Looking for the real Hanuman

Preface

Everyone knows the most popular versions of Ramayana that have been high on our mythology diet in India. The whole feud between good versus evil and the thousands of back stories, sub plots, lessons of the moral kind and of course divinity. Yes – we've heard it all. But even as a child, one of the most fascinating characters from this epic I often found myself wondering about was Hanuma (or Hanuman). That brave and fiercely devoted vanara chief who spent most of his adult life passionately serving the exiled Kshatriya prince Rama. With time, Hanuma quickly became a symbol of strength, morality, friendship, devotion, honesty and even a representation of the Almighty. Almost every street in India has a temple honoring him. He even went on to become a huge media darling with everything from a full blown television series to children's animated features to advertisements being dished out under his name. For all intents and purposes, his image with Indian kids (and quite possibly a lot of adults too) is that of a gentle giant, a 'desi' Superman of sorts but without Lois Lane given his bachelor status. All of this we know.

But this piece isn't about the superhuman, the God incarnate, the divine entity in Hanuma. It is actually about that person, that individual, who for whatever karmic purposes was present in that channel of time to be immortalized as one of the many Gods the Hindu pantheon is always dizzy with.

So where do we begin? Let us imagine that if I were to get into a time machine and transport myself back into Tretayuga what would I see that isn't connected to any magic, any miracle, any well edited computer graphic generated spectacle? That is what this piece is all about. An attempt to smear the age old photograph of unbridled and mostly unquestioned devotion with the paint of some reasoning in an attempt to hence arrive at its by product – respect.

Starting Point

I began my research with trying to find out about what the word 'vanara' actually meant. From what I understand the vanaras were a group of forest dwellers (sort of like adivaasis) who lived in the then known region called Kishkindha (roughly present day Karnataka). On further examination I learned that given the description of their physical appearance, they were quite possibly at the final stage of evolution into complete humans. Hence the word 'ape-like humanoid' is used everywhere. What might this mean? Well, they weren't humans yet (conceivably because of their genetic coding being of a different nature, geographical reasons) but weren't mere apes either. They were, for the lack of a better word, ape-people. They could speak, gesture, reason and even emote like normal humans. Sort of like the euhominids (maybe a root word for humanoids?) They were very mischievous, quite aggressive, extremely curious, had a generous appetite for fruits and nuts and were physically well built with an extremely strong presence of mind.

With this image established I ventured further. Tracing Hanuma's birth wasn't too hard. His mother was Anjana and father was the tribal chief Kesari. There are various versions of Hanuma's birth and the most popular one (and the reason he is called 'son of the wind God' or Vaayuputra) was because Shiva's 'essence' began falling to earth during the great churning (Manthan) on seeing the bewitching damsel Mohini. The wind God, apparently, fearing some big catastrophe if Shiva's essence were to hit the ground captured it and later, when the time was right placed it in Anjana's womb. Thus making Hanuma an avatar (reincarnation) of Shiva. The other version is that Anjana and Kesari performed intense prayers to Shiva over a very long period of time and were granted Hanuma as a boon by a pleased Shiva. One more popular version is that when Dasharatha (Rama's father) was performing a grand Putrakarma yagna at Ayodhya to beget children, a part of the payasam (sweet pudding) from that prayer which was to be distributed among his three wives was accidentally picked up by the wind and put into Anjana's lap. She consumed it and Hanuma was born thus making him indirectly Rama's brother and hence also explaining the extreme regard he had for Rama.

All these versions lend themselves unarguably towards the inclusion of supernatural elements of boons, curses and other divine interventions. The simpler, most likelier, version could just be that given the exemplary nature of Hanuma's strength his comparison to both Shiva and Vayu could be nothing more than well placed metaphors. It could be that Hanuma had an absolutely natural birth from Anjana (Kesari being his biological father) but even as a child he was so unbelievably strong and different from other vanaras that the comparisons were inevitable. So basically it was Valmiki's way of peppering the story with ingredients that made for excellent reading.

Flight to Lanka episode

With this shaky backdrop I ventured further. The one incident that begs explanation was when Hanuma reportedly flew to Lanka to try and find out more about the abducted Seeta. In the Valmiki Ramayana there is an entire section dedicated to just how huge he grew in size, how the rocks and stones of the mountain he stood on began shivering and how he soared into the skies, tearing apart the clouds and surging forward amid the delirious cacophony from the other vanaras. On closer inspection it is revealed that he must have taken off from Dhanushkodi at the southern tip of the Indian peninsula and landed in Thalaimannar on the Lankan shores. The distance between the two is roughly about 27- 30 kms. When I zoomed in on this area on Google maps I noticed small islets peppered between these two spots. Now I know these images are from recent times and obviously the sea must have looked quite different 5000 or even 10000 years ago. But is it not possible that these islets were much bigger, more obvious back then and stood out pretty clearly along the sea's horizon? Given that global warming is now being proven as a real happening water levels were bound to rise across the planet and not surprisingly the islets were bound to submerge under water as we now see them. Hypothetically then, knowing Hanuma and the kind of ceaseless energy he is said to have had, is it not conceivable that he traveled from one such islet to another – sometimes jumping, swimming at other times, resting for a bit in places until eventually he managed to reach Lankan shores? It is not mentioned anywhere in Valmiki Ramayan that he took 'x' number of hours to reach Lanka. What is mentioned of course are the various mythical creatures he encountered on the way. Since we are on a mission to try and keep things as non-mythical as possible let us assume for the sake of an argument that these 'creatures' could have been wild animals or other aadivasi tribes in the area who might have lived on these remote islets? And since they understandably saw Hanuma, the vanara stranger, to be a threat they might have attacked him. He, being the strong and confident vanara chief that he was, took on their challenge and killed them without hesitation. This approach also might help in the story of Makaradhwaja who is known as Hanuman's son. The myth version of it is that a drop of Hanuman's sweat/seed fell into the sea which was consumed by a sea creature (perhaps now extinct) making it pregnant. The creature was then caught by Ahiravana's men and when its stomach was split open the part creature part vanara offspring was found who later went on to become one of the main guards for Ahiravana's fort. So was this episode an example of how a euhominid was somehow compatible with whatever species that sea creature was? Lot of interesting possibilities emerge.

So if this indeed were the case then why glorify this effort by Hanuma then? Simple – it was a way to honor his courage and strength in the face of something as unknown and potentially life threatening as going into the kingdom of the lord of three worlds Ravana. It also was a testament to his fiercely growing devotion to Rama in whom Hanuma had begun to see a reflection of the divine. Today we do extraordinary deeds for those we consider friends. Things we ourselves are surprised by when seen in hindsight. So it should be no surprise that Hanuma would have done something similar for someone who he believed was the true image of a good, just and ideal human being. Someone to look up to. Someone to worship selflessly his whole life. Someone worthy of being worshiped.

Flight to the Himalayas to save Lakshmana

The other incident that begs for some insight is when Meghnad, Ravana's son, injures Lakshmana badly in the war. Sushena, the medicine man in the vanara camp, advises that only the Sanjeevani herb (Selaginella bryopteris) can cure Lakshmana's wound. He also adds that the only place this can be found in is the Himalayas all the way in the northern part of the Indian peninsula. Now we can safely assume the war was taking place somewhere in/around northern Sri Lanka. Obviously the distance between there and the Himalayas cannot be covered in a matter of hours. Yet in Valmiki Ramayana Hanuma is said to have become a giant and soared through the skies to Himalaya and back. Also, because he couldn't figure out the right herb he is said to have broken off a chunk of the mountain he was on and brought the entire fragment back. An image that has plastered itself all over the nation for centuries now. Once the medicine had been administered he is said to have taken the mountain back as well. This whole episode takes only a few verses in the 'Yuddha Kanda' of Valmiki Ramayana. So how do we try to put a rationale here? I thought about this for a while and I have two theories of what could've possibly happened if we discount the flying factor.

Theory 1: Hanuma was a siddha. What that means is he was an individual who had gone beyond the 'aham-kara' stage (ego) and attained a higher level of yogic power. His control over the mind has been used in several contexts despite being a vanara who are often portrayed as unruly and easily distracted. In fact it was he who introduced the concept of Pranayama yoga to the world. So if we assume that Hanuma was a top level siddha then mind travel would not have been a very hard thing for him. In fact I am pretty sure that in the tribe that he was, there were very few vanaras (excluding Angad,Sushena, Nala and Neel who were the architects of the group among others) who were as mentally astute and precise as he was. So one possibility is that he used a flying creature (perhaps a variation of the Jatayu bird that could communicate in some form? Humans have always had a way to speak with animals and birds for eons so maybe Rama too knew this lingo and hence was able to get details of Sita's kidnapping?) and trained it to fly to Himalayan region. There is also the chance that the bird did actually bring back the medicine on time and without confusion. But it was still Hanuma's extreme mental prowess that helped in this Herculean process. Hence making the whole episode a grand metaphor for 'Hanuma bringing the medicine from the Himalayas'.

Theory 2: Fine, so there were no birds or such involved. That might still seem much in some ways. Let us examine this alternative then. Hanuma actually did go to the Himalayas himself and bring back the Sanjeevani. But how long did it take him? A week? A month? A year? We know he was a force to reckon with and so he definitely used his sense of direction to lead him. This also explains his alleged fight with the drunken asura kings in the middle of the jungle one night. In fact Valmiki Ramayan also states that it wasn't just Lakshmana who was injured. Rama went down too. Sushena, the great medicine vanara, used a concoction to revive Rama instantly but was unable to bring back Lakshmana. So is it possible that Sushena then went on to preserve Lakshmana in some state of coma as Hanuma took a week, maybe even a month or more, to return with the right medicine? Given Hanuma's unquestionable strength and will power (because he was a siddha) this does not seem impossible. Ravana was in no hurry to the end the war since it wasn't he who had initiated it. So we have no reason to believe he was in a rush to finish things off with Rama. So could there not have been a brief period's pause in the war as Lakshmana struggled for life? Even here Hanuma did actually bring back the medicine albeit not by supernatural skills but yes – via extraordinary mental and physical power – which is almost akin to something supernatural.

Other incidents of shape shifting etc.

There are many such incidents in the Ramayana that narrate Hanuma's ability to reduce and increase his body when needed. This includes incidents where his tail shrunk and grew at will for various events to take place. All of these, when seen without the glasses of mythology, do lend themselves to some sort of reasonable explanation. Being the highly accomplished siddha purusha that he was, using his mental prowess to hypnotize people, create an illusion, appear and disappear like a magician would not have been very hard for him. These incidents, given their complex nature, somehow might have made Valmiki to simply drown the pen in the magical paint of divinity and etch down what was not really false but wasn't a 100% accurate either. A middle path of sorts that oscillated between fact and fiction and to some extent simplified the whole thing.

Inference

The reasons for why Valmiki might have taken this route is pretty clear. Given the effect epics like Ramayana have had on the civilization cannot be undermined. It tells the tale of honor, of being good human beings, of respecting relationships, of loving your family – all ideal values for an ideal society. But the sad consequence has been the over glorification and tragic misinterpretation of these texts. Today we see people cut each other's throats in the name of Rama and Hanuma. They use these epics as a way to terrorize factions that don't agree with their point of view. My take simply would be to honor these epics for the human values they present and not the divine. Yes, Hanuma was an immensely passionate individual who saw the divine in his friend Rama. Who stood by him every step of the way even as Rama made questionable decisions about his wife even after she was rescued. So what? All of us have people in our lives we look up to and try to idolize don't we? Despite their shortcomings? Then why build a temple for Hanuma then? Simply put – to respect him for being committed to all his relationships. To recognize him as being that brave vanara chieftain who weathered good bad and ugly in a bid to win what he was convinced was the war against evil. To symbolize his existence as not just an extremely fit forest dweller who accidentally happened to be connected to one of the biggest epics ever told but for his role as a devoted son, brother, leader and friend.

I do not know how much of all this really happened and quite honestly at the end of the day I don't even think it matters. This blog was an effort to try and explore the human side of a deity who millions worship across the world but may not fully understand why. If in this process I have encouraged you to see a side to Hanuma that goes beyond the glossy high definition color photographs sold in the market for a dime then I shall consider my attempt a worthy one.





Other recommended reading:
In search of Mayasura


Other sources - 3D sketch of Hanuman used from CGTantra.com

The con of man

I have started re-reading Narayan sir’s classic “The Guide”. Despite having read the tale almost half a dozen times, I always find each renewed attempt a fresh encounter. Over dinner, last night, my wife and I were discussing Narayan sir’s life and works and how, in a bizarre twist of fate, Dev Anand and co. ‘misguided’ the novel’s original content in their Hindi adaptation which went on to become Navketan productions’ biggest milestone. As I continued going through the days of a hero with shades of humble villainy (or vice versa?) called Raju today, I was taken back to the time my family and I, back home in India, had visited our community’s matha.

Now, for the uninitiated in the Brahmin ways, a ‘matha’ essentially is a religious establishment which has, as all good ashrams do, a guruji and a very strict code of protocols to adhere to. That these protocols sometimes can be flexible, despite what the house might claim, is another issue. But nevertheless, my thoughts ran back to that day when I was taken there by my parents to submit our respects to the aged guru.

I had never really been to many mathas before. Considering I don’t really think of myself as an extremely religious person, I hadn’t found the need to periodically go to a place where I had to fall at the feet of another man. As ‘Railway Raju’ puts it (I mentioned I am quite into ‘The Guide’ these days didn’t I?) only the Almighty deserves such reverence and no human. If I ever were to add the only exceptions to that thought, it would be a teacher and a mother; the only two extraordinary humans who always give more than they receive. For them, I shall forever bow.

Apart from these exceptions, I don’t see myself intentionally getting down on the ground and saluting the feet of another mortal. But given the fact that respect in India as I know it is more out of fear than anything else, I decided to follow suit and stood in line to accept the holy water from the 90+ year old gentleman who had taken a bath for the 15th time that morning. His conviction to such rigorous rituals, I thought, was truly worth commending even if I still don’t technically understand the scientific concept behind it, if there is one. When mom’s turn came to accept the holy offering she chose to cleanse her hands with what she thought was the first serving of the water. Seeing his ‘gift’ disrespected thus, the aged guru immediately snapped. He mumbled a few words of rage and yelled at my 65+ year old mother for not knowing how to accept offerings of such divinity. He, of course, did go on to give her a second serving, but with a lot of obvious and visible rage and contempt.

As I reflected on the sermons that Raju comes up with in the book, I couldn’t help think back to that day. This was probably why once I reached the ‘age of reason’ (as George Carlin would say) I had decided never to consciously go to any matha and try to please a complete stranger into blessing me with a miracle I probably didn’t deserve in the first place. For one thing, such blessings are meaningless since the swami doesn’t really know who I am. And for another, they usually don’t work. What really bothered me though was how my mother was treated by that ill tempered swami who was more worried about the water than the faith mom was bringing to his presence. This suddenly made the whole thing seem like one giant void. A farce. A namesake. A street play.

I read each day of fake gurus getting caught with either a woman or a wonder of another kind. Yet I see people continue to seek their blessings and sit through their hymns and endless speeches. Up until recently I was convinced it was the gurus who were the real conmen in such scenarios. Those wile cunning creatures who had somehow figured out the right formula to combine worthless philosophy with homebody ingredients to serve up a new dish each day. But now that I think about it, maybe it’s not them after all. It is our faith, as humans and as creatures capable of basic empathy, which is the real con. It is here, that faithful followers have possibly managed to cheat their beliefs into thinking that they are inferior creatures who need the divine light held bright by the enlightened men in saffron robes (and a few dozen BMWs and Mercs parked outside his ashram for divine interventions and such).

I find all of this very confusing. ‘The Guide’ was written back in 1958 by Narayan sir. At such an early age in our land’s post British history we had already been given a brilliant example of how faith can be such a lethal potion if served in the right cups. But I guess even after 52 years we still aren’t done being conned. I do not deny that there are indeed spiritual leaders in India who are doing some excellent work in the societies they live in, but I somehow suspect the ratio of our Nityanandas and Chandra Swamis is definitely an overwhelming majority. Nothing else can explain why in a land of such ‘overwhelming wisdom’, we are still talking about illiteracy and poverty as being our immediate concerns. Maybe our ‘Railway Rajus’ were the only ones who managed to read Narayan sir’s book. If so, then somewhere up in heaven, Narayan sir is shaking his head in great disappointment.

Welcome to Paley Ramayanam!

What does the late American jazz great Annette Hanshaw have to do with one of India’s premiere mythological pillar – Ramayana? The answer to this question is the animated feature I came across called ‘Sita sings the Blues’ by American artist/cartoonist/animator Nina Paley. Had it not been for my curiosity to read a little more about King Ravana just to ensure I knew more than my wife about him, I would have never come across this masterpiece of a creation. So in a way I’d like to thank my love for being that subtle cause. Smiles.

‘Sita sings the Blues’ is an independent animated movie that re-tells the Ramayana using mainly 2D animation and some immensely refreshing screenplay. The premise unfolds in three parallel tracks – one, with an American couple living in San Francisco with the husband getting a project in Trivandrum in India; two, three Indians (yes yes, actual Indians!) voicing three shadow like caricatures bickering and debating about the events that Ramayana is popular for and a third, sort of, platonic/musical track is the animation piece where Sita breaks into one of Hanshaw’s classics every time a relevant situation presents itself. Like ‘Daddy wont you please come home’ when she is abducted by Ravana or ‘Who’s that knockin’ when Rama arrives at Ravana’s door with his 'vaanar-sena' to rescue her. The moments and the way these songs lend themselves to the scenes are absolutely brilliant.

What also becomes obvious is how unassuming and non-philosophical the whole thing is. Even the dialog between the caricatures in Ramayana is so simple and regular, that one can’t help but giggle when the evil Kaikeyi says to Rama on his banishment – ‘Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out!’ Is that not what she really would have felt like saying anyway? This is seriously funny stuff.

What also gets your attention quickly is the absolutely gorgeous artwork. Be it the drawings that are set to a very ‘Rajasthan painting’ like motif or the 2D animated waist wiggle that Sita gets into whenever she thinks of her beloved Rama and voices out classics from Hanshaw’s collection. There is also one brilliant piece just after intermission (and may I add, that was the best intermission I have ever seen in an animated piece!) by Todd Michaelsen called ‘Sita’s Fire’ are plain awesome. The way these various types of art pieces blend into one another with such finesse without taking away from the main plot is an effort that can only be described as – genius.

But then ‘Sita sings the Blues’ is more than just eye catchy drawings, a narrative that holds you in place and a much contemporary way to retell the epic with the most unlikely Jazz legend for the songs! It is about demystifying the way Ramayana has been told for so many centuries in our country. We have Rama as a brave warrior who, despite being a just King and a righteous man, falls short of being the perfect husband and father. In ‘Sita sings…’ not only is he portrayed as extremely human and intensely flawed, but even the ‘God’ factor is finally skinned out which, I thought, was such a refreshing thing to do. For so many decades there have been murders, riots, rapes and looting in India using Rama’s name as the only rationale. It was definitely about time someone gave that a bottom line and presented a much more mature, albeit said in a kindergarten level intellectual sequence, and realistic way to see and use the teachings from this epic. Something that actually helps the American woman in the parallel story track to do once she gets her hands on the Ramayana. What also makes you reflect on your own knowledge of the story is how Ravana, the villain of the piece, is hinted at being the actual good guy in the story! A thought that had never occurred to me. Sure, he abducted Sita against her will but hey, was that not all he had done to wrong Rama? He didn’t touch her person. He didn’t force himself on her in Lanka. Heck, he didn’t even make Herculean attempts to find Rama and finish him off. A thought that throws more light on Ravana’s much ignored and definitely much clichéd personality in our modern history.

I strongly urge everyone to see this beautiful masterpiece of a movie not just to appreciate the artistic value it so boldly embodies but to also understand the subtleties with which it tells us how to get our priorities straight without being preachy.

The only 'drawback', if I really had to pick, would be the slightly feminist seeming climax. Maybe it is just me but again, maybe it was a tongue in cheek ploy at looking at how Hindu mythologies have always worked. I am unsure. But somehow I felt it could have been choreographed in a less assertive manner.

Nevertheless, this now is officially in my ‘all time favorites’ list!

Rating:

Download the DVD for free here! Or watch it on YouTube!

'Firaaq'ing away from coherence

The name Nandita Das immediately brings to mind a dusky beauty with the subtleties of performance and a gentle reminder of the late Smita Patil-like straight forwardness. After her moving portrayal as the new bride caught between an arrogant husband and a caring sister-in-law in Deepa Mehta’s controversial movie ‘Fire’, she has made a variety of interesting choices in her performances. Some of them include well known features like ‘Aks’ with Bachchan Sr. and ‘Rockford’ by Kukunoor. But apart from a few such recognizable titles, Nandita’s choices seem to have been based more on heart than brain. Sure, she always had the choice to ascend the mantle of the much revered Bollywood but she didn’t do that. Instead she relied on her instinct and did what she felt was right for her inner self. An attribute I truly find worth a commendation. Commercial success of a movie doesn’t always mean that it has genuine quality. That said, having seen a few other works of this young woman I can safely say her choices were never influenced by anything more than a script which appealed to her. If not for anything else, it was her understanding of the sensitivity of human emotion that I found most noteworthy.

With this backdrop in mind I watched ‘Firaaq’, her directorial debut. One of the hottest topics that new and experienced film makers have chosen is the Gujarat riots of 2002. Be it Govind Nihalani with ‘Dev’ or Rahul Dholakia with ‘Parzania’. Almost everyone who has ever wanted to make a statement that was humane to the core has chosen that dreadful event as the theme. This is nothing new as communal riots and inter-faith rivalry has been the bread and butter of Bollywood and art house productions alike for almost half a decade. But what makes each attempt stand out is the coherence with which the strands of the story are held together. One has to understand this concept deeply before attempting to stitch together a piece that genuinely makes you feel…well, human. To see what I mean you can see ‘Garam Hawa’ by MS Sathyu any day. This is where ‘Firaaq’ becomes quite abrupt. At a running time of about 100 minutes, ‘Firaaq’ somehow seems like an incomplete fair.

So let us dig in. We have Paresh Rawal, a wife-hitting Gujarati goon with an extremely submissive spouse, Deepti Naval. The horrors of the atrocities meted out against people, especially the Muslims, is a nightmare that continues to haunt Deepti every wake moment. This extends to such lengths that she has to singe herself with oil just to make the hallucinations of riot victims knocking on her door go away. Then we have another couple, Sanjay Suri and Tisca Chopra, who are moving to New Delhi to start a new life after Sanjay’s business was looted in the riots. The fact that Sanjay is a Muslim is a hot potato topic that he is not able to come terms with. Then we have Muneera (Shahana Goswami), a Muslim woman who returns with her husband and child to find that her entire house has been reduced to ashes by the mob. With the aid of her Hindu friend she starts picking up the pieces of her life albeit at the constant risk of brandishing around as a Hindu. Then we have an orphaned kid Mouseen who is told to tell people his name is ‘Mohan’ since being a Hindu apparently is the only way to stay alive. Finally we have an archetype musician Naseeruddin Shah with a realist housekeeper Raghuveer Yadav. Shah lives in his own world of nostalgic stereotypes and is absolutely clueless about what is happening in the world around him. It takes a few minutes of television watching for him to see the depth of hatred that has seeped into the society he seems so proud to be part of.

With such diverse themes running parallel to each other, there was a need for more clarity between the characters about what all this means to them. This is exactly where ‘Firaaq’ runs into incoherent zones. On the one hand Nandita tries very hard to convey the intensity of human emotions by making a bunch of victimized Muslim men plot an absurdly unsuccessful plot to kill a fellow Hindu. On the other hand we have these multiple stories that seem to go nowhere. Yes, we do get it that these people have been affected by the riots one way or the other but then what does it mean for their present and future? Will they ever be able to get redemption for what they did and had to go through? Is there some appropriate closure that can be given to their stories? Should there not be a way to bring about some meaning to the extremely sensitive threads that were strung up to evoke real human emotion? Why start developing a relationship between a character and the audience when a 10 second frame will capture what we should only guess is the ‘closure’? All valid questions but with incomplete answers.

Somehow I have always felt that cinema’s attraction towards human tragedy is quite insatiable. Film makers often choose these themes since the abstraction of portraying something like this seems to come easily. In that mould of abstraction, somewhere the theme starts separating itself from coherence. Ironically, ‘Firaaq’ which means separation, falls into that trap of ending up as another half baked attempt by an unprepared amateur. The slow moving shots and the long pauses without appropriate background scores (which might have been an attempt to capture ‘real human drama’) don’t make it any easier. Performances are quite consistent given that there is no ‘Bollywood’ face involved except for maybe Paresh Rawal and Naseeruddin Shah. Everyone else is a seasoned player in such features and so contributes his/her part quite effectively. The fact that some of the characters mostly speak English, while is real enough, seemed a tad pretentious given the overdose of verbose vocabulary they were fuelled with. I am not entirely sure what demographic audience Nandita had in mind but it seemed to lose points on all scores anyway. Also, the quickly vanishing and hard to read English subtitles when the characters speak very fast Gujrati don’t help the audience either. This is a clear indication that this was a movie made about the masses but for the classes.

I sincerely hope that Nandita’s second venture is much more deeply researched and a lot clearer with its vision and execution than this movie. ‘Firaaq’ ends up being a bizarre concoction of unfinished ideologies and abrupt strands.



..ShaKri..