Video Parlours in a New Avatar

Last sunday, I watched "Kaminey" in a cinema opened recently in Khandeshwar. Now, this establishment which goes by the name ‘multiplex’ is really a few shop galas clubbed together and has two really tiny screens that are barely larger than the new age TVs. The hall had a seating capacity of 80 and was half full at 10pm which I am told is very good going. The ambience was cool and clean, the projection and sound quality above average. However, the experience was nowhere near watching a thriller on a single screen that looms real large in front of you, covering more than your normal cone of vision, engulfing you and 500 others who have packed the hall in a thrall as if casting a spell.

The collective experience of watching the film was perhaps more like in those places in the eighties and nineties which went by a name- ‘video parlour’. These were mostly shady places among the kind of shop galas that were covered by cement sheets and fronted by a narrow verandah in which would be placed a chalk board on a stand. Coloured chalk caligraphy announced the daily screenings of video cassettes of B and C grade Hindi films or similar regional language films.

There was one such video parlour just outside our colony and many a times I would notice this ubiquitous chalk board and its contents on my way to the station. My most favourite occasion was coming upon it with a title which went- “India win England- 6.00 pm- Rs.75”. This was of course on the morning following the semi-final of the 1983 world cup in which India against all expectations defeated England. Many people gave it a miss instead of bunking work. Somebody from the video parlour had recorded the live telecast and made most of it, selling the show more than once.

Come, Come, Advaniji!

I feel sorry for the BJP spokespersons on various TV channels having to defend someone else’s (not their party’s) indefensible position.

Why is Mr. Advani mum?

Why doesn’t the ‘Strong Leader’ come clean and clarify? Where is his eloquence, he used to be so fond of talking. For last five years, he incessantly blabbered, about non-issues mostly. He kept on describing the gentle and learned PM as nikamma. When the ‘weak’ Dr. Singh dared him to enumerate his achievements, he went into a sulk and feigned hurt. Now he is feigning amnesia.

Why is everybody chasing their own tails arguing about this? Were there no minutes of the cabinet meeting in question? Wasn’t there a written record of who was present in the meeting? Are we to believe that the home minister was absent in all these meetings?

In the aftermath of the hijack, an all-party meeting had authorized the then government to take any steps necessary to avert a tragedy. Nobody in the country had the heart to sacrifice the lives of captives on the eve of the new millennium. Everybody was relieved to see them return safely, fully and sadly aware of the price having been paid.

What is all this fuss about then?

Is it because, Mr. Advani chose to distance himself from the painful decision of a government in which he was the home minister? Did he choose to lie to appear strong?

Perhaps, Mr. Advani has never realised real strength lies in having the courage to tell the truth.

Berry Pulav for Pateti

At 11.30 in the morning, I entered my kitchen absent mindedly, half thinking of cooking something. Breakfast was early and not quite what is called sumptuous. Lunch time was approaching and something needed to be done.

And suddenly, I remembered two things: that today’s holiday was because of Pateti and there were some juicy, succulent mulberries in the fridge. The decision was made: shall make Berry Pulav to celebrate the Parsi New Year. Now, I have never been to Britannia which is famous for this particular dish and therefore had no idea how it looked or tasted let alone how it’s cooked. Minor matters indeed. I also had a vague idea that it contained meat. Really minor a matter in my opinion. It’s called Berry Pulav and I had Basmati and berries. Enough to start. In went some mutter, butter, cloves, elaichi, sauted mushrooms and onion in pepper, fresh basil, salt.

Lo and behold- my first berry pulav was ready. Refer to the picture below.

To contrast with its mild sweetness, I made tangy and salty cucumber salad with celery in which were added last drops of olive oil from the Eiffel Tower look- alike bottle. This is a story by itself… I was determined to purchase my own version of a hideous Eiffel Tower souvenir so that everyone who came to my house would know, you know, that I have been there. Also, it had to be unique. Run of the mill plastic replicas or key-chains would just not do. In moments of desperation, I came close to buying tower shaped pasta but wisely decided against it. Finally, I found this bottle at one of the airport shops just before boarding our flight back home.

So…how was the pulav? Quite delicious, if you ask me. Husband can vouch for it.

"A Lovely Day for Cricket"

In 1972, a calypso emerged out of Trinidad and Tobago, sung by Lord Relator, centered around Sunil Gavaskar. Look at the way he brings in the entire Indian cricket team and the lambasting his own West Indies team gets:

A Lovely Day for Cricket

Blue skies and gentle breeze
The Indians are awaiting now
To play the West Indies
A signal from the umpire
The match is going to start
The cricketers come on the field
They all look very smart ...

Erapalli Prasanna
Jeejeebhoy and Wadekar
Krishnamurthy and Vishnoo Mankad
Them boys could real play cricket
On any kinda wicket
They make the West Indies team look so bad
We was in all kinda trouble
Joey Carew pull a muscle
Clive Lloyd get 'bout three run out
We was in trouble without a doubt

It was Gavaskar
De real masterJust like a wall
We couldn't out Gavaskar at all, not at all
You know the West Indies couldn't out Gavaskar at all

Ven-kat-a-ra-ghavan
Bedi, in a turbanVijay Jaisimha, Jayantilal
They help to win the series
Against the West Indies
At Sabina Park and Queen's Park Oval
A hundred and fifty-eight by Kanhai
Really sent our hopes up high
Noriega nine for ninety-five
The Indian team they still survive

It was Gavaskar
De real master
Just like a wall
We couldn't out Gavaskar at all, not at all
You know the West Indies couldn't out Gavaskar at all

Govindraj and Durani
Solkar, Abid Ali
Dilip Sardesai and Viswanath
They make West Indies bowlers
Look like second raters
When those fellas came out here to bat
West Indies tried Holder and Keith Boyce
They had no other choice
They even try with Uton Dowe
But ah sure that they sorry they bring him now

It was Gavaskar
De real master
Just like a wall
We couldn't out Gavaskar at all, not at all
You know the West Indies couldn't out Gavaskar at all

Little Desmond Lewis
Also Charlie Davis
Dey take a little shame from out we face
But Sobers as the captain
He want plenty coachin'
Before we cricket end up in a disgrace
Bedi hear that he became a father
So he catch out Holford in the covers
But when Sobers hear he too had a son
He make duck and went back in the pavilion

It was Gavaskar
De real master
Just like a wall
We couldn't out Gavaskar at all, not at all
You know the West Indies couldn't out Gavaskar at all

...and here you can see Lord Relator perform the calypso, in an appropriately grainy video from the 1970s:

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Belated Happy Birthday, Gavaskar

“Fluke- part II”, Gavaskar’s explanation for India winning the World Championship of Cricket in Australia in 1985.

Gavaskar was and still remains my all time favourite cricketer not because he was the most accomplished opening batsmen the world has seen since his time but because of his ready wit, sense of humour and an intellectual approach towards all aspects of the game. He knew how to put down the most fearsome bowling attack- but who doesn’t know that? He knew how to put down the all powerful BCCI bosses who in those days treated cricketers with only slightly more respect than their household servants. They earned paltry match fees and little perks. Gavaskar, along with Bishensingh Bedi formed players’ association, took the board head on and began a process of change in the fortunes of the sportspersons. He also knew how to put down the Press. Once in a press conference when asked to explain a band-aid on his forehead, he replied, “I had a fight with Kapil Dev”.

He is the only Indian cricketer to have penned down his memoirs, ie without services of ghost or collaborative writers. ‘Sunny Days’ is immensely enjoyable to read and again a testimony to the days when cricketers came from a stock of college graduates and not school drop-outs. (There used to be a rumour that Dilip Vengsarkar took so long to finish his B.Com. was due to Poddar college deliberately not passing him to keep him in the college team!)

Gavaskar made his debut in the Indian test team at the age of 21 after graduating from St. Xavier’s college. What a debut it was! His amassing 774 runs in four tests with an average of 154.8 in the 1971 series in West Indies still remains a record. The series began his love affair with the Caribbean. They even composed calypsos for him:

“It was Gavaskar
The real master
Just like a wall
We couldn't out Gavaskar at all
Not at all
You know the West Indies couldn't out Gavaskar at all”.
http://www.cricinfo.com/ci/content/story/120290.html

That series also began his love affair with the West Indian pace battery. He scored more runs against them on their home turf than anybody else. Imagine demolishing a combined attack of the likes of Roberts, Holding, Garner and later the likes of Clark without wearing a helmet! The highlight in my mind is the 3rd Test of the 1976 series in which India successfully chased 403 runs in the last innings. Both Gavaskar and Vishwanath scored a century in it.

It is true that Gavaskar hated to loose his wicket. Somebody please make a chart of all his 214 test innings and his wicket in the order of the fall of wickets. My hunch is that more dots will appear in the latter five positions. I know that he carried his bat at least once if not more (i.e. the entire team got out in front of him!) We all remember his last test innings in 1987 against Pakistan at Bangalore on a crumbling pitch, his valiantly holding the fort almost till the very end before succumbing to a dubious decision at 96. Pakistan won the match by 16 runs.

Why he had to retire when batsmen who replaced him as an opener, and there were about a dozen in quick succession, were not even quarter as good as him.
But that is Gavaskar for you.

It is generally believed that Gavaskar, though a Master of the Test genre was a goner in the limited overs format. That he couldn’t adapt his ‘defensive’ style to this more aggressive form of cricket. I disagree. He was too clever a cricketer not to adapt. For one, he adopted a more rigorous fitness regimen and became a specialist fielder in the deep and becoming much sharper slip and close-in fielder too. Recall the match against Pakistan in 1995 Rothman’s 4 Nation Cup at Sharjah. India bowled out the opposition for 87 while defending a meager score of 125 in 50 overs. Gavaskar took four catches in the slip.
http://thatscricket.oneindia.in/odi/1985/rothmans-four-nations-cup-1984-85/ind-
vs-pak-sc-45749.html

Talking about one day cricket, India reaching the finals of the 1983 Prudential world cup, let alone winning it, is considered a very big surprise. The ‘Fluke- II’ comment was made as a reference to this. We will never get tired of watching the highlights of that historic match; we have memorized it ball by ball. Though, why was it a surprise? Did we not beat the favourites in the very first Group B match on 10th June at Old Trafford? India won by 34 runs, after scoring 262. (Anything above 250 was considered HUGE in those days).

So, maybe 10th June 1983 was a surprise. Was it really? Wind the clock back by a couple of months to 29th March 1983- the 2nd ODI in which India beat the mighty West Indies by 27 runs after scoring…hold your breath…282 runs. This probably was the first time when the Indian team believed in itself in the one-day format. Gavaskar made 90 in 117 balls. I feel, this victory holds the key in understanding our changed performance in the world cup following immediately after the WI tour.
http://thatscricket.oneindia.in/odi/1983/india-in-west-indies-1982-83/ind-vs-wi-sc-43340.html

Exceptions don’t prove a rule and in Gavaskar’s case, there is no need to rely on exceptions. Figures speak for themselves:
http://www.cricinfo.com/india/content/player/28794.html

Recently, on 10th July while watching news report of celebrations of his 60th birthday, I was reminded of one occasion in the past when my friends extracted a treat of samosa and chai from me on a 10th July in the college canteen, exploiting their knowledge that I was such a huge fan of his.

Sar(i)torial Tyranny

It is often unsettling to see many Muslim women in a Burkha with a niqab, i.e. a face veil. Many are forced to dress thus, some others resign to the dictates and yet a few are too willing to follow the suit. The religious structure that compels this kind of dress code argues that it is mandatory to dress modestly. This injunction is interpreted severally as just a head scarf or a full hijab to the extremities of a niqab. At the ground level, therefore it becomes more of a social code where every social group (and there are several) evolves its own set of rules and a mechanism of enforcement. Conforming to these rules is thus to retain or some time assert one’s social identity. I am much too aware that many veiled Muslim women I encounter in a ladies compartment of my local train have willingly accepted the dress code; most are young college going girls or educated office goers. One may even sense a high moral ground kind of attitude that comes over people when they adopt religious customs.

I find it awkward that I will not recognize them if I meet them again as all I have seen is a tight oval window revealing the front of the face and some times even less- just the two eyes peering from a slit. The burkha surely divests them the dignity and identity of an individual.

Why then, I am arguing against the French President’s desire to ban the burkha? Mr. Sarkozy has denounced the garment as a sign of women’s subjugation. Surely, he is right. Then why complain?

If a garment can represent women’s subjugation, then, burkha is not alone.

What about the good old Indian saree? Some of my Marwari friends in Panvel where I live are compelled to wear only sarees by their ultra traditional families. Surreptitiously changing into a salwar kameez when they visit a friend or go out of town is their idea of indulging in a forbidden pleasure. I remember, in my own Gujarati family, for my mother and aunts wearing the saree in a non-Gujarati fashion itself was an act of defiance against the traditional values. For these women, letting their daughters-in-law to wear a ‘Punjabi Dress’ is akin to a major revolution. But you can’t catch them dead without a dupatta. The term used to justify these traditions is ‘maryada’ which literally means ‘limits’. Women must remain within certain limits. The most commonly enforced limits are in the sartorial realm as it is the most outward manifestation of status. So, why not liberate all these women by banning sarees and dupattas? There are people out there who do feel that wearing a saree is a sign of backwardness. Where does this leave someone who wears a saree out of choice as they think Punjabi dress as alien as pants? What if Sarkozy declares it as unwelcome in France.

My objection is against compelling women what they must wear. I object in equal measure against dictating what they can’t wear or judging them by what they choose to wear. Women always have to be told, they can’t decide for themselves.

Finally, why just ban a head scarf? Why leave out fancy hats? Why not liberate HRH Queen Elizabeth II who never appears in public with her head bare?

Konkani Muslim Wedding and Sarkozy

Yesterday was my husband’s cousin’s Konkani Muslim Wedding at the Haj House near VT station. The men were dressed more or less the same- Pant and Bush Shirt- in simple style and subdued colours. The two men who have a central role to play in a Muslim wedding were dressed a little differently. The groom had a more flamboyant blue shirt on with a corduroy jacket that was promptly removed after the brief ceremony. The Bride’s father had a black coat and a black fur cap (a bit like what Farooq Abdullah wears) on. When the Kazi who was the only bearded man in the hall (and a few others) began to recite the Kalma, the groom donned a white skull cap which was clearly a last minute and unco-ordinated inclusion in his wedding attire. A couple of elders on the stage placed their handkerchiefs on their head. The rest tried to look as solemn as they could with their bare heads. The groom’s father was walking up and down, giving catering instructions on his mobile phone while his son was reciting his wedding wows. It can’t be more humdrum and matter of fact than this.

The scene among the other sex was different. The women were a motley mix. At the middle of the spectrum were the normal Konkani Muslim women of our family- clad in a Banarasi saree and gold Mangalsutra sans bindi. There was a section of women clad in black burkhas- maybe very distant relatives as neither I knew them nor was introduced to them. Then there was this bizarre lot who was dressed in zhakpak salwar kameez and wore shiny imitation jewellery. Among all this, you wouldn’t have missed a huge number of women dressed in Banarasis, mangalsutras with bindis on their foreheads. They were the more family than friends Hindu friends of the family and long standing neighbours, greeting our aunt with the muslim hug. As if this was not enough, you also had my husband’s Bohra Muslim aunt clad in a bright coloured and intricately embroidered Bohra burkha known as a rida.

In short, men and women dressed as they pleased or as they understood/ interpreted the tradition. I did not see any consciously defined uniform pattern. This is how it should be: Let people be. Let them choose for themselves. Give them the freedom to follow their traditions or reject them, as long as they are not causing harm to others.

What would Mr. Sarkozy have made out regarding the Muslim sartorial tradition if he was a guest at the above wedding? He has created a stir by proposing a ban on burkha in France.

How can any state dictate what people should not wear? I am sure there are anti-nudist laws in France, meaning one can not go about completely naked in public, meaning one has to wear some clothes at least. That being the case, who decides the upper limit? Personally, I can’t understand why some Muslim women choose to wear a sac like garment with a face mask. I don’t get the logic of modesty implied here. I also don’t understand the stark contrast in the way men and women dress at the Oscar award ceremony, for instance. Now, either the women must be freezing to near death or the men must be slowing stewing inside their penguin like uniforms. You don’t go about advocating bans on some things you don’t like or understand.

Compare some universities in Uttar Pradesh banning girls from wearing jeans with the French government banning burkhas. Both acts are equally dubious even though the former seems to be imposing restrictions on women while the latter seems to liberate them from restrictions. At a deeper level they commit a similar folly.

I wish both the state and the church would leave people alone in matters of personal choices.