Scandalous Stories

It has been a great year for scandals in India. Over the past year, the Commonwealth Games, the Adarsh and 3G Spectrum scams have shown us that we have voted in a Government for a second innings which has repeatedly demonstrated its increasing propensity to emerge battered and bruised out of inquiries and probes; with the same being glamorously splashed everywhere in the media to sit judgment upon. It is, perhaps, then poetic justice that the latest scandal deal involves none other than those who had been hitherto hailed as the brightest stars in Indian journalism.

The Nira Radia tapes, released amidst much aplomb and fanfare by Open and Outlook, seemed to be the sort of issue that the media would have a field day with. Interestingly, and in retrospect, not surprisingly, with the sole exception of The Hindu – not a single large media house has come out with a focussed critique and analysis of the tapes and the issues it necessarily suggests. Of course, they must be wary to comment on the journalistic behaviour of some of their own, especially when they must know themselves having indulged in comparable conduct in the past.

Objectively, and without conjecture, the tapes with Barkha’s conversation demonstrate nothing but the fact that she worked as a conduit for the Congress, and that her reporting on some issues was, to a considerable extent, dictated by what Radiia believed was favourable to her clients. It must, however, logically follow that she has been doing this for some time, and has used her public status and post to actively endorse the opinions of these lobbies.

It is only an incredulous public that can believe that information we are barraged with under the label of news is entirely true and reported with integrity. While the facts that we are led to believe may be true to an extent, news channels and the written media always find it necessary to follow bare news up with analysis and consideration pronouncing a final judgment upon the same. To believe that this analysis is free of political and financial considerations, and even personal biases is, in my opinion, ridiculous. A historiography course taught me that there is no such thing as true history, as every historian’s thought process is necessarily coloured by who he is. To believe that either Barkha Dutt or Vir Sanghvi are free of this necessarily human foible would be to place our faith and formulate our decisions entirely on the basis of what the media finds it appropriate to feed us. Media houses, and particularly large media houses, have in their very content and style repeatedly endorsed certain political inclinations and corporate policies.

The Radia tapes, then, are not demonstrating anything that we didn’t already know.

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Kallakaduthum Kolapathakavum

On an ordinary day, Aakrosh is not the sort of movie I would pay money to watch at a multiplex. Despite my unconditional affection for all things Bollywood, my prudence has always insisted that the surround sound extravaganza with buttered caramel pop-corn is to be entirely restricted to big budget, high drama and star studded movies. On this occasion, however, J insisted on watching the movie. He had his reasons – an interesting and recently apparent social issue, Ajay Devgan playing a cop and of course, one of his favourite directors, Priyadarshan.

Even though I am a proud fan of Malayalam cinema and particularly of Priyadarshan’s style of movie making, I have never really seen him demonstrate his ability in Hindi cinema. Restricted largely to remaking his Malayalam movies after contextualizing them for a Hindi audience, he has, to my knowledge, hardly ever forayed beyond the realm of comedy as was the case in Hera Pheri, which eventually spiraled down to mere slapstick in his later sequels of the same movie. In fact, tracing his career graph in Hindi cinema, I find it difficult to reconcile his film making with the extraordinary scripts and performances which necessarily characterize Priyadarshan in Malayalam cinema. This is the man who, having met Mohanlal while they were at college, went on to cast the latter in some of the best Malayalam movies ever - Thalavattam, Midhunam, and Chithram.

Priyadarshan’s brand of films came of age in the late eighties and early nineties, contributing in no small measure to the glory that Malayalam cinema relished in the period. His favourite subject was the story of the young lower middle class educated young man struggling to make a life and shackled down by bureaucracy and social obligations, drawing upon issues that plagued Kerala – like poverty and unemployment. This was why, perhaps, long before I recognized the merits of Hindi cinema, I enjoyed and appreciated the stories and lives featured in Malayalam films. I am, admittedly, a fan of formulaic Hindi movies – but what set the film makers in Malayalam apart was that there was no formula to begin with, or even if there was, nobody followed it. Some of Priyadarshan’s biggest box office successes have had the leading man eventually die at the end of the movie. His movies essentially took after the Shakespearean tradition of tragic-comedies, with the pathetic and tragic lives lead by the hero always being studded with comic interludes.

In any case, the point I was making is that when going in to watch Aakrosh, I had lowered my expectations to an all time low since Priyadarshan in Hindi only reminds me of some laughable attempts at humour along the lines of Hungama and Garam Masala. Taken aback at finding the cinema hall almost entirely filled up did nothing to make me change my mind either. In all fairness, however, after the movie I found myself pleasantly surprised.

Aakrosh is, without doubt, a movie that will find itself in the range between decent to good. The opening shot is vintage Priyadarshan, reminiscent of some of the beautiful cinematography that made Thenmavil Kombathu win the National Award for Aesthetic Appeal and Art Direction in 1995. No surprises, for Priyadarshan signed up none other than the master Sabu Cyril for production design. The movies also displays bullet sharp editing and excellent shots – but then again technical finesse has always been one of Priyadarshan’s strongest assets – having been among the first Indian directors to introduce rich colour grading, sound clarity and quality dubbing.

The treatment of the subject definitely merits some consideration. The issue of honour killings at the hand of khap panchayats has been particularly rampant in the media lately, although what political steps have been taken to combat the issue is anybody’s guess. The movie begins with a series of unexplained disappearances from the village of Jhanjhar, and the deployment of a Special Committee by the Central Government to investigate the issues. Ajay Devgan and Akshaye Khanna, arrive at Jhanjhar suited and booted, and eventually get down to the bottom of the crimes in the village. Communal differentiation and politics, and perpetual fear that silences people are the overarching theme of the movie. The issue, I thought, was dealt with more lightly that it deserved to be. After a slow first half, however, the second half of the movie takes off from nowhere and rapidly gains momentum to culminate in the climax.

…..to be continued…if at all....

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This is the End

After two days of feeling miserable about my complete joblessness at my internship and pretending to be extremely busy, I just discovered that I'm not the only one. Everyone here is pretending to be busy. The associates, the senior associates, everybody. I couldn't say the same for the partners, but they're probably in South Africa, and nobody who has that kind of money needs to pretend to be anything, I guess.

I can deal with people pretending to be busy; but I cannot stand to spend another moment with the complete idiot who sits next to me. Withing five minutes of meeting him, a fellow intern, he'd already told me about how he has been drinking and smoking since the young and tender age of 16 and having finally become sick of the debauchery, only wants to go and seek nirvana at a Tibetan monastery. I hope they feed him to a yak.

Talking about accents, I think hot footballers belonging to the aesthetically superior countries of this world sound especially hot when they are indignant about the Argentina - Mexico game tussle. There they sit, during the press conferences, with their long hair and their European mannerisms and their mistranslated comments. I don’t understand all this displeasure among some men when women want to watch football. It’s really quite simple, actually. I watch football because footballers are good looking. 

That shouldn’t be a difficult concept to grasp. Particularly not for men in this office. Behind me sits a conventionally pretty (and therefore, not pretty in my book – ahh what the heck, I am just jealous) associate who is also the stupidest person I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. I haven’t really met her or been introduced to her yet, and I thank God everyday for that, but since all the stupid silly men enamoured by her are very punctual about their various flirting appointments with her, I have heard just about everything she has to say – which, in her defence, isn’t very much. She just squeaks and squeals and swishes her rebonded-and colored-at-expensive-salon-hair, and flutters her eye lashes, and none of the men even seem to REALISE that she is phenomenally stupid. Aaargh. Yesterday, she successfully entertained atleast four suitors by only and only repeating “why are chinky people chinky ya?”. Oh, they all thought she was so cute.

And I have two more weeks to go. This is either going to be fun, or fun.

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Independence In

I cannot believe, that of all the tv shows in the world, I am now addicted to GILMORE GIRLS.

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Do Go Gentle

".....I feel that I should (that it is an Augean duty, pushed on to me against my will) do my best, with a still hot shovel of overloaded feeling and a lot of windily winding words, to vindicate first Dylan, then me, then both of us together. And hope that the truth that I am trying blindly to say, to find out for myself, will come out through all the literary muddles and faultily not detached attitude. And I hope it is a better truth than Brinnin's."

-- Caitlin Thomas, defending her memory of DylanThomas  

in John Malcolm Brinnin, Dylan Thomas in America.

Why didn't she, then? Such wonderful words.

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Shutting Me Up in Verse

I don't think I'll ever begin to write here till I feel at home. You know, like the colours and the interiors, and figure out a nice cosy spot to just let be at. I was hoping that I don't keep dabbling around with the template because I am kind of compulsive like that; but I think this is going to stick with me for a while.
Emily Dickinson is among my favourite poets; and there were a couple of lines by her I was hoping to personalize here at the blog. She writes about the simpler, and perhaps, the harder things to write about - and makes the most poignant statements with such utter brevity and humility.

So, here's to a new, shiny, sparkly sort of truth :))

Tell all the Truth but tell it slant—
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise

As Lightning to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind—

                                                       ~ Emily Dickinson, Tell all the Truth, but tell it slant

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Where's Waldo?

Sitting in Bonki's room is like a treasure hunt. I keep spotting interesting things at interesting places where I would never hope to find them. Today, after having found an unusually cute pair of yellow octopus ear-rings hanging on the window screen, I suddenly remembered Waldo! So long, it had been since Waldo and me happened. I used to follow Waldo regularly every Tuesday for yeeeeaars.

Since my friends didn't know who/what/what the f Waldo is; it had to be duly googled and would you believe, there is an official Where's Waldo website now? I'm SURE it wasn't there when I followed Waldo. And they have a whole lot of new additions, among them being Welda, and Vanda. But, seriously, who in their right mind wants to look for Wizard Whitebeard when Waldo is around somewhere waving at you in red and white. I spotted Waldo like a miracle. Around half a minute at each scene.

I should just give up law and do the one thing I'm awesome at. Finding Waldo.

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Be Drunk

You have to be always drunk. That's all there is to it—it's the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk.

But on what? Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk.

And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again, drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything that is groaning, everything that is rolling, everything that is singing, everything that is speaking. . .ask what time it is and wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer you: "It is time to be drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish."

                                                                                    ~ Charles Baudelaire, Be Drunk.

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I am, therefore I get drunk.

If you thirst to know who said, "I think,therefore I am,"
your thirst I will quench;
It was Rene Descartes, only what he actually said was,
"Je pense, donc je suis," because he was French.
He also said in Latin, "Cogito, Ergo sum,"
Just to show that he was a man of culture and not a tennis tramp
or a crackle barrel philosophy bum.

Descartes was one of those who think, therefore they are,
Because those who donot think, but are anyhow, outnumber them by far.
If of chaos we are on the brink
It is because so many people think that they think.
In truth, of anything other than thinking they are fonder.

Because thought requires the time and effort to reflect, cogitate,
contemplate, meditate, ruminate and ponder.
Their minds are exposed to events and ideas but they have
never pondered or reflected on them
Any more than motion picture screens meditate on the images that
are projected on them.

Hence our universal confusion.
The result of the unreasoned, or jumped at, conclusion.
People who think that they think, they secretly think that
thinking is grim.
And they excuse themselves with signs reading THIMK, or, as
Descartes would have said, PEMSEZ, and THINK or THWIM.

Instead of thoughts, they act on hunches and inklings,
Which are not thoughts at all, only thinklings.
Can it be because we leave to the Russians such dull pursuits as
thinking that the red star continues to twinkle so?
I thinkle so.

                                                                        ~Ogden Nash,  Lines Fraught with Naught But Thought.

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All You Who Sleep Tonight

Sit, drink your coffee here; your work can wait awhile.
You're twenty-six, and still have some life ahead.
No need for wit; just talk vacuities, and I'll
Reciprocate in kind, or laugh at you instead.

The world is too opaque, distressing and profound.
This twenty minutes' rendezvous will make my day:
To sit here in the sun, with grackles all around,
Staring with beady eyes, and you two feet away.

                                                                ~ Vikram Seth, Sit.

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