Mirch Masala

A casual surfing of TV channels brought me to Mirch Masala, almost halfway through by now. I had seen it long back. But the climax has always stayed with me. Only now did I realise that the movie is lot more than the climax. Watching such movies educate about the nuances of the craft of filmmaking, even to a novice like me. I could see how the script enhanced the story and how the dialogues enhanced the script. Movies which are backed by a strong story and script are always a treat. Backed by a director who can keep everything taut and minimal, one gets to experience how actors can become almost meaningless. Although in case of Mirch Masala, one makes such a statement after being spoint, since the acting is so effortless, by a cast which includes Smita Patil, Naseeruddin Shah, Om Puri, Suresh Oberoi, Deepti Naval, Benjamin Gilani, Dina Pathak, Supria Pathak, Ratna Pathak. This is a case where the cast is so good that it brings the story to the fore and thereby takes the focus away from acting.  

Mirch Masala is apparently set in a village in Gujarat in colonial India. The bare bones story is such: Subedar is like an uncrowned king of the village where most men are usually either pandering to him or loitering. Subedar’s camp is near the river where village women come to wash clothes, and he ogles at them shamelessly. He is captivated initially by the beauty and later by the confidence of Sonbai. One day when he attacks Sonbai, she slaps him and hides inside the spice factory where she works with other women of the village. Abu Mian, the old guard of the factory shuts the gates and refuses entry to Subedar’s soldiers. Subedar tries all tricks but both Sonbai and Abu Mian refuse to yield. As the matter escalates, Mukhi convenes the village panchayat. The villagers are quick to condemn Sonbai and decide that she must turn herself over to Subedar. The schoolmaster opposes this view; once they give in for one woman, he says, there will be nothing to stop Subedar from demanding others, even perhaps Mukhi's own wife. (He is immediately thrashed for this.) The panchayat is dissolved and Mukhi reports back to Subedar that they will hand over Sonbai on the condition that Subedar will not make further demands of this nature. Subedar laughs off this condition and has the schoolmaster thrashed soundly again. He asks Mukhi to reason with Sonbai; threatening that her obstinacy is liable to bring trouble to the entire village. Mukhi brings pressure on Sonbai, but she stands firm. Within the factory, the women who once supported Sonbai now turn upon her. They fear that if she does not yield, Subedar may send his men to indiscriminately molest the women. Sonbai nearly relents, but is stopped by Abu Mian. Eventually, Subedar’s soldiers ram down the factory gate and shoot Abu Mian. As Subedar approaches to lay claim on Sonbai, in a sudden and swift attack, the women of the factory rush forward in pairs, holding sheets of chilli powder, and throw it at Subedar’s face. Subedar is incapacitated, on his knees, screaming in pain, his eyes and skin burning, while Sonbai looks on with a mysterious, determined, satisfactory gleam in her eyes, and a sickle in her hand.

Around this simple premise, the movie has many peripheral characters, each of which is well etched, and serves to deliver a message. The movie is so well and deeply written that it gives a detailed commentary on the society, and its numerous issues.  

Time and place agnostic

The movie does not specify the location and the timeline. This is important to deliver the message that the issues that it raises can happen anywhere, and anytime. Themes of feudalism, power struggles, gender biases, moral corruption, suppression and rebellion, are parts of human behaviour. And despite all progress, no society is totally immune to them at all times.  

Power structures between men and women

The strongest undertone of the movie is the sharp disparity in stature of men and women. Most men of the village are either gossiping, pandering to the Subedar, or politicking; while the women are doing all the hard work, including earning at the spice factory. Only exceptions are Abu Mian, and the schoolmaster. He is a reformer, and the only literate person in the village, insisting on educating the children, even girls (female education is considered worthless and scandalous). Most other men, including Mukhi, are shown to be extremely meek in front of power, personified by Subedar. But they are bold and cruel to women. This contrast is highlighted in case of Mukhi and her wife. She is bold and tries to stand up to Mukhi on many occasions - getting her daughter to school, refusing Mukhi entry into her room if he continues his philandering ways, and finally mobilising the women to march in protest against the decision of the men of the village to convince Sonbai to accept Subedar’s demand. On all occasions, Mukhi overpowers her brutally.

That the standards of behaviour are different for men and women is seamlessly woven in dialogues. Sonbai’s husband has gone to the city for a better job which can improve his family’s future. But repeatedly, doubts are raised on the likelihood of his return. Even Sonbai dreads that. Which means that it is almost expected by men to desert their wives (who in turn have to keep waiting), and possibly have another family in the city. Objectification of women is immense - even Mukhi is away from home most nights, hinting that he is sleeping with other women; Subedar is regularly supplied with women for his pleasure.

Seen impartially, this inequality feels bizarre and farcical when the matter of handing over Sonbai to Subedar is discussed. The very fact that the men of the village sit together to decide on the future of a women shows the extent of depravity. There is no concept of free will of the woman in question. The dialogues between Subedar and Mukhi, those during the village panchayat meeting, and finally those between Mukhi and Sonbai are especially stark. There is a possibility that Sonbai’s husband may not accept her when he learns that she has slept with Subedar (only he has the authority to accept or reject). The villagers try to convince Sonbai that they will persuade her husband to keep her or else the village will take care of her future. Subedar jovially suggests to Mukhi that Mukhi may ‘keep’ her.    

Subedar and Feudalism

Feudalism is at the bedrock of the film, which also gives it a universal appeal. Subedar acts as lord and master of the village, with his soldiers running amok, plundering food and livestock as per their fancy. Unleashing his soldiers on the village is the primary threat of Subedar to get Sonbai. He is routinely cruel, unfair, and temperamental. The villagers are at the mercy of his moods, and he exploits his power in every possible way. He acts as the legislature, the executive, and the judiciary. He can decide on the taxes to be collected from the farmers. He rules on the case of a farmer not being able to return money to the moneylender.

He thrashes a villager for breaking his gramophone record, shouts at a grieving woman only because she is disturbing his morning return. Villagers are totally helpless, and discard even the thought of retaliating to the government, or for that matter any authority. Silent acceptance of any and all atrocities is hard wired into their psyche. They consider it to be predestined for their lot. In one scene, mukhi's younger brother even asks the school-master the meaning of the word swaraj.  

Of course, Subedar has a roving eye, established very early on during the garba scene. Subedar’s only agenda during the dance is to assess and pick women. In fact he even shows a likeness for Mukhi’s wife. The pinnacle of his injustice and impropriety is reached when he declines to affirm that he would not make similar demands in future once Sonbai is handed to him

Social hierarchy

Mirch Masala brings out the prevalent social hierarchy. The spice factory owner, the Mukhi, the priest, represent the relative upper classes - amalgamation of economic, political, and caste supremacy. The villagers represent the lowest classes, who face the wrath not just of Subedar but also those of upper classes. Between the various classes, Subedar naturally sides with the powerful and the wealthy. There is a cross section of similar hierarchy among the women of the village, but it is less stark and acrimonious.

Weak men

The extent of weakness of men in the movie is almost shocking. Character of Mukhi’s brother is there only to epitomise this - he loves a girl working in the spice factory but is spineless to stand in front of anybody - the girl’s father or his own brother. Even when the girl he loves is trapped inside the spice factory, he is not able to do anything to save her. All throughout, the women try to help each other, and protect each other despite the pressures of men’s dictums. In the climax, all men are just trying to convince Sonbai to agree to Subedar because that is the easiest solution. As the gate of the spice factory collapses, all are just standing motionless with Mukhi’s brother crying weakly.

Women a self-sustaining ecosystem

In contrast to the men, the women are efficient, a self-sustaining society, epitomised by the spice factory. Women assemble every day, joke around, work hard, discuss family matters. A pregnant worker gets a fit and is taken care of by the other women, as they are stuck inside the factory. Mukhi’s wife clandestinely gets them food, to which one of them remarks ‘only a woman can think of feeding even in crisis’. Near the climax, they are able to deliver a healthy baby without any external help. And of course, in the climax, the women show that when pushed to a corner, they can protect themselves.

Feminism

Sonbai’s character unequivocally stands for feminism. She appears a bit anachronistic wherein everyone around her is submissive to the dictates of the society. She is no tomboy - she labours like other women, she is deeply rooted to her husband. But she stands out because of her independent thought. She will question societal norms, and test them on her sense of right and wrong. In the first interaction with Subedar, while other women flee, she stands firm. She is not afraid when he asks for water, in fact she gives it playfully. At other times, she is mostly content with her life, happy despite the difficult circumstances. And when Subedar attacks her, she does not demur, rather slaps him. She has the courage to stand for her rights and her freedom when the entire village is forcing her to yield. When villagers say that they would have asked her husband to convince her (again, the husband has absolute authority!), she retorts that she would not have acceded even if her husband had commanded (disagreeing to the husband is unthinkable in this society).  

Sonbai apart, there are curious, and refreshing insights into women behaviour, something very few Hindi movies have depicted. The women are bitchy, jibing each other freely. Their conversations are free on the taboo topics of sex, and adultery (I think the writers could not be more explicit because of censor considerations). On being jovially heckled by others to have more children, one woman remarks that she will bear children only from her husband, indicating that adultery is not uncommon among women as well. One worker of the factory easily admits to Sonbai that she had spent a night with Subedar. Interestingly, that woman argues that Subedar is enamoured by Sonbai and would treat her and keep her well. A man who treats his woman well is a big fancy for these women who are used to physical, emotional abuse, and neglect by their husbands.  

Most importantly, the movie pricks the notion of placing women chastity on a high pedestal. In Indian society, a woman’s purity is considered a hallowed ground, and any invasion is considered the biggest travesty for a woman. The movie shows that women take matters more casually. This is not to say that they are amoral but that virginal chastity is not the cornerstone of a woman’s existence - a rape or adultery does not take away their right to life. Such taboos are imposed by men who start associating their own pride with that of their woman. To break away from this tradition would be to allow breathing space to women, to give them freedom beyond their chastity.    

Mukhi: most interesting character

Amongst a roster of interesting characters, I found that of Mukhi the most interesting and most complex. He is the village chief, but below Subedar in hierarchy. Thus we find him in various shades. He is powerful and authoritative, even cruel, to villagers, but is blunted when facing Subedar. Subedar and Mukhi share an interesting power equation. Mukhi he is not overtly subservient to Subedar like other villagers. He keeps a pretense of power in front of Subedar, although in essence he has no power. During the Garba dance, Mukhi is sitting majestically. When Subedar arrives, Mukhi keeps his position, barely acknowledging him. Even when they exchange glances, Mukhi maintains a demeanour to show that he is no less important.

Subedar is constantly insinuating that Mukhi also uses his power to subjugate women, but Mukhi keeps him at bay with lines like ‘Bhukhe nange gaon ka Mukhi hoon’, or ‘Yahan nazar par bhi nazar rakhni padti hai’. When Subedar says that he has not asked for Mukhi’s wife, Mukhi gives a firm retort to express his anger. There is a power tango between the two characters. Mukhi wants to keep Subedar happy, to be able to get some concessions from him, and yet maintain dignity of his position.

Mukhi makes earnest representation of villagers to Subedar, be it to ask for lower taxes, or to let go of his desire for Sonbai. Mukhi is tactful, persuasive, and insistent. On such occasions, he comes across as brave and commands appreciation. But eventually he is as weak as the other men, able only to subjugate the villagers and his wife. He ticks off the father who requests alliance of his daughter with Mukhi’s brother, as the two are in love. He may be well-meaning on many occasions but is not able to take a firm stand when matters come to head. On the matter of handing over Sonbai, despite failing to negotiate any concession from the Subedar, Mukhi walks with extreme pride at the head of the group of villagers, looking like a buffoon. He is a case study of how people behave in a power hierarchy.  

Abu Mian - the hero

Abu Mian, the old, fragile guard with a solitary rifle is the hero of the movie. His character and dialogues are the only throwbacks to mainstream, pulpy Bollywood cinema. Along with the school headmaster, he is the only man who stands for Sonbai and the rights of women. He tries to show the mirror to villagers and Mukhi, that they are not man enough to face Subedar, leaving Abu Mian as the only one in the village who has the courage to back his convictions.

He neatly translates the difference between letter and spirit, when he says his job is not to follow the command of spice factory’s owner, but to protect each woman in the factory. Along with Sonbai, he stands firmly for what he believes in till the end, even when he knows that he will lose the battle if things come to head. But in his dying, he serves an important role. He unites the women to mount that attack. The attack was never planned in advance. It was stirred by Abu Mian’s death. It is a spontaneous response to the shock which is evoked by the brutality of killing an innocent man.

Why does Subedar not use force early on

Given the absolute authority that Subedar holds on the village, one wonders why does he not simply get Sonbai picked by his soldiers? Why does he scheme - asking the owner of the factory, then the Subedar and the entire village to convince Sonbai. To my mind, this is a display of how power works. Being able to have one’s way without an overt display of force only strengthens the mystery and power. A politician will try not to alienate anyone absolutely, still have his way. As Subedar says ‘mazaa to tab hai jab saanp bhi na mare aur lathi bhi na toote’. And by trying all means possible, Subedar gets the villagers to implicitly sanctify his last bit of aggression - he shows that he is using force only as a last resort.

There is another reason, associated with male sense of lust. Subedar comments to Mukhi, about Sonbai ‘apne aap aa jaye to zyada mazaa degi’. Instead of getting Sonbai to his bed through force, Subedar will enjoy the sexual encounter more if Sonbai submits to him willingly. That will pander to his male ego.

The Climax

The climax is stunning. Subedar is on horse outside the factory; there is absolute silence. After that: war cries of Subedar’s soldiers driving the battering ram into the factory gate. The gate collapses with a loud thud. A sharp retort of Abu Mian rifle. One soldier collapses. Subedar’s horse brays sharply and he is thrown to ground. Rifle shots by soldiers and Abu Mian collapses. One woman in the factory cries out ‘Abu Mian’. Absolute silence. The sharp sound of Subedar’s heels as he advances towards Sonbai. Now the war cries of women, similar to the cries of Subedar’s soldiers earlier, as they unload chilli on Subedar’s face. Finally, shrieks of anguish by Subedar. Unfolding of wave after wave of red chilli is a retort to the repeat movement of the battering ram. In the last shot, Sonbai looks resolutely, holding a sickle - initially taken for self defense and now a symbol of destruction, evoking the image of goddess Durga.     

The childbirth scene

Near the climax, the movie shows one of the workers in the spice factory delivering a baby. All the women help with the delivery despite being under seige from villagers and Subedar’s soldiers. What was the need for this scene?

Despite the collective strength shown throughout by the women, at one point they weaken. Under seige of villagers and Subedar’s soldiers, and the pressure of being away from their families, they try to persuade Sonbai to relent. They jibe her bitterly. It is an important scene because it shows how self preservation is a strong human value.

To follow this with the climax wherein all women unite to protect Sonbai, a link was needed. Their collective effort in that childbirth was that link. The urgency of the event forced them to unite and start believing again in their collective strength.  

Group Think

The movie repeatedly illustrates groupthink amongst the villagers, perpetrated by their ignorance and illiteracy. When the entire contingent is in front of Subedar, and Mukhi says that the village has agreed to hand over Sonbai, the schoolmaster looks to challenge this but is immediately silenced and shadowed by other villagers. But when Subedar asks who wants an assurance that Subedar would not make similar demands in future, all villagers point to schoolmaster.

As matter escalates, the arguments of villagers become increasingly preposterous. By the end, the entire village is persuading Sonbai to fornicate with Subedar, in a way approving a rape. The village priest is the most superficial character in the movie. He imparts religious sanctity to the proceedings by arguing that ‘sacrifice’ of one for the benefit of many is approved by Gods. This shows the ludicrosity of religious practices by priests, who can offer arguments for any end result desired by the wealthy and the powerful. The movie amply shows how in collectivism, things can change quickly, such that nothing is too absurd. If the masses are not alert, rational and conscious, anything can happen, with tacit or even explicit approval.

Fault (not) in the eye of the beholder

As is a common practise even today, many a times women are blamed for acting in a manner that piques men’s interest. Here also, other workers in the factory blame Sonbai for having acted suggestively, which aroused Subedar’s interest. Indeed Sonbai was playful with Subedar when giving him water, but so what? Playfulness cannot be interpreted as a sexual demand. Subedar claims that Sonbai had invited his interest and is now acting hard-to-get. It is a classic case of men interpreting a female gesture as per their own desires.

Worse still, even if the female has acted and dressed properly, she can still be culpable for being beautiful. Someone comments ‘Galti tere roop main hain’. To which Sonbai retorts ‘uske dekhne main nahi’. The standard debate of whether the fault is with the object or the eye of the beholder.

The Obelisk

The most interesting symbolism in the movie is that of the stone obelisk near Subedar’s encampment. It is used by Subedar to mete out punishment - the guilty person is tied to it with an extended rope, hungry and thirsty under the bitter sun for hours. The villager who defaults to the money lender is the first person on it. There is a well-constructed shot where the villager is tied to it, on his knees, his grieving wife is sitting nearby on her haunches just looking at him, powerless to do anything. A sentry is standing on guard. The villager is under the sentry’s thumb and the wife is under her husband’s thumb. She has no option but to be with her husband, effectively serving the same punishment as him, without being tied by a rope.

When the schoolmaster is implicated by the villagers for making an outrageous suggestion to Subedar, he too is tied to the obelisk, where he joins two others. A satirical scene follows. The three pull on their ropes together and uproot the obelisk. They then look to use it to intersect the departing villagers party, headed by Mukhi. Crying in unison, they carry it down the slope. They are face to face with Mukhi who hits one of them on the head with his cane, and the small revolt crumbles. It is a semi-comical scene with much depth.    

How science can control

In a display of how colonialism and feudalism works not just through brute power but also because of its ability to mystify and take advantage of ignorance, the Subedar impresses his subjects by playing a gramophone. The villagers are ignorant and easily awed when sound emanates from the gramophone. Those in power have the influence and the money to buy the most advanced technology which adds to their aura. This impact becomes more pronounced when even the access to information and knowledge is controlled by those in power.

Barot

This is a small but strangely interesting character (‘Barot’ is also a clan in Rajasthan and Gujarat). He is a vagrant and does not necessarily belong to the village. Yet he is part of the panchayat meeting called by Mukhi to discuss Subedar’s demand for Sonbai. Apart from the schoolmaster, he is the only one who opines that the village should stand for Sonbai. He is summarily thrown from the meeting, to which he just bows and departs, as he had little at stake. When Subedar sees Barot leaving, he forcibly seeks an explanation. In a subtle and mystical reply, Barot says ‘Iss gaon ka paani kharab hai’, possibly hinting to the impurity infused by Subedar to the village water, as his encampment is adjacent to the river. He then bows and goes onwards.

Milieu of the movie

The ambience of Mirch Masala is true to its title. It is earthy, and rustic. Right from the titles, which show close-ups of red chilli crop and folk song playing in the background, to the end credits, the film keeps the mood perfect. Sceneries of the village, of Subedar’s camp, of spice factory, of homes of villagers, all are realistic. Costumes, and mannerisms of all the characters are pitch perfect. Expanse of drying chilli, and background music fill the senses.

Football Vignettes

Belatedly, but two stories warmed the heart during the Russia football world cup in 2018. These stories are not about sporting genius, or sporting glory but about increasingly rare qualities like basic human goodness, morality, grace, and respect for others - not just in triumph but more importantly in defeat.

1.

In 2003, in a game between Denmark and Iran being played in Hong Kong, an Iranian player mistook a whistle from the crowd as the referee’s half-time signal, and picked the ball up with his hands in the penalty area.

The referee gave Denmark a penalty kick, but following a consultation with national team coach Morten Olsen, Danish captain Morten Wieghorst missed the penalty on purpose as a token of fair play. Denmark lost the game 1–0, with Iran scoring a goal after this incident.  

Wieghorst received an Olympic Committee fair play award.   

2.

In the quarter finals of the 2018 world cup, Japan suffered a bitter loss to Belgium. Belgium was the clear favourite but it was Japan which led 2-0 well into the second half, on their way to a major upset. Only to lose 3-2 with Belgium scoring three goals in 69th, 74th and the 94th minute! But such a shock defeat did not deter the grace of the Japanese players as well as the fans.

Post the defeat, the Japanese team cleaned their dressing room spotless and left a handwritten Thank You note in Russian for the hosts. The tearful fans too cleaned the stands before leaving. In fact, this had been a routine practice by the fans in all the matches. As per one news article, this is not an unusual behaviour for the Japanese people as leaving public spaces clean is a usual, bred-from-childhood habit for them.  

There are teams and fans which have caused huge ruckus, even stampede and violence after such heartbreaking losses. Such behaviour may even be reluctantly justified. But Japanese have shown rare, heart-warming poise and character   

Plenty of goodness still out there. Keep looking!

Dead Poets Society

The movie has flaws but it is difficult not to get moved by Ethan Hawke’s “O’Captain, My Captain”, every time! The movie is about teaching kids to be free-thinking, free-spirited, original and daring, and questioning the education system which suppresses these qualities. The lead characters - students of the all-male Welton Academy are shown as case studies of different personality types and how each personality matures. Neil Perry is the talented kid from whom ‘great things are expected’. But his heart is in acting, something which his dominating father detests as it is not a financially-secure career choice. Knox Overstreet is the dasher, who is hesitant to propose to the girl he likes, as she is dating a football player. Charlie Dalton is the rebel, deriving pleasure in breaking rules but who would stand for his friends at all costs. Steven Meeks and Gerard Pitts are the geeks, happy to carry surreptitious science experiments. Richard Cameron is the diligent, un-original, self-preserving kid, who is scared of breaking rules. And Todd Anderson is the reserved kid, unsure of his abilities and scared of expressing himself. We would have seen all these shades while growing up, in school and colleges; and also associate some shades with our own personality. In that respect, Dead Poets Society is a bit formulaic, jarring in its effort to cover all bases.

In the setting of the disciplinarian Welton (called Hell-ton by students) where the tried and tested curriculum is taught in an efficient manner to prepare the students for a secure, though unimaginative life, enters John Keating (a solid Robin Williams, on a sure turf). He is an alumnus of the school but has somehow escaped the rote learning. The movie oversells him by using phrases like ‘the man most likely to do anything’ or ‘hell raiser’. These departures from subtlety are the main weaknesses of an otherwise inspiring movie. Mr. Keating wishes to ingrain originality in his pupils, much to the bemusement of his colleagues and disapproval of the headmaster Nolan. There are seemingly weird tasks like stepping on the benches (to see the world differently), strolling in the courtyard with different gaits (to ‘illustrate the dangers of conformity’), ripping apart the portion of textbook which reduces poetry appreciation to mathematical analysis, making students kick football with full vigour while reading heroic poetry. Some of these appear far fetched and the movie gets a bit carried away in making its point. Keating gets the message across more emphatically with ideas like ‘communication developed to be able to woo women’, or ‘we read and write poetry because we are members of the human race’.

Gradually, his teaching hits home. Standing by his virtue of Carpe Diem (or ‘Seize the day’), the boys decide to form a club ‘Dead Poets Society’ which meets clandestinely at night, in a cave, to read poetry, smoke, and do as they please. Knox proposes, caring little about the consequences. Neil auditions for and gets the lead role in a local enactment of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, by writing a fake letter from his father to the headmaster. Todd had to be delicately extricated from his shell, Keating says “Mr. Anderson thinks that everything inside of him is worthless and embarrassing. Isn't that right, Todd? Isn't that your worst fear? Well, I think you're wrong. I think you have something inside of you that is worth a great deal.” He ends up pushing him to be able to recite an extempore poem in front of the class, something which surprises Todd himself. In the next scene, to signify a completion of the transformation, the boys are playing football with euphoric abandon with Keating on the sidelines jumping to the background opera music. Todd scores a majestic goal and Keating is hoisted away.

Dead Poets Society exhorts to be original, to be imaginative, to be creative, to be different, to have the courage to break the monotone, to do more with life, to ‘live deep and suck out all the marrow of life’. But at the same time, it advises caution - when Charlie pulls a stunt in front of the headmaster and gets physically punished. Keating wants him to appreciate the balance between courage and foolishness; to not mistake Carpe Diem to cheap publicity.

Thankfully, the movie is beautifully restrained and realistic in its last half hour. Neil shows promising acting skills in the play but his father is not impressed. Neil was advised by Keating to convince his father, and that his father would understand him once he sees him act. But his father forces his choice of withdrawing Neil from Welton, and setting up a safe career of a doctor. Now Neil, who has an actor’s sensitivity, is heartbroken. This, and his inability to stand up to his father pushes him to suicide. Todd is devastated. An investigation is initiated against Keating. Cameron lives up to his character and buys his freedom by revealing everything, blaming Keating’s teaching style and advice for pushing Neil to suicide. On the other extreme, Charlie too plays his part, refusing to do any such thing, instead punching Cameron and getting expelled. All the others - Todd, Knox, Steven and Gerrard have no other option but to sign a written statement which incriminates Keating. The movie did not go overboard at this point, by depicting an unrealistic heroic rebellion by the boys. Now each has to take his own decision, with only their parents for support. Young, impressionable, kids, fall to the pressure of their practical parents, and reluctantly sign the statement. They are overcome with grief and guilt - a real world learning.      

The movie is also about coming of age of Todd, played beautifully by Ethan Hawke. He is the capable yet unsure kid. In the end, Keating has been fired, and he comes to collect his belongings while the English class is being taught by the headmaster Nolan. As Keating passes Todd’s desk, Todd bursts out explaining to Keating that they were all forced to sign the statement and that Neil’s death was not his fault. As he is forced to sit down by Nolan, he is torn between guilt and the fear of taking a stand, crying profusely. He is finally able to take the leap (only Charlie had been able to do it, for him there was never a dilemma). As Keating is about to leave the room, Todd stands up on his desk, saying ‘O, Captain, my captain’. The act and the words are meant to be a tribute to Keating’s education. The words give me goosebumps every time. Gradually and with courage, others join Todd, by standing on their desks, now overlooking protests and threats from Nolan. Todd’s face is now glowing with a warm resolve, happy with his courage, and finally at peace with himself. Half the class is on the desk, ignorant of Nolan. Keating says “Thank you, boys”, deeply moved by the fact that his lessons have reached home.       

Window

The air conditioner in the bus is not working. It is a long ride back home and it would be tough in the barmy weather. Good that there are few people around. The conductor has tried - first to convince that the air conditioner is working but just the air is not cool enough, and then by switching on small fans above certain seats. Eventually he opens the windows, which are jammed due to disuse.

Why have windows vanished from our lives? They are now only found in computers, proverbs and quaint restaurants. What are windows? Why are they not doors? For one thing, they are more romantic, have more character. Windows are yearning, and temptation. They can be that big gulf between what I have and not, what I am and not. In an apartment where I once lived, there was a large french window beside which I spend many a lazy afternoons and nights overlooking the sea. My son likes to sit on the edge of a much smaller window at home, to make sense of the world outside. Train rides are all about windows. In Shimla, my everlasting memory is that of sitting on the first floor of a cafe overlooking the Mall road. The cafe is tiny with breadth of few feets. But there is a large window which gives you a feeling of almost sitting on the Mall road itself, shaking hands with passers-by. The world moves but the time stands still sitting at that window. Windows have that thing - they warp the sense of motion and of your place in the scheme. Where are windows gone?

Back to the bus, the conductor has opened the windows - I do not like it much because it means noise and pollution. Thankfully, today it made things more tolerable. I am sitting there, reading my book, as the dusk descends. At one long intersection, the bus halts so close to the pavement that some branches and leaves peak inside the bus from my open window. The gesture is so sudden yet invigorating that I am instantly elated. It is like a good friend showing up unexpectedly for a chat. I feel ‘aha, what break from monotony’, and welcome the tree wholeheartedly. I stroke the leaves, pluck a small shoot and press it between the pages of the book I am reading. I know that the bus would take time to move and I want to savour the moment. The evening is looking more beautiful.

Suddenly, a monkey climbs up the tree and jumps inside the bus through the open window. It mauls me brutally before running down the aisle, and frightening everybody. Or so I imagine. I shudder and desperately want the bus to start moving now.

The leaves are still pressed in the book.      

Green

I like taking my two-year-and-some-months old to the nearby park (large parks are prominent amongst the diminishing luxuries in Delhi). He is too young to understand most things I want to explain to him. But I see some excitement around squirrels and birds. I want him to run with abandon, jump around, roll in grass and mud, get dirty, hurt himself - hopefully in good time. I try and instill in him a love and respect for the flora. Mostly he is trying to pluck leaves brutally, or mock-slap them. It disturbs me. But on last few occasions, I have been able to convince him to gently stroke the tree trunk, to feel the roughness of the surface. I keep asking him to thank the trees and plants.

I have had nothing to do with flora in my life so far - I come from a boring, mundane job, and have lived all my life in a flat which has limited space to even pretend to garden. But I have a deep-seated love for the greens, which surfaces occasionally and in various forms. My usual high-strung state means that I find it soothing to even look at trees. I have recently shifted my exercise routine from a gym to a park. One condition that I have imposed is not to use any floor mat. I like to feel the grass below, roll in it and get dirty. It pricks at times, grass/mud sticks to wet clothes, and there is frequent biting by ants, but these are small prices. I enjoy when the shower washes away the park (mud and grass) which I bring home. Be it summer or winters, seeing people (groups of teenagers, labourers, idlers, beggars, kids, aunties) in a park makes me smile. I always get a sense of stillness, calmness, idleness on seeing them - a small cocoon in the madness, cacophony and brutality of the city - bustling just a few meters away.

Once, I complimented a client on lush, well maintained plants in his cabin. He was genuinely elated and mentioned that it has to do with the care shown to them. He talks to them, cares for them tenderly. He has a small garden at home. Lovely! It took me back to my heartbreak with plants at my home - they never survive. In one of my periodic bursts of heightened love for greens, and of trying-stuff, around two years back, I ordered home plants. I tried many kinds but nothing worked. Most plants gradually died. Earlier I used to care for them, watering them with caution, turning the soil, plucking wilted leaves. Gradually, as they continued to flounder I lost interest. My mom continued to soldier on. Springing of every new leaf brought hope, and its flagging brought back doubts. I took back the bamboo (my first desk plant) home for better care. But it too wilted. The fate of most of the plants at home made me pessimistic, and believer in mystic energy. I feel some negative energy in the house, or wave of apathy which makes them wilt. It worries me.      

I keep a few plants at my office desk which have done reasonably. While they have not grown rapidly as I had thought, they have not wilted. The money plant seems to have finally found its growth spurt. I am envious of this vine at desks of my colleagues - expanding robustly, infiltrating other people’s workspace like undercover agents. But now I am tracking the daily progress of mine one with eagerness, almost egging it to grow fast, faster. I keep checking the stem for smidgens of new shoots - a new leaf fills my heart with joy (small joys in the daily office life). I once held a fresh leaf between my thumb and index finger and enjoyed the wax-like smoothness.

But I am disgruntled with the attitude of my cooperative apartment towards plants and greenery. While we still have a few well-maintained gardens, but over the years, large green tracts have fallen prey to parking slots, and building extensions - all signs of the greed and misplaced priorities. We once had an open balcony with provision for more plants. It is now a closed room, which fetches more real estate value. My feeling of guilt and powerlessness over this never abates. Nobody ever took a stand higher than that of materialistic gains - frequent nowadays.  

Amidst this deeply cynical state, sights of deep foliage give me hope. As one wanders the cities, one finds sameness - stretches of concrete, glass, tar, gleaming progress, apathy, urgency, rush. Amidst these strands of humanity, trees stand defiant, bastions of sanity, like a final frontier. In residential societies, in office complexes, seraphic patches of green are succour for tired eyes, minds, even souls. But to me they also bring a sense of foreboding, of fear, of pain. How long will they survive? Greed expands like lava - it will burn most in the way.

And we will reach the stage projected in the movie Wall-E (the movie projects a grim post apocalyptic world). In the movie - a tiny sapling stands for everything good - for hope amidst misery, for rebirth, for beauty, for reversion to humanity. This brings me to how plants have elevated scenes in movies, because they symbolise so much, most of all hope and growth.

First up is the movie Lootera, released in 2013. The movie is based on O’Henry’s short story - The Last Leaf. As the winter sets in the hills and gradually subsumes the leaves of the tree visible from her window, the ailing heroine loses hope for her own health. She firmly believes that she will live as long as there is the last leaf on the tree. On surface, this pegging of something as strong as human life on something as uncertain and fragile as a leaf may sound illogical or sign of a failing mind. But it also shows how mind works, how hope thinks, and how we form strong relation with the nature - trees and plants. If there is some logic to vicariousness, then this is most logical. Trees stand for strength, for longevity, a strong attestation for life itself.  

A recent movie had similar symbolism with a plant standing for life and continuity - ‘October’. This melancholic movie is about a young, comatose girl who has suffered brain damage due to an unfortunate incident. Her name is ‘Shiuli’, meaning night jasmine, her favourite flower. Symbolism of the fact that night jasmine has a short, beautiful life, and the fact that Shiuli eventually dies is apparent. But in the end, the hero walks away with a night jasmine plant gifted to him by Shiuli’s mother, highlighting the strong association between man and plant, and a continuity.    

Two bollywood movies of yesteryears while do not have such strong linkage with the trees but have memorable shots which show a turn of events, from pain to clarity and hope - with trees being the central piece. In Amar Prem, a kid grows up in a seedy neighbourhood with brothels around. The protagonist is a prostitute who develops a strong maternal bond with the kid, who in turn likes her more than her foster mother. He once plants a sapling in her courtyard. Twists of time take the boy away from the neighbourhood. Years later, the boy, now a grown man, well settled in life, visits the neighbourhood with a vague, lingering interest in knowing about ‘her’. (He in fact uses just the pronoun ‘woh’ meaning ‘she’ for the protagonist). As soon as he gets off the rickshaw, his eyes fall on the spot where he had planted the sapling, and he sees a fully grown, lush tree. The background music hits a crescendo - the maternal lullaby ‘she’ used to sing to him. Immediately tears well up in his eyes, and the memories flood. The tree symbolises his own growth, the distance he has covered, yet a tugging with the past, a root which you cannot budge. To him the tree stands for care, for motherly love, for a bond - tenuous yet strong. This scene gives goosebumps, just like another one from the movie Anupama.

The protagonist named Anupama is an extremely shy, sensitive girl whose personality has been suppressed by a dominating father, who holds her responsible for the death of her mother who died while delivering her. Anupama comes in contact with a free-minded author/poet, who gets so enamored by her simplicity, and her dilemmas that he writes a novel based on her life. The novel is an appeal to her to break free from her mental barriers, to give her confidence, to embrace her innate beauty, to take control of her fate. Anupama reads the novel through the night. The room is dark. On finishing, she keeps the book down gently, there is an amused look on her face, she walks to the window and sharply pulls the curtain. And the sunlight bursts into the room, streaming through the branches of a large tree. Anupama now has a confident, almost arrogant, look on her face as she soaks in the sunlight. The tree is large, and majestic, almost acknowledging Anupama’s arrogance, congratulating her on her new-found determination.

Trees can mean so much, like their countless leaves.    

Governance & Naivety

The dichotomy between the economic systems of Capitalism and Socialism has wide connotations and applications - like yin and yang, heart and head, selfish vs selfless, extravagance against austerity, Oriental vs Occidental. Like most things in life, there is no clear dichotomy also, it is a continuum. An individual can be somewhere in between and at different points at different times.

As an economic system, capitalism has proved to be way more successful, measured in terms of the period that it has sustained, or its domination as a global economic system. In fact socialism has largely become obscure, such that it is associated with antiquity and stagnation while capitalism is considered modern, and progressive. The world is yet to find another more accepted form of social and economic system.

Do I fully comprehend these systems? Hell no! But I do subscribe to capitalism. Possibly because I have grown up in it. Capitalism stands for free competition, for selfish pursuit, and in combination of the two. Meaning that when a good number of people who are rational and who are chasing self-interests, compete freely, it is good for the society at large. Freedom translates into non intervention by the State, and absence of controls. Selfish pursuits translates into profit motive. And a good enough number of participants is essential for competition, as it prevents sloth and complacency. Forces of capitalism ensure that the efforts and resources flow to their most optimum state or usage. Expanded further, a capitalist system allows for more correct determination of price of a thing - a product of its perceived worth, its demand, and its supply - in an uncontrolled environment. Profit pursuit would allow for resources to move seamlessly to prevent any arbitrage to remain for long.

    

Yet, I feel capitalism is the antithesis of a social structure, or the structure necessary for survival. Pursuit of profit can be relentless, selfish, brutal and ugly, while the survival of any society is built on cooperation, co-habitation. Unfettered can mean untamed, wild, rushed, frenzied, dangerous, even remorseless. The self-centered and competitive instincts of capitalism in an environment of limited resources (or zero sum) mean success at the expense of others. That for one to win somebody has to lose, for somebody to be in advantage somebody else has to be disadvantaged necessarily.

Thus arises the need to temper the capitalistic system, else it may be too powerful for its own good, it can self-destruct. Thus the need for regulators, for systemic controls. Yet capitalistic entities keep getting out of hand, they keep sneaking out of all controls. This leads to fraud, or malpractice. But regulations alone have limited success in controlling capitalism. One, because too much regulation starts to look like socialism and that is intolerable. Two, the regulators, those entrusted with the task to make and implement regulations, too are a product of capitalist systems and thus not comfortably detached.

Increasingly capitalistic instincts are being reined in by the concepts of ethics and corporate governance. Ethics means application of morality to the animalistic tendencies of humans. This means chaining capitalism to the premise of good vs bad behaviour, to be able to control it. It also means bringing a degree of self-regulation. So now we have regulations around corporate governance, and courses in ethics. But it was always going to be difficult to define and contain. And the lines between right, legal, and self-interest keep getting messed up.  

India’s track record in corporate governance is shoddy, and it is becoming increasingly apparent. For those willing to look beyond the over-voluble, self-congratulatory ‘India Shining’, and ‘next-superpower’ script, the last few years of reading of corporate India is a tale of blatant and not-so-blatant frauds, misgovernance, regulatory lethargy, and judicial blankness. Over the years, I have been perceptive to ethical standards in the Indian society. In my experience, we are not the most ethical, especially when no one is there to police. This manifests in small forms - readiness to jump a queue, skip a red light, littering, disrespect for public property, and an overall casual, even subversionary, attitude towards rules and laws. Part of this stems from a very individualistic view that we take. I read an article some time back on this topic, which reaffirmed my view:

http://indianexpress.com/article/opinion/columns/an-unethical-place-business-corruption-pri9vate-sector-informal-transparency-5057835/

This is not to say that India is all murky and the West is all shiny. But the number of instances in the past few years confirm to me my cynical view. The Indian banking system is now visibly in a mess, something which people-in-the-know have known for long. It emerged only when it became too difficult to manage. And behind this mess is a trail of companies which have got busted. While the subject is not straightforward and requires debate, analysis and deeper understanding, some factors are apparent. Part of the problem is extraneous related to the economic factors and industry-specific malaise. But a big part, and this is not even the elephant in the room any more, is fraud. Perpetrated by the businessmen who come in all hues - slick and suave, highly educated, or pan-chewing lalas. And around these there is a web of consultants, fixers, agents, valuers, auditors, CAs, and bankers.

Large projects or expansion plans are essential to the growth of economy as these are drivers of many tangible good things. But these are also the cesspool from which most frauds emerge, because they allow for large sums to be discussed and they allow for higher uncertainties, which is the best refuge of scoundrels. So it is common to overstate project cost, invest little of own money and a lot of bank’s money and then pronounce the project stuck or even unviable. Meanwhile because the project cost is overstated, own money is comfortably withdrawn.

The next common form of deceit is funding for working capital - inventory and receivables. In inventory, it is usually items which are difficult-to-measure accurately like rice bags (lakhs of them). And debtors are usually cross border ones - in geographies with easy-to-manage laws and paperwork. Another common form of malfeasance is to undertake public issue of company’s shares to raise money from investors (thousands/lakhs of them) by showing a blatantly false company position. Behind all these duplicities is a complex web of group companies, trusts, partnerships, offshore entities, to make it difficult to unearth the reality (whatever that is), give safe passage to the promoters and park money for them, far away from any redemption or claim.   

Last five years of corporate news in India are littered with thousands of examples of the above types. And miles of news reams have been dedicated to commentary. Companies of all sizes and relevance have come under the microscope. And interestingly many have vanished without a trace. So many listed companies have effectively ceased to exist, evaporating thousands of crores of market capitalisation. The biggest sufferers in this are - investors, for many of whom the money invested was a big part of their savings, and lenders (banks not bankers, they usually have a good time). And retail equity investors may not get any closure, because the truth of what went wrong never emerges, no learning. What the just get is reiteration of caveat emptor. But that is supposed to mean risks beyond reasonable control of anyone, not outright crime perpetrated by the promoters and assisted by all and sundry.

The perplexity of all of it is trumped only by its comedy. I find it difficult to fathom how a company just ceases to exist - employees leave I understand, but what happens to the promoter(s), the offices, the legal entity. It is like one day, the shop just shuts and the promoters disappear - that too in today’s times of surveillance, information, and technology. While I would like to believe that legal redressals are being undertaken by the powers that be, I am not holding any hope. And most people in India have grown up on such regular diet of power abuse that they write it off as just another bad luck, shake their heads and walk away. This is what most appreciate as the ability to laugh at adversities, the Indian flexibility.   

The track record of Indian judiciary punishing, for good, the rich and powerful is abysmal, something which is amply demonstrated in corporate India. Most promoters know the security blankets that they enjoy - they know that while they will lose some zeros of their net-worth, they will be able to stash away enough for many generations to live lavishly. Leave aside any thought of a firm punishment. India can serve its patented cocktail of greed, power, and jugaad.

I wonder at the psychology. Discussing with a businessman uncle of mine, we identified a few scenarios. Assuming a promoter starts with good, honourable intention of making some money, bending only as much rules as most businessman in India have to but with no venal plans. Let us assume the business faces deep distress, not of promoter’s doing. Now the promoter is faced with a dilemma - his morality is getting tested. One of three paths emerge here:

1. In the most righteous one, the businessman gives highest priority to maintaining a clean name. He will sell the family jewels to ensure that the lenders are paid off. Technically, as per terms of finance, the promoter is not obligated to do this. My uncle says that such businessmen used to exist back in time, but not anymore.
2. In the second path, the promoter would try and make an honourable settlement with his creditors, asking lenders to suffer a haircut, possibly keeping some money on the side for himself. While this is most reasonable approach because it is a balance between promoter’s selfish interests and lenders’ recovery. In today’s times, even such promoters are a rarity.
3. The third path is most commonly taken. Here the promoter stashes away whatever he can. He knows when things go kaput much before the outside world does, and he uses this knowledge to bleed the enterprise dry. He then offers whatever is left to the creditors raising his hands in solemn helplessness.

There are no absolutes, nobody can be easily compartmentalised to a particular category. Mostly, a promoter would go through a transition. He may start with best intentions but gradually descend - or may just snap - to poorer choices, goaded by greed, and a malleable institutional framework.

Of course, in all these cases, governance concerns arise if in the first place the company got into trouble because of promoter misconduct - not poor decision making, but cheating, or embezzlement. And there is the extreme case of promoters who start an enterprise with the sole intent of defrauding, or at least a major stashaway. They are counselled by experts like CAs, or consultants on loopholes in laws, or procedures which can be exploited with limited risks. They can be only commended for their audacity. The best part in India is that the last two categories rarely face any natural justice. It is not unusual to find such promoters resurface a few years after their first adventure, without having paid off for it, this time with a new enterprise. The fact that India allows this time and again and in today’s times when there is scope for higher transparency, is the best testimony to our flexibility.

All instances of promoter misconduct may not get caught, more so in India. This acts as a positive reinforcement. More businessmen are emboldened when they see their peers amassing great wealth by duping the system. If anything, their wealth makes them more immune to the law, strengthening them further. Time is another panacea. Over time, past evils are forgotten, cleansed, or buried under mint-fresh wisdom and righteousness. Wealth often makes the bedrock of the moral high-ground.  

On the question of finance, I once had an interesting debate with a friend. In case a company faces a situation where it is not able to repay its creditors, is the promoter required to support by bringing in his own funds? Should the creditors demand that promoters infuse capital from his other successful businesses (if any), or even the cash stowed in his safe box at home (assuming that is legitimately accumulated)? Fundamentally, the promoter is not bound to. Creditors to the company have taken a known risk by lending to the business. If the business has gone south, too bad. While equity owner should be paid last and carries the highest risk, that is applicable only to the extent of his funds already invested in the company. He cannot be required to bring more funds to pay off the creditors, unless there is some contractual obligation to that effect.

When a promoter has generated sizeable net worth, or leads a flashy lifestyle, it comes under unreasonable questioning when his company defaults. All his actions get challenged in hindsight and he is unjustly maligned for. say. owning expensive cars, for taking luxurious holidays etc. It is expected that since he has so much personal wealth, he should support his defaulting company. While financially speaking, he does not have to; yet there is an ethical conundrum here. I am not saying that he should be pestered for his lifestyle choices - of past or present. That is ridiculous and an overreaction. Yet, it leaves a bad taste to see a promoter maintaining a luxurious lifestyle when employees of his company are unpaid for months, living in abjectness. Of course, the central assumption here is that the promoter has not done anything wrong and the business failed for other reasons - bad decisions may be but not bad intentions.

One can argue why to criticise India so much, no part of the world is devoid of similar examples. Agree, just that India considers itself to be the custodian of morality and with a culture steeped in scruples. More relevantly, it considers itself a fast-becoming developed country, whereas its corporate governance record is nowhere near one. The developed countries too have their share of misgovernance, but the key difference is that they have redressals which are swift and severe. And nobody is considered too big when it comes to that. Amongst numerous examples is the case of Bernard Madoff. He had been a non-executive chairman of the Nasdaq, and owner of a major financial firm - as big as they get. Yet, when a securities fraud of more than $50 billion came to light in December 2008, by June 2009 he was sentenced to 150 years imprisonment. A perfect example of being swift, severe and impartial to reputation.

Of course there would be many frauds which have not come to light, but for those which do, a bright bonfire is lit for all to take notice. Such instances set examples, they are the best form of deterrents. In India, we have very few instances of strong judgements against high-profile miscreants. This gives confidence to such people that they can largely get away with anything - if caught, then they would have to spend on lawyers, agents, fixers; lose some reputation; may have to flee the country, but nothing beyond. In India, deterrents come by way of more regulations. And most regulations are incremental, layer upon layer, such that we lose sight of logic, simplicity, and natural justice.

The Indian Express article that I listed above raises some interesting questions. Is corruption universal? Are people fundamentally immoral, and self-seeking. Thus ethics are just a function of the strength of deterrent systems - weaker systems, or lack of policing will see collapse of governance everywhere. In India, most people give this argument, because it allows for blaming the government and systems. But I believe that morality is an absolute, there is an innateness to it irrespective of the external factors - it has to be or else it loses meaning. As the article correctly says: “No amount of compliance and governance can substitute for sound moral fibre.” Does that mean that the developed world has higher morality? I don’t know.

Has there been a deterioration in integrity in India? The article says “That India’s politicians and government officials are venal is hardly breaking news... But the dark secret at the heart of Indian society is that the decline of public morality is now mirrored by a shameful fall in ethics in the private sector. The cancer of corruption has spread well beyond the corridors of power to our educated and affluent elites — professionals, salaried employees and businessmen” and also “...even as the economy has been liberalised to a great extent since 1991, corruption has only grown worse and today infects not just government but Indian businesses and corporate life”. Partly, there is a problem with the argument - is one set of citizens are more unethical than the others - that government officials were always corrupt but private sector, businessmen and professionals have only become so now. The fact is that the private sector was non-existent earlier - businessmen were there but not powerful enough. It is more relevant to compare the level of ethics in those with power. One pertinent consideration is whether ethics have gone down amongst the educated? Are educated supposed to have better moral compass - I would like to say yes but I am not sure. Greed/ethics/integrity may not have anything to do with education. Instead the quality of education was different - earlier because of the lingering British effect, education was more rounded, with greater world view, more holistic, which, if anything, could give better moral fiber. In that aspect, one can argue, partially that the ethics have deteriorated over the years.

It can be nauseating if you happen to be in an industry surrounded by examples of misgovernance. Especially is you also happen to have some scruples. Seeing absolute immorality or moral compromises can suffocate. In my opinion it leads to either of two situations - either one becomes wiser to this and learns to play systems, discounting morality and all that gyaan; or one becomes extremely cynical, cynicism which unhealthily sneaks into all spheres of life. Either ways one cannot come out good from this.