OPEN Magazine 16 June 2014

Beware The PM is WATCHING

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World Cup Special

THE GAME AND THE GLORY BRAZIL 2014: THE BIGGEST CARNIVAL ON EARTH

Open Mail | editor@openmedianetwork.in Editor S Prasannarajan managing Editor PR Ramesh Deputy Editors Aresh Shirali, Ullekh NP art director Madhu Bhaskar Senior Editors Kishore Seram,

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Volume 6 Issue 23 For the week 10—16 June 2014 Total No. of pages 64 + Covers

cover photo FELIPE RAU/picture-alliance/

dpa/AP Images

16 june 2014

Maneck Davar

It is both a tragedy and a travesty that on the 50th death anniversary of India’s first Prime Minister, his legacy is so forgotten that in the article, ‘No Harm, Cry a Little More’ (2 June 2014), the author says that Nehru’s daughter Indira Gandhi was ‘the first one to form an unbreakable emotional covenant with India’.

The first elected Indian leader to form an emotional bond with his countrymen was Jawaharlal ‘Chacha’ Nehru and not his daughter whose self-interest destroyed the democratSocialism may be an ic traditions her father outdated doctrine swore by and practised today, but for a all his life. Nehru should nascent nation, State be judged by the times he intervention in lived in and the honesty infrastructure, industry and integrity of his intentions. Socialism and social programmes may be an outdated was an imperative and a doctrine today, but for a compulsion nascent nation, State intervention in infrastructure, industry and social programmes was an imperative and a compulsion.

Nehru’s concern for the poor and disadvantaged was not cynical. He was a man of impeccable personal honesty; his only source of income in his last days was his royalty from his books. It is unfortunate that this great democrat’s memory has been caused the most harm by his descendants.  letter of the week Needless Controversy

a great and selfless leader, K Kamaraj, without any basic education headed his state of Tamil Nadu and ruled by dint of hard work and honesty.

Congress leaders should remember the classic example of its own leader before raking up a needless controversy over HRD Minister Smriti Irani’s academic qualifications (‘Paper Truths’, 9 June 2014).

Further, when no minimum educational qualification is laid down in our Constitution for a candidate to contest an election, and when it is the prerogative of the Prime Minister to induct anyone in the Cabinet based on merit, ability and organisational

skills, to question the Prime Minister at this stage is ridiculous and goes against the spirit of the Constitution. One wonders why the same leaders have not raised the issue of tickets being given to candidates with criminal backgrounds by their High Command? However, as expertise and experience matter while allocating portfolios to MPs, one cannot be indifferent if less qualified MPs are given vital and important ministries. After all, competence and capability determine success. Let us hope she lives up to the expectations of people and proves her rivals and critics wrong.  Srinivasan Ramaswamy

What All It Takes

we are yet to know whether Modi proves to be a strong helmsman or a ‘me alone’ leader (‘What Kind of Strongman Does India Need?’, 9 June 2014). How strong will he turn out to be in guarding our nation from getting plundered by MNCs? How strong will he be in unearthing black money? How strong will he be in showing Indian big business houses their due place? How strong will he be in putting an end to the gargantuan tax remissions allowed by the UPA to corporates? How strong will he be in addressing price rise and unemployment?

Let us hope and wait.  Chandrasekaran

Rahul Should Step Aside

rahul Gandhi has proved beyond any doubt that he has no connect with the ground realities of the country (‘Give Up or Gear Up’, 2 June 2014).

The Congress party should do a rethink on the fate of the Gandhi family as far as electoral politics is concerned.

The party should bring about organisational changes and promote dynamic and intelligent leaders who have the strength and vision to govern India. There is no dearth of talent in the Congress, but it is not allowed to emerge. It is also in the interest of Rahul Gandhi to step aside and let true leaders rise. If he doesn’t, the Congress will be further mauled at the hands of the electorate; 2019 is not far and Narendra Modi is not here to fail.  JAY

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what’s in a name?

PK Maradona in a motorbike showroom in Malappuram

The Maradona of Malappuram Name game

Kerala’s soccer mania has had sons being named after international football legends

was born in 1987 in God’s own country, a year after Diego Maradona lifted the World Cup with the ‘Hand of God’. His father K Chathukkutty, a vegetable vendor in Malappuram district, could not think of any other name for his newborn.

A 27-year-old now, Maradona works with a private bank. He loves football though he does not play the game.

Argentina remains his favourite team and LionelMessi his favourite player. “Being Maradona, how can I shift my

PK Maradona

16 june 2014

loyalty to any other team?” asks Maradona, who will not miss a single match in the FIFA World Cup. He is proud of his name, but it often gets complicated. He would always be the target of teachers wanting to check homework or throw questions from lessons taught previously. When caught riding a bike without a helmet, the cops would get furious when he would disclose his name, thinking it was a prank. He would only be let off after producing his driver’s licence

and voter ID card. Maradona would love to name his son— if and when he has one—after a soccer legend.

Nineteen-year-old Romario and14-year-old Bebeto are siblings from Ernakulum who embody their father’s love for the Brazilian duo of the 90s. Romario was born in 1994, the year in which the Brazilian Romário lifted the World Cup. His brother Bebeto, a student of class 12, is a state player at the junior level. Their father TR Babu, a small-time contractor, is

proud of his children for living up to their ‘names’. Babu is also a local level player and Brazil remains his team for the World Cup. Three brothers of Kochi— Donadoni, Baggio and Zamarano—were named after the Italian footballers.

Donadoni used to play school-level football but his father Snehajan, a daily wage earner, did not have the resources to further his son’s career in soccer, even though he dreamt of his kids playing at higher levels. n Shahina KK

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12

contents 8

modi vigil

hurried man’s guide

10

to the 2022 scandal

26

The first ten days

22 luck

locomotif

Prediction is a mug’s game

A manual for Prime Minister Modi

38 34

FOOTBALL IN BRAZIL

More than just a sport

flamengo

A Brazilian perspective

The REFEREE

An Indian at the World Cup

world cup SPECIAL

IN MEMORIAM gopinath munde (1949—2014)

A Leader of the People A snapshot from the life of a remarkably apolitical politician haima deshpande

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n the fateful day earlier this week when Gopinath Munde, Union Minister for Rural Development, died in an accident, he was running late. This was a constant theme in his life— he was always running late, causing appointments to run into one another and long queues to form outside his door. Though he wore a watch, it seems that it was a mere adornment, for he hardly ever glanced at it.

On the day of the accident, Munde was rushing to the New Delhi airport, from where he was to proceed to his village Parli, in Maharashtra’s Beed district, for a felicitation rally. This time, the rush proved fatal. Instead of him, it was his body that reached Parli—only to be cremated.

Yet, no one could accuse Munde of being ‘a man in a hurry’. He took his time to understand people and situations; but once a decision was made, it was final. His interaction with people—predominantly the poor and the backward—was also conducted in the same, unhurried manner. He met everyone who came to his doorstep in the firm belief that if they had made the journey, it was for a good reason.

During the days that the Shiv Sena-BJP combine was in power in Maharashtra, while Munde occupied the Deputy Chief Minister’s office, he always kept some money—in small denomination notes— in the upper drawer of his table. This, he often said, was for the poor who came to meet him; he would give them money for their return journey to their villages.

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The notes were in small denominations as those who met him travelled by low-priced state transport buses, he would say.

In Munde, the BJP had a mass leader.

Without him, the party now has none in Maharashtra. A fine orator, Munde could hold an audience enthralled for long periods at political rallies. His tongue-incheek speeches even made the audience forget about his late arrivals.

However, though he had a strong hold on his fiefdom in Maharashtra, it was not too easy for him to carve a niche for himself in national politics.

His political career had not been

without its share of mistakes. One of his biggest blunders as Maharashtra’s Home Minister was to declare well-known music director Nadeem (of NadeemShravan fame) as one of the main conspirators in the murder of music moghul Gulshan Kumar. Though the then Mumbai Police Commissioner Ronnie Mendonca was against making such an announcement without concrete evidence, Munde ignored the plea. This resulted in Nadeem fleeing to London— where he has been ever since.

Subsequently, the courts exonerated Nadeem of all charges.

Munde was probably one of India’s few leaders who had no political enemies. He enjoyed long, enduring friendships across the political divide; and besides sharing his 12 December birthday with NCP chief Sharad Pawar, he also regarded the latter as a political icon.

A stylish man, Gopinath Munde was extremely particular about his hairstyle too. A small comb, which he always kept in the pocket of his jacket, was frequently used in full public view. During an election rally some years ago, the leader, sitting on the dais, is said to have combed his hair 25 times in a span of 15 minutes!

Munde had often said that it was his close friendship with the late Chief Minister Vilasrao Deshmukh that introduced him to the pleasures of stylish dressing. Deshmukh had apparently told him that a style statement was as important as breathing!

It will take the BJP considerable time to recover from this loss. n 16 june 2014

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NOT PEOPLE LIKE US

books

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open essay

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A flying carpet ride

The last mile

Sonakshi’s choice

m true life

music

The queen of Khapland

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Akhil

esh Ya

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f o r blaming the media for

highlighting rape cases in Uttar Pradesh Uttar Pradesh has seen a spate of horrific sexual assaults and murders over the last week, beginning with the rape and public hanging of two cousin sisters in Badaun.

Recently there was even a rape attempt on a judge . The state’s chief minister Akhilesh Yadav however says, “… incidents [in Uttar Pradesh]

Dhondutai Kulkarni (1927-2014)

are publicised more. Such incidents do not happen in UP alone.” He is somewhat right when it comes to bald facts, but still completely wrong in his implication. Generally, once a crime shakes a nation’s conscience—as has happened in these rapes and murders— the glare of the media falls on the state. It happened in Delhi after the Nirbahaya rape. But what this nonetheless underlines is that Uttar Pradesh has a serious law-and-order problem; not, as Yadav suggests, that this problem seems worse than it is because of incidents being “publicised more”. It is because Yadav’s administration is inept that everyone believes that these are not isolated crimes. Ever since he took over as Chief Minister, there has been a progressive increase in violent crimes fuelled by lumpen elements in his own party. Rape might happen across the country; it is just that in Uttar Pradesh, tragedy is also compounded by apathy. n

After hanging up his boots a year ago, David Beckham, trying to launch a soccer team in Miami, now hints he might come out of retirement and start playing again reverse kick

“I’m thankful to PSG for giving me the opportunity to continue but I feel now is the right time to finish my career, playing at the highest level”

“I want to be back in the game and I start thinking to myself ‘Could I play again? Could I go back? Could I come out of retirement and start playing again?’”

—16 May 2013, Daily Mail

—BBC documentary, Into the Unknown, 9 June

turn

on able Pers n o s a e r n U ek of the We

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around

A Meeting Long Awaited PRIME MINIS T ER Narendra Modi has stepped forward to restore momentum to India’s relationship with the United States by accepting President Barack Obama’s invitation for bilateral talks in September.

This signals a desire to inject energy into a relationship that has run into trouble following trade and visa disputes, and a stalemate over the Indo-US Nuclear Deal.

The new Prime Minister is committed to pro-market policies and engagements in the fields of defence and technology; his decision shows that he will not allow the 16 june 2014

past American slight of denying him a visa to get in the way of his government’s efforts to build bridges.

Modi’s approach is not expected to be a big departure from AB Vajpayee’s legacy.

Vajpayee had called the US a “natural ally” and reached out to Washington strategically. It was Vajpayee who began the negotations on the Nuclear Deal with Washington. The Vajpayee Government had also ignored the anti-US clamour across the political aisle and backed American intervention in Afghanistan. n open www.openthemagazine.com 7

angle

A Hurried Man’s Guide

On the Contrary

to bribery allegations over the 2022 World Cup in Qatar According to recent allegations, Qatar’s winning bid to host the 2022 World Cup was achieved by bribing FIFA officials. It is being claimed that an influential Qatari football official, Mohamed bin Hammam, made payments worth around $5 million to officials in return for their support for Qatar’s bid.

Many of the officials were reportedly flown on a private jet, along with their spouses, for an all-expenses-paid trip to Qatar, complete with pre-loaded credit cards, shortly before the vote. In 2010, when the Middle Eastern country had defeated bids from countries like the United States, Australia, Japan and South Korea, many were surprised given the difficulty of holding a tournament in a country where the temperatures can often hover over 500 Celsius.

Bin Hammam Rumours of bribes had allegedly ran a swirled even then. network of 10 slush funds to bribe football officials

mathew ashton/ama/corbis

The recent allegations was brought out in a Sunday Times report which claims to possess a number of emails and documents that detail payments made by Bin Hammam to various officials. Among them are claims that Bin Hammam ran a network of 10 slush funds to make payments to 30 African football officials. Up to $1.6 million had been paid to former FIFA Vice President Jack Warner. These allega-

under the scanner Mohamed bin Hammam

tions come at a time when a FIFA-commissioned ethics investigation of the bidding process for the 2018 and 2022 tournaments is underway.

The report of this investigation is expected by 9 June.

Apart from this, concerns have also been raised about hundreds of migrant workers who have reportedly been killed building the infrastructure for stadiums. Although the Qatari bid committee vehemently denies these claims and insists Bin Hammam never actively lobbied on its behalf, there is a growing demand for stripping Qatar of the rights to host the tournament. n

It’s Not Just about Air Bags A freak accident has no explanation because it is a freak accident M a d h ava n ku t t y P i l l a i

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any things have to

come together for a Union Minister like Gopinath Munde to die in an accident. Someone has to break a signal. It must be early morning when many drivers think the signal need not be followed because there are next to no policemen and few vehicles. The crashing vehicle must come at a right angle. It must side-end the rear door right beside where Munde is sitting.

He must not be wearing a seat belt.

Even though the dent to the car seems not very big and Munde had no external injury, the shock to the body should be just enough to throw him about to fracture his cervix and rupture his liver. A little less and he would just be nursing a sprain.

There is then the underlying fact that it happened to Munde because he is a successful politician, a profession that entails relentless travel. It is not a coincidence that newspapers found it so easy to come out the next day with lists of leaders who died in road accidents. It includes former Union Ministers like Rajesh Pilot and former presidents like Zail Singh. The probability of an accident increases the more a person is on the road, and by that reckoning, Munde was at high risk. That is also why so many of them who hold high office, like former Andhra Pradesh Chief Minister YSR Reddy, also die in helicopter crashes.

And yet when their followers, the media or commentators try to understand Munde’s death, they zone in on isolated causes. It is argued that Munde’s death is a symbol of the state of India’s road discipline. There are not enough policemen implementing traffic laws, which are too lenient, vehicles lack adequate safety measures (air bags are optional for car manufacturers, and especially in the back seat, no one really bothers), passengers don’t use seat belts when they are in the backseat.Although

these are legitimate safety measures, they only explain what could have reduced the probability of a death and that too in retrospect. Europe has better traffic discipline than India by any reckoning, but Diana still died in a car crash. And even now there are conspiracy theories about it—just last year, the police were once again investigating it. Some of Munde’s followers are demanding a CBI investigation. Death seeks answers.

The plain truth,however, is that it is futile to look for an explanation because none is needed. He died in an accident that had the minutest of probability. No one could have foreseen it and no single The probability agency is of an accident responsible for it. You can call increases the it fate, if you more a person are the is on the road, believing sort, and by that and you reckoning, wouldn’t be wrong. Or you Gopinath can say it is Munde was at part of the high risk chaos that life is. A desperate search for an answer leads nowhere.

In Andhra Pradesh, many still suspect Reddy’s helicopter crash was a murder. When I put this to one person in his home district, he said the cause was Reddy’s arrogance—no one else would have taken a helicopter in that weather.

Death is the greatest fear of the human race. All of evolution is about postponing death. When it does happen unexpectedly, it is a reminder of how vulnerable we are. People who never heard of Munde are now interested in him only because of the nature of his death. Explaining it, they think, brings some measure of order to the certainty of their end.

Except that it doesn’t.n 16 june 2014

lo co m ot i f

A Manual for Mr Modi S PRASANNARAJAN

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ythologies in politics are made of men who trust their instincts more than they value the instructions of others. They are national thrillers, and fun to watch as they make the cozy assumptions of politics redundant. One such politician was Barack Obama circa 2008. Candidate Obama held the world in thrall. When President Obama became a reality, a well-known writer said in a private conversation, “Now the story is boring.” Obama lived up to the prophecy.

Candidate Modi was another such politician. It was an amazing campaign, and India was his to play with. Prime Minister Modi is doing everything possible—there are no impossibilities in politics, he seems to suggest—to make himself as interesting as Candidate Modi. Boring? Not yet. The morning headlines are all about how different this Prime Minister—a 24/7 prime minister—is. A workaholic. An unforgiving headmaster. A terror lurking in the corridors of South Block. The results of having an omniscient PM, a seasoned Raisina Hill watcher tells me, are many: the sight of Cabinet ministers checking in on time, with tiffin boxes and water bottles; gift-free ministerial drawing rooms; nepotismfree cabinet offices; faster movement of files and quicker decisions. Governance is back, and no nonsense please.

Elsewhere in the magazine, our Managing Editor PR Ramesh has a fascinating story to tell about the style of the 15th.

So far, not boring. He has not let a dull moment into the narrative. Here follow a few unsolicited suggestions for a prime minister who should not allow himself to become another story of the historic turning into the banal. Even smart leaders are prone to such a transformation.

1. Hands-on PM is fine, but Big Brother PM betrays

insecurity. Think of Atal Behari Vajpayee, a great example to follow in confidence, delegation and statesmanship. In administration, he was pretty presidential, assisted and counselled by a cabinet that enjoyed the functional autonomy it deserved. He was not a leader of small things; he was about the big picture, grand gestures, and history. His ministers did the work. Wasn’t Jaswant Singh then a Secretary of State? Advani a National Security Advisor? So delegate, if you have faith in your team; don’t be a control freak.

2. No dispute here, the vote was for Modi—Modi alone. It was a celebration of what he had done as an administrator and what he could do as Prime Minister for an India abandoned by the previous regime. It was a vote for reclaiming the Right 10 open

space in Indian politics. Now it is for him to keep that space intact—or make it bigger. He has to win the economic war, the war the Right has always won. So don’t make market freedom conditional; and stop being xenophobic whenever you hear ‘retail’. No country has become poorer by allowing foreign investment; and no point pretending the BJP is a party of shopkeepers. Try to be a Conservative of the 21st century.

3. The Right has seldom won the culture war whenever–or wherever—it was in power. Modi the moderniser should see that no mythmaker rewrites the textbook. Let not history forever remain a disputed site for our children. After all, Modi did not shop in the black market of mythology for his slogans in his campaign. Cultural cleansing or historical corrections are not government duties. Murli Manohar Joshi in the Vajpayee era was an embarrassment. Let there not be another one.

4. In the age of interconnected destinies, no leader, nationalist or otherwise, can remain local. The international high tables are waiting for Prime Minister Modi. On such occasions, we would like to see him not as a Third Worldist, his vision impeded by the cataract of the Cold War. Vajpayee was an internationalist; he was our first prime minister to realise the futility—and redundancy—of anti-Americanism.

Aptly, India finally caught up with the post-Wall world under the leadership of India’s first Right-wing Prime Minister. He put India on the right side of history. India’s natural allies are not in our near abroad. Let Prime Minister Modi be aware.

5. Leadership is largely about conversations, and that is where Dr Manmohan Singh and Sonia Gandhi were utter disasters. A monosyllabic prime minister and zero-syllable party president made a perfect pair for leading India and the Congress to irrelevance. Whenever the country sought answers, they were elsewhere; and occasional triangulations only added to India’s image as a nation orphaned by its own ruling establishment. Modi on the stump was a great communicator. He never lacked a vocabulary to lampoon, lament, inspire, enlighten or entertain. Now he needs a different vocabulary—reassuring, statesmanly and empathetic— to converse with the future as Prime Minister. Power should not make him remote; power should make his relationship with India intimate. The less accessible you are, the more powerful you seem—that is the wisdom only of leaders uncomfortable with the people. You don’t have to be a gladhander to be a people’s prime minister. You just have to be in conversation with the people. No modern leader says he abhors the media. Prime Minister Modi should not stop being the natural communicator that he is.

Narendra Modi’s second campaign for India begins from Raisina Hill. n 16 june 2014

Illustration anirban ghosh

LEADERSHIP

Do it or be damned. PR RAMESH, after closely watching Modi at work, deconstructs the big message from the first ten days of the Prime Minister

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ate on Monday evening, 2 June, first-timer Nirmala Sitharaman, Minister of State for Commerce and Industry, tweeted, ‘It was inspirational’.

She had just emerged from a marathon three-hour meeting of the Union Council of Ministers, the first one chaired by Narendra Modi as India’s Prime Minister, at South Block.

It was well past 9 pm. The tweet itself was a radical departure from the norm at such meetings that were held over the past 10 years under the stewardship of Dr Manmohan Singh.

Tweeters are an insomniac lot. But at that hour, one would have imagined the traffic would be slow. Not so. Sitharaman was deluged by comments and congratulatory messages. Among them were many that advised her to take that inspiration and use it to implement the mandate of the people. Her followers urged Sitharaman to divulge exactly what the Prime Minister said. Social media, clearly, has been tracking every move of the NDA Government from day one.

The public eagerness to hear exactly what inspirational pep talk Prime Minister Modi had delivered to the Class of 2014 was understandable. There was none of the media cirque du soleil that preceded such meetings in the past. Under the UPA regime, it was only on rare occasions that the entire Council of Union Ministers met, such as dates that marked anniversaries of the Government. On that Monday evening, though, the media was banned from even the forecourt of South Block, clearly sending out a ‘Do Not Disturb’ signal that would be a norm in the future.

Quite early into his term, Modi was clearly indicating that there was going to

16 JUNE 2014

be a radical change in the way the Government worked from now on. Both ethically and operationally. Within the four walls of the conference hall at South Block where his team of ministers waited, Prime Minister Modi dispensed with the old frills and dived straight into outlining the brief for the strategy meeting after introductions. The conference, he emphasised, was meant to formulate strategies that would deliver on the hopes of India.

The context was clear to those in the hall. They had all come after having done their homework. Several hours before summoning his team, Modi had not only held one-on-one meetings with all his senior ministers, but given them a broad but non-negotiable framework for achieving goals of governance. The 10-point agenda included plans to increase investment, complete infrastructure projects in a time-bound manner in order to prevent cost overruns, and also instill accountability among bureaucrats for them to respect deadlines and project

The big four of the Modi cabinet emphasised that there was no place for arrogance in the new regime. It was ministerial hubris that had driven a wedge between the UPA and India

outlays. ‘Set a timeframe, stick to it,’ was the core message.

Outside, as the sun went down, the massive pillars delineating the majestic façade of South Block on Raisina Hill added to the gravitas.

Past Prime Ministers had, by and large, been working out of their official residence at 7 Race Course Road, even forcing the authorities to put up permanent fixtures for the media outside. Cabinet meetings were usually held at Panchvati in the PMH complex.

The venue for Modi’s conference was deliberately chosen in order to set the tone: official business should be conducted strictly at ministerial offices only and not at residences. Clean front offices and a strict barring of all gifts and presents would magnify the message that this was a government that meant business and that decisions would not be influenced by lobbyists, friends and relatives.

There was another sub-text to the choice of venue. Ministers were being told that they should keep their family members out of their staff. One senior UPA minister from UP, whose wife is understood to have used his name and position constantly to beef up a social welfare organisation, was later accused of siphoning off funds meant for the physically challenged. Another UPA minister’s brother managed to wrangle a coal mine jointly in his name and that of his brother. Yet another minister, in charge of coal, had a mine allotted to a member of his larger clan who had the same name as his.

Again, just one day after the meeting of the Union Council of Ministers, K Chandrasekhara Rao, the first Chief Minister of the newly-formed Telangana state, won dubious fame for appointing his family and friends to manage all key open www.openthemagazine.com 13

Press Information Bureau

HANDS ON Modi with senior bureaucrats

portfolios. Modi would have none of this.

The Home Ministry has already distributed copies of the code of conduct to be followed by ministers, a review of which would be done in two months. The top three in Modi’s Cabinet—Rajnath Singh, Arun Jaitley and Sushma Swaraj— proceeded to reinforce the ethical standards expected of government business by their boss. Ministers were told that they should speak only for their departments. They have, however, the right to silence.

Following the leitmotif running through Modi’s own speech, they understood that graduating from being members of the opposition party to ministers in the ruling party involved fundamental changes in attitude. Criticism had to be taken constructively in order to finetune key strategies. The big four also emphasised that there was no place for arro14 open

gance in the new regime. It was hubris that had driven a wedge between the UPA and India. The new regime, they were clear, was determined to learn from the sins of its predecessor.

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urf wars would be discouraged.

According to some conservative estimates, Jairam Ramesh, the UPA’s environment minister, had single-handedly shaved 2.5 per cent off the country’s GDP, through his ‘Go/No-go’ proposal.

To avoid such a situation, ministers overseeing departments that needed to operate in synergy with others were asked to constantly interact on crucial issues and coordinate their actions. As a good student, Power Minister Piyush Goyal immediately held a separate meeting with his Environment counterpart, Prakash Javadekar, to sort out the contentious is-

sue of green clearances to industries.

The meeting broke only after Modi was fully convinced that he had been able to drive home his message. In his concluding remarks, he deftly tied the key issue of job creation to both decision-making by ministers and their implementation.

“Tone up the administration and enforce accountability from top down. Your decisions should touch the lives of people personally,” Modi emphasised. He also indicated that he plans to rightsize the Government as early as possible.

Referring to the 600 odd personal staff of ministers who have stayed in their posts after the power shift, a senior minister ordered that their antecedents be verified before they’re allowed to continue. Days prior to his oath-taking, Modi had told Open, “I plan to break the cabals and cliques that control New Delhi.” On Monday evening, he set the deadline.

16 JUNE 2014

The end of the meeting was, however, just the beginning of the new work ethic for Modi’s team. The effect of the Prime Minister’s address was apparent immediately. Most ministers refused to divulge any details. Ram Vilas Paswan, who has worked with five prime ministers, said that he had never seen such interaction in the Council of Ministers. The zipped lips that most ministers sported was also in sync with the new sobriety instilled.

Strict instructions were issued not to rush to the media with word of the interaction. Consequently, most of the attendees switched off their mobile phones or were unwilling to share details of the deliberations.

Modi wanted to make it clear: there is only one master in the house and he brooks no indiscipline. This was a definitive departure from the UPA, under which Cabinet meetings actually nurtured an environment of ill discipline. Ministers such as Jairam Ramesh and Jayanti Natarajan—both of whom were environment ministers at different points— could actually indulge in the very “solo flights” that Modi warned his ministers against and challenge even the head of their team on policy positions. Ministers would stroll in after Manmohan Singh himself arrived at Cabinet meetings.

T

he ministerial meeting took place two days before Modi’s decision to scrap all Groups of Ministers (GoMs), a move that marked a new decisiveness.

The setting up of GoMs was a ruse employed by the UPA to put critical but contentious policy decisions in the deep freeze. On paper, these groups were set up to deal with multi-disciplinary decisions, but ended up reinforcing the regime’s paralysis, rendering it unable to make quick and timely judgements on crucial issues.

During the UPA regime, groups headed by senior ministers such as P Chidambaram, AK Antony and Sharad Pawar ducked decisions on key issues either because they could not find the time to attend meetings or because they deliberately avoided politically touchy decisions. Pawar, for instance, was known to routinely adopt this tactic and then claim that he had not attended the relevant GoM and could not be blamed. The groups also allowed for lobbying by vest-

16 JUNE 2014

ed interests and postponing of decisions unfavourable to them.

That explains the Modi Government’s press release which contends that abolishing these already defunct bodies would increase the accountability of ministers and expedite decision-making.

GoMs and EGoMs—‘empowered’ GoMs—under senior ministers institutionalised the weakening of the PMO under Manmohan Singh. Modi would not allow such a scenario. He made it plain that should situations arise where relevant ministries were unable to resolve issues, the Cabinet Secretariat and the PMO would facilitate interaction between them.

The meeting with ministers was quickly followed up by a meeting with secretaries. The message was not lost on Babudom that the new regime would put a premium on accountability. Social sector projects, too, would be monitored stringently to ensure that only the eligible would benefit.

The buzz around this meeting had already begun days earlier, with news that the PM had asked secretaries of different departments to come up with 10-minute slide shows outlining their priorities. At the Wednesday meeting with top bureaucrats, there was only one message: work without fear, I am here for you, and get through to me directly whenever there is a problem.

That the new Prime Minister wanted quick action was evident immediately after the victory. In the appointment of Ajit Doval as National Security Advisor, he refused to allow Delhi’s policy wonks to

At the meeting with top bureaucrats, there was only one message: work without fear, I am here for you, and get through to me directly whenever there is a problem

sway his belief that the former Intelligence Bureau chief was the best man for the job. The wonks had argued that the position has a large foreign policy component to it and should not be vested with a so-called ‘policeman’. Modi stuck to his decision. Doval will now preside over the IB (though it technically reports to Home Minister Rajnath Singh) and RAW. Moreover, as the head of the executive council of the Nuclear Command Authority, Doval will also be the custodian of India’s nuclear codes. This gives him an international profile. Meanwhile, Modi has already shown—in the face of scepticism—that he can hold his own in the arena of foreign affairs by inviting SAARC leaders for his swearingin ceremony.

S

oon after taking charge at South

Block, Modi convened a meeting of BJP general secretaries. Even 11 Ashoka Road would now come under the domain of the Prime Minister. He will control the Church as well as State.

Modi told party leaders that he would hold at least one meeting a month to ensure that the party is in complete harmony with the Government. “The party should not have the feeling that it has no say in the Government. They were the workers and leaders who made the mandate possible.” Modi informed party leaders that his ministers would interact with them at regular intervals.

Those in the know maintain that some senior party leaders were not accommodated in the Government despite their claims because Modi had received specific information on their collection of funds for electioneering from industrialists. Some of these men were hot favourites of the media during the Government formation process.

A new prime ministerial routine exemplifies Modi’s style. Earlier PMs would scurry straight past other South Block offices to their own corner room. After taking charge, Modi has made it a point to survey every little section. “He makes one round of South Block every day,” a PMO official tells Open.

The chief executive of India worked hard to be where he is today. He works harder to remain there undiminished. n open www.openthemagazine.com 15

violence

crime scene People gather by the mango tree where the two girls were found hanging

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16 JUNE 2014

A Hanging GUNJEET SRA travels to the UP village of Katra Sadatganj where two girls were allegedly raped and then hanged. The story that emerges from whispers of the villagers and conflicting versions of the police only multiplies the horror photographs by ashish sharma

O

n 27 May, 35-year-old Babu Ram was returning from a routine

check of his field at night in Katra Sadatganj village in Badaun district, Uttar Pradesh, when he heard muffled screams and commotion in a ditch nearby. “I saw an acquaintance, Pappu, dragging a girl by her hair and I chased after him,” says Babu Ram, “but he set a katta against my chest, so I let go and ran.”

The girl being dragged by her hair was known to Babu Ram—she was his niece—and so he ran home to inform his brothers. The girl had been with her cousin, another daughter of the household. “We thought they went to ‘freshen up’ (colloquial for going to the toilet) or were gossiping with one of the neighbours,” says the mother of the elder victim, who was 15.

The family was quick to move. They went first to the local police outpost, at about 9 pm, where they say constables Sarvesh Yadav and Chattrapal Yadav asked them to identify their caste. “When I told him that we were Mauryas, he slapped me and said that he doesn’t take orders from people like me,” says the father of the elder victim, “He then accused us of ‘selling’ our own girls and then coming to complain to them. As an afterthought, he added that our girls would be returned to us in two hours.”

He also says that those two hours were the hardest of his life, now knowing what to do. Since Babu Ram had identified one of the abductors, the family continued their search for the girls, finally returning to the police station at around 12:30 am. They say it took them half an hour to wake up the police, who were not pleased with the persistence with which they wanted an FIR lodged; the constables even beat up the parents in an attempt to silence them, telling them to go look for their daughters in the mango grove nearby. “Jao jaake dekhlo, kahin phaasi-waasi laga ke toh nahi mar gayeen,” (Go see, what if they’re hanging dead by a noose) is what the parents recall being told.

The family, distraught and outraged, decided to go with some of their

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open www.openthemagazine.com 17

neighbours to the nearest town— Badaun, some 45 km away—believing it to be their only hope at getting immediate action and being taken seriously.

While they were still on the outskirts of their village, Katra Sadatganj, at approximately 5 am, the local police reportedly sent a message informing them that their daughters had been found in a grove near the village.

The family rushed to the spot and found their daughters with nooses around their necks—hanging from a mango tree, their bodies swaying eerily in the morning breeze.

“The police then pushed us to take the bodies down,” says the mother of the elder victim, “But we refused until proper action was taken against the accused. If we took them down, it would all be forgotten and marked as a suicide.” For almost a day, the bodies stayed suspended as the villagers sat around in silence. It was only after the police took charge that they were taken down.

The post-mortem examination conducted by a panel of three doctors reportedly confirmed sexual assault, found some ante-mortem injuries on the bodies, and put the girls’ deaths down to asphyxiation by hanging.

Badaun’s Senior Superintendent of Police, Atul Saxena, says that this case is more complicated than it seems. “When someone murders [victims] after rape, rarely does [the rapist] hang a body to send out a message that this can be done.”

He also says that even though the FIR filed in the case is correct, it is short of details. The omissions, he says, are glaring.

“This entire case could have been avoided if there hadn’t [been] such gross negligence. [The local police] handled it very badly,” says Saxena, who makes it a point to mention that he conducts gender sensitisation camps for his officers at regular intervals. “After the Delhi gang-rape, we have a lot of literature coming in on the right way to handle such crimes, and we have been educating our officers.”

That programme appears to have had little effect on police conduct in rural Uttar Pradesh. Just two weeks ago, in nearby Etawah, the mother of another victim was reportedly stripped in the street and beaten by the father of the accused, who had been pressuring her to drop the case. In 2011, a girl was raped in18 open

BROKEN LIVES The mothers and relatives of the two girls

side a police station in Nighasan and hanged from a tree on the premises. The tree was later cut down and the evidence destroyed. A CBI enquiry that was ordered proved futile.

Things may be different for this case; or at least, so goes the hope. All the accused have been arrested, and two have allegedly confessed to the crime during police interrogation. Among the arrested are Sarvesh and Chattrapal Yadav, the policemen who initially refused to file the FIR. “But there are some questions that need to be answered because there are logical flaws in the story. Those will be addressed only after we finish our investigation,” says SSP Saxena, who is currently looking for evidence. Confessions to the police, rather than to a judge or magistrate, have little legal validity; and SSP Saxena also believes that the confessions might be recanted once the case goes to court.

T

here are parallel versions of the

events of that night doing the rounds as well; loose talk of honour killings, of the girls being friends with the accused, and of prior intimate contact. “One of the accused has admitted that he was friends with the girls,” says Saxena, “But that’s all I can say. I will not comment on

whether they had physical relations.” A lady constable who was on duty at the time, Vijaita Kumari, says that she has had a hard time believing the parents’ version: “It is so easy to blame the police. Everybody believes it too. But if you lived here, you would know. These people are poor and daughters mean nothing to them. Most of them either pimp out or sell them.” Kumari suggests that the fathers may have killed their daughters on discovering their affair with the boys, and have pinned it on the accused. “Just look at them, sitting there, doing all this drama for attention,” she sneers.

Kumari’s companion spits in disgusted agreement and nods.

Saxena, however, dismisses the idea that this is a case of honour killing, saying, “These things don’t exist here.”

Still, people talk. Savitri Devi, a 70-yearold neighbour, blames the loose talk on the social predicament that attends bringing up daughters. “What else will people say?” she sighs. All the Mauryas who live in the village stand by the parents’ version. “Gareebo ki beti sabki lugayi aur ameeron ki sabki izzat. Isse kehte hain kismat,” (a poor family’s daughter is everybody’s woman, but a rich family’s daughter is everybody’s honour) says 28-year-old farmer Parvesh Kumar, another neighbour. He speaks of regular 16 JUNE 2014

abuse at the hands of Yadavs, who routinely harass the Mauryas of the village.

“Sometimes, by letting cattle loose on our crops, and other times molesting our daughters and children.” Last year, there was allegedly a murder in the area, the accused being Yadavs. “There has been no case registered against them and [the victim’s] mother is still running from pillar to post for justice,” reports Kumar.

Single girls do not step out in this village after dark without a chaperone. “We are scared about all that can go wrong, and girls are the izzat of the family; what is one to do?” asks 15-year-old Anita Kumari, who knew both the victims well and said they went to the same government school. “It is just one mistake you make that you have to pay the price for,” says Kumar grimly.

One of the older ladies mutters, “They weren’t so old that they needed chaperones. They had each other. If they were older, their mothers would have gone [to relieve themselves] with them.”

There are government schemes for toilets in rural areas, but they have yet to make a difference. “We had applied once, but all they did was come and dig a hole,” says Kumar, “we are still waiting for them to come back. Until then, we will have to protect our daughters in the only way we can.”

There is a narrow brick path that leads to the house of the victims. The filth and squalor do not deter big city visitors.

Television crews line their small courtyard, and Rahul Gandhi sits on the floor, a picture of empathy, in conversation with the victims’ fathers. Opposite the courtyard are three small brick rooms and a small thatched hut that serves as a kitchen. Fourteen people live here; three brothers, their wives and their children.

The oldest and youngest brothers are the fathers of the two girls who were raped.

Women sit in rows in front of the room in silence, their faces covered. After Rahul Gandhi promises quick action and leaves, so do the TV crews.

Meanwhile, SSP Saxena is in a rush to create a makeshift helipad and get extra security as he has just been informed that the state’s former Chief Minister will be arriving the next day. He takes out his phone and rings a junior, asking him to seek permission from a farmer to transform his field into a temporary landing pad for a helicopter.

None of this helps the mothers of the victims deal with their grief—or anger.

The mother of the eldest victim is almost beside herself; “My daughter wanted to be a doctor—look at her handwriting.

She practised every day and wanted a better life for herself. She did not deserve this,” she says, thrusting forth some notebooks. “We don’t want compensation from [Chief Minister] Akhilesh Yadav,” she says, “We want justice, and if he cannot do that, tell him to give us two daughters of his family—we will [treat them as ours were treated] and then sell our land to give him compensation.”

Her surviving children—two sons and a newly married daughter—try to calm her down. She has spoken words she does not mean, but she keeps repeating that sentence over and over. An older woman talks about money being only maya, an illusion, and about how children cannot be replaced.

In the din, there is one woman who sits silently in a corner. Her face is covered, and all you can see are her rough feet, neatly lined with rows of silver bicchiya.

Head bowed, she sits as if turned to stone.

An older woman nudges her to talk, but

she merely shakes her head and says, “My head is spinning.”

She is the step-mother of the younger victim, who married into the family after the younger brother’s wife died, leaving him with an infant daughter who she helped raise. “She cannot have children of her own. That girl was everything to her,” says a family friend sitting next to her.

The step-mother eventually uncovers her face. There are no tears; just a vacant expression. “My life went out of me. They hanged her to silence her… so that nobody could tell her story. But we will.

Again and again, until they give us justice, not money.”

F

ormer Chief Minister Mayawati arrived a week after the incident and announced a compensation package— from Bahujan Samaj Party funds—of Rs 5 lakh for each victim; the family has reportedly accepted it. On his part, CM Akhilesh Yadav has launched a CBI enquiry and had a fast-track court committed to the case. Whether the CBI enquiry will yield results, nobody is willing to wager; until then, the women of Katra will continue to seethe for justice.

According to National Crime Records Bureau data, India has a rape every 22 minutes. This statistic, a horror in itself, does not account for the fact that a large number of assaults go unreported. The real numbers are far worse. Only last month, Mulayam Singh Yadav of the Samajwadi Party had come under attack when he opposed the death penalty for convicted rapists; “Ladke, ladke hain” (Boys will be boys), he reportedly said. If his son, the CM of Uttar Pradesh, differs in his views on lawlessness and barbarism, he is yet to speak up. n

Brazil’s Neymar da Silva Santos Júnior

Italy’s Andrea Pirlo

THE GAME AND THE GLORY Spain’s Iker Casillas

Germany’s Thomas Müller

Football meets its most

Portugal’s Cristiano Ronaldo

Spain’s Andrés Iniesta Luján

Argentina’s Lionel Messi

Ivory Coast’s Gnégnéri Yaya Touré

beautiful moment in Brazil

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picture-alliance/dpa/AP

KEEPER’s BALL Roberto Baggio of Italy misses a penalty against Taffarel of Brazil during the 1994 World Cup final. Brazil won the game 3-2, becoming world champions for the fourth time

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16 June 2014

Where History Is a Penalty Luck apart, there is something majestic about penalty shootouts, writes Simon Kuper, and the Cup has a habit of making fools of forecasters, Pele included

P

ele won three World Cups with Brazil, but for the last 40 years has attended the tournament as a kind of smiling, handshaking puppet in the pay of big sponsors. The old man doesn’t really like watching football, preferring to spend his days chilling in expensive hotel rooms. However, whenever he goes out, journalists often come up to him, asking which team he thinks will win this time round. In 1982 he tipped Chile.

In 1990 he said, “Italy is the favourite.” In 1994, it was, “For me Colombia is the favourite.” In 1998: “Spain is the big favourite.” And so on. None of his chosen teams, unfortunately, achieved anything. Pele’s one famous macro prediction was: “An African nation will win the World Cup

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Matt Dunham/AP

SPANISH luck Iker Casillas makes a save against Robin Van Persie in the last edition’s World Cup final on 11 July 2010

before the year 2000.” Until today, no African nation has got past the quarterfinals.

It’s easy to laugh at Pele. However, there is a deeper truth here: a football World Cup is probably the most difficult sports tournament to predict. Nonetheless, everyone tries. These days, in conversations and on TV panels around the world, people are arguing about which team is the best. This chatter misses a crucial point: random24 open

ness. Predicting the world champion is like predicting where the ball on the roulette table will end up.

Take the recent missive from an organisation known for its predictions in financial markets: Goldman Sachs.

Every four years, the American investment bank publishes a brochure called The World Cup and Economics. This time, Goldman has calculated—based on factors like each country’s historical record, recent record, home ad16 June 2014

vantage, etcetera—that hosts Brazil have a 48.5 per cent probability of becoming the world champions.

Bookmakers, interestingly, have significantly less faith in Brazil: they too have the host as favourite, but at odds of only about 3-1 (stake one to win three). Goldman, in short, appears overconfident about Brazil. Meanwhile, it is under-confident about decent teams like Japan and Ghana: according to Goldman, each has 0.0 per cent chance of winning the cup. That’s too low.

The bank is underestimating the role of luck in World Cups. If this competition were a league, played over 38 or so games, all of them in Brazil, then Brazil would almost certainly win. However, that is over the long run, in which luck tends to even out. One week, the referee will mistakenly give your opponents a penalty; the next week, he’ll give it to you.

A World Cup, on the other hand is a much shorter competition. The champions will play just seven games within a month.

Their last four matches will all be knockout games: one bad day, or a stroke of bad luck, and you’re out in 90 minutes with no chance to even things up next week.

L

uck matters more in foot-

We watch the World Cup for the beauty, nationalism and experience of a global carnival. And to see chance in action

ball than in other ball-games.

In cricket, even in one-day games, each batting side has ten wickets to fall, so an individual dismissal is rarely decisive; tennis Grand Slams are played over five sets, so a favourite like Rafael Nadal can afford to lose two and still triumph.

But in the knockout stages of a World Cup, a game is typically decided by just one goal—or by a penalty shootout.

Brazil’s coach Felipe Scolari, who managed the Brazilians to the title in 2002, understands the role of chance. I recently asked his great young striker, Neymar, what Scolari has told the players about World Cups.

Neymar replied: “He says the World Cup is the toughest tournament. There’s no room for error, you can’t start off average, you must be at full speed from the get-go. It’s a short tournament where your margin of error is much smaller than in other matches.”

Many World Cups of the past have turned on one or two moments. In the final minutes of the World Cup final of 1978, with the score 1-1, a shot from Holland’s striker Rob Rensenbrink was agonisingly close to a goal, bouncing off Argentina’s post instead. The Argentines went on to win in extra time. Twenty years later, in the hours before the France-Brazil final, Brazil’s best player Ronaldo suffered what appears to have been a panic attack while

16 June 2014

sleeping; exhausted afterwards, he wandered the field like a zombie, and France won 3-0. In 2010, Spain became the world champion after scoring just eight goals in seven matches. They played badly most of the time, and probably wouldn’t have triumphed if a Paraguayan penalty attempt had scored in the quarterfinal, or if their keeper Iker Casillas hadn’t saved a Dutch shot with his studs late in the final.

Or think of England’s record of failure at modern World Cups. Last year, I discussed the issue with Greg Dyke, chairman of the English Football Association. He cited the theory that “the single biggest factor why England haven’t done well is because they’ve been unlucky”.

Just look at England’s record in penalty shootouts, said Dyke: of the 10 major football tournaments for which the English have qualified since 1990, they have exited six on penalties. Dyke had gleaned these ideas from Matthew Benham, a statistics driven professional gambler who owns the London football club Brentford.

Dyke explained further: “[Benham] says you can alter the chances of winning or losing on penalties, but not by a lot. So if the luck had gone the other way, his argument is that we’d have won one or two of those and we wouldn’t be sitting here having this conversation.”

I

ndeed, anyone interested in

the role of luck in history should watch the penalty shootouts in this coming tournament. To see a player walking from the halfway line to take his kick, knowing that the next few seconds may provide his epitaph, is to watch a man face to face with fate. Losing coaches often dismiss penalty shootouts as a ‘lottery’, and there is something to what they say. However, there’s also something majestic about the shootout. It’s a kind of unscripted drama—watched by hundreds of millions of people worldwide—about the role of fate in human events.

We watch the World Cup for the beauty, for the nationalism, for the experience of a global carnival, but also just to see chance in action. This tournament tends to make fools of forecasters, from Goldman Sachs to Pele. n Simon Kuper, a Financial Times columnist, is a renowned soccer writer whose books include Soccernomics, Football Against the Enemy and The Football Men open www.openthemagazine.com 25

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In Goal

Emmanuel Aguirre/getty images

We Trust O

n a hot December morning in 2012, just a cou-

ple of months after moving to São Paulo, I was jolted out of sleep by an incessant sound of firecrackers. In this city, they joke, fireworks are a message from drug-lords to all junkies that a new cons ignment has arrived. But that ‘message’ is loud yet brief. This relentless barrage was being caused by the fans of Corinthians football club, as their team got ready to play against Chelsea in the final of the World Cup of Clubs in Yokohama, many time zones away. That day I realised that fireworks in São Paulo are not just about drugs, they are also done before any important jogo de futebol (game of football).

As Corinthians beat the English club 1-0, the fireworks didn’t stop the whole day. After a couple of days, when the winners and their thousands of supporters came back from Japan, there were street parties all over. Amid such revelry, it was revealed by newspapers that a lot of Corinthians fans, mostly working-class blokes, had financed their trip to Japan by selling their cars, or withdrawing their pensions or borrowing money from friends. As someone new in Brazil, I drew a quick conclusion: football is the opium of the masses in this country.

If people would beg, borrow or steal to see their team play, I thought, it was a sign of addiction.

To make quick opinions about a country is a dangerous thing. And for a country that is three times the size of India with a population of 200 million and great social diversity in terms of racial groups and cultures, it’s even more dangerous to make simple assumptions.

Nonetheless, as I began to travel across the country, I could see the signs of addiction among the people: flags of football clubs on beaches, fireworks every Sunday, street fights between fans of rival clubs and animated debates and brawls in bars and cafes. Most Brazilians I met

Football in Brazil is more than the opium of the masses, writes Shobhan Saxena from São Paulo, it is more about individual expression, playing out fantasies and climbing the social ladder

in the course of my work, or socially, asked me “which Brazilian club” I supported. It seemed the club you support is like your middle name, if not surname. Brazil is called the Home of Football, I feel, because the game controls people’s behaviour, and not because the country has produced generations of players known for their ballcontrolling skills and winning the World Cup five times, more than any other country.

A few months later, I had the opportunity to travel to a Quilombo in the Ribeirao valley of São Paulo. Quilombos were set up by African slaves who ran away from their owners. They are now run by the descendants of former slaves, with support from the government. On a pleasant March morning, a small group of journalists—all South Americans except me—travelled along a blue river snaking through green hills covered with banana plantations on our way to the valley. Just off the roads lined with trees, suddenly a small village would pop up and vanish. Almost all villages looked identical: a cluster of brick or wooden houses with dirt streets, a whitewashed church perched on a hillock and two goal-posts pitched in a lush-green field.

In the afternoon, we stopped in a small village of six houses with 50 odd residents. The village had two rows of houses on the either side of a football pitch and a church standing above the goal at one end. “Why, such a small village has an Olympic-size football field!” I remarked. Suddenly, the whole group was staring at me. “Of course, a village needs a football field,” said a Brazilian journalist. “We don’t even notice it. It’s a part of our landscape, our lives,” said an Argentinian journalist, looking amused at my remark.

A little later, it became clear to me what they meant. As the sun begin to drop down, the whole village—men,

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Popperfoto/Getty Images

PAST MASTERS Pele (left) and Garrincha (right) relax over a drink, circa 1965

While Pele is venerated globally, Mane Garrincha is the one loved as the real hero, because he was a malandro women, boys and girls—came out, making small groups in different parts of the pitch. And the men, boys and girls started playing football as women shouted from the sidelines—not cheering the players but telling them how to play. As the game and shouting went on, I realised that most players had nicknames like frango (chicken), borboleta (butterfly) and preguica (sloth). The names obviously had something to do with the way they dribbled the ball and tackled their opponents. The jogo went on till the village was enveloped by darkness. It looked like a village picnic. But it was not. “This is what we do every day.

People may skip church on Sunday, but you can’t miss the jogo. This is where we meet and socialise,” said a man, when I asked how frequently they play. “We don’t play matches. We just play football. We love to score goals. We all score goals in different ways,” he added, in a matter-offact manner.

In this part of the country, far from club rivalries, championships and multi-million contracts, football looked more like a social activity and a platform for self expression. It didn’t look like an addiction. Not even a sport.

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or a sport that came to Brazil from England in

1894, it’s really amazing how deep the roots that foot-

ball has developed in this country and its South American neighbours are. Several academics have done research on football and its social roots in Brazil, but anthropologist Roberto da Matta has come out with the most interesting theory about what football means to Brazilians. In England and other European countries, wrote Da Matta in an essay, ‘Football is lived as a sport, while in Brazil it is lived as a game.’ What he meant is that in the individualistic societies of Europe, football is a collective effort at creating ‘comradeship, fair play and unity’, but in Brazil it’s exactly the opposite. Here, the game is not seen as an ‘external activity’. It’s not about seeking unity, wrote the anthropologist, but it is a ‘possibility of individual expression’.

Having lived in England and seen football there, I can now see Da Matta’s point. In England, you learn the game either at school, a club or small enclosures in neighbourhoods. In Brazil, they play football wherever there is space: streets, parks, backyards, parking lots, factories and at home. A beggar living on the edge of my street is always playing with an empty beer can, dribbling beautifully and shooting it into an imaginary goal. In the streets of the city’s poor areas you see young boys, barefoot and bare-chested, keeping the ball so close to their feet as they run, it’s as if the ball a lover they don’t want to lose.

This relationship between football and people didn’t 16 June 2014

evolve in one day. It took years. For decades after Charles Miller, the Scotsman who brought the game here, the game was played by the white elite. Slowly, the poor— and mostly black—started playing football as well. This change happened on two fronts simultaneously: football and Carnival, the two things that define Brazil more than anything else. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the Carnival used to be a snooty gig—almost French in style. In those times, it was not possible for the poor (often a black or mixed-race person) to join the beautiful game or Carnival parties. As democracy took roots in the country, the ordinary people took football away from the elite. “It ceased to be a sport for Apollos, and became a sport of the Dionysia,” says sociologist Gilberto Freyre in a documentary he made on Brazilian football.

The Carnival is now entirely managed by the favelas (Brazilian slums). The same is true of football too, as the most players still come from the poorer sections of the society. It’s no wonder that all the players who captivated three generations of Brazilians—Didi, Pele, Garrincha, Jairzinho, Romario, Bebeto, Juninho and Ronaldo the Phenonmenon—came from the other side of the tracks.

They all represented the ordinary, poor people who could belong to Brazil because of their ability to dribble the ball.

Football offered them freedom. It became a form of realising one’s fantasies.

This also reflects in Brazil’s love for their football heroes. While Pele is venerated globally, it’s Mane Garrincha who is still loved as the real hero. He is adored because he was a malandro—on the pitch and off it. In Brazilian folklore, a malandro is a ‘trickster’ who lives by his wits. In the 1930s, when poor Brazilians started honing their football skills, malandragem was their preferred style of play. As they came from poor families, they couldn’t play hardtackle football. So, they invented shrewd body movement and back-heel passes. The people loved them as these underdogs beat teams from rich and big nations with their little tricks. Similar techniques were developed in other South American countries with similar social divisions.

B

razil’s social fabric h as changed a lot since the

days of Pele and Garrincha. But in a country where people still have an emotional connect with jogo de futebol, when the FIFA show comes to town, it’s bound to evoke emotions. Football makes people emotional. Last year, during the Confederations Cup, hundreds of thousands of people took to the streets across the country to protest a hike in bus fares. Soon, the rallies turned into demands for better schools and hospitals. In recent weeks, there have been some protests organised by teachers unions and other groups. But with just a few days to go before the first game in São Paulo on 12 June, the mood has changed and the whole country seems awash with the Brazilian colours: green and yellow. ‘What’s the point of protest-

16 June 2014

ing when the best footballers in the world are playing in our stadiums? It’s not going to get us education and hospitals. Let’s enjoy the party,’ wrote Antonio Prata, a leading columnist in Folha de Sao Paulo this week. A majority of Brazilians would agree with Prata.

As far as preparations for the event are concerned, all 12 state-of-the-art stadiums are ready. Foreign teams have started arriving in different cities across the country to get used to the time zone and climate. People can’t stop talking about the “sixth star”—a reference to five-star above the Brazilian team’s logo, each one for the five World Cup wins since 1958.

But some people are still agitating, and that too reflects the importance of football in Brazil. Just last week, Brazilian football legend Ronaldo, who is a member of the World Cup organising committee, said that he felt “ashamed” with delays in the preparations for the event.

President Dilma Rouseff, who will be seeking re-election in October, rebutted Ronaldo by saying that the Cup will be successful as the country “doesn’t suffer from complexo de vira-lata (the mongrel complex) anymore”. Coined by famous writer Nelson Rodrigues in the context of the 1950 defeat to Uruguay in the World Cup final, this complex reflects ‘the inferiority which arises in the Brazilian when they face the rest of the world’.

For a country that has made everyone feel inferior to them in football, there is no reason for Brazil to have this complex anymore. But then, how does one explain the anger and protests—however small—in some pockets of the country? Roberto DaMatta has an explanation. “It shows that football in Brazil is not the opium of the masses as it motivates them to come out to seek social justice,” the anthropologist said this week, after the furore over Ronaldo’s ill-timed remark. “It helps the people find themselves and their place in society.”

After living in Brazil for close to two years, during which the country has been preparing for the World Cup, I have realised that equating football with opium is to misunderstand the sport as well as Brazil. In this country, it’s anything but an addiction. Brazilians do not see football as a sport. It’s always jogo de futebol. Never football. It’s a social activity. It keeps communities together. It gives a chance to an individual to express himself. It’s not imposed as a discipline. It comes from within.

For generations, Brazilians have used football to realise their personal and collective fantasies. The trend continues in their campaign for a record sixth World Cup title. n Shobhan Saxena is a São Paulo-based journalist. He has written for The Times of India and The Hindu, and is a visiting professor at University of São Paulo, where he teaches a course on Indian politics, foreign policy and cinema open www.openthemagazine.com 29

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A Terrible Beauty Is to Be Born Jan Tilman Schwab lists the best and bravest not to be missed in Brazil teams to watch Brazil

Brazil is the absolute top favourite for winning the title this year. It has won the World Cup more often than any other country—five times, that is—and is hosting the World Cup to boot. Home support will strengthen its ambition. But high expectations could also prove to be a burden, putting a lot of pressure on Brazilian players, who will only be successful if they combine the offensive quality of their play with a defensive discipline that is not too popular in a country where the joga bonito—beautiful game—is all that counts.

Germany

Germany has never been known for playing beautiful football but has been consistently successful as a team. All this changed, more or less, with the 2006 World Cup it hosted. Since then, the offensive philosophy of its play has impressed spectators all over the world.

The team , however, has not won a major title since 1996’s European Championship. Germany could prove itself ready for the World Cup title this year.

Spain

Spain, the current title-holder, benefits from a ‘golden generation’ of players that have won every major title since 2008—the European Championship twice, apart from the World Cup four years ago. The team, therefore, is automatically one of the top favourites 30 open

for winning this year’s title as well. But nothing is more difficult than attaining perfection twice in succession, adapting a team that has won everything to new challenges, and sorting out footballers of a golden generation who might not match the competitiveness of younger players anymore.

Belgium

For a country its size, it’s remarkable that Belgium has competed in 11 World Cup tournaments, even if it hasn’t been able to qualify since 2002. Its team captain 12 years ago, Marc Wilmots, is now manager of the national team and has unified players as well as spectators in a country that has seen its FlemishWalloon divide widen vastly since 2007.

In a best-case scenario, the footballers of Belgium could win a whole lot more than just points and matches.

Bosnia-Herzegovina

When this team succeeded in qualifying for the 2014 World Cup, the whole country burst out in excitement. It will be their first participation ever in a World Cup. Every goal its team scores, every point it gains and every match it wins will write history. Recovering as it is from a recent flood disaster, its players might help ring in some cheer. In its group, Argentina, of course, will be the top favourite. But it could well end ahead of Nigeria and Iran and even qualify for the next round.

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players to watch

Kevin-Prince Boateng Ghana The Group G match between Germany and Ghana will see a rather unconventional fraternal duel. While Kevin-Prince Boateng will play for his father’s home country Ghana, his half-brother Jérôme Boateng represents their common native country, Germany. Both Berlin born and raised players will meet again after 2010 on a World Cup pitch. The last time, Germany won 1-0, and the rivalry was intense as Kevin-Prince Boateng was reviled for having injured the German team captain Michael Ballack in that year’s FA Cup final, causing the latter to miss his last World Cup.

Iker Casillas Spain As goalkeeper and captain of the Spanish team, Iker Casillas is one of the key players of this tournament. He has led Spain to three major titles in a row: the 2008 and 2012 European Championship and 2010 World Cup. But he lost his position as leading goalkeeper in his club team Real Madrid playing only Cup and Champions League matches. An error he made in this year’s Champions League final almost cost Real Madrid the title. So, all eyes will be on whether he will prove his skill or display some insecurity.

Miroslav Klose Germany The 2014 World Cup will be Miroslav Klose’s fourth and last. Since 2002, he has been Germany’s best striker, scoring 14 goals in his three previous tournaments. If Germany’s veteran striker scores another goal, he will equalise the Brazilian Ronaldo’s goal record of 15 World Cup goals; a second goal would assure him the record as leading all-time goalscorer all for himself. But being the team player he is, his mind will likely be on his team’s score rather than his own record.

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Joe Hart England

Franck Ribéry France

Unlike other major football countries, England has no long and glorious tradition of great goalkeepers. On the contrary, their goalkeepers in the 2002 and 2010 World Cups displayed some of the worst mistakes in the history of the game. It might also seem a logical consequence that England had to exit the 1990, 1998 and 2006 World Cups on penalty shoot-outs where the goalkeeper’s instinct and skill count for rather a lot. Manchester City’s solid Joe Hart, therefore, could become a national hero by just doing a good job. Else, he might end up as another chapter in the doomed history of English goalkeepers.

Many claimed that Franck Ribéry deserved the FIFA Ballon D’Or in 2013 after having led his team Bayern Munich to a historic treble.

That football is a team sport is neglected in France, where Ribéry isn’t as popular as he’d deserve to be. Others are celebrated for easy goals that he skillfully prepared.

In recent years, Ribéry has evolved from the artistic footballer he’ll always be to a hard-working team player fulfilling defensive work that’s as crucial as offensive action.

It makes him a true master.

Neymar Brazil Neymar da Silva Santos Junior has been one of the stars of world football for some years. The 22-year-old striker of FC Barcelona led Brazil to last year’s FIFA Confederations Cup victory. Now, Brazil fans are all excited about his long-awaited World Cup debut in his home arena. If everything goes well, he might become the star of the tournament. But it won’t be easy to fulfil everybody’s high expectations. His childhood dream of playing a World Cup match at home and winning the trophy that means everything to his nation could easily turn into a nightmare.

Cristiano Ronaldo Portugal

Andrea Pirlo Italy

Thomas Müller Germany

The striker was awarded the FIFA Ballon D’Or in 2013 after having been beaten to it several times by Lionel Messi. Many claimed that Franck Ribéry was more deserving of this ‘best player’ award for being a better team player. Ronaldo’s ego is said to be bigger than most other players in this year’s arena. He is undoubtedly one of the best individual players in the history of football, but this is a team sport. Ronaldo hasn’t won anything with Portugal, just as Portugal hasn’t won anything with this world star in its team.

When Italy won the 2006 World Cup held in Germany, Andrea Pirlo was the mastermind of his team’s game. The ingenious midfielder tends to initiate Italy’s dangerous offensive moves and he keeps his defence under control.

Towards the end of his career, he has led his club team Juventus to a tremendous league record and has a private vineyard to which he’ll retire after his football career ends.

Watch him closely. For Pirlo himself is like good wine, getting better with age.

The 2010 World Cup marked his first participation. Some, like Diego Maradona, didn’t know him at all and had to learn fast (as Argentina’s coach). Müller scored after only three minutes of play in Germany’s quarter-final against Argentina. He finished the tournament winning the Best Young Player Award as well as the Golden Boot as top scorer. Never has a player won the latter honour twice in a row. Thomas Müller could well be the first.

Didier Drogba Ivory Coast Didier Drogba is a legend not only in his native country, but across the continent of Africa. He has exemplified courage by using his immense popularity for political purposes when his home country was about to turn to civil war . His career is about to end; this will be his last World Cup. Nobody knows what Ivory Coast and Drogba could achieve this year. But watch out for this great footballer as he bows out.

Jan Tilman Schwab is a film critic and lecturer at University of Kiel. He is the author of Football in Film

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Confessions of a Still, Florencia Costa is now singing Fly Canarinho for Brazil to become Hexacampeão

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L. Gomez/ap

I

was born a Flamengo supporter. I had no choice but to support this most popular football club. I was born to a family that lived in Rio de Janeiro; one that traditionally supported this club, which had its origin in the Flamengo area of the city, where my family still lives. From a very young age—when I was a toddler— I was told to love and support the ‘Rubro-Negro’, or the red-and-black team, named so because of its colours.

Most Brazilian families belong to one club or another; it’s not like religion but it’s a very important part of our identity. The loyalty to a particular club is passed from parents to their sons and daughters. In my case, being the youngest member of the family, it came to me from my father, mother, elder-brother, sisters, cousins, uncles and aunts.

Of course, I could have become a rebel and supported another club. But I have supported Flamengo with passion, and will support it all my life because I believe in the chant that says: ‘Once a Flamengo, you are Flamengo till you die’.

All Brazilians take their clubs very seriously. We have a different kind of relationship with our clubs and national teams. We love ‘Seleção Brasileira’, our national side, but clubs are part of our thinking, our daily lives. When my niece joined swimming classes at Fluminense—the main rival of Flamengo—my whole family asked my sister to change the club because there was a big risk of the little girl becoming a Fluminense supporter. My sister followed the advice. Isadora belongs to a new generation which is not very fond of football. But, at least, she doesn’t support Fluminense.

For Brazilians, our clubs are not just football teams.

They are more than that. All the clubs in Rio, Sao Paulo and the other cities were born in different communities.

Most of these clubs are still based in those communities and most of the players come from the neighbourhoods where the clubs are located. Unlike English clubs, which depend on imported players, Brazilian clubs have been part of communities so much so that many of the Samba schools of Rio were actually born in football clubs. It was

16 June 2014

Flamengo Fanatic

TURF WARRIOR Arthur Antunes ‘Zico’ Coimbra shooting for a goal in an exhibition match against Brazil on 21 April 1978 in which Brazil won 3-0

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open www.openthemagazine.com 35

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logical: dancing samba and playing football are part of our culture and identity.

Families will do anything to maintain this identity. Our family faced a big test when my cousin, Bernardo, a Flamengo fanatic, got married to Angela, whose father had been president of Fluminense FC. Everyone was happy with the marriage as their love was very strong, but when it came to putting Andr´e, his11-year-old son into a football club for training, my cousin didn’t give in to pressure from his father-in-law, and sent the boy to Flamengo football school.

My family is not an exception; we are a very regular Brazilian family. Almost all Brazilian families have similar stories of loyalty to football clubs, and Brazilian children are taught to learn and love football at a very early stage. I remember the Sundays from my childhood.

Sunday was always football day. In the afternoon the whole family would sit around the radio and listen to football commentary, with the narrator speaking incredibly fast and shouting “gooooooooal” when a team scored.

When Flamengo scored goals and won matches, we would all party hard. Even today, our Sundays are reserved for football and beer, especially if Flamengo is playing.

When I was just eight years old, my family shifted to Sao Paulo. The early 1980s were the era of Zico, the great Brazilian footballer who played for Flamengo. He was my hero, and I thought all Brazilians loved him too; but when I started living in Sao Paulo, I realised that Paulistas (as people from Sao Paulo are called) saw Zico as a Carioca (as Rio residents are called) hero. In Sao Paulo, Paulistas had their own football heroes. In my school, there was another Carioca, a boy who was also a Flamengo supporter. In a school full of supporters of Paulista clubs like Palmeires, Sao Paulo FC and Corinthian, we two had to fight hard to defend our hero Zico.

Even after we moved away from Rio, my family continued to support Flamengo. I would religiously cut articles about Flamengo and Zico and paste them in scrapbooks that I kept. I had dozens of scrapbooks which I kept like football diaries. My elder brother Valeriano would draw the design of a football field in the notebooks and teach me the rules and moves of football so that I could understand the game better.

By the age of 15, I was back in Rio and my football craze was at its peak. Inspired by Zico, I used to play football in school. Like my hero, I played as a striker. It was also at that age that I went to the Maracanã to watch a Flamengo game. It was the final match of the national championship. My brother took me and my cousin Miriam, two years younger than me, to the iconic stadium. It was our first time in a stadium and we were a little nervous among the crowd of mostly men in red-and-black T-shirts, wildly singing “Mengão!” (a nickname for the team). We were also nervous because my cousins teased my brother as ‘Pé Frio’ (cold feet), a term used for people who bring bad luck 36 open

to the team; but that day—our first time seeing Flamengo and Zico live—our club won the game and championship. We were so happy.

I have always been a proud Flamenguista. I have also been very good at converting people to become Flamenguista. I converted Miriam and her younger sister Luciana to Flamengo even though their father Samuel, my uncle, was a Fluminense supporter.

Fortunately, Miriam got married to a very committed ‘Flamenguista’.

I

t was my love for Flamengo that got me interested in the Brazilian team because Zico was the main striker for the national side as well. My first memory of a World Cup is that of 1982, when the ‘Seleção Canarinho’ (a nickname for the Brazilian team) had so many stars like Zico and Junior from Flamengo. Before the World Cup, 16 June 2014

THE AGONY AND THE ECSTASY Flamengo supporters cheer for their team at the 2014 Copa Libertadores against Bolivar on 12 March

I would religiously cut articles about Flamengo and Zico and paste them in scrapbooks that I kept YASUYOSHI CHIBA/AFP

Junior had composed a special samba—Fly Canarinho (Fly Canary)—and we all knew it by heart.

The 1982 World Cup was also important for Brazil as it took place at a time of re-democratisation, after military dictators had grabbed power in 1964. With a wonderful team, we were sure of Brazil becoming the champion for the fourth time; but we lost to Italy. We were all shattered.

Immediately after the game, I was down with high fever.

All the streets in Rio were empty and silent. Even adults were crying like children.

As I had never seen Brazil winning the World Cup and had only heard stories about the third victory in 1970, I desperately wanted Brazil to win in 1982. But when such a great team lost, I was afraid that I might never see Brazil as the World Champion. But that moment came in 1994.

It was a pity that I was not in Brazil that year. I was living in Moscow, but I was invited to a party organised by a Brazilian, the son of an old communist, and I saw Roberto 16 June 2014

Baggio missing the penalty and Brazil becoming the World Champion for the fourth time.

In 2002, when Brazil became the champion for the fifth time, I was already working as a journalist in Sao Paulo.

Though the tournament was played in Japan, we enjoyed every moment of it. Now, 12 years later, as the World Cup comes home, we are all hoping and wishing that Brazil can become ‘Hexacampeão’, six-time champions—and that, at the Maracanã.

In Brazil these days, the mantra is ‘We are all one’. And we all have one dream: to be World Cup champions, once again. n Florencia Costa is a foreign affairs columnist for Brasil Economico. Based in India from 2006 to 2012, she covered South Asia for O Globo. Her best-selling book Os Indianos was released in 2012 open www.openthemagazine.com 37

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Hindu archives

India’s Red Card Glory Komaleeswaran Sankar officiated as an assistant referee in three matches at the 2002 World Cup. He shares with LHENDUP g BHUTIA the thrill of being the first Indian ever to participate in a World Cup

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16 June 2014

I

n India, footballers often

hang up their boots to pick up the whistle. This is the usual trajectory of a football career—first he is a player who occasionally doubles as a referee; and then, when his dreams and energies are spent, a full-time referee. In the case of Komaleeswaran Sankar, a bank cashier who began playing and overseeing local matches in the late 1980s, the reverse almost happened—he was on the verge of hanging up his whistle.

That was in response to an incident in the early 1990s. Still young in his refereeing career, Sankar had gone to watch a football match in Chennai, where a friend, Victor, was the referee. Matches in the city’s league, especially in the early 1990s, were often unruly and sometimes broke into fights. During the course of the match, Victor pulled out a red card to send a player off. Next, he was assaulted by the player, and by the time Sankar and others could intervene, Victor was lying unconscious on the ground. In the next few weeks—that he spent in the hospital—Victor would keep losing and regaining consciousness. He never fully recovered, and was left partially deaf.

Sankar and some of his other friends ensured that Victor was compensated and an apology tendered.

But the player, after a brief suspension of a few months, was back on the field, while Victor gave up refereeing.

“I realised then,” says Sankar, “what a thankless job refereeing was.

The players treated you with no respect, the fans booed your decisions, and you could so easily wind up in hospital with a ruptured ear drum.”

For a few days, Sankar remembers, he contemplated quitting. “But I just couldn’t,” he says, “I just couldn’t get myself to quit. I just felt I was not done yet.”

By the time Sankar retired in 2007 at the age of 45, as mandated by FIFA rules, he was India’s most successful referee. Apart from being the main referee in many top national matches, Sankar became an assistant refer-

16 June 2014

ee in international games at marquee tournaments like the 2000 Sydney Olympics, the 1998 Bangkok Asian Games, and a number of other top international tournaments like the Confederation Cup, Junior World Cup, and the Under-21 World Cup. In 2002, his moment of glory arrived. In a tournament that no other Indian player, official or administrator has come close to participating in, Sankar was chosen as an assistant referee for the 2002 World Cup. He almost made the cut in the 2006 edition in Germany too, but was asked to stay back at the last minute—for unexplained reasons.

In all, Sankar was an assistant referee in three matches at the World Cup. Despite all his preparations

was standing there, in my yellow and black uniform, with a whistle and flag in my hand, facing a huge enthusiastic crowd, and about to officiate at a World Cup match. It is something all referees dream of. And for us Indian referees, it is thought so impossible that we do not even entertain it in our dreams.” For the first few minutes of the match, Sankar recalls struggling to keep his eyes dry.

In the sixtieth minute of the match, when neither team had scored, Sankar kept pace with Mexican forward Cuauhtemoc Blanco from the side, as he manoeuvered around defenders to reach the box, just inches away from the goalkeeper. However, a Croatian defender, Boris Zivkovic, perhaps sensing Laurence Griffiths/Getty Images

sankar’s debut Komaleeswaran Sankar warms up before a match (facing page), Robert Prosinecki of Croatia takes a free kick against Mexico on 3 June 2002 (above)

leading to the tournament, he remembers being overwhelmed when he walked into the stadium for his first match: between Croatia and Mexico. “I had mentally prepared myself through the months leading to the game, imagining the crowd and the match. But that day, as the two teams lined up to sing the national anthem, I couldn’t believe I

the danger Blanco posed, tripped the Mexican. “The main referee (Jun Lu from China) saw something [foulish] had occurred and blew the whistle.

He looked up at me, and I nodded back. I told him it was a foul tackle,” he says, “When Lu awarded Zivkovic a red card, I only realised later that I had become part of the tournament’s first red card.” open www.openthemagazine.com 39

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For the next month, Sankar travelled across the sea between Japan and South Korea, undergoing FIFA’s intense training for referees. He was an official for two more matches: Belgium versus Russia, and Tunisia versus Belgium. “I would occasionally worry about getting injured, and perhaps missing out. But other than that, I couldn’t have been happier.”

When FIFA-appointed counsellors would speak to him to gauge his mental state, Sankar would tell them, “Why would I be stressed? I’m just happy to be here.” He stayed on till the first two quarterfinals, after which he returned to India.

I

n India, Sankar was considered a

tough and fearless referee. It is said a top football club in Goa whose owners are considered politically powerful would protest whenever Sankar was made referee of a match involving the team, because he was known not to favour anyone. “In India, very few football referees, especially those in the 1990s, had as much integrity,” says PK Madhavan, a former football player and the current vice-president of the Chennai Football Association.

“Tournament organisers, bettors, team administrators and players were known to influence referee decisions. But Sankar was not like that.

And because they knew of his principles, no one messed with him.”

Sankar was first noticed as the referee of an East Bengal-Mohan Bagan match in Bangalore in 1994 that ended in a 3-3 draw. As always, the match between these two rival clubs turned unruly. But Sankar kept the match under control, delivering a total of three red cards and awarding two penalties. Madhavan says, “In such high-pressure matches, most referees resist taking harsh decisions, however justified they might be. But Sankar would always stick by his decision, implementing the rules fairly. Often, I remember, there would be police escorting him during and after a match—because

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his decisions would upset players and fans.”

He became a FIFA assistant referee in 1995, choosing to become what was formerly known as a linesman, as opposed to a referee, because it was believed that success as a referee requires one to be not just sharp but also physically imposing. Sankar, just five feet three inches tall, was just too slight of build. However, he kept refereeing domestic matches.

Throughout his career with the whistle, Sankar worked a 9-to-5 job as a cashier with Indian Bank in Chennai. Every morning, he would wake by five, jog, do yoga and lift weights before turning up for work.

With the money he made at the World Cup, Sankar was able to purchase a flat in Chennai He would take unpaid leave to officiate matches, some of which earned him, at least early in his career, only Rs 100 per game. His frequent absences from work also meant that he would never get a promotion. “Most of the time, I wouldn’t have money and would have to borrow from friends and family so I could train and travel to various parts where I was being invited to officiate. When I would have money, I would have debts to clear,” Sankar says.

Refereeing in a World Cup, Sankar says, isn’t easy. Referees, who are often twice the age of players, have to be in great physical shape. They have to be able to sprint across the field, keeping up with players and closely

tracking the action. “And it’s not just being as physically sharp as these top players,” he says. “You have to be mentally prepared to be on top of your game, scrutinising the on-field drama and theatrics, and making crucial decisions.”

Once Sankar learnt that his name was on the list of probable assistant referees for the 2002 World Cup, he bought an air-conditioner for his bedroom for the first time because he knew his hotel rooms in Japan and South Korea would be air-conditioned. “I wanted to recreate the same environment. I didn’t want anything new that could disturb my sleep pattern,” he says. He also took four months of unpaid leave from work to live and train in Bangalore, where the temperature he believed would be closer to the mild temperatures of South Korea and Japan.

Because Japan is around three hours ahead, he started sleeping and eating his meals accordingly. “So I would be working out at two in the morning, having breakfast by four and lunch at 10. I even started seeing a counsellor and even made my wife attend some sessions to ensure I was mentally fit. It now all seems a bit loony, but I wanted to be prepared and leave nothing to chance.”

Along with the other selected referees, Sankar had to report a month early to make the final cut. Each of them was put through intensive fitness tests, one of which was a requirement to run 2,700 metres in less than 12 minutes. Sankar could do 3,000 metres in the time allotted.

With the money he made at the World Cup—about $30,000—Sankar was able to purchase a flat in Chennai, which he named ‘2002’. He now lives in Kuala Lumpur, where he works as a referee development officer for Asian Football Confederation.

“Whenever I sit down to watch a World Cup match on TV now,” he says, “often, instead of watching the players, I find myself looking for the referees, thinking of how I too had once been there.” n 16 June 2014

ONLINE LI F E

What’s in a Profile Picture?

When a fetish turns fatal. MIHIR SRIVASTAVA profiles the faces behind staged profile pictures to reveal the personality of the social media junkie ‘If [yo]u liked my profile picture raise your hand, if not raise your standard....!!!’ –Kunal

A

bilash Sashi, 32, had a normal life—a paying job in a private firm, living in the coastal town of Alappuzha in Kerala—until he attempted something dreadful: a selfie with his phone-camera while staging a suicide. He was trying to capture a unique Facebook profile picture of his own suicide attempt. The prank went horribly wrong. The knot around his neck was tighter than he thought, and by the time he realised his mistake, it was too late.

He was found a few hours later hanging by the neck, his phone-camera stationed on the table to capture the stunt.

Apparently, this was not the first time he had tried something like this; earlier, he had posted a picture of his bloodied hands after slashing his wrist.

What explains this death by social media? Sociologist Shiv Visvanathan says, “The fantasy world and the real world merge in an instant, [changing] the nature of reality on social networking sites.

You insert your new self, which is mysterious. Pictures are a way to document it,

make those moments historical.” He calls it a form of neo-narcissism—the context of existence and life change in a flash and often contribute to the creation of a newly enlarged notion of selfhood.

A teenager, a boy named Edwin from Thrissur, another town in Kerala, was perhaps catering to the demands of his newly enlarged self when he attempted a picture of himself against the backdrop of a train whizzing past his back barely inches away. He was to stand firm as the train hurtled past, shaking everything in sight. He sat posing on the railway track while his younger brother took pictures in the presence of a friend. As the train approached, Edwin made a miscalculation.

Unable to move quickly enough, he was crushed by it.

Pin the blame, if you will, on the profile picture—on the need that some youngsters have of using it as a device, as a way to announce their presence on social media as something extraordinary. In many cases, it comes from a need to project a certain image to the rest of the world: a picture of heroism and adventure.

Kunal, a 20-year-old law student, has a different perspective on the matter. He specialises in creating profile pictures for people, charging Rs 500 for a photo, typically manipulating the images to make his subjects look taller, slimmer and fairer. Sometimes, he edits the pictures to include sought-after scenery as well.

Foreign locations are popular as backdrops. Sometimes people want to appear with film celebrities spliced into the frame. “There is nothing wrong in doing things to feel good about oneself,” says Kunal, empathising with Edwin and

Abilash. He is an avid self-profile creator himself. “A profile picture defines me,” he says, “I like to exhibit a facet of myself that I am proud of.”

While he admits that his choice of profession—law—demands a certain gravitas and bearing that resists frivolity, he is also sure he is not a “serious type of guy” at heart, and wants his social media acquaintances to know that. He also wants them to see his new second-hand superbike as an affirmation that he loves to live life “king size”, and that he is blessed with what he calls a “huge reservoir of raging hormones”. The social media persona, says Kunal, is “about me and me and me”. And if Abilash and Edwin wanted the world to know their real selves, he believes, they would’ve been all the better for it had misfortune not struck.

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he need to control people’s percep-

tions of oneself can become an obsession. Noted sociologist Sanjay Srivastava, professor at Delhi University’s Institute of Economic Growth, calls it the rise of 16 June 2014

graphed: “Don’t put it on Facebook!” She is known to jump out of her chair, gesticulating wildly, to make that point. If she’s in the company of “intellectuals and suave socialists”, she admits, she doesn’t mind being tagged online for others to recognise her.

Then there are people who have not uploaded any pictures of themselves at all; some use their real names, while many prefer to use pseudonyms.

“Anonymity gives me the freedom to lead a life that is free of the demands of my current life situation,” says Ritesh Kumar, an environmentalist who hasn’t ever uploaded a picture of himself.

Omar, a 27-year-old software executive based in Bangalore, has chosen a blank profile picture for himself on Facebook.

“My life is not for public consumption,” he explains, “[though] I don’t mind peeping into the lives of others if they don’t have a problem.” He concedes, however, that striking friendships on Facebook—despite his 300 ‘friends’—is that much harder without a face for people to put his words to. “Hardly anyone wants to be friends with ambiguity,” he observes, “People interact with people, not a phenomenon.” an ‘entrepreneurial culture’. This contradicts modernism, he says; while individual identities have become predominant, they coexist with those of caste, creed and religion. These identities tend to reinforce each other. “[People] haven’t gotten away from older loyalties due to this growing devotion to their selves,” he says, “Social media is actually individual media.” The sociologist calls Facebook and Twitter “platforms of collective individualism”.

Self projection can have varied motivations. A month ago, Vikas, a middle-aged trader from Agra on holiday in Goa, paid a Dutch bikini-clad blonde on Calangute beach $20 to be photographed with him.

With the sun low on the horizon, they stood in an embrace while his friend took a series of snaps. Vikas had another set of pictures taken with a brunette—this time with his shirt off. The same evening, he uploaded one of these on Facebook with the caption: ‘There is only one happiness in this life, to love and be loved’.

Shamikh, a 24-year-old medical student, has as his profile a nude photo16 June 2014

graph of himself when he was three years old. “I miss my lost innocence,” he simply says, “I prefer my past to my present.”

There are many others who prefer a single shot of themselves that they don’t want changed: like a stable passport identity. Ashutosh Varma, a senior executive at a multinational financial institution, has not changed his profile picture in years—a mug shot against brick-red background. Some people change their profile pictures on a daily basis.

Occasionally, people have two Facebook accounts; one for family and friends, and another for colleagues and acquaintances. A PR executive operates his wife’s Facebook account. There are even a few who don’t care if someone else pretends to be them, online.

At the other end, among those who are careful about their social media presence is a professor at an open university who would rather not be named. She hates anyone putting her pictures online and being tagged without her permission. At social gatherings, she has a standard finger to wag if she happens to get photo-

O

nce put up, online photographs are almost impossible to expunge. Awadesh Kumar Srivastava was on election duty as a sector magistrate in Narendra Modi’s constituency of Varanasi during the recently held General Election. An audit officer with the Rural Engineering Department, Srivastava was the custodian of two standby electronic voting machines (EVMs). He took them home, opened the seal and examined them with his son Gaurav, a curious engineering student. The father-son duo then uploaded pictures of themselves with the EVMs on Facebook with the caption, ‘Ab ki baar, Modi Sarkar’. Within a day, those pictures went viral. Alarmed by this, the Aam Aadmi Party alerted the Election Commission and media. A criminal case was registered against both father and son; the former might end up in jail and lose his job.

When the virtual life collides with one’s real life, the outcome can be beyond the uploader’s control. n open www.openthemagazine.com 43

open essay

By MARK TULLY

a requiem for our first car With the demise of the Ambassador goes the last symbol of the Nehruvian Age

W

e are told the New Age

has come with the arrival of Narendra Modi. The old age, the Nehruvian Age, has passed. I am not so sure about that. Ages in India don’t seem to me to die so suddenly. They linger on, declining gradually. Even now, 67 years after Independence, who is to say the British Raj is dead in India when Mark Tully she still survives in so many of the laws is a veteran and institutions, not to mention the atbroadcaster titudes she bequeathed? and author However, it does look as though one symbol of the Nehruvian age is on her death-bed: the Ambassador car. The news from the Hindustan Motors factory, some six stations away from Howrah, is dreadful, the diagnosis dire—manufacturing the Ambassador is a loss-making business, there is no cure for the haemorrhage of Hindustan Motors except for the drastic surgery of stopping production. This is not just sad, but surprising too, because only last year the BBC’s prestigious Top Gear programme declared the Ambassador the best taxi in the world, and I found myself wishing, “So let’s hope that now the Ambassador will regain her number one position among the taxis of India.”

The Ambassador owes her longevity to the Nehruvian belief in protecting nascent Indian industries—not a bad practice, many would argue, back in Nehru’s time. The car arrived in India in the 1950s after going out of fashion in Britain, where she had been born under two names, the Morris Oxford and Austin Cambridge. In the 1970s, the heyday of India’s Licence-permit Raj, the Ambassador flourished, with only feeble competition from Indian Fiats and Standard Triumphs. Although under Indira Gandhi income tax was so lethal—the marginal rate was 97 per cent—that it’s surprising anyone was spared the money to buy an Ambassador, I remember putting my name on a waiting list to buy one and staying on that list for six months.

The warning bells sounded for the Ambassador when Indira Gandhi gave a licence to her son Sanjay to manufacture a car, although several other much better qualified applicants had been denied that opportunity. Happily for the Ambassador, Sanjay’s apprenticeship at Rolls-Royce, in the British town of Crewe, didn’t give him sufficient experience to become a second Henry Ford. Sanjay chose the name Maruti, the wind god, presumably in the hope that the car would go like the wind.

Unfortunately, the wind god didn’t blow hard enough to get the Maruti off the drawing board. It was only when Sanjay died in a flying accident that the rise of the Maruti and demise of the Ambassador started. Indira Gandhi broke the rules of the Licence-permit Raj, allowing Suzuki to be the first foreign motor manufacturer to come into India on condition that it collaborated with the bythen-nationalised Maruti company to fulfill Sanjay’s commitment to produce the people’s car. Then, of course, came the liberalisa-

tion of 1991 and the rest is history. Almost every motor manufacturer in the world is now in India and their models are modern in a way the Ambassador wasn’t.

S

o, what is India losing now that after her long, lingering

demise, the Ambassador seems to have reached the end of the road? First of all, the country is losing a historic car. Is there any other model which has survived in production so long? I don’t know of one. She’s a good-looker too. With her rounded lines, the curvaceous Ambassador reminds me of a bowler-hat on wheels. There’s a dignity about her refusal to conform to the standard aerodynamic designs which make every modern model look the same.

I had hoped that this dignity would preserve her role as a carrier of flashing blue and red lights. Politicians and bureaucrats are very keen on anything that emphasises the dignity of the positions they have achieved. The white Ambassador was an easily recognised symbol of their dignity.

I had also hoped her capacity would protect her role as a taxi.

The Ambassador is much more capacious than the small cars that are fast replacing her as taxis. This capacity, I am told, is due to her monocoque chassis, which apparently means the body and chassis are one and the same. Legends are rife of her carrying capacity. I have read a report about an Ambassador carrying 27 people. I find that hard to believe, but I have certainly seen passengers numbering in double figures riding in Ambassadors.

From my own experience of driving Ambassadors myself and being driven in Ambassador taxis up, down and across the length and breadth of India, I have huge respect for her sturdiness. Her clearance makes her an ideal vehicle for negotiating pot-holes, which are a feature of Indian roads, and I don’t mean just the mud roads leading to villages. Pot-holed tarmac can prove far more lethal. Once, driving from Bhopal to Jabalpur, our Ambassador was overcome by the pot-holes that peppered the road. First a sinister knocking started under the back seat. I anxiously enquired of the driver what this indicated. “Kuchh nahin,” he snarled as though it was not my business to enquire about his car. The noise persisted and eventually even the driver became concerned. He stopped, went round the back of the car, jumped on the bumper, proclaimed that everything was all right, and set off again. There was no nasty noise.

Eventually the Ambassador did give up the ghost, and I thought she had lain down and died, but the driver’s diagnosis was less drastic. “The shock absorbers have sat down,” he said and boarded a passing bus to find a mechanic to come to our rescue.

That brings me to another advantage the Ambassador has—her simplicity.

Mechanics were ubiquitous because repairing an Ambassador didn’t require elaborate training or expensive equipment. I am told that you need to be computer-savvy to repair a modern car. But then I am also told that unlike the Ambassador they don’t break down.

Vintage enthusiasts in India and abroad should snap up Ambassadors before they get sent to an undeserved grave

16 June 2014

open www.openthemagazine.com 45

Manish Swarup/AP

Driving myself at night in Haryana, a hazardous venture at the best of times, I have experienced the hardiness of the Ambassador and the ingenuity of the mechanics who kept them on the road. The Ambassador’s lights were never her strong point. In their low candle-power beam, I failed to see a tractor with no lights ahead of me and rammed into it with an almighty clang. I got out of the car and was amazed that in spite of a massive dent in the front of the car, the engine was still running. I opened the bonnet and found the fan had crushed the radiator.

Undaunted, the gallant vehicle got me to the nearest mechanic. He cleaved the radiator and fan apart with a crowbar, apologised for not having the equipment to weld the radiator, and assured me that the haldi—turmeric—he had laced the water with would gum up enough leaks to get me to the nearest town. It did. In that town, the welder repaired what I thought was my beyond-repair radiator. When I got home, all that was left was deciding when to call in another professional who’d done very well off my Ambassadors, the denter and painter.

Although British by birth, the Ambassador has become quintessentially Indian.

It was jugaad—somehow managing to make do with what is at hand—that kept my Ambassador on the road that night in Haryana. The mechanic said a casual “chalega” when I asked nervously whether the haldi would really gum up the radiator.

This is a country that respects the past and likes it to merge with the present. The Ambassador is an important part of India’s history

46 open

I had to put my trust in God to set out for the welder.

T

he enormous respect in which the Ambassador is held is very Indian too, as also the sadness at her passing-away.

This is a country that respects the past and likes it to merge with the present rather than disappear. The Ambassador is an important part of India’s history. She marked the coming of the motor-age to India, the beginning of motor-manufacturing, and I am sure that Indians would rather see her mingle with her modern rivals than disappear from roads.

But then, we have to face reality. Modern cars do have obvious advantages over the Ambassador; in particular, they are less thirsty. Even a traditionalist like me who has such wonderful memories of the Ambassador has been unfaithful to her. So I fear that what has been called the ‘suspension of production’ will turn out to be the end of the road for the grand old lady. But not quite the end of the road because I am sure she will be kept going by the vintage car movement.

Vintage enthusiasts in India and around the world should snap up Ambassadors before they get sent to a grave they don’t deserve—the scrap-yard. I also hope that in her home Kolkata, where she still reigns supreme among taxis, I will be able to ride in her for some years to come. n 16 June 2014

true life

mindspace

BREAKING TRADITION Will Sudesh Choudhary, head of the women’s wing of the Satrol Khap, fight the good fight? 52

Terms of Endearment

63

O p e n s pa c e

Ranbir Kapoor Katrina Kaif Deepika Padukone Sonakshi Sinha

62

n p lu

CityLights Blended

61 Cinema reviews

Citizen Eco-Drive Satellite Wave F100 HTC One M8 JBL Authentics L8 Speaker

60

Tech & style

The Mammoth Wipeout New Treatment for Epilepsy Another Alarm for Smokers

58

Science

The Stand-up Comic Scene

56

roug h cu t

Dhondutai Kulkarni (1927-2014) of the Jaipur-Atrauli Gharana

55

music

Fire in the Unnameable Country

by Ghalib Islam

books

The Queen of Khap

52 64

ashish sharma

true life

The Queen of Khap Sudesh Choudhary has broken a tradition spanning more than six centuries. Do men still set the limits of her power? Sunaina Kumar

D

eep inside khap land, we are trailing behind a dark grey Innova in a boxy little car. On the front seat of the SUV, sitting next to the driver, her dark glasses glinting in the sun, her phone in her hand, and seeming very much in control of her surroundings, is Sudesh Choudhary, the head of the newly-formed women’s wing of the Satrol Khap in Haryana.

She is leading us to Narnaund.

Narnaund in Haryana’s Hisar district is a place that is caught between two worlds. Sandwiched between the towns of Hansi and Jind, it is not a city, but not quite a village either; it is somewhere in between, an ‘emerging city’, according to a Wikipedia entry. Its biggest draw is a centuries-old anaj mandi (grain exchange) that attracts traders from the cluster of surrounding villages, and as if to counter this tradition is Narnaund’s other attraction, a car rental service of BMWs to cater to “the successful and prosperous businessman and businesswoman”.These last two months, Narnaund was in the news on two occasions. A suspected case of honour killing where Mohini, a 16-year-old girl was allegedly killed (strangulated by her own dupatta) and cremated by her parents after she reportedly eloped with a minor boy from a nearby village. She sought legal protection fearing for her life, but it was not enough to save her. So inured are we to extreme news from the khapruled villages of Haryana, that the story caused hardly any outrage.

We did take notice, however, when 52 open

Narnaund was at the centre of something completely out of the ordinary. In April, it hosted a khap mahapanchayat to announce the formation of a women’s wing in conjunction with the lifting of a 650-year-old ban on intercaste marriages. For an institution beset with patriarchy and known for its feudal mindset—the most derided of khap ordinances have all been against women, banning them from wearing jeans, carrying mobile phones and for suggesting the lowering of the legal age for marriage to avoid rape—

it does seem like a turnaround.

Expectedly, this sudden claim of inclusion and emancipation by khaps, seen by many as an attempt to whitewash their battered public image, has drawn media attention, and for once, it is not in relation with horrifying accounts of honour killings, discrimination against women, female foeticide and caste-based crimes. In the few weeks since she was picked out for the job, Choudhary has turned into a media stalwart, giving interviews to television and print journalists ashish sharma

Deputy or leader?

Sudesh Choudhary at the chaupal in Narnaund

scrounging for a positive spin on the tired old khap narrative. Already, her answers have taken on a prepared quality.

Dressed in a printed salwar-kurta with dangling earrings and a light trace of makeup, Sudesh Choudhary looks like most middle-aged Jat women do. It is her shoes that give a hint of the power she wields, as she takes long strides in the heeled ankle boots that make for a striking contrast with the rest of her appearance. She belongs to the village of Badli in Jhajjar district, not far from Hisar. Though she has hardly any experience in activism or social work, her family is powerful and well-connected. That has definitely helped in winning the mandate.

Almost like a tour guide pointing out something historic and wondrous, she ushers us with a flourish to a rather unremarkable structure in the middle of Narnaund. As she walks up the steps, she excitedly says, “This is where it happened. This is the chaupal where the decision was taken and I became the first woman in over 600 years to walk these very steps.” According to khap diktats, women are not allowed to set foot inside a chaupal—a common meeting place for village elders and leaders. Inside, a group of aged men are smoking hookahs. The all-male council sits here everyday to address the needs of the villagers. As she swoops down to touch their feet, unhurriedly they stir to life. It is a slow day, with the sun blazing down, and there is not one supplicant in sight. The men go back to snoozing and smoking as we walk away.

We are taken to the house of Ranbir Singh Lohan, who belongs to a prominent local family. In the front hall, a group of elderly men are idling about, playing cards and watching TV. For over five decades, this has been an unbroken tradition—the baithak of village elders that is hosted in this house everyday. There is not one woman about. Soon, more than 20 women troop in, the older ones all in ghoonghat (veil). They have interrupted their day’s work to turn up for the interview, something they are used to doing by now. Living in the shadow open www.openthemagazine.com 53

of the khap, the older women are not too positive about any radical change.

They perceive this for the sideshow that it probably is. The younger ones, not so resigned yet, believe that their lives can change if khaps change, and they can change.

Anisha Lohan is a shy 22-year-old who is studying at the local government college in Narnaund. Like most young women of her age in the village, she can’t wait to be free, to be independent, to start working. For most of these women, the only viable job is to teach in a school. With so many candidates and so few jobs, it helps if your family is networked or can pay a bribe. She is dressed in a pink salwar-kurta with short sleeves. I ask her if she’s allowed to wear jeans. “I would love to. But, people would stare at me if I do. Mahaul theek nahin hai (the environment is not right). Maybe if I live in a city like my brother, I can wear jeans.” Every evening she goes to a park in the village. She enjoys movies but is not allowed to go to Hisar, where the nearest theatre is located. Her mother Roshni gets tongue-tied when I ask her what she wants for her daughter and her expectations of the women’s wing of the khap. After some thought, she replies, “I want her to be married soon.

And, maybe if change comes, her life can be better.”

Choudhary intervenes, “Give her two years. There’s a lifetime ahead to be married. Look at me, I’m a village woman but I sent my daughter to study in Australia and now she’s living there by herself. I’m very proud of her. Promise me you’ll give her some time.” The mother nods along helplessly, then says, “But marriage is important too.”

Parvez, an outspoken 20-year-old, chips in. “We’re not allowed to go out much, not even to the market. I wish that would change. I think young women here are changing, but the men are not keeping pace. I will volunteer and support the women’s wing.” She studies in a college in Hisar. When she applied for a police job last year, her uncles stopped her. She will try to find a job as a teacher, even as she dreams of escaping to a big city one day. Like 54 open

any youngster these days, all the young women here are hooked to their mobile phones, which they use for chatting, texting and Facebook. They laugh at the khap ordinance to take away their phones.

The khaps have found many ways to disenfranchise women. Depriving them of property is one of them. But, when quizzed about women’s right to inherit paternal property, the women tend to close ranks in support of the system. Choudhary says, “If a

Choudhary says,

“If a girl asks for her share of the property, it is not considered a good thing.

I don’t support it either, as it creates disbalance.

She has a right on

her husband’s property, how can she inherit from her parents then?”

girl asks for her share of the property, it is not considered a good thing. I don’t support it either, as it creates disbalance. She has a right on her husband’s property; how can she inherit from her parents then? What about the rights of her brothers?”

It is early days for the one-member women’s wing. With 42 villages under it, Satrol is the biggest khap in Haryana.

Inder Singh, the sarpanch of Satrol and the man credited with this canny PR move, says, “Just like no house can run without the advice of a

woman, the same way, our society cannot function without the advice of women.” But, before we get carried away and truly start believing that khaps support women’s rights, he warns, “I have told [Choudhary] that she can do what she wants when women’s issues crop up, as long as we are consulted on every decision.”

I ask him why then did he even bother with forming a women’s wing if the men will take all the decisions, and he replies,“We are the core committee and we have experience which women do not have.” He has given Choudhary instructions to involve more women, as long as they realise that the power of decision-making rests with the men.

Campaigners for women’s rights have raised serious questions about this move. Ranjana Kumari, a women’s rights activist who has written extensively on khaps, is wary of this ‘gimmick’. “Khaps are institutions for men and by men, and they rule over women’s lives. I suspect involving a woman is just a cosmetic change. It will not change the nature and character of these institutions that are deeply patriarchal and casteist. How can women play a role in khaps when they are hardly represented even in democraticallyelected institutions?”she asks.

Choudhary, meanwhile, is poised between converting herself into a product for media consumption—she says she is inspired by Medha Patkar and Kiran Bedi; on her Facebook wall she shows me links to all the media coverage she has got—and fighting the good fight. “I plan to cover every village and spread awareness about women’s rights, talk about female foeticide and education for our girls and the freedom to marry whom they want. You can do it smartly, without offending people.”

Civil society groups and the media are often accused of overlooking affirmative stories about the muchmaligned khaps even when they stand up against female foeticide or take steps to support female education. While it is natural to look at Choudhary’s story with a degree of scepticism, we might also read it as a small sign of change. n 16 june 2014

books Resemble, Dissemble, Assemble, Explode Ghalib Islam’s inventive debut is utterly strange and difficult, but boasts the confidence of a hardened punk DIVYA GUHA FIRE IN THE UNNAMEABLE COUNTRY

By Ghalib Islam fourth estate | 448 pages | Rs 699

B

ooker prize-winning writer Margaret Atwood has placed Ghalib Islam in the same league as Burroughs, Calvino and other ‘metafabulist satirists’. Indeed, this 32-year-old Bangladeshi Canadian debut novelist has outdone himself with his unimaginably strange story. But, possessed of the hectic pace and madness of a modern video game, his Fire in the Unnameable Country boggles the mind.

The tale is ostensibly about Hedayat, who speaks in tongues and is birthed on a magic flying carpet over a land where the threat of extermination is constant. Its story springs from a cruel annexation: a wilful technocrat has come to lead an occupation army in the unnameable country. He and his army of Black Organs, collectors and assemblers record the contents of its citizens’ minds in the cavernous archives of the sinister Ministry of Records and Sources.

Hedayat’s account traces contemporary terrorism and epidemics that abound, going as far back as his great-grandparents to reveal the roots of the country’s deathly disarray. And through it all, an awful, endless reality show has the citizens of La Maga gambling body parts and trembling with fear of the Black Organs. To lose, to be captured, is to risk extinction.

Fire in the Unnameable Country is a nest of stories, of plots within plots, in the fashion of Arabian Nights. Characters appear and disappear, and reappear with different names; names reappear without the corresponding character’s return. Deaths, dreams and resurrections leap the narrative forward. In fact, people live and die on cue—this is a film set, after all—and appearances can be deceptive. Crying, though necessary and real, is never provoked without onions, for example.

Islam, the author, has created a world where actors (or human beings) create lives of surreal unreality and suffering.

Its language—which describes war-ravaged cityscapes, subterranean prisons, mirror-walls on labyrinthine streets—is thus fittingly maimed, as if ridden with bullet wounds: ‘She rubs her temples, I’m listening to someone else’s thoughts, she

says softly; she feels icky, as she always does when realising again that she’s violating a deeper privacy than most people imagine possible. And then. And yet.’

The author has deliberately left sentences unfinished, dispensed altogether with the use of question marks and several parts of speech, scrambled his syntax—and you can tell he enjoyed it. His narrator’s glossolalia, the phenomenon of (apparently) speaking in an unknown tongue, especially in religious worship, is not a Pentecostal affliction in the book; rather, it resembles a socio-linguistic rewriting of history: ‘Know that glossolalia is a term Hedayat has prescribed to a host of phenomena throughout the unnameable country’s past, because the gift of the future—and its arrogance—is the ability to cull the past and call it anything it likes.’

As one of the book’s great subjects, language plays a pivotal role; a secret ‘backward slang’ is invented to resist the rapacious reach of what we might call Big Data—like Orwell’s Big Brother. For, under siege are what the civilised world has come to call ‘civil liberties’—a struggle that is only too familiar to many contemporary readers. Thus, the story is replete with hysteria, danger and claustrophobia: people are sucked up through vortexes into prisons or flown out of danger on magic carpets, and time dissolves. Little heed is paid to the reader who, like a madman, is frequently left shaking a dead geranium.

But that is also the power and beauty of this book—it offers incentive to be read again, like a backward explosion.

Islam is clearly preoccupied with the radicalisation that occupies students in universities and ghettoes, but for all that, he successfully transcends juvenilia.

Great works of cinematic art, like Tarkovsky’s The Mirror— also the name of the reality show created in this book—were similarly inaccessible, and inspired by fire.

Ultimately, however, one wishes the book would move the reader. Somehow, it feels rather remote, though the country is foreign yet familiar.

The novel’s schoolboy, Pythonesque absurdity undercuts its Beckettian potential. And there is something very established about this novel’s anti-establishment flare. Yet, it has its very own charm.

Maybe readability too will soon be bunk.

It will be some outmoded, pedestrian concern in a not so distant future. n

The story is replete with hysteria, danger and claustrophobia, with little heed to the reader. There lies the power and beauty of the book

16 June 2014

open www.openthemagazine.com 55

music Of Silent Significance The Jaipur-Atrauli

Gharana bemoans the loss of its last legend Dhondutai Kulkarni (1927-2014), a vocalist who shunned the limelight in quiet pursuit of her music Shrinkhla Sahai

K

nown for its majestic vocalism

and esoteric appeal, the JaipurAtrauli Gharana mourns the loss of one of its last living legends— Dhondutai Kulkarni, who passed away at 86 in Mumbai on 1 June 2014. As the only disciple of Kesarbai Kerkar—one of the most enigmatic and awe-inspiring personalities of Hindustani classical music, she was a storehouse of knowledge, wisdom and memories.

Dhondutai’s place in the universe of Hindustani classical music has been one of silent significance. Having trained with five illustrious gurus of the Jaipur-Atrauli Gharana, and being the only one who had access to the aesthetics of Kesarbai Kerkar’s style as a student, she was a critical link in its musical legacy. Despite her privileged position, talent and critical acclaim, she never quite captured the limelight in the concert circle. Her journey exemplified a silent sadhana.

While going through one of her old cassettes sent by her disciple Namita Devidayal —who is also the award-winning author of The Music Room—I was deeply moved by a particular bandish in Raga Bhoop Nat. While her voice had a thinner timbre than Kesarbai Kerkar’s deep-throated projection, the expansive aalap, the interplay with the landing note and the exquisite delineation had the distinct Jaipur-Atrauli stamp.

What struck me most was the absence of any attempt towards showmanship.

The quiet authority and self-absorbed patience with which she meditated on the raga revealed her purism.

Her musical journey started out as her father’s dream. In the 1920s, a Brahmin school teacher in Kolhapur wanted to devote his life to music. Though he trained under various gurus in 56 open

vocal music and tabla, he found himself short-changed in his learning curve.

As a teacher himself, he tried to analyse the lacuna in his musical training. Held back by family responsibilities, he gifted his dream to his daughter Dhondutai, born in 1927. At the age of five she tagged along with him as he requested Natthan Khan, the nephew of Alladiya Khan (known as the founder of the Jaipur-Atrauli Gharana), to accept her as his disciple. Initially, the maestro refused. He was not open to the idea of teaching such a young child, and that too, a girl. Undaunted by social norms and people’s reservations, he devised an ingenious strategy for getting his daughter trained in the art. He took a friend to learn from Natthan Khan and agreed to pay his fee as well. Through his friend he wanted his daughter to receive the music education that was otherwise denied to her. On realising this aspect of the complete picture, Natthan Khan was moved. He relented and started with 15-minute taleem sessions for the young girl. By the age of eight, Dhondutai was already a performing artist on All India Radio, and by 20, she was an ‘A-Grade’ artist.

This young girl not only imbibed the

Unlike the reverential attitude of musicians towards their gurus and gharanas, Dhondutai was sincere and critical about her guru’s music

powerful and strenuous gaayaki of the Gharana from her gurus, but also the resilience and determination of spirit from her father. “I remember that even as a child I used to say that I want to learn music from Kesarbai,” she recalled in a telephonic interview I did with her for a radio show on Kesarbai’s death anniversary, “I remember expressing my desire to learn music from Kesarbai, though I hardly understood music at that age. I do not know why I used to say it, but I was sure that is what I wanted.” Having learnt from stalwarts like Bhurji Khan, Azizuddin Khan and Lakshmibai Jadhav after her initial training with Natthan Khan, she was already deeply grounded in the Jaipur-Atrauli aesthetics. Further training with Kesarbai Kerkar, who was known for her ‘voice of the queen’ effect, would have given her wings. The 16 june 2014

will be missed Dhondutai Kulkarni at a concert

only catch was that Kesarbai Kerkar did not accept any disciples.

The twist in the tale emerged many years later. After a concert in her later years, the editor of a newspaper posed a question to Kesarbai that reverberated deeply with her concerns for the future of her musical legacy. Soon afterwards, her statement was published in a newspaper, “If somebody is ready to work hard as I did, then I am ready to teach.”

Immediately, Azizuddin Khan urged Dhondutai to write to her. Kesarbai replied asking her to come to Mumbai.

From 1962 to 1971, Dhondutai was immersed in dedicated discipleship with Kesarbai. In 1990, she received the Sangeet Natak Akademi award.

Talking to Dhondutai was an interesting experience. She charmingly balanced dignified reflections with humble candour in her Marathi-laced-Hindi 16 june 2014

conversations. Her honesty, knowledge and unpretentious liveliness were disarming. As a radio host, I was used to the ‘holier-than-thou’ attitude of musicians over their gurus and gharanas. Dhondutai stunned me with her strikingly sincere and critical analysis of her guru’s music, “You see, Kesarbai’s voice was very bad initially and her breath was very short. It used to break after one or two surs. But Alladiya Khan worked hard on her voice. I wanted to know that voice culture technique, [for it] changed the texture and style of her voice completely.”

Her life was steeped in solitude and spiritualism. The silent spiritedness of the early days had settled into her life choices. She lived alone, chose not to marry, didn’t believe in running after the limelight. She was happily reconciled to ‘being different’.

“I don’t regret anything. Actually I am made differently. I never ever thought about having my own family, home, husband, etcetera. My sister and brother’s children are like my own children. From childhood I devoted my life to two things only—music and spiritualism. I am made like that. All my students are like my children.”

The strength of her beliefs and fortitude are as much a part of her legacy as the repertoire of rare and compound ragas and voice culture techniques she has passed on to her students. When asked the same question that Kesarbai encountered decades ago from the newspaper editor, she had replied, “I am very optimistic. Whosoever has come to me to learn, I have taught them. But it is also true that the way I dedicated my life to music, nobody is going to do that now.” n open www.openthemagazine.com 57

rough cut

Surely You’re Joking, Mr Funnyman Mayank Shekhar

A

Is the Indian stand-up comic scene reaching maturity?

round early 2009, a motley group of 20-some-

when I realised some of these resident amateurs had already things had begun to gather on a Tuesday night at turned into neighbourhood stars. Twitter anyway allows Café Goa in a shanty part of Bandra for an ‘open mic’ these writers to attract thousands of followers, matching to test their stand-up comic skills. This stand-up comedy the footfalls in their mini-auditoriums. was different from desi shows like Laughter Challenge on TV, Jaideep Verma’s soon to be released documentary I Am because it was mostly in English, hence upper middle-class, Offended ably captures this metropolitan phenomenon. and they attempted to engage in personal observations, selfThe film chiefly stars Delhi’s stand-up Sanjay Rajoura and deprecating humour, nervous scatological banter and anecMumbai’s Varun Grover, who channel their urban frustradotes, rather than memorised joke-telling. tion into their comic routines. Rajoura’s rage borders on The comedy at this bar event, successor to the ‘poetry misanthropy. He hates ‘urban tucchas’ (brown trash). The slam’ night (euphemism for ‘don’t judge my poems’), would volume of the laughs and eeriness of the silence in a room be rank amateur stuff—a lot of its affected mannerisms when the comic is up on stage determine the success of a and gags derived from American acts widely available on set. They seem to hold well, equally at ease in English and YouTube. Delhi’s stand-up comics would have made Hindi, often pushing the boundaries of what’s okay to say in similar beginnings at around the same time at similar public.The film traces the origins of this visual venues. What gave Mumbai the immediate edge was the medium to haasya kavees (an old Indian tradition), Johnny opening of a full-fledged comedy club, The Comedy Store Lever’s mimicry audiotapes in the 80s and the late Marathi (now Canvas Factory) in Lower Parel, which humourist Pu La Deshpande, for whose would fly down acts from abroad, who shows people would line up all night at the Indian TV and film would mix their routine set with customary box-office to score a ticket in the morning. comedians have jokes on Indian traffic or how Indians bob Raju Shrivastav was probably the first their head sideways to mean both ‘yes’ and Hindi stand-up star from television. His kept politics to ‘no’ during conversations. deeply reverential gigs are often punctuatthemselves, unlike Vir Das by now was pretty much the ed by, “Thank you, aur ab mein agla item pesh stand-up comics patron saint on the paid circuit, having cut kar raha hoon…” A good way to distinguish who are subversive, his teeth at open mic nights while an this from English stand-up comedies might even refreshingly undergrad student in the US. A lot of the be to look at its grand-daddy Cyrus Broacha, city’s newbies naturally gravitated towards who is impossible to bump into when he’s polemical Das, whose own troupe performed sketches not being funny. Broacha’s performance is at Comedy Store and corporate events. an extension of his personality rather than Everyone at Café Goa, mostly men, gave stand-up a shot in a ‘peshkash’. Along with Kunal Vijayakar, he gets away with exchange for a free shot at the bar—no doubt with one eye a lot of political humour in the The Week That Wasn’t on on the women in the hall, who supposedly love guys with CNN-IBN. Much like religion, Indian comedians on a sense of humour (which as a law, I suspect, works more TV and films have kept politics to themselves. English like: she already finds you attractive, therefore she will find stand-up comics in India haven’t. They are subversive, even you funny, rather than the other way round; but that’s anrefreshingly polemical. other matter). The audience at Café Goa got to watch peoStand-up comics are still a sub-culture. There are about ple potentially make asses of themselves in public or crack a 35 of ‘em all, talking to rooms full of like-minded folk. Each good one, the ratio roughly being 70:30. The bar would be alof them feels it’s a matter of time before they get into troumost full on a weekday night. I’d make it a point to attend. ble. Maybe somebody’s got to be hurtin’. But if these numNobody cribbed. The venues multiplied across the city with bers attain a critical mass of hundreds and thousands of the progress of time. stand-up comics (like in the West), we could finally save this It was towards the end of 2009, while I was editing a hypersensitive, hypocritical nation of serious men from the popular city daily, that we attempted stand-up comedy as tyranny of political correctness. n a dedicated cultural beat. We would report gags from variMayank Shekhar runs the pop-culture website TheW14.com ous shows and cover stand-up comics as celebrities. This is

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severe seizures Epilepsy affects around 50 million people worldwide including 600,000 in the UK alone, and around a quarter of cases are resistant to conventional treatments

The Mammoth Wipeout How dogs helped ancient humans hunt this grand pachyderm to extinction

New Epilepsy Treatment

daniel eskridge/stocktrek images/getty images

science

H

ow did mammoths, the large,

woolly ancestors of modern elephants that are believed to have roamed the earth till around 12,000 years ago, suddenly go extinct? Of the various reasons offered, many strongly support the theory that the animals disappeared due to climate change. According to this theory, the warming of the planet led to the extinction of mammoths. Sceptics, however, point out that there had been several similar episodes of warming earlier that did not lead to such extinctions. The other theory cited is the emergence of advanced human hunters, which significantly contributed to—if not caused—the extinction of the animal. However, researchers have been puzzled about how humans, with the primitive weapons they wielded at the time, could have killed animals as large as these on such a vast scale.

Over the years, researchers have unearthed around 30 ‘mammoth megasites’ in central Europe and North Asia, where tens of thousands of mammoth bones lie packed tightly on top of each other across areas as small as 60 square metres. These

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sites are dated to be between 45,000 and 15,000 years old. Some scientists have reasoned that a flood must have swept the animals to these spots, or unlucky herds might have fallen through thin ice.

However, according to new research conducted by an anthropologist at Pennsylvania State University, Pat Shipman, and published in Quaternary International, these sites were the hunting grounds of ancient humans, which in all probability caused the extinction of mammoths.

She claims that humans developed a successful new technique for killing such large animals. Instead of hunting them across vast plains, ancient humans used dogs to ambush the creatures. Some sites have thrown up skulls of animals with both wolfand dog-like features. Many of the skulls bear healed fractures, indicating that humans cared for them. The canines corralled the mammoths at ambush sites while human hunters moved in for the kill. Once the mammoths were dead, the dogs protected the sites from scavengers. In return, humans may have assured these canines food and protection. n

A new treatment for drug-resistant epilepsy with the potential to suppress seizures ‘on demand’ with a pill has been developed

by University College London. First, a modified virus is injected into the area of the brain where seizures arise. This virus instructs the brain cells to make a protein that is activated

by CNO (clozapine-N-oxide), a compound that can be taken as a pill. The activated protein then suppresses the over-excitable brain cells that trigger seizures, but only in the presence of CNO. This technique was demonstrated in rodents, but the innovative method is expected to translate into new treatment options for managing and controlling seizures in humans. n

Another Alarm for Smokers

According to a study published in Nature Genetics, around a quarter of smokers who carry a defect in the BRCA2 gene will develop lung cancer at some point in their lifetime. Scientists have found a previously unknown link between lung cancer and a particular BRCA2 defect known as BRCA2 c.9976T, occurring in around 2 per cent of the population. The defect in BRCA2— best known for its role in breast cancer—increases the risk of developing lung cancer by about 1.8 times. Smokers as a group have a high lifetime risk of around 13 per cent. The new study thus suggests around one in four smokers with the BRCA2 defect will develop lung cancer. n

16 june 2014

dlna Established by Sony in June 2003, The Digital Living Network Alliance (DLNA) is a nonprofit collaborative trade organisation that is responsible for defining interoperability guidelines to enable sharing of digital media between multimedia devices

tech&style

Citizen Eco-Drive Satellite Wave F100 It uses GPS to display accurate time anywhere in the world

HTC w One M8

Rs 49,900

Price on request

The M8 boasts a beautiful design, an effective camera, a brilliant build with top-end components and expandable memory. The M8 comes in a metal chassis, which is a visual treat, and with its Quad Core Snapdragon processor, it performs pretty fast. Its front-facing speakers create a nice experience while watching a movie or when on speakerphone call. It has a Dual Focus camera and a two-tone flash for more natural illumination. n

JBL Authentics L8

I

n 2011, Citizen launched Eco-

Drive Satellite Wave, the world’s first watch capable of staying in sync with satellites to display accurate time anywhere in the world. Two years later, Eco-Drive Satellite WaveAir debuted with a full-metal case and the world’s fastest signal reception, thanks to radically improved antennae sensitivity.

This year, Citizen has launched the next-generation of this satellite-synchronised technology. Thinner and lighter, the latest avatar, Eco-Drive Satellite Wave F100, works in 40 time zones and retains its spurs for the world’s fastest signal reception.

Speed is the pre-eminent feature of this new timepiece. The watch not only catches signals from way above the earth’s surface in less than three seconds no matter where it is worn, its satellite-inspired case and band design evoke a sense of pace.

To make this world’s thinnest light-powered satellite-synchronised watch of 12.4 mm, Citizen uses pro16 june 2014

prietary lightweight titanium, which also ensures that it feels light and comfortable on one’s wrist.

To complement the overall look, the company has crafted titanium— often touted as the ‘metal of the future—into a strikingly streamlined case and band with a metallic lustre and mirror-finish texture that suggests aerospace-era sophistication. Its dial design is inspired by solar panels used to power orbiting satellites; its hollowed push buttons simulate the fuselage of navigational satellites.

What’s more, this watch also features the world’s first 6 Light-Level Indicator. By showing the amount of electricity generated by light reflecting on the dial on a scale that has seven gradations, the wearer can gauge its charge level in any given situation.

The accuracy of the time displayed has been vastly improved as well— from ÷15 seconds per month to ÷ 5 seconds per month. It’s precision wristwear at its best. n

Rs 54,990

A retro looking speaker, the JBL Authentics L8 reminds you of the years gone by, but what it really manages to do is give you a great set of connectivity options. You can use Apple Airplay or Bluetooth to stream music from your phone or tablet, and use WiFi connectivity in case you want to stream music from a Digital Living Network Alliance (DLNA) source. There is also an optical input at the back and 2 USB ports, as well as an auxiliary port on the top. Two dials on the top of the speaker let you control the volume, power and the source. The Speaker uses two tweeters, two mid-range drivers and a subwoofer channel to put out some good bass and treble, but the mid-ranges are not satisfactory. The main reason to buy this speaker would be for its looks and connectivity. n Gagandeep Singh Sapra is The Big Geek at System3. He can be reached at gadgets@openmedianetwork.in

open www.openthemagazine.com 61

CINEMA

a man of many parts CityLights actor Manav Kaul is also a playwright, filmmaker and director of several plays. He made his acting debut with the fantasy film Jajantaram Mamantaram (2003).His directorial debut was Hansa (2012)

CityLights Authentic characters and an honest depiction of Mumbai make this movie an absorbing watch ajit duara

o n scr een

current

Blended Director Frank Coraci cast Adam Sandler, Drew Barrymore,

Wendi McLendon Score ★★★★★

alekha mar rao, patr Cast rajkum a ht me al ns Director ha

T

here have been many films with

the city of Mumbai as the focal point, but this is probably one of the most honest. It does not wax eloquent about this brutal city with a heart of gold. It tells you that all hope in Mumbai is illusory and that migrants to the city have traded their soul for a worthless piece of dirt. The last film that told you this truth was Muzzafar Ali’s Gaman, made in 1978, about a man (Farooq Sheikh) who migrates from Uttar Pradesh to become a taxi driver in the Bombay of those times.

In CityLights, Deepak Singh (Rajkummar Rao) migrates with his wife and daughter from Rajasthan.

As soon as he arrives in Mumbai, he is cheated of all his cash. His wife (Patralekha), in desperation, becomes a bar dancer. Eventually, Deepak gets a job as a security guard and driver with a private firm that transports strong boxes with cash and valuables in the city. He is now officially a Mumbai

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survivor, and his canny partner at work, Vishnu (Manav Kaul), encourages him to dream of that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

This is a remake of a British film called Metro Manila, but director Hansal Mehta puts his own style and signature on it. CityLights, with its authentic cast of characters, becomes an absorbing film after the first half hour of drifting. The pathos of those made up dolls and lonely men in dance bars comes through well and the striving of Deepak to preserve his Rajasthani dignity in Mumbai, what his habitual use of ‘hukum’ as an address form, is very affecting.

But it is the character of Vishnu who brings the movie to vibrant life. He invents the notion of the city for Deepak, interprets poverty and suggests an improbable solution. Incredibly, Kaul actually steals the picture from a good actor like Rao. An engrossing and very watchable movie. n

Blended is an Adam Sandler comedy about two single parents and their numerous kids who get ‘blended’ on a holiday to South Africa. The idea of large suburban families getting hitched dates back a bit. Yours, Mine and Ours (1968) with Henry Fonda and Lucille Ball was good; its remake in 2005 with Dennis Quaid and Renne Russo, however, wasn’t so good.

This film has the unmistakable Sandler touch to family blending, which means it is often quite inappropriate—racially, sexually and intellectually. But it is also true that if you loosen up a bit and forget about political correctness, the film can actually be amusing.

Jim (Adam Sandler) and Lauren (Drew Barrymore) meet on a blind date at ‘Hooters’. He has three daughters and she has two sons. Now which bozo would take a date to ‘Hooters’, with flimsily dressed waitresses fawning on the male diner?

Turns out, Jim would—his late wife was a waitress there and he is sentimental about it. Aww, that is so sweet.

Next they go to Africa—he becomes ‘Dad’ to her boys and she becomes ‘Mom’ to his girls. The Africans turn into houseboys and chorus singers. This is offensive and regressive. But here is the puzzle.

Despite the atavistic attitude, the film is still quite entertaining. n AD

16 june 2014

Not People Like Us

R aj e e v M asa n d

Two Couples and a Tutorial

The unit of Anurag Basu’s Jagga Jasoos is currently shooting in Cape Town, and photographs of Ranbir Kapoor and Katrina Kaif shopping on their day off from the set have already surfaced on the internet. The film’s leads are believed to have spent an afternoon browsing through a local mall, and didn’t flinch when desi fans spotted them hand-in-hand, or hankered for autographs and pictures. Fans noted that the couple was perfectly comfortable with the attention and made no effort to hide their closeness.

Meanwhile, in another part of the world, another star couple has reportedly been spotted getting cosy. Deepika Padukone apparently showed up in Barcelona a few days before the Dil Dhadakne Do unit sailed off on a cruise where they’ll shoot the chunk of the movie. Apparently DP and Ranveer Singh took in the sights and sounds of the city during his day off from work, although a source on the set reveals that the actress wasn’t shy about hanging out with the unit too. In an interview not long ago, Deepika told me she’d love to be an assistant on Zoya Akhtar’s set because “it’s the best script I’ve read”. She didn’t land up seeking an apprenticeship with the director, but Deepika does share a warm friendship with producers Farhan Akhtar and Ritesh Sidhwani, who she’s likely to work with again sometime in the near future.

More Than Just a Filmi Friend

Sonakshi Sinha brought in her 27th birthday last Sunday at Olive in Mumbai, and invited a gaggle of her filmi friends to party with her. Her Tevar co-star Arjun Kapoor, her Lootera director Vikramaditya Motwane, actor Sidharth Malhotra, model Niketan Madhok, and photographer Rohan Shrestha were among those spotted downing shots with the actress. Conspicuous by his absence, however, was Sonakshi’s R…Rajkumar co-star and “good friend” Shahid Kapoor, who, it is rumoured, took the actress for a late-night drive after her party.

A friend of Shahid’s reveals that the pair has become very close after working together, and that Shahid even advises Sonakshi on her career. It was the Haider hero who apparently recommended that Sonakshi sign up with 16 june 2014

the same talent management agency that handles his film and advertising work.

However, turns out there’s no truth to rumours that Sonakshi turned down the Akshay Kumar starrer Singh is Bling because Shahid was uncomfortable about her friendship with Akshay. In fact, she wasn’t even considered for the film, which Kareena Kapoor has now reportedly landed. The film’s producer, Ashvini Yardi, a friend of Sonakshi, wasn’t too keen to repeat the Akshay-Sonakshi pairing so soon after Holiday, and so didn’t even approach the actress for the role. She didn’t go to Katrina either, because that casting might suggest they were making a sequel to Singh Is Kinng, which this project isn’t.

The Envious Filmmaker

Not long after his latest film bombed at the box-office, a prominent filmmaker was catching up with his team over drinks at his sprawling home recently. The seasoned chap appeared defeated, and eyewitnesses suspected that his mood was a result of the film’s dismal performance.

Over the course of the evening, the gathering grew more intimate. When the filmmaker was alone with his core group—his leading man, senior assistant directors and key crew members who have worked with him for years—it became clear that what was troubling him had nothing to do with the fate of the film.

The filmmaker, who has been routinely linked romantically with many of the actresses he worked with, was apparently upset that the film was now done, and with it he’d lost any opportunity to ‘get close’ to his latest leading lady. In a moment that some described as desperate, others pathetic, the gentleman in question leaned over to his leading man and allegedly whispered (loudly enough for the group to hear), “Tu ne uski li kya?”

(Did you have her?) As it turns out, he was all cut up over the possibility that his lead actor had had a fling with her, but he hadn’t had a chance to get close. Yeesh! n Rajeev Masand is entertainment editor and film critic at CNN-IBN open www.openthemagazine.com 63

open space

Terms of Endearment

by r au l i r a n i

When 90-year-old widower Mohammad Basheer met 80-year-old widow Rafiquan, it was love at first sight and he eventually married her. After his first wife passed away, Basheer had hoped that his seven sons would take care of him in his old age, but none was ready to take him to a doctor and buy medicines for him when he fell ill. They were only interested in his property, comprising a small house and a grocery shop in old Meerut and bank balance of Rs 50,000. “It was during this great crisis in my life that I met Rafiquan, who was in my town to attend a marriage ceremony. We decided that we needed each other for the rest of our lives,� says Basheer. Rafiquan has no children

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16 june 2014

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