Last thoughts on the Lennox case

A few months ago I wrote these two posts about Lennox, the pit-bull who had been taken away from his family because of his breed. Well, the final verdict came out today and it’s what most of us were dreading – Lennox is to be killed after all.

I’ll avoid getting on a soapbox about most of the issues involved here, but just to repeat my strongest thoughts on the subject: even assuming that there is any kind of justification for this whole series of events, I can’t begin to fathom the cruelty of a system that would take this long to arrive at a decision in this particular case. It would have been infinitely more humane to put the dog down within a few days of taking him away from his family and home. Instead, they kept him locked up for 18 months (the equivalent of more than 10 dog-years) and even the date for the appeal was set for nearly six months after the original verdict.

Try, for a minute, to imagine what that means for a creature incapable of understanding why its world has fallen to pieces, or putting together comforting narratives in its head, or keeping itself occupied in the hundreds of little ways that human beings can in times of distress. An incarcerated human in the same situation – horrific though it would be – would at least have the advantage of knowing what is going on, the ability to cling to the hope that things might eventually get better and the option of keeping his mind busy with a book or a notepad (in addition to the chores and activities that fill the regular prison schedule). In my view, the manner in which the Lennox case was stretched out is an even stronger comment on human insensitivity than the facts of the case itself.

At this point I can only hope that it doesn’t take these unfeeling brutes another year to get together the apparatus for the killing, and that the process itself is as quick and painless as possible.

Masks and mirrors

(Quick thoughts on two Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra films)

When a director helms a film that grows into a phenomenon, he can become so closely associated with it – especially if it came relatively early in his career – that his other movies might get downgraded or overlooked as a result. But in the long run, enthusiastic movie buffs might revisit those less popular works and find unexpected points of interest in them. This sometimes leads to critical reassessment; there are numerous examples through film history of a lower-profile work by a director eventually rising to supplant his acknowledged “masterpiece”.

I was thinking about this during a short phone conversation with director-screenwriter Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra – a prelude to our panel discussion at the Hindu Lit for Life festival on Sunday. Mehra is best known for Rang de Basanti, one of the most influential Hindi movies of the past decade. Combining the vitality of fast-paced, youthful, mass-audience cinema (and the presence of superstar Aamir Khan) with respectable subject matter (carefree youngsters become emotionally invested in their country’s problems and turn for inspiration to freedom fighters of the past), RDB was a big commercial and critical success – a rare combination in our cinema. Yet I think Mehra’s two other feature films are more interesting in terms of what they reveal of his artistic sensibilities and personal compulsions.

Those two films are his 2001 debut Aks and his 2009 production Delhi 6. On the surface these are quite disparate works. The first is a slick if overlong psychological thriller about a cop (Amitabh Bachchan in one of his best latter-day roles) who finds that his personality is being usurped by the maniacal killer he has apprehended. The second is an intimate “basti” story set in a Chandni Chowk community that becomes a microcosm of life in a chaotic country (as seen mainly through the eyes of a young visiting NRI).

“In a way, Delhi 6 was my attempt to remake Aks,” Mehra said during our phone chat. It was a casual remark, we had to quickly move on to other topics and he never got a chance to elaborate, but for me it tied in with some striking similarities between the two films. Both use masks and reflections as ways of concealing or revealing things about their protagonists – and by extension, about people in general. Both also contain extensive Ramayana imagery, with Rama and Ravana presented as mirror images. Aks (which means “reflection”) is very obviously a story about good and evil defining and complementing each other, but this theme recurs in Delhi 6 too. An idiot savant literally holds a mirror up to society, but everyone ignores or makes fun of him – until the end, when communal discord brings unpleasant things to the surface. An elaborate Ram Leela performance spread over days runs parallel to the film’s main narrative, a rampaging monkey man is used as a symbol for fear and paranoia in a divided community, and at the end the hero dons a monkey mask to try to make people see reason.

In both films, Mehra fuses elements of Western pop culture with elements from Indian mythology. Thus Aks centres on a psychopath who seems drawn from the dark Hollywood serial killer movie (there are references to The Devil’s Advocate too) but quotes the Bhagwad Gita (I love the irreverence of a back-story where a disturbed, Michael Myers-like child kills his parents after they teach him that death means nothing because the soul never dies). And Delhi 6 contains a song sequence where Times Square comes to Chandni Chowk, and Hanuman and King Kong occupy the same space (while the primal “kala bandar”, of course, resides inside all the characters).

There's no question that both films have their flaws: Aks is messy and uneven with poorly drawn supporting characters (and Nandita Das appears to have walked in from another, very different type of movie); and Delhi 6, though a brilliantly crafted ensemble film for its first hour and a half, has an annoyingly heavy-handed climax. But as examples of personal cinema, I think both are more provocative in some ways than Rang de Basanti, with its more conventional message-mongering.

[A sketchy session report is here. The bit about Mehra wanting to "adapt the story of Karan from Mahabharata - the episode in which his mother says she is not his mother" should be taken with a bit of salt]

Rafa: the pros and cons of a mid-career memoir

[Okay, this is my last piece on tennis for some time - a review I did of Rafael Nadal's autobiography for Business Standard. Some earlier thoughts on Nadal and the book are here]

Sporting careers follow a different trajectory and time-scale to most others. Since a top player in a physically demanding sport may well retire at age 30 or less, having already achieved most of the things he will be remembered for, there’s nothing unusual about an athlete having a memoir out at a relatively young age. But some debate can be expected when a sportsman’s autobiography arrives while his career is still active and near its peak. And so, the first question that must be asked about Rafael Nadal’s life chronicle Rafa is: why now?

One obvious answer is that last year, at the age of just 24, Nadal became the youngest male tennis player to complete the Career Slam – that is, winning all four majors (the Australian Open, the French Open, Wimbledon and the US Open) at least once. That’s a prestigious enough achievement in itself, but the context made it more dramatic. A year earlier, injuries, family troubles and apparent lack of mental focus had combined to put a question mark against Nadal’s longevity; many journalists and viewers had sounded the death knell for his career. This made his resurgence – and the solidification of his status as one of his sport’s best players – even more impressive.

In our age of instant information and round-the-clock media scrutiny, it must have seemed natural to come out with the “official”, inspirational story. Rafa covers various aspects of Nadal’s life, but the narrative is anchored around the two defining matches of his career: the celebrated 2008 Wimbledon final against his great rival Roger Federer, which saw Nadal win his first non-clay Slam and take a big step towards claiming the number one ranking; and the 2010 US Open final win – against another worthy rival Novak Djokovic – which completed the Spaniard’s Slam collection.

Though we’re told that this book is authored “with” journalist John Carlin, it’s safe to assume that the writing is entirely Carlin’s. For one thing, Rafa isn’t exclusively in the first person; alternating with its main narrative are short, “objective” chapters that provide an outsider’s commentary on Nadal and his inner circle. Also, the refined coolness of the writing (phrases like “the cathedral hush of Wimbledon’s Centre Court” and “I didn’t expressly prohibit them from raising the subject” appear in the first couple of pages) will initially be distancing for anyone familiar with Nadal’s spoken English (“He play better than me – that’s the true, no?”). But as you read on, it works because it reflects the inner clarity of a contemplative, grounded sportsman.

This comes across most vividly in Nadal’s reflections on the day before a big match, and the hours leading up to it: about chatting with family over dinner and pretending it’s a normal day, though everyone knows he has already started playing the match “in a space inside my head that should remain mine alone”. Or how, when he finds himself alone with Federer in the locker room a few minutes before a final – just the two of them in a spookily quiet space that housed 128 players a fortnight earlier – he settles for a quick handshake. (“To joke or chatter about football, as we might before an exhibition match, would have been a lie he would have seen through immediately and interpreted as a sign of fear.”)

A major talking point around any mid-career memoir is what a sportsperson should or should not disclose while he is still playing. Nadal has been prone to recurring injuries, which get extensive media coverage. His supporters point out that like many other athletes, he plays through the pain and is often good enough to win tournaments despite his ailments; but there has been a rising belief that injuries are used as convenient excuses for losses, or that his frequent medical time-outs are ploys to throw off an opponent’s rhythm. Even those who are inclined to give him the benefit of doubt have gently suggested that he might be turning into a bit of a hypochondriac; recent incidents such as the one where grabbing a hot plate in a restaurant led to nasty finger blisters, or the unfortunate attack of cramps during a US Open press conference, have been the subjects of much Internet humour.

Perhaps with an eye on this negative publicity, Rafa tries to set the record straight, providing medical details about the congenital foot disease that almost ended Nadal’s career in 2005, and the effect it had on his subsequent physical and mental conditioning. An obvious downside to making such revelations is that it might give rivals extra information as well as motivation. But this is clearly a risk he has opted to take.

Other highlights include Nadal discussing the ups and downs of his relationship with the only coach he has ever known, his paternal uncle Toni – a hard taskmaster who helped channel his nephew’s famous mental strength, but who may have been excessively harsh on occasion. These passages have received much press coverage, most of which makes the book sound more controversial than it is, but when you read them as part of a larger narrative they don’t seem so shocking. The overall impression here is that of a young man who is still highly dependent on family (Nadal lives in a multi-storeyed house with his large clan) but who is also becoming conscious of the need to speak his own mind and break out of a parochial image.

All this adds up to a book that has many candid interludes mixed with some bland reportage and superfluous chronicling of career highlights. But in any case, Rafa might already be somewhat dated. When it was written, Nadal had just come off his finest season and it seemed his position at the top would be secure for some time, but things are no longer so rosy. He has had a fine 2011 by most standards, but he has been a distant second-best this year, having been overshadowed by Djokovic.

Whether this marks the beginning of a permanent decline or motivation for another comeback remains to be seen. Either way, there’s no doubt that Nadal will update this autobiography – or write a new one – when his career ends. The revised version, written with the benefit of distance, should be even more revealing.

[Finger blisters photo credit: Nadal News]

The Akshara Ramayana

A shout-out to theatre enthusiasts in Delhi: Gopal Sharman’s acclaimed play The Ramayana is being performed at the Akshara Theatre between October 1-4 (starting 7 pm). Sharman’s play centres on specific episodes from the epic – such as a long conversation between King Dasharatha and his queen Kaikeya – and central to its performance is the katha vachaka or storyteller, who is initially seated in the audience but then takes the stage, articulates the questions raised in the narrative, and eventually transforms herself into the characters. Naturally, this is a complex task for an actor, and Sharman’s wife Jalabala Vaidya has given highly praised solo performances – modulating her voice to bring the Ramayana’s characters to life – in over 2,000 performances worldwide, including on Broadway and the West End.

The Akshara production won’t be a one-woman show this time – it has a cast of young actors – but Vaidya will continue to play the katha vachaka and also perform the Dasharath-Kaikeya samvaad as well as the intimate final act between Rama and Sita. For details regarding tickets, timings etc check the Facebook page or call at 9313994368, (011)23361075 or (011)32910427.

‘And if you gaze into the abyss, Rahul gazes into you’

It’s probably accurate to say that this blog hasn’t been kind to Jeetendra and his progeny over the years. I’ve written flippant posts about the films he has appeared in – Dharam Veer, The Turning Brain and Nagin among them – and mocked the tendency to credit him “Above All” in movies where he had an inconsequential role. I’ve commented on the pointlessness of Tusshar Kapoor and written rude things about Ekta Kapoor’s serials (including her mangling of a beloved epic: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6) as well as a skit about her encounter with the Goddess Kali. Rereading some of these posts makes me feel like a lowly earthworm wiggling through slush, much like Jeetendra and Reena Roy in that snake dance, and my conscience makes a “tuk tuk” sound like the shuttlecock popping against Jeetu’s badminton racquet in that Humjoli song. But I digress.

Despite my own record of misdemeanours on the subject of Jeetendra, I have now read something that makes me feel deeply sorry for him: this hilarious post from an American humour site about “the 8 manliest foreign movie posters ever”. At number 1 is a Jaani Dushman poster, and don’t miss what the writer has to say about our hero, whom he recasts as a generic “Rahul”. (He also describes poor Sunil Dutt as "an Arabic Ron Jeremy".)

This post has been going viral on the Net. Given its popularity, it’s probable that long after Jeetendra’s distinguished body of work (Ekta and Tusshar included) has been forgotten, he will be remembered in distant countries as “Rahul, who wanted to rape the wolfman”. Would you wish that fate on him? (Take a deep breath before answering: remember, Rahul’s eyes are watching you.)

P.S. Much as I’d like to take credit for the title of this post, it comes from one of the comments on the Cracked.com piece.

Mini-review: Rakhshanda Jalil’s Release

[A snippet from my weekly books column]

Rakhshanda Jalil’s slender short-story collection Release is described on the jacket as exploring “the lives of Indian Muslims, not the marginalized or ghettoized Muslims of popular stereotype but ordinary, mainstream ones”. I felt this was a case of a publisher trying too hard to brand a book: in most of these stories, the religious identity of the characters is beside the point. For bubble-wrapped readers who have an extremely narrow view of what Muslims are like, I suppose it may come as a surprise to learn that a jovial, hard-drinking raconteur who runs a hill-station hotel could be named Yousuf. Or that a Zainub Begum could be a successful scriptwriter, happy to share salacious gossip about movie-stars. But Jalil’s book deserves a more sensitive and intelligent readership than that anyway.

These are stories about character-revealing choices as well as unexpected encounters and disclosures – some of which don’t have an immediate effect but could prove life-changing in the long run. A man is taken aback to discover that a shy girl he had known decades earlier has become garrulous and assertive; a plain-looking, middle-aged lady finds herself being stalked by a young boy; an affluent man comes to a mountain getaway each year to indulge himself in a most unusual fashion. All these pieces are elegantly written but the one I liked best – a minor classic, I thought – was “The Failure”, in which a vacationing couple in the 1970s stumble on an impeccably maintained but desolate resort run by a sahibzada. This is a fine pen portrait of a regal but uneasy man (his chinless face takes on the appearance of “a sea buffeted by severe storms” whenever he is asked an awkward question) who might be ahead of his time – or who might, like some of Jalil’s other protagonists, simply have failed to seize a vital moment.

Shakti Bhatt prize shortlist

The shortlist for the Shakti Bhatt First Book Prize for 2011 has been announced. I've read three of the books on the list and will be reading the others in the next few weeks. Here are my posts about Jamil Ahmad's The Wandering Falcon and Shehan Karunatilaka's Chinaman. And a post about Shakti here.