“And this is why Chandni Chowk is emblematic of India!” my friend’s mother and ersatz guide exclaimed as we walked through the crowded, vibrant, and definitely pungent Bazaar. “It showcases India’s diversity! Here’s the biggest mosque in India, right down there is a Ram temple (Hindu deity), further down is a Jain bird hospital, across from it is a Sikh Gurudwara, and at the end of the lane is a Baptist church and school.” Her pride was evident.

Niyantha Shekar celebrated his recent graduation from UT with a trip across Western Europe. In this new Travel & Living/In Focus column, he plans to share his experiences and some of the millions of pictures he took.

June 19, 2010

I just walked out of the Mauthausen concentration camp. The chills, they won’t go. How can they?

The place is a testament to the depths which humanity can stoop to. Depths that one would hope were unimaginable.

“If there is a God, he would have to beg for my forgiveness” - words that a prisoner had written on one of the walls. Words that will stick with me forever.

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To view more photos by Niyantha, click here

Disclaimer: This author is aware that Endhiran is the first Indian album to reach the top of the iTunes chart1. But she would like to make it clear that she does not consider commercial success the only indicator of a good album. She would also like to emphasize that what follows is her own subjective analysis of this album, based on A. R. Rahman’s style, his past albums and the general Kollywood/Bollywood music industry.

A. R. Rahman’s music is usually characterised by ingenuity, subtlety and innovation. Those traits emerge in his clever adaptation of foreign music styles, the way he recycles the usual musical tropes to make novel sounds, and the multi-layered textures that he creates in his tracks.

Almost none of those are evident in Endhiran.

As a whole, the album lacks coherency. There are a variety of electronic sounds that are apparently meant to be associated with robotics; there are the occasional tribal beats; and there is a smattering of the usual guitar cliches. Even within songs, melody and electronic effects coexist in uneasy and ineffective combinations.

That general analysis can be applied to any of the more “robot-based” tracks on the album - Irumbile Oru Idhaiyam, Boom Boom Robot Da, Arima Arima and Pudhiya Manidha. It’s particularly evident in Boom Boom Robot Da, where electric guitars fight for dominance with autotune, and a perfectly nice Spanish-influenced bridge, three-quarters of the way in, seems to have blundered in from one of Rahman’s other compositions. Arima Arima, though, is the best in this category - it features a strong, triumphant trumpet-electric guitar vibe, and Hariharan does a great job with the forcefulness required to carry this track off. Sadhana Sargam sounds a little shrill, but the contrast between her voice and Hariharan’s works well enough.

Pudhiya Manidha, ironically, is saved only by S. P. B., who is one of Kollywood music’s treasured old-timers. Rahman aims to do with S.P.B. here what he did with Balleilakka from Sivaji - inject some of the much-needed superstar factor into Rajini’s screen identity - and he almost succeeds. Irumbile Oru Idhayam goes in the opposite direction, employing the vocals of two females who sound as though they are about to rip off your arm and beat you over the head with it. The trope of the sassy Indian woman who cannot speak Tamil without butchering it has never been more overused than here.

Further disappointment lies in Kadhal Anukkal. It sounds nice enough, but “nice” is the sort of adjective that Rahman usually spurns in favor of others like “captivating” or “fascinating”. A pleasant guitar introduction, sounding almost exactly like Hai Junoon from New York, features Vijay Prakash’s vocals. But the song doesn’t pick up until Shreya Ghoshal’s voice cuts in, and doesn’t take off until Prakash’s oh baby bridge, which is great fun.

What saves this album is Kilimanjaro. Chinmayi and Javed Ali infuse this catchy song with a sort of cheerful, perfectly-executed silliness. Ali’s voice, which has always inhabited the qawwali and melodic spectrum of songs, is entirely suited to this genre, and his pronunciation is almost perfect. But best of all are the tribal influences - the sparse but heavy rhythm, the background wailing, the woodwind instruments. It’s a song I’ve begun to loop over and over again.

I can’t say the same for the rest of the album. Something vital seems to be missing - it’s almost as though Rahman threw a collection of tracks at the wall and hoped something would stick. Perhaps a more truly melodious number would have worked, or a less self-consciously smug atmosphere. But while Sivaji was saved by good tunes and enjoyable pop-Kollywood fusion - a modicum of style, in other words - Endhiran is a confused mess of intentions.

If you’re looking for deliberately tasteless music, Endhiran might be a good choice. But it doesn’t feel quite bad enough to be good. In fact, regardless of commercial success, Endhiran is very far from being Rahman’s best album.

What did you think of the music? Leave your comments below!

Photo courtesy: Wikipedia

Footnotes:
1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Endhiran_(soundtrack)

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I recently spent a delightful fortnight in Central America, visiting my parents in Panama. While touring Panama and nearby El Salvador, I came across an intriguing set of seemingly odd expatriates - a pizza bakery owner from Napoli, a tour-guide from Arizona, and a chef and hotelier from Bern.

My family had been driving continuously in the Panamanian countryside for almost eight hours; we were famished and needed a lunch break. Heeding the advice of Lonely Planet’s Central America on a Shoestring Travel Guide, we decided to take a lunch break at a pizzeria in David. This particular pizzeria is renowned for its authentic Italian stone-baked pizzas.

Domenico - the Italian Chef
Upon entering, we were greeted with a rush of Spanish by the local waiter. Our simple response was, “English?” An unshaven, somewhat gruff looking man who identified himself as Domenico, answered our call. Domenico was the owner and chef of the restaurant. We were pleasantly surprised by his fluency in English and warm, friendly countenance. He told us he was from Napoli. My parents, having lived in Italy, took an instant liking to this man. Intrigued by his amiable personality, we asked him how he spoke English so well. After serving us our delectable meal, he launched into the story of his journey from the bakeries of Napoli to the streets of Seattle and finally the paradise of Panama.

Domenico was born in Napoli, where his family had owned a traditional pizza bakery. He learned the nuances of the trade from his grandfather. After his grandfather passed away, Domenico lost the desire to live in Italy and migrated to Seattle in an effort to realize the so-called ‘American Dream.’ After several years of hard work, Domenico established another Italian restaurant in Seattle and began dating a Panamanian woman. A few years later, he was married and had two children. Life in America was good, but the entire day was spent sweating by the ovens. Although there was wealth galore, there was hardly any time to spend with his children. So, after much deliberation, Domenico and his wife decided to move to Panama and join his father-in-law’s ailing strawberry business. Domenico added that after several years in the field, he had to return to his passion - baking pizza.

Being Indians, we were surprised by his willingness to sacrifice an established lifestyle (in America of all places) and migrate to a foreign third-world nation, the very antithesis of the American Dream. My first concern was his children’s education. Domenico’s children attend Spanish speaking schools in a fairly rural part of Panama. To me, it was incomprehensible that someone would forgo free quality American education for the sake of a simpler lifestyle. Domenico’s defense was firm and unequivocal; although his children were compelled to attend lower-quality schools, he believed that by virtue of his and his wife’s presence, his kids would turn out to be better people - “people with character and respect.”

Luis - the American Taxi Driver and Tour Guide
It is indeed difficult to understand how individuals prioritize ideas in life, and I suppose priorities are centered upon one’s distinct personal experiences. In great contrast to Domenico was Luis, an American tour guide and taxi driver in El Salvador. Luis was originally from Phoenix, Arizona. His father was a Marine in the United States Navy, while his mother was of Hispanic origin.

Before hiring a taxi from a hotel in San Salvador, my father had specifically requested an English speaking driver. Needless to say, we were astonished when our driver turned out to be a native speaker of English. At first Luis was reluctant to discuss details of his past, but after a few hours of driving around San Salvador, his attitude became friendlier and he began to give us details of his journey from the US to El Salvador.

As a child, due to his father’s job, Luis had moved from one location to another, eventually, settling down in Phoenix, Arizona. Luis’ parents had always stressed the importance of education to him, however during high school Luis fell under the influence of some “bad company.” He began experimenting with drugs and alcohol. As a result of his distractions, his grades plummeted and he wasn’t able to gain admission into a reputable college. After a couple of semesters at a community college, Luis abandoned education entirely and began searching for jobs to sustain himself. Well paying, non-blue collar jobs were difficult to come by. Luis eventually found an opening in a Marriott and decided to join it and work his way up. After a few months of hard-work and solid commitment, he was offered a position as a desk manager at a Marriott in El Salvador.

While in El Salvador, he met his future wife, a Salvadoran with family in Texas. After marriage, the couple had a son and moved back to the United States. Life in the US was difficult; well-paying jobs were still hard to come by. Luis was compelled to settle for a truck driver’s position in Dallas. The pay wasn’t adequate for his family and the constant travel and time spent away from his wife and son proved to be too heavy to bear. Luis and his wife decided to move back to El Salvador, but before leaving they made the bold decision of leaving their son behind in the United States, with Luis’ mother-in-law.

We asked Luis how many times a year he saw his son. His reply ,“two,” was filled with emotion. Luis reasoned that if his son accompanied him to El Salvador, he would be compelled to send his son to a local Spanish-speaking school, with private schools proving to be too expensive. Luis valued education and blamed his economic hardships due to a lack of it. He felt that even though his son would grow up without a strong parental presence, he would at least have a solid education.

It made me wonder whether my parents, or any Indian parents for that matter, would be bold enough to make such a choice. Most Indians value education, but to keep a child of six years a thousand miles away seems incredulous. My parents struggled to cope with my moving to the United States; I can barely begin to fathom how much worry Luis and his wife must be experiencing on a daily basis.

Michael - the Swiss Chef and Hotelier
Domenico and Luis initiated a migration due to either familial or economic reasons; in my travels, I came across another interesting expatriate who migrated from Bern, Switzerland simply to pursue his passion - cookery. Michael Smith, an hotelier and chef in Volcán, emigrated from Bern in the early nineties. Smith had studied culinary arts in a well-established school in Switzerland, but his native country did not offer any prime prospects for him. After years of frustration at not being able to make a livelihood out of his passion, he was forced to abandon his aspirations and help his single mother in the family auto-dealership business.

About twenty years ago, while on a vacation in Panama, Michael came across an old motel in Volcán. The motel had a stunning view of the surrounding mountains and was ideally situated atop a hill. He instantly took a liking to this place. Upon his return to Switzerland, he convinced his mother into migrating to Panama and buying the motel. His extended family and friends thought his idea was absurd and bound for failure, but Michael perceived this as a means to achieve his ambitions.

It took a few years to transform the motel from a Panamanian rest stop to an exquisite European styled hotel with a stunning view and excellent dining facilities. There was no question as to who would head the kitchen. Over the past twenty years, Michael has managed the kitchen and is renowned in Volcán for his innovations and culinary dexterity. He was finally able to don his apron with pride.

Perhaps there are many Michaels out there, but in my view his desire to pursue his passion is truly unique. Most of us from the Indian subcontinent tend to pursue careers that are already established and those that lead to great monetary benefit. At times, we don’t have the option of choosing our careers - our parents determine our paths. We become doctors, lawyers, and engineers. How many of us pursue our dreams? How many of us decide to become politicians because of our proficient tongues or comedians because of our wits? Perhaps we should take a leaf out of Michael’s book and pursue our dreams and passions too, regardless of where they lead us.

My fortnight in Central America was indeed enlightening. Domenico, Luis, and Michael gave me views into life I had not previously conceived and made me ponder issues that had seemed trivial. In life, one must make decisions based on priorities and these priorities are dependent on one’s individual experiences. I had always thought that priorities progressed with one’s age. I thought that were was a cycle of priorities beginning with school leading to college leading to marriage leading to family. My trip to Latin America made me realize that people place a greater importance on certain ideas over others, all dependant on their surroundings and the nature of their past. We should be prepared to let our priorities change and be ready to travel over the yonder. If not here, then there, somewhere, lies our happiness.

Please note - the names and locations of above individuals have been altered, in order to protect identities.

Falling in love with the wilderness is a different experience from anything else. It is the experience of going to sleep when darkness falls, with the sparkling lights of hundreds of thousands of stars surrounding you. It is the experience of waking to the birds singing and the sunlight gently caressing your skin. It is feeling terrified when you are in the view of the bear, falling into the depths of the eyes of a deer as she investigates your intentions. It is the experience of standing at the top of a cliff after the hard labor of hiking up the steep inclines, all for one magical view.

Last summer, I went to Yellowstone National Park and found a world far more interesting than that of paper, technology, and people. It was one of wild animals, beautiful flowers, trees, mountains, and a natural life rhythm that is sorely lacking in the life of the average American in the urban environment. In other words, if you did not know it yet, life without greenery sucks.

This year, I traveled to Yosemite National Park, in California. I flew into Fresno, which could politely be called a small town, and then drove an hour to the southern entrance of the park. In three days, my family and I planned to cover what we had gleaned from the Internet and brochures to be the highlights of the park. Although this meant there were many things we would not be able to do, it was our hope to hit the high points and make the three days the best we would ever have.

The roads to the park were narrow and winding, and passed through multiple wilderness areas and state parks. Trees covered the mountains, and the dappled sunlight decorated the road ahead of us. Our first stop inside the park was at Mariposa Grove of Sequoias. Before we actually started wandering around the park, we were confused about why visitors only saw such a small portion of the park. But then we spent 2 hours just walking around gigantic trees standing as ancient sentinels, guarding the secrets of the world. It was as if I had been sent back in time to when dinosaurs roamed the Earth.

After hiking around in the Mariposa grove, we drove down to Yosemite Valley, and stopped at the Tunnel View, probably one of the most often photographed views in the United States.There is a long tunnel that links the southern section of the part to the Yosemite Valley area. Right as you exit the tunnel into the Yosemite Valley area, you are greeted by the site of giant granite domes rising up from the forest floor,far off, below the cliff that you are standing on. It is an otherworldly sight, displaying the tallest of the waterfalls and the largest of the rock formations. While in Yosemite Valley, we spent a few hours visiting waterfalls. Yosemite National Park is known for having the highest number of waterfalls in such a small area, small being a relative term. The waterfalls were truly enjoyable, and we loved hiking up and feeling the cool spray of the melt, but it was the quiet solitude of the mountains that beckoned to us.

In that spirit, we hiked up to Glacier Point just in time to catch the sun’s rays casting a pink glow across part of the Sierra Nevada mountain range and the granite domes. We looked over the edge of Glacier Point upon the valley and roads below and imagined the reactions of the pioneers who reached this place so many years before our arrival. When you are standing up there, staring at the massive expanse of land covered with all sorts of flora and fauna, you suddenly become very small. It brings to mind Ralph Waldo Emerson’s views of nature and the relationship with man.

“In the woods, we return to reason and faith. There I feel that nothing can befall me in life, — no disgrace, no calamity, (leaving me my eyes,) which nature cannot repair. Standing on the bare ground, — my head bathed by the blithe air, and uplifted into infinite space, — all mean egotism vanishes. I become a transparent eye-ball; I am nothing; I see all; the currents of the Universal Being circulate through me; I am part or particle of God.”1

The final morning, we woke up early and visited our last two waterfalls before our final drive up to the north western part of Yosemite. The second waterfall we visited, the Vernal Falls, was a memorable hike. The trail was narrow and steep, and just edged the water. Each climb in elevation meant a longer fall into the rushing river.

At the foot of Vernal Falls we stopped and took in the view. The water thundered and roared under the bridge we were standing on. The cooling mist from the waterfall was welcome, especially in the heat of the day. We then continued to the most difficult and dangerous hike for the waterfall. Though the Vernal Falls hike is considered a moderately strenuous hike with limited chance for death and injury, it seemed stupid to climb up 600 steep, narrow, and wet steps while being buffeted by the wind from the waterfall just to get to the top. We did not really realize how stupid until we had already hiked half way up to the top. The spray from the waterfall puddle in the small dips in each step, and some steps were obscured by water. People jostled each other going up and down, disregarding the certain death just half a foot away from where we were all hiking. After my foot slipped twice, I decided life was worth more than the top of the Vernal Falls, and turned back.

We hiked back down, and made the next stop at Mirror Lake. Mirror Lake was more like creek running through a marshy grassy area. We accidentally hiked up the horse trail, though in good company with many other confused hikers, and ended up on the wrong side of the lake. We did not really want to walk all the way back around, which would take a good hour, so we rolled up our shorts, took off our shoes and waded into chilly water- which really ended up being an awesome side trip of splashing around in the clear water along with a few families from the opposite bank.

We dried off in the sun hiking back to our car and got started on our drive up Tioga road, to the Tuolumne Meadows. Once again, the solitude of the mountains called us away from the valley. After ten minutes of driving, we saw a crowd of people taking pictures of something in a field. One of the lessons we learned last year was to follow the crowd at national parks. We got lucky because this particular attraction was right next to the only real place to stop for the next 30 miles. We quickly parked and jumped out of the car, touristy cameras ready to snap away.

I cannot really describe how amazing it was to see a bear- or just how cuddly it looked while it was meandering through the field eating berries and such. It looked over at us once and then dismissed us in favor of its foraging. They do not look menacing from afar, but I am quite sure I would not want to stand in front of a bear. Any bear. Not even a sleeping bear.

Since we were in a time crunch, we left pretty quickly to get to the Tuolumne Meadows and left the other tourists to ogle the bear. As our car climbed the heights, the temperature dropped and soon we saw large banks of snow in the forests around us. Coming from Texas, cold weather is a blessing in the summer. We pulled over to the side of the road and jumped into a bank of snow that looked like it was at least two weeks old. Freezing in our shorts and t-shirts, we jumped back into the car and drove to Olmsted Point, a stop on the way to Tuolumne Meadows.

By the time we made it to Olmsted, we were on the mountains that we had seen from Glacier Point. The landscape was still forested, but the Olmsted area looked as if it was from another planet. The rocks were smooth and jutted out of the ground, with a few trees dotting their surfaces. Small clumps of a gorgeous pink flowers made a beautiful colour break at the base of the rocks and in small crevices here and there on the sides. It was as if someone had just used a paint brush to dab a bright pink across the alien rocks.

Twenty minutes later, we reached the picturesque Tuolumne Meadows. Far off in the distance there was a herd of mule deer grazing contentedly. Ponds networked with small streams spread through the meadows. The water was so clear that you could see the minute detail of the smooth rocks at the bottom. It was a jolting temperature- so cold it was reinvigorating and refreshing. It was perfect for a hypothermia-inducing swim.

By the time we started hiking to Cathedral Lake, a 7.5 mile hike one way, it was getting too dark, and the snow banks were getting too high for us to cross, so we turned back and drove down to the West entrance. Much to our delight, the black bear was still eating in the meadow, maybe 20 feet closer to the road than it was before.

Leaving Yosemite was a bit like leaving a piece of my soul. We had done so much while we were there, but there was so much left to do. If I could go back, I would spend much more time in the Tuolumne area, away from the crush of tourists and cameras and closer to the unexplored wilderness.

Only 5% of Yosemite National Park has been explored, and an even smaller percentage of that is visited by tourists every year. The other 95% of the park is virgin wilderness where the bears, much like the one we saw, meander in their natural patterns, and the animals, legged, winged, and otherwise, do not have the experience of humans.

I highly recommend going to Yosemite. Although it is not a bad trip to do in three days, I would recommend at least a five day trip for a more leisurely pace and the opportunity to do ranger led programs or have a more thorough exploration of your favourite area in the park.

I cannot end this without mentioning John Muir. Without Muir it is possible we would never have known the treasures of Yosemite or the Sequoias. Thanks to his endless campaigning for national parks, conservation and preservation, Yosemite exists in its entirety today.

Footnotes:
1. Emerson, Ralph Waldo. “Nature”. Nature: Addresses and Lectures. 1849.

Mani Ratnam’s Raavan is a bold take on the mythological epic of Ramayan¹ as it is enshrined in the minds of the masses – that Ram the noble, and righteous guy defeats Raavan the mighty, and immoral ruler. The baseline in the movie is still the same, that ’Ram’ is the moral victor, but it also makes you wonder if that is all that matters. The take is on the definition of right itself. Can Ram be portrayed as Raavan and Raavan as Ram depending on what aspects you focus on? How absolute is righteousness? Is there a benchmark for human purity? What happens when ego downplays morality? The movie, in its not-so-subtle take, makes you question whose side you are on.

The movie opens with Raagini (Aishwarya Rai), the wife of the local Police Chief Dev (Vikram), being kidnapped by the army of Beera, a tribal lord (Abhishek Bachchan). Raagini, although abducted, scared and helpless, shows no signs of servility to Beera or fear of death. Not surprisingly, Beera falls for her charm. Dev, with the help of his assistants and Sanjeevni, a forest guard (Govinda), searches frantically for Beera and his entourage to rescue his wife.The plot and character attributes suggest to the viewer a keen similarity between the characters of Beera, Raagini, Dev, and Sanjeevni and Raavan, Sita, Ram, and Hanuman, respectively.

A large part of the story arc is the run and chase. What follows later is the reason why Beera abducts Raagini - a twisted reference to Shrupnakha, Raavan’s sister in Ramayan, maybe? After the battle and agni pareeksha² scenarios comes the twist, when Raagini follows her heart back to the jungle. The villain who is both feared and revered by the tribals, is likeable despite his vices. The good guy too has shades of grey, and is often not respectable. That’s how Mani Ratnam drives his point home.

The acting is decent but not extraordinary. Abhishek Bachchan has delivered a fine performance in Raavan-by far better than Yuva and Guru. His role, defined more by gestures and less by dialogues, does bring out the intensity that Beera’s character needs. Aishwarya Rai’s dramatic limitations are compensated for by her beauty. Raagini gets more screen time falling and sliding through the jungle than she does to deliver dialogues. Mani Ratnam has beautifully captured emotions through her eyes and by presenting a no-makeup look. Vikram’s role, though with the unexpected twist, lacks charisma. Govinda brings a jovial lightness to the cast and does the ‘Hanuman’ act quite well.

On the downside, Raavan misses the mark with its over-stretched monotone of run-and-chase. Mani Ratnam does touch upon clashes between lower and higher castes but leaves much unsaid. On the upside, Raavan takes you to breathtaking locales in India captured beautifully by Santosh Sivan’s photography. The music is a beautiful blend of Rahman’s score and Gulzar’s lyrics. It is well done and grows on you. Mani Ratnam’s direction, though not his best, is dramatic and artistic. The story is simple, often very slow, but is thought-provoking and captures personality-conflicts well with a sharp narrative.

1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramayan

2. Agni pareeksha: in literal terms, ‘fire test’. the examination given to sita after ram retrieved her from raavan to ensure her fidelity.

————–Raavanan———————–

Raavanan, for obvious reasons,suffers from many of the same defects that its Hindi counterpart does - a very simple storyline that really doesn’t need an intermission, good but not too powerful acting, and a surface treatment of the underlying rift between the classes and castes. Mani Ratnam’s primary motive appears to be story-telling, with enough character and violence to keep it realistic and intelligent.

Although Prithviraj finally gives up the exasperating sneer he adopts sometimes when he wants to appear grim, it feels as though he’s trying to fill a pair of boots too large for him. Neither his initial attachment to Raagini, nor his darker, vengeful side really come through. His anger, on the other hand, is convincing. Perhaps he simply needed more screen time.

Vikram, on the other hand, was interesting, if only for the fact that he filled both the roles of Raavanan and Rama. As Raavanan, he is almost recognizable - he is, in fact, reprising his roles as the rowdy but lovable thug in many of his Tamil roles, but more effectively this time under Mani Ratnam’s direction. Still, he fleshes out this character better than Prithviraj does his.

I was pleasantly surprised by Aishwarya Rai Bachchan’s acting, although most critics aren’t. It’s not easy for a North Indian actress to mouth Tamil words with conviction, although she’s done it before. It’s strange, but her troubled beauty, and her graceful determination, do almost make Veera’s obsession with her perfectly understandable. Almost, because she’s still somewhat aware that she’s acting.

The only actor I actively disliked was Karthik. The Hanuman role was a good idea, but Karthik is simply not comical enough; he becomes annoying very quickly.

Ultimately, what makes the movie is the cinematography. Wind and fog swirl dramatically against a lush green backdrop, characters struggle up and down brooding, slick cliff faces. There’s a whole scene where Raagini pleads to an ancient statue reposing in the middle of a river, its serene stone face complementing the rushing river and vividly green forest.

It’s quite fascinating to note the different reactions to the Hindi and Tamil versions. The Hindi version, as it turns out, is not doing quite as well as the Tamil one, perhaps because of the different perspectives the North and South have with regards to the Ramayan epic. Whatever the result, it has once again showcased Mani Ratnam as one of the nation’s foremost filmmakers.

Photo Courtesy: Wikipedia

Have you ever seen a movie where you walked out of the theater thinking “Hmm…good movie, but this couldn’t happen in real life. Or wait, could it?”  Well, Prakash Jha’s Rajneeti is one such experience. The film has an all-star cast consisting of Ranbir Kapoor, Manoj Bajpai, Ajay Devgan, Arjun Rampal, Katrina Kaif, and Nana Patekar. In a one line summary, the film is Mahabharata set in a modern day Indian political backdrop.

Modernizing the epic characters of Mahabharata and bringing them to life in a mainstream film is certainly no mean feat. Prakash Jha has admirably achieved his goal and made a thoroughly entertaining Bollywood ‘masala’ flick. Therefore, before I launch into any further comments, I would like to say I was entertained. However, to deny that I was highly distracted and cackling with laughter at inappropriate moments would be sacrilegious to the religion of cinema.

Rajneeti is riddled with lapses in simple logic. For example, three female characters in the film all conceive a child - correction, a son - after one night stands. I realize India has a large population, but are our women so fertile? “Need a child? Head to India.” Perhaps someone should do their PhD on fertility rates of the women of India.

Speaking of PhDs, Samar Pratap (played by Ranbir Kapoor), the modern day avatar of Arjuna, is shown as a sophisticated American-educated PhD student studying “sub-textual emotional violence of 19th century Victorian poetry.” I’m sure it’s not too difficult to guess my first reaction to his lofty ambitions and the mouthful of gibberish - yes, quite appropriately and with the heaviest tone of sarcasm, “Yeah right.” Let’s be realistic, the likelihood of a scion of a political family studying such a lofty subject is remote at best.

Ranbir Kapoor’s character provides another comic moment - the rejection of Indu (Katrina Kaif). Indu, in what is certainly an obvious display of affection, tells Samar, “I’m mad about you.” Few, if any, would misconstrue this outburst. And yet, Samar Pratap is surprised, nay shocked, when Indu asks him when they’re getting married. Let’s disregard the method of rejection, but consider the very notion of turning down Katrina Kaif in real life.  In real life, one would have to be bonkers to refuse Katrina Kaif. If she wants to get married to you, I’m sorry my friend, but you abandon your PhD, your business, and all your worldly possessions and find a pundit the very next day.

Clearly, I am a Katrina Kaif fan and I may be guilty of having a prejudiced view. If you’re truly looking for the absurd, Samar Pratap arranging Indu’s marriage with his elder brother, Prithviraj Pratap (Arjun Rampal), in exchange for party funds, is surely the icing on the cake.

Ranbir Kapoor’s character does gain some much needed wisdom through the course of the movie, transforming from a demure student into a wily, cigarette-smoking, ruthless politician and kingmaker. Jha tries to make him the modern Arjuna. His chariot? An executive Mercedes Benz. His weapon?  A sophisticated handgun. I understand that some Indian regional politicians, of late, have been loose in morals and have committed felonious crimes. (Shibu Soren anyone?)  But surely, mainstream leaders do not walk around killing fellow politicians! There is violence and killing galore, but what about security you may ask. Conveniently absent. I’m sure Prakash Jha would answer.

Let us set aside the flaws in plot because a Bollywood movie is rarely flawless and completely realistic. Let us consider instead some of the dialogues in Rajneeti. In one scene, Samar Pratap’s American girlfriend questions Prithviraj’s morality and demands to know whether his men were responsible for abducting and kidnapping a woman from a mall. When Samar replies and tells her it’s just politics, she is visibly distressed. In the next scene, however, she remarks to Indu Pratap that her husband is a “good man”. Surely, kidnapping, rape, and possibly murder are not virtues of a good man! Otherwise, the likes of O.J. Simpson would be ruling the world.

Despite its fallacies and goof-ups, Rajneeti is a movie worth watching. Jha has the right idea about Indian politics. The politics of the world’s largest democracy is an indubitably violent and murky mess. Our leaders do certainly strike selfish alliances and make malevolent decisions. Jha has managed to encapsulate the corruption and sleaze of Indian politics into a thrilling package. Although I am critical of some aspects of the film, I am happy that mainstream directors are venturing outside the tried, tested, and failed formula of traditional love stories. Perhaps the philosophy of innovative movie making is in its infancy (male infancy, as Prakash Jha would say) and will soon grow. In any case, Rajneeti is a movie worth your time.

Photo Courtesy: www.dancewithshadows.com, Wikipedia

Little more than a month ago, a beleaguered Jean-Francois Cope wrote the New York Times (NYT) complaining that the Amnesty International and other critics had unfairly attacked proposed French legislation to ban the burqa. NYT helpfully explains that Cope is the majority leader of the French National Assembly, and a full supporter of the burqa ban. “The debate on the full veil is complicated,” declared Cope - then attempted to explain why a ban on the burqa aided “public safety” and reaffirmed French “ideals of liberty and fraternity”¹.

That politicians are capable of dodging logic with linguistic acrobatics is well known. But Cope’s statement is uniquely appalling – his claim that the issues are complicated is juxtaposed with a plethora of half-thought-out excuses, served with a healthy dollop of barely-concealed disgust bordering on the Islamophobic.

For the past eight months or so, French citizens like Cope have been inventing a host of ingenious reasons why the burqa should be banned from being worn in public. They insist that, by marking them out so aggressively, the burqa prevents Muslim women from integrating into French society. Furthermore, the French are adamant that a full burqa presents serious security problems. And finally, the French claim that the burqa is a symbol of female oppression and degradation.

At best, these arguments are superficial; at worst, blindly self-serving. Take the issue of integration, for instance. The idea seems to be that these covered Muslim women will automatically participate more in French society once their faces are seen in public, never mind that their voices can still be heard. But exactly how is that meant to happen? By disallowing even a minority of its citizens from dressing in a way that is symbolic of their interpretation of religion, the French government is sending them a particularly spiteful message: if our delicate sensibilities are offended by your show of modesty, you’re not one of us.

The perils of immigration aren’t new. In a world with fewer borders and more people willing to cross them, societies and cultures are growing more fluid by the day. If France is so concerned with how its newest residents, many of whom are Muslim, are integrating into its society, it could perhaps start an integration program or some kind of helpline for when the culture shock sets in. Instead, it has chosen to attack the symbol of otherness, which, as has been pointed out², could actually alienate its immigrant population.

One of the other linchpins of Cope’s responses is, of course, security. He cites the robbery of a post office, conducted by burqa-wearing men with hidden handguns, as one of the examples of a security threat. The general implication is that anyone under a burqa could be a potential killer. The potential security threat implied by the burqa has existed ever since burqas were created, but the argument itself is suspect. Of the 62 million living in France, about 2 million are Muslim women. Of these two million, French intelligence agencies admit that less than 400 wear the burqa; that amounts to less than 0.1% of the Muslim female population³.

While on the subject of security, Cope may want to consider the radical Muslim community’s reaction to such a ban, which has the potential to anger a great many conservatives. Most will be deeply unhappy, and some will certainly take it upon themselves to dispense their own brand of justice. Terrorism does not arise in a vacuum, and as long as there are those who twist Islamic tenets to suit their own purposes, a violent backlash to the burqa ban is certainly possible.

Even more unfair is the French government’s self-righteous assertion that the burqa ban contributes to the liberation of Muslim women, since the veil is – self-evidently, of course – perceived to be a symbol of oppression. It’s not clear how much thought went into this rationale; if anything, Muslim women used to wearing the burqa will have to retreat even further from the public eye. The case of Amel Marmouri, arrested for wearing the burqa at a post office in Novara, Italy, is a good example⁴. There was nothing left for it, said her husband; he would have to keep her at home “night and day”. His reaction seems extreme, perhaps even cruel, to more liberal people, but note: the ban of the burqa did not, and will not, instantaneously liberate women like Amel. Banned from wearing the burqa in public, required or choosing to veil themselves, French Muslim women are caught between a rock and a hard place. What freedom could this possibly be?

A bigger question, though, is what the French government thinks it will accomplish by attempting to change the traditions of the conservative Islamic society in this forcible manner. Many commentators have already pointed out that banning this expression of religious belonging might itself be a human rights violation⁵. Given that the French are bent on “freeing” their oppressed Muslims citizens, this is an irony of the first order.

I am not a supporter of the veil or any variations of it. Though one of my closest friends wears the hijab, it is not a cultural construct that I am entirely comfortable with. I am suspicious of an interpretation of Islam that places the burden of modesty entirely on the woman instead of sharing it with the man. But this does not give me the right to rip a burqa away from a woman in the false name of freedom or equality or any of the other specious excuses the French government has dreamed up. What needs to be dealt with in France right now is the alarming lack of tolerance, understanding and intelligence – not the burqa.

Photo Courtesy: el_en_houston

Footnotes:

1. Tearing Away the Veil
2. A Burqa Ban Could Adversely Affect Immigration Efforts
3. Straits Times, June 1^st, “Burqa ban in Europe may worsen tensions”
4. Woman becomes first in Italy to be fined 430 pounds for wearing burqa
5. In the name of human rights, France should not ban the veil