Why NOTA is the biggest loser in every election!

India just conducted the biggest electoral process in the history of mankind, and so let's take a moment to laud ourselves for spending over 7 billion dollars to elect people like Pragya Thakur, Karti Chidambaram and A. Raja. These lawmakers don't in any way discredit the idea of democracy, or its importance in a modern world. They simply draw attention to the lack of viable options in the world's largest democracy. Now one could argue that people who voted for Pragya Thakur, were indeed voting for Modi, and that she was a mere intermediary. But these intermediaries are the pillars of Indian democracy. Irrespective of the power wielded by the man sitting in the PM's chair, the 'intermediaries' put him there. Just look at what's happening in West Bengal and Madhya Pradesh, and you'll understand the value of 'intermediaries'. The alternative to Pragya in Bhopal was Digvijay Singh, a man so hated apparently, that even pro-Godse statements from his opponent couldn't help him! It was Mr Singh's 'exemplary' governance that had ushered in 15 years of BJP rule in the state, and the Congress decided that he was the man for the job. The victory of tainted leaders like Karti Chidambaram, A. Raja and Kanimozhi are examples of why our electoral system needs a revamp, and not a notional one!

In 2014, NOTA, or None of the above, polled around 1.08% of the vote share in India. In 2019, it remained more or less same at 1.04%. But beyond their numerical presence, what does NOTA hope to achieve in Indian politics? How are the people who vote for NOTA any different from the people who don't bother to vote? Non-voters are essentially disenchanted by the whole system and the wide umbrella of parties contesting the elections; or in some cases- lazy! But NOTA voters are active participants who want to contribute to politics and nation building. They are voting for 'none of the above' candidates, which is an expression of their anger at the candidates put forth by the political parties. It cannot be interpreted as distaste for politics in general, or parties in particular. So what can a guy do when a worthless bigot like Pragya, or a greedy leech like Karti is declared as the candidate for the party you want to see at the Centre? Maybe angle for a change in candidate? This is exactly what NOTA should be empowered to do. If NOTA polls more votes than all other candidates, all parties must be forced to put forward new candidates. This would justify the idea of NOTA in our electoral process, and would help it serve a bigger function than shaming mainstream parties. Shame is not something our leaders are worried about. Look at Rahul who is having a hard time, not just in winning elections, but even in resigning from his position. You think Rahul Gandhi is privileged? The guy doesn't even have the agency to leave his family business!

As long as NOTA remains a showpiece for flashy election coverage, its purpose remains unfulfilled. The Supreme Court of India is equally culpable in letting this stupidity continue. In a reply to a PIL asking for what I have stated above, the Court said that it was 'unworkable' and gave a sermon about how elections are a serious and expensive affair. It's an argument that belies its own logic. Since elections are a serious affair, let's go on with a candidate whom the people have clearly rejected? And since elections are expensive, let's go ahead with a candidate who has already scammed us out of hundreds of crores?

Every politician harps on about how the electorate is almighty. They butter up the electorate and dangle their sugary lollipops once every five years. But what about in constituencies where the electorate has vehemently rejected mainstream parties? The people remain important as long as their verdict is consistent with the leaders' political goals. But NOTA is not a rejection of political ideals, or representative democracy. It should be considered as the electorate's demand for a change in stance, or a change in personnel. In fact, NOTA can be encouraging for parties, as it's not an outright rejection. Imagine sitting down for an exam and keying in NOTA, only to see a more popular, yet wrong answer get marked green! That's what India is doing!

A tournament no one watched!

“An India-New Zealand T20 screening would probably have attracted a bigger crowd”, said one of my friends as we entered the SDAT stadium in Nungambakkam where the finals of the Chennai Open was being held. Coloured empty seats stared at us as we walked around the court to the covered part of the stands. It would be a safe conclusion to say that the free tickets had not incentivized the cricket hardened Chennaites. The fact that India were engaged in a thrilling chase with the New Zealand cricket team in a series decider probably did not help. Nor the fact that two local boys had crashed out in the semis; one of them despite being top seeded. The stadium itself seemed to be in good condition, except for the visible disuse for over god knows how long. There was a thick layer of dust over the seats on either side of the court. With proper maintenance and regular matches, the stadium would probably look much better. Despite the unimpressive backstory, this WAS an ATP Challenger event. At the end of the day’s play, rankings would change and there was a modest cash prize to be taken home.

The game itself, was one of dichotomy. The Frenchman, Corentin Moutet and his opponent, Andrew Harris from Australia were chalk and cheese. Even before the match started, the difference in physique was obvious. At around 5 foot 7, Moutet was considerably smaller than Harris who stood at 6 feet. But the first few points quite clearly showed the disparity between the two players. Moutet was agile. He waded across the court with ease and grace. He returned with hawkish precision, and sometimes slowed down the pace with well-placed backhand slices. One player was significantly better than the other. And almost everyone in the stadium realized that within the first 15 minutes. Harris relied on power to send the balls deep into Moutet’s side. But the instinctive baseliner seemed more than happy running behind the baseline and sending back thundering forehands. The Aussie indeed had a beautiful backhand. The single hander looked pristine, but rarely hit the mark. And the low slices from the other end simply did not find its way back. Moutet also did not hesitate to make moves towards the net, which almost always fetched him a point. He finally broke Harris and made it 4-3. After a consolidating service game, Moutet broke again to take the first set 6-3. It might not qualify as a complete battering, but only one man changed his sweaty t-shirt at the end of the first set. And it was not the man who probably skis in the French Alps.

The second set was an even more dominant affair. A confident Moutet raced away to a 4-0 lead, and the audience now turned firmly in favour of the Australian. Shouts of ‘c’mon Harris’ could be heard from different quarters. But his temperament came under severe scrutiny as he let out a volley of screams after a couple of unforced errors. At one point, he threw his racquet onto the ground. Clearly, Harris could feel the game slipping away from him.  But then came the most engaging passage of play in the match. Spurred on by the crowd, Harris made a commendable comeback. He held serve at 4-0 and broke back to make it 4-2. With two back to back games, Harris seemed to have arrested the momentum that Moutet had been gathering. But the Frenchman’s superior technique once again came to the fore as he placed balls deep into Harris’ court. The elegant backhand still lacked efficiency as many of his returns went wide or hit the net. Moutet held his serve to make it 5-2. Harris almost lost the second set 6-2 as he faced a break point in the 8^th game. But he held his nerve to stay in the match.

At 5-3, Moutet had the championship within his grasps. Harris managed to save one match point in the 9^th game, but it just delayed the inevitable. Harris’ slice return fell tamely at the bottom of the net, and the ordeal was over. On his part Moutet was quite measured in his celebration. The two men met at the net and shook hands. Harris probably could have made a better match out of this, but tennis is often dictated by the stars, and they were categorically in the Frenchman’s favour.

The young men were draped in traditional silk dhotis during the award ceremony, and the presence of India’s legend Vijay Amritraj added some flair to the proceedings. Mr Amrtitraj made sure that all of his 007 swagger was on display. Harris, the former doubles champion at junior Wimbledon and junior Roland Garros talked about how injury has plagued his career, while the champion himself was as tacit as a European diplomat. While the Chennai Open did end without any glitches or controversies, there are a few things that demand attention. The tournament wasn’t marketed well enough, and it would be a safe bet to assume that many Chennaites weren’t even aware of the Challenger happening in their backyard. Systematic neglect of sports other cricket is a major reason why Indians are unable to enjoy them. Despite the availability of a state-of-the-art stadium that can seat upwards of 5500 people, the competition saw no popular support.

The Taste of Life in Marakkanam

In 1930, a frail freedom seeker from Gujarat decided to walk all the way to the coastal town of Dandi. His colonial masters dismissed his plan as unpopular. But they never realised the symbolism behind the march. Salt was not just another condiment in the larder. It was opulence on the tongue of common men, it was a symbol of freedom in a commoditized world. And as the days stretched to weeks, the British were left unprepared for the chaos that followed. Salt had managed to galvanise Indians across the board. Religious differences, and regional prejudices gave way to the yearning for freely available salt. The infamous salt tax had shown the world that something as simple and common as salt, can do what tall leaders and economic reverses never could- mobilise the masses. Almost a century later, the feeling has not changed. Salt is still the most common ingredient in our diet. The importance of salt is even embedded in common culture and literature. Readers might define this article as ‘salt less’ if they feel it lacks certain desirable attributes. Thus salt has become a lot more than just another thing to mix in with our food.

Kids have textbooks that make generic statements of how salt comes from the seawater. This is a gross oversimplification of the long and strenuous process that ends with packaged salt on our tables. Only men and women who work in the salt pans, under the pelting sun can tell you how the abundance of the sea gives way to crystals of white salt. One such salt pan can be seen alongside the beautiful East coast road which runs along the Bay of Bengal from Chennai. Marakkanam is a typical rural enclave in Tamil Nadu, around 30 kilometres away from Pondicherry.

 The first thing that attracts a visitor is the visibly old Bhoomieshwer temple, built around 1000 years ago by the Cholas. With creepers hugging on to its short dome, and rays of sunlight bursting through the ancient architecture; the temple gives out a very soothing vibe. Around half a kilometre from the temple, we found the salt pans. A vast stretch of literally nothingness. Just mud and sand, demarcated into shallow plots. Some of them were brimming with water, some were dry to the point of an uneasiness in our throat. On the other end of the pan, we could see the sea, unwilling to flow inland and loitering at the edge. The strong sea breeze was largely successful in countering the almost visible heat!

The plots themselves were much like quicksand. One could easily slip an entire foot into it. The hardened and dry paths crisscrossing the plots are a much better bet. But there wasn’t any salt in the whole area. As beautiful as salt pans are, it’s the salt that lends them their aesthetics. A salt pan without salt is just a huge swathe of barren land. An enquiry however revealed that January and February are the months of initiation. The bulk of the salt production happens in and around June and July, when the high tide brings the sea water into the salt pans. The Marakkanam salt pans are the third largest in the state and is sold in many surrounding areas, including Chennai. In the first months of the year, Marakkanam doesn’t look equipped to satisfy the needs of a village, yet alone a metropolis like Chennai. A few dozen workers can be seen repairing what looks like medieval pumps. Long pipes stick out of the ground and dump groundwater onto the pans. Once the plots are filled to the brim, the pumps are turned off, and then the sun gets to work. So yes, in the so-called off season, most of the salt that Marakkanam produces comes from underground water than sea water. But this is not as lucrative as making salt from the sea water, as explained to us by one of the workers, Selvam.

“For one, we have to operate the motors, and that too for long periods every day. Diesel isn’t getting any cheaper, and these old pumps eat up a lot of fuel.”

“Further, the sea water has a lot more salt content and gives us more output from every plot.”

Thus the first few months are mainly toil, without any reward. This seasonal fluctuation has apparently pushed many people away from the profession, like Selvam’s son. But many flock to the pans once the sea level rises and the money starts coming. But there should be no misconceptions about the returns from the pans. Most of the workers are hired labour who have no connection with the land or the future of their produce. Apparently the salt pans are owned by individuals who have leased them out to landlords who in turn work the plots with the hired labour. It’s a well-oiled machinery which seems to be working well for at least some people.

“The male workers get 400 rupees a day for their work, while the female workers get exactly the half. We work 2 and a half hours in the morning and the same after lunch”, says Selvam as he asks us to wait while he gets his tools. Selvam’s tools are pretty simple, but the process requires great care. He steps right into one of the slippery plots which seemed ripe for salt harvesting. Most of the water had evaporated from the plot. What was left was stone sized salt crystals loosely scattered in the water that remained. As Selvam stepped into the pond, his footprints were invisible. 

He tiptoed around like a matador and used his long rake to sweep the salt crystals onto the hardened bank. Incidentally, when we walked into the pond, the prints we left behind started sucking in the water and the salt. The more nimble we tried to be, the matters just got worse. “It requires a lot of experience and care”, said Selvam as he danced around the plot, as if rubbing ‘salt’ into our wounds! Once he had raked all the salt to the side, he used his feet to push it onto the bank.

This would have to be done in all the salt ponds, and there were plenty of them! “This is a dying a profession now. The new generation is simply not interested in all this hard work” Selvam’s disappointment is quite evident on his face. “Right now, a 120kg sack is sold for 150 rupees”, says Selvam. “So there isn’t enough money for the youth to be interested in it” With this he moved onto the next pond, bare feet, the rake towing alongside him. Selvam knows just one thing in the world, to harvest salt. He does not have the luxury to complain about fatigue, nor the time to take care of his dry feet.

The salt that is harvested from Marikkanam is marketed by a local mandi, called the MVTC salt mandi. They have a shoddy little office cum warehouse where sacks of salt are stored and later transported. They also have a couple of lorries which take the salt to places as far as Kadappa and Tirupati. The officers at the mandi claim that they buy the salt from the producers and sell it at merely 7 to 8 rupees extra. The mandi sells a sack of 110kg at 180-190 rupees, which is considerably more than the selling price quoted by Selvam. Whether this is ignorance on the part of the workers, or a case of gross exploitation is indeed a puzzling question. “The salt business is not doing that well. The prices fluctuate a lot and the new GST system has really complicated our functioning”, said an officer of the Mandi.

Salt is present in almost everything we eat. It is this unavoidable quality of salt that has made it a part of not just our diet, but also our society and polity. Salt as a food item has largely remained sacred and people and corporates have treated it with much reverence. But the story behind the flavor of our food is quite dull. Workers are leaving salt pans in search for better jobs. The job has become seasonal with only a few veterans still turning up diligently. Considering the magnitude of its consumption, 400 rupees a day for salt harvesting seems like a meagre pay. Further, the blatant and shameless difference in the wages of men and women makes you question how salt became the vehicle of social change almost a century back. One of the major problems is the complete lack of government regulation. For once, India could actually do with some extra bureaucracy! Government regulation would probably go a long way in securing stable and equal wages, and also eliminate the money siphoned off by middlemen.

So Marikkanam in January and February is an underwhelming sight. There are no beds of crystals or towering heaps of salt. But what you will find are a few dozen people hard at work. People who work to make our food delicious. So the next time you feel the impeccable taste of salt on your tongue, maybe spare a thought for people like Selvam who make it possible.

The Last Burmese?

The train slowed down as the Chennai beach station came into sight. The morning rush was evident, as passengers clasped around poles and railings in an effort to hold on. As the train finally came to a halt, the madness began. People jumped onto the platform with little regard for safety. The bridges connecting the platforms seemed pointless as people rushed across active rail lines. Students, going to schools, men and women rushing to work, and even vendors trying to push their merchandise; the Beach station was as busy as always.

Step out through the exit, and the iconic Burma Bazaar comes into sight! It was in 1969, that the Tamil Nadu government built this market for the Burmese community who had settled there. Thousands of Burmese families had migrated to Chennai in the mid-1960s. The market gradually became the focal point of their livelihood and their culture. It has evolved over the years and has created its own niche. Lined parallel to the road, there are around 200 shops which sell imported merchandise like mobile phones and perfumes. The shopkeepers continuously beckon you into their shops as you walk through the narrow pavement. People can be seen packing CDs, repairing gadgets, and making last minute preparations before the rush hour.

I strained my ears to catch nuggets of a language which my ears would shrug off. Tamil, and Hindi were easily recognizable; but nothing that stood out as foreign. For a market, almost exclusively run by the Burmese community, this seemed strange.

Right opposite the centre of the bazaar, is the Tamil Burmese workers’ union. A couple of desks, arranged with aesthetic disdain, piles of folders, screaming for attention, and the soothing voice of S P Balasubramaniam welcomed visitors. A lone man ensured that the office wasn’t desolated. He was staring intently at the tiny remote, possibly fiddling with the idea of changing the channel. My arrival spurred him to action.

Syed Mohammed has been working in the Union office, since his retirement from government service. “Everyone here is of Burmese descent. But you cannot find anyone who had actually migrated in the 60s”.  “I have spent around 10 years in Burma though…”, he continued with a mischievous smile. With this, he turned down the TV’s volume; a subtle invitation to talk more.

An internal conflict was evident on his face. He was contemplating the idea of talking to me without a nod from the secretary. “I was born in 1950, right here in Chennai. Then at the age of 4, my family went back to Burma. We returned in 1964.”, he said.

Suddenly, Syed jumps out of his chair and takes out a ruffled backpack and begins rummaging inside it. He took out what looked like a very old piece of parchment. It was his passport. And sure enough, there was a picture of teenaged Syed, with a glint in his eye, and the same quirky smile. Time has not been kind to Syed, but he is content with life in Chennai. “Now we are all Tamilians”, declares Syed. Like all other instances of cross-border migration, the third and fourth generation gradually assimilates to the extent of forgetting their roots.

“Most of us live in colonies across Chennai. Some have moved out of the colonies, but most prefer to live together. I live in Netaji Nagar, which is one of the bigger colonies.” With this, Syed stretched his legs and gave a half-hearted yawn. It was time for lunch, and he was not about to miss it for me.

Time and distance are slowly breaking the emotional connection that the Burmese Tamilians had with their ancestral land.

Netaji Nagar is a short bus ride from Burma Bazaar. The state government had granted the Burmese migrants land across the city to build exclusively Burmese settlements. Netaji Nagar has a similar story and has now fledged out beyond the original area. It looks like any typical Tamil neighborhood. There is nothing about the appearance of the area that even remotely suggests that it houses Burmese migrants. The narrow and crisscrossing streets were lined with houses stacked wall to wall. The familiar sight of ‘rangolis’ outside the house affirmed what Syed had told me about cultural homogenization.

 Netaji Nagar has a predominantly Muslim population with the Burma Tamil Muslim Jumma Masjid, being the de facto centre for all activities.

The Masjid is located at the heart of Netaji Nagar and is a very busy place. Community leaders were huddled together inside the Masjid. The school across the street had dispersed for the day, and parents were eagerly waiting outside with their scooters already purring. A quick enquiry at the Masjid revealed that Abu Hanifa was the man to talk to.

The Mosque runs a school which most of the Burmese Tamil
children attend. 

A kind gentleman offered me a ride to his house. As we sped through the uneven street, I noticed an atho noodle shop. Atho noodle is a Burmese delicacy and has been a great ambassador for Burmese food across the world. The dish is made by Burmese Tamils, but is an Indianized mutation that is a lot spicier.

The atho noodles is often had with plantain soup which customers pour
from a boiling cauldron. 

Abu Hanif is a respected community leader who is never shy of sharing his stories. He was waiting in his room when I went in. Clad in a dhoti and vest, he was finishing up lunch as I drew a chair.

“I came to Chennai in 1969, aboard the SS Saud ship on 26th December. We spent around one week out in the sea before reaching Chennai on the first.”, said Abu. “The ship journey was gruesome.”, he continues. “There were around 1500 of us. The food was horrible.” For a moment you could see the horror flash across his face as he traveled down what was surely a traumatic memory.

“But life has been good after coming here. We started an attar store in Burma Bazaar which is still run by the family. Life was difficult in Burma. The unrest and the spiraling economy had made coming to India a natural choice.” At this point, Abu gestures his wife to bring him his passport, along with a new line of attar which they were going to sell soon. Abu’s wife had a perennial smile on her face. She disappeared into one of the adjoining rooms and came back with her husband’s passport and a few boxes of attar. The 18 year old Abu Hanif looked impressive, with longer hair and a faint moustache.

 “I have a lot of relatives back in Rangoon.”, Abu Hanif declares. He then takes out his phone and skims through pictures of his kin from Burma. His face betrayed the giddiness that he was suppressing. Abu still calls his cousins and nephews in Burma and mostly talks in Burmese. “I can talk well in Burmese.”, he says. “But the language has undergone a lot of changes back in Burma, but we have no clue about those changes. Only a handful of us who were teenagers when we came to India can still speak Burmese.”

Abu called up his friend Mohammed Ismail, whose Burmese can apparently shame even the pundits. Ismail came to Chennai in 1970 and has lived here ever since. Lean, and soft spoken, Ismail is a man with no match in Chennai. “I lived in a Buddhist monastery for around 5 years, back in Mandalay. We used to beg for food and eat only when the sun was directly over our head.”, says Ismail and immediately breaks into a Buddhist proverb about happiness. The multitude of identities that Ismail carries around with him is truly inspiring. He is a Muslim Burmese Tamilian, who is well versed in the Buddhist way of life. In an era of receding cultural heterogeneity, Ismail is truly an exception.

Abu and Ismail then engage in a conversation about their relatives back home. The relationship is built on a very stable foundation, and the emotional attachment is quite evident. Abu’s wife slowly walks in with a bright orange sling bag. “This bag was sent to us by my cousins back in Burma.”, Abu informs me with a wide smile.

 After a steaming cup of cardamom tea, Abu and Ismail take me out for a quick tour.

The whole community looks up to both Abu and Ismail with almost spiritual reverence. Most passersby salute them and enquire about their health. The first place that we went to was a kitchen that made a traditional Burmese delicacy called Paycho, which is essentially fried atho noodles. A father-daughter duo were busy frying noodles in circular shapes. The father talks to Ismail and Abu in Burmese, as I and his daughter share the same blank expression! While a quick look might suggest that this community has lost their cultural genome, strands of Burmese culture lives on in each of these Paychos.

Our next stop was at a madrassa run by a man called Aftab. The madrassa is home to around 20 orphans of Burmese descent. Interestingly enough, none of the kids can speak Tamil or Burmese. But they are quite fluent in Hindi. The kids were sitting on the floor in their white kurtas and caps, with the Quran in front of them. The sound of the recital reverberated across the dimly lit room. The role of religion in holding this community together is evident. These children will one day become the flag bearers of a community that they know little about.  “One of the first things we did after coming here, was build this mosque.”, says Abu. “We used to save rupee by rupee, and the whole community pitched in. Slowly, but steadily, the Tamil Burma Muslim Masjid became a reality.” The call for namaaz suddenly boomed in the distance, as if a re-affirmation of the heavenly blessings the community counts every day.

“What started out as a community of a few hundred helpless migrants, has now become a powerful and self-sufficient community of responsible citizens.”, says Abu with a sense of pride. Ismail gives an acknowledging grin. As the sun started showing signs of tiredness, we headed back to Abu’s house. Over some surprisingly sweet coconut water, Abu talked about the dynamics of the Burmese Tamils. “Unlike in other parts of India, there are no religious problems in the community. Hindus and Muslims live like brothers. When we first came to Chennai, Hindus and Muslims used to eat from the same plate. Even today we partake in their festivals, and they come over during Ramzan. We are a community first, and our religion is secondary!” Even after half a decade of relocation and generational gaps, the famed Burmese traits of tolerance and secularism have not disappeared.

Ismail had left us at some point during our walk, and so I offered my gratitude and bade goodbye to Abu and his wife. A quick observation would suggest that the Burmese Tamils are a community whose cultural connection to their homeland is being attrited by a strong and overarching Tamil culture. The current generation cannot understand their ancestral language, their cuisine has been tweaked and now leans towards the Indian palate, and there is nothing about the way they dress or look, which would be suggestive of their Burmese ancestry. But culture is not just about material attributes like food and attire. The culture of a community is best represented by their way of life, their temperament, and the strength of their relationships. In this regard, the Burmese culture is very much alive in Chennai. The youngsters cannot speak Burmese, but they know what it means to be a Burmese. Their secular and tolerant attitude is part of their Burmese heritage. Every time a Burmese Tamil bites into some atho noodles, he is acknowledging his ancestral roots. In this sense, culture can never be taught or instilled. It is inherited. It germinates into habits and chores that may seem corollary, but are actually the desperate thrusts of a long forgotten way of life trying to resurface.

The last generation of Burmese Indians are not living in Chennai. While Abu and Ismail may one day stop sharing their stories, their experiences will never fade away, their contribution to the community will never be forgotten, and through them, a part of Burma will always be alive in Chennai!

An over-rated Sanju!

When the trailer for this movie came out, everyone was going gaga over Ranbir and his uncanny resemblance to Sanjay Dutt, and the sad part about this movie is that the resemblance is probably the best part about this film. From his drug abuse to his jail term, Baba has been shown to be a good guy, who the media has slandered and defamed. While the film is successful in laying out the actual facts of Sanjay Dutt's case, it creates a false sense of acceptance about something as serious as the Arms Act. While brandishing Baba as a terrorist was truly an error beyond reprieve, the film tends to focus more on Sanjay as a product of unfortunate circumstances. Rajkumar Hirani has successfully created a movie that showcases Sanjay Dutt as a misunderstood man, who was castrated for an apparently benign reason. While most biopics end up being hagiographies that portray the subject with godly semblance, Sanju takes it to the next level. The story about the duplicitous drug peddler is no way an excuse for Sanjay's drug addiction. His apparent fear about his house being mobbed does not justify hoarding guns in his backyard. And most importantly, discrediting the media for one's bacchanalian attitude is a worn out cliche. The movie could have portrayed Sanjay as a bad guy, whose affinity to drugs and alcohol had ruined the lives of those around him. Instead, the movie tries to justify Sanjay's addiction and in a failed attempt, tries to pass it off as a phase in his life. The despicable way in which the movie showcases the number of times Sanjay has bedded a woman is unfit for contemporary cinema. While having multiple sexual encounters is perfectly normal, the sleazy and dismissive manner in which the portion has been shot is indeed disappointing. While Hirani has tried to make it appear like a gladiator's kill count, the moral balance is tipped towards chauvinism.

One of the greatest things about this movie though is a character called Kamli, who the makers claim is a combination of many of Sanjay's friends. The undying loyalty and love that Kamli carries for Sanjay is truly a reminder of what true friendship is and what a true friend's duties are. But even this seemingly infallible character is shown to be misjudging Sanjay and wrongly accusing him of compliance in the Bombay blasts. This in essence, encapsulates the film's whole problem; it portrays Sanjay as perfect guy who was screwed up by unfair circumstances. But the filmmaker fails to inform the audience, that its the ability to remain steadfast in the face of distasteful experiences, that determines our true mettle. One truly endearing aspect of the film was the character of Sunil Dutt, portrayed with utmost conviction by Paresh Rawal. It would be right to say that Raval has captured the stable-minded, and charismatic persona of the much loved Dutt Sahab. The bond between Sanjay and his dad is truly moving, and provides a good handbook on parenting by proving that love can truly help rid us of our afflictions. The pictures of a desperate Sanjay hitchhiking and begging his way to New York is a vivid representation of what drugs can do to someone. His journey from being a junkie to essentially a non-junkie doesn't invoke a sense of optimism or appreciation which is usually associated with recovering addicts. Maybe it has something to do with him being born with a silver spoon and yet throwing away what could have been a good career.

Sanju is probably the epitome of film making and good acting. Everybody who enters the frame leaves an everlasting impression and does a magnificent job in convincing us about the helplessness of their character. As a biopic, Sanju fails to create an impression. While its true that people continued to hold him accountable for compliance in the Bombay blasts, the rest of the film fails to portray Sanjay as the true bad boy that he was. Hirani blames everything from his tentative age to his mother's demise for Sanjay's woes and never once tries to blame Sanjay for his bad choices. The part were he sleeps with his best friend's girl friend is also trivialised to an unbelievable extent. While the former would be a deal breaker in most friendships, Sanjay and Kamli brush it aside as something anodyne. Sanju was a great opportunity for Hirani to essentially create a handbook on how to steer away from trouble. Instead we get 3 hours of brilliant actors, backed by excellent film making trying to convince us that Sanju Baba was a misunderstood man, who was screwed up by life! The irony being that life screws everyone without distinction!

How is the royal family still a thing?

Who are the most entitled people in the whole world? The heirs of hugely successful businessmen? The scions of powerful political dynasties? Or maybe a bunch of people who personify the combination of both! The British royal family are the most entitled bunch in the whole world! How they have continued to retain their prominence in a widely democratic and progressive society, is indeed a mystery. While successive generations are often not blamed for their forefathers' mistakes and crimes, its actually a popular practice in contemporary society. How the royal family has absolved itself of its blotted history and duplicitous actions is a secret only known to them! The family actually has the entire country believing that they are a part of Britain's great history and culture, and have therefore convinced the people to accord them respect and authority. In reality, they are undeserving of both. In a democratic society, nobody has the mandate to assume a grandiose position from where they can look down upon the general populace. At least when our politicians do it, we know we've voted for this humiliation. If the British royal family was indeed as righteous and principled as they are often made out to be, they would have disbanded the monarchy and become ordinary citizens. Instead they idle around in sprawling palaces and milk the treasury with their laziness and arrogance. If we do live in a world that rewards merit, the monarchy must be abolished. What has Prince William or Prince Harry achieved that makes them superior to ordinary middle-aged Britons? Nothing! They were born into this family by a mere stroke of luck, and thus have the right to never work and earn as much as they want? The very existence of the British royal family is a slap on the face of hardwork and merit!

The root of the problem lies with the British society who places the family on a pedestal. A family which has given the country extra-marital affairs, many vendettas, conspiracies, and blatant arrogance! You would think that the family might at least try to set a good example in return for the peoples' admiration; but even that is beyond them. As long as the British people accord importance to these people, they shall exist. The fault also lies with former colonies of Britain which continue to be a part of the Commonwealth, and accept its leadership by the British monarch. The Commonwealth was Britain's way of appeasing the imperialists among them; the last remaining vestige of a history of exploitation and cruelty. And it continues to grow, with farces like the Commonwealth games and cultural exchanges. The world needs to realize that the rules of the game have changed, that the royal family cannot bully them anymore, and that there is no point in according them any respect as they are undeserving of it! Sure, they may be good people, but there are plenty of good people in England, but not all of them are paid 82 million pounds annually for waking up everyday! Any pragmatic society would have abolished the monarchy the moment imperialism fell, but Britain's history is quite complex. Many monarchies often given way to democracy after bloodshed and intense rebellions. The example in neighboring France comes to mind. But in England, the people never fought for democracy. The monarch initially appointed a prime minister to rule his kingdom, while he enjoyed the fruits of his DNA; and gradually this prime minister became an elected official. Thus the British democracy can be said to be a gift from their monarchs, which would explain why they have continued to live the life they do. But surely a family with the wisdom and desire to create democracy would have realised the hypocrisy in letting the monarchy continue! Or maybe the copious life, and the undying loyalty was too much to sacrifice! Either way, the times have changed and the monarchy is nothing but a horrific flashback to the wrongs of colonialism and to the British affluence, built on the sufferings of her colonial subjects.

While it seems unlikely that the royals will abdicate power themselves, there seems to be enough people who see the disutility in their existence within the country. Thus any kind of backlash seems unlikely. India's approach to royalty has been a good one. We forced them to sacrifice their kingdoms with promises of rich titles and pensions until Mrs Gandhi felt it was time to boost her popularity and abolished the privy purses. We realised that the source of their riches was the sweat and blood of the ordinary Indian, and thus we broke the Nizam of Hyderabad, once the world's richest man, into a man submerged in personal debt! The royal families of India are very much a part of Indian history, and some of them like Sivaji and Maharana Pratap Singh are indeed very close to our hearts. But we had the acuity to understand that we now had the power to disregard the very people who had exercised illicit control over us, that we had the power to write our own destiny, and not bow before entitled fools with a false sense of superiority and power! Unfortunately, the British population still consider themselves to be the Queen's subjects, as her little playtoys who work hard every day, and pay taxes so that the Queen and her family can live a happy and comfortable life! That this is happening at the birthplace of modern parliamentary democracy is truly unnerving. While my angst might seem directed at the British Royal family, it is aimed at all countries which have preserved and supported their monarchies, and especially to countries like Australia, who actually let the Queen appoint a Governor as their head of state. The country down under seems to hate the Barmy army, but not the Queen! Its important to understand at this point that while the members of the royal family are not at fault for their parentage, and may not be bad people as such, the fact that they continue to leech off the public's money and satisfy their gargantuan need for dominance with traditions like the knighting ceremony is a testimony of their unwillingness to accept progressive thinking and democratic norms, and most importantly....equality before law!

The North Korean Starbucks!

If I had gotten a penny for every time I predicted a Korean bonhomie, I would have been broke as hell! The laws of physics are often considered to be the zenith of rigidity and adherence. But if one thing could have scored higher on the zealousness and rigidity chart, it would have been the North Korean society. Their inherent sense of hatred towards the western civilisation and an unyielding fidelity to their Supreme Leader had made North Korea a very dangerous international player. North Korea is like that random neighbour who has unnaturally high compound walls and an insanely short temper. He hates his neighbours for no reason, and his social life is non-existent. Basically, North Korea is the 'psychopath' among nations. The eccentricity of their leader has contributed to this tarnished image, but the society has not been faultless. There are no leaders in the world who would not love to crush freedom of speech, and rule with an iron fist. Self-importance and narcissism are the most universal hallmarks of all leaders, and only spiritual leaders can claim any deviance from this template. National leaders are often so full of themselves, that their actions and perspectives seem bullet-proof and any opposition to them feels pointless and irrational! Combine this trait with unlimited power and dynastic legitimacy, and you get a dangerous concoction called Kim Jong-Un. Kim exhibits all qualities that a rogue leader must posses- arrogance, blatant disregard for the world, narcissism and most importantly, a keen sense of entitlement. Kim is part of a dynasty that has achieved high-standing in North Korea. His father and his life is the stuff of legends that the North Korean kids grow up hearing. There is actually a generation growing up in North Korea, who are unaware of the Avengers and what Thanos has done to them! The North Korean way of life revolves around the mythical aura that the Kims have created around themselves. There are stories about how a 10 year old Kim lifted a hunting rifle and shot the bull's eye thrice in a row. How this great marksman grew up to be a chubby and ruthless dictator remains to be understood. The North Korean problem, is an outcome of poor administration and a misplacement of trust. People claim that Kim never sleeps, and that he shoots fire from his arse. But none of this points towards how he might be an efficient leader. Or even a pleasing entertainer. Kim allows very little of North Korea to be seen by the outside world. There are regular reports of poor living conditions and draconian restrictions on civil liberties. The press is literally non-existent and the citizens are completely brainwashed. The type of government that Kim runs is based on convincing the citizens that affluence is a state of mind and that he is the guru who shall lead them there. There is no other explanation for the heightened spiritual pedestal that his family is given. It is this vice-like psychological grip that has created loyal citizens in the midst of utter poverty and serfdom. North Korea is basically like Wakanda, but without the technology and the money!

So how does an arrogant spiteful leader like Kim Jong-Un come to the negotiating table. What has caused this abrupt capitulation to western interests? A change of heart seems unlikely, and any sort of compulsion can be ruled out. While the conspiracy theorist in me is hoping that this is all an elaborate plan hatched by the North Koreans, it doesn't seem likely. North Korea has an impressive arsenal of nuclear weapons, which may not have flattened San Fransisco or Portland, but could have most definitely destroyed US allies in the east. So the only reason why Kim might have thrown in the towel, is cause he wasn't the biggest predator in the jungle anymore. Donald Trump is as near a Kim Jong-Un as an elected leader can be. With grandiose statements and an aggrandised sense of his own capabilities, Trump is a character that Kim has never encountered. Both leaders have an insatiable ego, palpable arrogance and total spite for the fate of the world. But as Trump pointed out, his nuclear weapon is much bigger than Kim's. The world's accepted solution to North Korea was a pacifist approach aimed at conciliation and appeasement. They continued to let Kim bully them, while their Gandhian appeal to his conscience made little to no progress. Donald Trump proved to be a different animal. He didn't seem to care whether a nuclear war broke out or not; this was a battle of two egos, and Trump was not going to back off.  To say that Trump was truly concerned with the Korean problem and felt a moral urge to relieve tensions is beyond any sense of reality. The recent events are a classic example of a new bully taking on the old bully, except the new guy is much more powerful. Kim has reached a point where disarmament is his only strategy to retain his country. A nuclear war would devastate Korea and non-cooperation would surely have drawn the American wrath. So the god-like mythical saviour turned out to be nothing but an opportunistic man who crumbled when his existence came under threat. So much for legacy! The Republicans have always had a more decisive stand on foreign policy and their eagerness to exercise the USA's hard power is well documented. Combine this with an egotistic president who wants to etch his name into history, and the present is what you arrive at. While there is no denying that President Obama's carrots only policy had allowed North Korea to fester into a bigger threat, the ramifications of  what is about to happen might be too much for the North Koreans to bear.

Imagine being told day in and day out, that the Americans are Satan's henchmen, only to see your very leader hug it out with the enemy commander. The emotional shock for the people might be too big for Kim to contain. And if North Korea follows the Chinese way of opening up its economy, Kim might find himself out of power very soon. Economic freedom is the seed from which civil liberties are born, the sapling from which the desire to speak one's mind germinates! While the Chinese Communist Party is largely like a caucus, the North Korean communism is based on dynasty and personality trait, two things that never survive the test of time. Western society and western culture bear the hallmarks of freedom and excellence, the epitome of affluence and enlightenment. And the wave of resistance and demands that this shall create in the North Korean society will be too much for Kim to quell. The alluring light of western luxuries has been the coupe de grace to many civilisations, and North Korea doesn't seem different. An exposure to the American dream might be the end of the Kim dynasty. If Kim feels that Trump will adopt laissez-faire once the disarmament is complete, he is completely mistaken. Trump remains a businessmen at heart and he will pressurise North Korea to join mainstream international politics and be party to international agreements and organisations. Trump will try to create a vassal out of Kim, which is unlikely meet a successful end. In the end, Kim's decision to let up on the arms race so as to protect his sovereignty, might have been the worst thing he could have possible done, and it might be all downhill from here for the evil King T'Challa!