No Child's Play

Rosie Andersen, eight, was due to attend a Cuboree with her fellow scouts at the end of this month. Just like a child who loves to celebrate life would. In an unfortunate turn of events, Rosie perished to a bout of flu, leaving a gaping hole in many a heart.

I was on the train to work when this piece of news flashed on my phone. As a father myself of a three-year old, I am not surprised I was tongue-tied and anguished on reading about Rosie. In a weak emotional reflex I hoped she at least went in peace. How daft of me. There is no peaceful way for a child to go, and there is no platitude comforting enough to offer to its family when this happens, least of all when the cause is something as unlikely as a common cold. Then again, the cause almost loses relevance to the grieving parent who would have known of, but not in the least have been prepared for, the mathematical probability of its happy parenting universe to be shaken thus.

There is a stark difference between ‘knowing’ and ‘understanding’ the pain of losing a child. We know this pain when we read about Rosie, or about the inexplicable tragedy in a hospital of Gorakhpur, India, or more recently the murder of a schoolboy in Gurugram, India. We cluck our tongues in protest, endorse hashtags in solidarity, and by nightfall we slink into the comfort that our children are safe today. It does not matter, then, that the deaths of 61 children in a hospital are politicised, or the murder of the boy in the premises of a reputed school is used to conduct debates on the religious affiliation propounded by the school. If I were to ask a person who has understood this pain first-hand, I am likely to be astonished at the vacuity in these debates.

Surely as parents we are ticking all the right boxes to mitigate any risk towards the well being of our children. We offer them the best nutrition, afford them medical care, admit them to the best educational systems, provide them a wonderfully social environment, and read all the parenting manuals that matter. And we will still be on the edge, forever worrying ourselves sick about a slip through an unseen crack. Which brings me to the rejoinder that a number of us would have heard from our own parents when we were younger:

“When you will have children, you will understand.”

It wasn’t until I became a father that I appreciated the truth in those words. Between my protests and tantrums against various impositions I faced as an adolescent, to the littlest of fusses I make towards my toddler’s daily routine, I dare say I have matured. I couldn’t have seen it then, but I now see my father’s hesitation in sending me to that school picnic because the bus was to make its journey at an odd hour. Or my mother asking me why I no longer shared stories of what transpired that day at school. Or that I must always eat broccoli. (OK, I don’t admit I entirely understand that.) I continue to share a laugh with them about all of these (except the broccoli), but the intent in their actions is not lost on me.

There is tremendous effort, resolve and sacrifice that goes into nurturing a child. In saying that, by no stretch do I suggest that one must wear one’s parenting skills as a badge of honour. It blends into your being — bliss, stress and sleepless nights packaged seamlessly. If you are a parent, you know this already. But more importantly, if you are not, reach out to your parents if you can. Thank them for the good times, for the guidance, for their obsession with your well being. Your stay in that warm cocoon may be temporary, but the reassurance you gain from their obsession stays with you forever.

An Open Letter To Shashank Khaitan

Hello Shashank,

I read you are riding high on the success of Badrinath Ki Dulhaniya. Did I misspell the title of your film?

It does not matter. Your film was far from perfect too, therefore the error seems acceptable.

So, has your film minted an insane number of crores already?

That does not matter either. You will anyway claim that it has.

I only want to take this opportunity to let you know that your supposed entertainer left me with a bad taste like few mainstream, posh-banner-supported films have in as long as I can recall. You started well: your disclaimer told us your team is anti-dowry. You neatly described how the average Indian girl is a liability to her family. Wow, your female lead actually had a career she aspired to; that in itself was a near revolution. Further, you had what an average movie-goer like me looks for in a film: rib tickling comedy, well built up romance, and a stage nicely set for heartbreak.

And then, the morality of your film tanked like the substance in your story, and I will try not to talk about the latter. When your hero was shown pursuing the lady he was hell bent upon marrying, I presumed the story was going to be about how a man who did not understand the difference between proposing and stalking would ultimately be taught a thing or two about respecting a lady’s right to refuse. Therefore, I waited. I waited whilst he badgered her in a crowded bus one scene after she threatened him with molestation charges in a video. I waited whilst he landed in Singapore, abducted her, drove her to a riverbank and lunged at her throat. Even after she challenged him with the task of taking on his father for her sake, after which he instead went ahead and made another sorry mess of himself by picking a fight with a guy on the street (and dragged her to the police station yet again), I waited.

Frankly by this time, a common man who needed a ‘hero’ as a shield to justify his everyday misogyny had got enough handy material for Harassing Women – The Badri Way. It would be foolhardy to imagine this common man would selectively commit the film’s final message to memory where the hero makes a measly attempt to say a thing or two about gender equity. But let us grant you this foolhardiness too. Let us get to the most important point.

What were you thinking, Shashank, when you inserted an absolutely meaningless – but more pertinently – an extremely distasteful scene where the said man was being molested on the streets, a comic instrumental theme playing in the background? What were the other characters in your film thinking when they giggled on arriving at the scene? You made a lame attempt at defending yourself by giving some razzmatazz about your character being stripped of his izzat. If this was important, you would rather have robbed him of his dignity by taking him through the journey of his lady’s dedication towards her dream, which would have granted him some screen time for some much needed self-introspection. Even if a line of argument were to tell me the scene afforded him the realization of a woman’s izzat, I still see you on a sticky wicket: because the comic angle accorded to the sequence only goes to show you know nothing about izzat.

A more believable explanation instead is that you had fallen short of substantial storytelling in the second half. Where the first half had some legitimate scenes and one-liners to crack us up, the latter half was threatening to fall flat on its face. Ergo, desperate measures made way for this horrendous scene, with no links to preceding or following parts of the script. And you thought it would be funny.

Male rape is a reality, Shashank. Educate yourself. Just because it does not call for candlelight vigils, television debates and short films where members of your fraternity stick their heads out to express solidarity, does not mean it is worth any trivialization at your hands. Twenty years ago, scenes showing women being raped and molested were normalized and accepted. Today, such a scene in one of your films will get people to have a go at you, for good reason. I sincerely hope we do not need to wait another twenty years before a certain Badri being molested in a film sparks similar outrage.

I am all for masala entertainment, I really am. But then, I would appreciate such filmmakers not taking a moral high ground in the very film where women are stalked, heroes are violent in their pursuit, and the molestation of a man is considered to provide comic relief. Because when you do so, you are being a do-gooder who is at risk of failing to explain a narrative that tries to shed light on women’s rights without first understanding the meaning of human dignity.

What a pity, really, that this film was sanctioned under the banner of this flamboyant producer who is at every conclave representing New India, whose chat show resonates with the rich and the elite, and who claims he is ready to stand inthe front row to cure an epidemic as grave as rape.