Urumi

History says that Vasco Da Gama contracted malaria soon after arriving in Goa on his third voyage to India and died in the city of Cochin on Christmas Eve in 1524. But in Santosh Sivan's Urumi, Gama is a blood hounding invader (contrary to his normal perception by non-Keralites as merely a sailor) killed by a young man seeking revenge for his father's death. When Prithviraj was asked about toying with history in the movie, he quipped – There is speculation about how Vasco died. The most commonly accepted theory is that he was killed by malaria. But if Quentin Tarantino can have Hitler killed in a theatre, this is our take on how Vasco died.

The film starts in the present day with two vagabonds Krishna Das (Prithviraj) and his friend (Prabhu Deva) being offered a huge price for Krishna Das’ ancestral property in Kerala. On his arrival in Kerala to sign the papers, he learns the truth about his land and ancestors, which is told in a flashback. Sivan tries to create a moral fable here comparing the two eras but I don't think that the movie needed this ethical posturing.

Chirakkal Kothuwal (Arya), a warrior and commander of the Arakkal kingdom, is killed by the tyrannical Vasco da Gama, the Viceroy of Portuguese Empire in India. His son Chirakkal Kelu Nayanar (Prithviraj) swears revenge and is supported by his childhood Muslim buddy Vavvali (Prabhu Deva) as they set out on their mission. Kelu and Vavvali join the service of Chirakkal Thampuran (probably a Naduvazhi and not a king) and along with the fearless Arakkal Ayesha (Genelia D'Souza), they attempt to create a force to attack the Portuguese.

The action in the palace of Chirakkal Thampuran provides a slice of the politics of the period; the Thampuran does not want to remain subservient to the foreigners but he has to contend with the likes of the ambitious Chirakkal Prince and his scheming adviser Chenichery Kurup who have different agendas. Jagathy as Chenichery Kurup offers a lesson in understatement but over achievement as a conniving effeminate Brihannala-character who is clearly smarter than the king but is forced to play out his ambitions through the meek Prince. Amol Gupte as Chirakkal Thampuran enjoys the regal powers and believes that he has a mind of his own but when the true realization dawns, it is too late. It would have been tempting for both these characters to go overboard but they tread carefully with marvellous restraint.

The promos of Urumi suggest a theme of vendetta – The boy who wanted to kill Vasco Da Gama. Revenge is a dish best served cold and so Kelu waits for 22 long years for Vasco to return to Kerala so that he could avenge his father's murder. His Urumi is made from the ornaments of dead women and children who were burnt alive in a ship that was going to Mecca, under Gamma’s orders (a nod to Shakuni’s dice in Mahabharata!).

However, the movie slowly carves out a nationalistic path for itself involving multiple characters to give it a pan-Kerala theme and a secular appeal by showing inter-religious love. In Sivan’s words – History is written by the victors, the powerful who won. So was Da Gama a brave explorer or a invader after gold? The film is about a failed rebellion against the Portuguese that happened in the 15th century. So, an assassination plot by a young boy is eventually re-invented as a patriotic theme where Muslims, Christians and Hindus all combine to attempt to overthrow the Portuguese yoke. But at the end of it all, we do not know what happens in the battle, except ofcourse that Kelu achieves his goal. 

Sivan wants to make a Pazhassi Raja out of Kelu but despite its dramatic tone and fantastic concept, the movie is quite self-conscious and not very engaging. The presence of the hunk Kelu is almost distracting; he is not much of a leader and is more at ease exhibiting his fighting prowess and draws more attention to himself than he would ideally want to. The action scenes are primarily choreographed in slow motion which unfortunately does not create the tempo that they deserve. They look like post cards with bright photos than battle-scarred scenes that they could have been. The songs stick out like sore thumbs and the movie needed crisp editing to reduce its rather long duration of three hours.

Prabhu Deva serves as an earthy, pragmatic and smart character and the writer gives him the best lines but the script does not demand much from the female characters. Ayesha of Arakkal is a warrior princess and  Genelia puts in effort to shed her sweet image and attempt daredevil stunts, playing a mercenary. Gladly the director does not attempt to define her marital status wrt Kelu even though the relationship is clear; this is partly aided by the fact that marriage as an institution was not so sanctimonious those days in Kerala.

Nithya Menon's role is only to partner Prabhu Deva; she is well-endowed, entertains and has her moments but has nothing else to do. Vidya Balan is supposed to be a Bhagavati in the temple who guides the hero but a song and dance which attempts titillation is the best that she is offered. It does not help that the Malayalam dubbing for the characters is out of sync, making us cringe at the paucity of Malayalam speaking actresses.

For a movie that looks at exploring the lives of the people of a definite era, Urumi does not dwell much into the social, economic and religious life of the age – these could help in understanding the nature of the struggle better. Considering the fact that the concept of a nation was not very clearly ingrained then, it is not entirely clear on what drew the poor into the struggle. I assume that both the Naduvazhis and the Portuguese suppressed them and so the nationalist feelings would be difficult to comprehend. Religious conflicts were probably not so acute but the presence of Muslims (Arakkal) and Christians (Local Syrian Christians vs Portuguese Roman Catholics) suggest that the lines were being drawn for larger conflicts.

Urumi is an attempt at historical fiction; so the writer moves out of the confines of historical accuracy and stretches his imagination to soar along with Sivan’s camera. It allows him to develop Gamma's son's character, play around with the role of native chieftains in the struggle and even make a one-man fictional odyssey into a mini-war of Independence. It has limitless possibilities of re-interpretation of facts but he isn't interested in history and is happier to let Kelu guide the story rather than be a part of a larger chain of events (of course, it is the director's prerogative to show us what he wants to tell but I'd love to see more on the trade conflicts and political rivalry on the ground).

While the visuals work overtime to take you to 15^th century Kerala, the plot does not get you a feel of the palace intrigues of a bygone era. There is treachery and intrigue but they lurk at the background and every time you expect the script to kick off, it moves languorously focusing on Kelu and Vavaali’s antics. There are times when you are compelled to be tuned into the intrigue behind this fascinating premise called Urumi (it remains a premise) but when the camera lingers along for a longer time and asks you to keep staring at the visuals, you know where Sivan’s loyalties lie.

I guess that when you go to a Santosh Sivan movie, you know that the optics takes over everything else; in that sense, he is influenced by Mani Ratnam's last few movies. The fact that the concept of a historical germinated during the making of Raavanan adds to that style. So you have great locations, authentic costumes (though I am not sure of the genuine nature of the sub-cast), sweeping visuals which demand attention and awe, magnificent sound recording, apt songs which unfortunately only ebb the flow of the movie and a hype which brings in expectations that are never fully met.

Urumi is commendable considering the complexity and ambitious scale involved in marrying history and fiction but I fancy Sivan will be more at home weaving fantasies than probing history...

***Portuguese officers speaking in their language gave it an authentic ring but why were the sub-titles in English only? Hope the print had both English and Malayalam sub-titles when it was released in Kerala.

In Pursuit of Poonam Pandey

Is she a model? A super woman? India’s National Asset? Gary Kirsten’s secret weapon? Friends, please put your hands together (clap, you idiot) and welcome the most popular Pandey in India today – who’s more popular than the likes of Mangal Pandey, Chunkey Pandey and Chulbul Pandey put together.

The moment Dhoni slammed a six to clinch the trophy, frantic efforts have been made to trace India’s secret damsel weapon who won the team the Cup for them. All news channels have sent out teams to hunt for Ms Poonam Pandey who has enthralled the patriotic Indian public by claiming to go Full Monty on winning the trophy.

We decided to do our own investigation and snoop around for the various people involved in the manhunt. When BCCI was contacted regarding Poonam’s intent to go nude if permitted, Vice-President K Srinivasan refused to comment citing personal conflict of interest but agreed that Lalit Modi was to blame for this mess. Meanwhile, erstwhile IPL Chairman Lalit Modi tweeted that a he had signed a contract with Set Max giving the channel full rights to broadcast the Poonam night. However, the ICC president cum Agriculture Minister cum sugar baron cum real estate baron Sharad Pawar said that equal opportunity sealed tenders would be called to stage the Poonam night and the highest bidder would be given the rights in case India Cements opts out of the race.

The IB has indicated that Interpol has been alerted to locate Poonam; the bright sleuths have confirmed that they have intensified their search on Facebook, Twitter, Google and intelligence partner Wikipedia to locate her. There was a suspicion that the Pakistanis had kidnapped her as an exchange offer for Kashmir but since the source of this news was Times Now, this angle was dropped. The Home Minister has opined that she may have been kidnapped by Maoists and said that since this is a matter regarding internal security, the army would start a search operation in this regard; typically the Defence Minister A K Antony’s opinion was not sought.

The Finance Minister opined that the Poonam night was a taxable event and 35% fun tax should be paid to the tax exchequer, once she is found. Immediately, BJP’s Chief Sting Officer Arun Jaitley questioned the Government’s intentions  to impose this fun tax in these inflationary times; he said that the law was not very clear on the actual definition of fun and that as and when there is a quorum in the House, this point should be discussed. The PM refused to be drawn into this discussion and said that keeping in light the CVC controversy, until all the facts are presented to him, he will not venture any opinion – this surprised bloggers who were ready to swear by the PMs lack of opinion on every issue.

Most Congressmen were unable to take any decision and looked to 10 Janpath to decide on the party strategy but Sonia Madam was too busy celebrating the Indian Victory to respond. The Frog, sorry, Crown Prince Rahul Gandhi was seen checking the Tata Yellow Pages for her address to spend a night with her and understand the problems of the youth better. Congress spokesman Manish Tewari immediately released a statement saying that the Government should consider declaring Poonam’s assets as national monuments to protect them from the likes of communal forces like Narendra Modi. This spurred the BJP to launch a Poonam Yathra to counter the Govt propaganda but this was cancelled at the last minute stating traffic constraints in Mumbai (insiders claim that this was abandoned due to differences in opinion between Perpetual PM In Waiting Advani and the RSS but this info could not be verified). 

All main Indian channels carried exclusive stories of a Wikileak emanating from Wikipedia which said that Poonam was photographed bathing in a canal in Venice, raising speculation of an Italian hand to this entire conspiracy. The BJP immediately demanded Sonia Gandhi’s resignation saying that Poonam was part of the Bofors kickback offered through Quattrocchi. However, reading the fine print of Wikipedia suggested that Poonam may have been part of the entourage of models who had entertained Italian Prime Minister Berlusconi, thus explaining the Italian sojourn. This led to the BJP immediately retracting from their official media recorded statement claiming that they were misquoted by the press. Silvio laughed off the accusation that he was too old to be involved in such amorous escapades but the ever forgiving Italian public was nevertheless impressed by his latest strategic foreign policy thrust.

Times Now claimed to have found a copy of the World Cup Winning Dossier created by honorary Indian citizen, Gary Kirsten with the help of unemployed IIM grads, lying in its Mumbai office. The document typed in Comic Sans Font size 12 is named as Operation Poonam Reloaded and provided incriminating evidence of the underhand (leg) means used by the team to reclaim the Cup which traditionally belonged to the Indian team but had been lent to the Aussie team on a long term lease. While the details of the report were never published, sources close to Arnab Goswami claim that it contained the minutes of the meetings of the Indian Think Tank listing the various positions that Poonam was identified to play to ensure that we won the Cup.

NDTV also indicated that they had carried out a sting on the Tatas which indicated that Ratan Tata, in cahoots with Niira Radia, may have used Poonam as bait to bring about changes in the 4G policy and buy spectrum. While no one has any idea what 4G stands for, it was universally agreed that Poonam is definitely more valuable than spectrum and the phone scripts must be exposed. While this was being debated, CNN-IBN published a photo of Barkha Dutt sharing a drink with somebody who mysteriously looked like Poonam; this was vehemently denied but the spectrum story died a sudden death immediately after this expose.

Leading feminists in India led by animal lover Celina Jaitley held a candle light demonstration in broad daylight asking to bring Poonam back home since she represented the true Indian woman, who was willing to sacrifice everything for the love of her country. However, peace loving groups like Ram Sena and Shiv Sena have demanded that Poonam be banned from entering the country since she was an insult to Indian women. The progressive MNS party however took a step further and mentioned that as a Bihari, she should also no longer be allowed to step into their sacred Maratha land.

India’s Human Rights Activists led by the redoubtable Arundhati Roy demanded that Poonam must be given full protection and the Right to Strip be made a fundamental right since there was the truest form of self-expression. Since there was a long list of groups in queue whose sentiments had been hurt by Poonam’s actions, the Government constituted a panel of self-proclaimed intellectuals which included among those Aamir Khan, Chetan Bhagat and Subramanian Swamy, to understand the true impact of this loss of sentiments.

India’s Flying Sikh the full-nonsense Sardar Navjot Singh Sidhu responded crisply on TV saying in no uncertain terms - My dear friend, adversity is the true test of one’s character. The camaraderie and bonhomie unleashed by this damsel in distress would go a long way in revitalizing, soothing and elevating the battered spirit of the poor Indian common man, who has long found himself traumatized by the multiplier effect of the hyper galloping inflation, coupled with the double whammy created by the myriad scandals of the populist Indian polity. This was reported the next day exclusively as a major headline by the Times of India followed by a detailed 24 hr panel discussion chaired on Times Now by Arnab Goswami to understand what the Sardar said.

Madhur Bhandarkar has said that he plans to direct a movie called CRICKET-The expose which would expose the soft,dark underbelly of the dealings between cricketers, models and bookies and everyone else watching the movie. There would be an item number Poonam Ki Jawani with guest appearance by the subject herself; this story has miffed Katrina Kaif who plans to sue Bhandarkar for violating her copyright on jawani. Reports say that Mallika Sherawat has been approached to play the leading character; rumours abound that she may turn down the role because she is busy laying good word for her Oscar winning performance in the movie HISS. Large hearted Pakistani cricketers were also roped in to give the movie a realistic feel but everyday infighting among the players has delayed the shooting schedule.

Not to be left out, renowned Malayalam filmmaker Paambu Vasu who has directed avante garde classics like Yavanam Oru Shaapam, Avalude Thazhvarathinte Thanalil and Nabhikalkkappuram  announced that his new movie Pournami Raathrikal will be loosely based on Poonam's struggles in life. However, the movie has run into repeated hartals across the state for unknown reasons; senior hartal analyst Fijin Baby, writing in the national daily Manjadi, believes that the protests may have been triggered by Shakeela Chechi's fans upset at director Priyadarshan's reported attempt to remake her mega hit movie Kinnara Thumbikal with Akshay Kumar in double role to fill screen space.

Latest update – India’s Opposition has dismissed the existence of Poonam Pandey dubbing the entire plan as Poonamgate and has claimed that no such woman exists and this was a strategy by the Congress to deflect attention from the various scams plaguing the government. Pranab Mukherjee has said that that a PAC would look into this while the Opposition has demanded a JPC investigation but eventually all main parties walked out of the House.  In the midst of this entire conundrum, the Common Male waits with bated breath and a clenched fist...

In an unrelated story, the Malayalam newspaper Matrubhumi Malayala Manorama ran a front page cover story suggesting that the fact that there was a place called Dhoni in Palakkad indicated that Dhoni had his roots in Kerala; the report by local correspondent Minnal Babu proudly claimed to have identified the hotel where Dhoni’s parents had spent time during their honeymoon, thus firmly establishing his Kerala connection and giving the State something to cheer about in the midst of the election season and Sreesanth's sparkling bowling display in the World Cup. This story also sparked off huge celebrations leading to the Kerala State Beverage Corporation meeting its annual sales target within 2 days..

The World Cup Returns Home

April 2^nd 2011, Mumbai – a piece of Indian cricketing history that will be cherished for years to come. Many of us have heard our parents talk about the 1983 World Cup triumph where Kapil Dev’s Dare Devils emerged from nowhere to stake their claims to be World Champions. It is a moment that has been talked about on every occasion and many of us wondered whether we can witness such a moment again. Now, finally, my generation has a World Cup memory of our own to boot about and the Men in Blue pulled off a fantastic victory in Mumbai to etch their names permanently in history.

India started off as the pre-tournament favourites but their reputation often preceded them wherever they went. We knew that we were among the top-3 in the tournament but winning was a different ball game – it was a habit that we had not yet acquired. Under Ganguly and now Dhoni, the Men in Blue were emerging out of their shadows but a World Cup victory – surely, you must be joking, we can’t do that but then sometimes, just sometimes dreams also find their way upto God’s conspiratorial schemes.

The Indian batting was the strongest of the lot but we also added the rider ‘on paper’ in hushed terms just as investment products carried a warning at the bottom of the document. In the group stages, we had beaten the minnows handsomely but struggled against England and South Africa. The England match got the fans and experts livid at our thread bare bowling resources – Zaheer was mean and lean but the remaining forty overs were almost like prayers to the Lord to rescue us. HE heard us and we just about survived a Strauss onslaught and came out battered but still undefeated but the South Africa match was a harsh reminder of what was in store for us.

The match against the Proteas was billed as the competition between the best batting and bowling teams in the tournament. Viru, Gambhir and Sachin battered the South African bowling attack and a 350 was in sight until the batsmen committed hara-kiri at the altar of the latest cricketing strategy calling ‘batting powerplay’ (batting powerplays seemed to be more like millstones around the neck of batting captains). The batsmen stumbled but bowlers and fielders dished out strong performance till the ultimate over from Nehra where 13 runs were conceded with ease. The shoulders drooped again, the critics drew their daggers out, the experts smirked at our capabilities while the whimsical Indian cricket fan started writing elegies and expecting the worst. The team then beat the ragtag Windies team which seemed just a shade better than the minnows but still a victory was still a victory.

The Quarter finals finally arrived after weeks of surprisingly robust 50 over games which drew crowds in decent numbers. For the first time in more than two decades, India was tipped to be the favourites to beat the Aussies. The Aussies looked like aging patriarchs playing from memory; with no McGrath, Warne, Hayden or Gilchrist, the team was at cross roads, almost akin to their predecessors in the early 80s. The experts said that this was the best time to beat them, they had no great match practice and looked jaded against the Pakis.

At Ahmedabad, there was drama of course when the great man Ponting worked his way to a fantastic century finally getting out to a reverse sweep (a shot which nobody had probably ever seen Ponting play); the champ was down but not yet out and he had preserved his fighting spirit for the tough games. The Indian batsmen started well, wobbled a bit, almost made heavy weather of the chase but thanks to Yuvaraj and Raina, they pulled off a tense but convincing victory. The cricketing Gods had finally said good bye to the once most powerful cricketing team on the planet and the World Cup awaited a new prince to be crowned.

The semi-final against Pakistan was arguably the most hyped spectacle in recent media history and office goers were glad to give their regular jobs a miss to be a part of history (?). It wasn’t a great cricketing match by any standards but if the team needed to play the toughest, most stressful match before the finals, this was it. Dhoni surprised everyone by replacing Ashwin with Nehra on a pitch that did not do much for seamers but Nehra pulled off a fantastic performance. Sachin played a rather forgettable blemished innings but still took home the Man of the Match. The batting almost collapsed till Raina played another small cameo to give the team a fighting total. The Pak team started well but they played into the pressure and were outclassed; the golden oldies Misbah and Younis strangely seemed to be playing in a game which had no bearing with the current one. Despite the odd flourish here and there, it was a comfortable win and India’s WC record of no losses against Pak remained intact.

The final opponents were the wonderful Sri Lankans led by the aristocratic, Oscar Wilde quoting captain, Kumar Sangakkara. The team had an excellent opening pair, an untested middle order and had the 3 feared Ms in their bowling lineup – Malinga, Murali and Mendis. Strangely, Mendis was rested for the finals and there were 3-4 new blokes all thrust into the finals of the World Cup. They were expected to play South Africa for a slot in the final but thanks to the Protean tendency for suicide, they had an easier outing into the final. It was an all Asian final and touted to be the closing finale for two legends of the game to bow out in glory.

The Men in Blue were striking all the right notes – the bowling was peaking when it mattered and the batsmen were doing well, though not necessarily doing full justice to their reputation. Yuvaraj’s excellent overall performance had strengthened the team immensely; Sachin was among the leading run getters of the WC and Zaheer Khan led the bowling figures. The fielding was a class apart from its normal abysmal standards and the presence of Kohli, Raina and Yuvaraj were saving close to 20 runs in every game.

The finals took off on a cautionary note with a dream first spell by Zak and a decent enough one by Sreesanth (another gambit by Dhoni). The Indian bowlers played all the right notes and a total within 250 seemed in sight until some swashbuckling hitting in the end overs of Zak took SL to an imposing total of 274 – a total never before chased in a World Cup final. Mahela Jayawardene played a silken, cultured, crafty knock full of touches and nudges, with no hint of any form of violence against the leather – it was a knock that was possibly destined to take the Lankans to the trophy except ofcourse it turned out to be unfortunately a piece of cricketing trivia as the only team to have lost despite scoring a century in the WC finals.

When Malinga polished the two stalwart Indian openers, the nation let out a collective gasp; had the Men in Blue flattered to deceive again? But two young men decided to attempt to change the script – young Gambhir and Kohli (he was born in the post-83 era) stuck to the crease, played with a cause and took the attack to the opposition but with no attempts at flamboyance. The fairy tale ended when Dilshan pulled off an excellent catch to dismiss Kohli and in walked the captain Dhoni (to everyone’s surprise). The captain was in no great form but he wanted to make a point to both himself and the world and he decided to take the attack to the opposition – a bold move which eventually won him laurels and us the game. They played Murali and Malinga with due respect, went after the others and the ploy worked – eventually, when Gambhir got out for a fighting 97, we were standing at the threshold of a famous victory. The batting powerplays and Malinga came to play but today they were ordained to win and they cruised at the end with Dhoni finishing off the match with a memorable six over long off.  

28 years is a long wait and the triumph is sweet and almost surreal. Ganguly had initiated the transformation but could not take it through to the final stage; Dhoni was the man destined to do the honours. He took risks, stuck to his instincts against all conventional logic and when the big moment arrived, he took the battle to the opposition. Even when the battle was won, he almost looked confused, unsure how to react and remained at the background in a rather understated way but few would doubt that he is the best ever Indian captain (a job arguably more demanding than the one Manmohan Singh has). My memories of Gary Kirsten at the crease were of a boring, unattractive work machine but the soft, unassuming coach returns to his family definitely a contented and a much admired man in India.  

The Men in Blue played for the nation and the Little Master – the man whom my generation has been privileged to watch right from his teens to where he is now. Virat Kohli expressed this sentiment beautifully when he said – Sachin has carried the burden of the nation for 21 years. It's time we carried him on our shoulders.

Thank you Sachin, Dhoni, Gary and the Men in Blue – the images well remain etched in our memories for a really long, long time. On a more sober note, two weeks back , Dhoni's boys were pilloried for being chokers and now they are National heroes. Such is life and its glorious uncertainties - when the going in on your side, the nation is rooting for you but when you are down in the dumps, they want to smell your blood. I'm sure Dhoni understands this feeling just too well...

Discovering My Mother Tongue

Last week as I waited at the airport with a  copy of Madhavikutty’s Balyakala Smarnakal, it almost seemed to surprise a few that someone was reading a non-English book – acceptable at railway stations maybe but at airports, was it culturally out of place? It is kind of unfashionable to strut around with a vernacular language book when even writers like Salman Rushdie proclaim that Indian English writers are far superior to writers in Indian languages.

The urban educated Indian is essentially a polyglot; he normally speaks English, his mother tongue and another language, possibly Hindi or the language of the state he is in. But there is some sort of an identity crisis (my favourite subject) with this plethora of languages that he has to indulge in to survive. Thinking in a language, speaking in one formally, another informally and struggling in some others makes it a bit of a jamboree.

At the age of three, I moved to Hyderabad moving away from the rural idleness of my village in Elappully to a small, conservative urban city unspoilt by the denizens of the IT world. We quickly learnt to use English as our primary language and the mother tongue was slowly getting eroded; the only usage was at home and when we visited Palakkad during our summer vacations in May. Honestly, language did not mean anything to us at that time and we were comfortable ranting in English and Hindi; cultural identities come to the fore much later when you grow up and try to identify yourself with a group or a community.

Mutashi taught us to read the Malayalam alphabet in our early teens; I remember it was a small little book called ‘Learn Malayalam in 30 days’. Luckily, the lessons stuck for some time as I looked at cinema posters, bus routes and magazines but the script may have faded from my mind if not for the cable revolution that swept our lives in the mid-90s.

Tough to imagine there was a world when there was just one TV channel – our good old Doordarshan where the only strains of regional language used to be in the form of the regional movie that would play every Sunday afternoon, after the news for the hearing impaired. The movie shown may have left a lot to be desired but still that was probably the only time when Indians watched other language movies faithfully. Of course those in Palakkad would recollect watching Tamil more on TV because DD-Kodaikanal was clearer than DD-Malayalam.

It was the 1996 Cricket World Cup and we finally welcomed cable TV into our lives. The World Cup went but along with it, it also brought Asianet into our lives- our first glimpse of Malayalam viewing outside Kerala. Suddenly, there was a quantum leap in our exposure to Malayalam with a host of TV serials and movies occupying our drawing rooms and ensuring that the diaspora could now live outside the state but still be tuned to it. Cinema and literature are the most popular forms of expression of language and so would you be surprised by the changes that a vernacular TV channel brought into one’s lives?

Mohan Lal, Mammootty and Yesudas were undoubtedly the icons who now connected us to our language. But I recollect that the person who caused me to be enthralled with cinema and especially Malayalam cinema was Sibi Malayil. Imagine as a first time viewer, when you are exposed to Bharatham, Kireedam, Sadayam, Thaniya Varthanam, Dasharatham and His Highness Abdullah in less than a span of a month – intense, powerful language of cinema which hooked me to the medium. Of course there were also many others like Padmarajan, Hariharan, Bharathan, Sathyan Anthikkad, MT etc. who slowly but surely converted me into a Keralophile.

It helped that as an engineering student in Coimbatore, there were so many students from Kerala and so the language blossomed and it eventually replaced Hindi as my second language of communication. Regular trips down South ensured that there was a more constant flow of the language from more quarters and not parents alone (Funnily, my interaction with Achchan and Prashant veered towards more English at the same time) ensuring that despite being in Bombay, I could still breathe the language.

Our marriage increased the Malayalam quotient in my language tremendously (interacting in Malayalam on the phone with her for the 9 month period between fixing the marriage and the marriage was a challenge to my language skills but I survived!!!) but I still had not breached the literature frontier. I had earlier tried reading English translations of Malayalam novels – The Demon Seed (Asuravithu), The Legends of Khasak (Khasakkinte Itihasam), Kesavan’s Lamentations (Kesavante Vilapangal) but to be honest, I think it was more of a deliberate attempt to relate to one’s culture and not the literature. Translations are important but when you are well aware of the milieu and the culture, they can be jarring and out of place. When you anglicize the Nair tharavadu, the visual appeal falls flat, especially for someone who understands the backdrop and the language of the place.

Two works of art suddenly pushed me into attempting to read Malayalam – reading Basheer’s The Walls and watching Renjith’s Pranchiyettan and the Saint. The simplicity of The Walls was spell binding and as I imagined Mammootty speaking in the film as I read, I wondered whether I was missing out on the beauty of the original language by shying away from reading it in its original form. The thought lingered within me; at the same time, we watched Pranchiyettan and I loved the dripping humour in the script, which would have worked only in its original language and Trichur dialect and translation could never have done justice to it.

And so after due consultation, I ordered a few Malayalam books online, primarily by MT and Basheer and a set of short stories by Padmarajan. My maiden attempt was Aparan by Padmarajan and it was a total failure - the 3 page long story took an incredibly long amount of time and for all that effort, I was not even able to fathom half of what I read. I guess I was jumping the gun, so I stepped back and approached Basheer's Mathilukal, a far more easier but nevertheless enriching exercise. The starting trouble had been overcome even if the pace was quite slack.

Short stories and novellas by MT and Basheer (strongly recommended to first timers to try Basheer and never O V Vijayan initially) followed till I finally had the confidence to read a full-fledged novel, MTs Naalukettu – a look at the changing (crumbling) world of the matriarchal Nair tharavadu. Of course, wifey dear is there to constantly help me in understanding the language and helping whenever I am stuck – you need someone to help out frequently at least initially.

There are a few more books now adorned on my shelf waiting to be read as I alternate between English and Malayalam. It is a nice little pleasure to suddenly discover one’s own language and make up for years of neglect of the same. But it is not an easy experience – you need patience to waft through the material word by word, the reading pace is pretty slow, the language bounces above the head on many an occasion and you need help when you are stuck but it is an enriching feeling nevertheless.

Books are fairly affordable in Kerala and you get translations of several unknown Latican American and African writers in small bookshops (Is there any surprise that someone like Marquez is so popular in Kerala?). A book in Malayalam which costs about Rs 100 costs about 300+ in its English translation. In Bombay and most cities, there are big air-conditioned bookstores, where you can browse books and buy videos, have coffee and spend ample time practically buying nothing; the books here sell at prices five to six times what a book in Kerala costs.

It is important that you should value your mother tongue but I don’t want to sound parochial and say down with the others. Let’s not blame anyone and insist that parents and relatives must speak in their language only so that the language does not perish; after all, the primary motive of a language is to communicate so you cannot insist on speaking a language at the cost of clarity of thought. Practically, an English medium education puts us at an advantage and it would be foolish to discard the advantage that it bestows in our work lives but equally, it would be wonderful if we do not neglect our languages.

I find a more cultural binding with my language rather than with my religion; it would be a pity if I had to sacrifice it for the sake of convenience. It helps in deriving some sort of an identity for an urban Indian who struggles to find his roots as he is displaced from what he calls his own..

Arjunan Sakshi

Ranjith Sankar’s ‘Passenger’ dealt with a common man’s reaction to a problem and how his ability to react can make a difference; ‘Arjunan Sakshi’ takes off on a similar tangent but Ranjith is slightly more ambitious here. He puts the common man protagonist in a situation where he is forced to react and not remain a mere sakshi to the issues being faced. The canvas is broader but the approach unfortunately skids on a slightly  simplistic and predictable plane, grounding my expectations fuelled by Ranjith’s debut.

'Arjunan Sakshi' starts off with an anonymous letter which arrives at Mathrubhumi office from somebody called Arjunan, who claims that he is witness to the murder of Feroz Mooppan (Mukesh), the former Kochi Collector. Anjali Menon (Ann Augustine), the journalist who publishes the letter is threatened by unknown people to reveal Arjunan's identity while Roy Mathew (Prithviraj), an enterprising architect who lands in Kochi to join a real estate firm, is mistaken for Arjunan and gets sucked into the plot unwittingly.

The conceptual premise is promising – he is a man who is mistaken to be a witness to high profile crime and has to bear the brunt of the antagonists. He lands himself in a piquant situation and is shoved to a corner but instead of being a mere witness, he decides to fight back. The backdrop of an urban congested Kochi plagued by a weak administration, crony capitalism and ‘ready to crawl when asked to bend’ press gives the movie a realistic feel.

Ranjith has the right intentions and the film makes a bright start but is handicapped by the execution not matching the concept. While the story builds up and creates tension with alacrity, it slowly loses its grip on the plot and so situations become convenient to tighten the loose strings in the plot. To give credit to Ranjith, he does not give Roy any heroic aura and allows him to take wrong steps but the path seems simple enough, without too many speed breakers.

The Feroz Mooppan case remains unresolved despite attempts by both the local police and the CBI. The fact that a common man with no connections in a city is able to track and identify the killers makes it such a mundane thing that you’d wonder why the police or even the CBI were unable to crack the case. Let us assume that this is primarily because of the high profile of the people involved in the case but till Roy attempts his own investigation, we have no idea of the suspects in the case.

If there was a governmental culpability in mishandling the case, we are not told about it. And if this was the case, it does not hinder Roy’s investigations in any way and he proceeds with his snooping without facing any trouble from anyone. The cops sympathize with the predicament that Roy finds himself in but are not willing to help without sufficient leads to work on, however is the sympathy genuine? We are not too sure about this; the moral ambiguity in their actions helps in adding greater intrigue but at the same time, it makes one wonder whether the attitude of the cops towards Roy is driven by their exasperation with such fly-by-night TRP-driven stories or their intention to let sleeping dogs lie.

A particular media channel picks up the story of the attack on Roy and the news quickly flashes on the identity of Arjunan. But after the initial hue and cry, the media goes totally silent and despite multiple attacks on his life and the death of the Collector’s father, the media is strangely absent. The Police Commissioner says that since the story is no longer fresh, the media is least bothered about following up on the story but do we sense that sufficient time has progressed for the media to junk the story? No, we don’t; instead it comes across just as a tool that the director uses to hammer the media for what they are worth.

Initially, Roy is hounded by his opponents and attacked on a couple of occasions and he realizes that taking his story to the media could protect him but just as mysteriously as the subsequent lack of media glare, the attacks also cease giving him sufficient breathing space to conduct his investigation independently. The screenplay seems to create these triggers as and when there is a need to build in momentum in the plot than follow a more logical flow of events.

Roy Mathew is a young flashy architect who has studied in Mumbai and worked extensively out of Kerala and his only sojourns to the state are a few weekly trips which are pretty rare. Maybe I am wrong but I strongly suspect that Roy’s language hardly shows him as an expatriate in that sense. He’s blissfully comfortable in the language and the culture of the place, though the director drops in a few hints at his unease. Wouldn’t the character worked equally well if he were a home grown guy who returns to his state after a few years? Maybe an outsider brings in a fresh perspective to things; he does not accept the things they are and questions them.

Thankfully, the director steers himself of any romantic angles in the plot and sticks to the direction of the plot faithfully till the very end. Such an approach works well in case of thrillers which work at break neck speed but to that extent, the movie has a more leisurely pace. Roy is in serious trouble but is he a loner? Do we know anything about his family and friends- wouldn’t either of these two blocks be his main rallying points in such an emergency situation?

We come to know that the Kochi Metro Rail passes through important hubs in the city and the murder of Feroze Moppan is connected to the builders who are unwilling to give up government encroached land. The issue is highly debated in the media, the plan layouts are available in newspapers and it does not require an investigation by Roy to suspect who the conspirators are. It is clear that some of these malls have come up illegally on government land but clearly, they cannot come up one fine day without governmental clearances – but the role of the State is not questioned, except for a couple of token dialogues. It would be interesting to know what would be the government response in case the encroachers were poor people with no housing facilities and not big malls.

‘Arjunan Sakshi’ makes its point about incompetent governments, public apathy and developmental conflicts and does not get too preachy but largely remains a murder plot waiting to be resolved by th hero. Ranjith wants us to break out our comfort zones of family and comfort, look at the real world outside and make a difference but as we leave the theatres, I strongly suspect that it falls short of making us do that.

*** The Kochi Metro Rail forms the crux of the issue here and Ranjith endorses the idea of a metro rail in Kochi whole heartedly but I assume that the Metro Rail here is a mere symbol of the development that the state needs because it is a moot question whether an expensive option like a metro rail is a preferred option to a cheaper and probably better alternative like BRTS in smaller towns that carry a lesser load than the main metros. Our one size fits all solutions for development needs more thinking...

The Communication Journey

When Mark Zuckerberg created an application called Facebook, it was another application that changed the way people communicated with each other. Friends were “connections” and simply clicking on a ‘Like’ button said so much more than what realms of words could say. As a budding 30 year old who has learned to accept Facebook as yet another necessary evil, I feel sometimes so overwhelmed by the changes that have taken place in our interactions. We were part of the transitionary generation that saw how modern communication changed so drastically.

The 80s kid was not so different from his earlier generations when it came to communication. The poor inland letter and post card still swayed heavily in our lives; there was practically no other way that people communicated with each other and so secretaries were still relevant at that time. The ubiquitous red shining post box and the messenger – the genial postmen – were revered objects in any household. You were careful to tip him lest he decided not to give us our letters (I remember a serial in Doordarshan which was about a postman who dies one day and his son realizes that there are hundreds of unposted letters that his father had left; he decides to be a nice man and posts the backlog of years, resulting in difficult situations..can’t remember the name of the serial).

Letter writing was an important part of all language classes – 20 marks in the Class X exam – and I remember students were always unsure whether the From Address needed to be written to the right of left and where the subject of the letter had to be written. Inland letters at 1 Re each were widely used but post cards were dirt cheap and typically the poor man's favoured choice. They became hugely popular thanks to Siddharth Kak's 'Surabhi'. The huge popularity of the programme lead to the Government introducing competition post cards and increasing their price.

While letters and post cards were friendly stuff, telegrams were the spooky ones. Normally telegrams were associated only with deaths and bad news; I guess bad news always travelled much faster. Since the pricing of a telegram was based on the number of words used, we would often argue on what to be put in a telegram. I have a slightly happier memory of the telegram; my class X exam result was sent to me by Achchan by telegram while we were enjoying our summer vacations in Palakkad.

We never had a telephone in those days and the STD booths which dotted the surface of India were the only way to call up people. Since people rarely had telephones then, the STD booth only served to make phone calls to offices and schools. The phone booth was a brain wave of Sam Pitroda and played in important role in connecting rural India to the rest of the world.

When I joined my engineering college in Coimbatore, we realized that the phone had become a necessity. During initial days of the college, I would call up our neighbour’s house in Hyderabad at night and they would call my parents who would promptly wait there till I made a phone call again. The logistical difficulty and embarrassment of this situation was overcome then by finally applying for and getting a landline phone. This was in 1996-97 and by then many houses had land line phones but then we were a bit slowly to catch the consumerism wagon.

Despite the land lines catching up a lot, I continued my romance with writing letters. If I had to write less, I would use an inland letter but I preferred writing in normal A-4 pages and sending them to home through postal cover, duly stamped based on the weight of the cover. We were a strongly democratic family and I enjoyed pouring my words on those A-4 sheets and Achchan/brother and I would discuss everything under the sun in all seriousness. Every time we returned to the Boys Hostel from college, we would search for our names on the Notice board to see if we had any letters. The hostel warden would then hand over the letters to us; of course, there was a suspicion that the wardens opened letters that they suspected were from girls and then closed them back (I have no idea how they would figure the gender of the writer of the letter)!!!

Making phone calls from college was also a tedious job; there was a public booth and boys and girls would crowd the place by 8.30 pm (the night rates were probably half the day ones) and it would be almost an hour by the time the entire exercise of making the phone call was completed. The bills would always be high in the absence of an electronic meter and a couple of rupees here and then still pinched. Of course, the phone booth had also become a meeting point for throbbing hearts and so the college started separate booths for boys and girls!!! The telephone book was an important piece of stationary those days where everyone’s names would be arranged alphabetically and we always remembered the numbers of the names that were frequently used.

The first time I saw a mobile was during the days of TECHWAVES – a symposium conducted by our department Production Engineering in college. I think it was in Sreeprabhu’s hands that I saw a mobile. The rates were close to 16 Rs/minute and that too for incoming; you would be a fool to even think of buying a mobile then. The pager had come and gone and it was a device that was consigned to the footnotes of technology pretty fast.

It was in my first or second year that I created my first email ID. Vivek helped me in creating a Rediff email ID and taught me how to use it except ofcourse I did not have anyone to mail to. Browsing the internet was still a premium activity and not so easy; we were told that using Internet we could search for a lot of stuff but I am not sure it meant anything much. Our antennas were more receptive to the use of Internet when we were told by net savvy guys that the net was the best place to search for porn and the only website that we knew was Google – the world that showed everything that you ever wanted to see and know (even what you didn’t want to know, actually).

During MBA days, most students had a mobile but not me as I was a day scholar. My brother had a bulky Nokia mobile but it was still out of bounds then. My first mobile came through my first salary and even then it came of a necessity of being in touch with family since I was in Mumbai and they were in Hyderabad. A bright, shining Nokia handset with a decent prepaid charge of about Rs 500 which was used primarily for receiving calls and making missed calls (It is interesting to note that 25-30% of all calls in India are missed calls according to a telecom survey done 2-3 years ago).

The phone rates have fallen drastically since then and the mobile is a device that is practically found with everyone even if the primary function may vary from people to people. I am still happy with a mobile that helps me in making and receiving calls and sending messages but with the advent of new phones, basic telephony is probably out of the way. Land line phones in urban Indian homes primarily serve the purpose of acting as Address proof documents but it is still present in most homes and for old people, mobiles are still difficult to handle.

Communication is much easier now and so while the ability to communicate is there, the intent to do so still has to be there but social networks help in masking the lack of intent. Orkut introduced the power of social networking and so suddenly long lost friends came back to our lives. Private lives were much more into the open and interacting was through ‘scrapping’ but looks like Orkut is going the pager way – decimated by the power of Facebook. The whole world’s is one big networking place and everyone who can connect to the network now has a profile.

Simply clicking on a button and messaging people on Facebook has made interaction so easy. People simply put down their private thoughts online and want everyone, including strangers to read them and even respond but honestly, other than your near and dear, why should it matter to anyone else what you to do day in and day out?

Friendships are not formed by connecting or networking with people; the web simply creates a mirage where people sitting on laptops talk to each other and the world because of our craving to be recognized, liked and wanted by more and more people. When we update our status, it is a message to everyone else that you want to be heard. Imagine what would happen if you keep updating your status and not a soul responds—don’t worry, that would not happen..the Facebook edifice may not ever be written..

Image Courtesy - http://www.intoon.com/cartoons.cfm/id/68559

A Twilight Dream

Every few months, we make a trip make to Kerala and the joy of going back to one’s home town has never been diminished despite so many years. After marriage, there are two of us now who keep making plans about the trip and despite the difficulty of getting our tickets, we manage to do it every time, even if it sometimes requires a 32 hour journey (like the trip we made this month).

In the midst of all the bonhomie of going back to one’s roots, there is a strong disconcerting thought that always plagues me. In every trip, we meet people, primarily of the elder generation, who wait for someone to communicate with them once a while. Every household or tharavadu has aging members, who have their medical problems but would still be interested to meet you. They would remember the family to which each of us belongs and go on a tangent about the family history; courtesy prevents us from stopping their flights of fantasy.

Many houses that I visit have grandparents who wait for their near ones to make their annual visit while they spend their time wallowing in front of boring television melodramas or reading the plethora of magazines that dot the Kerala paingili magazine circuit. Usually on the TV stand or the drawing room shelf, I see family smiling photos of their offspring beaming from distant lands – Gulf, US and Bangalore are the hot favourites I encounter regularly.

While the drawing room is in sync with the current generation, the rest of the rooms are more or less a reflection of the older times. The old grandfather clock still ticks in a few houses while the store room has a stock of all those things that I had seen in my childhood but have now made way for modern equipment. There are a few albums with those rare black and white photos that are slowly withering away after years of neglect; but they still hold a value unlike the snaps that adorn my laptop now.

The golden oldies have a similar set of complaints whenever I visit them – failing health, safety concerns, loneliness and very prominently the unavailability of maids to take care of household work. I see sprawling houses and a lonely car parked in front of many of the houses I visit but these are silent houses which break into joy only when kids come in during their school vacations. The outside money has brought in wealth and spending but not reduced the insecurity brought about by living alone.

The inhabitants battle a sense of boredom and live every day waiting for a call; so every marriage, child birth and pooja is a source of entertainment for the people. Regular stories floating around of old people being attacked and robbed when alone has also led to the growth of flats even in a place like Palakkad – something which was unthinkable even a few years back. Many of them have found refuge in God and karma and left things to fate – once upon a time staunch communists cannot seek Marx in times of depression.

The maid problem seems to be a Kerala-specific problem, a developed nation issue where menial labour has few takers. Most houses fund it difficult to hire and subsequently retain maids because it is much more lucrative to do small time Government jobs that pay more. The MGNREGS, with all its issues, is helping in giving better paid employment opportunities in the State but the unlikely fallout seems to be the maid availability issue.

This may sound like a trivial problem when you keep the lofty ideas of socialism in your mind but for many, this is a serious concern. It is compounded by the fact that lack of jobs at a more educated strata have led to a massive migration of people to other places. So, what you have is eventually a set of oldies who have to fend it out all alone, without sufficient support to run the house.

As things stand, the rapid spread of modernization, growing urbanization and crumbling of joint family system have led to an increase in the insecurity and loneliness among the population. We all have faced bouts of loneliness but there was always a future to look forward too but what happens when we touch the autumn of our lives? Will our children be somewhere in the vicinity to be available at our beck and call? This is a truth that will come to haunt all of us one day and I shudder to think of how we will manage this scenario.

Economically, we find ourselves as part of a generation that receives no pension; so what you earn and invest now is our only source of income in the twilight years. With spiraling medical costs and an increasing life span, we are committing ourselves to a substantial medical assistance as time progresses. Remember Aparna Sen’s touching 36 Chowringee Lane where the teacher Violet Stoneham is finally back to her loneliness as the young couple which dotes on her suddenly disappear from her midst. Eventually there will be just the two of us sorting out our old age trivialities and maybe waiting for the final call….

It is such a bitter truth to accept that once we age, we may not be so important at all – there would be the next generation who starts believing that we are impediments in the growth of this country. As I touch 30, I have already started feeling slightly cut-off from the current lot of teenagers who are born and live in a much more connected and consumerist world. Probably aging would start much earlier now and as you touch 40, you may be part of a population that is already past its prime. When companies hire and promote employees practically every year or two, there would come a time when you realize that Nature has caught up with you and maybe it is time to re-utilize your talent in better ways.

Just wonder whether begetting children is something that people do as an investment for their future. We have children thinking that one day when we grow old, there will be someone to take care of us when the legs tire and the body is no longer one's friend. But when the same children do not have time to be at your side, will there be a tinge of regret? I guess its a generation to a generation thing - after a few years, we are more attached to our children than our parents and we realize this when we grow up.

Sometime back, the UN Secretary General Kofi Annan, while referring to the ageing population had observed: Trees grow stronger over the years, river wider and like with the age, human beings gain immeasurable depth and breadth of experience and wisdom. That is why older persons should not only be respected and revered but they should be utilized as the rich resource to society that they are.

Image Courtesy - http://kakkat.blogspot.com/2009/06/ill-lay-still-walk-on-me.html