The purveyor of culture?

Diwali started early this year. A friend invited us over to his private Diwali function. With the usual mingling, wining, savouring Indian titbits, and exchanging fake pleasantries, the highlight of it all must have been when the DJ showed up with his music machine. 

What started as a head-bobbing event eventually turned into a full-scale, packed dance floor, with the music decibels hitting the roof. Everyone seems to know by heart the lyrics to Hindi film songs that spanned from the 1960s through to the 21st century. One by one, the guests sauntered onto the dance floor, mouthing the song with their legs mellowing like jelly beans. 

I stood at the sidelines, observing the whole spectacle like a fly on the wall. The guests must have all grown up listening to these songs their entire lives. They knew every nuance of the song, its every pause and every moment the music goes ballistic. It must have had an indelible imprint on their psyche as they were growing up, as they displayed so much joy. 

Then it dawned on me how significant a role Bollywood songs and music have played in preserving what is perceived as Indian culture. Playing music from Indian cinema, be it Tamil or Hindi, as well as hip Punjabi Bhangra beats by Daler Mehndi, constitute Indian music and culture today. 

Should we be eternally grateful that Indian cinema is doing such a great job preserving our heritage? Life may not be so straightforward. 

Talk to any conservative Tamil social thinker.  He will say that each movie is three hours of wasted time in one’s life. Three hours to indoctrinate viewers that getting drunk is mandatory when boys go out. It is perfectly normal for girls to binge drink. Pre and extramarital liaisons are common in modern life, and it is perfectly normal for a lady to slap her partner if he crosses the line, but it is not mutually exclusive. The converse constitutes patriarchy and toxic masculinity. 

Oh Poddu!

Then there would be those who fret that the lesser-spoken languages in the Indian diaspora risk being forgotten in the near future. If not for Marathi cinema, Marathi would have been on the decline and marginalised, just as Bhojpuri, Bagheli, Marwari, and other tribal languages are. 

Anyway, Bollywood is acting as a mucilage that binds. When it began using Hindustani as its lingua franca—a combination of Urdu and Hindi—it was hoped that it would act as a national unifier, stirring nationalism in a newly independent nation. When the colonial masters escaped from India in 1947, they expected India to balkanise, various states pulling apart based on linguistic, religious and caste lines. It did happen before, but almost 80 years on, they stay united, probably stronger than before. Bollywood probably thinks it is their good work. 

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

On Assimilation and Integration

I am not ashamed to say this. As I was growing up, I used to ask myself why I was born an Indian. In Malaysia, the stereotypical casting of an Indian was that of a poor, unkempt, poorly educated, loud, smelly, hot-tempered and drunk. They are assumed to be dark-skinned and occupy low-ranking menial jobs. They were often the butt of jokes in social circles and even on the national TV.

Our perspective and values are formed by the association we keep with, so thought Amma. Coming from a Tamil school background but cutting short her studies after primary school for being born into the wrong gender, she had a very negative opinion of vernacular education. In her mind, the way forward is mastering the lingua franca of the most expansive Empire of her time, English.

My sisters and I could only speak English when we stepped outside our flat. We were not to show others that we knew Tamil, as that would, in her own words, draw unsavoury characters. These people would skew our minds away from our one purpose in life: to secure excellent academic results. She did not want us to know about the latest Tamil movie star antics or the latest fashion in India. By mixing with non-Indian peers, she thought positive values on education and self-improvement could be inculcated.

On the other hand, within the confines of our home, as if having a split personality, she would insist that we converse in Tamil, practise Indic practices, and be well-versed in Hindu culture. She was quick to condemn others of other ethnicities and races as being lost. In her mind, our ancestors had it all right, and we should follow without asking too many questions.

As curious minds, my sisters and I would not consider all her nonsensical practices gospel truths. Once, we were told that it was a time of lunar eclipse. Amma told us to finish dinner and go to sleep early. We should not be outdoors or engage in strenuous activities. Questioned why, she told us that the Goddess who had been holding the planet for so long had become tired. She wanted to take a breather, hence the temporary darkness. So, we should refrain from mocking the Goddess by doing work when she is exhausted.

Rubbish, I told her, as my teacher had taught me the day before about planetary positioning and eclipses. It was one of her relaxed days. She did not get upset but told me and my sister that we were all too smart for our pants. Our ancestors were not stupid.

Of course, we grew up imbibing the best of both worlds—learning the sciences and trying to scientifically explain the seemingly unscientific ancient Hindu traditions.

EV Ramasamy, at a time when his social reform lectures pushed the South Indians to earn self-respect, made a working trip to Malaya. In his address to the migrant Indian workers, he told them to leave all their traditional beliefs behind and learn from the locals and progress. He said, after all, their motherland had failed them. She could not sustain them and pushed them away to new shores. Rather than be sentimental about the whole thing, he advised them to emulate the other ethnicities from Malaya in earning self-respect, women empowerment and wealth.

It even makes sense in the 21st century, specifically in 2024.

 
The world has not changed much since the last time terrifying sirens were heard over Europe, followed by bombarding warplanes. It is still not a peaceful place. Economic migrants are still floating as they have been throughout the years. Wars, famine, and persecution push people from their borders. After settling down amidst many difficulties in host countries as guests, one would expect them to be eternally grateful to their host nations. Heck, no, at least the current wave of immigrants.

Like Amma, who thought her newfound country and its inhabitants were a notch lower in the civilisational hierarchy, these 21st-century immigrants run down their host. Instead of appreciating their kindness for helping set home in a new place after creating a cesspool of their country of origin, they sing praises of their motherland and their own civilisation, creating unrest in their host countries. Essentially, they want to bite the hand that feeds them. Like vultures scraping every sinew and cartilage off the carcass, they want to leave their host nation a barren wasteland as they did theirs.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

Mix and Match!

 Rempat (Wander, Malay; 2015)

This is a fun, no-brainer movie that combines all the idiosyncrasies that make Malaysia Malaysia. There is the popular Mamak shop, an odd Malay-Chinese misfit who seem to have problems communicating with each other, their penchant for football, perennial money issues and loan sharks.

The first scene of the film generally summarises the actual situation on the ground. Every small group is happy supporting their own foreign football team while watching live games on giant TV screens in their favourite bistro. Everybody is a maestro on how the game should be played, but for a nation whose citizens are so brilliant on the intricacies of scoring goals, it has a national team that nobody gives two hoots. Nobody wants to watch them play.

That is where our two heroes come in, Halim and Chin Chye. Halim is a true patriot who roots for the Malaysian team. Chin Chye, on the other hand, is also concerned about the local team, not because he is a supporter. He hopes that the Malaysian team will lose as he has placed a large bet for them to lose. So, when they changed the channel to watch the Malaysian team when the rest of the restaurant patrons wanted to watch the English Premier League, they got whacked and got booted out. 

Just as they freshen up after the beatings, the loan sharks from whom Chin Chye had taken a loan started whacking them again. Chin Chye (and Halim too, since he is together) get an ultimatum - make Malaysia lose in the next game, or die.

Chin Chye and Halim later discover that they are from the same neighbourhood, like it is always the case in most communities; nobody knows each other. It is all just a facade. Everyone just puts up a front. After 64 years after independence and living together since the 1930s, each acts as if he is a tourist learning the customs and culture of each other. This speaks so little of our national integration programmes that have been organised all these years. Guess it is all money down the proverbial drain.

Now, Halim too, has money issues. His girlfriend is wooed by her wealthy boss. And Halim has to propose her fast. He desperately needs money for that. Since his girlfriend has two VIP tickets to the next Malaysian game, he decided to help Chin Chye get to the game. In return, Halim is to get some money.

The rest of the story is a comedy of errors, Malaysian style. The venue is changed again and again due to structural damages. They have to hitch a ride for that. In the midst of all that, another rival loan shark is hot on their trail to stop them.

This is no artistic work of art, but it is worth a watch to remind us of some similar comedies that came out from the Malaysian film scene, e.g. Mekanik and Ali Setan. 

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

It is the message

Silence (Nishabdham, Tamil; 2020)

This film was initially meant to be a silent movie, one without dialogues. It would have probably done better. The dialogue was a killjoy and laughable. A significant proportion of conversation of the film was in English, and that is the one that looks so fake, especially the lines written for Hollywood actor Michael Madson. 

It starts off as a paranormal tale but later goes on to give a serial killer angle to the final story. It is predictable with many glaring loopholes in the narration. The cast comprises an ensemble of a few Indian actors (R Madhavan, Anushka Shetty and a few young actresses) and many amateurs. 

Forget the story. What fascinated me about this film is how Indians in this story blended into American society. Filmed amidst the lush landscape around the outskirts of Seattle, Washington, we see how the characters mingled seamlessly partaking in what is considered the culture of the local populace. They indulge in classical music (the main character is a cellist), art, (the other character is a mute painter) and appreciate all the things people in their newfound land hold in high esteems. 

This does hold true to many economic immigrants of the late 20th and 21st century who screwed their own form of governance set up in their respective countries. Their way of life failed them, but they still proclaim to know better. They run down their host, denigrate their behaviour, criticise their way of life but still want to reap maximum benefit from the social safety net that the new country had to offer. They bite the hands that feed them and behead the people who think differently from them.

It appears that these people are doomed for failure wherever they go.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

You, your Master!

Yes, I do my job but I am not your slave!

They tell your vocation is God. They tell you stories of postmen clinging on their mail-bags like it was their dear lives they were holding on to in fatal motor-vehicle accidents. You have seen simple men giving their whole lives away doing repetitive mundane jobs to bring food to the table. You have heard of Men of God or self-appointment saviours of mankind in obscure places performing seemingly meaningless rituals that garner no worldly gains but only personal satisfaction. To the uninitiated, it may appear that they are just deluding themselves into doing something worthwhile for the rest of humanity. You, the simpleton, may not visualise it. In short, in the old world, a person's job was viewed as their purpose for living. You are born, you do your part for the continuity of species, then you wither away.

The thinking man, however, looks at it from a different angle. Sure, everyone is answerable during his assigned time and scope of duties. He is a worker between a particular time. He is at your service at the ping of your call. Beyond that, he is not going to lift his finger to do anything for you. Outside his pre-designated roster, he executes his other duties - a father, a husband, a friend or just to indulge in his recreational duties. For him, the purpose of life is to achieve personal development besides doing his part in the continuity of the species. There is no dichotomy between the upper echelons and the plebeians. Everybody just plays their part to oil the cogwheel of life.

The first model may be viewed as a fatalistic one. It is easy to compartmentalise people into pigeon holes to ensure the smooth running of a society. Manpower shortage will not arise. Individuals are born to do their designated jobs but there is no upward mobility of people. A cobbler's offspring will stay a cobbler. Aptitude and passion for other vocations are killed but there is plenty of room for specialisation and knowledge for the obscure. 

In the second prototype, there is space for the common man to expand. Man has the opportunity to determine his own destiny, away from dogmas of archaic rhetorics. The downside of such an arrangement is that there would be many jacks of all trade but master of none.

Albeit its ups and downs, the majority of a certain locale would decide which one works best for them. Newcomers, whether they like it or not, have to conform. perhaps, that was the reason for their migration to the new found land in the first place. And their old system failed to protect them and pushing them away from the land that they tried to build their legacy, traditions and footing.

You clear your mess!

https://asok22.wixsite.com/real-lesson 

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/riflerangeboy/