Showing posts with label city. Show all posts
Showing posts with label city. Show all posts

22.2.14

The road less travelled...'Highway'



I had a profoundly cathartic experience while watching 'Highway'. It was when Veera and Mahabir are in the mountains, and they reach a house and she says, "Yeh tau mera ghar hai, mujhe hamesha se hi aisa ghar chahiye tha (This is my home, one I had been looking for)". It is a dusty, bare house, very different from her plush lifestyle in Delhi where "tameez" is taught and learned by buying silences.

Without getting into details and diverting attention from the film, let me just say that the home, a cavernous retreat, that she swept clean and put food in front of became mine. Next day, sudden gunshots hit Mahabir, and as his eyes meet the sky that seems flanked by trees, there is another purging. An acceptance of things being short-lived.

'Highway' has been called a road movie, but the journey pierces internally. Old maps are brought out, some lines erased, new ones formed.

Veera Tripathi, on the eve of her wedding, asks her fiancé, "Why can't we just run away and go to the mountains?" This is how she is. She wants to breathe free, take risks. For her the fancy wheels are just a means to getting away. She wants to go far, just go on and on...and when they take a U-turn, they are confronted by a group of criminals on the run who had no intention of such a 'meeting'. It is a chance encounter. Her kidnapping begins on an unreal note, and stays that way.

The gang leader, in fact, is angry with Mahabir Bhatti for taking her hostage. This is a criminal niche where they have not ventured. "Tu kutte ki maut marega (You will die like a dog)," he tells Mahabir. The latter's reply is stunning in its simplicity: "Jo kutte ki jindagi ji raha hai usko kutte ki maut hi milegi (one who leads a dog's life will obviously get a dog's death)."

While it is not emphasised, there is a strain of a political class struggle. At one point, not sure about what to do with her, he tells his mate that they should sell her to a brothel. He is not dismissive about it. He gives a reason. As a Gujjar, he vents his anger over how easily the rich abuse the women of the poor, even demanding their wives for pleasure. He wonders at the hypocrisy of gangsters too being concerned about the clout of the rich father of Veera. Yet, he does not abuse his power. He does not sell her. This needs to be seen in the context of her innocence being bought by one she was supposed to trust. Is that why she becomes comfortable in his presence?

Her story does not merge with Mahabir's, but runs parallel. They are not made for each other; they are like raw material that cannot be moulded. Therefore, she laughs in the midst of tears, she asks herself incredulously, "Why am I talking so much?" And she hides when the cops check the truck. She had a chance to find freedom from the criminals. Why did she not? Even Mahabir wants to know.



This is most certainly not about the Stockholm Syndrome. If that were the case, then Mahabir is the one suffering from it. He becomes vulnerable. But this is not about any such syndrome. It is not about being awe-struck or falling in love with your captor. Veera wanted to run away right at the beginning. Her escapism is a thirst to experience, to break free, and also due to insecurities. This is the captivity.

That time when she comes out with "when I was nine" and how her uncle sexually exploited her is not an episode. The retelling is not planned, which is why it is so effective. There are no gory details — the fear, helplessness, anger are all in her face and voice. And his stillness. She is the water, he the rock. The terrain has many of these water-rock scenes as they traverse through six states. Water rising, a spray, a jet, droplets in her palm, moving in circles around the rocks.

Mahabir has two moments of denouement. One when he hums the song his mother sang to him as a child and the other when he peeps into that dusty mountain house and sees Veera transforming it. "Promise me you will go and see your mother after all this is over" she tells him in the first incident. She holds him weeping close to her bosom, like mother to child. In the new home, she snuggles up to him, almost over his chest, like daughter to father.

They are together, but not joined. There is no adhesive. As he tells her on an earlier occasion after she rushes back when he leaves her near the police station, "What will you do with me - marry me, produce babies?" Later, waiting for a bus, she says, "I am not planning to marry or make babies. I just want to go a little further for some more time, knowing that you will take care."

We trust the elements as we climb hills, go into the sea, battle inclement weather. We trust almost everything we grow up with. Here the growth is on the way, a constant movement. In Veera's words, "I don't want to return where I came from. I don't want to reach anywhere. I just want that this road should never end."

Mahabir's death does not end her journey. She not only faces, but confronts the demons. She spits out words in their customised faces. And leaves for the mountains. To work. To live. To be. When she remembers Mahabir, it is of both of them as kids. They had never met then. What she is recalling is the innocence of their relationship, its purity. Like the clear air.

This is not about being a captive. When we feel good or seek out something, somebody. it is essentially the true love we feel about wanting to reclaim ourselves.

© Farzana Versey

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Snapshots

• Alia Bhatt as Veera behaves as nature does. Fire, earth, water by turns.
• Randeep Hooda as Mahabir smiles only once, weeps twice, yet he carries so many emotions in the hardened face.
• Imtiaz Ali has broken all genre rules. His direction is most unobtrusive.
• Anil Mehta's cinematography goes from craggy dark cranies, flithy lanes, godowns, to long stretches of undulating ghats, valleys, deserts, mountains. And he shows silence.
• A.R.Rahman. Quiet music is rare. Still music rarer.

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20.10.13

Sunday ka Funda



Even before reading a word, this photograph completely shook me up. A woman crying in obvious desperation and a few cops sitting on the same bench, but keeping their distance and going about their job without a glance towards her. What more could express her loneliness and helplessness?

Who is she? I still do not know. The caption in Mumbai Mirror says:

"The mother of Prakash Salunkhe, 14, who was killed by a leopard on his way back from school on Friday, breaks down at the hospital after receiving her son's bloodied body"


Her identity is just that of the mother of a bloodied dead body. I look with discomfort at a cop's bright shoes, and the floor that seems to have congealed remnants.

The fact that it is in the newspaper, front page at that, does mean that in the noise of politics and cult figures the story has been covered. Leopard attacks on children in the Aarey Colony area are not uncommon. It is also not fair to dismiss the reaction of the cops based on what has been captured in a second. They were probably paying attention to her earlier, and could be taking down details about her son.

That is not the issue. It is about us. About how callous we have become to things around. There would be many times when we would be sitting like those cops, not too far, from people suffering. And we would do nothing. And, sadly, at that point in time we would be as helpless as this mother. For, somewhere, without trying to justify the looking away, it is true that we don't do anything because we just can't.

6.3.11

Rear Rural


Would you buy a tin of cow fart only because you are missing home? As a city person, I cannot digest (oops) this, but is it really about nostalgia? In Germany, incidentally a country known more for its streamlined technology rather than cattle, the £5 product is a hit. The ad says:

“Simply put your nose to the tin and peel back the lid for the authentic smell of the country”.

My experiences with the countryside have been rather interesting, both in India as well as abroad, although at home we just call them villages. I get all excited about the quiet, the pure air, away from the hub, no traffic, simple people, organic food and after a few days I become restless.

The silence isn’t soothing; it is desultory. A nose that has become accustomed to what may be industrial fumes is assailed with all kinds of ‘natural’ smells that may not be as harmless, especially if they are in unhygienic surroundings. I dislike the hub and stay away from it at home, but when I am in this rural utopia and reach the city I want to jump with joy. And I don’t care much for organic food. In a village on the outskirts of Mumbai I have had the most simple food prepared by a most simple woman that gave me a bad tummy and a bad temper because she was so nice and wanted to know why I did not like doing womanly things.

The barking of dogs, the crowing of cocks and shepherds going “harrrrr” as they sauntered off gave me many a photo-op, and a few smiles, but then I wanted the alarm clock to ring. Besides, for how long can one lovingly watch an insect perched on the hand or stand transfixed before a beehive? Honey, I've got the stuff they do. Really. And the special smells did not register, although I am a ‘nosey’ person.

I admit I am a sniffer and in school would go down on buses to inhale petrol fumes. So, you might well shoot back, who am I to question this innovative bottled wind-breaking idea?

I was not buying the fumes or missing them. If there wasn’t a bus around I wouldn’t go crawling beneath cars. One does not need to think much to figure out that this is merely a new market. As the designer of the ‘Countryside air to go’ project said:

“We hope to make people who miss the countryside happy and remind them of home. We are planning other smells such as horse, straw, pigs and manure. But most people miss the smell of the cows in the country, not really surprising as much of the smell is from cows.”

It is pretty harmless, of course. I wonder what happens when we miss people.

1.3.08

How many miles to Fucking?

There is really such a town in Austria:









So as the forward I got asks…

Are the residents called Fuckers?

What are the mothers called?

What would you be learning at the Fucking High School?

Does the Fucking Hospital help you with anything else?

If your friend came from another town, he wouldn't be your Fucking friend.

And this report is hilarious:










PS: My comment pop-up window is not popping up, so thanks for the comments...will wait for the pop.

13.2.08

Bambai, meri jaan

Will there be trouble in Mumbai? That was the query being asked around. I did not know. I can only recall moments that are trouble-free…

One evening we were trying to find a spot to park near Shanmukhananda Hall where we were attending a Jagjit Singh concert. There just wasn’t any space. Suddenly, out of nowhere, this kid, about 13 years old, appeared and raced ahead guiding us. He made us take a loop, but finally managed to get a slot, held back the cars behind with tact and charm. I realised that I had no change. My cousin said she had chillar. (We had dropped the others who were with us at the entrance to save them the trudge.) He deserved at least ten bucks. She managed to find enough. But the lad protested.

“Bees rupaiya rate hai (The rate is 20 rupees),” he said with complete confidence.

“Rate? Yeh pay-and-park nahin hai…udhar se idhar hi tau laaye ho…(What rate? This isn't a pay-and-park slot, you just brought us from there)...” I said without much conviction.

“Nahin, eik kaam karo…aate time mein de dena…(No, but you can give me the money on your return)...”

“Haan, haan theek hai…(All right)...” I said, feeling a mix of guilt and irritation.

After the show, we were walking to the car and, hoisted at the split level, we heard a voice, “Main idhar hoon.(I am here.)” Ah, he sounded so chirpy at almost 11 pm. How did he keep track of the cars he helped to park? There were other boys – how did they divide their work? It seemed that they had fine-tuned the operation. I began thinking about him… Had he had his meal? Where would he sleep? I told him how congested the place had become and impossible to park.

He said nonchalantly, “Fikar nahin karne ka, apun hai na yeh fit karne ka waastey.(Don't worry, I am here to fit everything)”

I gave him the money.

And like a chivalrous gentleman he opened the door for me.

Do you still want to know why I love Mumbai?

19.7.07

News meeows - 6

A building collapsed in Mumbai. A most touching and helpless moment was when some rescue workers mentioned how they got calls from those trapped beneath the debris. They could do nothing, they said, until the huge blocks of concrete are removed. I dread to think what those people must be thinking, feeling…what a thin line there really is between life and death.

- - -

Having already written my wry views on the ‘green’ issue, it came as no surprise to discover that 15 Whole Foods stores in the New York area were selling $15 cotton bags by Anya Hindmarch, a London designer. She said, “To create awareness you have to create scarcity by producing a limited edition. I hate the idea of making the environment trendy, but you need to make it cool and then it becomes a habit.”

Yeah, so you carry a bag that says “I’m not a plastic bag.”

Go on, wear shoes that say, “I am not leather”, or lipstick marked, “I have not been tested on your favourite pet”, or flaunt a cleavage with a tattoo saying, “I am not silicon.”

If you are not something, then you don’t have to announce it. But who is to tell them?

- - -

In India, more specially the metros and Page 3 circuit, there is this character called Bobby Darling who gets invited to all the hip parties. The reason? He wants to be a she and has been cross-dressing and collecting money for a sex-change operation. She is in the news now for molesting a male model by asking him to strip. Bobby says the guy, Surjit Jagdish Singh, an unknown aspirant wants to use her to get ahead.

Whatever. The entertainment world is murky, especially the high society. What surprises me is that this guy goes around wearing bizarre clothes and behaving like a silly girl and everyone is indulgent towards the sensitive issue of transsexuals. These same people will turn up their noses at the very mention of hijras (eunuchs). Why? Aren’t some of them also trapped in men’s bodies?

I am sure Bobby has had to face social ostracism, but where are those wonderful ladies when it comes to the less fortunate? Or is this one more of their little playthings – call a different person and amuse yourselves?

- - -

Now, this really got my goat. Why? It was the caption. “Foreign students who have come to the country to study Indian culture interact with streetchildren in Bangalore on Wednesday”. Imagine if Indian students, and there are many in the US, went around looking for hoboes and punks and the dregs of American society to study their culture?

20.4.07

News meeows - 3

I should not be commenting on this, for in doing so I am only adding to the media frenzy. But what I saw while switching channels was something that made my stomach turn. A woman reporter of CNN-IBN was doing everything to gatecrash into the Aishwariya-Abhishek wedding site. They showed her talking to security guards, they showed her attempting to go to other buildings; then she was in the middle of the road, and finally she had climbed up a tree. She ended the report by saying how tired she was and the final image was of her drinking water from a bottle while panting a little.

Where were these enthusiastic reporters when 700 hutments were demolished two days ago? I could not even find a report to post here. The only evidence I saw was a picture of the devastated site with a child carrying a fan from the debris. Unfortunately, I cannot locate that picture on the website; it was there in the print version.

Do you know that the CNN-IBN reporter will be considered a great heroine by the staff, by her peers, by all those salivating masses? She risked her life and limb, did she not?

Today’s national newspaper Times of India carried several stories and even a special report. I refuse to put up pictures of what they managed to ‘capture’, although this banner headline in sick pink with its wedding card-like design should give you an idea. I am not sure if there is a deal with Hello! magazine or a foreign channel for exclusive coverage. It is unfair to conjecture.

Whether it is so or not, the Indian media are behaving like beggars. Yes, beggars.

And even those who have shown some propriety are doing so for two reasons. One, they just don’t have the resources. Trust me, I know. Two, they want to pander to the family. Especially film journalists who have otherwise trampled on everyone’s toes to get a scoop have the audacity to talk about “leaving them alone”. This too is simple. They want to be the loyalists, the ones who kept their word. They shall be later rewarded.

Such BS.

I have said this in an earlier blog. This privacy thing is a smart strategy. Either way you win. What was Amar Singh doing on TV telling the world in an exclusive interview about how the valet and chef were given invitation cards because they “mattered”? Why is this information not private? Or is it to tell the world that the Bachchans are so attached to their staff? Bloody hell, the personal valet will be tying the shoe laces and keeping the clothes ready and cooks will be helping in the kitchen. So whether you invite them or not you need them. If all the guests were sent notes asking them not to speak, then who is giving out information about the songs that were sung, the clothes worn, the dances?

Here is one more thing that made my stomach turn. “An emotional Aishwarya Rai burst into tears at the sangeet ceremony on Wednesday evening at Prateeksha, Amitabh Bachchan’s Juhu bungalow. According to industry sources, Abhiash performed to every song played that evening, but Ash couldn’t contain her emotions after she touched Abhishek’s feet in one of the songs.”

If this is true, then it is beyond disgusting. It is a custom among Hindus to touch the feet of elders; perhaps in the old days women did bow before their husbands. But today? Bollywood films and TV serials continue to perpetuate this, but why should it be replicated in real life? And anyway Aishwariya is slightly older, so if anyone should be touching feet it ought to be Abhishek.

- - -

I have commented on the Indian media coverage of the Virginia Tech killngs. A question that struck me: would we have given it this much attention if two Indians had died had the university been in Papua New Guinea?

It is indeed true what the comments below say about Indians aping the West. The more tie-ups we have with foreign channels and newspapers, the more slavish we will become. We have had good ‘women’s magazines’. Yet, people want regional versions of Elle and Cosmo; now Hello! has come in, when every newspaper carries a few pages of gossip, glitter and gas. (That is the way they treat most news as well.)

- - -

I started watching American Idol only to see what on earth this Sanjaya Malakar noise was all about. And you know what? If I had not read reams written about it or seen glimpses in the Indian media, I would have seen him and the show as a tepid display of complete lack of talent. Nobody is that great among the lot. I had read that Simon Cowell was hard to please. Uh-huh, he looked like he was trying so hard to have an opinion to begin with. Totally idiotic.

True, am not a fan of contemporary western music, except perhaps the blues and some neat rap (oh yeah, so what?!), but if you know a bit of music, then you can tell these guys are goners.

Why the hell do they scream so much? Are they just “blowin’ in the wind”?

- - -

Not all is lost. In the case of the ‘rash driving’ by Alistair Pereira in Mumbai I wrote about, who got away with a mere six-month sentence for killing seven people, there is some hope.

Here is a report from the TOI, “There can’t be a greater slur on the system. The way the prosecution dealt with the case was pathetic.’’ Bombay high court Chief Justice Swatanter Kumar’s observations on Thursday delivered the most telling blow yet to the Mumbai police for its “mishandling’’ of the Alistair Pareira hit-and-run case. Invoking a rarely used provision of the Code of Criminal Procedure (CrPC) that gives the high court extraordinary powers to examine the legality of proceedings in any subordinate court, a division bench comprising the Chief Justice and Justice S C Dharmadhikari called for records from ad hoc sessions judge A Mishra who had delivered the judgment acquitting Pareira of culpable homicide.

The judges indicated that they would look into four aspects of the trial— the legality of the judgment, whether there was miscarriage of justice, the conduct of the police and the prosecution and the compensation awarded to the victims and their survivors.

These surviving family members deserve justice.



17.4.07

Is a life worth Rs. 70,000 only?

Maverick: Those damned villagers ruined the car
by Farzana Versey
The Asian Age, Op-ed, April 17, 2007

Imagine you are a villager and have to depend on a daily wage. The sole earning member of your family has been killed. You are handed just enough money to last you four years if the normal daily income is Rs. 40. Is this justice?

Is justice about killing seven construction workers due to rash driving and getting away with a six-month jail sentence and a Rs. five lakh fine, most of which will be distributed to the family of those who were mowed down?

Is justice about “Man may lie, but circumstances never,’’ as the judge Ajit Mishra stated while letting off the accused, Alistair Pereira?

Is justice about the judge being aware that something was wrong but blaming it on bad police investigation and even worse prosecution? This is what he said: “One thing is certain... there was an accident by the car and seven people lost their lives. A chemical analysis report speaks of alcohol levels in blood but the prosecution did not examine any witness who said Pereira had consumed liquor.’’

Is there a law where the prosecuting lawyer can be sued? And the police? Why was this case wrapped up in five days and only six months after the accident?

Why did no political party visit the site at the time or offer any compensation? The workers had refused to claim the bodies because they had no money for the funeral.

These horrendous realities are bad enough.

I was shocked to read the headlines scream out in the papers then: “The Church speaks out – We’ll leave no stone unturned to ensure that the culprits in the Bandra case will not go scot-free...”

Since when did the Church become the custodian of justice in criminal cases? It is true that all those in the car were Catholics, but how does that make them better or worse?

A spokesperson for the archbishop had said, “But drunken driving is also a serious offence and a sin”. If the culprit had confessed, then would the parish have come to his rescue? Would he be forgiven by the Church? Does that change anything?

Joe Dias of the Catholic Secular Forum, a community group, took this even further, “Unfortunately, incidents like these will feed the stereotype of Catholics as alcoholics.” This is ridiculous. Drunken driving is a huge social problem, especially in metros. The Catholic Church seemed to be only concerned with its reputation. What stereotypes? True, Hindi films show Catholics enjoying their tipple, but that too is changing and for those labourers these stereotypes hold no value.

Who are they? The emphasis tends to be on the ‘youth of today’. This is a typical urban obsession. We know little or nothing about the labourers. Most work in farms in their villages and come to the cities after the harvest because there is nothing to grow. For all the talk about the Rajus in the interiors who are learning computers there are many more who have to do without electricity. And why does upward mobility always have to do with the metropolitan version of it? These people are considered outcastes and illegal immigrants when they come to the cities even if it is to build homes for us. Yet, there is no attempt to link our lives with theirs. Where are their roads, their transport, their hospitals?

They work in rich people’s houses where they barely get a decent salary. And they have to mimic the burra sahib fantasy of “Bearer chai lao”. In homes where food is cooked in desi ghee and tea isn’t Earl Grey but good old masala chai, this becomes a complete caricature.

Now we have a supposedly renaissance query thrown at the finalists of a beauty pageant: “If you had to convince a rural woman to compete in the Miss India pageant, what would you say to her?’’ The contestant who won the top honour had said, “I would first remind her that she has every right to such privileges as a Miss India would have. If she wins she could go back to her village and the improvement she would bring about would make the achievement of the pageant irreplaceable.”

I find the question itself disgusting. It means that rural women are seen as creatures from a different planet and have no place in such a contest anyway, which is why they would need to be ‘convinced’.

As for the reply, what rights does a pageant winner get except to realise some ambitions that are elitist to begin with? The rural woman could go back to her village. Of course! Are we being told that the ‘improvements’ she brings about would be due to walking on the ramp in designer clothes and giving rehearsed answers?

Are the hungry predators eyeing the villages? If you want development then educate them. Education does not mean learning to walk like you are holding something between your thighs, learning to talk as though you are at a school elocution competition, and looking like a million bucks which is roughly what it costs to get you to look that way. Please leave the rural woman and man out of the flashy drama.

And this also means their life is not worth 70,000 bucks each. Alistair Pereira’s killer Toyota Corolla cost more than Rs. 5 lakhs.