'Shanghai-ed'

I had a lot of expectations from Shanghai. Mostly because, in its initial days of production, I thought it was a political thriller involving the Chinese secret service and a plot to nuke India. But apparently, Agent Vinod and Ek Tha Tiger are dealing with the spooks angle. Shanghai, on the other hand, is better than I expected it to be. And its subject matter is much closer to home than the ISI or the Chinese secret service. 


Many critics have called the movie a metaphor. For me, the movie was a metaphor and beyond. Set in an Indian periurban village/town, presumably in north or central India, Shanghai tells the story of an aspiration that the Indian state envisages for its cities; an aspiration which pits decades of faulty governance, lack of infrastructure and a volatile Indian public psyche against the clean, geometric facade of civilization, and corporate governance. 


I won't go much into the plot right now, mostly because I wish to keep this review spoiler free, and partly because I intend to go beyond that. 


In many ways, Shanghai is about contrasts; more so, contradictions. Bharatnagar - the ground zero of the genesis, so to say is where Dr. Ali Ahmadi (a kurta-jhola-beard sporting Leftist) protests against the capitalist state turning the area into a SEZ. His detractors want him out. Not because of the ideological differences; because in India, politics is not about ideology anymore. It's a numbers game, as we see the ruling coalition trying to keep its aspirations alive for this Shanghai - to the extent of murdering the doctor. 


The principal characters Krishnan (Abhay Deol in his finest performance so far), Shalini (Kalki, who is more confused than anything) and Joginder (Emran Hashmi, a fine actor) are caught up in their own agendas; trying to find something to anchor themselves in the turbulent political climes of Bharatnagar. Yet, I would not call any of them protagonists; they're characters, each organically placed in their roles, which makes the film's progression more eased and natural without being caught up to explain their agendas. However what really contributes to the organic nature of the film is the fact that the supporting cast does a brilliant job; from the wily mandarin Kaul, to the Chief Minister and her coalition partner - his cronies, the cops and the plethora of angry political hooligans, the unwitting murderers....it's a myriad picture, both violent and vibrant, and certainly something from which you cannot turn away. 


Cinematically, for me, the winning factor was the cinematography by Nikos Andritsakis. And frankly, for someone who managed to execute a movie like Love, Sex aur Dhoka, I would've expected nothing short of brilliance from Banerjee. There was a constant nervousness in the camera movements, a sense of unpredictability as it captured both the loud morcha scenes, and the quiet, narrow, yet palpable curfewed streets of Bharatnagar. I spoke of contradictions earlier, and it's notable that the cinematography contributes to the visual telling of these contradictions; the government offices, with glass doors, polished conference tables, and the municipal schools, non-functional toilets.


The score, I felt was apt for a movie as intense as Shanghai, and it is what really contributed to the intensity of the film. The most striking feature, however, was Banerjee's use of silence to fill in the gaps - which I believe is the first of its kind I've ever come across in Hindi cinema. My only complaint was Vishal-Shekhar's music which, despite sounding great in the promos on TV, did not have room in the film, and thus, resulted in a slightly jarring effect; the songs consumed more time than what was required. 


Coming back to metaphors, I think Shanghai does more than just talk about the Indian state's aspiration to compete with the world by converting its cities into Shanghais. It is a commentary on the inherent contradictions within the Indian state; contradictions between the welfare role of the state and its capitalistic nature. It is about more than just corruption in the system and the abuse of state power; the corruption runs far deeper, and into the Indian psyches itself. It is a commentary on very nature of Indian politics. Elsewhere, I've mentioned that political parties today are no longer connected to an ideology - be it the right-wing BJP, or the so-called liberal Congress or the Left, or any of India's regional parties - the politics of India in the 21st century is that of anti-ideology; about synthesizing a form by positioning itself against an ideology; increased westernization, neo-liberal policy, and so forth.


What makes Shanghai the film it is, is the fact that Banerjee manages to capture these fine nuances on screen, in its profoundness and yes, you guessed it, contradictions. For some reason, I think of Shanghai as a "muted" film, mostly because of its noted and brilliant use of silence, as I said before, and also because you feel a sense of futility, of being inured to its portrayal of corruption and state sponsored violence. The Delhi HC was right it calling it a accurate description of the state of affairs in India; look the Jaitapur, or Raigad - districts earmarked to become the sites where India would usher in modernity and seal its place in the global economic order.


Shanghai is a warning bell for some alarmists, a time where the Indian state would sell the very people who elect governments to raze areas like Bharatnagar and make them into technological and information hubs, clean buildings, planned streets, and most of all, a populace which is the product of India’s neo-liberal values, who are at best passive consumers and at worse, a stupefied, silenced people. It is also something that would intrigue cynics, because it holds no bars in giving an honest account of the country—that we cannot do without corruption, that we cannot build a township, a sea-link, a sky-walk without our governments and bureaucrats having mud (and often, blood) on their hands. It talks about a genesis, of a violent kind, when our cities become the hallmarks of the modern global world order, in a crass Nehruvian manner of speaking.

This is the India of the 21st century; an amalgamation of contradictions. God, I love this country. And, it seems, the makers of Shanghai do so too. Shanghai is a rare gem of a movie. Many won't like it, because it raises uncomfortable questions. Many like to see the glass as half full. But optimism doesn’t change the fact that the water in it is dirty. 


So long, and Bharat mata ki jai.

Teri Marx Ki: Didi sees conspiracy at every Left-turn. Not.

The politics of West Bengal (or is it officially Poschim Bangla now?) have always intrigued political commentators in particular, and the nation as a whole. The last decade however was rather boring, because the Left front resorted to cheap publicity stunts, like withdrawing support to the UPA, only to lose the State Elections later on. Now, it seems, the politics of WB (PB) have become interesting once again. Thanks to Mamata Banerjee—the defender of the Bengali people, the bane of the UPA, and conspiracy-terminator par excellence. She, it seems, is never short of controversies and is an incredibly perceptive, and woman of substance (in this case, a healthy diet of machcher jhol and rice; or is she vegetarian now? Then again, name me one Bong worth his/her salt, who is one? And Didi, as we know, is worth quite a bit if, erm, salt—well, enough to spoil the best laid recipes of the UPA, at least).

There is no challenge big enough that Mamata Didi cannot handle (and not make them into trending topics on Twitter). After a shocking revelation that the Left was to blame for the number of crib deaths which plagued state-run hospitals, and that rape victims were in fact a part of a conspiracy to malign her state (those immoral, loose women!), Mamata Didi has left no stone unturned to get the blinkers the rest of the nation has on its eyes. This woman is one the country’s most tenacious, albeit amiable chief ministers, whose seemingly “paranoia” driven, and “knee-jerk” reactions only appear so, because they are portrayed by a media bribed by the Left & the UPA.

And this time, history itself is on her agenda of reformation. Her target, the person after whom a Facebook group, ‘Why the fuck is Karl Marx in every freaking subject?’ is named: the German philosopher, Karl Marx and his partner, Fredrick Engels (the connotations of the term go beyond the academic nature of their, erm, partnership. Hey, the group says so, not me).

Now history, we know, is always constructed in an authorial voice, or the perspective of the “winner”, as many have labelled it. Therefore, claims Derek O’brien, Trinamool MP (and the once host of the best quiz show on TV; see, Mamata has intellectuals in her company; how can she possibly be anti-intellectual?) the decision to remove references to Marx (which is, about two paragraphs spread across three chapters, and roughly worth 10 marks in the exams) was an attempt to “balance history”. And that is indeed an amiable move, considering they now wish to burden children with the tales of Mahatma and Mandela (and Steve Jobs, too, if rumours on Twitter are to be believed). However, considering the whole issue, why Marx should be at the receiving end of this ‘balancing act’, still perplexes most people, as clearly the Soviets lost the Cold War, and China has embraced capitalism (so, if anything, Marx—or more so: the losing side always had him on their side. Even the Left-front was defeated). Such unprecedented political victory, that too by a woman (who does not have a wardrobe full of pink dresses and expensive kanjivarams) has led a class of sceptical commentators (who have made the hash-tag: #arrestmenow a trending topic in India) to question both, Didi’s motives and methods, the former they allege is paranoia, and the latter, fascism.

These sceptics could not be any more further from the truth. And the truth is, Mamata is one of the last remaining practitioners of Marx’s teachings. Yes, you heard that right. Recall the Singur fiasco: she ousted TATA Motors, a capitalistic enterprise, benefitting from the arbitrary and exploitative policies of a neo-liberal economy, and gave away the land to poor farmers. Of course, the fact that 9,000 people were deprived of a guaranteed job is but a minor divot in the credibility of her intentions. But as I always say, it’s the thought—or in this case, the ideological engagement—that matters. And this was actually a critique of the Left’s corruption of core Marxian values. Shame on them!

Now that she got a professor arrested for circulating cartoons of her online, she’s in the public cross-hair. Again (sigh). What she actually meant to do was, to chastise the man (erm, well, by beating him up, and arresting him; nobody’s perfect, you know) for not drawing a real cartoon and using Photoshop instead. She was also miffed at the wrong reference he made to Satyajit Ray’s story. After all, she has great respect of Bengal’s artistic and intellectual tradition (Note: this category does not include Jyoti Basu). Why, she’s contemplating playing Rabindra-sangeet at traffic junctions even! What did the Left do for the intellectual and artistic tradition of Bengal? Nothing! This leaves us with a question, a hypothetical one, of course: would her, erm, passion for Marx be any different had he been born in Bengal, and not Germany? Like I said, one can only speculate on this matter.

And tomorrow, if she decides to ban left-lane driving, it’s only because the new rule may perhaps improve lane-driving in Calcutta altogether. Even her decision to paint Calcutta in Trinamool colours, is based on the scientific notion that these colours happen to have a pleasing effect on the eyes. Nothing ideological in there, now, right?

[This is a work of satire. And I do hope the Trinamool doesn’t understand what the word means and decides to hire me in their propaganda wing. Please don’t arrest me; I merely used the hash-tag to conform to Twitter trends, that’s all! Any resemblance/reference to people living or dead was, of course, intended—for the sake of credibility. And yes, you may think it’s unnecessary to write this little ‘note’, but you’d be surprised at the number of idiots who take satire seriously]

"My Name is Karl, and I am not a Marxist"

Mamata Banerjee is no stranger to controversy. Conspiracy, it seems though, is what really bothers her. Well, personally I have run out of jokes on her conspiracy theories regarding crib deaths, censuring newspapers, and labelling rapes as orchestrated by her detractors. And now she had to go and remove references of Karl Marx and Fredrick Engels from the state higher secondary syllabus. And more recently—which is actually a day old—she got a professor arrested for circulating a “malicious, and derogatory” cartoon of her, on the internet.

It was rather hilarious, until the Marx bit. But now, I’ve hit saturation point. I mean, there is a limit to how many times you can tweet about one person on Twitter. And like I said, I was running of jokes. 

I’ve always imagined how life in WB would’ve been like. I mean, apart from my annual trips to my ancestral home, and the two-day stay at Calcutta, I have never really explored the culture there, and nor have I had a chance to understand the politics of the state—at least, in a way I understand it back home, considering the Saffron legacy in Bombay and Maharashtra. Now, however, I am not too sure. I think being a distant commentator (and thus, far away from Mamata’s jurisdiction) is what I would prefer. Heck, I’m trying to contemplate under what section she could charge me (to the utter horror of my dad). The thing is, honestly, I know the politics of the Trinamool are fed by paranoia and paranoia alone; their ideology, so to say, is an anti-ideology—violently negating every belief system, be it political, ethical, cultural or moral.

So, without taking on the Trinamool and Mamata directly (mostly, because I don’t wish to recycle Arnab Goswami’s profound critiques) I think I should give a little thought to the ‘real’ victims of the Didi’s vendetta: Marx and Engels. 

My first tryst was Marx was in the 10^th standard, when I first wished to read Das Kapital, as much as I wanted to read Rousseau, or Jefferson—because back then, history had a way of inspiring the mind of a fifteen year-old, and the idea that I could bask in the ideas of these great men, ideas which inspired revolutions, was just fascinating.

Fast forward four years, when I’ve actually read quite a bit of Marx, well enough to see the naivety and sheer stupidity of Mamata’s move. And I don’t think Mamata’s solely responsible for this—the more widespread outlook on Marx, and Marxism, are often very crass and diluted versions of Marx’s original ideas. For example, almost everyone—every layperson at least—would equate Soviet Communism with Marx. While Marx’s vision of the Revolution did indeed encapsulate the establishment of a communist stage,[i] but he never envisaged a communist state—which is a contradiction in terms.[ii] The later works of Marx are often his more scientific one—that is, his vision of the revolution isn’t merely a utopian one, but a scientific and logical one, which is rooted in the class inequalities and exploitation of the capitalist political-economy.[iii]

The Communist Party of India’s (Marxist) attempts have also been an ideological corruption of several of Marx’s core arguments; the bourgeoisie social location of its top leaders, like Karat, Yechury and their well-rehearsed arguments against the neo-liberal economics, are examples of a few. However, the real issue here is not the CPI(M), but the problem of putting a Marxian ideology (once again, a contradiction in terms, insofar as Marx’s works are concerned)[iv] in the multiparty political scene in India.

I’ve had the privilege of learning under teachers who’ve presented both the strengths and weaknesses of the bulk of Marx’s works, and under them, I’ve had the confidence to engage with (and critique) some of his ideas, which I wouldn’t have, had I not been interested in the philosopher as a naïve 15 year-old. And by removing the reference to Marx (for, they’re exactly that: references to Marx and Engels, in context of the Russian and Industrial Revolution, where they all but mention Marx for a mere paragraph or two) she’s sending out a very wrong, and erroneous message to the to-be intellectual van guard of tomorrow: the fact that someone else gets to choose and thus, to shape what we would learn; the ideology of the state, an ideology of paranoia. I agree with Derek O’brien when he says equal weightage has to be given to Mahatma and Mandela. But is Marx any more, or less, important? I don’t think so. For, as a friend of mine put it, in education, balancing is not synonymous with deletion.   

In one sociology class, we were debating the relevance of Marxian thought, one side of the argument stating that Marx’s works have lost their relevance now that the revolution he predicted never happened, and that even universities abroad don’t study Marx. Then again, on the other hand, modification of Marxian thought, like the new-Leftism of the Frankfurt School,[v] and very recent movements against neo-liberal economics, like ‘Occupy Wall Street’ have showed that the central arguments of Marx’s works will always be relevant, because of their deep engagement with the struggles of humanity. And as long as the debate rages, young people will find one way or another to read up on Marx, and by god, we need educational institutions which can guide students without corrupting the core ideas of an intellectual tradition. 

Marx’s sociology was, in many ways, incomplete. But which theory is otherwise? I think (arguably) his most central idea, that of economic determinism, has been proved wrong by both his critics as well as his successors.[vi] But that only enhances his relevance, not diminishes it. In a country like ours, until we’re able to tackle the most basic, and human issues, the German philosopher would continue to influence as well as intimidate, many like me and my peers. But I cannot see a reason why Didi should be so bothered. I mean, the next step for her would be to ban left-lane driving in Bengal. Then again, to those of you familiar with WB traffic, there is hardly any lane driving, in the first place.

Endnotes

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[i] Marx essentially sees history as dialectic, that is, it moves through stages with different competing interests between social groups; the stages he refers to are: primitive communism, where everyone owned everything; slave mode of production where the slaves had no rights; the feudal mode, where the serfs were tied to their lands; capitalistic mode, where the capitalist owned resources, including the labour of the workers; and, the stage of communism, where the capitalistic economy was dismantled, or overthrown.  

[ii] For the revolution to be successful, Marx predicted, it was necessary that the state, which is an apparatus to favour the capital-owning class, to “wither away”.

[iii] In a capitalistic political-economy, it was in the state’s benefit to favour the capital-owning class as it ensured greater profits for the state. The population, for Marx, was effectively divided into the bourgeoisie and the proletariat (haves and have-nots, respectively) and the latter were exploited by the former. Class struggle was thus, the basic premise of the revolution, for Marx.

[iv] For Marx, ideologies or the “superstructure” (e.g. religion, political systems etc.) stemmed from the “base”, viz. the material or the economic sphere, i.e. the relationship of man to the means of production.

[v] By the mid-twentieth century, proponents of Marxian thought were disillusioned with the Soviet state’s practice of ‘corrupted’ Communism, and the blatant capitalistic economies of the West. Thus, a new wave in Marxian thought emerged, of which one of the most well-known is the Frankfurt Institute (1930s to 1960s).

[vi] The Frankfurt School, for example, used the ideas of another sociologist, Max Weber, and argued against the economic reductionism of traditional Marxian thought, saying that ideologies and ideas were equally important as, and not entirely dependent on, the economic sphere of life.

End-of-the-year Ramblings and a Tribute to Democracy and Freedom

They say the year 2011 was the year of protests and revolutions; Time Magazine named the anonymous, face half-covered protester the person of the year. The Arab world witnessed what many have called the Arab Spring and the Jasmine revolution. Wall Street has been occupied by anti-capitalists—the 99 percent, as they call themselves. Back home, many claim we witnessed the second freedom struggle, this one against corruption—of what kind, though, remains ambiguously unanswered. It seems that people were happy rallying around a messiah figurehead, and chanting anti-government slogans. “Politicians are thieves!” said millions of voices. This year has been a year where our concepts of democracy, governance and freedom have been tested, challenged, changed and, rather paradoxically, taken for granted even. A great year for democracy. A great year for revolutions—only, like always, there’s a catch.

About a year or so back, I scribbled these lines in a notebook, unaware of its significance in the context of last year’s protests. It goes like this: ‘neither am I a son of a politician, nor an influential anywho...I am a voice in the crowd...one silent for too long...decided to speak up now. The kind of voice you should be afraid of. Very, very afraid.’ When I saw images of hundreds of thousands assembling in Tahrir Square in Cairo, in Tripoli, in Sanaa, in Damascus, I realised the profoundness of these otherwise meaningless lines. Democracy, it seemed then, was being salvaged from a deep, dark slumber it had fallen into in these regimes of tyranny and decadency. Today, while I still hold that romanticised perspective, I confess, I am a tad cynical. At least when I see democracy being taken for granted in my country.

Take the Parliament proceedings, for example. The Opposition and members of the so-called civil society called it a “midnight murder of democracy”. I beg to differ. I would rechristen the same incident as democracy struggling to fight efforts that stifle it. Make no mistake, I am not a firm believer in democracy; it is, in Rousseau’s words, a system meant for gods. Thus, a democracy for a flawed species like ours can be only that: flawed. And it is also one which my countrymen have taken for granted. And this is the premise of my essay.

The year 2011 may well be the year of protestors, and it may be rightly so, too. But we can hardly feature in the same. India is notorious for processes which subvert the democratic principles on many, many levels; the bureaucracy has come to exist like a sui generis system, existing as a culture industry of sorts, subsuming talent, dissent and everything it can; which is, to all intents and purposes, running the country. People who speak up for rights are labelled as seditionists, anti-nationalists and what not. This is the murder of democracy, or the rape of it, more so. Having my rights trampled by the vociferous advocacy of someone else’s peeves, that is the molestation of democracy. All these are far from homicidal intents. And we should know one thing: the democratic setup is what allows the powered classes to control power. So, for the better or worse, democracy in India is a self-serving, and self-depreciating mechanism simultaneously. It is alive, but crippled. Not murdered, mind you. Not yet, at least.

Which brings me to the next part of my argument: the future of democracy. Anna Hazare’s fast has been declared a revolution, freedom struggle and what not. Truth is: the only true oppression that we have ever seen, collectively, was pre-1947. There have been regional tensions in the past, four major wars, countless attacks, and tens of thousands of lives lost in all kinds of extremist violence. Yet, I think I’ll be brash enough to say that we will never see the same fate as Egypt, or Libya, or Syria. One, because our self-serving and self-depreciating system would not allow for the state to become tyrannical; and two, because revolution has died in the minds of the Indian people. Sure thousands gathered at Ramlila Maidan and protested, sang songs of unity and nationalism. But when push comes to shove—which we, in all probability, would not feel—the sarkar is the maibaap for the people. No matter which party is in power, the government will always be the patriarch of the Indian people. We won’t take to anarchy or revolution because (apart from the need for it not arising, in the first place) we are all too preoccupied with our nine-to-five jobs, and bubbled existence. And the other India—the one which, by government standards earns less than 32 rupees a day—is too busy trying to make ends meet. Self-serving and self-depreciating at the same time. Revolution is too time consuming, too unpredictable. We go to election with fixed, dichotomous results in mind: either the UPA or the NDA. And frankly, is there another option? Unless Team Anna contests the Lok Sabha polls in 2014.

We won’t change the nation because that would mean changing our habits; inviting uncertainty, chaos and a possibility of missing the IPL and our daily dose of Bigg Boss.

This essay, or rambling—whatever you may call this—will not change the nation, nor aid the same in any way whatsoever. Because that is not my prerogative; as Oscar Wilde puts it, an artist’s job is to portray the world as he sees it, not to reform it as we know it. I cannot imagine a “changed” India. And I don’t think the  rest 1.2 billion Indians can do so either. They may go to Ramlila or Azad maidan and protest for a romanticised vision. And I, on my arm-chair—or desk more so—will continue to be cynical about it. We are a paradoxical nation filled with hypocrites and starved souls. And by god, that’s a very morbid reason for which I love India.


Here’s to democracy, to revolution and to a freedom forever taken for granted! Happy new year and have a fantastic 2012!

Some thoughts on multiculturalism

As a nation, largely and collectively, we take personal pride in calling ourselves a multicultural or a pluralist society. Of course, why shouldn’t we—many rightly point out. We are a very large nation, with the states having their unique, distinct, yet collective heritage. The official state-sponsored secularism makes matters like religious orientation a question of choice and is thus, protected by law against discrimination. True, xenophobia is a reality in today’s society, but often so when it confronts states as politico-economic entities, rather than cultural ones; even the right-wing organisations are not strictly anti-other cultures per se—at least not now; the BJP would require Muslims and Christians be more Hindu, or Raj Thackeray would want migrants to be fluent in Marathi culture (as if that’d stop him and his north Indian bashing agenda). However, apart from such instances of ethnocentric discourses, our notion of multiculturalism, even within such complex structures and realities, is rather dogmatic and one-dimensional.

True, we may profess our multi-ethnic, pluralistic nature by saying that festivals or religious celebrations are more widely celebrated, and all; we may enjoy the cuisine of another state, or perhaps even dress traditionally for any such occasion. But, these attributes are external, as opposed to an internalised one, like say, language. People often remark that Marathi speaking skills are rather efficient, for a Bengali, that is. And I get even stranger looks when I say that I enjoy Tamil music.

“How can you?” they ask, wide-eyed.

“Because I like it, and I enjoy the music,” is my usually awkward reply.

“But you don’t understand the language...”

“Do I need to?”

Well, need I elaborate anymore?

We are programmed—as citizens, or Indians, or plainly as individuals in a multicultural society—to think that each culture, so to say, is endemic. In the real world, this would translate as one of those shows on SAB TV, where you have practically every linguistic state group residing in a cooperative housing society. And quite often, we are fooled to believe that such realities actually exist. If we are indeed so multicultural, why then, for example, are people from the north-eastern states conspicuously absent in Tarak Mehta’s cooperative society? More so, not only are we led to believe that each culture is endemic, but also that in being endemic, they are something external to us. We may enjoy Gujrati theplas being a Maharashtrian, or appams if we’re Bengali. We might even dress, in rare occasions, in the “garb” of another state. But internalised knowledge, say language, or music, is something unknown to our schema of understanding.

Maybe that’s why a certain professor of mine expressed her surprise when she met a student, who happens to be Catholic, and would sing Hindi songs—not the larger ‘Bollywood’, mind you—with ease, as opposed to, perhaps Christmas carols or Billy Joel.

In a broader international context, we may take insult when we are lumped as south Asians; because “we’re Indian, and we are a multicultural society.” But even within the multicultural framework of our own society, we respond only and largely to the state-sponsored idea of pluralism. More pressing issues, such as tribal identities were left unresolved during the period of state formation. And now that we are a properly functioning politico-economic union, with demarcated cultural hubs, and indeed the idea of what exactly may constitute culture, such questions would remain unanswered or unresolved.

A celebration of multiculturalism, thus, seems to require the marginalisation or negation even, of certain cultures. And I shall not expect a relaxation of those curious looks when I profess my likeness for Tamil music.  So much for unity in diversity, I suppose. 

Bad roads? So what's the deal with them?

Walking in the roads is a huge pain these days. And so is driving. And so is the use of any form of public transport that runs on surface; except maybe the state transport buses—they’re a hazard by themselves, and right now, adding those to the equation would be the perfect recipe for either a colossal disaster, or perhaps, the best bloody ride of our lives.

Anyway, I suppose you get my point: this post is a ramble/rant against bad roads. I know it’s probably an old issue by now (well, Hindustan Times certainly has found a new issue for the second page; about time, I’d say!) but as with all other notes, I wanted to be sure of the, let’s say, gravity of the issue here. Suffice to say that after thirty-one near misses in the nearly two month’s abstinence from driving, and a month long campaign by HT, I have decided that the issue has sufficient gravity.

Bad roads, hmm. So, where does it start? Well, while a section of the civil society would scream “politicians!”, “corruption!”, I, sir, would beg to differ. There is, I believe, a matter of great scientific inquiry involved—which thanks to the sorry levels of public intellect—is absent from all discussions of public importance. I would not talk of contractors and the BMC here, partly because of the scientific nature of my inquiry, and mostly because I know very little of it. What I will focus on, as always, is how we Indians adapt, or rather, should adapt.

Thanks to Anna Hazare and his concierge of civil society members, the people of India have lost one it’s most enshrined of virtues: adaptability. People no longer think it to be cool to duck, jump, side-step, run, and even sleep, while doing most of our daily tasks. Make no mistake; I am not equating adaptability with complacency here. The former is an active process, involving a high level of cognition and fine-motor skill dependency; the latter is, well, doing nothing other than not doing what I just described. Let me illustrate. So, they say bad roads are dangerous. I concur, they are; but let’s adapt, shall we? The SAS and the Royal Marines are among the best military units in the world because they train in the harsh environs of moors in northern England. We have a Dartmoor on practically every station road, and during the monsoons, there is nothing better than cross-country training while on your way to work (the dirty clothes would irk many. But as of now, that’s the only glitch I see in my near-perfect hypothesis).

Yes, I agree that cars and other large vehicles are very clearly a hazard. So, I’d say, we should ban them from the roads. Sounds simplistic? Well, that’s because it is. Until you bring up that bit about political will and public apathy.

We’re so accustomed to the comfort of our cars, that we’d yell “bloody murder!” to any such proposition. Now that, ladies and gents, is complacency. I mean, we can all agree that cars and other vehicles are huge contributing factor to pollution levels in the city, and the abomination we collectively call ‘traffic jams’ (hmm, funny jargon; mental note for next post). Most of them have very low ground clearance, use a lot of fuel on account of driving on for miles in second gear, and frankly, they come in some very horrible colours. They are also, correct me if I’m wrong, a major contributing factor to the whole pot-hole scenario as well.

Any road has a carrying capacity; if a road is built with a carrying capacity of 50,000 cars in say, six months, then they end up carrying over two-hundred thousand in the same period in the real world (Note: I think my figures are maybe a tad bit exaggerated). The point being: our roads, no matter how corrupt the contractor is (Yes, sue me, Mr Hazare; or better still, go on a fast), are built to carry a certain amount of cars in a given period of time, as they are anywhere else in the world—except perhaps Cuba and some other failed Communist states. And if there’s a marked increase in the pressure on roads, particularly due to faulty driving (this is India!), braking and speeding (and not the mention, the state transport buses)—all of which we see plenty in India—the roads naturally would suffer. And here we aim to hang the poor contractors. Tsk Tsk.

Another thing most of us fail to see is the potential for rally cars and sports utility vehicles. Yes, those very idiotic, large, the all-brawn-no-brain, Sunny Deol type SUVs; particularly the Range Rovers and Land Rovers. What we need are more liberal policies and a reduction on taxation. Heck, they’re even coming up with the ‘green’ versions for the eco-mentalists (what an aberration, but still—).

So, bottom line: if India wants to figure on the global map for reasons other than its loud civil society and Mayawati’s spat with Assange, we seriously need to look into the potential bad roads have for us. And once again, we must prove to the world how adaptable we are. Adaptable, mind you, not complacent!

Do say: “Children, look left, right and down below while crossing.”

Don’t say: “Anna Hazare would look like a stud in a Land Rover, no?”

Freedom for granted

There's a lot being said and done in India these days by a man called Anna Hazare. Millions of Indians are following him. They've found their messiah, it looks like; one who will root out this evil called 'corruption' and restore India to her former glory. The entire nation is in a frenzy; a euphoria. "Enough," say a million voices. "End corruption now!" Pity, if only it were so easy.  

I have, or at one point had, tremendous respect for Anna Hazare; they way he transformed his native village Ralegan Siddhi into a near-perfect utopia, his honesty and sense of honour and most importantly, his belief in the Gandhian way of non-violence. Today, as he and his compatriots (and not to mention, thousands of sycophants) hog every news channel and news paper, I feel deceived. Not that my respect for Anna Hazare has diminished; it's actually a matter of principle: I have a thing against people who've got the Messiah Complex. And as is evident, Anna Hazare has a tremendous one. 

I realize now, as I am writing, I have not said a single word about the Jan Lokpal Bill--the reason why Annaji is a national phenomenon. Clearly, the man has overshadowed the cause. And that is what bothers me. 

Also, I do not consider Anna a second Gandhi. Just the same way I cannot call some racist neo-fanatic Hitler. To do so would be to show utter disregard to history. And I do not, and will never, don the insignia stating: 'I am Anna Hazare'. I am far too big a narcissist to assume someone else's identity. Besides, I already mentioned my dislike for people with the Messiah Complex earlier, no?

To get to the point, I do not endorse the Jan Lokpal Bill which has been drafted by the members of the so-called Civil Society (what are other Indians then, uncivil? or savage?). Neither am I in full support of the government's version. Both have some serious glitches. Though the latter, if drafted with direction and political will (note the 'if') would be more workable than the so-called Civil Society's. Most importantly because it would have the sanction of the Constitution and the Parliament behind it (the very powers that citizens vested in it). Sadly though, it is not to be this way. And mobs wearing Gandhi caps on Azad Maidan and elsewhere are also indicative of something gone terribly wrong. 

I will not criticise the Jan Lokpal Bill here; it is flawed, yes. And you know very well what the flaws are (unless of course, you're one of those Gandhi cap wearing anti-graft crusader ramblers sorts). What really bothers me, is that these mobs, and the pseudo-intellectual support that they're getting have dubbed this as protest as a 'revolution', even to the extent of calling it a 'second freedom struggle'. This, I feel, is misplaced idealism and the most explicit instance of optimistic stupidity gone awry. 

There are very few of us who have seen the Freedom Struggle for what it truly was; and Hazare is one of them. They rest of us just know stuff from textbooks and movies; including me. True, civil disobedience, non-cooperation, and Swadeshi formed the cornerstone and indeed the beacon-light for guiding the Freedom Struggle. But this was undertaken with a vision; the vision of a free and independent India. And today we are free and sovereign, albeit victims to a host of vices. And on this plane, a protest is justified. But who are we protesting against?

The people who you and I have elected to represent us? People who are defiling the most sacred and purest tenets upon which our nation is based? People who misuse and abuse their powers for their own selfish gains?

Or, people who resort to unjust means because they chose to serve us? The ones who abuse their power to bridge severe chasms of inequality? 

Truth is, corruption is not something which plagues only the superpowerful elite. It has penetrated every level of our social infrastructure because all who hold responsibilty have ignored the rights of all others who are entitled to rights. We have failed to address the basic causes of this 'evil' of corruption. Injustice and apathy. Corruption is not an evil; it was born of our own incompetence to hold up our morals. To obey the most basic and essential rules. And to cover up for this, we devised a way to work around the system. 

Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. And this is not because corruption is inherent in power relations. This is because corruption is the fall child of power gone berserk.

By not stopping at a traffic light, by spitting on the road, by not paying taxes on time...by all these little mistakes, we have created a monster that now plagues all higher forms of power. And now that it hurts us most, we ask for power over these very institutions which we, so to say, corrupted. 

I agree, the reason I am giving is simple and straightforward; and that it may vehemently countered. But only if we were so vocal when corruption was at a nascent stage, if only some Messiah like Anna (or he himself) would have seen this and protested then...who knows?

We do not know what struggle really is; what it is like to have a foreign authority dominate us; to be reduced to a mere colony, existing to serve and only serve.

We also do not know what oppression really is. Yes, emminent persons like Dr Binayak Sen, and hundreds of nameless others, have been incarcerated because they opposed the injustice metted out to fellow countrymen; so also Hazare's brief jail stint. Persons like Irom Sharmila who have furthered the cause of fighting injustice have been persecuted brutally. And that is a huge and disgusting blot on the democratic fabric of this nation.

But this is a country which also is allowing people to gather in masse and protest against the government. It hasn't bruatally cracked down upon its own citizenry and bloodied its streets with innocent blood. A nation that is striving to reform a deplorable state of affairs in the face of adversity. A nation where every change in government has been peaceful (but in some places, was marred with violence. Yet democracy prevailed).

A nation where its own citizens have taken their freedom for granted.

I am, and have always been, a skeptic of democracy...and in all likelihood, would remain one. For a democracy is only as good as its people. And truth be told, we aren't exactly a good people. Yet, this democratic setup is the best hope we have at proper self governance (a term I am skeptical of, again). 

Then again, any system which tells me what I am to be and what I am to do is, in my eyes, a truly opressive one. And I'd much prefer a democracy to it, thank you very much. Or maybe, anarchy; like V would say.

If I were to choose between a messiah-led ochlocracy or being in league with an outlaw vigilante, I would choose the latter. Because a mob is made up of idiots; especially one which is led by a guy with a Messiah Complex, guided by a noble cause. 

And noble causes, we know, pave they pathway to hell. 

So long, and Freedom Forever!

Oh, look, it's raining!

As a kid, if someone ever told me that the monsoon is overrated, and quite annoying, I'm not sure how my reaction would've been. Then again, who says such things to children?

Today, however, if that same someone said the exact same phrase to me; I'd think that person's thoroughly misinformed. For two reasons: one, the monsoon, or the 'rainy season' as it's know around these parts, isn't overrated. It's usually a case of 'over', but of a different kind, most of them being the grammatical cousins of the adjective 'over-flowing'. And two, they're not 'quite' annoying; I believe the word you're looking for is 'very', and as always, it applies to us humans, and not the natural phenomenon which, I believe, is called 'precipitation' by the scientific community. 

The thundering of rain clouds and the pitter-patter outside the window coincides with the opening of schools and colleges. Imagine waking up to a nice and cool morning, whilst you’re all snuggled up and cozy in your bed, and then facing the prospect of getting ready to…go out there. If this doesn’t ruin a good day, then I don’t know what does. School days, though, are okay; I mean, you don’t really need an excuse to make mischief, and splash about in puddles, and even if you do, you have a solid alibi: “Mom, it’s raining!”

Once you grow slightly older, and begin commuting, you say the same words; only this time, it’s a low, lazy and unwilling effort on your part, and it usually goes like, “Oh *bleep*, it’s raining.”

But hey, you never really hate the monsoon. You just end up making a list of things that you hate during the monsoons.

Like, walking- anywhere outside the dryness of your house- be it the roads, or train stations; there’s cars splashing water and mud onto you, like it’s their god-given right to do so. And while you’re driving, swearing at stupid pedestrians who practically walk on the roads, like it’s their god-given right to do so. They can have the foot paths, skywalks or the whole of Marine Drive promenade for all I care…but WHY the roads?! Alas, that enlightenment is still beyond me.

Coming to think of it, there is no single apparatus, accessory or even a damn vehicle here that is completely rain-proof, other than perhaps a reinforced concrete structure, with some good paint on the exterior walls; then again, you can’t carry your house everywhere, can you? You will have to settle for either an umbrella, or a wind-breaker. And to make this choice correctly is to have a superior sense of weather-forecasting, much like the Native American Indians. But unlike us, they usually stay indoors, and stock up on food supply when they predict harsh weather. While we are left to battle the unpredictable and unforgiving rain and winds (not to mention flooded gutters and potholes), in which case the umbrella ends up upturned, and the tie as the only garment which remains dry under a wind-breaker.

However, before you dismiss me as a cynic, let me tell you that I, in fact, do love the monsoon. Sure it has its downsides; you’ve just read about four-hundred words of it, and also the fact that I, like over a million people, have been stuck in local trains when the tracks flood (some scary scenario, this is); but, compared to summers that makes pot-holes baking ovens, and winters that are probably non-existent (or very cold, as we saw last year), the monsoon truly is a wonderful season.

Especially if you live in a place from where you can see lush, green mountains and water-falls; and have a terrace where you can get wet without stepping on mud or, being run over by a lunatic whose wipers aren’t working. But, if you live in a place where it floods the instant the skies begin tinkling and where there are traffic jams below your window, then, I’m sorry to say: bad luck, mate.

Do say: “Don't everyone like the smell of wet earth?!”

Don’t say: “So, um, doesn’t anyone like the smell of wet dog?”

All for the Gold

The sound of drum beats came as a surprise. 

The compartment was pretty empty, about a dozen people or more; a few standing. And even they were a little surprised to hear the drums. When you travel in local trains for a considerable portion of your life (this includes both, First and Second class), sounds of drums usually equates to one very certain possibility: beggars.  

Well, quite certainly, it was a...child? They come in various sizes, you see. But this particular girl, all of 6 or 7 years, was a performer. And, yes, they come in various specializations, too; singers, dancers, performers and other kinds. 

In a swift motion, she somersaulted in the narrow passage-way; forward, then backward again. Then, twisting her arms, almost like she dislocated it (which I think, she probably did), she spun it around the entire length of her little, frail body; like a skipping rope (remember King Louis, from The Jungle Book?). If there weren't people sitting, she'd probably have done a horse bar, or parallel rings type of stunt-thingy, all in the moving train, mind you. Then of course, came the inevitable: alms. 

I honestly felt sorry for her. A girl of her age could probably put our national gymnastics team to shame, with only street-level training. 

And there she was, displaying her skills on a local train, begging for alms; where she could very well be India's next gold medalist. 

In the 1980s, when Mrs Indira Gandhi was the Prime Minister, the Sports Ministry came up with the idea of tapping into these talent pools of street performers, circus gymnasts and the likes. There would be benefits for them, training and, well, better chances for India in international events. It is a known fact that several East European nations, like Romania, enroll their children, particularly girls, into gymnastic schools as soon as they learn walking. The intensive training and hard work pays off; two golds in the Olympics and the family's future is more or less secure. 

Why did this initiative fail in India?

Come now, the answer is pretty darn obvious. The Associated Problems of Bureaucracy. I think it is extremely stupid that the bureaucracy has so much of a say in the field of sports. For one, how on earth can these guys possibly think that they can run the show, in sports? 

Forget transparency and accountability, is it too much to ask for a little decency? 

Knowing these guys, it probably amounts to more than the entire universe. That is why bribes suffice. And that is why only those who can pay them, rise to the visible level in national sporting, only to disappear because of lack of training (and in many cases, talent).

One solution is to privatize the sports sector. This is a possible option, especially after the CWG debacle, and the fact that our present athletes (not sports-persons, like cricketers and hockey players) receive pathetic training, poor allowances and no respect. 

I mean, the government would be only too happy to wash its hands off a responsibility; not that I mean this in negative sense. Skilled athletes would do the nation proud, wouldn't they? 

We, as spectators, would be happy; the young children, like the girl in the train, and their families would be happy, and well off, too. 

As for the bureaucrats, I'm pretty sure they'll find some other victim to fleece. Hm, they should make that into a sport, right? 

Then I'm sure, the gold will indeed be ours...!

The Nation's Hero

Hullo Readers,
This is the first article in the series titled, 'The Nation's Heroes', a space where we give tribute to the men and women who've made India into what it is today...please feel free to leave your comments, suggestions, feedback etc.! You know, I will always appreciate it!

The Nation's Hero: Suresh Kalmadi

Suresh Kalmadi, who unarguably is the most talked about man in India (and perhaps, the rest of the Commonwealth), is a national hero. In a day and age filled with unscrupulous, conniving and corrupt schemers, Mr Kalmadi represents the shining ray of hope that this nation has to offer. Sure, one might say that he’s the one responsible for the debacle known as Delhi Commonwealth Games, 2010. But, Mr Kalmadi’s love for India and Indians far exceeds his desire for material gains, which if I may add, were just means to  a far greater and nobler end. 

In so many decades of Indian sporting history, what glories have our athletes won? I certainly cannot think of too many. One might cite certain statistical data, but it doesn’t paint the glorious picture that we’d wish to see. Too long have we been content with bronze and silvers; we just remember the one gold (won by Abhinav Dhingda. Wait, wasn’t it Bindra? Oh, well, anyway…). Another great tragedy is the treatment meted out to the players by the coaches, and the pitiful condition the politicians’ subject the coaches to (why, some even refuse to acknowledge that there are any coaches whatsoever!). The point is, India’s image as a sporting nation is in shambles (no, we do not include cricket in this category). In such grim times, Mr Kalmadi has done what many thought was beyond even the impossible.

Kalmadi had a simple philosophy when he began preparations for the Games: 'with great power, come greater responsibilities'. He sought to bring back the golden glory of Indian sports, and he did so by employing what some might call ‘questionable tactics’, but his intentions remained the noblest.

Well, to start with, Kalmadi orchestrated every single tendering process with pin-point precision giving the bids to those who wouldn’t get them otherwise. It takes an unselfish man to think of those who are more unfortunate than he is! Look at all the contractors who were given a job in these days of recession. Kalmadi’s concern was not just limited to these people; it was the athletes-the bright and shining future of India, that he really cared about!

Since the Games are in Delhi, our athletes would enjoy a home-ground advantage. Kalmadi merely made it more home-like. One has to but look in the papers and read about collapsing bridges, building, ceilings et al. Now, if Kalmadi gave the foreign athletes a flavour of India, is he really to blame?

I mean, it’s not exactly an act of sabotage; when in India, live like the Indians. Of course, if those poor chaps decide to pull out, it’s really their loss. And since Indians are so used to jumping over craters, pot-holes, dodging falling debris, branches from the sky, leaking roofs, and living in harmony with strays, the advantage is ours. If the Games do go ahead (and I assume they will), our athletes will show the world that they are the best, even in adverse circumstances! Of course, sceptics might argue that since there would be no foreign athletes, there would be no competition. Thus our fellows would win by default. This is utter nonsense. The Games are a celebration of India, and everything that we stand for, which is, resilience, endurance, sportsman spirit, and an optimistic outlook to life (exemplified by how Sheila Dixit goes on record to say everything will be fine. What an amazingly optimistic woman!).

And, we shall get home the gold, not by an act of shameless nepotism, but by overcoming the challenges that the common Indian man faces everyday.

Suresh Kalmadi, with his hard work and fruitful endeavour, has given a lease of life to a dream that was, is, and will always be cherished by Indian athletes: the gold medal. He did so not at the cost of harming others (no one died in any of the accidents), nor at the cost of chasing away foreign athletes (are we to blame that their infrastructure is so good? Besides, they even have different levels of hygiene!).

He has fought for the Indian dream, for the Indian common man, and the aspiring Indian athlete (there’s no evidence that he doped some of those losers, is there?).

And for all this, Mr Suresh Kalmadi is the greatest Indian of the decade, a true patriot and a national hero!








Note: This is article is heavy with sarcasm and satire; while the opinions are my own ( I mean, I wrote it!), the purpose of this is to bring out the blatant and shameless hypocrisy of Indian politicians, bureaucrats and everyone who's sending this nation to the sewers.

I would appreciate it if you bear the sarcasm, and leave your opinions, comments and feedback. Thank you!