Suspended Animation (From The Scrap Shop: II)

I found this on a scrap of paper between the pages of “Rubaiyat of Omar Kayyam” by Edward Fitzgerald:

---------------------------------------------

It is tough being on the middle of the road not knowing and not wanting to cross to either side because it is a stranger world out there. It is better maintaining status quo, waiting to be crushed between two speeding trucks – preferably the huge ones and I will be splashed on both like a cheap advertisement “End of someone, end too late.”

While I stood there precariously balanced on the barricade against loss of senses, I started losing memory of time, space and possibly everything unknown. Damsels walked past sure of flitting their skirts at the right moment, gays displaying boldness and promiscuous taunts, the old behaving like young, the young borrowing strange attire, lovers, dogs and the like strutted past. I held onto my territory. This was the last guarantee.

Forever in the middle. Never the child and never assuming full-blown maturity. Not the untouchable nor lynched by a sacred thread. Not poor nor rich to think about money. Wish I was an idiot and lived like a veggie in an asylum rather than being not-so-intelligent or not-so-talented. If I was pessimistic, I could have had deep furrows on my forehead or preached boldly about philosophy or communism or freedom if I was an optimist. If I had borrowed Western culture, I could have pretended not to have any and be happy. But I have been branded by a tattoo which I wish I could scratch off my body. If I was complaining, I could have been at least the anti-establishment guy but I am too happy for that. If I was a total virgin, I could have dreamed of being a saint but I know my sins do not even have the power to scare me with nightmares. I wish I did not have friends so that I could be a loner but I hang around on the fringe of parties hating the crowd. Any kind of music or story or poem thrills me but I am deaf, dumb and blind.

Should I cross?

Near-Death Experience

I never thought that the way would be like this: a clean brightly lit tunnel – decent mixture of metal and concrete. There are red lights on the ground. I wonder why they are there. The urgency that had lasted life-long is now a soothing patience till eternity. The air’s flooded with pleasant music – violin and organ. It did not make me sad nor happy, reflective neither; just peaceful. Life-long habits do change with death, I guess. I do not notice the others that walk by. At least that habit stayed. What if she walked by? No, I would sense her presence.

I am nearing the end of the tunnel – the destination? I come across the musicians. They seem to be unaffected by what they produce - mechanical and a little unnatural. There is even a begging bowl in front of them. Here too? I reach for my wallet. I leave the wallet in the bowl – why will I need that again? I want to sit over there and keep listening. Maybe, there are other pleasures further ahead. She - certainly?

I climb the steps to the platform. It is darker here. I search for her but she is not around. I do remember that we had not promised to meet here. All the promises were mine alone and that too, quite unconvincingly made after she had left. But surely, I had told Him to pass on the message. Maybe, He had not. Maybe, she found other company. Maybe, she had to meet someone else on their way down or up.

I ask a woman standing nearby “Where is He?” She looks at me blankly, not comprehending my language, I presume. I stand there waiting; waiting for something or someone to come from the dark tunnels on either side; waiting for an answer.

The U-Bahn arrives on time.

(P.S. I can’t recollect the name of the U-Bahn station in Berlin; strangely, the photo in my album is also missing. But, you do know how that place looks like, don’t you?)

It Is i That Should Not Matter

to whom, for whom,
shall I write?
it does not matter,
I would like to think.

silence is a shroud
but pinpricks of light
do enter if I sense.

sweet whispers of nothing
through walls that fortify,
sight of lovers kissing
through lacy curtains.

but once unleashed, I reach far
to the hearts
and the heartless.

if only for a moment:

in shelters’ muddy cold,
with mother and child,
eyes blinded by death;
mother, hold tight,
deceive your child;
let him or her not believe
that your womb
is the cause for evil.

how easy it seems
to write, wishing.

but the pain of death
and the joy of life,
which is which,
do not wonder.

I do not matter,
a sip of love
is enough.

it is i
that should
not matter.

Supper at Hotel Rajesh … by the window …

By the pane, behind the pillar,
Away and near, a forgotten ghost.
With the usual thali, the usual waiter,
Rupees the same for the same minutes.

You might be away,
But your cheek rests against me,
And the hair still…

A couple, traditional, certainly wed,
Hand in hand, maybe they know why;
An afterthought or aftermath
Or strangely close or foreplay?

A fight below, close to the paan-wallah
With stained fingers ready with the half-pack.
The fight, the young, so shamelessly alive.
After drowning Ganapathy? Now, what?

A mother nearby feeding her child,
In everyone’s way - but not so, they say;
She glances at the kind gentlemen,
Her brother unconcerned – with reflections.

Outside, a mother guides her daughter,
From the youth, from any hand, for later.
A couple again, apart – is it the same –
No, there is merely a child in between.

The meal’s over, the time’s up,
Leaving ghosts for what’s left to look.

You might be away,
But your cheek rests against me,
And the hair still…

Seeking

Looking at the mirrors –
image on image of a dead image,

i’ve searched for simple words
to tell myself and everyone.

The brain numbed -
forbids that -

by endless fears, tears, losing
clarity of what i am.

Determination after insult,
strength ahead of necessity,

joker among those sure of life,
stupid - foolishly fought for right.

Free, inspired, respected, interested,
worthy, loved or hated, happy;

not all virtues – spiteful, threatening;
also – naughty, seeking, desirous.

Wronged at times, cynical always,
flirting with lonely hopeless void;

choices came, chosen;
paths splitting, taken.

Forsaking advice,
threatening surety,

fondling thrill,
facing danger.

Danger, where i am untaught,
that’s the source of my life –

not love nor victory nor respect -
Interest, that selfish desire.

Ividam Swargamanu

This movie gets 6 out of 10. In God’s Own Country, it is usually with wry amusement that one says “Ividam swargamanu (This is heaven).” Along with that, in this movie, there seems to be the message: if you have a heaven, guard it with your life and more importantly, do everything you can to keep it a heaven. This is told through the story of a small-to-medium-scale farmer trying to guard his land and family from the stranglehold of the “land mafia” who also manage to turn the gullible community against him.

Rosshan Andrrews has used the same formula (naïve and admirable protagonist nearly defeated by the system striking back with an ingenious plan) that he used in his first movie ‘Udayananu Thaaram’ but with less success. Mohanlal is under-utilized (surely, more is expected from the Gerard Depardieu of Malayalam cinema who gave us Kireedam, Bharatham, Varavelpu, Devasuram, etc.?). The same can be said about nearly everyone in the cast except Lalu Alex and he has performed extremely well. The three “leading” ladies make a fortuitous appearance.

This movie is worth watching for the theme and the setting. The theme resonates with the common man who complacently or helplessly watches his state/land/heaven being defiled by the land mafia (along with the sand mafia, the education mafia, the liquor mafia, the Party and the unions, quotation gangs, paedophiles, terrorist camps, etc.). When you see the setting (the farm-house), do you remember the acre of fertile agricultural land you sold for a 1000 sq.ft. flat in the outskirts of a city? Along with this movie, I have a prayer to make to you. It is definitely not easy to make profit from agriculture (especially, if you are a small-scale farmer) but as long as you have your basic needs, please do not sacrifice your farm for the sake of a quick buck, an easy life and careless development. Each time you go to your farm, even the most sincere amongst you might feel like quoting from “Digging” by Seamus Heaney (like I do):

By God, the old man could handle a spade,
Just like his old man.
…
But I've no spade to follow men like them.

Finally, unlike most Malayalam movies of the 80s and 90s, the hero in this movie is able to beat the system - through the judiciary. One can only hope justice prevails in reality, too.

3 Idiots

Eez aall vell? This movie gets 5.5 out of 10. Based on a line in the movie: is this movie a philosophy class or is it just an average slapstick comedy? Is it about a faulty education system in which a brilliant student excels? Or maybe, geniuses are untouched by the system and it is about the plight of lesser mortals in a faulty system.

What do we have - a tepid start, excess of male bottoms/underwear, resuscitation midway with a twist in the tale, acts of a genius at regular intervals and then, petering out in a little less than 3 hours. This movie revolves around Aamir – he is good (as usual) but for most of the movie, he has to sport only one expression – that of a wide-eyed imp. Madhavan and Boman Irani are thoroughly wasted. Kareena is nice.

Leaving aside the humour, the movie touches on two serious topics: one, the aspiration of most parents – to make their child an engineer or a doctor (these days, is it not MBA?); two, life and education in the premier institutions in this country.

With regard to parents’ aspiration, is it not the best bet for them – at least as an investment decision? If you want to do something else, do it with your own money or either prove your worth or get ready to have a tough time convincing your parents. Sounds fair? Of course, some parents might try to achieve through their kids what they could not achieve or worse, what their neighbour or relative has achieved. But, for most parents the excuse will be - parents have to say what they have (or, are expected) to say. Like, become a doctor or an engineer; marry within the same caste; do not have affairs or sex outside marriage; do not have safe sex with your spouse till you have the required number of kids, etc.. At the end of the day, you are the only one responsible for your life. And, on the road less travelled, life is never easy.

With regard to the premier institutions, it might be true that the painful character Chatur might not be an exception, if not the majority. But, isn’t that how it is like in the big bad world – corporate, academic or elsewhere? Also, the movie got it right in saying that these institutions do not give much importance to innovation/research. It is not surprising since these institutions are known mainly for undergraduate education. To quote a professor in one of these places “the BTechs are the products, the MTechs are the byproducts, and the PhDs the wasteproducts”. Maybe, with increasing load, it is an impossible task to give the required one-to-one attention or to stimulate thinking. But, at least, try to avoid doling out half-baked degrees. Of course, students should remember what my professor used to say “don’t expect me to pat you on your back and make you burp”.

After this movie, I was trying to recollect related stuff in music and movies. The Pink Floyd anthem: teachers, leave them kids alone? Or, carpe diem (seize the day) and the suicide in Dead Poets Society? Or, to bunk the system, how about the comedy Ferris Bueller’s Day Off?

Maybe, this movie deserves more. Maybe, I expected a comedy at least like Munnabhai MBBS if not Dil Chahtha Hai.

Finally, about the two current controversies. I wonder what people are trying to achieve by deleting the scene of ragging. Sanitizing history? Moral police – stay away!
As for Chetan Bhagat, if he wants credit for the story, I am glad I have not read his books so far.

Paleri Manikyam

This movie by Renjith gets a grade of 7 out of 10. “What is the relevance of this now?” This question crops up in the second half and the reply starts with “It is a reminder…”
That nearly explains the purpose of the movie.

The movie is based on a book by T. P. Rajeevan (which I have not read) and is concerned with the brutal rape and murder (given away by the diffident subtitle Oru Pathira Kolapathakathinte Katha or Midnight Murder Story) of Manikyam, a young beautiful low-caste woman. This crime happens in a village called Paleri in 1957. And now, 52 years later, a detective obsessed with this unsolved mystery reopens the case.

Though the movie is supposed to be a detective story, the pieces of the puzzle fall too easily into place, and it might be more appropriate and fulfilling to view the movie without any expectation of suspense. In fact, the investigation is narrated just like a documentary.

This movie unfortunately has only one main actor: Mammootty in a triple role. As the detective, he does not have to do much. As the rich landowner and main suspect Ahmed Haji, he is wonderful. In fact, the director seems to have done very well in capturing the period of the crime rather than the present era. The same might be said of the screenplay which is mostly good. Surely, the crime analyst if not the extra-marital affair is superfluous. Sreenivasan and Siddique put in a cameo performance. The rest including Shweta Menon and Mythili try well and some if not most are convincing. The photography and sound are fine – maybe, the loud heart-thumping orchestra could have been replaced by something more subtle, edgy and diabolic.

To my favourite question: will I watch the movie again? Yes. There are lots to savour: a low caste woman watching her helpless husband being killed like you would stamp and kill a centipede; the killing of the young woman with the command “go and silence her”. It is ironical to hear the detective express a view about extra-marital affairs and infidelity “to possess that of another” and a villain exclaiming “why does she have to cross my path and raise all kinds of bad thoughts”.

As mentioned earlier, this movie is an apt reminder. Does it matter whether it is the 50’s or this millennium? The influence of power over the helpless and the weak, sex crimes, willful suppression of facts related to a crime and the list goes on. Déjà vu, right? It is tough not to echo the words in the movie “I do not have ideology nor faith.”

(N.B. The quotes might not be entirely correct – I had to recollect from memory and worse, I had to translate.)

Fare Thee Well (Or, After Reading Larkin Before Breakfast)

I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
(from Aubade)

I wish I had a hangover when I read these lines – not at four, but at a healthy six after four hours of sleep. I do not have time to think of death. Each day, I procrastinate and postpone my rebirth. A confirmed anti-social in social networking sites – I love it. A click works faster than cyanide - I can vaporize from the Net into jumbled senseless bytes.

The narcissistic Net! It is freedom for the middle-class – biggest revolution after the all-purpose nightdress; cure for mid-life crisis, release of angst, to forget snail mail to agony aunts and/or editors, to cook up news (damn it, the quizmaster says that it is not North East West South but Naughty Entertainment Woolly Stories) and, of course, to contact old best-forgotten pals and compare visiting cards.

Aubade means “A song or instrumental composition concerning, accompanying, or evoking daybreak.” Or, “A poem or song of or about lovers separating at dawn.”

Enough of that, I flipped the page.

Sexual intercourse began
In nineteen sixty-three
(from Annus Mirabilis)

Each generation prays for paradigm shifts! But, it is usually as Yogi Berra said “It’s déjà vu all over again.” Science and technology might have paradigm shifts. But, in human thought? We will not allow Hussain and his naked goddess; fortunately, we did not have to create Ardhanarisvara. It would have offended some manoos and a gutless government would have been ready to ban. After all, for longevity and success, it is better to be “nice people with commonsense”. If you take MBA (hurry, you can still appear for the CAT tomorrow), they will teach you to be that minus ethics. As for me, I vaguely remember Isabel Allende saying in a TED talk “Nice people with commonsense do not make interesting characters – they only make good former spouses.”

For those who really long for longevity and success, there are two things to do in life: create a new word and compose a memorable epitaph. Nothing else will remain. Learn from quantum, boojum, defriend, tweet, blog, skype. If the word is really good, you can bring out an IPO. If not, you can always blame your parents with:

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
(from This Be The Verse)

I have procrastinated enough for a day. I have a version of the old Hindi song which starts something like “angrezi mein kehta hai ke fare thee well”.

Aparan

This movie by Padmarajan gets 7.5 out of 10. With the dearth of decent movies (released from any Wood – Holly/Molly/Kolly/Bolly/Tolly), a movie buff can either sit and cry or rummage through old storage boxes for a CD/DVD of a classic – like this one from 1988.

The story revolves around a case of mistaken identity involving a decent youth from a lower middle-class close-knit family and a look-alike who is an orphan and a hardened criminal. Jayaram makes his debut in this movie – excellent performance and I would not be too surprised if the great director had a big role to play in that also.Along with Jayaram, we have a host of well-thought-out characters (with Madhu, Sukumari, Parvathy, Soman, Mukesh, Sobhana and other excellent actors).

With this genre of suspense, one usually has the lurking problem/doubt: have I seen this story elsewhere? It does not matter. In this two-hour long movie, there is hardly any flab and there are many scenes you will remember for a long time: from the play with shadows and reflections to the smile on Jayaram’s face in the last scene.

This movie comes from an era in Malayalam cinema when the heroes were men and not supermen, and the Malayalam movie/actors/directors did not resemble their counterparts from the neighbouring states. This movie could compete with some of the best in the crime/suspense genre in Malayalam cinema, and to name just three of my favourites: Yavanika (with the superb Gopi), Kariyila Kattu Pole, Ee Thanutha Veluppan Kalathu (the last two also from Padmarajan as writer or director).

Keep these in mind when you want to watch a decent movie with your family rather than waste grey cells and lots of money on trash.