Mira's Version

I watched The Reluctant Fundamentalist recently, and I liked it enough to want to write about it. It’s a must watch if you enjoy the genre of drama, without the dramatics.

Mira Nair chose to work on a subject that has been a favourite among abusers for a while–the post 9/11 trauma, drama. But The Reluctant Fundamentalist stands out. For one, it does not take sides and also mercifully, spares the audience an overdose of America’s anti-Islamic sentiments and consequently the barbaric treatment on Muslims in general. We have seen that before.

The film spoke about the same things, but without going to extremes. Something that makes it more credible and empathetic.  The change of heart of the protagonist Changez Khan, from the suit-walla with a cushy job at Wall Street to the bearded professor in the not- so-posh streets of Lahore, is also very gradual. And mind you, very personal. It’s not a sudden jingoistic awakening of a Paki-American who wants to connect with his roots and change his country. Connect he does, start a dialogue of change he does; but it started on a ME level rather than on fundamentalism.  

The film is a gentle reminder that it is actually the little things in life that impact us in a big way. For Changez Khan, it was no different. The process of change begins with Khan’s  break-up with the person he connected with the most in the city. The subtle, unsettling reminders of his ethnicity; his father’s words of advice and finally the publisher’s gift of his father’s works, that make him question western capitalism (which he was very much a part of).

Whenever the story moves to Pakistan, you can’t help but feel the hopelessness of the educated class of that country. And as a neighboring citizen, not far removed from their reality, you too are moved when Changez Khan, the professor, asks, “Why just the American Dream? What’s your Pakistani Dream?”

Riz Ahmed is a fine actor, with more than just the six stock expressions of a man of method.  He is a natural and his character transformation is so effortless that you almost miss the stark contrast. Also, the ladies are in for a real treat, because this man is delectable to say the least.

Liev Schreiber, as an American journo has a small but significant role. However, actors like Om Puri and Shabana Azmi were truly wasted in the film. So was Chandrachur Singh; in the sense that he was drunk for the most part. 

All in all it’s a good story, told well. Mira Nair is clearly a woman of rare genius, and Mohsin Hamid must be a very happy man.

An open letter to the Information and Broadcasting minister

Respected Mrs. Ambika Soni,

The recent Guwahati molestation incident has shaken many a young women like me and civilized citizens as a whole. While what happened is utterly shameful and appalling, what was telecast on national television was even more so. We do understand that the media is trying to bring news to the common man's drawing room; but is it necessary that a girl, who has already been humiliated and tortured in front of 20 people, be put through the same ordeal in front of 1 billion? Again and again, news after news.

I have observed with great amusement, the accuracy with which words like "shit" and "sex" are beeped out for the benefit of the tv viewing audience. Lovemaking scenes between two consenting adults are also carefully chopped off in the name of inappropriate content! Then, how is it that a woman who is being raped or manhandled makes for appropriate viewing? The identity of the victim is hardly ever kept a secret; image blurs and black strips barely hide anything. As far as I know, or believed until now Mrs. Soni, is that every individual has the right to dignity and privacy. No matter how big or sensational the news. And more so in the case of an innocent citizen, like this 20 year old girl.

Yes, such events need to be reported. But HOW is the question? Instead of making the video public, it could have just been used to strengthen the case. A mere screen grab of the footage with minimal exposure and responsible reporting would have done the job. If repeat value is so important, the faces of the culprits should have been aired again and again, rather than the carnal torture itself.

In the past, criminal cases have been lodged against those who have recorded explicit footages of unsuspecting women and later used it to blackmail them. Such women have run to cops and the law for help against such offenders. But what now? The new-age media and the whole system seem to be involved hand in glove in this public parody, fanning the flames of the Great India Voyeur.

Be it the Congess MLA mob-attack video or the Pinki Pramanik gender-test video, all point towards a very disturbing trend - the violation of an individual's right to privacy in the name of news. And that is scary, because it could happen to me. Or to you. 

Here's sincerely hoping that television censorship will be applied where it is rightfully required. Mini-skirts and abusive language are most definitely the lesser of our country's worries. I am sure you will agree.

Sorry, we are closed

Burst. Into a million pieces.

Hide. In a thousand corners.

Scream. Till those glands start pouring.

Now. There’s no one watching.

Purse up. It doesn’t deserve the talking.

Give way. There’s another path waiting.

Dream. It’s always worth the illusions.

Reality! Take a walk. I can’t deal with your delusions.

Saturday Night la la lalalalala aaaa

So here’s what happened... Anand and I are sitting in the back seat of a limousine, engrossed in deep conversation. Anand happens to be a canteen boy who, on days when not lounging inside fancy cars, serves me tea at my office desk. Coming back; we are having a chat. He tells me that he lives in Mulund, in the same society where fat Arun (friend/copywriter/fool) lives. I am happy to know. To my surprise, he also informs me that Vanburn, another dear friend, who I blindly believed was a resident of IC colony in Borivali, also lives in his building. Treachery!

Cut to, Anand giving me a long spiel on how much of a jerk Van is. Me being me, I take up the cudgels for Van and defend him vehemently. Nothing shakes Anand; he still hates Dear Friend.

All this is fine, but there is a twist. The limousine we are sitting in is not ours. Of course. It belongs to a notorious gangster who has taken us hostage! His rookie is driving the limo, and there are two other demi-gangsters in the front seat with him. For some reason he decides to interrupt our war of words. He points a gun at us and says, “It’s time. Marne ke liye taiyaar ho jao!” The bullet leaves the muzzle. We yelp for help. (Check out the rhyme :D)

The bullet does not reach us; instead it hangs in mid-air! BECAUSE? Because….hahahaha… my friend Van has arrived at the spot in the nick of time, and put a transparent Life Cloak around us. Much like apna Invisibility Cloak.

The scene now moves outside the limo. We are in a dark, desolate alley. Setting: three gunmen, two victims, one superhero saviour. Mysteriously, he is now accompanied by a male and female accomplice. Their faces, I cannot see.

Anand is safe, thanks to Van's Life Cloak. Dekha! Dekha Anand! But somehow its powers are beginning to drain out on me. Gangster pulls out his gun again. I fall to the ground at the sight of the weapon. Before I can be shot, two hands lunge at my legs from under the limousine and slither me in. (I presume it’s the other guy with Van). Seconds later I am pushed out; however, this time I have a gigantic bulge below my breasts. Yes, yes, I have been knocked up.

Gangster drops his gun and says, “She’s pregnant! Now we can’t kill her!” Hmm…smart rapist.

Bad boys and good boys make a deal. They won’t kill us; instead, they want some stuff to sniff. And as luck would have it, I was carrying cocaine!!!

“You are a pregnant woman, cops won’t suspect you. You HAVE to deliver it to our office.” 

Damn.

So I go to the gangsters’ office escorted by Van’s chicklet (face still not visible). I reach the office and spot Poulomi’s roommate. She is a journalist this time around, and I have to be very discreet while dealing in drugs. She is excited to see me. I am not. Quietly I slip the packet of cocaine into one of the many gangsters’ hands.

The packet of cocaine looks like a green, four rupees railway coupon.

P.S: After a very long time I had taken a local train that day. Rest of the dream, I cannot explain.

A strange emptiness fills up,
Touches the brim of a heart that was
And then, finally, it sinks in;
You are an Ice Maiden

Baad muddat ke phir mili ho tum
Baad muddat ke phir mili ho tum
Ye jo thodi si bhar gayi ho tum
Ye vazan tum pe acha lagta hai...

Gulzar

Resolutions...

1. Thou shall not be a glutton.

2. Thou shall get a tattoo.

3. And a guy.

4. Thou shall read 8 good books.

5. Thou shall travel.

6. Thou shall learn to save.

7. Thou shall not procrastinate.

8. Thou shall act less loony and more ladylike

9. Thou shall not be a control freak.

10. Thou shall live it up. Like always :)