Ganpati Bappa and the Movies

How Mumbai’s studios and streets celebrated cinema Mumbai: Mumbai’s Ganesh Utsav has always been more than a religious celebration. For generations, it has also intersected with the city’s other great passion-cinema. Long before photographs of stars welcoming Ganpati Bappa at home became an annual fixture on television and social media, the festival had a presence inside Mumbai’s film studios. Beyond the studio gates, Ganesh mandals were also bringing movies directly to neighbourhood...

min read

How Mumbai’s studios and streets celebrated cinema Mumbai: Mumbai’s Ganesh Utsav has always been more than a religious celebration. For generations, it has also intersected with the city’s other great passion-cinema. Long before photographs of stars welcoming Ganpati Bappa at home became an annual fixture on television and social media, the festival had a presence inside Mumbai’s film studios. Beyond the studio gates, Ganesh mandals were also bringing movies directly to neighbourhood audiences by turning ordinary streets into makeshift theatres. Veteran film journalist and analyst Dilip Thakur, who grew up in Girgaon and has observed Mumbai’s film culture over several decades, remembers both worlds. “Ganesh Utsav and cinema have had a very old relationship in Mumbai. It wasn’t only about film stars bringing Ganpati home. The studios, the workers and even the neighbourhood mandals were all part of this culture,” says Thakur. Ganpati Tradition Thakur points to V. Shantaram’s Rajkamal Studio while recalling the early relationship between Mumbai’s studios and Ganesh Utsav. The tradition, he says, can be linked to the period of Navrang, when an elaborate set involving a Ganesh idol and elephants was created at the studio. What began in the world of filmmaking subsequently developed into an annual studio celebration. “During Navrang, a grand set was created with Ganpati and elephants. That became an inspiration for the Ganesh festival at Rajkamal Studio, and the tradition continued,” Thakur recalls. The importance of the celebration lay not merely in its association with a celebrated filmmaker. Studios of that era had large permanent communities of technicians, craftsmen and other workers, and festivals became occasions for everyone connected with the premises. “Studios in those days were like families. Actors, technicians and workers celebrated together. Ganpati was not merely a celebrity occasion—it belonged to the entire studio,” says Thakur. Entry to Devotees Raj Kapoor’s RK Studios in Chembur developed its own distinctive Ganpati tradition. The studio’s Holi celebrations became legendary in the film industry, but its Ganesh Utsav also drew people from outside the film fraternity. The Ganpati was installed close to the main studio building, and devotees could enter the premises for darshan. “People always talk about RK Studios’ Holi, but its Ganpati celebration was also very special. The idol was installed near the main building, and ordinary people could come inside the studio for darshan,” Thakur says. For a movie fan, this meant something unusual: an opportunity to enter the premises associated with Raj Kapoor and some of Hindi cinema’s most famous films while participating in a festival shared by the wider city. The immersion procession added another dimension to the tradition. Different generations of the Kapoor family participated over the years, from Raj Kapoor to Randhir Kapoor and Rishi Kapoor, and later Ranbir Kapoor. The procession travelled from Chembur towards Girgaon Chowpatty, passing through parts of central Mumbai along the way. As round-the-clock television news expanded, cameras increasingly followed the Kapoor family and the procession. “The procession would travel from Chembur towards Girgaon Chowpatty through areas such as Kurla and Sion. Once television news channels began covering it extensively, the RK Ganpati visarjan became a major media event,” says Thakur. The connection survived beyond the studio’s heyday. Thakur recalls that people associated with RK Studios continued the Ganpati tradition for some time even after regular studio activity had ceased. “Even after the studio stopped functioning as before, people who had worked there continued the tradition for some time. That tells you how emotionally connected the workers were to the RK Ganpati,” he says. Mumbai Galli Thakur’s most vivid memories, however, come from outside the studios. Ganesh Utsav once provided an unusual second life for films that neighbourhood audiences had missed during their theatrical runs. During the 1960s and 1970s, local Ganesh mandals organised outdoor screenings with 16mm projectors. A screen—or sometimes simply an available wall—could transform a narrow lane into a neighbourhood movie theatre for an evening. “We called it ‘Galli Cinema’. A 16mm projector would arrive, a screen would be put up, and the entire lane would become a cinema hall,” Thakur recalls. Growing up in Girgaon, he experienced this culture first-hand. Films featuring stars such as Shammi Kapoor and Dev Anand were among those he remembers watching during Ganesh festivities in the 1970s. “I watched many films like this in the 1970s. If you had missed a movie when it was released in theatres, Ganpati celebrations sometimes gave you another opportunity to see it,” he says. There was no streaming, satellite television or instant access to a vast film library. A neighbourhood screening could therefore become an event in itself, attracting families, children and film enthusiasts from surrounding buildings. “There was a different joy in watching a film with the entire neighbourhood. Ganpati brought everyone together, and cinema became part of that celebration,” Thakur says. It was entertainment, but it was also a form of community movie-going that belonged to a particular period in Mumbai’s cultural history. Stars Power As the film industry changed, so did the visibility of its Ganesh celebrations. Home Ganpatis hosted by stars increasingly attracted media attention. Madhuri Dixit, Shilpa Shetty, Salman Khan and Sonali Bendre are among the film personalities whose celebrations became familiar to audiences. Thakur also sees the growth of television as an important turning point. As Mumbai’s entertainment industry became broader and more diverse, Ganesh Utsav was embraced by artists from different backgrounds. “Earlier, you saw the tradition particularly among Maharashtrian artists and film workers. Later, as the industry expanded—and especially with the growth of television—artists from many different backgrounds began bringing Ganpati home,” he observes. Television brought cameras into celebrations that once remained largely private. Social media pushed that transformation further, making celebrity Ganpati arrivals, pujas and immersions instantly accessible to fans. Pull of Girgaon Some film personalities, however, have a relationship with the festival that predates stardom. Thakur points to veteran actor Jeetendra and his enduring association with Girgaon, where the actor spent his early years. “Jeetendra has never forgotten his Girgaon connection. On the first day of Ganesh Utsav, he has continued to visit the area and seek Bappa’s blessings. That relationship goes back to his early years,” says Thakur. For him, such connections are significant because they reveal how a festival can link a star back to the neighbourhood and community that existed before fame. “It is not always about publicity. For many artists, there is a personal memory attached to Ganpati—the building they lived in, the mandal they knew or the neighbourhood where people watched their films,” he says. Khetwadi’s Culture Filmmaker Manmohan Desai was similarly surrounded by the sights and sounds of Ganesh Utsav. His association with the Khetwadi-Bhatkar Street neighbourhood placed him close to an area renowned for elaborate public Ganpati celebrations. “Manmohan Desai lived in an area where Ganpati celebrations were everywhere around him. Khetwadi had that energy—the crowds, decorations and huge pandals. He was also a devotee who would visit Lalbaugcha Raja,” Thakur recalls. The scale, colour and crowds of Mumbai’s public celebrations were part of the cultural environment in which filmmakers lived and worked. It was only natural that some of that energy would eventually make its way onto the screen. Silver Screen Hindi cinema has repeatedly turned to Ganesh Utsav for music, drama and spectacle. “Deva Ho Deva Ganpati Deva” from Humse Badhkar Kaun became one of the songs closely identified with Ganesh celebrations, while “Deva Shree Ganesha” from Agneepath gave a later generation a powerful cinematic Ganpati anthem. “Cinema takes from society, and Ganesh Utsav is such a strong part of Mumbai that it naturally entered our films,” says Thakur. Much of the world he remembers has changed. The 16mm projectors no longer routinely turn Mumbai’s lanes into movie theatres. The old studio system has faded, some historic studios have disappeared, and celebrity celebrations now reach audiences instantly through phones. But the larger relationship between Mumbai, movies and Ganpati Bappa has endured. “From Rajkamal and RK Studios to the gallis of Girgaon, Ganpati and cinema have travelled together for generations,” Thakur says. “The way we watch films has changed and the way stars celebrate has changed, but Mumbai’s emotional connection with Ganpati Bappa has not.”

Decoding Trump’s Discombobulator

Commodore S.L. Deshmukh

Aug 3

4 min read

The U.S. President’s latest military buzzword may be political theatre. Even so, it captures a profound shift towards wars fought by perceptions and paralysing systems.

When Donald Trump spoke of a mysterious “Discombobulator” after the dramatic American operation that captured Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro in January this year, reactions oscillated between scepticism and intrigue.

Operation Absolute Resolve was extraordinary by any measure, involving more than 150 aircraft, some 200 American personnel and months of meticulous planning. Yet it was neither the scale of the mission nor its geopolitical implications that dominated discussion. Instead, it was Trump’s curious claim that a secret weapon had rendered Venezuelan defences virtually incapable of responding.

Whether Trump’s “Discombobulator” exists as a distinct weapon is almost beside the point. What matters is that it encapsulates the direction in which warfare is moving: from destroying an adversary’s arsenal to paralysing its ability to think, communicate and react.

Under the Wraps

Official details remain elusive. Military experts broadly agree that no evidence has emerged of a revolutionary standalone device. Rather, the term appears to describe a carefully orchestrated blend of technologies that already exist. High-Power Microwave (HPM) systems, pulsed radio-frequency energy, electronic warfare, cyber operations, communications jamming and other directed-energy capabilities could all have formed part of the operational package.

The objective is elegantly simple. Instead of physically destroying enemy systems, these technologies seek to overwhelm electronics with intense electromagnetic pulses or radio-frequency bursts, creating voltage spikes capable of causing temporary “latch-up” or permanent semiconductor failure. The result is what defence planners call a “soft kill” wherein radars go dark, missile batteries refuse commands, communications collapse and sophisticated weapon systems become expensive scrap metal without a single conventional explosion.

Reports suggest that Russian-origin missile systems and Chinese-manufactured equipment protecting the Maduro regime became ineffective during the raid. Independent verification remains unavailable. Yet such outcomes are entirely consistent with the growing sophistication of electronic warfare witnessed in conflicts from Ukraine to the Middle East.

Ironically, the most remarkable aspect of the Discombobulator may not be its technology but its name. Long before it acquired military overtones, “discombobulate” simply meant to confuse or bewilder. The Merriam-Webster defines it precisely that way. The Oxford English Dictionary traces its earliest usage to 1825, making it older than electricity as a military tool, let alone radar, radio or guided missiles. Linguists describe it as a whimsical mock-Latin American coinage, invented more for comic effect than scientific precision.

Comic Connotation

Military establishments have long appreciated the value of deceptive nomenclature. A weapon labelled “High-Power Microwave Offensive Package” would instantly reveal its purpose. “Discombobulator,” by contrast, sounds almost cartoonish. It conceals more than it reveals, invites ridicule while fuelling curiosity and allows politicians to speak dramatically without disclosing classified capabilities.

There is another curious twist. Outside military circles, “DiscumBOBulator” is the name of a boutique guitar effects pedal manufactured in Denmark. Musicians prize it for deliberately distorting audio signals, producing vintage auto-wah effects with remarkable precision. In music, controlled disruption creates art. In war, controlled disruption creates paralysis. The cultural metaphor is almost too neat to ignore.

Trump has described the system variously as a “secret sonic weapon” capable of making equipment simply stop working. Media reports have quoted anonymous sources alleging that Venezuelan personnel suffered symptoms including disorientation, collapse and nosebleeds, accompanied by widespread radar failures. Such accounts inevitably evoke comparisons with the still-controversial ‘Havana Syndrome,’ whose reported neurological symptoms have been linked (without definitive proof) to pulsed-energy technologies.

The evidence remains inconclusive. No publicly available technical specifications, photographs or independent assessments have confirmed the use of any particular directed-energy system during the Caracas operation. As with many special operations, mythology risks growing faster than verifiable fact. But mythology has always been an integral component of military power.

Throughout history, armed forces have cultivated reputations that exceed their actual capabilities because uncertainty imposes psychological costs on adversaries. During the Cold War, both superpowers invested heavily in strategic ambiguity. Today, ambiguity extends beyond nuclear deterrence into cyberspace, artificial intelligence and electromagnetic warfare. If an opponent cannot determine whether his communications, radars or missiles will function when conflict begins, deterrence acquires a new dimension. And unsettling the adversary’s calculations may ultimately be the Discombobulator’s greatest achievement.

The episode also raises uncomfortable ethical questions. Venezuelan officials have accused Washington of using the country as a laboratory for experimental weapons and criticised the alleged deployment of high-energy systems against human targets. If directed-energy technologies can indeed produce physiological effects alongside disabling electronics, international humanitarian law will face difficult questions about proportionality, accountability and verification. Unlike kinetic weapons, whose destruction is visible, electromagnetic attacks often leave few immediately observable signatures, complicating attribution and legal scrutiny.

These dilemmas are unlikely to disappear. Future conflicts will increasingly involve weapons designed not to obliterate cities but to erase digital awareness, disrupt sensors, blind command networks and degrade decision-making. Victory may depend less on firepower than on information dominance.

Seen through that lens, the Discombobulator is less a technological breakthrough than a symbol of warfare's next evolution. It represents the convergence of cyber capabilities, electronic attack, directed energy, psychological operations and information management into a single operational philosophy: disable before you destroy.

Whether the term survives military history is uncertain. Pentagon officials may never formally acknowledge it. But the concept it represents is unlikely to fade.

The battlefield of the twenty-first century is becoming increasingly invisible. The decisive strike may no longer be the loudest explosion but the silent moment when an army discovers that its screens have gone blank, its missiles refuse to launch and its commanders no longer know what is happening.

That is genuine discombobulation, and it may prove far more consequential than the whimsical name suggests.

(The author is a retired naval aviation officer and a defence and geopolitical analyst. Views personal.)

Ganpati Bappa and the Movies

Decoding Trump’s Discombobulator

Recent Posts

Comments