Desicritics Author: Aditi Nadkarni

The Homo-Desi-Graduatus: Desi Graduate Students in the United States

Aditi Nadkarni — Sun, 15 Jun 2008 06:37:46 EDT

Name: Homo Desi-Graduatus (plural: Desi-Graduati) derived from Homo Sapiens

Definition: South Asian (desi) graduate student studying in the United States, a migratory and evolutionary variant of Homo Sapiens.

General Description & Feeding Habits:

The Desi-Graduati loves drama. It could be the desi movies or the heat in which their habitats sizzle that soaks their stir-hungry souls and makes them hopeless addicts of sporadic excitement. The desi-drama fixation in general can be observed from the plotting, chirpy chai-drinking aunties and the socialite glamorous gossipers to the desi media's almost religious neglect of important subject matter underscored by its obsession with spicy stories.

As a community there is just no denying that desis absolutely love drama and frankly, it is not all that conspicuous when the chai-drinking aunties are doing it back in India. But far away from their home country when the Desi-Graduati do it in the midst of a vastly different culture where social interactions are much too superficial to be of any drama-value, they manage to stand out. Perhaps in addition to habitual littering this is yet another way in which desis make their presence felt.

Comparison & Interactions With Other Species:

The Chinese students, too, are out of their natural surroundings like the Desi-Graduati. However, be it their lack of English fluency or a general disinterest in other people's business, they somehow seem to stay out of trouble. Regional groups among the Chinese students if any are hardly noticeable. Their competitive edge is restricted to grades, publication records, etc.

The Desi-Graduati from the moment they set foot here, however, begin to form their respective groups, regional or otherwise and then begins what can only be referred to as a constant quest for daily drama. Their competitive edge infiltrates normal academic boundaries and into surprisingly bourgeois areas such as furniture or electronic deals, cars owned, or sight-seeing accomplished.

Salient Features & Environmental Effects:

A blind regard for elders and superiors hangs on to the Desi-Graduati's lapels as they board that flight out of India and settles down with them for the first few years until after much insistence from our bosses we let go of the "Sirs" and "Madams." A somewhat amusing observation made in recent years with regards to the Desi-Graduatus is the constant referral not only to professors but even on some occasions to senior students as "Sir/ Madam." Mind you, these "Sirs" have not been knighted nor do these "madams" own any brothels. They are merely regarded with blind respect as they would be in India where ragging and bullying by senior students is common.

While the Desi-Graduati abandons other more prominent markers of Indianness, they are known to strictly follow this particular custom with much sincerity. Every migrating Desi-Graduati chooses a senior student "mentor" (a respective "sir" or "madam") to hang on to and learn from. Loyalties are established and all decisions from then on, be it work or play are based off of these faithful adherences.

This behavioral pattern takes on a more serious face when the Desi-Graduati fail to recognize that their mentors and their professors too are subject to unprejudiced evaluation. I once witnessed with mild confusion a discussion among fresh Desi-Graduati about how dangerous it could be for their careers if they were to write an honest evaluation of a particularly incompetent professor. "He could give us bad grades if he found out" they wondered aloud. And it took me back to my undergraduate years back in India where professors did use academic scales to even out personal scores.

Plagiarism and cheating on graduate school exams by Indian students deserves a whole other post by itself. At the graduate school level most American and even Chinese students recognize that they are beyond the pettiness of "As" and "Bs." The Desi-Graduati however can be seen trailing their classmates after the results are out with a relentless and almost uncontrollable, "Kitna mila? Kitna mila?" ("How much did you score?"

Students upon arriving and having settled into an apartment promptly go looking for examinations from the previous year. The respective Sirs and Madams provide these essentials and from then on protecting these vital tickets to success becomes imperative to the grade-hungry Desi-Graduatus. At our university a few Desi-Graduati were caught exchanging answers when a class was left unattended by a professor who probably thought graduate students wouldn't feel the need to cheat in order to get an A. He was wrong. He did not realize that the Desi-Graduati are brain-washed by years of desi academia into believing that a number denotes our intelligence and therefore a 4.0 G.P.A is like a measure of brain size or activity.

Evolutionary Behavioral Trends:

Aishwariya Rai, now a national ambassador, has demonstrated with poise and a shockingly reproducible smile how diplomacy is an art that we Indians can and will perfect even if it means being pointlessly neutral or flaccidly dull. The Desi-Graduati will smile to your face and then give you the stink-eye as soon as you have turned your back to them.

Rather than be honest, upfront and articulate about their views they feel the need to hold it all in until the object of their critique is out of ear-shot. I have also noticed that the term "help with no strings" is an alien one to a statistically significant number of Desi-Graduati. Having bribed their way through sticky traffic-police situations, ass-kissed their teachers for a higher grade and used the trump card of "sifarish" every now and then to get many things done, the Desi-Graduati now sadly no longer recognizes "help" when they see it.

They either assume that there must be some hidden agenda behind that help or that they, being the scheming smart-asses they are have somehow tricked the "help" out of people. Moreover, Desi-Graduati are cussing at you one minute and the next asking for your help as if it were perfectly normal to shed such misgivings with a cloying smile. "Help" is now a whore in the Desi-Graduati's-dictionary, pimped out occasionally and turning tricks.

Amidst this quest for assistance, mentoring and familiarization, the Desi-Graduati is blissfully unaware that population numbers in the migratory area, being relatively low compared to the homeland, here words of careless critique and back-biting propagate faster thus hampering the "help and mentoring procurement" process. As a result professors and fellow students quickly become aware of the Desi-Graduati's modus operandi.

Footnotes & Emerging Theories:

It may be hypothesized that a large fraction of excitement created at Universities within the U.S is attributable to the Indian student community which divides itself into fractions and carries out periodic duels.

And then occasionally when the Desi-Graduati do get together they take rare relish in vilifying the abominable "gora."

Fishing For Wishes: A Fish Who God Listens To

Aditi Nadkarni — Thu, 15 May 2008 00:49:18 EDT

Red was an impulse buy. He was, really. My roommate and I were at a 24-hour supermarket late one night to buy a coffee maker on a lazy Saturday for lack of anything better to do. Go figure. And there he was, in a short plastic jar looking at me. It was fate. I do not just say this, mind you. In this post I have empirical evidence to back it up. The following narrative is based on true accounts.

I was never a fish lover. But these flashy fish with their dazzling colors immediately caught my eye from an aisle away. Only one of them actually made eye-contact even from that far. I walked over and picked up the jars carrying a Betta fish each, one by one scrutinizing the brilliant fins of all the other fish. They were all jumpy. As we later found out, most Siamese Fighter Fish are. But when I picked up Red's glass it was magical. He did not jump or twitch like the others had and instead continued to look at me very intently. The only time I saw Red display any spunk was when I set his jar back on the shelf and started to walk away. He swam to the periphery, blew a few bubbles and did a couple of quick and startlingly violent twirls that caught my attention. He was the only bright scarlet one among the bright collection of Betta fish. They all seemed ferocious and a little upset. This little guy however, appeared peaceful and mainly curious. When I picked up his jar again, he continued to stare, right into my eyes, even more intently than before. I made up my mind.

That night, my roommate and I went home with a very treasured polythene bag. Every time he moved inside the thin plastic, I felt a gentle twitch on my fingers. I've felt a baby's kick on one of my pregnant friend's belly before and this twitch reminded me of that heady sensation, of how gently and unexpectedly even the littlest of life makes its presence felt.

Usually a pretty rational person, I surprised my roommate considerably when I held Red's polythene bag to the glass window letting him catch a glimpse of the world outside our car as we headed home. When else would he get a chance to look around again, I wondered. It could've been a series of coincidences but we passed on our way home, a Red Roof Inn, a Red Lobster and the song "Red, Red Wine" by UB40 came on the radio. At home as we put our new member in a bowl and turned on the TV, the feisty Red Foreman from 'That Seventy's Show' appeared making one of his dry, sarcastic quips. My friend and I exchanged glances and we knew. This was meant to be. He was christened Red.

Inside his bowl Red discovered his surroundings like a baby discovers the world around him. He moved in and out of the plastic flora and stared in awe at the sandalwood Ganesha next to his bowl. He wolfed down the small pellets of Betta fish food we had bought for him and we warmed up the apartment so that our tropical fish would be at a comfy temperature.

One fine morning Red's presence turned into somewhat of an added excitement. My friend was interviewing for a job the next day for which her credentials weren't exactly ideal. I was in the midst of feeding Red as she sat on our sofa and told me how much she needed the job. I turned to Red and for no particular reason said "Red, do you hear how much she needs the job? You are going to have to talk to God about this and make sure she gets it, OK?".

My friend stared at me with narrowed eyes as if I were nuts.

"Just wait and see" I said with a wink. Lets face it, we all do weird stuff to give our friends the extra bit of confidence and luck that they need. I have sat and patiently cracked 25 fortune cookies at a restaurant amidst startled Chinese waiters for a friend desperately looking for signs about her relationship. So praying to a fish was not odd any more. The next day my friend graciously called me to tell me she had received the job. There were so many people with great credentials, she told me, but she was the one who landed the position.

"It must be Red. He is lucky!" she exclaimed, in her excitement crediting our fish with what was most likely her own skills and talent that paid off in the interview. But word quickly spread and the next day I had a few voice messages from a few people half-joking about Red's newfound ability and half-asking me to pray for them as well. I won't lie, following this, I too whispered my own wishes to Red and watched wide-eyed as they all materialized one by one. Even the weather dodged rain and storm forecasts at Red's behest, which almost never happens in Ohio.

Someone came over and asked me to pray to Red for their sick pet and later sent pictures of their doe-eyed, recovered dog. Yet another wanted their car to be fixed. There were quite a few people who wanted that one precious job offer to come their way. And one by one Red granted them their wishes. Stock market hopes, loan needs, even relationship longings were rewarded almost instantly when I brought them to Red's bowl and made a quick wish.

Now Red's kind of a celebrity fish. I have started to maintain a notepad to keep track of wish-requests. My parents in India ensured that I receive such requests across borders as well. Friends and family call in to request that a good word be put in with Red. Red's schedule is jam packed and he has not let anybody down thus far. Every single wish has been brought to fruition...except maybe the one I made for world peace which I now believe falls out of Red's capabilities and is only a term meant for beauty pageant speeches.

Recently a fishy fungal infection sent waves of panic among the Red Wishing Club. Prayers were offered. My parents made a visit to the Siddhivinayak Temple in Bombay and my roommate and I made several trips to PetSmart looking like troubled, anxious parents. Red fought the fungus and made a speedy recovery meeting wish-deadlines with ease.

Most importantly, Red has contributed significantly towards our social life. People now call or come over if only to pay our stellar fish a visit. Betta fish are social beings to begin with and Red is enjoying all the attention to say the least. Meanwhile, funnily enough, I feel like the mother of a prodigy who needs to make sure that her wonder of a child sleeps and eats well and doesn't get an inflated ego as he goes on using his genius to do world a greater good.

One morning, a friend rendered skeptical by a recent heartbreak, after hearing about Red told me in great length about how faith is nothing but a crutch and that such superstitions just make him suspicious.

"True" I agreed much to his surprise, "I can see why you are suspicious. After all, more than anything, Red has demonstrated that faith does seem to be fishy"

Note: Red is still accepting wish-applications :)

Weight A Minute!

Aditi Nadkarni — Tue, 13 May 2008 02:50:26 EDT

Every time I am in India I am left considerably shaken by people's bluntness, or should I be blunt as well and call it rudeness? The one issue where a law needs to be passed enabling us to punch the guilty in the face is a "weighty" one. People who upon seeing you make completely out of line assessments about weight and size just weren't slapped enough by their parents as children and hence we should be able to rectify their limiting deficiency. The only reason these people move about unharmed is because it is illegal to assault them. Yes, that is how much I am disturbed by people's lack of respect for basic social propriety.

There are so many good things we are taught as kids: "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say it", "Think before you speak", "Do unto others only as you wish done to you". And yet you have broad-boned, buxom aunties going about telling girls half their size that they look "chubby".

In college, at five feet seven I was taller than most guys in my class and at a hundred and thirty pounds, nowhere near "fat". Yet my nickname like that of many other girls was "Moti", a title which can be applied to you in Bombay if you so much as have enough boobs to fill in a C-cup. Somehow I never felt the need to call a guy "Shortie!" and wonder how many egos would've been wounded had I been the one letting go of my civility. Now at 28, Orkut and Facebook have their blessings and the curses that come with those, cause let us face it, nothing is ever free in life. These friendly communities have welcomed back into my life people from school and college and housing societies. Even as someone who is not exactly shitting their pants about the few extra pounds I realize with a sinking feeling what a comfort it was to not have them and their disparaging comments surrounding me for all these years. Moreover, the socially sterile life in the United States makes the best of us increasingly vulnerable to such comments.

We are so pampered In Uncle Sam's house by the overtly polite small talk and limited-to-none interactions with desi aunties that a simple, harmless, maybe even affectionate and ever so common "Aye Moti!" knocks the wind out of us women especially when coming from other women, who by virtue of age, themselves have grown chunkier. I was considerably shocked when a classmate who I hadn't seen since the fourth grade told me I looked plumper than she remembered me. Surely she didn't expect me to stay the same size I was at age ten!

I was even told in college amidst raised-eyebrows by some girls that my bosom area was "rather excessive". Many a guy later testified that there was no such thing as "excessive breasts". All breast, a male friend told me with conviction, is vital. The men get dealt the slightly politer and way more subtle "So looks like the cheese has finally climbed to your cheeks" or "You look very healthy now (wink wink)". I am sure, however, that men have their own share of appearance related issues what with hair-loss being pointed out publicly and Ayurvedic hair oils recommended with gusto in India.

I had a friend who went to India soon after having delivered twins. She had hoped to relax, put her feet up, eat some good ol' Indian food and return rejuvenated having finally doused relentless questions about her fertility. She returned depressed. She had been invited to several homes as is common during an India visit. There were puris and chaats and batata vadas. And then to ration her servings were the comments about the weight she had put on during childbirth. She managed not to dig into a single delicious morsel of all that food and came back resenting her appearance. What postnatal depression couldn't do, India managed.

As much as the West is criticized for their glorification of anorexic beauties, at least when I go to a party I don't get an immediate weight appraisal unless of course there is that one odd desi in the crowd. People don't consider discussions about thunder thighs as "elevator talk" here. Women especially are so paranoid about the tables being turned on them that will not venture into discussions about weight-loss/ gain etc unless you are taking a Weight Watchers' workshop together.

Recently, Kareena Kapoor's significantly diminished waistline did not manage to resuscitate a lukewarm Bollywood script in Tashan. Whats more, her bony shoulders, withered hips coupled with an uncharacteristically long face highlighted by headlong, oblique camera shots have actually gone the other way and provoked disapproving gasps from the Indian audiences. It is funny and somewhat ironic to hear some people criticize an actress for her extreme weight-loss knowing that they had once proclaimed the bony, petite fair girl as the college hottie all those years ago.

I ran into an old classmate at the crowded InOrbit mall during my last visit to India. Her figure had been padded in not so great areas over the ten years that we had been out of touch.

"Hey you've look so different now!" she exclaimed after some chit-chat and just as I silently prayed that she was referring to my wonderful new hair color added quite unnecessarily, "So how much do you weigh now?"

"38D" I replied with a wink and in the glow of her shocked look, all was right with the world.

Movie Review: Jodhaa Akbar - Mystery Solved: Why There Was No Birbal?

Aditi Nadkarni — Wed, 2 Apr 2008 10:49:52 EDT

Those who have read my movie reviews know of my unexplained aversion to commercial Hindi films....at least the plot-less, song sprinkled, melodramatic embarrassments that we have to watch dazzling at us from their lofty places on box office charts.

I now have developed significant and upsetting reactions to the Punjabi family of Bollywood, to the melodramatic unmarried uncle (Alok Nath), manic Papa (Anupam Kher), plump and cloying mummy-jis (Reema Lagoo, Farida Jalal), overtly shy, mature bahus (god, there are so many of them) and the immature and tomboyish damsels who continue to roller-skate in the house, eat unexplainable amounts of candy and pull kiddish pranks way into their twenties (usually the leading lady).

More about these characters "here" , but whatever. Since this is Bollywood's treatment of family dramas, I am all the more skeptical about how they would execute the period romances that require intricate detail. But this review is about the one film that I watched in the theater armed with my narrowest and most disapproving gaze and emerged not half as disappointed as I had expected to be.

If it hasn't been said enough, the visuals of Gowariker's Jodha-Akbar were breathtakingly beautiful. Aishwarya's couture stood out and so did Hrithik's brawn.

The actors did what they have always done. Aishwarya looked pretty and wept when she wasn't engaging in occasional bouts of hip-jutting sword duals. Hrithik flexed his biceps and fought wild elephants with his bare hands. Apart from a few notable performances such as Ila Arun as Maham Anga, this film was a director's feat and not really carried by any of the actors' performances. The director's sensitivity can be detected in scenes where the new bride cooks a feast for her husband, where a mother advises her daughter to pick death over humiliation, where a princess first earns her husband-to-be's respect by making known that her faith and beliefs warrant a non-negotiable place in her life and where a great king stands up for his wife and becomes a husband.

With Lagaan, director Ashutosh Gowarikar established that he could tell us a fascinating story, with Swades he demonstrated his prowess at weaving art into the escapist fabric of commercialism and now with Jodha Akbar he proves that he has the finesse to convey the delicacies of a love story.

The redundancy during every intimate scene in all the songs bare his weakest points and that somehow to me makes him seem like a better director than those who are brilliant at the choreography and love scenes but fail at the story-telling.

What is interesting to note is Gowariker's clever use of rich, warm colors that add to the cultural identity of each scene. He used this apparatus in Lagaan for the song "Radha Kaise Na Jale", did it again with Swades and Jodha Akbar is teeming with such cinematographic delights which underscore the cultural richness that a period romance would've been incomplete without. Gowarikar also uses a dash of unexpected humor especially in the Jodha-Akbar sword dual.

The art and creative direction is what truly gives this film its grandeur. The colors surround you and make the film worth watching in a theater rather than on a television screen. The orange and red hues with the dusky backdrop of the desert, the cackling fire set amidst colorful tents, the majestic pink forts and the glorious white robes light up the screen. A.R.Rahman as always delivers and while all his songs are catchy, the "Khwadja Mere Khwadja" number is sublime.

For those who criticized the film for its conspicuous lack of political detail and a sorely missing Birbal, I would just like to point out that the film is called "Jodha Akbar" and not "Akbar the Great" or "Akbar Birbal" or "Akbar and the Navratnas". Any focus on the navratnas or the presence of a witty Birbal would've, I strongly believe, pulled attention from the romance itself. Sure, Jodha's role could've been meatier, Ms.Rai could've sobbed less and Hrithik could've delivered his dialogs in a more believable tone without looking like he was going to sneeze each time.

My only major grouse was with the length of this film. This romance was about the cultural disparities between a couple that had an inter-religious marriage in a time when religious differences were probably more pronounced than they are in the present world.

The film showcased a husband-wife relationship and managed to include snippets of loyalty, trust, identity and respect that form the basis of a successful marriage.

It could've covered all those areas and been wrapped up in lesser time if we wouldn't have to watch Aishwarya riding a horse for ten long minutes only to then fall on Sujamal's chest and do what she does best...weep. We could always do without the classic "running to Krishna idol" scene whenever someone's life is in jeopardy and the listless stream of foreplay poses packed into a never-ending song. If Mr.Gowariker is reading, I would want him to know that with Lagan he changed the acceptable format of commercial cinema and no longer requires to stick to it.

But I am starting to make peace with these lost hours of my life that Bollywood devours and that I will never get back. I tell myself that directors have considerately made these lengthy inclusions just so I can have a samosa and still have time for a leisurely bathroom break.

...and that my friends is probably where Birbal went.

What Rinku Sachdeva's Death Tells Us About Ourselves

Aditi Nadkarni — Thu, 27 Mar 2008 00:14:53 EDT

I had spent countless episodes cheering the efforts of Rama's army taking on Ravana and his aides in Ramanand Sagar's interpretation of the epic. And on one Sunday morning at age seven I watched, in shock, angry flames dancing in Sita's sorrowful eyes. And then she emerged, unharmed, passing with flying colors the "Agni Pariksha" (The Fire Test). Her crime? She had been kidnapped by Ravana and spent years in captivity.

Of course her character was under scrutiny having spent time with another man. The Indian audience cheered enthusiastically as the woman, a perennial epitome of sacrifice, once again put the insecurities of a man and a shallow society to rest by stepping into a fire. He was touted as the noble king and she the redeemed goddess. That she was then banished and sent away to the forest, pregnant and weary with wifely virtue is another story.

Then there was the beautiful and proud Ahilya, who through no fault of her own, was turned to stone by her furious husband, Sage Gautam, because the lecherous Lord Indra tricked her into bed. How sagely of him. The Weaver's Wife in Panchatantra had her nose cut off because she didn't heed her husband's call and he considered that a sign of her unfaithfulness.

The Manu Smriti dictated that a woman guilty of infidelity be torn to pieces by dogs. Apparently, the forgiveness and nonviolence preached in Hinduism is not for the women.

And the men? Well, the Gods had a million wives and pranced around with multiple Goddesses. They were the ones who as pious sages blessed the barren women with child and a countless hapless damsels with the grace of their espousal. In short, our mythology presents rationale for the age-old dictum that women equal sacrifice and virtue and men equal power and ego.

Come 2006 and Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna gave us a half-hearted, unexplained peek into infidelity and the song sprinkled a love story that sugar coated breakdown of matrimony. While the overtly reticent female protagonist is consumed with guilt at cheating on her loving husband, the glorious Khan has his pitiful limp and a career driven, neglecting wife to justify his attempt at adultery. Oh and I almost forgot, the female protagonist's major handicap throughout the film is her alleged and untested barrenness. The sad, withdrawn barren heroine and the attention seeking man neglected by his busy, working wife. Was it progressive? No. Was it realistic? In some ways, in spite of being a Karan Johar film, it actually was! Why? Because that is how Indian society in general views adultery and infidelity.

If a man cheats, he was neglected. If a woman cheats, she must've been depressed beyond belief. Result: extra marital affair. The box office success of Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna (Never Say Goodbye) quite literally laid out how our society has never bid farewell to the stereotypical equations in an Indian marriage.

But films, mythology and scriptures aside, this mentality has reared an uglier head with the recent Rinku Sachdeva murder.

Yes, I will only refer to it as a murder and not a suicide because I have no sympathy for an individual who held a pillow over the struggling, gasping face of a woman he once loved simply because he believed she was cheating and then hung himself to escape consequences. I went through comments on Deepti Lamba's eloquent and touching Rinku Sachdeva Dies Again Online and in the public profiles of the doomed couple.

Honestly I was even more shocked than I was at the murder itself upon seeing how many Indian men stepped forward to justify an unauthorized death penalty as a punishment for alleged adultery. They cited the case of Kiranjit Ahluwalia who after suffering 10 years of physical and emotional abuse, raising two sons who witnessed these harrowing episodes, set her husband's feet on fire "to show him how much it hurt."

Let us evaluate how much our reactionary crowd of moral police really knows about the Alhuwalia case. Let us try her again.

Did she do jail time? Yes. Was she evaluated by a psychiatric panel to determine if she suffered from any mental ailment at the time of committing the act? Yes. Multiple times. Was her abuse proven? Yes. Countless interviews with relatives, friends and her young sons demonstrated that she had endured years of abuse.

Most importantly, the guilt was first evaluated in a court of law. Contrary to popular belief, Kiranjit Alhuwalia was not just immediately found innocent but instead her case was changed from murder to manslaughter by reason of provocation. It only so happened that by the time this verdict came about she had already finished the required sentence for the crime. Those of you who have gathered their understanding of this case by watching the film Provoked, I suspect were likely so distracted by the weeping Ms.Rai that legal implications faded into the background.

How is this even comparable to the scenario in the Sachdeva murder?

The man did not murder his wife in self-defense or in response to proven abuse but on mere suspicion of infidelity. News reports document his own friends' narrations of instances of his suspicion, times when he recorded her conversations with colleagues insisting they were romantic in nature.

Rinku's public profile on Orkut shows pictures of her with her husband while his profile shows only his. A comment by his friend hints that his wife wasn't the only one Amit had a habit of spying on. A quick look at their scrapbooks and the mentality of a majority of Indians is revealed. There are people, young men even, leaving comments on the Orkut profiles of the two dead individuals and those truly inspire goosebumps. Some praise Amit as the hero who killed a cheating wife and taught all adulterous women a lesson. Some declare how she deserved it because of a "suspected affair." Some even went so far as to conclude that "if he murdered her surely she must've been cheating."

The comments in the murder victim's scrapbook are even more upsetting. A dead woman's character is ruthlessly tarnished by people who do not even know her. She has been pronounced guilty of adultery by people who have assumed that she was murdered for a cause.

Unfortunately, under the surface of his actions, Amit Buddhiraja leaves symptoms of why the marriage may have gone awry.

Insecurities, suspicion, lack of communication, trust and compatibility. Conspicuous among all these usual suspects, is his callous murder technique which also leads one to speculate if his underlying insensitivity may have driven the rift in the marriage and found fatal culmination in Rinku's helpless gasps under the pillow.

While no court of law can ever try either Rinku or Amit, the people who expose their mentality through their reactions and comments have demonstrated on the online world how a majority of Indians perceive marriage, relationships and women in general.

Their lack of respect for human rights, human life and their zeal in pronouncing people guilty based on conjecture is being revealed daily. The Rinku Sachdeva case is holding a mirror to the many men who in spite of qualifications and social status are uncomfortable with women's changing roles, their evolving interactions, their growing confidence in today's world where gender equality is gnawing at the roots of well-established and important socio-cultural constructs such as marriage.

The cliched claims of "Loose woman!" are rampant from those who don't feel that evidence of her alleged affair is even necessary. Even if evidence were to be found, would it justify murder? People abandon the basics of humanity to proclaim that one merely suspected with the loss of ethic is deemed punishable by a death sentence without receiving a fair trial.

So while it is not uncommon to hear of a jealous and suspicious man doing the unthinkable, we now have people mimicking the fanatical Taliban school of thought where men find justifications for why a woman's stoning was a well-deserved and fitting punishment for alleged adultery. Among us are people who through their opinions reveal their potential to kill another human being and find it in their hearts to rationalize their actions. There cannot be a bigger death of humanity. What have we come to?

And as an Indian woman I am disappointed, as always, but not surprised. I still feel like the seven-year-old who shuddered as the blameless Sita stepped into a fire without a trial. I still feel like the little girl who wondered why Sita didn't fight hard enough instead of sinking into the depths of the earth. Unlike Rinku Sachdeva, she did have a choice.

The Interrogation Techniques Of The Scru-U

Aditi Nadkarni — Wed, 12 Mar 2008 00:27:04 EDT

I have made a startling and most disconcerting discovery. Among my relatives, my neighbours and friends are members of secret societies that are part of a bigger investigation. They dissect lifestyles, appearances, love lives, careers and even reproductive potential. This growing breed are collectively known as the Scru-U group (Scrutinizing You, commonly pronounced Screw-You) with distinct sub-sections.

The CWAC (pronounced Quack), is an undercover operation of people disguised as your relatives or neighbours. They hug you and plant wet kisses on your brow gushing all the while about how much you have grown and you would never even know that they belong to this secret clique. The only indication of their membership is their hasty comments about your weight; whether you have lost some, gained some, in which areas of your body and whether it looks good on you. The "customary weight appraisal committee" (CWAC) passes judgments that a weighing scale would only contribute if you stood on it. The CWAC appraisals are out of place and what is more, completely unwelcome. And yet, the committee fearlessly makes its opinions known. The entire weight-loss industry and fad diet gurus can attribute a majority of their clientèle to the relentless efforts of the CWAC.

I am sure you have all met members of the elite WAYDTD club. They move around self-importantly, their cell phones conspicuous and their movements urgent. They wipe the sweat off of their brow and want to know that while they are so busy saving the world from economic crisis, paying off cell phone bills and home loans, "What Are You Doing These Days?". And thats how the WAYDTDs get their name. The WAYDTD also has among its group some unqualified, unsolicited and mostly self-proclaimed career counselors who provide you with career advice on a whim and then proceed to act as though you approached them for help. Their monologues can range from topics covering "Let me teach you a few things" to "I could do pull a few strings for you you know". Beware, this club is known to reject explanations of "But I am at a transition stage of my career" or "I am between jobs".

The two collaborative groups that have valiantly taken on the daunting social responsibility of promoting monogamy and procreation are the NMYs ("Not married yet?!") and the WTGs ("When is the good news?"). While the NMYs are relatively innocuous, the exasperating WTGs may inspire some muttered WTFs if you know what I mean. Oh and just a heads up, when they say "good news" they are not really referring to the job promotion or new house. Your unplanned pregnancy could be their good news. It doesn't have to be a good news for you.

There was a time when I looked forward to and cherished the moments spent with these people. Socializing did not have to mean an evening at the bowling alley or a hectic night at the pub where music drowned all conversation. It meant hanging out with extended family over a relaxed weekend. Now with the infiltration of the Scru-You interrogation officials into the family and friends network, the very thought of chilling out with the people I once thought I knew, now gives me the chills.

The Marathi Manoos versus the Thackeray Brand

Aditi Nadkarni — Thu, 14 Feb 2008 11:22:53 EST

On reading Anuradha Goyal's recent article on Desicritics titled Dear Marathi Manoos Thackerays I thought it might be timely to dissociate the identity of the long suffering "Marathi Manoos" from the Thackerays.

Of all the available discussions in the blogosphere, the one I found most interesting about the current Thackeray circus in media was a report by CNN-IBN where Raj Thackeray's mother-in-law claims support for Raj's crusade in the same breath as voicing her concern for Raj Thackeray's son's impending SSC exams. It is ironic that while Raj Thackeray seems to be rallying for the "Marathi Manoos", the "Marathi Manoos" is probably at home doing what Raj Thackeray should be: supporting his son during the notoriously hectic SSCs.

Barring one reported death in Maharashtra and a few customary automobile-burning incidents, the actual city of Mumbai where all Shiv Sena associated drama usually unfolds, was uncharacteristically calm. I am both proud and impressed. The unemployed youth who usually carried out the Sena's antics seem to be more suitably employed at the city's call centers or at swanky malls in upper class neighbourhoods. The country as a whole is moving forward and as part of the nation's commercial capital, these young people probably do not want to be left behind executing the schemes of jingoists who just happen to have political power.

While one Thackeray is engaging in a ridiculous anti-North Indian rhetoric, the other, very senior Thackeray in a laughable attempt at re-terrorizing the city, is now kicking a fit over Valentines' day celebrations. People will exchange Hallmark and Archie's cards, a few may throw a party to rejuvenate schedules lost in the city's bustle and who knows some lovestruck souls may even buy one of those red heart shaped balloons sold at traffic lights. And this, says Mr.Thackeray, will affect our Hindu culture. If we are to believe Mr. Thackeray, our ancient civilization is under serious threat from none other than St. Valentine. Now if only his idea of protest was to not buy the heart shaped balloon, we could have all heaved a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, what Mr.Thackeray does not realize is that the violent rampages he sends his lads out on every once a while are probably more of a threat to the Hindu preachings of non-violence than heart shaped balloons and Hallmark cards will ever be.

It is time to notice however that in recent years the sometimes anti-Muslim, sometimes anti-non-Maharashtrian rhetoric propagated by the Sena is starting to fall on deaf ears and evoking a lukewarm response from a city that now wants to move ahead. People who had once supported the Sena's "Marathi Manoos Jaaga Ho" ("Wake Up Marathi Man") rallies now have sheepishly realized that the Sena has no idea who the Marathi Man really is. Very simply, there is a divide of class and caste under the supposed "Marathi Manus" label itself. Raj Thackeray had once brought with his dynamic youth following, hopes of a new, evolved political party in Maharashtra and instead he too has jumped on the extremist bandwagon. He doesn't realize that the "Marathi Manoos" himself no longer has a singular identity separate from that of his beloved city. This real "Marathi Manoos" does not want skirmishes over Valentine's day and Chath Pooja by North Indians. Like any other conscientious, law abiding Indian, he too wants a decent education for his children and a steady occupation to fund his retirement. In fact, the violence that Thackerays' irresponsible words unleash into the city, robs this weary Marathi Manoos of his peace and does nothing for him or for any other of the city's residents.

The truth is that while the Shiv Sena is trying to rouse the Marathis, the actual Marathi Manoos (Marathi Man) lost sleep a while ago. He first woke up to the Sena's absurd and obsessive attempts at changing the names of roads, suburbs and airports to their original, pre-British, Marathi titles. In his alert wakefulness he also noticed that the Sena somehow forgot to change the very anglicized, "Thackeray" to "Thakray". Since then, the "Marathi Manoos" with the rest of Mumbai residents has been sitting wide-awake, at the edge of his seat, on tenterhooks watching in dismay the Sena's regressive demonstrations, hearing with disbelief Balasaheb's loud claims of idolizing Hitler and suffering in silence the damning economic consequences of senseless city bandhs and violent morchas. These very Thackerays who attack harmless Valentine's Day parties to oppose "Western" influences had once organized a Michael Jackson concert in Bombay that halted traffic and city functioning for days! Apparently Jacko's thrusting pelvis apparently wasn't as threatening to "Hinduism" as heart shaped balloons and Valentine's Day parties.

I would like to add that the real power in Mumbai has and always will rest with the city's youth. Whenever the students have come out and made their voices heard, the law enforcement and the city officials have found it necessary to take a stand. If the Mumbaikers/Bombayites do not want the embarassment of having their city's name be associated with a regressive, fascist school of thought in the 21st century then it is time for the college crowd to do more than just gather around and pass time at local Cafe Coffee Days. If anything, the Marathi Manoos should now stand up only to resist the Sena's claims of being his self-proclaimed representative.

For years, we, the residents of Mumbai have lived like a family with people from all over the nation. The cultural aptitude and tolerance bestowed by the rich experience of having lived in this indiscriminate potpourri come handy today for my life as an immigrant in a foreign country. So to me, when the Thackerays question this indomitable spirit of the city, it only goes to show that their world is really very small - as is the extent of their power.

The Divided States Of America: Democratic Dilemma

Aditi Nadkarni — Thu, 7 Feb 2008 00:36:26 EST

As an immigrant who cannot even vote, I am almost unreasonably fascinated by the political state of this nation whose vast divides in terms of race, gender, age and values become all the more obvious come election time. The two-party system, I believe, exacerbates this sociopolitical partition. Super Tuesday, in a glaring demonstration, bared the divides and interestingly highlighted the current paradox that is surfacing in the one party known for its pacific, liberal, all encompassing, all accepting views, which should ideally cement the schisms that come from issues dividing the otherwise (U)united States. The Democratic candidate this year will make history no matter who goes on to represent the party in the November elections and not only because one is an African American candidate and the other a woman but also because for the very first time the liberals will contradict what they stand for by revealing their subtle biases. Super Tuesday's voting trends shed light on some of these biases.

The Democrats have always been known for appealing to people who prefer diplomacy to war and modern liberalism to conservative rigidity. History places the Democratic party at the forefront of the civil rights' movement. From Roosevelt's New Deal programs, JFK's support for the civil rights' movement to Bill Clinton's popular presidential theme of improving racial relations, the Democrats have always been in favor of racial equality. And now, Democrats face the moral predicament of having to pick between the races. Sure, race might just be one of the factors but considering the results of Super Tuesday, it definitely is a significant determinant. How ironic then that the one party known for championing racial diversity now presents to its loyal voters a dilemma that may finally force even the so-called liberals to face the underlying or subconscious biases that they weren't aware they had until faced with the uncomfortable choice between black and white.

Age has for some reason always played a smaller role in influencing the electability of a candidate but a much greater role in defining their popularity. Since this is not a popularity contest, the age factor is only limited to media scrutiny and does not affect political consideration until much later in the campaign. I wonder however, if this year, a nation's desperate hunger for change, may finally force the largely self-absorbed and yet opinionated and remarkably well-informed youth of this nation to get out and vote. This presents yet another quandary for the Democratic voters who until now associated the Democratic idealogy itself with a younger, fresher outlook. Now, in Senator Obama, they find a suave, self-assured, young, charismatic candidate who looks like them, talks like them, shares their experiences, and better still speaks of the change they all have been waiting for. But on the other hand there is the reassuring confidence of a mature candidate who may be older but brings with her the street-wisdom of political experience. And, although perceived by those intimidated by Senator Clinton's long political history as cold and calculating, she isn't low on wit and charm either. In fact, I am a little weary of people pointing out that she is shrewd. The word "politics" is a synonym for shrewd. So duh! Besides would anybody be so heartless as to put naivety and idealism amidst a game this messy? On one hand popularity polls indicate that the youngies are going for the dynamic Sen.Obama and on the other one doesn't know if America's youth will actually get off their computers and drive themselves to the ballots without incentive.

But this pickle isn't of age alone. The choice will be a tough one for the youth that has always viewed the Democratic party as the one political platform nurturing feminism and gender equality within a largely male dominated political framework. I bet they never anticipated having to choose between modernism and feminism. What do they do now? Do they choose the enterprise of an honest leader who promises radical change or the experience of a seasoned female leader who made a place for herself in spite of the personal upheavals and scrutiny she suffered as First Lady? Do they go for the young, visionary or for the feminist icon? Super Tuesday's voting trends indicated that the media's sly anti-Hillary, pro-Obama tactics may have angered the women who interpreted this rallying as yet another frustrating anti-feminist conspiracy by the media. Reports indicate that the women were out voting and even Oprah couldn't get them to go against the sisterhood sentiment that the media hype had unexpectedly inspired. So a party once united on matters of youthful libertarian values and feminine equality are now faced with the choice between a young optimist and a strong, female leader. Tough.

It will be interesting to speculate how these voting trends will influence the final elections in November. Newspapers and online reports call these events and issues divisive. I disagree on some levels with this simplistic inference. I think that while there may arise minor divisions within the party itself, in November, these same issues will finally bring about an assimilation of personal beliefs and political choices when it comes to the voters. The intra-party divisions may actually bring about somewhat of a unification among the general public who for lack of choice have begun to define themselves by Democratic and Republican labels instead of by their own beliefs and rationale. The mix that the American people have to choose from this year is an interesting one that does not fit the traditional compartments in terms of political stance. If Senator McCain who has defied Republican orthodoxy in the past, makes it to the November finale, he will be viewed by the conservative Republican voters with some reservation, while the moderate or conservative Democrats if desperate may even eye a unorthodox Republican candidate, something they've probably not done before.

Hence, although the current scenario spells division, in the bigger picture it may unify a nation pulled apart by the restrictive two party system that rarely allows flexibility. Or one hopes that people divided by politics will finally bury their differences to focus on the one issue that takes precedence over and overshadows the scattered concerns of race, religious beliefs, values, age and gender. The fickle economy!

Hillary Clinton's Current Obama Drama

Aditi Nadkarni — Thu, 31 Jan 2008 04:51:29 EST

The war of words between Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton cannot escape the attention of any average television-watching, Internet-browsing individual whose job prospects, oil prices and taxes depend on the results of the forthcoming elections. The squabble between these two extremely able leaders in the run towards presidential candidacy is all over the media. Hence my own neutral disinterest in political affairs was recently altered by all the over the top, not to mention selective media coverage.

While not being excessively interested in political affairs, I am more appreciative of all the Democratic candidates in the run for president this year than I was in the previous election year. Being a liberal, the choice is easy. Anybody who has seen Hillary Clinton hold her own in a race that is perceived largely male dominated will respect her unless of course they have something against women in general. From her dealing of her husband's publicly flaunted infidelity to her dignified, yet unconventional tenure as First Lady, she has been the source of inspiration to many a woman. Most First Ladies are the epitomes of tradition and silently support their husbands as they lead the nation. Hillary, though a mother and always publicly very supportive of her husband, in no way appeared to be the woman "behind" the man and soon found her own place in the political world.

Barrack Obama, is as worthy of an adversary as Clinton could have deserved. He is a brilliant orator whose wry humor and determination jump out at the audience when he addresses a crowd, be it full of black or white potential voters; an extraordinary feat for a man who has now come closest to the prospect of being the only black president. He is the only African American currently serving in the Senate and a perusal of his biography indicates that he has a history of inspiring life experiences which any average American can relate to. Considering his ethnicity and the challenges that the sociopolitical construct creates for an African American man in politics, his accomplishments are as towering if not more as Hillary's many victories as a woman. As a woman, I find the endearing portraits of the Obama clan, with the two adorable daughters, somewhat reminiscent of my own family.

So having established that my own vote could've been in the favor of either of these excellent candidates, let me just say that Obama's current tactics upset me.

A close look at current news reports about the Clinton-Obama race will give the undecided voters a clear idea of Obama's tactics. "Clinton is divisive", claims Obama one day, "She is calculating" he alleges the next. I think we can all agree that in electing the president a voter considers political positions a lot more than such vague labels that smack more of ad hominem than anything else. Besides, lets face it, the way US diplomatic relations have been shot to hell in the past few years, "calculating" would probably be a welcome change. It is time for potential voters to review whether a super power wants a leader who is capable but whose entire campaign has been offensive rather than assertive. As much as I respect and like Obama and truly believe that he is a strong candidate, I do think he hasn't had the best "campaign strategy" advice. I constantly see reports and televised speeches where he invests a lot of time telling people why they should not elect Hillary but very little time establishing why people should elect him.

But here is what bothers me most. Senator Obama, though he does not need to, continuously fights his battles with Bill Clinton ignoring the fact that it is the Mrs.Clinton in the race and not the Mr.Clinton who we all love but is not the one in the debates. I silently will Obama to quit this strategy and wince when he brings up Mr.Bill Clinton yet again.

At the recent South Carolina debate, Obama constantly provided rebuttals to statements that Hillary had not even made. Surprisingly, when Hillary categorically stated that she had not brought up the subject of Ronald Reagan which Obama was debating, he meekly stated "But your husband did"

I was shocked and very disappointed at how that sounded. In a presidential debate where the candidates are defending their views and political stands, Senator Obama made the blunder of picking a personal battle. I wonder, if he would've considered it appropriate to pick out something Mr.Edward's wife had said during a debate. A spouse, no matter how important they are, (yes, even if they are a former president) are not the ones who should be addressed in a political debate of this stature.

It leads me to speculate if Obama is more threatened by the man campaigning for Hillary rather than the woman running the race where her spouse is merely a member of the cheering squad. How curious!

In an even more disturbing display, Michelle Obama, Barrack Obama's wife, at a Women For Obama event in Chicago is seen stating the following

"One of the important aspects of this campaign is role modeling what good families should look like. And if you can't run your own house, you cannot run the White House"

I found this claim not only a very absurd personal attack but also unfit for current times especially from someone campaigning for a progressive Democratic party candidate. This in my view, is a very distasteful move, which essentially places the blame of Bill Clinton's infidelity on his wife! What involves "running a house" or preserving a family? Tethering your husband to the bed post so he doesn't cheat or dealing with his publicly disclosed unfaithfulness with dignity? More importantly, a lot of good women run their houses and successfully raise children. Kudos to these capable and worthy homemakers but exactly how many of these good women have gotten close to running for the White House?

While I do not think Mr.Obama himself is a chauvinist, I do see a hint of well-disguised chauvinism in his campaign strategy. His constant need to address and criticize Bill Clinton's statements when in fact he is clearly in a debate with Hillary is a strong indicator. Bill Clinton, if we all remember, has already completed his term as president and is no longer in the running. He may be heading Hillary's campaign but how often does the campaign leader's views take precedence in a debate over the actual candidate's? So why would a candidate as good and as able as Obama feel the need to resort to such pettiness and pick a very public fight with his rival candidate based on what her husband says in media? Has he run of things to to say about her and is now going for the husband? I also wonder if this is an indication that he just views Hillary as the "wife" and hence voices rebuttals to Bill Clinton's public comments instead?

In a world where the developing nations have all had a woman leader, the United States still deals with the insecurities of trusting even a strong and qualified woman with the role of Commander-in-Chief. If memory serves me right the Late Benazir Bhutto probably never had to face criticism from a rival candidate based on her husband's political beliefs. The same, I believe, can be said for Sonia Gandhi or Margaret Thatcher. In a time when women political leaders can stand up for their own beliefs and views, Obama feels the need to look past Hillary and direct his rebuttals at her husband. When was the last time that a spouse's political opinion was publicly debated? Even the opinionated Teresa Hines Kerry known for her controvertial statements was not credited with a mention during a debate between Senator Kerry and President Bush.

This election season, it seems, may end up not only being a presidential race but on its way to the finale could also finally provide unequivocal insights into the true role of women in the world's super power where superficial political correctness sadly does not seem to have penetrated the political framework.

In the SC debate that I described above, I was as put off by Obama's stance as I was delighted by Hillary's quick response to her husband's frustrating and misplaced mention during the televised debate. For a woman firmly establishing her very own, unique identity in a male dominated political arena, her response seemed apt:

"Well, my husband isn't here Senator" she snapped amidst immediate applause, "I am"

Movie Review: Khoya Khoya Chand

Aditi Nadkarni — Thu, 31 Jan 2008 02:15:22 EST

The glamor of films and the mystical lives of the stars when they weren't shining on the silver screen have always been intriguing to me. The current media glare scrutinizing Bollywood leaves nothing to the imagination. The yesteryear's secret affairs, romances and tragedies, however, were hushed, making them seem even more clandestine than they really were. At a time when affairs of the heart were a forbidden fruit, those who boldly bit into it while still in the limelight became the subject of biographies and cinematic gossip history.

In Khoya Khoya Chanda (KKC), writer-director Sudhir Mishra, in his own words, draws inspiration from his years of experience within the Hindi film industry to paint a picture of Bollywood as it was in the late 50s and 60s.

Nikhat (Soha Ali Khan) arrives in the 50s film industry as an ambitious, dreamy eyed side dancer. During the course of the film the audience can never quite fathom whether it is her naivety, her lofty aspirations or her fickle sexuality, that lands her in the cozy, manipulative arms of the established filmstar, Prem Kumar (Rajat Kapoor). This uncertainty about Nikhat's character, I think, adds to her curious character, her enigma. While the actress in her revels in Prem Kumar's attentions, her heart finds an unlikley mate in Zaffar, a pensive, struggling writer who has just begun to make his presence known in Bollywood circles (Shiney Ahuja). This triangle is not the focus of the film but does ultimately provide the flame of chemistry and sensuality under the simmering plot.

Soha Ali Khan, though not the first and most certainly not the best choice to play Nikhat, manages to embody a 50s Hindi film heroine with some minor inadequacies that probably should be credited to a fundamental error in casting. One cannot help but imagine Vidya Balan as the perfect Nikhat. Shiney Ahuja on the other hand, despite his chocolate hero good looks, has consistently managed to steer clear of mediocre roles and in this film owns and delivers the character of Zaffar with complete honesty.

In recent years the character artist has become the director's channel for creative exploration. Directors have begun to use this mouldable persona to reveal what they cannot with the protagonists who are expected to cater to commercial appeal.

Right from Machiavellian "Langda Tyagi" of "Omkara" to the naughty "Bahurupiya" of "Dor", this character lends the audience a multi-dimensional persona to love, hate or identify with. While director, Sudhir Mishra, has never been one to bow down to box office trends, in KKC, he too uses the characters of Shyamol (Vinay Pathak) and Sharda (Sushmita Mukherjee) to add a sense of practicality and old world glamor respectively to the film. Both artists manage to carry off these personas with ease and much flair. Sushmita Mukherjee brings to life a Devika Rani-like character. But the real fire-cracker to watch out for in this film is newcomer, Soniya Jehan, the grand-daughter of none other than Mallika-e-Tarannum, Noor Jehan. Not only is the young debutante as beautiful as her celebrated grandmother but also does justice to the spicy character of Ratanmala, a possesive and temperamental actress.

Sudhir Mishra borrows from some of the poignant love affairs and tragedies of Bollywood's past. Shades from the ill-fated Madhubala-Dillip Kumar love affair and the tragic life of Meena Kumari are used to make up parts of Nikhat's story. Zaffar as the brooding writer turned director reminds one of Guru Dutt's eccentric vision and the long list of commercial flops that it brought inspite of his creative genius. Some parts of the story seem like they could be a slideshow plucked from the lives of any of the big stars of the 50s Hindi filmdom.

The graphics and the authenticity of the sets could have been better but are completely excusable for a low budget film attempting to do something differnt with its unique plot and genre. Sachin Kumar Krishnan's cinematography stays true to the dark plot using shadows and sepia shades to evoke a weighty combination of nostalgia and mystery. Quite interestingly, this film abandons the ariel or pan angle shots that are so characteristic of today's films where a lot has to be crammed into three hours and instead chooses film-noir style low or oblique angle shots and close-ups which were characteristic of those times.

However, it is ultimately Shantanu Moitra's tunes that transport us to a different time. His songs set the scene and the mood for a film facing the challenging task of bringing the past to life. Moitra repeats his "Parineeta" feat by composing rare and original tunes that seem like they belongs to a different period and yet could easily fit into any of today's genres, be it qawwali or a catchy dance number. "Yeh Nigahein" and "Thirak Thirak" are the foot-tapping, dance numbers picturized on a 50s film set. My personal favorite though, was the title song, an off-beat qawwali, "Khoya Khoya Chaand" rendered in the equally off-beat vocals of Swanand Kirkire (of the "Hazaron Khwahishen Aisi" fame).

All in all, this "Lost Moon" is a film that only once in a blue moon, captures an original plot and brings for the classes, the haunting quality of a classic.