The unemotional scales of tragedy

Like everyone else in possession of a television in the last week, my few hours at home were spent in front of it. Even after the essentials are clear, there is a morbid fascination and some feeling of emotional solidarity in seein people being rescued, terror overcome, and hearing more grisly details of just how inhuman only human beings can get. Aside from the unfolding horror- almost movie-like- two ‘unemotional’ if you like, points struck me.

First, and most obvious, the deterioration in journalistic quality. Is it just fervour? Or maybe over enthusiasm to fulfil a necessarily intrusive duty? Personally I have long thought that although the humanities suffer in our country in terms of prestige (oh you’re not doing engineering??!) at least undergraduate education in the arts is very good in a sufficient number of colleges. I know for sure it was in my college, while the biology syllabus, in contrast, was quite a joke. But where does this training translate? Is there a practical difficulty peculiar to studying journalism? Because time and again, and invariably, all our news channels have enquiring journalists who make you want to cringe and shut your eyes every two minutes. They are gutsy and enthusiastic, granted. But their talk-journalistic skills are either lost, or present but abysmal.
Witness journalist A talking to colleagues of Mr Karkare at his funeral. They reply with a ‘Yes, but now we must move on’. A can’t let go, but has to gaze deep and say ‘I can see there’s a lump in your throat’. At a funeral. Are they expected to pass a degree in crass insensitivity? Or take an oath to voice every observation, however irrelevant? This is not even radio for God’s sake, we can SEE!

Journalist B is in Pakistan and supposed to interview someone he can’t immediately establish contact with. So B gives you his personal views. ‘Anyway we all know ISI must be responsible’. ??! Who asked him?! Do they even realize how very irresponsible it is to spout random personal opinions?

The examples are endless, most of all the fact that the interviewers have more opinions and are louder than the interviewed..Please send them back to college..the BASIC tenet of a reporter HAS to be impersonalism. There’s simply no room for personal emotions in what should be unbiased ‘reporting’.

The second point is less serious perhaps..and more widespread- it is a sanctification of all actions of the dead. Until alive, its alright to criticize. Infact its alright to badmouth even. But death is an instant sanctification. Which means poor strategy, unnecessary though of course tragic sacrifices, miscalculations, all are quickly buried in a general funereal hush. Even the media (incredibly) , is uncomfortable saying ‘so and so may have made a mistake’. So be it. Don’t flog the dead. But surely you can flog the strategy?? This kind of misplaced emotional response can hardly be beneficial to anyone. Why do we have so much trouble dissociating person from act, analysis from vilification? The least tentative criticism will draw a ‘How can you criticize a hero? Would you have done what he did’? Is that the point? We all have our places, the issue is not an exchange offer. It is how you can learn to do what you do best, and what better way than to learn from the past? Nobody denies courage or commitment. That’s not the point being debated.
We can only hope that whatever the direct repercussions of this tragedy, and one hopes it will lead to some dawn of humanity, at least such side issues that we CAN tackle will be tackled. Or at least the fact that there is a problem admitted..

'I don't like it, so I throw stones'

‘I disagree with what you say, but will defend till the death your right to say it’, said Voltaire over a century ago. Poor Voltaire is burnt, buried and stamped upon in today’s India. For over 50 years, school texts have announced that poverty, illiteracy and unemployment are the chief evils our country has to deal with. They need revision. Make way for the most dangerous of them all- Intolerance.

WE think churches are responsible for mass conversions. So we attack the nearest church in sight. Why? Oh, we just don’t like it. Also, it gets rather boring sitting around in our political common room. This way we’re doing something. Two..umm..churches with one stone- Personal satisfaction plus you show ‘those people’ where they get off. Illegal? Not if you have the backing of the party in power. Horrifying? Well..It won’t draw any more attention than bomb blasts..after all the country is now acclimatized to violence..

A rural family thinks their daughter shouldn’t mingle with some male classmate (No, she doesn’t have the right to free speech and action, stupid question..). Do they talk, resign themselves, worst case, even disown her?? No. They pick up an axe and bludgeon both. Simple solution. It’s a matter of ‘honour’. Welcome to medeival justice in the age of free media, computers and nuclear tests.

From family to person. Traffic woes are apparently too much to take for us modern ‘stressed out’ individuals. Busdriver jumps out in a traffic jam and nearly strangles the autodriver in front. Couldn’t he hear the horn?? We would’ve thought hearing the horn was itself enough punishment..

But we really know we’ve touched rock bottom when art has to conform to some norm. A norm that varies from person to person, organization to organization. If M.F Hussain is constrained in his expressions of art, then one can imagine how bullied artists of lesser renown are likely to be. Worse, we’ll breed a whole generation of ‘artists’ (what a joke), whether painters,writers or moviemakers, all forced to function within some set of rules lest they ‘offend’ someone important. And yes. We take offence mighty quickly. Infact Jaya Bachchan’s casual statement, possibly just about deserving half a raised eyebrow, is enough to rouse a mob. There seem to be no dearth of people looking for an outlet for a great deal of latent physical energy, preferably a violent one. A variant of a 5 year old’s tantrum; except the lego blocks are rather larger and more expensive here..

What is it? Too much money and no work? Why are tempers so frayed and opinions pre-slotted? Is the aim to murder all free thought and expression? Is there ANY difference left between the misguided and singleminded young men who fanatically give up their precious lives, and the well fed but bored young men who throw stones for lack of anything better to do? Where is our sense of perspective? For instance, does a statue being set up deserve any, let alone much, attention, when there are homeless people waiting for that easily announced ‘compensation’??

Who are we to guide anyone’s imagination? In fact,who are we at all? Too may people seem to suffer from the delusion that they’re terribly important, and hence everything better function the way they want it to. Disillusion them, please. A couple of Indian Institutes of Perspectives may well be the need of the hour..

So the next time you want to paint the walls of your house, check with the neighbours first. They may not like yellow. Also check with the zillion religious and cultural organizations around, yellow may symbolize something someone doesn’t like. Oh and the glare at night may make it an easy target for bombing, the government needs to be consulted. What? YOU like yellow and its YOUR house? So? Don’t bring up irrelevant objections..

The Last Lear- a movie review

Too often, movie reviews end up describing the movie itself. They tend to overwhelm with information rather than influence any inclination to watch it. Here is one instance where it wouldn't matter! Dissect the plot, describe the situations, why, even disclose the climax. Nothing can take away from the effect of the right silences, the incredibly powerful Shakespeare-spouting (could easily have led to large scale hamming, but didn't!:)and the brief moments of 'That could be me'! Welcome to the world of pure cinema.

Undiluted by song and dance,the romance is barely tangible,nobody could accuse any of the actors of being conventionally 'hot':)And yet they all are. Each actor has a niche role and works superbly within it. The ancient conflict between theatre and the world of movies surfaces in a very modern setting. Whether it is a passionate director bonding with the brilliant but eccentric actor, or the more earthy 'boyfriend trouble' discussions between the women, every relationship develops beautifully, and is eminently believable.

If you're looking for an evening of complete relaxation, a 'masala' flick, or some light entertainment, this is not the movie for you. But try again after a week. Because its worth it. Even if you get very bored in the first half hour (Kab tak ye Shakespeare -Wakespeare sunna padega?),it'll pass,and you'll almost definitely carry something back. If not Shefali Chaya's expressive movements, maybe Preity Zinta's shout to the mountains. Or maybe bits of Arjun Rampal's perfectionism. Or, if nothing else, the experience of having sat through a work of art..Go see it!!

If its Tuesday, this must be Belgium :)

..is the title of an old classic movie. Not too off, I thought, from the kinds of correlations our media seems to enjoy these days- 'Studies show that men taller than 5 "11 prefer women with long hair'. Well, at least this one people are unlikely to take as a scientific truth. Or so one hopes!!As they well might, with 'Scientists say eat more tomatoes to avoid cancer'. Sure, anti-oxidants are good for a million things. But a random survey of a 100 people (Do you eat tomatoes? good. Do you have cancer? No? great. Scribble scribble..rush to make the morning edition) is hardly evidence for it! One degree better than Deepika Padukone asking us whether we know the secret for her youthful skin. Age? Heredity? Makeup?? All wrong. Its because some soap doesn't 'wash off' her skin proteins..and we kind of thought the proteins make the skin. Silly mistake. And it comes with extra vitamins. Never mind which. Extra anything seems to be a good advertising tactic, whether or no it enhances the product.Quite apart from whether or not true. Thats hardly an issue. What matters is what sells.

Opinion polls are even better. Statistics was clearly never a mandatory subject for the pollers..'75% of Indians think Abhinav Bindra should be given the Bharat Ratna' (for example). How many did you ask? if you're lucky, 200. 'INDIANS think'??

But then spurious correlations and hyperbolic statements are the order of the day. Like someone said, if you have a 24 hour news channel, you must have something to put in it. I suppose we do get entertainment, if not information :> But where are the days when every paper had an agricultural correspondent, and investigative journalism was not uncommon? We are grateful now when reporters allow the reported to complete their sentences. No doubt the media DOES highlight otherwise buried matters (albeit selectively) but could we have it with a tad more discrimination, please?

Oh well. 95% of those who read this post shall now write a letter to the editor.. :)

Homely thoughts

Steaming tea or scattered shoes,
Anxious mums or homework blues,
Thoughts they hasten while YOU roam
To the place that you call home..

Oasis-next for the Bedouin,
Home means water, colour,and din
School van last drop for the student,
Home means FOOD, and of instructions a torrent:)

A rich imagination for the poet,
Home means ideas yet un-met..
Bored tolerance for the rebel,
A place in which he'd rather not dwell

Sounds and smells for the refugee
Home means with friends and relatives to be
And for the many dreamy eyed,
Home means love, and thoughts untied..

To all the world a familiar place,
And one with a curious way,
Of etching an impression clear and deep..
Of an image that is there to stay..

Stolen Moments

Official holiday- trudging by
Bunking college- on a high
Car to be serviced..what a pain,
Joyful tinkering..no thought of gain

Radio blaring in the lab
Random songs, all old and drab..
Prof is calling..Do this now!
Where’s that radio, beloved and how..

7 A.M the report’s due
Unearthly hour, but the Sun’s on cue..
Come Friday night- a stranger to sleep
Rising Sun- am up and set to leap

Help with cooking? Non- option.
Studying, painting, need to run..
Wait. Friends are over, nobody’s there..?
Now the kitchen’s overrun, much do and dare..

Akbar, Fa-Hien, Firdausi
Drooping eyelids on a spree..
Come Kannada period, and under the table,
Shining eyes scan the Kohinoor fable..

The day’s done, am heading home
Outwardly lawful - glowing chrome
Hugging to myself the secret times snatched-
The joy of stolen moments..

It struck me that we enjoy the 'illegal', if you like, pleasures in life far more than the legal ones :> Half the joy is taken away from small snatched episodes if they're authorized. Or worse, expected! What is it about the secret joy of stolen moments that is so unique and non substitutable? Perhaps a craving for romance, for adventure, for danger..and not being roaming Bedouins in the vast unknowns we have to satisfy our souls in as best a way as we can :>

The Observor

One micron. That’s how big it was supposed to be. Diameter. Or was it perimeter? Nanu was annoyed at this intrusion of Maths- a subject he thoroughly detested- into the relatively safe haven of Biology. Anyway what did it matter? His job was to keep looking at the translucent blob for an hour. Peering through the lens of the instrument. God, how did the others do this? It was incredibly boring..Funny how his face was reflected in the lens. Like a distorted shadow. Scary, actually. ‘You better do the observation properly or .’ or what? ‘Or I’ll jump out at you and become your real face’, probably. Something like that.
Besides, the specimen went annoyingly out of focus every time he tried to look closer..which meant another minute re-adjusting, which meant a ‘You must’ve missed the critical point!!’ from HER. Just because she’d worked here 10 years. And had unbelievable patience, he had to admit.. But that didn’t give her the right to scream at fresh learners. So everyone had different..what was it? Learning curves. That’s what the management dude had said ("Not ‘dude’, she’d say exasperatedly again..The English language is rich. Use it properly for god’s sake!") Phew.
But the thought of a learning curve somehow cheered up Nanu. Maybe I’m just curving..he thought. Just at the jump point..tomorrow I’ll be curved. And I’ll be the best observor at this place. Better than HER, even. He’d collect the maximum..oops. Was that a flicker?
With a sinking feeling Nanu stared back, scouring frantically through the lens. GONE! How’d it move? When? The beam. Damn. The BEAM. The indicator was at a green ‘release’, one half circle from the red ‘arrest’. That meant the only chance he had of catching it now was if it wandered into the field on its own. And fat chance there was of that happening. Nanu fiddled glumly with the knob. Had to be him.One last observation was all that was needed (‘Even YOU can’t screw that up’ had been the uplifting vote of confidence), and the work would’ve been wrapped up. The decision was unanimous anyway. That it must be a gesture of nervousness..poorly developed optic nerves, possibly. But the usual detractors had to be suffered. ‘Probably a form of mate attraction’, that was their theory. After all, it must be a handicap to go blind every few seconds. And if you could live with that, you were advertising your capability. Maybe. Nanu was skeptical. He..WHAT was that on the screen?
Nanu fumbled excitedly with the camera knob. The same specimen! Actually wandered back! Nanu Nantid, there IS a God. Now click and quick..
Two minutes later, Nanu leant back with a rush of wonder and satisfaction. SHE was right..it was his first spotting and there WAS something goosebumpsy about it. How did these specimens manage?? And hadn’t they invented similar instruments long long ago, to look at THEM? How did they observe, if they had to shut their eyes like this every few seconds? It was hard enough with his own ever open ones..No wonder these Human specimens collected all sorts of misguided information about US. For centuries, it seems.
Oops. He’d forgotten the ‘release’. One press and the specimen scurried away, de-magnified a million fold on Nanu’s screen.
Nanu got up and stretched. One pseudopod shot out preliminary to heading out. One last round of the lab and he could slither away, still much excited. After all, it was his first Blink..

This was in between centrifugation spins during an endless experimental procedure :> I don't quite know how the Sci-fi crept in or if its even understandable..infact I don't even clearly remember writing this! So please to overlook the disconnectedness if apparent :>