The original sacred games
Gods don’t know anything about faith. And they don’t have a say in religion either. We, the lesser mortals, dictate the terms here. We pray with our bowing heads and folded hands but without us, there are no gods to please. These principles vary drastically when we turn the conversation to cinema. In cinema, there are gods but there is no religion, which makes our role weaker although we are the ones who pay for the tickets. But then, this is also why cinema has only grown with time, through various technical transitions. For instance, while interviewing Jon Landau, producer of mammoths like Titanic and Avatar, I asked him about the “threat” posed to cinema with the advent of motion capture. He calmly replied that there’d be no cinema without human touch, effectively dismissing the dangers of letting technology overwhelm humanness. In the same vein, a few days ago, one of the gods of cinema, Martin Scorsese showed apprehensions about “corporate offerings” — Marvel movies, no spoilers — annihilating “real cinema” at the box-office. His comments may sound harsh at first but he is not alone in this squad. Acclaimed directors like Alejandro González Iñárritu have also shared their disgust with the rise of mechanization of cinema. Their concerns are genuine: they care about their art. However, being gods without a religion, they don’t understand the dynamics of change. With time, public taste goes through a lot of tweaks and we are the ones who decide who is going to stay on the screen. On the other hand of the spectrum, very few remain untouched by the gust of evolution. Amongst the popular actors, Leonardo DiCaprio is an exception for never being part of a franchise, superhero series or otherwise. Maybe he should share his thoughts on Marvel movies now.
Legends aren’t always remembered. Some walk the earth and are quickly forgotten. One such character was Jabanna from our village. He led his life his way, not feeling the need to explain himself. With little tolerance for gossip and small talk, this old man mostly stayed silent using his eyebrows to convey most of what others would employ their tongues for. On the physical front, he appeared like a raisin version of a human — constantly shrinking. On the mental front, you can’t beat him: he always had the last word. Just a few days before he passed away, he randomly told my amma that he is visiting home for dinner. Why? “It’s better to dine together when we have the chance,” was his profound response. All his life, he stayed faithful to only one reality though: alcohol. They say he drank almost every single day of his adult life. Dry days didn’t apply to him. My memory of him is a short, lanky figure walking with his shirt and kachha (desi underwear) on in one direction: towards the nondescript village wine shop. Once a youngster jibed him about why doesn’t he wear mundu/veshti (long skirt-ish male garment). To which he retorted, “Why? Is it your wedding today?”
Fear deserves no boundary and fearmongering knows no censor. We must validate this notion because we are effectively living in the Fear Age. Understandably so because it’s much easier to cast aspersions than spread aspirations. In this environment, gloom takes precedence, with the air we can’t breathe, the food we can’t eat and the water even plants shouldn’t drink. Granted we are supposed to accept the decline of democracy. Even a so-called vanguard of democracy, USA, is apparently decayed by merely one term of Trumpism. If true, how precisely strong were the institutions in the first place? A similar tone of foreboding is copy-pasted to Indian socio-political landscape. Going by the slush of cynicism in the air, one is forced to imagine the end of constitution in a country as diverse as ours. Which drags us to the second question of this paragraph: were we really a democracy if one power-obsessed government tries to hollow out the system? Maybe we want to be negative because it keeps us relevant in the circle. Beginning can take ages but ending takes few impactful moments. Deep inside, we are fully aware of what’s going on. Yet, we nod when they tell us the world is ending — the tragedy isn’t in the end but in the fact that it’s not ending at all — just because things are changing faster than we were ever prepared for.
Competition has a proven track record of pushing our species towards growing as an individual as well as a society. While competing (fairly), we reach new heights of perfection. Without any challenge, we grow atrophic and assume superiority (unfairly). As of today, there is little difference between business and sports. During the bad ol’ days of amateurs, sports aimed for something beyond the mundane; when sportspersons couldn’t sustain a flourishing lifestyle out of being dedicated to their sports. Not anymore. Today, we have capitalism seeped into the smallest of arteries of entertainment — fictional as well as non-fictional — and more often than not, sports personalities reap monetary benefits like never before. The key is to stay competitive. If XYZ scored five goals, MNO’s aim would be to tap in seven. Winning alone isn’t everything. Winning by a comfortable margin matters. We are witnessing the most advanced state of competition in almost all spectrum and we should be glad to see this happen before the humanoids take over.
Speaking of competition, it’s worth ennobling religion for what it is, instead of degrading it for what it isn’t. In the 21st century, there are only two religions who are really fighting it out for dominance and going by the current score, Islam is the clear winner. Christianity dominated for centuries before losing its papal grip. Islam, on the other hand, has been conducting a steady job of spreading far and wide. According to Spectator Index, Christianity was the most followed religion in 1910 (34.8%) while Islam was a distant second at 12.6%. In 2010, Christianity maintained its numero uno position but dropped to 32.8% of the global population. In the same year, Islam remained at #2 but grossed 22.5%. That’s almost double of a leap within a century. As of 2019, it is the fastest growing religion and it’s only a matter of a few decades, projected to be 2045, that it will be at #1. In this two-horse race, the other religions, big or small, are barely aiming to maintain the status quo. With ancient faiths like Zoroastrianism and Taoism fast losing their base identity, polytheistic systems are bound to reckon the shortcomings of not being an organized religion. The only reason Buddhism enjoys acceptance in Asian countries — including Japan, where modern values are in sync with the old ones — is because there are still elements of organization in it. In comparison, Hinduism don’t enjoy this facet. In fact, the very essence of Hinduism stands against the concept of being organized. Imagine the longest surviving religion as feathers from a pillow who were never inside a pillow — because they were meant to be free. Holding them together is an impossible as well as a counter-intuitive mission. The major religions will strengthen in numbers thanks to their target-driven exercises but in the long run, the feathers will float. And all attempts to pillow them will work against its true essence. Being unorganized is the key reason of Hinduism’s survival through the travails of history. Besides, Hinduism competing with Islam or Christianity is a lot like Messi competing with Federer or LeBron. They don’t belong to the same sport.
I have a tattoo on my shoulder which says “Nihilo sanctum este?” — meaning “Is there anything sacred?” My answer to this question is, yes. There are indeed quite some things, though very few, that can be considered sacred. Mother’s love is one of them. Sudden rainfall following a smoggy afternoon comes a close second. Then there is silence during a chess game along with a dog licking your face for no food in return. And it’d be correct to suggest that Coke Studio (Pakistan) is sacred too.
As a kid, I was fond of southpaws. In fact, my favourite bowlers were Chaminda Vaas and Wasim Akram. In fact, at the age of 11, I started bowling (medium pace) with my left arm. To this day, I use my left hand to throw. My infatuation with left-handedness commenced with my dad, actually. He was born a leftie but was forced to write with his right hand at school as it was considered impure. Anyway, I loved watching him shave with his left hand and one of my favourite activities—this is what happens when there is no TV — back then was to look in the mirror and see the reversal of hands: right-handed folks using their left hands for work. Anyway, I grew up with a strange affinity for southpaws. If you were a left-handed person, I instantly liked you. Of course, with the passage of years, this madness died out.
[post death scene]
God: “How often did you remember me?”
Me: “I remembered my mother everyday.”
Mother: “He is lying.”
God: “Bazinga!”
I am a storyteller. Give me two pairs of ears and I will mesmerize you with tales of mirth, love, hatred, deceit, endeavour, spirit, decline, lessons from history, learnings from myths, etc. etc. In fact, it’s an irony how I consider myself a wannabe writer and a lousy speaker but when it comes to storytelling, I’d prefer talking in spite of my questionable pronunciations. The problem is people aren’t interested in stories anymore. When was the last time you heard anybody mention words like fable, parable or allegory? They want quick buzz, with minimal investment of time and space. Which is very sad because each one of us is breathing version of a story. We are colliding into each other’s stories and creating newer stories daily. In the simpler days, our grandmothers assembled kids to share short episodes of the most bizarre worlds, a world where animals spoke to each other and horses could fly. But in the post-truth modern times, we would rather consume such versions on the big screen instead of reading or listening to others express them in words. Which practically leaves the mantle of stories to people with old souls. In other words, the boring lot. Like me.
I’ve been receiving feedback from my tiny group of readers that they don’t like me ending my paragraphs abruptly; they want me to write longer than I am doing currently. A sound accusation but for which I don’t really have a remedy for. The concept of my blog posts is rooted in randomness and non-linear thought frame. When I pick a topic to scribble about, I don’t care much about the punch or conclusion. Those aren’t my headaches. My battle is to confront myself on where I stand with a given debate or issue. And by the end of the paragraph, I don’t even trouble myself for answers. That, again, is not my responsibility. My pursuit begins and ends with prodding an idea. Besides, if I don’t kegel my paragraphs, will there be any public excitement left for the day when I FINALLY publish my book?
