freebird

Presumed innocent. Innocent until proven guilty. Guilty by suspicion. Witch hunt. Expose. Sting. That was the talk of the media yesterday in India. Aaj-Tak and its intrepid journalists caught a whole bunch of right – wing activists glaoting about theor role during the Godhra riots. How acts of ommission and commission were a part of official response to the large – scale rioting that took place after the Sabarmati Express, carrying Kar Sevaks from Ayodhya, was torched.

The retaliation against the muslim community was sponsored, supported, encouraged and wiped under the carpet by the Modi administration. Middle – class Hindus from Ahmedabad, with a bank job or an executive working for an MNC were seen rioting during those 3 days of state sponsored pogrom. And then forgotten.

Some honest police officers who took an objection agains the Modi mayhem were alleged by the State of doing some wrong doing or the other. Some of them are still fighting to acquit themselves of baseless allegations imposed and fought by the State.

Meanwhile muslims were killed, their houses razed, their women, children and men raped, killed and secretly buried. No protest was able to move the BJP politicians. Revenge they smelt was good…for shoring up voters.

Zahira Sheikh the most famous of the witnesses did an about face and many a monkey proved its worth in the Gujrat saga that is still to find a closure. The silent Hindus don’t care. A historical wrong is being set right, they are able to convince themselves. What did Congress do in 1984 they ask and before that in the late 70’s in Calcutta? Everybody has a holy cow to be ashamed of and to be proud of. Not to forget the commies.

People in power kill. People in power explot. People in power will not change.

People who are not in power will beg, steal, survive, kill each other, attempt to kill the more powerful and then be crushed.

The rest will make excellent viewers. That’s reality.

Like dediciated television audiences there were various reactions on watching the report. Don’t we already know about who killed whom and how? Yes, of course, we do, but we don’t have evidence somebody said. Evidence.

Presumed Innocent, I heard somewhere

What is today’s urge? And where does it begin?

Just as the eye’s open and takes in the first rays of the sun peeping through the curtains?Or in the journey of the snuggle as one retreats further into the coverlet coiling into oneself?

Still in bed…when you hear the faint chirping of the birds…yet to be drowned by the morning traffic howls?

Or in the first ginger steps as one regains one’s root with the earth?

The smell of Tea or Coffee in the morning.

The first sip of tea or coffee.

Is it the first stings of cold water that awakens in us the first desires of the day?

As you open the morning’s newspaper.

The first drag on the cigarette.

The first bells from the nearby temple.

The first prayers from the nearby place of worship.

When you log into the www.

The kirst hug, kiss.

The rustle of clean ironed clothes.

The thread of your favourite ancient jeans that tugs at your skin.

The brief glimpse of the traveling cloud that reminds suddenly of childhood, love and the past.

Your favourite beggar who smiles at you.

The scolding of one’s parents.

The voice of your favourite RJ on the FM.

Your favourite song on the CD.

The newly born smell from the nearby bakery.

The struggling smoke from last night’s dying fire.

Eager, hurrying steps hailing autos, catching buses, shouting and abuses.

Hagglling and horns.

Traffic jam manouvering.

Speeding, jumping the red light.

Fleeting glimpse of the girl/boy while crossing the road.

The first bite into your favourite grub.

The whiff of your favourite perfume at the crossroads.

Children returning from school.

Early morning flowers.

The rising stocks.

The falling stocks.

The T20 match.

The bed.

Yesterday was Dussehra. It symbolizes the victory of good over evil. Ravan, the foremost devotee of Lord Shiva, pre-ordained to be killed by Lord Rama, abducts the Lords wife and is challenged in a great battle. The ten headed king is eventually killed and peace is restored. The good Lord later on banishes the same wife he had fought the great battle for and she commits suicide…well almost.

Ramayana is a famous story. About the ideal man, the ideal king. It was a hugely popular serial in the 80’s in India. There was curfew like situation back then…people almost blind in their devotion to the idiot box and the divinites that stalked it.

Inspite of all the magic realism (that’s where it all began if you ask me) Ramayana is never the epic of choice. It is for the sedate and the scholarly and probably the boring. The self – righteous King who always wants to be on the right side of events, people, ideology and history, quite frankly numbs.

Enter Mahabharata. Warring brothers, a kingdom, heaven and hell at stake. Dissolute kings, profound philosophy, myths, legends and Gods who are as human as you – all powerful no doubt unlike us, but scheming and charming – partisan teachers, nepostism, good at propaganda, inspiring…a melange of the fallible and the infallible.

So on one hand we have the God on a pedestal – the one who never commits an error, and even if they commit an error, will never apologise. On the other hand the Mahabharata God is a flirt, a commander in chief, a philosopher, a spokesman, a charioteer, a negotiator, a friend, the man on the cross, advisor, confidante…all rolled into one. Definitely more interesting.

Which of the two will TODAY choose? But why was Mahabharata written then? Because of some prevailing conditions for sure. As bad as today? Why not? What is ancient is always palatable, the blood becomes romantic and analysis and understanding doesn’t have the burden of self – experience. We of the 20^th and 21^st century who have our own ghosts will seem ok in documentaries and books, 5 centuries from now.

Land, kingdom, natural riches, capital…have always tempted people - kings, queens, criminals…all common in their greed, ambitions and hubris. All kingdoms will fall and everything conquered is an illusion. Even the 10 heads of Ravana.

Some films run and some films don’t. Just like any othe thing. A new film theory sprung up today in the morning. Multiplex crowd don’t like socials. Socials set in small town India that is. Not even if it has a liberal dose of Mumbai the metro, its pitfalls and sins, a foreign song, star cast etc.

Worth a thought. But is it true?

How come small films like Bheja Fry, Cheeni Kum and to an extent Metro hit the bull’s eye? Omkara a Shakespearean tragedy, replete with abuses and set in the Hindi heartland, a strict no no with the prurient Indian audiences, also finds favour.

But Laaga Chunari Main Daag doesn’t.

Saw ‘Laaga Chunari Main Daag’ the other day. The opening credits roll and in the next 12 seconds or so we have the 1^st song. And you enter a theater…actors making faces so that the last man/woman in the last row can register the lines on their faces.

Well here is the story - in the ancient city of Benares lives a family that lives in a mini-palace that is crumbling and has no money to change their sorry state. There is an irresponsible elder brother fighting to grab the property. A younger sister (Konkana Sen Sharma) who is good at studies. The elder daughter, and heroine of the film Rani Mukherjee, gives up her studies, sacrificing for the younger sibling. A father (Anupam Kher) who wastes the little money they have on speculation, buying lottery tickets hoping for that all-important draw. The mother (Jaya Bachchan) spends almost all her time on the sewing machine, trying to make ends meet.

All in all a great setting for any kind of a story…horror, thriller, drama, art house, whatever. Some people have liked it and some have not, which reinforces our faith in a pluralistic humanity. The film also had Abhishek Bachchan and Kunal Kapoor. Very good indeed.

The elder daughter sticken by pangs of responsibility and constant badgering by her insiensitive father decides to arrive in Bambai or Mumbai. There she tries her hand at everything, is rejected everywhere, gets willingly exploited for a job, is betrayed, then her epiphany happens and she becomes a high-society escort.

She sends money home, the younger sibling passes her exams in flying colors, the house gets a fresh coat of paint. The mother however has an inkling, for she had rebuked her daughter when she wanted to come back to her holy city before the all important decision of becoming an escort.

The men enter the story and the girls like them and the story somehow has to end and end it does.

You spend a whole lot of money and you remember the plot. Pradeep Sarkar’s first film was

Parineeta…a story set in the 60’s of Calcutta. It had a horrific never-ending ending. Laaga is set in 2007. The look of both the films is the same especially the Benares section. Why? Don’t know and don’t ask.

Some of my friends who had seen the film before I did raved about Konkona Sen’s performance. So I waited…and waited. I got confused. Was I watching 15 Park Avenue in which she played a schizhophrenic or was this Laaga…? Why do you have to make, twist, contort your face, blow your nostrils, why is your performance so obvious? No answer. But people have liked her so I might be wrong.

Nowadays there is a dude everywhere. Kunal Kapoor is one of them. Flowing locks, easy charming smile and voila there is an actor. Don’t act, be natural, just be yourself, he must have been told. And he did just that. Don’t think he could have done better anyways.

No point raving. Critics are even more honest. When you rate a film according to your camp, affiliations and not according to the merits of the film, you very well know the warped art you are supporting and propogating.

You will see it on the small screen in some months and hear a remix of ‘laaga chunari’…the theme of pain that a woman suffers…what you feel is nothing. It’s time Mr. Sarkar felt that before the audience feels it.

The air is different. You can smell it. Morning and especially in the evenings. Afternoons I am at work most of the time so can’t smell the difference in air conditioned claustrophobia. In Jamshedpur and also in Delhi, one felt its onset. The faint setting in of the chill, the leaves rustling on streets, dragging their half-green, half-yellow bellies to unknown destinations, in concert with the wind.

 Autumn is knocking on the door. And it is welcome. Autumn gives you excuses. To snuggle, to get close, to wrap yourself around yourself. And it is a welcome feeling. The heat and dust can be felt at the periphery and sometimes they do smile louder than usual. You sleep sounder in the mornings, the bedsheet an armour on standby.

Should one break the sleep, get up and turn off the fan or make use of the sheet…but where is it?…still not ready for autumn’s onset.  Post Diwali crackers the smoke mixes with the fog. Suspended it makes havoc. You wished it was not autumn for those days but even weather does not know itself.

Who guides the weather? Weather is not climate or season. It changes. A cosmic receptor. Unknown to us it hangs over us, its tentacles everywhere. Soaking wind, dust, smoke, hot, cold, cloud, hail, sun, rain, exhaust. Forever moving, soaking, speaking in a language that generations have tried to read and understand. It is like the flame. This flame dies to make the next flame. And we see one continuous flame.    

Crises. The definition of life. Is there anything called smooth sailing? There isn’t? Or am I losing perspective because one is too close to it? Anyways who says that happiness is a permanent state? Some, in fact do, and of them, saints, philosophers, armchair academicians, one is intensely suspicious.

Enough of this philosophy. For what illusion was I harbouring? Brother has fought brother. Father has fought son and they have plotted, schemed and killed each other. And friends have betrayed each other. And love has worn the garb of hate. That is what it is. Has been and forever will be. So what illusion?

Is this illusion necessary? Of friendship, love, kinship, hope of something better, nay, longlasting, genuine and eternal? Are we weak? Will we perish if we do not have this shadow of a better future, of better days and nights? Emotional bulwark is it? Psychological support we call it or…

Where is this permanence? Are we in collusion with ourselves? Fool ourselves and then cry and move on or fool ourselves yet again that we indeed have moved on. That the scars were…well temporary. Life, the grande parade has to move on and it has. Who wants your approval? And so on and so forth.

Today’s outpouring is because of a reason. Something intimate, personal has triggered it and therefore this puke of today. Tomorrow would be different and day after much different. Permanence eh…!

The mind moves and not the tree, its branches or its leaves. Grief will turn to mirth and sorrow into celebration and ecstasy into depression and we will go with it wherever it takes us. Like the spirit of Mumbai what option do we have? Sisyphus has to roll the rock and the rock has to plummet down and he has to again roll it up and the rock has to…

It’s been a hell of a week

There has been death

There has been destruction

There has been birth

There has been rejuvenation

People were seen praying

People were seen weeping

People were seen becoming atheists

People stopped caring and moved on

People said…i don’t know

People fell in love

And out of love

They missed each other and didn’t say so

They loved each other and didn’t say so

They went to their offices glum

They hated their work at offices and didn’t resign

Its half night and half day as always

Awake or dreaming as always

They thought about ending life

And stopped

They thought about making life

And stopped

They don’t know what’s happening

And yet live and move on

It’s a wonder

But they don’t stop, pause and feel this all around

O only if we did

Not done, I admonish myself. For not being able to write and post. But time is nobody’s slave. And to wriggle out of it all the time is well night impossible. So whats new? Grab it before it is old. New is India’s victory over Australia by 8 runs. A real cliffhanger. Couple of birthdays got celebrated at the office. The cakes had to wait till India’s victory to be blessed by the knife’s caress.

Ideation. Morning, afternoon, evening…ideation. Television is different from films. That’s obvious. Is it a bane? Probably. Network executives are millionaires. And news is made. The era of cultured news. Sohisticated, appealing to the eye to a population that is sucking on candy and wasting more than it can spend. Who cares about the world until the next tragedy knocks on my door?

Salary. The place I work is a reputable organization. But not when it comes to paying on time. Every month its the same story. Will the organization tolerate my incompetence if I display it? Your guess is as good as mine…sigh.

Saw a touching, humorous film yesterday. 3 films that is basically 1 film made by 3 different directors. Set on a train it is. Saw Kikujiro by Kitano yesterday. Simple and moving. What else?

Lots if one is honest. A muslim boy who got married to a hindu girl died under mysterious circumstances in West Bengal. Suicide or murder? Considering the manner in which the authorities are trying to cover and protect it seems obvious that a heinous crime has been committed. In India trying to take one’s own life is a crime also but you know what I mean. Where is the love? Not dead yet for sure. Inter-religious marriage is looked down upon. Inter – caste marriage is frowned upon. Adoptions are frowned upon.

We should be ashamed of what we are and what we are steadily becoming. All this knowledge, information, luxuries, faith, not to forget God. The onward rush is eternal. We and everything else are but milestones. Sometimes analogue, sometimes digital. Finally mortal.

Not written for the last 4 days. I got upset with myself. Don’t have connection back home so the writing is always somewhere else and under deadlines of 5 minutes or so so that work doesn’t suffer. Had to make a presentation today. Have to admit that i am slow on Monday mornings. They are truly awful. It takes some time for the mind to realize the malevolent monday. Some get right into the frame and start cracking concepts, the air and hearts too. Me is slow.

Saw Johny Gaddar yesterday. A tribute to past masters of suspense, JG didn’t pass muster. The acting was horrible. Only Zakir and Vinay passed muster to an extent. The plot was predictable and I just lost interest in the proceedings. Neel must learn and so must Sriram. In what frame of mind did he cast Rimi? Was the reason this – that she is a ditzy, stupid girl and fits the bill? What’s with her horrible Bong accent? Same with neel – eats more words than he chews.

Come to think of it Abhishek, Hrithik all have a problem – they can’t pronounce words completely or properly. Do they realize this? Or being a superstar they can impose their lack of skills on us? Seems they do the latter more than willingly.

Missed the music completely. The soundtrack sounded interesting and here the film used the worst tracks. Does this problem exist because – we like Western films iwith no songs and want to use an Indian narrative with songs. It is like the joke that Sriram used in Johny G about the Donkeys. Where do we stand? Who are we? What should we do…these and many more cosmic existsntial questions seemed to be shackling our directors…blurring their vision.

See it for the nostalgia…of a name, remixed half-phrases and a neo-tribute that seems to be more market – driven…i am sorry here, but that’s how it seems…why is Dharam paaji speaking so many English lines? What was the cameraman thinking? Whatever.