Art vs reality

Watching the latest series of The Crown seems like an exercise in voyeurism

So the final season of The Crown (or rather, the first four episodes) dropped on Netflix. And there was a certain predictability to the way I dropped everything else and settled down on my couch to binge watch it. And now, after that marathon viewing session, here are some of my thoughts. 

• The more recent the events covered by The Crown, the more uncomfortable the watch. Now that we are into the period in which Princess Diana died tragically, watching the show feels like an exercise in voyeurism. We see her talking with her young sons, William and Harry, on the phone, all three oblivious to the fact that this will be their last conversation. We look on as Prince Charles wakes up his ‘darling boys’ to break it to them that their mother has died. Mercifully, the scene is sans any audible dialogue but just seeing the expressions of devastation on William and Harry’s faces makes you feel as if you are intruding on a family tragedy. (Spoiler alert: that is exactly what all of us watching are, in fact, doing.)
• Elizabeth Debicki looks uncannily like Diana and is decked out in an identical wardrobe to depict the Princess’ last days on earth. But for all her cocking her head sideways and looking up shyly in a manner that is supposed to mimic the Princess, she fails singularly in projecting the charisma and star quality that made Diana such a supernova on the world stage. She plays Diana as a victim — perhaps with the benefit of hindsight — when in reality Diana was emerging, post-divorce, as a significant force in her own right. Diana’s strength and power as she took on the royal family are missing in this portrayal which is keen to emphasise her sadness and essential loneliness. 
• You never feel more regretful of the rift that has formed between William and Harry than when you watch the bond between the brothers as they negotiate boyhood together within the protocol-bound confines of the royal family. They laugh and josh with their parents as a team. They both seem suspicious of the sudden closeness blooming between their mother and Dodi Fayed. And when tragedy strikes William is the protective brother who tries to shield Harry from the world and the knowledge that things will never be the same again for either of them. What a shame that brotherly bond could not endure into adulthood. 
• And finally, why does Peter Morgan, the creator of The Crown, hate the late Queen Elizabeth so much? Whatever else you might think of her — and by all accounts, she was not a great mother — she was an adored grandmother in her later years, with all her grand kids testifying to how much she loved them. And yet, even as Diana lies dead and her sons are inconsolable, we don’t get as much as a glimpse of the Queen comforting them — even though both William and Harry credited her with getting them through that awful time. But I guess a remote and unfeeling Queen is what worked best in Morgan’s script, so that’s what we are saddled with here.

       As they don't say, the pen is mightier than the crown -- at least in the universe

       of the Crown.

Family ties

The Duke and Duchess of Sussex rush back into the embrace of the royal family at the Queen’s Platinum Jubilee celebrations

 

Families, eh? Love them or hate them; there is just no way you can leave them. That’s the thought that struck me as I watched the Platinum Jubilee celebrations to mark Queen Elizabeth’s 70 years on the throne.

 

Unless you have been living under a rock over the past few years, you will be familiar with Prince Harry, his wife, Meghan, and their long and winding whine-athon with Oprah Winfrey. The Duke and Duchess of Sussex – as they were styled after their wedding – gave up their royal duties and departed the green fields of England for the sunny climes of California, where they announced they would make their own way in the world. But wait, not before slagging off the royal family from which they had consciously uncoupled.

 

So, while Meghan, already upset that no one had asked her if she was ‘okay’, announced dolefully that the royal institution – which she referred to, rather sinisterly as ‘the firm’ – had ignored her mental health issues and failed to provide her with support when she felt suicidal while pregnant, Harry angrily revealed that his father, Prince Charles, had cut him off financially once he announced he was leaving for America. Meghan confided that her sister-in-law, Catherine, the Duchess of Cambridge, had made her cry. Harry said living in the royal family felt like being part of a circus (with him being the performing animal, obviously).

 

Meghan upped the ante even further, saying that an unnamed royal had speculated about the color of her unborn child when she was pregnant. Harry clarified, later in the same interview, that this had happened at the beginning of their relationship, but by then, the damage had been done: the royal family had been painted with a racist brush, and the reputational damage was complete.

 

So, what do you think happened when this racist, unfeeling, even cruel, family celebrated the 70^th anniversary of their matriarch’s enthronement? Why, of course, Harry and Meghan wanted to be a part of the festivities! They would, they announced grandly, be ‘honoured’ to attend.

 

And so, they dutifully turned up for the Jubilee celebrations, even though they were pointedly not invited to make the obligatory balcony appearance with the Queen (that was just for working royals, we were told). Harry wore a slightly hangdog expression during the proceedings, perhaps reflecting on all that he had left behind, though he managed to muster the occasional smile. Meghan, drawing on her experiences as a cable show actress, had a huge grin pasted on throughout, accessorized with even huger hats.  

 

The events were carefully choreographed to keep the warring brothers, Princes William and Harry, apart. And the public didn’t get to see Meghan and Catherine interact either at the Trooping the Colour or at St Paul’s Cathedral. But the family dynamics behind closed doors would have been fascinating.

 

Did the two sisters-in-law grin through gritted teeth and kiss each other on the cheek? How did Prince Charles react to the daughter-in-law who had smeared his family as racist? What was the reunion between Harry and his stepmother, Camilla, the Duchess of Cornwall, like, given that rumour had it that he planned to slag her off in his forthcoming autobiography? And did the two brothers manage to mend their relationship, or at least begin to make amends?

 

I guess we shall never know – unless, of course, the Sussexes decide to sit down for another heart-to-heart with Oprah Winfrey. Or if they decide to reveal their innermost thoughts in the reality show – oops, sorry, docu-series – they are currently shooting for Netflix. Or if Harry includes his Platinum Jubilee adventures in his book, which is due out later this year.

 

But, judging by the look of things, Harry and Meghan seem to have decided that love them or hate them, you just can’t leave your family. At the end of the day, you need that sprinkling of royal stardust to keep shining in the celebrity firmament back in California. 

 

Does that hold out much hope for Meghan’s estranged father, Thomas Markle, currently recovering from a stroke that has left him unable to speak? Will he finally get a visit – or at the very least, a call – from his daughter, who hasn’t seen him since her wedding four years ago? You’ll simply have to watch this space.

 

Mid-life crisis

You know you are well and truly middle-aged when...

You know you're getting old when a historic anniversary comes along and you realize with a start that you remember the event itself like it was yesterday. Well, that's certainly how I felt when I read that Princes William and Harry were planning to celebrate their late mother's memory by installing her statue at Kensington Palace. This was where Princess Diana had lived and brought up her boys, and the brothers believed that this would be a fitting tribute to their mother on her 20th death anniversary.

It was the phrase '20th death anniversary' that took my breath away. I still have crystal-clear recollection of the morning Princess Diana died. I remember sitting on my purple polka-dotted wrought-iron chair to take a call on the landline in my little barsati in Defence Colony. It was my office calling from Calcutta to tell me that a) Princess Diana had been killed in a car accident in Paris and b) they wanted a feature story on her life and times by 5 pm latest.

I remember the utter shock and disbelief I felt when I first heard the words "Princess Diana is dead." I remember lurching to the TV to see for myself if this unbelievable news was true. I remember spending the day glued to BBC and CNN, breaking away just long enough to file my piece.

Was it really that long ago? Can 20 years really have passed by so quickly?

On a rational level, of course, I know that they have. Prince William is now practically middle-aged himself, loyal husband to his wife and loving father to two kids of his own. And Prince Harry is, well, still Prince Harry. So, yes, the death of the Princess took place a lifetime ago. And yet it doesn't really feel like that. And every time I think about the fact that two whole decades have passed since that horrific car crash in Paris, I can't help but feel terribly old myself.

Nor is it world events alone that make me feel every one of my years. There are many other things in daily life that conspire to make me feel more middle-aged every day.

Last night was a good example. I walked into a new, trendy watering hole in Delhi, with my husband, looking for a post-dinner drink. And the first person we bumped into was the daughter of a friend, a lovely young woman whom we have known since she was a child. We said hello, hugged her, and then exchanged a speaking glance. When you're called 'Uncle' and 'Aunty' the moment you walk into a bar, it may be the universe telling you that this place is not for you, after all!

Of late, these epiphanies pile up every day, telling me that I am now well and truly middle-aged. Here's just a random sampling:

* Watching the controversial Netflix show, 13 Reasons Why, with one of my young nieces, I was astonished to discover that she had never used a cassette tape in her life. When did they go out of fashion? Did nobody make 'mixed tapes' any more as presents for their boyfriend/girlfriend? Will this new generation just see them as a vehicle for a suicidal teen to send a message from beyond the grave? For some reason, that makes me very sad.

* Matters have improved since Donald Trump became President of the United States (now there's a sentence I never thought that I would write) but when Barack Obama was in the White House and David Cameron in Downing Street, I always felt that there was something wrong with the world. These people were my generation, for God's sake! How did they get to be in charge? Where were the real grown-ups? And then came the sobering realization that we were now truly the adults in the room. What a scary thought!

* I guess there is a first time for everything, but I never thought that the day would come when I would turn down champagne on a long-haul flight because it was too early in the afternoon. No, I said to myself, as the drinks trolley rolled up. If you drink that now, you will be ready for bed when you land. So pace yourself and hold out for a nice glass of red with dinner. Clearly, my days of irresponsible drinking and flying are well and truly over. Now, it's going to be middle-aged moderation all the way. (What a bore!)

* And then, there is the small stuff. When staying in sounds like a far more attractive proposition than going out; when you choose the elevator rather than the stairs even if you're only going up one floor; when a gentle walk seems more do-able than a full-throttle jog around the park; when a pair of ballet flats seem more enticing than vertiginous stilettos; when you need those glasses to actually read rather than just work the librarian-chic look; well, that's when you know that middle age has struck.

If any of this sounds remotely familiar, then I have bad news for you. No matter how glossy your hair, no matter how trim your waistline, no matter how trendy your playlist, no matter how exciting your social life, your youth is well and truly behind you.

You, my friends, are now middle-aged. Acknowledge it; accept it; and, if you can, embrace it.

The Royal Progress

The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge have departed to balmy Britain; but here's a list of what we learnt from their visit

So, that much-awaited Royal Visit (so important that it must always be capitalized) is now over. The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge have come to India, pressed some flesh, posed for some pretty pictures, made a little detour to Bhutan, performed the obligatory photo-call at the Taj Mahal, and gone back to their country home in Norfolk to cuddle their bonny babies. But their short visit was long enough to give us some insights into both the Royal family and the world's (not to mention, the media's) reaction to them.

And this, in no particular order of importance, is what we learnt.

* Prince William is always Prince William. At a pinch he is the Duke of Cambridge. Sometimes, for novelty's sake, he is referred to pithily as HRH. And headline writers seem to prefer the affectionate diminutive, Will. But Catherine, his Duchess, is routinely described as Kate Middleton. It makes no difference that she no longer uses her maiden name. It is of no consequence that she was never called Kate -- not by her family nor by William -- but always Catherine. As far as the media are concerned, the commoner who overreached and acquired the title of Her Royal Highness must be reminded everyday that she is, at the end of the day, just plain old Kate Middleton (you know the one they used to call 'Waitey Katie').

* Bollywood is now officially Indian royalty. So the first engagement the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge attended (after paying tribute to those who died during the 26/11 terror attack at the Taj) was a fundraiser attended by Bollywood's biggest and brightest. Everyone from Shah Rukh Khan and Aishwarya Rai to Alia Bhatt and Parineeti Chopra turned up to break bread with William and Catherine. And true to form, the Bollywood royals effortlessly out-blinged the blue-bloods; even the Duchess's royal blue dress couldn't quite win that battle.

* The Duchess' stylists were clearly confused between India and Saudi Arabia. So even in the sweltering heat of an Indian spring that felt more like summer, poor Catherine had to wear ankle-length dresses and full sleeves in keeping with the 'modest dress code' prevalent in these parts. The poor woman must have been thoroughly confused seeing the midriff and cleavage revealing outfits the actresses wore to the ball (oops, sorry, fundraiser).

* It doesn't matter if you are British royalty, a movie star, a minor celebrity or a standard-issue woman, the tabloid press -- and sadly, even some broadsheet papers -- will treat you as a collection of body parts. So your legs, your derrière, your breasts, will be subjected to constant scrutiny and held up to some media-mandated standard of beauty. And yes, if you suffer a wardrobe malfunction, if that demure skirt flies up momentarily at a public function, then that's the image that will be broadcast all over the world.

* No royal visit (or any other kind, actually) to India is complete without a mandatory reference to Slumdog Millionaire. This time, the phrase was pulled out when William and Catherine paid a visit to underprivileged children in a Mumbai slum. And no, it never occurs to the British press that calling 'little brown children' slumdogs is incredibly offensive, not to mention rabidly racist.

* The Raj may have ended decades ago but Indians are still suckers for British royalty. So the best and brightest of Delhi's high society turned up at the British High Commission to greet the Duke and Duchess, even if it was from behind a velvet rope line. Wonder if any of them used that magic phrase of the Queen's on her grandson: "Have you come far?"

* No matter how minuscule your Kingdom, if you are King and Queen you get to lord it over those with lesser titles. So it was that King Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuck and Queen Jetsun Pema of Bhutan granted Prince William, heir to the heir to the throne of the United Kingdom, and his wife, a royal audience in their Golden Throne Room. It is not clear if William and Catherine were required to bow/curtsy before the more senior royals. But going by past precedent (William's mother, Princess Diana, had to curtsy to Emperor Akihito when she visited Japan) it is not entirely beyond the realm of possibilities.

* The ghost of Princess Diana lives on and will continue to haunt William and Catherine for years to come. And not just in that famous sapphire engagement ring that the Duchess wears on her finger. No, their every public engagement will be held up to comparison with how the Prince and Princess of Wales conducted themselves in their time. And that famous photograph of Diana, sitting wan and lonely on that bench in front of the Taj, will be pulled out to contrast her sadness and loneliness with the picture of marital bliss her son and daughter-in-law law present five years into their own marriage

* Though she is constantly compared to Diana, the woman whom Catherine most clearly resembles is the one whom her mother-in-law dismissed as the 'Rottweiler'. She has the same no-nonsense, jolly-hockey-sticks, Home Counties charm that Camilla, the Duchess of Cornwall, exudes on her public appearances. There is the same ready laugh, the enjoyment of a good joke and the ability to put people at ease. And more importantly, there is the same discretion. Just as Camilla has never put a foot wrong after joining the Royal Family, Catherine has conducted herself just as impeccably. Makes you wonder how history would have turned out if Charles had been allowed to marry his own 'Kate' just like William got to marry his 'Camilla'.

Photo-finish

There really is no respite for celebrities in a world where everyone has a camera-phone at the ready

You have to feel for Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge. Here she is, on holiday in Provence at a secluded chateau (owned by her cousin-in-law Lord Linley) with her husband, Prince William. This is their personal time together before they set off on an official tour of the Far East. So, the couple do what most young people do on holiday. They nap, they eat, they go for walks, they swim, and yes, they sunbathe on their terrace.

C’est normale, as the French would say.

What the royal pair do not know is that a kilometre away from their idyllic retreat is a public road. And that a paparazzo has taken up residence at the bend – from where you can see the chateau at a distance – with the biggest tele-photo lens known to mankind. So, a camera is clicking away as Catherine takes her bikini top off to get an even suntan; as she lowers her bikini bottom for William husband to smear sunscreen on her; and as the husband and wife cuddle each other, as people in love are wont to do when they think they are alone, away from the prying eyes of the public.

The story explodes weeks later, as Catherine and William are touring Singapore and Malaysia, when a French magazine called Closer (the puns just write themselves, don’t they?) publishes a topless picture of the Duchess on the cover, along with several others inside. The headline screams ‘Oh My God’ as readers are exhorted to take a look at Catherine as she has never been seen before – and will never be seen again.

Not surprisingly, William is incandescent with rage at his wife’s privacy being invaded in this manner and releases a statement saying that this brings back memories of the worst paparazzi excesses during his mother, Diana, Princess of Wales’ lifetime (it is no secret that the Prince blames the paparazzi pack for the death of his mother in a Paris tunnel 15 years ago). The couple file criminal charges against the magazine and the photographer in a French court, seeking jail time for those who have violated Catherine’s dignity.

Worse is to follow. Another tabloid, the Irish Daily Star, publishes the same photographs in Ireland with the editor defiantly announcing that Catherine was not going to be their queen, so they were going to treat like any other celebrity (Rihanna and Lady Gaga were the names he picked, even though these ladies have made their careers on the basis of being partially undressed – unlike the Duchess who has always been a model of propriety in her public appearances). And then, the Italian magazine, Chi, came out with a 19-page spread of the Duchess’ topless snaps, with a cover headline that read ‘La Regina e nuda’ (the Queen is nude) which was evocative without being strictly accurate while the story inside speculated on whether Catherine breasts were completely natural.

But what is the justification of publishing these intimate pictures of a woman enjoying some private time with her husband? Well, according to the editor of Closer, Laurence Pieau (who is a woman, despite all evidence to the contrary), she used them to show a young, modern couple in love. There was nothing shocking about the pictures, blustered Pieau – which begged the question: why the breathless ‘Oh My God’ headline, then? Chi editor Alfonso Signorini too insisted that the pictures did not violate Catherine’s dignity even though the magazine headline chortled: Scandalo a corte (Scandal in court).

So far, so hypocritical. But all the bluster about press freedom and the inoffensive nature of the pictures notwithstanding, where does the law stand on paparazzi photos of celebrities? Well, the short answer is that it depends on where you are. In France it is illegal to shot anyone on private property even if you are on public property at the time. But in Italy the law states that you can shoot people on private property so long as you are in a public space at the time.

But whatever the local law, the damage to Catherine’s image is already indisputable. The pictures have already appeared in three print outlets and they have proliferated on the Net. All that the Cambridge litigation may achieve is to prevent any further hounding of the Duchess by paparazzi out to make a quick buck. On the other hand, it may not. There is simply too much money to be made from carrying such intrusive shots (as they joke goes: I am so outraged by these topless photos that violate Catherine’s modesty that I can’t wait to Google them and have a good look). And even if the French court comes down heavily and hands out jail sentences in this case, there is really no respite for celebrities in an era in which everyone has a camera-phone at the ready.

Privacy laws are all very well, but what we really need is responsible media. The British press – which is self-regulated and adheres by a self-imposed code – has behaved impeccably in this respect, whereas media outlets in Europe (where privacy rights are enshrined in law) haven’t exactly covered themselves in glory. But then, what do you expect when two of the titles in question (Closer and Chi) are owned by that old rogue Silvio Berlusconi.

Perhaps in this case, a bit of tat-for-tit revenge may be in order. Maybe some patriotic paparazzo from Britain can take it upon himself to get a few nude shots of the old goat, Silvio himself. I know, it won’t be a pretty sight. But there are times when you just have to open your eyes, fire up the camera, and think of England.

The Princess Diaries

The Diana-Kate comparisons are overdone; it’s Camilla and Catherine who are most alike

By the time you read this, Prince William and Catherine Middleton will be husband and wife and with a bit of luck, all that hoopla surrounding the Royal Wedding will be over. But something tells me all those insidious, even invidious, comparisons between William’s late mother, Diana, and his new wife will continue to plague the royal couple for a long time to come.

Ever since William and Catherine (as we must learn to call her now; Kate is, apparently, far too common) announced their engagement, the Diana vs Kate industry has gone into overdrive. It doesn’t matter that the only thing the two women have in common is their love for William. For some reason, the media have decided that Kate must be seen through the prism of Diana, living in the shadow of the mother-in-law she never met. (And it didn’t exactly help that William gave his mother’s old engagement ring – an enormous sapphire surrounded by diamonds – to Kate when he proposed to her, thereby reviving memories of his mother’s disastrous marriage to Prince Charles.)

But look at it dispassionately, if you will. Princess Diana was an aristocrat, the youngest daughter of an Earl, styled Lady Diana from birth. Catherine Middleton is from solid middle-class stock, the daughter of two self-made professionals who made their millions from selling party paraphernalia on the Internet. Diana was the product of a broken home, her mother having famously eloped with a lover, leaving behind her children, whom she later lost in a bitter custody battle. Catherine grew up in a loving, secure, two-parent home, with none of the bitterness and bile that comes with broken marriages.

Even as far as appearances go, the women could not be more unlike one another. Diana was an English rose, all peaches and cream complexion, bottle-blonde hair cut short, and that famous fringe framing her lovely blue eyes as she batted her lashes oh-so coyly. Catherine is just as pretty but set in a completely different mould: a no-nonsense sensible type, with a forthright smile and long brunette hair that hangs down glossily past her shoulders.

And yet, the media are full of pictures of Diana and Kate which purportedly show just how alike they are. See, both of them are wearing strapless red gowns! Look both of them are in a blue suit! Wow, both of them are wearing little black dresses! Don’t they seem eerily alike? Er, no, they don’t. They look about as alike one another as any two women wearing a dress of the same colour would – no more, no less.

In fact, if any comparisons are to be made with Catherine, they should be with Camilla, the current wife of the Prince of Wales and William’s stepmother.

For starters, both women are from non-aristocratic stock; and from close, tightly knit-together families. Both have solid middle to upper-class moneyed backgrounds; and neither has ever held down a proper job. Both fell in love with their respective Princes fairly early on, and have remained devoted to them through thick and thin. While Camilla was pilloried as the third person in a crowded marriage, Catherine has been dubbed Waitey-Katie by a cruel tabloid press committed to making fun of her because Prince William took such a long time to propose.

And both have taken the criticism, the mockery and the taunts head-on, smiling resolutely for the cameras while saying nothing at all (thereby adhering to the time-tested royal motto: never complain; never explain).

In fact, it is in their relationship with the media – or rather the lack of it – that Camilla and Catherine are most alike. Unlike Princess Diana, who was close friends with some tabloid hacks and routinely used them to plant stories about herself in the press, neither Camilla nor Catherine has ever chosen to engage with the media. The only interview that Catherine has given is the one she gave jointly with William to mark their engagement. And Camilla never talks to the media, period.

And most importantly, both of them are the first loves of their Princes. Charles fell madly in love with Camilla, the dashing debutante, almost from the time he met her. But in a repeat of that age-old story, she was ready to settle down and he wasn’t; so, she married Andrew Parker-Bowles instead. William and Catherine too fell in love early on, while still at St Andrew’s University. But in this modern age, they could afford to live together until such time as they decided to get married.

In fact, that’s the key difference in their love stories. William married his Catherine, who waited for him patiently, despite all those horrid Waitey-Katie barbs levelled at her. Charles, on the other hand, missed out on marrying his Camilla until the second time round. If he had had the sense to marry her to begin with – the same good sense that William has shown with Catherine – he would have spared a lot of people a lot of misery.

And there would be no Princess Diana spectre hanging above the glossy brunette curls of Catherine Middleton today.