The Stamp Collector

With just four days to go for my second international trip, I am spending a considerable amount of time feasting on travel blogs, guidebooks and country fact books. Just like my first trip, this one will begin as a business trip and end as a vacation. Another similarity would be that I will be visiting two countries.

What disappoints me about the coming trip is the fact that both Singapore and Cambodia have issued e-visas. I am all too aware of the "environment friendliness" of these, as well as the relative ease of obtaining them whilst sitting in the comfort of my home/ office. Yet, the disappointment stems from the fact that I will not have two more visa "stickers" in my passport. Even on the previous trip, I was disappointed with the lack of any border checkpoint between France and Spain (where my passport could have carried the entry stamp from Spanish authorities) because my passport only shows entry and exit stamps at Charles de Gaulle Airport and nothing for Madrid's Atocha railway station (one of the largest in the world) or its enormous and splendid Barajas airport.

For long, I have envied those seasoned travellers who have three, four or even five additional passports bound together to accommodate all their visas and entry/ exit stamps. It's the only way a dry official document like a passport transforms into a gripping novel, with each visa and each stamp an unforgettable chapter. I have always imagined the pride with which I would present such a massive booklet at the immigration counter at an airport and cast a condescending glance towards the little kid eying me with awe. Most people want to collect postage stamps, but I want to collect visa stamps.

Obviously, my lust for travel is driven by a sincere, deep-rooted passion for exploring new and exotic places, meeting with people of different nationalities, and witnessing and briefly living among new cultures; not just for the almost robotic desire of collecting visa stamps. Nevertheless, the visa stamp from an exotic destination (say, Peru or Ethiopia or Iran or Vanuatu) is a prized possession and a catalyst to trigger all the memories associated with that place. The US visa is a prized possession of a different variety because a number of countries will never refuse you a visa or ask you to come to the consulate for a personal interview, if you have a valid US visa stamped on your passport. A Schengen area visa, especially a multiple-entry one valid for several years, is another valued stamp on your passport because you can visit dozens of countries in Europe with the same visa (of course, someone like me would still be disappointed because there won't be any additional stamps embossed during intra-Schengen area border crossings).

It's no secret that Cambodia is still an exotic destination which does not attract too many tourists. It is virtually unheard of in India. In fact, several people asked me where it was, one person asked me if it was in South America (obviously confusing it with Colombia) and yet another person, when I explained it neighboured Vietnam, asked if it was a province in Japan too (as he thought Vietnam was a province in Japan and that the US had nuked it during the Vietnam War). The best thing about Cambodia is that it features way below its neighbour Thailand in the average western tourist's list of must-see countries in South-east Asia. So when I get there in around ten days' time, I will not only be visiting a country that boasts of splendid ancient temples and natural beauty, but also collecting a rare entry/exit stamp. In fact, it will be my first "exotic" stamp. That's why I am kicked. OK, I admit - it's not the only reason. It IS a beautiful place.

Finally, I have to admit this is the only time I will pity the Americans. Their passport gets them entry into nearly 150 countries without requiring a visa. They will have very few stamps on their passports.

The flight into freedom - Udaan

It's been a while since I wrote a movie review. In fact, it's been a while since I saw a good movie at the talkies. Multiplex, they call it these days. It was one of those rare weekends when there were several movies releasing in which I had a REAL interest in watching. On top of my list was Udaan. I had seen the promo once on TV (unlike those big banner promos which hit you at all times) and I casually observed that it had been screened at Cannes. Hindi movie at Cannes? Without Aamir Khan involved? With a commercial release in a multiplex? A must watch, I told myself.

A must watch it is. If this were a book, the blurb would have told us that it's the story of a teenager whose mind isn't in academics, who is forced into the hands of a father who hasn't bothered to keep in touch, who is forced by the father into things he doesn't care for, and whose adolescent spirit refuses to die. I can hear the groan in your head, as you think it's one of those pseudo-rebellious, Utopian stories that Bollywood is capable of producing. (Like Rang De Basanti - emotionally charged but really, who does that stuff in real life?). But wait - it received the applause from the stiff suits at Cannes - it's got to be something meaningful.

The plot begins slowly. It moves slowly. It caresses the characters, in a slow, sensual manner. It paints us Rohan, the adolescent and Bhairav, the tyrannical father, in the manner of Van Gogh at the height of his powers. Rohan's been expelled from his boarding school and returns to Bhairav, who hasn't bothered to meet his son in eight years. Immediately, we see that the boy is not welcome at home. Home is in Jamshedpur, India's first industrial township, which provides the ideal cold, machine-like backdrop to the plot. Dad owns a factory and immediately sets about employing his son into the hard labour. The school dropout is forced into attending evening college for engineering. When all he wants to do is to write poems and stories.

The strongest point of the movie is its characterization. Besides the two central characters, there's the loving uncle Jimmy and the wide-eyed stepbrother, the little kid Arjun. No one's character is overcooked. We see Rohan's angst through his eyes and facial expressions, but never through flashbacks, visions and dreams. We see Bhairav's painful past through vague references and an old photo album, but we never get that full story. We see Arjun's fears and vulnerability through his scars, and his maturity through his stoic taciturnity, but never through a tantrum or an outburst. It's subtlety that one would not normally associate with a Bollywood film.

Rohan's story is brilliantly told. He is treated like a big man by his father, when he's just a teenager discovering the world around him. He's not afraid to steal away in his father's car (after stealing some money too) and enjoy a smoke, but you are never invited to make a moral judgement of these actions. He's not afraid to drink and drive, but you are never instigated to imitate him because you empathise with the rebel inside and not the act itself. Instead, your heart is inspired to reach out to him and tell him, "I feel you".

The film rides over so many stereotypes, especially the moral judgements and mundane life choices we make. In the end, it's what makes the story believable. A school dropout who writes beautiful, haunting poetry is not laughing stock - his choices command the viewer's respect and even support. A strict, disciplinarian who wishes his son the best (although his actions never match his wishes) is not a desirable thing - in fact, it solicits our disgust and frustration. Ironically, the one time we really love Bhairav is when he's stone drunk. The other time we reach out to him is when he is confronted with the unpardonable sin of whipping the kid Arjun. The college bullies are not the despicable demons we tend to stereotype them into - their human side is revealed. They live for the moment, having realised that success will never call into their ports and life has passed them by.

The violence is always mental. Bhairav beats Rohan on several occasions but the real violence is in Rohan's steely glare. One punch is all Rohan throws in the entire film, when it wouldn't have been a surprise had he committed patricide. There are no clenched fists, no quivering lips. Bhairav's frustration and temper are closer to the surface, while Rohan's is immensely restrained.

A word about the actors. Ronit Roy has always shown plenty of mettle on the small screen and he fills up every inch of the big screen as Bhairav. Rajat Barmecha is surely Bollywood's young star in a powerhouse performance as Rohan. Unlike some better-known names, he can act. It's a shame the Khans and Akshay Kumar will bag the big bucks and the awards, but in my book, Udaan is the film of the year. Beyond any shadow of doubt.

After all, Cannes said that it had a certain look to it.

The Screen behind the Mirror

I look at the mirror. It is a lie. It's not I who's looking back at me. There's something missing. There's something that's not right. It's nothing to do with my face. The same two eyes, the same nose, the same lips, everything else is in place too. But it's just not me.

Look, look! I don't see how extraordinary I am. I cannot see how different I am from others around me. I respect women and their decisions; yet the mirror shows me as a man who seemingly is no different from other men who objectify women. I act true to my beliefs, yet the mirror shows me as no different from those whose morals are as transient as a chameleon's colours. I work honestly for a living, yet the mirror only shows that I am not an engineer. I would never beat my wife and constantly suspect, belittle and dominate her, but the mirror only shows a strong arm and frown on my face, just like on any other man. I have infinite compassion in my heart, but the mirror understands not what is meant by that. I want love, attention and affection no less than the next person, but the mirror cannot decipher so complex a code.

The greatest irony is in the truth. The mirror only shows my face, hands, trunk and legs as they are. But then, why do I interpret the mirror differently?

How Mature is my Society Part III

Urban India never ceases to amaze me. I have said this on two previous occasions on this blog, but I will not tire just yet. My fascination stems from the dichotomies I perceive between how advanced people in India's metropolitan cities today seem in terms of material progress, but how far they lag behind in terms of updating their collective state of morality and their reaction to individual actions.

I met a very interesting person yesterday. She made two very interesting statements. First, that she was open to the idea of having one-night stands with attractive strangers, for mutual pleasure. Second, that if she were to get married someday, she would never grudge her husband for having a one-off sexual escapade with "another woman", so long as he was emotionally committed to her (i.e the wife) . Women who have such thoughts are not non-existent in metropolitan India today, but they constitute one of the most marginalised and misunderstood minorities.

Somehow, I feel that Indian society and the unwritten code of morals that weighs heavy on our collective shoulders is obsessed with women and their sexual behaviour. Any woman who has thoughts as my friend does is described as a whore or a woman of loose character and literally becomes an object in the eyes of Indian men. Men harbouring adulterous thoughts and desire to bed several women are forgiven by the same code of morals. Even highly educated men in great jobs are not spared.

Which brings me to the plight of another friend. She had been in a couple of relationships during her college days. Whether she had partaken of the forbidden fruit of sexual pleasure or not is a matter of speculation and no more (without asking privacy-intrusive questions, that is). Based just on the material that she had dated two guys, a family "carefully selected" by her parents to marry her into not only rejected her hand in marriage, but also broadcast their speculation (and there are no points for guessing what they speculated) to the larger community. The friend in question was transformed from a brilliant, ambitious and extremely eligible lawyer into a common street whore sans morals. And this is a family (the boy's, that is) where everyone was a "gold medallist" in all their academic glory.

The point here is not about questioning the morals of society, but delving into why one cannot embrace a common, consistent school of thought. The market-based capitalist economic model adopted and embraced so passionately by the businessmen, software engineers and management graduates (who, incidentally, are the hottest property on the marriage market) in urban India today necessarily demands the freedom of the individual and a respectful acceptance of the competence of every person to make decisions that suit them best. If investing in risky stocks was a decision a female took and gained success by, she must equally have the right to make a sexual choice. If a man and a woman are judged by their boss on the same criteria, then society must judge them against similar moral benchmarks.

I feel somewhat sorry for my friend who had the "deviant" thoughts on her sexual choices. Being a man, my agreement with her views means little because I apparently have the right to think that way. Will I marry a girl who admits to having had sexual relations with other men in the past, but who will assure me of lifelong commitment in an emotional and temporal sense? My simple answer is yes. But will I be marrying a whore? The simpler answer is no.

How Mature is my Society Part II

Two things make headlines in India - politics and cricket. When the two are combined along with other headline-grabbers in a heady mix of high-profile scandal, corruption, juicy love affairs involving public figures, rigged sports events, fear of imminent political fallout and glitzy, morality-busting late night parties, we get a perfect Indian curry. The controversy surrounding the IPL is stuff which even Jeffrey Archer couldn't dream about and is something which is threatening to turbocharge the Indian media industry out of recession.

What is most fascinating about the whole rigmarole is that the IPL so perfectly captures India today. The economic reality of the IPL was all about tapping the tremendous and virtually limitless potential contained in India's massive urban middle class. Nothing sells in India as well as cricket and Coca-Cola, and Lalit Modi chose to exploit every last drop of blood from the former. He was an entrepreneur and a visionary (although most people would argue that he stole the basic idea from the ICL, let us remind ourselves that several of the most successful commercial ventures in history were not original ideas). He used the BCCI's long arms as a springboard to sell his idea. He pursued his goal with zest and determination. And he achieved staggering results of global proportions - the IPL enjoys unbelievably high TRPs in half a dozen countries, the advertising slots command astronomical prices and still there is no dearth of demand, the ICC has held several debates about carving out a "window" for the IPL in a packed international schedule and most tellingly, the IPL has become (by a rough and highly conservative estimate) the fourth most valuable sports venture in the world. Let us pause for breath and remind ourselves that the IPL is just in its third season and lasts for less than two months every year!

That, in a nutshell, is the economic face of India. We are determined to conquer the world. We stand on the threshold of economic greatness. This is a juggernaut that can conquer everything in its path.

The other reality of the IPL epitomizes who we are as a society and what we cherish as personal or moral values. There are allegations that may never be proved, but the stories are striking. Allegedly, Modi manipulated the rules of the game to suit his best interests. Allegedly, he interfered with the market by rigging auctions and fixing bids. Allegedly, he exposed his crass moral immaturity by unflinchingly branding a lady entrepreneur as a woman of loose character and by exploiting her sex to pronounce moral judgement about her closeness with a political rival. Allegedly, he laid bare his base craving for fair-skinned females by getting foreign models and professional call-girls into drug-filled, testosterone-driven post-match parties. Allegedly, he curried favour with powerful men who belonged to his caste.

How different is it from what we are? I am not referring to our business dealings alone here. How many parents will settle for nothing less than "fair and slim" wives for their sons? How many people would not use their near and distant relatives to get accelerated response from government bodies, right from getting a passport out of turn to getting a house plan approved to ensuring uninterrupted electricity supply for their immediate neighbourhood? How many of us think twice before offering a bribe to anyone and everyone in the hierarchy, whether post office clerk or High Court judge, to get "our" work done? We are still a strongly patriarchal and disgustingly male chauvinist society, as is evident in every stage of a woman's life.

And then there's the king of all hypocrisies - religion: we use the name of God to justify every otherwise-unacceptable deed or thought. I am waiting for someone to claim that their act of wrongdoing in the IPL was motivated by religious beliefs, or for Modi to convert to Buddhism.