Classics Once More: Subarnarekha

In the early 1980s, when I was studying in the Uni, we used to go gaga about films made by three Bengali directors: Satyajit Ray, Mrinal Sen and Ritwik Ghatak. Satyajit was elite, and like his tall physique and rich baritone much different from an average Bengali, his films used to come as if with a Post-it tag: No criticism please. Much like the films of Fellini, Goddard or Antonioni. Mrinal Sen used to attract for his left leanings (I was an active member of SFI at that time), and Ghatak mesmerized us for his bohemian life, and the use of unusual imageries in his films. That was the time when we were starry eyed, and used to strive to find out newer ways and superlatives to describe these films.

Today, when revisited, most of Satyajit Ray’s films appear to be living room drama, shots predictable and clichéd, sets a tad artificial. Mrinal Sen’s political films (that means nearly 90 per cent of his films) feel like Russian propaganda movies and are extremely boring. Ritwik’s films, on the other hand, appear still meaningful, dialogues potent, and imageries fresh and startling.

Subarnarekha impressed me again. The storyline is complex, but predictable, and Ghatak has thrown in too many coincidences into two hours of celluloid. Ishwar (Abhi Bhattacharjee), an educated unemployed takes break from the fights for their colony, and goes to Chhatimpur on Subarnarekha river, after a college friend offers him a job as cashier in his iron foundry. Ishwar takes with him his kid sister Sita (Madhabi Mukherjee) and an orphan Abhiram (Satindra Bhattacharya). Sita and Abhiram fall in love while playing at the riverbanks and singing songs in the forest, and elope as Ishwar makes arrangements for her marriage. Abhiram sees her estranged, low-caste mother die on the platform, and in Calcutta struggles to make ends meet. A child is born but Abhiram dies in an accident. Meanwhile, Ishwar takes to drinking. One day drunk and without vision (the specs break while drinking), Ishwar visits Sita’s house in search of further pleasures. Sita commits suicide. Two years later, Iswar is released as it is proved that it was suicide rather than murder. At the end, he takes Sita’s child to Chhatimpur, promising him a new house.

‘Finding a new house’ has been the refrain of the movie—in the beginning we see the refugees trying to find a foothold, Sita comes with her brother to Chhatimpur in search of a new house, Abhiram searches his roots all his life, and the film ends with Sita’s son looking forward to a new house. But what I missed 25 years ago was the connection of this refrain with the title Subarnarekha.

Subarnarekha is the name of a river, and rivers cross unknown terrain on their way to find their ultimate home, the sea. While in spate, rivers wash away people’s abodes, pushing them to search for new dwellings; they also create new lands to help people settle. The name Subarnarekha (meaning golden thread or golden line) also denotes hope and prosperity that people look forward to in settled life.

The re-view of the film also made me think about Ritwik’s use of locale and imageries. Satyajit Roy used to be very fussy about the location of his films, and used to take a lot of time in searching them out. I remember an interesting story he once told. The shooting of Jalsaghar (The Music Room) was getting delayed as Satyajit was not being able to find out an old, dilapidated palace that would be appropriate for depicting the decadence in the movie. Finally, he found a huge mansion at Murshidabad, a little away from the river Ganges. Satyajit wrote to Tarashankar Bandyopadhyay (the writer of the story) about the house, requesting him to visit the palace once. Tarashankar wrote back, “But that is the palace on which my story is based on!”

However, Satyajit hardly strayed from his scripts, and avoided using new imageries and elements even if he found one in the location. That might be of the reasons of his films being so smooth, well-strung, and no-frills affair. Ritwik, befitting his Bohemian lifestyle, used the location to the hilt, and never thought twice before putting into new imageries and elements found in situ. Even if that needed making drastic changes in the script. And that gave a new dimension to his films.

While shooting Subarnarekha, Ritwik spent a lot of footage on the deserted World war II aerodrome that he found at the location. The abandoned airstrip became an integral part of Sita’s transition to womanhood, her affair with Abhiram, and her coming to terms with the dark side of life (facing a beggar dressed as Goddess Kali). In fact, the last imagery became the most talked about scene in the film. (In a recent film Sarisrip, Nabyendu Chattopadhyay also used the beggar dressing up as Kali incident, but the scene failed to give the goosebumps that Ghatak’s film gave.)

The narration of Subarnarekha has been too doctored at places: incidents fall into place like they never do in real life, and most characters talk in theatrical mode. In fact, that is why like most of Ghatak's films, Subarnarekha was totally rejected by the public. But I feel Subarnarekha is a classic and as an important landmark in the history of Indian Cinema. I would see the film again because the poignant passions that the characters portrayed, the exquisite imageries that Ghatak used, and as Sita in many occasions looks like my fiancé.

Director: Ritwik Ghatak. 1965. Black and White

Horizontal Slums, Vertical Slums

Deepa has come back from the Switzerland. Last week, I and Aditi went with her to check out her brother’s flat at Gurgaon. Bought for Rs 80 lakh, the flat has been lying vacant for nearly six months. As Deepa’s bro claims that his fridge always remains stocked with good eatables, we looked forward to an enjoyable day-out.

The flat was on the 12th floor, and a swanky lift took us to it in seconds. Deepa turned the key, opened the door and walked in; Aditi and I both stepped back hit by a punch of stinking smell. It’s not the humid odour of a long-locked house, but the stink of something rotting inside. We decided to probe.

As we crossed the drawing room and opened the door of the first bedroom (it had three bedrooms), we saw water—a sea of water on the floor. The carpet was wet, furniture were standing on inch-deep water. Ditto with the next bedroom. By then we could hear the sound of water falling in the bathroom. The bathroom was small: it had a small basin, a commode and a bathtub from which water was spilling all over. I tiptoed to the bathtub over a slippery floor and tried to close the tap. But the flow wouldn’t stop. We understood that somebody had left the faulty tap open while there was no water in the tank. Perhaps that was the time when Deepa’s brother took possession of the flat. Later when water came to the overhead tank, the tub filled up.

We also realised that there was no drain in the bathroom. The tub, commode and the basin had their own outlet pipes, but the water spilling on the floor flooded the entire flat, day after day, month after month. Much like the sewage in the slums, that flows away into all directions, but not underground. Meanwhile, Aditi (after all, she has a Masters in Physics) found out a small local Sintex tank perched near the ceiling, from which water was coming to the bathtub, the toilet and the basin. I had to stand on the toilet seat to close the inlet valve of the tank. The flow stopped.

Mopping up the water was left to Deepa (after all, it’s her bro’s flat), and Aditi and I set out to find out the source of the stink, that refused to go away even after opening all the windows.

The smell grew stronger as we approached the kitchen. The spacious kitchen was neat and clean, with black marble top, rectangular chimney, waste-chute, and a wide window overlooking a slum nearby. Then we turned to the huge three-door fridge built into wall. And as I swung open the deep freezer, the mystery was solved. The fridge wasn’t working, and all stocked provisions—sausages, salami, beef steaks--have got rotten. But why wasn’t the fridge working, when the electricity was there. I saw a small locally made stabilizer lying beside the fridge, and gave it a nudge. It started and went off again. So, it needs a support to function. The driver of our car was hastily called. We told him to get rid of the provisions and bring up a brick. The driver refused: he won’t touch meat products and security wouldn’t allow him to carry a brick upstairs. Aditi came out with the idea of putting a thick book under the stabilizer (and it worked), and the provisions were put into a plastic bag.

Then, we helped Deepa finish mopping up the floor, and left the flat craving for a hot cup of tea. The guard informed us that the nearest Coffee shop would be at Iffco Chowk, five kilometres away. We decided to first dump the rotten provisions into the drain near the slum that we saw from the window. We did so and walked to the nearest hut and slumped into the charpoi lying outside the house. Some women and children gathered around us, and we asked, “Is there a tea shop around?”

“Have tea with us,” they said, and started narrating their problems in working in the high-rise flats.

But that’s another story.

Interesting Leave Letters

My friend Rohini Swamy from Bangalore has sent me a collection of interesting leave letters and applications. Let me share.

1. Infosys, Bangalore. An employee applied for leave. It is as follows:
“Since I have to go to my village to sell my land along with my wife, please sanction me one-week leave.”

2. This is from Oracle Bangalore. From an employee who was performing the "mundan" ceremony of his 10 year old son:
"as I want to shave my son's head, please leave me for two days.."

3. Another gem from CDAC. Leave-letter from an employee who was performing his daughter's wedding:
"as I am marrying my daughter, please grant a week's leave.."

4. From H.A.L. Administration Dept:
"As my mother-in-law has expired and I am only one responsible for it, please grant me 10 days leave."

5. Another employee applied for half-day leave. It is as follows:
"Since I've to go to the cremation ground at 10 o-clock and I may not return, please grant me half day casual leave"

6. An incident of a leave letter:
"I am suffering from fever, please declare one day holiday."

7. A leave letter to the headmaster:
"As I am studying in this school I am suffering from headache. I request you to leave me today"

8. Another leave letter written to the headmaster:
"As my headache is paining, please grant me leave for the day."

9. Covering note:
"I am enclosed herewith..."

10. Another one:
"Dear Sir: with reference to the above, please refer to my below..."

11. Actual letter written for application of leave:
"My wife is suffering from sickness and as I am her only husband at home I may be granted leave".

12. Letter writing:
"I am in well here and hope you are also in the same well."

13. A candidate's job application:
"This has reference to your advertisement calling for a ' Typist and an Accountant - Male or Female'... As I am both for the past several years and I can handle both with good experience, I am applying for the post.

Do Cellphones Cause Cancer?

What do brain surgeons know about cellphone safety that the rest of us don’t? New York Times has carried an article on June 3, in which experts have revived the debate over cellphones and cancer. Here is an excerpt from the article:

“Last week, three prominent neurosurgeons told the CNN interviewer Larry King that they did not hold cellphones next to their ears. “I think the safe practice,” said Dr. Keith Black, a surgeon at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles, “is to use an earpiece so you keep the microwave antenna away from your brain.”

Dr. Vini Khurana, an associate professor of neurosurgery at the Australian National University who is an outspoken critic of cellphones, said: “I use it on the speaker-phone mode. I do not hold it to my ear.” And CNN’s chief medical correspondent, Dr. Sanjay Gupta, a neurosurgeon at Emory University Hospital, said that like Dr. Black he used an earpiece.

Along with Senator Edward M. Kennedy’s recent diagnosis of a glioma, a type of tumor that critics have long associated with cellphone use, the doctors’ remarks have helped reignite a long-simmering debate about cellphones and cancer.

Last year, The American Journal of Epidemiology published data from Israel finding a 58 percent higher risk of parotid gland tumors among heavy cellphone users. Also last year, a Swedish analysis of 16 studies in the journal Occupational and Environmental Medicine showed a doubling of risk for acoustic neuroma and glioma after 10 years of heavy cellphone use.
Some doctors say the real concern is not older cellphone users, who began using phones as adults, but children who are beginning to use phones today and face a lifetime of exposure.”

In the Name of Kali

I have received an invitation to revisit Ghatbagar. I had been to this quaint, little village in Uttaranachal in December last to attend a fair dedicated to Goddess Kali. The tour was hectic, but the experience astounding. In fact, it was so shocking that I decided not to visit Ghatbagar again. At least not during the fair.

Nestled in the Kumaon hills, Ghatbagar is about 100 kilometres uphill from Ramnagar, well-known for the Corbett National Park. The narrow, steep road passes through Moulikhel, Marchula and Dodial. At each bend, the snow-capped peaks of Himalaya appear with all their grandeur and beauty. They seem so near that you can almost touch them.

I travelled with an office colleague who hails from Ghatbagar. We spent the night at his sister’s house at Shashikhal, some 20 kilometres away, and reached Ghatbagar in the morning. The Kalinka Devi temple, where the fair takes place every two years, is nine kilometres from there. The fair is famous for animal sacrifice, and attracts more than 50,000 people from surrounding villages. Though the fair starts only in the afternoon, we could already see a serpentine queue of people crossing the Lakhra Ghati river to reach the fair spot on time.

We joined them at 2 pm…crossing the shallow Lakhra river, leaving the Kulandeshwar Shiva temple on the right, rubbing shoulders with people pulling goats, sheep and buffalos on an uphill trek. Finally, as we approached the hill-top temple of the Goddess Kali (Kailnka Mandir, as people from the local Badheri tribe call it), the scene became clear. This was not a fair for merry-making, but one for sacrifice. Those who prayed to Goddess Kali two years ago, and their wish had been fulfilled, have now come back with an animal for sacrifice. The area around the small temple was packed with people, mostly women, and a special puja was going on in a walled, cordoned-off place. This was the Yagna (homage) for the sacrifice of the main sacred buffalo. On a pedestal nearby were kept the local deities and a long mast stood upright with a white flag fluttering on top. Hundreds of goats, sheep and buffalos were either tied to the stumps of trees on the slope, or were grazing in the open. As soon as the sacred buffalo gets sacrificed, the white flag on the mast would be lowered, and that would be the signal for the beginning of the mass slaughter, I was told. Meanwhile, the tension was palpable, and the silence ominous.

The death cry of the sacred buffalo came at around 5 pm, and was immediately drowned with the shout of “Kalinka Devi ki Jai’ (Hail Kalinka Devi) from everyone present there. Long swords came out, and the mass slaughtering began. Very few were professionals, most people were striking the bleeding animals on their neck, back or heads, somehow to kill them. For the sheep and goats, people severed their heads and legs to offer them to the temple, and carried the rest of the torso back home for a ceremonial feast. The buffalos were left dying, their throats slit or heads chopped off. Wild boars and vultures would clean them off over the next few days. The official figure of dead animals was 300 goats and sheep, and 200 buffalos. But according to our count, it was at least five times more than that. And it was all over in just half an hour.

Then, it was time to get back to Ghatbagar. A crimson sun, paler than the blood lying all around, was setting on the horizon. Some people had lighted fire on the river bank to roast the sacrificial meat, and whiffs of smoke were bellowing above the pine trees. The chill was in the air. We would drive down to Delhi next morning.