The Case of the Missing Pakistanis

Diplomacy is a tough nut to crack, especially when the issue is an Indo-Pak issue. It takes a small snub (even imaginary) for the so called peace between India and Pakistan to shred. Every “window of opportunity” opens both ways – either into chaos or peace and inevitably, it is the chaos that makes it mark when it comes to our grand relationship with our neighbours. Lalit Modi, Vice-President of the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI) runs this cash cow called IPL, which incidentally also indulges in cricket as a major past time and is now single-handedly responsible for hijacking India-Pakistan relations!!!

The IPL-3 issue that is being treated as a setback to Indo-Pak diplomacy is at best a business decision where the franchisees who put in the money decided to hedge their bets, play safe and not risk bringing in Pakistani cricketers. Sure, they could have been more taut and diplomatic and put up an honest face saying that looking at the state of affairs in the sub-continent, they were not too keen on promoting Aman ki Aasha here. Isn’t this a rational decision where investors with limited money put in the money, keeping in mind the maximization of their returns?

But then cricket in India’s been a simple game – it is a kind of diplomatic chessboard where every guy has a word on how to play one’s moves. The Pakistan Cricket Board (PCB) claims that the move was a deliberate snub by India and that the Modi must apologize for hurting the sentiments of thousands of Pakistanis. The way I see it, the IPL and India have made fun of us and our country by treating us this way," Afridi said. 'I am very disappointed,' said all-rounder Abdul Razzaq. 'This is a conspiracy to malign us... It was their plan.' Pakistan Sports Minister Jhakhrani told Indian Sports Minister M.S. Gill that it was 'utterly disappointing that not a single Pakistani was auctioned for the cash lucrative IPL'.

The Government also decided to put in feeble comments on how eager they were all to watch the Pakistani players and how Modi and Co had missed this window of opportunity. Rediff reports - Prime Minister Manmohan Singh is believed to be extremely upset -- some say even livid -- over the manner in which Indian Premier League boss Lalit Modi has ensured that Pakistan players are kept out of the latest edition of the Twenty20 extravaganza. The Indian PM actually spoke, without asking for madam’s instructions!!!! Wish he explained what window of opportunity is it that has been squandered? Maybe it’s time we had a few cricketers to handle our foreign affairs – would be so much easier to shut down terrorist camps and bring about peace.

Union Minister for Youth and Sports M.S. Gill said I trust, that the IPL corporate owners of cricket, have also taken a small lesson, from all this. Everyone must realize, that sports are the bedrock, of people-to-people contact, which we need to promote, with our neighbours. Can someone remind him to try and resolve the sad state of affairs facing hockey in India, with the impending World Cup in February, instead of promoting world peace? Women’s hockey is in a worse situation and the Commonwealth is around the corner but we have left it to the Gods to complete the work on time.

Earlier, Home Minister P Chidambaram had also chided the IPL franchisees, saying the franchisees had done a "disservice" to the game by ignoring the Pakistani players. Chidambaram said the cricket lovers were disappointed by the franchisees' behaviour and felt the entire controversy was avoidable. Of course, if there are any untoward events that would happen, don’t expect the government to gear up to handle the situation? SRK (trying to sound more intelligent than Aamir) chipped in that saying it is sad that Pakistani players were not picked for the event but also adds that such a climate needs to be created for Pakistani players to play (since such a climate does not exist, why the so-called feeling of humiliation at not inviting them?)

The Home Ministry says that there has been a greater outbreak of hostilities lately and the chances of terrorist activities have grown multi-fold in the recent past? Under such circumstances, if some terrorist activity were to happen, what would be the reactions of Indians and Pakistanis here? Can the government promise that Pakistani players would be safe here under any circumstances and protect them (and even Aussies now) from the madness of Shiv Sainiks, who know that they can make the ugliest of remarks and exhibit violence against anyone Bal Thackeray points at and get away with it because the spineless government cannot stop these buffoons?

Skipping an IPL is a snub to Pakistani cricket and has damaged it, says sources. So, if a handful of players make millions, would Pakistani cricket actually be better off? The Pakistani players ignored at the auction were justified in feeling humiliated because they were obviously not judged on merit. But they could have also handled it quietly and taken the moral higher ground but then that’s clearly asking too much from them. By taking measures like cancellation of the visit to India by parliamentarians and the election commissioner and making calls to boycott all sports events scheduled to be held in India, they have merely aggravated the issue.

The IPL is just an investment for the parties who have put crores into it and want to play it safe? How different is it if a private entity decides to start a company in India and decides to play safe and cut all risks. If there were to be a situation like a 26/11 again, will the franchises be able to play the Pakistanis in India (After all, the same Pakistan Governemnt banned its players from playing in IPL-2 stating the same reason)? So, the franchises took a practical call that having Pakistani players in their sides could lead to potential problems. But judging by reactions, the franchises have in one stroke hurt Indo-Pak relations, insulted cricket fans worldwide, embarrassed the country and even brought India and Pakistan to a potential war (What the Mumbai terror attacks could not achieve — an Indo-Pak war — this fresh row could well do that – yes, Pradeep Magazine actually wrote that in The Hindustan Times!!!)

Cricket has, unfortunately, this wonderful responsibility to bring world peace and people still dream that it will bring people together. I must confess that I harboured such thoughts at the height of the Agra Summit hype but as time passes, I have stopped allowing myself to indulge in such inane fantasies. The IPL is a commercial enterprise run by a group of savvy businessmen who can see the fiscal potential of the game; attributing larger virtues of brotherhood is simply foolhardy.

Nine Lives: In Search of the Sacred in Modern India

After a couple of fascinating historicals, William Dalrymple, returns to his roots through a travelogue as his wanderlust takes him across rural India in search of stories that look at how religion and traditions survive in modern India. This isn’t a conventional travelogue – it is more of a biography of its various subjects rather than Dalrymple’s experiences during his travel. The concept of Unity in Diversity has been beaten to the pulp by the media, keen to showcase many superficial symbols of our culture, but he digs deep allowing people to demonstrate this fiversity rather than sticking labels to them. This anthology of nine lives is an interesting mix of the lives of people who represent the various facets of the sub-continent culture, without any glorification.

The anthology begins with The Nun’s Tale in Sravanabelagola which focuses on the life of Prasannamati Mataji, a Jain monk, who renounces a life of wealth to become a nun in search of spiritual enlightenment. The process is a painful and prolonged one but she is determined to go through even if means giving up her youth, material and emotional comforts. But total detachment is not so easy and she suffers from the pangs of suffering from her close friend –another nun who embraces Sallekhana (ritual fasting to death which begs the question whether this is a ritual suicide or not). The austere nature of Jainism with focus on abstinence of practically everything without any tangible rewards which makes it an unlikely choice of a religion to withstand the passage of time but it has survived and is doing just as well.

The Dancer of Kannur takes us to Thalassery where Hari Das, a prison warder becomes a Theyyam dancer during the December to February months and is worshipped as an incarnate deity. Theyyam is a popular Hindu dance form in North Kerala, which takes place in small shrines and is performed by members of the lower caste. Once he dons the grease paint and enters into a trance, he feels an unknown shakti entering him and has miraculous healing powers and people come to him, across all castes, seeking his blessings. For Hari, Theyyam is a tool of social empowerment which has improved the conditions of the lower castes but the reality is that the upper class Namboodris who pay their respect to the theyyam artist during the performance remains casteist outside it. Theyyam can give him the self-respect that he needs but his regular income comes from his other not-so-divine jobs and he is uncertain whether this art will survive modern education.

The Daughters of Yellamma (based in Belgaum) looks at the world of Devadasis – upper caste “temple women” who at one point of time were regarded as honourable professionals, entering the service of God. Sadly, the services that they render (primarily Dalits) have now reduced them to the level of prostitutes with no locus standi in the society. The protagonist Rani from the Yellama cult, herself dying of AIDS and with both daughters dead, however takes pride in her profession and refuses to be compared to a sex worker but candidly admits that for all her bravado, her auspicious status makes no difference to her clients in bed (“There is no devotional feeling in bed. F***ing is f***ing. There I am just another woman. Just another whore"). Due to the various reform movements and the changing social structure, the status of devadasis fell drastically and the system was finally abolished in the 1920s. However, for the quarter or so of a million devadasis in these parts, the system is possibly the only way out of poverty and so it thrives, not in the way it was intended to be. Nevertheless, with more and more devadasis suffering from AIDS and other STDs , this tradition is dying.

Dalrymple then moves to Pabusar, a small village in Rajasthan, exploring the tradition of oral rendition of epics sung by a community of bhopas in The Singer of Epics. He tracks Mohan Bhopa and his wife, Batasi, who are the last hereditary singers of a great Rajasthani mediaeval poem, Pabuji Ki Phad. The epic is performed in front of a Phad, a long sheet on which scenes depicting the life and adventures of Pabuji, a 14th century hero, are painted (Interestingly, there is a reference to Ramayana here as Pabuji is supposed to have gone to Lanka and stolen camels from Ravana!!!). The Phad is considered a divine manifestation – similar to the image of Gods – and the bhopa is assumed to have healing powers. The tradition of oral story telling is all but forgotten in the world and this remains one of the last few remnants of this art, primarily because these poems had been turned into religious rituals unlike the Iliad and other Western epics, where it remained in an art form only. Dalrymple makes an interesting point noting that oral tradition flourishes in minds which are illiterate. The literate do not have the capacity to remember what the illiterate do making it difficult to sustain this fragile art which may totally disappear in a few years from now.

In The Red Fairy, Dalrymple moves out of India and lands in Sindh where the secular Sufi culture is fighting to keep itself alive, despite constant attacks by the likes of the orthodox Wahhabis, Deobandis and Tablighis. There he meets Lal Peri, a Sufi saint who moves from Bihar to Bangladesh and then Sindh to escape minority persecution. The Sufis believe that the search for God lies within and reject the restrictions of religion, narrowly interpreted by the mullahs. Their usage of music and poetry in their rituals and access to women have angered the fundamentalists funded by Saudis and supported by authoritarian regimes, leading to regular clashes, which Dalrymple likens to the Reformation Movement struggle in Northern Europe in the 16th Century. The essence of the Sufi-Islam conflict is best captured in these lines by Sain Fakir, an 80-year-old pir, who says: “The Sufis are a threat to the mullahs because we command the love, loyalty and faith of the ordinary people. No one is excluded. You can be an outcaste, a fallen woman, and you can come and pray in the shrine and the Sufi will forgive and embrace you.” This conflict also reflects the brewing tensions that are also slowly being a part of the Indian landscape and the victor would dictate the way this sub-continent will move.

The Monk’s Tale, set in Dharamsala, chronicles the life of Tashi Passang, a hermit in Tibet, who is forced to give up his monastic vows and take up arms to kill Chinese soldiers trying to destroy Buddhism in the 1950s. He escapes to India, joins the Indo-Tibetan force and even fights in the 1971 Bangladesh War before he finally quits the Indian Army in 1986 and returns to Dharamsala, to spend his last years atoning for the violence he had committed. Here he makes wooden blocks and prints prayer flags and finally takes up monastic vows and robes 30 years after renouncing them. Passang’s belief in karma is intact ("Tibetan suffering is possibly due to the actions of Tibetans when they invaded and tortured Chinese in the 7th century") and he hopes that the Chinese would eventually embrace Dharma and they would all return to their homeland. It is difficult for us to understand the emotional turmoil that a monk undergoes when he takes up arms and later on even fight as a soldier in an alien war. Passanga's faith in the path of dharma and Ahimsa even after so many years of struggle is remarkable and is an ode to the power of spirituality and religion.

South India, especially Tamil Nadu, is a hub for temples and all kinds of local deities and spirits thrive here, in the midst of all the IT hoopla. The Maker of Idols focuses on Srikanda Stpathy, who lives in Swamimalai, near Thanjavur, and is a 35th generation member of the premier idol-making Brahmin family of India. The family makes the idols with the same style and process as has been followed for all these centuries since the days of the great Cholas. Idol worship may have been riled as a blind form of devotion by many intellectuals but it has withstood all attempts to condemn it and modernization has only helped in getting markets even outside India. Ironically, for all the reverence that Gods are held in the country, many of the images ooze with sensuality and eroticism and unabashedly celebrate the union of Gods, especially Shiva and Parvati - a reminder that shringara rasa is an important form of worship in India. Stpathy, however notes with a twinge of sadness, that his son and nephew are not interested in idol making and wonders what the future of this family tradition is going to be.

The Lady Twilight is based in Tarapith, a popular centre of Tantric Hinduism in West Bengal, where we meet Manisha Ma Bhairavi, a tantric Sadhu who worships the ferocious Goddess Tara and drinks blood from skulls. Tantra is widely associated with superstitious practices and sexuality which is abhorred in most parts of India but for Manisha Ma, it is devotional. She looks at Tara Ma as a benevolent goddess who protects her and fellow tantrics and says that the violent blood thirsty image is just one side of the Ma, who can be both kind and violent, as the situation demands. Tantrics oppose all forms of society conventions, break all taboos (using ganja, alcohol and ritual sex) and encourage people to get in touch with their inner self by controlling the power of kama. One may or may not agree with this perception of religion but it is true that such a philosophy exists amidst closed doors in many parts of India and people flock in large numbers to get their problems resolved through tantrics.

The last story The Song of the Blind Minstrel is again set in Bengal on the banks of Ajoy River. Dalrymple travels to Kenduli near Shantiniketan to see a gathering of Bauls (saffron clad minstrels) who meet every year in January, descending into a cloud of singing and dancing throughout the night. The story unfolds primarily through the eyes of a blind minstrel, Kannai Das Baul, who along with this group, keep walking along in search of inner peace. The Bauls live a wild and abandoned life and believe that God lives in the present moment in the seeker of the truth and each man must find his own way. Rather than lecturing and sermonizing, they woo audiences through poetry and music and ask them to look inwards. They also follow a Tantric tradition and embrace breathing and orgasm in elaborately ritualised sexual rites. It is interesting to note that atheistic and agnostic philosophy is not totally new to Hinduism and the Chavarka school of thought in 6th Century B.C. rejected the idea of God.

It is easy to fall prey to the clichés of “Mystic India” and let one’s prose lose in the wilderness of this country but Dalrymple avoids this trap and gives a non-judgmental account of these lives which seem at odds with the rapid pace that the country is supposed to be taking. The writer, the journalist and the traveller all work in tandem as each subject spells out his/her story and Dalrymple fills in the background facts, the history and provides insights on the various events that mark the landscape of the story, giving it a documentary like feel.

The accounts are engrossing and with the wide variety of facts that Dalrymple puts in at frequent intervals, one can visualize the stories as they unfold. Whether it is the tantric cremation ground, the arid sands of Rajasthan or the crowded temple towns of the South, we are present there and moving along with him as he tries to understand a religion, which is totally different in form and structure from Christianity. He finds it interesting that many of these traditions would probably have been shunned in the West but in India, they are looked at with reverence and the practitioners of these various religious forms co-exist in the society peacefully.

Many of the stories have an exotic Oriental flavour to them but Dalrymple largely succeeds in humanizing these characters and bringing life to these various gateways of life which aim at reaching God. There is Bhakti, Tantra, Sufism, Buddhism and many other schools of thought but he does not preach or act like a modern Indian liberal sitting on judgment - he just observes and looks admiringly at the plurality and heterodoxy of a culture that sustains all these sets of beliefs, without infringing upon each other.

A Twittering Predicament

#Is all that worth it just in hope of making it difficult for a future Headley to recce? R we going 2 allow terrorists 2 make us less welcoming?

# Making it more difficult 2 visit India, return here frequently or stay long hurts large nbrs of innocents, costs us millions of$ & alienates.

These are the 2 tweets by Shashi Tharoor which have been splashed across all channels and newspapers and have generated enough controversy for the man who seems to be in a hurry to usher in an era of e-politics. Did our MoS for External Affairs minister say something that is against public norms or morally wrong? But still Fulbright scholar SM Krishna, an honourable man, felt the need to reprimand his junior while the media has joined hands in gleefully branding Tharoor as irresponsible.

Krishna made his displeasure public saying - “These (issues) are not to be discussed in public. If there are any perceptions, then I think these should be sorted out within the four walls of the ministry; the business of government is far too serious and has to be conducted in a manner in which we decide. The broad policy parameters are dictated, decided by the minister in-charge of external affairs of this country and everyone will have to fall on the same page.''

The Indian government is an archaic piece of machinery which refuses to answer any questions put across it because the public is ill-educated to understand complex matters and it is best left to the buffoons who sit in both the Houses to decide on everything on our behalf (assuming that they decide to turn up at the House and try opening their mouths). But when the State refuses to even divulge the names of the Padma nominees claiming the irrelevance o f this information to the public, you know that you are fishing in deep waters and getting a catch here is going to be difficult. Talking to the public is a blasphemous offence by any standards of public probity defined by the State and the media.

Democracy is a 60+ year old institution in India but the concept remains nascent on many counts. Indian Public Policy is an opaque instrument which, despite numerous amendments, is held so sacrosanct by the polity that any discussion on that is anathema to the State. Everything is kept under the wraps of national security and confidentiality and any challenges to the status quo position of the rules are looked at with contempt. After all, how does the “cattle class” know what is right for it; this is the right assigned to the protectors of democracy by the electorate.

There is also a generational conflict of culture taking place here with the cyber savvy Tharoor talking to netizens directly which is against the functioning of the old school of government. The traditionalists are out of sync with new media and still believe that the best ways to show dissent or call for a debate is by manufacturing leaks and planting stories. The old school is entrenched in the roots of “consensus”, where the High Command proposes as well as disposes and the officials merely carry out orders. A healthy democracy thrives in the presence of dissent and it is time to recognize that public dissent also counts in decision making.

There was a counter argument that the response would be the same if this were a private company and that it is not just the Government which is paranoid when it comes to maintain confidentiality of information. But the difference is in primarily the kind of information that is shared across the table – we are not talking about a company’s pricing strategy but a law which has relevance to all our lives. When it comes to matters of public policy or laws that are public knowledge, what is the rationale of trying to build in a veil of secrecy? Isn’t it a step in the right direction when policy matters get discussed on the net and any form of dissent is well-covered so that public can judge accordingly?

But why is the media propping up the likes of SM Krishna here and targetting Tharoor? When you’d expect them to rally against SM Krishna, the media has tried to act as a partisan referee (read Chris Broad) and stand by the establishment. If Shashi Tharoor had called a press conference and said the same things to journalists, he would be hailed as frank and the law called an ass but now he is irresponsible – the foot-in-the mouth minister who is rocking the boat to show off his technological prowess.

Is it that the likes of Rajdeep Sardesai and Co feel threatened by the fact that by using tweet, Tharoor is directly talking to the public and bypassing the media filters? If sound bytes and “exclusive” stories are available online for everyone to see and understand, then how will the media fabricate grapevine news and flash breaking news? Shashi Tharoor talks directly to half a million people on Twitter and very few newspapers or TV channels have the same reach which is making the media uneasy.

Shashi Tharoor is unfortunately no Rahul Gandhi, whose of pearls of wisdom are scooped up by the party workers and displayed as strings of intellect, and cannot expect anyone in the Congress to stand up for his valid questions. The Grand Old Party is slowly undergoing a transformation but the change is only at the surface level and the definition of inner party democracy is confined by the Lakshman Rekha drawn by Sonia and family. Rahul has publicly railed against the Congress culture earlier and done an excellent job as its top Strategy guy and this would have been an excellent opportunity for him to step forward and stand up for Tharoor but then standing up for lightweights is probably not worth the political rewards.

The Twitterer has ruffled many feathers here but will the Ministry be lost for want of a tweet? Whichever way it goes, all I say is it is nice to have a Minister who talks to the public and we need more of his ilk. Way to go, sir, with a half a million strong twitter base, you have a huge online voice listening to you...

Paleri Manikyam: Oru Pathira Kolapathakathinte Katha

It is 1957 – the year the World’s first democratically elected Communist government, under the leadership of EMS Namboodiripad, is about to take over the governmental reins from the Congress. It is also the year when the first rape case is registered in Kerala – Manikyam, a poor low caste girl, is brutally raped and murdered in a small village called Paleri in North Kerala. The investigation into this crime, 52 years later, forms the crux of this intricately executed movie, directed by Renjith, based on T P Rajeevan’s novel of the same name. This is Renjith’s most ambitious and mature work so far and is undoubtedly among the best movies of the year.

Manikyam (Mythili) was the bride of the village idiot Pokkan, the son of one of Paleri’s once-most desired women, Cheeru (Shwetha Menon). The morning after the whole village leaves to see a new drama in the town and Pokkan leaves along with a magician to perform some rituals, Manikyam is found dead in Cheeru’s house.

There is a police investigation but the accused are let off scot-free by a local court, even though the public by and large thinks that the rich landlord Murikkumkunnath Ahmed Haji (Mammootty again) is behind the murder. A private detective Haridas (Mammooty), accompanied by a crime analyst Sarayu (Gowri Munjal), land in Paleri after 52 years to investigate this case but the intent of the team to get involved with this case after so many years is indeed puzzling till we reach mid-stream, when the story introduces a personal angle (a deviation from the novel).

But Paleri Manikyam is not an investigative thriller in the true sense and if you are expecting a CBI Dairy story or even something like Pavithran’s Utharam, you would be grossly mistaken. There is a scene in the movie when a veteran Communist worker asks Haridas the relevance of such an investigation after 50 long years when none of the main players of the drama are alive and Haridas says that this could be an investigation either out of curiosity or possibly a look at the conditions of the period in Malabar when such a story happened and learning from it. (In an interesting conversation when his companion Sarayu says that this is somebody’s life and not a story, Hari replies that after death, everyone’s life is just a story – so relevant to our times). The intent is clearly not a who-dun-it mystery but a slow and steady permeation into the event and it definitely satisfies the viewer who is willing to wait and watch as the story unravels.

The movie follows a complex narrative where the story moves back and forth through the eyes of its various characters. Haridas narrates most of the events and moves along with the various characters in the movie which gives it a quasi-documentary feel at times. A scene which truly conveys the beauty of the narrative is when on one side of the frame we see Manikyam along with her husband coming to the village on a boat after her marriage, on the other side we see her corpse being taken away in a boat, with the narrator standing on the shore in the middle, and making a comment! There is an almost Rashomon like effect we witness as each character presents his own version of the story and we are left wondering where the truth lies. Such narration techniques have not been attempted in mainstream Malayalam cinema and Renjith pulls it off with aplomb.

Paleri Manikyam is set in rural North Kerala in the late 1950s and Renjith, along with Manoj Pillai (the cinematographer), takes us into this world and it is a fascinating effort. Capturing Kerala on canvas is a cake walk for any cinematographer but Renjith uses the backdrop itself acts as a character in the plot, with a mixture of colours which add to the intrigue surrounding the town. The music by Sarath and Bijbal also does not vie too much attention and percolates the background surely but certainly.

The political upheavals of the period also necessitate the role of petty politics in the drama. Barber Keshavan (Srinivasan) is a grassroots communist worker (the conscience of the village as Haridas refers to him) who believes in class struggle and refuses to work on the day EMS is sworn in but he is eventually dismayed to see the party succumbing to the elite, against whom they had battled. In his own words, he is neither a believer nor a communist – just a mere hairdresser. It is his disillusionment with the Party which leads him to provide the valuable inputs that help in piecing together the story.

K P Hamsa (veteran screenwriter T Damodaran), on the other hand, is a pragmatic Communist leader who realizes that the movement needs the support of the rich and is willing to compromise a few things for what he believes is the greater good. While the movie points a finger at the party for its rule in the cover up, you also realize that there was no personal benefit that was intended and was purely for the growth of the party (a rarity by today’s standards). He knows that a classless society is utopia and that the oppressed needs the oppressor to sustain the movement, so the marriage between the bourgeoisie and the Party to suppress the death of a poor girl, who nobody cares for her.

The police investigation in the late 50s was clearly more primitive when compared to today, which meant that the importance of circumstantial evidence and testimony was much higher, in the absence of technological support. Manikyam’s body is carried in jute mats across the river by boat on an overnight journey to Vadakara for post-mortem which exposed the body to further deterioration and could possibly endanger the evidence. The judiciary had to also contend with the fact that this was the first such case before them but we do not know whether the complexity of a rape case was understood at that time.

One weak link in the story is the relevance of the sub-plot involving Haridas and his girlfriend. Sarayu has a broken relationship with her husband, while Haridas has a faithful unsuspecting wife and a pleasant family life, but still he desires his colleague (he interestingly draws a parallel with Ahmed Haji for a similar failing) but this thread is not developed enough for us to draw any form of parallel with the main track.

Maybe if the film moved along interspersed with a few subtle hints regarding their relationship or his family troubles, it could have had a greater impact; otherwise, Haridas simply doing the investigation himself would also have sufficed, unless the lady character added something extra in the plot. Of course, the fact that the actress playing Sarayu also seemed a bit lost at times does not help the cause.

The other area which could possibly have a greater flourish would be the climax - it could have been more underplayed possibly or maybe even skipped because it did seem a tad artificial (especially by the movie's standards). The novel merely mentions Ahmed Haji’s son but the film goes further and builds a climax on the basis of this man, who makes a late entry. I do not want to add any spoilers here but it would be sufficient to say that even without this contrivance, the movie would have worked.

The movie boasts of an interesting cast – a lot of non-professionals were selected by Renjith to play various important roles in the movie after conducting an extensive workshop. This actually helps in giving it a more authentic feel and ensuring that we are not swayed by their usual appearances. The S K Pallipuram character who is the architect of the drama on the night of the rape is a small but interesting character; he also provides Haridas with a missing official report which helps in linking a few vital cogs. He represents the liberal who lies in his drunken arrogant stupor, who wields a great deal of influence by virtue of the might of his words but is too lost in his own world, under the influence of alcohol, to make a difference to the society – eventually becoming a mere pawn in the hands of the powerful.

While most of the actors are adequate (except Gowri Munjal), the pick of the cast are Mammooty and Shwetha Menon. Shwetha is at ease while exuding oomph as well as pathos as the older forsaken mistress of the Haji and is slowly emerging as an actress to watch for in the Kerala film horizon. Mammooty’s performance as Ahmed Haji is stellar and though the character is one-dimensional, it is played to perfection and is definitely a memorable performance (Kamal’s take on this role would be another caricature with more emphasis on the physical self).

My last four movies have been Bhramaram, Kerala Cafe, Loud Speaker and now Paleri Manikyam and if this is any evidence of Malayalam cinema slowly emerging out of its worst phase, then we are definitely in for exciting times. Renjith has once again shown (after Thirakatha and Kaiyoppu) that he is an exciting talent and the new generation (with the likes of Lal Jose, Renjith Shankar and others) is ready to revive the lost art called Malayalam cinema.

A Journey to the Dhauladhars

One of the more immediate challenges after marriage is to organize the honeymoon. The pressures are high – it’s the first time you are organizing something and wifey is looking to you to pull it off without any hiccups. After a lot of creative inputs from anyone and everyone who’s trying to help, we decide to go on a trip to Himachal Pradesh. There are 2 couples – me and Sangeetha and Anil and Divya and we agree on an approximate budget of about 30-35 K for the entire trip.

The whole of Himachal has been divided by HPTDC in four circuits: Tribal, which mainly includes the Lahaul Spiti region, Sutlej, which is the region around Simla, Naldhera, Kufri, Beas, which is the Kullu Manali and surrounding region, and the Dhauladhar circuit, which covers Dalhousie, Chamba valley, Dharamsala, etc. HP, for all practical purposes, generally refers to Shimla, Kullu and Manali. Based on friendly advice, we decide to go for the seemingly less untrodden (by HP standards) Dhauladhar circuit. So the final plan is put on paper – 2 nights in Palampur, a night in McLeodganj and the last 2 nights in Dalhousie.

The journey begins on Nov 22nd when we board an Air India flight from Mumbai to New Delhi. Sangeetha and I do not get adjacent seats and so I request the gentlemen around me if they could adjust but sadly, none of them is willing to compromise. It is her maiden flight trip and I am slightly apprehensive of sitting apart but we manage, despite the rather inhospitable behaviour of the grumpy folk who sit around us in the plane.

Anil and wife join us (from Jamnagar) at the Old Delhi Railway Station (DLI in IRCTC) as we catch the Jammu Mail on a 10 hour journey to go to Pathankot, the nearest station to reach Palampur. We make the mistake of booking a second class ticket and the conditions are pretty cold; wiser counsel would suggest travelling by AC where the temperature is controlled and blankets are available. Thankfully, we are well-equipped to meet the cold and bring in a pair of sweaters, thermal wear, woollen gloves and socks and monkey caps to protect the ears but the cold is biting and we need to protect ourselves well enough.

Day-1 brings us to Pathankot, an hour and half behind schedule at about 8.30 in the morning. If you reach early, you could use the Kangra Valley train to go to Palampur (these trains have to be booked on arrival and are not available in IRCTC); this is called a Toy Train and is a major attraction for tourists as they travel across the beautiful valleys at such heights. Our stay is planned at Country Cottage, a family-run home stay type setup run by the Sarins. A pre-arranged cab picks us up from Pathankot Station and we travel for over 3 hours before we reach Palampur, a small town better known for its tea estates and the charm is the quiet British type plantations.

The Sarins had bought the place from the British about a century back and have been running their cottage for the past 20+ odd years. The place has 5 cottages and can house only as many families at any point of time. The hospitality is excellent (a tad pretentious possibly at times) and a special mention needs to be given for the food, though it is quite expensive. The cook serves you food hot and ensures that the eating experience there is truly a memorable one. The Country Cottage Stay is a leisure stay and not a typical tourist one – you can spend time primarily taking a walk across to the river, trekking along the hills and enjoying the solitude. The cottages are quite comfortable, but the heating facilities – water and room- were not upto the mark but I assume that this is to be only a temporary issue. There is an Adivasi temple about 4 km from the cottage, which is a nice and wonderful 3 hour trek – the temple has nothing to recommend but the walk is worth it.

On Day-2, we do the trek to the temple in the morning and return to visit 2 tourist spots suggested to us in the afternoon– the Baijnath temple and the Sherbaling Monastery. The Baijnath Temple is dedicated to Lord Shiva and was built in the 13th Century. But it’s kind of disappointing because to a Keralite, the temple would appear a rather small one, shorn of much tradition or culture. You can visit but we don’t recommend this; it is a small temple and has nothing much to offer.

Sherbaling Monastery is situated much higher and can be a more interesting place but without any form of guidance, it wouldn’t mean much. Our driver drops us in front of the Monastery and we are not sure how to proceed inside. There is a mediation class going on when we reach the place and the hall is out of bounds for us. The reverberations of the chanting reach us which has an impact but otherwise as tourists, we are lost inside, especially with no one to guide (but as Anil suggested maybe, they do not intend to treat it as a tourist place and do not refuse us only out of a sense of gratitude). Also, we do not intend to rake up an issue by straying into an unknown place and touching something which could be sensitive.

On Day-3 morning, we check out of the Country Cottage and head towards McLeodganj (Upper Dharamshala), located about 2000m above sea level. The drive from Palampur to McLeodganj is relatively short and takes about 1.5-2 hours (time taken is primarily due to the height that we travel here). We are put up at 8 Auspicious Him View Hotel, a small unpretentious 8 room hotel located at walking distance from the main temple. Each of the 8 rooms is decorated according to one of the 8 auspicious symbols of Buddhism; the hotel is comfortable, cheap and well-located. Special mention needs to be given to Mr Tsering Dorjee, who manages the hotel – a pleasant young man, who is very helpful and well-mannered. Mr Dorjee provides us a map of the place and explains to us the main places to visit and volunteers to help us show around the place, if required.

Armed with a map in hand, we trace our steps to the main temple where His Holiness The 14th Dalai Lama is addressing a group of Russians; unfortunately, the police do not allow us in and ask us to return after 4 pm to see the place. Since we have just a night to stay, we decide to leave the Main Temple and visit the Bhagsu Nag temple and Waterfalls, about 2 km from our hotel. The temple and waterfalls are also no great shakes (though the waterfall could be a delight when in good flow) but are ok if you are looking for a walk up the hills. Mr Dorjee also recommends the Naddi Village and the Norbulingka (a Tibetan Institute started by the Tibetans to ensure that traditional Tibetan art and culture would not die down) but one night would be enough to cover all these places. Nevertheless, for such a trip, we don’t fancy travelling more in McLeodganj.

Our Hotel serves only Tibetan food and so we settle down for some vegetarian momos (a form of Tibetan dumpling),Thukpa soup (a Tibetan noodle soup) and herbal tea. Can’t say we enjoyed it much but then doesn’t being a tourist require one to even try out the local cuisine. McLeodganj is famous for the Dalai Lama and I guess that’s the only thing I can think of – the entire place is littered with Tibetan markets and restaurants and inundated with foreigners, pouring in from all corners. If you are looking for a quiet place, McLeodganj is definitely not where you should be headed – looks more like a place where Tibetans run small markets and white men come in large numbers, in searching of mystic solutions to life.

Day-4 does not start exactly on a great note as there is a power cut in most of McLeodganj, meaning no hot water to bathe, except whatever is stored in the geyser!!! We manage to wash our way through and proceed towards our last halt – Dalhousie. Built around five hills, Dalhousie is located on the western edge of the Dhauladhar mountain range, at a height of about 2200 m above sea level and named after Lord Dalhousie who was the British viceroy in India at that time.

A 150 km long cab travel takes us to Hotel Grand View, an old British style hotel establishes in 1895. Grand View, true to its name, opens to a breath taking view of snow capped mountains and provides a wonderful and most comfortable stay. It has a rather spacious dining room with an attached imperial looking bar (called Viceroy Lounge Bar!!!), big rooms and very helpful staff, which make the stay a real delight. We retire to the night’s chillness after a brief walk, cut short by the constant and scary movement of vehicles at dizzy heights.

For Day-5, we decide to explore around Dalhousie and book a cab to visit Khajiar and Chamba town. The travel to Khajiar (24 km from Dalhousie) is beautiful with its pine and deodar trees and flakes of snow (from a snowfall of an earlier week). Khajjiar known as “Mini Switzerland” was officially baptized by the Swiss Ambassador on July 7, 1992 and as per records, a stone was taken here and forms part of the stone sculpture erected in Berne, capital of Switzerland. It is no longer as peaceful and serene as it used to be and we have vendors constantly rushing around to take your photos, give you a horse ride etc. but it still remains a beautiful patch of landscape in the entire area.

After a couple or more hours in Khajjiar, we proceed to Chamba town, where our driver first takes us to Bhuri Singh Museum (strictly for followers of history) and the Laxmi Narayan Temple. This temple houses 7 main temples dedicated to Shiva and Krishna and a few other smaller temples around it (do we have an English equivalent word for Upa devata???) and is atleast worth a visit after the 2-3 not so inspiring temples that we came across in the visit. On our way back, our driver halts at a couple of vantage points for us – one on the banks of River Ravi where the river bed was dry and we can see the magnificent flow of the river and secondly, at a point where we can see the Dam being constructed across this river (this is now being harnessed for hydro-electric power).

After all this travel, on Day-6, we hire a cab to go to Pathankot railway station. All Pathankot trains to Delhi are in the noon or night, so you’d have to plan accordingly on how to plan this day. Since most hotels have a check out time of 12 Noon, the evening 4.30 Muri Express is a comfortable one to catch. We had planned to have our lunch at the station but funnily, the only food available at the station is the quintessential burger at the IRCTC food stall – burgers in Pathankot!!! We get into the train only to realize that the seat numbering in the train is all goofed up, primarily because Laloo’s brainwave of 4 seats in the main berths and 3 in the side berth had been implemented and then revoked but the numbering had not changed. So, you had a situation of multiple seat numbers at the same seat and massive confusion everywhere. Anyway, with all this conundrum (including being woken up at 1 AM by a passenger claiming that I was sleeping in his berth), we manage to reach Old Delhi by 5 AM.

At the entrance of the Old Delhi Railway Station (next to the car park on the west exit), you can find a 24-hr Food Joint called ComeSum, from where we buy our breakfast before we catch our respective flights. Pre-paid cabs are not available at the station (the cops at the pre-paid counter ask us to talk to the taxi driver directly) and so we settle down for an auto to the Airport. The early morning ride in November in the auto is chilling but free of traffic and we reach the place in about half an hour before we catch a 10 AM flight to return to Mumbai and close our journey while Anil and Divya catch a 12 Noon flight to Ernakulam.

The trip was a memorable one and there were a few things that we learnt. Going alone is not necessarily the best idea; travelling with a friends’ group (especially couples) is a rewarding experience. The place gets pretty dark by 5.30 in the evening in winter and it’s a great idea to sit around a fire place and spend time together as a group. Off season travel helps in a great deal of cost-cutting and ensures that you face lesser crowds. Most hotels arrange cab pickups as and when you require so you do not have to worry about the travel at all. Travelling in winter (kind of autumn in our case) means that you need to be well-prepared in terms of clothing. When you travel by train to cold places in winter, book seats in AC and not in 2nd Class – this ensures a much higher degree of comfort.

Every journey has its high and low points - as long as the high outscore the low ones, you have done a good job. Be open-minded and nice to people and travelling becomes an experience that you can cherish for a long time...

Nostalgia Beckons: Part 1

Nostalgia is an integral part of our culture in Kerala, which passes on from generation to generation and becomes a major cause of pain as well as joy in our lives. A few days back, Sanju and I saw Jayaraj’s Loudspeaker where Sashi Kumar and Mammooty go to Sashi Kumar’s tharavadu and visit his past – a life he had run away from to a distant place, away from the memories of the location. Just like him, don’t we have our own memories that we want to get back to?

Para is a small village in Palakkad, a name that has been derived from the Malayalam word ‘para’ which means rock. It is a small, laidback place with greater proximity to Pollachi and parts of Tamil Nadu than Kerala – which gave it a part Tam-part Mal feeling. To reach our house from the main road, we had to do a small 5-10 minutes ‘para’ trek and there majestically stood our house Krishna Vihar.

It seems we were once upon a time the landlords of the area and there was very little else there, which did not belong to us. And then, the familiar story of the EMS-initiated communist land reforms robbed us of most of the property till we had a very truncated area of our own. Truncated still meant more than 10 acres of forest land, agricultural land, a pond (kolam) and cattle and so much more which was sold off at regular intervals till finally, the entire place-lock, stock and barrel was sold off a year back (more about that in another post).

Like many well-educated Malayalees, my parents found their calling outside Kerala – in Hyderabad and for the past 35 years that has been our home but the heart still remains somewhere in God's Own Country . Every year, during the summer vacation months of April and May, we (parents and brother) found ourselves trooping all the way to Palakkad, in a long 30+ hour long journey. Now, thanks to the Sabari Express, you have a direct train connecting Hyderabad and Palakkad but then during these days, we had to take a train to Chennai and after a few hours, there would be a connecting train (I remember travelling by the West Coast Express distinctly).

After me and brother joined college, I don’t think that we ever travelled together – the memories of travelling together as a family and spending 24-30 hours together in the confines of a compartment with the rest of the Mallu diaspora (even if this is within India) was something to cherish. And for those who remember those were the days before IRCTC came into existence and railway ticket booking had to be done only at the counters. So, 90 days before, Achchan and I would stand in front of the Secunderabad booking office gate at about 6.30-7 AM, waiting for the gates to open and the moment it did, we would all rush in to grab the nearest booking counter (with so many Mallus outside Kerala, it is still a struggle to get tickets if not 90 days in advance, especially in summer).

The trip to Kerala meant lots of planning for all of us. Achchan would buy us a book each to read during our train journey and that would be usually books like The Hardy Boys or The Three Investigators (Nancy Drew always seemed so girlish!!!) and by the time we were in Palakkad, both of us would have completed one book each. The other main investment involved buying a game that all of us could play during the vacations – so you had board games like Ludo, Trade (a domestic version of Monopoly), Indoor Cricket (we played a cricket World Cup with each of us representing a couple of teams) and Scotland Yard (a fancy detective game whose ads we had seen in TV, don’t know if kids nowadays still play this).

There would be one major suitcase and many other small bags to be carried and also a food basket (we used to call it food kotta – a queer old red bag in which the food was kept that we used to carry in every visit). Amma would cook idli, lemon rice or chapatti and even carry curd and pack it for the travel and the only thing we bough outside would be sambharam or tea (It’s been a long time since I ever had home food in trains). The return journey was obviously melancholic and we always had additional luggage, including one sack full of coconuts and chips of all types.

After about 20 hours of travel, Kerala arrives in the form of greenery - so much in contrast to the rest of the journey. But I still remember, that the first scenes that I notice generally once the train enters Walayar are 2 notice boards - Welcome to Kerala and Toddy Bar. It did surprise me then but now, I have reconciled to the fact that alcohol is thicker than blood in Kerala and drinking and reminiscing is an integral part of our culture.

The Para house was meant to be a congregation of all cousins in summer and so there were about 4-5 of us staying for the entire period, with regular visitors through the period. Going to Malayalam movies meant usually the entire family watching a new Malayalam release, preferably a Mohan Lal one (in those days, when he still remained one of us, the middle class hero) in the town – usually Priya or Priyadarshini theatre. These theatres still remain and the highest ticket rate is 40 Rs, which makes it a visual fiscal delight, untouched by the speed of Internet booking and Credit Card terminals.

Mind you, I am still talking about the best theatre in Palakkad – our regular theatre visits were to the theatres near our house, Thara and Jagadambika (ticket prices ranging from 10-20 Rs with wooden chairs and thatched roofs). Curiously, Thara theatre screened mostly Tamil movies, with a sprinkling of Malayalam movies – only Mallu super hit movies could displace the Tamil influence there and we had no Raj Thackerays agitating against the cultural invasion of the Pandis (But then Palakkad has this anomaly – Malayalam movies do only half as successful as Tamil ones).

Being a Kerala expatriate had its advantages – people there back in the village looked at us in a certain awe (or maybe I felt it that way) and we were the foreigners who descended on the place once a year, speaking Malayalam in an unknown accent and masquerading as sons of the soil. But then every family had some body or the other in Gulf, so we were the wannabes, the local foreigners – the guys who fled the shores of Kerala but still lived in India.

I did have my own share of a cultural identity crisis – felt like a Mallu when in Hyderabad and when in Palakkad, I was a Keralite but what was I; someone who used to speak Malayalam with a flawed accent, used to think and speak in English but was more at ease watching Hindi films and listening to Hindi music (especially, the Rafi and Kishore types). This identity confusion has been there for a long time and though I am a member of every group, I am still an outsider in every group………..

Image: Courtesy - http://kakkat.blogspot.com/

Kerala Cafe - A Review

In the midst of these struggling times of Malayalam cinema, auteur Ranjith and friends, inspired by the French movie Paris Je t'aime, go bold and attempt to experiment with their craft by weaving 10 tales into a single film. On the common theme of journeys, each filmmaker presents his cinematic impression of contemporary times in Kerala, which integrates at Kerala Cafe – a railway cafetaria.

Cafe brings 10 new generation directors together as they combine to form these plots, which culminate in the Cafe. Malayalam cinema has seen multiple directors acting together for a single movie like in the climax of Manichitrathazhu and multiple stories in one movie like in Adoor’s movies like Naalu Pennangal and Oru Pennum Randaanum but this is a new idea. Interestingly, Ranjith opted out of directing any story in it as he felt that being a director of any one story would reduce his involvement with the entire concept.

The first story is Nostalgia, a 10 minute film, based on R. Venugopal's poem Naatuvazhikal. It is about an NRI who is nostalgic about his native land and his childhood, but once back home finds it difficult to cope with the situations. When abroad, he waxes eloquently about Dasettan, the lakes, ponds, fishes and all but when on vacation to India, he rants against the government, the potholes on the road, the bureaucracy and the people. He eventually signs a deal to sell off his ancestral mansion and flies back to Dubai, to commence his nostalgic laments all over again. He is a money minded person who uses nostalgia merely as a ruse.

Shankar Ramakrishnan's The Island Express commences with Prithiviraj talking about his 3 idols in life - Jesus, Frankenstein and Mangalassery Neelakantan. He speeds off to Kerala with his girl friend to show her something. There are other characters like an old woman (Sukumari) an army officer (Jayasurya), a depressed school teacher (Maniyanpillai Raju) and an ex-Ranji cricketer (Rahman) all of who, along with Prithviraj, converge at a single point – the site of a train accident, to which they are all connected (based on the Perumon train tragedy in 1988). The narrative is kind of confounding and the tragedy did not quite get to me. It seemed there were too many fleeting characters who are connected by the tragedy but the technique seems to mar the feel.

Shaji Kailas decides to do away with his penchant for guns and approaches marital infidelity in his story LalithamHiranmayam. Ramesh (Suresh Gopi) is caught between his wife Lalitha (Jyothirmayi) and mistress Mayi (Dhanya) and is unable to proceed. He goes through this turmoil which culminates in an accident and then death, leaving his wife and kid and pregnant mistress. The 2 women eventually find company in each other helping them to sustain their lives. The story is simple but over indulgent in style (the constant rain and close ups and all that), which kind of undermines the emotional undertones of the story but nevertheless, it showcases a different Shaji Kalias.

Uday Ananthan's Mrityunjayam is a horror flick which is as puzzling to the moviegoers as it is to the spook investigators in the film. The plot has an inquisitive journalist (Fahd Fazil – Fazil’s son is still there somewhere folks!!!) who goes to Ottapalam to cover a story on olden day rituals, beliefs and some facts behind a haunted house which is owned by a great scholar played by Thilakan. There is also a spooky girl (Rima Kallingal) who adds a mysterious seductive touch to the proceedings – adding to the horror cliche. We are not quite sure what happens except that the journalist perishes and the entire thing goes outside our realm of understanding.

Anjali Menon’s Happy Journey is a hilarious script which deals with the interaction between a flirtatious insurance surveyor (Jagathy) and a pretty girl (Nithya Menon) who is the subject of his advances in a bus, as they journey from Kochi to Kozhikode. The story is an interesting psychological combat between the 2 protagonists and by the time the journey ends, the power equations turn an entire 180 degree. Happy Journey observes very closely what makes the male and female psyche and also skillfully weaves in the theme of terrorism into this 14 minute tale.

B.Unnikrishnan’s Aviramam addresses itself to the contemporary social milieu and deals with the life of a couple who struggles to go on as recession takes a toll on their lives. Ravi’s (Siddique) business is sinking and he is reeling under a set of debts and the recession has cut off most of his avenues. He, however, pretends that things are improving and tries to shield his family from the news of his actual state of affairs. He sends his family on a short vacation of three days and heads back home to give it all up. Aviramam has a simple, honest structure and is easiest to relate to and ends with a sense of hope; it works primarily due to the warmth of the characters but per se does not offer anything new.

Surprisingly, the only so-called comedy film comes from Shyamaprasad in Off Season. It deals with Kunjappai (Suraj Venjarammoodu) who pulls out all stops to attract a Portuguese couple on an off season in Kovalam. His hopes of earning some quick money are however dashed when he learns that they are totally broke and have come all the way from Lisbon looking for work. There is not much of a story here to mention and comes off as a funny ad film with a few quirky dialogues here and there. I do not have an issue with the idea but with Shyamaprasad at the helm, you would be looking for something more concrete. It looks like one of biggies of Kerala parallel cinema is overshadowed by the Young Turks.

My favourite story in this collection is Bridge by Anwar Rasheed and is probably the crowd favourite too, going by the applause that it received in the theatre when the story came to an end. There are 2 parallel tracks here- one dealing with the mother-son relationship between Salim Kumar and Santhadevi and the other between a young boy separated from his kitten – and the tracks intersect at the end and in the process creating an unforgettable drama with pathos. The sense of loss and isolation is conveyed so vividly in such a short span of time, making it an unforgettable piece of cinema.

Makal by Revathy is a straight-forward narrative dealing with the issue of child trafficking. Sona Nair and Sreenath play a couple who adopt a girl child from a remote village only to sell her off. The pay-off happens in the Cafe and makes it the only story which uses the Kerala Cafe as more than an intersection point of the stories. The story is realistic and touches on the danger of unregulated adoption among the poor. Initially, I though the story dealt with adoption or young maid harassment but the sudden twist at the end was indeed shocking. At the end, when Sona Nair touches upon her lip stick, you realize where this is headed but couldn’t Revathy have avoided this clichéd shot? Makal is a bit melodramatic but is still a pertinent and shocking tale.

The film signs off with Lal Jose’s Puram Kazhchakal based on a short story by C V Sreeraman. The movie begins with Sreenivasan making a trip recollecting his own memories of a doomed love affair and intermittently peeps into the ongoings in the bus. Time is of least relevance to the passengers (a group even takes a minute off from the bus to capture the waterfalls) except to a nameless character (Mammooty) who is angry and impatient at its speed and quarrels with everyone. His character is a sense of ridicule and irritation to everyone till the sudden twist in the tale; this last scene has an almost O Henry touch in its tragic twist and leaves us thinking on how we judge people.

Kerala Cafe is definitely an experiment worth the effort of all the directors who have came together to create this concept. Though the movie theme is Yatra, the journey is only incidental in many of the stories and each of them is unrelated to the other. Ranjith has succeeded in bringing an interesting blend of young directors, with a mix of commercial and parallel cinema and presenting a concept which is new and will hopefully inspire more such attempts. Each story is different and clearly will not be liked by everyone but it is heartening to see an attempt to break free from conventional methods and create a grammar, well within the boundaries of commercial cinema. Such an effort requires all our support.