In Defence of You, Pranabda!

(Published in The Sunday Guardian, on 25 March, 2012, retrieved from http://www.sunday-guardian.com/investigation/in-defence-of-you-pranabda)

Image Courtesy: Sunday Guardian, illustration by Sandeep Adhwaryu)

Dear Pranabda,

It was with the mien of a martyr that you said you weren’t concerned about Saturday’s headlines, as long as your budget helped shape headlines a decade later. And those won’t be “MNREGA beneficiaries to pay 50% tax”. As Will may have said, “You are Sir Oracle, and when thou ope thy lips, let no dog bark!”

I write this partly because I don’t think you were cruel enough to be as kind as you must, and partly because, as a student of science, literature and journalism, I’m as qualified to advise you on economics as most of your government’s ministers are to run their ministries, and I pray you take me as seriously as you expect us to take them. Hence, I suggest you bring in the following levies next year:

Defiance Tax

Your newfound love of Shakespeare must have taught you that “They are as sick that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing.” In your wisdom, you’ve ensured that most of us will pay more to go to work than our companies can afford to recompense, by making cars, cycles and footwear more expensive. Of course, there are those fools who’ll walk barefoot to work, and the likes of me, who work from home, staring at their laptops all day. Under the Defiance Tax, the former lot can be sorted out by increasing service tax on pedicures and VAT on foot creams. The latter must be cured by fixing VAT on prescription eyewear at the fourth power of the lens power.

Seduction Tax

Now that your excise on platinum and gold has made proposals and weddings more expensive, we must work under the assumption that people will simply date. You’ve effectively killed long-distance relationships by hiking mobile bills, air fare and train fares. Eating out has got more expensive too, which means couples are left with fewer options to amuse themselves. Therefore, Seduction Tax. Since the prices of lipstick and lubricant have gone up anyway, do carry this to the finish. We all know lingerie begs a rise. I mean, people who have the time to undress before fornicating must be affluent. Also, as matchsticks have got cheaper, we must compensate by increasing taxes on scented candles.

Protection Tax

Just in case these “dissentious rogues” decide to “rub the poor itch” anyway, let them “make [them]selves scabs”. All means of contraception must have VAT placed at 200% of MRP. Hehe, talk about a copper-T-bottomed plan! (Incidentally, every time you mentioned “UID”, in my optimism I heard “IUD”.)

Special Labour Tax

Now, we know there are those who will cross all those hurdles, and go-forth-and-multiply. For these, I say, introduce the Special Labour Tax. The first baby a couple has must be taxed at 50% of their combined CTC, and every subsequent baby at an additional 25%.

Malodour Tax

Pranabda, I congratulate you on making basic hygiene high-maintenance by pushing up the costs of soap, cosmetics and washing machines. But there are those who will “fall into the unclean fishpond” of their body odour, and they must pay a Malodour Tax. You know, to “bid them wash their faces, and keep their teeth clean.” This will naturally require you to bolster the police’s sniffer dog force, but surely this can be factored into your defence budget?

Digestive Tax

And still, there are loopholes that enable tax evasion. For instance, with adult diapers getting cheaper, people can simultaneously strike lingerie off their shopping lists and put their partners off sex. The diapers will also help them brave the effects of cheaper coffee, and as long as they sit home watching their gigantic TVs, which are now lighter on the pocket, sniffer dogs can’t get at them. This can be fixed with Digestive Tax, which will be calculated in accordance with the sewage production of each neighbourhood, and footed equally by its residents.

I hope you will implement these next year, and not “remain as neuter”. Thus shall we turn churches into chapels, and princes’ palaces into poor men’s cottages.

Love,

Nandini

P.S.: I left out the Wikoogle Tax for internet research. You know, I got all the Bard’s quotes from...oh, you know, you clever man, you!

World Tour Meets Spy Romance

(Published in The New Sunday Express, 25 March 2012, retrieved from http://expressbuzz.com/entertainment/reviews/agent-vinod/375622.html)

Cast: Saif Ali Khan, Kareena Kapoor, Adil Hussain, Prem Chopra, Dhritiman Chatterjee, Shahbaz Khan

Director: Sriram Raghavan

Rating: 2 stars

Four years ago, Sriram Raghavan gave us Johnny Gaddaar, a tight, stylish action flick, whose one flaw was Dharmendra’s exaggerated Tam Brahm accent. This time, he opens with the famous quote from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly – Tuco’s “One name’s as good as another. Not wise to use your own name.” Turns out Agent Vinod’s nominal tribulations aren’t even a significant part of the sub-plot. And if real spies were as dumb as the ones in the film, we’d live in a world where wars are waged with paper rockets and toy guns.

So it is that we see Agent Rajan (Ravi Kishen) in some desert town of Afghanistan, playing a mouth organ, and looking around so suspiciously a goat could call him out as a spy. Agent Vinod (Saif Ali Khan) is first being beaten up by Lokha (Shahbaz Khan), and then given a polite hearing, where he denounces innocents, and stages an improbable escape. You know he’s been cast in the mould of heroes of the 1970s when he rescues Pakistani courtesan Farah Faqesh (Maryam Zakaria). You know the film’s been cast in the mould of the 1970s, when she does him a good turn later.

As the agents and courtesan drive off, the title track Govind Bolo, Gopal Bolo, Jo Chaahe Bolo, Bolo Hari Hari rings out. Okay, so Govind, Gopal, and Hari will be pitted against khuda. Thankfully, we’re spared the staple of a patriotic Indian Muslim who stands firm as evil Pakistanis try to lure him to the dark side. Instead, we have the good Pakistani High Commissioner who parts with sensitive information for the greater good of the subcontinent.

But, if you’re looking for kitsch, you won’t be disappointed. All the bad guys are into drug dealing, sex trafficking, and terrorism. And trailing Hollywood by 40 years, Bollywood’s begun to travel to Russia these days. After Players, Agent Vinod gives us a fight sequence on the Trans-Siberian express.  There are chicks with guns hidden in their bikini tops or catsuit pockets. Girls in tiny skirts gyrate to Hindi remixes at casinos. Progressive dancers have already mastered the robot dance from the 1980s. Homophobia brings in cheap comedy.

Iram Parveen Bilal a.k.a. Ruby Mendes (Kareena Kapoor) makes her entry administering Agent Vinod with narcotics, when he gets caught yet again by yet another badass. (Seriously, Vinod would’ve botched up every operation he’s trusted with, if his rivals had had double-digit IQs.) Iram is representative of those Pakistanis who aren’t evil – whaddya know, spies can be good people too. They can also be sophisticated enough to be moved by a performance of Swan Lake in Latvia.

And you know who can be evil? Indian businessmen. And Sri Lankan Tamils who frolic to Rakamma Kaiyya Thattu. And ISI agents. But thatwe knew, duh. No, wait. Some ISI agents are kindly enough to allow their hostages to pick up reading glasses, even when they’ve got several guns trained on them. Awww!

My favourite part was the end, which showcases a fascinatingly horrifying display of acting by Kareena Kapoor. I hoped in vain that she’d weep, “Tere liye meri jaan qurban hai!” But equally enjoyable are the gunfights, where the hero’s pistol beats the villains’ machine guns, and the movements are choreographed to music.

The Verdict: The film is never halfway intelligent, but never boring. If you leave your brains at home, you’ll be fine.

A Family You'll Smile With

(Published in The Sunday Guardian, on 25 March 2012, retrieved from http://www.sunday-guardian.com/masala-art/a-family-youd-smile-with)

Cast: Matt Damon, Scarlett Johansson, Maggie Elizabeth Jones, Colin Ford

Director: Cameron Crowe

Rating: 4 stars

When a kid begins the narration with a round-up of his father Benjamin Mee’s (Matt Damon’s) daredevil preoccupations, I groan. However, the narration ends with the prologue. What follows is the incredible story of a family buying a zoo, charmingly told and convincingly played.

Far from being a hero-worshipping son, the narrator Dylan (Colin Ford) turns out to be a rebellious teen, who misses his mother and resents his father. He rolls his eyes, bites out high-flown vocabulary, and draws disturbingly dark sketches. His 7-year-old sister Rosie (Maggie Elizabeth Jones) fluctuates between being the little child who believes in the Easter Bunny and the girl who’s trying to replace her mother around the house, packing sandwiches, and cancelling play dates because “there’s a lot to do around here”.

Coming to terms with his own bereavement, Benjamin struggles to deal with his children. He has it easier with Rosie, who giggles when she’s tickled, and reaches out to “catch the spirit” of her dead mother. Maggie Elizabeth Jones outshines everyone else in this film, delivering insightful lines about Dylan’s behaviour as comfortably as she cheers, “We bought a zoo!”

Matt Damon, fine actor that he is, brings out the subtext of the film with a nuanced portrayal of an adrenaline-addict-turned-clueless-zoo-owner. There’s one lovely moment, where he frowns at the rear-view mirror, after explaining to his daughter that “pernicious” means “causing damage”, as if he’s just realised how pertinent that word is to their lives. In a film that’s somewhat reminiscent of The Descendants and Stepmom, the confrontational scenes between Benjamin and Dylan are especially powerful.

The movie has its pace spot on, and Crowe has chosen, wisely, to trust his actors. Head zookeeper Kelly (arguably Scarlett Johansson’s least glamorous role) only functions as Benjamin’s sounding board once. His exchanges with his brother Duncan (Thomas Haden Church) are light-hearted, and his emotions are brought out by expression, rather than speech. The narrative isn’t so much structured as pieced together, and feels more authentic, more like our lives, comprising episodes that aren’t particularly significant in themselves.

The whimsical lampooning of the nasty zoo inspector and the talkative real estate agent feels quirky, but not out of place. The cliché of soccer moms lusting after Benjamin is balanced out by a bizarre interview with Hugo Chavez. True, there are character archetypes, and rosy touches here and there. But the film doesn’t get saccharine.

The Verdict: An immensely enjoyable film that may have you reaching for tissues a couple of times.

Double-Crossed Lovers

(Published in The Sunday Guardian, on 25 March, 2012, retrieved from http://www.sunday-guardian.com/masala-art/espionage-as-a-trapeze-act)

Cast: Saif Ali Khan, Kareena Kapoor, Adil Hussain, Prem Chopra, Dhritiman Chatterjee

Director: Sriram Raghavan

Rating: 2 stars

No wonder Pakistan banned Agent Vinod. A movie that simultaneously insults the ISI, RAW, Lashkar-e-Tayebba, honey traps, captains of the industry and Noida autowallahs can’t be good news. Remember those Sunny Deol films where the azan would play every time the villain strode towards the camera, glowering at imagined heathens? Remember Contra, the video game? Now, marry those two, and throw in a disposable princess at Contra’s side. That’s Agent Vinod in a nutshell.

I’ll say this – from its beginnings in Afghanistan’s Desert of Death, where “Hindustani kuthe” Agent Vinod (Saif Ali Khan) is being tortured, to its final collapse into an orgy of push-up bras and fantasy soft porn, the film never fails to entertain. For about an hour, you assume it’s a stylised action flick that demands willing suspension of disbelief. But then, it becomes apparent that it’s simply so bad, it’s good. One begins to delight in its illogicality, and whoop, whistle and applaud with the rest of the audience.

I’m not sure how many Tourism Ministries were involved in this, but these are the countries we travel to – Afghanistan, Russia, Morocco, Sri Lanka, England, Somalia, Pakistan, India, South Africa. Vinod has a penchant for rescuing courtesans and prostitutes. This moves him to hold hands with an airline steward whose identity he will eventually steal. For some reason, this scandalises a cabbie in Morocco – the holding hands, not the identity theft.

Anyway, all of this has something to do with the number 242, a suitcase, fifty billion dollars, Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyyat, and nuclear warfare. Bring in a victim-terrorist-doctor mix (Kareena Kapoor), a Hindi-speaking Arab who whimpers when he has to put down wounded camels (Prem Chopra), a knighted Indian millionaire (Dhritiman Chatterjee), an ISI Colonel (Adil Hussain) and an ISI pawn (Anshuman Singh), and garnish with a mujra and conspiracy theories about businessmen perpetrating terror to influence stock-markets. Now, how can this go wrong?!

It gets better. The honey trap, like her predecessors, betrays Pakistan for love. She also has Daddy issues, and wants to live in a world where she can make babies, where the Rubaiyyat is a beautiful book (and not a player in political intrigue), and where the ISI and RAW will blow soap bubbles together. Well, something like that. Agent Vinod has a heart-wrenching back story too – he wanted to be an artist, but became an agent because a school accident gave him a taste for danger. Watch out for the maudlin at the end, where Saifeena do anavrasa demonstration.

The Verdict: Go in a large group, enjoy the slick parts, and jeer at the stupid ones. There are plenty of both.

চিত্রনাট্য ও সংলাপ

In my earlier post on Hindi movie dialogues, a perceptive commenter asked about my favourite dialogue from Bengali films and put me in a quandary. The Bengali films I have watched all my life are not the coin-throwing, whistle-blowing, jumping-in-the-aisles variety. I have steadfastly avoided Posenjit and seen the star only as Prasenjit Chattopadhyay. In fact, I wrote a post on masala Bengali dialogues – mildly poking fun at them. 

But when I thought about it, there were so many lines that have come to me and score highly on the parameters of Performance, Immediate Impact and Repeat Value that I had to excise mercilessly to keep the list down to a small number (11). 

So, here is a list – in no particular order (except the last one) – of my favourite dialogues from Bengali films. I have given a bit of context and avoided translation. Why? Say the words “But I have mother” and you’ll realize why.  

Unt ki knata bechhey khai?– Shonar Kella

Every line which Lalmohan Ganguly a.k.a. Jatayu (played by Santosh Dutta, in the best comic performance ever) said in this film deserves to be enshrined in a Hall of Fame for Cinematic Dialogues. But I will go with this non-sequitur which makes perfect sense in the context of the Bengali conversation where it appears.

BONUS QUOTE: Apnar Gyanpeeth phoshkey gelo. – Joi Baba Felunath

When Feluda realized super-popular novelist Jatayu did not know the meaning of sholko (fish’s scales), he pointed out that Jatayu is not graduating to Critics’ Choice in a hurry.    

Ei romantic surroundings-ey tomar hoito money hochhey, love is the most important thing in the world. Kintu Kolkatai phirey giye tomar jodi kokhono money hoi prem-er cheye security boro kimba security thekey prem grow kortey parey, taholey amai janio. Kemon?– Kanchanjungha

I love this line because this was said by a character – which was the exact opposite of an ‘author backed role’. While the heroine was talking about the mists of Darjeeling and Tagore, he – an engineer (gasp!) – went on and on about bridges and dams. But then, he redeemed himself with this line. It was the most unromantic ‘proposal’ in the world but it had grace, it has simplicity and if not anything else, it had an element of realism that was the perfect counterpoint to the unreal magnificence of the Himalayas.  

Ki madam, Bangla-medium boyfriend poshachhena? – 22ey Srabon

22ey Srabon had many lines that were clever, topical, layered and eminently memorable. But as a Bengali medium boy, I identify too much with this one. Every time a Modern (pun intended for Calcuttans only) girl gets exasperated with the set ways of her boyfriend/husband, this is the taunt. It has been said many times in real life. I was just glad it has been immortalized on film.

Don’t forget the funny frustration of the police chief (“amra ki kendriyo sarkar na PC Sarkar?”) or Prasenjit’s gentle but damning admonition to a late-comer (“Goto 12 minutey 8 ta rape hoye gelo deshey aar tumi goli-ta miss korey geley?”).

Janar kono shesh nei, janar cheshta britha tai. – Hirak Rajar Deshey

Intellectual Bengalis are raised with “lekha para korey jey, gadi ghoda chorey shey”, establishing a direct correlation between education and affluence. The King of Hirak felt education breeds revolution and convinced young students with a reverse logic. Since you are never going to finish learning, why bother?

Sheta ki bhalo na kharap?– Seemabaddha

As I had mentioned in an earlier post, Satyajit Ray was mostly about questions and seldom answers.  Nothing exemplifies this better than this question of Seemabddha, where a corporate executive took the ‘right’ steps in his life & career but was forced to answer if that was good or bad. The question returned again and again as the answers kept getting tougher to face.   

Tumi amai bolo Uttam Kumar.– Basanta Bilap

Women sometimes imagine their boyfriend to be Adonis. Or in the case of 1960s Bengal, Uttam Kumar. Only in the zaniest situation does the boyfriend imagine his girlfriend imagining him to be Uttam Kumar. And if that does not happen, then he makes it happen. One of Bengal’s best-loved Chinmay Roy was the exact antithesis to Uttam Kumar but with this line, he ensured that he had almost as many fans.

Ami Jhinder bandi noii. Ami Jhinder raja. – Jhinder Bandi

A rocking adaptation of Prisoner of Zenda, Uttam Kumar was recruited as a stand-in for the missing king of Jhind and an army of loyal retainers attempted to mould him. And just when the directions and training became a little too intrusive, he turned around and said what Bengal knew all along. He wasn’t a prisoner of fame. He was the King.

Rape aar molestation-er moddhey tofat-ta thik ki? – Dahan

Probably Rituparno Ghosh’s best film, Dahan was an amazingly real picture of modern society and its hypocrisy. When a couple was physically assaulted in full public view, a circus erupted. In addition to the attempts to shield the guilty, there was voyeurism from supposedly concerned parties. In this case, a husband’s colleague said this line and very subtly channeled his outrage to titillation.  

Pratham inaam dewar adhikar grihaswamir. – Jalsaghar

Satyajit Ray’s forte wasn’t bravura. His characters were real, not prone to bombast.  But they were never beyond showing an upstart his place.

Chhabi Biswas, Bengal’s most legendary character actor, gave a commanding performance as an impoverished zamindar. And at the end of a stunning performance in his jalsaghar, he flicked his ivory-encrusted stick to stop a nouveau riche rival from throwing money at the performer. The host has to do it first, he intoned. And with regal air intact, he handed over his last pouch of gold coins.   

Lokey boley Cruci-fiction. Ami boli Cruci-fact. Karon ami toh nijer chokhey dekhechhi. – Mahapurush

He loved having roasted hippos. He edited the Manu Samhita. He knew Buddha when he was a chhokra. He was there when Nebu(chadnazzar) was a nabalok. He taught Einstein relativity. And he was there at the time of Nativity.

Many consider the film version to be inferior to the novel (Birinchi Baba) but I disagree – on the basis of this one line. Okay this one and “Kashi Benaras, not kashi khuk khuk”. 

Dada, ami bnachtey chaai. – Meghey Dhaka Tara

And finally, this is the line I love most. You could call me a masochist but Ritwik Ghatak blurred the line between compelling and gut-wrenching with each one of his films and nothing demonstrates it better than this one line. A perfect ending to a perfect film, it is – on one hand – depressing. On the other, it is a message of hope.

Honourable Mention

Hamare yahaan Bidya Vidya shob ek hain, madam. – Kahaani

To lighten the mood, my post-final entry is from what I consider a Bengali film. This, for once, needs no context because everybody and their missing husbands seem to have seen the film (or at least the trailer).

Waiting for what? Write your favourites down also, no?

All of the above are from memory. Please excuse errors. (Will try to link from YouTube for some of them, if I get time.) 

The Hunger Games: The Story Lets the Film Down

(Published in City Express, The New Indian Express, on 25 March 2012, retrieved from http://expressbuzz.com/entertainment/reviews/the-hunger-games/375324.html)

Cast: Jennifer Lawrence, Josh Hutcherson, Liam Hemsworth, Woody Harrelson, Donald Sutherland, Elizabeth Banks

Director:  Gary Ross

Rating: 2.5 stars

I tried, and failed, to read Suzanne Collins’ dystopian envisioning of a post-apocalyptic world. A young adult love triangle married to a reality show where only 1 of 24 contestants will survive, narrated by a 16-year-old girl, isn’t my idea of entertainment.

However, Gary Ross cures the storyline of most of its annoying elements. For one, there is no narrator. For another, a girl who could so easily have been a vulnerable hero is played with steely earthiness by Jennifer Lawrence. And in Lawrence’s Katniss Everdeen, we seem to have a survivor, not a do-gooder – a real person, someone we could turn into in that implausible situation.

Now, for the implausible situation – so, there’s this country called Panem, which I think is Latin for “bread”. How pedestrian, right? It is ruled by The Capitol, some kind of metropolis that dictates terms to twelve powerless districts surrounding it. There is a yearly raffle, known as the “reaping”, through which each district contributes two “tributes” – a boy and girl, aged between 12 and 18 – to slug it out in a televised battle for survival.

This system began 74 years ago, as some kind of punitive ritual to commemorate a rebellion that led to the destruction of a thirteenth district, and none of these idiots thought to do an Occupy Capitol or Panem Spring, or whatever they call it. The people of these districts seem so listless that it appears they’re resigned to the prospect of being picked to participate in a bloody battle. Well, unless their baby sisters are in danger of being the chosen ones.

Apparently, Collins was moved to devise this premise when she was channel surfing, and caught part of a reality show and footage of the invasion of Iraq. Naturally, an author who marries those two is the kind who’d do a futuristic-ancient re-reading of Romeo and Juliet. And so, the story hampers the screenplay. There are scenes that remind one that the books – and by extension, the movie co-produced by the author – are meant for a teen audience. A case in point is a funeral-of-sorts.

Katniss and her besotted admirer Peeta (Josh Hutcherson) are advised by Haymitch Abermathy (Woody Harrelson), who’s been drinking since he survived the 50^th Hunger Games – they don’t have PTSD counselling in the future, apparently. Complicating matters are Katniss’ hunky BFF Gale Hawthorne (Liam Hemsworth), random misunderstandings, TV host Caesar Flickerman (Stanley Tucci), and Gamemaker Seneca (Wes Bentley).

One feels the film is constantly striving to rise above its limitations, and make a dark statement on society with cinematic embellishments, but it is dragged down by an unwieldy plot. What could have been satire is simplified into spoof, and poignancy turns into mush. So, social commentary plays out like wannabe Leftist rant.

The Verdict: The film isn’t a bad watch, but you may find yourself glancing at yours every now and then. It may have sustained interest if it had been shorter and focused on subtext.

Prabhakaran's Last Throw

(Published in The India Site on 24 March, 2012, retrieved from http://www.theindiasite.com/prabhakarans-last-throw/)

On May 19, 2009, the Sri Lankan President Mahinda Rajapaksa announced that his Army had defeated the separatist movement, Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE), and brought peace to the island nation after 30 years. The Fourth Eelam War, like its three predecessors, saw the Sri Lankan government pitted against a militia that wanted a separate state for Tamils to be carved out of the island, the majority of whose population is Sinhalese. This war had begun with the bombing of LTTE camps by Sri Lankan Air Force fighter jets on July 26, 2006, and ended with the killing of the LTTE’s long-time leader Velupillai Prabhakaran on May 18, 2009.

When he took over as President in 2005, Rajapaksa had sworn he would rout the LTTE. In the last phase of a war that stretched over 3 years, his military would crowd the LTTE – and at least 300,000 civilians in the LTTE-administered Jaffna peninsula – into an ever-smaller strip of land, as they pursued the elusive leader of the outfit. They revealed that they had succeeded on May 18, two days after the state of Tamil Nadu in India had voted in a general election.

It suits the governments of both India and Tamil Nadu to brand the rehabilitation of Sri Lankan Tamils, displaced after the war, as well as war crimes allegedly perpetrated by the Lankan military as issues related to “Tamil sentiment”. Political parties in Tamil Nadu, by making the right noises about their “Eelam brothers and sisters”, can assert their “Tamil Pride”, which has long been a key component in election rhetoric. It was Tamil Pride that brought Dravida parties to power in the wake of the series of anti-Hindi agitations they led, to prevent English from being replaced by Hindi as the official language of India in the 1950s and 1960s. And so, Tamil Pride has in a way distanced the state from New Delhi, even while making it necessary for national parties to strike up alliances with one of the Dravida parties in order to get votes from the state. Following this logic, the linguistic ties that Tamil Nadu shares with Sri Lankan Tamils are stronger than the geographical boundaries that make it part of a country where the majority speaks, or at least understands, Hindi.

Viewing the situation in Sri Lanka as a slur on Tamil sentiment is easier for the Indian government to handle. Its statements on Sri Lanka can then be portrayed as attempts to mollify one of its constituent states, rather than as India’s stance in an international debate that will call into question the leadership role the country aspires to in the subcontinent.

Sharing borders with Pakistan and China as it does, India would be practically surrounded by hostile countries if it were to condemn the Sri Lankan government for its conduct of the war. True, it was among 24 countries that supported a resolution against Sri Lanka that was put to vote at the ongoing session of the United Nations Human Rights Council in Geneva on March 23 (China was among 15 countries that voted in favour of Sri Lanka, and 8 abstained.) But its statement was guarded.

In the days before the vote, news reports quoted sources at the Indian Prime Minister’s Office saying there are worries that a strong stand against Sri Lanka would lead to questions about India’s own alleged human rights violations in Kashmir. And so, despite voting against Sri Lanka, India issued this watered-down statement: “One has to weigh pros and cons...We do not want to infringe on the sovereignty of Sri Lanka but concerns should be expressed so that Tamil people can get justice and lead a life of dignity.” That seems to indicate that India views crimes against Tamils as the outcome of linguistic prejudice, and makes the statement sound like an obligation to Tamil Nadu.

The truth is, what happened in Sri Lanka during the last phase of the government’s offensive against the LTTE shouldn’t be seen so much in the light of “ethnic conflict” as “systematic genocide”. A documentary aired on March 14 by Britain’s Channel 4, Killing Fields: War Crimes Unpunished, carries actual footage of Tamils being starved, rebels who have surrendered being shot, and hospitals being shelled. (This can be viewed here. The programme starts about 37 minutes into this streamed video.) This is a follow-up to a Channel 4 documentary televised in June, 2011, which exposed several other atrocities by the Sri Lankan military, in designated No Fire Zones. In response, the Sri Lankan government has made the bizarre claim that Channel 4 is funded by the LTTE.

To understand the conflict in Sri Lanka, the rise of the LTTE, and India’s role in the island nation, we must trace the context to tensions that began nearly 60 years ago. In 1956, eight years after Sri Lanka, then Ceylon, gained Independence from British rule, its Prime Minister Solomon Bandaranaike brought in the Official Language Act (No. 33), otherwise known as the Sinhala Only Act. This replaced English as the official language of Ceylon with Sinhala. Tamil, spoken by about 29 % of the population, wasn’t recognised. 

This, and subsequent laws that discriminated against Tamil speakers served to alienate Tamils from Sinhalese, and unite three groups of Tamil speakers, who had different ethnic origins – the Jaffna Tamils (who were native to Sri Lanka), Tamils who had migrated from India to work on British plantations (and spoke a different dialect), and Moors (Sri Lankan Muslims who spoke an Arabised form of Tamil). Calls for power-sharing and equal status morphed into demands for autonomy in certain areas, which eventually gave rise to a separatist movement.

Even as Tamil political parties such as the Tamil United Liberation Front (TULF) put their faith in talks, other groups saw armed resistance as the only solution. In 1972, 18-year-old Velupillai Prabhakaran founded the Tamil New Tigers (TNT), which became the LTTE in 1976. This outfit waged guerrilla war, gaining control of vast swathes of territory in the North and East of the island, where it established a quasi-government. It had a fearsome army, with sophisticated weapons, and a suicide squad called Black Tigers, which carried out political assassinations.

And here’s where India came in.  Leaders of the LTTE shared a rapport with leaders of the Dravida Movement in Tamil Nadu.  India’s ruling Congress Party, which had lost its foothold in Tamil Nadu in the 1960s, needed the support of the Dravida parties. As Prime Minister of India, Indira Gandhi spoke out in favour of the Tamil separatist movement in Sri Lanka. It is believed the LTTE army even received training in India.

However, India was to change sides after some shrewd manipulation by Sri Lankan President J R Jayewardane, in the course of a war between the government and LTTE that began in 1983. In 1987, India stepped in to mediate when Lanka’s Vadamarachchi operation precipitated a humanitarian crisis in Jaffna. Jayewardane and Indian Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi signed the Indo-Sri Lanka Accord, whose provisions included the dispatch of an Indian peace-keeping force. The LTTE, which hadn’t been consulted, rejected this pact and demanded an autonomous state. Sinhala nationalists were furious at the idea of devolution of powers.

The Indian peace-keepers were bitterly resented both by the LTTE and the Sinhalese. Army officers who served with the force have recounted how Prabhakaran repeatedly passed through their lines unharmed, as they had standing instructions not to fire at him. Crippled by poor communication and medical facilities, and outgunned by the LTTE, the beleaguered troops finally left in March 1990. The following year, Rajiv Gandhi was assassinated by the LTTE.

His killing would prove to be a watershed in India-Sri Lanka relations. It allowed successive Indian governments to condemn an outfit that killed a former Prime Minister of their country, and support the Sri Lankan government’s attempts to eliminate it. (The Chairperson of the ruling UPA is Rajiv’s widow Sonia). It allowed political parties in Tamil Nadu to celebrate as freedom fighters people who were were conducting a brutal guerrilla war. And so, except when election speeches and party alignments demanded, it allowed India to erase the line between the LTTE and the people it claimed to be fighting for.

The Tamils in Jaffna were metaphorically, and during the war literally, trapped between the Tigers and the government. Child soldiers were drafted into the rebel army, often forcefully, and former Tigers who managed to make their escape, such as the writer Shobashakti, have spoken of their disillusionment with the methods employed by the LTTE. The Sri Lankan government, for its part, has detained hundreds of Tamils on suspicion of being Tigers or Tiger sympathisers. Both Sinhalese and Tamil journalists who have spoken out against the government’s policies in the region have been jailed, tortured and killed. A case in point is the editor of The Sunday Leader, Lasantha Wickrematunge, who was shot dead in January 2009.

Tamil Nadu has been either particularly naïve, or particularly stupid, in buying into the theory of “Tamil sentiment”. Only last year, the state witnessed a vociferous campaign against the death sentence given to three convicts in the Rajiv Gandhi murder case, which culminated in a 20-year-old girl, Senkodi, immolating herself in the Indian district of Kanchipuram. She was hailed as a martyr for the cause of Eelam.

If the international community were to equate Sri Lankan Tamils with the LTTE, it would let President Mahinda Rajapaksa get away with gross violations of human rights. His government has claimed that no civilians died in the war, that no heavy artillery was used on the No Fire Zones – lies that have been repeatedly exposed with video evidence. The Sri Lankan government alleges that these videos were morphed.

All inquiries into war crimes have been conducted by government bodies, but even these haven’t given the Sri Lankan government a clean chit. The final report of the Lessons Learnt and Reconciliation Commission, for instance, admitted that hospitals had been shelled, and civilians killed, albeit “accidentally”.

The government then said 9,000 civilians lost their lives in the last phase of the war, whereas the UN estimates the number to be 40,000. Relief workers told the media repeatedly that supplies were not distributed to civilians who were in desperate need of them. A UN report stated that 330,000 Tamils, displaced by the war, live under squalid conditions in makeshift camps, while the 30-year war claimed 100,000 lives. (Statistics are from the Report of the UN Secretary-General’s Panel of Experts onAccountability in Sri Lanka.) This clearly shows that the Sri Lankan government’s stand is implausible.

India needs to recognise the carnage in Sri Lanka as a brutal violation of human rights by a democratically elected government, and take a strong stance against the country. Sri Lanka, which has sent a 52-member delegation to the UNHRC session, has rejected the resolution, and is likely to lobby for India’s support in the coming days.

If India succumbs, the country will expose a lack of resolve that should put paid to its hopes of obtaining a permanent seat in the Security Council. India has been largely silent about events that have shaken the world, not making even a half-hearted attempt at diplomatic activism as the Arab Spring swept across the Middle East. It’s bad enough when a self-proclaimed aspirant to superpower status ignores events in an adjoining landmass. It would be laughable for it to remain neutral to, or worse, supportive of government-sponsored brutality in the subcontinent. Tamil pride may have led to the inception of the LTTE. But the killing of the 12-year-old child of its megalomaniac leader, the military assault on civilians in Jaffna, and the rape and murder of prisoners of war goes far beyond linguistic prejudice.

India cannot afford to ignore this distinction.

How are NGOs Using Our Money?

(Published in Sify.com, on 23 March, 2012, retrieved from http://www.sify.com/news/how-are-ngos-using-our-money-news-columns-mdxmptdahcg.html)

(Picture Courtesy: Sify.com. Unauthorised reproduction of this image is prohibited.)

The hysteria over Kony 2012 broke out in phases – first, there was the rage over this man Kony, whom not many people seem to have heard of; second, the cynics entered the scene; third, the man behind the video and the charity Invisible Children, Jason Russell, was apprehended by police for masturbating in public and vandalising cars. He has now been diagnosed with “reactive psychosis”, attributed to the 100 million-odd pageviews the YouTube video has garnered over the last few weeks.

Each of these phases, to me, is reflective of a particular aspect of the manner in which many of these charities, not-for-profit organisations, or NGOs as we call them, are run.

I first heard of Kony a few years ago, while doing a course in international journalism that drew students from all over the world. The only film I’ve seen that has spoken of the horror perpetrated by his regime is Machine Gun Preacher, and that one, I thought, didn’t focus quite enough on the victims. As friends began to post links to Kony, and tweets and retweets celebrated the film, I realised just how many people had never heard of this monster. But from viewing sample clips, it was obvious that the film had been produced at some cost. Was that really necessary? I was to find out that the parts that truly hit home were the ones that required minimal expense – eyewitness accounts of the things Kony did.

I saw this super-slick 30-minute film only last week. To my surprise, and disappointment, the film seemed to be largely about the achievements of Invisible Children. Worse, most of the film, produced at donors’ cost, featured Russell’s 3-year-old son playing cute and hero-worshipping his father.  This outraged hundreds of Ugandans too, who had gathered to watch a screening of the film last week. Their stories had taken the backseat.

As blogger Grant Oyston points out, the film hints uncomfortably at the White Man’s Burden. As a reaction to Oyston’s post, Invisible Children offered to fly him out to Africa, to see for himself, again at donors’ cost. Yes, a blog post that goes viral, planting doubts in people’s heads, can be damaging. But is it damaging enough to warrant the $3000 it will cost to persuade the blogger he is wrong, especially when Oyston had acknowledged that it was important for people to learn about Kony?

The third phase, to me, smacks of the self-righteousness that seems to go with running an NGO. There’s a sense of “Look what you’ve done”. I mean, here’s this guy who highlighted the atrocities committed by a brutal man, and the cynics have put him under a burden of stress and exhaustion that has got him hospitalised and will put him out of commission for weeks, or even months.

It is perhaps the scale of spread of the Kony film that pushes everything to do with it, and with Invisible Children, into the news. But the events associated with the making of the film are common enough to most NGOs I have come across – the decision-making regarding the channelling of funds, the response to criticism, and the sanctimoniousness.

It must take an awful lot of effort to establish and run an NGO, and to dedicate one’s life to bettering other people’s. And that may be why those who question them are immediately frowned upon, why one feels just a little guilty even as one wonders where all the money goes. But, surely, there is something an NGO owes to the people it claims to help, and to the people contributing to that cause, with their time and/or money?

The NGO presence in my city multiplied around the time the tsunami hit. I was covering the event for a radio station on 26 December 2004, and as the sands of the long, wide beach were swallowed up by stagnant water, people ran about screaming and crying as they searched for or found missing relatives, and residents of the area brought out flasks of tea for the men conducting rescue operations, I saw people walking around with donation boxes.

Over the next few weeks, local newspapers and local editions of national dailies carried stories of survival, of rebuilding, of a city coming together at a testing time. Soon after, reports began to filter in of NGOs expanding their offices, buying new computers, and spending on infrastructure. When questioned, many said they needed facilities to cope with the volume of work they had undertaken. In such a scenario, it is perfectly understandable that NGOs would need to bolster their staff strength. There are only so many students and volunteers who will work for free. But surely computers and larger offices can wait?

When the row over Kiran Bedi overcharging people who had invited her to speak at events broke out last year, several NGOs claimed they had been sent inflated invoices by her. The Indian Express said in a report that non-profit organisation Aviation Industry Employees Guild paid Rs 31,578 for her executive class ticket, Charities Aid Foundation India paid Rs 26,386 for a business class ticket, and the Andhra Pradesh Secretariat Women Employees’ Welfare Association paid Rs 25,163 to fly her down. While the country was furious at the idea of Bedi using these means to divert funds to her own NGO, shouldn’t we also be raising our eyebrows at NGOs shelling out tens of thousands of rupees on a single speaker, however high her profile may be, and however inspirational her career may be?

I’ve found, quite often, while booking cinema or flight tickets online, that the option ‘I’d like to contribute to a worthy cause’ has been ticked by default, and I’ll have to look out for it, and unselect it if I’m so inclined. I’ve been harassed by volunteers at events I discovered were fund-raisers after getting to the venue. But one can take that kind of sneakiness, if one were sure the money was being put to the right uses.  Sadly, too often, it isn’t.

3 Days in Calcutta

In one of my earlier food posts, I had talked about iconic restaurants and caused the controversies that inevitably emerge when Bengalis discuss food! Recently, the post attracted a long, well-written comment seeking recommendation. 

Was going through your old blogs about Calcutta. Even though I am from a 'Hai Raam-you said ANDA' variety of UP brahmin family, have always been a wannabe bong. And now have turned my thoroughbred beef eating mallu husband into one hell of a bong convert. So much so that we are sneaking away to Calcutta for 3 days which has left our families befuddled and enlightening us about Air Asia and cheap foreign travel ;). I have always been a fan of yours and would love to have a chance to explore the place through your eyes. The must dos and eats and drinks! I have been there once and did the Victoria memorial, Flurry's routine but would love to spend these 3 days as a true blue bong would. Would you mind helping me out if it is not too inconvenient for you? I promise to return the favor by divulging all the secrets held close to my heart about Lucknow and Bangalore! Pretty please?

I immediately replied on how outsiders can spend 3 days in Calcutta. But after writing that comment, I realized it probably applied to more people desirous of spending some time there.

So, re-posting my response here…

You want to spend 3 days in Calcutta like a true-blue Bong would? Check into Ffort at Raichak and don’t move unless you have to eat or drink. I am told there’s a new place called Ganga Kutir – which is even more luxurious, pays even more attention to culinary matters and frowns at physical activity and raised voices. But I am sure you don’t want to do that…

Try to eat at Mocambo (Devilled Crabs), Peter Cat (Chelo Kabab), Arsalan and Shiraz (Mutton biriyani), Kewpies (Bengali cuisine) for the meals. Remember – it is important to eat at both Arsalan and Shiraz. Otherwise you would never be able to take sides during the Great Biriyani Debate and remain a perennial outsider to Calcuttans.

Between meals, make do with (double-egg, double-chicken) rolls at Kusum (Park Street), pastries at Kookie Jar (just ahead of La Martiniere school), phuchka near Bibekananda Park (on Southern avenue) and coffee at, well, Coffee House (College Street).

Don’t forget to sneak in a drink or two at Olypub (Park Street) along with cocktail sausages. Browse books at College Street. Watch a movie at Nandan. Catch a play. Visit Presidency College. Take a tram ride around the Maidan.
While on the subject of drinks, it has been ages since I had a drink during the interval of a movie. Do that as well. Unless the world has come to an end, New Empire or Lighthouse should still have the bars.

Chat with the cabbies. Ask the Nandan usher for a review of the movie. Tell the Presi students their college sucks. Walk past 1/1 Bishop Lefroy Road. Get on the Metro and get off at Uttam Kumar. Buy a CD of Rabindrasangeet. Passionately criticize the ‘blue colouring’ of the city. Floor the citizens by asking “amai ektu Bangla shikhiye deben?”

Fall in love with the city. And then spend the rest of your life trying to explain to the infidels why.

People are watching Kahaani, liking Kahaani and praising Kahaani. They are singing eulogies of Vidya Balan, Sujoy Ghosh, Parambrata Chattopadhyay and Bob Biswas. Nobody (except Abhishek) is talking about the bewitching presence that deserves all the Best Supporting Actress awards for this year. The film couldn’t have worked without the hynoptic setting of Calcutta. 

You sexy thing. 

For love of machines

(Published in The Sunday Guardian, on 18 March 2012, retrieved from http://www.sunday-guardian.com/masala-art/for-the-love-of-cinema)

Cast: Asa Butterfield, Ben Kingsley, Sacha Baron Cohen, Chloë Grace Moretz

Director: Martin Scorsese

Rating: 4 stars

If you suffer from 3D fatigue, watch Hugo. If not, watch Hugo. Martin Scorsese’s foray into the third dimension celebrates film, and lovers of film. We’re pulled into frames, objects leap out at us, and we’re so totally absorbed that we’re unmindful of narrative structure, character exploration, and other intellectual mumbo-jumbo. This is pure cinema, a true spectacle.

Dizzying camera angles throw us into the heart of Paris, and pull us up into clock towers. Cinematography meets computer graphics to recreate a train station from 1931, where interlocking wheels seem as alive as the people and dogs that populate the platform. Through all this bustle, we meet the sad blue eyes of Hugo Cabret (Asa Butterfield) where we least expect to.

We’re swept along by the music as much as the camera, and are caught up in a tale so enthralling that we long for a fairytale finish. It takes us back to a time when we lost ourselves in vicarious adventures – when we climbed the Faraway Tree and met Moon-Face and Silky, when we closed our eyes and tasted Willie Wonka’s chocolate, when we sat on the Wishing Chair and staved off the vertigo, when we peeped over the edge of flying carpets at magical cities.  

No wonder Scorsese chose Brian Selznick’s graphic novel The Invention of Hugo Cabret for his maiden 3D venture. Set in the period  when Scorsese himself was falling in love with cinema, Hugo has several themes close to Marty’s heart. And they’re so tightly woven together you aren’t sure what the main thread is. Is it about preserving film? About the salvation of an aging genius? About what war does to people and culture? Loneliness and companionship? Determination? Nostalgia? Is it a tribute along the lines of Cinema Paradiso? At its simplest, Hugo is about the fascination two people have for technology, and what you can do with it.

It’s a film that one must go into blind, because there are surprises both in its execution and storyline. Asa Butterfield and Chloë Grace Moretz stand out among the formidable cast of veteran actors. They could be the least annoying children in film history. You actually don’t want to slap them for saying, “Being enigmatic really doesn’t suit you”. Sasha Baron Cohen in a tragicomic role as Station Inspector Gustave Dasté is nasty, goofy, poignant and hilarious when the script demands it. Watch out for his attempts at conversation. Even the minor characters, including guest stars Jude Law and Christopher Lee, seem integral to the story.

The Verdict: If trite lines make you well up at the cinema, you know the director’s won.  This is one of Marty’s best.