Leila - Laila. Not Leela. A Review

Leila , the latest Indian series on Netflix, borrows its name and storyline from Prayag Akbar's book. That is his real name right since birth. Pronounced Laila, ( as in the song Laila o Laila , Kaisi main Laila), the show carries the twin theme of a mother willing to do whatever it takes to find her lost daughter, besides a clear political agenda. The mother- daughter show ends up being a side show though.

The storytelling is compelling and keeps you interested.

This is clearly Huma Qureshi's show. Her character isn't the always morally right hero , but has been shown as someone with very human qualities and the faults that come along with that. She is a fine actor and is bold enough to take a role that doesn't carry make-up for most part, a risk not many actresses would take. She plays Shalini Pathak ( the show uses surnames to further its political propaganda quite effectively).  

Shalini Pathak is searching for her daughter Leila, born out of a marriage to a Muslim man. Leila has been taken away from her mother as Hindu-Muslim marriages are not allowed as per laws, that is , laws of the fictional land Aryavat where the story is set. You can possibly get a sense that armchair newspaper oped writers have shifted to writing fiction. Or maybe that was always the case. As it turns out, the author of the book is a former journalist.

The show has been shot in Delhi and Nehru Place and some other areas are identifiable.

Background music is on similar pattern to the one seen/heard in Sacred Games and does appear familiar and misfit at times. Use of silence is quite good though. 

The attention to detail is refreshing and hopefully shows like this will have an effect on the overall production quality in India. Since its a futuristic show, the gadgets , phone etc are like transparent glass slabs with projection capabilities. Even in scenes where the phones are barely noticeable, these consistencies have been maintained.

Certain scenes that exhibit class conflit is really something that should make people think. These scenes are very real, that has played out in front of possibly each one of our homes. If the shows grills in the fear of a pushback among elites and hence make them change,  the show would have done a decent job in its messaging.

Acting is good overall, except some irritating over the top hamming from certain actors speaking Sankritic Hindi. Being able to speak Sankritic Hindi is clearly the art that only the evil have. Unless, of course he has a taste for Faiz Ahmad Faiz. In that case, he is less evil, as the show would have you believe. 

When the book was released, it had received decent publicity ( perks of being born in an influential lineage). In an interview at that time that I had seen,  the author  was asked why he chose the name 'Leila', which can be pronounced both as Leela ( a Hindu name) or Laila( a Muslim name). The author answered that the name doesn't give away the religion and he wanted to play with that ambiguity in the readers mind, something he considered important for absorbing the theme of the book. The series makers have gone for Laila, clearly indicating from what prism they look at the book.(Link)  I haven't read the book, but the series is unambiguous about which community it wants to paint in a negative light ( there is one character for token balancing act, but not many will be fooled). Spoiler alert (select  the whitened text only if you want to read): in one scene, in which 'Paap' of women is read out, one of the 'Paap' is that women was asking for equal property right ( As per Indian laws , only the Hindu and Indian system of religions like Sikhism, Jainism and Buddhism allow equal property rights to women since 2005, In Islam, women share is only half of the man's share, Christian canonical law doesn't allow this equal rights wherever  they are followed in India, but as the saying goes, why let facts get in way of a good propaganda.) 

As a standalone show, it should to be judged on its own and it does good job of raising some valid questions while exaggerating some other ( nobody is blasting off Taj Mahal! Please.). But as a production house, Netflix India wont be able to escape the criticism on selective nature of its creative enquiry for long, if only a particular system is the subject of its critical assessment, while other systems are given a free pass despite being strictly guided by medieval revelations in a model world. 

Things I Taught Myself : One Last Time.

 Aim for a good life.  Enjoy your good times. Celebrate, rejoice , sing,  dance and make merry. but stay grounded, for it wont last forever. Embrace your bad times, fight it out, uplift yourself when down, be an eternal optimist , it wont last forever either. Life is beautiful, have an eye for it. Life is simple, if you keep it that way. There will always be assholes telling you "life is harsh".( I know one). Ignore. Find it for yourself. Never  let anyone tell you that you are not a good human being. Stand up for yourself, even if nobody else will.

I am a believer in absolute self-concept.  In simple terms, it means 99 out of 100 may tell that you are wrong, still you are correct if the 100th happens to be you yourself. That would be arrogance to some, but its ok, it's not arrogance, its neither anything grand or a bold statement. It simply the fundamental fact that you know yourself better than anyone else. In our quest for grandeur, we somehow look to standardize something that is stairingly personal. Good life can mean years of serving, charity and angelic activity. Good life can also mean chicken and beer; everyday, and that too is perfectly fine. ( a friend's philosophy actually, he weighs 93 kilos ). What is important is to have your own idea of an ''ideal life'. If somebody else defines your ideal life, it is anything but ideal.

If reality is gory, live an illusion. If illusion gives you want you want, create one.  Live a lie if you have to, if lie is happier than truth. Believe in God if He is on your side, turn an atheist when He is not.Textbooks will teach you to call a spade a spade, do it only if you have the stomach to be disliked by everyone. Wear your heart on your sleeve, do as you want, say what you want, but then don't seek acceptability. That's the price of independence, of thought and action. Help people out, but don't expect reciprocity, do it for yourself, attach a selfish motive. (I do it to bring good luck for myself  :) ). Claim what is yours and  throw away any pretense of modesty.  Nobody is modest, it's just a veil for people not gusty enough to speak in terms of 'I'.  Be fearless about expressing yourself, you wont be hanged for it.

Your happiness is your responsibility. If someone else makes you happy, you are lucky, if not, it's normal. Please yourself or please others, survive or live a life, take a pick, very few can do both, there will always be a vacuum left, give up or fill it with trash. In happier times, and more so in sadness , stop amidst the din, take a deep breath, and remind yourself , "This too shall pass". 

A Journey through Self

As kids, at some point of time, all of us have written essays on what we want to be. I preferred to write doctor, it fetched easy marks. ( In my Hindi paper in ICSE, I wrote politician , just to be different). At my age,  the question becomes a bit important, simply because it is no more a question for an essay, it is a question  for life. I don't think I ever had an answer, or will ever have one. Life can never be the pursuit of a  profession. It wasn't supposed to be.  Life cannot be settled. Life cannot be about one goal. It needs a drive that is eternally elusive. Wealth, wine, women, fame, glory, or more ambiguously, satisfaction. Men through ages have lusted for these, and never  had enough. This drives life.

 Money is too lowly to be a stated obsession. Fame makes you 'somebody else's ' man, you are no longer yourself. Glory is subjective. Satisfaction is for saints, and they are no longer  born. (Wine and women are side topics , another day maybe :) ). All these drives have an inherent evilness. And yet they appeal. (Verrappan had money,Rakhi Sawant is famous, Sibu Soren is a adivasi icon, and , perhaps, Aasaram Bapu is a satisfied man). An idealist will rejects all these. And he is not wrong in doing so. I strongly believe there is space for idealist in this world ( probably slowly turning into a vacuum). His ideals are his drive, again elusive. All of us compromise, no matter what.

At a personal level, I wander from being an idealist to sanctimonious to self-character assassin. I like to think of myself as incorruptible when it comes to money. My heart cringes when I see little kids serving as workers or begging, but have never done anything about it, apart from asking about their non-existent schooling. And right through, I have had a power fetish, which is not wrong, as I see it. We dont live to plant trees, meditate,  and feed poor; our lives ought to have a materialistic passion.  

In the end, what matters is not what we want, but what we become. There is no authority to decide good and bad, everything is right, if it is right to you. One must have a sense of righteousness, even if flawed, for they dictate who we become. Our quest for what we want to become doesn't have an answer. It lets us know who we are. Its a journey through everything good and bad in us, a discovery of ourselves.

Beyond the Obvious

To a poet, everything in life means something. A dead grass is symbolic to a fallen fighter, after having weathered a war. A green grass is symbolic to a downtrodden class, oppressed under the feet of more powerful, nevertheless showing unbreakable spirit to revive at dawn. To a realist, a grass is a grass, dead or green. A realist sees life,with all it cruelties. A poet sees a beautiful life. I tried to be a poet all my life (to explain crudely, someone who could rhyme short sentences). But somewhere along, the realist in me took over.

 Being a religious illiterate, visits to temple for me was more of an excursion than anything else. I don't know if it pleased God, but it pleased my mother. There was this young guy whom I always saw on Saturdays at the temple. He never went inside, just stared on from where the stairs began. First time I saw him , he looked an average 20 something, probably staring at a pretty face. I too followed his line of sight, only to be disappointed. He was staring at the deity.

On subsequent visits, I couldn't help but notice him. He never went inside. He wasn't accompanying anyone. He didn't come to pray. Didn't look like a beggar either. He looked a man aloof from this world, probably an atheist, in some sort of competition with God. Or perhaps, was in some serious trouble, came for favour or forgiveness , but his ego didn't allow him to bow before anyone else( so what, if it was God himself). Or perhaps, he was a writer and staring at God filled him with positive energy and inspired great creativity. Perhaps I had overstretched my imagination on the last one. Whatever it was , this guy was not normal. Maybe someone betrayed him, he was expecting some payback.

I finally decided to  ask him. I was just hoping  he doesn't break down while narrating his sad story. Yes, his was definitely a sad story. I decided I would keep strong, give him the strength and support he needs. I was prepared to be the dumping box he so needed to relieve himself of sadness, that this cruel world had put him through. I would give him hope, God wanted me to play messiah to him. I needed to ask him. So I gathered all strength and approached him.

I looked him in eye.
 "Ka bhai, roj aise hi.  Kya hua?"
He looked around. I got a sinking feeling he wont answer me. I asked again.
"Batao batao, Kya dekhte rehte ho"?"
"Mauka dekhtein rehtein hain. Jeb kat te hain". ( " I am a pickpocket" )
The world suddenly came crashing down on me.
" Thulla ko bata dein?"
"Aap nahi bataeinge. Pata hai humko"

He slowly smiled and walked away. I never saw him again, not on Saturdays, or any other day. I still find it hard to believe what he said. Was he so disturbed that he committed suicide?  Unlikely. I probably need to take myself off. I hate to listen to it, but something inside tell me, "Dude, it was so obvious".  I was never meant to be a poet.

Life and its reasons are simpler than what it seems. Cheers.


PS : Originally written for http://campusdiaries.com/stories/beyond-obvious . Website by a friend. Do visit.

Growing Up: A Spiritual Suicide

The concept of 'growing up' has always fascinated me. As I apply it to myself; I am constitutionally mature enough to marry(21+), my elder sister still often refers to me as 'baby' and my mother still gives me instructions like ''chalti gadi mei se haanth bahar mat karna''.( Of course, the pompous 'me' thinks very high of myself ).  So how does it happen? We all age. Only few of us grow up. Growing up is a bit of an enigma. We never will know what it exactly is. As I see around, the schema of grown ups scares me. Responsibility  thrusted upon rather than taken up, fake camaraderie for selfish gains, compromises and sacrifices. In a sense, growing up requires one to give up on oneself, life turned into a show to please others. This sort of 'growing up' doesn't appeal, unfortunately practiced by most, the code of civility  excessively formalized.

Societies has rules for themselves. Individuals too ( if not, should have). Often, they might be in conflict, but the societal  rule prevails. Adhering to the societal rules by individuals is seen as more acceptable. The stigma of 'rebel' is a big deterrent.( Here I am talking about the real rebels, not the rockstar 'saada haq' types). When you are young, the rebel tag seems acceptable, as we grow up, somehow, the society gains the upper hand. My teacher in  school once said something that truly affected me ( she said that while defending complains against me) , ''We must accept people with their faults''. Accepting one's own weakness is tough. Our discomfort with our own faults makes us forego rules that we set for ourselves, embracing the rules society sets, so as to appear more acceptable, camouflaging our weakness. This phenomenon is sold to us as 'Growing up' and maturing. It actually is spiritual suicide.

I am a believer in absolute freedom. My idea of life is probably radical, and I have no intention of propagating it, simply because it may not be correct. Yes, at my age ,  I can live it my way, but the very thought of surrendering my philosophy for something more acceptable is scary. I would definitely age, and would want to grow up and mature, but as I want to be, not as the world wants me to be. Perhaps, that would not be possible. In that case, I would rather never grow up, and have my mother give those cute little instructions all my life :).

 Cheers.

Misplaced Joy? Maybe Not!

I was coming off a long break. Coma of sorts; no life , just alive. A bad broken marriage, alcohol addiction, minor health breakdown, long and painful rehabilitation thereafter. Anyways, my bad days are behind me. I am a happy man again,  at least, trying to be. I wanted to escape out to a new place. So I applied at a few places, finally got selected for this job in this backward state small town.
This is the first time I have come to a place so remote. This town is fresh, well off and well equipped. My flat was next to my colleagues'. His wife was very welcoming. She served me breakfast and tea at her flat.
"Aye Ravan jee, suniye...... isko aap apna hi ghar samjhiyee......kuch bhi chahiye hoga, humko boliyegaa, samjhe gaye naa".
She was comforting, laughing along as if she had known me for ages. She was talkative, asked me a lot of questions.
" Aur parivar- mehraaru kab laa rahein hain". She asked. I smiled.
"Nahi hai". I replied
"Arre haan!! ye bataye the ki talaaq ho chuka hai". She said.
That was innocently rude.It got a bit uneasy. She looked sad as she said it. It looked genuine. I soon settled among them. Everyone around called her ''bhabhi". She was such a sweetheart, very nice and caring . I too started calling her "bhabhi". I was settling well in this new town, new life, new house.
Next morning, I left for office early, so couldn't have my breakfast. I punched my attendance, saw around the office, nobody was there. I went out to have my breakfast. A roadside tea stall was very close by. A boy, about 10,  was serving there. I sat there for a few minutes. He came to me.
"Kya loge sahab?"
"Dosa laa do". He went to the other customers. He looked playful, was agile, artificially well-mannered in asking customers. I observed him. He came back to serve me.
"Naam kya hai?". I asked
" Buddhhun".
"School jaate ho?"
"Haan, dopahar mein khaawe laa jaatein hain"
"Ghar mein aur kaun kaun hai?"
"Maa hai. Kuch kaam nahi karti. Deen bhar taari pikar par jaati hai"
"Aur pitaji?"
"Arre oo to nahi hai. khoob daaru pee liya tha uske baad dam chal gaya ghume laa.. wahiniye paneeye mein palat gayaa.". He laughed while saying the last words. It was funny to him. He went on to serve others.
I left the stall feeling hollow. I couldn't understand what it was. I had thought I would try to explain him the importance of going to school. I decided against, he wouldn't understand. Its unfair to expect him to understand, he doesn't know when he will get to eat next, will he even get to eat next,  maybe it was a crime to give him hope, a hope for a better life. Maybe he just didn't want a better life, his own was too good for him, laughing playing around. What sort of man laughs while telling perhaps the most tragic event of his life. Insensitive, insane, irresponsible. Too harsh , he was just a kid. His story was sad, he was poor, it made me feel sorry for him. But he wasn't asking for it, he wasn't using his sad life as an excuse. He was fighting it out.  I felt strange, I just couldn't decide what I felt for him.
As I walked back, I took a glance at him. He was busy, didnt seem to care. Maybe his was indeed a better life. He could laugh through his sorrows, if at all he felt them. I had made myself feel terrible over a broken marriage, which was bad anyway. When comparing his sufferings to mine, I just thought,  was I even suffering? Surely it wasn't worth it. I decided to be happy. For the kid, he was enjoying himself.  For myself, I had a life to live.



PS: This happens to be my 25th post. Took me 3 and a half years. Despite not being naturally gifted as a writer, I am glad I have continued for so long. Some of the best compliments I have received have been from unknown people ( mostly surprised at the disconnection between my age and content). One such is attached below (not the only one though, excuse me for self-patting).

I thank everyone, who has ever had patience to go through my scriblings. I value it. It feels nice. Cheers.

Impracticality of Perfection

When Mahatma Gandhi historically professed to offer the other cheek, I am quite sure he was posturing. No man, by nature, can be so graceful.( honestly, I hardly find any grace in this submission , but my awareness about the stature of the man is restricting me from being any harsher). His words have become textbook lessons, one of the most impractical suggestions ever made(subject of numerous jokes, and rightly so). When Siddharth Gautam renounced the world for greater good, we largely miss the fact that he had been very unfair to , infact betrayed, his wife and child, who were his responsibility. Sure enough,  the world would have managed without another religion.
   When 'learned' men preach, mostly they talk impractical nonsense. 'Love your enemies'. "Don't be tempted, this world is 'maaya'". Really, why blame maaya , an otherwise seductive name for a woman, for all the miseries of the world.( Imagine that daku-type baba on India TV preaching all this). Still it attracts people. Some of these talks attract more people than, say, a Metallica show in India would. Maybe its comes with age. (Still, so uncool). I mean, where is the fun in listening to an old gentlemen, talking about life and what not, in a partial gay-ish tone (I just recalled how Asharamji Bapu  speaks).
The very basic flaw in their preaching is that they teach perfection. Like,  "Forgive your enemies". These are obviously the correct things to do. Ideally this is how it should be. But we dont live in an ideal world. You expect such behavior  from, I dont know, may be Lord Ram, not from lowly humans. But then, even Ram doubted his wife's fidelity. Perfection is elusive. Men are designed to be faulty. God didn't create something that could later challenge their supremacy. Ego, perhaps got to them. Practicing what they teach , at various levels, asks to basically cut your natural instincts. Anger, for instance, is a very raw,  very  honest  expression. It doesn't have any pretence. It cant be curbed. At best, you can hide it. But why hide? It's like making someone who has hurt you feel happy( or not bad) , at your own expense. Its obviously a  more social things to do. But at times, when it's more important how you feel about yourself, than any long term gain, just let it loose.
      What I have advocated is an easier option. If indeed anyone is capable of doing better, that's the way to go. But there is no shame in having flaws. It was always meant to be that way. Perfection is boring. If ever everything right said was practical, there would be no wars, no progress. All desire for attaining perfection, starts from our uneasieness about ourselves, which , as I see, is the first imperfection.