Mayank Shekhar: Kitna traas dega, Thanos!
A still from Marvel Studio's Avengers: Infinity War
Maybe because they thought I was some angrez-type, dissing one after another loads of films being dished out in the early 2000s - inevitably, a film producer or the other would proudly remind me back then, about how India (in this case, Bollywood) was absolutely the only movie market in the world where Hollywood, or the appearance of a Spielberg or George Lucas film in theatres, made no difference to the lives of local filmmakers, Subhash Ghai, Yash Chopra, if you may.
This was true for India, up until a decade ago; and yes, not true for anywhere else. Still, since the names mentioned to me were of filmmakers (no doubt, well-known/mainstream), I argued, this had a lot more to do with the reliably desi, nearly mythological star-system, that movies pivoted around and audiences lined up in cinemas for. You need a face to build a following (for anything). Any branding intern will tell you that. Hollywood had its own star-system. Few filmmaking cultures, apart from India and the US, did.
So sure, the handsomely paid Tom Cruise or Julia Roberts, or for that matter Superman/Batman, were huge in India as well. But, their films merely ran at exclusive cinemas for English films in bigger cities (say Chanakya, Sterling in South Delhi/Bombay).
Did the cash-rich Hollywood not wish to partake in the desi star, plus song, mainstream movies that enchanted millions? By late 2000s, American studios began setting up offices in Mumbai, cheekily over-paying Bollywood's lead cast, getting into lopsided deals favouring local producers, to make a direct entry into Indian markets, at last.
Bollywood films, more or less, remained the same, in terms of scale. For they weren't here to change the status quo. It suited them. The budgets (for them) were pocket-change, anyway. Major Indian filmmakers continued to feel safe in the face of a captive audience. In about a decade though, one region, small-town at a time, the American studios, having deepened a desi distribution network, began to spread out the release of their own global blockbusters that none in India could potentially compete with. The economics simply wouldn't match.
Spiderman first spoke to its audience in Bhojpuri in 2007. Ronald Emmerich's 2012 (2009), with the Taj Mahal in a shambles in the promo, with no such scene in the picture, had curious villagers walk over to nearest theatres to catch the end of the world. By 2012, even Ang Lee's deeply meditative, Life Of Pie, collecting R90 crore, had thumped the Akshay Kumar masala picture, Khiladi 786 (releasing around the same time), by a R20 crore margin!
Woah. Did desis stop loving their super-stars? Nope. They still do. Here's what happened. Hollywood altogether destroyed its own, entire 'star-system' instead - making films not about actors (or even directors, for that matter), but relentlessly concentrating their massive might/resources/energy on propping up super-heroes (several for the price of one), gigantic disasters, and dazzling 3D/IMAX special effect, to effectively conquer the earth while, sometimes, saving it on the big screen.
Perhaps 2015 was a turning point, when up until mid-year, three out of India's top five hits had emerged from Hollywood (rightly subtitled in English, even in their English versions). Fast & Furious 7 (basically racing cars) was the first film to hit R100 crore mark. Avengers: Age of the Ultron, and Jurassic World, had wholly crowded out domestic competition on the opening weekend.
These movies may have lacked a singular creative voice/vision, but they were fail-safe in the boardroom's understanding of markets, and shares. As is expectedly the case with the latest, stupendous success of Marvel's Avengers: Infinity War (having grossed over a record-breaking R200 crore, already) - where nothing exceeds like excess!
The global fan-boy pressure to get off on this pic (like many others), made critic-proof by critics themselves, is such that you simply don't want to be that guy pooping on everyone's parade. It's like being the first fellow to suggest the whisky being served from a Blue Label bottle at the boss's house-party tastes suspiciously like Aristocrat Premium: "Kya baat kar raha hai?" Naah, don't wanna be that guy!
Curiosity is irresistible. There's nothing to call out. Conditioning is complete. Indians can probably see in Thanos's quest for 'infinity stones' their own uncles, who wear similar rings for inter-planetary changes! Balance of the universe sounds a lot like 'srishti ka santulan' from Abhishek Bachchan's Drona.
The film itself being a Bollywood multi-multi-starrer, where in the end, Amrish Puri wins, and if you wonder how dead superheroes might stage a comeback-hey, Ekta Kapoor's been spinning this for decades. The premise of so many avengers, guardians, and devils, all in one, is lost on no one who devours Hindu mythology, with 330 million gods anyway. Yeah, this is desi entertainment. I say this listening to actor Ranveer Singh's voice in the Hindi trailer of Marvel's forthcoming Deadpool 2 go: "Kitna traas dega, Thanos." Sach mein, bro!
Mayank Shekhar attempts to make sense of mass culture. He tweets @mayankw14 Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com
Catch up on all the latest Mumbai news, crime news, current affairs, and also a complete guide on Mumbai from food to things to do and events across the city here. Also download the new mid-day Android and iOS apps to get latest updates
Take the rumour mill with a pinch of salt
The recent frenzy over supposed cracks in the Kemps Corner bridge - the country's first-ever flyover - has been proved to be an overreaction, but also brings to light the power that WhatsApp has to spread misinformation and paranoia.
This paper yesterday reported that thousands of app users had received a picture of a fissure in a portion of the bridge, with claims that the flyover was in danger of collapsing. The viral photo sparked widespread panic; so much so, that the civic commissioner was drawn into the Kemps Corner frenzy. There was a post from a young politician seeking to reassure the public. The 86-year-old architect of the bridge also gave a statement to assuage fears and calm outrage bubbling on WhatsApp.
Through the days, more rumours came in, stating that the bridge was falling and traffic had been diverted. One can imagine the mental state of a motorist about to drive onto the bridge, if they were to glance at WhatsApp and spot the alarmist message. The rapid-fire messages sparked fear and anger. Reassurance, on the other hand, was much slower to come.
This shows just how important it is that we filter messages on WhatsApp, and not forward blindly. In this 'quick click' age, it takes just the push of a button to spread fear. Thankfully, the bridge fall phobia had no major repercussions, but it does bring to mind other times when WhatsApp messages have started and stoked the fires of a frenzied crisis.
Each of us has a responsibility to verify, or at least use some discretion, before pressing the forward button. There is no race where one has to be first to pass on information. In fact, there is merit in holding back, cross-checking, and then forwarding only if there is credibility in the message. In this instant age, let's not fall for anymore half-baked stories.
Catch up on all the latest Mumbai news, crime news, current affairs, and also a complete guide on Mumbai from food to things to do and events across the city here. Also download the new mid-day Android and iOS apps to get latest updates
C Y Gopinath : When you say no to corruption
Representation Pic/AFP
My mother died at 84, on September 1, 2015. I was two oceans away, settling my son into his new university life in Montréal. Back in Mumbai, my two sisters and brother did what had to be done. Relatives were notified, last rites performed, and the body taken to the electric crematorium where we'd interred my father decades ago.
Cremation is a sombre moment. The tears have almost dried up, the words have been said. After years of watching a slow decline, death is not a surprise. So they stood there, my siblings, in the crematorium manager's office, to receive the warm earthen pot with the ashes of the woman who had made us everything we were.
Waiting with them was a fellow, a crematorium worker, blase about yet another death but eager for the customary tip. He made some money-seeking sounds, and my sister, distracted, pressed a Rs 1,000 note into his hand. We normally get Rs 2,000, he murmured. She gave him a second note. He still hung around, and then leaned forward to whisper. Apparently, a senior officer of the crematorium would drop by to see how things were going. It was normal, she was told, to give him Rs 3,000.
My sister, never at a loss for fire, asked him what he had done to merit that sum. It was the tradition, she was told. Haggling over a tip seemed the wrong action for the moment, so she gave him the money. But when she reached home, she Internetted out the email address of BMC's erstwhile municipal commissioner, explaining in plain, unfettered English that he was paying a salary to a staff of flesh-eating vultures who feasted off the grief of Mumbai's bereaved.
To her astonishment, within hours, she had received an invitation to meet with the man himself, three days away. A strange thing happened the following morning. The crematorium's manager and his money-grubbing workers, who had sought and received 'tips', showed up at our house. The envelope they handed over contained all the money they had extorted.
"Please take your tips back, madam," they beseeched my sister. "Just kindly cancel that appointment you have with the municipal commissioner." "Ah, no, I didn't make that appointment, so I cannot be the one who cancels it," said my sister. When she went to the Andheri office that issues death certificates, her name triggered an immediate flutter of interest. Apparently her letter to the commissioner was all the news that day. Many employees congratulated her for standing up to the crematorium's predators. At the BMC three days later, there were more surprises. The manager and key staff of that particular crematorium had been invited and were sitting in the outer room with hangdog looks. The commissioner wasted no time with them.
"You are accused of soliciting and extorting exorbitant tips from grief-stricken family members in the moment of their greatest grief — in return for doing a job that you are already paid to do," he said. "Please sign here, and here and here." He pushed letters of confession towards each of them, and they signed without a murmur. "These letters will be photocopied and mailed to every crematorium worker in Maharashtra, as an object lesson," he said.
They looked at their shoes wretchedly. "That's not all," he continued. "You are all hereby suspended from your jobs for a period of four months. This too will be made known to all your colleagues." He paused. "You may go now," he said, ending the meeting. Mumbai has surprised me in the past with its compassion. I remember during the biblical floods of 2005, when 1,094 people died and thousands were stranded in their cars, householders came out with coffee, tea and hot breakfast for those stranded souls as dawn broke.
But there is a dark underbelly to Mumbai, and it is predatory, ruthless, and astute. In 1996, I wrote in mid-day about a schoolboy, Murtuza, hit by a lamppost too close as he hung out of a train approaching Chembur. The wheels ran over both his legs. He was rushed to Sion Hospital, where he died despite all efforts.
But when his parents came to collect the body from the morgue, they found a leg missing. None of the ward boys seemed to know where it was. Eventually, it was whispered that the leg might be miraculously 'found' if a certain amount was paid to a ward boy. And so it was. That was 1996. Living in distant Bangkok, where too I'm certain corruption smiles, but in more sophisticated ways, I hear often that in the new India of the Modi raj, there is less tolerance for everyday corruption. Moments like this make me believe they may be right.
Here, viewed from there. C Y Gopinath, in Bangkok, throws unique light and shadows on Mumbai, the city that raised him. You can reach him at cygopi@gmail.com Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com
Catch up on all the latest Mumbai news, crime news, current affairs, and also a complete guide on Mumbai from food to things to do and events across the city here. Also download the new mid-day Android and iOS apps to get latest updates
Aditya Sinha: Nation's hero? More like Nero
An injured Kashmiri is rushed to SMHS Hospital in Srinagar after he was hit by bullets in a clash with Indian security forces on May 6. Pic/AFP
Last week at a lunch, I met a senior minister in the J&K government. He belonged to the People's Democratic Party, which used to represent "soft separatism" in Kashmir but, in 2015, formed a government in coalition with the pseudo-nationalist BJP. The PDP has since then lost its support base. "It does not mean the National Conference has picked up that support," the minister said, referring to the Valley's pre-eminent pro-India party: "only some of it". None of that lost support has drifted to national parties like Congress or BJP. One wonders where that support has gone.
One clue is in the ground situation in the Valley, characterised by unrelenting violence. South Kashmir's Shopian district is a warzone; just yesterday, five civilians were killed and five militants shot dead there. An assistant professor at Kashmir University who had joined militancy a mere 36 hours earlier was among those killed. Imagine what it must take to drive an academic to pick up a gun. Every week is like this, and behind the casualty figures is the suffocating atmosphere of clampdowns on entire villages, the security forces' scorched earth policy by burning houses, the unending detention of the political resistance leadership, the military's omnipresence, the curfews, the strikes, the disappearances, and the corpses. No wonder Kashmir is called an "open prison". Ramzan, next week, may bring some respite.
"The difference between now and the '90s," the minister said, referring to when the insurgency first emerged, "is that in those days, when one boy was killed, ten others stood to take his place. Now, when a boy is killed, 30,000 people immediately gather to protest his killing and mourn his martyrdom."
One may wonder where the government figures in all this. In J&K, due to its long-festering separatism and the Pakistan factor, the Centre manages security matters under a "unified command". This makes sense for border management and counter-insurgency operations. Yet it often collides with the local police, under the state government, particularly when the armed forces commit crimes. The state police often have to step back, and the consequence has been deleterious; this was evidenced recently when, after the rape-murder of a nomadic child in Kathua, supporters of the accused expressed disbelief in the local police's professional investigation.
Chief Minister Mehbooba Mufti seems to have all but given up. Her ministers are living it up, some making frequent foreign trips. The BJP reshuffled its part of the coalition, and surprisingly, the minister said, it's a better lot this time. This may be a moot point because nobody expects the government to last beyond 2018. "It will be over a few months before the general election," the minister says. "Mehbooba wants out but needs a reason to walk out of the coalition." The same might be true of the BJP, though one can't imagine it giving up power in J&K, hard-won after so many years.
The Centre is unconcerned by the daily reports of violence and more violence. It suits Delhi's hardline "iron fist" policy. It is sitting back and watching the war of attrition against Kashmiris. BJP general secretary Ram Madhav has publicly said: India tried various approaches in Kashmir but now it is the RSS's turn. Which, starkly put, is to hold the territory even if all residents disappear in the process.
The minister pointed out that Governor NN Vohra's term - at ten years he's the longest serving in J&K - runs out by July. Governor Vohra got his second term by default because of the talent deficit in Prime Minister Narendra Modi's team. If he weren't well into his 80s, he might have defaulted his way into remaining this time also. His time has seen the emergence of a "new insurgency", highlighted by violent summers like that of 2010, 2012 and, of course, 2016, when thousands were injured by pellets. Some say that 2016's disturbances are still continuing.
It is difficult to say that Vohra has been a successful governor, but perhaps it's better to let him stay than to replace him with an RSS man. "At this point, what more harm can an RSS man do," the minister said. "Maybe they can replace him with Yashwant Sinha," he says, referring to the former finance minister who recently left the BJP. Sinha has visited J&K since September 2016 and shown empathy. He has been a thorn in the government's side, however, publicly pointing out its economic mismanagement. Modi brooks no dissidence, and even though the best way to quieten Sinha might be such an appointment, it's unlikely to happen.
That, in a nutshell, is the current Kashmir story. Degradation and violence, while the metaphorical Nero in Delhi plays his fiddle. Except in the legend, it was Nero himself who had Rome set on fire.
Aditya Sinha's new book will be out in May. He tweets @autumnshade Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com
Catch up on all the latest Mumbai news, crime news, current affairs, and also a complete guide on Mumbai from food to things to do and events across the city here. Also download the new mid-day Android and iOS apps to get latest updates
Fiona Fernandez: Bombay on the menu
A while back, we had the opportunity to meet an influential and acclaimed US-based Indian restaurateur cum chef who was visiting the city to catch up with his team in the city, where he also runs a couple of popular and innovative restaurants.
Unaffected by all the lights, accolades and glitz of New York, he was still a pucca Bandra boy at heart. He hadn't forgotten his roots, and his mother and grandmother's recipes, evidence of which had peppered the warm chat, from a recent fish preparation that his mum had whipped up, to taking poee - those pillowy cushioned bread portions - to the West. We went on to discuss the ever-changing cityscape, from the Metro to a quaint abandoned bungalow near St Andrew's Church that had been razed since the last time he was home. Expectedly, there was a lot of 'Bombay' food that was discussed - a topic close to our soul.
The restaurateur-chef's passion for the city, his Goan ancestry, and the dynamic diversity of India are pretty obvious in the menus at his restaurants, and there were plans to go all out and celebrate it even more at these spaces. It made for an engaging afternoon, no doubt, especially when our favourite city's flavours and aromas were put on the table. It was a promising sign. At least, for Bombayphiles like us, who been yearning for more of the city on its menus, and has often been a topic-stirrer in this very same column space.
Around the same time, we had got wind that a restaurant in SoBo, coincidentally also owned by a Goan chef, and which was one of the earliest eateries to give the city a wonderful mix of food from Bombay and the sunshine state, was rechristening itself into all-out restaurant that would pay tribute to the city's food - from kheema pao and bombil fry (are you salivating?). The picture was getting rosier.
We jogged our memory a bit more, to roughly two months back, to another chat with a celebrated chef-restaurateur who had stirred many gastronomic revolutions in the city, and is now running a successful fine-dine. Turns out, the veteran culinary wiz would love to start his very own Bombay restaurant. Of course, there was nothing final to it but his wide smile made us do a little virtual jig about the possibility of his opening such a space. Food from the city had always impressed him, he told us, from Bohri Mohalla favourites to Maharashtrian staples, and the city's fresh catch. Like millions who arrived in this city and made it their own, he too was inspired with its variety, and was keen to celebrate it for the world to savour.
All these three instances - albeit borrowed from different scenarios - were adding up to something that should have happened a long time ago. The city's very own brand of cuisine ought to be put out there, a unique confluence of its thriving local inspirations, its migrant flavours and countless techniques from its many communities. Most world-class, cosmopolitan cities, from Toronto to Singapore flaunt it, so what has been stopping us so far? We'd love to see more entrepreneurial minds stir this melting pot and showcase Bombay's flavours, the way only we know of it.
mid-day's Features Editor Fiona Fernandez relishes the city's sights, sounds, smells and stones...wherever the ink and the inclination takes her. She tweets @bombayana Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com
Catch up on all the latest Mumbai news, crime news, current affairs, and also a complete guide on Mumbai from food to things to do and events across the city here. Also download the new mid-day Android and iOS apps to get latest updates
mid day editorial: Motorists, snap out of the selfie-destruct mode
The numbers don't lie; Mumbai motorists are in selfie-destruct mode. At least 50 per cent of road accidents on the 93-km Mumbai-Pune Expressway are due to cars stopping or stalling on the road.
A report in this paper stated that stopping to take a selfie or to enjoy the greenery along the E-way could cost you your life. The first two months of the year have already seen 91 accidents, in which 52 people have died. Of these, 26 accidents happened because of vehicles halting. We must warn people that however tempting the scenery, it is just not safe to halt on the E-way and take photographs of the greenery. Once you reach Pune or the outskirts, you have the time to park your vehicle, alight and take all the pictures you want, so keep moving along the expressway, which is what is was made for.
Travellers must realise that an expressway is a piece of infrastructure, pure and simple. It is designed to take people to their destination. It is certainly not a picnic spot. It is no place to lounge around and eat, get out of the car and wash your hands, use as a Kodak moment or to idle outside your car for any other reason. Drivers have to drive within the speed limit on the expressway.
Cut going over the speed limits, which is a sure killer. Authorities have to ensure cameras are in excellent condition. If there is a car breakdown, switch on your hazard lights, and get your co-passengers to wave their hands; do all you can to alert oncoming traffic. The upcoming monsoon means more challenges for E-way users. Let us bring those fatality figures down, and let the numbers do some happy talking, for once.
Catch up on all the latest Mumbai news, crime news, current affairs, and also a complete guide on Mumbai from food to things to do and events across the city here. Also download the new mid-day Android and iOS apps to get latest updates
Devdutt Pattanaik: Yagna or Puja
Illustration/Devdutt Pattanaik
It is common amongst Western scholars and their Westernised students to differentiate between the Vedic yagna and the Puranic puja, rituals that define the two major phases of Hinduism, one that flourished over 3,000 years ago and one that emerged 2,000 years ago. Of course, at the other extreme, we have the bhakta-Indologists who insist that Hinduism has no history, or phases, or evolution — that everything was homogenous and static, until Muslims came into the land 1,000 years ago. The truth is somewhere in between, as usual.
Vedic yagna is conventionally translated as 'sacrifice' and Puranic puja is translated as 'worship'. This translation is the basic problem. Both are based on Christian templates of religion where God of Abraham demands sacrifice (giving up something dear for the pleasure of God) and worship (adoration, veneration of God). Anyone who has actually performed the two rituals, or at least studied the two rituals carefully, will notice that the sacrifice and worship constitutes only part of the ritual, the first half — the second half is about asking for something in return, the fruit of the sacrifice or ritual known as phala-stuti, which is common to both yagna and puja. This makes yagna and puja essentially exchanges with the divine. There is the giving part (sacrifice, and worship, if one wants to call it that); this is followed by the receiving part, or at least the desire for something in exchange. Anyone who performs a yagna or puja knows that the ritual always ends with asking for something, material or spiritual, from the divine. This exchange makes it different from a prayer.
Yagna was designed by Brahmins 3,000 years ago as an elaborate ceremony to invite (avahan) celestial beings (deva) who rode celestial chariots (rathas). Communication was established using fire (agni) as medium, chants (mantra) and special offerings (soma). The yagna acknowledged through symbolic enactment and ritual role-playing the role the devas play in creating and sustaining and even destroying the universe. Having acknowledged the gods, and given them offerings to their satisfaction, a petition is made to them — for children, gold, grain, cattle, horses, power, fame, health — before they are allowed to go (visarjan).
But in yagna, the gods have no form. And they have no permanent residence. They come from the realm of the stars and so the yagna is performed in open air. Yagna could not be performed during rainy seasons, the four monsoon months (chatrumaas) which became linked to inauspiciousness. But, about 2,000 years ago, increasingly gods were seen as images and icons housed in caves and in temples. These sacred icons (archa) were venerated (archana). The ritual involved the same principles as the Vedic yagna – inviting the god to inhabit the image built, then bathing and decorating and feeding and praising and feeding and entertaining that image, before the petition is made. The devotee gives in order to get. While humans were bound by debt (rinn), and had obligations, the gods were free of debt and so had no obligations. They were untouched by karma. And so what they gave was dependent on their grace! The devotee (bhakta) hence worshipped (bhaja) the divine being (bhagavan) and sought his grace (prasad). This is an exchange, a giving for receiving, unlike a covenant or a contract, which is about giving and taking and obligations that is cornerstone of Abrahmic religions. Exchange (yagna) connects (yoga) the world by establishing relationships (bandhu). Thus, through yagna and puja, we can theoretically connect with the infinite.
The author writes and lectures on the relevance of mythology in modern times. Reach him at devdutt@devdutt.com
Catch up on all the latest Crime, National, International and Hatke news here. Also download the new mid-day Android and iOS apps to get latest updates
Paromita Vohra: Come into my parlour
Illustration/Ravi Jadhav
For years, every time I've gone to a beauty parlour, yaniki, what fancy folks now call salon, one of the ladies there will ask me in that characteristic beautician tone — yaniki, terrorism masked as concern — "eyebrows nahin karaate ho?" (don't you 'do' — thread and shape — your eyebrows?). Depending on my confidence levels (usually low, an unavoidable side effect of entering a beauty parlour) my 'no' might be uttered with giggling diffidence, false hauteur, or bland deflection. The response of the beauty parlour lady is always the same — "accha?", yaniki, "fine, be that way." It's on your head. Don't come crying to me afterwards. I toh have done my due diligence by asking." Sometimes, feeling a little bold, I would ingratiatingly say, "The natural shape is pretty nice na, so why get into one more jhamela." The beautician will give that sweeping, sarcastic glance at my eyebrows and say, "Haan, vaise toh it's fine", yaniki, pity and disdain, bechari thinks natural is a thing.
This has been a consistent question, of course, but as any random or regular beauty parlour visitor knows, there are others, spoken in a special voice designed to decimate your ego and turn you into a trembling supplicant, begging for beauty treatments. "Last clean up kab kiya tha?" (When's the last time you had a facial?). "Feets ko bleach nahin kara na? Bahut tanning ho gayi hai." (Don't bleach your feet? They're very tanned).
It doesn't matter if you by-hearted The Beauty Myth when you were 15, you will be engulfed by that doomful self-hate and self-doubt start, like a seventh grader in the principal's office. The crushing stereotypes of advertising are laughable wannabes compared to the beauty parlour interrogation.
These questions derive part of their potency from the fact that you are trapped in electric chair type furniture, usually with a giant plastic bib tied around you as if you still cannot be trusted to eat properly, leave alone look presentable, and several other people getting their eyebrows done, or doing others' eyebrows around, who will come to a cinematic halt and stare at you when you admit that you are not one of them.
This potency is only slightly reduced by the advent of app-based home beautician services. To the usual litany of questions they also add, "Ma'am, braazil karalo na, sab karate hain" (Ma'am, everyone gets a Brazilian wax now). You can answer coldly or pretend to be immersed in your phone, like teenagers do with parents. But dude, these are young women who magically produce footstools and pedicure tubs from a backpack. They are not so easily daunted.
With the passage of time, the questions have dwindled. I've relaxed slowly into the truth that as you approach the out-point of the conventional marriageable age zone, the beautician, like the world, starts to expect less conformity from you. The eyebrow question now comes at me only once in every five times.
It was obviously too good to be true. Last week as I submitted to the plastic bib, the beauty parlour lady looked at me with that familiar intent look. "Hair colouring nahin karate?" she asked, checking out my now no longer tentative greys. "Nahin," I said, stoically, preparing for a couple of decades of this now.
Paromita Vohra is an award-winning Mumbai-based filmmaker, writer and curator working with fiction and non-fiction. Reach her at www.parodevipictures.com
Catch up on all the latest Crime, National, International and Hatke news here. Also download the new mid-day Android and iOS apps to get latest updates
Rahul da Cunha: 'Webaqoof' and other big big words
Illustration/Uday Mohite
So, dear reader, I don't know about you, but I'm a little confused about certain big words that fly around these days. I don't mean words like say, 'farrago' or 'webaqoof' or 'rodomontade' or 'snollygoster' that his eminence Shashi Tharoor has made famous. I mean we know that 'webaqoof' means — it's someone who has no clue how social media works. Most of you, my X-ennial readers, will identify with this malady — What's an X-ennial, you ask?! Nahin nahin, it not a prequel to the X-men series or the next instalment of 'Avengers Infinity Wars' (that's subject for another column).
Anyway, to get back to the subject at hand — big words. Do you know, for example, what 'Debdumbfoolery' or 'Biplabpolarism' mean — it's the art of talking utter nonsense, making outrageous statements with shameless ignorance and confidence on a public platform.
Like, say, I said something really foolish like, "Modern day internet existed during the times of the Mahabharata" or "Narad Muni was like Google" or, something even more preposterous, like "Darwin's theory was scientifically wrong and shouldn't be a part of college curriculum". You get it, dear reader. This is also called 'Satyapalfootinmunh'.
So it's like — "Hey, that Jigesh thinks no end of himself, always giving these biplabtripupistic fundas."
What else? Let's look at some other big words that made me reach for the thesaurus. How about 'Pappupasshogayalitis' — this tongue twister is the art of dynastic entitlement, when the entitled has no clue what he's doing or saying. So let's say two employees are b***hing about a third, "Really pissed off with my job. Can't get a promotion, that Akash is the boss's son, real pappupasshogaya dufus, but, kya karega, baap ka raj na!"
Dear reader, there's 'Rayaduplessis' — any idea what this means? Okay, it means, 'you finally do well at something in a particular position and a South African annoyingly takes your place to fulfill a quota.
Okay, here's another killer — 'Trumpjong-un' — cool, huh? So any guesses? Okay, it has multiple meanings —
1. An ancient Oriental board game
2. When two mentally unstable people meet and each one
cannot believe they've met their match
3. An American Nuclear Bomb made in North Korea
How about this one — Cosbynski. I'll give you a hint — it has to do with 'molestation' — okay, I won't give it away — email me your answers and you get a free Woody Allen movie DVD as a prize.
And finally there's 'Indranirritatausaurus' — so I'll let you decide what this word means.
Choose between —
1. A member of the pre-historic animal family
2. An issue that annoyingly goes on and on well past its interest value date
3. A story with more deceit,
betrayal and murder than all the seasons of Game of Thrones (GoT) put together
This word is also referred to as 'boradom'.
I'm off, dear reader, see you 'Banuvasarahdimanche'. Huh? What does that mean? It's so simple.
It's a word coined by Messrs Modi and Macron.
Rahul da Cunha is an adman, theatre director/playwright, photographer and traveller. Reach him at rahuldacunha62@gmail.com
Catch up on all the latest Crime, National, International and Hatke news here. Also download the new mid-day Android and iOS apps to get latest updates
Meenakshi Shedde: The President's Cinderella Hour
Illustration/Uday Mohite
Oh, wretched irony, that President Ram Nath Kovind — whom BJP president Amit Shah unabashedly introduced as a Dalit when nominating him as a Presidential candidate — should himself introduce a caste system, where it never existed before: India's august National Film Awards. The President informed the Directorate of Film Festivals (DFF) three weeks earlier that he would leave the award function in an hour. But the winners were informed only a day earlier, that the President would give away only 11 of the approximately 137 awards at the 65th National Film Awards; the rest would be given away by Information and Broadcasting Minister Smriti Irani, and Minister of State Rajyavardhan Rathore. As the award winners' invitations stated that they would receive the award from the President of India, they wrote to the DFF about a breach of trust, "65 years of tradition was being overturned in a jiffy," and nearly 55 winners boycotted the function.
Nothing spoke of the sordidness of this prestigious event as that photograph with just two disturbed award winners, in a hall full of empty chairs. The names of the 30 award winners who protested were not even announced. It is heartbreaking that a number of award winners, including Fahadh Faasil, who won Best Supporting Actor for Thondimuthalum Driksakshiyum, and Parvathy, who won Special Mention for Take Off, both in Malayalam, returned home without their National Awards. We are proud the National Awards still go to those truly deserving them, mostly. Bollywood, which usually hogs the limelight, is shown its true place in Indian cinema at the National Film Awards. Malayalam cinema won 11 major awards, Hindi cinema only eight in comparison; Bengali and Assamese cinema won five each; Marathi cinema won four; Tamil and Telugu cinema won three each.
The President, who is 72, gave no reasons for his self-styled, one-hour Cinderella rule. If he had medical issues, he could reasonably have declined, or split the awards into two sessions.
I have had the honour of attending four National Film Awards — once as an award winner, and thrice on the National Film Award Jury, in 2008, 2011 and 2014. Bungling and uncertainty are a given. I had won the National Award for Best Film Critic for 1998, but received the award only in 2000, because of unstable governments. As I'm usually at the Berlin Film Festival in February, I had asked the DFF about likely dates since October, but they said they would know only at the last minute. I was at the Berlin Film Festival when I was swiftly summoned to New Delhi, so my parents Indu Shedde and S Rammohan went to New Delhi, and my mother received the National Award on my behalf from President KR Narayanan.
On the other hand, Ramendra Naresh, a Dalit student who topped the MCA programme at the Babasaheb Bhimrao Ambedkar University, refused to accept his gold medal from President Kovind at the convocation scheduled last December, to protest against the growing atrocities against Dalits. Along with all this year's award-winners, I applaud Naresh as well.
Meenakshi Shedde is South Asia Consultant to the Berlin Film Festival, award-winning critic, curator to festivals worldwide and journalist. Reach her at meenakshishedde@gmail.com
Catch up on all the latest Crime, National, International and Hatke news here. Also download the new mid-day Android and iOS apps to get latest updates
Meher Marfatia: The woods are lovely, dark and deep
Shrikant Karani takes an early morning walk on the Siri Road steps with his dog Mischief. Pics/Sayed Sameer Abedi
The peace is palpable, the serenity a shock to the system. I'm on Siri Road, the misty-twisty path languidly climbing from Chowpatty to Kamala Nehru Park. Obscure and often missed in a blink by those not knowing it, this thin lane links Walkeshwar to Ridge Road. Every runner's dream, every walker's mini Mahableshwar in Mumbai, the country road you can drive on only till a point is summer-pretty. Heavy with fresh yellow and red flowers, its glowing greens slope up and up to an idyllic city panorama.
This is among the last havens of virgin verdure, affording spectacular sky and sea views at various heights Malabar Hill has hewn since the time it was fully forested. "Around 1534, Siri Road led from Gamdevi village up jungle-covered slopes of Malabar Hill through babul plantations to the banyan-girt temple of Walkeshwar," writes Pheroza Godrej in Bombay to Mumbai: Changing Perspectives. "The stream of worshippers from the west coast followed this path up the hill and, as it was narrow, called it 'Siri' or 'Ladder'."
Nonagenarian Nirmala Kotak in the living room of her home at the Dadyseth bungalow, where she has lived for 70 years since her marriage in 1948
I track down Rajkumar Loyalka, after whose father the road is renamed Chiranjilal Loyalka Marg. "My grandfather Ramchandra from Pilani belonged to the East India Cotton Association. His son, my father Chiranjilal, was a stockbroker and freedom fighter," he says.
Siri Road made news three years back when civic authorities wanted to widen and extend its 300 motorable metres by another 300, for traffic to reach Hanging Gardens via Ridge Road. That environmental disaster was averted by vigilant residents mounting a sharp campaign, my friend Kekoo Colah who walks here daily tells me. They painted "Mala kapu naka – Don't axe me" and "Save us from BMC" on the barks of beloved trees. Tipped at both ends by rowed barbers, bus conductors, paanwalas and ragpickers, Siri Road slumbers amid a jumble of shuttered coal and ration shops turned garages and go-downs. But there's trouble in paradise. Sudden bends and secluded niches swerve into kuchcha mud off-paths, whose messily overgrown carpets of dry leaves and dirt piles are hideouts for hardened bootleggers and junkies.
Named for the shape of its fruit
Near enough, city Zoroastrians got the first open-to-sky dakhma, or Tower of Silence, to dispose their dead in 1672. On the sylvan acres of Doongerwadi, prayers for the deceased are liltingly recited in roofed halls called bunglis. The Dadyseth family built one such in the area. The bungli's barest remnants are skirted by Hibiscus bushes with red blooms brighter than the ancient maroon wall ruins they cling to. Banker Dady Nasarwanji amassed vast land tracts in trust to maintain Dadyseth Agiary at Kalbadevi. He acquired the Chowpatty Band Stand property around 1783 from a Portuguese named Barretto.
Nonagenarian Nirmala Kotak has lived from 1948 in the whispering shadows cast by atmospheric Dadyseth bungalow, which is well over a century old. With daughter-in-law Durrat, she pieces memories of 70 years after her marriage. "Our family planted kesar kairi trees in the compound when my three sons were young," she recollects. "We wake to the shrieking of koels and parrots eating mangoes. Peacocks still fly in to drink water from a dripping tap and cobras coil on tree trunks in the heat."
The Stocking Tree grows uniquely on Siri Road alone in Mumbai. Pic courtesy: Shubhada Nikharge
I discover an interesting former Siri Road tenant thanks to Vinayak Talwar of Khaki Tours nudging me to check Volume III of The Gazetteer of Bombay City and Island. The Duke of Wellington indeed lived here when he was Colonel Arthur Wellesley, in a house Seth Cursetjee Manockjee — of the Khada Parsi statue fame — owned, between road and sea at the curve of the bay. (The landlord became such a great friend that his son Manockjee devotedly retained a hair of the Duke in his locket!). The student Eton described as "not at all a book boy and rather dull" went on to vanquish Napoleon at Waterloo and lead England as Prime Minister twice over, in 1828 and again in 1834.
His Bombay home in 1801-02, was "on your right opposite the wood-wharf as you ascend steep Siri road... The house, Surrey Cottage, stood halfway up the now non-existent eastern brow of Malabar Hill. It comprised a lofty hall, with long verandahs at the sides. In front was a porch, to which led two carriage-ways from different directions. One passed the horse stable near the Siri. The hall commanded a view of Back Bay and Girgaum, also the Esplanade and Fort. The Duke, with his eagle eye, must have scanned a glorious scene from Malabar Hill minus steamers and mills."
A second generation hornbill hops to the Karani family kitchen window to be fed - at one time two older birds would show up with a pair of their babies, of whom this is one. Pic courtesy: Utpal Tijoriwala
Wellesley had company round the corner in George Bellasis at Randall Lodge. The soldier and amateur artist was the son of Major General John Bellasis, whose 1790s orders constructed Nagpada's kilometre-long Bellasis Road, to relieve the poor displaced from famine-struck Surat. George met his neighbour when the future Duke of Wellington was recouping from an attack of ringworm, more colourfully referred to as the Malabar Itch. While the infection stopped him sail for an Egypt expedition, that ill-fated ship sank in the Gulf of Aden.
George Bellasis admiringly dedicated his 1815 book, Views of St Helena, to His Grace Field-Marshall the Duke of Wellington who exiled the French emperor to that island. A watercolour of Randall Lodge paints a two-storey structure with a rectangular lawn edged by cypresses.
What other breeze-kissed trees rustle secrets along this sequestered stretch? Colonial chronicles mention sandalwood, mistletoe, star apple, ivy fig and Christmas trees, with rose bushes, celery and cabbage patches around Surrey Cottage. Usha Desai and Renee Vyas, of Tree Appreciation Walks, detail a wealth of local flora: banyan, frangipani, asopalav, sitaphal, parijat, coconut, mango, jungli badam, putranjiva, jackfruit and aritha.
Flowering in the rain and fruiting in winter, the Stocking Tree is unique to Siri Road, according to Sharadini Dahanukar's book, Green Solace. "We haven't seen it elsewhere in the city," says Desai. "When we saw this one December, its stocking-shaped fruits had fallen. From a seed sprouted in the stocking, Renee grew a sapling on her farm." The originally South American tree leans against a chawl wall here.
"Trees like neem, peepul and kamrak were believed holy for harbouring the souls of rishis like Valmiki," says Rajesh Joshi, introduced to me by Ridge Road resident Jaidev Mehta who has walked the length of Siri Road thrice a day for 60 years. Rajesh's grandfather Hansraj Sawairam, from Sirohi in Rajasthan, heralded a line of four generations of Joshis tending the "swayambhu" — Sanskrit for "self-manifested" — Hanuman temple. It is supposed to have spontaneously risen on soil imprinted sacred by Ram, Sita and Lakshman in the Banganga vicinity. "Ram chose this quiet spot to meditate because of its solitude," Joshi says.
This is temple turf, proffering a trio of 150-year-old examples. Of these, two survive — Hanuman and Shiva mandir, nestled close-necked towards the top of the road. Descending nearer Walkeshwar, devotees thronged, too, to the Ram mandir from the 1880s, till at least a hundred years after. Motor sports entrepreneur Shrikant Karani and his wife Feruza recollect its beautiful idols left abandoned. We tiptoe through filthy, forgotten tracks in thickets below their building, Chitrakut, which faces the Ram temple site (Sita awaited Ram's return from Lanka in Chitrakut). Birdsong spikes the soporific afternoon air. Shrikant remembers dozens of Parsi Dairy bhaiyyas form inky blue clusters in trademark uniform shirts, Siri Road being their shortcut for deliveries from Walkeshwar to Ridge Road.
A tilt across, where Loyalka Estate later rose, was the home of the seven talented Pooviah sisters from Coorg. Their portico, sunken eight or nine feet beneath road height, was designed as an oasis of cool, not letting warm winds waft within on the hottest day. The three youngest sisters, Sita, Chitra and Lata, were renowned Kathak exponents. Sita also worked at Handloom House in the 1960s with Kamaladevi Chattopadhyay.
Their contemporary, Shirin Vajifdar narrates how she and her classical dancer sisters Khurshid and Roshan bonded with the Pooviahs. In a journal her family shares, Shirin has written: "We started weekly lessons at the Pooviah sisters' house. The three charming sisters were the greatest devotees of Kathak dance, the most promising pupils of Jaipur gharana maestro Sunder Prasad. They gave all help to learn at their residence."
The Pooviahs possessed the sole telephone on the road. "They would offer me biscuits when I went across as a boy to make calls," says Shrikant Karani. "I played Chor Police with kids of maalis who clipped the Hanging Gardens' hedges. We knocked dangling drumsticks with catapults, and shook pink and white champas to string garlands from fallen petals."
Old-timers mention a stone Vishnu once reclined under a gulmohur grove in the wilderness (Anantashayana — literally, "sleeping on the serpent Ananta"). Wondering where the divine Preserver must have basked benignly in the crisp sunshine, I pass Gagangiri Maharaj Ashram. A hum of discourses and yoga sessions mesh mellifluous with birds rapping tender-to-throaty tango tunes. Which could these be from Siri Road's trio of feathered regulars — oriole, barbet or hornbill — I try to guess, twigs snap-snapping underfoot every minute.
"We have a hill station in our backyard," declares filmmaker Vivek Kumar, treading this path as part of his exercise workout. "A little landscaping might even make this Bombay's answer to Crookedest Street of San Francisco."
Author-publisher Meher Marfatia writes monthly on everything that makes her love Mumbai and adore Bombay. You can reach her at mehermarfatia@gmail.com
Catch up on all the latest Crime, National, International and Hatke news here. Also download the new mid-day Android and iOS apps to get latest updates
Lindsay Pereira: Only criminals need apply
Of India's 31 chief ministers at this point, 11 have criminal cases against them, and eight have 'serious' cases that include rioting and murder. Illustration/Ravi Jadhav
I urge you to spend a few minutes on Google and look for Indian politicians convicted of crimes. I don't recommend you search for politicians 'accused' of crimes, because that may leave you with very little time to do anything else for the rest of the week. I also warn you against looking for politicians convicted of corruption, or politicians disqualified from office, because both those lists are incredibly short and may depress you.
Also, read a little about the Association for Democratic Reforms, established in 1999 by a group of professors from the Indian Institute of Management, Ahmedabad, to examine the criminal, financial and educational background of candidates contesting elections. To spend a little time at its website, where it publishes reports analysing elections and their contestants, is to expose oneself to just how awful the people claiming to represent us really are.
A week ago, for instance, the ADR published an analysis of MPs and MLAs with declared cases related to crimes against women. Apparently, out of 1,580 (that's 33 per cent) of MPs/MLAs analysed with declared criminal cases, 45 MPs and 3 MLAs have declared cases related to crimes against women. 327 candidates who had declared cases related to crimes against women were given tickets by recognised political parties. A number of candidates even contested in Lok Sabha and Rajya Sabha elections, and Maharashtra had the highest number of these gifted representatives. The website also carries a preliminary analysis of candidates announced by major political parties for the Karnataka 2018 Assembly elections, and shows that these parties continue to give tickets to candidates with serious cases.
Here's another thing that ought to concern us but no longer does, presumably because we are inured to information of this sort: Of India's 31 chief ministers at this point, 11 have criminal cases registered against them, and eight have 'serious' criminal cases that include 'voluntarily causing hurt by dangerous weapons or means', 'rioting', and even murder.
It's easy to see why politicians with a criminal record are more likely to be elected than those who haven't seen the inside of a jail, of course. People who don't commit crimes don't have access to illicit funds, which means they simply can't afford to bribe voters. It's also why the government of our country overturned a Supreme Court ruling demanding the disqualification of any politician convicted for crimes punishable with more than two years in jail. According to the men and women who supposedly represent us, it is more important to maintain political alliances and stay in power than it is to prevent criminals from taking charge of our collective future.
We live in an era where transparency does not exist, where we have no access to information about why some men and women are mysteriously chosen to represent a majority, and where politicians are encouraged to avoid being answerable to their countrymen. We are kept in the dark about why some projects are initiated and others ignored, why deals that don't make sense to anyone with common sense are approved at our expense, and even why our streets are named after people none of us have ever heard of. It's also why no political party has taken concrete steps to encourage the brightest and best among us to run for office. It's also why qualified government officials are often shunted out, because our leaders need minions, not people capable of independent thought. This is why we live in a time where it is always the worst that rise to power the fastest, then dictate terms for the rest of us.
Children ought to aspire to a life of public service because ours is a country that has, at least on paper, always placed the common good above all. Our forefathers sacrificed everything they had to create a country that no longer works for its poorest citizens. The reason why these statistics ought to matter is the kind of message the world's largest democracy is sending to its youngest members. In America, young people are encouraged to nurture the belief that they can be President some day. We probably don't encourage our children to aim for those high offices because we recognise that they may need to have a criminal bent of mind in order to make it.
When he isn't ranting about all things Mumbai, Lindsay Pereira can be almost sweet. He tweets @lindsaypereira Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com
Catch up on all the latest Mumbai news, crime news, current affairs, and also a complete guide on Mumbai from food to things to do and events across the city here. Also download the new mid-day Android and iOS apps to get latest updates
Baresi: Real football fans understand the importance of defenders
Baresi: I’m lucky to have played at three World Cups
Daouda: I still get goosebumps hearing the Niger anthem
Daouda keeping goal intact and ambitions alive
Demte pursuing European challenge and Ethiopian dream
T - Demte pursuing European challenge and Ethiopian dream
#WorldCupAtHome: Brazil push Les Bleues to the limit
Brazil push Les Bleues to the limit
Easter Island: Amateur football at its purest
Easter Island: amateur football at its purest
NUR: More than just a women’s football club
HEAD: More than just a women’s football club