Perfect Days - A Perfect Movie

 It was a strange first 30 minutes of the movie. 

The protagonist, a middle-aged Japanese man, wakes up, rubs his eyes, goes to the bathroom, brushes his teeth, wipes his face, dresses up in his workman clothes, picks up the car key, shuts his door, gets a can of coffee from the pay fridge, gets into his van, plays a cassette of happy sounding western music and goes about his job. He is a toilet cleaner in Tokyo Toilette and he opens the doors and with meticulous and even fond care cleans the rims and the surface of the pot, repeats this in more places, goes to a public bath, washes his body happily, sits on a park bench in the afternoon, takes a picture with his small camera( not phone), goes to a small restaurant, has a meal, goes home, lies down on the mat, switches on the light, takes out a William Faulkner novel from his well-stocked, neatly organized bookshelf, reads a bit, reaches out for his light, switches it off and goes off to sleep.

This sequence takes 10 to 12 minutes. And the second day, the same 10-minute ( or at least felt like 10 minutes) sequence repeats. So it does for another day and a few sidelights do take place. One is with a much younger toilet cleaner who is doing his cleaning job without the least bit of interest and then a brief stay by his niece Kiko who is reluctant to go back to her mother( the protagonist's sister) who is stylishly dressed and comes to pick her up in a fancy car.

Wen Winder is a German maestro and this movie fetched the lead actor Koji Yakusho the Best Actor award at Cannes 2023. 

The movie leaves an impact long after you see this. Some messages resonate powerfully. You can be contented with life's very mundane daily routines. Setbacks ( hinted in the movie - the protagonist's tastes in reading and music hark back to a more privileged life earlier) are par for the course. A clear sky, some beautiful music, and dedication to duty are enough for a good life. The movie has very few words exchanged, and the action does not even rise above the routine that also suggests, as a friend put it, you are better off by not giving words to your thoughts. Sometimes words can be a source of misery by the associations they bring.   

Milan Kundera dies at 94

 

(From my tribute to Kundera on FB)
Milan Kundera, a Czech novelist, died on Tuesday, 11th July at 94. For me, it is rather personal.

Years ago, I was a participant in a television quiz where apart from general awareness, we had a subject round where we could choose our own topic. I had stumbled into a review of ‘The Unbearable Lightness of Being’ by Kundera in the now defunct Gentleman magazine and then went on to read the book. It was exhilarating.

Over a period of time, I bought a few of his other works. I found his ability to distil profound truths of life through a mix of levity, seriousness, stories of resistance against the repression of the communist regimes in Eastern Europe and also hedonism beguiling. A few stayed with me.

One I always think about is that life moves like the hands of a clock, in a pattern and always repeating the same thematic cycles. I have found this to be so true for myself - it has been chronologically linear but cyclical in so many other ways.

His characters approached the absurdity of existence and an intense desire to experience life in the same breath. They lived and talked as of they were faintly bemused but still flying over all that life threw at them.

Here is an excerpt from ‘The Unbearable Lightness of Being’:
“People usually escape from their troubles into the future; they draw an imaginary line across the path of time, a line beyond which their current troubles will cease to exist. But Tereza saw no such line in her future. Only looking back could bring her consolation. It was Sunday again. They got into the car and drove far beyond the limits of Prague.”

Having told the organisers that my topic would be ‘Works of Milan Kundera’, I discovered that I did not have his entire collection. In those Pre Amazon days, I started scouring all the bookshops in a few cities both personally and through friends. Usually, a lone Kundera would be lying on the shelves and a couple of his works were not easily available. The search however eventually yielded fruit and I managed to get all the missing books in my collection barring one. But in the months after the quiz, I always noticed the same shelves with many Kunderas. Did I play a part in building up that demand? I would fancy so (chuckle).

Kundera lived in Prague and then migrated to Paris. The first one full of both gorgeous architecture and the tragedy of lives and potential snuffed out by a draconian state. And in Paris, one can always sense the existentialism of Sartre, along with a celebration of life through its museums and grand boulevards. Kundera was both - Prague and Paris.

He was also a perennial Nobel contender but somehow did not get it. To me however, though lesser known, he is there with some of the finest: Mahfouz, Barnes, Coetzee or Munro if not Marquez and Camus.
Milan Kundera: April 1, 1929, to 11 July, 2023.

Hockey in India

The World cup Hockey has given a great fillip to the sport in India. The average sports lover discovered that Hockey is alive and can be exciting. The slightly more evolved sports fan got an opportunity to see truly outstanding Hockey.

The threats by Al Qaida were psychological deterrents in the early part of the tournament. But as the tournament progressed, we saw enthusiasm picking up and the crowds in the stadium were as vociferous as possible even when India was not playing. For some inexplicable reason,Germany was a particular favourite of the crowd. In the stadium, I heard ecstatic cries of ‘Deutschland’ whenever Germany touched the ball in their matches.

The Australians were fast and skilful. The Germans displayed tremendous organization. The Brits were the surprise package. The Dutch showed power and excellent long-range passing Hockey.

The Indians played Hockey with excellent dribbling in patches. But the lack of consistency and weak technical skills did not enable them to progress to the last four. Nevertheless it was a creditable performance from the Indians.

The kids enjoyed it thoroughly and for once Hockey and not Man U became the topic of conversation for most kids. The newspapers devoted two pages everyday to the matches but on 12th when IPL started, and the tournament had reached the climax with the last four stages, I found Hockey relegated to a barely noticeable part of the sports page.

Billions of Stars and Us

There are an estimated 140 billions of galaxies, many of them bigger than the Milky way. Each galaxy has probably hundred to four hundred billion stars. The Earth happens to be one planet in one ordinary star. The earth has millions of creatures. And the universe has been in existence for about 13.7 billion years.

Yet we think we are important. We think we have been specially created by an omniscient and omnipotent God who has sent us to this world with a special sense of purpose. He also keeps an eye on all our actions and thoughts and more interestingly he has a special interest in our kitchens and what we eat on specific days. He cares if we violate the customs defined in some old text. He cares if do not bathe and enter his abode: the temple. He loves fruits and sweets and is indifferent to vegetables.

Organised religion is curious to say the least.

What do We Eat Now?

The list of foods that we can eat is shrinking faster than an aspiring model's waistline. Even as early as twenty years back, we were able to eat several dishes with pleasure and without worrying that we were murdering ourselves.But now the list of items with dubious value is longer.

The first item on the list is milk. This was supposed to be the panacea of all food deficiencies. Dara singh drank two jugs of it everyday and so did the Gods. It was holy and healthy, affordable and nutritious. It had Calcium to make our bones strong and Protein for our growth. But today its parentage is under severe question. We are told that no animal drinks milk of anybody other than of its mother and so cow or goat milk cannot be suitable for us. It has growth hormones more suited for calves than humans. We are also told that in large parts of the world like China and Africa, they do not drink milk at all and yet are flourishing. The propaganda juggernaut has become so powerful that Maneka Gandhi could even work out an alternative career on this and so could numerous talk-show hosts and anti-milk doctors.

The second unfortunate item on the list is eggs. They were supposed to be repositories of protein and wholesome. They were eaten every day during the breakfast by our erstwhile rulers. So as children we were given eggs-poached, fried, boiled or in a pudding. The super manager Russi Mody used to have sixteen-egg breakfasts. But now eggs remind us more of cholesterol that protein. You start feeling vaguely uneasy in the heart when you take even a two-egg omelette. The upper limit of taking eggs is three a week. So out go all the Spanish omelettes, noodles with eggs or even Moghalai chicken which come with boiled eggs.

The third pariah is the humble bread. White bread , made of refined flour, was an all-time food. It came as toasted bread in breakfast, sandwiches for lunch and as recommended diet when we had fever. Today refined flour is the cause of troubles in pancreas,heart and kidneys !

The other nutritious food like ghee and red meat have been so much calumnised that they are almost treated like nuclear waste.

Fruits and vegetables were the last of the protected species which no body could touch. But the long arm of medical research has even not left them in peace. Apparently,twenty different kinds of pesticides go into the production of a fruit or vegetable now. So an apple a day was expected to keep the doctor away and I started eating apples everyday. But apple has pesticides in seeds and its core besides the skin. So the only way to eat the fruit is to wash it in warm salt water for thirty minutes, take away its core and then chomp it with a prayer that no more pesticides are left. Grapes are supposed to be positively lethal with pesticides oozing out of every pore. I am told that the fox in the story does not even jump for the grapes because they are carcinogenic.

The green you see on a ladies finger is actually a coating of a dye. The brinjals and spinach are more chemical than vegetable. Rice and potatoes are fattening. Fish could have the deadly lead in it. All processed foods are unhealthy-so out go Maggi and cornflakes or even jam.

I wonder how long will the restaurant boom last with all these frightening truths staring them in the face.

History Through News Reports

Nothing brings the magic and flavour of history back like news reports of the time when the event happened. No historian today can reflect the mood and temper of the moment better than the news hacks who were present at the place of the event.

Read the Oct 1931 article on Gandhi in Time magazine when he visited the House of Commons. He is described as a small ,nut-brown man, bare-legged and bare-footed as usual. A special meeting of the house is convened to meet him.There Gandhi meets the world's most talented hecklers, the members of the House of Commons.

Rajmohan Gandhi said recently that Mahatma was not a bore as he has been portrayed by Indian historians and media. He was witty and interesting.The first member of the House sarcastically asks him about the meaning of the term Mahatma. Gandhi replies with a deadpan face that it means an insignificant person!

He then travels to Lancashire where the mill workers have been hit hard by the boycott of British textiles by the Indians. He has genuine sympathy for the workers and tells them that he will try to help them after the British rule is over in India.

Charlie Chaplin insists on meeting Gandhi and finds him a tremendous figure but cannot understand why he promotes an ancient piece of technology like the spinning wheel.

Speed of Snails and Origin of Tennis

It is really a fascinating experience to see your children grow. It is even more interesting when you discover through them that you are an ignoramus about the world. It is more galling to understand that when I thought I was the well-read types. Rian is two months short of his sixth birthday and his mission in life seems to be 'Exposing Papa'.

Today, he saw a snail in the park while playing and the question to me was,"Papa,how many years will the snail take to go around the earth?" I said,"I don't know beta but we will find out on the net."

The snail has a fastest speed of 0.03 mph and the circumference of the earth is 24900 miles. So the snail, going at its fastest speed, will take 95 years to circle the earth. Not bad for a snail!

We came back home and he saw a bit of U.S.Open. So the missile thrown at me was,"Which country did Tennis start in?". Flummoxed again, I ran to my reference book. It started as Jeu De Paume in the middle ages in France and came to England in the 15th century.

And then in the evening he enlightened me that Indra had broken young Hanuman's jaw and from then on he was known as 'Hanuman-monkey with a broken jaw'.!

And the voyage of knowledge goes on..

What Makes Italians So Hot?

What is it that makes Italians the best-rated lovers in the world by women consistently year after year? I am sure men all around the world want to emulate their Italian counterparts. Here is my attempt at throwing some light on the most educative and useful of all subjects.

First, of course the looks. The men have olive complexion, sharp features and being of Roman lineage anyway fit the generally conditioned idea about male beauty better than other races.

Second, they are genuinely interested in women. They love everything about women and the women notice that they actually light up from inside when they see them. It is also not a sexual kind of interest, which is a special trait of the North Indian male but a true desire to spend time with the women and make them happy.

Third, of course the famed Italian charm. It flows naturally from their genuine interest in women. But they can be insouciantly charming and their body language in presence of women is devastatingly seductive in a non-threatening way.

Fourth, their sense of dressing is awesome. Somehow they manage to carry off the most audacious of touches. Like an Italian could be wearing a woollen jacket and light blue shirt with a cuff open and the wrist would be exposed to show a stunning wristband design. Or he would be wearing a dark suit without a tie and the open buttons of his black shirt could be showing a large cross on his chest.

Fifth, the reputation precedes them and sort of makes everything they do so innocent and appealing to the women.

There are of course some Indian men who could give Italians a run for their money.