The IFFK begins on Friday and this is the opening film... I looked up google and found these reviews in case like me, you are also in the dark about what exactly the film, is all about...This def looks excellent fare... I found quite a few reviews on the web, here is 2 of them.
http://www.dailystar.com.lb/article.asp?edition_id=1&categ_id=4&article_id=98207
Rashid Masharawi has written an entertaining moment of crisis into his film "Laila's Birthday," an emotional meltdown for Enlightenment stalwarts, for whom the last resort famously attributed to frustrated postal workers ("Buy a gun and kill 'em all") won't do.
Abu Laila (Mohamed Bakri), exhausted by the litany of insults and disasters that have kept him from his one self-appointed task of the day, pulls his taxi into a gas station. He surveys the chaos of incivility on the street before him. Unable to absorb any more, he strides over to a police 4-by-4 at the next pump, turns on its public-address system, and begins to hector Ramallah's residents.
"You two," he says to two chatting drivers whose cars are blocking traffic, "the street is a place to drive, not to make conversation." He shouts at some boys to walk on the sidewalk, not the street. He mocks the young men who parade through the streets with automatic weapons in hand, just because it makes them look heroic.
Finally - with the cop struggling to retrieve the loudspeaker's microphone, and the gas station attendant trying to prevent him arresting Abu Laila - Bakri looks skyward. "And you!" he yells, "Leave us in peace. Leave us to breathe. Leave us to rest."
Abu Laila might be addressing his final remarks to a cruel and mischievous god. The blades of the helicopter hovering overhead, though, suggest he's talking to the gunmen of the ubiquitous Israeli occupation.
"Laila's Birthday" was one of 12 films competing for the title of best Arabic language feature at this year's Cairo International Film Festival. Sharing the field with filmmakers from Morocco to Bahrain, Masharawi, who wrote and directed the the film, shared the prize for best Arabic-language screenplay with "Basra," the first feature of Egypt's Ahmad Rashwan.
"Laila's Birthday" recounts one day in the life of Abu Laila. It's his daughter's seventh birthday and his wife (Areen Omari) reminds him that today he must come home early with a cake and a present.
Abu Laila trained and worked as a judge in the Palestinian diaspora but since returning to the Occupied West Bank, he's had to drive a taxi to make ends meet. He retains a fastidious belief in civil justice, though, and abhors the gun culture that has taken root in his country. An array of "no smoking"-style prohibitions on his windshield warns pedestrians how their liberties will be fettered should they step into his cab.
Passengers in the front seat must wear a seatbelt, though, as one sardonic fellow reminds him, Palestinian Authority (PA) police don't enforce the law. Abu Laila also refuses to drive through Israeli checkpoints, for fear, he says, that the car will be damaged. He won't take armed militants in his car, either, despite that fact that, as one gunman points out to him, "Half the country is carrying weapons and the other half can't afford to pay taxi fare."
He's prickly in moral matters as well, refusing to accept an hour-long fare from a young man who wants time alone with his girlfriend - whether because he disapproves of premarital intimacy or because it makes him feel like a pimp is unclear.
When another young man (Salah Bakri) tries to light up a cigarette, Abu Laila tells him it's forbidden, and besides, smoking is bad for your health. The young man refrains, telling the judge-turned-taxi driver that he's just spent a decade in an Israeli prison.
"How did you pass the time?" he asks.
"I smoked."
The film is comprised of vignettes like these, wry and tragic. Sketches of Palestinian society are very much the oeuvre of the Gaza-born Masharawi, whose career has been dominated by reams of documentary work. As Abu Laila is a judge, this film reserves its most lengthy and cutting observations for his encounters with the PA's justice system.
Abu Laila tells one passenger - an old, keffiyyeh-draped gentleman - that he's en route to the Ministry of Justice.
"Ministry of Justice?" he asks. "What's that?"
"You didn't know we have a Ministry of Justice?" the judge replies. "It's a big building with employees and a minister and computers. It's the most important building in Palestine."
Entering the office of his usual Justice Ministry contact, Abu Laila find that his official has been sacked. The room is being remodeled and an ornately framed photograph of President Mahmoud Abbas is being mounted next to that of the late President Yasser Arafat.
Abu Laila informs the new functionary that he's a judge and that every day he visits to check the status of his application for a ministry position. While the bureaucrat prevaricates, another employee asks Abu Laila to please move his cab, as the truck has arrived with the office's new curtains.
"The curtains were changed just last month," a frustrated Abu Laila observes.
"You drive a taxi?" the functionary asks, then remarks mockingly to his colleague that now even taxi drivers want to work as judges.
Later, after telling a passenger the law says he must wear a seatbelt, Abu Laila is pulled over by a motorcycle cop, not because he's broken the law but because the cop wants to buy his taxi from him.
Abu Laila's passenger during this exchange forgets his mobile phone in the taxi, and a good chunk of the film is turned over to his ever-diverted efforts to return the thing. His attempt to turn in the mobile at a Ramallah police station is so eccentric that a detective wants to detain him pending further investigation.
Too much happens in this one day in Abu Laila's life - and the formalism with which it is presented is a trifle too clockwork - to take the film seriously as a naturalistic fiction. As road movies go, "Laila's Birthday" is a travelogue through the Palestinian condition. It uses a single workday as a proscenium arch within which to present the litany of challenges facing, and foibles afflicting, a society after decades of military occupation and political disenfranchisement.
"Laila's Birthday" is the latest contribution to what may be termed the "post-Oslo" film. Before the 1993 Oslo Accords, Palestinian fictions tended to reflect the Israeli occupation as the one hegemonic fact of the national condition - witness Michel Khleifi's iconic "Wedding in Galilee" (1987), which seems to equate military occupation to a violent marriage.
Since Oslo, Palestinian fictions have moved beyond recounting the brutality of occupation alone to look upon its social and cultural ramifications.
Some of the most inspired comedy in Elia Suleiman's "Divine Intervention" (2002) reproduces the pathology of occupation - Elia's father cursing his neighbors under his breath as he waves at them warmly, or systematically collecting beer bottles to pitch from his roof, or repeatedly destroying a retaining wall to prevent cars from using a road.
Criticized as an apologia for terrorism, Hany Abu Assaad's "Paradise Now" (2005) is actually a genealogy of suicide bombing within the context of occupation. Annemarie Jacir's "Salt of This Sea," the other Palestinian film competing at Cairo this year, is replete with mordant observations about the cosmopolitan elite of NGO managers, PA officials and businessmen that has coagulated in "independent Ramallah."
Masharawi's film will be contentious among militants because it all but removes the Israeli Army from the frame - a choice likely to be welcomed by foreign audiences ill-disposed to see Israel as the sole root of all evil in Palestine. Here, the occupation is more commonly heard (in the report of missile strikes, fighter jets and helicopters) and mediated by television images that don't distinguish between PA or Israeli or US gunmen in Iraq.
Rather, Masharawi applies a critical view, so often leveled at the Israeli occupation, to the PA's rickety maquette of the "Palestine" imagined and longed for in more revolutionary days.
Masharawi doesn't go so far as some critics in painting the PA's managers as sub-administrative lackeys of the occupation. He does depict Palestine's political class as venal, self-important and far from their supposed constituents, and, along with the Israeli Army, responsible for cultivating gun culture at the expense of a civil one. Those Palestinian characters not in positions of responsibility tend to be sunk in desperation or ignorance, or else absorbed by self-interest.
His depiction of Abu Laila is ambivalent. His plight induces sympathy but his inflexibility is also irritating, suggesting the film is a back-handed critique of legalistic idealists as much as the gunmen - ultimately, Abu Laila must cobble together Laila's celebration from the detritus of others' suffering and aborted joy.
One of the, perhaps unintended, ironies of this thoroughly Palestinian film is that the symptoms of dysfunctional society it projects are common elsewhere in the "global south." Palestine's northern neighbor, for instance, has had a spottier (Israeli) occupation history. Yet its societal pathologies are remarkably similar to those Masharawi narrates in Ramallah.
http://dailystaregypt.com/article.aspx?ArticleID=18071
Laila’s Birthday’ tracks one man’s search for normalcy
Here’s a film that speaks volumes about the nightmarish daily reality of the Palestinian occupied territories without resorting to kitschy sensationalism or off-putting, manipulating sentimentality.
Rashid Masharawi’s latest sublime work “Eid Milad Laila” (Laila’s Birthday) is essentially a black comedy expounding the chaos, confusion and carelessness brought by more than 50 years of resistance, peace-negotiations and failed bureaucracies.
The film is another outstanding Palestinian entry in the festival’s Arab Feature Films Competition.
Like Masharawi’s previous films, “Laila” is set in one day. Veteran Palestinian actor Mohammed Bakri plays Abu Laila who served as a judge in a neighboring country for more than 10 years before returning to his home country. Amid the constant reshuffling of ministries, Abu Laila is forced to work as a taxi driver while awaiting his appointment in the justice circuit.
The judge has one sole goal in mind that day: to make it on time for his young daughter’s birthday.
The strict and disciplined Abu Laila has his own set of rules which he enforces upon his passengers: No trips to checkpoints, no armed men, no smoking, passengers sitting in the front seat must wear their seatbelts...etc.
Throughout the day, the judge encounters a variety of characters; a former inmate (Bakri’s son, Saleh, from “The Band’s Visit”) imprisoned for smoking, two lovers attempting to spend some quality time with each other in the cab since it’s less costly than cyber chatting, a young mother whose child is badly injured in an ambush, among others.
The chain of subsequent events is sparked when one of Abu Laila’s passengers forgets his cell phone in the car, driving Abu Laila to face more red tape from the police station where he attempts to drop off the phone.
Masharawi groundbreaking “Hatta Ishaar Akhar” (Until Further Notice) was the first Palestinian film shot and produced form the Gaza Strip. His latest picture has attracted substantial buzz internationally, primarily due to his untraditional treatment of the subject.
Abu Laila is a stoic, quixotic figure, a composed, idealistic man surviving in an exceedingly chaotic world; a lone sane voice in the midst of insanity. The world around Abu Laila seems to have moved forward. The lunacy of the occupation has deeply infiltrated the ordinary citizens, transforming them into numb mummies, succumbing to the madness of it all.
Lofty talk of resistance, sacrifice and fighting the good fight are nowhere to found in the film. Instead, Masharawi approaches his subject matter from a wry perspective, avoiding submitting a clear-cut message despite the brief wink to the failed peace negotiations, the apathy and passivity of the Arab world towards the Palestinian cause and the division inside Palestinian society.
Most imperatively though, “Laila’s Birthday” is about one man aching to lead a normal life inside a blazing war zone. In the climatic and most powerful scene of the film, Abu Laila grabs a microphone off a trunk and attempts to coordinate the traffic, addressing the Israeli helicopters constantly hovering over the Palestinian skies.
“Will you just leave us for one second?” he screams. “We just want to live a normal life. Why can’t you stop? All of you, up there, and down there, and over there.”
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Looking to Krishna for rescue!
The Guruvayoor Sri Krishna Temple is our pride and Krishna Kanhaiyya our pet deity…But Guruvayoor manages its share of controversies every now and then. Remember the Churidhar ban?
Then we had the temple authorities having a ‘cleansing’ session after a Central Minister’s son born from a Hindu-Christian marriage visited the temple for a function. The playback singer K J Jesudas is a regular devotee who has to stay outside the premises to worship and hold his divine concerts because he is a Christian by birth.
The temple harps on the purity factor…It holds a ‘punyaham’ or cleansing ceremony as soon as a baby urinates or a devotee tired out from standing in the queue throws up inside the temple walls.
The temple is held equally unclean when a visitor inside the temple premises is found to be a non-Hindu.…Not the cleaning with the broom and the bucket that you see in mind but an elaborate mantra-chanting sessions using the holy water from the temple tank. We all abide by it and swear by the customs of the temple.
But now, the devotees of Krishna are shocked to hear of how polluted the temple premises themselves are and how much untreated sewage it generates, rendering a whole neighbourhood town its septic tank and the recipient of the human waste flowing from the town.
The environment department of an engineering college in the neighbourhood Thrissur town conducted a study which revealed that the coliform MPN count in the temple tank is a shocking 1100 per 100 ml of water. Coliform is the bacterium found in human excreta, and the high count indicates how impure the water is. The Pollution Control Board says the permissible limit (ugh! Is there a ‘permissible’ limit here?) is 50 per 100 ml for water used for drinking and 500 for water used for other daily routine in human activity.
The students also recorded something called the BOD Count of the temple tank water as 22.8 mg/liter. BOD is bio-chemical oxygen demand and is a key indicator of whether water is pure or not. The permissible limit here is 2 mg/liter for drinking and 3 for others. Ok, so this is what is happening to the temple tank and people who suffer are those who choose to go there. But if the benevolent deity’s devotees are hell bent on polluting the neighbouring villages? And that too with their body wastes?
Chakkamkandam is a backwater village in a low lying area adjacent to the Guruvayoor temple town. There is a canal flowing from Guruvayoor straight to Chakkamkandam, Valiyathodu, which was once a bearer of fresh water which the Chakkamkandam residents used for all their needs including drinking water.
Valiyathodu is now literally a sewage line. It carries almost all the sewage generated in the township directly to this village. Consequently the streams have blackened, the drinking water sources polluted and the stench in the area in unbearable.
The social and economical scenario of the village has collapsed as a result of this ‘stinking’ situation. Nobody visits them in Chakkamkandam anymore, no one wants to marry into the area, in fact no one even mentions that he or she hails from the place, it has such an unseemly association.
The livelihoods of Chakkamkandam were based on a rich fishing resource and coir. Rare varieties of sea fish once came into the brackish water area nearer the sea for breeding. The fish have long since fled the turbid waters, the people dare not venture into the water to soak and process their coir raw materials, which is coconut husk.
The incidence of skin and intestinal diseases is at an all time high and employment at a similar low. Apart from the pollution, the rich mangroves of the area are dying out. The growth of the mosquito population is the least of their concerns, there is a literal army out there day in and day out. The Chickun Guniya epidemic in Kerala was of course quite strong here, no small wonder!
How does this much of pollution take place in a sacred geographical area? Guruvayoor has a flush of floating population in all seasons, apart from a high population rate. The temple premises have a crowded cluster of lodgings and marriage halls, and millions of devotees throng the premises. Naturally the lodging conveniences that have mushroomed in the township do roaring business. This is where the problems begin.
The media reports that the lodgings of the area are said to have septic tanks with insufficient capacity and some are said to have none at all, so the waste is said to flow straight to the canal through the old rain water drainage systems in place.
The locals have not been quiet on the issue. As far back as in 1975, the noise made by the locals on the issue brought up a sewage treatment system and it was against a projected population of 2001 that a 4.4 million project was started by a government agency. The project has spent 5.5 million to date and is at a stand still. You can imagine the condition of the pipes which usually have a life span of 30 years! It has not been used or maintained while the 3000 odd families suffer every minute of their lives born into a sewage gutter.
The Guruvayoor Township is not lacking funds, not at all! In fact the eye-wash of their buying a backwater area – a residential area OUTSIDE their jurisdiction- and filling it (against all dictates of good environment policies) to plan a sewage treatment plant and that too not materializing even after three and a half decades is the height of cruelty to humanity. The lives of a whole generation born to the stench and unhealthy environment have not got the public interest it deserves and a solution is not really in the pipeline.
Independent fact finding teams consisting of social and environmental workers are trying to make a case, but who will pay for this? The courts decree in previous cases that “the polluter should pay”. Will the polluters in this case pay? And who is the polluter in this case? I fear if I qualify for the post as well, since I do visit the temple a few times a year.
Or should we have to look to the all-knowing and merciful Krishna to come out in another avatar to wipe away their tears?
Then we had the temple authorities having a ‘cleansing’ session after a Central Minister’s son born from a Hindu-Christian marriage visited the temple for a function. The playback singer K J Jesudas is a regular devotee who has to stay outside the premises to worship and hold his divine concerts because he is a Christian by birth.
The temple harps on the purity factor…It holds a ‘punyaham’ or cleansing ceremony as soon as a baby urinates or a devotee tired out from standing in the queue throws up inside the temple walls.
The temple is held equally unclean when a visitor inside the temple premises is found to be a non-Hindu.…Not the cleaning with the broom and the bucket that you see in mind but an elaborate mantra-chanting sessions using the holy water from the temple tank. We all abide by it and swear by the customs of the temple.
But now, the devotees of Krishna are shocked to hear of how polluted the temple premises themselves are and how much untreated sewage it generates, rendering a whole neighbourhood town its septic tank and the recipient of the human waste flowing from the town.
The environment department of an engineering college in the neighbourhood Thrissur town conducted a study which revealed that the coliform MPN count in the temple tank is a shocking 1100 per 100 ml of water. Coliform is the bacterium found in human excreta, and the high count indicates how impure the water is. The Pollution Control Board says the permissible limit (ugh! Is there a ‘permissible’ limit here?) is 50 per 100 ml for water used for drinking and 500 for water used for other daily routine in human activity.
The students also recorded something called the BOD Count of the temple tank water as 22.8 mg/liter. BOD is bio-chemical oxygen demand and is a key indicator of whether water is pure or not. The permissible limit here is 2 mg/liter for drinking and 3 for others. Ok, so this is what is happening to the temple tank and people who suffer are those who choose to go there. But if the benevolent deity’s devotees are hell bent on polluting the neighbouring villages? And that too with their body wastes?
Chakkamkandam is a backwater village in a low lying area adjacent to the Guruvayoor temple town. There is a canal flowing from Guruvayoor straight to Chakkamkandam, Valiyathodu, which was once a bearer of fresh water which the Chakkamkandam residents used for all their needs including drinking water.
Valiyathodu is now literally a sewage line. It carries almost all the sewage generated in the township directly to this village. Consequently the streams have blackened, the drinking water sources polluted and the stench in the area in unbearable.
The social and economical scenario of the village has collapsed as a result of this ‘stinking’ situation. Nobody visits them in Chakkamkandam anymore, no one wants to marry into the area, in fact no one even mentions that he or she hails from the place, it has such an unseemly association.
The livelihoods of Chakkamkandam were based on a rich fishing resource and coir. Rare varieties of sea fish once came into the brackish water area nearer the sea for breeding. The fish have long since fled the turbid waters, the people dare not venture into the water to soak and process their coir raw materials, which is coconut husk.
The incidence of skin and intestinal diseases is at an all time high and employment at a similar low. Apart from the pollution, the rich mangroves of the area are dying out. The growth of the mosquito population is the least of their concerns, there is a literal army out there day in and day out. The Chickun Guniya epidemic in Kerala was of course quite strong here, no small wonder!
How does this much of pollution take place in a sacred geographical area? Guruvayoor has a flush of floating population in all seasons, apart from a high population rate. The temple premises have a crowded cluster of lodgings and marriage halls, and millions of devotees throng the premises. Naturally the lodging conveniences that have mushroomed in the township do roaring business. This is where the problems begin.
The media reports that the lodgings of the area are said to have septic tanks with insufficient capacity and some are said to have none at all, so the waste is said to flow straight to the canal through the old rain water drainage systems in place.
The locals have not been quiet on the issue. As far back as in 1975, the noise made by the locals on the issue brought up a sewage treatment system and it was against a projected population of 2001 that a 4.4 million project was started by a government agency. The project has spent 5.5 million to date and is at a stand still. You can imagine the condition of the pipes which usually have a life span of 30 years! It has not been used or maintained while the 3000 odd families suffer every minute of their lives born into a sewage gutter.
The Guruvayoor Township is not lacking funds, not at all! In fact the eye-wash of their buying a backwater area – a residential area OUTSIDE their jurisdiction- and filling it (against all dictates of good environment policies) to plan a sewage treatment plant and that too not materializing even after three and a half decades is the height of cruelty to humanity. The lives of a whole generation born to the stench and unhealthy environment have not got the public interest it deserves and a solution is not really in the pipeline.
Independent fact finding teams consisting of social and environmental workers are trying to make a case, but who will pay for this? The courts decree in previous cases that “the polluter should pay”. Will the polluters in this case pay? And who is the polluter in this case? I fear if I qualify for the post as well, since I do visit the temple a few times a year.
Or should we have to look to the all-knowing and merciful Krishna to come out in another avatar to wipe away their tears?
Where Motherhood is an Enigma
Bhavani teacher is 66, and still in search of her evasive motherhood.
Her life has been a series of most extraordinary episodes. She married at 18, and lost her husband to cancer after 22 years of a childless marriage. Her intense desire to bear a child led her to another marriage in her forties. Fate tricked her there too, the marriage was again child less. Then in a filmy move, she persuaded her husband to marry another time just to get a baby of her own. He obliged and soon the new wife conceived.
But when the new baby was born, Bhavani teacher was denied all access to the child. Her resolve to be a mother should have ended there, but Bhavani teacher was made of sterner stuff. She took a brave step and conceived a baby through the test-tube method. The child named Kannan, or Sai Suraj after her favorite Sai Baba came to her on 12 April, 2004 and was headline news for being born to a sexagenarian single parent, no small thing in India.
The sheer joy with which Bhavani teacher accepted her motherhood brought a tear to many an eye. But the joy was not to last.Fate interfered with the now lullaby filled life of Bhavani teacher once again on February 11, 2006 when Kannan died in a freak accident by drowning in a large bucket of water at his own home.
Bhavani teacher was inconsolable and she gave herself up to Sai Bhagwan’s devotion. But her dreams of motherhood remained a burning spark in her. Bhavani teacher soon went back to medical science for help. She does not disclose details of her medical quest for motherhood, but is getting herself ready to bring Kannan back to her life once more. She keeps her small earnings apart for the treatment she is now undergoing to be blessed once more with motherhood.
Bhavani teacher was seen treading the 1600 plus steps of the Jeevan Dani Matha temple at Mumbai as a penance and the media is curious about this ‘mother destined’ once more. It is hoped that the Mumbai Mother will bless her soon.In direct contrast were two bits of news flashed in the media in recent times, again connected with babies and parenthood. Baby Khushi in Mumbai and an unnamed girl baby in Chennai were rejected by their biological parents because they were mere girls. In both cases, the parents argued they had had boys and were tricked into believing that they had had girls. Even the DNA test couldn’t convince them. In fact they were looking for reasons to reject the baby rather than accept it. One couple have just disappeared from the scene, while the other keeps lamenting their fate. The mothers mentioned here stand at the two ends of a spectrum, ranging from mercy to prejudice. One mother yearns for a child while another rejects it. Both the mothers are no extraordinary specimens, but just ordinary Indian women.
Ordinary Indian women, who have learned to reject her own blood!
Her life has been a series of most extraordinary episodes. She married at 18, and lost her husband to cancer after 22 years of a childless marriage. Her intense desire to bear a child led her to another marriage in her forties. Fate tricked her there too, the marriage was again child less. Then in a filmy move, she persuaded her husband to marry another time just to get a baby of her own. He obliged and soon the new wife conceived.
But when the new baby was born, Bhavani teacher was denied all access to the child. Her resolve to be a mother should have ended there, but Bhavani teacher was made of sterner stuff. She took a brave step and conceived a baby through the test-tube method. The child named Kannan, or Sai Suraj after her favorite Sai Baba came to her on 12 April, 2004 and was headline news for being born to a sexagenarian single parent, no small thing in India.
The sheer joy with which Bhavani teacher accepted her motherhood brought a tear to many an eye. But the joy was not to last.Fate interfered with the now lullaby filled life of Bhavani teacher once again on February 11, 2006 when Kannan died in a freak accident by drowning in a large bucket of water at his own home.
Bhavani teacher was inconsolable and she gave herself up to Sai Bhagwan’s devotion. But her dreams of motherhood remained a burning spark in her. Bhavani teacher soon went back to medical science for help. She does not disclose details of her medical quest for motherhood, but is getting herself ready to bring Kannan back to her life once more. She keeps her small earnings apart for the treatment she is now undergoing to be blessed once more with motherhood.
Bhavani teacher was seen treading the 1600 plus steps of the Jeevan Dani Matha temple at Mumbai as a penance and the media is curious about this ‘mother destined’ once more. It is hoped that the Mumbai Mother will bless her soon.In direct contrast were two bits of news flashed in the media in recent times, again connected with babies and parenthood. Baby Khushi in Mumbai and an unnamed girl baby in Chennai were rejected by their biological parents because they were mere girls. In both cases, the parents argued they had had boys and were tricked into believing that they had had girls. Even the DNA test couldn’t convince them. In fact they were looking for reasons to reject the baby rather than accept it. One couple have just disappeared from the scene, while the other keeps lamenting their fate. The mothers mentioned here stand at the two ends of a spectrum, ranging from mercy to prejudice. One mother yearns for a child while another rejects it. Both the mothers are no extraordinary specimens, but just ordinary Indian women.
Ordinary Indian women, who have learned to reject her own blood!
When God decides what you wear!
In the pantheon of gods that we have in India, Naughty Krishna is undoubtedly incomparable.
He is utterly lovable; whether he steals butter or hearts, hides clothes of his girl friends and watches them while they bathe, dance or flirt with them or heroically lifts a mountain on his little finger to protect you from the wrath of the rain god.
In Kerala the Guruvayoor Temple is the favorite haunt of a Krishna devotee. It’s not just the temple but the whole ambience of the place that brings you here again and again. The evenings are calm, full of gentle music, and have the scent of stringed jasmine flowers and burning incense. There are innumerable shops selling brass lamps, CDs of devotional songs and bangles and the traditional two piece ware of clothing of the Kerala women. The nights are cool, breezy and have the aroma of dosas simmering in ghee from the neighborhood eateries.
Tourists flock to this temple as they pass through Kerala and wait for hours in queue right from 4 am, to have a glimpse of the lord as well as buy his tasty offerings sold over the counter. There is a free lunch every day and thousands live off this single meal most of their lives. The only hitches are the dress code and the religion code.
You have to wear a one piece cloth tucked around your waist and no shirt if you are a male and a two piece cloth or saree if you are a female. No pants or shirts allowed. There are several places which lend out a ‘uniform’ for a fee and a deposit; there is a queue here too. God forbid, I mean the clergy forbid, if you wear a Salwar and think you are in correct dress code, no mam, you can’t come in, Krishna doesn’t like it, or so says the clergy.
The other hitch seems elementary in comparison, you have to be a Hindu believer; well that can’t be judged on appearance; unless you are the Pope and people have recognized you from TV. Our playback singer Jesudas, in spite of being such an ardent devotee of Krishna is still not allowed to enter.
Occasionally there are outbursts but eventually everything settles the way of the clergy handling the Temple procedures since centuries.Recently, the administration folk of the temple, who are a different group from the clergy who are traditionally there in representation of certain families of the area, decided to make a change and bring some democracy here. They decreed that Salwar clad females (in Kerala anything is a ‘churidhar’ whether it sticks to your calves or flares out) could be allowed inside the temple, raising a big discussion. Since the administration had the support of a strong and vocal member of the political party in power, the decision remained implemented, well at least till last week.
The annual Devaprasnam (astrological exercise to ascertain the presiding deity's will on temple affairs) was held a few months later and the clergy hit a sixer and not a Misbah type at all; no Sreesanth here to make a catch, in spite of this being his place.
The astrologers ‘found’ that the deity was not happy with the decision of women coming in untraditional dress; in fact it was against the deity’s will. The astrologers enquired if the tantri (traditional high priest) knew of the decision taken by the administration. A member of the tantri family replied that he was forced to agree to it under "pressure of circumstances".
The newspapers even reported of a traditionally dressed woman who threatened to kill herself if this order is not revoked. All in the name of the universal lover, the diplomatic, peace-loving, and sweet guy Krishna….
The politics of the issue goes onward with time with orders issued and revoked on the ban of non-traditional dress. My question is,what is the definition of a traditional dress?
In the time that the temple was built and its rules formulated, it’s possible that no woman would be around who wears an unconventional dress. The saree appeared much, much later. I agree the two piece dress is a very convenient attire; it is simple, unfussy and less trouble than a saree. But is it right to insist that a devotee should be in a uniform suggested by a mere human contingent to have a darsan of the Lord? The very traditional clergy forgets that this is Krishna who has a hundred tales of benevolence to his devotees, which they represent. In any case, saying Salwars are not traditional wouldn’t be taken lying down by the other females in India. Would it? Any comments?
He is utterly lovable; whether he steals butter or hearts, hides clothes of his girl friends and watches them while they bathe, dance or flirt with them or heroically lifts a mountain on his little finger to protect you from the wrath of the rain god.
In Kerala the Guruvayoor Temple is the favorite haunt of a Krishna devotee. It’s not just the temple but the whole ambience of the place that brings you here again and again. The evenings are calm, full of gentle music, and have the scent of stringed jasmine flowers and burning incense. There are innumerable shops selling brass lamps, CDs of devotional songs and bangles and the traditional two piece ware of clothing of the Kerala women. The nights are cool, breezy and have the aroma of dosas simmering in ghee from the neighborhood eateries.
Tourists flock to this temple as they pass through Kerala and wait for hours in queue right from 4 am, to have a glimpse of the lord as well as buy his tasty offerings sold over the counter. There is a free lunch every day and thousands live off this single meal most of their lives. The only hitches are the dress code and the religion code.
You have to wear a one piece cloth tucked around your waist and no shirt if you are a male and a two piece cloth or saree if you are a female. No pants or shirts allowed. There are several places which lend out a ‘uniform’ for a fee and a deposit; there is a queue here too. God forbid, I mean the clergy forbid, if you wear a Salwar and think you are in correct dress code, no mam, you can’t come in, Krishna doesn’t like it, or so says the clergy.
The other hitch seems elementary in comparison, you have to be a Hindu believer; well that can’t be judged on appearance; unless you are the Pope and people have recognized you from TV. Our playback singer Jesudas, in spite of being such an ardent devotee of Krishna is still not allowed to enter.
Occasionally there are outbursts but eventually everything settles the way of the clergy handling the Temple procedures since centuries.Recently, the administration folk of the temple, who are a different group from the clergy who are traditionally there in representation of certain families of the area, decided to make a change and bring some democracy here. They decreed that Salwar clad females (in Kerala anything is a ‘churidhar’ whether it sticks to your calves or flares out) could be allowed inside the temple, raising a big discussion. Since the administration had the support of a strong and vocal member of the political party in power, the decision remained implemented, well at least till last week.
The annual Devaprasnam (astrological exercise to ascertain the presiding deity's will on temple affairs) was held a few months later and the clergy hit a sixer and not a Misbah type at all; no Sreesanth here to make a catch, in spite of this being his place.
The astrologers ‘found’ that the deity was not happy with the decision of women coming in untraditional dress; in fact it was against the deity’s will. The astrologers enquired if the tantri (traditional high priest) knew of the decision taken by the administration. A member of the tantri family replied that he was forced to agree to it under "pressure of circumstances".
The newspapers even reported of a traditionally dressed woman who threatened to kill herself if this order is not revoked. All in the name of the universal lover, the diplomatic, peace-loving, and sweet guy Krishna….
The politics of the issue goes onward with time with orders issued and revoked on the ban of non-traditional dress. My question is,what is the definition of a traditional dress?
In the time that the temple was built and its rules formulated, it’s possible that no woman would be around who wears an unconventional dress. The saree appeared much, much later. I agree the two piece dress is a very convenient attire; it is simple, unfussy and less trouble than a saree. But is it right to insist that a devotee should be in a uniform suggested by a mere human contingent to have a darsan of the Lord? The very traditional clergy forgets that this is Krishna who has a hundred tales of benevolence to his devotees, which they represent. In any case, saying Salwars are not traditional wouldn’t be taken lying down by the other females in India. Would it? Any comments?
A Sign of Maturity
My son turned eighteen on the 2nd of February 2008 and I am proud of the way he chose to celebrate his coming of age.
His birthday was on a Saturday, and disappointingly for him a holiday. So apart from the usual phone calls from relatives and friends and meeting a few guys at his coaching class, the celebrations were postponed to a later working day. The kids nowadays don’t waste their holidays you know; they train for CAT or TOEFL, they learn French, German or Spanish or at least practice their music at the weekends. College seems to be the place they hold celebrations at (I wonder where they do their studies)…And all this weekend business is absolutely their choice, no parental pressure making decisions here. So we just had a quiet family dinner, complete with the grandparents, celebrating another suffrage in the family.
The 4th of February was the first working day after that. He had told us that a coaching class after college hours that would delay him and when he dropped in at past 6 in the evening he was glowing with pride. He is normally a very soft spoken person, so I was amazed at the way he raised his voice to call me right from the gate.
“Amma! Do you know what happened today? I donated blood!”
His voice trembled with a sense of achievement I felt a shot of pride run through me which turned immediately to concern. I volleyed a whole lot of questions at him, ‘when you did it, for whom was it given, where did you go, who called you, did you eat well before that…”
My husband who had followed me out to the verandah hearing the commotion, took him up from there, and asked a lot of fatherly questions till the poor guy held up his hands and said,
“See last week too somebody needed blood and a couple of us from our class had gone to the hospital but they didn’t accept our blood saying that we weren’t old enough. I pleaded with them saying my nakshatra birthday is over and it was just a week left to my date-of-birth anniversary but they didn’t oblige…Now they can’t say no to me at least…”
I was amazed to hear from my son about the number of kids in his class who were waiting for their eighteenth birthday to happen to donate blood. So that when a call for blood comes, they could be ready. And all of them know their blood group and Rh factor perfectly well.
And we call this generation irresponsible? We think they are indifferent citizens?
Not any more and not at all… I have lost count of the number of times I have donated blood and the persons I have done it for, it has always been a matter of habit every couple of months, but when I see my child adopting my sentiments, I feel a sense of satisfaction that is much more than what his good report cards have so far brought me.
It is a matter of pride to me that my son is a responsible citizen!
His birthday was on a Saturday, and disappointingly for him a holiday. So apart from the usual phone calls from relatives and friends and meeting a few guys at his coaching class, the celebrations were postponed to a later working day. The kids nowadays don’t waste their holidays you know; they train for CAT or TOEFL, they learn French, German or Spanish or at least practice their music at the weekends. College seems to be the place they hold celebrations at (I wonder where they do their studies)…And all this weekend business is absolutely their choice, no parental pressure making decisions here. So we just had a quiet family dinner, complete with the grandparents, celebrating another suffrage in the family.
The 4th of February was the first working day after that. He had told us that a coaching class after college hours that would delay him and when he dropped in at past 6 in the evening he was glowing with pride. He is normally a very soft spoken person, so I was amazed at the way he raised his voice to call me right from the gate.
“Amma! Do you know what happened today? I donated blood!”
His voice trembled with a sense of achievement I felt a shot of pride run through me which turned immediately to concern. I volleyed a whole lot of questions at him, ‘when you did it, for whom was it given, where did you go, who called you, did you eat well before that…”
My husband who had followed me out to the verandah hearing the commotion, took him up from there, and asked a lot of fatherly questions till the poor guy held up his hands and said,
“See last week too somebody needed blood and a couple of us from our class had gone to the hospital but they didn’t accept our blood saying that we weren’t old enough. I pleaded with them saying my nakshatra birthday is over and it was just a week left to my date-of-birth anniversary but they didn’t oblige…Now they can’t say no to me at least…”
I was amazed to hear from my son about the number of kids in his class who were waiting for their eighteenth birthday to happen to donate blood. So that when a call for blood comes, they could be ready. And all of them know their blood group and Rh factor perfectly well.
And we call this generation irresponsible? We think they are indifferent citizens?
Not any more and not at all… I have lost count of the number of times I have donated blood and the persons I have done it for, it has always been a matter of habit every couple of months, but when I see my child adopting my sentiments, I feel a sense of satisfaction that is much more than what his good report cards have so far brought me.
It is a matter of pride to me that my son is a responsible citizen!
What’s in a Name?
I plan to do a detailed tour of the North East in the coming year; and Sohra is the top priority on my must-visit list! Don’t know the place? Hey! It’s famous…It’s a top tourist destination. It also has the highest volume of rainfall ever…Yeah I am talking about Chirapunji…it’s only that it will be called Sohra by the time I reach there…
Heard this joke on names of cities being changed?An old guy who has never stepped out of St. Petersburg is talking to a friend. The friend asks him, “Where were you born?” “St. Petersburg”“Where did you study?”“Petrograd”“Oh! So where did you work?”“Leningrad”“Hmmm, now you are retired, where are you spending your retirement?” “St. Petersburg”
Pre and Post Soviet Union, life has gone a full circle.
There are a number of reasons for change of name of a geographical area, it could be political, remember Rhodesia? Yes the same Rhodesia where Doris Lessing grew up and is now called Zimbabwe. And there was Saigon which became Ho Chi Min City; and Burma which resurfaced as Myanmar, along with its capital Rangoon adopting the name Yangon.
Geographical borders of nations don’t remain the same always; a change in the borders may join two nations like Tanzania (Tanganyika and Zanzibar) or divide a nation into two like Czechoslovakia ( Czech and Slovakia). Notice the changes in nomenclature that ensue.
Regional pride and anti-colonial sentiment corrected Ceylon to Srilanka and Madras to Chennai, not to forget Mumbai and Kolkota. Delhi is the only spelling that escaped so far but some guys want it to be Indraprastha or Dilli at least…Been to Karnavati? You haven’t? You must definitely have heard of Anand Bhavan there…yes folks its Ahmedabad in a future avatar…and Lakshmanpuri is the name proposed for Lucknow…look at Dhaka and Beijing? These were named so to adhere to the correct pronunciation of the name of the cities. I had the idea for quite a long time that Peking and Beijing are two different cities…well it isn’t…its just old wine in a new bottle…
Down south Vasco de Gama won’t find Calicut again if he sails in now…its Kozhikode now, Cochin has dropped its n and fashioned its C into a K…say ‘Kochi’, that’s how we have been saying for centuries.
As for Thiruvananthapuram…(what a mouthful), even we Trivandrumites want it changed to Ananthapuri…its what the name actually means…the city of Anantha…the divine serpent…I forgot Pondicherry and Poona…they call it Pudusseri and Pune now…Pondi perhaps is more familiar to the Next Gen.
Perhaps the one Indian city that got into international books is Bangalore. In fact, the usage ‘being Bangalored’ has replaced the word outsourced in English. Now the name, an internationally recognized brand is to be ‘Bengalooru’. There are of course hundreds of opinions on the name change. But the reasons remain behind the priority of daily life.
What is wrong with both the names being carried along in parallel? The pride that bubbles when one speaks of native Bengalooru need not beat the proud IT techie adopted Bangalorean. Both can be brands, like Kolkota or Dilli…
I just hope that no fanatics will refuse to deliver postal and courier articles when you address them in the old format…if you do happen to work in the postal department, just be patient and think some people don’t know any better…I do the same when you write to me at Trivandrum…I know I am at Thiruvananthapuram…sorry Ananthapuri!
Heard this joke on names of cities being changed?An old guy who has never stepped out of St. Petersburg is talking to a friend. The friend asks him, “Where were you born?” “St. Petersburg”“Where did you study?”“Petrograd”“Oh! So where did you work?”“Leningrad”“Hmmm, now you are retired, where are you spending your retirement?” “St. Petersburg”
Pre and Post Soviet Union, life has gone a full circle.
There are a number of reasons for change of name of a geographical area, it could be political, remember Rhodesia? Yes the same Rhodesia where Doris Lessing grew up and is now called Zimbabwe. And there was Saigon which became Ho Chi Min City; and Burma which resurfaced as Myanmar, along with its capital Rangoon adopting the name Yangon.
Geographical borders of nations don’t remain the same always; a change in the borders may join two nations like Tanzania (Tanganyika and Zanzibar) or divide a nation into two like Czechoslovakia ( Czech and Slovakia). Notice the changes in nomenclature that ensue.
Regional pride and anti-colonial sentiment corrected Ceylon to Srilanka and Madras to Chennai, not to forget Mumbai and Kolkota. Delhi is the only spelling that escaped so far but some guys want it to be Indraprastha or Dilli at least…Been to Karnavati? You haven’t? You must definitely have heard of Anand Bhavan there…yes folks its Ahmedabad in a future avatar…and Lakshmanpuri is the name proposed for Lucknow…look at Dhaka and Beijing? These were named so to adhere to the correct pronunciation of the name of the cities. I had the idea for quite a long time that Peking and Beijing are two different cities…well it isn’t…its just old wine in a new bottle…
Down south Vasco de Gama won’t find Calicut again if he sails in now…its Kozhikode now, Cochin has dropped its n and fashioned its C into a K…say ‘Kochi’, that’s how we have been saying for centuries.
As for Thiruvananthapuram…(what a mouthful), even we Trivandrumites want it changed to Ananthapuri…its what the name actually means…the city of Anantha…the divine serpent…I forgot Pondicherry and Poona…they call it Pudusseri and Pune now…Pondi perhaps is more familiar to the Next Gen.
Perhaps the one Indian city that got into international books is Bangalore. In fact, the usage ‘being Bangalored’ has replaced the word outsourced in English. Now the name, an internationally recognized brand is to be ‘Bengalooru’. There are of course hundreds of opinions on the name change. But the reasons remain behind the priority of daily life.
What is wrong with both the names being carried along in parallel? The pride that bubbles when one speaks of native Bengalooru need not beat the proud IT techie adopted Bangalorean. Both can be brands, like Kolkota or Dilli…
I just hope that no fanatics will refuse to deliver postal and courier articles when you address them in the old format…if you do happen to work in the postal department, just be patient and think some people don’t know any better…I do the same when you write to me at Trivandrum…I know I am at Thiruvananthapuram…sorry Ananthapuri!
The Battle of the SMS
No! This is no thought provoker book selling at the top of the list!
This is the show before which we sit with nail biting anxiety, perhaps only an India-Pakistan Cricket match can better its TRP ratings.
This is the show which pushes the monthly cell phone budget of the family haywire, by sending SMSs to make your favorite cute gal or guy or kid the current winner, be it Idol or Super Star.
Move over Ektas of the world and Soaps, the Realty shows are here! To stay? Perhaps only till the next avatar from a current popular American TV show comes in.
We have had the "Millionaire" battles, not once but twice, and have debated the pros and cons of the Big B and the SRK threadbare. They faded out and the one finance savvy channel even brought out a talk show on "Kaun Rahega Crorepathi", investigating the current financial position and investment pattern of a lucky winner. I was amused to see the bliss on her face, when hubby dear stepped in to say 'she has no head for finance'. For God's sake it is 25 Lakhs of rupees she is talking or not talking about and not that year's ELSS investments to save income tax!
The poor guys and gals come in and go out of studios holding auditions for Realty shows; they crowd round venues, braving the sun and the rain just for a chance to get in; and then again get their self-respect dragged through slime, when the so called boors called 'judges' put them through live ragging. I get my hackles up at this and my son tells me that this is the methodology they use to test the endurance of the candidate.
My God, if you were looking for the endurance test, why didn't you volunteer for army service? The poor lads don't tell anyone what endurance they get tested for on the border, under shell-fire and on glaciers and deserts!
They beg and plead and literally touch the feet of the million viewers out there, "pleeeeeeeeeeaaaaaase vote for me", and smart people get their groups into the act. They print banners, call up all the people they don't even have a nodding acquaintance with, and generally behave like they are standing for the parliamentary elections. This is repeated so many times and the weekly 'ousting ceremony' pushes up BP all over the country.
Every week a smart guy or gal goes out weeping because they didn't have enough clout with the viewers. And on the grand finale, the winner drives away in a car or gets a luxury apartment or gets a chance in a movie as the prize is set. In a few days the next round of the realty show is announced and the winner joins the 'wilderness populated by former champions.'
This is the show before which we sit with nail biting anxiety, perhaps only an India-Pakistan Cricket match can better its TRP ratings.
This is the show which pushes the monthly cell phone budget of the family haywire, by sending SMSs to make your favorite cute gal or guy or kid the current winner, be it Idol or Super Star.
Move over Ektas of the world and Soaps, the Realty shows are here! To stay? Perhaps only till the next avatar from a current popular American TV show comes in.
We have had the "Millionaire" battles, not once but twice, and have debated the pros and cons of the Big B and the SRK threadbare. They faded out and the one finance savvy channel even brought out a talk show on "Kaun Rahega Crorepathi", investigating the current financial position and investment pattern of a lucky winner. I was amused to see the bliss on her face, when hubby dear stepped in to say 'she has no head for finance'. For God's sake it is 25 Lakhs of rupees she is talking or not talking about and not that year's ELSS investments to save income tax!
The poor guys and gals come in and go out of studios holding auditions for Realty shows; they crowd round venues, braving the sun and the rain just for a chance to get in; and then again get their self-respect dragged through slime, when the so called boors called 'judges' put them through live ragging. I get my hackles up at this and my son tells me that this is the methodology they use to test the endurance of the candidate.
My God, if you were looking for the endurance test, why didn't you volunteer for army service? The poor lads don't tell anyone what endurance they get tested for on the border, under shell-fire and on glaciers and deserts!
They beg and plead and literally touch the feet of the million viewers out there, "pleeeeeeeeeeaaaaaase vote for me", and smart people get their groups into the act. They print banners, call up all the people they don't even have a nodding acquaintance with, and generally behave like they are standing for the parliamentary elections. This is repeated so many times and the weekly 'ousting ceremony' pushes up BP all over the country.
Every week a smart guy or gal goes out weeping because they didn't have enough clout with the viewers. And on the grand finale, the winner drives away in a car or gets a luxury apartment or gets a chance in a movie as the prize is set. In a few days the next round of the realty show is announced and the winner joins the 'wilderness populated by former champions.'
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