My Grandmother's House - Kamala Das

The poem:
There is a house now far away where once
I received love……. That woman died,
The house withdrew into silence, snakes moved
Among books, I was then too young
To read, and my blood turned cold like the moon
How often I think of going
There, to peer through blind eyes of windows or
Just listen to the frozen air,
Or in wild despair, pick an armful of
Darkness to bring it here to lie
Behind my bedroom door like a brooding
Dog…you cannot believe, darling,
Can you, that I lived in such a house and
Was proud, and loved…. I who have lost
My way and beg now at strangers' doors to
Receive love, at least in small change?

About Kamala Das:
Kamala Das is one of the best poets in contemporary Indo-Anglian literature. Kamala Das, born in Kerala in 1934, is a bilingual writer. She writes in Malayalam, her mother tongue, under the pseudonym Madhavikkutty. Her poetry is an exploration of the geography of her own mind, and the lyric is an instance of such self-exploration. Through images of repulsion and horror, she brings out the emotional emptiness and sterility of her married life, and the intensity of her misery as a wife who had to submit to her husband whom she found repulsive, and with whom she had no emotional contact at all. She has won many prizes for her work . some of them being the P. E. N. Asian Poetry Prize, Kerala Sahitya Academy Award for fiction, Asian World Prize for literature, Kendra Sahitya Academy Award etc. She was short listed for the Nobel Prize along with Marguerite Yourcenar, Doris Lessing and Nadine Gordimer. On 31 May 2009, aged 75, she died at a hospital in Pune, but has earned considerable respect in recent years. 



Summary-

      

   “My Grandmother’s House” is a constituent poem of Kamala Das’s maiden publication Summer in Calcutta. Though short, the poem wraps within itself an intriguing sense of nostalgia and uprootedness. In her eternal quest for love in such a ‘loveless’ world, the poet remembers her grandmother which surfaces some emotions long forgotten and buried within her-- an ironical expression of her past which is a tragic contrast to her present situation. It is a forcefully moving poem fraught with nostalgia and anguish.

The poet says that there is a house, her grandmother’s home, far away from where she currently resides, where she “received love”. Her grandmother’s home was a place she felt secure and was loved by all. After the death of her grandmother, the poet says that even the House was filled with grief, and accepted the seclusion with resignation. Only dead silence haunted over the House, feeling of desolation wandering throughout. She recollects though she couldn’t read books at that time, yet she had a feeling of snakes moving among them-- a feeling of deadness, horror and repulsion, and this feeling made her blood go cold and turn her face pale like the moon. She often thinks of going back to that Old House, just to peek through the “blind eyes of the windows” which have been dead-shut for years, or just to listen to the “frozen” air.

The poet also shows the ironical contrast between her past and present and says that her present has been so tormenting that even the Darkness of the House that is bathed in Death does not horrify her anymore and it is a rather comforting companion for her in the present state of trials. The poets says that she would gladly (“in wild despair”) pick up a handful of Darkness from the House and bring it back to her home to “lie behind my bedroom door” so that the memories of the Old House and its comforting darkness, a rather ironical expression, might fill assurance and happiness in her present life.

She wraps up the poem saying that it is hard for one to believe that she once lived in such a house and was so loved by all and lived her life with pride. That her world was once filled with happiness is a sharp contrast to her present situation where she is completely devoid of love and pride. She says that in her desperate quest for love, she has lost her way; since she didn’t receive any feelings of love from the people whom she called her own, she now has to knock “at strangers' doors” and beg them for love, if not in substantial amounts, then atleast in small change i.e. in little measure atleast.

The poet has intensified the emotions of nostalgia and anguish by presenting a contrast between her childhood and her grown-up stages. The fullness of the distant and absence and the emptiness of the near and the present give the poem its poignancy. The images of “snakes moving among books”, blood turning “cold like the moon”, “blind eyes of window”, “frozen air”’ evoke a sense of death and despair. The house itself becomes a symbol - an Ednic world, a cradle of love and joy. The escape, the poetic retreat, is in fact, the poet’s own manner of suggesting the hopelessness of her present situation. Her yearning for the house is a symbolic retreat to a world of innocence, purity and simplicity

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Love at First Sight - Wislawa Szymborska

The poem (with comments):

They're both convinced
Meaning perhaps what they're convinced about is wrong
That a sudden passion joined them.
Self-explanatory - saw her/him needed her/him loved her/him
Such certainty is beautiful
But uncertainty is more beautiful still.
This uncertainty is what the whole poem is about, as we shall see:

Since they'd never met before, they're sure
that there'd been nothing between them.
The two lovers are under the impression that in their whole loves, they have never once met before, and so could not have had any kind of association or relationship with each other.
But what's the word from the streets, staircases, hallways -
perhaps they've passed each other by a million times?
Now Wislawa points out that they could have met a million times and not known it - on the streets, staircases, hallways.

I want to ask them
if they don't remember -
a moment face to face
in some revolving door?
perhaps a 'sorry' muttered in a crowd?
a curt 'wrong number' caught in the receiver? -
but I know the answer,
No, they don't remember.
Of all their interactions with total strangers - at revolving doors, in crowds, over the phone, Wislawa wants to ask the two if they don't remember having even one such with each other. She doesn't ask, though, because she already knows the answer. They don't. However, by not asking, she maintains this delightful secrecy of the Mona Lisa smile.

They'd be amazed to hear
that Chance has been toying with them
now for years.
She tells us, not them, that Chance has been playing with their lives now for years.
Not quite ready yet
to become their Destiny,
Chance was not ready yet to take on the role of Destiny, so
it pushed them close, drove them apart,
it made them met, but not, tangibly close but not yet, no - so it separated them
it barred their path,
stifling a laugh,
and then leaped aside.

There were signs and signals
even if they couldn't read them yet.
Perhaps three years ago
or just last Tuesday
a certain leaf fluttered
from one shoulder to another?
Something was dropped and then picked up.
Who knows, maybe the the ball that vanished
into childhood's thicket's?

There were doorknobs and doorbells
where one touch had covered another
beforehand.
Suitcases checked and standing side by side.
One night, perhaps, the same dream
grown hazy by morning.

Every beginning
is only a sequel, after all,
and the book of events
is always open halfway through.
The world is actually a small place. In this beautiful chaotic coincidental serendipitous mess, there are no true beginnings - only continuations, and there is the promise of more to come.


Wislawa Szymborska dabbled in 'Precisionism,' a mid-20th century art form focusing on industrialization and modernization. She was known for her beautiful use of irony and ironic precision. Her poetry often explored the deeper meanings behind common-place experiences.

In the poem, Love at First Sight, translated from Polish, she speaks of the uncertainty and unknown serendipity of falling in love with a person you've just met, the uncertainty being that you may or may not have actually met them before - either way, you just don't

by
affham | affhamrazak111@gmail.com

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Lajwanti - Rajinder Singh Bedi

"THE LEAVES OF LAJWANTI* wither with the touch of human hands." 

   -A Punjabi Folk Song.

Outline:

“Lājwantī” by Rajinder Singh Bedi explores the plight of abducted women during the violence and upheaval of the Subcontinent’s partition in 1947. Sundarlal, an abusive husband whose own wife went missing during the conflict, actively campaigns for the repatriation of abducted women but is taken aback by the unsettling emotional transformations that attend the acceptance of his own wife back into his home. Bedi raises the problem of silence—the inability of survivors and perpetrators of violence to talk about what happened—which is a common theme in partition literature. One issue astutely raised by students in this course was that Bedi’s choice of narrational mode serves utterly to silence the main female character Lājwantī herself. In any event, the stark emotional landscape of partition violence is chillingly captured in this remarkable short story by a leading writer of the generation that lived through it.

Summary:

Rajinder Singh Bedi is considered  the second best, Saadat Hasan Manto is the highest regarded, Urdu short story writer.   Like Manto, his best known work centers on the immense human cost of the  of the 1947 Partition of India into Pakistan and India.  Much  the worst of  this holocaust (death tolls range from 1/2 a million on up to 2 million) was felt by the women as men of diverse groups took their revenge by raping  and abducting women of other groups.    Hundreds of thousands of Hindu women were abducted by Muslin and vice-versa.   Many of the women killed themselves from shame. 

Bedi (1915 to 1984) was born in Punjab region of Pakistan and moved to India at the time of the Partition.  

He was educated in Urdu.   In his early working career he was a postal clerk.   Later on he got a job at All India Radio.   It was there he began his writing career.   From here he moved  to script writing for Bollywood movies and then into directing.    It will be for his 72 short stories that he is remembered.

"Lajawanti" is about a once happily married couple.   Then in  the riots that resulted in the Partition of India (the effects were at their very worse in the Punjab region where the story is set and where Bedi grew up) the wife Lajawanto was kidnapped.    It is also a story about human cruelty.   Not just the cruelty of the abductors but of the husbands and family of the abducted women.

As the story opens we see Lajawanti expects to be beaten.   It is part of the marriage custom and it almost seems a wife regards a husband who never beats her as "unmanly".   Then she is abducted and taken over the border.   Years go by and her husband tries to get along with his life.   In time Pakistan and India authorities begin to arrange for the swapping of abducted women.   A truck load of Hindu women would be exchanged for a truck load of Muslim women.   There were lots of problems and quarrels over this.   Sometimes men of one side managing the exchange would complain that all they are getting back is "useless old and middle aged women".   The real cruelty to the women in many cases came when they returned.

There were some people who refused to have anything to do with the abducted women who cam back "couldn't they have killed themselves? Why didn't they take poison and preserve their virtue and their honour? Why didn't they Jump into a well? They are cowards, they clung to life...."

Hundreds of thousands of women had in fact killed themselves rather than be dishonoured...how could the dead know what courage it needed to face the cold, hostile world of the living in a hard-hearted world in which husbands refused to acknowledged their wives. And some of these women would think sadly of their names and the joyful meanings they had..."suhagwanti..of marital bliss" or they would turn to a younger brother and say "Oi Bihari, my own little darling brother, when you were a baby I looked after you as if you were my own son." 

Lajawanti's husband is at first overcome with joy when one day she was among the returned women.   Lajawanti used to routinely beat his wife for the smallest matters.   He asked if the man she spent longs months with while abducted beat her.  She says no.   Then the husband begins to wonder why she looks better and healthier than before she was abducted.  Maybe she was happier with the other man.   He promises never to beat her again and he keeps his word.    He never criticizes her like he used to.     They never fight over anything.   At first she is very happy.   Then she realizes why this has happened.

Many days passed in this way. Suspicion took the place of Joy: not because Sunder Lal had resumed ill-treating her but because he was treating her too well. Lajo never expected him to be so considerate. She wanted him to be the same old Sunder Lal with whom she quarrelled over a carrot and who appeased her with a radish. Now there was no chance of a quarrel. Sunder Lal made her feel like something fragile, like glass which would splinter at the slightest touch. Lajo took to gazing at herself in the mirror. Arid in the end she could no longer recognise the Lajo she had known. She had been rehabilitated but not accepted. Sunder Lal did not want eyes to see her tears nor ears to hear her wailing.

"Lajwanti" depicts a world where women have totally internalized the idea that they are little more than property.   Imagine the horror of being abducted, taken to another country and being raped over and over for perhaps years.   When you at last return to your home country,  you are totd that your failure to kill yourself has brought great shame on your family and in many cases are driven from your old home.

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Childhood - Ismat chughtai

About the author:
Ismat chughtai is one of the famous Urdu writers in India. Chughtai wrote novels, plays, travelogues etc. But her most remarkable achievement lays in short story form. Lihaaf is her well known work and she is known by everyone for that work. Ismat Chughtai is one of the prominent writers who wrote about the living experience which she experienced in the society in which she lived. She uses the themes and characters of her stories from the sphere she knew intimately—the Muslim families of Agra, Aligarh and Bareily. She was born in 1911 in Uttar Pradesh at a place called Badun, associated with the memory of Gautama Buddha. Her father, Qasim Beg Chughtai, was a judicial magistrate who served at different capacities as Agra, Kanpur, Luknow and late in princely state of Mewar. She was known for her story “Lihaaf’, which was famous in India because it was the first short story which talked about the lesbian and homosexual relationship.

Many short story writers have represented the caste system, partitions, women’s problems etc. Ismat chughtai is also one of the writers in the progressive movements inIndia.

Her stories contributed for the betterment of the society. She pointed out the evils in the society. Her short stories concentrated on women issues, partition of India, development of political parties in India, communal relationships etc. Researcher in this work studies some of her short stories to know the status of women during early nineteenth century in India. The short stories the researcher studies are Gainda, The Quilt, The wedding suit, The homemaker, Touch –me-not, Sacred duty, Tiny’s Granny, Mother –in-law, Roots.

Theme:

Gender inequality

Female sexuality

Middle class gentility

NOTE: for more update by adding notes of what you know "Sharing is caring".

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South Indian Filter Coffee with Amma - Julie Sahni

This chapter of our textbook appears to be written for non-Indian people, as we see when the authors writes the English version of the word before the Hindi one, as in "elixir 'amrita'", "creamy pudding kheer", "jaggery gur", "mother, Amma" and the unfunny joke: "form an asana (in my language it means twist into a pretzel!)"
She tries too hard to get the reader to relate to the magic of the milk-related memories of her childhood, and her attachment to her mother, but for reasons I can't place my finger on, fails, and fails miserably at that - succeeding only in getting us mildly irritated.
Perhaps it is the pretentious Nigella tone of the text, or the occasional lapses in meaningful sentence-formation: "She just isn't fond of it, but obsessed with it."
Also, there is the issue of her over-zealous description of everything.

One question that caught my attention: Examine the interconnected themes of memory and taste.

Note to self: do not let hate in mind get transformed into hate on page.

Analysis:


author loves milk not because of ancient Vedic significance as God's favorite food or its referral to as amrita, but because of childhood and younger experiences being greatly influenced by milk
milk in kheer, kulfi, barfi, rabri, thandai form. When emotionally drained, warm frothy milk + jaggery + crushed Malabar cardamom + Kashmiri saffron. Also, khoya with Granny Smith apples
or khoya + decoction = milky South Indian filter coffee
mom a foodie - author blessed with that special gene
describes morning scene: New York to Delhi flight - reached late - jet lag, Delhi air, not early riser - at dawn, bells, bhajans, azan, yoga instructor on neighbor's TV set - back to sleep, but mom whispers, "Julu, come smell the coffee" - author deliberates but only momentarily - will not miss mother's coffee "not today, not any day, never"
mother preparing sambar: picks lentils clean of stones, (mention of perfect 20-20 eyesight) then washes and adds them to deep pot for slow uncovered boiling. Seasons with turmeric (rhizome or powder) virgin sesame oil, spices, tamarind, adds shallots and tiny eggplants
sambar usu. accompanies idli
coffee decoction almost ready
now for milk
launches into childhood-milkman-memory-recounting-mode <facepalm> <whyyy????>
cool winter morning in Kanpur
Chandramukhi the cow - adorable calf - secret pact between Lallan and Chandramukhi
handful of raw milk straight from cow for author - ensured by mother
memory of buffalo-milk from farm - buffalo feisty, kicked Lallan; milk: scent pure and primal
back to present - milkman bring 2 litres in morning, and set quantity in evening - ice cold packets - crisis if not used till last drop - donor/receiver list: sister at top of list - excess milk packed and sent to her
why mom doesn't bring milk home herself, and why doesn't she use "gadgets meant to zip through cooking"
answer: 1. "Employing a person is the best one can do for this country and its people. This is how we are going to build self-worth and esteem." Milkman can now send kids to school - kids can aspire (not only dream) to achieve anything they want
answer: 2. A. gets philosophical about cooking lentils (end result equated to butter poached oysters)
answer: 2. B. food evolves and transforms - pay attention to detail and you have a recipe for success in life and in food
then describes kitchens - hers, sister's, mother's
describes mother's appearance: decked up and beautiful but not to go out - to cook; art form and sensual display
how to stir boiling milk
mother pours coffee, they sip it, author praises mother
strong person of character, perseverance and generosity
inspires and empowers anyone who comes in contact with her
not a rich woman of material wealth - rich within
beautiful woman of 84
mother of four very fortunate daughters
still creating and perfecting the recipe of food and life
an eternal optimist - the true Renaissance woman
FINALLY, the end of this stupid essay - birds chirping louder, sun rays entering kitchen, slowly flooding it; author has had coffee and is now warm all over
Now that I have summarized this chapter of ungodly length, here are the questions that could be asked:
The role women play at home
Narrator's childhood experiences with milk
Narrator's relationship with mother
Mother's character
Connection between love for mother and love for milk
Memory and taste
Continuation of past into present
Lastly, cliche but possible: How does milk affect the author?

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A Scientific Religion - V. Raghunathan

About the author:
Dr. Viswanathan Raghunathan (born 1954) is an academic, author, columnist, hobbyist and a CEO. Since 2005, he has been the CEO of GMR Varalakshmi Foundation. Earlier he was President, ING Vysya Bank (2001-2004) and Managing Director, GMR Industries Ltd (2007-2008), GMR Group. He has been an Adjunct Professor at the Bocconi University, Milan, Italy, since 1990, where he lectures in behavioural finance every year. He taught finance and accounting at IIM, Ahmedabad from 1982 to 2001, where he held various positions, including Chairman, Post Graduate Programme. He is the author of Duryodhana (Harper Collins, 2014), Locks Mahabharata & Mathematics (Harper Collins, 2013), Ganesha on the Dashboard(Penguin 2012), The Corruption Conundrum And Other Paradoxes And Dilemmas (Penguin 2010), Don’t Sprint The Marathon (Harper Collins, 2010), Games Indians Play (Penguin 2006), and several other books in Corporate Finance. Raghunathan is also a columnist of long standing, especially with The Economic Times, and has authored over 500 papers and articles. He also blogs for The Times of India  and has held a cartoon column briefly with The Financial Express in the past.[citation needed] A graduate of Panjab University, Chandigarh, Raghunathan obtained his doctorate in finance from Indian Institute of Management, Calcutta.
Raghunathan is a Tamilian, born and brought up in Punjab and Haryana, and spent much of his early schooling in Jammu & Kashmir

Take on the essay :
The conclusion we need to draw from the essay is that we must have a rational, questioning but not skeptical approach to the issue of religion, rituals, God and faith.

Raghunath discusses scientific temper and religion, scientific temper in everyday life, how to develop scientific temper, the convergence of religions, the responsibility of ushering in scientific temper, and proposes a more evolved religion.

In the section 'Marrying Religion with Scientific Temper' the author wonders whether it is possible for religion, based on faith, to be consistent with science, based on reason. Either way, for millennia, humans have turned to religion in times of trouble. It is only in times of stress, fear or insecurity, a constant presence of which, in the form of a struggle for dignity of life and the most basic amenities, that makes a large swathe of our subcontinent hold on to religion, even in its worst manifestations. (In this manner, religion in India plays the same role that psychiatry does in the United States.) The cause and effect of this is that religion has seeped into politics, intensifying the necessity to "marry" science and religion.

The paragraph:
We recognize that, fundamentally, he objective of all religions is to bring out the best in mankind: faith, compassion, empathy, solicitude, patience, non-violence, love, ethics, morality and any other virtue one can think of. If so, it seems most unfortunate that we should perennially be wrangling among ourselves in the name of god! Religions often fail in their objective, it would seem, because they lack scientific temper -
(is very similar to The Concept of God by The Mystical Unicorn )tells us that while the intention (motive, goal, objective etc) of religion was noble, the execution has failed in the achievement of these goals. Raghunathan argues that scientific temper in religion is the missing link.

Raghunathan then notes an observation - religion is concerned about the philosophies of life and seeking the truth about the universe, and science is involved in increasing our knowledge about the universe. He then urges the learned and the religious to have the scientific temper to ask the question - how can religions ignore science?

In the section 'Scientific Temper in Everyday Life' Raghunathan makes four important points:
1. Education and training have to be such that scientific temper extends the rational thought process to as many areas of life as possible, including areas of faith, contradictory as it may sound.
2. Methods of scientific inquiry are not esoteric - they are compatible with common sense and everyday life. Essentially, scientific temper is not difficult.
3. We almost never try to find answers to our everyday problems using scientific temper, because we do not have the scientific temper to approach any of our challenges from a problem-solving perspective. In our fatalism, we accept our situation without questioning.
That is, we need to change our attitudes from "we are like this only" and "jugaad" to actually doing something about the problems we face. The questions he asks in the previous paragraph support this.
4. Lastly, Raghunath reminds us that suppositions are not solutions, conjectures not clarifications, premises not propositions and belief and faiths not absolutes.

Also, he says that scientific temper is more of a necessity than science because as scientific temper develops, science will take care of itself.

The next section, 'How Do We Begin Developing a Scientific Temper' talks about how, predictably, education is the solution.
Raghunath proposes many changes in the education system, legal set-up, corporate world and society that would bring in a change in mindset across the country, beginning with the children.

Listing them down now:


making the methodology of science integral to literacy
encouraging: raising questions in a classroom, using every day science to answer everyday problems
teachers need to teach how to question
teach the science behind magic tricks
teach that everything must be questioned, and nothing accepted without question
teach that there is truth and major deceit in the ancient texts
education must protect women and old people alike, who are routinely subjected to heartrending torture in the name of witch-hunting and exorcism, in the not-so-remote parts of India, as documented routinely in the newspapers
education needs to make a clear distinction between history, religion and mythology
necessity: a scientific temper among the people to accept such scientific methods to reason social issues, which is not possible without adequate education on a scientific temper
important that the educated among us are particularly well aware of this need; including the fourth estate (the media)
"in any modern society, freedom of belief and faith should be paramount. But on a greater plane, shouldn't a true modern society raise the very bar for belief and faith?"
Raghunath then proposes a number of reforms by which education can make religion more academic, choice-based, and devoid of non-scientific mumbo-jumbo
particularly attacks magical thinking
The Convergence of Religions
The absolute and innate truth of religions, if they exist, have not cut across all religions and formed a unifying theology of humanity, leading to a more enlightened way of life encapsulating our contemporary understanding of the universe. The same is not true for science. It cuts across human barriers - it is universally applicable, unchanging, consistent.
There is a need for twenty-first citizens to think beyond narrowly defined beliefs, faiths and practices. Not only do most religions "continue to refuse entry to the true knowledge of the universe into the ambit of their belief system," but religious hate is responsible for most international discord. "Much of [this] has to do with the fact that religions haven't found a common theme to work together for the greater good of humanity by assimilating within them some scientific temper."

The Responsibility of Ushering in Scientific Temper
Science constantly questions its hypotheses, reject the wrong ones and accept the right ones by applying rigorous, objective and reliable scientific methods to its hypotheses. This openness to a questioning of its assumptions and assertions should be emulated in religion to make for a more scientifically tempered society.
"If only we approached our attitudes and mores with scientific temper, we could take direct control of our lives with our own efforts and be masters of our own destinies Instead we take the passive and fatalistic attitude that whatever happens to us is preordained.."

A More Evolved Religion?


Faith conventionally in God but should be in human efforts
may have god-given talents or potential but upto us to make the most of it by taking charge of our lives and assuming responsibility for them
logical reasoning, systematic deduction and continuous learning gleaned from observing the nature of the universe
this universal religion would not resort to a god of the gaps or the belief that the working of god can be seen in all those things that science cannot explain
would not revolve around a hypothetical punishment in the hereafter for transgressions committed in this life - religion and civic life will be interwoven such that behavior that maximises the benefit for mankind would be encouraged through religious and civic education
Nature of the god of the universal religion:abstract, impersonal, serves purpose of meditation aimed at stress reduction
Understanding of followers: meditation is to calm nerves, not a substitute for actual work

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Umpiring! - Moti Nandy

Moti Nandy

(Translated from Bengali by Gopa Majumdar)

The Author:
Moti Nandy was born on July 10, 1931 in Calcutta (now Kolkata). Many of his stories revolve around plots which have something to do with sports and games, such asStriker, Stopper, Nonida Not Out, and, of course,Umpiring.
As much as he bases his stories on sports, he also places the action of the stories in Bengal — the Bengal in which he has grown and flowered, the Bengal he knows. He is a recipient of the Ananda Puraskar and the Sahitya Akademi award (1991).


Summary:
In the annual village cricket match between Bakdeeghi and Atghara a visiting Member of Parliament (MP) is pressed into service to act as the umpire.
We saw here the beginning of a great movement that has continued to the present day; the annual cricket match between Atghara and its neighbouring village, Bakdeeghi.
The Sinhas reigned in Atghara; Bakdeeghi was ruled by the Mukherjees.
However, over the years, the violence in their conflict has abated.Since the Second World War, they have been content to play only a cricket match every year to prove their individual might.
Bakdeeghi has won 13 times so far, and Atghara has 12 victories to their credit.
The game is played in the "home-away" system in the football ground of Bakdeeghi one year and the next in the playground of Atghara.
The crowd includes such personalities as the wife of Bakdeeghi's wicketkeeper, Panchu, and the mother of the gigantic fast bowler of Atghara, Chandi (who also happens to be the local doctor's compounder.
That year the match was being played at Bakdeeghi.
The Maths teacher of the Atghara High School, Buddhadeb Babu, had been acting as umpire for the last three years.
Last year he had upheld Bakdeeghi's appeals for three run-outs and two.
Luckily for us, shortly before the match was to take place, a Member of Parliament happened to visit Atghara.
One of my friends, Nantu Dutta, suggested that we approach the visiting MP, Mr Gopinath Ghosh.
It was hoped that he would be able to take an impartial decision since he was not related to any family of Atghara or Bakdeeghi.
"No problem," said Paramesh-da, not willing to deprive Atghara of the glory of having an MP as their umpire.
Three days later shortly before the match was to begin, we found Mr Ghosh sitting in a chair, engrossed in theWisden.
he asked Paramesh-da shrugged nonchalantly."A member of the parliamentary sub-committee for Company Law, Mr Gopinath Ghosh.
Even Malkhandhi, whose powerful lungs usually scared the birds away, made just one appeal in such soft and respectful tones that Mr Ghosh failed to hear him.
Patu forgot to argue as Mr Ghosh's hand went up, and slowly returned to the pavilion.
"For obstructing the field," replied Gopinath Ghosh and, to everyone's astonishment, proceeded to recite Rule number 40 Mr Ghosh, used to taking decisions, now took a quick one.

The Full Story:
Cricket has always excited the imagination of youngsters in India and this is as true in the rural areas as much as in the metropolitan cities. However, in this story, we have an unusual umpire who impacts the game in a most unexpected manner. In the annual village cricket match between Bakdeeghi and Atghara a visiting Member of Parliament (MP) is pressed into service to act as the umpire. At a critical moment in the game he is called upon to take a crucial decision and he does so, with much authority; his only problem is that he takes a decision (which will not be challenged, even if wrong,) because of his stature and rank, and this leads to an unexpected match result.
There was a time when half the city of Calcutta ran away to villages in Bengal in fear of the Japanese bomb. We, too, went to a place called Atghara. It was about seven miles from Tarakeshwar. We saw here the beginning of a great movement that has continued to the present day; the annual cricket match between Atghara and its neighbouring village, Bakdeeghi.
Bengal, at that time, still had a fewzamindars left. The Sinhas reigned in Atghara; Bakdeeghi was ruled by the Mukherjees. It was said that the feud between the two started the day Lord Cornwallis introduced thezamindari system. However, over the years, the violence in their conflict has abated.Since the Second World War, they have been content to play only a cricket match every year to prove their individual might. It's always held during the Christmas week. The members of the two rival families begin to return to their own villages a week before the match is to be played.
Bakdeeghi has won 13 times so far, and Atghara has 12 victories to their credit. No match has ended in a draw. The game is played in the "home-away" system — in the football ground of Bakdeeghi one year and the next in the playground of Atghara.
The general public in both places has become quite familiar with the rules and methods of the game. People clap after a maiden over, and chuckle appreciatively at every cheeky single. The crowd includes such personalities as the wife of Bakdeeghi's wicketkeeper, Panchu, and the mother of the gigantic fast bowler of Atghara, Chandi (who also happens to be the local doctor's compounder.
Right from the first year, the home team had always provided lunch to their opponents. But this tradition came to a grinding halt about six years ago, after a somewhat unfortunate incident. That year the match was being played at Bakdeeghi. Tragedy struck the players of Atghara half-an-hour after lunch. Instead of fielding, the whole team was seen disappearing one by one behind the bushes that line the playground. This resulied in Atghara's defeat and an immediate introduction of the modern 'Bring-Your-Own-Lunch' system.
According to the local rules of the match, one umpire had to be present from each side. The Maths teacher of the Atghara High School, Buddhadeb Babu, had been acting as umpire for the last three years. But this time he shook his head and said, "No." The reason for his refusal was not difficult to guess. Last year he had upheld Bakdeeghi's appeals for three run-outs and two. LBWs resulting in Atghara's defeat.
For about four months after that, he could not go out anywhere, — not to any public place, not even to the local market, post office or the health centre. Rumour had it that he had received substantial benefits from Bakdeeghi. That the Secretary of the Bakdeeghi High School had offered him the post of the Assistant Headmaster and that Panchu had sent him a tin of pure mustard oil.
Even Paramesh Sinha of the famous Sinha family failed to persuade Buddhadeb Babu, who kept saying, "I have always had a clean chit from my friends and neighbours, even my pupils. And now, look at the price I have had to pay in spite of my honesty. Good God, they say I was bribed!"
Luckily for us, shortly before the match was to take place, a Member of Parliament happened to visit Atghara. One of my friends, Nantu Dutta, suggested that we approach the visiting MP, Mr Gopinath Ghosh. It was hoped that he would be able to take an impartial decision since he was not related to any family of Atghara or Bakdeeghi. Besides, no one in the entire district would dare to question any decision he took.
Gopinath Ghosh accepted our proposal immediately, much to our surprise. "There is just one little thing 1 want to point out," he said, "I have never played cricket in my life and 1 know nothing about its rules and regulations."
"No problem," said Paramesh-da, not willing to deprive Atghara of the glory of having an MP as their umpire. "We still have four days in hand. I will give you a copy of theWisden. You will soon have the rules at your fingertips."
"All you have to do," said Nandu, "is mug them up."
"What is really important," I said, "is personality and you have that in plenty. Why, even ministers are scared to argue with you, aren't they?"
Mr Ghosh smiled slightly and nodded in agreement We returned, much reassured. And Paramesh-da and I went the next day, clutching a copy of theWisden. Paramesh-da told me, "These politicswallahs are all the same. If you offer them a plate of rules and regulations, section by sub-section — there is not a single politician in this world who will not lick it clean!"
A little while later, we were sitting with Mr Ghosh. "Look at Rule Number 35," Paramesh-da said. "A batsman is considered caught out if the fielder holds the ball close to himself. But he is also declared caught out if the ball slips between the pads of the wicketkeeper. Isn't it funny? The two things are not the same, are they?"
"How interesting!" said Mr Ghosh.
Paramesh-da served the second helping. "The fourth sub­section of Rule number 20 says the umpire is not the boundary."
"Thank God. If he was, every batsman would try to hit the umpire! I must say the people who devised these rules must have been quite sensible. Don't worry — I'll have no problem of learning these by heart."
Three days later shortly before the match was to begin, we found Mr Ghosh sitting in a chair, engrossed in theWisden. This was a bit disconcerting.Didn't the man have it all by heart as he had promised? And what would the Bakdeeghi team say if they saw him?
Mr Ghosh beamed as he saw us approach. "Excellent book. I'll start a motion to include it in the Parliament Library," he said.
"Sir," Nantu reminded him, "don't forget your personality."
We heard footsteps behind us. Patu Mukherjee of Bakdeeghi had arrived.
"Who is your umpire?" he asked Paramesh-da shrugged nonchalantly."A member of the parliamentary sub-committee for Company Law, Mr Gopinath Ghosh. Who is yours?"
Patu looked crestfallen. "Ours? The same as always, Harish Karmakar." Harish happened to be the prompter of the Bakdeeghi Dramatic Society. He was well known for the composure with which he said, "Not Out!" even when the ball came straight and hit the stumps.
Bakdeeghi won the toss and allowed us to bat. Gopinath Ghosh was seen walking towards the stumps with slow, measured steps,exuding personality from every pore. Harish followed him, visibly shaken.

A stunned silence prevailed among the players of Bakdeeghi. None of them yelled, no one made invalid appeals. Even Malkhandhi, whose powerful lungs usually scared the birds away, made just one appeal in such soft and respectful tones that Mr Ghosh failed to hear him. The whole atmosphere was so abnormal that even the Atghara batsmen began to feel nervous.
However, the innings finally drew to a close at 112 runs.
Bakdeeghi's opening batsmen made their appearance, and promptly one of them was sent back to the pavilion. This batsman, none other than Patu Mukherjee, had tried to hit a ball that was outside the off-stump. Atghara's wicketkeeper caught the ball and made a strong appeal. Patu forgot to argue as Mr Ghosh's hand went up, and slowly returned to the pavilion.
The score read 0 for 1.
Mr Ghosh rejected two appeals for LBW in the next over. We didn't mind this as his impartiality had been established. The second wicket fell at 40 runs. It was not very difficult to get the next six wickets.
The score stood at 101 for 8. The batsmen at the crease were Atul Mukherjee (height: 6 feet; weight: 94.5 kgs) and Bishtu Mishir (height: 5 feet, 2 inches; weight: the same).
These two settled down quickly, and took Bakdeeghi up to 109. Their supporters began to get noisy as victory seemed within easy reach, with just four runs to win and two wickets in hand.
And then it happened.
At that very moment he swung the bat straight at the ball. A catch went up, very high, from what looked like the middle of the pitch.
Dr Bhuwaneshwar Singhi, the homeopath, the worst but the most enthusiastic fielder of Atghara, was standing between mid- off and cover-point. He ran on to the pitch, palms cupped together, ready to receive the ball as it fell. Just then, Mishirji bellowed to Atul Mukherjee — "Run!" — and proceeded to do so himself, holding the bat up like a burnished sword. Atul followed suit, his bat slung over his right shoulder.
Dr Singhi, of course, could hear the earth rumble as the total weight in the region of 190 kgs hurtled across the pitch. Being mild and polite by nature, he began to step out of the way. But Chandi's yell shot through the air — "Stupid ass, you'll miss the catch!"
The doctor hesitated for only a second and then placed himself once again between the two human steamrollers. They ran straight into him from both sides, just as the ball reached his outstretched hands. A moment later all three were rolling on the ground. However, in all this confusion the doctor had not lost his enthusiasm. He extricated his head somehow and uttered a noise that sounded like, "Howzzat?"
"Out!" said Mr Ghosh, without the slightest hesitation.
The two batsmen picked themselves up, dusted each other and stared at the umpire. The doctor was busy trying to find the pieces of his broken spectacles.
"Out!" said Mr Ghosh again.
"Why?" asked Mishirji, once more holding the bat like a sword.
"For obstructing the field," replied Gopinath Ghosh and, to everyone's astonishment, proceeded to recite Rule number 40
This made no sense to Mishirji who did not understand a word of English. Bewildered he stared at Atul
"Okay," said Atul, who happened to be an MA in English, "if that's what the rule says, that's what it must be. But," he added in a doubtful tone, "who is out?
Silence. The players and the spectators gaped collectively at Mr Ghosh. But Gopinath Ghosh was silent, too. He had
Paramesh-da delivered a very slow ball. Mishirji had probably thought at first of making a sweep to the left. But the ball was so slow that he appeared to get quite confused at the last memorized all the rules of cricket, but the book had not taught him what to do if such a complex situation arose. Both batsmen had collided and fallen on top of a fielder. Who then was responsible for the obstruction?
Mr Ghosh, used to taking decisions, now took a quick one.
"Both," he said gravely, raising two fingers.
Strangely neither batsmen argued. Both left the field quietly. Atghara won by three  runs.
There was a great deal of whispering among the Bakdeeghi supporters, but none came forward to object since no one knew the actual rules in detail.
The epilogue to the story came a week later. Patu Mukherjee stormed into Paramesh-da's room one day, aWisden in his hands.
"I shall sue you!" he cried. "You defeated us simply because your umpire was an MP! Look, read the small print."
Paramesh-da squinted at the portion marked in red ink and read aloud, "Only the striker can be declared out."
"Do you see?" Patu went on. "Only one person can be got rid of. Not both."Paramesh-da opened his mouth to speak but shut it as Patu dropped his bombshell.

"Next time," said Patu, solemnly. "We shall also arrange for some uMPiring

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Pedro Paramo - Juan Rulfo

About the author:
Juan Nepomuceno Carlos Pérez Rulfo Vizcaíno, best known as Juan Rulfo (Spanish: [ˈxwan ˈrulfo] About this sound audio (help·info); 16 May 1917 – 7 January 1986) was a Mexican writer, screenwriter and photographer. He is one of Latin America's esteemed authors and earned reputation on his two literary works, El Llano en llamas (1953), a collection of short stories, and the 1955 novel Pedro Páramo. Fifteen of the seventeen short stories in El Llano en llamas have been translated into English and published as The Burning Plain and Other Stories. This collection includes the popular tale "¡Diles que no me maten!" ("Tell Them Not to Kill Me!").

The Juan Rulfo Foundation which was established by the Rulfo's family after his death holds more than 6,000 negatives of his photographs.

Short outline:
Pedro Páramo is one of the most important Mexican novels of the second half of the twentieth century. In episodes that recall a number of universal myths, and with Mexican characters who recall Odysseus, Telemachus, Oedipus, Electra, and others, Rulfo tells about people searching for identity in love, family origins, and interpersonal relationships.
Juan Preciado is sent by his mother Dolores to find Pedro Páramo, the father he never knew. Páramo abandoned Juan and Dolores before Juan was born. Juan’s half-brother Abundio guides him to Comala, located “at the mouth of Hell,” where ghosts speak from the grave to describe the sinister influence of Pedro Páramo on the town and its inhabitants. Juan dies without discovering his identity, since he never meets his father. Páramo died years before Juan’s arrival, murdered by his son Abundio.
Among the ghostly voices of Comala is that of Susana San Juan, Páramo’s childhood sweetheart and the obsession of his life. When young Susana left Comala in the company of her father, Bartolomé, Páramo waited thirty years for her return. When she reappeared, she was psychologically disturbed by an incestuous relationship forced upon her by Bartolomé. In her delirium, Susana confuses Bartolomé and Páramo with a third man: Florencio. Florencio is Susana’s husband, or perhaps he is a sublimation of the father figure in Susana’s mind. Susana finds happiness and fulfillment in fantasies about her relationship with Florencio. Her madness makes her inaccessible to Páramo. As does Juan, Páramo dies without finding the identity sought, in Páramo’s case, in the love of Susana San Juan.
Rulfo’s novel is presented in two sections. In the first, which has no chronology, the point of view is Juan Preciado’s, who is dead when the novel begins. The second section has an omniscient narrator who gives the history of Comala from Páramo’s childhood to the moment of his death. Thus, the time of the second section is prior to that of the first one.
The fragments of Pedro Páramo are like the shards of a broken mirror. They reflect the characters, their relationships, and their identities. It is up to the reader to reconstruct the mirror in order to discover the truth reflected in it.

Summary:
Pedro Páramo is both a simple and very difficult work to summarize. It follows a labyrinthine structure in which the past is interspersed with the present, sometimes in ways that are not clear until halfway through a section. Much of the responsibility for crafting a chronological narrative falls to the reader. Furthermore, there are several narrators, some first-person and some third-person omniscient. This short summary will present events more or less as they unfold in the novel, though with some synthesis of events for the sake of a more cohesive summary.

The story begins with Juan Preciado narrating a trip he takes to his mother's home village of Comala. She has recently died and asked him to find his father, Pedro Páramo, in the village where she was born. As he approaches, a man on a burro, Abundio, overtakes him and leads him down to the valley. Abundio tells him that he is Pedro's son as well, and that their father has been dead a long time. He introduces Juan to the large expanse of land around Comala, called the Media Luna.

Once in the village, Juan finds it is deserted. He seeks out a woman named doña Eduviges on Abundio's recommendation, and finds her in an old house. She tells him that the voices of the dead can be heard in Comala, and confesses she knew he was coming, as his mother sent a message despite being dead. She tells Juan a bit about his mother's childhood and also that Abundio has been long dead as well. Juan tries to tell her about his aunt whom he grew up with, but she ignores him. Juan hears a horse galloping by, and is told about Miguel Páramo, Pedro's cruel bastard son - yet the only child he recognized - who was killed on a horse ride. His horse rides forever lamenting his owner's passing. She tells him about the night Miguel died, and seems sad about it.


Interspersed with Juan's first hours in Comala is a narrative recounting the childhood of Pedro Páramo. He is young and poor, and he pines for a girl named Susana who had left the village long before. He is reprimanded by his family for dreaming, and they send him to run errands. He later gets a job but shows an independent streak that keeps him from impressing his family. His memories shift to the moment when his father died, and the anger he felt over it.

The narrative shifts to the story of Father Rentería, the parish priest of Comala who hates the Páramo family but nevertheless forgives them their sins because they can pay. He hates himself for having blessed Miguel's corpse at the boy's funeral, since Miguel had raped the priest's niece Ana and killed her father. He is further haunted by memories of having denied Eduviges atonement because she killed herself, a hypocrisy considering he had forgiven Miguel for worse sins.

Back in Juan's present, Eduviges leaves him to sleep, but he is kept awake by howling in his room. Suddenly, Damiana Cisneros, another childhood friend of his mother, arrives and takes him to her house. She tells him the cries he heard were those of Toribio Aldrete, a man Pedro had murdered for refusing to cooperate with his takeover of the Media Luna.

The reader is introduced to adult Pedro, and his attempts to purchase the entire Media Luna. With the help of a supervisor named don Fulgor Sedano, who had also worked for Pedro's father Lucas Páramo, Pedro devises a plan to marry or romance the women to whom his family owes debts in order to avoid paying them back. Their first target is Dolorita Preciado (who will later give birth to Juan). They are able to secure the marriage, and so does Pedro's conquest of the Media Luna begin. His first order of business is the murder of the man whose ghost Juan heard.

In the present, as Damiana walks Juan through town, she explains to him that many spirits haunt Comala, reliving their past lives. After she suddenly disappears from his sight, he overhears several conversations from spirits, most about Pedro. He begins to wonder whether he should leave the village, when a woman taps him on the shoulder and invites him to her home. He accepts, and there he meets the woman's brother, Donis. Donis and his sister are involved in an incestuous relationship, which has particularly scarred the sister. They seem to be alive, and invite him to stay. The next morning, he overhears them wondering whether his presence will damn their house. Donis is out when he awakes, and so the sister explains the extent of her misery living alone in Comala in such an unhealthy relationship.

Donis returns, and he and his sister leave together. Juan sleeps, until woken by an old woman who is taking sheets from under Donis's bed. He spends several days caught between sleep and waking. When he does wake up, he finds Donis's sister lying next to him. She tells him that Donis has left, perhaps forever, and that Juan can now take care of her. He wakes again later feeling stifled from the heat, and escapes out into the town square where, unable to breathe, he dies.


Juan then wakes underground, buried next to a woman named Dorotea. The rest of the novel involves their conversation and the voices they overhear. She challenges his account of his death, and he admits he died not from asphyxiation but from the "murmuring." She tells him to find comfort in the fact that he will be there for a long time, and argues that one should not be overcome with guilt and suffering. Every since Father Rentería once convinced her she would never be forgiven of her sins, she has been happy to live without excessive guilt.

Back in Pedro's day, don Fulgor oversees the success of the Media Luna, but is resentful about Miguel, who runs around without supervision, wreaking havoc on women and the community. Miguel has been accused of several murders, all of which Pedro's employees are expected to hide. Miguel is told about Dorotea, who, when alive, was a simpleton desperate to have a baby, and he recruits her to collect women for him in exchange for pay.

Later, Pedro is woken to find that Miguel has died, having been thrown off his galloping horse as the reader earlier learned from Eduviges. The father feels no sadness but knows he is beginning to pay for his sins. That night, Father Rentería wanders the countryside alone, upset about his weakness in allowing the Páramo family to buy their absolution. The priest recalls how he sought atonement for his own sins from a colleague in Contla, but was denied. Because of his shame over the denial, Father Rentería continues to refuse absolution to the poor of Comala, a hypocrisy that makes him feel even more guilty.

In Juan's present, he hears the voice of Susana San Juan, the girl whom Pedro loved most of all. She talks to herself about her own mother's funeral, which was organized by her nursemaid Justina. Nobody came to her mother's funeral. Dorotea explains to Juan how Susana, after returning in adulthood to Comala, was married quickly to Pedro, even though she was mentally unstable. Pedro was madly in love with her, and when she died, he gave up on life and let Comala and the surrounding countryside (all of which he owned) slowly die off. This is what led to the mass exodus from Comala, and the suffering that has followed many spirits into the afterlife.

In Pedro's day, Susana and her father, Bartolomé San Juan, return to Comala on Pedro's invitation. He had been searching for them for many years, and finally lured them back with the promise of a house. Though Bartolomé accepts the gift, he does not want his daughter involved with Pedro. There is a strong implication that he and Susana are involved in an incestuous relationship. Because of his resistance, Pedro and don Fulgor devise a plan to send Bartolomé to a mine where he can easily be killed.

Both through a voice that Juan hears and through an omniscient narrator, we learn how, following her father's death, Susana retreated into a feverish fantasy world where she revisited memories of her dead husband Florencio, whom she loved deeply. She refuses to accept Father Rentería's forgiveness, and is unaware of how deeply Pedro pines for her, watching her in the midst of feverish dreams each night, wishing he knew what she dreamed of.

Meanwhile, news is brought to Pedro that don Fulgor has been killed by a burgeoning revolution against the landowning class of rural Mexico. Pedro sends for the revolutionary leaders, and also recruits a mercenary named El Tilcuate to infiltrate the movement. When the leaders arrive, they are clearly disorganized and easy to manipulate, and Pedro convinces them to accept money and men from him, amongst whose number will be El Tilcuate.

Pedro's lawer, Gerardo Trujillo, tries to quit his employer's service but is forced to stay when not given a bonus. Pedro has continued to rape young women because he is unwilling to force himself on Susana, but he is terribly sad over her condition. Meanwhile, the revolution continues to grow, and now includes priests including Father Rentería. Pedro convinces El Tilcuate to continue to fight, but to leave him alone.

When Susana finally dies, after refusing again to receive last rites from Father Rentería, Pedro is devastated. When Comala coincidentally holds a fiesta in the days following her death, the grieved and angry Pedro promises to destroy them, which he ultimately does in the way previously explained by Dorotea. Pedro then retreats into an idle, depressive life, where he sits outside his house all day and does nothing.

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Nero's Guests - P. Sainath

The whole documentary / Chapter :
http://cuwholechaps.blogspot.in/2015/04/neros-guests-psainath.html

It can be hard to notice that India has an agrarian crisis. For isn’t this the land of a thousand cuisines, an exporter of grains? Don’t its teas color the milk of hundreds of countries, and wasn’t the hunt for its spices the refrain of history? Evidently, the government and mainstream media did not notice, somehow blinded to the two hundred thousand Indian farmers who committed suicide over the past ten years . But all that changed when Nero’s Guests came along.
Last Thursday, AID (Association for India’s Development) and Nazar – A South Asian Perspective hosted a screening of this documentary as part of the India’s Age of Inequality Series.
Nero’s Guests isn’t just an eye opening film; it glues your eyelids to your forehead with such force that I’m sure many were watching with quite a startled expression on their face. The film draws heavily from the work of P Sainath, a celebrated journalist who helped bring the issue of farmer suicides to the national limelight. Nero, the infamous Roman emperor, drew light for a lavish party by burning alive convicted prisoners and slaves. As Sainath poignantly points out, the true interest in this story isn’t as much in Nero’s actions as his guests’ inaction; these men and women accepted his gracious hospitality and enjoyed their night of revelry without once objecting to his cruelty.

Nero’s Guests is everything you would expect from a documentary of this kind: it is hard hitting; it is serious; it is touching and galvanizing. But its greatest strength lies in how it nails the holy grail of film-making – it is gripping. I cannot recall a single moment of boredom. Deepa Bhatia, the director, is rightfully unobtrusive for the most part, asserting her presence only when necessary. The picture of a man whipping himself for others’ entertainment flits in and out of the narrative in one memorable segment of the film, reinforcing what was happening to the farmers themselves. Frequent quotes from a farmer’s poems also intersperse the movie, bringing a depth of meaning to what was happening in the way that only poetry can.
Every film needs its star, and in P Sainath we have a veritable central character we can get behind. Sainath is a powerful orator, and his words fuel the narrative. His opinions are strong, his speeches carefully crafted for maximum impact, and he is thunderously vociferous in defense of his beliefs (as a poor Finnish man who cast aspersion on the quality of Indian coffee discovered). This, clearly, is a man who has found his calling in life, for what else can motivate someone to trudge through thousands of kilometers in India’s villages to collect statistics?
It’s good to know that he’s not alone. There are others, people who would staunchly turn down compelling invitations from Nero without a second thought; some of them were present that day in the darkened room where Nero’s Guests was screened. They drove forward the question and answer session at the end, pointing out intriguingly similar agricultural maladies in places like Mexico and South America. There was a reasonable turnout for an event of this kind, leading to spirited discussions. Unfortunately, time constraints prevented a few more opinions from being heard.
What I witnessed in that room was not the kind of spectacle that one typically expects from films made in India. But this movie, combined with the discussion that followed, woke thoughts that have laid appeasingly dormant at the back of my mind. And that is exactly why Nero’s Guests is a great documentary. Highly recommended.

About:
The mainstream media today is totally degenerated and corrupted as it does not cover anything that is not “breaking news” or that is not considered “glamorous” enough to catch eye balls. For this obvious reason, Nero’s Guests has been completely ignored by the mainstream media (both print & electronic) and is not given its due space & visibility.
The subject itself is not new to any of us and it has become a part of our daily lives - mere statistics. It is about the severe agrarian crisis that the country is faced with, as a result of which farmers are still committing suicide and as many as 200,000 farmers have already paid a price by giving away their lives, over the last decade or so. It has been written, talked and debated about in certain sections of the press; but the film is extremely thought provoking, highly emotive, heart rending and at times is absolutely shocking and painful.
The angst and frustration of journalist P. Sainath, Rural Affairs Editor of The Hindu (Protagonist and the man behind the film), is highly contagious. His aggressive and emotionally charged narration (supported with well researched facts and data) has been able to drive home the message loud and clear. It not only brings out the absolute failure in handling of the crisis by the respective Center and State Governments (both BJP & Congress) but also their complete apathy & inaction towards the crisis, government after government.
Directed by Deepa Bhatia, a noted Bollywood film editor with heavy commercial titles such as Taare Zameen Par and My name is Khan to her credit, this one comes out as a brilliant body of work in the script, the fluid edits without any frills and fills.
Sainath’s talking straight into the camera between the shots, apparently without any pre-rehearsed lines and caution, immediately connects with the audience through interactive viewing and a strong storyline.
Though would love to but rather not talk about the title of the film that finds its origin in Roman History and Tacitus – I would leave it to Sainath himself for he alone would be able to do full justice explaining the background and the relevance of the title to the subject.
The film is a documentary on ground report, narration of facts and situation in the rural India. It does not talk about any solutions or remedy. Sainath believes there could be more than one way to solve the agrarian crisis but it is the apathy and inaction towards farmers committing suicide that actually brings him to this business.
Finally, it was this below line in Credits that drew my attention:
This documentary has been realised with the support of
The Jan Vrijman Fund
Ministry for Foreign Affairs of Finland
For those in a rush, just to get a glimpse of the documentary, here is the Trailer, courtesy: IDFA.

Conclusion:

Sorry, but Socialism and Socialist Policies can just do this much. A step ahead, Socialist Liberalism is nothing but Crony Capitalism. It can only make the rich even richer and the poor even poorer, thereby increasing the divide, the poverty and the disparity among its citizens. And if this is topped with the corrupt and inefficient governance, we can only thank God for not taking us through a civil war already. There will be many more Nero’s Guests and life will go on.

If this has to change for good, we need to look for serious alternatives – alternatives to change the complete system of governance – to throw away Socialist Policies and embrace Freedom and Liberty.
First of all, the educated common man has to come out of this “I don’t care” attitude, tagged as “Apolitical” and start seriously thinking about connecting with Politics and Governance, as a responsible citizen. This does not necessarily mean everyone needs to jump into active politics, but everyone must be politically aware and actively support a political movement or initiative that could bring about a change to the degenerating Indian Polity which also matches to their personal ideology. There are plenty of such new initiatives trying to make a difference in this space and one has to just look around, identify and connect with.
One such serious movement catching up momentum, the one and only propagating concept of Freedom and Liberty is Freedom Team of India (FTI). Please join FTI as a Freedom Team Member or just become a Freedom Partner to connect with and support FTI on various social networking platforms. There is a lot happening around here and one just needs to “get involved” to feel the excitement

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