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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Sonia, Modi and Accountability

Narendra Modi is doing what he is programmed to do as a politician: rake up issues to show the opposition in a bad light. His latest salvo that turned out to be a whimper is to make public the travel and treatment expenses on Congress chief Sonia Gandhi.

The media has made it into a Modi versus Sonia war. The timing is obviously to cause some embarrassment, for Ms. Gandhi launched her party’s campaign in Gujarat today.  

The problem is that there is no embarrassment in politics – kickbacks and killings are par for the course. There is only one-upmanship. 

Sonia Gandhi in Rajkot...words, words

Ms Gandhi’s speech sounded rather lame:

"The Congress has laid down the foundation for growth in Gujarat. The Congress has tried to live up to its ideals, we have come a long way and still have miles to go. It is unfortunate that our opponents only see darkness and cannot see the development. The work the Congress has done for the development of Gujarat, no one else has done. The opposition always misleads people about our development-oriented policies. It is the habit of some people to take credit for the work done by other people, let them do it.”

This indirectly conveys that there is major development. People are not interested in who laid the foundation stone, how much money the Centre is pumping in. They see the glitz and the man with the Midas touch, even if it is fiction.

And then she went straight into the lion’s den without even realising it:

"The whole country is concerned about corruption today. We are too. The UPA brought in the Right to Information Act. People against whom there were corruption charges; the law has taken its course. I want to know what the BJP is doing about corruption. Why is there such a difference between their walk and talk?"

It is an RTI report that Modi has been flashing in public. The BJP may not walk their talk, but what happens to their allegations?

Indeed, Modi should realise that when he wants to target someone powerful outside his state he should come armed with facts that will not fall flat on their face. The bizarre figure spent he said was Rs. 1880 crore.

Ramesh Verma, whose petition, was used said:

"If Modi is referring to my RTI, neither have I received any such information nor have I leaked it to the media or any politician.”

Then, where did it materialise from?  The Congress has gone on the offensive on this slippery ground using invective to counter invective. If Modi is a liar, then nail his lie.

Modi with the other handy Gandhi

He is a shrewd player. It is quite probable that he used hyperbole precisely to get such a reaction. The Kapil Sibals, Manish Tewaris, Rajiv Shuklas are frothing at the mouth, and he is watching the fun. In fact, he has come forward with empathy:

"I say the government should spend as much amount as is required for treatment of Sonia Gandhi. We are for humanitarian cause. I would like to tell the PM to spend as much amount of money as needed but if people want to know the details of the expenses, should not the government give the details? Is it not the right of the people to know how much of their money is being spent? I am not questioning Sonia Gandhi. I am asking the PM how much money from the exchequer has been spent on Sonia Gandhi.”

There are some people who want to know: why now? Why did he or his party not raise the issue earlier? In fact, one is amazed at the media’s silence and ‘respect for privacy’ where Ms. Gandhi’s illness and trips abroad are concerned. Let us not forget that other politicians are made into public spectacles for their ailments, whichever party they belong to.

Modi may be using this time opportunistically, but is the query not valid? Why the secrecy about expenditure and trips made? I don’t think anyone should press for details of her illness, if this is a specific request. (In which case, the media should leave others alone, too.)

There is a suggestion that he won the 2007 elections by abusing Sonia Gandhi and is hoping it will work again. Much as I dislike his politics, Gujarat is in his pocket. The earlier abuse is replaced with a mix of concern for the nation’s wealth, at a time when the prime minister has just come out with his plan for the economy.

Sonia Gandhi’s speech has not helped. The Congress party spokespersons’ casual attitude could well be counter-productive outside Gujarat too when people have to shell out more for household items. If only they came out with a clear indicator, they’d earn goodwill and be seen as a serious political force, and not just a party of quiet hangers-on.

A few days ago, I got this email from a saffron party person:

"The latest India Today reports that Rahul Gandhi visited Singapore for three days to watch the Formula One race.  Since the race duration itself is about half-a-day, one has to wonder what exactly he did for the rest of the time.  Also, one has to wonder how the trip was paid for, since his wealth declaration, required at the time of filing the nomination to stand for Lok Sabha elections, indicates that he is a person of modest means."

Should these queries not be posed? Are they irrelevant to what else he does? In this case, it is possible that the F1 people invited him and sponsored his stay. It begs the question: Should a leader of a national party accept such freebies, if that is the case? Then, was not Narendra Modi invited by Gujarati businessmen in America? Expats have kept the Hindutva movement well-oiled. Almost all politicians make trips abroad; some take a huge entourage even on official trips. Industrialists lend their private jets. Helicopters are used for short sorties.

Where do we draw the line and for whom? 

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Cartoon: Mumbai Mirror

Pix: NDTV, TOI

Pakistan on an Indian Spiritual Trip

The guru in Pakistan

I stood in the sun, eyes blinking. On that dry Delhi summer afternoon of parched throats and heat without sweat, I was waiting in the queue outside the visa collection window of the Pakistan High Commission. People started exchanging notes. The moment they discovered I had been there before, the questions were rapid: Do you have family there? What are the good places to visit, shop, eat? Are they like us? I became a Pakistani expert, until I saw someone watching me with a bemused smile.

He was a tall lanky man with longish hair that he kept pushing behind his ear in a rather effeminate manner. In that line of nervous people waiting to know whether they had been granted entry, he seemed supremely confident. “So, you’ve been to Pakistan before?” he asked.

“Yes, of course,” I said, now that I was the ‘source’ the group around us had made me into.

“Is this your first time?” I asked.

By way of explanation, he opened a file. The sun was beating down and there was just too much light to read. I shrugged. “Many times,” he said. “For how long do you plan to stay?”

“I’ve applied for a month again, let’s see. And you?”

“Six months.”

“What? Do they give a visa for six months?”

He had a boyish grin that did not quite go with what he was about to tell me:
“I teach.”

“Oh, ok…” I was not sure if asking anything more would be deemed proper. He held up that file again.

“Actually, I teach the art of living.”

When spoken, it sounded like he was teaching Pakistanis the fine art of going about with their lives. But, obviously, he was a tutor with the Art of Living Foundation.

"Do you know about it?"

"Of course. They let you stay there for this?"

I must admit I was envious because of my own experience with visas. I was fairly certain then that there was a spiritualist inside me waiting to come out.

I got my passport and, unfortunately, just then he was called to furnish some papers, so no contact details were shared. If only I had looked at the file he had opened for me. Perhaps, he did not wish to make a public display.

I was curious then as I am now about how in a supposedly Islamic country there was enough space for such quick fix spiritual solutions. I met a few local soothsayers, too. One particular palmist was very popular in Karachi; people would go in their cars and stick their hands out. It sounded like a takeaway joint, only bizarre and fascinating. My friends took me there, but he wasn’t around on that day. The fact is that despite the Islamisation, these kinds of activities have been prevalent.

I recall this now because Sri Sri Ravi Shankar, the founder of the Art of Living Foundation, visited the country recently. I am amazed at the manner in which his trip has been portrayed in the media. ‘He is going to teach the Taliban to de-stress...this is a peace mission’, they say.

Quite naturally, he is not going to let go of this opportunity to appear as more than a soul spa. So he said:

“All those who fight have fear and concerns; they want to feel valuable. Our techniques give them a sense of well-being and calmness, and once the inner calmness happens, the feeling of wanting to fight and the urge for revenge disappears.”

Why has he not tried that in India? We have terror groups, criminal gangs, separatist organisations. He has met some, but will he dare to approach them to stop taking revenge? Can anyone imagine the Taliban members doing a breathe in-breathe out?

This is nonsense only to project the guru as someone with a higher purpose, and a vague Taliban rather than real criminals come in handy. Besides that, he is treading on dangerous ground by getting involved in politics:

“We want to talk with the Taliban in Pakistan. We’ll go in with an open mind, to find out who they are, their problems and their intentions—that has always been my approach.”

He is talking about the ‘we’ of his organisation, not as an Indian. I am surprised that there has been no objection to this. Even ministers who appear in studios with people who are considered enemies of India are lambasted. Those writing anything positive about Pakistan are questioned. And here we have this man talking about an “open mind” regarding the Taliban.

And how are the Pakistanis taking this? Do they not complain about their nation being run over by the Taliban?

At the time of the Lal Masjid incident when Islamabad was supposedly under siege, there were Pakistanis in deep meditation at the Art of Living Foundation, not to solve the country’s problems or shut them out, but to detoxify their indulgences. There are 5000 such people. It is part of one more salon trip.

Sri Sri Ravi Shankar’s mission is possible because he is not interested in really doing anything. If that were the case, then the government as well as the Taliban would have found ways to keep him away. His is a commercial venture, catering primarily to the elite or to those among them who want to ‘help’ others through pop philanthropy.

There is nothing more to it than this. However, it just does not sound important enough. After all, this is Pakistan. Both Pakistanis and the guru need to make it seem like ‘peace’, one of the most abused words in the Indo-Pak context. It takes on the pugnacity of a war-like situation.

This is the guru’s hope trick and ticket.

(c)Farzana Versey

Sunday ka Funda

"Even if you are on the right track, you will get run over if you just sit there"

- Will Rogers

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Life is a highway - Rascal Flatt

Dangerous India?

Most foreign tourists still come to India for some exotica and because the dollar goes a long way. Indians might fool themselves that they visit us to see our humming factories and zooming cars in our streets, but they are really into the slumdogs, not the millionaires.

They do not want to see Mukesh Ambani's mansion or a Nano car in action. They are at best amused when they see the limited edition sedans vying for space with lazing cows in the street. The 'difference' is what appeals. And they'd take home a picture of themselves with the cow/camel or whatever animal they espy, not with the car or the rich.

They'll sit in a boat that offers ensuite crapping facilities and even sing praises about how their droppings make it into the backwaters. So, it is understandable that India is upset that we will lose out on phirang manure.

Five countries - the United States, the UK, Canada, Australia and New Zealand - have issued advisories against travel to India during the festival season. The reason: caution about the terror threat.

The West loves this terror threat as much as it loves its Big Macs. And they love Indian festivals - they visit during these because they get to take in the culture, place flowers over mausoleums of dead queens, watch naked sadhus, throw colour, light firecrackers. This is Halloween many times over. Now, terrorism is quite akin to that. A mask that hides something; they don't know what, so if their mai-baap (the government) tells them it wants to save them, they listen.

This latest piece of protectionism has made India's tourism minister, Subodh Kant Sahay, angry:

“I have taken this up with the external affairs ministry and asked it to persuade these countries to withdraw the advisories immediately. This is nothing but scare-mongering. Leave aside other parts of India, 100% booking is being reported from J&K. If this isn’t a sign of normalcy, what is?”

I understand his pain, but the manner in which he has mentioned Jammu and Kashmir just shows that there is only kind of terrorism even India wants to hold as an example.  There is insurgency/disturbance in many other parts, but who wants to go to Dantewada/Jaitapur/Telengana? And tourists do not visit the Delhi High Court.

Has the government ever assured Indian tourists that places are safe? Most depend on travel agents for advice; these guys do a recce and are more responsible than the tourism departments.

However, there are foreign tourists who do take risks. For some, the edginess is as exciting as bungee jumping. Then, there are those who, besides seeking spiritualism, manage to 'contribute' by helping those who suffer. "We know how it feels," they seem to suggest, completely losing out on the irony.

Then, there is the low season factor, which is great value for money. They are the smart ones that calculate how many foreigners can be taken hostage and figure out the chances are one in a million or way less. Besides, it is not all great back home. Instead of occupying Wall Street, they can just hop into a low cost airline and bum it in India, where they are treated like gods. Really. We have a dictum, also in the scriptures: Atithi devo bhava (The guest is god) So, Aamir Khan endorses our tourism board by telling some poor cabbies not to mess with the foreign tourists. they are our guests/gods.

Why would the guy who drives a black cab in London or sits at the cash counter at Walmarts not rake it?

Besides, the advisory is probably to save the countries from making sure that the Indian economy does not look as chippy as it does for those who are indeed going through a low phase. I won't be surprised if they try and sell some sort of patriotism with this terror threat and also keep the money where it belongs. At home.

But India need not worry too much. There are still those who like the elephant in the room, so to speak.

Precious memory of the Puram festival in Thrissur, Kerala. Dusty, hot and sunny. Foreign woman in transparent pyjamas intently watching the backs of elephants and finally going down on her knees to capture a fart. Like any threat, it was invisible.

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Just thought I'd link this other piece I wrote to give a different perspective: Can Indian Men Handle Foreign Women?  Some interesting comments there...

Also some personal vignettes from an older piece: These Boots Are Gonna Walk All Over You

Travel Advisory for Darul Uloom

"Go take a walk."

And before I am branded as not Muslim enough, if at all, then let me assure you I am closely acquainted with Muslims who practise their faith religiously.

I understand that by quoting the Darul Uloom Deoband I am furthering their cause, but if newspapers continue to publish their latest fatwa, as though it is the newest trend, we will have to speak up. The seminary purports to represent the faith and the Quran; it also ends its fatwas with “Allah knows best”. Therefore, I wonder why people ask them questions at all.


Here is the query on travel:

“Is a married woman permitted to travel to another country with her female sibling?”

The Darul Uloom reply:

“She cannot travel without a ‘mehram’. It’s mentioned in the Hadees that a woman should not travel for more than 48 miles except in the company of a ‘mehram’ relative.”

A 'mehram' is an immediate relative, with whom having sex would amount to incest, or the husband.

I would like to know whether implicit in the reply is that women travel for sex or that there is always the possibility of them being sexually exploited. The latter does pose a danger, but wasn’t it the Deoband that issued a fatwa on a raped woman who was asked to marry her father-in-law, the rapist? Where was she travelling to?

There are several aspects in religion that had validity at one point in time; it is important to seek the essence and not the superficals. And I am not sure about the verity of the Deoband pronouncements. In respect of removal of hair in private parts, for example, it talks about tweezers for women. Were there tweezers in the Prophet’s time? Or depilatory creams? Anyhow, all these were for reasons of hygiene and not because it interfered with people’s belief in god.

Now back to their travel advice. Quite a few of my relatives are religious and the women travel alone and are professionally qualified. Some also wear the hijaab and drive the fastest and take holidays without their male relatives.

The Deoband's extreme position will work against itself. A woman asking the query obviously wishes to or needs to travel. She may not know how far her destination exactly is in miles or kilometres. She might need to use transport and the driver need not be a woman. Then what? Okay, she will be in full hijaab and all that. Then? What if she takes a break every 48 miles and then resumes for another 48 – will that be halal?

In the same state of Uttar Pradesh some miles away from the Deoband in Lucknow women in Varanasi are running madrassas. They have had regular education and are inculcating these values in their students. They are showing the community, the country and the world that madrassas are not only about religious teachings. It is not to justify the existence of such madrassas or to whitewash a bad image, but to fight ignorance and empower themselves.

I should hope they travel far, beyond the 48 miles, because in their minds they have already traversed way ahead of the clerics.

Just wondering

Why is that everytime Digvijay Singh makes or receives phone calls (or says he does) from people who are in some controversial situation they get killed soon after?First Hemant Karkare, now Salman Taseer.

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The TOI had this picture on the front page with the title: "Look, no one's watching the president".  Ms. Pratibha Patil took a  break and decided to get some cool Goan breeze at the beach. She is surrounded by plainclothes security. How many people does the newspaper imagine ogle at women in a saree on the beach? And how do they know no one was looking? Or, is the TOI mighty pleased at getting a picture?

Guns and Lollipops

He licked his index finger as he turned the pages of my passport. He had to merely stamp the page to say that I had returned home to Mumbai.

The man at the immigration desk seemed to be in no hurry. He looked up at me over his gold-rimmed glasses and asked, “Who is in Pakistan?” That had not been my destination, so I could not comprehend his query. “Do you know people there?” he persisted.

“Yes. Why?”

“You made so many trips…”

“London, too,” I said.

“So, how is Pakistan?” He enunciated the name, loud and clear.

I shrugged.

“Tell me, good or bad or what?”

He was humouring me, his lower lip, pink and wet, against his dark skin glistening with summer heat. Confusion would have turned to anger. I was in my country with my blue passport, three booklets pinned together.

“They are really like us only?”

“No. Worse,” I said.

His paradigm had no place for worse or better. It was either good or bad. Gun or lollipop. My name is whatever and I am not a terrorist. He stamped the page and, from his high seat, motioned with his head that I could go.

This had never happened before.

It shows that a Pakistani connection married to elitism is anathema. My thick passport that ought to have been a sign of globalism reduced me to a pampered poodle stretching at the leash.

I could imagine the immigration officer in the auditorium watching the utter humiliation of a Bollywood star made to grovel for approval by the ice-candy man, Karan Johar. I can see those pink wet lips smiling as he sees the awkward walk and the man going down on his knees out in the open because he has to pray. Religion is placed prominently in the narrative of My Name is Khan.

While my immigration officer would have stood for an autograph for Shahrukh Khan, he would not have let Rizwan Khan past his eagle eye. Rizwan, who cannot sell lotions and face creams, is made to sell the Muslim moderate. The story uses disability as a device to cunningly convey fake innocence.

Beneath the ostensible garb of post 9/11’s continual angst lurks a more real danger that seeks to heighten the uncomfortable relationship between Indian and Pakistani Muslims. We have reached such a stage that each time an Indian Muslim bats straight, creates award-winning music, or says something secular, there is jubilation. Intellectuals gather along with maulanas to applaud that we were saved in 1947. The idea of a generation far removed from partition, using that event as a yardstick not only to judge another country but one’s own position, raises the question of self-esteem.

Recently, I met a Sindhi family. We got to discussing food and Pakistani cuisine was mentioned. I seemed to have a lot of knowledge, so they asked, “Are you Pakistani?” No, I snapped. They responded, “Oh, but we are…our grandparents were born there and lived there and came to India later. So we qualify as Pakistanis.”

Why were they confident and why was I not? At a discussion Mahesh Bhatt had mentioned that most of his Indian Muslim friends, even the famous ones, tried hard to assert their Indian identify when they were in Pakistan. He turned to me and said, “I suspect you did the same on your visits.” I did, but not as much as I do in my own country. There I was asserting my otherness; here in India I have to assert belongingness. It is all about loving lollipops, is it?

The Eye and Eyes

That week in England, just before I was to leave for home, I decided I had to see the London Eye. Although it was unashamedly touristy, I felt this urge. On reaching there I was told there was a technical problem and it might open only at noon; it was 10.30.

I walked towards the Dali exhibition, then sat on a bench and starting writing something morbid, my pen twisted at an angle as though reluctant to commit. A few people hesitated before asking me to take their group pictures. I felt like taking back a digital memory as well. I managed half a smile and returned to my place.



An old woman came and sat next to me and unpeeled a sandwich wrapped in plastic; it looked stale as dry crumbs fell. She remained expressionless, looking nowhere but at the target of her hunger. There was so much desolation in those few minutes – was that her lifetime?

So lost in thought was I that I decided to walk back towards the gate. There was already a queue. I had not bothered to exchange my counterfoil for a ticket. I ran quickly and was being ushered into one capsule. After the metal detector and the rummaging of the bag, the security person asked, “Anything sharp?” I had already moved ahead but I called out to him, “Yes…”

He arched his eyebrows in a query…what??

“My mind!”

I did not wait to see his reaction.

Inside the capsule we were told to take precautions since we would be going very high and could feel dizzy or get sick. I started clicking – the sky, the river, the Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, buildings, others in the capsules, people below – tiny figures. We all look like crumbs from stale sandwiches.

As we were descending, an announcement was made that our pictures would be taken by a remote camera and we should all move to the North-east side. Everyone stood…well, most did. A bit diffidently, I felt I too needed a souvenir. I ambled to a spot. When I went to collect the picture, there were several flashing on the monitor.

I was there with the thick line that ran across the capsule dividing me into two. The girl at the counter apologised, “Sorry about that.”

“Not at all. That’s me, all right.”

Go, Modi, Go!

I will not sign a petition against Narendra Modi addressed to the 'Embassy of the Republic of Indonesia' asking His Excellency to deny him a visa. I do not care about the man and had in fact applauded the US decision to deny him a visa. In this case, he has been invited by Mr. Syavral Yasin Limpo, Governor of Indonesia’s South Sulawesi province.

The petition lists the crimes of Modi that include genocide, that resulted in several people rendered homeless and many still awaiting compensation; it mentions the criminal cases against him and several others and his ministers and police officers.

The moot point here is that he has been invited by the government. We can question the sagacity, but we cannot ask a foreign nation who it should invite. I do not believe his travels will make any difference.

How can it when our own RSS chief Mohan Bhagwat said yesterday on TV:

“Why should he [Narendra Modi] apologise? He has done no wrong … I am told that the speed with which riots were controlled is commendable …”

I find the idea of an apology patronising, anyway. And I cannot figure out this portion of the petition:

The question is - Will Indonesia offer Mr. Modi that restitution, by legitimizing his record of promoting hatred and violence against the minority Muslims and Christians of Gujarat.

We, the signatories to this petition, request the genteel, peace and justice loving people of Indonesia,

There have been riots in Indonesia. The people of India are in large measure genteel and peace and justice loving too. These are the same people who have elected this man to office despite being denied justice. What kind of society is this and what kind of people are we? We prop him up for his business acumen, for economic progress, for being a great administrator.

When there is a petition asking the people of Gujarat not to vote during elections, then I shall sign it. If there is a petition pressurising the courts to follow up on the cases, then I will sign it. If Gujaratis, and this includes the big cat Muslims, refuse to do business in Gujarat because of this asmita (self-respect) bait that Modi dangles before them and they show the courage not to cow down or be opportunistic, I will sign it.

I know that one signature less won’t make a darned difference but, frankly, Modi travelling to Indonesia or the Honduras will not alter my opinion of him or legitimise him in the eyes of Indians. And that ought to be our concern.

PS: I am willing to sign a petition making an urgent plea for him to be deported somewhere.

The Danes, they are a coming

Want a fling? Visit Denmark. A three-minute long ad showed a young, blonde woman cradling a dark-skinned infant called August and saying he is the result of a brief tryst with a foreign tourist.


There are several questions here:

This was on Danish TV and apparently staged, so what prompted it? Is there a belief that people will throng to the country to have flings?

Is there a problem with the child being dark-skinned, although in the image here it does not appear so? Why are such values being promoted?

VisitDenmark manager Dorte Kiilerich explained that the intent was to tell a nice and sweet story about a grown-up woman who lives in a free society and accepts the consequences of her actions.

I understand free societies. But, do only women in such societies have to grow up? And what does ‘accept the consequences of their actions’ mean? Isn’t a woman in a free society intelligent enough to protect herself against pregnancy? What is so nice and sweet to be left alone with a baby? Do free societies have a carte blanche emotional security policy that makes its women believe that it is nice and sweet to consolidate this image of independence even if it means that they have to fend for themselves?

It is indeed sick to even imagine how any nation can let itself be bartered for such an image.

Two men and a flight

I had been delayed, or so I thought. Spent too much time at the counter buying chocolates; I had gone to pick up a packet of face tissues. I thought I heard the flight announcement. I was carrying little. Turned out that there was still time. Bought a Diet Coke. I hate cans. Got a Styrofoam glass. Took small sips. And watched. Nothing.

Was snapped out by a voice saying, “Madam, madam…”

He smiled and showed me a piece of paper. He wants a donation? No. He was showing me his name. Then he said, “I want to use your phone.”

He lived in China. In this sea of people he could only find me? I am often stupid enough to permit such usage. This time, since I had been watching nothing, I was blank and fresh. So, I said, “Ask the men.”

“Oh, nothing like that. I wanted to give a missed call to my wife.”

Fine. Ask the men.

As happens almost always, I began thinking about the scenarios. The call could be made to a drug dealer, some gangster. Or the wife. The deadliest scenario.

Wife calls back. Asks, who are you? I tell her who I am. Where are you? I tell her where I am. Do you know who called me? I would tell her who called her. Then why is he with you? I would tell her we are flying the same flight. And why are you flying together?

Bloody hell. Because there are over a hundred others doing the same and we are all planning an orgy in the air.

Mr. Shanghai shrugged when I said no and went on his way…

Another fellow sitting across with a thick book was smiling. More to himself. We said nothing, got into the van to take us to the aircraft. I heard a voice, “Madam, madam…”

It was Mr Thick Book. “I think I have seen you somewhere? Where you from?”

“Here.”

“Oh…but I have seen you…”

“Maybe…”

After the flight on the van at our destination, he stood near me. He had a nice watch. “Nice flight,” he said.

“Maybe.”

“So, where are you putting up?”

“Don’t know.”

I looked at his book. It appeared like something on art. He turned the pages. There were women draped in all kinds of dressy clothes.

“I am into fashion,” he said.

Instinctively I looked at my crushed cotton kurta, stretch churidar and crumpled dupatta.

“You are doing business?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Export-import?”

“Only export. I write.”

“Oh, we are so same field. Fashion and writing!”

“Indeed.”

I think I write quite stylishly, I told myself, as I swung my dupatta and walked towards the exit.

News meeows - 22

Airborne 1

A massive flap erupted on Tuesday in parliament over reports that the former people-friendly president of India A P J Abdul Kalam was frisked by officials of the US airline Continental in an undignified contravention of protocol.

Aviation authorities have sought an FIR against Continental for making Kalam take off his shoes and undergo a humiliating security check at Delhi airport before being allowed to board flight CO 083 to Newark on April 21. Indian laws exempt dignitaries like former presidents, ex-PMs, the Chief Justice of India and even Robert Vadra from being frisked at airports.

I shall not comment on the silliness of emphasising that we are talking about a “people-friendly president”! Some queries:

How do Indian laws apply to foreign airlines? What is so humiliating about the check-up? American airlines expect people to remove their shoes, and from all accounts the former Prez was not offended. If he was, he would have issued a statement.

This is being used as a political bait. The matter was raised in Parliament. Aviation minister Praful Patel went to brief Prime Minister Manmohan Singh about the incident and the action being taken by him.

Some party said that this was copping out to “US’s muscle-flexing over the End-Use Monitoring Agreement (EUMA)”.

The CPM’s Sitaram Yechury said A P J Abdul Kalam had to suffer the humiliation because of his name in what was seen as a reference to the practice of US airlines scanning members of a particular faith post-9/11.

If that is the case, have these leaders ever stood up for lesser mortals?

Arun Jaitley pointed out that India allows vehicles to go up to the tarmac for foreign dignitaries.

If it is without any security check, then it ought to be stopped. We must remember that Mr. Kalam was not going in an official capacity, so there was no breach of protocol by the airline.

It is only our laws that make such exemptions. PIA has its own staff after the Indian security check, just before boarding as does Sri Lankan.

Guard of honour

Following are some of the VIPs and their accompanying spouses who are exempted from pre-embarkation security checks at all civil airports in the country:
President, Vice President, PM Governors, Former Presidents Former VPs, CJI, LS Speaker Union ministers of cabinet rank CMs & Deputy CMs Deputy Chairman, Planning commission, Bharat Ratna awardees Leader of opposition in LS & RS Ambassadors of foreign countries, Charge d' Affairs; high commissioners and their spouses
Judges of SC, CEC
Comptroller & Auditor General
Deputy chairman RS & Dy Speaker of LS Among others CJs of HCs, CMs & Dy CMs of UTs, Cabinet secretary, Lt Governors of UTs, Dalai Lama, SPG protectees and Robert Vadra

Why does anyone have to be exempt? How does Robert Vadra qualify? In fact, since many of these people are constantly have X, Y, Z security because they are under threat, then the onus is on them and other passengers should be on guard with these people on their flights because they are targeted and by default the other non “guard of honour” passengers.

Airborne 2

Praful Patel seems to have become a busy man. He revealed that as many as 29 pilots had failed pre-flight breath tests conducted to detect alcohol consumption.

Kingfisher topped the list with eight pilots failing the breath test. Low-cost carriers IndiGo and SpiceJet were close on its heels with six pilots each caught in ‘high spirits’. Three pilots each of JetLite, Paramount and Jet Airways were also caught. “Any pilot found to be alcohol positive is immediately grounded for a period of up to six weeks,” Patel said in parliament.

This is by far more important from the point of view of the majority of travellers. Guess which one will stay in the news longer?

Modi’s Muslims

“Cong Wins Civic Poll As Gujarat CM’s Muslim Experiment Flops,” said the headline.

Don’t blame Narendra Modi. The loss of his party in the Junagadh civic elections should make it clear that Gujarat will remain communally divisive. He called upon BJP cadres to woo “nationalist Muslims” into the party fold. This is rather sweet because he isn’t a nationalist Hindu or anything. Some found five Muslims to contest and they lost. Others did too, but it is now being said that he has messed up his base by getting these fellows and the “Gujarat ka sher” must not eat halal crow or whatever.

I don’t think it will bother him too much. Now he has a reason to not field any Muslims because some of them lost. Good going.

He will watch the Congress MLAs fumble in his stomping ground. Don’t be surprised if some small skirmishes take place there which will only prove that this does not happen where Modi rules.

Rakhi ka swayamvar and Hindus

Last night’s episode must have been high on drama but I wonder how people who revere the Ganga are taking it. This contestant is from Rishikesh and he took her to the temple and she made him swear to speak the truth. There was constant mention of the pavitra Ganga (the holy river). It turned out to be all lies.

What are we talking about then? Is it not an insult to use a place that is considered holy in such a manner only to grab eyeballs? That character could have been exposed (if it has not been managed already) just for being a liar and a wannabe star. Why bring in religious symbols and stereotypes into all of this as they had done earlier too?

Can Indian Men Handle Foreign Women?

Heads turned, she was luscious. Men anywhere in the world would have given her a second look. Her auburn hair, grey eyes, lightly-freckled Caucasian complexion and that throaty laugh being just the sort of invitation for a wide stare.

She was reckless, a lady with the mind of a backpacker. India was her dream country -- the colourful mirror-work skirt swirling to reveal silver anklets, the junk jewellery, the carvings, the very grand feeling of experiencing somebody else's world in your own currency that would go very, very far indeed.

She felt safe in the second-class compartments. She got used to the water and the oglers. Life was to be enjoyed and she was going to make the best of it.

No, the real India, the much-maligned India, did not leave her crestfallen.

There is something else which she does not even know about. About the champagne clique that twirled around her on the powdered floor, about the dizziness of wine mixed with the delectable high that strangers experience on dark nights, about the dim lights, the hands moving lower down the back, the jive turning into a close embrace, someone groping into her blouse and then that deep soul kiss.

She was too engrossed in the momentary bliss to notice that she had become an item. Her partner of the moment, who had initiated the proceedings, was let off with a, "Mazaa aaya kya (had fun)?"

But the young woman became the 'floozy'. And the explanation the hot-blooded youngsters of the party-till-you-get-a-headache set had for it was a sharp, "These foreign women are so available."

And the guy – surely, he wasn't dragged to the guillotine? "Oh no," they said in his defence. "He was just feeling sentimental, his girlfriend was not in town and he was missing her!"

Some sentiment this. You miss a loved one, transfer your pent-up lust to another, use the latter who may no doubt be a willing accomplice, but instead of making a graceful exit or perhaps even a genuinely affectionate farewell, you end up bad-mouthing her.

This chap was heard telling friends, "Come on. She came on strong and wanted it."

Not only do we have a budding social worker on hand, but someone who is extremely finicky. Asked how far he went, he replied sagely, "Just the oral stuff. No further, who knows what diseases she suffered from?"

If this guy came near me I'd probably throttle him, but he seems to be quite popular in his group. Since this girlfriend is away quite a bit, his friends understand his biological needs and his temporary sentiments. They also envy him his fleeting forays. He keeps them happy by recounting his tales and making them laugh. It gives the men in his coterie a chance to fantasise and the women in their crotch-snuggling jeans an opportunity to feel terribly respectable.

We just can't handle foreign women -- we don't know how to treat them or what to think about them. Indian men abroad go completely bonkers -- from the ones who describe the strong vaginal muscles, to the ones who think every western woman finds them exotic, to those who think that an invitation to dance means that he is irresistible.

And then, there is this incident about an old professor in Delhi who visited a close colleague. There he cornered a male foreigner, who was chatting with a lot of Westerners who patronised the place, and pleaded with him, "You seem to know everyone. Can you please arrange one white woman for me? I am willing to spend my whole salary for the night!"

He could be an uncle of our young 'sentimental' friend. They are all alike. If only they knew that Western women may be open, but they are not free with their bodies and emotions. And if they do share a healthy relationship, however brief, they don't hold you responsible for "tainting" them.

They too get married, have kids, help run a home, have a career, have feelings.

It is extremely insensitive and unfeeling of the Indian man, and woman, to sit on a high horse and pass judgement only because, often, the Western woman can ride better and fall freer.
- - -
(This is an old column of mine from 1998. The people mentioned were all known to me.)

Prabhakaran and another Sri Lanka

The guy who had probably discovered a bit about V. Prabhakaran a couple of years ago was giving us the news. He sounded jubilant. “We are the first channel that told you he is dead. We were the first to bring you pictures of his dead body.”

I cringed. Also, I did not know what he was celebrating. Did he know? The LTTE (Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam) had the support of India in the early stages until the dynamics changed and they began to be disillusioned with the Indian government. They killed Rajiv Gandhi.

Anyone who has travelled extensively through South India, mainly the tip of Tamil Nadu, especially Rameswaram, will realise that there was support and the usual make-fast-buck tactics. I wasn’t surprised to read this bit of news:

"Smuggling to Sri Lanka has been a major source of income for many people living on the coast. Smuggling for LTTE was very minuscule when compared with the smuggling for Sri Lankan civilian consumption. Narcotic smuggling for LTTE had come down drastically in the last few years. It's true that smuggling activities have been hit due to increased coastal vigilance. However, smugglers will become active again after a while," a senior police official said.

The waters in this area are astoundingly beautiful. Even a decade ago when I was visiting, one could see fishermen, who the reports say would get arrested under the pretext that they were LTTE operatives. The attitude towards terror suspects is pretty much the same everywhere. And today, India says that Tamilians should be given more autonomy. This is another country we are talking about. This is our government view:

In a brief reaction, the external affairs ministry spokesman in New Delhi said, “It is our view that as the conventional conflict in Sri Lanka comes to an end, this is the moment when the root causes of the conflict can be addressed.’’ It called for effective devolution of powers within the country’s constitution to ensure that all communities, including Tamils, could feel at home and lead their lives with dignity. The spokesman added that India would work with the people and the government of Sri Lanka to provide relief to those affected by the tragic conflict, help rapidly rehabilitate all those displaced and bring back normalcy as soon as possible.

India feels responsible because it knows how it worked its way through this conflict. The death of Prabhakaran cannot kill a movement. What were we doing for three decades to get to the root cause? We are asking Sri Lanka to treat all its communities with dignity?

It is extremely polite of the Sri Lankan government not to tell us to look within our backyards. It is also to their credit that Indians are welcomed in their country, and for a few years now tourists get visa upon arrival.

- - -

I used to be a Sri Lanka junkie.

I absolutely love the place. However, certain areas were out-of-bounds for tourists. And security is stringent at the airports. I recall on one occasion the lady frisking me wanted to check my hand luggage again. I had a small box of dates and she did everything possible to find out more about it. Finally, I said, “Eat it.” She didn’t. No, I couldn’t carry it. I can say that someone owes me a few dates…

Then I remember this man in a lungi. I was on my way from Thiruvanathapuram airport. We were going through the security check and he had a lota (water jug) in his hand. It was the sort used to clean up!

Many non-Tamilians of Indian origin live and work here; most run small businesses, especially trading in gemstones. The Sindhi gentleman sitting next to me on a flight to Colombo told me he was a big man. All I could see was that he knew the flight attendants and he flirted outrageously with them.

He was a film distributor and was candid enough to tell me, “I can only afford third grade fillims. No other market here, no?”

I sympathised with his predicament. He offered to host me. I said, no thanks. He waited till I changed money and then insisted on dropping me off. I decided to do some political snooping. “So, is it okay for Indians?”

“You can settle down here, no problem. You look like Afghani, anyway.”

In Galle, there are several antique shops run by Muslims…and they are not pushing anything; we talked, we discussed, and I just walked towards the stretch of sea as women sold crochet doilies.

It was time to sip some tea…

Before the Taliban: Memories of Peshawar

Before the Taliban: Memories of Peshawar
by Farzana Versey
Countercurrents, May 12, 2009

As the city is on edge, and friends are being seen as enemies, I want to share recollections of the times I spent in the capital of the frontier province on the trips I made to Pakistan between the years 2000 and 2007.

* * *

We were hungry. I told Salim, my guide, I wanted to eat at an authentic Kabuli restaurant. Breads were being baked on upturned woks. The place was packed. I was the only woman in there. A scraggly-looking man came up to us and parted a curtain; the few men having their meal immediately got up and moved out without a word. Chivalry was unspoken and not brandished with a flourish.

The sofa felt wonderfully comfortable after the long drive. The moment I raised my eyes I found (Indian film star) Ajay Devgan staring at me. Stuck on the wall, his photograph typified the Afghan obsession with Hindi films.

We had a hearty meal. There was a stew, some barbequed meats and sautéed vegetables. The food did not leave you feeling full, cooked as it was with a touch so light that even flesh had a feathery texture. Bowls of yoghurt served as dessert.

Driving back to the city, we passed another route. This was Hayatabad; it was called the mini Islamabad due to its well-structured houses, trees peeping out of high walls, bursts of floral colour in the balconies. The inhabitants were invisible. Who were they? Salim explained, ‘Mainly Afghans, the ones who have made it big. But they can only rent the houses, not buy them. There are two million Afghan mohajirs here, so they say Peshawar should be theirs.’ --->

(more of the extract here or on the link in the title)

Did I fly his flight?

“Your flight has been rescheduled,” was the text message. It was followed by a voicemail. I read and heard both these the next day. My phone was in silent mode.

The messages were not for me. It was for a person with a very long name travelling on an international carrier from a far-off land. Why did he have a Mumbai number? Probably a businessman.

Today, it happened again. He was flying between cities. His flight was delayed. I called up the Indian private airline. These guys talk real smartly. I told him about the error and could he please update the information so that the real person gets the message?

“Oh sure, ma’am. I will need your name.”

“Why is my name important? I am giving you details about the passenger, and you should be concerned about his information.”

“But I will need to tell the department who called.”

“Tell them Helen of Troy.”

“Huh? Sorry, I did not get you?”

“Yeah, you won’t. Just do what you have to. Here are the flight details, the gentleman’s full name. Feed it into your system.”

“See, why don’t you call the reservations department, they might be able to help.”

“I do not need help. And I do not have the time. It is your job, you do it.”

Trrring, trring…cellphone rings. An automated voice informs me about my flight delay. I want to scream.

Yet, somewhere, I am thinking about Mr Long Name. Christian from Kerala. I can imagine him working his ass off in some Gulf country, returning to India, going to different cities to sell a dream he has sleepless nights over.

He must have reached the airport early, picked up a quarrel with the check-in staff…and shrugged. He, in all likelihood, did not expect them to inform him. He does not know that the number he gave them is not his number. It is mine.

He is probably travelling well, but even in Executive Class he will be with a plastic carry bag, usually from some department store. Something will poke out. He will say, “Side pliss,” as he tries to haul it up in the overhead luggage bin after the flight attendant has told him that he cannot keep it near his seat as it is inconvenient and not advisable during emergencies. He has travelled so many times, yet he will repeat the performance, jut his tongue out to indicate his mistake, roll his large eyes, and maybe look over his reading glasses.

Then he will sit down, ask for the newspaper that is already in the seat pocket, and wipe his face, neck, arms with the wet towel. When the drinks are passed around, he will first touch the glass of juice, then the fresh lime and finally pick up the Coke. He will spread the newspaper to its full broadsheet size.

He will change channels of the in-flight entertainment till he has watched two minutes of each. He will have the full meal on board, ask for extra milk in his coffee, then recline his seat all the way back and start looking around. After a few minutes he will get up and start walking down the aisle to confirm whether he needs to visit the loo. When he is certain, he will pull up his trousers and go towards the toilet. When he is done and comes out, his hand will be on his zipper. Just like that.

Back at his seat, he will ring for the attendant. He will ask for "magsin” and pick up a serious news mag and look at the ads.

Once the flight has landed, he will switch on his mobile and start punching numbers. When the aircraft door is opened he will pull out his plastic bag and his strolley and his laptop, carry the paper and mag with him and try and rush to the exit. He will make a call saying he is late for a meeting.

Right now, as I type this, he must be on that flight from Bangalore to my city. He does not know me. But for the airline staff I am him.

What a flight it has been…