<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21799190</id><updated>2011-04-22T09:12:48.730+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Semi-Charmed Life</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://debascl.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21799190/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://debascl.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Debjani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813855810849115553</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://i1.tinypic.com/n1fig3.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>3</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21799190.post-114364719966059993</id><published>2006-03-29T20:21:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-03-30T02:23:43.156+05:30</updated><title type='text'>And Now, You May Kick the Bride</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Most of us skim over an occasional report in a newspaper or hear it mentioned once in a while on TV, but we don't know what really goes on in dowry-related cases. Once in a blue moon, a dowry case is highlighted by the media but what with the skin-deep journalism we are accustommed to, they don't even follow up on the case, let alone get to the crux of the issue. I remember attending seminars on the issue in JMC and hearing girls from our college argue in favour of dowry and make all kinds of excuses for it. Dowry has become an all-pervasive phenomenon, cutting across the north-south, rural-urban and even religious divides.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A close family friend, a single mother raising her son independently, has been fighting a case against torture for over a year now. This was her second marriage and her husband is also a divorcee. Their son is now eight years old. I have managed to obtain a part of the FIR she filed. I am reproducing it here, with her permission, although the names and addresses have been changed :&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Ever since my marriage, my in-laws started pressurising one to bring more and more dowry (though lot was given at the time of the marriage and even after that).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Started ill-treating me by finding faults with my way of eating, talking, walking, dressing, cooking etc. and scolding me and abusing one throughout the day. Humiliating me by asking the servant to hold a mirror in front of me to show me how badly I eat. Reduced my intake of food saying that you have to become very slim and trim to match their son. One small katori of rice in the morning and one roti for dinner. I used to feel very weak as I had already conceived by then and had to do all the household work like cleaning the utensils, mopping and dusting, cooking, cleaning of fans, windows, doors, washing of clothes etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Mother-in-law and sister-in-law used to get their body massaged every night till 2 a.m. I used to do these following things for the mother-in-law - pedicure, manicure, ironing of clothes, going to the market to get vegetables, cleaning the bathrooms etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I was not allowed to use the washing machine and was asked to wash my clothes outside. To even ring up my parents I had to literally beg my mother-in-law to give me permission.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;There was repeated pressure from all of them to leave my job at XYZ. They said that they got their son married so that I could do all household work and no money had to be spent on maids.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I conceived within a year of my marriage but my mother-in-law abused me for becoming pregnant. She never wanted me to give birth to my son and wanted me to abort him. I was tortured mentally and physically everyday by my mother and sister in-law. Even my husband was not cordial to me, he used to say that 'if you please my mother, you will get love from me'. But it was so difficult to please them all for me as they had already decided not to accept me. I toiled day and night to, atleast, see some humane behaviour from them and my health started going down. Everything was kept under lock and key in the kitchen. On asking permission from my mother-in-law, she used to take it out for me to cook. She only allowed me to take 2 rotis to XYZ for lunch when I was pregnant. Stale sabzi was given to me and I was not given milk, juices or any other supplements. Whatever tiffin I took had to be first shown to her and then packed. My husband and sister-in-law were all party to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;In order to avoid the expenses of the delivery they sent me to my parents a few days before my due date. The delivery expenses were borne completely by my parents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;The apathy and callous attitude of my husband and in-laws was evident when they absconded and were not traceable when I was in an advanced labour stage and about to deliver. After delivery when I enquired from my husband's office, I came to know that he had proceeded on a vacation to a hill-station.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;After I came back from my parent's house with my son (within one month of my delivery), ill-treatment towards me increased. My morning duties used to start from 6 a.m. and they made sure that I don't sit even for a single minute. I used to work till 1 a.m. in the night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Even on the first ceremonial function held at my parent's house for my son, they were conspicuous by their absence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;My husband used to chat on the internet behind closed doors till late at night. I enquired about this and he responded with a tight slap telling me to mind my own business.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;All my ornaments were taken by my in-laws on the pretext of safekeeping. My requests for a few of them on various occasions like marriages fell on deaf ears and male excuses like loss of locker keys etc. were given.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;They always kept a vigil on fraternising with the neighbours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I was taken to task and ridiculed on flimsy pretexts. My sister-in-law's in-laws were quoted by my husband saying someone related to my family had tried to breakup her marriage and I was beaten for that. Later on it was revealed that her in-laws never alleged this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;On 5th May, 1998 acting on a grievance aired by my mother-in-law against me to him, my husband beat me in front of my son who watched helplessly. It was after this incident that I was compelled to leave for my parental home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Even our common relatives castigated my in-laws for their behaviour due to which they became more peeved and venomous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;My husband deliberately did not disclose the name of his son's mother at ABC school which clearly shows that he was planning to oust me from his life and household all throughout.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;In April '04 I met with an accident and fractured my ribs. I was hospitalised and bed-ridden for a month but my husband, his mother and sister never cared to even enquire on the phone regarding my plight. Soon after recuperating, I was forced to mop the floor at their house by my mother-in-law despite the doctor's advice to the contrary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I was not allowed to use the phone. Prior permission had to be begged for, for calling. When I brought a phone and paid Rs. 3000 as well as 12 post-dated cheques of Rs. 1800 each, my husband took it from me and is still using it and I am paying the bills. He didn't pay any heed to repeated requests to change the subscription to his name. Now that I am unemployed, I'm not in a position to pay anymore bills for the phone being used by my husband.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;At XYZ police station, the first wife of my husband had also lodged a complaint in September 1991 for ill-treatment and torture which goes to prove that he and his family are in the habit of demonic behaviour.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;This man was supposed to pay her Rs. 10,000 as child support every month. He has not paid up for the past eight months and she recently registered a case against him in order to get the payment. The officer on duty was surprisingly helpful and admitted that he has dealt with thousands of such cases.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She has been grappling with her role as an 'ideal Indian wife' on the one hand and her self respect and dignity on the other. Looking at these cases, one realises that it is not only the husband and in-laws who are at fault but also the women who put up with it simply because it is expected of them. Pressure is applied from all quarters, even from one's own family, to bear this violence, and a culture of silence has become prevalent amongst Indian women. Be it dowry, rape or female foeticide, these are symptoms and not the disease. We need to question the entire order, every aspect of our lives, the whole system which is geared to serve one gender alone. Instead of seeing the gender problem as a separate one, we must realise that this imbalance tints the way we look at life and other issues. Women need to realise that they have the right to control their bodies and destinies, and demand change - from their families, the society and the polity.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21799190-114364719966059993?l=debascl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://debascl.blogspot.com/feeds/114364719966059993/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21799190&amp;postID=114364719966059993' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21799190/posts/default/114364719966059993'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21799190/posts/default/114364719966059993'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://debascl.blogspot.com/2006/03/and-now-you-may-kick-bride.html' title='And Now, You May Kick the Bride'/><author><name>Debjani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813855810849115553</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://i1.tinypic.com/n1fig3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21799190.post-114276819085923134</id><published>2006-03-19T16:54:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-03-20T13:13:44.353+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Food and Patriarchy in India</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3112/2208/1600/stutpuja3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3112/2208/400/stutpuja3.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Up until a few months ago, I refused to venture anywhere near the kitchen. Or do any sort of domestic work for that matter. Those of you who know me are convinced this is because of my legendary laziness, but thats only half true. My intention was to avoid acquiring any sort of domestic skill that could add value in the marriage market. I live in perpetual fear of ending up as a 'working woman' (an offensive term, as a friend recently pointed out, because it doesnt take into consideration domestic work) who works two shifts a day and spends all her free time in the kitchen or doing unpaid household chores.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have grown up watching my mother slave endlessly in the kitchen after a hard day's work at school in order to dish out food for a very demanding Bengali family. Almost a year ago, we at JMC made a documentary on Bengali food as part of a sociology project. We interviewed many families and unearthed interesting facts about the importance and primacy of food in Bengali culture. But thinking back, I believe we ignored a very important dimension- that of food and gender. From who cooks the food to the way it is served and eaten, societal hierarchies and mindsets manifest themselves at every level.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now it is a known fact that the girl child in India suffers from nutritional deficiencies because of discrimination in the distribution of food. Especially in a poor family with limited food, the male child will be given the best of whats available while the girl either eats leftovers low in nutrition or goes hungry. But I wonder whether this psyche is limited only to poor, rural families. I'm not sure its a norm, but even my family, which considers itself fairly progressive, practices it at a certain level. The man of the house (well, and me) is always served freshly cooked rice and vegetables, the best pieces of the chicken or fish while my mom, who actually cooks the food, ends up eating the stuff that no one else would - day old rice, flimsy fish pieces and the like.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No Bengali get-together is complete without a massive feast. Our mothers start planning and preparing the food at least a couple of days in advance. The meal can stretch easily up to 6-7 courses. There is no concept of sitting together and having a meal- the children and men will be served first. During this time, the ladies will make numerous trips to the kitchen, offer more food continuously and keep an eye on the kids. By the time this group finishes, its usually pretty late and the women finally sit down to eat. I found a very interesting description in Jhumpa Lahiri's book, The Namesake, of mealtimes in different cultures. I think its a reflection of our biases, so deeply ingrained that they rear their head in every mundane activity of our daily lives.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Bengali-Indian family, in this case, meeting their son's girlfriend for the first time:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;... " When he returns to the house, the lunch is set out, too rich for the weather. Along with the samosas, there are breaded chicken cutlets, chickpeas with tamarind sauce, lamb biryani, chutney made with tomatoes from the garden. It is a meal he knows it has taken his mother over a day to prepare, and yet the amount of effort embarasses him. The water glasses are already filled, plates and forks and paper napkins set on the dining room table they use only for special occasions, with uncomfortable high-backed chairs and seats upholstered in gold velvet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" Go ahead and start," his mother says, still hovering between the dining room and the kitchen, finishing up the last of the samosas. "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;..." He is overly aware that they are not used to passing things around the table, or to chewing with their mouths fully closed"..."To his relief she eats generously, asking his mother how she made this and that, telling her it's the best Indian food she's ever tasted, accepting his mother's offer to pack them some extra cutlets and samosas for the road."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;..." "It's a pity you can't stay for dinner," his mother says as the meal comes to an end"..."Afterward there is tea, and bowls of payesh made in honour of his birthday."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;The American family, meeting their daughter's boyfriend for the first time:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;" At dinner her father, a tall, good-looking man with luxuriant white hair, Maxine's pale green-gray eyes, thin rectangular glasses perched halfway down his nose. " How do you do. I'm Gerald," he says, nodding, shaking Gogol's hand. Gerald gives him a bunch of cutlery and cloth napkins and asks him to set the table. Gogol does as he is told, aware that he is touching the everyday possessions of a family he barely knows. "You'll sit here, Nikhil." Gerald says, pointing to a chair once the silverware is laid. Gogol takes his place on one side of the table, across from Maxine. Gerald and Lydia are at either end..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;..." Maxine lights a pair of candles. Gerald tops off the wine. Lydia serves the food on broad white plates: a thin piece of steak rolled into a bundle and tied with a string, sitting in a pool of dark sauce, the green beans boiled so that they are still crisp. A bow of small, round, roasted red potatoes is passes around and afterward a salad. They eat appreciatively, commenting on the tenderness of the meat, the freshness of the beans. His own mother would never have served so few dishes to a guest. She would have kept her eyes trained on Maxine's plate, insisting she have seconds and then thirds. The table would have been lined with a row of serving bowls so that people could help themselves. But Lydia pays no attention to Gogol's plate. She makes no announcement indicating that there is more..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;..." The four of them go quickly through two bottles of wine, then move on to a third. The Ratliffs are vociferous at the table, opinionated about things his own parents are indifferent to: movies, exhibits at museums, good restaurants, the design of everyday things..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;..." Gogol is unaccustomed to this sort of talk at mealtimes, to the indulgent ritual of the lingering meal, and the pleasant aftermath of bottles and crumbs and empty glasses that clutter the table. Something tells him that none of this is for his benefit, that this is the way the Ratliffs eat every night. "&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The contrast between the two scenarios is evident so I'll steer clear of a boring analysis. There are of course more obvious examples of discrimination enforced through food in Hindu culture - the denial of onions, garlic, meat and whatnot to widows and, I believe, even fasts observed by women. No matter which section of the society they belong to or what their education, most women I know observe a fast (which can range from not eating or drinking anything to avoiding non-vegetarian or subsisting on fruits), be it on a particular day of the week or during a festival ( dont even get me started on karvachauth, it makes me violent). Everyone has a different explanation for their practice and some emphasise the health aspect but the fact of the the matter is that they are based on what is sanctioned by religion or tradition. Why is it that only women are expected to observe these? I think its just another way of controlling them and making sure they continually reaffirm their belief in the patriarchial order of things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For far too long, the work of invisible women in households in India and around the world has gone unnoticed. When will there be enough awareness in this country for us to demand that domestic work be included in the national income? Women are among the last slaves on earth, working without pay and recognition and being expected to do so because they are, simply, women.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now I'm gonna go cook my delicious chicken Xacuti. And make my dad pay for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21799190-114276819085923134?l=debascl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://debascl.blogspot.com/feeds/114276819085923134/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21799190&amp;postID=114276819085923134' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21799190/posts/default/114276819085923134'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21799190/posts/default/114276819085923134'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://debascl.blogspot.com/2006/03/food-and-patriarchy-in-india.html' title='Food and Patriarchy in India'/><author><name>Debjani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813855810849115553</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://i1.tinypic.com/n1fig3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21799190.post-113880761330525302</id><published>2006-02-01T19:35:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-02-03T01:04:00.193+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Yellow fever!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.tribuneindia.com/2005/20050303/a5.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://www.tribuneindia.com/2005/20050303/a5.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.tribuneindia.com/2005/20050303/a5.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been contemplating starting a blog for as long as I can remember. And I've been putting it off.. well until almost everyone I know started writing.&lt;br /&gt;So here goes...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, for starters, I'm a 19 year old girl from Delhi who has had a very tumultuous life of late. Although it is interesting in parts, I prefer not to go into it.. atleast not now. Thought I'd start off with movie reviews since I've been watching quite a few lately.&lt;br /&gt;Went to watch Rang De Basanti yesterday with my mom (yes, my life is very happening) . As we made our way past old Punjabi aunties and noisy yuppies, I expected, if nothing else, a movie which realistically depicts the youth, their challenges and concerns.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first thing that struck me about the movie was that it would have been more natural and free-flowing had they conversed, atleast in some situations, in English. For example, Soha Ali Khan conversing totally in Hindi with newly-arrived Sue seemed rather forced. Same for the conversations between Karan and his dad. Maybe I'm stretching it a bit here but it would've been more obvious for a top government official and his highly disaffected, westernised son to converse in English. They could've just released two versions of the movie- one for multiplex audiences and another for the 'masses'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I cringed in my seat when they tried to pass off India Habitat Centre as Delhi University. For those of you unfamiliar with Habitat, its an exclusive club set in one of Delhi's more high-profile areas. In a pathetic attempt to disguise this, they placed what were supposed to be loitering students strategically in every frame. No wonder my boyfriend (in Bombay) was so impressed by DU.. they had presented their own warped, glamourised version of it. It would have been far more sensible and realistic to show North Campus. The atmosphere there is definitely worth capturing and that's something they missed out on. Oh well, atleast Sue got her 'hostel room' with basic amenities such as a microwave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again, maybe I'm ignorant but in my 19 years of existence I haven't come across a place in Delhi where people get together to dance around bonfires, get drunk and do graffiti out in the open, from what I gather, possibly in an old fort with a stunning view of the city and surrounded by a jungle. I'm flummoxed by the location of DJ's house... is it on the outskirts of the city? In Punjab? Why does his mother say she rues the day she 'sent him to the city'? Why is there a dhaba in the middle of a jungle? Does anyone have answers to burning questions like how and why they travel from mysterious fort to jungle dhaba to India Gate to Chandni Chowk? Where do they get the time? Maybe they just drove really fast but wouldn't that interfere with standing on the car's bonnet? How is it humanly possible to indulge in such antics and not have an accident on Delhi roads? Does your idea of a fun night out involve displays of patriotism at the Amar Jawan Jyoti? Would you take a slight detour to drop off your friend at Chandni Chowk in the wee hours of the night? More importantly, who owned the car? How can DJ's dhaba-owning family afford his designer bike? Why do they never, ever study? Well I suppose it doesn't really matter as long as the boys had fun, which we're sure of because they waved their hands a lot and laughed asininely throughout the movie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before you start gunning for me let me say that I did find some positive notes in the movie. I liked the fact that they made an attempt to bring the extremist character played by Atul Kulkarni into their fold, spending time together and as a result understanding each other better. The movie is a more or less accurate commentary the state of Indian politics - the corruption of top politicians and government officials, the deployment of state machinery to silence protest against the government, the hypocritical nature of right wing parties and their use of violence. I also think raising the issue of faulty MiG aircrafts was very relevant.&lt;br /&gt;However, what makes me uncomfortable is the equation they make between the past and the present. Throughout their misadventure, the gang thinks of themselves as modern-day revolutionaries fighting against an unjust and oppressive state. A parallel is drawn between the British and the present government. Now, to set the record straight, I do not take a favourable view of Bhagat Singh's tactics against the British. In his case, although, one could argue that there was no other way to make the British understand the urgency of granting us independence. However when you apply that logic in modern India it just shows your ignorance of the ways and means abundant in a democracy to keep a check on those in power. We have a highly respected and relatively unblemished judicial system, for one. Personally, I think it takes more courage to go through the courts rather than murdering someone. Maybe the boys should've paid attention to their books after all.&lt;br /&gt;Not only is the movie morally confused, its just plain stupid in parts. How incredibly short-sighted would they have to be to not realise that the minister would be glorified after his death? Moreover,how will killing a person make any difference, wont an equally corrupt person replace him? Why are they advocating treating the symptom rather than the disease? What is the 'wake up call' they wish to serve to politicians - beware or you'll be gunned down? The director could have done so much more by tackling how corruption has become a norm and we as a society encourage it. Amir could have become the poster-boy of democracy and the unique and wonderful ways in which it functions. How we in India, the youth specifically in this case, can use it to our advantage. Instead, he becomes the proponent of sensationalism and a reminder that Hindi cinema has a long way to go before it becomes even remotely intelligent.&lt;br /&gt;Coming to Amir, why oh why do all these actors (meaning him and Shahrukh mainly) have to play studs in all their movies? I'm so sick of Amir as the coolest, most popular guy in college, Shahrukh as the flamboyant dude who sets everything in everyone's life right, Amir again as the match-winning cricketer cum ace peasant! Why don't they ever play losers? Or normal men even? How do we know it won't sell, has anyone tried it? This is the age of multiplexes and niche audiences and its about time they started experimenting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Parts of Rang De Basanti bore a striking resemblance to 'Amu'. For those of you who haven't seen it, I suggest you do... apart from its theme of the Sikh riots of '84 and a woman rediscovering her past, the movie is brilliant in its depiction of Delhi, its people and composite culture. The characters of Karan and his government official father were almost identical to that of the Stephanian and his dad in Amu. I may be mistaken but I think they used the same house too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As for the acting, Soha Ali Khan was rotten. Wooden. Rotten wood. Watch out for her face after Madhavan proposes to her. I'll treat anyone who can explain what the hell that look is supposed to mean. I quite liked Sue but again, I wish she didn't have to speak in Hindi more than necessary. Amir was pretty good in places.. he manages to look extremely vulnerable and torn in the scene in Sue's apartment after the police attack. Atul Kulkarni was very convincing as the Hindu extremist. Kunal Kapoor and Siddharth were excellent eye-candy as was Madhavan (he's so cute!!). I really liked Om Puri and Kiron Kher in their roles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, the movie was all this and more. Yes, it had incredible cringe-producing moments like the one where Chandrashekhar Azad escapes from the British on a bike with rock music blaring in the background. Amir Khan has to be a stud, even in a film within a film. Speaking of which, where did Sue get the resources to shoot all the special effects in her documentary? Never mind, what I wanted to say was that the film was only crap in retrospect. Well, not entirely, I had a sense of its flaws while watching it but that was somehow obscured by all the high-pitched emotions, the wonderful music and the hot men.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh well, atleast it made me think.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21799190-113880761330525302?l=debascl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://debascl.blogspot.com/feeds/113880761330525302/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21799190&amp;postID=113880761330525302' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21799190/posts/default/113880761330525302'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21799190/posts/default/113880761330525302'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://debascl.blogspot.com/2006/02/yellow-fever.html' title='Yellow fever!'/><author><name>Debjani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813855810849115553</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://i1.tinypic.com/n1fig3.jpg'/></author><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry></feed>
