Maradona and Banana Chips

WTF, you reckon. My antennas were similarly up, when I heard that the soccer legend was flying into Kerala on October 24^th. Although, this is great news for the soccer-crazy state, the real objective of his visit seems to be vastly different. It has nothing to do with soccer. It has to do with Kerala moving away from being the ‘God’s own country’ to ‘Gold’s own country’.

What’s gold got to do with Maradona? For the uninitiated, here’s the news. A Kerala jewellery store had signed him up last year as their brand ambassador. And so, he’s here to inaugurate their new showroom in Kannur in the coming week. This marketing ploy of getting a famous soccer star to endorse a jewellery brand in Kerala sounds utterly tenuous to me. But that’s a debate for another day.

The reason it piqued my curiosity is simple: how did this deal get fixed? So, here’s an imaginary extract from the conversation between Diego Maradona and Mr. Che Manure, the Malayali jeweller, who has struck gold.

Mr. Che Manure: Mr. Maradona, we are happy to welcome you to our family!

Maradona: Ha ha. Thank you. Now, people will forget about Hand of God. Henceforth, it’ll be Hand of Gold!

Mr. Che Manure: Wow, Mr. Maradona. That is a great line. We will use it in our ads.
Che Manure Jewellery – Hand of Gold!

Maradona: You like it? Firstly, I think it is a brilliant idea of someone like me associating with you.

Mr. Che Manure: You really think so?

Maradona: Of course. Why not?

Mr. Che Manure: Ah, nothing. I have a niggling doubt. You are a famous footballer. Football connects with men in Kerala. How will women, our jewellery target, connect with you, even if you are Maradona?

Maradona: Good question. See, I was a football champ in the 80s and early 90s. Everyone knew me then. I’m sure Malayali women were crazier about me those days than they were over Mamooty and Mohan Lal.

Mr. Che Manure: You have a point, sir.

Maradona: But that’s not the point. Listen, these women, who were young then have grown older. And today, they have the spending power. Now, can you see the connection?

Mr. Che Manure: My God! Mr. Maradona, you are superb. Also, I have another idea. If you don’t mind…should we also consider someone from the current Argentinean team for our younger, trendier jewellery collection?

Maradona: Hello, Mr. Che Manure, don’t mess with me!

Mr. Che Manure: Mr. Maradona, I didn’t mean Messi. It could be anyone from the team.

Maradona: Messi? Who's he? I said don't mess with me.

Mr. Che Manure: Er…sorry sir. But Mr. Maradona, I'm happy you know. Because everyone is talking about you becoming our brand ambassador.

Maradona: Talking is okay. Is it good talk or bad talk?

Mr. Che Manure: I don’t really care sir. But I know this kind of celebrity endorsement has never happened here. It will soon be a case-study at one of the IIMs.

Maradona: What are they?

Mr. Che Manure: Sir, they produce managers like how your country produces footballers. Few turn out to be good like you. The rest are average.

Maradona: And they also create case-studies?

Mr. Che Manure: Yeah, that’s their current hobby. They create case-studies out of any kind of stupidity happening in our country. Our association stands a chance because it is one-of-a-kind.

Maradona: That’s good Mr. Che Manure. Since you are into gold, you should make a special edition golden football. I can pose next to it and that can be our hoarding.

Mr. Che Manure: Sir, marvellous. This can actually be the cover of a new marketing book.

Maradona: Marketing book?

Mr. Che Manure: Some marketing guru will surely write about us. Haven’t you heard of these types? Their formula is simple: Give the obvious a different spin and make millions out of it.

Maradona: Ah, okay.

Mr. Che Manure: Imagine the cover of the book. Your picture with our golden ball and the title that reads – BALLS TO YOU. All you wanted to know about celebrity marketing and didn’t have the balls to ask!

Maradona: Fantastic. I can’t wait to come to Kerala on October 24^th. Is the government going to declare a holiday on the 24^th?

Mr. Che Manure: We are trying to talk to them sir. Let us see. Expecting you soon sir!

And thus the dotted line was signed. Next week, Diego Armando Maradona will be in Kerala to open a new Che Manure jewellery store.

The golden era in celebrity endorsement has just arrived.

Hope for Humanities

While the nation is concerned about the brouhaha Mr. Kapil Sibal has created about the IITs, allow me to shift your focus to a stream of academia that has been relegated to the pits, for a very long time in India. I’m referring to the humble Humanities.

Wikipedia describes humanities as a branch of study that includes ‘ancient and modern languages, literature, history, philosophy, religion, visual arts, performing arts, music, theatre and social sciences’. If you, my dear reader, had evinced interest in pursuing any of these above subjects after school, I’m sure the reactions from family and others around you was anything but humane.

The invective reserved for you could range from a subtle, ‘why do you want to do this to yourself?’ to a more loathsome, ‘you must be out of your mind!’. The naysayer at times could be futuristic, ‘what will you do afterwards?’ or apocalyptic, ‘you have no hope in hell’. And finally, when you stick to your stand, the classic response would be a family-feud inducing, ‘where have your parents’ brains gone?’

If you think about it, you’ll agree that these responses reflect the socio-cultural zeitgeist that has prevailed in our country for a few decades now. The mad rush for medicine and engineering in the 70s, 80s and 90s was not just about the money one would imagine to make after he / she finished the courses. The ROI also worked well in the marriage market. Then IT came in and changed the academic landscape altogether. The odd MBA from a half-decent B-school always commanded respect in the societal scheme of things. In this melee, where would a Fine Arts or a Philosophy student stand? Like I said earlier, in the pits.

This millennium, a glimmer of hope seems to have set in, finally. The proliferation of media and the exponential growth of industries such as Indian animation, publishing and music have ensured that students from the humanities stream have a plethora of interesting options to choose from. Not to mention, the good moolah that comes with it.

But then again, historically, the idea of pursuing any subject under humanities did not come with the promise of good salaries (unlike the more rational IT courses or B-school courses that lure students with the assurance of attractive packages). The ones who genuinely took up courses in humanities did it for the love of it. Period. A great career with good money was always a bonus.

Beyond all this, there is an important question that begs an answer: What do students of humanities take back from their courses? In my opinion, it is a sense of aesthetics. This is something that’s unique to humanities. Because, frankly, no other stream of academia can teach aesthetics in its purest form like humanities. And unfortunately, aesthetics is something our country sorely lacks.

People from developed nations have aesthetics ingrained in their psyche. An appreciation for beauty, respect for history, evolved sense of design and reverence for art are some of the areas where they spend their energies largely in. These aspects may seem unimportant to the callous Indian eye, but they are key indicators to a country’s level of maturity. Students of humanities can contribute to these areas in abundance, only if their aptitudes and careers are taken seriously.

Else, we run the risk of becoming a dystopian nation, fooled by the garb of development, trying to find its soul that has been lost forever.

What's in a name?

When Willy Shakespeare wrote that immortal line in Romeo and Juliet, little did he wonder about the consequences it would have. As a line, it has been used and abused for ages by the erudite masses. As a thought, it has hung like Damocles’ sword over people who have been bestowed with strange monikers by their uber-creative parents.

Let’s take the case of Titty Thomas. No, I haven’t made this one up. She’s a real person, managing to keep her sanity in God’s own country, despite her insane folks giving her the curse of her life. Can you imagine how she managed to survive her teenage and college years? What were her parents thinking (or doing) when they came up with the name “Titty”? By the way, my mallu brethren rank a high second, next only to Punjabis, in coming up with funky names.

Talking of Punjabis, one can’t afford to not doff the hat at their sense of innovation. They, my friends, are the architects of what has become the language of choice among the yuppy crowd in metros today: Hinglish. How else can you explain the happy English-Punju mix in a name like Happy Singh? Or, the simple delight in Dimple Kaur? So, before the advertising guys can take credit for bringing Hinglish into common parlance, they should thank the Punjus for creating a template in Panglish.

We all know that geniuses are hard to spot as a needle in a haystack. But I was blessed with two philosopher geniuses as classmates in school. Aristotle and Plato. Their names were a constant source of humour and dissection in our class. Every teacher wanted to know why their parents had named them so, apart from the obvious references to the Greek philosophers. But their worst nightmare came in the form of low marks. When they were faced with such a misfortune, not only them, even their fancy names weren’t spared.

The 70s and the 80s saw a spate of children being named ‘Vijay’ after Amitabh Bachchan scorched the screen in over 20 flicks with that name. The character ‘Vijay’ used to overcome all odds and emerge victorious, true to what the name meant. Imagine if the opposite had happened. A ‘Vijay’ being a born loser. Well, such a contradiction can happen to the common man, not to Big B. Think about Arokiasamy from Tamil Nadu. While ‘Arokiya’ means ‘good health’ in Tamil, I’m yet to come across a healthy looking Arokiasamy.

I’m sure you have come across various blokes with names that go against their nature. Here are some from my school list: Satyan, who happened to bluff his way through; Ashok, who was a picture of melancholy most of the time; and Shanti, who would blow her fuse for the most inane issues. 

You would agree that such ironical names give some people a special dimension. Although, in most cases, incongruities like these, may not register until you give it a thought. Another interesting aspect to a name is something that I need to share here. A learned person had once proclaimed that when you are given a name at birth, you are also inadvertently blessed with your first dose of ego.

So, try uttering your name once again. First, figure if the name goes against the grain of your personality or reflects your inner self truly well. Next, about the ego bit. Does your name allow for some peaceful ego tripping? Think about it.

The Mallu Bong Connection

I recently read that the ex-chief minister of West Bengal, Mr. Buddhadeb Bhattacharjee, loves choru-meen. That’s Malayalam for the Bengali bhaat-machh: fish and rice, to the English-speaking world.

If one tends to delve a little deeply into the psychographics of people from these two states, there are many similarities to deduce. Despite the obvious cultural and geographical differences.

Commonalities start with a series of F-words: Films. Fish. Football.

Thanks to these two states, films from India started getting international critical acclaim. While Bengal had directors like Satyajit Ray, Mrinal Sen and Ritwik Ghatak whose films scorched the festival circuits, Kerala produced incredible directorial talents like Aravindan, Adoor Gopalakrishnan and John Abraham (not Bollywood’s six-foot, beef cake with acting abilities that would make a piece of plywood proud).

Fish is the staple diet in both states. For every hilsa-relishing bong, there is a karimeen-devouring mallu licking his fingers in style. When Kerala began producing fine athletes like PT Usha and Shiny Wilson, way back in the 80s, the reason was attributed to the humble fish.

Soccer-crazy Bengal had clubs like Mohun Bagan, Mohammedan Sporting and East Bengal. Soccer-sozzled Kerala had FC Cochin and Kerala Police. However, the current statistics says that the popularity of football is on the wane. Cricket has taken over. You could accept that in West Bengal, which produced a star like Sourav Ganguly. What about Kerala? The only international cricketer of any repute, or rather disrepute, from this southern state is Sreesanth. A man famous for his flaring nostrils than a nose for wickets.

Besides these F-words, another similarity between both these states is the B-word: Bandh. This infamous practice is a fallout of another common factor the two states were wedded to: Marxism.

A bandh in these two states means that the state machinery will remain fully paralysed. Partial bandh is for other states. Not for West Bengal or Kerala.

Winds of change

There is a local saying in Malayalam that when it rains in China, the Malayali will pick up his umbrella. Such was the effect of Marxism in these states for many years. While one could debate for and against such Leftist leanings, it is amply clear that it had hampered the states’ progress to a great extent.

But there’s hope. A reversal in trend is being witnessed. A hunger for progress has finally gripped them, and today, we can see sectors like IT / ITES, Tourism and Manufacturing, booming slowly but steadily.

Both West Bengal and Kerala have a few redeeming factors that can catapult them into the forefront of growth: a rich tapestry of culture, an impetus on good education and a large pool of intellectually vibrant population.

The common man from these kindred states, surely deserve to be in a better place. A place so beautifully articulated by Nobel Laureate Rabindranath Tagore: “…Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way / Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit / Where the mind is led forward by thee / Into ever-widening thought and action / Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.”

Theatre of the Absurd

In India, we don’t go to the theatre to watch plays. We go there to watch movies. Like everything else in this country, ‘cinema’ and ‘theatre’ got mixed up for some weird reason and out came a freakish hotchpotch: cinema theatre.

That’s where a common Anil and an uncommon Ambani head out to devour their share of entertainment on the big screen. And these film-o-holics are quirky and idiosyncratic in their behaviour inside a movie hall.

Let me illustrate with examples.

The Artist

Surely he’s not Jean Dujardin from Michel Hazanavicius’s blockbuster. He is your everyday Viraj Clooney or Jackie Cherian, who sits two rows in front. You would have noticed him mimicking the movie hero’s actions on his way out during intermission. He would flick his hair, mouth dialogues and walk with a swagger, with his bladder fit to burst. In short, he is the quintessential Indian movie fan.

Psycho

Like Hitchcock, this character can send shivers down your spine when his mobile rings. Expect the ringtone to be a deafening, raucous ear-jerker – one that is always louder than the Dolby system of the swankiest multiplex. If that hasn’t psyched you, what he does next surely will.

He would flip out his mobile, pick up the call, and talk back so loudly that it may seem as if he’s parodying the venerable William S: “Friends, Indians, Countrymen, lend me your unsuspecting ears!” Trust me, at that moment you too would want to scream at him like the lovely Janet Leigh, in the famous shower scene from Psycho.

The Dark Knight

For this knight, the action never happens on screen. He is the action king, using the darkness to light the fire with the woman (or man) he’s come with. Such knights inhabit vernacular movie halls and the reason is simple. It boils down to economics. He and his partner need private time in an air-conditioned environment. Hindi and other vernacular movies, which run for three hours and more, offer more bang for the buck than an average Hollywood flick that lasts for an hour and a half. So, if you happened to watch Dirty Picture, chances are that you would have caught it off-screen as well.

The Terminator

He is the Indian film critic – a wannabe Pauline Kael. He can make, or often break, a film’s destiny. But unlike the remarkable Kael, most of them embellish their skills as soppy synopsis writers and go around masquerading as critics. They make their appearances before the movie releases, hopping across preview shows, pronouncing verdicts.

Sleeper

Whether the movie is a yawn or not, you’ll hear his snores nonetheless – especially in matinee shows. While Woody Allen’s 70s flick of the same name was a science-fiction comedy, our sleeper surely provides a good dose of comedy when his eyes are wide shut. And there’s no fiction in the hypothesis that many a smart salesmen take a quick afternoon nap, spending on a movie ticket.

Jaws

Imagine a human form of Spielberg’s famous character from his 1975 hit. Now, imagine him with a tub of popcorn, a box of nachos, an odd samosa and a bottle of cola, overworking his jaws through an entire movie. He’s the one you don’t want to sit with, but there’s no respite because everyone at a multiplex seem to be like him. These blokes are dime a dozen in movie halls and their sole purpose at a movie is to: Eat from beginning to end; Pray the snacks don’t end; and Love the aroma of his neighbour’s snack box.

It’s a wild place, this theatre that we go to. Some of the most interesting characters come alive there than they do on screen. Like Humphrey Bogart said in The Maltese Falcon, “It’s the stuff dreams are made of.”

Maid in India

Well she’s fashionably lean

And she’s fashionably late

……

She won’t waste time on elementary talk

She’s a Twentieth Century Fox.

From Twentieth Century Fox, a song by The Doors.

The Doors were trying to talk of the 60s archetype of the American woman in this song. But to me, these lines strangely epitomize a character straight out of our lives: the ubiquitous servant maid.

Families, who have been subjected to the many moods of a servant maid, will readily accept my theory that she’s no ordinary human being. She is of a higher calibre who has mastered the ‘Navarasas’ as explained in Bharata’s Natyashastra. Consider this: She can move from Hasya (laughter) to Raudra (anger), within seconds, when her master denies her some extra cash. She can shower Karunya (compassion) if the child of the house is ill, and turn Bibhatsa (disgusted) within minutes, if the child doesn’t stop wailing. She will forever be in a state of Adbutha (amazement), when asked why she’s late.

Never ever judge her by her diminutive form. The Santa (peace) she shows at your home will explode into Vira (heroism) when the water lorry arrives in the street corner. To top it all, if she happens to be beautiful, husbands in many households seem to be stuck between a rock and a hard place. Her Sringara (love) has kindled many a husband’s fires. And if these men decide to stoke that fire, expect the maids (and the wives) to stoke up some Bhayanaka (horror) in return.

Like all other things in India, there is so much variety among these iron maidens. Let’s look at some of them:

The Maidmoiselle

She is commonly found in households where you can’t tell the master from the servant. Subservient families are often attracted to these ‘Kutumb Raider’ women, whose motto is to serve and be served in return. That means, she’ll serve the family Kannan Devan tea and expect Earl Grey back, for her to savour.

The Bai-Bai Maid

‘Bai’ as they are known in the Hindi speaking belt, have the penchant for saying ‘bye’, and do the disappearing act quite often, which would put Harry Houdini to shame. Reasons may vary from the obvious – her husband’s drunken heroics, to the omnipresent – her kid feeling under the weather, to black humour – her husband and her paramour getting into fisticuffs and injuring her while at it.

The Hand Maid

No, she does not belong to the Congress party. The hand stands for what the party and the maid put into practice. The art of looting. You might have heard of hand-eye coordination in sport. Hand maids practice this at home. When an object of fancy meets her eye, her hands swiftly follow suit to pick it up without the knowledge of the inmates of the house.

The Maid who Made it

This one belongs to the creamy layer. She can speak English. She quotes her price, because she is Angrezi in her demeanour. Her salaries would be quoted and debated by her peers, just like how the rest of us discuss and denounce the skyrocketing salaries of IIM grads every year.

The Home Maid

The homes who have them are the fortunate ones. She sticks around at a place for a very long time, like a government employee. And in some cases, she continues to receive monetary help from her erstwhile employer in her old age, like government employees living on their pensions.

I’m sure there are many other stereotypes. But those have to be discussed another day. Because my maid is ringing the bell.

The Autocratic Nation

With its growing inequality, there is still one thing that binds the haves and the have-nots in India. It is the portly auto-rickshaw. While the older versions, with their belching fume pipes, rickety bodies and non-working meters, transport us to pre-liberalised India, the newer LPG versions zooming around with green bodies point us to the energized present.

Just like the vibrant ethnicity of the people, and the languages we speak in this country, the humble auto too changes its shape, size and behaviour across the states and cities. Let’s compare the auto brethren in the southern cities of Bangalore and Chennai.

Though the vital statistics of the autos from these two cities may look similar, the frontal visage of the Bangalore auto is flatter. The Chennai counterpart, a wee bit fuller. Your posteriors are sucked fully inside, in a Bangalore auto thanks to its inclined seats. In Chennai, with flatter seats, you can choose to sit more uprightly – although, you end up sitting on the edge thinking of the monies you need to cough up at the end of the journey.

Remember the late Dev Anand, his head nodding and swaying from one end of the spectrum to another, as he romanced his women on screen? Prepare your head to take a similar trajectory when you hail an auto in Bangalore. The only difference is unlike Dev Saab’s heroines, you can’t expect any response from the Bangalore auto-driver. On the other hand, his Chennai friend would prove to be a head-turner – he would stop with reverence and quote an astronomical fare unflinchingly, which can send the supplest of Dravidian men into a tizzy.

Ever noticed the similarities between auto-rickshaws in the Western coast of India? To be more precise, the autos in Kerala and in a metropolis like Mumbai have a lot in common. They look like brothers, and they are truly brothers in arms when it comes to being nice natured. The drivers return change at the end of the journey. At least, most of them do.

Now, shift your focus to the capital. The Delhi auto-rickshaws are a breed of their own. And not surprisingly, since they are in Delhi, they tend to behave like the ruling government. After your negotiations with the driver, you believe you are comfortable as you resume the journey – just like a citizen in the first six months of an elected government. Sooner or later, you know the guy is literally taking you for a ride – similar to how one feels in the middle of a government’s term. And boy, before you have realized it, he has dumped you at your destination. And that sour expression in your face isn’t going to be erased soon. Quite similar to how one feels at the end of each government’s tenure, isn’t it?

However you look at it, one can’t ignore the role auto-rickshaws play in our lives. Love it or hate it, they would continue to do so for some more years to come. But always remember, in an autocratic nation, you need to live by their rules.