Review - Ikkis & Durandhar

 

For the first article of this calendar year, there could be no better "in", than the review of two movies we watched recently. One, in the last month of the last year, and one in the first month of this year. Both movies are about the security forces, and both are based largely in Pakistan. Yet, there could not have two more divergent messages. Of course, I am writing about the greatest hit of the last year - Dhurandhar, and the almost flop of this year, Ikkis.

Ikkis, of course, shows the story of PVC 2nd Lt Arun Khetarpal. Saying that he is a legend does not even begin to cover it. The GC who missed the IMA Sword of Honour due to a minor indiscretion (as per the movie narrative), ended up having an entire auditorium in IMA named after him. Drill sergeants have motivated countless cadets over the years by taking his name. The trouble with the movie is, that his story is largely shown through reminiscence - firstly, that of a grieving father (nothing amiss there), and, secondly, what has been deemed much problematic by much of the social media, that of an awestruck enemy!

The story of the martyr's father, a retired Brigadier in his own right, visiting his native place in Pakistan and getting hosted by a retired Brigadier on that side, is a real incident which was reported widely in the news at that time. That the host was hiding a secret - that he had fatally wounded his guest's son in war 3 decades earlier, and that its revelation led to a reconciliation between two professional soldiers, was truly a story worth being told cinematically. However, the movie overdoes the bonhomie part - showcasing needless jhappis and friends turned foes owing to those jhappis - stuff that was never a part of the news articles and which was surely an embellishment. Then, poor Dharmendra, as Brig Khetarpal, mouths lines like "Kaun Dushman?" (who is the enemy?), which is cringe worthy. Then, again, the extreme benevolence of the Pakistani Major, as he is portrayed cradling the wounded body of the protagonist out of his tank and laying him to rest, is obviously false, and is negated directly by the original news article, where he admits reaching the spot next day, after the cease fire took effect, and learning about the identity of his barely adult nemesis. The SM critics are right about this narrative agenda, making the enemy side's positive exceptional behavior seem too positive.

 However, what they are wrong about, is the criticism of bonding between soldiers from enemy camps. While there may be an ambiguity to the moral position of it, the existence of such fraternization cannot be denied. Especially in times much after the war. Good movie examples are available - Louis Zamperini from "Unbroken", a US serviceman who, as a PoW, was tortured beyond human tolerance by the Japanese forces, famously met one of his tormentors, Watanabe, years later, and forgave him. Then there is the touching scene in "The Last Rifleman", where a nonagenarian rifleman from Royal Ulster Rifles is forced to hitch a ride with a bus full of German ex soldiers, including Waffen SS! While there was not an express forgiving, a reluctant recognition of "just doing one's job" was definitely provided. There are numerous documentaries about soldiers from the opposite sides of the same theatre of war having a reunion decades later. Moreover, there are examples of such civility between enemies even in the heat of the war. Recently, the story of Charlie Brown and Franz Stigler, where the latter, a fighter pilot for the Luftwaffe, let the former, a bomber pilot for USAAF, go back home after his plane was hit badly enough to not be able to bomb his country. They met eventually, and became good friends. Then there is the famous Christmas truce of the First World War, where both sides of the trenches decided not to kill each other over Christmas; and what started as a novelty over Christmas stretched long enough for the generals to gaslight their own troops to seed doubts about the "enemy" intentions and start fighting again! 

We must realize that members of contemporary armed forces belong to the most unique category of persons. They know they have volunteered for a job that may require them to lay their life on the line; (when their similarly qualified friends might take on very 'safe' careers without any negative consequences) - it takes a very noble mind indeed to take that decision, and it does occasionally lead to such minds realizing that the enemy soldier facing them may be in a very similar state of mind. Hence, in a state of peace, such minds may reach out to each other. We must not forget that the incident shown in the movie happened more than 30 years after the 1971 war. Maybe the timing of the movie itself was wrong, coming in midst of hostilities, barely half a year after an actual live war.

The cast does full justice to the role. Agastya Nanda really looks like the green 2LT, who is put through the works by the experienced Risaldar played by Sikandar Kher. CO is played ably by Rahul Dev, and Vivan Shah plays the young Captain; who will remind all hostellers of that amiable senior they loved. The music is good. Sitaare by Arijit is my favourite. Overall it is a nice watch, if the viewer can separate the facts from the agenda.

The other hit, Dhurandhar, is a mass pleaser. Only the squemish or the "liberals" are scandalized by it. Personally, the movie itself was found quite engaging. Actually, it is a gangster movie, quite a good one at that, but set in Lyari, Karachi. It starts with a Corleone v Tattallia style showdown, where Rehman Baloch takes down his illegitimate father's gang to rule the local mob. It is set in historic settings with some truth to it. But then, to justify us watching a Karachi gangwar, the protagonist was shown as an Indian deep agent. Then, a covering story of the Indian handler (mirrored very unsubtly on a real life super-cop) gives the movie all its parts that can be said to be set in India. But this part of the movie seemed the most ham-handed. 

It is nobody's case that movies should not espouse politics. However, it should be subtle and nudging, not in your face or didactic. Not that all the politics in the movie works that way. The politics of the movie can be divided into two facets of the same coin - first, it is to instill hatred for the enemy. This part is very well done. Arjun Rampal, as an ISI handler for the 26/11 attack, appears really menacing. Even the affable Akshay Khanna, when he cheers the said attacks with religious slogans as Rehman Baloch, incites deep hatred. However, it is the other facet, "love thy leaders", that was laid very thickly, almost breaking the fourth wall in the process. However odd that part was, it did give legitimacy to our watching this essentially Pakistani gangwar, and root for "our" player within it. 

Cinematically, it was a full entertainer. Despite a three hour length, it never felt slow. The BGM, derived from old qawwalis (Ishq Jala kar), as well from 80s party songs (Piya Tu Ab To Aa Jaa, Rambha Ho) is engaging all along. Even the item number, Shararat has an authentic feel to it. Blood and gore are of course there, as are scenes of extended fights. The last fight scene is needlessly stretched (the malady that ailed Animal) - it is not really convincing to see gunslingers fighting bare handed for half an hour. Except for those exceptions (and one anticlimactic part in the end), it is an absolute banger. All characters are realistic, and there are no supermen. The protagonist takes a harsh beating in the beginning, and works his way up the crime gang, doing menial work before getting at the bigger jobs, the dreaded mob lord is quite vulnerable and dependent on his henchmen. The ringside view of the terrorist conspiracies is really blood chilling. The acting by everyone (except Sanjay Dutt, who just seems to be Munna Bhai in mustache) is superb, like method acting. Especially commendable is Rakesh Bedi, in the role of a seasoned (Pakistani) politician. 

There is an unexpected anticlimactic cop out at the end, when the Indian deep agent is said to be a prisoner. Why should a prisoner have that high loyalty for the nation, and why make up a fictional prisoner when the story of the actual brave heart army officer, all bearded up deep into enemy territory, is floating all around Facebook! Only the makers would know that.

On the social media, there is a clear cleavage between the likers (or haters) of these movies. I am one of the few who liked both of them! Flaws there are in both of them, but they both are the best to come out in Hindi Cinema in a long time - and any cinephile (the popular kind, not the "artistic" kind), must watch them.

This is 40!

 

That was the title of a Judd Apatow universe movie I had watched, if may I use the word, "ages" ago. Around that time, we had had that movie, and another, by the name of Turning Thirty. I haven't checked it, but I would guess most of the cast of that was well past thirty. Anyway, memory is playing tricks on me - I swear I recall watching Turning Thirty in a hostel room at Pantnagar, but the timestamp of the movie shows I would have been at either Railway Staff College, Vadodara, or, maybe, at my first official residence at Pali Hill Railway Colony in Bandra. Anyway, I scarcely recall that milestone birthday. On racking my brain, I recall it being a day of polling in the 2015 Panchayati Raj election. I was a 'young' Joint Magistrate posted in Meerut then, and it was the last phase to be held in my subdivision. I recall receiving celebratory messages from my fiancée's (now my wife's) relatives, standing in the fields outside a rural booth, next to my brand new Tata SUMO. I recall celebrating with Domino's Calzone Pockets (yeah, they existed then) with a fellow Joint Magistrate (who had just joined the District) - the celebration was more about the end of polling, rather than the milestone it represented - 30 years. In contrast with my 29th, when I had had my family (parents and brother) with me, and despite an event ridden time (a toxic ammonia leak in a factory on the eve), I had had a memorable celebration. We had visited all the known tourist spots in Meerut District, well beyond my own jurisdiction. By that measure, the 30th was just tame. Anyway, I have not been a big fan of my birthday, since my first year in the college. More about that later.

So this year, I turn 40. Now, when one is married, one's spouse is more excited about one's birthday. My wife has been ensuring that my birthdays get celebrated - planning the small decorations, getting the guests invited, and actually carrying it out - all in the face of stiff inertia from my side! So my 37th was disguised as a huge retirement party for both our fathers. My 39th was dressed as a bonfire between friends. The 38th, I was sitting as an Election Observer in Warangal, and I had to take initiative for her sake, and cut the cake on Video Conference! (That duty had made me be away from home on Diwali, my marriage anniversary as well as my birthday!) However, this time, I had 'consented' to have a slightly bigger party. Our social circle had expanded after we met other officers (in non-official settings), and their families! Plus, this was the place of my birth, and I had planned to visit the specific place on the occasion, just like that. However, fate had other plans, and I got transferred across the length of the state. Uprooted out of the big established social circle, we still had cobbled up a small plan, but medical exigencies in the family put paid to that. Finally we have just my family and my parents in the house, as I start my fifth decade on this planet!

I think I must pause and regale why my attitude towards birthdays changed. When I was a boarder at Oak Grove School Mussoorie, our winter vacation began on 30th November. Most of us had a 24 hours plus journey to endure. For me, this led to a train birthday party! Folks would get some sweets, savouries and cake packed on the evening of departure, and we would be all ready. On the morning of 1st, as the train chugged through the sun-kissed country side and small wayside stations, all the known persons (which meant almost everyone in the coach) gathered in our bay of the coach, and i would cut the cake going mile a minute, with the sweet prospects of seeing home after more than 5 months! That was fine till 2003, my last December in the school. The next year, i started big - bought a new cycle and took my friends to a treat at Century (an eatery in Nagla, near the University main gate). However, I was summoned that evening by the head of the T&P cell (the only 'extracurricular' society i was able to make it to), who trashed my work, and commandeered my new cycle on "cell business", and it was returned late evening to me, all trashed up. On a normal day, it would have felt bad, but on a birthday, it felt painful. Since then, I have wanted to have my birthday just pass off somehow, without anything untoward happening!

This was not so always. In fact, sometime in my middle school, 1st December was a sort of State Day for an imaginary global 'republic', to be founded by me in the future! As per Harari, all states are ultimately fiction subscribed to by everyone. This was a fiction subscribed by me alone. We had a name, (Cooperative Republic International), and a flag (a dragon ascendant with a lance and a shield, guarding the globe, on a background of sky blue!), which I used to hoist on my upper berth at the stroke of midnight. I must describe the idea - fantastic though it was. The fantastic part was the technology I had assumed - primary and secondary sector totally organised into customizable mechanized facilities owned by the state. It was to be operable through accounts of users / workers from a remote terminal. They could use these facilities as per own need or as per market need, and the appropriate idle facility would get customized to fulfil that need. Not unlike the gig-economy we have today! More on that later. This was, however, not the most fantastic future i had envisioned. In primary school years, i had fantasized about building / possessing a huge flexible submarine, which looks like a giant whale! I had not read about Captain Nemo and his Nautilus yet. My sole fantasy was just gliding around the sea-floor (which was sunlit as well as a 10 metre pond would be!), scooping in resources from there - my fantasy did not include provisions for how I was converting the sea weed into energy, or, even more strangely, into aloo tikki that emerged out of an oven on the dashboard - as i gazed out of the big whale-eyes, feeling strong and solitary. (I guess that beat the actual state of feeling weak and alone!) 

Not all my fantasies were so fantastic, though One of my more realistic fantasy was being an astronaut, for the Indian manned mission that was still under consideration then. To that end, I even wrote the NDA exam in 2003. I somehow knew that submariners / aviators would be the best choice of astronautics, so I chose Naval Academy, which had the opportunity for doing both! Of course, I knew my physical capabilities - taking part in the Class trip to Delhi to write the exam was more of an excuse to visit Delhi, especially when we see that UPSC had made a centre at Dehradun too. As luck would have it, they had changed over from Class X mathematics to Class XII mathematics that year, and most of the leading contenders from the class did not qualify. Only 4 of us did, 3 from Naval Academy choice. We three got SSB call at SCC Bhopal. I was again in two minds about letting myself face the ignominy of failure in front of the military officers, but, in view of continuing company of classmates (our XII Boards ended on 18th March and the SSB began on 20th March - and three of us were called together), I took my first (and second, if the two legs are counted separate) train journey alone, to Bhopal. One of us was screened out early, and then the two of us continued to the end. Only I was recommended - and ultimately secured AIR 2 in Naval and 19 in Army list. That was despite my non completion of many of the individual tasks, including the double ditch which I did not try at all. A recent article shows that completion is not a part of their evaluation matrix. They must have noticed my terrified but determined commando walk. I definitely had a strange command task, where I was called alone and asked to play the commander and the commanded together! However, that was not to be. My eyes were deemed unworthy of Navy or Airforce. So, astronautics being out of question, I dove into the big pool of Engineering. 

Our class XI had been very badly done, especially in Mathematics. We had a well meaning but inexperienced part time teacher. We took advantage of his good nature, and his easy papers. By the time, in Class XII, we got serious and took help of the sister school, our preparation for science stream competition was seriously compromised. IITs were out of question. I did muster Electrical Engineering at NIT Patna, but baulked at the idea of going to Patna (which was ironic, since my father got posted to Bihar soon after - Sonpur first and then Danapur - my vacation travel would have become so much easier). Finally, through the state counselling, I got into Mechanical Engineering at College of Technology, Pantnagar. In the hindsight, it was a very good college, and had excellent teachers. However, at the time, we felt kind of rejected - by the IITs as well as the NITs. I was rejected by Ashok Leyland in the campus placement, and then selected by Maruti, before the 3rd year ended. I got a Masters call in Aeronautics from IISc Bangalore. Still, I chose to join DMS at IIT Delhi for an MBA, because that was the only GD PI I could clear, and I figured I could do a Masters any time I wanted, but this lone convert could be my only chance at an MBA! With that negative motivation, I joined MBA, and it was no surprise I felt a misfit and hence miserable. Anyway, I had joined MBA in the glorious year of 2008, of the Lehmann Meltdown infamy. So almost everyone was miserable and the misery kept getting redistributed. The weight of the chips on the shoulder kept getting bigger - a sub-90% Class XII, a non IIT non NIT engineering degree, and a non IIM MBA! Some relief came when my botched up attempt at Engineering Service fructified at AIR 6. However, even at that level, getting a service was doubtful, as my eyes (which put paid to my astronautics dreams earlier) left me eligible only for services with very few seats. I was lucky to get into the last seat of Indian Railway Stores Service. It was a fine 9 to 5 job. It let me travel across India in the training. It led me to set up an independent household - in Mumbai!) for the first time. Still, something was missing. People have various motivations for taking the Civil Services examination - mine was simply to try and prove the promise that I was not Tier 2! Mercifully, it was done. No truer words have been said than what our Director said on our Inauguration Day - You may think you have "arrived", but you have not "arrived". Still, it put a nice climax to my competitive examination journey. 

Adulting, of course, is never about the straight and the narrow, and life, generally, is not fair. In an organized economy (unlike in school), the fact that you did your own work sincerely does not guarantee that your job turns out so well! Especially in jobs like Executive Magistracy, about seven years of my work life - where a random squabble between two persons you never met, or a random speech by some far off weirdo, can screw your days, at anytime. Being the "boss" too isn't all that it is made to be. Having authority to make the choice between the Devil or the Deep Sea isn't exactly an enviable position! Especially when both have powerful friends. Plus, there is no absolute boss in this world. Every boss, how so ever powerful he may appear from down below, has his own Boss. Over my working life, the best job is being a Boss's go to guy. Be valuable to the boss, do an honest effort to lighten his mental load, be sincere and loyal - but leave the actual decision making to him. In such scenario, you get almost all the benefits of feeding at the top of the trough, and avoid the brickbats that eventually come from decision making. Of course, this presumes working for a good boss, and in this regard, I have been lucky. Ultimately, the truth is, all jobs are, in the end, jobs. Recently, one of my friends, who is a judicial officer, was visiting on the last day of an extended weekend. Having joined the IAS, it is the one job I covet longingly, that of a Judge! However, he exclaimed at the end, with a rather sorry face, that he "has to do" Court again from 'tomorrow.' I could only smile within - not only does a Collector dread sitting in the Collectorate on a Monday morning; even a Judge feels the same about the Court! Of course, there are good days. There maybe many. However, in Physics, as in life, 'work' cannot be done unless there is an opposing element in the environment.

As I cross 40, I do feel a bit apprehensive. My facebook keeps telling me the 40s are the most challenging part of the life. Kids enter the challenging part of their schooling - check. Parents face health and emotional issue - kind of check. What surprises me, is that my inner perspective is still largely of a kid! (Or maybe with a bit of an adolescent, if you know what I mean!) Faced with trials and tribulations of work and life, I may 'think' with the brain of an adult, but i still 'feel' with the mind of a child. Is it weird? I don't know. If I look at the adults around me, I think my father, who is 64 now, also 'feels' the same way. Do I think everybody feels the same way? I think it would take a war like trauma to really extinguish the kid inside. I would really like to know the readers' perspective in the comments.

As parting thoughts, I ponder over the fact that by all averages (70.9 yrs for an Indian male, 72 for an Indian generally), I have lived out more than half of my lifetime. The realization that 26 of those years were spent competing for jobs, (not that the next 14 have been a cakewalk either), 31 of those were spent single, and that only the last 7 have been as a father, does seem like getting the wrong end of the stick. The lines - Saari Umr Hum, Mar Mar Ke Ji Liye, Ek Pal To Ab Humein, Jeene Do, Jeene Do - (from the Millennial anthem from Three Idiots), does strike a resonance. However, equally resonant are the lines - Aankhon Me Jiske, Koi To Khwab Hai, Khush Hai Wohi Jo, Thoda Betab Hai - (Phir Dekhiye, from Rock On). Of course, there are many what-if; many things which could have been done differently, especially from a fitness and sports perspective! Of course the biggest what if would have been studying law instead of management (I don't regret my Engineering degree!) Still, I remain in the pursuit of knowledge for knowledge's sake (a tenured job gives one that liberty!) I have been trying the read Road to Reality by Sir Robert Penrose for half the decade now. However, in my last attempt, I was more successful in understanding things - aided by ChatGPT, a thing that did not exist when I tried reading R2R for the first time. More and more Youtube videos make it easier to understand concepts which were hard to grasp when we were actually studying them. Kindle makes it easy to download and read any book, without the clutter or the physical load. The dream to actually study the Law, and to practice it (not just from the bench of a Revenue Court) remains strong. I note with certain pride that my rulings in those humble Courts still guide the later incumbents, or, at least, the Court Readers. Maybe a stint on the Board someday would lead to real rulings! Of course, the quest for real authorship remains - a life so dedicated to reading should, ideally, return something really worth reading, to the world. That, if does transpire, would be the pinnacle. For, it has been rightly said - Ek Din Bik Jayega, Maati Ke Mol; Jag Me Reh Jayenge Pyare Tere Bol.

Live from Life, dear Readers, this is 40!

On Mortality

Perhaps this is a very morbid topic to start the year with. However, it happens that nothing else has been written this calendar year, and a long road journey to such an event is the only free and contemplative time one has had till now this year. So, here goes nothing.

On the question of deaths, I had a very cossetted upbringing. Great grand parents, or what was left of them at my birth, passed away before I could really form memories. Being in boarding school, I remained largely unaware of such occurrences in the far and wide relations. Hence, we took such news quite personally, whenever a death did occur. I remember the first such case of one boy, 2 years junior to us, who had succumbed to Diphtheria, when we were in Class VII. Ours was a small school, with Class strength less than 40, and everyone knew everyone. It really stunned everyone in the school. We had a special assembly of the three schools for condolence. Suddenly, Diphtheria, a word which we quizzers hitherto had associated with DPT vaccine, became our biggest horror, and we started imagining our windpipes feeling constricted at night! The other death that we recall was of a very jovial "localite" (a term we used for the staff and family), who had just been selected as an ASI in Uttaranchal Police (as Uttarakhand was then known). We were in Class XII then. We saw horror struck as his body was brought one day, to his parents quarters near the school back pitch. It was a sudden heart attack - very surprising for a person so fit in body as well as mind. We, almost collegiate boys, were terrified by the fact that a corpse lay just metres away from our dormitory! We heaved a sigh of relief when the next day, he was moved for burial.

Many of my classmates had experienced the demise of their grandparents, though. They used to regale us with the tales of funeral rites and the supernatural occurrences they encountered in the said episodes (in those non-cellphone non-internet days, our "group chats" were physical!) I, for one, was rather lucky. Till 10th April 2021, way after my own son was born, I had my full set of four grandparents. 

My brother, though, had quite a different experience in this area, at school. In a tragic accident, one of his classmates was shot dead by their NCC shooting instructor, in front of their eyes. Big trauma for a Class VIII student.

It was only after joining the Administrative service, in my capacity as an SDM, did I attend my first cremation! It was a rather messy kind of murder, and the cremation took place in police cover to avoid law and order trouble. Other than that, a brush with mortality was almost a weekly affair as an SDM. The roads had recently developed way beyond the mindset of the populace using them. So a lot of fatal accidents occurred, which invariably led to protests, which we had to attend. It was mostly a grisly affair, with blood and gore all around. Especially stomach churning were cases where brains were squeezed out on the road by tyres of some heavy vehicle! I also had the misfortune of attending a scene of a house fire. Those corpses were quite "well done", so to say, dripping flesh all along the path they were carried. The tenure as an SDM also had me attend post mortem examinations. That was quite scary to begin with. With time, though, it became just another set of ugly memories.

I contemplated my own mortality very seriously when, at the end of my first Collectorate tenure, I was gripped by a viral fever, which registered unknown readings like 107 - 108! It was the era of the First Covid Wave. One had been quite exposed over the course of one's work, and had over the times, become quite indifferent about it. However, the mere chance of this high fever being a probable fall out of 'that virus' was enough to make one very worried and contemplative. An Antigen test ruled out Covid in the end, and the fever did subside after 2 whole weeks. (I could not gather the courage to go for an RT-PCR test then.)

Personal bereavement, though, came very late to me. As I had mentioned above, till 10th April 2021, I had all my grandparents alive. However, as of 26th January 2025, though, I have only one - my Nana ji. Two of the deaths occurred after protracted hospitalization, and one, after a lot of visits to doctors, who could not detect the problem behind barriers, both of language, as well as the physical barriers of Covid Wave 2. A demise at the end of a long medical fight often brings with it a mixed feeling. There is of course a sense of loss. However, it is mixed with a tinge of relief, for the end of the suffering of the departed, as well as the trials and tribulations of their caregivers. Then, of course, the whole post-mortem ritual hits one, of which the cremation is but a small part. It is not a pleasant sight to find the person who is most bereaved, and the closest to the departed, being harried by all and sundry, about their versions of the applicable ritual; versions almost always in conflict with each other; with the bereaved meekly and dazedly complying with the said rituals. It is said these rituals have evolved to keep the bereaved physically and mentally busy with rituals and tasks, so that the bereavement is some distance away in time when the solitude finally hits. While that may be true, it is conversely true that for introverts, the processing of grief happens only in solitude. 

Deaths in family and acquaintance bring us to the stark reality and finality of it all. In the immortal words of Majrooh Sultanpuri (and the soulful voice of Mukesh) - "Ye Hayaat to Maut ki Hai Dagar, Koi Khaak Mein Koi Khaak par" (Life itself is a path to Death - whether the ultimate repose be in the earth, or as a part of it.) Their plans, and our plans for them, suddenly become meaningless. Their worldly possession, for which they would have toiled and worried, becomes someone's (unearned) inheritance. In Mahabharat, on being asked by the Yaksha (there are many versions of the Yaksha Prashna episode, this one is the most popular one), that what is the biggest wonder in the world, Yudhishthir replied, that it is the fact that despite seeing death all around us, we humans behave as if we were immortal! Building material possession to a certain level is important - to live with dignity, as well as to die with dignity. One must of course care for one's successors too - however, it would always be better if our successors have been nurtured in a way that they need no material bequest. However, the lasting legacy of a human life must necessarily be in memories, cultural or individual. To make a timeless cultural construct should be the ultimate call of a human life. The creative potential inside everyone should be given an outlet. It is not necessary that one's creation should be of universal acclaim. While looking for ebooks on my subject of choice, I have come across obscure books, written by obscure authors, and yet, reading them felt like a conversation over centuries worth of distance! In the words of AS Byatt - "Think of this - that the writer wrote alone, and the reader read alone, and they were alone with each other.'" However, creative outlets do need some dedication, and some amount of leisure. The latter may not be affordable to everyone. However, everyone can try to be helpful to a fellow human, as an when the opportunity presents. One may become a part of another individual's personal story - something they may feel compelled to narrate to their grandchildren. Once more, in the words of Majrooh Sultanpuri and the voice of Mukesh - "Dooje ke Hothon ko De Kar Apne Geet, Koi Nishani Chhod, Phir Duniya se Dol." (Put your songs / tales on others' lips, to leave a mark on this world before you leave it.) Who knows, that "other" may well write it down, immortalizing one for times to come.

Happy Contemplation!

On Bandhgala

 

So it transpires that the first article of 2024 is a piece on a sartorial phenomenon - the Sarkari Bandhgala.

Like every Republic Day since that of 2013, today was an occasion to take these cover-all pieces of black beauty, dust the lint off, and wear it all, with a crossed flag pin. Republic Day is the most suited (pun intended) occasion for wearing it. With the cold weather (which seems all the more freezing this time), the bandhgala embraces one with maternal warmth. On Independence Days, that is replaced by paternal discipline! On those days the pride of donning this attire just barely overcomes the infernal heat inside, in the middle of humid August.

Its official name is Jodhpuri Suit. It is a ceremonial dress prescribed in the Government (I would say, 'by' the government, but then, i don't have the notification for that!) Like almost all things symbolic about this Republic, even the ceremonial dress was born out of the deliberations of our Founding Fathers. While many other, more 'ethnic' dresses were proposed, finally, due to sheer practicality, the Jodhpuri suit won. There was a final twist though. (There was a magazine article about this sometime back, but since Google is failing me now, you must take it as an apocryphal story from someone who reads and remembers such trivia.) Like many decisions taken then (viz. State attendance at Somnath Temple Consecration, the de-facto extent of Presidential powers etc), the form of the ceremonial dress also saw a sparring between the first President of the Republic and the Prime Minister. While both of them agreed on the Jodhpuri suit, the President wanted it to be worn with a blue sash! I, for one, am quite grateful that the PM prevailed, for a sash would have appeared quite ridiculous, especially without the various medallions of various Orders that adorned the sashes of the Viceregal (and other Civil Servant's) dresses.

The founding fathers did not resolve the issue of a ceremonial headgear though. Normally the issue does not arise. However, in our country, national occasions are times to crucify those in public life over perceived, or worse, liberally construed, insult to national symbols! In fact, a well bribed subordinate can lead to quite spectacular pickles. Once, in Meerut, I had spotted that the (yet to be unfurled) flag was tied green side up. I refused to pull the halyard, without the mistake being rectified, and hence our flag was unfurled quite delayed. Still, the next day, the local papers carried the premeditated headlines about the flag flying upside down atop Meerut Tehsil! Mercifully I had not given them the photograph to go along with it. Thus, our national occasions are very much ruled the protocol-nazis, and some of them have decreed that the person hoisting a flag should cover his head. It stems from the common protocol of uniforms, where one may not render a salute with the head uncovered, and the flag, when hoisted, must be saluted. While the flag code specifically decrees - "3.31 During the ceremony of hoisting or lowering the Flag or when the Flag is passing in a parade or in a review, all persons present should face the Flag and stand at attention. Those present in uniform should render the appropriate salute. When the Flag is in a moving column, persons present will stand at attention or salute as the Flag passes them. A dignitary may take the salute without a head dress", no one has the patience to explain that to the protocol-nazis. Hence, the dignitaries cover their heads while hoisting the national flag. Usually it comes in the form of the white side-cap, colloquially known as the Gandhi cap. Personally, I find it more unsightly than Dr. Rajendra Prasad's blue sash! One tries to improvise with the woollen (VP Singh?) cap etc. Recently, on the cue of the PM, we have started sporting the bright saafaas, which, honestly, look much in place, being closer to the pagadis which are traditionally worn with jodhpuri dresses. I do hope this trend crystallizes.

Growing up, aspiring to join the Civil Services was not as glamorous, as it is now, in the wake of movies and serials like 12th Fail, or Aspirants. I remember, in our MBA class of around 60, we three civil service aspirants were kind of outcasts, and subject of professorial ridicule. Even then, the Orkut pictures of successful candidates (who had taken the personality and medical tests with me, but had left me behind in the final selection!), in black bandhgalas, fascinated me. This dress was an aspirational dream. Later, as probationers of Railway Engineering Services (where we, as a rule, take pride in not being formal at all) at Railway Staff College, Vadodara, we avoided even wearing a tie, and used to call the probationers of the Railway Civil Services 'Darbaan' (waiters) when they donned their bandhgalas in the warm Vadodara Republic Day morning! That shoe was on the other foot about two years later. We, as IAS probationers, were on our Parliamentary visit to New Delhi. In our Bandhgalas, we had met, and got ourselves photographed with the President (Dr. Pranab Mukherjee), the Prime Minister (Dr. Manmohan Singh), the Vice President (Dr. Hamid Ansari) and the Speaker. Obviously, our heads were quite swollen as we sauntered around the atrium of Hotel Samrat - us Men in Black. Out of the blue, one lady asked one of us to help take her luggage to the room. She had obviously confused him with the hotel staff! While the guy was quick on the uptake and located an actual bellboy quite quickly, he remained the butt of our jokes for long. 

Well, contrary to the perception, the bandhgala is not a uniform for the Civil services, or for the IAS in particular. It is a ceremonial dress of the government. Probationers, even of the uniformed services, wear it in the ceremonial occasions during training, and uniformed officers wear them when receiving some non service specific medals and honours. Political and diplomatic dignitaries also wear it. Somehow, the perception about the Bandhgala being the uniform of the administration is quite rampant, especially in the judiciary. It is hard to explain to the Courts that appearance before them is not a ceremonial occasion, and barring winter seasons, it is not humanly possible to keep the bandhgala on for the duration of such appearances. Recently, it had led to a situation where Courts were objecting so much to officers appearing in working dress (and some people made a business of making schadenfreude themed instagram reels about it) that the Hon. Supreme Court had to intervene and lay down the law that judges need not comment on the apparel of officers appearing before them! 

For all our love-hate relationship with it, the bandhgala still serves as a reminder. A reminder of awesome duty we volunteered for, and of our good fortune and the privilege that has been bestowed on us for that purpose, by the system of this country; bestowed on us with the belief that we retain the idealism we had when we aspired for it, and when we donned it for the first time. As I reminded my colleagues on this Republic Day, it is quite easy to get lost in the mundane part of the job - reports to be given, review meetings to be endured, boss's (and super-boss's) yelling to be endured, and PowerPoint to be presented. Yet, such National Holidays give us time to get in touch with the larger picture; the grand scheme of things. The day we, in our bandhgalas, took the oath of the Constitution, and the pledge to serve. To serve, not by being literally servile, but by ensuring that our net effort goes towards ameliorating the situation of us all - the people of India, who enacted, adopted and gave to ourselves this Constitution. 

Movie Review - Animal

This movie is basically "The Godfather", if Sunny Corleone had succeeded Don Vito instead of Michael. More apt, if a love child of Sunny Corleone and Tara Singh had succeeded to, not only the Corleone syndicate, but also, say, the Russian Empire. At the heart of it, though, it remains a tribute to The Godfather, on steroids.

Neither is this a mere inspiration from The Godfather. There are some straight plot devices, like the inveterate traitor brother in law, who had to be put down, and the inconsolable sister, his widow. Then there is that second love interest that (almost) blows up by a car bomb. Yeah, the soft strains of Speak Softly Love were replaced by the folksy music of Punjab.

Many reviewers had flagged the misogyny. I guess, for the squeamish, the gratuitous violence would be much more noticeable and / or objectionable.Many had called it boring despite all that. Here is my take on it - none of the over 200 minutes of the movie is dull. Not a single dull moment. Yeah, it might be long - fight sequences following more fight sequences -  there was one long and needless scene where minions in Squid Game Honcho masks attacked the lead, and then again a whole sequence of minions attacking him in skull masks. Even the climactic fight was too stretched out - neither Sunny nor Michael Corleone would approve of a fistfight when you have an overwhelming advantage in firepower.

Coming back to the question of misogyny, it is all a narrative made by the woke media. For the whole spousal relationship between the lead and his wife is one of equals, in a twisty, kinky way. The wife has more agency than many of characters written in a similar scenario - the cocooned wife of a dreaded don. It is unfair to compare her to a character of a female entrepreneur or professional. There is of-course one big episode of infidelity which is explained away as a reverse honey-trap! The movie does delve deep into the whole alpha of the herd concept, and defines life in the terms of the primal needs, but then again, the movie is called 'Animal', and it is a given that the laws of the jungle would apply. It surely was Woke-kryptonite, and that is the reason behind all the lamentation which is on. However, as a long suffering recipient of 'colour-blind casting' and gratuitous homosexuality in contemporary cinema, I would say - Take That!!

Movie Review - The Archies

Initially, there was a feeling that one might be getting into another of those "high class bratty rich teen orgy" dramas one finds a surfeit of on the streaming portals. However, it soon revealed itself to be the rather fresh offering it is. So while the teens were there, they weren't all high class (at least on-screen!), and while there was plenty of dating, there was no (on-screen) mating. No drugs, no booze, no gaalis. It was hard to believe it was Netflix! 

Then, yeah, just to remind us that it indeed was Netflix, we had an extended sequence, preceded by other brief sequences, to show that Dilton, whom Archies' readers would recall only as the affable class genius, is gay. Mercifully, the other guy does not respond, and we are spared the mauling up of one of our childhood memories. (Well, when I was actually reading those comics, neither was being gay so much a badge of honour and distinction, nor was it something which publications aimed at children could reveal - unlike poor Dumbledore!)

This movie would generally be liked by the Indian readers of Archies. All the characters, and their characteristics, have been transported to Ooty, standing in for Riverdale. A simple device, of making this a town populated by Anglo Indians alone, and keeping the timeline of an era when Anglo Indians actually were a distinct community, ensured that people with brown faces could have the white names. Maybe it also allowed the cast to converse in their high class Hindi accent without it feeling unnatural!

It felt like those High School Musicals from an era bygone. Quite literally. There are high school kids, and they are singing constantly! Indian movies have always contained songs. However, this is modelled purely on the Hollywood musicals - where the narrative carries on seamlessly from dialogues to songs.

The story is kept quite simple. Big bad money guys, conniving with the politicians and public servants, browbeating the conscientious journalists, to hurt the (gasp!) 'Green' Park. Till the teenagers decide on their dating problems and come together to foil those evil plans. However, it is commendable that despite a simplistic plot, the characters are not strictly black and white unidimensional caricatures, but believable beings. My mother had watched the movie before me, and she had predicted I would like it. It's been 38 years since I have been born - and her sense of my likes and dislikes has got quite worn out over time! In this case though, she was spot on. It was largely an enjoyable movie, as long as the lengthy songs and dances were skipped. Maybe part of it was nostalgic. We had glimpses of Hardy Boys, and Ruskin Bond, and the whole movie was a reference to the Archies' comics. Then, there were some quite healthy character dynamics - in the world of "Animal" (which despite all the forewarning we would watch tomorrow, because of plain FOMO), we have that scene where Betty and Veronica decide that their friendship is more important that the unsure affections of a confused teenager. A big part of it was a yearning for simpler things - like after perforce courses of greasy spicy "delicacies" that overload your senses, you just delight in plain dal-chawal.

Of course, no commentary about this movie would be complete without a few words about the star-babies. First of all, it is not really nepotism, when you have to face the crowd as the ultimate judge. Parents in any free market profession, when successful enough, give their offsprings a better start than those not successful enough. Note the words "free market". The offsprings face this same free market, which decides whether they would ultimately fail or sail.  Just as one cannot blame a successful businessman handing down a running business to his son, or a fresh minted lawyer joining her uncle's firm, or a new doctor turning up at the family hospital, we cannot really judge a kid of a movie artist using his or her family ties to get a break. For that matter, even politicians cannot be blamed for promoting their children - after all, these kids also have to face the public vote only. There is a very stark example of nepotism in our public life, where important public positions are cornered without a selection on merit, and without election, almost solely on the basis of who knows whom. Yet, we cannot say it aloud - You Know Who!

That said, almost all the teenage looking actors did well. I must say that Mr. Nanda is the best looking Bachchan till now! Expressive too. He should do well. The other standout for me was Betty Cooper, whose toothy smile reminded me so very much of Anne Hathaway from The Devil Wears Prada! 

Post Script - On Cricket

 

Yesterday was the International Men's Day (or so did my facebook feed tell me!) Many, especially women, had posted how the unfairer sex (!) needs to show more emotions - that boys may cry. By the evening of the day, their prescription was duly carried out, and how! As the Men in Blue wept on screen, the most populous nation (men included) joined them.

To be fair, they lucked out to a large extent. The way Virat Kohli played on was just tragic, especially when contrasted with similar thick inside edges by Australian batsmen in the initial overs. The ball did swing in those initial overs, and looked quite unplayable. The next caught behind (the most common mode of dismissal in the Indian innings), or even cleaned bowled dismissal looked just right around the corner, but never materialized! Then of course, there was that "Umpire's Call". As a side note, it is the most idiotic part of the whole cricketing system currently. The premise - the ball hitting the stumps partially - is quite weak. Had the ball actually hit the stumps partially, would it have been given out or not? Then again, even if there is a chance of error (which, with the current level of computing technology I would highly doubt), the assumption, that a human eye, with a single split second live view at full speed, would have made a better call of ball's future trajectory, is hilarious. Anyway, those rules were extant for everyone, so it can only called a luck out.

However, I feel the skipper would share a substantial burden of him not having retired with a World Cup - not because he played bad, but because he did not play as good as he could. While much has been said about the much vaunted Indian batting line up, there were just two really big-match players. One of them tried to anchor the innings together. He had almost managed it, but had an unlucky delivery played on to the stumps. The other gave the team a flying start, but then gifted his wicket as cheaply as he has done this whole tournament, except for the England match. Many would say, that is his style of play. That was his role. Well, roles change, and style is adapted, according to the occasion. We need not look further than our nemesis, Travis Head. Going into the final, Head had a higher tournament strike rate than our Hitman. However, when the Aussies were three down, he adapted his style of play for condolidation. At one occasion, he had an innings strike rate close to 50. He ended his innings with a century, a 100 plus strike rate, and, not the least, the World Cup! His initial batting was unnaturally slow, because that is what is expected in big matches, to change gears when needed. Once past his 50, his sixes came as easy as swatting a fly! Suddenly, the ground did not seem as large as the Hindi Commentary team had made it seem for the better part of the Indian innings. 

On a similar note, one must speak about what many had been describing as a 'selfish' style of play being done by Virat Kohli. Only a mind overfed on T20 can come up with that concept. One Day Cricket still retains some aspects of Test Cricket - defending, consolidating, and playing the overs. In T20, statistically each wicket needs to last 2 overs only, and if only the top and middle order is taken, still no more than 4 or 5 overs are expected. ODI needs long innings, to ensure the full 50 overs are played out, and a substantial total is put on the board. Maybe Virat (or Sachin, back then) did go less than run a ball while playing long innings. Maybe that lost the team some 10 - 15 runs in the matches. However, that did not matter as much as the 60-70 runs that were "lost" due to the "selfless", yet much careless play by the Skipper. Unless he finds some miraculous way of staying on till 2027, that useless stroke would haunt him to the end of the days. 

However, to be fair, he may have been relying on the impressive batting performance of his team mates in the matches prior. To be fair to his team mates, almost none of them, except maybe Rahul's 97 against Australia, were in a pressure situation, and even that was not a do or die match like this. As I must reiterate, sheer bad luck played a great part in the debacle. How one wished that Felix Felicis was real, and someone had given Team India a swig of it. Even a fake dose, the way Harry Potter gave it to Ron Weasley, would have done something by raising their confidence level! For this is a cricketing phenomenon which has come back from the brink - when Klusener had all but ended their campaign in 1999, they found it in themselves to run out two tailenders to reach the final they won. In 2003, New Zealand discovered the sting in the tail. More recently, Afghanistan had their heart broken after having them on the mat at 97 for 7. Team India was not even near those levels, as the 4 boundaries hit in the 40 overs testify!

Surely, more cricketing action is to follow. T20 series against the Aussies. Maybe in those matches Surya Kumar's bizarre batting action of backward slapping would fetch him good runs. However, even a whitewash there would hardly wash out the taste of this defeat. 

To end on a lighter note, may be we need an MRTPC / Competition Commission in Cricket too. Since 1975, 13 ODI World Cups have taken place. 6 of them have been won by Australia, which is nearly half! May be the Australian National Team can be replaced by their Provincial / Territorial teams! It is not quite far-fetched an idea. When assorted Caribbean nations could play under a single banner, the West Indies, then the coincidence with a nation-state is not a strict requirement for an ICC event team. That might make it more possible for other teams to also try to win the World Cup! Although, there is a fair chance that any of these little Australias might also end up winning the Cup - remember that Ricky Ponting belongs to tiny Tasmania!