(bdnews24.com, January 28, 2011)
The bomb that went off in an airport in Moscow killed 35 people. By any reckoning, it is not a huge figure considering the fact that casualties of terrorism have been numbered in thousands in the not too distant past, but it is, obviously, painful and devastating for both the victims and the world. Just think of it — people are wandering about the airport, Moscow’s largest and busiest, minding their own business, waiting for luggage, picking up friends and family, spending time before a flight when, suddenly, there is noise and fire and flying metal and then, as a horrific silence palls for a few seconds, bodies and blood and cries of agony. Is that a way for a life to end?
At least 35 lives did end that way. And 180 or so others could be in danger, injured, critically or less so, in hospital or back in their own homes. The bomber, who knows; it is theorised that it was a woman, all dressed in black, carrying a case and kneeling alongside it when the bomb exploded. The cause? Nothing yet from news reporters. The blame? Being passed around, as is always the way it goes when something like this happens. Will the perpetrators of the villainy be caught and punished? We all assume so, trusting the law and the governments concerned to do the right thing.
It has always been a complete mystery to me what terrorists hope to achieve by killing the innocent. If you have a reason for protest, I always thought, you try and express that to those who can help find some kind of solution. You speak to the people who can solve the problems you have, you look for ways around the issue, you could even kill, destroy or otherwise violently address the matter and sort it out. Why get people who have no real involvement in the problem hurt? Why involve them at all? It is indeed a very naïve way of looking at a world that is not a place where you can find easy solutions to simple problems, but it does seem a neater and more practically logical way of dealing with a difficult situation. I may live with my little delusions on this one, but there is no way I can be convinced that destroying the lives of so many who have absolutely no connection to an issue can be seen, even potentially, as a way of sorting out that same issue. And by killing, hurting, maiming, does the issue get solved or does it just get worse?
Some years ago, my own city of Mumbai, India, was shocked by a series of bomb blasts. The explosives were set near popular and crowded locations – the Stock Exchange, an airline office, the passport office, petrol pumps – and aimed to cause maximum damage. The ‘bad guys’, so to speak, were trying to destroy a spirit rather than a people, but in spite of the results of the blasts, which show in certain parts of the city even today, Mumbai went about its business without faltering for too long. It is, after all, the commercial centre of the nation, the place where money is the focus; and nothing can stop life from rolling on, especially where business is concerned. While it is known who the real villains of the piece are, the case is still in court. Justice takes a while to be served but it will be served…eventually.
Some years later, bombs went off, one after the other, in the local trains, killing and injuring more innocent people, commuters wanting nothing more than to go home after a long day at work. Again, the wheels of justice are grinding along, albeit slowly. A couple of years ago, horrifyingly and unforgettably for all of us who know this city and its landmarks well, a group of terrorists went beyond the anonymity of bombs placed in suitcases or hidden in cars and attacked people in two local luxury hotels, in the train station, in a hospital, on the street. Many were hurt, scores traumatised, 164 dead. The only one of them who is still alive is in jail; his trial is in progress.
There have been more, in my city and elsewhere, too many to list here. There will be others, because that is the way this world and the discontented work. And more editorials will be written. But will the violence stop? More relevantly, will the violence actually work – will those who believe in it, use it, perpetrate it, propagate it, win for their causes? Or will they, like their unnamed and uncounted, uncountable victims, die and never know what their death has achieved? In this unbalanced, insane and unreasonable existence, that tiny spark of sanity and courage that demands an end to killing and pain has to be fostered, nurtured and, always and for ever, kept growing.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Private moments
(bdnews24.com, January 21)
There has been a great deal said and written about the whole notion of privacy today, especially with invasive – and potentially intrusive – technology like the Internet and mobile telephony. Everyone who wants to stay networked and connected is signed up on some chat program or the other, apart from Twitter, Facebook and who knows what else that could be defunct by the time this piece is read by more than myself and the editor. Texting is easier than email and snail mail rarely finds mention anywhere. Potential employers find ideal employees on social networking sites and everything from salaries to terms of employment can be discussed not in person, but via email, chat or a message sent to an online box. As a result, the most intimate details are registered in some corner of cyberspace and can be read by those with the technical know-how to do so. Which is in a way rather scary. After all, people can find out all sorts of stuff about you, what you do, how old you are, how much money you have, who your parents were, where you live, what your blood group is…is nothing sacred any more? And that is the point of this piece. Nothing is really secret any more, very little is not up for public consumption, only a few facts are kept inviolate. What price privacy then?
Every celebrity I know of has said something about privacy – be it a Kareena Kapoor or a Shahrukh Khan, a Catherine Zeta-Jones or a Robert de Niro. They all know, and they all acknowledge, at some point, that the sheer circumstance of their being celebrities means that they need to give up a substantial portion of themselves to their adoring fans, the curious and ever-nosy public. People want to know, to paraphrase a popular American pulp publication, and it is part of any star’s – in any field – image to make sure that what needs to be known and what could be known, is. That is just how that breed called ‘PR managers’, or publicity agents, came into being. They feed the press with stories that are just steamy and sparky enough, with a tiny bit of truth attached to give it all some credence, and so keep their clients in the limelight even if, in actual fact, they are doing no work that merits any kind of attention. It is one way of getting seen and heard, which is so important in the world that they inhabit, both to be noticed and to be noticeable.
But my problem with this whole notion of privacy is somewhat different. The concept of ‘private space’ seems to be unknown and, if known, not understood by many, especially in the Indian (often sub-continental) context. There will always be someone peering over your shoulder, metaphorically speaking, anywhere in the world and we all need to get used to it, because it is now a fact of everyday life. But here, in reality, there tends to be someone peering over your shoulder, literally speaking, when you are trying to get something done, whatever that something may be. If I am in the checkout line at the store, there will be some lady peering into my basket, wondering what I am buying. At the post office, the chap in the line just behind me will need to know just what I am sending, to whom and at what cost, for what reason I am never sure, since we are not acquainted and are never likely to be. And he would have edged up closer to me than I would like or I would do to anyone else, even someone I knew well and could be so intimate with. The young people around me at the mall would perforce include me in their happy, laughing, noisy group as we walk through the security check and electronic detection gateway, because they would be pressed so closely against me as we pass through that narrow passage, stop briefly at the curtained body-check and emerge into a brightly lit and vibrant shopping arcade. None of them would know – perhaps not even realise – that they were in such close physical contact with me, because none of them would even start to think that the proximity was in anyway intrusive.
That, perhaps, is my problem. In our culturally much warmer and more physical world, this kind of contact, this kind of curiosity is not unusual. To object to it is more strange, since it shows that you – as objector – is not from the same realm at all. It shows that you are a colder person, someone once explained to me, one who does not see the curiosity and intimacy as concern, involvement, interest. It shows that you are from a time and space where you prefer isolation, cannot ‘mix’ with other people easily and will not, therefore, make friends and relationships without difficulty. The last time this enforced contact from a stranger happened to me, I cringed away and then finally voiced my displeasure in the mildest terms; I was glared at and asked, “What’s your problem? If you want privacy, go home!”
That is indeed my ‘problem’ – I want my privacy, my private space. Is that really a problem?
There has been a great deal said and written about the whole notion of privacy today, especially with invasive – and potentially intrusive – technology like the Internet and mobile telephony. Everyone who wants to stay networked and connected is signed up on some chat program or the other, apart from Twitter, Facebook and who knows what else that could be defunct by the time this piece is read by more than myself and the editor. Texting is easier than email and snail mail rarely finds mention anywhere. Potential employers find ideal employees on social networking sites and everything from salaries to terms of employment can be discussed not in person, but via email, chat or a message sent to an online box. As a result, the most intimate details are registered in some corner of cyberspace and can be read by those with the technical know-how to do so. Which is in a way rather scary. After all, people can find out all sorts of stuff about you, what you do, how old you are, how much money you have, who your parents were, where you live, what your blood group is…is nothing sacred any more? And that is the point of this piece. Nothing is really secret any more, very little is not up for public consumption, only a few facts are kept inviolate. What price privacy then?
Every celebrity I know of has said something about privacy – be it a Kareena Kapoor or a Shahrukh Khan, a Catherine Zeta-Jones or a Robert de Niro. They all know, and they all acknowledge, at some point, that the sheer circumstance of their being celebrities means that they need to give up a substantial portion of themselves to their adoring fans, the curious and ever-nosy public. People want to know, to paraphrase a popular American pulp publication, and it is part of any star’s – in any field – image to make sure that what needs to be known and what could be known, is. That is just how that breed called ‘PR managers’, or publicity agents, came into being. They feed the press with stories that are just steamy and sparky enough, with a tiny bit of truth attached to give it all some credence, and so keep their clients in the limelight even if, in actual fact, they are doing no work that merits any kind of attention. It is one way of getting seen and heard, which is so important in the world that they inhabit, both to be noticed and to be noticeable.
But my problem with this whole notion of privacy is somewhat different. The concept of ‘private space’ seems to be unknown and, if known, not understood by many, especially in the Indian (often sub-continental) context. There will always be someone peering over your shoulder, metaphorically speaking, anywhere in the world and we all need to get used to it, because it is now a fact of everyday life. But here, in reality, there tends to be someone peering over your shoulder, literally speaking, when you are trying to get something done, whatever that something may be. If I am in the checkout line at the store, there will be some lady peering into my basket, wondering what I am buying. At the post office, the chap in the line just behind me will need to know just what I am sending, to whom and at what cost, for what reason I am never sure, since we are not acquainted and are never likely to be. And he would have edged up closer to me than I would like or I would do to anyone else, even someone I knew well and could be so intimate with. The young people around me at the mall would perforce include me in their happy, laughing, noisy group as we walk through the security check and electronic detection gateway, because they would be pressed so closely against me as we pass through that narrow passage, stop briefly at the curtained body-check and emerge into a brightly lit and vibrant shopping arcade. None of them would know – perhaps not even realise – that they were in such close physical contact with me, because none of them would even start to think that the proximity was in anyway intrusive.
That, perhaps, is my problem. In our culturally much warmer and more physical world, this kind of contact, this kind of curiosity is not unusual. To object to it is more strange, since it shows that you – as objector – is not from the same realm at all. It shows that you are a colder person, someone once explained to me, one who does not see the curiosity and intimacy as concern, involvement, interest. It shows that you are from a time and space where you prefer isolation, cannot ‘mix’ with other people easily and will not, therefore, make friends and relationships without difficulty. The last time this enforced contact from a stranger happened to me, I cringed away and then finally voiced my displeasure in the mildest terms; I was glared at and asked, “What’s your problem? If you want privacy, go home!”
That is indeed my ‘problem’ – I want my privacy, my private space. Is that really a problem?
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Raghu Rai - interview
(Hindu Sunday Magazine, December 2010)
“A creative photographer is one who either captures mystery or reveals things, everything else is useless,” said Raghu Rai when he was asked for qualities a good photographer should have. In his latest compilation in Portraits – The Indians published by Penguin, Rai has captured that same mystery, revealed those same secrets, discovered the power of personality as embodied in a sideways glance, a soft smile, a knife-sharp jawline. The book is a record of imagery, of history captured through a camera lens, not just by Rai himself, but by a group of distinguished photographers and some whose names have never been known. It is divided into two sections – the first a selection of pictures by 19th and early 20th century photographers in India of the ilk of Raja Deen Dayal, Bourne and Shepherd and Johnston and Hoffman and the second, Rai’s own work from over 40 years of exploring the world of the still camera. These portraits tell a story of empathy, of creativity, of a time and place that seems almost otherworldly today, the pomp and splendor of royalty, the grandeur of ancient palaces, the gentle cadence of a language spoken with the eyes rather than the tongue.
Rai also advised non-professional photographers to “begin clicking portraits as it teaches them to connect with emotions better than juggling between doing overambitious pictures”. He added that “If your mind is not connected to what you are shooting, you are not a good photographer.” From the collection he has presented in this new book, not only is the mind of the photographer connected to the subjects’, but that emotional bond is lifted off the static page and into the mind and soul of the reader, the person who turns page after page and is absorbed into the lives of the faces he or she may look at. Putting them all together in one volume was a job that has taken many years and a great deal of thought and, more, introspection, Rai says. There were “many institutions organizations and people who collect old photos – such as the British Library, which has treasures from the countries that the Raj ruled, the Alkazi collection, as well as a number of others - there have been exhibitions and books on these too.”
But it has become a case of almost overkill for him, since “With the many books available, I was getting bored – creativity is the first criterion for me, after all, and if the image is old and creative it has strength, a special power. Because I was bored with all that I had been seeing all these years, I decided to get into collecting pictures myself.” It started with Rai “buying pictures wherever and whenever I could. I would travel and look for pictures everywhere I went. Gradually I discovered that I had collected so much material and, in today’s digital technology age, when you scan everything, new things start taking shape.” What did take shape was a new sense of excitement, a new exploration of the world of faces, old and new, with added value from Rai’s own work that had also been scanned. “While looking at my own old portraits, a friend sitting with me said that I had my own style and collection, and that I should do my own book.” The spark was lit, the fire started. Rai “started looking at old works and some of my own and I discovered that they were coming along very well. I sent the creative director of the British Library in London a first draft – that was about two-and-a-half years ago. He had the knowledge to judge and I wanted to know what he thought of it. His first response was that it looked great, but he said that the first section needed more work.” Editing, re-editing and yet more revision was called for, until finally Rai decided that it worked. “This is the sixth draft - he has not even seen it yet! When the editors at Penguin saw it, “Bina Sareen, who looks at every image carefully and understands it, was very encouraging.” And the concept of the book became reality.
But the process was not as easy as clumping together images and adding some text as binder. Rai explains, “When a photo is 150 years old, it does not mean that it becomes of great archival value, unless the subject matter or the aspect of life or the portraits that the photographers have done is powerful. By sheer virtue of age, it does not mean every image is valuable for me.” But the cachet of antiquity, however recent, is invaluable. “In the old days, it was old cameras, old film, slow film, a slow process, so you needed time and a lot of patience to take one picture. You to almost rivet people to their chairs, since the exposure was longer, the camera was open to the person for a more extended period. With this technical limitation – or perhaps because of it - their eyes showed so many emotions coming and going. In the old portraits, the eyes were very strong and stunning.” This was one of the primary aspects of the portraits that made most sense to Rai. And there was more, in the sheer innovativeness shown by those early photographers. For instance, “The first double spread (in the book) of the different princes of India taken in 1910, is actually a collage of individual portraits” stuck together against a common background of a majestic palace. Another favourite he cites is the portrait of an entire Parsi community during a Navjyot ceremony; it shows such patience and control, with each individual carefully positioned and dressed in traditional clothing. “The original was tiny, just two inches by four inches; we have restored it and blown it up to two pages. My idea is to have a big exhibition of these photos – we could make a six-foot long print and right next to it we could place the original to show off the scale and quality of the work done. Each one of these shows off the imagination and creative ideas that the photographer of that time had.”
Some of the portraits have interesting effects – for instance, lithographs combined with painting and photography, or miniature paintings with photographic faces. One of Rai’s favourites is the triple-set of Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi – “as a barrister, as a satyagrahi, then as the Mahatma, a transformation into three different personalities.” It is with this amazing creative variety and imaginative flair that the project was conceived. “The book was planned in that direction, making a definitive statement about portraiture and the habits of the times. I did it this way because I was tired of seeing other pictures and books, with the same old treatment. I felt a sense of responsibility to do something new and creative, because that is what I am: a creative photographer.”
Rai’s own work includes some images of strangers, ordinary people living ordinary lives, but their eyes telling stories of extraordinary souls. “My house was being painted and every day some new people would turn up – simple, wonderful human beings. The experience of watching them was so overpowering, a powerful feeling. So I made them pose and I took the pictures.” And then there are the more famous images, or Indira Gandhi, of Satyajit Ray, of MS Subbulakshmi. Rai says that “The politicians are part of my journalistic work. I am especially connected to the great masters of Indian classical music, with their stylized and special expressions; look at the great Bismillah Khan – he is looking up and still inwards, his head almost like a monument! He seems to be looking into himself with a smile…music transforms him into someone extraordinary.” During a shoot of Ghare Bhaire, Rai saw Satyajit Ray sitting by himself on a bed, re-creating the sequence he is going to shoot. “The lighting looked very dramatic. I called to him and he turned to me and the picture happened. And then there is the image of Alkazi at Arles, watching a photo show – I asked him to turn around and he made some very funny remarks about me; he was a very funny guy!”
Call it a career or a matter of thoroughly enjoying work. Raghu Rai knows just how to do it. “I had lots of fun with these situations,” he remembers.
“A creative photographer is one who either captures mystery or reveals things, everything else is useless,” said Raghu Rai when he was asked for qualities a good photographer should have. In his latest compilation in Portraits – The Indians published by Penguin, Rai has captured that same mystery, revealed those same secrets, discovered the power of personality as embodied in a sideways glance, a soft smile, a knife-sharp jawline. The book is a record of imagery, of history captured through a camera lens, not just by Rai himself, but by a group of distinguished photographers and some whose names have never been known. It is divided into two sections – the first a selection of pictures by 19th and early 20th century photographers in India of the ilk of Raja Deen Dayal, Bourne and Shepherd and Johnston and Hoffman and the second, Rai’s own work from over 40 years of exploring the world of the still camera. These portraits tell a story of empathy, of creativity, of a time and place that seems almost otherworldly today, the pomp and splendor of royalty, the grandeur of ancient palaces, the gentle cadence of a language spoken with the eyes rather than the tongue.
Rai also advised non-professional photographers to “begin clicking portraits as it teaches them to connect with emotions better than juggling between doing overambitious pictures”. He added that “If your mind is not connected to what you are shooting, you are not a good photographer.” From the collection he has presented in this new book, not only is the mind of the photographer connected to the subjects’, but that emotional bond is lifted off the static page and into the mind and soul of the reader, the person who turns page after page and is absorbed into the lives of the faces he or she may look at. Putting them all together in one volume was a job that has taken many years and a great deal of thought and, more, introspection, Rai says. There were “many institutions organizations and people who collect old photos – such as the British Library, which has treasures from the countries that the Raj ruled, the Alkazi collection, as well as a number of others - there have been exhibitions and books on these too.”
But it has become a case of almost overkill for him, since “With the many books available, I was getting bored – creativity is the first criterion for me, after all, and if the image is old and creative it has strength, a special power. Because I was bored with all that I had been seeing all these years, I decided to get into collecting pictures myself.” It started with Rai “buying pictures wherever and whenever I could. I would travel and look for pictures everywhere I went. Gradually I discovered that I had collected so much material and, in today’s digital technology age, when you scan everything, new things start taking shape.” What did take shape was a new sense of excitement, a new exploration of the world of faces, old and new, with added value from Rai’s own work that had also been scanned. “While looking at my own old portraits, a friend sitting with me said that I had my own style and collection, and that I should do my own book.” The spark was lit, the fire started. Rai “started looking at old works and some of my own and I discovered that they were coming along very well. I sent the creative director of the British Library in London a first draft – that was about two-and-a-half years ago. He had the knowledge to judge and I wanted to know what he thought of it. His first response was that it looked great, but he said that the first section needed more work.” Editing, re-editing and yet more revision was called for, until finally Rai decided that it worked. “This is the sixth draft - he has not even seen it yet! When the editors at Penguin saw it, “Bina Sareen, who looks at every image carefully and understands it, was very encouraging.” And the concept of the book became reality.
But the process was not as easy as clumping together images and adding some text as binder. Rai explains, “When a photo is 150 years old, it does not mean that it becomes of great archival value, unless the subject matter or the aspect of life or the portraits that the photographers have done is powerful. By sheer virtue of age, it does not mean every image is valuable for me.” But the cachet of antiquity, however recent, is invaluable. “In the old days, it was old cameras, old film, slow film, a slow process, so you needed time and a lot of patience to take one picture. You to almost rivet people to their chairs, since the exposure was longer, the camera was open to the person for a more extended period. With this technical limitation – or perhaps because of it - their eyes showed so many emotions coming and going. In the old portraits, the eyes were very strong and stunning.” This was one of the primary aspects of the portraits that made most sense to Rai. And there was more, in the sheer innovativeness shown by those early photographers. For instance, “The first double spread (in the book) of the different princes of India taken in 1910, is actually a collage of individual portraits” stuck together against a common background of a majestic palace. Another favourite he cites is the portrait of an entire Parsi community during a Navjyot ceremony; it shows such patience and control, with each individual carefully positioned and dressed in traditional clothing. “The original was tiny, just two inches by four inches; we have restored it and blown it up to two pages. My idea is to have a big exhibition of these photos – we could make a six-foot long print and right next to it we could place the original to show off the scale and quality of the work done. Each one of these shows off the imagination and creative ideas that the photographer of that time had.”
Some of the portraits have interesting effects – for instance, lithographs combined with painting and photography, or miniature paintings with photographic faces. One of Rai’s favourites is the triple-set of Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi – “as a barrister, as a satyagrahi, then as the Mahatma, a transformation into three different personalities.” It is with this amazing creative variety and imaginative flair that the project was conceived. “The book was planned in that direction, making a definitive statement about portraiture and the habits of the times. I did it this way because I was tired of seeing other pictures and books, with the same old treatment. I felt a sense of responsibility to do something new and creative, because that is what I am: a creative photographer.”
Rai’s own work includes some images of strangers, ordinary people living ordinary lives, but their eyes telling stories of extraordinary souls. “My house was being painted and every day some new people would turn up – simple, wonderful human beings. The experience of watching them was so overpowering, a powerful feeling. So I made them pose and I took the pictures.” And then there are the more famous images, or Indira Gandhi, of Satyajit Ray, of MS Subbulakshmi. Rai says that “The politicians are part of my journalistic work. I am especially connected to the great masters of Indian classical music, with their stylized and special expressions; look at the great Bismillah Khan – he is looking up and still inwards, his head almost like a monument! He seems to be looking into himself with a smile…music transforms him into someone extraordinary.” During a shoot of Ghare Bhaire, Rai saw Satyajit Ray sitting by himself on a bed, re-creating the sequence he is going to shoot. “The lighting looked very dramatic. I called to him and he turned to me and the picture happened. And then there is the image of Alkazi at Arles, watching a photo show – I asked him to turn around and he made some very funny remarks about me; he was a very funny guy!”
Call it a career or a matter of thoroughly enjoying work. Raghu Rai knows just how to do it. “I had lots of fun with these situations,” he remembers.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Book review
(This was published in the Bengal Post. I do not know when, since the person in charge still has not sent me a clipping!)
BATTLE FOR BITTORA
Anuja Chauhan
Harper Collins
Many years ago, during World War II, irony and humour were not just a route to stress relief, but also trenchant commentary on the state of world affairs, politics and the world in general. In Britain, cartoonists and jokesmiths took regular and pointed swipes at politicians, political systems, rationing, shortages, soldiers, the trenches…almost anything that could possibly be mentioned, all with a spin that made it tolerable to face and reflected public sentiment. Humour of that genre – funny ha-ha and funny peculiar, famously compiled under that name in the UK in slim hardbound collectible volumes – rarely finds unrestricted and accepting audiences in this country, even though Indian politics is the stuff of any side-splitting, tongue-in-cheek or totally insane humour. It is the embodiment of a kind of laughter that comes from biting satire mixed with Bollywood-ishtyle successful slapstick of the genre of Andaz Apna Apna. This could be the time for it to all happen.
Ideally suited, in fact, to production as a Hindi movie – perhaps made by the likes of the quietly rude Gurinder Chaddha or a completely OTT David Dhawan – is Battle for Bittora, the new Anuja Chauhan book that comes after The Zoya Factor, already snapped up by Shahrukh Khan’s production house for the big screen. Politics is the hero, the theme, the villain, the supporting cast, with Sarojini (named after the lady, not the Delhi market) Pande the main actor in the chaotic drama. She has to leave her city job in an ad-agency as creator of animated kitaanus to deal with her grandmother Pushpa, aka Amma, the power that energises Pavit Pradesh, the state that Jini needs to win votes to rule. She has a battalion of advisors, from the larcenous, vodka-swilling Gudia aunty to the sneaky Nauzer Nulwallah, the underhanded Dugguji, floral Bunty, Our Pappu, Hasina behenji, the doughty Jugatram, the villainous Uncle Tawny and various others. And then there is Zain Altaf Khan, erstwhile royal scion of Bittora, who makes her blood boil and her hormones dance…
Take a dash of melodrama, a helping of nepotism, a soupcon of truth, plenty of lies, lots of cash floating around and some rural practices (honour killing, for one) and stir it all about with Dabanng-style dialect and you have a glorious Indian election. With lots of thinly veiled criss-crossing plot lines, characters that could jump straight off the ‘breaking news’ headlines and more insider information than the Official Secrets Act could consider restricting, the book is a fun read, often giggle-worthy, albeit vaguely repetitive and occasionally irritating. As a reader, you want to get to the end faster than it arrives, and tend to skip every now and then. But if you see your favourite Bollywood hero playing the role of Zain and your pet heroine as Jini in a total-timepass masala entertainer based on the story, you plug in and plough through. And you have to admit that Amma was right when, with her last breath, she says, “Don’t let that fat Katrina play us in the movie”!
BATTLE FOR BITTORA
Anuja Chauhan
Harper Collins
Many years ago, during World War II, irony and humour were not just a route to stress relief, but also trenchant commentary on the state of world affairs, politics and the world in general. In Britain, cartoonists and jokesmiths took regular and pointed swipes at politicians, political systems, rationing, shortages, soldiers, the trenches…almost anything that could possibly be mentioned, all with a spin that made it tolerable to face and reflected public sentiment. Humour of that genre – funny ha-ha and funny peculiar, famously compiled under that name in the UK in slim hardbound collectible volumes – rarely finds unrestricted and accepting audiences in this country, even though Indian politics is the stuff of any side-splitting, tongue-in-cheek or totally insane humour. It is the embodiment of a kind of laughter that comes from biting satire mixed with Bollywood-ishtyle successful slapstick of the genre of Andaz Apna Apna. This could be the time for it to all happen.
Ideally suited, in fact, to production as a Hindi movie – perhaps made by the likes of the quietly rude Gurinder Chaddha or a completely OTT David Dhawan – is Battle for Bittora, the new Anuja Chauhan book that comes after The Zoya Factor, already snapped up by Shahrukh Khan’s production house for the big screen. Politics is the hero, the theme, the villain, the supporting cast, with Sarojini (named after the lady, not the Delhi market) Pande the main actor in the chaotic drama. She has to leave her city job in an ad-agency as creator of animated kitaanus to deal with her grandmother Pushpa, aka Amma, the power that energises Pavit Pradesh, the state that Jini needs to win votes to rule. She has a battalion of advisors, from the larcenous, vodka-swilling Gudia aunty to the sneaky Nauzer Nulwallah, the underhanded Dugguji, floral Bunty, Our Pappu, Hasina behenji, the doughty Jugatram, the villainous Uncle Tawny and various others. And then there is Zain Altaf Khan, erstwhile royal scion of Bittora, who makes her blood boil and her hormones dance…
Take a dash of melodrama, a helping of nepotism, a soupcon of truth, plenty of lies, lots of cash floating around and some rural practices (honour killing, for one) and stir it all about with Dabanng-style dialect and you have a glorious Indian election. With lots of thinly veiled criss-crossing plot lines, characters that could jump straight off the ‘breaking news’ headlines and more insider information than the Official Secrets Act could consider restricting, the book is a fun read, often giggle-worthy, albeit vaguely repetitive and occasionally irritating. As a reader, you want to get to the end faster than it arrives, and tend to skip every now and then. But if you see your favourite Bollywood hero playing the role of Zain and your pet heroine as Jini in a total-timepass masala entertainer based on the story, you plug in and plough through. And you have to admit that Amma was right when, with her last breath, she says, “Don’t let that fat Katrina play us in the movie”!
Just a little respect
(bdnews24.com, January 14, 2011)
It happens more than you would expect. Every now and then the newspapers carry a report on how a ‘domestic worker’ – as they oh-so-politically correctly put it – has been abused by her or his employers. For the most part, these unfortunate individuals tend to be young, distressingly so, and either far from home and family or else abandoned by those who should have been of the most support. They are taken into a household with promises of being provided an education or a means of helping their families survive, but few find any kind of satisfaction in that kind of job well done – most have to live as almost-slaves, deprived of the most basic of child right, like education, food, shelter and stimulation. Many need to deal with the nightmare of physical, emotional and often sexual abuse, accompanied by pain, trauma, horror and that endless feeling of degradation and humiliation. And if questioned, the employees either run away, deny any wrongdoing or insist that the child is theirs, body, soul and mind, to with as they wish.
But is that really possible? Can anyone own anyone else, especially an innocent human who is unaware of what he or she is legally, morally and rightfully entitled to? Does the young person have no say in the matter? Do dreams, hopes, ambitions and beliefs – especially in the integral ‘goodness’ of human nature count for nothing in a world where, essentially, everything can be bought and sold? It seems not. Consider simple instances of how you, me and others like us (to give it a strange kind of classification that goes beyond socio-economic class and stratum) behave with the people that we employ to help us live our admittedly privileged lives. We tend to need a staff to cope with maddening schedules, commutes, comfort, and all else that goes with the trappings that make us busy, hardworking and eventually successful people in today’s highly professional and near-automated world. There is a maid or two, a driver, a laundryman, a vegetable vendor, a grocer, a gardener, a babysitter, a stylist, a tailor, a handyman…the list can be never-ending, depending on the degree of dependence we may have on support outside ourselves and our families. Many of these may be underage, taken on for their low price and easy availability, sent to big cities to find work by their own families in order to swell coffers back home, to find their own way in a world that is hard and poor, to better themselves perhaps, or to find escape from the rigors of a life not wanted and not wanting them. We look for them, find them, interview them, haggle over how much to pay them, hire them and then? Do we really look after them?
‘Look after’ does not always mean treating the employee as your own child – since most of them are mere children. It is about much more – ensuring that their rights as human beings, as individuals, as children are respected. Ensuring that they as those human beings, individuals and children have access to food, shelter and clothing, to opportunities for betterment and advancement, education, healthcare and a viable future. And ensuring that they are safe, live without fear, can face the world as strong and balanced people. How many of us – myself included – manage to do that?
I find it shocking in some instances that my own friends, people I expect to be aware and with active consciences, since they are as highly educated and informed and capable as I am, if not more so, do not seem to believe that the domestic staff they employ are deserving of respect. The same respect that those who employ them enjoy. They may be less advantaged from the social or economic standpoint, but they are no less deserving or entitled. A ‘please’ or a ‘thank you’, small marks of respect and humaneness, is always needed, however menial a task that the worker has been hired to perform. Speaking politely is just the start; there is always more – being aware of the need for a break in routine, a need for warmth when the weather turns cold, a need for food when it comes time for a meal, a need for rest when a long day’s work is done. Most of all, a need for compassion, healing, caring, involvement, an assurance that they are not alone, not abandoned, not un-respected. How much effort does it take for a smile, a sharing of a snack, a consciousness of right over wrong?
It makes sense to me to see that my own maid is comfortable, is not unwell, is properly fed and clothed, is safe, is happy. A smile in her face brings a certain joy into my household for the hour or so that she is within it. And the sense of caring and involvement that she gets from me gives her and me the assurance that she will stay with me and give of her best as long as she is able. She laughs, talks, jokes, even yells at me when I do not give her what she wants – which is usually the right detergent to wash the marble tile of the floor, the perfect scrub for those non-stick pans, the right to bring me onions from the factory she works at even while onion prices shoot through the proverbial roof.
All that, to me, is worth so much more than having someone under my thumb, slave to my whims and fancies, someone who works for me rather than with me to keep my life ticking along smoothly.
It happens more than you would expect. Every now and then the newspapers carry a report on how a ‘domestic worker’ – as they oh-so-politically correctly put it – has been abused by her or his employers. For the most part, these unfortunate individuals tend to be young, distressingly so, and either far from home and family or else abandoned by those who should have been of the most support. They are taken into a household with promises of being provided an education or a means of helping their families survive, but few find any kind of satisfaction in that kind of job well done – most have to live as almost-slaves, deprived of the most basic of child right, like education, food, shelter and stimulation. Many need to deal with the nightmare of physical, emotional and often sexual abuse, accompanied by pain, trauma, horror and that endless feeling of degradation and humiliation. And if questioned, the employees either run away, deny any wrongdoing or insist that the child is theirs, body, soul and mind, to with as they wish.
But is that really possible? Can anyone own anyone else, especially an innocent human who is unaware of what he or she is legally, morally and rightfully entitled to? Does the young person have no say in the matter? Do dreams, hopes, ambitions and beliefs – especially in the integral ‘goodness’ of human nature count for nothing in a world where, essentially, everything can be bought and sold? It seems not. Consider simple instances of how you, me and others like us (to give it a strange kind of classification that goes beyond socio-economic class and stratum) behave with the people that we employ to help us live our admittedly privileged lives. We tend to need a staff to cope with maddening schedules, commutes, comfort, and all else that goes with the trappings that make us busy, hardworking and eventually successful people in today’s highly professional and near-automated world. There is a maid or two, a driver, a laundryman, a vegetable vendor, a grocer, a gardener, a babysitter, a stylist, a tailor, a handyman…the list can be never-ending, depending on the degree of dependence we may have on support outside ourselves and our families. Many of these may be underage, taken on for their low price and easy availability, sent to big cities to find work by their own families in order to swell coffers back home, to find their own way in a world that is hard and poor, to better themselves perhaps, or to find escape from the rigors of a life not wanted and not wanting them. We look for them, find them, interview them, haggle over how much to pay them, hire them and then? Do we really look after them?
‘Look after’ does not always mean treating the employee as your own child – since most of them are mere children. It is about much more – ensuring that their rights as human beings, as individuals, as children are respected. Ensuring that they as those human beings, individuals and children have access to food, shelter and clothing, to opportunities for betterment and advancement, education, healthcare and a viable future. And ensuring that they are safe, live without fear, can face the world as strong and balanced people. How many of us – myself included – manage to do that?
I find it shocking in some instances that my own friends, people I expect to be aware and with active consciences, since they are as highly educated and informed and capable as I am, if not more so, do not seem to believe that the domestic staff they employ are deserving of respect. The same respect that those who employ them enjoy. They may be less advantaged from the social or economic standpoint, but they are no less deserving or entitled. A ‘please’ or a ‘thank you’, small marks of respect and humaneness, is always needed, however menial a task that the worker has been hired to perform. Speaking politely is just the start; there is always more – being aware of the need for a break in routine, a need for warmth when the weather turns cold, a need for food when it comes time for a meal, a need for rest when a long day’s work is done. Most of all, a need for compassion, healing, caring, involvement, an assurance that they are not alone, not abandoned, not un-respected. How much effort does it take for a smile, a sharing of a snack, a consciousness of right over wrong?
It makes sense to me to see that my own maid is comfortable, is not unwell, is properly fed and clothed, is safe, is happy. A smile in her face brings a certain joy into my household for the hour or so that she is within it. And the sense of caring and involvement that she gets from me gives her and me the assurance that she will stay with me and give of her best as long as she is able. She laughs, talks, jokes, even yells at me when I do not give her what she wants – which is usually the right detergent to wash the marble tile of the floor, the perfect scrub for those non-stick pans, the right to bring me onions from the factory she works at even while onion prices shoot through the proverbial roof.
All that, to me, is worth so much more than having someone under my thumb, slave to my whims and fancies, someone who works for me rather than with me to keep my life ticking along smoothly.
Screen playing
(bdnews24.com, January 7, 2011)
The film biz in India spans almost every language that is officially recognised in the country. But, where public perception is concerned, there is one overwhelming influence that is the colour of all things filmi: Bollywood. A word coined by some enterprising wordsmith or journalist many years ago, one disliked by superstar Amitabh Bachchan and many others, it still works well to describe a world that is about dreams and ambitions, successes and failures and great joy and even greater heartbreak. The age-old and astonishingly seductive showreel of a young man (women were less visible in the particular sequence) from the village coming to the big bad city that was (in those days) Bombay and serendipitously meeting a big-time producer/director and becoming the new Big Star illuminated by flashbulbs and starry eyes still brings people — young and surprisingly older too — to the City of Dreams, as Mumbai is called now, is still very much a valid, working clip. There are still hundreds who come to the megalopolis to become the next Salman Khan, the next Madhuri Dixit, the next celluloid sensation, the latest Yash Chopra or anyone else whose name may echo through the peninsula. And some of them do…as was seen in various films released over the past year.
Annum 2010 was not a time when big was better. A number of films that came from established and reputed production houses sat flat on their cans (sic!) while the box office rattled sadly to poor collections. Movies expected to go stratospheric in their success fizzled unexpectedly, shaking Bollywood and its fan following out of a state of cinematic complacency. Big-budget big-star big-prediction films like Kites (with Hrithik Roshan), Guzaarish (directed by Sanjay Leela Bhansali, with Aishwarya Rai Bachchan and Hrithik Roshan), Raavan (by Mani Ratnam), Veer (Salman Khan) and We Are Family (with Kajol) failed. And smaller, less touted productions from comparative unknowns, like Love Sex Aur Dhoka, Ishqiya, Tere Bin Laden, Peepli Live and Band Baaja Baaraat did startlingly good business, pushing all those involved with them into the spotlight.
The result of this shake-up could have been predicted, following all patterns of uncertainty and surprise: Bollywood decided that it was time to rethink formulae and strategies and try, once again, to figure out what worked, what could win and what would bring in the money. Unfortunately, as with anything filmi, that attempt to rewrite the formula and find a success guarantee will never be possible. After all, there were too many unpredictable wobbles that happened – Salman Khan, superstar of the mass audience, wrote a film called Veer that failed almost as it was released; that same Salman Khan rewrote audience perception with Dabangg and his act as a corrupt cop had cash registers ringing all the way to the bank and back. Farah Khan’s success with Main Hoon Na and the Om Shanti Om, both starring Shahrukh Khan, spurred her into declaring her independence from the star with Tees Maar Khan with Akshay Kumar playing the lead. It was panned by critics and audiences alike, with not even a steamy ‘item’ number by hot-stepper Katrina Kaif being able to revive its fortunes. Shahrukh underlined his track records by retaining and building on his fan base with no releases and not many appearances over the year, though his My Name Is Khan still brought in good business overseas.
Unusual stories and screenplays were perhaps the deciding factor in the success-failure game in 2010. First time directors hit it huge (Abhinav Kashyap being the best case in this point with Dabangg), small towns were centrestage (as in Prakash Jha’s Rajneeti) and comedy was central, especially if it was slapstick (see Golmaal 3). Thrillers did well too, from Once Upon A Time In Mumbai to the aforementioned Ishqiya. And, as total ‘paisa vasool’, or value for money, Rajnikanth’s Robot (more in the Tamil version) and, of course, Dabangg, with their clichéd dialogue, dramatic delivery and over-the-top action did the trick best of all for everyone, even the most carping critic. It was a time when big stars lost a lot of their starry sheen to the raw newcomer, the underdog, even the obvious non-starter. Consider the surprise hit of the year in Band Baaja Baaraat, where Ranveer Singh, who came out of nowhere to play a loud, crude, un-citified hero against the more experienced Anushka Sharma, won accolades from his critics, his audiences and, best of all, his more senior colleagues in filmbiz!
So what does Bollywood hold for the next year? Filmmaking now is all about polish, sophistication of technique and a much greater degree of depth than has been visible for some time. Production houses and financiers have realised that whatever the name attached to the film, however big and bright the star, whoever the director and the ‘item number’, what really does make the difference is the story itself. If there is a tale worth telling, Bollywood is finding that it needs to be told in order to tell a different story at the box office: that which is about finding – and keeping – the limelight.
The film biz in India spans almost every language that is officially recognised in the country. But, where public perception is concerned, there is one overwhelming influence that is the colour of all things filmi: Bollywood. A word coined by some enterprising wordsmith or journalist many years ago, one disliked by superstar Amitabh Bachchan and many others, it still works well to describe a world that is about dreams and ambitions, successes and failures and great joy and even greater heartbreak. The age-old and astonishingly seductive showreel of a young man (women were less visible in the particular sequence) from the village coming to the big bad city that was (in those days) Bombay and serendipitously meeting a big-time producer/director and becoming the new Big Star illuminated by flashbulbs and starry eyes still brings people — young and surprisingly older too — to the City of Dreams, as Mumbai is called now, is still very much a valid, working clip. There are still hundreds who come to the megalopolis to become the next Salman Khan, the next Madhuri Dixit, the next celluloid sensation, the latest Yash Chopra or anyone else whose name may echo through the peninsula. And some of them do…as was seen in various films released over the past year.
Annum 2010 was not a time when big was better. A number of films that came from established and reputed production houses sat flat on their cans (sic!) while the box office rattled sadly to poor collections. Movies expected to go stratospheric in their success fizzled unexpectedly, shaking Bollywood and its fan following out of a state of cinematic complacency. Big-budget big-star big-prediction films like Kites (with Hrithik Roshan), Guzaarish (directed by Sanjay Leela Bhansali, with Aishwarya Rai Bachchan and Hrithik Roshan), Raavan (by Mani Ratnam), Veer (Salman Khan) and We Are Family (with Kajol) failed. And smaller, less touted productions from comparative unknowns, like Love Sex Aur Dhoka, Ishqiya, Tere Bin Laden, Peepli Live and Band Baaja Baaraat did startlingly good business, pushing all those involved with them into the spotlight.
The result of this shake-up could have been predicted, following all patterns of uncertainty and surprise: Bollywood decided that it was time to rethink formulae and strategies and try, once again, to figure out what worked, what could win and what would bring in the money. Unfortunately, as with anything filmi, that attempt to rewrite the formula and find a success guarantee will never be possible. After all, there were too many unpredictable wobbles that happened – Salman Khan, superstar of the mass audience, wrote a film called Veer that failed almost as it was released; that same Salman Khan rewrote audience perception with Dabangg and his act as a corrupt cop had cash registers ringing all the way to the bank and back. Farah Khan’s success with Main Hoon Na and the Om Shanti Om, both starring Shahrukh Khan, spurred her into declaring her independence from the star with Tees Maar Khan with Akshay Kumar playing the lead. It was panned by critics and audiences alike, with not even a steamy ‘item’ number by hot-stepper Katrina Kaif being able to revive its fortunes. Shahrukh underlined his track records by retaining and building on his fan base with no releases and not many appearances over the year, though his My Name Is Khan still brought in good business overseas.
Unusual stories and screenplays were perhaps the deciding factor in the success-failure game in 2010. First time directors hit it huge (Abhinav Kashyap being the best case in this point with Dabangg), small towns were centrestage (as in Prakash Jha’s Rajneeti) and comedy was central, especially if it was slapstick (see Golmaal 3). Thrillers did well too, from Once Upon A Time In Mumbai to the aforementioned Ishqiya. And, as total ‘paisa vasool’, or value for money, Rajnikanth’s Robot (more in the Tamil version) and, of course, Dabangg, with their clichéd dialogue, dramatic delivery and over-the-top action did the trick best of all for everyone, even the most carping critic. It was a time when big stars lost a lot of their starry sheen to the raw newcomer, the underdog, even the obvious non-starter. Consider the surprise hit of the year in Band Baaja Baaraat, where Ranveer Singh, who came out of nowhere to play a loud, crude, un-citified hero against the more experienced Anushka Sharma, won accolades from his critics, his audiences and, best of all, his more senior colleagues in filmbiz!
So what does Bollywood hold for the next year? Filmmaking now is all about polish, sophistication of technique and a much greater degree of depth than has been visible for some time. Production houses and financiers have realised that whatever the name attached to the film, however big and bright the star, whoever the director and the ‘item number’, what really does make the difference is the story itself. If there is a tale worth telling, Bollywood is finding that it needs to be told in order to tell a different story at the box office: that which is about finding – and keeping – the limelight.
Eat it and weep
(bdnews24.com, December 30, 2010)
It’s all about knowing your onions. And in India, where life is full of flavour, colour, spice and all things nice, onions are getting to be one of those essential aspects of everyday life that are getting more rare by the day. The other day, walking through the small market I generally get my vegetables from, I found that there were only two stalls there selling onions, where normally there would be about seven. Also, the wares that they did have on show were sub-standard, small, stunted, battered, rejects rather than the prize bulbs I would have chosen. ‘Sorry, the supply is like this, we have no choice,’ the vendor said, even as I reeled backwards at the price he cited – about four times what I usually paid for quality I would never look at.
This has been the scenario in this part of the world for a few weeks now. The headline news has concentrated on onions, with slight tangents to look at the case of other vegetables like tomatoes, eggplant and yams. Garlic comes a close second to its cousin the onion where price and standard of supply is concerned, so expensive and so low-grade that few want to buy it, even if they could afford to. Carrots, tomatoes, cauliflower and other staples that every household has in the larder are being replaced by sprouted lentils and protein granules/chunks and other substitutes, just to balance budgets and dietary requirements. Restaurants are still providing onions with curries and kebabs, with sandwiches and burgers, with salads and suppers, but as a side or extra, to be specially ordered and separately paid for. And many menus are citing the non-availability of the stuff, replacing it with cabbage, with extra jalapenos and, in one hilarious case, with a plus order of ketchup.
All this sounds very odd and rather dire, considering that the shortage of one particular common vegetable has become the stuff of national debate. India, as the world’s second largest producer of onions after China, has been facing a crisis of sorts as onion production has gradually but inexorably fallen over the past four or so years. Farmers in my own home state, Maharashtra, are choosing to use their land to cultivate crops that are more income-generating for them and their families, with guaranteed harvests, guaranteed sales and guaranteed returns. Perhaps a major factor in this choice has been unpredictable rainfall – either there has been too much, as happened in 2010, or too little, as in 2009. All this has led to no control of the situation, arbitrary price allocation with no common minimum rates, hoarding, a black market and a kind of vegetable (especially onion) mafia, all of which could be part of a very bad Bollywood movie plot. The irony is that not too long ago, there was such a glut of onions in the market that the bulbs were being sold at a mere four rupees or less per kilogram!
But somewhere in this vegetable soap opera, the government plays a rather significant role. Many blame the Indian minister in charge of food and agriculture, Sharad Pawar, saying that he did not do much to analyse the situation in time and deal with it before it could escalate to the levels it is at now. He cannot possibly be faulted for unseasonable and unpredictable weather conditions, but he could have foreseen the issues of unstable supply after becoming aware of the damage to the standing crops and the harvest that was nowhere at normal, at-par levels. Crop damage at between 25 and 50 percent in the onion-producing regions of the country was noted in October 2010; the low supply to the markets was seen in the next month. In December, prices had shot past affordable limits. But the honourable minister, it is reported, was busy with more important issues – he was signing licenses for the export of the onions the Indian kitchen so urgently required! The stuff of so many savoury Indian culinary products was being sent off to Pakistan and parts beyond.
And the irony does not end with the price factor. The real crux of the whole drama has come now, when the onion market has been given a fillip in a process of crisis management rather than logical functioning of a balanced economy. All export permits are being reassessed, all onion exports have been stopped and all supply chains and storage facilities are being examined. Maddest of all in this madhouse of supply, demand and sales is the fact that we, India, are now getting onions from the country many still see as the ‘enemy’ or ‘rival’ – on and off the cricket field – Pakistan. Yes, those same onions that we sent them not so long ago. Of course, that too has a bit of a rider attached – the Pakistani onion is said to be of lower quality than the Indian one; but that could be just that same cross-border rivalry rearing its idiotic head.
But then, with onions, who really knows them!
It’s all about knowing your onions. And in India, where life is full of flavour, colour, spice and all things nice, onions are getting to be one of those essential aspects of everyday life that are getting more rare by the day. The other day, walking through the small market I generally get my vegetables from, I found that there were only two stalls there selling onions, where normally there would be about seven. Also, the wares that they did have on show were sub-standard, small, stunted, battered, rejects rather than the prize bulbs I would have chosen. ‘Sorry, the supply is like this, we have no choice,’ the vendor said, even as I reeled backwards at the price he cited – about four times what I usually paid for quality I would never look at.
This has been the scenario in this part of the world for a few weeks now. The headline news has concentrated on onions, with slight tangents to look at the case of other vegetables like tomatoes, eggplant and yams. Garlic comes a close second to its cousin the onion where price and standard of supply is concerned, so expensive and so low-grade that few want to buy it, even if they could afford to. Carrots, tomatoes, cauliflower and other staples that every household has in the larder are being replaced by sprouted lentils and protein granules/chunks and other substitutes, just to balance budgets and dietary requirements. Restaurants are still providing onions with curries and kebabs, with sandwiches and burgers, with salads and suppers, but as a side or extra, to be specially ordered and separately paid for. And many menus are citing the non-availability of the stuff, replacing it with cabbage, with extra jalapenos and, in one hilarious case, with a plus order of ketchup.
All this sounds very odd and rather dire, considering that the shortage of one particular common vegetable has become the stuff of national debate. India, as the world’s second largest producer of onions after China, has been facing a crisis of sorts as onion production has gradually but inexorably fallen over the past four or so years. Farmers in my own home state, Maharashtra, are choosing to use their land to cultivate crops that are more income-generating for them and their families, with guaranteed harvests, guaranteed sales and guaranteed returns. Perhaps a major factor in this choice has been unpredictable rainfall – either there has been too much, as happened in 2010, or too little, as in 2009. All this has led to no control of the situation, arbitrary price allocation with no common minimum rates, hoarding, a black market and a kind of vegetable (especially onion) mafia, all of which could be part of a very bad Bollywood movie plot. The irony is that not too long ago, there was such a glut of onions in the market that the bulbs were being sold at a mere four rupees or less per kilogram!
But somewhere in this vegetable soap opera, the government plays a rather significant role. Many blame the Indian minister in charge of food and agriculture, Sharad Pawar, saying that he did not do much to analyse the situation in time and deal with it before it could escalate to the levels it is at now. He cannot possibly be faulted for unseasonable and unpredictable weather conditions, but he could have foreseen the issues of unstable supply after becoming aware of the damage to the standing crops and the harvest that was nowhere at normal, at-par levels. Crop damage at between 25 and 50 percent in the onion-producing regions of the country was noted in October 2010; the low supply to the markets was seen in the next month. In December, prices had shot past affordable limits. But the honourable minister, it is reported, was busy with more important issues – he was signing licenses for the export of the onions the Indian kitchen so urgently required! The stuff of so many savoury Indian culinary products was being sent off to Pakistan and parts beyond.
And the irony does not end with the price factor. The real crux of the whole drama has come now, when the onion market has been given a fillip in a process of crisis management rather than logical functioning of a balanced economy. All export permits are being reassessed, all onion exports have been stopped and all supply chains and storage facilities are being examined. Maddest of all in this madhouse of supply, demand and sales is the fact that we, India, are now getting onions from the country many still see as the ‘enemy’ or ‘rival’ – on and off the cricket field – Pakistan. Yes, those same onions that we sent them not so long ago. Of course, that too has a bit of a rider attached – the Pakistani onion is said to be of lower quality than the Indian one; but that could be just that same cross-border rivalry rearing its idiotic head.
But then, with onions, who really knows them!
Nothing like new technology
(bdnews24.com, December 25, 2010)
Many years ago, the phenomenon called the Internet arrived in the subcontinent. It was not very extensive, Google did not exist as a public service and Wiki-anything was still unknown. Connections were slow, the bandwidth was limited and getting online was expensive, a privilege of corporate houses and the wealthy at home. That was the first coming.
To be a part of the wave had a certain special snob value that could not be matched by anything else that could be bought off the shelves, even the mobile phone, which was an equally prestigious acquisition at the time. The reach of this new concept was enormous, its potential unimaginable, its possibilities endless. Writers could be read all over the world without too much effort, information could be exchanged almost instantly and communication was no longer a case of missed phone calls and waiting for the postman to deliver the mail.
In that time and space, journalists had tough choices to make. The adventurous plunged into this new realm of technology driven news-gathering, developing abilities that they had perhaps never been trained for. They had to create stories without delay, since they had only a small and often unlikely chance of being first to ‘break’ something. Newspapers and magazines were starting to explore the idea of an online edition, cautiously and with many reservations, primarily because many of the established journalists were of an older school that was wary of anything that happened too quickly and used too much science that needed too much explanation.
The dotcom wave was sweeping through this part of the world and many bright and ambitious individuals were buying their ways into it. Salaries that were tempting, to say the least, were up for grabs — all that you needed was excitement, enthusiasm and a certain recklessness and willingness to play in an unknown field.
And then the bubble went pop. There was no money being made, since advertisers had not yet caught up with the immense potential of this new medium. Many of the better established writers and editors stayed away, preferring the tangible evidence of bylines to the rather more ephemeral world of the Internet, where you could read writing only if you knew where to look for it, most cited.
If you were published online, you ‘vanished’, was often the belief. But it was a time when those who looked very far ahead bought domains, registered URLs and were savvy enough to squat on possibly lucrative-in-the-future space in the cyberworld and wait until the rest of mankind caught up. The recession did quite a lot to destroy a great many dreams of this kind, but patience did pay off. The dotcom business is back!
I do not speak just as an insider, working in the Internet space and writing for this newspaper, an online publication. I speak as someone who has watched people and their attitudes evolve from being wary of and shying away from a new medium to absorbing and accepting it as something that has more interesting possibilities that should — must, really — be looked into and tapped. Today, as part of a web company, managing content and looking for new ways to capture audiences, I realise the huge range of permutations that can be easily managed, new ways of presenting the information, innovative methods of finding that same information and a hitherto unknown universe of design and style and creativity using technology and stimulating the very core of human thought processes.
And the reservations have, to a great extent, dissolved. Writers are flocking to the Internet space to write blogs, to create fiction chains, to find kindred spirits, to sell their works. They are discovering novel ways to present their writing, to tap into new audiences, to explore new ways of saying things that have been said so many times over since man started learning how to write. The feeling of ‘vanishing’ has itself vanished, and even the known and famous advocate use of the Net to show off their work to the discerning, to locate agents that could help, to publish unedited writing and have it critiqued or to present new stories for a select – and occasionally paying – reader population. And there is now money to be made with that kind of writing, since those with advertising budgets are willing to give healthy cheques for work of quality that can be used to bring the public in to browse and thus increase page views.
New technology is never a bad thing, especially if it does nothing to disturb the balance of the environment and our world. The Internet is indeed technology of a unique kind, non-polluting, not-interfering, non-invasive, for the most part with no attached health hazards (apart from human weaknesses like addiction to Facebook and online chatting) that should become part of every life, if only for the enormous realm of novelty that can be explored to learn, to study, to think, to understand and to reach out to the rest of the world out there.
Many years ago, the phenomenon called the Internet arrived in the subcontinent. It was not very extensive, Google did not exist as a public service and Wiki-anything was still unknown. Connections were slow, the bandwidth was limited and getting online was expensive, a privilege of corporate houses and the wealthy at home. That was the first coming.
To be a part of the wave had a certain special snob value that could not be matched by anything else that could be bought off the shelves, even the mobile phone, which was an equally prestigious acquisition at the time. The reach of this new concept was enormous, its potential unimaginable, its possibilities endless. Writers could be read all over the world without too much effort, information could be exchanged almost instantly and communication was no longer a case of missed phone calls and waiting for the postman to deliver the mail.
In that time and space, journalists had tough choices to make. The adventurous plunged into this new realm of technology driven news-gathering, developing abilities that they had perhaps never been trained for. They had to create stories without delay, since they had only a small and often unlikely chance of being first to ‘break’ something. Newspapers and magazines were starting to explore the idea of an online edition, cautiously and with many reservations, primarily because many of the established journalists were of an older school that was wary of anything that happened too quickly and used too much science that needed too much explanation.
The dotcom wave was sweeping through this part of the world and many bright and ambitious individuals were buying their ways into it. Salaries that were tempting, to say the least, were up for grabs — all that you needed was excitement, enthusiasm and a certain recklessness and willingness to play in an unknown field.
And then the bubble went pop. There was no money being made, since advertisers had not yet caught up with the immense potential of this new medium. Many of the better established writers and editors stayed away, preferring the tangible evidence of bylines to the rather more ephemeral world of the Internet, where you could read writing only if you knew where to look for it, most cited.
If you were published online, you ‘vanished’, was often the belief. But it was a time when those who looked very far ahead bought domains, registered URLs and were savvy enough to squat on possibly lucrative-in-the-future space in the cyberworld and wait until the rest of mankind caught up. The recession did quite a lot to destroy a great many dreams of this kind, but patience did pay off. The dotcom business is back!
I do not speak just as an insider, working in the Internet space and writing for this newspaper, an online publication. I speak as someone who has watched people and their attitudes evolve from being wary of and shying away from a new medium to absorbing and accepting it as something that has more interesting possibilities that should — must, really — be looked into and tapped. Today, as part of a web company, managing content and looking for new ways to capture audiences, I realise the huge range of permutations that can be easily managed, new ways of presenting the information, innovative methods of finding that same information and a hitherto unknown universe of design and style and creativity using technology and stimulating the very core of human thought processes.
And the reservations have, to a great extent, dissolved. Writers are flocking to the Internet space to write blogs, to create fiction chains, to find kindred spirits, to sell their works. They are discovering novel ways to present their writing, to tap into new audiences, to explore new ways of saying things that have been said so many times over since man started learning how to write. The feeling of ‘vanishing’ has itself vanished, and even the known and famous advocate use of the Net to show off their work to the discerning, to locate agents that could help, to publish unedited writing and have it critiqued or to present new stories for a select – and occasionally paying – reader population. And there is now money to be made with that kind of writing, since those with advertising budgets are willing to give healthy cheques for work of quality that can be used to bring the public in to browse and thus increase page views.
New technology is never a bad thing, especially if it does nothing to disturb the balance of the environment and our world. The Internet is indeed technology of a unique kind, non-polluting, not-interfering, non-invasive, for the most part with no attached health hazards (apart from human weaknesses like addiction to Facebook and online chatting) that should become part of every life, if only for the enormous realm of novelty that can be explored to learn, to study, to think, to understand and to reach out to the rest of the world out there.
Power of press
(bdnews24.com, December 10, 2010)
The Indian media has been shaken somewhat over the last few weeks by what could only be called “indiscreet behaviour”. Two very senior journalists — people who have been listened to, read, respected over the past so many years — are in the dock for being inappropriately involved with a matter that has reached judicial proportions, with those involved in it being indicted by opinion, the press and, to some extent, the government in India. They insist that they were only stringing along their “source” to get more information on the story that they were independently investigating, but many beg to differ on that one.
After all, being responsible journalists, responsible adults and responsible human beings, they should have known what they were doing and understood their limits. Most of all, being public figures with popular television shows and print columns to their credit, they should have realised when they were crossing that fine line between investigation and involvement, and kept the distance that is so important in such situations. But they did not.
And the media — rivals or else-wise — is working hard to generate support on the one hand and, on the other, to make it clear that this is just not done. There are no apologies forthcoming, no believable excuses for what happened, no real reasons for it to be done. And the scandal value has dwindled to almost nothingness, the breaking news that it was just last week fading off the headlines and being relegated to the inside pages of papers that have nothing else to report.
Why did it happen? Who knows, except for one small point that is well known but rarely accepted by those involved: the journalists had started thinking that they were truly powerful; their word, such as it was, had to be accepted without questions asked, with no terms and conditions attached, no sanity check. Why? Simply because for years they have been the voice of that same sanity; their words have been taken for Gospel, the whole truth, reliable, honest, unbiased. But, as one of the two people concerned said when he was spot lit by the media for his role in the matter, it only takes a moment of indiscretion to wipe out 30 years of solid reputation. His name, for its immediate recall value, is now ‘mud’. The same can be said of the lady involved in the fracas — her television news show is well-known and looked forward-to, her interviews hard-hitting and incisive, her face and her voice famed for their presence whenever, wherever there is news to be reported.
And now both these luminaries, winners of more awards than a single person has a right to, have a somewhat tarnished public image.
All simply because they thought they were inviolate and all-powerful, people who could make things happen with a mere wave of a verb, conduits for a change that would normally take much longer and a lot more effort than one individual could manage to put in. Why? Because they had already tasted that heady sense of power, had already made things happen, had already influenced not just public opinion, but powerful opinion-makers too.
As senior journalists with an impressive body of work behind them, they had lobbied successfully to make change happen, be it increased privileges for the armed forces or greater protection for endangered big cats. But in trying to, as they both separately insisted, elicit information from a source as they worked to break a story that could shatter sections of the government, they overstepped their limits, blurring the lines between reporter and lobbyist, seemingly aiming to influence the flow of power rather than explore its tides and discover what the power equation actually was all about. In doing so, in getting a little too personally entangled, they have managed to not just mess with their own images, but push the entire press community into the spotlight, making almost anything that is done in the quest for a story, questionable. Responsible journalism? Perhaps not! Time for some kind of control mechanism to be implemented in journalistic research? Perhaps, yes!
In 1887 Lord Acton wrote to Bishop Creighton saying, “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” A more fitting paraphrase attributed to William Pitt, British prime minister in 1766-1778 goes: “Unlimited power is apt to corrupt the minds of those who possess it.” With great power comes great responsibility — the responsibility to see that it is used with discretion, intelligence and, most of all, common sense.
The Indian media has been shaken somewhat over the last few weeks by what could only be called “indiscreet behaviour”. Two very senior journalists — people who have been listened to, read, respected over the past so many years — are in the dock for being inappropriately involved with a matter that has reached judicial proportions, with those involved in it being indicted by opinion, the press and, to some extent, the government in India. They insist that they were only stringing along their “source” to get more information on the story that they were independently investigating, but many beg to differ on that one.
After all, being responsible journalists, responsible adults and responsible human beings, they should have known what they were doing and understood their limits. Most of all, being public figures with popular television shows and print columns to their credit, they should have realised when they were crossing that fine line between investigation and involvement, and kept the distance that is so important in such situations. But they did not.
And the media — rivals or else-wise — is working hard to generate support on the one hand and, on the other, to make it clear that this is just not done. There are no apologies forthcoming, no believable excuses for what happened, no real reasons for it to be done. And the scandal value has dwindled to almost nothingness, the breaking news that it was just last week fading off the headlines and being relegated to the inside pages of papers that have nothing else to report.
Why did it happen? Who knows, except for one small point that is well known but rarely accepted by those involved: the journalists had started thinking that they were truly powerful; their word, such as it was, had to be accepted without questions asked, with no terms and conditions attached, no sanity check. Why? Simply because for years they have been the voice of that same sanity; their words have been taken for Gospel, the whole truth, reliable, honest, unbiased. But, as one of the two people concerned said when he was spot lit by the media for his role in the matter, it only takes a moment of indiscretion to wipe out 30 years of solid reputation. His name, for its immediate recall value, is now ‘mud’. The same can be said of the lady involved in the fracas — her television news show is well-known and looked forward-to, her interviews hard-hitting and incisive, her face and her voice famed for their presence whenever, wherever there is news to be reported.
And now both these luminaries, winners of more awards than a single person has a right to, have a somewhat tarnished public image.
All simply because they thought they were inviolate and all-powerful, people who could make things happen with a mere wave of a verb, conduits for a change that would normally take much longer and a lot more effort than one individual could manage to put in. Why? Because they had already tasted that heady sense of power, had already made things happen, had already influenced not just public opinion, but powerful opinion-makers too.
As senior journalists with an impressive body of work behind them, they had lobbied successfully to make change happen, be it increased privileges for the armed forces or greater protection for endangered big cats. But in trying to, as they both separately insisted, elicit information from a source as they worked to break a story that could shatter sections of the government, they overstepped their limits, blurring the lines between reporter and lobbyist, seemingly aiming to influence the flow of power rather than explore its tides and discover what the power equation actually was all about. In doing so, in getting a little too personally entangled, they have managed to not just mess with their own images, but push the entire press community into the spotlight, making almost anything that is done in the quest for a story, questionable. Responsible journalism? Perhaps not! Time for some kind of control mechanism to be implemented in journalistic research? Perhaps, yes!
In 1887 Lord Acton wrote to Bishop Creighton saying, “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” A more fitting paraphrase attributed to William Pitt, British prime minister in 1766-1778 goes: “Unlimited power is apt to corrupt the minds of those who possess it.” With great power comes great responsibility — the responsibility to see that it is used with discretion, intelligence and, most of all, common sense.
Doing the green thing
(bdnews24.com, December 4, 2010)
An international publishing house has me on its mailing list and I get emails from there on a regular basis, as do a lot of other journalists I know. I also get print outs in the mail, replicating what the emails say. While I once took that for granted, since the snail-mail acted as a kind of mnemonic through an incredibly chaotic week, it now seems wasteful and redundant. I have told the various people at the publishing house this and asked them to send me only the email, save a tree and build on their carbon credits, but they do not react or respond. Maybe this is a case of a tree falling in the deepest part of the forest.
Environmental awareness is taking on new avatars every day. It can be visualised as a social movement or a very personal form of activism that speaks passionately and persistently of the need for various measures to protect natural resources and ecosystems. Sustainable management through public policy, lobbying, protests and the setting of examples could be the route to a better world, a healthier planet, a safer future. That awareness has indeed grown, spread and become part of the everyday ethos for many all over the world. The effects of ignoring or abusing Earth are becoming more pronounced by the hour, and the consciousness that it is man who is destroying his own home is increasing. There have been books written on the subject, films made, papers presented at international conferences and laws changed to deal with the issue, but how much do each one of us, at a very personal level, actually do? Have we changed our own lifestyles to make sure that there is a world for our descendants to live in, long after we ourselves have crumbled to dust? Think about it.
Many of the problems we face today are not of our making, admittedly. Blame it on the quest for “progress” as it was called, that began a very long time ago, perhaps when man first stood on two feet and found that fire was a useful tool. In more contemporary history, the Industrial Revolution in Europe set the tone for modern-day engineering, technology and manufacturing units. The euphoria of doing things faster, bigger, better and more easily did much to deplete the planet of precious resources like fossil fuels and minerals. And we – as a species – did not really know better when we dug up the earth and poured chemicals into rivers and puffed carcinogen-laden smoke into the air. In the mid-1970, people began to see what was going on, how “progress” was making sure that there may not be a life worth living not too far down the line. And a slow, wary and oft-reviled awareness started growing. We, the people of today’s world, realise that what we inherited is not healthy, for our bodies as much as for our planet. And we have started working on dealing with that particular issue. In fact, the Chipko movement of the 1970s holds as much credence – if not more – now than it did then, with its slogan of “ecology is permanent economy”, which is easily adapted to the new brand of environmentalism, which deals with aspects like global warming and genetic engineering as comprehensively as it does with the traditional issues of priority, protection and preservation.
Or have we? Just as I get printouts of already-sent emails, there is a paper trail that leads inexorably from company to client, no matter whether it is necessary or not. Any shareholder will be familiar with company reports and newsletters dropping through the letters slot in the front door or being received from the courier man. New stores, services and sales will be announced by inserts in the daily newspapers, sometimes blank on one side and shoved in by the dozen. Team discussions in the office invariably have executives – and, as major offenders, journalists – taking notes on paper, sometimes just a large box outlined on a larger sheet or one word scribbled in a corner, the whole crumpled and thrown into the basket.
And it is not just about saving trees by saving paper. A train ride or a drive through almost any big city in India and many anywhere else in the world is an environmentalist’s nightmare. Peek out the window and there will be plastic bags, scrap paper, cans, PVC bottles and other rubbish tossed casually out on to the tracks, the road, the nearby streams, the sea. Rituals in India, for instance, result in a good deal of waste in the form of flowers, bricks, wood, et al, all mandatorily dumped into flowing water. But does it all have to be contained in a plastic bag, of the kind that does not have a biodegradable-by date attached?
Our planet does come with that date – and time, it is a-wasting!
An international publishing house has me on its mailing list and I get emails from there on a regular basis, as do a lot of other journalists I know. I also get print outs in the mail, replicating what the emails say. While I once took that for granted, since the snail-mail acted as a kind of mnemonic through an incredibly chaotic week, it now seems wasteful and redundant. I have told the various people at the publishing house this and asked them to send me only the email, save a tree and build on their carbon credits, but they do not react or respond. Maybe this is a case of a tree falling in the deepest part of the forest.
Environmental awareness is taking on new avatars every day. It can be visualised as a social movement or a very personal form of activism that speaks passionately and persistently of the need for various measures to protect natural resources and ecosystems. Sustainable management through public policy, lobbying, protests and the setting of examples could be the route to a better world, a healthier planet, a safer future. That awareness has indeed grown, spread and become part of the everyday ethos for many all over the world. The effects of ignoring or abusing Earth are becoming more pronounced by the hour, and the consciousness that it is man who is destroying his own home is increasing. There have been books written on the subject, films made, papers presented at international conferences and laws changed to deal with the issue, but how much do each one of us, at a very personal level, actually do? Have we changed our own lifestyles to make sure that there is a world for our descendants to live in, long after we ourselves have crumbled to dust? Think about it.
Many of the problems we face today are not of our making, admittedly. Blame it on the quest for “progress” as it was called, that began a very long time ago, perhaps when man first stood on two feet and found that fire was a useful tool. In more contemporary history, the Industrial Revolution in Europe set the tone for modern-day engineering, technology and manufacturing units. The euphoria of doing things faster, bigger, better and more easily did much to deplete the planet of precious resources like fossil fuels and minerals. And we – as a species – did not really know better when we dug up the earth and poured chemicals into rivers and puffed carcinogen-laden smoke into the air. In the mid-1970, people began to see what was going on, how “progress” was making sure that there may not be a life worth living not too far down the line. And a slow, wary and oft-reviled awareness started growing. We, the people of today’s world, realise that what we inherited is not healthy, for our bodies as much as for our planet. And we have started working on dealing with that particular issue. In fact, the Chipko movement of the 1970s holds as much credence – if not more – now than it did then, with its slogan of “ecology is permanent economy”, which is easily adapted to the new brand of environmentalism, which deals with aspects like global warming and genetic engineering as comprehensively as it does with the traditional issues of priority, protection and preservation.
Or have we? Just as I get printouts of already-sent emails, there is a paper trail that leads inexorably from company to client, no matter whether it is necessary or not. Any shareholder will be familiar with company reports and newsletters dropping through the letters slot in the front door or being received from the courier man. New stores, services and sales will be announced by inserts in the daily newspapers, sometimes blank on one side and shoved in by the dozen. Team discussions in the office invariably have executives – and, as major offenders, journalists – taking notes on paper, sometimes just a large box outlined on a larger sheet or one word scribbled in a corner, the whole crumpled and thrown into the basket.
And it is not just about saving trees by saving paper. A train ride or a drive through almost any big city in India and many anywhere else in the world is an environmentalist’s nightmare. Peek out the window and there will be plastic bags, scrap paper, cans, PVC bottles and other rubbish tossed casually out on to the tracks, the road, the nearby streams, the sea. Rituals in India, for instance, result in a good deal of waste in the form of flowers, bricks, wood, et al, all mandatorily dumped into flowing water. But does it all have to be contained in a plastic bag, of the kind that does not have a biodegradable-by date attached?
Our planet does come with that date – and time, it is a-wasting!
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