All you need is introspection, not love.

Material (South Africa, 2012)
Netflix

Now that there is much discussion on racism and plenty of accusations of one group of people showing superiority over the other based on the colour of their skin, the time is ripe to look at ourselves and ask, "who amongst us is not racist?" 

Generally, we would admit that we are all inherently racists. From our time as cavemen and hunters, we had always found comfort in those who looked like us and practise our way of life. Life was hard, food was scarce, and the weather was gruelling, to say the least. We had always been suspicious of other tribesmen. They could take away the food that we had kept for the winter or a rainy day.

Fast forward, many many generations later, we had been indoctrinated of a particular way of doing things. We have been taught that daily tasks must be done in a certain way. All these were thought by our elders to ensure law and order and to provide a place for all in the community. Pretty soon, we thought we were doing quite well. Maybe needing to have the assurance that we were doing the right thing, we started looking down at others and mocking. We laughed at the way they were doing something. We called them ignorant fools. When we were the majority, we impose our so-called superior culture upon them and abhor their language and way of life.

That is when racism started. It happened when we walked with our noses high up in the air with a chip on our shoulders. We expect the 'other' - the one who should serve, who deserves no respect, the one beneath us - to bow down to our beliefs. There is no reason for us to respect theirs because they are the lost ones.

The feeling is, unfortunately, mutual. The 'other' also thinks that the exact way that we do. 

Every now and then, in the course of day-to-day interaction, differences and frictions are bound to happen. With both parties holding their convictions close to their hearts, sparks are bound to fly. If only one could introspect or be mindful, clashes can be averted. We can meet halfway.

If you thought you have not heard of films coming from South Africans, think again. Who can forget the rib-tickling super blockbuster of 1980, 'The Gods must be crazy' about a Coke bottle and a Kalahari bushman.

This time around, this movie centres around an orthodox South African Indian Muslim family from Johannesburg.  The family is led by a domineering father who believes that he has a God-sent duty to protect his family from the evil charms of modernity. A crisis looms when his son, whom he placed all hopes to take over his cloth merchant business, takes up to performing stand-up comedy in places he considers sinful. At the same time, this hard-headed patriarchial figure has relationship issues with his close relatives. Unlike him, they had learnt to embrace the modernity of post-apartheid South Africa. 

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Knives, daggers, and bullets cannot destroy religion.

Manto (2018)
Netflix

We always try to portray the world as a place of hope, of joy, dream, and the sky is the limit of our achievements. This is just hogwash. In the real world, Mother Nature is particularly hostile towards its creations. And we, the products, are no different towards each other. We sugarcoat the world around in perfect harmony with apple trees, honey bees and snow white turtle doves. In reality, it is ruled by bigots and kleptocrats who use their Machiavellian techniques to hoodwink everyone to fill up the world with their preset agendas. They paint an image of heaven on Earth, but deep in their pockets, they have conceived a plan of chaos and entropy. But still, these flag-waving jingoistic cabals have only one thing on their agenda - control and the power that comes with it. 

As if to entice its followers, they create an imaginary enemy and a promise of an unproven paradise. Consequently, the conforming automatons think with their brain; not with their heart, losing the only thing that keeps humanity alive. Compassion. 

History tells the story of the victors. Theirs would be the account as depicted by the powers that be. Writers, especially great ones, tell a different view of history. They say what is going at the ground level and is more indicative of that is true to life. Look at the mainstream media. See how 'truth' is hijacked to suit the narrative of the day and the viewpoint of their paymasters. Nobody likes bad news. They feel motivated when things are going on well as planned. They label writers as nihilistic and pessimistic as they tend to highlight only the things that are rather unseen, unheard, suppressed and marginalised. The raw reality of life is viewed as obscenity.

Hassan Sadaat Manto was a successful short story writer, novelist and screenwriter who lived in British India around the time of Indian Independence and Partition. Having a successful career in pre-Independent India in Bombay and Delhi, he was forced to leave for Pakistan after increasing aversion against Muslims in Bombay. He was deeply affected by the Partition by the things that he saw. Describing in detail, with no holds barred, the accounts of atrocities of Sikhs and Muslims against each other, he got into trouble to the Pakistani newly drafted obscenity law. He became progressive depressive, hit the bottle, jobless and succumbed to cirrhosis of the liver.

From the movie, I discovered two heart-wrenching short stories - Thandha Gosht (Cold Meat) and Toba Tek Singh (his last composition in 1955). Thandha Gosht tells the story of a Sikh man who meets his fiery and suspicious mistress after going missing for a couple of days. The mistress, suspecting that her lover had been disloyal to her, especially when he failed to rise to the occasion, slits his throat. The man confesses that he had gone off to kill Muslims. This was at the time of Partition. He joined the band of men at revenge rape of Muslim women. He emotionally tells how he attempted to rape a lady only to discover that she had already died. She was just like cold meat.

Manto with his wife Safia and sister-in-law Zakia
Manto Family Archive

Toba Tek Singh is a sad tale of an elderly Sikh man who is institutionalised in the Pakistani mental asylum. He longs to reunite with his family whom he left in the town of Toba Tek Singh. The old chap is unsure whether the city is in India or Pakistan after the Partition. Every one whom he asks gives a different account the town is situated. Then comes the day when Pakistan and India exchanges prisoners and mental patients. This old man is at the no man's land between two countries when he is released to India. Confused whether the town is actually situated, in India or Pakistan, he just drops dead in the agony of frustration.

Read an account of this remarkable storyteller here.

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Go for Gold?

K.G.F. Kolar Gold Fields, Chapter 1 (Kannada, 2018)

It is touted as the highest-grossing Kannada film, the fourth highest-earning Hindi-dubbed film after the Bahuubali movies and 2.0, an international success and was feted at the National Film Awards. It was dubbed to Hindi, Telegu, Tamil and Malayalam almost immediately after its Kannada release with much success. And Chapter 2 is in the making. Am I missing something here that everyone else seems to enjoy? And, to say that this is one of the films that give people a reason to watch movies coming from the South, as quoted in a blog and recommended to me, is just too much.

Just how many times have we seen a child wronged at childhood to grow up with vengeance against the rich and the powerful as mighty as Sri Rama himself to be a Robin Hood to the poor? How many times have we seen unknowns infiltrating into gangs just to disintegrate the whole setup from within? Think Nayagan, Thalapathi and the umpteen Bollywood and Kollywood productions. Even the hero's nickname in the film is not original. I remember Sanjay Dutt calling himself as 'Rocky', a scrambler wielding kid-wonder who was able to achieve the unimaginable in an 80's crowd-pleasing matinee.

The film narrates how a cartel enslaved people in a gold mine to extract the precious metal in secrecy in cahoots with the politicians. Even though it is made to appear that gold is smuggled from overseas, it was mined locally in a clandestine manner. Everybody wants to have a stronghold in its control, even gangsters from abroad. To get this message across, viewers have to endure senseless violence, ruthless decapitation, gravity-defying stunts and larger-than-life pyrotechnic display. Again and again, there are repeated scenes of the macho hero walking away, leaving behind a trail of a destructive cloud of explosions and cadaver.

What spurred my interest while watching the movie was the fascination of man to gold. History of gold is as old as the modern history of mankind. It had been a fascination with Man for ages. The destruction of Aztec, as well as many of the advanced civilisations in the Americas, were solely because of gold. Rappage of India by Muslim invaders and 'traders' from the West was also due to this precious metal.

It is said the temples of India in ancient times were so rich with gold that they could finance many of its international naval expeditions as well as create a conducive environment for research on science, mathematics and Nature. Its wealth became its very downfall as it also drew many barbaric tribes. The gold stock had to be locked away in underground vaults only which were only to be lost in the annals of history. 

The Indian diaspora has always looked at gold as their fixed deposits. In times of needs, jewellery is still there for the rescue. No need laborious credit application and credit ratings. The friendly pawnshop owners are always willing to take your piece at low-interest rates. Gold will go a long way.

In one of the numerous Youtube presentations that I received recently, an economist was suggesting that perhaps with the amount of gold lying around in India, it could be used as leverage to secure loans for small businesses. Now that there is talk some countries are trying to put gold back as the golden standard as the value of currency instead of the Greenback, this could be a good option. With the colossal amount of gold lying around in India, this could be an exciting thing for the even big players to look into. But then, nobody is going to be so open to display their hidden treasures in public. It may attract the attention of the wrong kind. of thieves and legal pilferers from the internal revenue service. These significant changes require political will but the powers that be are quite content with the status quo. Many third-world leaders have parked their assets in foreign lands. Do they really care what becomes of the country they lead?

Dhanteras – Dhan meaning wealth and teras meaning the 13th day –
 precedes Diwali and is dedicated to summoning longevity,
wealth and prosperity. ©Jayanto Banerjee.

According to one story, the young son of King Hima was fated to die of snakebite on the fourth day after his wedding. His wife would have none of it. She sealed the entrances to the royal chamber with all her gold ornaments and, to dispel the darkness and snakes, she surrounded the place with lamps. All night long, she told her husband stories to keep him awake. The snake that came to kill him rested on the roof of the chamber, listening to the stories, and slithered away at dawn. It was the god of death, Yama, himself, and the princess had fended him off. The day is now Dhanteras when women light lamps, worship Lord Yama and seek protection for their loved ones. Lord Dhanvantri, who expounded the principles of Ayurveda, and is a Vishnu avatar, is believed to have emerged on this day and it is customary to pray to him for good health. Kuber, the lord of wealth, and Lakshmi are also central figures in the pujas. (Hindustan Times)

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One man's meat is another's venom.

Axone (Akhuni, Hindi/English; 2019)
Netflix

It is a question of one man's meat being another's poison, just like the King of Fruits, Durian, being compared to putrefying and decaying cheese by visiting Europeans. Closer to home, a regular feature of Wednesday nights around the vicinity of the Taman Connaught Pasar Malam (night market) used to be, before the Covid-19 lockdown, the pungent and fermented, almost nausea-inducing stench of stinky tofu. At least that was what I was told, and there is always a long queue at the stall. The secret of the dish, it seems, was that the smellier it smelled, the tastier it tasted!

In the early days of the night market, it was a common sight to see passersby discreetly covering their noses as they passed it by. Over the years, however, the odour has become a trademark of Wednesday nights giving a sort of a nostalgic feel to it.

Many Malaysian students have had similar experiences with cooking belacan (shrimp paste), frying anchovies or preparing bak kut teh soup overseas. One flatmate thought somebody had released a stink bomb when I was heating up Malaysian anchovy sauce (sambal ikan bilis).

Back during childhood days in RRF, living in multi-storeyed low-cost flats, we were exposed to a potpourri of flavours and scents, both pleasant and offensive. The close proximity of occupants enabled us to understand and respect each other's culture.

Using the idea of a group of friends preparing a traditional dish, the story writers decide to highlight the discrimination of people from the North-East regions of India by the rest of India. 

A group of 20-something friends, all from the North-East of India (and one from Nepal) try to surprise one of their friends who was getting married by preparing a unique cuisine of Nagaland, akhuni. The problem is that the smell emitted by the brewing soup gives such a strong smell that leaves such an impression on the neighbourhood. They must have had some previous bad experience before; hence they devised an elaborate plan to trick the strict landlady and hoodwink the other tenants. With the help of the landlady's son, who is on their side (he just wants a part-time North-Eastern lover), they have to dodge embarrassing questions and frequent change of plans. 

The first problem was getting pork meat. 'Decent' people from the Indian sub-continent look at pigs with disdain. Hence, they have to go underground to obtain their merchandise. The running around and looking for a spot to cook provided a hilarious display of comedy and the bigoted views of the majority against the 'others'.

So much for the solidarity in the name of Brotherhood.

We are all guilty of making preset judgments on people just based on their external appearances. It is not necessarily a wrong thing. Over the generations, living in communities, we have developed a defence mechanism to safeguard what is ours for a rainy day against others. We learnt to sniff out our enemies. Anyone not practising our same culture was probably up to no good. Dominance over the 'other' is one sure way to keep them under check. The leaders also decided to emphasise that the 'other's lifestyle was wayward. 

The second wave of the Covid-19 transmission just re-inforced this belief. If initially, the affluent were guilty of bringing in the virus via their high flying habits, now people look at foreign workers in this country has harbingers of all diseases. Of course, they will be involved in clusters of spread. The deplorable housing facilities that you set up (or did not) make social distancing impossible. In some houses, a single bed in share by two - one who finished his morning duty, and later by the one after night duty. Doing lockdown, with no work, all of them had to be cooped together, putting them at high risk of acquiring the virus.

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The lost invisible touch!

Sir Robert Hutchison
Father of clinical methods

A friend, during our stint as house officers, told me about an incident that happened during his medical student days when he was studying in Manipal, India. An American elective medical student had joined the group's ward rounds. The old Professor of Medicine was showing them the correct technique of examining the respiratory system. He laboriously punctuated the teaching rounds by asking basic science questions and snarling occasional sarcastic remarks, for not understanding the basics. He was showing the green medical students the art of inspection, palpation, percussion and auscultation.

The American student, failing to see the point of such a laborious examination of a single patient, raised his hand.

"Professor, wouldn't it be better if we just send the patient for a chest X-ray?" he quipped.

That is the state of medicine now. We have lost the art of practising medicine. It is just about diagnostic procedures and laboratory results. Clinicians no longer use clinical methods to diagnose. If it used to be that laboratory and auxiliary tests were used to confirm or disprove our differential diagnoses, now it is the primary modality of the approach of a patient. 

Pretty early in my training, I did an attachment in a Gynaecological Oncology unit. Its head, an old-timer Professor, once was in a dilemma. As part of the staging of cancer in his patients, he would perform a CT scan. This, he would do after carefully performing a complete clinical examination. The outcome of the scan would enable him to decide on the operability of cases. There was this particular cases where he was in limbo. He was unsure of the stage of cancer. After much discussion, argument and reevaluation, he was convinced that that individual patient had an early operable cancer even though scans were reported as otherwise. After much deliberation, he went ahead and assessed the patient under anaesthesia on the operation theatre. It turned out that the old Professor was correct after all. He proceeded with the surgery, and final histopathological specimen confirmed his clinical findings too.

That was how it used to be. Clinical acumen took precedence over laboratory and auxiliary investigations. Now, lab tests take precedence even over a good history taking. The recent Covid-19 pandemic is evidence of the above. Do the swab test first, then the clinician (or perhaps the technician) would decide the next course of action; whether to operate, treat conservatively or even see the patient. Just quarantine and see the outcome later - If he pulls through what was perceived as a death warrant. 

A recent case that came to my attention recently during my work made me realised that perhaps we are too dependant on lab results. Maybe it is fueled by patient expectations of wanting an instant resolution (diagnoses) and fear of litigation. The need for an instantaneous gratification in all human dealings has permeated all social activities. We do not want our results now, but yesterday.

A 30-year-old lady presented with a two weeks delay of her periods. A urinary pregnancy test showed positive findings (i.e. pregnant). The couple presented at their doctor for a pelvic ultrasound scanning. The examination did not reveal much. As she was asymptomatic, she was told to show up in two weeks for reassessment but to return earlier if she felt unwell.

Just three days later, she returned with slight discomfort over her lower belly. HCG levels revealed 2000 IU/L. This time, a vague mass was seen just right of the uterus. A diagnosis of possible ectopic pregnancy was made and referred to a tertiary centre.

Based on the above findings, at the tertiary centre, Methotrexate was administered intramuscularly to medically treat the ectopic pregnancy. 

Follow-up HCG five days later was 5000 IU/L; adnexal mass still present, uterus empty. After the first episode of pelvic discomfort, she had been symptom-free except for the anxiety caused by the turns of events. 

Another three days later, HCG was 3000; still, uterus was empty, and the adnexal swelling persisted. The patient was well otherwise. 

© George Condous

Seven apprehensive days later, i.e. three weeks after her first consultation, much to the puzzlement of everyone, a small shadow was seen in the uterine cavity of what appeared like a gestational sac with a yolk sac in-situ. A diagnosis of heterotopic pregnancy (concomitant intrauterine and extrauterine pregnancy) was considered, and laparoscopic evaluation was considered.

Being confused with the whole turn of events, the patient decided to opt for 'wait and see' policy. A day after that, she passed out blood clots. She was diagnosed as had a complete miscarriage and was monitored periodically. 

So what happened here? Did the clinicians place too much trust on biochemical results over clinical findings? Perhaps not. When the HCG levels are significant, with the presence of extrauterine shadows and an empty uterus in imaging, it would be negligent to just sit on it. Did the methotrexate cause miscarriage? Possibly not. A high HCG with an absence of visible pregnancy is itself a hallmark of abnormal pregnancy, including impending miscarriage.

In anything that the Covid-19 had taught us, it would be that everybody can be an expert. Armed with statistics and articles to support the assertions, anyone can insist on having found the elusive cure for the ailment. Clinicians, who by nature, like to err on the side of caution, had been accused of selling out the whole human race for self-interests. It seems PhD doctors got the panacea for all woes. Their data analyses and textbookish method of approaching disease make them excellent armchair critiques of what is wrong with the medical services in any country. We all know what happens in the field is not what is shown in laboratory experimentations. But still, it is a free world. Anyone can say what they want. The more one delves into a subject, the less he is cocksure about anything.

Perhaps the demand for wellbeing makes medical services a lucrative business. If before, in the Jurassic era, the doctors would call the shots in the management of patients and the running of medical facilities. The ever increasing expense and the need for state of the art medical equipment make healthcare revolve around breaking even and paying the stockholders rather than being patient-centred. Law of Attraction dictates that the smell of money draws characters of reputable character. Hence, vultures and hyenas of various ferocity started flocking around. Referring to the clinical practice guidelines as their holy grail, these creatures of the dark forces scream medical negligence or even manslaughter whenever an adverse outcome ensues. In hindsight, everyone has 20/20 vision. They think that treating patients is like cooking chicken vindaloo referring to a cookbook.

Like the 1927 movie Metropolis, everyone is just a cogwheel in the big machinery of modernisation. We are mere technicians doing our designated duties for the greater good of mankind as decided by the powers that be - the businessman. The future is not bright, either. After breaking down and digitising our individual tasks, our jobs may be assigned to artificial intelligence (AI). We will be redundant and irrelevant.

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The blind leading the blind!

Sathyathai Thedi  (Seeking the Truth; @Asothoma Sathgamaya, 2013)

First, it was Zakir Naik who was heard telling his congregants that the old Hindu scriptures did indeed quote of the arrival of a messenger of God. In his usual style, he went on ranting his references to the said inscriptions. Just that people are too set in their mindsets to accept that, he alleged.

Now I hear the same pitch being repeated. This Christian evangelist film tries to sell the idea that the Ama Veda did hint of Prajapathi, the Lord of the Universe, being Jesus Christ himself. Somewhere in it, it was apparently mentioned of the Creator who needed to be sacrificed for atonement. In their eyes, it fits perfectly in their narrative that Jesus, who is God himself, had to be sacrificed to wash the sins of Man.

The whole film can be described as a hermeneutical gymnastic as the protagonist goes on rattling verses after verses from the Veda, Upanishads and even Kural to drive home the message that the Bible is indeed version 2.0 of the ultimate Truth.  

Imagine the audacity...

The alternative title of the film is Asotha Sathgama. As we know, it is an ancient mantra, also named Pavamana Mantra, is from the Upanishad. It is recited during offerings, and it encourages us to open our inner realisation to come out of our ignorance to embrace the transcendental reality. A fourth line of 'Om Shanthi, Shanthi, Shantihi' is often added to emphasise us to be at peace with the Universe.

asato mā sad gamaya,tamaso mā jyotir gamaya, mṛtyor māmṛtaṃ gamaya

"from the unreal lead me to Truth, from the darkness lead me to the light, from death, lead me to immortality."

I gather that the makers of the film refer them to belong to a new denomination called 'Indian Christians'. Unlike the Roman Catholics, Eastern Orthodox Churches or Protestants who garnered knowledge from the respective areas that they prospered, these Indian Christian have no qualms in appropriating pearls of wisdom of the Hindu tradition. After all, Hinduism is not a religion but a way of life. Hindu, in ancient times, referred to the civilisation around the Indus Valley. 'Indians Christians' just cherry-pick the knowledge of their ancestors to seek their perceived ultimate Truth of their Maker.

St Thomas' arrival 53AD

The story revolves around a retired Brahmin Sanskrit scholar who comes out from being a closet Christian, much to the ire of his son with whom he is staying. His conversion soon becomes an embarrassment to his family and the members of the Brahmin community where he is respected. The scholar slowly teaches everyone in the community his own understanding of his new religion. Pretty soon, everyone in the community sees the light and embrace Christianity one by one, including the short-fused son.

The filmmakers are hoping to connect to the segment of the population who see the practice of Hinduism as a ritual filled archaic meaningless practice. These ignoramuses, in the lowest ebb of their lives, when they are vulnerable and are looking for straws to clutch, see evangelists as their saviours. Unlike practitioners of the Hindu faith who are seekers of knowledge, these Christian soldiers are out in the field to attend to the nitty-gritty nut-and-bolt issues of daily life. With the threat of death or sickness, a hand in prayer goes a long way in gratitude and seeing things in a different light. This is how faithful lieutenants are made.

All these do not make sense. We claim to respect each other's religion, but yet we are quick to run each other's faith down to proclaim that our's is superior. In reality, we are all groping in the dark trying to put two to two to paint a composite picture is what life, the journey and the reason for our existence are all about...

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One life, a hundred desires!

Hindi Medium (2017)

The apparent difference in outlook in spirituality between the Western and Eastern philosophy is quite visible. The former revolves around its fixation on following preset rules to appease the Maker. In the case of the latter, it appears to be more like an eternal quest. It is a lifelong journey to hunt for the secrets of the Universe. The whole teachings in the Vedanta, Buddhism, Confucianism and the Tao scriptures are towards this end.

In simple terms, Eastern cultures are seekers of knowledge. Sometimes, this also became their own undoing. When the Western cultures first hit the Indian shores, the natives slowly neglected their age-old wisdom. They plunged head-long into their newfound obsession of acquiring erudition from the visitors, only to be led astray.

This hunger for knowledge has not been quenched after all these years. The world over, Asians, armed with their right discipline and dedication, are slowly but surely making their presence felt once again. In academic, artistic and scientific fields, they are redeeming their rightful places.

The movie, 'Hindi Medium' and its spiritual successor, 'Angrezi Medium' (English Medium) are evidence of the length Indian parents would go to ensure that their offspring will get a sound education.

In 'Hindi Medium', a nouveau riche couple move into posh housing estate to register their young daughter in a prestigious grammar school. When the daughter failed to make it into the school register, the parents realise that they could still qualify under the quota set aside for the underprivileged students. They move into the most impoverished side of the town masquerading as the urban poor. The unpleasant living conditions, the dodging from the school inspector and the overprotective nature of their neighbours form the basis of this comedic, yet thought-provoking presentation.
'Angrezi Medium' (2020) is Irrfan Khan's swansong. Here, he is a single parent of a bright teenage girl. Not wanting to repeat the same mistake of clipping his deceased wife's desire to study, he yearns for his daughter to win the scholarship to study in the UK. Khan also has a nagging legal battle with his family members over his small-time Indian sweets business. The court case goes against his favour. His bad luck, the presiding judge happened to be the husband of the principal of his daughter's school. The daughter's scholarship gets cancelled when Khan verbally abused the judge in a school function. The rest of the story is how Khan, against all the odds, although some of them are unbelievable, still manages to get his daughter enrolled in a university in the UK. 

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