner or La Tintoreria then? Never content to let life trudge along on its pre-destined path, I seem to be in this constant habit of shaking it all up. So early Friday morning, still thinking about life in a bustling Indian city, the 'class divide', the small, claustrophic kholis where not just dhobis but thousands of others eke out their living daring to dream big, the roomy sea-facing high-rise apartments that house the glitterati of Mumbai, "Just like Madeira!" as a friend once said, I boarded a flight to sunny Spain.
I landed in Madrid early afternoon and grabbed a late lunch at pleasant cafe in Nuevos Ministerios. Later, as we walked towards Alonso Martinez, my friend stopped at the local tintoreria to pick up a light coat. Now I'm not really a technology-shy person. Living in London means you learn to take in your stride the human-less instructions of automatic Oyster Card top-ups, self-checkout counters at Tesco, and now even Self-issue and Self-Return machines for books at the local council library.
But the automation of this local laundry-collection centre left me truly awed. Perhaps this is a regular feature on the Continent or even in high-end London but I could only watch spell-bound, as the rows of neatly-hung, dry cleaned outfits moved slowly along the long revolving clothes rack.
Image Source: Wikipedia (Unfortunately I didnt get around to doing a photo)
So all you need to do is enter and swipe your card/ ticket on a panel. Shielded by a plastic wall, the whole 'assembly-line' of outfits then starts whizzing past you purposefully. How intriguing also to see what evereyone else has sent to the laundry, and to secretly comment on their taste and style (!) Then as soon as the machine recognises your outfit, there is a click, it expertly slides your outfit to a small window in front of you, where you can reach for the hanger and pull it out.
For a minute I wondered, if you dont pull it out quickly will the machine bang the window shut on you, and place the item back on the assembly to continue its leisurely journey around the hall.
As we walked out exactly 90 seconds later, no chance, or reason, did we have to chat to the matronly ladies at the end of room who seemed busy in some other activity (surely they are computer operators really?) Aah, such are the joys of technology. We choose machines over people. Perhaps so we can spend more time with the people we want to. Not selfish I like to believe, just practical.
And could this modern dry cleaner be a setting for such romances that arise so naturally in the Dhobi Ghaat?Hmm, I like to think so. It may not be that easy, but I hope that at least sometimes the clothes-machine must break, leaving a lovely lady looking desperately for her coat, just as a very fit Spanish technician walks through the door to repair it.....
On Thursday evening in Central London I found myself in Leicester Square watching the UK premiere of Kiran Rao's Dhobi Ghaat. For this I must thank some of my friends who tipped me off in time, so I could buy the much-in-demand tickets at the London Film Festival. And I also escaped a potential anticlimax, by reaching the 'venue' early only to discover it was the wrong venue (not the South Bank!) but still in time to grab a friend and rush to the correct one.
Dhobi Ghaat (literal translation Washerman, River Bank or 'the river bank where they wash, dry the clothes') is another take on life in Mumbai. Its Kiran Rao's debut film as writer/ director. The story has a mix of 'modern western' characters and 'traditional Indian' ones. There are a several sub-plots going on but this is really the essence of India and especially Mumbai where the hugely contrasting life of its dwellers is more striking than their commonalities.
http://www.disoriented.net/photo/2008/01/MahalaxmiDhobiGhat/2
(Angus McIntyre)
There is the usual 'colours & people of India' section that still seem mandatory for a film designed for a western audience. The difference though is in the way Kiran moulds her characters and leaves them to go down untrodden lanes finishing neither with the burfi-sweet, all-is-well ending nor with a complete tragedy but instead with a big dose of this-is-life-deal-with-it reality.
As for the 'Dhobi', he does play a significant part in the film and I reckon Prateik Babbar (son of ex- film star Raj Babbar a I found out recently) might be on way to becoming the next heart throb. He is certainly high on my list ;-) We spotted Kiran Rao outside the cinema hall, after her talk with the audience, and she chatted to us in a pleasant and down-to-earth to manner.
And now you think, whats with the Spanish Dry Cleaner or La Tintoreria then? Never content to let life trudge along on its pre-destined path, I seem to be in this constant habit of shaking it all up. So early Friday morning, still thinking about life in a bustling Indian city, the 'class divide', the small, claustrophic kholis where not just dhobis but thousands of others eke out their living daring to dream big, the roomy sea-facing high-rise apartments that house the glitterati of Mumbai, "Just like Madeira!" as a friend once said, I boarded a flight to sunny Spain.
I landed in Madrid early afternoon and grabbed a late lunch at pleasant cafe in Nuevos Ministerios. Later, as we walked towards Alonso Martinez, my friend stopped at the local tintoreria to pick up a light coat. Now I'm not really a technology-shy person. Living in London means you learn to take in your stride the human-less instructions of automatic Oyster Card top-ups, self-checkout counters at Tesco, and now even Self-issue and Self-Return machines for books at the local council library.
But the automation of this local laundry-collection centre left me truly awed. Perhaps this is a regular feature on the Continent or even in high-end London but I could only watch spell-bound, as the rows of neatly-hung, dry cleaned outfits moved slowly along the long revolving clothes rack.
So all you need to do is enter and swipe your card/ ticket on a panel. Shielded by a plastic wall, the whole 'assembly-line' of outfits then starts whizzing past you purposefully. How intriguing also to see what evereyone else has sent to the laundry, and to secretly comment on their taste and style (!) Then as soon as the machine recognises your outfit, there is a click, it expertly slides your outfit to a small window in front of you, where you can reach for the hanger and pull it out.
For a minute I wondered, if you dont pull it out quickly will the machine bang the window shut on you, and place the item back on the assembly to continue its leisurely journey around the hall.
As we walked out exactly 90 seconds later, no chance, or reason, did we have to chat to the matronly ladies at the end of room who seemed busy in some other activity (surely they are computer operators really?) Aah, such are the joys of technology. We choose machines over people. Perhaps so we can spend more time with the people we want to. Not selfish I like to believe, just practical.
And could this modern dry cleaner be a setting for such romances that arise so naturally in the Dhobi Ghaat?Hmm, I like to think so. It may not be that easy, but I hope that at least sometimes the clothes-machine must break, leaving a lovely lady looking desperately for her coat, just as a very fit Spanish technician walks through the door to repair it.....
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