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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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.

Bihar's Mythic Development: No Looking "Backwards"

Bihar's Mythic Development

No Looking "Backwards"
by Farzana Versey
Counterpunch, December 1, 2010

India, once considered a natural democracy, now needs shaky excuses to be so sanctified. Bihar, one of the most backward states in the country, has elected Nitish Kumar’s party, the Janata Dal (United), to power in a ‘stunning victory’. The bellicosity of commentators to be flagholders for such a myth has to be read to be believed.

It is amazing that this glorification is for his second term. Everyone knows that ruling parties have an edge to bulldoze their agendas. Such agendas may include pushing all the real issues under the carpet.

Bihar’s backwardness had little to do with the existence of scheduled castes and more to do with the manner in which they were treated. In Nitish Kumar’s utopian state, caste has got sidelined. This is not cause for celebration but concern. We are talking about a large segment of society being covertly discriminated against by two deceptive options – co-opting and debarring. The larger political spectrum that is being hailed has, in fact, narrowed it to the pyramidal apogee by selective probity.

One report came up with a rather dodgy analysis: “The Bihar results will have rippling effects in other areas where negative agendas of caste and communal forces do not allow people-driven agenda of development.”

Caste and communal forces are about people and do not spring from the bottom but the top; they have been traditional vote-banks thus far. They remain so, but in a non-conservative fashion by being covered beneath the veil of poverty. It is a real issue. However, the trick here is not to deal with poverty but make it a palpable saleable idea. Water, food, education, healthcare, electricity, roads are necessities that are sold as comforts. There is a reason for it; it is to set the ground for the development agencies to send in their quotations. The people of Bihar are not going to say “let there be light” and have shining bulbs nor will dry taps start running by the mere expedient of thirst; roads won’t be tarred for bare feet. All these require raw material, infrastructure and money. The poor obviously do not have money. Therefore, the rich come into the picture.

The rich in Bihar belong to the feudal class or criminal gangs. Both have tremendous political clout if they are not already in politics. It is pertinent to point out that both these categories are extremely caste conscious. The landlords use labour belonging to the lower castes and consolidate their position based on such bondage. Crime, too, relies on caste equations to settle scores. Therefore, the current development will need to not only factor in such disparities but also rely on them. Since over 80 per cent of the population is Hindu, communal politics can be reined in by sheer force. It ought to surprise no one that Nitish Kumar has been an ally of the right-wing parties.

During this election, he skirted Gujarat’s Narendra Modi’s involvement in electoral matters. This was seen as keeping away from a controversial figure. On the contrary, Bihar has cunningly emulated the Modi formula; the snub to Modi could have been a tactic or an ego trip. Either way, he is the role model here. The difference being that Bihar has been considered a backward region, Gujarat is not. But the economic saviours have worked along similar lines by co-opting those they have scant regard for. In Modi’s Gujarat the Muslims have stood by him despite the horrific establishment-engineered riots and killings of 2002; Nitish’s Bihar has used the abused members of society to the same effect by showing them glittering streets and whitewashed ideas.

The female voter turnout has been much-lauded without seeing the larger picture. This is not about empowerment or a woman’s natural understanding of development. Bihar, for all its progress, still has a large number of migrants to other cities. The question to ask is this: if the growth rate is 2.5 per cent more than the national rate of growth, then why have these sons of the soil not returned?

Iconoclasm has the ability to camouflage all con jobs. It is a rather sad statement that the original patented hero of Bihar, Lalu Prasad Yadav, is seen as a beleaguered has-been today. Despite his not-so-clean record and his scams that were out in the open for all to see, he had made Bihar into a brand of sorts. It was not mere rural hubris. If his was a one-man show, then no one really knows of any prominent people in Nitish Kumar’s cabinet. Lalu made no attempt to hide the caste of his candidates; at the national level this is an important element if the reservations policy is to be made use of by adhering to authenticity rather than fakery.

It is also an irony that while Bihar under Lalu Prasad was the only state to prevent the rath yatra of L. K. Advani from passing through in what was to turn out to be the worst communal divide after Partition is now dependent on the BJP. Long before talk about development, Lalu had the courage to appoint backward caste priests and shankaracharyas. These were quite possibly gimmicks, but for a country that still has such an aversion towards Dalits this was a strong statement.

Development must include political vigilance and progressive inclusive thinking. The end of the road is not roads.

The Great Indian Rope Trick

Arrogance and Austerity
The Great Indian Rope Trick
by Farzana Versey
Counterpunch, September 18-20, 2009

The soles of his feet were cracked like the soil in barren fields. He sat idly and drank khus sherbet. There weren’t any files spread before him. He was doing no work, only shaking his legs in that nervous frenzied manner of people in power who have to sit with others.

This was in the executive class on a private airline. It was before the Congress party told its ministers that they had to go on an austerity drive and travel economy. Agriculture Minister Sharad Pawar reacted by saying there would be no space to do any work.

Why has there been such a black and white reaction to this move? Was it because two ministers started staying at luxury hotels while their government bungalows were being ‘done up’? S.M.Krishna and former UN man Shashi Tharoor claim they did not use the tax-payer’s money; the latter in his now patented fashion is throwing the “I am paying the bills from my own savings after a lifetime of international work” line.

His little tweets have made him into a five-star martyr to become a part of knee-jerk legend. In one he said he would definitely travel in ‘cattle class out of solidarity with all our holy cows’. Naturally, those who think life revolves around conveying their daily stories in small doses find it, and him, cute. The arrogance of this kind of Indian politician mirrors the same feudal mentality that upstart urbanites accuse the country bumpkins of.

The primary reason is that our society follows the “Dilli Chalo” (onward to Delhi) credo to sanctify the power of central leadership and fake cohesiveness. Our slogans have moved from “Jai Jawaan, Jai Kisaan” (Hail the solider and the farmer) to “Garibi hatao” (Banish poverty) to “India Shining”. While India was shining, farmers were committing suicide as they are now. Getting ministers to give 20 percent of their wages for drought-affected regions is simplistic. The salaries of ministers are not known to be high. They earn more through perks – for fuel, phones, travel. There is also the larger issue of corruption. Granting licences for large projects to certain firms is part of the money-making deal that keeps the political machinery lubricated.

The current move is not about hypocrisy but hyperbole. And who better fits the slot of abstinence than the father of the nation? Lalu Prasad Yadav said, “Mahatma Gandhi always preferred to travel in third class compartments... and remained frugal throughout his life.”

If there is anyone who made poverty look like a million bucks, then it was Gandhi. The land of nabobs became the land of the half-naked fakir. The Birlas played host to him not because he drank goat’s milk but because he said, “India must protect her primary industries even as a mother protects her children against the whole world without being hostile to it.”

This is the brand of selective socialism that is being replayed today, not the fashionable Nehruvian model which was about how to do a Lenin by wearing mink. It is corporatisation of spiritualism. Anyone with a begging bowl of empty dreams can head a start-up venture of couture abstemiousness.

The idea of droughts and famines do not merely fan such high thinking among politicians but intellectuals, too. Remember Amartya Sen’s facile belief that, “… famines have never afflicted any country that is independent, that goes to elections, that has opposition parties to voice criticisms, that permits newspapers to report freely and to question government policies without extensive censorship”?

Simply speaking, we would be talking about socially and economically wealthy societies. Forget famines. What about other problems that beset a country like India? We have democracy, why then does Prof. Sen subscribe to state intervention? He had concurred that the role of the state even in matters of nutrition, health, education, social insurance was connected with the outcome of economic processes, which must empower people to become economic agents in their own right.

Here was a clear case of making both sides happy without giving a thought to the fact that state intervention can never empower people; it only results in dependency if not degradation. Perhaps, that suits the purpose. As he once stated, “Buddha was asking himself what kind of life is that (of illness, old age, mortality)? These are problems we all face. For many of us it is also the impetus for our work.”

The concern about rural India’s suffering arises only when it affects the middle class and the rich. Food, a basic need, is in short supply. An India that is now being sold Quaker Oats by an organisation of heart cure is willing to exaggerate its misery. Where are our irrigation plants? What happens to the families of farmers? How many people are moving to other towns and cities? Have these aspects been considered? Sonia Gandhi takes a flight with the plebs. As a symbol it might work, but only for a limited audience.

Once the flight touches ground, there will be a fleet of security vehicles. The person in the street does not care. It will, however, result in more corruption. The corporate sector that has thrived due to political munificence will be happy to help. They will not go quietly and do something in the villages where they have set up factories; they already think they have done the country a huge favour by providing employment opportunities. Labour is cheap. Instead, they will provide facilities to ministers, and since many of their kind have got into the fray it will be easy. They talk the same language and suffer from the same gilt-edged greed.

Does anyone talk about austerity for them when they are in fact sponging on the shareholder’s money? Was there any talk about austerity when villagers were driven out of the leftist state to facilitate factories to produce a low-cost car for the city dweller – a car that would clearly point out the difference between the rich and the ones who would never get there?

We condescendingly let Lalu, our rustic politician, join the cavalcade of management geeks to give lectures at Harvard and Wharton. The gallery applauds as they would when they watch a comic act or an acrobat. He senses that. Years of having been marginalised have taught him lessons in hypocrisy, stereotypes, and expectations. He plays their game. He too starts quoting Gandhi even as he made money from kickbacks from cow food. How much more hick town can anyone get?

Sleepy Communism has joined ranks, clinking glasses of Old Monk and belting out the angst of foreign rebellion in the voices of Ginsberg and Che, driving kitsch up the Warhol wall. Poor India has today become a parody of its own poverty.

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(An abridged version appears in The News International, September 19)