An Autobiography - Prof Dr Hematram Yadav

 

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The need for a routine and human interaction!

Mathilukal (Malayalam, The Walls, 1990)
Written & Directed by: Adoor Gopalakrishna
(Autobiography of Vaikom Muhammad Basheer)

This is another classic from Kerala's son of the soil. It tickles our minds to consider two things. Firstly, human beings are creatures of routine. The other is we are social animals.

A routine schedule gives them a purpose to this entity called life. No matter how purposeless the rituals may be, we would do it diligently as if it were a higher calling. We would find a legitimate explanation to justify our actions, perhaps give a scientific twist to it. In absence of these 'unwritten' rules and left to our own devices, we would probably just rot away trying to fulfil the indulges that satisfy our primal needs. This would just make the human race a band of sloppy sluggards. Soon enough, the species would be decimated from the face of Earth.

Being social animals, we need to interact with each other. This interaction could be in person, via mail, in cyberspace or just by hearing a responsive voice, as we learn to appreciate from this film. And the voice does not need a face to go with it.

Being in prison cuts us off from our desire to be free. It put us into a routine, which hopefully will make us reassess our existence. The routine nature of life there hopes to put us back into the loop of living purposefully.

Having human interaction is construed as a luxury for inmates. Hence, solitary confinement is threatened as a stick to cow them to conform to the rules of gaols.

This legendary offering with a string of accolades behind its name tells of the author’s autobiography during his incarceration during the pre-independence era in the 1940s when he was charged with treason for writing ‘anti-National’ articles. The film can roughly be divided into two parts.

In the first, we learn that he is respected by jailers and fellow inmates. He gets on jolly well with other prisoners, considering the usual stereotype about prison politics we get from movies. Everyone has a backstory justifying their crime and the circumstances that pushed them to commit them. Basheer, the protagonist, is well respected, for everyone knows about his incisive writings.

One day, there was quite an excitement when many political prisoners were released when the colonial masters had a change of heart. Unfortunately, Basheer's name is not on the list. Basheer is left alone without his friends. The small rose garden he cultivated around the compound started growing, giving him some tranquillity.

One day, whilst tending his garden, whistling, Basheer hears a feminine voice from the other side of the tall prison wall. What started as time-pass slowly evolved from a non-essential banter to possibly something romantic. It came to a time when that was the most looked forward moment of the day!

Finally, when the day came for release, Basheer was actually in two minds about whether he should leave as he would miss his conversationalist across the wall. How ironic. He wanted to leave the prison all the while, but now he is sad about leaving. How routine and meaningful interaction brought purpose to life!

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We built this country!

Some stories I have told and some that I haven't

Author: VC George (2021)

The powers that be wants us to believe their narrative. They assert that their concocted tale of how history happened keeps true to the natural chain of events. They create a smokescreen to justify the turn of events to explain social strata's current status and how social justice should be. 

Our history likes to paint Indian immigration to the peninsula as a single wave of settlement. With a single stroke of ink, they put all Indian in the same basket. That they were brought in the colonial masters as indentured labour (a milder wording for bonded slaves) to milk out not only the juices of rubber trees but also the milk the wealth of the nation. It was no coincidence that the Malay Peninsular was referred to as "Swarnabhumi" (Land of Gold). In the same breath, these keepers of Nation history declare that the British never really colonised us. They were just administrators. 

Sorry to burst your echo chamber, purveyors of fairy tales. Indians were sailing the seven seas even way before the Malaccan Sultanate, often quoted as the spark of Malay identity. The Malabari Indians even showed Francis Light the route Pulo Pinang, the island they had been frequenting for so long. How many of us know the Malaccan Sultanate kingmaker, Tun Perak, was of Indian extract? But then so was the despotic and corrupt Tun Mutahir, an Indian Muslim. On the royalty side, Raja Kasim who was summoned to the throne after Raja Muhammad's knifing fiasco had a mother who was Indian.

The Indians who reached here were traders and master boat builders in the early part of the country's history. Indian sojourners then sauntered in later at the end of the 19th century, equipped with the best of what English education could offer. They arrived at the behest of the colonial masters to help out in the day-to-day administrative work of a cash cow of a nation that paid for half of the Englishmen's extravagances back in their Motherland. 

Unlike other European colonialists who hurriedly left their posts in a hurry in total pandemonium, the British actually left Malaya with a comprehensive post-independence roadmap. They cast in stone the Constitution and the citizens' charter to ensure equality for all.

Somewhere along the way, this arrangement was hijacked. Politicians with self-serving agendas and a blank cheque for eternal power decided to use what they learnt from George Orwell and Joseph Goebbels to good use. They rewrote as they saw fit.  They knew that he who controls the past controls the future: who controls the present controls the past. They understood that they can create the illusion of truth by repeating a lie often enough to become the truth. 

They try to say that the indentured Indian labourer got immersed in estate life only to be torn about in the quagmire as the British planters left their plantations and the new owners decided to cash out. The Indian poor were forgotten in the greater scheme of things. Lost of job, home and wanting of skills drove them to the wild side of society, a world of crime and subsequently justified police brutality.

That is why we need more books like these - to tell the contribution of different communities to what was one time expected to emerge as one of emerging Asia's Tigers.  Sadly, the other sibling cubs have all gone places. We are left alone as the sick and wounded feline without a roar and probably needing crutches soon. 

VC George, a 90 years old retired Court of Appeal judge, tell us his life and times growing up in Klang in pre-WW2 Malaya all through his journey into adulthood and his illustrious career. He (Honourable, Lord or just George) has inked his narration in 100 short notes, which tend to end up with an unexpected twist or a witty footnote. This man was there in the flesh during the nation's birth, just like the many others referred to as pendatang (newcomers, just off the boat). These wrongly called pendatangs are the very people who helped to produce enviable students of international calibre, established medical facilities that transformed our health services to be at par with international standards, founded research centres and universities, and gave dignity to august Halls of Justice in the country.  

A good read. It is filled with many anecdotes and 'one liners'. It tells of a time when people would take jokes in a good spirit and not be offended or raise a big hue and cry, claiming victimisation. 

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People will keep saying something!

Sanju (Hindi; 2018)

That is the problem with modern living. With the plethora of information at their disposal, people think they have everything they need to know at their fingertips. With this knowledge, they believe they are in the best place to make a balanced decision. True, in most situations, the various angles of looking at an issue are laid bare for scrutiny. In other cases, however, the news is generated to keep the writer relevant, so that the publications stay forever in the limelight.

A case in hand is the use of hydroxychloroquine and azithromycin in the management of patients with mild to moderate COVID-19 infections. Keyboard warriors who before this did not know the difference between a bacteria and virus can now rattle out the pros and cons of each modality of treatment. Equipped with the little knowledge gained from anecdotal studies, they are quick to bring down institutions that have been handing down management guidelines for decades.

They immerse in meaningless banters over social media trying to prove a well-organised world conspiracy to dupe the human race. No matter how much counter-arguments are raised against their assertions, they stand steadfast defending their conviction as if that is their last mission on Earth. As if their ranting is going to change the way how doctors are going to manage their patients. Doctors and nurses have to follow specific clinical practice guidelines when they attend to their patients.  They cannot just modify their approach based on what they had read on WhatsApp.

This movie is a biopic of famous Bollywood actor, Sanjay Dutt, son of Bollywood's thespians, Sunil Dutt and Nargis. Growing up under the spotlight of prowling reporters and parental expectations must have been hard for a young Sanjay Dutt. All the affluence, wrong friends, and partying could not have helped either. Early in his life, he was already trapped in the world various addictive intoxicants - he ticks all the boxes in a questionnaire in a rehab clinic! And the number of girls in his life - some with tragic ends. I was surprised that the often his tabloid-gossiped affairs with Madhuri Dixit was not mentioned in the film.

The show focuses primarily on his substance abuse, his relationship with his parents, and his protracted brush with the law. It was around the time of widespread riots surrounding the destruction of the Babri mosque in 1993. Sanjay Dutt was charged under the  Terror and Destructive Prevention Act for possessing firearms which were linked to the underworld networks and the Bombay bombing. Ranbir Kapoor gives a sterling performance of Dutt, complete with gait, mannerisms and tics.

The presentation may be viewed as a public relation attempt to paint Dutt's  (?whitewashed) version of the turn of events surrounding his arrest. He blames the fiasco solely on the press. He accused the media of accusing in a subtle way and insinuating in the most creative way to influence public opinions. Every day, to keep the gap between paid advertisements relevant, the media moguls employ cocksure self-proclaimed super experts on the most mundane field of expertise to rant repeatedly their undisputable error-free decrees on cable channels in an undisguised stage called trial-by-media. Before the respective lawyers register their cases with the courts, the public opinion is already made. They are the judge and jury. When they become the executioners, that is when all hell will break loose.

The take-home message here is that people will always keep saying something. It is just noise. We should not take it personally. They are just feeding the public's appetite. It is their rice bowl. 

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The play maker's autobiography

The Sea and the Hills 

The Life of Hussain Najadi (An Autobiography; 2012)

He survived the feared Bahraini intelligence who worked under the hawkish eyes of their British colonial masters as he stirred his leftist ideas after the Algiers uprising through his rebel movement at the age of 16. The Bedouin travellers took a special liking to his as he escaped to Beirut through the mirage inducing hostile environment of the Arabic desert and its scorching heat. Somehow he even escaped the infamous Iranian SAVAK police. The storm aboard the vessel along the Mediterranean Seas did not dampen his spirits. By twist of fate he missed an ill-fated Swiss flight which crashed soon after take-off. And he averted an invitation aboard a Filipino flight which later crashed. He even survived an automobile accident on the notorious Malaysian highways. To cap it all, he even endured 8 years of imprisonment in a Bahraini prison after incurring the wrath of its royalty.

He raised the ladder of success and fell off it as quickly he climb on it again. This man's life story is a classical case of rag to riches - a son to a Persian immigrant fruit seller in the markets of Manama raising to levels where he mingled with world leaders and royalties and decided the destiny of many emerging economies and countries.

Sadly many of near misses, from which he was saved simply by 'kismet' (fate) and his mother's constant prayers, came to a tragic end in 2013, a year after this book, when he was shot in the back under mysterious circumstances in Kuala Lumpur.

Growing up in the British protectorate of Bahrain, it was a time of uprising. The colonial subjects have awoken from their slumber. They demanded self administration. Battle of Algiers set the nidus for the young to rebel. A young Hussein got himself entangled in the leftist activity. Working in a British petrol refinery, he had to abscond from his native country. Just like how his father had left Iran for better life in Bahrain with a young wife, Hussein had to run, but for his life. With plans to start life anew in Germany through a contact at his work place, he had worked out his itinerary.

A young Hussain Najadi meeting Tun Razak

He travelled through the brutal Arabian desert to reach Beirut. All through his travels, we get a feel as if there is guardian angel constantly by his side to pave his future, constantly clearing his path and meeting him with the right people.

His initial plan to travel to Germany was cut short through a chance meeting with a Persian gentleman who just happened to be walking in a park. A cursory conversation and next thing he knew, Hussain was flying to Iran. The gentleman turned out to be the Iranian Ambassador to Lebanon! Hussain was referred to the leading bank in Teheran. He started his career in banking, enjoyed the good life and started working with the Canadian embassy a researcher. His stint was cut short by SAVAK, the Iranian secret police for his earlier political work in his homeland. He dashed out before he could be apprehended. Back he came to Lebanon. Broke, he finally made it to Germany by sea.

He blended nicely into the German culture at a time as Germany was making amends and trying to make it for the lost times after the devastations of a world war. Working in Mercedes Benz factory and learning the language and with the cordial relationship with his adopted family, he felt quite at home.

The next step in his life turned to be another turning point in his career/life. He join an international company in Switzerland selling mutual funds. It was something new to the Arab world. At a time when the Middle East was plush with money from the black gold, he travelled to the Bahrain now as an employee of a multinational company. His modus operandi has always the same - when you approach someone, always see someone with a lot of clout; and remember, people always want to hear what they like to hear! He also became an international player when he revitalised an ailing Swiss company making hovercraft (hydrofoil).

With many feathers in his cap, he became a deal maker. Being charismatic and multilingual, he moved with ease in the circles of royalties and dignitaries. He even try to broker the entry of an Italian petrol giant into Middle East to break the hegemony of the Anglo-American oil cartel, The Seven Sisters.

His hydrofoil business spread to Far East and he soon relocated to Singapore. There, after selling his company for a fortune, he set a business deal in Singapore. Slowly, his services were needed in his last home country, Malaysia, where he established Arab Malaysian merchant bank and even try to get International Islamic University off the ground with funds from Middle East investors.

Going through his life story, one cannot help but to think that it is too good to be true. Everything seem to fall nicely the way he wanted to. With so many adventures, suspense, element of surprise, bosomy blondes, marriage, near misses and politics, it has all the ingredients of Hollywood blockbuster. Even after his death, his name seem to herald the death knell of a certain current politician....

I could not help but notice that by omission or commission, there seem to be a discrepancy in events surrounding his near miss mishap in the 1963 Swiss Air tragedy and Enrico Mattei's aeroplane accident. It is said that the Swiss Air incident preceded Mattei's purportedly planned assassination. In actual fact, Mattei's jet plane crashed in October 1962 whilst the Swiss accident was in September 1963!