Film Review: 96 (2018)

K. Ramachandran and Janaki Devi, two adolescents profoundly in love with each other, meet again after a long span of 20 years. 96 (2018) is a Tamil romantic film of these two friends who pass one evening together reliving their memories, reminiscing of the past and trying to understand why things possibly didn’t work out for them. Set in the adolescence and early youth of the protagonists, the first part of the film talks about a suppressed love of Ram for Jaanu – a feeling and an un-expressed desire left to bleed alone. Although the second part mostly covers the evening spent together (the present), it also shows the past as potential but unfulfilled moments of change in life for the two. We wonder if the two lovers will now unite again against the flow of their respective lives set apart by their choices in the past and the current circumstances. This is what the film tries to find a solution to. However, owing to the expected solution the film points to, it is unable to make an impact beyond the screening time.

Ram’s Inhibitions - The film starts with Ram as an accomplished photographer, passionately exploring different geographies – deserts, oceans, sea beaches, etc. and he seems to be completely immersed in his photography - at times, living in the wild and at times, training students in his art. After being distanced from his childhood beloved, Ram has invested himself in photography and (t)his art seems to have become a means of forgetting her. Photographer as a career choice goes well with this character that we discover as extremely introvert and emotional when it comes to his love, Jaanu, his school friend. The first part shows the lighter moments of the film so as to underline the strong feelings between the two. Completely enamoured, Ram misses Jaanu sorely and his world seems empty when she is absent from school. Unlike stories where love is unrequited, here, we have two adolescents who know they love each other. The thorny part of the affair is Ram’s lack of will and his lack of courage to express his feelings. Ram’s inhibitions vis-à-vis Jaanu form the crucial point and remain a constant throughout the film. This is brought to light through two incidents, both repeated in the second half. In the first incident, Jaanu is seen standing in front of the class. She is a good singer and it appears that Jaanu is willing to sing a song of Ram’s choice provided he communicates the same to her, which doesn’t happen (in either of the parts). As the timid Ram doesn’t take the required initiative, Jaanu then sings a song than the one in Ram’s mind. In yet another scene, Ram’s timidity is exemplified when Jaanu touches him and unable to bear her proximity, he falls unconscious. Even after twenty years, he is unable to master his feelings for her and becomes breathless on Jaanu’s touch. Thus, Ram’s inhibition vis-à-vis his beloved remains unchanged despite so many years.   

The bold Jaanu - Ram’s inhibition is cast in opposition to Jaanu’s overt expressions of love and the two are completely different in terms of their handling of emotions. If Ram’s inhibitions haunt him (and Jaanu too!) forever, Jaanu’s character is a welcome mix of boldness and love for Ram. There was something good and interesting about this character. Unlike the usual girl characters, Jaanu is different – self conscious, affectionate, caring, bold but obscene. She wants to acknowledge her love for Ram and is waiting for him to express his feelings. The choice to sing a different song acts as a deliberate provocation at the hands of Jaanu and in a way, mocks at Ram’s inhibitions. She is unperturbed by the societal gaze and doesn’t shy away from looking at Ram, touching his chest or (in the second half) from spending a complete evening alone with him in his house. Moreover, she commits certain acts of transgression that I found worth taking note of.

The first act of transgression happens over the bridge before the onset of vacations. As Jaanu and Ram approach the bridge, Jaanu is supposed to continue along the road while Ram has to cross the bridge to reach his house. Jaanu unexpectedly decides to continue along with Ram and stops at midpoint of the bridge where she spills ink over Ram’s shirt. Bridge as a unifying element of two sides opens the possibility of creating new destinations for paths not destined to meet. This is therefore an interesting scene given its location – the bridge used as a symbol of crossing or transgression. Then, the act of spilling ink is symbolic of Jaanu’s intent of doing an act otherwise reserved for boys. Such a sexual transgression is welcome as it changes our ways of perception about acts deemed ‘masculine/feminine’. Some other transgressions, although not as strong, occur in the second part of the film. For example: Jaanu is shown wearing Ram’s clothes, something that symbolically helps her feel Ram intimately. She is keen to touch Ram’s hand as shown in the scene where she deliberately puts her hand on gears while Ram is in the driver’s seat or in the metro. All these incidents reveal that Jaanu is ready to go beyond her set borders and reach out for Ram. She anticipates the same from Ram but is kept waiting in the first part. And what happens in the second constitutes the climax.  

Realist or not?  

a) After the film, some of my friends (Balaji, Pushan) felt that the film’s climax was very realist in its portrayal of Ram and Jaanu. Jaanu is still the same. She is bold, affectionate towards her friends, a good singer, etc. Importantly, as a married woman now, she bears the weight of the promise of love and fidelity towards her husband. As a friend suggested, as a ‘good’ Indian wife, she is expected to follow our traditions and maintain the sacrosanctity of marriage. Similarly, Ram has barely changed. He has always been very emotional about Jaanu. A world with any other than Jaanu is beyond him. An evening without electricity in Jaanu’s company can make him ill at ease or just her touch can make him breathless. A sexual friction with Jaanu hence remains unconceivable in his scheme of things. Love (Jaanu) for Ram is ‘purity incarnated’ and any physical contact is akin to breaching that trust of love. Given Ram’s sacrosanct notion of love and Jaanu’s personal disposition, it is but logical and realist that the two lovers bid goodbye without consensual sex and without any effort to change their life paths. According to this point of view, the relationship remains as it was, in fact; it becomes clearly an impossible relationship (all things remaining constant). This point of view is indicated by the title of the film. At the surface level, ‘96’ indicates the reunion of pass-out students of the year 1996. However, at a deeper level, it represents an incomplete (sexual) union of Ram and Jaanu. If 69 is a number laden with sexual connotations, 96 is its inverse - the two characters need to be seen as two digits that will never walk along the same path together, or even if they were to be together, it wouldn’t be a fulfilling union, there will be something amiss. Incompleteness will be the permanent characteristic of their relationship.

b) A few others (Deva, Naveen) were of the opinion that the film wasn’t realist enough in its climax. The argument was the two like each other’s company despite their circumstances. They happily eat a meal together, take a metro or train in each other’s company, spend one complete evening away from their friends gaze. Their togetherness is genuine and reciprocal. Despite their strong feelings for each other, how was it possible for them to abstain from a physical union? From 1996 to 2016, Tamil society and in general, the sections of the society the lovers come from, have certainly changed. Especially with the characters growing old and given their attraction for each other; it would be a huge disappointment to witness a continuation of sexually barren relationship. Like the other climax, a sexually gratified union seems an equally logical climax either to close the relationship or to keep it going at a different level.  

The two scenarios of climax - as a) an impossible relationship and as b) an open ended but a sexually gratified relationship – both have solid arguments in their respective favours and each can claim to be true. While one could always ask what realism means, if it can be compared and to what extent does the film’s climax goes closer to ‘real’, ‘more-real-than-the-other’s realism’ is a position both the sides can have recourse to and it is therefore very difficult to side with one particular climax. So, I propose to resolve this issue in the following way and my judgement goes in favour of b). If there are multiple solutions provided by realism and all being equally convincing, we need to resort to the role of Art (cinéma) as a medium of change.

In many Indian films (Tamil or otherwise) and in the typical Indian middle class cultural ethos, the feminine becomes the seat of emotions and women/girls are shown to be shy, decent, and modest. Women/girls are custodians of traditions, culture and are therefore expected to be pure. Any stain to their purity or to their ‘pure’ bodies incurs wrath of the dominant sex (male) and leads to a disastrous world. Our films have taught our girls to discipline themselves and have conditioned them to behave/act as per accepted norms. Baring certain films daring to portray scandalous and provocative characters, a considerable number of our films have shown, time and again, the shyness, docility and tolerance of female characters, whether it be serving their husbands/fathers/brothers or in their ‘good’ behaviours in school/college or in their suppressed sexual behaviours. The desperate need for transgression and a sexual one at that hints at the skewed relations between sexes and the transgression becomes an act of personal politics and liberation. What we therefore need in Indian society are uninhibited female characters like Jaanu willing to transgress. While being a reflection of our society, cinema can create such real-life like characters. It can also imagine different stories, different societies and pave a way for different trajectories, alternative destinations for our future.   

Just as much as we need more Jaanu in our society, in this context, we also need emotional, lonely, male characters like Ram. He has healthy relationship with his other female friends and his students. He gets along well with the gateman of his school. He carefully keeps all belongings associated with his love. However, let us also be aware that individuals like Ram can be quite tricky at times. Ram’s character can fall in the trap of being too puritanical that considers love in the form of biblical guilt. While Ram’s loneliness in the film is welcome, I feel the continuous upholding of love as a sacred/pure object could have undesirable consequences in our male dominated society. A consequence of such passionate love for instance could be to treat the object of his love as his sole property, an exclusive right. Unlike Ram, Jaanu has been bold enough to cross certain barriers. Her part of transgression is mostly commendable baring one – the physical union. Some may argue that a complete union doesn’t necessarily always require a sexual union and a platonic relationship can be as gratifying as any other. Moreover, a physical union with Ram may perhaps be unimaginable realistically. However, such an act could have suggested a creative end (or opening) of a complete, willed transgression.

Film Review Andhadhun (2018) – Blindness and the need of a different vision

Lot of reviews of the recently released Andhadhun (2018) have covered the brilliant performances of the actors, small or otherwise, the wonderful editing by Pooja Ladha Surti, other finer aspects of the film like Trivedi’s music, references to actors of yesteryears (Anil Dhawan) and inter-textual links with other great directors like Hitchcock and Nicolas Winding Refn. There was however one aspect missing from the reviews and would like to highlight it here.

The couple of scenes where the post murder incident unfolds before Akash’s eyes were at same time, a sheer delight and compelling, thought provoking. As Akash is supposedly blind, he is witness to the raw brutality with which Simi and Manohar (her lover) treat her husband’s (Pramod Sinha) body while Akash continues to play wonderful pieces on piano. This contrast - of music and the sequence of events following the murder is very telling of our political realities. It is as if to say that blatant injustices and flagrant crimes are committed routinely, normally, with utmost ease and absence of guilt. We are strangely passive to such atrocities because our visions are betraying us; our present visions at times present us blurred worlds and more than often, we choose to close ourselves from seeing undesirable things that happen routinely, even in broad day light. Therefore, in some way, a certain kind of blindness wouldn’t hurt us. It is as if blindness is needed for it gives an insight of things not visible to a normal eye. Blindness awakens some other perceptions – be it of sound and smell and we probably need a different awakening, may be of other senses to grasp the rot of our society. May be, what we need today in Indian society is not just an awareness or a state of consciousness created by what is seen/visible to the naked eye, but instead, a state of being that is created by other heightened perceptions, by a ‘blinded’ vision.

Interestingly, unethical acts can be construed to have become a necessity given the pointlessness of ethical actions. Akash would never get an opportunity to witness the aftermath of the murder, had he been true to himself i.e. had he not played to be a blind musician. It is precisely thanks to his ‘fake’ blindness that he can access a world unknown/unseen to others – a world where everyone is greedy and morally corrupt, that he can see the perpetrators in different light, in action. Blindness thus becomes a tool of probity. However, there lies a catch in such a situation – why and importantly how to prove you are a witness to a wrong when you are yourself in a situation resulting from an unethical act? And I think this need to be morally upright, to be ethical was an issue the film couldn’t satisfactorily resolve.

If there was no apparent indication of a resolution to the issue of (un)ethical action, the film does suggest something quite cynical. Let’s see what happens at the end. Here, Akash is shown to have presumably fulfilled his dreams and is working in a European country. He is yet again, similar to his appearance in the first sequence, working as a blind musician. Life moves on, he was able to get new eyes (may be Simi’s eyes or by the sale of her organs). On the one hand, this suggests that despite all what Akash goes through; he is not willing to live a morally worthy life. His greed for success and desire for social mobility is as intense as ever. The urge to come clean doesn’t really concern him, it seems. On the other hand, poetic justice - for Simi’s involvement in her husband’s murder - is rendered first in the form of the absurdity of her fatal accident and then, in the form of devastated personal life for Manohar. Yet, a genuine investigation of a series of murders remains elusive. Despite the murder and the heinous disposal of the corpse, Manohar continues to roam free. Again, this is quite similar to our situation today. Criminals roam free as all the witnesses either disappear in thin air or they are themselves party to some other crimes. No one wants to clean the system as every person is rotten from the core and is unwilling to give up his personal greed. Once embroiled in a crime, it’s too difficult a choice to come clean and somehow, we are unwilling to shed our egos and accept moral responsibilities of our misdeeds. The onus therefore lies on every single person, at an individual level, to change things around him/her, even if it would mean to readily accept one’s wrongs and suffer for their redemption. It would have been interesting to see Akash framed as a murderer since he is present on both occasions of crime. Akash’s return journey towards a scrupulous life would have made a different story, the return path can always make way for a different film altogether!

 

Film Review - RAAZI (2018)

Raazi (2018), the title of the recently released Alia Bhat starer film signifies one’s acceptance to do something. It involves a kind of readiness, one’s intent to do something. Such a title Raazi, given the context the film is set in, that of cross border enmity between India and Pakistan, creates an interest of some development of line of action between the two nations at conflict or their willingness to do something constructive. Moreover, a film directed by none other than Meghana Gulzar does create expectations among viewers eager to watch something new, or watch something told in a new way. Alas, despite certain moments where there could have been an engagement with different issues at hand, the film reinforces what most other films on nation do.

The only major difference here, unlike other films, is that the narrative is centered on a female lead. Most films on Nation show how men are important to nation and their exploits, achievements and acts of bravery are often narrated, glorified to depict nationalism as uniquely and overtly men’s projects. Raazi, at the outset, bore an impression of being a different film, for a woman at the centre of a narrative on nation creates hope of giving different views on how women are at the receiving end of nationalist projects or views on how they can change the dynamics of conflicts. A woman protagonist can help a person see things from a completely different perspective and thus offer refreshing insights on going beyond our inherited conflicts. However, Raazi fails in creating any different views about how women suffer or for that matter about how their presence in nationalist struggles or in post-colonial conflicts can lead to different outcomes than the ones we are usually used to see in male-centred narratives.

The story line is of a Kashmiri girl trained to work as an operative and married deliberately to the son of a soon to become Pakistan General of the Army. Hidayat Khan, Sehmat’s father is a Kashmiri Muslim working for India and has deep networks in the Pakistani army. Committed to the national cause, even in his death, he pursues his mission for the Indian nation; he arranges his daughter to be married off in Pakistan and her task is to provide inputs from across the border to Indian army. This identity of the female protagonist as a Muslim and her commitment to Indian flag are important given the almost war-like situation developed in that state. Hidayat is an example of a Muslim from Kashmir, while supposedly working for Pakistan, is in fact an insider for India and is committed to the Indian cause. Raazi, like most other Indian films, suggests Kashmir as a part of India and tries to portray Kashmiris; (read Muslims) as Indians dying for the nation or ready to self sacrifice for the nation. One can see Muslims on either part of borders - Muslims can be Indians and so can be, Pakistanis. The film focuses on how Kashmiris and even their women folk can be as “nationalist” and avowed to “Hindustaan” and can even risk their lives for the Indian nation. This equation of Muslim (men and women) from Kashmir fighting for India helps in eluding the portrayal of the problematic nature of Kashmiri Independence. The same equation helps in showcasing Kashmir as a natural part of India and the whole film easily shows India pitted against Pakistan. By glossing over the differences existing between the three entities (India, Kashmir and Pakistan), the film maintains absolutely no regards for people from Kashmir and how they are sandwiched from either side. This leads to an erasure of the historical turmoil witnessed in Kashmir.

The film portrays events causing an adrenaline rush in the life of a female spy and the personal upheavals in her life owing to her covert mission. On being caught red–handed by a loyal servant, she has to kill him and also, eventually her brother in-law to conceal her mission. The dilemma between national duty and loyalty to one’s family remains a thorny question right from the beginning and I think the film doesn’t do enough justice and is unable to exploit the richness of this dilemma. The first shot of Sehmat in the film is her effort of saving a squirrel from being crushed. Ideally, the same genteel and sensitive girl should have been exposed to so much of emotional turmoil, stress and imbalance while killing a family member. The film certainly tried to capture this, but it could have been portrayed much more effectively. Alia’s performance was decent, although I felt the director could have thought of demanding a Kashmiri tainted accent from her or her father, Hidayat. The Urdu jubaan and Hindustani khadi boli accent could have been a distinguishing feature as the two nations consciously adopted them. When we watch this film, apart from the flags and dress codes of the soldiers, there is hardly anything distinguishing between the communities across the borders. The film could have sought to make subtle changes visible between the communities across the borders.    

What I found interesting is the position of Sehmat’s husband. Iqbal Syed, a jazz loving, thorough gentleman and an extremely sensitive husband is in love with his wife and till the end, sides with his wife despite all odds. Sehmat’s pregnancy suggests their firm bonding and her desire to have a family life despite the mission she is in charge of. Their relationship could have been a game changer and a completely transformed Sehmat could have meant a possibility of dialogue. The transformation could have suggested that there are good people on both sides. Such a depiction would have shown that Pakistan and its people are not as bad as we think them to be, that after all both the countries share a lot in terms of cultural values and ethos and the people in Kashmir are somewhat like their counterparts across the borders. The protagonist’s transformation as a pacifist would have also implied that change is possible, that circumstances and intent can bring fruitful changes for communities, that while people are products of history, they do have a sense to orient their lives towards a better future. The film does at times create a sense of well-being and values of Tehzeeb within the Pakistani family by the way the General treats his family, the way Sehmat is treated as a new member and the loyalty of servants like Abdul towards the family. However, all this happens unfortunately in the background and the foreground is filled with Sehmat’s preoccupations of her mission and her sense of national duty. The film thus reinforces that irrespective of age, sex and religion, duty to Nation is our only and our primary duty. Any act of murder or atrocity committed in favour of saving the nation is permissible and thus, legitimizes the murders at the hands of Sehmat. As said in the opening dialogue, the film indicates that men are not the only heroes of the nation, there are ‘veeranginis – the females warriors’ too. While relationships can be life changing, the potential game changer or the strongest point of the film of an enduring relationship becomes toothless and one takes away the same old adage of “national duty is our primary duty”. The same stale food/diet on nation and its conflicts with one’s neighbours as enemies is reinforced this time not by a fighting male soldier, a honest police officer or a male coach, but by a female Kashmiri (Indian) spy agent.

At the end of the film, Sehmat is pregnant and delivers a baby boy who then becomes a soldier in the Indian army. I would have loved to see a crippled child to show how the cultures of hate existing between communities across our borders impact our future generations and how they are unhealthy/handicapped right from their birth. There is one positive side to this birth though - the feeling that the child is born out of love and not rape. The fact that Sehmat decides to keep the (healthy) baby is an acceptance of love of her husband. This is an acceptance that we are humans first and nationalism shouldn’t guide our decisions. I can’t resist quoting Sahir here.

“Tu Hindu banega, na Musulman banega, insaan ki aulaad hain, insaan banega...
maalik ne har insaan ko insaan banaya, humne use hindu ya musulmaan banaya,
kudrat ne to bakhshi thi humein ek hi dharti, humne kahin bharat, kahin iran banaya...”

There resonating words crystallise what should have happened with the new born. The baby born from a Pakistani father and an Indian mother could be a symbol of our political imagination of beyond the borders. However again, unfortunately, the film fails to show such a thing. If this were really the case, the child would have become anything else but an officer. A boy born and bred in the absence of his father turns out to be so healthy that he becomes a soldier and is again ready to fight for the Indian cause! His proud allegiance to the national flag was therefore a sorry sight. Doesn’t his mom learn anything from violent experiences of her past and teach her son to be something different? A woman who loses a doting husband and dignified family members in situations of conflicts can’t possibly be so emotionless to let her son become an officer unless she is a diehard ‘nationalist’. But this is what the viewers are shown. In another situation, Sehmat could have also decided to abort her child though this act could imply her nationalist stand, that of refusal of husband’s love or it could have meant her humanist side, that of her unwillingness to raise a child in a context where there is so much violence and hate for each other. The latter position would have been welcome.

This whole episode in fact could have been simply avoided if the film had ended at the bomb explosion killing both Sehmat and her husband Iqbal, thus implying that there are casualties on both the sides of fighting nations. At this juncture, the climax of the film has a short exchange of dialogue between Sehmat and Iqbal who suggests she should kill him and commit suicide as well. Now, this double killing could have suggested an acceptance of his love. Death in such a case is embracing one’s peaceful future by cutting one’s connections with the present whose violence has gone beyond one’s control. Sehmat’s acceptance of death would mean that such covert operations are futile in the end and a suicide along with her husband would mean they live ever after in peace. But then, no... this doesn’t happen and after all, India has to win the match at whatever costs. Sehmat’s life is spared as if to validate the death of innocents to save India’s national female warrior.

One doesn’t realise but then such films also unconsciously have certain interesting implications. Iqbal’s (Sehmat’s husband) death is his sacrifice and proof of his love for his wife; his humanism becomes way stronger than his wife’s. In contrast, Sehmat’s life is saved thanks to the killing of another innocent woman. Sehmat herself can be perceived as someone short on ideals, someone trying to win the game at any cost. The only thing that matters is thus national duty and anything else has to be compromised for the same. Such a film is thus simply a disguise of a female lead executing male functions. It justifies India’s political crisis and covert warfare with Pakistan, the killing of one’s and other’s family members in the name of nation and thus, encourages the violence and politics of hate that it should have out rightly condemned. A film directed by none other than Meghana Gulzar is therefore quite a disappointment. It is like saying uncritically and without any deliberation, whatever happens to the murdering soldiers, their family members and the victims, our Indian nation is great, let’s bow down to it and to protect India from its villainous neighbours, let innocent be killed, let there be atrocities to soldiers and their families, in brief, let violence be justified and be therefore celebrated!

"No is a No" and what about your silence, Bachaanji?

Dear Bachhanji,

I wouldn’t have written this letter but for your comments... Strangely as they irked me, there was something inside me strangling to talk to you.

The recent rape incidents in Kathua and the one in Uttar Pradesh have fuelled in all of us a riot of emotions ranging from horror, disgust, depression, outrage, anger and your comment affirms that unlike many other thick skinned devils who justified the brutal rape and murder, there is a celebrity ‘dadaji’ full of sympathy and compassion. You are a celebrity, one of the biggest India has ever seen and you know well the ‘dos and donts’ of life of a celebrity; I am a nacheez to make you aware of one of the dos and of the burden of your responsibility that lies on your strong shoulders, today, in the times when violence has been normalized. People are killed for their religion, their castes, for marrying in to other communities. Crimes, rapes and other horrendous incidents are being used for political gains and for stoking communal hatred, be it of religion, ethnicities or caste. We are learning to live these incidents as if they are a part of daily life because apart from being horrified and disgusted, what else can a common man who works from 9 am to 7 pm do for such cases. Instances of unprecedented violence are far too numerous to register individually a protest against and I will not elaborate on those incidents of violence here.   

For many of us in India, and by us, I am talking particularly about the so-called middle class that I belong to, our families nurture values of sincerity, obedience, modesty, dedication towards work, taking care of one’s family and treating our neighbours and guests as one’s own family members. The general outlook of a ‘normal’ family, - which is also seen in the elite classes or their counter parts from the weaker sections of Indian society, is that politics should be kept away from our personal lives. That politics could be idealist, that it could be based on certain principles or moral values is hardly ever imagined and/or accepted. Our families perceive it as bad, only for the corrupt, always done for one’s gains and interests. Anything to do with politics is better left to ‘them’ – the politicians or the rich and the well connected. Coming from a background that has had good family connections with political parties, you are well aware of the reality that politics is something that touches our lives whether we are concerned about it or not. Unlike my mother who asks me to switch off the TV when gory images of the battered body of Ashifa are shown, for she feels that this disturbs the mental peace and the good vibes in our home, you know very well that the brutal rape and murder of an eight year old is haunting us all. Unsettling images of Ashifa have been inscribed in our memory, the chilling rape and murder has already devastated us, it has disturbed the inner peace we always felt in our family and in our homes.  

Your aura is that of a swacch, huge tide wiping clean the shores and it is at this opportune moment that you have to listen to your conscience and act accordingly. I very sincerely feel that you must use your tidal powers and this is the moment for you to act. This particular incident is unique in ways it unfolded, and is still unfolding. Rather than refraining from commenting, do seize this opportunity to speak loud and clear, (- just as you acted and emphatically said in the movie Pink, “A NO is a NO”), of what needs to be done, of a fair and fast trial assuring justice for the departed one who will never see the meadows she was so fond of. In response to a question, you said, “uss vishay ko uchhalo mat” - your comments smell of repugnance and horror, I am certain of that and it is precisely for this reason that in my opinion, you must rethink considering a stance for campaign(s) you have been endorsing till now. Sir, these times are begging you to act, else no matter how much respect, satisfaction of being a brand ambassador for campaigns or happiness you get from any action done for your nation, no matter the popularity or riches you earn, your grand children will remember you as someone who didn’t voice his opinion at a time when it needed the most.

Regards,

Yours wannabe fan

Letter to Ashifa

Dear Ashifa,

My college, a college reserved only for Women is celebrating its annual day and I see all my students all decked up for this most awaited event of the year. There is perfume in the air, good music has set the tone of the moment and festivities and animations are in full swing; the swaying young girls and faculties already feeling the plunge of this bonaza of the year. While all of us are lost in wonderful, unforgettable moments, I feel completely ill at ease, furious, outraged and completely at loss of words over a face book post that informs me of rape of a 8 year old Asifa in the faraway land of J & K. The gory details of the rape have taken over me and it’s nauseating to think about the torture the 8 year old must have suffered. My hands tremble of what to write and confused, a heady mix of thoughts, almost akin to loss of capability of stringing any thoughts together frustrate me like never before.

I feel utterly helpless and I feel like crying, my hands tremble and I feel guilty. Guilty of something I have not done, guilty of inaction, guilty of not being able to channelize my outrage and sharing it with others. Feeling defeated, my head bowed down in shame, disgust, guilt and drown by emotion, I take to Facebook and commit the act that has become the in-thing of our times. I scroll down, through the post where I read the details of the heinous crime and share it with my friends on Facebook. I feel utterly ashamed that all I can do for the moment is share this post and make people know of what happened to this innocent girl…

Ashifa, I do not believe in God anymore and yet I pray to the nameless Almighty for justice to be given you, your friends, relatives and all those who feel outraged by this act. I proudly (and somewhat hypocritically) say that All Indians are my brothers and sisters and even if Ashifa, if you had not been Indian, I wish no person endures what you went through during those moments when you were kept alive to be raped again, and again at yet again, before the last time. I am ashamed that this is happening in our country where we proudly affirm that we give respect to women and elderly. Asifa, we have betrayed you, not as Indians but more so as humans, we have betrayed your being irrespective of your religion, faith, age and what not parameters on which our identities are fashioned on. Asifa, when I read what you went through, I wish I could become violent and perpetuate the most gruesome tortures to those who ‘enjoyed’ you.

I really don’t know what this writing is going to do. I am sure some people are going to read your event, your rape in a completely different light and may attribute something that you are not even aware of – you are going to be seen as merely being a minority, or your belonging to your state. I don’t know but it may also happen that this whole rape thing is going be to given a communal colour to it, may to be to an extent of getting a political mileage out of it for parties across the spectrum, I really don’t know and I am all the more distressed over such an happening before it takes place. I used to be an optimist but that doesn’t seem to be the case anymore.

Finally Asifa, I am sorry, for there seems an absence of ‘collective guilt’ in all my friends and relatives and all the so-called middle classes and the aspirational upper middles classes of being concerned about the 7 pay commission, immobile properties, the latest cars and their new models, their trips abroad, the weekend parties and what not… I will not write about all that as there is not end to it. I feel extremely disgusted at our attitudes of thinking of things that we are only immediately concerned about. This kind of thick skinned attitude and absence of any interest of anything that happens beyond our immediate entourage and environment leaves me utterly disgusted. I just wonder how the thick skinned attitude people would react had Asifa been there daughter. I wish them nightmares that would make them little more sensitive towards our remote worlds in order to bring them back to their senses and to their strayed humanity.

Mi Marathi... South Indian or North Indian... To be or not to be?

“Yella North Indians” were unfortunately the only words my keen ears could collect from all what was being said. The sulking faces, their discussion no longer mattered to me who was listening with intent till then. It was as if a performance of a veteran Khayal vocalist at a curve of its architectural expansion suddenly collapsed due to a technical failure of the music system and a shrieking noise erased the effect of all what had been laid earlier. My baby steps of life in the deep interior of South India were greeted and marked by my inauspicious categorisation as a ‘North Indian’. To be frank enough, in other scenarios of light pleasantries and I-hit-you-and-you-hit-me-twice of verbal duels, I don’t mind people calling me names. It is due to this laissez-faire address policy that depending on the situation, location and the social coterie I am in, I have gotten used to be problematically referred to as a Maratha in friendly banter (prompting me to say the often misused ‘ata majhi satakli’), then, as a Brahmin, Puneri one at that, then, at other times as an austere Chitpavan (without being one) and finally, simply and lovingly as a benign Paresh Rawalesque Marathi – Marathi as a whole defining entity within which can be subsumed other identities of caste and region. Interestingly, all these addresses have happened mostly in Delhi where I have spent a fair number of years. The funny part is what follows: while in Delhi, along with my regional and caste affiliations, I am also considered as a South Indian! So, when I was referred to as a North Indian in the South of India, I felt particularly targeted at that maladroit address. I felt like a smashed potato from a miserably failed bataté vada sandwiched between a crispy chennai dosai and a butter soaked paratha. What made me look like someone from the North? How do we make out someone from the North? Or what does it really mean to be from the North? (or from the South) Or inversely, what was it that I lacked, not to be welcomed as one of theirs or not to be befriended as a part of the South Indian fraternity?

These questions pertain to my day to day life and I think they relate to all of us, Indians in whatever part of the country we are in. The world for most of us is neatly divided, into North and South, as if one can either belong to the North or to the South. In such a scheme of things, how does one relate to someone who considers him/herself neither from the North nor from the South or, better, considers as possessing certain traits from both without considering oneself as belonging completely to either. To add to my woes, be it in the South or North, there is hardly any consideration for one’s belongingness to the West or East of India.

In my case, as a friend illuminated me on the issue, there is hardly anything visibly distinguishing a characteristic to be called a Marathi or to belong from Maharashtra. I started to think on these lines about Bollywood popular culture to understand the portrayal of my breed. Bollywood films have provided us with sufficient doses of sexual innuendos of a Marathi/Konkani woman. We have all seen Laxmibaai as ‘kaamwali’ baai draped in her 9 Yards sari. No wonder then, the scantily clad Katrina Kaif in ‘Chikni Chameli’ carries forth in terms of her attire the legacy of Madhuri’s ‘Humko aaj kaal hain’ – a musically beautiful song from the film, Sailaab. But that pertains to the female gender and even so, reflects little of how an urban Marathi woman would look like. A Marathi working/middle class woman is possibly seen to be independent and has all the liberal values incarnated in the city life of Mumbai. What about a Marathi male, urban prototype then? Amol Palekar comes alive to my mind so effortlessly singing the eternal search of a house in his, “Do deewané shahar main...” This was “Gharonda” in 1977 and the search of a house, though an important theme doesn’t quite translate the uniqueness of anything Marathi. Since the 1980’s, Bollywood has engaged with the urban life in new ways and the cinematic representation does register elements from Marathi culture. However, the experience of modernity and of the urban life as portrayed by Bollywood of post 90’s doesn’t necessarily differentiate between a Marathi and his ‘North Indian counterpart’. The often repeated image of working class Mumbaikars struggling against all odds to make out a living is rather a set of different identities – of castes, regions and class. Mumbai becomes a city of dreams and ambitions of anyone ready to struggle and excel. Unfortunately, films pertaining to the underworld, Mafia like “Vaastav, Satya”, as also the lighter ones as “Munnabhai MBBS,” and one man armies of local Rowdies (Ghulam, Rangeela, etc.) glorify the street and its heroes occupying a space between the rich and the poor, the legal and the illegal. One can observe a typical Mumbaiiya accented hero here with his stereotypical expressions of ‘bolé to’, ‘aapun’, ‘ané ka, jané ka, khané ka’, etc. which may be at times actually quite removed from a typical middle class Marathi family. I start to get a feeling that stereotypes work better, at least, you have an image to model from. A stereotype can give at least something to associate with.   

If the filmic representations are not strong enough to paint a visibly different Marathi man, there is a further lack of imagination of a Marathi identity due to a general resistance towards Hindi in Tamil Nadu. We are all aware of the stiff resistance to the 3 language policy in Tamil Nadu. For whatever reasons, the imposition of Hindi hasn’t worked, as it has in other states. Slightly bigger cities in Tamil Nadu may have got some exposure to Hindi film industry but, Bollywood Films dubbed in Tamil are still shown in smaller cities. (Some time back, I couldn’t stomach the idea of watching Padmavati in Tamil!) Preserving one’s language, customs, traditions and thus a certain sense of self is indeed praise worthy. The regional language for local governance has its benefits too. However, the strong linguistic regionalism can be a huge barrier in incorporating those who do not speak Tamil. In fact, this regionalism works to such an extent that all speakers of Tamils – regardless of their caste and regional inflictions are regrouped as one against all others. The category of all others too, becomes ossified into one whole where even a Marathi, Kannadiga or Gujrati not so fluent enough in Hindi are considered as a North Indian. Such a process entails a simultaneous erasure of all differences between those speaking Tamil and accentuating the differences of this one group vis-à-vis all those who do not know Tamil. It also unfortunately leads to an erasure of all differences among those not speaking Tamil and coming from other states. The different dimensions of one’s identity of people coming from Madhya Pradesh, Haryana, Himachal Pradesh, etc. are reduced to one: of not knowing the local lingua, of their non belongingness to Tamil.

The identity of a so called North Indian is constructed as a negative one - one who lacks Tamil primarily linguistically and then, culturally. This is the situation not just in the South but also in certain other regions of India. The fault line varies depending on the location. In the North, if you speak Hindi not so fluently and happen to be in the region that lies anywhere below Madhya Pradesh, then you are eligible to be a South Indian. While down South, especially in Tamil Nadu for example, you just have to be unfamiliar with Tamil and you are eligible to be a North Indian.

If language acts as an instrument of social exclusion, there exist other layers too to accentuate the differences between intimate outsiders and remote outsiders. If Biharis are known to possess certain traits and are not welcome in a particular state, those from the states of the North East of India face other forms of marginalisation. For that matter, the North-East becomes one unified whole with no particular importance given to other identities that may exist in the respective states. We hardly care about how a Manipuri would be different from someone from Nagaland. It is precisely for this reason that we should open ourselves to others, promote our local cultures, languages, literatures and economies. Instead of spending lakhs of Rupees and visiting only the cleanest localities and monuments of Europe’s glorious past, we shouldn’t shy away from visiting our remote villages and understanding their life and their cultures. Promotion of local economies is one of the best ways to generate revenues, knowing ourselves better and building tolerance vis-à-vis others.

There may be a slight exaggeration in this piece about how people from other states are made to feel outsiders, but such regionalisms, be it in Mumbai, Chennai or Shillong, run counter to the ethos encapsulated in Unity in Diversity that we often boast about. We are proud of the fact that our identities are constructed in myriad ways and that this plural identity formation has at its base something common to our Indian-ness. So, if that is really the case, why do we continue to remain hostile towards “outsiders” – the people from other states?