Ugly face in the mirror

One way to form a picture of the Indian middle class is to look up the comments below the stories carried on Indian newspaper sites. Trust me, it’s not a pretty picture. For what may start of as an innocuous news story can end up as a sickening slanging match, loaded with invective, between readers by the time you scroll down to the end of the page. For example, this straightforward record of a prominent cricketer’s sentiments on the terrorist attack on Mumbai last year is followed by utterly unrelated wild comments in which readers attack one another along caste as well as communal lines. Stories on politics attract the greatest number of comments, and many of them are as cheap as they can get. Making below-the-belt personal attacks on personalities as well as other readers is quite the norm. While expressindia.com, a popular newspaper website, tries to check the use of language when readers post their two-bit, it does not seem to have a policy of moderating comments, and readers who want to have their chauvinistic say can have it with ease. Meanwhile, its separated sister publication down south, expressbuzz.com, has a no-censorship policy, so that here you can find readers posting the most nauseating comments with gay abandon.

One may well say that the churlish tirade of the internet-savvy urban Indian middle class reflects its sense of deep-rooted frustration with matters in its country. It is not hard to understand this. Anyone that belongs to this biradari or community, including yours truly, knows that there is no end of things in mahan Bharat to fulminate about. But this does not justify the remarkable lack of critical understanding that the comments display. Quite frequently, readers take recourse to conspiracy theories revolving around prominent Indian politicians, religious communities or caste groups, and countries in the neighbourhood. Very often, comments are solely aimed at denigrating the objects of their tirade. There is little or no attempt to be constructive in one’s criticism or to observe a minimum sense of decorum. The internet provides complete anonymity for hit-and-run readers of this kind, who revel in adopting warped pseudonyms (Jai Shri Raam, n.r.i., Indian etc.).

Given that the ability to read and write in English, and access to the internet are hallmarks of relative privilege in India, the nature of comments that one comes across are a deeply sad commentary on India’s educated, ‘upwardly mobile’ and ‘rising’ Indian middle class. It does not say much of the education it goes through either. Of the values that it inherits at home, perhaps the less said the better. The middle class produces successful entrepreneurs and tech wizards, cracks competitive examinations, infiltrates corporate offices (in India and abroad), and fills high-level government offices. Yet its ability to comprehend its everyday environment, cultivate the detachment essential to engage in useful debate and accommodate divergent points of view seems to be shrinking in direct proportion to its increasing material achievements.

Illiberal, spiteful and destructive – that’s the ugly face of the urban Indian middle class that one gets to see on the internet.

But I still have hope.

Is there such a thing as agro-imperialism?

The Malthusian bug has bitten the Arabs. Countries in the Persian Gulf import about 60% of their food requirements and are worried about rapidly climbing food prices. Consequently, Middle Eastern nations, already high on their ecological footprint, are investing vast amounts of money in Africa, taking over thousands of acres of fertile land for massive, large-scale agriculture that will help secure food supply for their arid countries the future. African governments seem only too happy to give away land in return for the investment that is coming in notwithstanding the fact that some of these countries are themselves victims of famine and do not grow enough food for their people. Moreover, the ownership credentials of the land itself are dubious. In Ethiopia, for instance, land was taken over from farmers under Communist rule and never returned even after non-Communist governments came to power. The land thus, originally belonged to individuals who are now seeing it being given away by the state to agribusiness at dirt cheap rates. However, governments argue that agribusiness brings in capital and expertise apart from creating employment, and will make it possible for them to reduce their dependence on foreign aid.

The complex issue is highlighted with nuance in the following New York Times article, "Is there such a thing as agro-imperialism?"

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/22/magazine/22land-t.html?_r=1&ref=magazine&pagewanted=all

Filmi belle from the South - Vyjayanthimala

The Hindi film industry has an interesting nexus with South Indian belles. The earliest of the demure ladies to cross the Cauvery, metaphorically speaking, were Vyjayanthimala and Waheeda Rehman, followed in succeeding years by Padmini, Rekha, Hema Malini, Meenakshi Seshadri and Sridevi (not to forget more recent ones: among others, Bhanupriya, Madhoo, Divya Balan and Asin Thottumkal).

While Vyjayanthimala and Waheeda Rehman were undoubtedly the pioneers, the former maintained her links to South Indian filmdom actively and found time to shuttle between Bombay and Madras, showcasing her linguistic prowess in addition to her dancing and acting skills in the process. She acted with leading men both north and south. Her films with Dilip Kumar, in particular, met with considerable success, beginning with Devdas (1955) and continuing with Naya Daur (1957), Madhumati (1958), Paigham (1959), Ganga Jumna (1961) and Leader (1964). (Incidentally, Dilip Kumar's comeback film in the 1960s was with the other leading actor of South Indian origin, Waheeda Rehman. This was Ram Aur Shyam (1967), a remake of the 1965 Tamil movie Enga Veettu Pillai.) She is believed to have created history of sorts by refusing a Filmfare Award for Devdas. Awarded for Best Supporting Actress in her role as Chandramukhi, Vyjayanthimala considered her role to be a main rather than supporting role, on par with that of Paro (played by Suchitra Sen).

Here we have her in the first flush of love with tongawallah Dilip Kumar in Naya Daur:



In Tamil, she hit it off well with Gemini Ganesan as co-star and three of their movies are on any movie buff's must-watch list: Vanjikottai Valiban (1958), Parthiban Kanavu (1960) and Then Nilavu (1961). Her 1960 releases with the other two giants of Tamil cinema - Sivaji Ganesan (Irumbu Thirai) and MG Ramachandran (Baghdad Thirudan) were also immensely successful, elevating her to the apogee of her career. It is impossible not to make a mention of her superb dance duel with Padmini in Vanjikottai Valiban. Film critic Randor Guy describes it as "scintillating and enthralling" and "one of the best dance sequences in Indian cinema".

In this evergreen song from Then Nilavu we have Gemini Ganesan wooing a recalcitrant Vyjayanthimala in 'khambe-jaisi-khadi-hai' mode (even if on horseback):



Being serenaded by the leading actors of her day was by no means a bad deal. But while she happily sings along with beau Dilip Kumar in the first video, she pays no attention to the eminently more handsome Gemini in the next one. Why this discrimination, dear Mrs. Bali?

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This has to be the greatest spoof on the Carbon Trading Mechanism! And a great way of exposing the scam that carbon trading is.

Illuminating lesser-known lives

In the winter of 1999, I journeyed by the Grand Trunk Express from New Delhi to Chennai Central, clutching a book that I had picked up out of pure fancy for its title, An Anthropologist among the Marxists and other Essays, at a bookshop in Connaught Place some weeks earlier. When I returned to the harsh embrace of the Delhi cold to begin the last term of my second undergraduate year I did so with the thrill of having read a refreshing collection of essays that had kindled some sort of an intellectual urge. The following year I was lucky enough to be nominated for an award that let me choose books worth a modest sum. Intrigued by the repertoire of an author who, at the time, wrote a fortnightly column on cricket history in The Hindu, while bookshops carried his works on (what I then saw merely as) environmental issues, I picked up another of his books, Savaging the Civilized: Verrier Elwin, His Tribals & India. (In the meantime I had devoured Wickets in the East, a delightful collection of cricketing anecdotes in the possession of my cricketer room-mate.) I read through Savaging the Civilized even as my final year exams were just around the corner but found it simply unputdownable. The consequences, I might ruefully add, were far from pleasant. I flunked one of my papers, although in all fairness, the book was only one of other far more crucial factors responsible.

It is now ten years since I acquired the acquaintance of Ramachandra Guha through his books (and on more than one occasion, in person) and have never had reason to be unduly disappointed given his prolific output. I do not necessarily agree with him on all things; nor do I particularly appreciate his polemical, even if bold, manner of joining issue with fellow writers; nonetheless I enjoy reading him. While I have particularly enjoyed his writings on environmental history as well as cricket, it is his superb biographical portraits of relatively lesser-known Indians that I cherish the most. His essays on Dharma Kumar and CS Venkatachar are among my top favourites and those on M Krishnan, TG Vaidyanathan, CV Subbarao, PK Srinivasan and DR Nagaraj come a close second. To Guha's expanding repertory has been added, rather recently, one more portrait, that of the late K Balagopal, whose life holds especial value in these turbulent times as the Maoist insurgency threatens to consume almost a third of India. This is an essay which, like it or not, deserves to be read.

http://www.indiatogether.com/2009/nov/rgh-leftist.htm

Awaara hoon

What do you do when you meet an ex-flame after many years and realise with a pang that you've lived these years in the delusion that you had gotten over it but that, in fact, a bit of your heart still seems to be pledged to her?

You sing "Hum Tujhse Muhabbat Karke Sanam".



Hahahahahahahaha!!!

The bazaar of Palampur

Many years ago I read a story entitled 'The Day-Dreaming Darzee of Darzeeganj'. I have forgotten what it was about save that it was about, well, a darzee. But I remember being struck by its poignance although I remember none of its details. The only reason I invoke it now is because it seems to have been acting upon my sub-conscious in the title I'm using for this post. But there is also something RK Narayan-esque about it, isn't it? It seems to go with his book titles such as 'The Vendor of Sweets' or 'The Painter of Signs'. The difference, of course, is Palampur is a place, not a person. More along Sarojini Naidu's alley, perhaps? ('In the Bazaars of Hyderabad'?)

The Palampur bazaar is indeed a delight. Palampur is a fairly old town; the police station is still housed in a quaint colonial era building. The sights of the bazaar took me twenty years down memory lane: this is how markets used to be in the 1980s, I said to myself, though now I think it was just an overdose of nostalgia at work. I like small towns, and the visits to Palampur during my stay in Rakkad were like a dash of opium.

The Palampur I'm talking of lies in Himachal Pradesh, by the way, and is not to be confused with the Jain temple-town of Palanpur in Gujarat. It lies on the way to Baijnath, which is home to a beautiful temple, apparently dating back to the early 13th century and with plenty of mythology attached to it. Palampur is three kilometres away from the fabulous Kangra Valley Railway, on which, rather unfortunately, I could not hitch a ride. The narrow gauge railtrack has a width of roughly 2 feet 6 inches, and stretches for a length of 164 kilometres from Pathankot to Jogindernagar.


And lest I'm hauled up for not mentioning this, let me add that Palampur has plenty of tea-gardens, whose produce is the well-known Kangra tea. Kangra, because that's the valley stretching between the Dhauladhars and the Shivaliks, in which Palampur is nestled.

The pictures, I should say, were all taken by ringsinmypond. Her pictures are bright even if her poetry is melancholic.

Memories of Rakkad

I had almost forgotten about the existence of this blog when bethebird wrote in last week saying that it cannot be that I have nothing to write about. I was, to be honest, quite flattered although also a little wary for bethebird is an impish sort and at times I'm not sure how far to take her at face value. In any case, I have had but one ardent reader - Mampi - to whom I am deeply grateful for the attention that she has bestowed on my songs of sixpence.

A great deal has happened between my last post and now. I was living in a little village called Rakkad near Dharamsala. It was a lovely place to be in with lovely people around. For this post I will simply post some pictures taken by my friends RL and ringsinmypond.


The banana tree in the picture above is almost as tall as a mid-sized coconut palm making it impossible for the fruit to be plucked from the ground. The very fact that it is thriving far from its home in the tropical south makes clear the enormous implications of climatic change for the Himalaya.