Baahubali - Is it the beginning?

Nearly two years ago while watching the Indian super-hero movie (Krrish 3), I couldn't help but feel sad that Bollywood movie-makers weren't thinking big enough. I had suggested that if 100-million middle class Indians spent $1 each, a movie could garner Rs 600 crore ($100 million then) -- at that time, Krrish 3 had become the second-highest grossing Indian movie with just Rs 250 crore.

This year, Baahubali crossed Rs 500 crore in India collections, the only movie to do so.  

Let's take this Rs 500 crore number. Assuming an average ticket price of Rs 100 (using a 25:75 split between multiplexes and single screen theatres), it means 50 million tickets sold. Anecdotal evidence (including my own behaviour) suggests that many people watched the movie 2-3 (or more) times. That would mean fewer than 50 million unique viewers, perhaps 30 million or so. Imagine... the most successful Indian movies have less than 3% market penetration! Even if we considered the 140 million cable/DTH (subscription TV) households as the addressable market based on affordability, we are looking at a 5% penetration.

On the other hand, in the US market, a highly successful movie like the Avengers grossed upwards of $600mn, translating into about 75 million tickets sold (at just over $8 per ticket). As such, the ticket numbers (75mn in USA vs. 50mn in India) don't look very different but given the vastly different denominators (population: 319mn vs. 1267mn), one would expect much larger numbers here. 

There are probably two major reasons why Indian movies have such low penetration:

1. Content is not universally acceptable. Even in a highly fragmented market such as cinema, it is tough to believe that the most successful product appeals to just 5% of the market. Different languages spoken in India adds to the challenge. Just 45% of the population knows Hindi, thus ruling out the most popular Bollywood movies to a majority of the market. 

2. Reach of cinemas is still very low. India has 9000 cinema screens, giving it a density of just 8 per a million population. On the other hand, the US has 117! Therefore, even if a good movie with universal appeal were to be made, access would still be a huge issue. Obviously, cable & satellite TV has much greater reach but far less monetization (on an average about Rs 50 crore per movie). Further, most Indian movies have also not been very creative or aggressive in the after-movie market of accessories, merchandising and digital content/games. 

On the first factor, Baahubali has made an interesting beginning* by releasing Hindi, Telugu, Tamil and Malayalam versions simultaneously, thus addressing over 60% of the market. Even the theme - an Indian super-hero movie on the lines of popular mythology / historical stories - probably had wider appeal. The cast included well-known stars from the southern states; if there had been a recognized Bollywood star, I guess the Hindi version would have done much better. This could hold the formula for future, large budget Indian movies: 

* Stories that can connect across cultural groups (fantasy / mythology / patriotism / kids)

* Dubbed simultaneously in all major languages (Hindi, Telugu, Tamil, Bengali, Marathi, Gujarati, Malayalam... would hit almost 75%)

* Multi-starrers with leading actors/actresses from various regions

On the second factor, it would be interesting to see if Baahubali can revive an interest (and value) of TV rights for a movie. There hasn't been much to see on the merchandising front too.

The profits from the first Baahubali should give its makers (and other producers) the confidence to push the boundaries next year. It would be exciting to see an Indian movie cross Rs 1000 crores ($150mn now) in revenues soon. There, that's the new target!


(* Other movies like Roja, Robot and Bombay were also released in multiple languages earlier. Baahubali is the only one amongst the all-time box office leaders.) 

Krrish 3 - Indian movies are missing the big picture

Almost all the reviews of Krrish 3 that I read before watching the movie warned me against going anywhere close to it. But when has logic ever prevailed, particularly when it comes to kids. And I must admit, I had enjoyed the first two installments of this trilogy.

Since then I have been wondering if Krrish 3 (K3 henceforth; I cannot get myself to type that double-r again!) was a good movie or not. Most kids seem to enjoy it a lot and hardly anybody walked out of the theatre during the movie. It is now reported that K3 has crossed Rs 250 crore revenues in the two weeks since release, making it one of the most successful Bollywood movies ever.

This is not a review of the movie, although I must point out what I found most jarring. There is no conflict between the two personas of the super-hero. Only the mask and black raincoat separate Krishna and Krrish; in fact, you see Krishna dancing and singing around a statue of himself. Contrast that with other super-heros like Spiderman, Batman or Iron Man... they are all reluctant "heroes" often unable to reconcile between their 'split' personalities. Not just them, eventheir loved ones go through similar struggles. This, I believe, creates palpable tension in their stories, often stronger than their conflict with the villain. 

On the other hand, in Krrish's favor, his story is an emerging one. He does not have years of comic stories, back-stories, make-overs or reboots available. He is a super-hero created for movies (nay, Hrithik Roshan), one movie at a time. Maybe Marvel or better still, India Book House could adopt Krrish and make a real comic super-hero series out of him. 

Anyway... the other issue that caught my attention was the relatively small scale of Bollywood movies. A 250 crore collection has made K3 the 2nd most successful in the industry. The Avengers (similar genre, Hollywood's 3rd highest grosser ever) had a budget 5X of K3 and earnings were 37 times more! In India itself, The Avengers earned Rs 65 crore. As pointed out in this article, the pertinent question is why Indian film-makers have no apparent desire to tap the much larger movie markets overseas.

In many industries, Indian companies have globalized, even when the Indian market was big enough (& growing), so that they might become globally competitive. Recognizing that products and brands from overseas have access to Indian markets, we needed to be able to compete with them in our home turf. And of course, many industries enjoy economies of scale and increasing the addressable market is a means to improving margins. Very high fixed cost businesses like movies clearly lend themselves to 'market expansion'.

Of course, as with any cross-border expansion, you cannot just transport products across markets. With movies, it is indeed tough to "customize" the product for each culture / language that one targets; at most you can dub the movie and maybe, edit it slightly differently. At the same time, the success of Hollywood movies like The Avengers or The Avatar has shown that good quality entertainment and story-telling is universally accepted. 

So are Indian film-makers shortsighted, focusing on the 100-200 crore collections whereas much larger opportunities lie elsewhere. Will the increasing corporatisation of Bollywood lead to larger scale movies being made in India, by Indians for global movie markets? In fact, a Bollywood movie with pan-India appeal that can earn $1 from each of the so-called 100mn middle class Indias has a Rs 600 crore potential!

Roof-top Capers

It was another morning. I had not slept much the previous night, having stayed awake to complete a Harry Potter book. My friend had gifted me this big, hardbound book a few days before, and I had reluctantly started reading it. And could not put it down. Unfortunately, it was the middle of the week. I was still new at work and hadn't yet learnt any bunking/goofing off tricks. So I missed the 8.19 to Churchgate (for what else happens when I miss the 8.19, check out: The Day Shahrukh Khan Saved My Life) for the first time.

There's nothing more irritating than seeing the local train leave the platform right in front of your eyes, particularly when the next train on that platform is about ten minutes later, sure to result in the disapproving eye-brow from the big boss. And my project manager had ended the previous evening with a 'let's catch up first thing tomorrow morning' threat of more work. Platform 7 was to offer me no relief, so I proceeded to the overbridge, looking for options. It's easy to generate multiple "strategic options" on a slide but Andheri station, that morning, was in no mood to support my cause.

Back of the envelope calculation revealed that a Slow train after 8.25am would not work; there was no option but to go for a Fast local. I had come to this conclusion even before I had reached the top stair of the bridge, all I had to do now was to go to the correct platform. They don't teach you in b-school not to jump to conclusions too fast, they don't teach you in life too. You have to learn it the hard way, so there I was running fast to catch the next Fast.

All the while, there was a song playing in my head, just refusing to go away. Chaiyya Chaiyaa. With Jhankaar Beats. It had been playing in the auto that brought me to the station and the words looped tunelessly in my mind. It was perhaps coincidental that I was reminded of this song, featuring a train and others, at a train station, but at that time, it was just a background score.

I shall not go into the painful details of how I got into the First Class compartment of the next Fast local: it was from Virar and painfully over-crowded, there were even some chaps sitting on top of the local train! Getting into a Virar-Churchgate local during peak hours was obviously a very stupid thing but such was my dedication to work that I took the chance. Luckily, I did not suffer much physical damage while I was pushed inside; I managed to find some space to stand and held an overhead handle tight. 

Whether it was the gentle swaying of the train or my night-out with Harry Potter, I felt drowsy. Standing. My mind's iPod continued to play Chaiyya Chaiyya in a repeat mode. 

I must admit that I had always been fascinated by that song. Of course, Malaika Arora was mind-blowing and Shahrukh Khan outdid himself in this foot-tapping song, but the most exciting part for me was its picturization on top of a moving train! What a fun way to experience the thrill of a train journey and the beauty of nature all-around. If you had friends with you, some steaming chai and hot pakoras. Aaah! And, yeah, if someone like Malaika was dancing too, then it would be heaven. But, nah! that only happens in movies, so I would settle for the rest. 

I guess my fascination for train-top journeys began in a more sober setting. Ben Kingsley, playing Mohandas Gandhi, joins other passengers on top of a train in his discovery of India journey. What a moment in his realization of what the true India was. Even today, almost 90 years later, hundreds of people travel on train roofs, often because there is no space for them elsewhere but sometimes because it offers the best view, conversations and air conditioning. I had never travelled on a train roof in spite of my several train journeys across India. Wouldn't it be fun to try it out sometime?

My thoughts turned to other famous train roof-top scenes from my favourite movies. Young Indy making his escape from the circus train in Last Crusade and of course, the climax of Mission Impossible. Too much! Well, I could do with less adventure, I suppose. But, the chai and pakoras were a must. 

The train stopped with a sudden shudder. Irritated that my pleasant reverie was disturbed, I opened my eyes and looked around. We had stopped in between stations and there was some commotion from a few compartments away. There was a buzz in ours too. Somebody must have pulled the chain, was the most popular view. Maybe the power has failed, ventured a few others. A couple of guys who were sitting close to where I was could not bear the uncertainty and got up to conduct an inquiry. A few people jumped down from the train and moved towards the source of the noise.

I seized the opportunity and sat down. If that guy returned later, well, it was his fault; he didn't have a reservation for this seat. I retrieved the Economic Times from my bag and looked at the crossword. Why did it have to be in the inner pages and not conveniently in the last one, I cribbed as if that would help me crack more clues! A few minutes passed and the train remained still. Would I lose the Fast train advantage due to this halt? I went back to looking for the anagram clues. Chaiyya Chaiyya continued to compete for attention.

Five or more minutes passed, I reconciled myself to seeing the boss' eyebrows shoot up today; others were also discussing their respective excuses at work. Suddenly there was more buzz, some guys climbed back into the train (quite a feat, that!!) and the train's horn indicated its readiness to resume the journey. Some adventure and a major waste of time, I thought.

The check-shirt guy, surely a broker, whose seat I was occupying did not seem to be in a hurry to reclaim his position. He was in an animated conversation with others standing around him. The buzz in the train refused to die. Unable to hold my curiosity any longer, I looked up and asked, to nobody in particular, 'Kya hua?'  I must have spoken loudly because there was a sudden break in all conversation; the broker heard it and said, "Ek ladka gir gaya train se, abhi zinda hai lekin serious. Shaayad current laga tha, train ke oopar baitha tha." (A boy fell from the train, he's still alive but in a serious condition. Probably electrocuted, he was sitting on the roof.)

Gandhiji, SRK, Indy, Ethan... I am not joining you on the roof, thank you.

This is the fourth in a series of stories from and about train journeys. Other similar stories can be found here.

The Day Shahrukh Khan Saved My Life

For the first two years of my work-life,  8.19 was central to everything. The slow local that originated at Andheri station, to get me to Churchgate, determined how the day would go. If we (some of my colleagues and I) got a seat - at least before Bandra, we would have the opportunity to 'put fight' on the Economic Times crossword, be relaxed enough to get our shoes polished when we disembarked and then reach our Colaba office before the boss did. If we missed the train, then anything could happen. Usually for the worse. 

That fateful morning in April - we were in the midst of appraisals, I remember - I was running late. Every auto, it seemed, was taken. I stood in front of my building, waving at every passing auto. But Juhu Versova Link Road was filled with hundreds and thousands like me, all competing for the 8.19. Most of us were wearing blue or white shirts or blue and white shirts, with dark trousers and black shoes. You would find black or brown leather bags on our shoulders, a few lucky ones just carried a newspaper in their hands. We were all recent MBAs landed in Mumbai with shared accommodation in Andheri and the ambition to move south-wards. We were the 8.19 First Class crowd.

About ten minutes later, I was in an auto, sharing it with some other guy who I only knew as the guy with a discman. He usually sat by himself in the train and listened to music till we reached Churchgate. In tough circumstances such as those of that morning, you made friends with anybody, particularly if the other person was getting into an auto alone. We hardly spoke during the fifteen minute ride to the station; this auto, like many other new ones, was fitted with a tape-player and a T-Series cassette. Kumar Sanu was belting out some old Kishore hits and that was sufficient excuse for us not to engage in conversation.

It was almost 8.15 by the time we reached the Juhu Galli-SV Road junction signal, the final barrier before we hit the entrance to platform 7. The signal had just turned red and we waited impatiently, urging the driver, "Chalo, chalo," almost willing him to break the signal and get ahead. The auto-driver was not really in favour of such heroics at that five-way junction; he fiddled with the springy thing that was hanging from the rear-view mirror. As the signal turned green, Discman and I settled our accounts with the driver and got ready to jump out of the auto. Our three-wheeler, in pole position at the junction, got into the one-way lane towards the station ahead of five others that were vying for the honours. Changing gears, he led the race to the platform entrance. The train stood on the platform.

Having entered the auto later, I was the first to get out. I crossed the road and was climbing the steps when I heard the train horn. The train had decided that it would not wait for me. I did not give up - oftentimes these train drivers would have a false start and be called back to the starting line. And the First Class compartment was right there, in front of me. So I ran.

I glanced backwards to see if the Discman was also giving chase, but he was still at the gate and had obviously given up. The backward glance, as they often say during cricket commentary, lost me two precious seconds and was to prove costly. I was (and am) a tall guy; I was (and am not) quite fit and agile. I decided that I could get into the 8.19 with a bit of effort. Any well-reasoning guy, like Discman, would have told you that it was just not possible; the train was cleared to leave the platform and the motorman, obviously well-fed that bright and sunny morning, was raring to show his moves. He took off with a vengeance. But it was one of those times when reason takes a quick nap to permit perverse foolishness to take over (some call it adrenalin). So I ran faster.

Pushing one or two by-standers, I made a dash for the First Class compartment. It is not very easy to run on any Mumbai suburban platform, particularly when you are wearing formal shoes and have a shoulder bag filled with McKinsey Quarterly and HBR print-outs. However, I was possessed and got pretty close to the compartment door. This is the moment where Hindi movies like DDLJ get it all wrong: you feel that jumping onto a running train and getting hold of a handle is quite easy. I mean, it's been done countless times, and Shahrukh Khan's always around, no? Let me tell you, in case you are planning to attempt a similar stunt in future, that not only is it very difficult to coordinate so many parts of your body and the train at the same time, but it is also very dangerous, given the liberal gap between the train and the platform. So I jumped.

(see 2:00 to 2:30 in this DDLJ video; sorry for the poor quality but it has sub-titles too)

I may have alluded to it earlier, now is the time to clarify that the 8.19 was a very popular train and left Andheri station with 200% capacity utilization. Not much floor space in the train, even in the First Class rake, was left spare for idiots like me. Whereas I was hoping to get my left foot on the train floor and the left hand on the pole that bisected the entrance, said floor and pole were fully accounted for. But like the Light Brigade I had no option to turn back, I was committed. My left shoe made an uninvited entry to the shoe party on the floor; my left hand sought friendship with a strange other. It was a precarious situation, my left limbs were trying to make themselves wanted while most of my body and bag were experiencing loss of gravity. We were now out of Andheri station.

Although nobody outright rejected the intruder, there weren't welcome songs either. Instead of the violins I heard a few people cursing me and my family for my stupidity. Those words probably helped clear my mind and woke reason from its slumber. I was terrified. The sweat in my palms did not help my grip and my foot was still trying to find space for itself. I shifted my body inwards and tried to force my right foot also into the party. At that point, the train shivered a bit as it changed tracks. My hand began to disengage and I knew that something bad was going to happen. He held my wrist and pulled me in. Whether it was extreme-fear induced adrenalin or that guy's strength, I don't know, but two seconds later I found myself mostly inside. My right hand groped for support and found something, my feet too were on something solid. I was breathless and out of my wits for a while. We reached Vile Parle station and more people got in. I managed to stay on my feet, held in place by everyone else around. By the time we got to Bandra, I had been pushed right inside and finally, had some space and air. 

I looked around, remembering that somebody had helped me get in, nay, saved my life. I had no clue who it was, there were too many people all around. I didn't know which one of them was my Shahrukh Khan.

(Title Inspiration: Allan Seally's "How Raj Kapoor Saved My Life")
This is the third in a series of stories from and about train journeys. Other similar stories can be found here.

3 Idiots: Dreams and Reality

NOTE: This is an update to my previous post on 3 Idiots. This one, after seeing the movie today.

 

Follow your dreams. 

That's the key message of 3I (and countless other stories)... and obviously, there's nothing wrong with that message.

But what if you cannot follow your dreams. Circumstances don't let you. What does one do? There are few in this world who are like Rancho (not Aamir Khan, mind you) - inherently brilliant, good-natured and attractive - who are also provided the opportunity to follow their dreams. Remember, it is Mr. Shyamaldas Chanjad who sees Rancho through school and college for his own selfish motive. And unlike Raju Rastogi, Rancho does not have a family of three, surviving on Rs 2500 per month, hoping that their son will get a job and sustain the family's livelihood. 

Every dream clashes with reality, in some way, else it wouldn't be a "dream". Everyone has to make choices, day in and day out, about balancing the two. And given the ephemeral nature of dreams, they can change from time to time, just like reality will. Are we awake to such shifts, are we flexible to adapt to circumstances?

The flaw with 3I (amongst many others that I will not get into here because this is not a movie review) is that it seeks to use a broad brush in favour of the dream-way. With Aamir-can-do-no-wrong-Khan in the lead, all others are reduced to being caricatures. And eventually, all of them bow to the only way of the only master. 

Jahapanaah, Tussi Great Ho!

 

PS: I was shocked at the 'pissing on a live wire' episodes, presented as cool stunts! This used to be a popular ragging sequence in medical colleges, with very dangerous consequences. I just hope that some stupid kids don't try this out for fun!

3 Idiots: Yahaan ka system hi hai kharab!

I haven't seen 3 Idiots yet... but I have read Sahil's review here to get a good sense of what the movie is about.

I will probably watch it soon because it is the movie of 2009/10 and it's supposed to be a well-made movie... I loved Lage Raho Munnabhai and that's enough reason to watch the next Raju Hirani movie.

But I will go into the movie with a prejudice: I don't agree with the "message" that the education system is completely screwed up. That "formal" learning systems or even learning by rote are to be completely discarded. That our educators/professors/teachers are caricatures to be made fun of. That just creativity, without the rigour of analysis, can solve all problems. 

I will not deny that our education system needs a major overhaul. We need to get more practical and more up-to-date. But that does not mean we kill the system itself. Remember, it is the same system that has produced whatever it has till now. It is the same system that has ensured that India grew at 8% this year when most "developed" countries were reeling with recession. It is the same system that is slowly leading to the flattening of the population pyramid. 

Yes, the ranking system forces unhealthy competitive behaviour amongst children and we need to find ways to make "selection" more rounded and not just limited to "exam results". But, at the end of the day, can we get away from the fact that there will be "selection"? Humans are what they are because of natural selection. We have chosen capitalism as our way of life; to wish that everyone be alike is just a wish.

My daughter is just learning her 2-times table. She often forgets what she learnt "by rote"... but her learning process also taught her that she can add two to the previous answer to get the next one. And so on for the 3-times and 4-times tables. So she is using some creativity to get to the answer when she is stuck. Eventually, it won't matter whether she knows 4X9=36 by rote or by a creative deduction of the answer. She will know it. And she needs to know it. That's the problem with formal education... it is a somewhat painful process when we go through it and it is easy to discredit what we have learnt. But if we hadn't learnt many of those things, where would we be today? 

What the system lacks is the flexibility for people to find their interest areas and to be able to customize their higher education in a way that suits their interests. We are stuck with rigid definitions of education options: Science, Commerce or Arts after the 10th; Engineering, Computers, Commerce, Science or Arts after the 12th... Why not a mix of them? Why can't an Engineering major do a bit of Arts and Commerce to develop other perspectives? Or the other way around...

The problem that I have with these movies (TZP, 3I, MB-MBBS) is that the studious are caricatured as nerds and the creative/dreamy types as studs. The teachers have to be of the worst category possible, except of course if Aamir is the teacher himself. The world needs the engineers, accountants, scientists, managers or other nerdy types as much as it needs the poets, photographers, artists, singers or the filmy types. Remember, the smart alec had the opportunity to come up with the fundoo "pencil, not pen" choice only because several brilliant mathematicians, scientists and engineers at NASA applied a lot of theorems, equations, algebra, design, etc. to build a craft that would take humans to space.

Tomorrow, I will surely enjoy 3 Idiots and all the funny / senti moments and the twists that are promised in the movie. But on Monday, I will also insist that my six-year old learn her 2 to 5 tables by rote. 

I hate AB for making me cry so much on a Sunday afternoon #paa

... and laugh too!

There are very few films that I don't crib about - something or the other. Obviously perfect movies are hard to come by. An hour after leaving the theater, I can't find anything in Paa to crib about. Except that it made me laugh loud and cry louder. In public. On a Sunday afternoon. Like Leela, my 6yr old, said while giving the movie a standing ovation, Can we get the dvd and watch it at home again!