I, Baldev Singh Sahni, am responsible for the death of my child. And my grandchild too, the one not yet born, that she carried in her womb. It is exactly a month after she died, over there, in mid-Atlantic, that these gloomy morbid thoughts keep coming back to me, again and again. These thoughts paralyse me, through shock and fear.
When I had first come here, the population of expatriate Indian community was so small that everyone knew about everyone else. Over the years, things have changed. I was just twenty – three when I came here, with dreams in my eyes and strength in my arms to cut through the sardonic waves of pain and pessimism, the ones that have carried away the bodies of my daughter and many others. These Atlantic waves have defeated me today. They have, in fact, defeated all the Indians in this land, in this city of Toronto. Has this also happened back in India? But where is Anna?
Anna, do you recall the time when we first met?
I call out to Anna. We both, the sad parents, have been ruminating over our past life together, trying desperately to clutch at straws that otherwise would have been blown away by this hurricane that has been unleashed by the crash.
Anna refuses to be drawn out of her reverie today. She wants to keep her counsel. Since the last few days, she has been rummaging through each of the articles of the house, moving meticulously through each room and stripping and piling things used by Maya – cataloguing them, stuffing them with deodorants, placing moth repellents strategically and packing them neatly. She is going about it with a maniacal zeal, possessed as if with some sort of devilish dream.
Once upon a time, I too had possessed this sort of energy. It had been during those early years of my stay at Toronto. I would work for up to twenty hours a day, non-stop, My colleagues, amazed at my capacity and tenacity to go on working at the operating table, without seemingly requiring any rest, for hours together had given me the nickname – Dr. Devil Singh. Later, I do not recall when, but I did become Dr. Devy Sawhney. Dr. Baldev Singh Sahni was lost in the labyrinths of time.
How could I tell my colleagues that it was not merely my will and tenacity that drove me to test the very limits of my physical endurance? I was driven by dreams. And to a large extent, fear. Fear of failure. I did not wish to go back to the hell hole in Ludhiana. I would have preferred dying in an alien land than accept defeat and go scurrying back to the house in which each morsel dished out by my aunt was laced with acerbic remarks.
I realise now that work in itself has a capacity to heal scars. It keeps the senses occupied. Moreover, if it is creative enough, then it works better than any known anaesthesia. Probably Anna too is searching for such anaesthesia in her present work, that which will numb her pain.
I had first met Anna at the Gurdwara. It was attraction at first sight. As soon as I met her, I knew she was the one for me. For three weeks I had followed her but each time when an opportunity presented itself, I would be tongue tied. On one fateful day, I summoned all the courage that was at my disposal and visited Mr. Shamsher Singh Bedi, reputedly the biggest landlord amongst expat Indians in Toronto, to seek his consent to marry his daughter, Anna.
Anna was hardly nineteen. I was twenty eight. The marriage was solemnised in the Gurdwara amidst the chanting of Gurbani. It was a big cultural event, that wedding of ours, since Pandit Ravishankar had consented to play sitar to the accompaniment of the hymns. It had been extensively covered by the local newspapers. Much like the way the newspapers now are covering the crash that has taken place in mid-Atlantic, taking the lives of all the passengers on board.
Oh Maya, you were a trained swimmer. Is there any chance that you could have swum ashore to one of the smaller islands in the mid-Atlantic? The Irish Government has been pretty helpful. They have flown many sorties to locate the wreckage off the coast of Cork, and locate survivors, if any. Yet, could there be any chance that they have missed you After all that ocean is the size of couple of continents put together. With all sorts of sharks and piranhas ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
I shudder involuntarily at the incursion of such thoughts that race across my cranium. Yet, the fact of life is that such things happen. Like the time when Anna started to have labour pains at that unearthly hour, 3 AM. I was then so unsure of the fraternity of doctors that I refused to leave her side even when she had been ushered into SCU. Anna had given birth to a baby girl in the early hours of dawn, when the sun was just breaking through those clouds of darkness. We had named her Maya.
Twenty two years have fled past since then. It seems as if I had landed at this place just yesterday. All the memories come flooding back to me as if some reel of silent movie is being projected against the bones of my skull through a projector in fast forward mode.Why did fate choose us for target practice? I have never deliberately hurt anybody! I have conscientiously worked to help people in distress and have generally followed ethical standards. What part did karma play in all this?
Maya had been a good student. A cheerful happy go lucky kind of girl she was. She did not give us much trouble when she was growing up. Though she was wilful and generally naughty as a child, it was not something that is not expected of a lively child. Moreover, it was easy to convince her by logical reasoning and thus make her abide by the standards that prevailed. She was not given to tantrums. And that had been the case till that infatuation of hers when no reasoning or persuasion could dent her will.
Around a year ago, Ajit Virk had come into our lives. It was that fateful year in which the Golden Temple had been stormed by the Army in order to flush out Bhindranwale and his cohorts. To give the devil his due, Bhindranwale had become a very smart operator. First, he convinced the powers in Delhi that he would neutralize the Akalis in the state. Delhi allowed him a free reign. In fact, one of the leaders of the ruling coalition then had gone on record with eulogies for the guy, painting him in the hues of a religious saint. This despite the fact that the state police chief had been shot dead on the steps of Golden Temple by his band of followers. The genie which had been unleashed needed its share of blood. Now it sustains on sussurating whispers and innocent lives.
Ajit had come to me with a letter for me from his mother. I had known his mother since my days in Ludhiana. She was the wife of my closest buddy, Dr. Komal Virk, who had, as the letter had gone on to inform me, died of cardiac arrest the same year. Komal and I were classmates when we were graduating from the University.
The letter had specifically mentioned about Ajit and his past. The lady, with extremely honourable intentions, had informed me in that letter about his proclivities and sympathies to the extremist cause. Ajit had graduated as a chemical engineer from Chandigarh. However, due to some reasons, he had not found decent enough employment for more than a year. During this period of unemployment, he had probably befriended some of the boys from Khalistani Tigers. As it normally happens in such cases, with things getting a little too hot for him in Ludhiana, he had been forced to pack his bags and leave the place.
I knew, I could have turned down his request for lodging with us. Instead, I could have helped him by getting him accommodation in one of the hostels attached to the Gurdwara. I could have saved myself from this onerous responsibility today. Despite Anna's opposition, who had every reason to be alarmed over his past, I had allowed him to stay in the guest room in our house. My adamant attitude had gotten the better of my judgement then. My deep sense of loyalty towards my friend, now deceased, had, in fact blinded me to all the faults of Ajit. I also thought he deserved a second chance given that he may have passed through some emotional turmoil. Exasperated by this decision of mine, Anna had withdrawn into a cocoon of her world till it lay shattered at our doorstep.
Ajit had, from the very beginning, behaved in an extremely gentle fashion and had tried to never give us, his hosts, any reason to complain, except when he would disappear for a day or two without informing us about it or later disclosing his where about during those couple of days. He did this disappearing act couple of times. Anna resented these disappearances and kept insisting that her instinct indicated that Ajit was up to some nefarious activity and this was more than merely a general tendency of one so young to try to live according to his or her own diktats. However, I felt that he was beginning to reconnect with his life and it was not a right time to jettison efforts to bring him back to mainstream.
Ajit. Ajit. That name still rings in my ears. Komal Virk had helped me during the leanest period of my life. It was at his address that my passport, and later the Canadian Visa, had been delivered. I had not wanted my Uncle or Aunt to know about my plans till I had finally crossed all the hurdles of buying air ticket. I had saved pennies. I had scrounged. I had once asked Komal to join me in this venture. He had simply smiled disarmingly and replied—'I love the smell of this land far too much to be able to grow at any other place'.
We both, Komal and myself, were born in Lahore, I had crossed the border that had suddenly sprung up as a thirteen year old, along with my Uncle and Komal 's family. I never met my parents after that migration. The blood of my parents, like the blood of Komal's grandparents and his elder sister, has been mingled in those flower buds that bloom today in India.
This is the tragedy that befalls man. It always so happens that the children repudiate that very logic and basis of life that their parents had chosen. While Komal loved the smell of the land, Ajit, his son, had to flee from the same land.
Maya and Ajit had grown friendly over the period of the year. Neither Anna nor myself had thought much of this budding friendship till one day, when Maya decided to accompany Ajit on his trip to Gurdwara. It clearly indicated her willingness to be seen in public along with Ajit. It was a sign of events to follow.
Maya had, by her own choice trained under Pandit Raviraj in Indian Classical music. She had also then decided to take up Western Classical music as her Major in the University. She did sing well. I mean whenever she sang a Shabd or Kirtan in the Gurdwara, there would not be a soul in the Gurdwara who would not be moved by her rendering of the hymns. It had started as fun, this practise of Maya singing in Gurdwaras. Later on, she had begun to get invitations from cross-country locations for not only singing in Gurdwaras but also sing hymns in the Church. Maya, I love your voice. I love your chirpy smile. Even that imperious haughty look that you some times acquire to maintain aloofness whenever you so want it, I miss your laughter, I miss your joviality. I miss all that and much more.
Twenty-two is hardly the age to die. At twenty-two I was dreaming of the life that lay ahead of me in distant land. In Ludhiana, life begins only after one reaches the threshold of twenty-five years. At least that was the case when I was there. Maya was snatched away from us at that age when she had not even begun to think of the future.
”Allow me to live the way I want to live”. Maya had told her mother when Anna had begun to object to her growing friendship with Ajit. Anna always resented the fact that Ajit, despite her prodding, had never once apologised for his actions of the past and thus to her, it indicated that he had not yet made a clean break from his past. This, according to Anna, had made him equally culpable of being a partner in crime – of killing innocent bystanders. That was the reason why Anna did not want Maya to hobnob with him. The tension in the relationship, between the mother and daughter had grown until it began to manifest itself in body language. Both were headstrong individuals.
”Stop behaving like a stubborn hog dammit. She is old enough to know what she wants. She will have him with your consent if possible and without it if necessary”. I had to intervene to maintain a semblance of domestic peace.
Maya was not ready to wait. Maya was not ready to accept our words of caution and patience. It was as if she had been driven mad. Probably, love is the socially accepted form of madness. Lovers are born, not made. Reason does not apply to them. It denies them the simple consolation of a normal life. The intense belief in the image of the person loved, the intimate act of gnawing at your own being when denied access to that image of the loved one, the ability of the lovers to conjure up the world that is dominated by goblins who bring pain on the wings of air breathed, all this can never be suppressed or even correctly articulated, it can merely be felt. That was how Maya was. She moved in the world of her own, a world of make believe in those early months of 1985, until reality forced that world to fracture.
Around two months ago, Maya had informed Anna about her pregnancy. Maya and Ajit had by then, already arrived at a decision.
“Maya would go stay with my mother for a few days. It is to seek her blessings for our marriage. She would be back in few weeks and then we would get married at the Gurdwara here”. Ajit had said this to us when we had sat down to have dinner one fine evening. Permission had not been sought. We had been informed. So we, the Parents, had no choice but to keep quiet and keep to our own lives.
Maya was to fly to Bombay. Air India Flight 182. June of eighty five. Tickets had been booked by Ajit for he had taken over the management of their affairs.
The report that has been published in Toronto Star reads some what like this :”All the three hundred and twenty-nine people abroad the 747 Jumbo jet of Air India,
Flight Number 182, enroute to Bombay from Toronto have been killed when a terrorist bomb exploded in the plane. The plane and all its passengers went down off the coast of Cork, Ireland. It is being reportedly said that the bomb was put in one of the bags. The X ray machines were out of order and handlers had put it abroad the plane with only a cursory check”.
All the information that I have gleaned from the reports and the note that I carry in my pocket confirm my suspicions. Ajit has disappeared after leaving that fateful note for me. Ajit never came back to house after he had helped Maya board the airplane at Toronto airport for what he knew was to be her last journey. I have not yet handed over the note to the police. Not yet.
That note is in my pocket and it scalds the skin of my chest where ever it touches. I haven’t shown the note to Anna too. I am afraid; it will force her into more extreme position towards me. As it is, she holds me responsible for the death of her child.
“Sorry Uncle, we will need to sacrifice many more lives before we can teach those bastards in Delhi a few lessons.” That is what Ajit has written.
“Yes, go on, teach them a lesson by shedding the blood of innocents. You have indeed avenged the damage to the Golden Temple. Today you have killed eighty-four children to consecrate your temple. Besides these eighty-four children, I also know of one foetus that has been killed to appease your gods. That foetus was my grandchild. Are you happy with the oblations offered via these sacrificed lives!” I shout, silently, in my head, at those tidal waves that bring misery to me. I want to shout at Ajit as well but he is nowhere to be found.
It had been easy for him. This conspiracy. Since he did most of the packing, he would have conveniently hidden the explosives in the luggage of Maya. What is galling is that he used the faith of an innocent girl to carry out his foul deed. He abused the hospitality extended to him by this family. By me.
Where would he be now? “Ajit, you have stabbed me. You have drenched all my dreams with the blood drawn from the foetus of my grandchild.”
I am angry. My Sikh blood boils and seeks revenge.
“Today I take a vow. I will hunt you down Ajit Virk. You better be aware. I will track you down and kill you in cold blood and let hyenas eat your stinking flesh. I shall seek you out whether you hide in heaven or hell. This I swear on my grandchild.”
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Degradation of Life
There was a time when we had some values that would allow us to claim we were better off, as a society, than others, in not only South Asia, but many other societies across the world. I am talking of the time when Late Prime Minister Shastri was a Railway Minister. After an accident which led to deaths on railway tracks, Shri Shastri, the then Railway Minister, had owned moral responsibility and quit his office.
Few days ago, I read a report on a Minister in the Uttar Pradesh Government. This minister fled from the scene of accident. He was travelling in his official car and his driver lost control of the vehicle and killed a school boy. I am talking of Gopal Nandi, and the school boy named Saurabh. Is it not bad enough that the officials travel with horns blaring and with large entourage? The public pays for all this. And if there has been an accident, would it not behove a human being to show some sense of responsibility towards a fellow human being, his victim. What kind of example are the ministers setting now?
Is it too much for the common man in India to expect even common human decency? Where have we gone wrong as a society? And where do we go from here?
We as individuals have been overcome by apathy. We are no longer appalled by such incidents. We have become insensitive to the suffering of our fellow citizens. So long as our kith and kin are safe, we don’t want to get involved in any fracas. No sense of shame revolts us over the state of affairs.
To bemoan other values in this blog would be belabouring the point. And it is not my desire to do so. Yet, I do think that we are quickly spiralling down a slippery path which leads to hell.
I know this will raise many heckles, this bleakness that emanates from the pathos of the present situation. But I don’t want to mince words either. If we don’t act now, we will forever rue the situation which will overwhelm us all. For sure, we will become a replica of failed state as is evident from our neighbourhood.
For a minister from a party which came to power based on the slogan of empowering the poor, to exhibit such lack of respect for human life of the very poor smacks of utter disregard for those very people. To be very honest, I had been very glad when Mayawati had won absolute majority in UP though I was among the minority in my circle of friends. I felt, that Indian masses had ushered in the long awaited revolution, not through barrel of the gun but through the power of the vote.
To me her winning of election was equivalent to the Nobel Prize being awarded to Rigoberta Menchu. Both represented the very marginalized segments of society who had seen centuries of discrimination. Alas! The similarity ended soon enough and once again, the people elected to rule have begun to display the arrogance of Mughal aristocracy.
Last year, after 26/11, when Deshmukh had resorted to Terror Tourism, by taking along people like Ram Gopal Varma on a tour of Taj, there was widespread revulsion and he was forced to quit. I hope we can exercise our collective conscience and demand that Gopal Nandi must quit his cabinet post for fleeing the scene of accident. We must force some degree of introspection on political class which has become totally cynical because they have become used to treating the people with utter contempt.
May be I am expecting too much from people but is it not time that we raise our voice, as a collective so that no life is degraded, be it in Mumbai Taj or be it in the back waters of UP.
Can we for once, value life for what it is? Can we for once stop being so remorseless about people being felled by recklessness? Can we, for once, demand that we all receive a humane response, no matter what the station in life is of either the victim or the perpetrator of the crime?
Few days ago, I read a report on a Minister in the Uttar Pradesh Government. This minister fled from the scene of accident. He was travelling in his official car and his driver lost control of the vehicle and killed a school boy. I am talking of Gopal Nandi, and the school boy named Saurabh. Is it not bad enough that the officials travel with horns blaring and with large entourage? The public pays for all this. And if there has been an accident, would it not behove a human being to show some sense of responsibility towards a fellow human being, his victim. What kind of example are the ministers setting now?
Is it too much for the common man in India to expect even common human decency? Where have we gone wrong as a society? And where do we go from here?
We as individuals have been overcome by apathy. We are no longer appalled by such incidents. We have become insensitive to the suffering of our fellow citizens. So long as our kith and kin are safe, we don’t want to get involved in any fracas. No sense of shame revolts us over the state of affairs.
To bemoan other values in this blog would be belabouring the point. And it is not my desire to do so. Yet, I do think that we are quickly spiralling down a slippery path which leads to hell.
I know this will raise many heckles, this bleakness that emanates from the pathos of the present situation. But I don’t want to mince words either. If we don’t act now, we will forever rue the situation which will overwhelm us all. For sure, we will become a replica of failed state as is evident from our neighbourhood.
For a minister from a party which came to power based on the slogan of empowering the poor, to exhibit such lack of respect for human life of the very poor smacks of utter disregard for those very people. To be very honest, I had been very glad when Mayawati had won absolute majority in UP though I was among the minority in my circle of friends. I felt, that Indian masses had ushered in the long awaited revolution, not through barrel of the gun but through the power of the vote.
To me her winning of election was equivalent to the Nobel Prize being awarded to Rigoberta Menchu. Both represented the very marginalized segments of society who had seen centuries of discrimination. Alas! The similarity ended soon enough and once again, the people elected to rule have begun to display the arrogance of Mughal aristocracy.
Last year, after 26/11, when Deshmukh had resorted to Terror Tourism, by taking along people like Ram Gopal Varma on a tour of Taj, there was widespread revulsion and he was forced to quit. I hope we can exercise our collective conscience and demand that Gopal Nandi must quit his cabinet post for fleeing the scene of accident. We must force some degree of introspection on political class which has become totally cynical because they have become used to treating the people with utter contempt.
May be I am expecting too much from people but is it not time that we raise our voice, as a collective so that no life is degraded, be it in Mumbai Taj or be it in the back waters of UP.
Can we for once, value life for what it is? Can we for once stop being so remorseless about people being felled by recklessness? Can we, for once, demand that we all receive a humane response, no matter what the station in life is of either the victim or the perpetrator of the crime?
4500 Crore Rupees
How many zeroes are there in rupees 4500 crores? How many schools could be built by rupees 4500 crores? How many loans of poor farmers in Bundelkhand and Vidharbha could have been written off so that they did not have to kill themselves or alternatively sell their wives to their lenders in lieu off the debt incurred? How many hospitals could we have built? How many industries/dams/canals could have been built?
Uttar Pradesh government has recently charge sheeted four IAS officers, including one retired, for their alleged involvement in the multi-crore Noida land scam during the previous Mulayam Singh Yadav government. The officers include former chairman of the New Okhla Industrial and Development Authority (NOIDA) Rakesh Bahadur, former CEO Sanjeev Sharan, former deputy CEO K Ravindra Nayan and the then divisional commissioner Meerut Devdutt. The officers have been charged with selling expensive commercial land at throwaway prices to hoteliers resulting in loss of Rs 4500 crore to the state exchequer.
Recently I was reading about elections in Maharashtra, Harayana and Arunachal Pradesh. Incumbents were victorious in all the places. Another important feature was the fact that all the candidates had managed to increase their net worth by more than 1000% in the previous five years. Pritish Nandy quotes much higher and more accurate numbers in his blog.
If you now can correlate the two paragraphs, you would know how the assets of the people in power are increasing in each year. You would also correlate this with feudalism in Indian Democracy. Is this not the reason why the sons and daughters are preferred candidates in all parties? Loot of public funds has become a public policy and lucrative business for our rulers and the ruler-capitalist-bureaucrat nexus is snatching away our very valuable assets and turning it into personal property of the ruling elite.
The result of this is for all to see. We are creating a creamy layer, the top four five percent of the population, urban based with transnational affiliations, who are ready to line their pocket, scratch each other’s backs and push the marginalized into ghettos from which the marginalized would never be able to rise in revolt.
And if the marginalized does rise in revolt, the upper class elite would have the means to silence him by throwing at him, another set of disenfranchised citizenry, the so called Security Forces.
Paulo Freire (Pedagogy of the Oppressed) has referred to this as the conspiracy of silence. All the decision makers, whether from one set of ruling elite or another set (read feudal families – karan nadhi, sule pawar/deshmukh/takheray, badal/ amaridner singh, chautala/hooda, obdullahs/sayyeds, yadavs etc etc) will provide sound bites when in opposition but will not unravel the nexus. No one will unravel the nexus because they benefit from it too.
If India ever has to wipe away the tears that flow from its impoverished citizenry, then rules have to be made to allow the state to confiscate all these ill gotten gains. Rules also must be made that no matter what, the primacy of the law of the land will not be challenged. Because even if rules are made and in rarest of rare cases, follow up is done, as in Bofors, we have allowed the perpetrators of the crime to walk away on such flimsy arguments that just because a large period of time has elapsed, no good can come by following the law of the land.
Justice delayed is justice denied. But what would we call blatant misuse of executive official power to deny justice altogether, as has been done in case of Bofors.
And in such a scenario, should we not then support the call to arms by Maoists who speak for the disenfranchised peasantry and masses in whose names the laws are being made in the first place?
Uttar Pradesh government has recently charge sheeted four IAS officers, including one retired, for their alleged involvement in the multi-crore Noida land scam during the previous Mulayam Singh Yadav government. The officers include former chairman of the New Okhla Industrial and Development Authority (NOIDA) Rakesh Bahadur, former CEO Sanjeev Sharan, former deputy CEO K Ravindra Nayan and the then divisional commissioner Meerut Devdutt. The officers have been charged with selling expensive commercial land at throwaway prices to hoteliers resulting in loss of Rs 4500 crore to the state exchequer.
Recently I was reading about elections in Maharashtra, Harayana and Arunachal Pradesh. Incumbents were victorious in all the places. Another important feature was the fact that all the candidates had managed to increase their net worth by more than 1000% in the previous five years. Pritish Nandy quotes much higher and more accurate numbers in his blog.
If you now can correlate the two paragraphs, you would know how the assets of the people in power are increasing in each year. You would also correlate this with feudalism in Indian Democracy. Is this not the reason why the sons and daughters are preferred candidates in all parties? Loot of public funds has become a public policy and lucrative business for our rulers and the ruler-capitalist-bureaucrat nexus is snatching away our very valuable assets and turning it into personal property of the ruling elite.
The result of this is for all to see. We are creating a creamy layer, the top four five percent of the population, urban based with transnational affiliations, who are ready to line their pocket, scratch each other’s backs and push the marginalized into ghettos from which the marginalized would never be able to rise in revolt.
And if the marginalized does rise in revolt, the upper class elite would have the means to silence him by throwing at him, another set of disenfranchised citizenry, the so called Security Forces.
Paulo Freire (Pedagogy of the Oppressed) has referred to this as the conspiracy of silence. All the decision makers, whether from one set of ruling elite or another set (read feudal families – karan nadhi, sule pawar/deshmukh/takheray, badal/ amaridner singh, chautala/hooda, obdullahs/sayyeds, yadavs etc etc) will provide sound bites when in opposition but will not unravel the nexus. No one will unravel the nexus because they benefit from it too.
If India ever has to wipe away the tears that flow from its impoverished citizenry, then rules have to be made to allow the state to confiscate all these ill gotten gains. Rules also must be made that no matter what, the primacy of the law of the land will not be challenged. Because even if rules are made and in rarest of rare cases, follow up is done, as in Bofors, we have allowed the perpetrators of the crime to walk away on such flimsy arguments that just because a large period of time has elapsed, no good can come by following the law of the land.
Justice delayed is justice denied. But what would we call blatant misuse of executive official power to deny justice altogether, as has been done in case of Bofors.
And in such a scenario, should we not then support the call to arms by Maoists who speak for the disenfranchised peasantry and masses in whose names the laws are being made in the first place?
IV- Bollywood as Social Commentary
Something which I should have made clear at the end of the Bollywood III blog was a link to this blog but after deliberating on the choices, I decided to do otherwise.
One of the primary reasons was that this would have tempted many of the comment makers to seek more time for input. The other reason was that I did not wish to prejudice any one with my judgements.
No list of Bollywood movies is complete without certain additions to that list. As would be underscored by the following paragraphs, these are not essentially Bollywood movies, yet these are inexorably linked to the Indian social mores and ethos.
One of the finest INDIA centric movies, sociologically speaking, is Bandit Queen. Since this has been produced by BBC, would it fall under Bollywood, I am not sure of that. Shekhar Kapur has created a marvellous commentary on the life of socially underprivileged by using the life story of Phoolan Devi as the leitmotif for that purpose.
No words can be used to describe the pain of the lady- who gets repeatedly assaulted by the gang boss in the badlands of Chambal and parts of Central India – with whom she gets associated by a quirk of fate. The piercing cries haunt the soul.
The social consequences of rebellious actions as enunciated by the character of Vikram Malla are superbly juxtaposed against the backdrop of the power hierarchy even in criminal enterprises. ¨Kill one person from Thakur community and that would be considered a murder. Kill the whole village of Thakurs and that would be social revolution. Government will have to come to terms with you.¨
When the caste characteristics are so imbibed in social structures that even the converted Christians continue to refer to the caste appendages three or four generations after conversions, would we Indians be able to ever overcome the prejudices thus generated.
The second India centric movie not produced in Bollywood but which cannot go without mention is the one which earned an Indian artiste the first Oscar. YES, Bhanu Athaiyya for Gandhi. Probably the subject itself was so wonderfully relevant to human conditions that it had to win big at Oscars.
Would that complete the list! I guess not. Probably we can never come to terms with the poverty in India- at least not yet in any case- but the pathos of poverty as captured by movies of Satyajit Ray or Ritwick Ghatak should give us some hope. At least we Indians are reacting to the state of affairs in our country- unlike our neighbours all around us- who can only use the poverty and apathy that the status of poverty generates to create mayhem by utilising the faultiness that exist in social structures.
I watched a movie from Thailand with my Thai and Veitnamese classmates in Montreal in the summer of 2005. And I am not ashamed to say that I was shamed by their knowledge of HANUMAN, the monkey God, for they knew some aspects of his life more than I did at that point of time. The movie seemed like any typical Bollywood movie – only the location was Bangkok and the language used was Thai- as were the actors portraying the characters in the movie.
It was then that I realised how closely India was related to South East Asian nation states. It was during one such interaction with the Thai classmates that I realised that the Thai script is eerily similar to Oriya script.
It is possible that people from Indian landmass have crossed the Bay of Bengal to interact and influence the people in South East Asia. And vice versa could be case too. We Indians have probably been influenced by our South East Asians cousins as well.
Does anyone thus think it to be a matter of wonderment that Bollywood continues to be a major source of soft power that is at the disposal of Indian policy makers. Only the country has yet to learn to utilise all the power at its disposal.
One of the primary reasons was that this would have tempted many of the comment makers to seek more time for input. The other reason was that I did not wish to prejudice any one with my judgements.
No list of Bollywood movies is complete without certain additions to that list. As would be underscored by the following paragraphs, these are not essentially Bollywood movies, yet these are inexorably linked to the Indian social mores and ethos.
One of the finest INDIA centric movies, sociologically speaking, is Bandit Queen. Since this has been produced by BBC, would it fall under Bollywood, I am not sure of that. Shekhar Kapur has created a marvellous commentary on the life of socially underprivileged by using the life story of Phoolan Devi as the leitmotif for that purpose.
No words can be used to describe the pain of the lady- who gets repeatedly assaulted by the gang boss in the badlands of Chambal and parts of Central India – with whom she gets associated by a quirk of fate. The piercing cries haunt the soul.
The social consequences of rebellious actions as enunciated by the character of Vikram Malla are superbly juxtaposed against the backdrop of the power hierarchy even in criminal enterprises. ¨Kill one person from Thakur community and that would be considered a murder. Kill the whole village of Thakurs and that would be social revolution. Government will have to come to terms with you.¨
When the caste characteristics are so imbibed in social structures that even the converted Christians continue to refer to the caste appendages three or four generations after conversions, would we Indians be able to ever overcome the prejudices thus generated.
The second India centric movie not produced in Bollywood but which cannot go without mention is the one which earned an Indian artiste the first Oscar. YES, Bhanu Athaiyya for Gandhi. Probably the subject itself was so wonderfully relevant to human conditions that it had to win big at Oscars.
Would that complete the list! I guess not. Probably we can never come to terms with the poverty in India- at least not yet in any case- but the pathos of poverty as captured by movies of Satyajit Ray or Ritwick Ghatak should give us some hope. At least we Indians are reacting to the state of affairs in our country- unlike our neighbours all around us- who can only use the poverty and apathy that the status of poverty generates to create mayhem by utilising the faultiness that exist in social structures.
I watched a movie from Thailand with my Thai and Veitnamese classmates in Montreal in the summer of 2005. And I am not ashamed to say that I was shamed by their knowledge of HANUMAN, the monkey God, for they knew some aspects of his life more than I did at that point of time. The movie seemed like any typical Bollywood movie – only the location was Bangkok and the language used was Thai- as were the actors portraying the characters in the movie.
It was then that I realised how closely India was related to South East Asian nation states. It was during one such interaction with the Thai classmates that I realised that the Thai script is eerily similar to Oriya script.
It is possible that people from Indian landmass have crossed the Bay of Bengal to interact and influence the people in South East Asia. And vice versa could be case too. We Indians have probably been influenced by our South East Asians cousins as well.
Does anyone thus think it to be a matter of wonderment that Bollywood continues to be a major source of soft power that is at the disposal of Indian policy makers. Only the country has yet to learn to utilise all the power at its disposal.
Remittance
How does one categorise people who have migrated from one country to another in search of better economic opportunity? Does this move entail a serious thought process and does it also entail a violent rejection of one's heritage that one inherits by virtue of birth? These questions have been debated previously and there is no easy answer to them. What however is surprising is the wealth of data that is being generated now.
The Economist recently ran an article on the remittances being received by various countries. India topped the list of the countries in this category, In 2008, India received the highest remittance of $52 billion from its expatriate population. This tracking of remittances has been one of the unintended benefits of terrorist attacks like 9/11. Governments and world bodies have begun to track the amount of money transferred and have begun to tabulate this data. Hence, today we know about India receiving this huge inflow of funds, funds which are more than even the amount being invested by companies in India, characterised as FDI.
Individually, each of the first generation of migrants, those like me, most probably, will continue to send remittances from offshore accounts to the accounts in India. In the last six years, as I have found my footing in Canada, I have sent almost hundred thousand dollars back to my account in India. This is one small component of total amount received by India in the last few years.
But small components make big stories.
When I search for total population of Indian origin in Canada, it throws up a surprisingly small number of approximately 800,000 people, Similar figures are available for other countries like US, UK and other European countries. A rough back of the envelope calculation indicates that nearly 4,000,000 people of Indian origin are settled in the developed parts of western world.
A similar extrapolation of data can be made for Gulf countries as well. A conservative estimate of the numbers, my intention here is not to assiduously quote the exact number but to develop the big picture, of people of Indian Origin in Gulf countries and Africa would indicate that the total number of Indians spread out in those parts of the world would amount to a total figure of almost 5,000,000.
In nutshell, the total population of people of Indian origin living outside India would amount to nearly 15 to 20 million.
If these 20 odd million people have the potential to generate such huge inflows of capital for India, then imagine what would be the impact of another twenty to thirty million people working all over the world.
Recently, when huge deposit of oil was stuck off the coast of Brazil, its President Lula remarked; "God must be Brazilian". We know for sure, so far at least, that God, has not yet blessed India with such bounty. Thence, we cannot claim that God is Indian.
Yet, we have something that others dont have. We have a population base which is essentially very hard working and which has the potential to beat the world.
In another few decades, one in five persons in the world would be an Indian. Do we wish to confine ourselves to the geographical landmass even when we will outnumber other major population groups.
My humble suggestion to policy makers thus would be to start preparing our young men and women to venture out into the world. Our society must prepare young individuals to seek economic opportunities across the world. Only when this happens, will we be able to reverse the drain of wealth from our society.
Thus, along with instructions in english and maths, we must also provide instructions to our students on how to navigate different time zones, move across different geographical boundaries and arm them, at the time of their graduation with Passports. A readily available passport, to a student who has completed his Class XII, must be a included as a fundamental right of the population.
No delays must be accepted in implementing this policy and the agenda must rank high in the policy planning framework of all state capitals, For without that support, proper resource allocation for such a policy may not be realised.
The aim should be to quadruple the amount of remittance being received by India. Once we, as a society achieve that, we shall have far greater amount of wealth available to develop our infrastructure. We will have more schools, more housing, more hospitals and more money to develop more roads and railways to connect all parts of the country.
National integration will be made possible in real terms in real time.
The Economist recently ran an article on the remittances being received by various countries. India topped the list of the countries in this category, In 2008, India received the highest remittance of $52 billion from its expatriate population. This tracking of remittances has been one of the unintended benefits of terrorist attacks like 9/11. Governments and world bodies have begun to track the amount of money transferred and have begun to tabulate this data. Hence, today we know about India receiving this huge inflow of funds, funds which are more than even the amount being invested by companies in India, characterised as FDI.
Individually, each of the first generation of migrants, those like me, most probably, will continue to send remittances from offshore accounts to the accounts in India. In the last six years, as I have found my footing in Canada, I have sent almost hundred thousand dollars back to my account in India. This is one small component of total amount received by India in the last few years.
But small components make big stories.
When I search for total population of Indian origin in Canada, it throws up a surprisingly small number of approximately 800,000 people, Similar figures are available for other countries like US, UK and other European countries. A rough back of the envelope calculation indicates that nearly 4,000,000 people of Indian origin are settled in the developed parts of western world.
A similar extrapolation of data can be made for Gulf countries as well. A conservative estimate of the numbers, my intention here is not to assiduously quote the exact number but to develop the big picture, of people of Indian Origin in Gulf countries and Africa would indicate that the total number of Indians spread out in those parts of the world would amount to a total figure of almost 5,000,000.
In nutshell, the total population of people of Indian origin living outside India would amount to nearly 15 to 20 million.
If these 20 odd million people have the potential to generate such huge inflows of capital for India, then imagine what would be the impact of another twenty to thirty million people working all over the world.
Recently, when huge deposit of oil was stuck off the coast of Brazil, its President Lula remarked; "God must be Brazilian". We know for sure, so far at least, that God, has not yet blessed India with such bounty. Thence, we cannot claim that God is Indian.
Yet, we have something that others dont have. We have a population base which is essentially very hard working and which has the potential to beat the world.
In another few decades, one in five persons in the world would be an Indian. Do we wish to confine ourselves to the geographical landmass even when we will outnumber other major population groups.
My humble suggestion to policy makers thus would be to start preparing our young men and women to venture out into the world. Our society must prepare young individuals to seek economic opportunities across the world. Only when this happens, will we be able to reverse the drain of wealth from our society.
Thus, along with instructions in english and maths, we must also provide instructions to our students on how to navigate different time zones, move across different geographical boundaries and arm them, at the time of their graduation with Passports. A readily available passport, to a student who has completed his Class XII, must be a included as a fundamental right of the population.
No delays must be accepted in implementing this policy and the agenda must rank high in the policy planning framework of all state capitals, For without that support, proper resource allocation for such a policy may not be realised.
The aim should be to quadruple the amount of remittance being received by India. Once we, as a society achieve that, we shall have far greater amount of wealth available to develop our infrastructure. We will have more schools, more housing, more hospitals and more money to develop more roads and railways to connect all parts of the country.
National integration will be made possible in real terms in real time.
My Bone Marrow Hankers For India
After acquiring almost a decade long work experience, I decided to move on in life. It was then that I filled in the application to be accepted as an immigrant in Canada. Canada accepts immigrants under different categories.
I applied under skilled worker category and was accepted. In fact, to my utter surprise, I was granted Visa to move to Canada in less than a year. I had heard, right when I was at the beginning of my application process that the whole process would take upto three to four years but when the Visa came through in less than one year, I was really excited.
When I came to Canada, the only family I knew lived in Toronto. My cousins, Mr Kaul, were gracious enough to be my hosts in that period. It was a very turbulent first year, given the fact that I was struggling against odds to find a foot hold in the industry of my choice.
Amongst the many challenges an immigrant faces is adjusting to new culture and new environment. Millions of people have moved across boundaries in search of better life and opportunities. UN report on this type of economic movement of people indicates that upto 200 million people are presently living in countries other than the one they were originally born in. Hence, statistically speaking I was not the first one or the only one to have endeavoured to undertake this journey.
As I look back on almost the decade long existence in Canada, one thing that has constantly tugged at my heart strings is the memory of India. Both, India and Canada have given me a lot in life. They have enriched my existence in many myriad ways and I am indebted to them both for allowing me to grow as a person.
India, as it is today, with its million mutinies( my apologies to Naipaul), still exerts a strong ephermal pull. And I feel for it much more strongly, than I did when I was a child and young adult. With upper middle class Indians having a knot of vipers( Balzac, would this be appropriate?), in place of hearts, the pain of marginalized millions gets compounded when I look at the billion opportunities being wasted by 300 odd families that have more or less divided India into personal fiefdoms. These 300 odd families have a vested interest in keeping people poor, uneducated, divided and at each other's throats in order to grab the lion's share of resources.
And yet, inspite of its utter hopelessness, I am enamoured of India. Would the civilization which contiues to worship the gods it has worshipped for five thousand years, change its course and allow its citizens to be full participants in realization of their own potential? Or would Indians have to wait for another five thousand years?
I applied under skilled worker category and was accepted. In fact, to my utter surprise, I was granted Visa to move to Canada in less than a year. I had heard, right when I was at the beginning of my application process that the whole process would take upto three to four years but when the Visa came through in less than one year, I was really excited.
When I came to Canada, the only family I knew lived in Toronto. My cousins, Mr Kaul, were gracious enough to be my hosts in that period. It was a very turbulent first year, given the fact that I was struggling against odds to find a foot hold in the industry of my choice.
Amongst the many challenges an immigrant faces is adjusting to new culture and new environment. Millions of people have moved across boundaries in search of better life and opportunities. UN report on this type of economic movement of people indicates that upto 200 million people are presently living in countries other than the one they were originally born in. Hence, statistically speaking I was not the first one or the only one to have endeavoured to undertake this journey.
As I look back on almost the decade long existence in Canada, one thing that has constantly tugged at my heart strings is the memory of India. Both, India and Canada have given me a lot in life. They have enriched my existence in many myriad ways and I am indebted to them both for allowing me to grow as a person.
India, as it is today, with its million mutinies( my apologies to Naipaul), still exerts a strong ephermal pull. And I feel for it much more strongly, than I did when I was a child and young adult. With upper middle class Indians having a knot of vipers( Balzac, would this be appropriate?), in place of hearts, the pain of marginalized millions gets compounded when I look at the billion opportunities being wasted by 300 odd families that have more or less divided India into personal fiefdoms. These 300 odd families have a vested interest in keeping people poor, uneducated, divided and at each other's throats in order to grab the lion's share of resources.
And yet, inspite of its utter hopelessness, I am enamoured of India. Would the civilization which contiues to worship the gods it has worshipped for five thousand years, change its course and allow its citizens to be full participants in realization of their own potential? Or would Indians have to wait for another five thousand years?
BOLLYWOOD –III- CHHOD AAYE HUM WOH GALIYAN
The streets where I grew up used to be covered up with snow during winter months. Between December and February, we would normally experience snow and see temperatures dip to -15C.
Once, while on the phone, I was complaining to my mother about the temperature in the place where I live now. The temperature at that time of conversation was around -42C. I was telling her that my bones felt brittle in such cold weather. Her response was so typical of her. “Thank your stars that you are not in Siachin. Not only would you have been battling cold temperature, you would have faced lack of Oxygen as well.”
Such is my Mother! She would always want me to put steel in my bones and not complain. Is it tough love? Is it this, this kind of force, which has driven me thus far in life!
As a child, when it used to be cold, I would expect my grandmother to mollycoddle me. I can still hear her voice ring out – “ Hattoo! Kangri manz ma trav atha. Atha dazzi!”
Spoken in Kashmiri, these words would loosely translate to –“Hey you, don’t put your hands in Kangri. You would end up scalding them.”
Kangri is a small earthen pot which has a superstructure of wood on it. The wood is used to hold and carry the Kangri from one place to another. The earthen pot holds live coal which is used as a shield against extreme cold.
Hence, during long cold winter evenings, we kids would sit with our Kangris under our Pherans ( the gown worn in Kashmir valley, made of wool), bake potatoes and listen to songs on Radio. Such was our childhood.
Chhod aaye hum woh galiyan. But I have left those streets where I grew up far behind. In fact, I have not visited those same streets for more than twenty seven years now. Such is life. We humans are mere atoms popping up in different time zones. Geologically, different predominant life forms have existed on earth for some 400 million years. Presently, we humans dominate it. At some point, dinosaurs dominated it. At other point, ferns dominated it. For how long would we dominate it? Who knows? At least I don’t.
Chood aaye hum woh gaaliyan. It is a very beautiful song. In fact, I like much of what Gulzar has written. He made this movie called Maatchis. It is based on the turbulent years of early 1980s in Punjab, when extremism led to much mayhem in that region.
Another important movie in that respect, which I happened to see with a friend of mine was Dil Se. Mani Ratnam’s Dil Se probably spoke of subjects which had been taboo till then. The nature of relationship that security forces have with the population in some of the North Eastern states of India. I still sway to two songs from this movie. Chal chaiyya chaiyya which Rahman composed and Mani filmed on a moving train. The other will remain imprinted on my mind for ever, till I die. Dil se re. The mauve dress in which Manisha Koirala runs towards extended arms of Shah Rukh Khan – while the words – dil tou akhir dil hai na meethi se mushkil haina ,,,, ( heart will beat like a heart, it contains a sweet difficulty though!) rang out- I cannot move away from that scene. That scene makes me forget all the pains of my life. I can live vividly in that imagery. I can breathe that imagery of the wooden bridge, the virgin territory beneath, the green foliage surrounding it, and Manisha, looking ethereal, running towards the camera and Shah Rukh. Thank you Mani Ratnam. Thank you very much for making my miserable life some what tolerable, liveable. Thank you very much for allowing me to breathe and be a human and not lose my touch with the most beautiful thing in life – the beauty of being able to share a creation – of being able to let go!.
Dil se re, dil se re,,,dil tou akhir dil haina, meethi sei mushkil haina piyaa piyaaa ( my heart has a sweet trouble .... love o my love). Mani Ratnam. I have liked much of what Mani Ratnam made. The song Tou hei re, tere bina mein kaisa jiyun (Hey you, how do I live without you) means a lot to me. Manisha Koirala, All innocent Doe eyed.
I have already written three blogs so far and have yet not given you people my top ten.
I think I am verbose. My mother calls me melodramatic. Much like the movies I see. One of the friends from the MBA class once – during a presentation on a women’s product said aloud the words- “If you wanna create drama, go to your Momma!” The whole class had burst out laughing. Now I realise how important that concept is to marketing mavens. But then that is another blog topic I guess.
So my top ten movies from Bollywood. Ah, that would need thinking ,,hmmm,,,,,,,,,,,, but in any case, here they are (and there are many other movies that would be left out, including such beautiful ones like Sholay, Bandini, Anjali, Ardh Satya, Satya etc that it would be hard to not mention them here) –
1. Pyasa
2. Kagaz Ke Phool
3. Do bigha zamin
4. Guide
5. Anand
6. Deewar
7. Roja
8. Jaane bhi do yaaro
9. Rang de basanti
10. 3 Idiots
And if I had to choose someone from within Bollywood fraternity to represent Brand India, someone whom I would consider to be a person of integrity, someone whom I would feel extremely comfortable with, then it is Amir Khan.
His regard for the professional and ethical conduct, in an industry which today probably is bankrolling some of the terrorist activity in India and abroad stands out and must be commended and appreciated.
May more like him be born to Indian Mothers.
But I have left those village streets far behind. And now I only have a tenuous link with those village melodies, those beautiful meadows, the susurration of the streams as they raced down the slopes of mountains to meet with river Jehlum.
Jehlum. My Jehlum.
I miss her so very much. Alas some decisions are gut wrenching. Yet one must accept them.
I have left the streets that I grew up on forever!!
Once, while on the phone, I was complaining to my mother about the temperature in the place where I live now. The temperature at that time of conversation was around -42C. I was telling her that my bones felt brittle in such cold weather. Her response was so typical of her. “Thank your stars that you are not in Siachin. Not only would you have been battling cold temperature, you would have faced lack of Oxygen as well.”
Such is my Mother! She would always want me to put steel in my bones and not complain. Is it tough love? Is it this, this kind of force, which has driven me thus far in life!
As a child, when it used to be cold, I would expect my grandmother to mollycoddle me. I can still hear her voice ring out – “ Hattoo! Kangri manz ma trav atha. Atha dazzi!”
Spoken in Kashmiri, these words would loosely translate to –“Hey you, don’t put your hands in Kangri. You would end up scalding them.”
Kangri is a small earthen pot which has a superstructure of wood on it. The wood is used to hold and carry the Kangri from one place to another. The earthen pot holds live coal which is used as a shield against extreme cold.
Hence, during long cold winter evenings, we kids would sit with our Kangris under our Pherans ( the gown worn in Kashmir valley, made of wool), bake potatoes and listen to songs on Radio. Such was our childhood.
Chhod aaye hum woh galiyan. But I have left those streets where I grew up far behind. In fact, I have not visited those same streets for more than twenty seven years now. Such is life. We humans are mere atoms popping up in different time zones. Geologically, different predominant life forms have existed on earth for some 400 million years. Presently, we humans dominate it. At some point, dinosaurs dominated it. At other point, ferns dominated it. For how long would we dominate it? Who knows? At least I don’t.
Chood aaye hum woh gaaliyan. It is a very beautiful song. In fact, I like much of what Gulzar has written. He made this movie called Maatchis. It is based on the turbulent years of early 1980s in Punjab, when extremism led to much mayhem in that region.
Another important movie in that respect, which I happened to see with a friend of mine was Dil Se. Mani Ratnam’s Dil Se probably spoke of subjects which had been taboo till then. The nature of relationship that security forces have with the population in some of the North Eastern states of India. I still sway to two songs from this movie. Chal chaiyya chaiyya which Rahman composed and Mani filmed on a moving train. The other will remain imprinted on my mind for ever, till I die. Dil se re. The mauve dress in which Manisha Koirala runs towards extended arms of Shah Rukh Khan – while the words – dil tou akhir dil hai na meethi se mushkil haina ,,,, ( heart will beat like a heart, it contains a sweet difficulty though!) rang out- I cannot move away from that scene. That scene makes me forget all the pains of my life. I can live vividly in that imagery. I can breathe that imagery of the wooden bridge, the virgin territory beneath, the green foliage surrounding it, and Manisha, looking ethereal, running towards the camera and Shah Rukh. Thank you Mani Ratnam. Thank you very much for making my miserable life some what tolerable, liveable. Thank you very much for allowing me to breathe and be a human and not lose my touch with the most beautiful thing in life – the beauty of being able to share a creation – of being able to let go!.
Dil se re, dil se re,,,dil tou akhir dil haina, meethi sei mushkil haina piyaa piyaaa ( my heart has a sweet trouble .... love o my love). Mani Ratnam. I have liked much of what Mani Ratnam made. The song Tou hei re, tere bina mein kaisa jiyun (Hey you, how do I live without you) means a lot to me. Manisha Koirala, All innocent Doe eyed.
I have already written three blogs so far and have yet not given you people my top ten.
I think I am verbose. My mother calls me melodramatic. Much like the movies I see. One of the friends from the MBA class once – during a presentation on a women’s product said aloud the words- “If you wanna create drama, go to your Momma!” The whole class had burst out laughing. Now I realise how important that concept is to marketing mavens. But then that is another blog topic I guess.
So my top ten movies from Bollywood. Ah, that would need thinking ,,hmmm,,,,,,,,,,,, but in any case, here they are (and there are many other movies that would be left out, including such beautiful ones like Sholay, Bandini, Anjali, Ardh Satya, Satya etc that it would be hard to not mention them here) –
1. Pyasa
2. Kagaz Ke Phool
3. Do bigha zamin
4. Guide
5. Anand
6. Deewar
7. Roja
8. Jaane bhi do yaaro
9. Rang de basanti
10. 3 Idiots
And if I had to choose someone from within Bollywood fraternity to represent Brand India, someone whom I would consider to be a person of integrity, someone whom I would feel extremely comfortable with, then it is Amir Khan.
His regard for the professional and ethical conduct, in an industry which today probably is bankrolling some of the terrorist activity in India and abroad stands out and must be commended and appreciated.
May more like him be born to Indian Mothers.
But I have left those village streets far behind. And now I only have a tenuous link with those village melodies, those beautiful meadows, the susurration of the streams as they raced down the slopes of mountains to meet with river Jehlum.
Jehlum. My Jehlum.
I miss her so very much. Alas some decisions are gut wrenching. Yet one must accept them.
I have left the streets that I grew up on forever!!
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