Kartikey Sehgal

Social Activist Anna Hazare is fasting against corruption and in favour of a long-pending ‘anti-corruption’ bill’. (news source)

An act of desperation, defined at least by allusions to death, should be prefaced by an explanation for the desperation.

Never mind the obviousness of the situation. Death leaves no chance for any future discussions.

In the case that the people still have a mandate to vote, they may exercise it and make an informed and respectful decision. Our country has a functioning democracy but corrupt politicians. The corrupt politicians are elected by the people, who have the mandate.

You see, the masters of the ring are paid for by the people.

If our democracy has failed us, then the onus of the failure must also lie on the educated class of people, the ones who are now in fight against wrongdoings. One step to undo the wrongdoing would be the education of the masses, made up not by the rich and educated but by the poor and uneducated (as opposed to literate). The poor and the uneducated make up for the votes and not the handful protestors at Delhi who have illusions of informed national support.

The purpose of democracy is to educate.

Is it fine—I ask in the sense of the rhetoric—for youngsters to be led by a seventy plus year old man, in a movement whose roots have suddenly been planted in their consciousness. Especially considering the popular definitions and demonstrations of youth as an object of the grandiose.

Is death by starvation the best means to achieve an end, or probably the only one, as is projected by the enormity of the decision.

What happens when the enormity of another situation demands a sober yet quick reaction from the people. Would we have a precedence. Or is sufferance the only teacher for mislaid passions.

Kartikey Sehgal
(written for print media)

Festivals are opportunities to meet and discus shared interests and the success of any film festival should be measured by the discussions it provokes among the audience. The ongoing MAMI (Mumbai Academy of Moving Image) film festival offers hardly any scope for the participating audience to meet and comfortably discuss the films. So much so that the Mumbai Young Critics’ Special Jury, organised by the management to promote youngsters to watch international films, seems like a lost opportunity.

‘The Young Critics’ are student representatives from various colleges in Mumbai. 
They will watch the films showcased in the International Competition section of the festival and decide by consensus the best film (Mumbai Young Critics’ Award)

These critics are affable, eager and polite. However, they have donned the mask of a film critic rather than a film-watcher. They go to the theatres with preconceived notions of what makes for a good film. The Turkish film ‘Majority’ seemed ‘funny’ to one ‘Young Critic’ because of the mannerisms of an actor in the film. “How was he acting? And the way he cried! We were laughing our way through the film”, said one Young Critic when asked about her opinion of the film and the effects of assuming roles demanded by the society, aka, the ‘Majority’. However, they were willing to reverse their position on the film after a small and simple discussion. We discussed the effects of strict patriarchy on Indian society and how several youngsters are abandoning their dreams to follow the comforts of ‘MBA and MNC’. We spoke of effeminacy among modern men who are bullied by societal expectations enforced upon them by their family. This made them reconsider their attitude towards the movie and reflect upon the effeminacy of the lead character and the reasons for his crying on the shoulders of a stranger (rather than his family).

It is not enough to ask some youngsters to be critics of films. They must reflect on themes, emotions and behavioural attitudes if they want to be successful in their evaluations. Discussions should precede decisions. This is where the PVR-Chandan combo fails as the venue of a thoughtful film festival. There is little space for the delegates and media to interact. The Young Critics discuss among themselves and attend some workshops and press conferences that do not serve to inform them about cinema.

(Majority later won the ‘Best First Feature Film Award’ and ‘Golden Gateway of India trophy for the Best Film’)

Kartikey Sehgal
–Drugs and economic disparity in the Indian home of the Dalai Lama. Standalone story. Other parts of the series here.

“Hey gorgeous, nice shoes”, they call out to a foreigner who is wearing shining dark red shoes. She turns to look at them; “thanks”. As a rule, the duo avoids complementing Indian women and any woman with a man. “Hey baby! You look beautiful” and “Wow, you are lovely”, they call out to women in their accented English.

I sit next to them and see that many women turn to look at the boys. Some of them smile and a few just walk on. Years of staying at Dharamsala has taught them to converse with foreigners. They tell me that the secret to stay out of trouble is to approach “only those cars that are without drivers”. Thus far, they have not faced problems from the women. “Foreign women are very open”, adds Jeleani, gleefully. His comrade Shahid adds, “Oh yes baby”. [photo above: Jeleani (l), Shahid (r)]

The duo own a small shop by the road at some distance from where I am staying. I see that they are not selling anything to the women; none of the metal jewellery, bags and postcards. “Business is just ok”, says Jeleani. “Theek hi hai”, according to Shahid. Unlike Jeleani and Shahid, another Kashmiri, Tariq Ahmad does not own a shop but leads customers to a shop of Kashmiri antiques owned by a North Indian man. But Tariq is spending most of his time dusting the shop. “Sale is low”.

He can converse in English but is happy to recite with me a poem by poet Allama Iqbal, at the end of which he tells me, “We are brothers. These politicians create problems in Kashmir”.

Tariq, Jeleani and Shahid live in an entirely different world from the one at Kashmir. Here they realise that they are equals and that they are not discriminated against either by the Tibetans or the local Himachal lads. Of course, night life is non-existent in the region but they hook up with their friends for beer and whisky. When there is little cash, then they can buy the easily available and cheap ‘desi daaru’. The dark streets are good enough to roam around a little drunk.

Work also comes a bit easy these days as sales are low but recession is high; they are hoping that the foreigners spend money on their goods. Tariq’s friend, also a Kashmiri, spends his time talking to foreigners. He works in a shop alongside and often stuns foreigners with what he calls his “universal accent” or the mid-Atlantic accent, although he has never stepped outside India. Even if the foreign girls don’t buy the Pashminas and sweaters he hopes to be remembered forever.

These young men are single and away from familiar surroundings. They won’t reveal the how and where but they say that they get lucky with women. I learn that despite its invisibility prostitution is prevalent and the trio know about the importance of condoms; they are available easily and in every other shop at McLeodganj. “Without them, what will the foreigners ever do?” quips a local Himachal lad.

I ask them about their love life and Jeleani and Shaid open up to me. They have come here to sell exotic goods but they end up “being more exotic than what we sell”. Foreign women like their fair skin and “deep brown” or green coloured eyes.

“Some of them don’t believe that we are from India”.
“Our skin colour and accented language makes them feel like we are Europeans”.
“They feel at home with us”.

In short, they are more in demand than their goods.

“The same goes for the exotic Tibetans and some of the local Himachal lads”; I leave the duo laughing over a private joke.

But unlike them Tariq is more serious about the decreasing sales. As I am about to leave, we hug and he asks me the rate of the buses that leave for Delhi. “In case, if I ever have to”.

 
Tariq Ahmad

This concludes the four part series of ‘Hidden Tremors’.

Kartikey Sehgal

We come on earth to live and yet we prepare for a living.

We like to claim love and lust and longing while we live but what runs parallel is murder, bombs and destruction. Does the end justify the means. Is a nuclear catastrophe important so that the survivors do not make weapons again.
Japan suffered a nuclear catastrophe and is least likely to use nuclear force today. They make the best robots and cars. Is this evolution. Survival of the fittest. On the evolution scale is Japan superior to all.

What is youth. Youth is a memory. Can you be young with the memory of youth. You will be old when you remember the young days. Can youth be reclaimed after experience. Can you relive the youth if you are made younger, given hard bones, hair, teeth and muscles. Or do you only do what you didn’t when you were younger before.

Science can give knowledge to people. Knowledge is power; but not at the cost of life. Life was given to you. And your biggest accomplishment would be life. If knowledge alone is absolute power, scientists would not die. However, a scientist will die and so will a beggar. So would you kill for science.

Without your discovery of truth, the truth will prevail. We were apes; we lost the tail without our effort. Evolution will take care of humans. Evolution is time. 
Then, it is not prudent to kill a life to discover truth.

What is better. kill a life for a better but unforeseeable future. Or live with her. Perhaps live without her and live in her memory. Another page to your memory-book. 
When you are old and dying, you regret not the unaccomplished work or the lost love, but cherish the life and the impending death.  
    
Francis Ford Coppola writes and directs Youth Without Youth.

A Note:
Perhaps what we call ‘the truth’ or ‘mystery of life’ lies in the simple, and we are afraid of the simple. We build the complex around us so it is difficult to reach the simple.

Kartikey Sehgal

Update, Sep 3: [Link now available on Google Video. Adults Only. Scroll the volume tab to the minimum level]

Shows like Dadagiri make me wonder why nudity is banned in Indian cinema halls.

The image of a naked woman clasping a naked man under a satin sheet of a colour opposite to that of the bodies is less likely to make you violent than the image of a television crew member asking a contestant to get his sister so that he can rape her.

The host of this show is a skimpily clad girl with a whip in her hand who fights with one of the contestants and they talk in obscenities. The girl slaps the contestant and he slaps her back. This irks ‘the man’, the archetype of the modern muscular youth, whose latent sexuality is awakened by the slaps and who decides to express his self in generous physical and verbal abuses.

He attacks the contestant and calls for his sister. He makes references to the contestant’s private parts. Unsatisfied, he asks for the contestant’s mother to quench his self.

A few slaps and kicks later, the seemingly scared contestant asks the ‘man’ (probably the co-host of the show), “How can she hit me. How can she slap me?”

The ha..ha…harassed girl, meanwhile, stands holding the whip and gets some reassurance/sympathy from the television crew (all men), who then proceed to the scene of action; they must savour the moment and partake in the delight of violence; their suppressed sexual feelings find favour in the off-beat of kicks and screams.

The show, aired on a not so popular youth channel, aims to please the confused kids in small towns-fighting the advent of liberalism with the mores of forced traditions- by giving them a model for modern city existence.

News Channels (the author saw Aaj Tak) sell this model to village children and give the city gentry a topic to loathe; children are repeatedly subjected to scenes of violence and abuse.

Dadagiri is mixing sex with modernity; modern girls and boys wear branded clothes and abuse openly. It is picking out the tendencies of small town youth-who fight daggers over women-and presenting the same to them, ensuring a sustained viewership. The host in short pants and tank tops can not carry the grace of her clothes. The ‘man’ repeats the abuses that fathers hurl at women openly and women hurl at men secretly.

Even as a staged product, the slap-abuse incident speaks of the assumed intelligence of the masses. It should be probed by the police as an episode of abuse.

The set of such programs could be converted into sex education classrooms.

[Link to the incident was available till yesterday. It had been posted by the channel on YouTube. They probably fear police action and want to kill the issue immediately. ]

Thapas Joseph Thomas

When the book ‘The Da Vinci Code’ released, every Tom, Dick, Harry, Rose, Guinevere, Kate could decipher the numerological mysticism of the book. What many youngsters didn’t realize was that Dan Brown is more a marketer than an author, a numerologist or a genius.

Yes, youth are a strange lot. Any adolescent, on receiving an external ‘inspiration’, becomes an opinion leader. They may be inept at math and logic, but they easily follow and understand a book that is against an important constitution of the west-the Bible. Then they form their own theories and build their own protests. Such opinion leaders are characterized by rebellion and cult behavior which is encouraged by the media. The media proclaims itself as ‘comrades’ and mouth-pieces of the youth. And they call this encouragement of sorts, ‘Marketing’.

And so, I believe, the IIM graduates are no different from the fish-mongers trying to hide the age of the Pomfret. Marketing is not a dirty job. It is an art so influential and effective that all the other arts have to be ‘marketed’.

But if the marketers and the media want you to buy and be influenced, why do they encourage ‘rebellion’ and such pseudo movements? Well, this is innovation. When you wear a Metallica T-shirt to church or pierce your navel (disregarding the various medical hazards of the same), you feel a sense of cult and ‘unbelonging’. And all of a sudden, you are this leader of a ‘new movement’. And teens find you ultra cool. There you are in your own Zion; you turn around and shout “Faith” and such gibberish to your peers. And voila, you are a poet and an artist.

You say that the established artists do not appreciate your poetry or doodles because they’re too naïve to understand such a ‘transcendent’ existence. Your life becomes a movie and you fall in love, get into fights, start boozing and cause your parents grief. But your parents have to grieve, right? It’s a part of finding yourself and your new religion!

While you’re doing all this, a bunch of people are secretly sniggering. Some of them are editors, some advertisers and the big guys; marketers. They are happy because you’re doing exactly what they want, buying what they want you to buy and saying what they want you to say. You are blissfully unaware of the fact that the ‘inspiration’ you got at the beginning, was just another marketing gimmick. Congratulations, you’ve become an opinion leader. In the process, you have created a sub-culture aka a market.

This is the story of most neo-cultures, cults and rock groups. So the next time you’re looking at that Metallica T-shirt, be wise. Your favorite band with all the long hair, heavy metal, pierced eyebrows, Satanism and much more could just be a victim of marketing.