Need of the hour

 Disappointed with Newshour's flawed debate (not really an avid watcher of this 'who shouts the loudest' program) yesterday night. Why does a leading news channel feel the compulsion to call a bunch of non entities on primetime to debate the reasons why the Pakistani artists working in India have not criticised the terrorist attacks at Pathankot and Uri army bases ?

Why do we expect them to? Why do we need them to? Why do we crave support from them for upholding our national honour? Unlike Orlando shootings, Paris attacks or Peshawar blasts (where civilian lives were lost and Pak artists vocally lent their support and sympathy), the Uri attacks involved the loss of Indian soldiers. Are we so naive that we expect Pakistani citizens to express any sympathy for Indian soldiers or army at any level, forget on a public platform??

Flawed debates and fallacious arguments mark this raging non-issue. Ban them, boycott them, unfriend them, do whatever it takes to appease your fired up patriotism but do it as a measure of solidarity with the country's current positioning vis-a-vis its perennial 'pain in the neck' of a neighbour. Certainly not as a matter of self pride or the country's pride which is too precious and sacred to hinge on the petty matter of testing the loyalty or the lack of it, of a bunch of artists (nationality notwithstanding) partaking in our pluralistic and accomodating entertainment industry.

Graver issues and more relevant matters need our concern. The upbeat mood in the country is comprehensible but there's a lot more at stake here than merely the euphoria felt at defeating Pak in a world cup cricket match. Time to stop equating art and cricket and the frivolity attached therein, with the pertinent, larger scheme of things and the imminent dangers looming large.

Let the Men in Control (army and government) take the call. Let's not expect a potboiler out of them. We are not inside a 70 mm theatre waiting for a blockbuster to unfold. This is real and the stakes are higher too.

Being realistic, and not theatrical, is therefore the need of the hour.

Arnab Goswami, that should rightly be the 'news of the hour'.

PINK-- Colour Me Not!

I got splashed with a potent colour spray, watching the spectrum of 'Pink' because belying its name, there was nothing soft, sweet or tender about it. It infact made me see red at the obvious gender prejudices and prevalent stereotypes which brand women into labels and categories.

For 2 hours I got infused with the myriad hues of our kaleidoscopic society; a society in which women are either portrayed as red harlots or as symbols of pristine white virtuosity. Where the jaundiced yellow perspective of masses eclipse the lush green vivacity of young women. Where the skewed brown heads cast dubious grey shadows over a woman's character.

There's no fiery feminism in Pink, just a solid, bold splash of No-nonsense. No wimpish or cowed-down, muted exposition of the anamolies in gender biases existing in society.Only a clear mirror reflecting the ugliness marking the false celebration of Feminism.

The message that comes out pronounced and perfectly pitched is loud and clear,

COLOUR ME NOT,

For Am no shrinking violet, or a wilting rose,

Pretty as Pink,Or,

Strong as Steely grey,

Dewy Daisy or Crazy Crimson;

No epithet does me justice,

No labels do me credit,

Will not defend myself to a Purplish hoarse,

For my life isn't yours to rule.
I'm the artist of my life's canvas,

And I paint what i wish it to be!

GLORIFY, not Gloat.

How briskly has India erupted with unmitigated Joi de Vivre, bursting pride, and a palpable sigh of relief due to the 2 Olympic medals won by 2 gritty girls, Sakshi Malik and P.V. Sindhu; powerhouses of talent and excellence! Kudos to them. No accolades can do justice to their achievements and no praise is high enough.

Sakshi and Sindhu have become the harbinger of change in Indian sports, a double badge of honour for a medal-starved nation, an adept answer to trolls, a slap on the face of a socialite mouthing nasty comments; in all S&S are the newly anointed symbols of new age women power and empowerment.

There has been a deluge of eulogies for these 2 girls in print and social media. Several touching poems doing rounds, too many jokes ridiculing that no Indian male was capable of winning an Olympic medal while the girls won two! Ahem! Chin up, collars high, smug smile intact, we GLOAT...It's ladies' day out!

Did I say GLOATING?

Now, that's one emotion that's singularly off-putting. How quickly we jump to own up the moments of glory of those who struggled and toiled for years! How insanely hooked up we are about the achievements of women as opposed to men! Giving credit to them as dedicated, brilliant sportspersons (gender immaterial) is something our skewed mindsets and injured egos can never fathom or accept. Every victory has to be dissected on the flawed parameters of gender, caste or region. It is such a grave disservice to those who spend years fighting the crippling, unfavourable sports environment in India. How well do we really follow their journey? How tuned are we to their twists and turns, highs and lows? We only acknowledge them in their moments of glory, (as in Sakshi and Sindhu's case) or in their moments of ignominy  (Narsingh Yadav).The rest of the time, we are busy following cricket or football.

Crazy times are these - when a simple, sweet win metamorphoses into a complex, giant phenomenon, open to public dissection and scrutiny.

How about just clapping and bowing, in silence, respect and awe?

Because some glories are only meant to be savoured...not brandished as a weapon.

SULTAN--A STORY OF HEART FROM THE HINTERLAND

SULTAN or Haryana ki Shaan, is about a brawny, purehearted simpleton turned 'man on a mission' guy when he falls for a fiesty female wrestler, Anushka Sharma.
Even if the story is predictable and you can kind of anticipate the next move, it doesn't bore or embarrass your grey cells. The heady mix of love for sports and sporting your love churns a cocktail of emotions that overpowers your senses. You cheer for Sultan, you feel for him and the punches are more on your heart than on the opponent. Especially as you go with grave misgivings about the protagonist and his recent verbal faux pas. Anushka Sharma as a fierce 'jatni' provides a perfect foil to Salman's trademark vulnerable guy portrayal.

It's not a standout cinema; just an authentically contrived potpourri offering something to everyone. In times of niche cinemas, massy potboilers are perfect sweepstakes as proved by Sultan which boxes and wrestles its way to multimillion business even as critics lay bewildered by Salman's knockout punch.

Sonny Boys Are Precious too!

As a mother of 2 sons and no daughter, I become an object of envy for some and also an object of commiseration for others. Right from the time that my second son was born, I have had well-meaning, considerate well-wishers offering me their congratulations, ending with an 'ek beti hoti to family complete ho jaati' kind of sympathetic balm. It made sense because I was personally looking forward to having a little replica of myself and reliving my childhood through her. My disappointment lasted for exactly 5 minutes because no sooner than i saw my second born; a cute, angelic baby that my maternal instincts rushed to the fore and the sex of the baby became irrelevant, as it usually does for any mother.

Born into a family of 3 sisters and a broadminded, loving atmosphere where daughters were bestowed with immense love and priveleges, I never grew up with any hangups people usually have about sons being preferred over daughters for some archaic and parochial reasoning. Accepting the sex of my children as a non-issue I adopted to the role of motherhood instinctively.
Bringing up 2 boys has been a roller coaster ride with their 6 year age gap becoming a boon as well a bane. The elder one bullies, the one younger nags, both accusing me of favouritism, a charge i can't defend in all sincerity. I try my best to be neutral but depending upon the situation, i am forced to take sides, the little one getting a lot of leverage due to his age. There are times when I become Mother Fury, launching a full-on tirade for the ruckus they create so effortlessly. Quite surprisingly, they get amused when they see me all agitated at their shenanigans because as per them they are only 'playing', so what if it entails bringing the entire house down.
Honestly speaking i have my hands full as a full time mum and no matter how exasperating things get, I don't wish it to be any other way. What does bother me is the unsolicited advice doled out to me right from the day I became a mum a second time. A well enlightened elderly female relative jibed that 'budhape mein dukh dard baatnein wala koi nahin rahega'...presuming that sons are not as loving as daughters. Her words sent a chill down my spine then. I am well aware of the saying that 'a son is a son till he gets a wife while a daughter remains a daughter whole her life'.
The advent of interactive social media has launched a full throttle pitch for daughters being special and superior ! Hashtags of 'proud to have a daughter' and sharing of loving poems about daughters being precious are ruling the chart. It seems to reflect a positive change in society's mindset considering that India has the highest no. of female infanticide. There are still parents with regressive thinking who treat daughters as a burden or a load. This pathetic viewpoint isn't prominent just in rural areas or uneducated class as I've seen multiple abortions being conducted by women from affluent business families in the hopes of giving birth to a son, a scion, a 'waaris'.

However, I must confess to feeling a tad left out and 'outcast' from the wonderful parenting fraternity having a daughter in their family. I try hard to come across poems/ odes to sons but have yet to see one. I dutifully like and appreciate 'beti-bachao' kind of messages while secretly pining for some on boys too. It's as if having 2 sons is in a way, a pervert superior position which has to be downgraded to give justice to the daughters of the country.
Well my sense and sensibility and my motherly instincts wants to rejoice my children be it sons or daughters.

I hope and pray for the times when a child is celebrated as an individual, precious offspring and no stigma or label is attached to his/her sex. That would be true liberation for mankind and its weird, wicked ways !

Yours Apologetically, Arijit Singh.

Talent beckons Talent. Celebrity complements Celebrity. Genius attracts Genius. Artist respects Artist. And that is the hallmark of an evolved social order.

Indian cinema has music as its backbone. We rely on songs and dances to cure our boredom, take our worries away and provide entertainment in its multifaceted form. We seldom treat movies and music as separate entities. Many superstars have had great music spurt their careers - many blockbuster movies were deemed so because of the chartbusters in them. 

This is not a fulsome piece on the nexus of movies and music in Indian cinema, rather a focus on the unsavoury controversy involving the reigning superstar of Hindi cinema,Salman Khan and an immensely talented and popular singer Arijit Singh. The latter's very public and heartful apology to the movie star, on a highly speculated incident, is doing the rounds of gossip galleries. Public reactions are varied and divided, as they usually are in high profile cases involving celebrities.

Apparently, the incident took place years ago when Arijit Singh arrived sleepy and dishevelled on the stage of an award show and told the host Salman that his hosting is soporific. Salman took extreme offence to the dig; he is still smarting from the insult that never was. No big deal - he is only 'being human'. Superegos are the natural by-product of superstardom, considering the Demi-God status accorded by the hysterical fans. What is pathological is carrying an innocuous perceived insult inside your heart for that long - and letting it affect you so much that you dictate professional relations to appease your injured pride. 

I wonder how satisfied Salman is by the apologies galore from Arijit. Does the public spectacle amuse him or enrage him? Is he indifferent considering the newbie singer is no way in the same league as him... in seniority or clout? Clearly not, as according to reports Salman has officially banned the singer from singing for him. Or, could it be that he does not know how to backtrack? This macho hulk-of-a-man, must maintain his tough-guy image to keep future insult hopefuls in check? Notice all the nauseating Sirs and Ma'ms on stage at the award functions.  Absolutely must pay your obeisance or else.... "Not only sing but dance to my tunes" is how it works in Bollywood. Poor Vivek Oberoi learned this lesson a little too late.

Talent Arijit has in abundance but not enough spine or else why would he bother grovelling and repeatedly begging for forgiveness? Is it real guilt for having done something wrong, inherent humility or plain pragmatism to be in the good books of a powerful banner? 
What we are witnessing is the moral degeneration of creative people, caught in the crossfire of bloated ego, overt pampering, undercutting, one-upmanship, and sycophancy. The sole loser here is the voice of sanity in the cacophony of petty sounds and a fragile & frivolous face-off between David and the Goliath.

CLIPPED WINGS

He's kinda cute and angelic. Cherubic, cuddly, with an endearing smile and warm eyes which tear right through your heart ingratiating him immediately. You swear to love him all your life and protect him from the big bad world. He needs your care, guidance and support. You resolve not to fail him ever. You are his mother after all and he is your flesh n blood. 

From the feeding and burping days to nappy changing and lullaby rituals, he is the centre of your universe as you are his. You adore him and he idolises you. Every one else takes a backseat.You see him through his toddling stage, adolescence, the rebellious teenage years and the excruciating slog years when he is at the threshold of starting a career. He blooms into a fine young man in no time. From Noddy to Friends, from Gajar Halwa to Panacotas, from Shaan to Justin Bieber, his tastes evolve, mature and diversify. You come to terms with this gruelling phenomenon rather reluctantly. You are unwilling to untie the apron strings but let him loose just a little so that he learns to stand on his own feet. He makes your heart swell with unbridled pride and love. You want to make choices for him; he indulges you occasionally. You relish the power of love and control.

If you are enormously lucky you even get to select a wife for him. You sift, scan and finalise a demure simpleton for him. But behold! In just a few weeks and she transforms into a femme fatale, twisting your dear boy around her delicate finger. You abhor this intruder but are helpless. You are infact asked to grin and welcome this interpolar. You do so grudgingly with a plastic smile. You put up a charade of warmth while secretly resenting her. You are determined not to let a 'stranger' usurp your dearest and most precious possession.

You swear to stamp your authority in their lives in the most aggressive manner possible.
Thus starts your interference and control of your son's life. You are the Mommy and Mommy always know best, or so it is claimed. Hence your conception of 'best' imposes and infringes upon the personal life and space of your son. You never learn to take a back seat. Privacy and independence are alien terms to you. So you continue with your controlling act and the tussle for 'power base' - with you holding it back and the children pulling it with all their might - continues unabated lifelong. That unfortunately is the sorry state of affairs in many a household in India.

This dominance of the Queen Mother is nowhere more defined and established as it's in India. From Shravan Kumar who carried his blind parents on his shoulders to Ramji who abdicated his rightful inheritance to do his stepmother's unjustified bidding, the mum-son equation is paramount in the scheme of things that make the family-structure function seamlessly.
The birth of a son is a major achievement in a woman's life, across all classes of indian society. It is a trophy or a distinction which accords a superior status to women automatically. Naturally enough, they are most reluctant to hand over this trophy to the next generation. Fortunately for Generation X, the influx of globalisation and the emergence of nuclear families as a natural corollary of the same, is facilitating a less acrimonious change of guard. The most pious relationship in the world is getting redefined and realigned in sync with the shift in new age thinking and philosophy of "Love me? Let me loose!!"
You mommy dearest are learning to accept the flight of your baby bird from the nest. Well, as long as he remembers to fly back home once in a while and doesn't forget the route, you can make an effort to unclip his wings. Umbilical cord has to be cut finally and you'll find that there's a little pain but much greater joy of delivering.