Pretty Sure It's The Meds

This post is all whine and some crackers.

I'm having such a bad hair day, I'd say my hair is having a bad me day. 

I've been working for what feels like Mandela's stint on Robin Island and my only entertainment in forever has been getting up to go pee.

I have not left the house in 7 days.

I've been sick - as in, body being attacked by germs kind of sick. Or so I tell myself as I pop another pill while searching for an excuse not to bathe - offered to one of the many disinterested parties that inhabit my life. It's the kind of cloying season-change illness that has your skull feeling like it's trapped in a Phantom of the Opera mask with his singing voice echoing in your ears, even though you never bought a ticket to the show and frankly think that Andrew Lloyd Webber's finest ouevre was Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja.

I have seen the entire second season of Girls in a single sitting and am now riddled with dreams of disembodied boobs playing table tennis (Wilson's, not Dunham's.). It's not entirely unpleasant and it sure beats that recurring dream of P. Chidambaram in his Don't-Call-It-A-Lungi-Or-The-Tamilian-Mafia-Will-Come-After-You.

In other news the Anti-Rape bill was passed in the Parliament. The news was received amidst lamentations & recriminations that Rahul Gandhi was absent for the vote (along with a sizeable chunk of the legislature. I think the only people who stayed to vote were the folks who fell asleep in the previous session and woke up in the middle of this one).

I've been trying hard to decide my feelings about all of this and have been in hiding from the droves of reporters, banging on my door, anxious to know my special thoughts.

On one hand, I'm relieved that something got passed - like a kidney stone.

On the other hand, I wonder if this anorexic version of the Justice Verma Committee report will make it difficult for anyone pushing for anything better - like constipation.

Every single day I get closer to menopause.

I read an essay by Frederick Douglass and saw 'Gone With The Wind' in the same day, which is an adventure sport I would recommend to anyone serious about understanding the 'Dalit Sich'.

Meanwhile, Chetan Bhagat managed to con another group of earnest filmmakers into elevating his book from toilet paper to That Film Where That Hot Guy Shouldn't Have Died. 

These are the moments when I wonder why I'm putting any effort into this existence. Then I remember I haven't bathed again today and feel better about it all. 

Besides, as Scarlett O Hara said: "Tomorrow is another day (and if the DMK is still in the news you can laugh at Delhi-based news anchors trying to pronounce Alagiri and Kanimozhi)."

Eiiiiiii. I said - Eiiiiiiii

Not A Protest March (and some badly taken photos)

It all started at the Mandi House metro station. 

A Freedom Parade to parallel the Republic Day parade that had just wrapped up down the road. 

That parade had had big guns, this parade had big ideals. The recently released Justice Verma Committee report needed to implemented. 

Unfortunately, the Home Ministry website seemed to have 'misplaced' it, which made it difficult for the government or political leaders to take action. So somebody had to point fingers...you know...in the right direction...

(Incidentally, if you're looking for the Justice Verma Committee report, lookey here! It's been found!!)

Of all the protest/ freedom marches I've ever been on, this had the best slogans. The theme of 'Bekhauf Azaadi' (Freedom Without Fear) was extended to:

Azaadi: Night or day, on deserted roads & crowded, at home and at work, with family or strangers etc.

Azaadi from: sexual violence, from the insensitivities of the police & politicians, from the nonsense of Asaram Bapu, Abhijeet Mukherjee, Botsa Satyanarayana and Mohan Bhagwat, from patriarchy, from a broken justice system etc.

Azaadi to: be born, to study, to roam freely, to have aspirations, to marry and (my personal favourite) to not marry.

There were strident calls for 'nyay' or justice for Delhi, Kashmir, Manipur, Gujarat, Chhatisgarh, Haryana etc. For each and every known & unknown victim of sexual violence - male or female, straight or gay or transgendered.

There was absolute clarity on the amount of tolerance for apathy & inaction: Zero.

The crowds were a mixed bag. 

From leading activists and Twitter celebs (not in image...what is this? Us Weekly?) to regular Joes and what Chetan Bhagat might call 'The Fours' (I don't know about 'taking them along' CB, they giggle a lot when they chant 'Azaadi!')

Time came to get moving from Mandi House to Jantar Mantar (Delhi's 'Outrage Central'). The crowds promised to be orderly but not everyone was convinced.

They needn't have worried. 

There was a strict single file policy when crossing vehicular traffic and an overall policy of not wanting to be pains-in-the-asses.

At Jantar Mantar, we were all asked to sit right down on the road. 

There were powerful speeches made - most memorably by Kavita Krishnan, who introduced us to each of the names on our posters, who had yet to recieve justice. Collectively, we acknowledged all the unknown victims of sexual violence (much like the 'Unknown Soldier' at whose memorial, the Indian PM placed a wreath every 26th January).

She briefed us on the salient points of the Justice Verma Committee report and asked all those gathered there to self-reflect and confront the patriarchical mindset, fear & insecurities (why does 'freedom for all' threaten so many of us?) that reside in all of us.

Then she emceed a delightful medal-giving ceremony for the 'Mardaangi Maryada' brigade (Asaram Bapu & co. who had distinguished themselves as the 'Balaadkaar Defence Team') proving that feminism could also be fun.

There were a few more speeches, poetry and singing before people began to disperse. 

It had been a peaceful public gathering - peaceful not just for the lack of lathis, water cannons or tear gas, but peaceful in discourse while being forceful in intent. As someone who had observed the steady disintegration of the anti-corruption movement into an anti-government one, I was gratified and extremely proud of this campaign.

Everyone there agreed that getting the people in high places to take the Verma Committee report seriously (or even just put it up on their website) would be a long haul. So there was a call to regroup the next month and the next and the next.

As the crowd slowly peeled off to return home, we passed another dharna. Hardly any women in the group but lots of fervour.

It called for justice.

It called for the 6 Delhi gangrape accused to be hanged (With trial? Without trial?).

It called for us to 'Follow on Facebook to Save our Sisters'.

And one couldn't help but go - Ah, democracy! Happy bloody Republic Day.

 

Yes, I have an opinion too

The 3 Idiots controversy fascinates me. It even delights me. It's wonderful to see the infringement of a writer's rights become front page/ Breaking News. I never thought I'd live to see the day.

We're a whiny lot, us folk who write for a living. We bury ourselves in our caves, are obnoxiously anti-social; we use not just ours but our loved ones' private experiences to gain personal glory, are disdainful of the more 'business-minded' folk to whom we happily relinquish our fortunes and then bitch & moan when we get exploited. Yes, we're truly an ungrateful bunch of sissies. Why should anyone care?

And they don't. They really, really don't. Films get magically made (especially if Aamir Khan is the lead actor), stories get plucked out of the stratosphere like babies get dropped by storks. Throw in a wad of cash (never enough, I can assure you. Chetan Bhagat's reported 10 lac fee is in my book, peanuts) and one's responsibility towards the (un)friendly, neighbourhood writer is over. What do we want anyway? An award???

Yes, well, we kinda do. We want to be acknowledged as the progenitor of the idea that you twisted and morphed into your film. We want you to admit that without this seed of an idea, you wouldn't have the bushels of profits sprouting up in your bank accounts.

As someone with an idea of the dynamics of screenwriting, my first instinct was to side with Raju Hirani and Abhijat Joshi. When a work of literature is adapted to big screen, the screenwriters, in effect, create a whole new work of art. No matter how much of the book is infused in the script, writing a successful screenplay is a subtle craft that requires the skill of true artists. No one should ever, ever forget that when viewing 3 Idiots.

Also, I have never really enjoyed Chetan Bhagat's writing; even within the light-hearted, popcorn genre he occupies (Nick Hornby, who also navigates the same space is a far superior writer who manages to keep things simple and then craftily sneaks the emotion in). I remember watching an interview of Bhagat's, when another film based on his book was being released. He came across as a slightly crass and, well, classless dude. Also, for such a highly educated man, he made a colossal blunder by signing that ridiculous contract. He made the classic mistake that I've made a million times - signing something without reading the fine print. He's an Idiot (haha) and he deserves what's happening to him.

But, here's the thing. It was his baby. No matter how deformed, banal and stereotypical in form, it was his. He's the guy who dreamt up of these characters from the static in his brain. He's the fellow who took the time and the effort to stare down a blank MS Word page and fill it up with plot, dialogue and life. This is not a man whose name should appear as byline after the still photographer's. That's just wrong.

Which is why no matter how much he whines and no matter how valid the argument that he shouldn't have signed that godawful contract, by making a ruckus, he performs a very important function. He sheds light on a form of injustice that's rarely brought to light. I wonder how his case would hold up in a court of law or how much respect & credibility he'll be left with after taking on India's Conscience, Aamir Khan, but I for one will be grateful because he didn't choose silence, that he didn't keep his big mouth shut. By shouting "Injustice!" from rooftops, he gives the Big Idea a right to live. And for that, he gains my vote.