NOMAD

1947- Earth

2011-09-04T19:56:00.002+05:30

Shanta – Nandita Das

Ice Candy Man, Dilnawas – Aamir Khan

Mallishwallah, Hassan – Rahul Khanna

Lenny – Maia Sethna

The film is based on Bapsi Sidhwa’s novel Ice Candy Man (1988), which was later republished as Cracking India (1991). To write a sociological analysis of a film is often difficult as one needs to separate the technicalities and aesthetics of filmmaking from the sociological perspectives. Aesthetically 1947 Earth remains true to the art of filmmaking. Based in Lahore during the Partition of India , the story is about an ayah Shanta and the two men - Ice Candy Man, Dilnawas and the Malishwallah, Hassan who vie for her love, told through the lens of an 8 yrs. old girl Lenny.

This story plays itself out amidst the rising political, social and religious tensions in India. The mainstay of the film is the change in Lahore and its people, as the Partition date draws near. Deepa Mehta captures the landscape of Lahore in deep earthy shades of orange and yellow in peacetime. This changes when a train from Gurdaspur arrives in the middle of the night filled with Muslim corpses and Lahore turns into Dante’s inferno. In the same way she captures the change in social relations when the melting pot of Muslims, Sikhs and Hindus that make up Lahore change from friends to foes while coping with the loss of identity that the Partition creates.

A. R. Rahman’s music not only has standalone value but also propels the film forward without overpowering the screenplay. He skilfully uses the ambient sounds of slogan chanting and marching as a background score. The success of the film though lies in its cast, which in spite of being illustrious are enveloped by their respective roles. Each character shines through no matter how small or big. Nandita Das is so earthy and realistic in her portrayal of a coquettish maid, Rahul Khanna speaks through his eyes and intense screen presence, Kitu Gidwani and Aarif Zakaria play the archetype gentle Parsi couple who strive to remain neutral amidst the chaos of choosing sides, that surrounds them, Gulshan Grover shows the passage of transition from an arrogant wealthy Sikh to a man humbled by the trails of Partition, Raghuvir Yadav brings out the helplessness of the weaker people in society that have no choice but to conform and comply to larger social forces while Aamir Khan as usual is outstanding in his portrayal of the ultimate ‘Beheroopiya’ one day an Ice Candy man next a Parrot Seller or a Sufi Saint, eventually transforming in a shocking avatar towards the climax.

A Sociological Perspective:

Some films reinforce stereotypes; some reject them while others reflect stereotypes. 1947 Earth does all three through an eclectic ensemble of characters and their portrayal.

In 1947 the departing British rulers, in collaboration with the Indian National Congress and the Muslim League announced the Partition of India into Muslim ruled Pakistan and Hindu dominated India. The worst repercussions of this decision were felt in Punjab - a state straddled between the two imagined nations. Hence Lahore, its capital city, becomes the bloody theatre of what is often described as the worst manmade disaster in the latter half of the century.

Lenny the crippled girl from an affluent Parsi family in Lahore is around whom the events pivot. Between the assortment of people that her family and her beautiful nanny attract, Lenny gains insight into the social interactions of not only the Muslim , Hindus and Sikhs that formed the cultural milieu of Lahore but also the affluent families and their timorous ties with the British which form the upper crust of Lahore society.

The first part of the film establishes the stereotypes. The Parsis, a religious sect that immigrated to India in the 9^th century, strive to remain neutral and ‘invisible’ due to their dwindling population, as Lenny’s mother explains to her. The dinner table banter immediately identifies the ‘angry Sikh’ while the joke about the Indian man in the train drinking his own urine reinforce the idea of the Hindu element of the State, owing to its association with Hindu practices.

Shanta being a dusky village belle of sorts attracts men of all caste, creeds and trades around her. Apart from the Ice- Candy Man and the Mallishwallah, is a Hindu gardener Hariya, the Sikh zookeeper – Sher Singh and the Muslim butcher. Even the allocation of jobs remains true to type between the men. What struck me as unusual though is the ease and openness with which Shanta- a Hindu girl, interacts with this group of men, those too largely Muslim. This doesn’t hide the Chauvinistic and Patriarchal character of society though which is highlighted by instances like Shanta being called a loose women in whispers, the child marriage of Lenny’s lower caste playmate to an old Christian man and the censure a young boy receives because his mother was raped and killed. Inspite of this, Shanta’s relative independence and Kitu Gidwani’s strong character, be it driving her husband around or hosting parties, shows somewhat liberal space available to women in that society.

As the date of Partition draws closer the friendly banter, both across elegant dinner tables and rustic dhabas, changes into anger and rivalry. An interesting bit is when the Sufi saint, culturally accepted by all religions in the Indian subcontinent, is disputed as ‘my saint’ and ‘your saint’ by the quarrelling Muslim and Sikh groups. The familiarity of Lenny’s world changes completely when a train arrives from Gurdaspur filled with corpses of Muslims. This is the turning point of the film where social rules are turned upside down as identities evolve. Allegiances change with the polarization of identities. Religious identity takes precedence over national identity and breaks bonds of kinship. This episode throws up many questions. What is the glue that holds society? Which identity comes first? It seemed to me that while for some their religion took precedence, for others their ethnicity and ties to the territory they belonged were stronger. Here then does region define religion or is it the other way round? While some flee and some fight, the weaker sections of society like Hariya have no choice but to comply with the larger societal forces around them. That is why maybe the majority of the Hindus who stayed behind in the newly created Pakistan were the Dalits.

With this breaking of stereotype what shines through is the reaction of Lenny to the events around her. She has a morbid curiosity about Dilnawas’s sisters who were massacred, is uninhibited about sharing cake with the Muslim boy who’s mother was raped and affronted that her birthday celebrations take a backseat in these troubled times. It goes to show that stereotypes are learnt. While Lenny had learnt the social practice of celebrating her birthday and held it important, she yet had to grasp the concepts of communal differences and gender biases.

Dilnawas whose sisters were amongst the corpses in the train highlights the change in the nature of men when pushed beyond the point of endurance. Seeing Shanta with Hassan breaks the last of his resistance, the consequences of which are horrifying for everyone involved. What happens in the end is anarchy. Much like the French Revolutions and its decent into anarchy that led to Emile Durkheim’s attempts to find the social glue that would bring back order to society. The climax of the film is a mirror that reflects how deep inbuilt stereotypes run.

Above all the film addresses the deep damage that colonialism can wreak even long after the foreign overlords are gone. In the historical contexts, the colonial forces for their own gain had stoked cultural and ethnic divisions between communities that had co existed more or less peacefully for centuries like the Muslims and Hindus in the subcontinent. The film portrays the violence between the respective groups occurring in the vacuum left behind when the white folks from the West who created the tinderbox lit the fuse and then abruptly withdrew.

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY SHEHLA

2011-08-16T21:31:00.007+05:30

The first I heard of Shehla Masood was through my uncle Shankar Ghosh, a friend of hers. I was looking for a job and Kaku said Shehla, a wildlife activist could always use help with her work. It seemed ideal and I wrote to her but before she could reply I landed a job with a news channel and moved to Bombay. Following her closely through the internet and other social networking sites like many other, one could see her energy and extensive knowledge burst through every post.

The last I remember of her was while editing footage that had arrived from Bhopal to the news studio during the first Anna Hazare fast for the Lokpal Bill in April 2011. Through the reams of footage from every part of India suddenly her face jumped into frame. She had, like always, gathered a huge crowd in Bhopal and sat in solidarity with Anna. The reporter thrust the mike under her nose and she said with quiet fire, “we support the Lokpal, it is necessary.” “What is your name,” asked the reporter. ‘Shehla Masood.’ The reporter let the mike linger but Shehla had had her say. A true activist, she wasn’t in it for personal glory, trying to put herself before the issue by playing for the camera. Hence her footage was not ‘masala enough’ for our fiery news channel looking to catch eyeballs and her ‘byte’ went unaired.

Kaku just arrived home this morning, enroute to Bhopal to meet Shehla a day before the Wildlife Photography Exhibition she had organized on the 19^th of August. Needless to say we are shocked and heartbroken.

RIP Shehla Masood ... friend, fighter and a thoroughly brave lady. It's taken less than 24hrs after Independence D for the Indian government to rear its ugly head and put Indians to shame. On one hand Anna Hazare is arrested for peaceful protests and on the other Shehla murdered in Bhopal for her courageous work as an RTI and Wildlife Activist. Shivraj Singh, the Forest Department, Land Mafia, Tiger Mafia and the entire state machinery is responsible for this cowardly act.

“I am proud to be an Indian. Happy Independence Day.” - Shehla Masood, 15 August, 2011 ( Facebook)

Gandhi “the purpose of civil resistance is provocation”. Anna has succeeded in provoking the Govt and the Opposition. Hope he wins us freedom from corruption. Meet at 2 pm Boat Club Bhopal” - Shehla Masood, 16 August, 2011 few minutes before her martyrdom ( Facebook)

"We suspect that the considered timing of her elimination during the ongoing anti-corruption campaign when she was on her way to support Anna Hazare’s fast is meant to overshadow the issue of illegal Diamond mining project in Chhattarpur district, Madhya Pradesh by Rio Tinto and the political Mafiosi." http://kafila.org/2011/08/16/statement-on-the-martyrdom-of-shehla-masood/

“About 35 years old, Shehla was still sitting in the driver's seat when she was attacked; however, no one heard any gun shot. When the car didn't move for a while, the family members came out only to find that she had collapsed on one side with blood oozing out from her chest. “

http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/india/Anna-Hazares-supporter-and-RTI-activist-shot-dead-in-Bhopal/articleshow/9622139.cms

Monday Morning Blues

2011-07-31T23:53:00.004+05:30

Pillars of Creation refers to a photograph taken by the Hubble Telescope of elephant trunks of interstellar gas band dust in the Eagle Nebula. The leftmost pillar was about four light years in length. The finger-like protrusions at the top of the clouds were larger than our solar system . The Pillars of Creation no longer exist. In 2007, the astronomers announced that they were destroyed about 6,000 years earlier by the shockwaves from a supernova.

All of this makes you feel so insignificant. Like another excuse for why bother waking up on a Monday morning. We are just one teeny-tiny part of one of the planets in one of the solar systems in one of the galaxies in one of the universes, existing only in 3 dimensions anyway !

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pillars_of_Creation

TOMATO CREAM PASTA

2011-06-29T00:14:00.004+05:30

This is Pasta as it was originally meant to be. Hearty, simple and slurpalicious.

Bring a pot of water to boil, add a little salt and few drops of oil.

Dump in the pasta, approximately 3 times more water than pasta. Boil for about 10-15 min for the much lauded ‘al dente’ firmness.

Rinse it with cold water, drain and keep aside. At this point of time marvel at the dexterity it takes to click a picture with steam clouding the lens while being careful not to drop the hot pot of Pasta on your foot OR the camera into the boiling water.

Heat an equal amount of butter and olive oil in a pan.

Add 5-6 cloves of minced garlic and one large, finely chopped onion into the sizzling mixture

Once things brown a bit add whimsical amounts of oregano, basil, pepper , chilli flakes and whatever other Italian spice makes your skirt fly.

Add two diced tomatoes, more or less depending on the amount of pasta thats cooking. Let things simmer for a bit.

Tear open a box of Tomato Puree and add to the mix. A heavenly scent should permeate the kitchen by now.

Adjust the seasonings, add a little sugar to combat the sour tomatoes. Then to really get things going, sprinkle some Parmesan cheese. Not being a food snob, I just happened to have a gifted jar of Parmesan at home. Amul works just fine too. Infact I'm a big fan of Amul, Dr Verghese Kurien , Milk Co ops and the White Revolution. Britannia may go to the devil. Evil, synthetic tasting phoren muck.

Let the sauce simmer for a few minutes till it approaches liquid consistency. Turn off the gas and let it cool for about 2 min. Now comes the kicker, to the red hot sauce add a cup of cream. Watch it turn into a smooth and sublime, creamy, orange sauce.

Slurrrppp……

Add the pasta to the sauce.

Toss it gently to coat all the pasta.

Pour into a pretty bowl and sprinkle some more cheese.

Scarf it down with toasted French bread if you can wait to cut yourself a slice or just slurp it up plain.

Big City Life: Bombay Local

2011-06-04T13:02:00.007+05:30

The third thing that hits you after stepping into Bombay is the loss of personal space, the first two being the heavy humid air and the peculiar smell of Bombay caused by 13.5 million bodies sweating at the same time. The three, combined with a view of dirty vehicles, stained buildings and metro-sexual males as far as the eye can see make me want to take a U-Turn back home to the cooler, cleaner, spacious climes and rugged people I am used to.To have been born, lived and died in Bombay means not to have lived at all. So deep and unshakable was my dislike for the city that a wise Aunt once prophesied 'If you feel so strongly about it, you just see, God will one day send you to Bombay only' and that only happened.

Tramping the roads in search of a room and jarred by the astronomical rents, I ended up in a Punjabi society in the hell hole of ‘Chakala’ with a room in an old lady's bungalow. The room, as an architectural friend would later tell me, was an illegal windowless partition in the kitchen. A big bed dominated the space, around which a chair, 2 shelves and a tiny desk were squeezed like lagoons encroaching on an island. A tiny grainy TV perched precariously on the shelves. All my needs could be met by just reaching out my hand from the bed. The bathroom was a hop away. Every morning I would wake up to 16x20 framed marriage pictures of my landlady’s 3 bearded Sikh sons and their decked up wives grinning down at me from each wall of the room. Also the old lady turned out to be a pill-popper, which meant serious Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde syndrome depending on when she was on her drugs and off them. All in all I was glad to stay out of the house most times and get involved with work and studies and take in the city one slow epiphany after another.

The first was to learning train travel. The first time I clambered onto a train my brain froze. It is unnerving to suddenly find the control of your body and limbs in the the hands of the masses pushing and pulling at you. As clichéd as it sounds, big cities is when the enormity of the population of India and the havoc mobs can cause hits you. On the trains, buses, streets, everywhere hundreds of bodies brush past you. To stop walking or moving in anyway is inviting disaster in Bombay.

By the third train ride you will be a pro, though somewhat baffled at how so many young women get on and off the coach same time as you looking perfectly groomed, while you look like,well... a train wreck. A friend and I used to take the Churchgate Fast to South Bombay often. Although broke and bewildered by the big city, South Bombay's balmy breeze and colonial architecture worked like revitalizing magic on people starved for beauty in the hellhole that is Andheri East. We hobbled aimlessly through the streets of South Bombay, saving taxi money to blow up at Leopold or having spent everything sitting for hours watching the sunset at Marine Drive. Hundreds of other girls walked around us perfectly groomed and as my friend put it, in a bubble of their own, seeming untouched by the humidity and pollution.

But one learns, observes the ladies compartment of the Churchgate Fast full of capacious handbags that carry a change of shoes from slippers to high heels, make up, hairbrushes, food, water, facewash, sometimes change of clothes and basically a survival kit good for a week after the Apocalypse. After becoming members of NCPA (National Centre for Performing Arts) we used the NCPA's luxurious bathrooms as our pit stops after the train travel and even caught a play, photo exhibition or music recital occasionally.

Soon the trains journeys ironically enough were the highlight of my Bombay life. Even on the muggiest of days, hanging at the door with the sultry wind on your face made Bombay tolerable. But the best part was the woman’s compartment. It is like that drop of water , when put under a microscope contains an entire ecosystem? The Ladies coach in a Bombay local bursts with activity. Women working on laptops, reading magazines, chopping vegetables, selling homemade snacks, telling prayer beads, or praying from their pocket size prayer books. Especially during the exam months, the train would be full of college students cramming last minute and quizzing each other for Vivas. Groups of office ladies coming from Fort and Flora Fountain would share sweets celebrating someone’s engagement. The worst cat fights also took place in the ladies coach and this is where I picked up some of my more colourful language. I’ve travelled once or twice in the men’s compartment when running late. It wasn't half as much fun.

There are many memorable train rides, the crazy one taken at peak time in a typical Bombay deluge of rain with water pouring into the packed compartment.

The risky one while going to work on Holi with vividly coloured boys running in and out of the compartment playing loud Holi music. I envied their Bhang induced fun.

One of the most memorable train rides was during the World Cup finals India Vs. Sri Lanka being played at Wankhede. I was on my way to the Press Club for the second innings of the match and the streets , stations and trains of bustling Bombay were eerily empty. The few of us in the ladies compartment smiled ruefully at our common plights making us travel when the rest of the nation was glued to their television sets. There was an air of camaraderie on the streets of Bombay. The radio was plugged into my ears as Sehwag came out to bat.

The Churchgate fast always stops outside Wankhede for a few minutes , today being no different. As Wankhade came we all looked out of the window at the troops of soldiers and police personnel strung like wedding lights all over the stadium. Then into my ears Sehwag was bowled out and I gave vent to expletives startling the women around. ‘Sehwag gaya , second ball’ I explained. We all rushed to the train doors, Wankhede loomed before us like a silent spectre, stunned into silence by the Sri Lankan’s blow. Then Kholi hit a 4 and the stadium erupted in joy and some of the shrillest shrieks came from the ladies compartment of the Churchgate Fast outside Wankhede.

A Jar of Pickles

2011-05-30T00:46:00.002+05:30

My grandmother passed away last year before the mango season started. It was the first death in my immediate family. One of the restrictions during this mourning period was that we could not cook food that day in our house. One hardly is in the spirit to eat , plus with all the people and hushed activity, dinner was a half hearted affair at 7.30pm and already a distant memory by nightfall.

At 1 am I cracked open my squeaky door as noiselessly as possible and tip toed into the kitchen only to bump into my Dad who looked as guilty rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. Kind friends and relatives had left an assortment of food and we hungry co-conspirators proceeded to compile a thoroughly Gujju midnight snack. Ever since Kareena Kapoor’s drunk cameo in 3 idiots disparaging Gujju food nomenclature, it pains me to justify my culinary heritage. After all, what is in a name, a ‘thepla’ will taste as satisfying if called thép- à- la.

As we hunted for the ideal accompaniment – ‘chunda’ ( tiny slivers of mango in a chutney that it sweet sour and spicy!) it dawned on us at the same time ‘she was the provider of pickles’ ! I don’t remember my grandmother ever cooking a meal but boy could she whip up scrumptious accompaniments to every meal! From tangy chutneys and jars of preserves to ghee dripping mithai and spicy snacks, but above all she was the provider of pickles. True to household tradition, every summer mangoes would be ordered, cut dried, salted,well pickled and bottled to last a whole year before the next mango season arrived.

Dad and I looked at each other and panicked, it was the end of a mango year. This time there would be no replenishing the stock. Smiling at the memories, we carefully spooned out a bit of the last pulpy layer of pickle from the jar.

MATTAFIX

2011-05-29T17:32:00.004+05:30

A dear friend Manavi Deopura wrote this a few years back for a student magazine that a couple of us had started called, THINKING LOUD. Like most such college endeavours once we graduated and moved to different cities the magazine died out. Along with it some wonderful articles on films, music, politics, news, travel and short stories. Manavi has always had a great taste in music and a pen that trips language over. This is one of those articles hidden in a dusty pile of old college memoribilia.

BREAKING BE

I did not think variation would come. I thought rap was rhythmic repetitive jingles. I disliked blues all along. The cloy catchiness, the overt gloominess and pointed doom of 'screwed-up lives', and 'how-ma-papa-left-me-n-mama-beat-me-n-girlfriend-ditched-me-n-wife-divorced-me' made my eyes glaze over with boredom. Metromaniacs 'spittin' fly n bustin' rhymes' had spat and busted enough.

But then, UK-based band Mattafix salvaged.

How much can an airport inspire you… or a road? Or buses or hotels, for that matter? Do they inspire a song in you? Or a melody? Do they inspire you to inspire? Itinerant lifestyles being the genesis of their generic music, Mattafix sing about people.

The duo( Marlon Roudette and Preetesh Hirji) explore mixing techniques and instruments, from steel drums to flutes. Raw and danceable, their song text and the oeuvre cover several different chambers of music – Reggae, Dancehall, Alternative Rock, Hip Hop/Rap, R&B, Soul, World, Jazz and Blues! Intelligent, thoughtful lyrics give voice their understated socio political commentary. As their official website says, “Mattafix have a unique ability to deliver important ideas with irresistible music.” Their music purges you of the commercial, the said and done, the trite and the sham.

With the wave of musicians turning war-protesters, they brewed up their share of the "war cinematography" too: the single "Living Darfur", taken from their second album, “Rhythm and Hymns”. With Mick Jagger furnishing the finances, the video, released on 7^th September 2007. The video featured Matt Daemon and was available as a download only. The way they have chosen to rally support for peace in the region makes the video unique. It’s not about hopelessness or tortured souls trapped in those refuge camps.What with the dump heap of news channels overlapping news with scandal, laminating facts with emotions, and bloating up news by injecting their opinions in them – the band has just showed Darfur in all its truth. It's the status quo. It just is. It says, "These are the people. They are rolling under oppression, driven out of their homes, they are suffering. Yet they are smiling, playing ball, dancing, running. And then, full stop.

They are not struggling to break free. They are letting be.

I don't see them trying too hard. I don't see them trying to cash in on the miseries of a people; I don't see tears and the blood and thunder, a given accoutrement with any war-ridden video, born out of the director's need to buy the viewer's sympathies. It doesn't even mention sympathy. Their songs are about you. You. Me. Themselves. Yet detachment manages to seep in. Hoods and the caps are in place. But they don't rap the formulaic rap. Like a gloomy Kevin Little having a conversation with a Sean Paul on Valium, Marlon Roudette and Preetesh Hijri, (Mattafix) with riddims for pauses, using what they have to by way of acoustics, get cracking. No weeping lyrics, no wailing self pity. It just is what it is.

Just the way their music is what it is.

By Manavi Deopura

HISTORY

2011-05-23T17:18:00.003+05:30

Ocassionally one has to write essays/papers for undefined, unimportant reasons. These papers are long and winding and interesting only to the professor who corrects them, or maybe not. But having written them one needs outlets other than in the classroom. Hence the blog comes in handy, for every piece of writing banal or not that is ever written and to satiate the Id, Ego and Super Ego.

Not having any history is like having amnesia. If we did not know history we would have very little sense of identity, of our roots and origins and why we are the way we are. History helps us understand past circumstances that have created the present situation and more importantly how it might affect the future. One can understand cause and effect, of how important ideas and events played out and more. History is the key to understanding civilizations which is the key to understanding the society we live in today.

As Innis's erudite dissertation on Empires and Communications so clearly highlighted, the link between topography that gave rise to mediums of communication and how communication mediums in turn played a pivotal role in the development of societies, contributing to the rise and fall of empires in ancient civilizations. Each new medium, created a paradigm shift in the social conditions of the empires and gave birth to a new age of mankind, starting from papyrus to the present age of the printing press. This study makes it easier to speculate and predict the future of our society which is increasingly being defined by the internet. History gives us an anchor so we do not have to begin all over again.

Being a complex web of interacting events that took place in the past, by taking a step back and viewing history on a vast canvas we can identify patterns that have shaped our society. History therefore gives a point of reference to our existence. People can clearly understand how things are related to one another. We now know that while paper was invented by the Chinese in 104 AD the printing press was invented several centuries later in 1440 by John Gutenberg in Germany. The Bible being the first book that was mass printed and distributed would explain the quick spread of Christianity across different parts of the world as compared to the rest of religions, which in turn explains the Christian influences present in the laws and policies of today.

In the case of India a similar analogy would explain the influences of upper caste Hindus in the structuring of our society even today. The point is that unless we know the foundation of our society we cannot question or probe the accepted beliefs and social norms that we live within. To quote Gombrich, “you have to know what you are fighting against.” History helps us make the changes that need to be made.

Another important function of history is that it creates value. Without understanding the world we cannot understand the context in which we live. Every word written or article published, every creation of mankind relates to the past and aims at the future. So to appreciate what exists today one must know the conditions in which it was created. When I first saw an example of the paintings of the Impressionists, while admitting they were eye catching and beautiful it was still difficult to understand the exalted position that the Impressionist movement holds in history. It takes a look into the history of art for one to know that prior to the Impressionists, European painting was muted, conservative, conventional and covered in dusty browns and blacks, it is only then that one can appreciate the path-breaking technique of the Impressionists, the vibrancy and explosion of colour and movement in the paintings of Monet, Degas and Renoir. While originality does exist and is certainly a very important aspect of creation, even originality has meaning only within history. History helps in creating value and meaning in society.

History also gives us a sense of community as we share a common inheritance, be it linguistic, racial, national or with mankind as a whole. We can understand what it means to be in somebody else's shoes. We can better relate to the atmosphere and situation during the battle of Thermopylae to the World Wars, to understand the conditions of people during the slave trade and repression in history and then to be able to relate them to British colonization and the fear of persecution. We can get a better idea of what is was like to live in China during the Cultural Revolution or what it means to be an American. History defines people and places and enables them to understand one another through those definitions of culture, community ,language and race.

Lastly history is a question of curiosity and pleasure. L.P Hartley said that 'the past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.' The past attracts us, we want to know of the time of Kings and Queens and how they lived, of great Statesman and priests and what they said and also of the common laborer and his life in ancient Egypt and what he endured. These stories fascinate us and unleash imagination. History inspires.

Considering that the uses and reasons of historical writings are manifold and have an impact on our thinking and actions it is crucial to understand the ways in which history is written and interpreted. The recorded version that we usually read is that of the survivor,the mightier, the one who was loud enough to be heard. What then happens to the lesser voices that lived through the same time? As a journalist especially it is extremely important to get a 360 degree view of any subject, including the past. Questions such as

-Who wrote the text?

-Who were they writing for?

-Why were they writing the text?

-When did they write it?

Hence social scientists try to see through the various methodologies by which history has been documented down the ages, so one may in future be able to record and analyze historical writing as objectively and truthfully as possible, free of manipulation and influence. Authors such as Joan Appleby, Lynn Hunt and Margaret Jacob in their book 'Telling the Truth about History' point out three types of 'intellectual absolutism' that help better in understanding why the past is remembered the way it is.

The Age of Enlightenment , beginning in the early 18th century was a time when Religion gradually gave way to Science. An empirical method of collecting evidence and writing was favoured over narratives based on faith alone. The word of Scientists gained precedence over the word of religious heads. Historians using a value neutral methods acted as 'passionless investigators' and wrote history based on proven facts. The downside of this method was that it was a fragmented view of those times and conditions as it disregarded subjective viewpoints.

As the Age of Enlightenment gave way to a post modern society that focused on development, historians accepted that to objectively document history one must pay attention to the social circumstances that guide the actions of men and women. A study of this kind was more complex though as it meant that everything was viewed relatively, also, studying social conditions generated a huge amount of data to sift through. The post modernists also laid emphasis on words and the constraints of language which might create linguistic biases in historical writings. Many a times history is manipulated through the way the writer uses language and the true taste of that time is lost.

The last kind of absolutism that influenced historians is that of nationalism. History began to be recorded by keeping nation building in view. To give them a sense of identity historians wrote about present conditions while keeping in mind their place in comparison to the rest of the world. This breed of historians considered themselves to be 'practical realist' The authors also highlight natural science and human sciences, the verification of which come with similar challenges, except, in the case of human sciences the challenges are more as it is not a study that can be done in isolation, human nature being influenced by a myriad of circumstance.

In recent times we have alternate opinions and various people trying to rewrite history through their views and perspectives. We have the Revisionists who deny the Holocaust and proclaim it as a Zionist propaganda to gain sympathy, then there are the conspiracy theorists who have their own elaborate explanations about everything from the death of Princess Diana to Area 51, but history is not only based on perspectives and opinions but hard facts and such evidence that has survived the test of time. The survived evidence in itself may create a bias but in a much lesser degree than theories based on pure speculation.

In spite of all said and done, as the American historian Carl .L. Becker once said, “ All historians, even the most scientific have bias, if in no other sense than the determination not to have any.

Yet we try and persevere as each of us is part of history in the making.

Gulaal

2011-05-20T16:12:00.002+05:30

The Left may be out but it is not the Right that has won. As the nation awakens to the horror of the Congress Monarchy it's created, let's take heart in the forthcoming entertaintment this outcome will provide when the Congress grapples to keep 2 women in check. Welcome Amma and free mixer grinders and Didi with the promise of a gazillion Km of railway tracks ! The colour of Gulaal is Green.

DUM MARO DUM

2011-05-06T04:14:00.005+05:30

Why did so many people not like Dum Maro Dum?

The movie was refreshing, if the Dabaang kind of masala film works well because of its exaggerated, crude , over the top style that packs a punch, DMD works with the same masala in slick, stylish packaging and some brilliant editing. It takes a few minutes to get used to the pace of the film, just as in Bluffmaster and then not for a moment does the film lose its grip. It doesn’t keep you at the edge of your seat biting your nails; it keeps you entranced by the unfolding fatality of the actions of the characters. It keeps you mesmerized with it’s blue and red tinged scenes and Goa forever captured in the twilight zone. None of the garish drug overdose scenes, no cook , load, shoot and dilate sequences done to death. While most films dealing with drugs emphasize on the high, DMD personifies the drug itself. Into a stealthy, omnipresent and deadly seductress. It gives it a name.

Lori (Prateik) in a befuddled decision opts to smuggle drugs in his luggage just once with the promise of funded University education and a chance to be with his girlfriend in the U.S. Prateik’s acting is winsome as usual but one wishes his voice would break already.

ACP Vishnu Kamath( Abhishek) a reformed cop is the man on a mission to clean up Goa’s drug scene. He is haunted by a car crash caused by a junkie that killed his entire family. He is the weakest link acting wise lacking the intensity and emotion to carry what could have been a beautifully crafted role.

Zoey (Bipasha) is lured by ambition and opportunity to fly international skies if only she becomes a carrier for the first 5 times. Suffice to say, there never is a last high. This is the one film in which not only Bipasha’s diction but also acting is tolerable and she sure looks the part!

DJ Joki (Rana Duggbati )having already lost his girlfriend to drugs plays the noble crusader and takes upon himself the task of saving his friend entrapped by the drug mafia. Dugbatti is the icing on the cake. Slow to emerge in his role, he outshines every other performance in the film, cashing on the element of surprise that new actors provide.

Aditya Pancholi is like he always is, the annoyingly fair,tall bad guy.

Every character is given it’s swansong. One by one the drug trade picks it’s victims. It follows them, corners them , whispers to them, takes them in its heavy embrace and leaves them dead. Even fatality is alluring to the characters in the film.

Rohan Sippy always creates a lazy , easy intimacy between the couples, be it Abhishek and Priyanaka in Bluffmaster or Bipasha and Rana in DMD. The cinematography, like in Bluffmaster is clean and stylish spiralling from international hotspots of Goa, to it’s crowded markets and rave scenes. The music does not overpower the film and is almost forgettable but for a few haunting tracks like Jiye Kyun.

The story focuses not on the high of psychotropic substances but on the seductive, hazy drug world, of limitless opportunities. Sure some of the dialogues are clichéd, sure it is in no way a hard hitting investigation into the Goa drug mafia, yes the sequences of events are not credible. It is not stark like Requim for a Dream nor symbolic like Hare Rama Hare Krishna. But if you like the fiery Dabaang, you will like a masala of a different kind, a more subtle, cooling concoction.

I MAY GET FIRED FOR THIS, IM KINDA HOPING I DO

2011-04-04T20:43:00.006+05:30

Here comes the much awaited rant… One joined journalism for 3 primary reasons, no 9-5 job, even if it is 24/7 ,the thrill of running around for stories everyday, the running around was also supposed to be instrumental in becoming thin and sexy and the last ... if a compromise had to be reached and Id get stuck behind the newsdesk in an office instead of the great outdoors, well to put it blankly the news channel salary would make up for it.... All three reasons are null and void, I work a 9 to 9 job, becoming fat in an air conditioned office, which is an incubator for disease, my salary just came, half of its not there. Now I can be flexible, all this would still be fine if I dint have a cleaning job as well. Oh to keep them clean, to keep them well licked and then dry, powdered, patted and comfortable, they should be happy now, they should be sitting comfortably on their FAT POMPOUS ARSES cause I can do no better in keeping them groomed.

What is my job? Precisely that.. not researching stories, not writing, not shooting, not coming up with ideas, not getting trained for absolutely anything but to cater to the needs of fragile, insecure ego’s the size of Antartica.

Go ahead , call Salwa Judum, Halwa... what? Ask me who Shoma Chaudhury is, then go in to anchor and come out yelling at me because you wanted 1 byte cut in three different ways causing confusion and I am the dumbass here. We are a news channel, everyone has degrees in mass communication, writing, talks 19 to the dozen, we have banks of computers, several screens, phonelines and even a loudspeaker for instant communication but I am to read your mind when you give orders.

Abusing is not cool, trying to be Rani Mukherjee in Who Killed Jessica is NOT COOL and if you must abuse the insane amount that all of you do, with all that English you could get a little more creative.

Interned at 6 national news organizations before not one comes close to the utter lack of humanity, warmth or friendliness, the pointless chaos, unnecessary hostility or the social hierarchy calculated in the no. of MONTHS that people have stuck on, not years, no one sticks here for years, no place comes close to the most abusive and collectively delusional people ever. To all of you there... you won't be going to hell, you've created it right here, in that newsroom.

Techno Coffee Cake - Eggless!

2010-12-07T17:38:00.019+05:30

This is Techno Cooking. Where a laptop is an essential part of the kitchen appliances. My roommate and I decided to extend our cooking skills beyond the adhoc breakfast mess, which in spite of being delicious, is not a legitimate recipe. Or so some food snobs insist. We were perusing through several recipes online when we came across this one. This cake is Heroin in the world of coffee addicts.

To explain the incredible taste of this particular Coffee Cake you need to know that Raashi is a model. Which means her per day calorie intake would put an Ethiopian refugee to shame. Which is a waste as she is a great cook. Her rampaging sweet tooth is deprived of every micro particle of sugar, chocolate, cream, butter and all things essential to make this cake. I on the other hand belong to a highly selective and widely criticized cult called 'people who do not like sweets.' I by my own free will under no threat and pressure OR misguided enthusiasm for dieting keep away from sugar, chocolate, cream, butter and all things essential to make this cake. This cake hence symbolizes the meeting of two very different worlds who sighed over it's gooey coffee goodness. My point is, Make This Cake.

One cup flour (Maida) mixed with one cup sugar. We used powder sugar and strained it to make it fine, as granular sugar takes longer to melt. It's a pain of a process though.

Create a concentrated coffee liquid by adding 2 tablespoons of instant coffee crystals to hot water.

Here is the reason the laptop was invaluable. The recipe called for 1 egg, we were making an eggless cake. Eggless cakes as a norm turn out substandard because of unsuitable substitutes like applesauce, milkmaid, banana and a mixture of complicated recipes. The formula below is the simplest and most effective egg substitute:

2 tbsp of water + 1 tbsp of cooking oil + 2 tbsp of baking powder = 1 egg. Mix this in a separate bowl and keep aside.

Melt an obscene amount of butter over low heat . The original recipe said 2 sticks. We cut an approximation of that which was a bit too much as you can see.

Pour the concentrated coffee liquid into the melted butter.

Swirl it around a couple of times, it looks beautiful.

Let it boil for about 10 seconds, turn off the heat and set is aside for a minute.

Now make half a cup of buttermilk. Curd + water and add a dash of limejuice

Pour it into the egg substitute mix.

Add 2 teaspoons of vanilla essence and 1 teaspoon baking soda. Beat with a fork and set aside.

Now pour the butter/coffee mixture into the first bowl of flour sugar mixture . Keep folding the mixture for several minutes till it cools and thickens. It takes a little while for the batter to thicken. If like me this is the first time you've made cake, do not panic and dump more flour into your. batter. Raashi held me back by brandishing the fork.

As it begins to cool and thicken, pour the egg mix into it and fold. ( This time Im not copying TLC, the recipe said fold)

Have patience, keep folding the batter gently, do not whip it in frenzy when you get impatient. Again, Raashi had to keep me at forks length. She sent me away to pre heat the oven to about 180 degrees cel.

When it FINALLY begins to look like legitimate coffee batter, grease a baking dish with enough butter. Then dust it with flour. Grease it well, because the coffee batter is one helluva sticky mix and you do not want your cake glued to the dish.

For some inexplicable reason all we had was one heart shaped baking dish. Heart shaped coffee cake it was!

Pour it out evenly and bake in the oven for about 20 minutes. You need to keep checking once a strong coffee cake aroma starts emenating from the oven. Raashi the Wise said if you poke a toothpick into the cake and it comes out crumb free, it's done.

And it was! It was moist, gooey and filled the kitchen with rich coffee aroma. At this point you can just eat it like this and do away with the frosting.

It tastes that complete. Strong, bittersweet and wonderfully soft. You can soak the cake in rum if you want, this cake is like sponge! We were too lazy to step out and buy some.

But the recipe showed a wonderful frosting and against our better judgement we went and made one sinfully, decadent frosting with our own additions. The next part is something the cake can totally do without if you like how it tastes plain. Crush 2 chocolate biscuits. We used Pure Magic Vanilla. (optional)

Mix 1 and 1/2 sticks of butter with half cup sugar. As usual we used too much butter again which does not matter in a cake but ruins icing.

Add a tbsp of instant coffee crystals and 2 tbsp of heavy cream.

Dump in the broken biscuits. ( optional)

Whip the whole thing. We did not have a whipper? blender? whatever appliance it is that you need to whip stuff, so we used a fork. But it is hard work and doesn't result in the same fluffy consistency that a whipper?blender ?whatever it is you need to whip stuff does. It is good enough though.

Spread the icing over the cake gently. The recipe called for freezing the cake and it does look better frozen, But it tastes way better when it is warm and gooey.

Frankly our icing overpowered the cake a little. The cake is not meant to be THAT buttery and sugary, esp for 2 girls who a) cant eat b) don't like - butter and sugar.

If you are the type who likes a sugar kick though, go for it, else let the plain, strong coffee cake be.

Food Photography - Delicious Breakfast Mess

2010-09-02T12:25:00.017+05:30

A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.

-Robert A. Heinlein

......And so this blog will now also, occasionally as and when the writer cooks, feature some food photography. Years of hostel food and PG food and dabba and tiffin.. the minute I got an apartment and a roommate who could teach me how to cook, I cooked.

This is simply called.. The Delicious Breakfast Mess. It is an invented recipe - were Tomatoes, Red and Yellow Peppers, Green Chillies, Jalapenos, Onions,and a batter made of Chickpea and Rice flour and Mint leaves and Cheese were included in the fun.

Do not be daunted.. it takes merely 15 min to make.

I love food with colour. The more colourful and messy, the better it tastes. Think of all the food you like.. tell me if it isn't true Jalepenos, Onions, Peppers all roughly chopped.. you don't want anything neat here.. messy is the key. Heat olive oil and butter and a thwacked piece garlic when it's all melted. When the wonderful buttery garlic smell comes slide in the onions and wait for them to sizzle. Ignore the escaped piece of pepper.. When things sizzle, good things happen and I get excited and sloppy.

See see.. it's turning brown

Thats when you dump in the green chillies

and the bell peppers and then the tomatoes and jalapenos Stir for a few minutes. Let it get juicy and wonderful then sprinkle some cheese.. cause you're worth it cook till the cheese starts giving off this deadly aroma and finally...add the batter made of 4 spoons of chickpeas flour, 2 of rice flour a few mint leaves and salt. I also added oregano, basil and chilli flakes, but then I have this OCD to add and toss ingredients randomly. It tasted wonderful in the end anyway.. so.. go ahead add what you want. when it gets slightly gooey and firm, sprinkle the cheese... again, because you're worth it. Keep folding it , remember, not stir, not mash.. fold. ( I heard that on TLC) You wanna cook the heck outta this... don't be afraid to brown it Once crisp and spongy .. :) :) slide it onto a pretty plate and pat it into shape. Admire the colours peeping out Trust me , you want to get it this crisp. Sprinkle fresh corriander leaves if you want, to make it more colourful and joyful! You can use whatever sort of garnishing makes you happy. I love the fresh green colour... It's all about the colours. Gorgeous This was the first time I made this so Im not sure what is the consistency to aim for. This was wonderfully spongy and could be cut into pieces to share IF one wanted to. Sigh.... by this time I was too busy eating to correct the fuzzy light. Make this today!

Idea Of India

2010-08-15T01:42:00.005+05:30

The Idea of India by Sunil Khilnani is, at first glance, an analysis of the way the country has developed since it became Independent in 1947. It is an essay on the creation of a democratic state and its passage to modernity that takes into its narration the political, economical and cultural identity of India. But the slightly veiled and important intent of this book is it's primary argument, the Idea of India that had been formulated and has since then been developed.

Khilnani takes us through his argument by analyzing it in two ways. First, by faithfully recording the chronology of events that occurred in India's development of a nation state since 1947, the second, a more arcane analysis of this Idea that has been a 4 tier process of symbolization. First the larger Idea of Democracy, a symbol of an ideology that was needed to demand Independence, give birth to a nation state and be taken seriously in world politics. Second the Idea of an Economy, agrarian, liberal, socialist or otherwise Economy constitutes as a symbol of materialistic reality, which is needed to make people believe in the workings of a democracy, thereby, reinforcing the idea of democracy itself. Third, the Idea of Cities as versus villages, which became the symbolic barometer to gauge the rise and fall of our economy. The idea moulded around the state of India's cities, reflects the health of our economy hence reinforcing the previous 2 ideas. Lastly all these ideas percolating to the 4th tier which is the core of any nation; identity of the individual as an Indian. The symbolic citizen who gives identity to the country, or is it the country, which gives identity to its citizens? All the elaborately carried out previous ideas will come tumbling down like a house of cards if the citizen refuses to acknowledge and stay in sync with the idea of nationhood that her country has created.

Like a camera Khilnani zooms in from the big picture of democracy and focuses on the fine detail of individual identity and the charade of ideas that is needed to hold the Idea of India together.

Democracy:

In this section Khilnani takes us through the building of the Idea of democracy in India and its manifestation today.

There was no concept of the State of India in the pre-colonial times. An assortment of political arrangements loosely bound the diverse Indian subcontinent. No one ruler had ever ruled the entire subcontinent before the British acquired it and by means of forced cohesion gave it a semblance of a State. Yet as Khilnani observes, there was a ‘prevalent common aesthetics, myths and ritual motifs that attested the presence of a larger more cohesive power even then – the Brahmins.’ As oppressive as they were the Brahmins held their grip over the country through selective literacy. It withdrew from political power and directed its energies on social relationships creating a self disciplined society that had high tolerance for diverse beliefs and religious observances.

Colonialism ruptured this pattern of Indian by vesting power in political terms. Thus the system of representative politics came to India. Excited at first by the political possibilities the Indians soon were to grow tired of the British and form the Indian National Congress in 1885. The demand for a democratic state, which would govern itself, is the single most powerful demand that enabled India to negotiate its freedom from the British in the next century. In a country as rife with differences of caste, religion, politics, language and ethnicity as ours, democracy was the only symbol that would appeal across these divisions in society as it encompassed them all.

After Independence it is the Nehru era which became the upholder of democracy. The period immediately post Independence was torturous for any ruler. During this time a great event instilled people’s faith in democracy. The Constitutional Assembly in January 1950 it announced that India would be a ‘sovereign democratic republic’ It was this power and belief in our new and elaborate symbol, The Constitution, which kept the idea of democracy alive thorough Partition, and several other ruptures in Punjab, Kashmir, Nagaland, Hyderabad, Thailand, Portuguese Goa, Sikkim and Assam. Through all the dissent Nehru’s success lay in the ‘establishment of a State at the core of Indian society’ for the first time in Indian history.

During the following reign of Indira Gandhi too, the abolition of privy purses, the slogan ‘Garibi Hatao,’ the split in the Congress from a party at the centre to one that could speak directly to the regional poor all were re enforcers of democracy till the Emergency. After the Emergency, new parties especially left leaning ones arrived at the scene. ‘Democracy as a regime of laws and rights, as a set of procedures that moderates the powers of the State, had been damaged.’

One of the more ingenious ways in which the State symbolized Democracy was in the election of H.D.Deve Gowda as Prime Minister in 1996. Khilnani highlights the phrase ‘humble farmers son’ to show how we believe the mass appeal of democracy. That anyone from anywhere can have access to the State is what installing Deve Gowda in the Prime Ministers post symbolized. It made Democracy the common mans ideology. It is different that while trying to reinforce the idea of democracy what also happened was Deve Gowda’s PR profile replaced Nehru’s as the symbol of the leader of common men. So now we have the ‘Dalit’s daughter’ Mayawati, who will draw more votes than Dr Manmohan Singh ever will independently.

After 50 years of the Congress and the assassination of Indira Gandhi, the idea of democracy started to work inversely. The Congress from lack of a strong leader that who could garner votes fell back on marginalizing sections of society in the name of democracy instead of unifying them. It created Dalit and Muslim vote banks to appeal for votes, giving rise to regional and caste politics. This gave the opposition BJP the chance to redefine nationalism as ‘hindu nationalism’ and sweep the election. The Bahujans too formed their own party which again differed from the way Ambedkar had visualized Dalit empowerment. While Ambedkar took pride in rising above the confines of his own caste and projected himself as thoroughly refined in English ways as Indian, new figures in politics like Mayawati flaunted their social and cultural origins to challenge the upper caste dominance. The demand changed from being empowered to wanting handouts. This broke down the trend of national politics that had been practiced in India to regional politics. National parties kept breaking down into regional parties that continues today and has taken the form of coalition governments.

Since having a multi party system of government has become the basis of democracy, the elections today have become the greatest symbol of democracy in India as it has come to represent the sole link between state and society. Ironical in itself, as this also is a symptom of a top down system of administration which is imperialist and undemocratic to say the very least. But as Khilnani says, as diluted as our concept of Democracy has become, the hope and idea of it is still strong enough in the Indian imagination to ensure that a community as rife with differences as ours does not revert to ‘a return to the old order of caste or of rule by empire.’ Whether or not in a society as undisciplined as ours, might an autocracy such as China’s help smoothen the initial stages of development, Khilnani does not say.

Identity of an Indian.

Why is it so important to have this glorious idea, why is it so important that one create symbols of nationality that people can identify with? It is because history shows what happens when people cease to believe the nation. Often we have seen the consequences, when this idea frays or is contested with by different ideas. The fragmentation of the Soviet Union being prime example and closer home, the bloody Partition of India and Pakistan. In 1947 right at the time of the inception of India we saw the creation of Pakistan that did not see it align with the idea of the Indian nation state post independence. Bangladesh, the demand for Khalistan, refusal of the North eastern to be called part of India and the recent renewal of vigour with which the Valley demands for Azadi, Ironically in the same way we once did with the British. The turmoil, violence and destruction these factions usually lead to show how important it is for the state to create, project and reinforce symbols of nationality that its citizens can identify with to call themselves Indian

Even the spread of Naxalism and the fresh agitations for Telangana all show that somewhere, somehow the original idea of India did not stick as completely as hoped. It is because the only nationality that we identify with is 1947. Ever since Independence the government has banked on the ghost of the East India Company to unite us. No efforts have been made to archive modern Indian history. For us history ends at 1947 in school text books. While we can recall the Chauri Chaura incident, textbooks do not have any mention of the Indo-China war or the Kargil war, immensely important events that happened during many of our lifetimes.

As our cities are more important than villages, we might still be sensitized towards different religions, as religious divides can be openly seen it cities as well. But since money can disguise caste divides in the city, most of us pass out of school and college insensitive to the caste differences around us. The villages are completely hidden from the city population and for the villages, our cities are a different country.

What is the history of India since 1947 the history of? Percussive nationalism it seems, but who’s nationalism? If Maoists blow up state symbols, Kashmir youth pelt the Indian police and the Nagas kidnap Indian officials it is because they do not share the idea of India that has been propagated through the rest of the country. Like the freedom fighters of yore they are fighting a foreign power in their land - the government of a highly select India.

Conclusion:

The history of a state and the history of an idea, one must make the distinction between the two, which one understands better on reading the constitutional assembly debates. The debates are the history of the idea of India that was envisaged, whereas their implementation could be the history of the state that finally came into being, which may at times be vastly different from the idea that was formed in controlled lab like situations. Sometimes Sunil Khilnani’s book makes one wonder if in reality it’s not a nation that we are living in or an identity that we carry, but a mere idea? Or, what a glorious idea?

"Borges and I"

2010-07-10T01:57:00.001+05:30

The other one, the one called Borges, is the one things happen to. I walk through the streets of Buenos Aires and stop for a moment, perhaps mechanically now, to look at the arch of an entrance hall and the grillwork on the gate; I know of Borges from the mail and see his name on a list of professors or in a biographical dictionary.

I like hourglasses, maps, eighteenth-century typography, the taste of coffee and the prose of Stevenson; he shares these preferences, but in a vain way that turns them into the attributes of an actor. It would be an exaggeration to say that ours is a hostile relationship; I live, let myself go on living, so that Borges may contrive his literature, and this literature justifies me. It is no effort for me to confess that he has achieved some valid pages, but those pages cannot save me, perhaps because what is good belongs to no one, not even to him, but rather to the language and to tradition. Besides, I am destined to perish, definitively, and only some instant of myself can survive in him. Little by little, I am giving over everything to him, though I am quite aware of his perverse custom of falsifying and magnifying things.

Spinoza knew that all things long to persist in their being; the stone eternally wants to be a stone and the tiger a tiger. I shall remain in Borges, not in myself (if it is true that I am someone), but I recognize myself less in his books than in many others or in the laborious strumming of a guitar. Years ago I tried to free myself from him and went from the mythologies of the suburbs to the games with time and infinity, but those games belong to Borges now and I shall have to imagine other things. Thus my life is a flight and I lose everything and everything belongs to oblivion, or to him.

I do not know which of us has written this page.

- Jorge Luis Borges

Rain Garden

2010-06-24T17:41:00.013+05:30

In the early morning... fresh colours..overcast sky. Bird Of Paradise

Monsoons in a Cage 2

2010-06-08T14:52:00.006+05:30

Monsoon in a Cage

2010-06-06T21:39:00.012+05:30

It takes a metro city to suck out all the fun from photographing monsoons.The light is the best part of the monsoons for photography. All the different colours, diffused glows, shadows, street lights in the rain, fresher brighter greens and gold-purple twilights.

Of course Bombay makes for great human interest photographs, the waves at Marine Drive, sunsets at Worli Seaface with the Worli-Bandra sea link in the backdrop or the crowds at Juhu Chowpatty but that is the second step. The first feel of the monsoons is now: A Sunday evening watching the first showers through the window, the smell of earth replacing the peculiar, all pervasive Bombay smell of 13 million people sweating, the cooler air and the changing light outside. Unfortunately a 4th floor apartment surrounded by towering building offers just slivers of the sky, that too through thick black bars which apparently prevent break-ins through the terrace. sigh... Here were the pictures taken outta the window of the first rain showers in Pune 2 years back. See the contrast. Below is my first attempt with completely manual functions with night nearing. While the outcome is not good it was just excited to capture something approaching the real hues in the sky in extreme low light and fiddling around with various exposures.

Stakeout at Arthur Road Jail: Photo-Essay

2010-05-10T14:15:00.008+05:30

Day 1 - Sunday: Preparing for tomorrow. OB vans line up outside Arthur Road jail to pick their spots for the media frenzy that will begin on Monday as national and international media descend on Arthur Road to cover Judge M.L. Taihliyani's verdict on Ajmal Amir Kasab, the only captured terrorist of the 26/11 attack in Mumbai. The trial has been in the news for past 18th months.

A multitude of mikes, cameras, cables and satellite dishes jostle for prime space to capture the action.

Day 2, Monday: The journalists have gathered since 7.30 am to snatch bytes from the lawyers as they make their way to court around 11:am and wait for the verdict that will be out anytime between 2:00 pm and 5:00 pm. It's going to be a long day for the media.

A little girl waves her permit to pass through the fortified area around the Jail. In this unnatural atmosphere the residents of Arthur Road went about their daily business with ID's and children played and cycled while the Indo-Tibetian Border Police patrolled with AK-47s and Rocket Launchers.

The ITBP patrol breaks the line of the chosen ones! One journalist from each news organization wait in line to enter and witness the session in court.

Filling in the news slot between 11:00 am till the verdict arrives is not easy but not especially creative either.

The Photographers Huddle: everyone tried to get to higher ground to get a clean shot above the head of the crowds. About 30 photographers cram inside one barricade and stand for 8 hours in the sun, securing their spot for that one minute of intense activity that creates photographic history.

Taking a break: Towards afternoon, the Times Now crew takes a breather.

The photographers huddle spread across the tree go into a Banana Break.

Even the ITBP dig into their army sized lunch boxes.

Almost as soon as lunch is over a sea of brown covers the area, anticipating the verdict and the exit of public prosecutor Ujjwal Nikkam from the security check point.

The media, known to get uncontrollable, is confined behind tall yellow barricades, mostly from preventing harm to their own people and equipment while rushing to get sound bytes, rather than trampling lawyers.

The man of the moment: Public Prosecutor Ujjwal Nikkam finally makes his appearance, poses for shots, gives adequate speeches and quotes and answers all the journalists questions, making the long wait worth their while.

Day 3: Thursday, the day of the sentencing. The wait is shorter this time but more nail biting as everyone wants to be the first to break news in an atmosphere where exclusivity is impossible.

Above: The first journalist out of the court room, screaming 'fasi - fasi' to let the waiting media know an outcome everyone had already predicted. Then started the charade of breaking news on televisions! Below: The rest follow suit,running out of the courtroom and to their cameras.

Ten minutes after the sentencing is heard, photographers are at Mumbai Central, where 'symbolically' the Muslims are celebrating the verdict and sentencing.

The media gathers at Bhendi Bazar, a predominantly Muslim area in Mumbai where another symbolic demonstration is about to begin. This is about 20 min after the sentencing.

There is something deeply problematic in a situation where 7-10 yr old children hold placards and scream ‘Pakistan Murdabad’

' Celebrating' a hanging with fireworks.

Calcutta...Park Street...St Stephen's Court...Childhood...

2010-02-24T18:24:00.002+05:30

Guest Post by Shankar Ghosh.

TODAY it is a burnt out ruin of a magnificent building where Munjal and I started our business many years ago with all of Rs 20,000, earned out of doing projects deep in the jungles of Assam on the shores of mighty Brahmaputra River. Our first office was very spacious and fully air conditioned all of 15 square feet. So on the unlikely event of a visitor dropping in one had to go out or stand with doors open. The rent was steep, Rs 3000 to be paid in advance, a price we had to pay to print the prestigious address on our business cards along with a phone and fax number,paid extra of course.

The once a month pastries from Flurry's downstairs when Shayoni (Munjal's Daughter ) would come down on Saturdays from Loretto House and then an aftetrnoon at the zoo (that’s the only outing I could afford) with the rhinos and elephants… and she and me became friends although born three decades apart.

Our first 386 computer and the extra we paid for printer use per page. And walking down all of 4 km to Munjal’s house for a cup of tea and some snacks and then again walking all of 7 km to my house so that the bus fare for next day is saved and can munch on ‘jhal muri’ worth Rs 2 on the way home.

Keeping up a brave face when friends working in big corporations would drop in and all I wanted to do was be left alone and face the realities of high ambition with Munjal. Still we flew to meet customers and stayed in good hotels - business we realized is all about creating an image and confidence and the willingness to walk the last mile even if everyone is telling you it is not worth the effort.

Our first big overseas sale - our first overseas collaboration - our first big project and my first overseas visit into the cold winter of Minnesota (-40C) all took place out of this office. Today it all seems so far away in tide of time but actually it was just 15 years back that we left the city for greener pastures in Pune and the mountains of Panchgani, which is my home today. But still it hurts in a nagging sort of way.

By Shankar Ghosh

Runnnn...

2010-01-31T15:16:00.006+05:30

30 crores RGV spends on his film Rann and not a fraction of it could he use to hire a halfway decent cameraman? It’s been an hour since viewing the film, but my head still reels painfully from the after effects of what can only be the work of a 12 year old child’s first attempt with a handycam. Lopped off heads and chins, blurred objects, missing focus, utter lack of awareness about using the zoom and hasty, choppy movements. It's a challenge to find one perfect frame in the 3 hour ordeal.

It is a very Madhur Bhandarkar- esque (read superficial) take on the world of media and politics. The film has the right raw material for an entertainer, except, the script is predictably boring without any sense of a build up and made worse by clichéd unimaginative dialogues. It takes a post 2004 RGV to assembly a wonderful cast and end up with nothing. The female leads are fleshed out in unconvincingly dense roles while the men are stereotype in the portrayal of their characters.

Gul Panag who has previously given a lovely performance in Nagesh Kuknoor’s 'Dor' is wasted in her tiny bubble gum role, as is Rajat Kapoor, who has the same expression throughout the film. Ikhlaq Khan is shockingly not given even one dialogue in spite of him hovering around Paresh Rawal in every scene. Sudeep's character is fun to watch initially but loses it's charm quickly. With his intense looks and crackling voice he might just be dynamite under the guidance of a more skillful director. Rajpal Yadav cannot go wrong in any film with his formula for acting and is hilarious as always, Ritesh Deshmukh gives a better performance in this than any of his prior films but has a bland role. Paresh Rawal is mediocre, again not his fault, with creative dialogues it could have been a more impressive performance as a wily politician .

The biggest waste is Amitabh Bachchan who is used in a way he might be used for a Navratna Tel or Ambhuja Cement ads, i.e. without tapping his true potential. When a meaty chunk of his performance finally does come in the end, the powerful speech is botched up by possibly the worst camerawork in the history of filmmaking. Trying to be artistic the shots are taken through gaps between objects and blurred angles which effectively cut out the expressions on Bachchan's face.

To crown it all the film is set to music that alternates between the Pepsi Youngistan kinda jingles and Ganesh Chathurti prayer chants.It's shocking that Nikhat Kazmi has actually given Rann higher ratings than Ishqiya in her reviews! Someday TOI wills sack her, but we shouldn't hold our breath. At best RGV has diagnosed the fault in current news scenario correctly, but tell us something we didn’t know already!

Not Just News - The Hindu, 17th January 2010

2010-01-18T15:11:00.019+05:30

I like this piece in the Hindu on journalism in Nagaland by Sevanti Ninan. With the rash of newspapers, channels and magazines that have cropped up in the past decade, covering news has become a mechanical activity. It is often a dilemma when you are out in the field to do something different about a story that 50 other reporters are covering and yet remain relevant. Much is stressed on about the freedom of the press, which is what is responsible for the state of journalism today, but after reading this article one feels that good journalism really thrives within constraints, especially when you think of the Emergency or the post independence period when newspapers like Amrit Baazar Patrika and Statesman were at their peak. The point I make is a little flawed and biased maybe considering news from conflict zones or periods makes for more interesting stories than reading about BMC corruption scandals yet again , but the article will explain better the idea of covering local news interestingly.

Not just news

SEVANTI NINAN - In a close knit society like Nagaland journalism can get personal and is like a village diary...

If you want a break from sensational media you need to go to Nagaland. While everywhere else newspapers shriek about conflict, here they urge peace, and in Biblical terms, at that. In a region that has had conflict since the 1950s and a peace process currently in the works, the rules the newspapers here live by are rather different from the rest of the country. Far from probing scandals or corruption, or proactively interviewing all concerned on Naga issues, those who run newspapers here say that they have to constantly tiptoe around sensitivities in a close-knit society. Nor is there any shrieking from competitive TV reporters because the only television produced here is out of a headless Doordarshan Kendra. Cable or satellite TV does not exist.

There are four English dailies, all published from Dimapur. In sharp contrast to the rest of the country, as much as 50 per cent of the newspaper readership in urban Nagaland is in English.

Scrutinise the reporting here and you find that the reporter carefully gives one side of the story, and then the other. Inverted marks open and close, with nary a sentence in between. The correspondent's voice never surfaces. Is that because he is not skilled or because of self censorship because of the UG (Underground) you ask Geoffrey Yaden, editor of the highest circulated daily The Nagaland Post. Both, he replies.

Starting out

Journalism is young in Nagaland. It did not have a seven-days-a-week daily ( Nagaland Page) till 1999. For several years before the Postcame in 1991 there were only political party affiliated periodicals. Nagas have an oral tradition, Nagamese has no script, so newspaper narratives are still an underdeveloped skill. The regional language press uses the Roman script. And from decades before the 1997 ceasefire there has been a powerful censor around — the Underground, or UG. The fact that reporters are inexperienced and unskilled also accounts for the timid reporting.

Today the more effective determinant of what should constitute journalism is Naga society, replete with its own tribal etiquette. Clan, range — all the social institutions come into play. It's not just about news, editors tell you. Here the way people perceive a newspaper is like a village diary. After every function the organiser sends a note saying we appreciate his coming (about the chief guest.). Or we congratulate so and so. He has brought good name to our village. Village communities are quick to take offence if you do not print their handouts. “There are 30 to 40 a day and if you don't use one the village will send its representatives to ask, are you angry with our village?” says Akum Longchar who founded the Morung Express.

He also describes why you cannot risk experimenting with exposes. “We carried a news item related to an officer. Accusations against him. A few days later the village representatives came and said you have insulted our village. ‘When you write about him you write about the village.' There is a very fine line between the individual and the collective here. And once it's out in print you cannot retract. You have to solve it culturally.” So in this case Longchar and his bureau chief, accompanied by their respective fathers and an intermediary, had to negotiate with the village's representatives to make peace.

Similarly Monalisa Changkija, the feisty editor of the Nagaland Page has had tribal elders approach her father-in-law in an effort to get her to reveal the name of an anonymous writer in her newspaper. Reporters and sub-editors in the papers have their own take on what inhibits journalism here. “We cannot write anything against anybody, Dimapur is a small world. And Kohima is a very small world,” says N. Jagoi who works at the Eastern Mirror, owned by Chief Minister Neiphiu Rio.

Naga newspapers have several distinctive features, one of which is the space they give to Naga society. From Naga students at distant Jawaharlal Nehru University, to members of the underground, retired bureaucrats and church pastors, everybody sends their views to the press, and every paper carries them. We are giving the space for people to tell their stories,” says Longchar. “A special feature of Naga papers is these articles by people,” says Yaden. “They think it is their right to have this space. But Naga society has to get over this business of being proud of being Naga, etc,” he adds in a reference to the agonising over Naga identity that appears almost daily in the press.

Changkija says this space was created in the days when different factions of the underground wanted their versions carried. “We call it your page, the space created where people's statements are carried. Specially those of different groups. It is safe, it is convenient, it is a protective measure for us. Whoever wants to read it reads it.” The same piece is often carried by all the newspapers.

Distinct flavour

Part of Nagaland's rather original approach to journalism is that people who “give” news also urge its early and frequent use. Says Changkija, they ring up and say, I kindly request you to publish it on page one, and three or four times, okay. This man was a doctor. So I said, will you repeat an operation three or four times on a person?”

And finally there is the Christian framing of issues in a state where the church is a powerful social institution. About the ongoing Naga Reconciliation movement attempting to bring together factions of the NSCN (National Socialist Council of Nagaland) an editorial in the Nagaland Postdeclares that the first step towards reconciliation is repentance before God, seeking forgiveness from those who have been wronged and willingness to forgive by those who have been wronged. “There is a Biblical requisite for reconciliation with God and therefore, the willingness of all factions to meet and talk with each other inspires hope,” it adds.

http://www.hinduonnet.com/mag/2010/01/17/stories/2010011750200300.htm