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Karma Chameleon

When it first became apparent that many people found shlokas and erotica to be a discomfiting mix on wide screens in movie halls, I received a few letters urging me to write Hollywood moguls expressing my disgust against such portrayals of Indian culture. The online village being what it is, I'm sure that several of you received these exhortations as well. Similar chain-mail showed up in the mailbox more recently, as fodder from the Southern Baptists lit cannons of country pride among the brethren. Come to protests in Atlanta, write Clinton and Gore, fly the Hindu flag, and so on and so forth. In both cases, I declined the ranks of opportunism; I don't claim principled objection, instead I refused because my view is quite different. Get real.

First, to the indisputable bits that everyone and his grandmother has been pointing at, even if mostly on grandma's behalf and with some urging by her. Yes, the Baptists did make their much-publicised statements, but hey, this is the same group that urges people to boycott Disney. The last time I looked, the turnstiles at the Mouse Kingdom were turning over nice enough, and the few so-called family values people who stayed away probably wouldn't have gone there in the first place. So let's keep the effect of their jawing in perspective.

Equally, in the other incident the juxtaposing of erotica and the divine was unnecessary, considering that the movie audience was anyway likely to be paying attention to the goings-on. I mean, how many people actually avert their eyes when Hollywood's top stars make nice on the large screen, and with some spice at that? The background, if anything, was a distraction.

But half-witted provocation by fundamentalists isn't exactly US national policy, and unsavory movie-making isn't the same as immoral or illegal, especially in an industry that makes no pretense to any elevated understanding of the universe. It's plain and simple entertainment, sometimes crass. Any day of the week, I'll take the losers behind the camera instead of the cretin who insisted that nude Saraswatis are an exalted art form beyond our simple minds; this one should be fun on their plates. The hard truth, folks, is that it is not against the law to be insensitive, or even disgusting. So a few people had their feathers ruffled. Big deal.

And who are these guardians of Indian pride, anyway? Maharishis with penance on their mind? Hardly. For the most part, the liberated desis around this part of the planet can't tell a shloka from one of Leno's monologues; I can relate to that. As for insensitivity and callous disregard for others' sentiments, why, Indian society is the very embodiment of such bigotry and oppression, and even the protesting legions are mostly drawn from its privileged quarters. So let's put the pontificating aside.

God knows we don't need pseudo-sadhus to wage war on the entertainment industry in our name. Those parishad types neither understand the average Indian in this country nor truly speak in her voice. To them, you're just a voice-bank.

And not a very consistent one at that. Desi liberalism bites conservative dust on foreign shores all the time. Shiv Sainiks peddling proper or Hindu cultural standards are vile scum, these guidelines aver. In that other version of the play, liberated desis can balance their anatomy and accomplishments with equal poise quite well, without intrusive Hinduism to provide flashlights of moralism. And yet, by the time the second act rolls around across the seven seas, the chameleons are now donned in costumes of desi virtue that would be unrecognizable even in India, feigning such maligned dignity at the half-literate ramblings of other bigots.

The bottom line is that we are celebrating the anti-establishment as never before. Prim and propah is out the window, and flies on rocket fuel. If it's not worth a second look, it wasn't worth the first one anyway. Careers in oomph-dom are rewarded with comfort, and even prestige, ask Warren Beatty, he's running for President! Or the sundry movie-screen bimbos routinely contesting every Indian election that comes along.

Nor is any of the highly publicized stuff such a deviance from the mundane. The coffee shop across from my office has a little sign on a paper cup that reminds me that tips are good for karma. The Hare Krishnas on the street are peddling their own brand of spiritual wine, usually right next to the blood-of-Christ people. The Dalai Lama is busy making videos to spread the message of peace and love, mostly to heads of state who understand neither of those lofty ideals. And regular Joe, or Ram, is for the most part flipping through the home subscription to Fortune and the newsstand-copy of Penthouse. This isn't the fantastic vision of the world that visited you on the night of your third birthday, when the fireman and the nurse saved the whole planet in three seconds. Instead, it's reality.

So the anti-establishment jig gave you a little poke in the ribs? You'll live. The edge is a cool place to be, but it's mostly also a sharp place to be, and it does shave a few hairs off your high brows. And if some of the din on main street isn't quite music to our ears, maybe it's time to stop listening. Fund NPR instead, or the local civil liberties union. The celebration of personal opinion is all around us; if we embrace it we must tolerate the little pokes it gives us. Do you think Guiliani should shut the Brooklyn museum down simply because he doesn't like its obscene portrayals in the name of art? Did you protest that? Or is it the particular proximity of the karmic rhythms to our own identity that raises this dust?

Karma is cool, salvation is not. It's the message of our times. For the most part, we've decided that this is just fine, and the individuality that flows from such nose-thumbing is the gold of this era. If the odd step is out of place in these shifting sands, we are hardly the ones to draw attention to it. Why kid ourselves that the noisy generation embracing tailor-made ISKCON and veggie images of Bharat are the sole bastions of Indian cultural expression?

Modern Indian society -- that's us, you and me -- hasn't so much looked away from its traditional moorings as it has given them a good kick in the rear end. To now say that someone else is washing our linen in the sewers may be par for the political course, but little else. This isn't Hindu-bashing either; to see that, keep your ears primed for the last line from the latest Bond flick. The average movie mogul's idea of humour doesn't trample particular religious sentiments in the least, it merely transcends decency. That's Hollywood.

That's not to say there is no room for protest. Personal outrage and dignified revulsion are very welcome on this stage, indeed. But the mass hysteria that exhorts every other brown-skinned inhabitant of the planet in the name of culture is little more than a political charade. If we stopped to ask ourselves how widely shared -- and upheld -- this culture is, we might decide to move on past such urging, and leave those with genuine horror at such statements and movie-making to their expressions of disgust.

For the remaining 99% of us, I daresay that what we profess not to like will be on the big screen next and forever. Some folks will make a big noise to draw attention to it, and momentarily convince us that we paragons of tradition and civility must rise in protest against the onslaught of the vile media and its corporate dragon-heads. Enough already! Turn the page, friend, there's a sexy picture of Nicole Kidman on the other side, you won't want to miss that.

Ashwin Mahesh

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