Desicritics Author: Emma

IIT Spouses Are Women? Unbelievable!

Emma — Sat, 27 Sep 2008 00:01:22 EDT

PanIIT, an umbrella alumni organisation for all the seven IITs in the country organises a global conference every year, a "premier event that brings together an eclectic group of industry visionaries, thought leaders and IIT alumni from across the globe". This eclectic group, of course, are an extremely sensitive lot and cannot be faulted with having forgotten their spouses' entertainment while they debated on important topics such as "nation building" and "education". So what have you - a few sessions "Especially for Spouses".

The theme for the spouses' track in this year's PANIIT is "Sampoorna" - programs meant for the complete woman, who is able to perfectly balance her personal, professional and public personality. With this in mind we have a galaxy of presenters and performers who are bound to enlighten the IIT spouses.

This sucks! Coming from the alumni of a premier educational institute, it doubly sucks. There is just no other way to put. Unless of course I copy what a friend (who pointed me to this) had to say. I am so shocked that this comes from the group that is supposedly organising a "Global Conference" that I don't know what to say. Yes, I am totally outraged.

A short background:

Let's get this straight okay - spouse as per this assorted group's parlance means "wife". No, men do not qualify. You see, they are the IIT alumni. You got to be kidding me - women and IIT alumni! Of course not. The only way a woman can be associated with the premier educational institution of India is if she is married to one of the students. So, while the IITian "chooses to inspire, innovate and transform", an exclusive track is designed for the spouses (yes, yes, we mean wives) aimed at making them "Sampoorna" - "the complete woman, who is able to perfectly balance her personal (always first priority, isn't it?), professional and public personality".

Don't get angry yet. There is more. This track, it is said, is designed to "completely inform" and entertain the spouses. And how? First day you have sessions by the likes of Hema Malini (a complete woman? Excuse me!) on women's empowerment and Shilpa Shetty enlightening you on how to enrich your spiritual life. There are of course more knowledgeable sessions - "a mystic trail (in the campus)... through some of India's most well known practices such as Astrology, Palmistry, Gemology (and no not study of gems, but this), Nadi and Kili Josiyam..., giving the participants an opportunity to get a first hand experience of some of India's most occult practices and beliefs."

Wow! How wonderful, isn't it? They know exactly what the women are interested in - spirituality and mysticism. And no, it doesn't seem to strike them that the spouses would probably be interested in a tour of the campus, its labs etc. Remember the assumptions: spouses == women; and women are only interested in spiritualism and occult!

Or jewellery and clothes and weddings and food. Yes, your heard me right. There is a shopping trail - but only to jewellery, silk and handicraft stores (not books, not music, only gold). And yes, there are attractive offers and discounts as well.

And for the finale, you will be in the presence of a "very famous Sampoorna woman", who is - you bet - the "spouse of an IITian".

What utter nonsense. Why didn't the PanIIT group just point the spouses to this instead?

Rafael Nadal's Wimbledon Win - Birth of a New Champion

Emma — Mon, 7 Jul 2008 10:38:24 EDT

It was the summit of champions. Five sets and almost five hours later, in near-darkness Rafael Nadal scrambled up the Wimbledon stands to embrace his family and break down in tears. And nobody summed up the moment better than the winner himself. Asked how did he feel when he collapsed on Centre Court - in relief, exhaustion and probably disbelief on having dethroned the five-time champion, Rafael Nadal said, "It is impossible to describe it, no?"

It truly was impossible to describe. No player had beaten Federer on grass since 2002, and it had to be an epic final of this kind. Two sets down, Federer staged one of the most incredible comebacks in the history of tennis to ta ke the next two sets in tie-breaks. In the closely-fought 4th set tie-break, the champion even saved a championship point. But 7-8 in the final set, with Nadal serving, Federer finally succumbed. He had converted only 1 of the 14 break points he had and his 25 aces to Nadal's 6 finally came to naught.

Nadal was on course right from the beginning. He broke Federer in the third game of the first set and accomplished what no player had done in the last 15 days: take a set off Federer. The champion came right back breaking Nadal in his very first game of the second set; unfortunately, that was the only break Federer managed to convert in the five-hour final. Nadal broke back using the same tactics as he did in the first set: awesome forehand that just seemed to work and hammering away at Federer's backhand rally. It seemed like a repeat of the French Open final was inevitable: a straight-set trounce of the great champion. But the rain-interruption half way through the third set, when both players were still on serve, helped Federer rethink and recoup. He was simply unstoppable in the tie-break, serving four aces to force a fourth set.

If the game was extended to another set and yet another rain break, it was purely because of Nadal's loss of focus for a moment. Leading 5-2 in the tie-break of the fourth set and on his serve, the challenger played his two worst points of the entire match to give Federer a reprieve and a step-in. The momentum seemed to swing Federer's way. But Nadal was not the one to give up - he probably knew he couldn't let a 2007-final happen again. His athleticism was relentless as was his grit and determination. And finally came that one last shot that Federer couldn't handle. And in fading light, a champion faded into darkness while a new one was born.

Watching Nadal lift the cup with Federer's dejected face in the background, one wished this was one cup that could be split. It wasn't to be. As Nadal rightly put it, "I am very happy for me, but sorry for him, because he deserved this title, too."

Barkha Dutt & The IPL Cheerleaders

Emma — Tue, 27 May 2008 12:04:30 EDT

I am not much of a cricket fan; yes, I do keep track of what's happening. It is difficult not to, when you are living with an obsessive cricket fan, whose priorities in life are (and will always be) cricket, sleep and then me. So, yes, the IPL has invaded our living room too and taken over our lives completely. And yes, I have been reading up on matches, offering my not_so_expert and often unsolicited but enthusiastic comments on players and teams all of which have been dismissed with equal disdain. I have been following up on the various controversies from the "slap" episode to the cheerleaders controversy to Khan's presence in the dug-out (why the hell is it called that?). But all this while I have also maintained my silence.

Last week, I read this. From the beginning I have felt that the whole issue about the cheerleaders was much ado about nothing, that we were unnecessarily wasting our time. Do we need the cheerleaders? Frankly speaking, I don't care. Are they a blot on the Indian culture? Can someone please explain to me what is this "Indian culture" all about? My mediocre mind just doesn't seem to fathom such a profound idea. But I do understand this: that every person in this world has a right to choose what one wants to do. And if my profession is being a cheerleader, and if I am being paid what I think is good enough money to do my job (even if it is in a country where I open myself up to voyeuristic gazes), I am not sure why is it a problem for anyone. Least of all someone like Barkha Dutt who doesn't tire of saying she is a journo with a cause (again, whatever that means!). So, I have this to say to her.

Dear Barkha,

Your article was totally in bad taste. Lets look at how you describe the act of cheerleading - "bevy of barely clad, big-breasted blondes wiggling their bottoms at a billion people? As they swirl and twirl their little red skirts and flash their wide, gummy smiles...". Excuse me, but whatever happened to professionalism? What the cheerleaders are doing is just their job. Maybe, dear Barkha, you ought to go and look up what "cheerleading" is all about. And learn to recognize that they are professionals in their own right. Probably, this would help. Frankly, I can understand your 85-year-old uncle disapproving of them (and if that is being liberal, I need to go look up what "liberal" actually means), but don't you think your reaction, and your description, is all about taking too many liberties with journalistic licenses?

There is, of course, more with which you shock me to no end. You call it "choreographed sexuality", "trashy" - obviously, you haven't watched Indian movies in a long long time. To be honest, maybe never. Forget the "choreographed sexuality" that oozes out of our small as well as big screens today, haven't you ever seen Sridevi's pelvic thrusts and Madhuri's bosom heaves before? And how come you never found them objectionable? Or maybe you have just forgetten. So much so that you go on ahead and call the cheerleaders "white trash". Honestly, to me your statement is as "farcical and indefensible as the attempt by sundry politicians to ban them or dress them up in clothes that cover their knees".

You say you are not speaking for preserving moral culture, yet you do not understand why "a self-confident nation needs play to copycat to some air-headed ritual from the American heartland". Maybe the next time you get all dressed up to get to work you should stand and observe yourself in the mirror for a minute. And ask yourself this question: which part of the dress that you are wearing is actually typically Indian and not from an American heartland? If this isn't being hypocritical, pray what is?

I agree with you on one point though - manufactured sexuality is not a mark of emancipation of women. But to me what is emancipation is this: that a Rakhi Sawant chooses to flaunt her sexuality. I don't really care why she does it; but to me the fact that she chooses to do so and is totally unapologetic about it speaks a lot about one's emancipation. Freedom, Barkha my dear, is the right to choose who you want to be, when you want it. These cheerleaders are professionals, even if they are in a profession you don't approve of or would ever take up on your own. Are they not doing their job? Then, what gives you (or anybody) the right to decide that they are nothing but "trash"?

It just doesn't strike you, does it, that you are sitting out there on this high pedestal of yours, strong in the belief that you are in an "honourable" profession that it seems totally okay for you to pass judgement on other professions that you don't necessarily approve of? How professional is that? Isn't it below someone to be purely judged on what you see on the outside? You see a few dances (which at the risk of over-emphasising, let me say, is their job) and you decide they are nothing but "trash", "faceless bimbettes"; that they have nothing else to recommend for themselves apart from being "steamy, sexy and sultry". You are absolutely right - "breaking free from the conventional orthodoxy of right-wing moralists" doesn't mean replacing one stereotype with another! We condescend to others when we pass judgement on their choices. Sure, through a middle-class prism, it seems terrible to be a prostitute (as it does to be a construction worker or a ragpicker, for that matter). But is it really right to judge a person on the basis of the profession they are in, which probably is also a profession they chose to be in?

Warm Regards.

PS: By the way, when did Shobhaa De and Karan Johar become the yardstick that Indian women can be measured by?

PS1: I am totally stuck by one statement (out of context, if you ask me) that you make: "...our sense of modernity [cannot] be borrowed from a country that still debates whether women should have the right to abortion?" Let me just remind you this - that this country also has a very big pro-choice group and they don't go about snuffing life out of foetuses only because they are girls. Or doesn't that matter at all?

A 'Walden'esque Life

Emma — Sun, 13 Apr 2008 11:52:44 EDT

“Gregarious flowering”, it is called. But the benefits to be derived from it are not truly so expansive. The bamboo flowers every 45 to 50 years. And those who have seen it once will not want to live through those times again, says David, our host and guide for the next three days. All the bamboo trees, especially those raised from the same seed, flower at the same time. And eventually die. People do not remember how the entire hills turn yellow. It is the sudden increase in rodent population, and the inevitable famine that follows the flowering, that lingers in their memories.

The high-protein bamboo seeds form the perfect meal for the rats, which start to multiply in thousands. Once the bamboo dies, the rodents attack farms, houses, granaries, fields of standing crops, everything that is available, leading to famine. In Mizoram they call it Mautak flowering; ironically, it almost sounds like maatam. It is happening again, not only in the North-East but in the Western Ghats as well, where we were, David tells us.

Nestled in the quiet hills of the Western Ghats is The Hermitage, home of David, Morvarid and Katrina, and our repose for the next three days. It is 45 km from Belgaum, off the Goa highway; as you turn into the muddy stretch that will get you to this ‘ashram’, the signs of urban life die away, the phones stop ringing and you will be treated to the sounds of the jungle. Totally disconnected as one is from the rest of the world, I realized one is forced to connect with oneself.

David Fernandez has vast knowledge of the hills, the forests and the people living in them. Understandably so, since he had made these hills and forests his home for 28 years now. I am yet to fathom the decisiveness with which a dapper 21-year-old suddenly decided he had enough of a city like Mumbai and withdrew into the wilderness with just his wife, Morvarid for company. Together they bought 45 acres of land and made a world for themselves that they open up to outsiders 8 months of the year. Life wasn’t a bed of roses: they lived in a hut initially, trying to get used to the environment. They had a refrigerator that ran on kerosene. One night, the hut caught fire as they slept. David and Morrie scampered out and saved their lives; undaunted they built a new hut the next day. Katrina, their 24-year-old daughter, pursuing her doctorate in biodiversity (very aptly) at the University of Tasmania (she comes back home to do the field work for her research) tells me her parents would wake up at nights to snakes crawling by. Eventually, they built a house; and then came electricity a good 7-8 years after they moved here. “This is my paradise,” Katz told me proudly as we sipped tea; I looked around and understood why.

Bear Hill trek was what we did on the first day of our arrival; David told us this was his little test for all his guests, a test to see how much each one could take. David walked fast, briskly; one had to almost run to catch up with him. We would stop every once in a while and gather around him, as he gave us tidbits of information of the plants and trees around us. As we sauntered in a single file through the woods, I enjoyed every moment of it, including the scratches and bruises that come from walking and brushing against the leaves and branches, the sunlight streaming through them and the chirping of various birds. And when we climbed up a slope we were surrounded by swarms of insects; shield insects, David told us. They seem to protect themselves with yellow armour/shield; these were the result of bamboo flowering as well.

We climb up the Bear Hill, rather quietly; it is called so because it is home to many a bear. David showed us a bear cave and told us about the rather close shave he had with one when he came up the hill with just one tourist. He is more circumspect now, watching out of the corner of his eye even as his guides us along. From the vantage point, one gets the spectacular view of the entire Western Ghats, the whole expanse of the Londa range. As I sat down watching the sun go down those hills, I felt exhilarated. As I looked at the green lands spread out in front of my eyes, I seemed to understand why someone would want to get lost in this wilderness: was this one way of actually finding oneself?

The way back we walked through some deeper forests and then villages. David knew most of the villagers, it seemed. They wished him and spoke to him. The people in this place spoke dialects of Marathi and not Kannada, closer as they were to the Maharashtra border. I was told later that David and his family often got involved in resolving disputes among various villagers; in fact, on the day we were leaving David had to go to the police station with one of them to settle some such problem. Morrie told one morning that when they first came here, the villagers thought David and she were crazy, wanting to live in the wilderness the way they did. I wasn’t truly surprised.

A twisted ankle kept me in the resort for the next two days; but I truly didn’t mind it. The best thing of staying here was not doing anything, not waking up to a to-do list – either in my mind, my phone or my comp. I would wake up every morning to birds twittering and the sounds of thousands of bees, which sound almost like a pressure cooker – a hissing sound that reaches a peak before tapering down gradually.

You could sit on the patio of the machan or the kadaba and look out, savouring the green forest cover around you and the sounds of silence. The Fernandez family also has three Dobermans you could make friends with if you were a dog lover – Scully, the mother, is rather quiet and guarded, like all adults usually are, taking her time to get friendly with you. Badmash and Bahadur were the younger ones – while the former was true to his name, the latter seemed more like the mother, eager but wary.

Every evening you could help Katrina light the lanterns (and vie to get her attention as two of the eligible bachelors in our group did). Or you could also rummage through the treasure chest the family owns, full of curios collected from Parsi homes in Belgaum. I chanced upon a stethoscope and a medical kit almost 70 years old, books that were more than 50 years old (with titles such as ‘What a young mother should know’ or ‘What every bride should know’), a darkroom lamp and many such wonders. The chest also consisted of numerous photographs: As Katz walked me through each of those snaps sharing her knowledge of each, I thought about the people in them and wondered about their lives and the dreams in their eyes.

Or else, you could simply devour the yummy food that Morrie dished out for you at every meal.

Pure bliss, I realized at the end of our stay, was in not doing anything, just lazing around with great food and warm company. Ensconced as were in our 4 * 4 cubicles, pecking away at our keyboards day in and day out, grappling over architecture designs, life truly had become a drab. Would I do a la David some day? I am not so sure – but for now, The Hermitage to me was the perfect getaway. Try it out sometime, and you will come back – maybe not enlightened but definitely rejuvenated.

Facts:
Information about how to get to Hermitage and how to contact David is available on the website. If you are travelling from Hyderabad, here is some information you could use:

You can take either a train or a bus from Hyderabad. While the bus takes about 12-13 hours, the train takes longer (almost 18 hours). The train to take is Rayalaseema Express and on return you catch the Haripriya Express. Get down at Belgaum, and ask David to send you a vehicle, at a price of course. Once there, you don't have anything else to worry about - you will be wonderfully taken care of.
The place is closed for four months during the monsoons - from June to September. Leeches - David and Katz told us - there are so many of them, you can't even get out.

Karnataka Government Against Women Working Night Shifts - A Retrograde Move

Emma — Sun, 6 May 2007 00:31:30 EDT

This is not only regressive but absolutely ridiculous as well. The Karnataka Government in an absurd move has decided to shift the burden of law and order in the state to the women. The government seems to think that crimes against women have gone up in the state as a result of more and more women working late nights in different sectors and industries. And the solution, the government believes, is in not allowing women to work late nights. Result: A government order banning women from working in night shifts. Essentially, women employees have to now either convince their employers to let them work during the morning hours or quit jobs and stay at home! And all because the government cannot ensure what should have been their fundamental duty - safety and security of all citizens in the state by maintaining law and order. Labour Minister Iqbal Ansari goes on record saying: "I am sure the legislation will come to the aid of lakhs of helpless working women and will be treated as a measure to protect them". That is right, Sir - you cannot provide safe working conditions for women in the state. So just lock them up in the four walls of the house!!!

When I first read this news I just couldn't believe it. I found it incredulous that in this day and age when women are making strides in every field and carving a niche for themselves, someone would even think up of something like this. The move is likely to put thousands and thousands of women, some of them sole breadwinners of the family, out of employment. Did the government even think about the same? The ban is not only discriminative but against the Indian Constitution as well. Firstly, Article 14 of the Constitution which states that all citizens are equal in the name of the law, while Article 15 of the Constitution prohibits "discrimination on grounds of religion, race, caste, sex or place of birth".

The Karnataka government's legislature is clearly invidious to women. Why don't we just ban everybody from working after 8 pm? It isn't as though men are never victims of any crime against them? So as per the government's logic banning everybody from working after 8 pm should immediately solve the entire law and order problem and make the state utopia on earth, isn't it?

Article 16 of the Constitution clearly states, "No citizen shall, on grounds of religion, race, caste, sex, descent, place of birth, residence or any of them, be ineligible for, or discriminated against in respect of any employment". Somebody should clearly ask the Labour Minister and the government of Karnataka to re-read the Constitution. And if they have a problem comprehending it, I am sure there are many soon-to-be-unemployed women out there who can lend a helping hand. "No citizen shall, on grounds of ..... sex...., be .... discriminated against in respect of any employment..." - does the government even understand what this exactly means?

And finally, Article 19 of the Constitution which clearly spells out that "All citizens have the right to practice any profession, or to carry on any occupation, trade or business". Clearly, the Karnataka government does not consider the women in the state to be "citizens" of the country. Its reading of this clause in Article 19 is without doubt this - it is the men in the country who can chose to practice any profession or any occupation. What women will do or when they should work we will control.

What is even more absurd is the exclusion of certain segments from this ban. From what I can remember a majority of crimes - of rape and murder - committed in the last few months have been against those women employed in IT and ITES industries, which have been ironically excluded from the ban. The government seems to either view these sectors to be absolutely safe for women or considers that the women employees in these sectors do not deserve any protection.

In recent times we have seen this happen a lot - women are teased, molested and raped by men, and they are told the blame still squarely rests with them. "Look at the dress she was wearing. She was clearly asking for it", has been an oft-heard remark. Don't you see, men are perfect, incapable of any wrong. It is always the women who is to blame. Men don't slip; it is the women who push them over the edge by wearing "revealing" clothes and "inviting" everything that happens to them. So, what should one do? Stop women from donning clothes she desires to wear. Just like the Karnataka government believes that it is the women's fault that more and more crimes are being committed against them. Aren't they the ones out there, working in the nights? So, lets just restrict their mobility and freedom; this is sure to ensure that they are much safer.

If the problem is law and order would you take action against the wrongdoers or the victims? Would you let the culprits go scotfree while those victimized are locked up in a virtual prison? What makes one assume that in days of yore when women were not as widely employed there were absolutely no crimes against women? Isn't providing safety for all citizens, and not the men alone, the duty of any government? Isn't it the government's responsibility to ensure that all its citizens, including women, are given equal opportunities, rights and freedom without being discriminated against?

If protecting women against all crimes is the prime motivation of such a legislature, I have an even simpler answer to the problem: Assuming men are the perpetrators of these crimes against women, why don't we just ban men from working or even being seen outside the houses after 8 pm, and let women continue to be employed?

Cricket World Cup 2007: Ludicrous End To A Farcical Tournament

Emma — Sun, 29 Apr 2007 04:44:25 EDT

Adam Gilchrist finally seemed to have found his way in this World Cup. With his blitzkrieg the Australians completed a near-annihilation of the rest of the teams in the cricketing world. Curtains finally came down on the 2007 edition of the ICC World Cup with Australia taking the title by a 53-run win (D/L system) over Sri Lanka. History will record that the Australians had won; history will record that after Clive Lloyd, Ricky Ponting is the only captain to have lifted the world cup two times, history will also record that in the final game of the edition the Sri Lankan team failed to meet the expectations of a strife-ridden nation that found comfort in the team's fortunes over the last one month. What one will not find in the annals of history however is the almost ludicrous end to a farcical 47-day cricketing saga. The Australians were the true winners, but they were robbed of their moment - of triumph, victory, spontaneity and celebration.

The final stages of the event were played out in near-darkness with even the fielders unable to see anything, let alone the fans in the stadium. There was immense confusion in the middle, when first Sri Lanka accepted an offer for bad light in the 33rd over. That was the moment Australia was waiting for, but their celebratory huddle was soon broken up by the umpire, and the players made their way back to the middle again. And three overs later when Australia was handed the game under the D/L system, the moment of spontaneous outburst of celebration was lost and a sense of resignation pervaded the whole stadium. And all one probably wanted was for the farce to end.

Even such a travesty, however, doesn't take away from what happened on the field. Fernando, who bowled superbly in the first two overs of his first spell, will rue forever the moment he dropped a sharp return catch when Gilchrist was on 31. If Gilchrist were Steve Waugh, he probably would have walked up to Fernando and told him wryly, "You have just dropped the World Cup". Was the dropped catch the defining moment of this final? One can never say, but immediately after the dropped catch, with 2 fours and a six the Australian wicketkeeper sure made his intentions very clear. Yet again Gilchrist showed why he was a man of the moment; he made his presence felt and his knock count. With the match reduced to 38 overs, Australia put up a challenging 281 for 4 (with a first wicket stand of 172), and virtually took the match away from the Lankans. If it were a full-fledged contest, the team from Down Under would have ended up scoring in excess of 300 for the sixth time in this tournament!

Sri Lanka did its best in chasing down the total. Even though they lost Tharanga early, Jayasuriya and Sangakkara added 116 for the second wicket, keeping the contest and the island nation's hopes alive. But with the fading light, it was fading fortunes for the Lankan team. Sangakkara made an error in judging a Brad Hogg delivery and handed one to Ponting; and soon after Jayasuriya, who like many others was making a final appearance in the competition, was bowled by Michael Clarke. The rest of the team, including Jaywardene who gave away his best in the semi-final, offered little resistance to the Australian bowlers, and Australia were deservedly crowned the champions. I think it still doesn't take away anything from the Sri Lankan team - they were worthy runners-up, definitely the second best in the entire tournament and on more than one occasion they had demonstrated what they were capable of given overwhelming odds.

This World Cup will be remembered for the number of people who bid goodbye to the game, starting with Inzamum-ul-Haq and Anil Kumble in the early days of the tournament, to Brian Lara in the middle to finally, Glenn McGrath. This edition in all probabilities is also the last one in the competition for many others who graced the one-day international scene for so many years. Names that come to mind immediately are Jayasuriya and Gilchrist. But otherwise the 2007 edition of the World Cup, to me, was the most forgettable edition, at least ever since I started paying any attention to the game of cricket. The organizers of this edition of the tournament have a lot to think about - why did the much-awaited event among the cricketing nations turn out to be such a letdown? Where were the crowds, the excitement, the rush that comes out of seeing a boundary scored and a wicket falling? Why was the tournament reduced to unnecessary scandals, conflicts and controversies, including a murder? Is there something that can be done to get the game back to what it used to be - sheer enjoyment of skill and talent?

Movie Review: The Pursuit of Happyness

Emma — Tue, 24 Apr 2007 06:16:42 EDT

Based on the real life story of Chris Gardner, the The Pursuit of Happyness looks at the crests and troughs in Chris' life on his way to becoming a stock broker, and eventually as everyone knows, a multi-millionaire. Will Smith played the role of Chris Gardner while Smith's son, Jaden Smith played Gardner's 7 or 8-year-old son. At one level, even though the movie is titled The Pursuit of Happyness (deliberately spelt wrong), it is pretty depressing. Yes, the movie is supposed to focus on the struggles of the main protagonist as he chases what seems like a chimerical dream. However, every time you think that things are going to get better, they only get worse for Chris. As Chris and his son move from one slump to another, you begin to wonder is there truly light at the end of the tunnel for this man?

The movie starts off with Chris desperately trying to sell, with not too much luck, a bone density monitoring system. Every hospital he approaches does not seem to find a need for such a system. But at different stages in the movie, I found it strange that, when things start going really wrong, and when you know he needs to dig deep to find a way out, Chris does manage to sell that very system to different doctors. Even as he is trying to do his best at an unpaid internship at Dean Whitter brokerage firm, and also struggling to find a place to stay at night for himself and his son. So, initially, he couldn't sell it because he didn't try hard enough or because he knew that even if he didn't sell it there was a way out with his wife doing two shifts at work?

It seems even weirder because the movie seems to focus on the strength of trying despite failures, on Chris' unwavering perseverance and determination. Two scenes in the movie actually reflect this very well: first, when Chris gets a chance to impress his future employer, in 10 to 20 minutes on a cab ride. As the cab races to the destination, Chris struggles with the Rubik's cube, turning it round and round desperately. The urgency in his moves is well-captured, for he knows he had to get it right, for this journey on the cab could well be a ticket to the journey of his life itself. To me that scene in the cab summed up the movie - try, try and try again. You have to determine all the moves for yourself and you have to get it right. That is how one pursues happiness, and Chris' life is a testimony to that.

All this is voiced in one way or other when Chris talks to his son in the movie. In one scene when Chris is playing basketball with his son, he says he never made it as a basketball player and his son wouldn't make it too. And just immediately after, he tells the kid, "Don’t ever let someone tell you, you can’t do something. Not even me." Or at another time he says, "You got a dream, you gotta protect it. People can’t do something themselves, they wanna tell you that you can’t do it. You want something? Go get it. Gardner". And that's what Chris does - he gets out there, works himself out and makes it - really makes it, giving hope to a lot of others like him.

I also found a lot of similarities between The Pursuit of Happyness and the Indian flick Guru. Even if they seem to be set in times separated by decades and in locations separated by the seven seas, at one level both Chris Gardner and Gurukant Desai are about the same thing - about breaking the shackles of poverty, about pursuing one's dreams, about making a lot of money, and about succeeding in life. In one of the early scenes in the Indian movie, his father tells Guru to be realistic, to stop chasing dreams because dreams never become a reality. There is a context to this statement - Guru's father believes so because he himself had never succeeded when he acted on his own ambitions and dreams, and hence he believes no one can. Something very similar to what Chris' says in the movie - "People can't do something themselves, they wanna tell you that you can't do it." Chris breaks the law too, even though they may seem minor in comparison to what Guru does - not paying his tickets, not paying the cab driver, sleeping in public toilets etc. But what redeems this man is his extreme love for his son - that indeed is one of the most touching dimensions of the movie.

In both the movies though there is one aspect that just doesn't seem to work for me - for both Chris and Guru the pursuit of happiness is in making it, success was in building business empires, in becoming multi-millionaires. While I understand that without money to cover the basic needs in life, happiness is indeed elusive, this all out emphasis on money and more money is something I can't relate to. But then that is me.

Even though it is painful to watch, The Pursuit of Happyness is worth a dekko. You will get out of the theatre feeling good and hopeful.

Movie Review: Provoked

Emma — Tue, 24 Apr 2007 06:05:52 EDT

To see or not to see, that was the dilemma. I am not sure what came over my rational mind, for a Monday afternoon saw me playing truant and in the theatre to watch Aishwarya Rai in Provoked. A few minutes into the movie and one knew one had made a huge mistake. Inspired by the real life and traumatic story of Kiranjit Ahluwalia and based on her semi-autobiographical Circle of Light, the movie is said to trace the anguish and agony of a domestic abuse victim, who after 10 years sets her husband on fire. The tag line of the movie is supposed to say it all: In prison she found freedom. But the 2-hours in the theatre are anything but freedom for viewers.

The opening shot of the movie is intended to create a dramatic appeal - the scene is shot in shadows. Held by an unknown figure, a candle spreads its dim light across the darkness of the living room, finally settling down on another unknown figure asleep on the bed. Within seconds the entire room is on fire, and the figure on bed goes up in flames. The camera moves out to focus on the nervously-shaking Kiranjit (Aishwarya Rai), and then the figure in flames - her abusive husband, Deepak. The scene's appeal is enhanced by A R Rahman's soulful background score. And this is what probably makes this the best scene of the entire film.

Kiranjit, as everyone knows, is charged with murder of her husband and sent to prison. In a series of recurring flashbacks the audience is made familiar with the events that led to a small-town, Punjabi girl taking to such a drastic step. Domestic violence, sexual abuse and many more make Deepak the man you would want to strangle, and makes you empathise with Kiranjit. Conceptually yes, the theme works, but as a movie, it doesn't.

First, the actors - Aishwarya, needless to say, is a complete miscast. Though her sincerity is touching, you come out believing she is much better doing a Kajra re. Her deadpan expression fails to capture the trauma and torture borne by the character. While attempts were made to de-glamourise her, the stamp of a model is never really lost. Or maybe it is us, the audience, who view the Miss Universe first and only then look at her as an actress. Her attempts to speak Punjabi are actually comical (were there no language experts on the team?), and there are times when her body language just doesn't seem to be in sync with the suffering of the character. It is probably the director - for one felt she did a rather good job in Mani Ratnam's Guru.

Naveen Andrews as the abusive husband was sufficient but not great. The real Kiranjit had mentioned that her husband suffered from a split personality. While this has not really been touched upon in the movie itself, there are moments when Deepak veers from being a loving, sensitive husband to insulting, scornful man beating up his wife. Naveen does a much better job than Aishwarya of capturing these emotions. The let down of the movie, however, was Nandita Das. Or probably it is our expectations of Nandita Das. She plays one of the Southall Black Sisters who take up Kiranjit's case. Nandita, however, was loud and irritable, and hardly convincing as someone who had loads of empathy for the domestic victim.

What should have been emphasised upon was lost in too many clichés in the film - Kiranjit's transformation from a scared and scarred wife to a confident woman is not convincing. Aishwarya being Aishwarya - it seems to come rather too easily. I know that three years of prison experience cannot be captured in a two hour movie - but to me that was an important aspect of Kiranjit's life and that is where the message is - in transforming oneself from a victim to someone who speaks for herself. This is lost in the series of legal battles that are shown as is the message from the real Kiranjit: "Never do what I did in life. But at the same time never suffer in a bad marriage. If you are unhappy in a marriage, get out of it."

Provoked didn't work for me, but I understand it was a movie that should have been made. If only Jag Mundhra had truly done another Bawandar!

The Sari Debate: A Response to Shashi Tharoor's Response

Emma — Tue, 10 Apr 2007 00:08:39 EDT

Shashi Tharoor, who I believe made a major faux pas in his column on the Sari two weeks ago (about which I have written here), has now responded to the various brickbats he received from the blogging world here.

To a large extent I believe Shashi Tharoor's response was confusing and amusing. Given the amount of criticism he received it seems as though he is desperately trying to make the best of the worst situation he already is in. Even as he concedes that all the points raised by his critics were indeed valid, he tries to get off by saying whatever was stated in the article was his opinion and that he is entitled to one. Somehow the whole argument does not hold water, especially with me.

First, he advocates this whole theory about Indian women and the sari, and when he is cornered he hides behind the whole notion of individual opinion and getting a male perspective to the table. In my opinion, without saying so, he does seem to admit that his views were indeed patriarchal; but then, he opines, that shouldn't really bother anyone else because those are only "his" views.

I find that terribly problematic. When you stand up there and ask a group of professional women journalists why they are not wearing a sari, it is not an individual opinion any more. When you get all preachy about it, and write in the newspapers saying in the decline of the sari as an attire you see the decline of Indian values and traditions and cultures, you have put the personal in the public sphere.

And then, you cannot just get away saying "this is my personal opinion; and if you do not want to agree that is your problem". The fact is Mr. Tharoor, the sari or any other feminine attire does come with a history, a history of burden and stereotyping more than anything else. And when you stand up there on a pedestal and promote the very same attire, questions will be raised, fingers will be pointed; you can't just get away now saying - oh this is all very personal!

You obviously weren't looking to just state your views, else you wouldn't be elated by the response of individuals who said they were going to switch to wearing a sari. You wanted the column to make an impact, as you yourself said, in the response of such people "lies the hope that my column will not have been entirely in vain..."

And as to why the same emphasis is not paid to men and their dhotis/mundus, even in his response, Mr. Tharoor is more or less silent, except to say that "whatever the aesthetic merits of the dhoti or mundu, they pale in comparison with those of the sari".

Again, in his first article about the sari itself, the emphasis throughout was not on the "aesthetic merits" of the sari alone in comparison to the dhoti, but on the intrinsic link between the sari and Indian culture. If that is the main argument of your article, Mr. Tharoor, I don't see how the dhoti or mundu doesn't fit into the picture. Isn't the dhoti a traditional attire of Indian men?

In Shashi Tharoor's response he also talks about why he is always seen in western attire. He says he does so because "if I was to represent the United Nations to the world, I was expected to do it in a suit and tie." How conveniently does he forget the example of Mahatma Gandhi that he himself gave us in the last article!

Let me quote his own words: "Gandhiji demonstrated that one did not have to put on a Western suit to challenge the British empire" and then this, "our clothing has always been part of our sense of authenticity". These words and statements and examples are used easily to suit his argument about why women should wear a sari but are happily forgotten when asked about why he adorns a Western suit. Is that hypocrisy or what? If you are an Indian representative at the UN and to the world, isn't the onus to "wear" your authenticity on you?

At the end of the second article, I am even more disappointed and angry than I was before. Mr. Tharoor, you come all out and say that everything you said about the sari was a personal opinion - as though individual views and ideas are indeed important. Yet, you have a major problem when about half the population of this country makes a choice about what they would like to wear or not wear. Isn't that ironic?

Concert Review: Ustad Amjad Ali Khan & Sons

Emma — Tue, 3 Apr 2007 11:12:56 EDT

By the time one reached the Chowmahalla Palace, one was exhausted - the narrow lanes (from choodi bazaar to khilwat), the dusty roads and the endless traffic seemed to take its toll. Besides, there was the hassle of parking - with no parking space within the Palace grounds itself, people were asked to park on the roads, and that meant almost a kilometer before one could find a spot. One rued the decision to even come this far. But since we were anyway there we decided to make our way in.

The Times Hyderabad Festival was back in the city - 9 days of music, art and fun/carnival time. This was the first day of the festival, which was to kickstart with a concert by Amjad Ali Khan and sons on the "sprawling" grounds of the Chowmahalla Palace.

The Palace was located in the Old City, in its really dingy lanes. As I walked back to the Palace after parking the car, I looked at the number of cars and people who had come to the concert, and couldn't help but wonder - even if the venue is called a Palace, in these literally-choking streets how big could it really be to hold all these people?

Yes, this was my first time at the Palace. As I walked in through the two gates I really wasn't prepared for the sight in front of me. What caught my eyes was the courtyard with its vast expanse of lush green lawns, a water tank right in the middle of grounds, and fountains on either side. Right in front was the magnificent Khilwat, the Grand Durbar Hall, lit exquisitely with 19 Brazilian chandeliers.

This surely was the highlight of the Palace, the grandeur was simply breath-taking. Coming as we did from the deplorable streets of the Old City, this seemed to be a different world altogether, as though by walking through those gates we were transported to another place, another time.

Around the central pool, which reflected the splendour of the palace, were the Bara Imam and the Shisha-e-Alat. The former once housed the Administrative offices of the erstwhile Nizam, while the latter - a mirror image of the Bara Imam - had guest rooms for officials accompanying the dignitaries. All the other buildings were softly lit, and seemed to hold a muted beauty.

On the right of the Bara Imam was the clock tower - another impressive construction. It houses what is called the Khilwat clock, which, it is said, has been ticking away ever since the clock was built.

Right in front of the Khilwat was a raised platform for the Ustad and his sons. The first half of the grounds had no chairs - gadda or mattresses were laid out in the front with bolsters on each of them. Again, as with the palace grounds, the setting seemed to take one back in time, to that moment in history when music was enjoyed lounging just like this.

Amjad Ali Khan arrived soon after in a royal horse driven buggy, supposedly the original buggy that transported the Nizam and his guests. The concert that evening was divided into three segments - in the first one the Ustad himself performed solo, the second segment was by his sons - Amaan and Ayaan and in the final segment the maestro performed with his sons.

In the first segment Amjad Ali Khan played music from his most recent CD - Moksha. The first piece was in an evening raga and was called Kamleshwar. This, the Ustad explained later, was composed in memory of Rajiv Gandhi soon after the latter's tragic death. Unlike a usual rendering of the raga, the pieces that the maestro played were shortened versions of the ragas - each one lasting for about 10 - 15 minutes.

In the second segment Amaan and Ayaan took the stage from their father, following in the father's footsteps. They also played the evening raga in three speeds. The beauty of the music was intensified by the two sarods sounding together. A lot of improvisation happened right on the stage, with the two youngsters constantly interacting with one another - teasing and challenging not only each other but also the musicians on the tabla.

Starting at a slow rhythm the raga gradually picked up and reached a crescendo. In fact, towards the end it seemed as though the tabla players had to stretch themselves to keep up with the increasingly complex rhythms emanating from the sarods.

In the final segment, Amaan and Ayaan were joined by their father and now music from three sarods pervaded the palace grounds. Starting with Ektachal, the three complemented each other perfectly, even though at moments it was clear why the maestro was way ahead of his sons.

It truly was a enriching and invigorating experience, and I am sure none wanted the same to end. The evening - with its music and the ambiance - transformed one's life into something extraordinary. The hassles of getting to the place were all but forgotten; in fact, the concert left each one of us completely refreshed. Sadly, though, as with everything good it had to come to an end.

But the music and the images of the place itself is something I will carry with me for a long time to come.