When the first edition of Bersih came about in 2007, I was anything but politically aware. To be precise, I was still in my first year at college, and was still struggling to assimilate myself into my college’s upscale society environment compared to my modest upbringings in Sitiawan, Perak, where my mother- like the government- stresses on the good old ‘be grateful’ rhetoric. When the second edition came about four years later, plenty had changed. I was, at that time, a junior editor with news portal Malaysiakini, and like everyone else in the office, was all for going to witness Bersih- out of mere curiousity.

However, my boss at that time immediately raised his hands and said he literally didn’t want everyone from the office ending up in Bersih, so I became a rather passive spectator, without being particularly active. But what transpired during Bersih that day, where I relied on updates online, convinced me that I should be part of Bersih when it comes around next. And less than a year later, it did come.

This time, I put my name in the hat very, very early. But by the time the rally date drew closer, my current boss, from The Malay Mail, told me I might as well cover the rally on the ground for the day. It was like getting some sweet icing on a long-awaited cake.

It’s not so much about fair and clean elections for me. It is rather about the way the people just gather at the roads in Kuala Lumpur and chant ‘Hidup Rakyat!’ that gives me goose-bumps. I never knew there was so much pride in being a Malaysian. In my 22 years here, until 9 July last year, I never saw that pride on anyone’s face.

I was tired with KL being portrayed as the diverse city and the business hub when in fact it is neither of that. Take a walk in Kuala Lumpur today, right now, through the lanes of Jalan Tun HS Lee or near Kotaraya, and tell me how many Malaysians do you see. I bet you’d see more Bangladeshis and Indonesians that you’d see Malaysians.

So, I love the times when these roads are dominated by Malaysians- it’s like a reminder that we still stake ownership of this land.

So, this time, I thought I’d see it myself.

The expectations and crowd

To be honest, the expectations weren’t high for this rally. About 50,000 turned up the last time around, which was a huge number regardless. But Bersih’s steering committee announced the date for this rally less than a month from the set date, and the rally was also taking place less than a year since the last one- which literally means it’s asking too much in too short a time.

What I saw in the night before the rally confirmed my suspicions that this rally would not be anywhere as big as Bersih’s second edition last year. Even when the people started gathering at Masjid Negara in the morning (which was my monitoring station), the crowd didn’t look big. By the time Anwar Ibrahim came down with his wife Wan Azizah in his sleek-looking Audi make after some two hours of waiting, the crowd probably stood at only 5,000 at the square in front of Masjid Negara.

The police had cordoned off the road from Masjid Negara going down to Jalan Raja, where Dataran Merdeka is located. In fact, they formed a human chain, about 500 of them, to clearly prevent the supporters to making their way through. We anticipated a stand-off. But members of PAS’ Unit Amal, who themselves formed a human chain at the front of the crowd which started marching after afternoon prayers under the blazing sun, gave the cops an absolute facepalm moment when took the roundabout at the old KTM station and led the march through Pasar Seni till Jalan Tun Perak. And by the time we were getting down the road towards Pasar Seni and Central Market, I had the priviledge of looking back and witnessing the procession extending back as far as the Masjid Negara junction.

“Where the fuck did they come from?” I asked my photographer in amazement. From a crowd of 5,000, I was suddenly marching amongst a good 30,000 individuals- all Malaysians in yellow.

By the time we converged with the crowd of Anti-Lynas supporters who had marched from KLCC (after also giving an awesome slip to the authorities thanks to, again, PAS’ Unit Amal members), and the other Bersih supporters who have marched from Central Market (with Ambiga Sreenevasan), Petaling Street, and Masjid Jamek- Jalan Tun Perak was sandwiched with human traffic.

Either side of the entire stretch of the Jalan Tun Perak, extending from Dataran Maybank, till the entrance of Dataran Merdeka- was filled with yellow. It became a green zone with no telco signals due to the overloading of human traffic. That, for my dear friends who whimsically bash Bersih- was 100,000 Malaysians in unison. If you can’t see the fun in it, then I feel sorry for you.

There was so much human traffic that me and my fellow colleagues could not move forward beyond Masjid Jamek, because there was literally no human space, be it on the pavement or the roads, to move through.

When all hell broke loose

When me and my colleague got a cue that the cops are about to use tear gas and water cannons, we decided we musn’t miss out on the action. We used the filthy, highly unkept back-lanes to pass by Masjid Jamek and get closer to Dataran. We observed a large crowd of people retreating into the back lanes and chants of Bersih being muffled down. We smelled gas, and my eyes began to burn nonsensically. We got on the main road and saw tear gas canisters come pelting down on the road, with people running everywhere. But my photographer was adamant about taking some photographs, so I waited out near the compounds of Masjid Jamek, and watched as more tear gas canisters came landing down on the street, until another colleague of mine pulled me away from the scene.

This happened because at about 3.30 pm, the Opposition movement’s major liabilities, that is Mr Anwar Ibrahim and Mr Azmin Ali (who, in my eyes, a bigger liability than Anwar himself)- were clearly seen gesticulating towards the barriers near Dataran Merdeka. Mind you, Anwar had a ‘smile’ on his face while his finger pointed to the barrier. Moments later, chants of buka preceded supporters breaking through the barrier and running into Dataran.

But also do not miss out on the fact that the police personnel backed off conveniently when they saw that Anwar was close enough to the area. The whole day, the police were merely waiting for a reason for them to show their power. The excuse of supporters breaching Dataran was a convenient one and handed to them on a plate, though some who are intelligent enough might also wonder why it only took one man’s bare hands to literally move the barricade all together.

In short, Anwar wanted a crackdown so that Bersih would look victimized and the police brutal- while the police also wanted a crackdown so that Bersih would look violent. Most of the frontpage headings for state-owned newspapers were typed out way before the rally even started.

But in the midst of this political game between two cowards (Najib a coward because he was at Sabah eating banana fritters- that’s classic by the way- and Anwar a coward for disappearing at the corner of Dataran Merdeka at the very moment the crowd started breaking the barricades), the ordinary Malaysians, who were by now following Ambiga’s instructions to retreat and are walking calmly back to Dataran Maybank and the roads behind Jalan Tun Perak- became the pawns. That excuse was enough for the police to fire tear gasses anywhere and everywhere.

At one point, I needed to get to Masjid Negara before I could help my photographer, who was by now injured after being stomped on by a dozen police officers. Since I was tear-gassed at Masjid Jamek, I can’t pass through Dataran or the surrounding roads. When I took shelter at Jalan Tunku Abdul Rahman, I was tear-gassed there too. I had to outrun a tear gas effect to get to Jalan Pudu and wanted to use the old KTM route to get to Masjid Negara, a perfectly harmless location. But I was bombarded with tear gasses again at Jalan Tun HS Lee. When I crossed the road, Pasar Seni was up in smokes due to several tear gas canisters being fired.

The police, in their own intelligent design, did not leave an escape route, as if to cause deliberate physical harm to the supporters. Whichever way I ran, I was met with tear gasses. At the end of the day, I was stranded for an hour, before I could resume my duties.

By now, rumors of a police officer having died and a protester having died spread like wildfire. This was mainly due to the highly-publicized Sogo incident, where a police car rammed into three Bersih supporters, who in turn became a mob wanting to bash the officer and a local news channel cameraman at the same time. What exactly happened there, I do not know. But it is a fact that no-one died. From either side.

But police officers have thereafter claimed their violence against protesters was justified due to the death of their ‘fellow comrade’. Though I have explained that the only officer who died was due to a heart-attack and he wasn’t even on duty that day- some claimed they had ‘insider information’.

Yes, and I have insider information that the world would end tomorrow.

If at all an officer died that day, the police would make no effort to cover it up. Because state-owned medias only needed one more reason to completely painting Bersih as the yellow devils who are out to ruin the country.

They could stoop so low as to misquoting both my photographer and a reporter from The Sun as being beaten up by Bersih supporters (though they were bashed by the police), do you think they would have let that info slip by unnoticed?

And it is disturbing to note that police officers think they can act and react, all based on a speculation. For all the money they are paid, aren’t they supposed to keep their cool and do their jobs no matter what? Why get emotional?

This was epitomized later on when a group of traffic police passed by a group of young policemen at the now-silent Masjid Negara, when I finally managed to get there, and started cheering each other as if they are comrades in arms. Why were the police so emotional on that day? Who whispered what on their ears, till they had to cheer each other and see Bersih supporters as villains? Till they had call people ‘Bodoh’ before bashing them up? Where’s their own intelligence?

Why did an officer chase me off the DBKL’s parking lot by foot, where I was harmlessly taking a breather till he started shouting for everyone to ‘go back home’?

Why did six officers need to drag a shitless man through the street in front of my eyes, and repeatedly beat him? What are they trying to prove? That they own the country?

What happened on April 28 was a war. A war instigated and manipulated by two cowards with sneering, crooked smiles who didn’t even bother to stick through the day.

And, in tune with Malaysia’s 55-year history, we are once again allowing politicians of the lowest scums to determine the outcome of a purely public procession.

In that sense, we have defeated our own success on April 28.

Many of my colleagues often detach themselves from ‘the zoo’, as one fellow journalist called it. Another asked if I was not disturbed by the fact that I am being surrounded by so many hypocrites- I said I deal with hypocrites in my own office, what more in a Parliament. Why, the Malaysian journalism industry is abundant with hypocrites.

People often think journalists as either as a pain-in-the-ass, as the people who know everything about politics, or the people who are somehow the gatekeepers in the nation. We are greeted with a shake of the hands and are told, ‘go on and report about this lah, but don’t write that I told you lah’.

We are told about the ‘envelopes’ that are shrouded under the tables and slipped under the coats- but this information too reaches us via under-the-table handshakes.

We meet people who speak high and order about what’s wrong in the country and about dishonest politicians- but they themselves act in a dishonest way at the end of the day.

That’s probably the Malaysian way of handling things. We see hypocrites as our Members of Parliament because we have let that hypocrisy be a part and parcel of our society.

So, the Parliament is not exactly a ‘zoo’ as I see it. It is a mere representation of what we have allowed to happen in Malaysia. When we laugh at what happens in Dewan Rakyat, what does it say of us as voters?

The epidemy of the Malaysian existence is palpable in the Parliament halls. A MP cat calls the other with words devoid of any mannerism, but when the camera switches to the next speaker, you can’t miss the apologetic smile and warm gesture that is exchanged between two individuals who were at each other’s throats just moments earlier.

Two politicians who accuse each other separately in front of reporters can be found having the tarik and a cigarette together outside the compounds when they retire for their breaks.

You see these masking and unmasking in front of you all the time. And of course you see some fools who can’t say a word proper in Malay being elected into office. Where were our discretion when we voted for these individuals?

Cabinet ministers speak about abolishing corruption in the country and then walk into luxury MPVs right at the Parliament lobby.

For us, it is biasa because they are ministers.

But when we review the pay structure of the Ministers, which is publicly listed, we know we can ask serious questions about how they could afford Z and X vehicles.

But very few of us even ask such questions.

The problem with us is that we let dishonest people talk about honesty. We let murky people talk about transparency. We let radical-minded people talk about being liberal. We let power-hungry people talk about what’s best for the people. And we clap though we know we are not impressed.

Beneath his so-called medium of moderation, a lot of us hold radical beliefs. Even in a passing conversation, people get defensive with what they feel is ‘excessive criticism’ of one party, whom obviously they support. We all choose what we believe in.

There’s always the us and them. Those who want change and those want things to be the same as they are now.

Ministers use the usual rhetoric that we are a peaceful nation and that fabric must not be tampered with, for we risk undoing all the good work we had done over the years.

Yet, in the ‘peaceful’ nation, there are simmering tensions of a political divide that seems to grow stronger. People at either side of the fence get more loud in an effort to muffle out the other- and there exists very little room for mediation.

It’s okay for these politicians. For all their divide, they still retire for their the tarik breaks.

But it is the people outside who can’t seem to celebrate their differences in opinion. If one does not subscribe to your belief, then he or she is threatening your livelihood.

Yet, the second most peaceful nation in Asia. I wonder we would we be if ever there will be a way to measure our peace of mind.

The zoo is not in Parliament, but in the fabric of this society.

The question is, who are we kidding?

And that strong woman is having Bollywood truly caught in her grasps right now. After an year in which even superstars like Shah Rukh Khan struggled to evade criticism and controversy, if there was one shining beacon that came out from Bollywood with any dignity, it was Vidya Balan.

You probably won’t recall any time in the annals of Indian cinema history when people flocked cinemas just to watch an actress in action. Now, right now, they do. People walk into cinema halls to watch Kahaani because Vidya Balan is in it. And when Vidya Balan is in the movie, then it must be a good movie.

Many think Bollywood is going though a though phase because the blockbusters are not exactly setting in and around it on fire, like how they supposed to have done. The likes of Aarakshan and Ra.One, just to name a few, flattered to deceive last year.

On top of it, the biggest of stars also seemed to have fun getting into brawls while punching and kicking others as they please after getting drunk in high-maintenance events.

But Shah Rukh Khan doesn’t represent the whole Bollywood, doesn’t he?

Under this façade of regular cinematic personal life claptrap, Vidya Balan is also Bollywood. And in a league of her own, she is presiding a golden generation for the film industry. The ripple effect of her success won’t be constrained to Bollywood itself, but also in other southern film industries- who are notorious for their chauvinistic approach to films.

Would the people react in the same way to a film if it had Katrina Kaif as its only big name? Or Kareena Kapoor? Or Trisha Krishnan? I really doubt so. The history of the trade will answer your question.

Kahaani, Vidya’s latest offering, can be an all-time classic of only it did not have shades of Ishqiya, another film in which Vidya made people drop jaws with her bold, hands-on performance.

Her biggest success is that just like the finest actors who have graced Indian cinema- from Kamal Haasan to Aamir Khan, she is someone who never carries her name and her recognition on her back when the camera rolls.

If the role requires her to be Mrs. Bagchi, that is exactly what she becomes, and she has the awareness to emote even in the minutest scene to make sure watching her movie makes for a flawless experience- at least from her acting’s point of view.

Kahaani was a speechless experience, one that I feel did not warrant a review but instead warrants an uninanimous appraisal.

Of course, filmmakers would argue that the director should be credited for the way a film turns out at the end of the day.

But then, actors with stature are also due credit for choosing certain projects. And Vidya Balan must be even better than some superstars when it comes to choosing projects.

Because even after doing films with numerous debutant filmmakers, I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen a ‘bad’ film coming from the stables of Vidya Balan.

At least better than Shah Rukh Khan who chose Anubhav Sinha to direct his Ra.One.

When the curtain falls down on her career, which I hope would be in many, many years to come, she should be regarded to be among the finest actors in India’s history.

Not, not as an actress. Because putting her on the same platform as the likes Katrina, Kareena, and other glam queens and saying she is better than them won’t do justice to her talent.

There are actors who have had a long enough career in the industry but are still not even half as good as Vidya. (read John Abraham, Fardeen Khan, Arjun Rampal, Akshay Kumar)

In that sense, Vidya should be duly recognized as crème de la crème of the industry.

Anything lesser than that is a travesty from Bollywood, to its own dignity.

I spent the next few days listening to my friend rambling about Raged Indian, what the latter writes, and why he was so famous. This prompted me to finally spew out all the reasons why I disliked the blog in the first place and later chose to ignore it. Raged Indian demonstrates what is so fundamentally wrong with the local Indian community- it’s so famished of any sort of intellectualism that someone who just vomits and purges on the table is placed on an altar of fame. Raged Indian basically rages about, well, women. Indian women to be specific. How they dress, how they have not learnt how to cook, how they have abandoned our tradition and culture, how they post seductive pictures on Facebook, how they behave like they are intellectually challenged on Facebook- yada yada yada. What baffles me about the blog is not so much the content, but the people who consume that content. Scroll down to the comments and you have girls who go awww even if the man had just spent half an hour crapping about what’s wrong with the modern Indian female- the types who would say- oh, you are writer- you can write and speak English well- can I date you, please? And also guys who are so frustrated by that little failed relationship when they were at school that they fall at the feet of a writer who basically espouses their frustrations and failures. (Imagine a guy slapping a girl while speaking eloquent English- and the girl immediately proposing to the guy just because he slaps so eloquently- get the picture?)

Sad to say, that’s the state of our local Indian community at large. They are so deprived of ‘good’ English that they get orgasms at the sight of a half-good writer. They are so deprived of good opinions that they celebrate a writer who literally flails his arms every time he makes his opinion- conveniently generalizing individuals, and bashing every person he on his way. I’ve said it numerous time and I will say it again- the essential problem with our community has always been chauvinism- and this blog proves that fact. It’s hard evidence. Raged Indian is no different than the stereotypical Indian male who sits at that todi shop and talks absolute baseless rubbish, armed with a beer and a dictionary of bad words that normally treat women as a lesser being. Then you have the blogger himself saying- don’t judge me based on what I write. Writing is a form of self-expression, and unless you are able to express yourself in a reasonable way- please don’t write. There are plenty of English classes and a few manners you can learn before you ‘think’ you can write. Then, maybe, you can actually put forth an argument that comes via your brain and not via other parts of your body.

What really maddens me is the fact that the writer is a hypocrite. It’s okay for guys to drink, but not okay for girls to drink? That’s just but one example of his vast array of chauvinistic ideals that shows everything that is wrong with the intellectual capacity of that Indian man on the street. He posts pictures of women who go clubbing with select clothing, but what about the fact that he actually goes to clubs and snaps this picture and then posts them on public domain (without their permission of course)? What moral high ground is this moron standing on? If those pictures came from someone else’s Facebook (like how he took a screen shot of two girls kissing each other on Facebook once)- then he is basically a lowlife who makes miserly entertainment out of other people’s life.

Looking at all this- it is me who is being the Raging Indian today- unable to fathom how much more moronic the current fabric of our community can get. I know of a world where talented writers struggle to make a living, great artists who do not get a chance because our local community is intent on consuming foreign products and so on. In the midst of this, we have this baboon who thinks he can write and preach on what Indian women and the Indian community should be like. For a man who is so critical of the community- may I ask what have you done for the community itself? Have you bothered to try? To take an effort? He is nothing but someone who makes a circus of our shortcomings- raking in money and fame at the expense of parading his own community to the dogs. Period.

I don’t have to repeat the movie’s plot here- it has been written all over the net thanks to 3 Idiots, so I will get into the fine details of the movie.

Performances:

Vijay really, really does come up trumps in his role. The new ‘All is Well’ signage was a trademark throughout and it is pleasant to someone that many thought had forgotten how to ‘act’ had finally showed that he can carry an entire film like this with his charisma alone. Yes, he did do the impossible- Nanban relied heavily on his charisma and his confidence, and he did so with aplomb. He portrayed emotions, cracked jokes, and made some scenes even funnier than they were in 3 Idiots. I’m not going to compare his performance to that of Aamir Khan, as I believe both have carried the film with their own distinct capacities. But like I said, Nanban relied heavily on Vijay’s charisma, and unfortunately I have to blame that on the inefficiency of the supporting cast. With the exception of a few scenes, Srikanth never quite brings the shine to his character and instead looks like a sidekick for Vijay. His narrative voice too was rather platonic as compared to Madhavan’s self-parody style of narration. Maddy’s shoes were a big one to fill and Srikanth really did look like a B-class actor trying to do an A-class role. Why, the very first flight scene was enough to tell audiences that Srikanth was no Madhavan. Jiiva, on the other hand, doesn’t quite bring out Sharman Joshi’s ‘fear’ in the original. His character was supposed to be a chicken, quite literally, but Jiiva doesn’t quite bring that nuance of his performance. But he does make it up by providing great aid to Vijay in comedic moments. He comic timing with Vijay makes them a great pair on screen.

Illeana looks beautiful- and that’s about it. She mouths her dialogues in a pedestrian manner and never quite brings out the Ria that was immortalized by Kareena Kapoor. Yes, she does look stunning. She has two duets with Vijay- gets to ballet dance and flaunt her curves, but that’s about where it ends. I was more impressed with Andrea Jeremiah’s impeccable voice over during the drinking scene. And it’s beyond me why Andrea wasn’t chosen for the role. If that’s what you expect from a female lead, you’ll be happy. But if you want to know the real bubbly character called Ria that you can easily fall in love with- watch 3 Idiots.

Satyaraj is the show-stealer. He is brilliant as Virumandi Sandanam, the cocky disciplinarian principle and matched Boman Irani’s ‘Virus’.  Similarly, Satyan surprised me and does a decent job as ‘Silencer’.

Music:

Harris Jeyaraj should be sacked and banished. Period. I heard some atrocious BGMs in 7aam Arivu and he almost ruined the experience here with some shoddy BGM works early in the movie. BGM at some parts were too loud that it overshadowed dialogues, a glaring basic schoolboy error. The songs are absolutely nothing if compared to 3 Idiots. All izz Well doesn’t have the same pep- while songs such as Behtein Hawa, Give me Some Sunshine, and Jaane Nahi Denge were all composed with such half-heartedness as if Harris knew he could never reach the original.  My advice to Shankar- please go for GV Prakash if AR Rahman’s dates are unavailable.

Dialogues and direction:

I thought the classic speech scene from the original could never be replicated. But hats off to Karky and Shankar for managing to do so, inducing laughter from the whole theater. Even in clean Tamil, it sounds just as funny. There are plenty of such moments that deserve applause in the movie- mainly because the dialogues were reproduced in Tamil with the same amount of wits and intelligence.

Of course, the ‘Taufa Kabul Kaaro’ was not as funny as the original, but heck, the most of the movie leaves you on a positive high, several downs here and there are excusable. I do not agree with Shankar’s justification of adding another song to the movie, especially when it’s a romantic song. With the movie over three hours in length, the song is an absolute speed breaker, and cuts off the momentum of the movie. Otherwise, the whole movie is like a tribute to the original. There’s no grand entry for Vijay, everything was directed in the same way the Hindi version of the movie was directed.

My verdict? All is Well with Nanban. It does have its flaws but the overall experience that the movie provides is almost on par with 3 Idiots, its only the fine details that gets missed out here and there. Go for it without a second’s hesitation. You’ll have a good laugh, and a feeling well worth of your admission price.

Rating: 8.5/10

VTV’s music, which represented Gautham’s first collaboration with AR Rahman, also attained a cult status and thus anticipations run high for the Hindi version of its music. The album has 12 tracks, including some famous, sought-after BGM scores that were missing in VTV and also one additional song to existing copyblock album of VTV.

Kya Hai Mohabbat (AR Rahman)

The album begins with an additional song that did not feature in the Tamil or Telugu albums of the same film. With delectable lyrics from Javed Akhtar, AR Rahman takes the mic to render a song that described the ambiguity of love itself. This song definitely will not have a picturization bestowed upon it- it sounds more or less like a song that would run on the background, or title credits. The song has a breezy jazzy touch upon it, similar to the composition of ‘Tu Bole Main Boloon’ from Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na. This will probably not become a hit on its own, but for those who have a good ear for slow music with excellent lyrics- this will be a gem. A good candidate for those slow mornings in which you would feel appreciating ambiguity itself.

Dost Hai (Naresh Iyer, Jaspreet Jasz)

As a reviewer, first I would need to take the standpoint of a neutral when reviewing this song. ‘Dost Hai’ is meant to portray the angst and frustration of a man who’s advances are constantly pushed away by a girl who shows her interest in him in spurts. Naresh Iyer’s vocals are good, the lyrics flow well, the music puts the emotions right at the forefront, and there is a generous dose of English strewn in the middle. This a good number. But sadly it could have been way better. ‘Kannukul Kannai’ the Tamil version of this song, was by mile a better composition, mainly due to the fact that the song was not interfered by any unnecessary rapping and mainly involved only its Tamil lyrics. What prompted ARR and Gautham to come up with a version that sounds like a club mix of the original composition, I would never know. Hindi listeners might still enjoy it, but those who have heard the Tamil version are in for a letdown here. There are also some techno sounds so generously added into the song.

Aromale (Alphonse Joseph)

‘Aromalae’ is a classic. There probably was not a single composition similar to it in the past decade or so in Tamil cinema. Aromale was about a man’s trance while writing a script and was fully sung using Malayalam verses- representing the heroine’s character. My understanding is that Amy Jackson also plays a Nasrani, similar to Samantha and Trisha’s protrayals in the movie’s Tamil and Telugu versions. Keeping that in mind, Aromalae could have been left untouched, but probably not wanting to repeat themselves, ARR and Gautham went for a twist for having Javed Akhtar write Hindi lyrics and make it a ‘Hindi’ song. The interludes in the middle also uses different Sanskrit versions compared to the ones used in the original ‘Aromalae’. This is a composition that will hopefully be appreciated in Bollywood as well, but for obvious reasons, the Malayali lyrics, though not understood, provided more feel to the song rather than Hindi lyrics. Not to take anything away from it though, Aromale is just as good as other Aromalaes. It’s just that, in my opinion, Alphonse’s voice did not have the same passion that it had in the Malayali version.

Hosanna (Leon D’Souza, Suzzane, Blaaze)

Ah. The delight of thousands of music lovers down south in 2010. Probably one of the most romantic songs in recent times, it succeeded immensely in both Tamil and Telugu. Now the Hindi version has arrived. And as if making up for the disappointment of Dost Hai, Hosanna seemed to have upped an inch in this Hindi version. The new addition here is the singer Leon D’Souza- who gives a very delectable twist to the listening experience of this Hosanna. The English interlude in the middle sees Leon chipping in as well, and the pronunciation is clearer and slower to Blaaze’s quickfix in Tamil and Telugu. In this Hosanna, you can almost hear every word that is being sung in the song- making it more melodious to the other versions- which I don’t think is an easy task. Javed’s lyrics fit the tone perfectly, in fact they sound more in tune with ARR’s musical notes rather than Thamarai’s lyrics in Tamil. Brilliant.

Pholoon Jaisi (Clinton Cerejo, Kalyani Menon)

Another beautiful romantic composition that was already made extremely famous down South. But again, ARR seems to notch it up a little with this Hindi version by bringing in a different singer- Clinton Cerejo. I did have a small problem with the Tamil version of Omanna Penne, where I felt Benny Dayal’s voice did not fit the song completely. But the popularity of the music video and the movie almost made the whole thing seem natural, but Pholoon Jaisi sounds natural as a composition itself thanks to Clinton’s voice. His pronunciation is clearer, as was the case with Hosanna, and this adds value to the song. Excellent.

Sharminda Hoon (AR Rahman, Madushree)

To be honest, ‘Manipaaya’ sounded a little awakward when I first heard it. There were some great moments of singing by Shreya Ghosal but the overall feel was a little awkward due to, as I said, the first time combination between Thamarai and ARR. But with Javed, ARR seems more comfortable in this Hindi version. His voice has more clarity, and doesn’t seem to struggle with jumping notes. The flow of the lyrics suit well with the composition, which again makes it more ‘natural’. I would natural prefer Shreya to have kept her place and not replace her with Madushree, by the effect is not much judging by the overall feel of the song. A slow romantic ballad that made Kerala look so beautiful (Allepey to be precise). Very Good.

Sunlo Zara (Rashid Ali, Shreya Ghosal)

Anbil Avan found its takers as a happy wedding song celebrating the union of a couple. The song is given a slight melodious twist in Hindi thanks to Shreya Ghosal’s female voice and also Rashid Ali’s soothing involvement. The choice of singers is spot on for this song, recreating the same affect the original created in its own breezy way. The traditional marriage instruments at the interlude have also been tweaked with, in a good way.

Zohra-Jabeen (Javed Ali)

I have mentioned in my music review of VTV itself that this song is a gem. It is the title track in its Tamil version, and the same magic exists here as well with Javed Ali crooning (the original was Karthik). Slow, melodious, and full of soul- this a brilliant song and here’s hoping it doesn’t become as underrated as the Tamil version became.

Instrumentals

There are three instrumentals included in the album. The first one is ‘Broken Promises’, where you hear the voice of Shreya Ghosal humming a sadder version of Aromalae. This is as good as a BGM gets. Shreya’s Cranatic influenced singing shows her vocalistic slyllables without as much as uttering a word apart from ‘Aromalae’. The music is slow, simple, and similar to Aromalae. VTV had one of the best BGM I had heard in a Tamil film, and one of those that will linger on after credits is the ‘Moments in Kerala’, a great BGM that appears when the Sachien visits Jessie in Allepey and they share some special moments together. This is followed by the composition that was ringtone for sometime, ‘Jessie’s Land’. I took pains to get hold of this number after watching VTV, but thankfully it was made available through the album itself in Hindi. This will appear at the title credits in all probability, and will set the tone for the rest of the album. ‘Jessie’s Been Driving Me Crazy’ will drive you crazy after you have watched the movie. It is a rather a full blown composition in Hindi, so it’s just simply awesome.

All in all, this is a great album- if you can stop comparing, and even if you want to compare, it still has improvised tracks- which makes it still a very good album.

With that said, Wait for Jessie!

Rating: 9/10

Best movie (Zindagi Na Milegi Dorbara)

Most of the time, a ‘movie of the year’ is just that- the best movie you have watched in the past year. But there are times when the best movie of the year can actually have such a profound affect on you that it actually made your life better. This Bollywood movie did exactly that for me. ZNMD was so good that even after watching a ripped copy of it online just a week after it’s release, I made two more trips to the cinemas, dragging different friends along- to watch the movie. And just like I did, the friends that I brought for the movies fell in love equally as much with the flick.

ZNMD (You won’t get life for a second time- literal translation) is the story of three friends on a bachelor trip to Spain in order to celebrate one of their member’s marriage. I know the one-liner sounds like ‘The Hangover’, but if anything, ZNMD spits on Hangover big time. This is not a movie about crass jokes, getting drunk, or weird tigers in bathrooms. This was a meaningful movie.  It was so meaningful that I teared for the first time while watching a happy scene. The final montage showing the three friends running topless while looking at each other in pure bewilderment and excitement as they get chased by a host of deadly bulls was quite simply full of life. Yes, this movie is not about entertainment, joy, sadness- it’s simply about life. It’s about how we should learn to let go and just live life on its raw edge. The world is out there for us to explore. What are we waiting for?

Like a friend of mine put it so beautifully after watching it- ‘A movie like ZNMD is worth going for again and again because it simply reminds you of what’s important in life.’

Extract:

Laila lures Arjun into lying down under stars at a park at night.

Arjun: Why are we doing this?

Laila: Don’t tell me you never did this. Lying down under the stars, watching the sky.

Arjun: (After watching the sky, a realization strikes him). Ah, one should learn how to live from you. I feel as if I’ve spent my entire life in a box. (He’s a successful corporate man with a penthouse in London)

Laila: Arjun (holding his hands), the only time when a man should be in a box, is when he is dead.

Zindagi was also the first movie I watched along with my cousins just days after one of them returned from Ukraine after two years. We spent the hours after reflecting on how each of us could relate to the characters in the film. I am pretty much like Kabir- the one who loves uniting, loves seeing other people happy, a friend you can rely on (not to brag), and someone unwilling to break people’s heart. It reinforced my confidence in myself at a time when I was going through a crisis of faith in life. It reminded me of when I’m the happiest in life. Zindagi played a crucial role in my life. And if you have not watched it, then all I could say is you are missing something so immeasurably good. This is movie was not only worth the admission fee, but also my entire month’s salary. Thank you Zoya Akhtar (director), Reema Kagti (writer), Farhan Akhtar (wonderful dialogues and a brilliant performance), and Javed Akhtar (serene poems).

A poem from the film:

If your heart beats with anxiety every minute, then you are alive.

If you are carrying in your eyes, the glint of greatest dreams, then you are alive.

Learn,

To be free like the gusty winds that blows your hair.

Learn,

To flow freely like the streaming river.

Greet every single minute of your life,

With a warm hug.

Never, close your arms.

Find something new to amaze your eyes,

With every passing second,

If you are carrying in your eyes- a bit wonder, amazement, and curiousity- you are alive.

If you can feel every single heartbeat of yours,

then you are alive.

Best act of friendship (Euphraim Yuvaraj)

The old adage says, the best of friends are the ones who stay by you even through your shittiest times. This friend of mine is not the holiest one around, nor one to express his feelings all that much, but as a friend- it’s difficult to find a comparison. I probably witnessed the most gratifying single act of friendship which will last a lifetime this year. I was at my lowest ebb and I found this man’s acts telling me that life is still good. Ever felt crazy enough (or disillusioned enough) to decide to drive 400 kilometers after working hours, without holidays? It’s crazy enough for me to conceive that idea, but this man offered himself as a company though he held no benefit of doing so. He drove when I was sleepy, did  not complaint, listened to my rumblings, did not lose his temper even when the car broke down at the middle of a highway at 4am in the morning, stood by the road waved away vehicles, slept at the chair of a mechanic shop- he went through shit for literally nothing. And I will remember that for a lifetime.

The new me

The ‘new me’ phenomena is a commonly used term- to indicate that you have changed as a person just because the old you didn’t quite work out. In my case, it’s not about changing skins, but rather about simply growing as a human being. I am now 23 years old, and this year, I finally shed off the principles that I had held so dear in my life for so many years. I abstained from dos and donts, from rules, from regulations- I simply let myself fly free. And I have no regrets. I’m better this way- in harmony with life, living in the present- I have stopped that ridiculous ritual of sacrificing today’s passion for tomorrow’s comfort. Comfort is an ambivalent thing. What guarantee do we have that our plans will take formation? There’s no point collecting seeds and saving it in the bank vault for ‘one better day’. Because life will never offer you that ‘one perfect day’. The onus is on you to make it perfect- right now. Plant every seed today, because unplanted seeds serve no-one any good. I have become more carefree, more talkative, more adventurous. I scaled an unchartered mountain this year without any hiking materials, drove around an unknown city looking for a hospital seeking treatment for my ownself, was mired in the middle of a professional controversy, and pushed all known boundaries known to my ownself. I bought a pink t-shirt, wore green shoes, was called bizzare, grew a long hair, bought a skinny jeans- all statement of self. Finally, I am expressing myself from my looks to my talks. I know who I am. As far as my being is concerned, I have already reached my destination. I don’t need to wait until I am ‘successful’.

Quite simply- I lived life on its raw edge. The result?- I don’t feel inferior to anyone anymore- not to people with better academic results, better CVs, bigger car, or bigger house. Because when it comes to having the best friends, an imperfectly perfect family, a loving heart, understanding life, and above all while writing, I don’t think I am second to anybody at all. People respect me, and for those who don’t, I showed them that I don’t take disrespect as an option anymore. I have lived a productive life, walked the path many were afraid to walk on, carved my own path- and nobody will take that away from me.

The family

Family felt like family again this year. It was all about putting things into perspective. The cousins are back, one amongst each other, we know we are only a phone call away. We went around without any plans, randomly stacking up one plan after another. I learnt a bit of swimming this year thanks to my cousins, and finally let go of all the barriers to treat all of them as the same. Elders may have their own hullabaloo of pride going on- but lest assured we brothers and sisters know and respect each other’s value. I didn’t bother meeting friends when I’m back at my hometown, I decided it’s more worthwhile to spend my hours at home when I’m back at Sitiawan, instead of going out. Rest assured, there are also familial relationships and friendships that strained that extra bit this year- but I’m glad I don’t feel the sting anymore. For those who choose to distance themselves from me- are only losing their rights to feel proud of me. For I always make sure I do my part- and all the same, I am hell bent in making sure my family and loved ones feel proud of me.

Ram Anand is a personification of the faith and love invested in him. It’s not about believing in him because he can ‘do it’, but rather believing in him will spur him on to ‘do it’.

Above all, there’s that lingering hope and prayer that I made your lives that little bit more colorful or meaningful this year. Because I live and write for such purposes.

You see, pride isn’t actually a bad thing- since the previous stereotypes had negative connotations for the other races. But in the case of Indians, ‘pride’ is actually a very, very endemic and epidemic problem. It is the core of all evil as far as an Indian is concerned.

This includes various levels of self-appeasing pride- such as pride of mother tongue which turns into a separatist obsession, pride of class and status which turns one into an discriminating person, and the pride of being the archetypal Indian man that naturally leads to unrivalled, stupid, chaotic chauvisnism.

Not to forget the pride of self that leads to god-knows-how-many political parties, families not seeing eye to eye over one ‘THAT’ word which was uttered during a conversation, and of course the cultural knowledge pride that makes almost every other traditional marriage a complete mess thanks too many individuals who say ‘I know the tradition’.

My list can go on- to put it simple- this pride has resulted in racist individuals, had destroyed love stories, lives even at some stage, and above all had given absolute license to be ignorant- a disease which I personally think is worse than cancer.

For an example, let’s take 7aam Arivu.

Make no mistake, I’m not criticizing the quality of the movie, though on a personal note, I have not even watched the movie in full. But 7aam Arivu is an excellent example of the ‘Indian pride’.

Every other individual who had watched the movie and later loved it normally boasted about the fact that Bodhidharma is a ‘Tamilian’.

Exactly, totally, besides the point. The movie takes pains to point out to the audience in a laborious fashion for two odd hours- that we have forgotten our history and do not realize our own inheritance. But instead of letting that realization sting them- all I see on social networks are endless boasting about how the Chinese inherited an art founded and preached by an Indian. Big deal. Are Indians practicing Shaolin today? No matter how much we boast about it, the Chinese are still better at it than we are- just because we conveniently returned to our ignorant, proud selves after watching the movie.

If that’s not enough, 7aam Arivu itself misses a very quintessential question- why did Bodhidharma choose to teach Shaolin in a Chinese village and not in India? Could it not be that Indians back then were unappreciative of what he was teaching and he found the Chinese to be more open to receive his knowledge? Did anyone bother asking this question?

As far as I’m concerned, whether you are born as an Indian or Chinese is irrelevant. How would you feel if the mother of a kid you adopted comes back 25 years later and claims the child for her own? Not very pleasant, isn’t it?

The same applies here. Indians do not have the right to claim Damo as their own especially because he had flourished with his teachings in China, and not in India. Why are we claiming him as our own now, so many decades later, that too thanks to one averagely-made movie?

But all we do after watching the movie is to feel ‘proud’, when we should feel ashamed of ourselves not to have appreciated our own history before.

If that’s not bad enough, the film’s director AR Murugadoss also committed a cardinal sin by choosing a rather eloquent villain for his movie- the Chinese government itself. Why we allow such movies that can spoil diplomatic relations is beyond me? Why brand the Chinese as villains? Why that typical ignorant approach, assuming that if someone else apart from ‘us’ possesses our art, they would ‘misuse’ it against us or to conquer the world?

Because we are holier-than-thou?

Another recent example is Canadian MP Radhika Sitsabesan. Of course, it’s a matter of great pride to have a Tamilian helm a Parliamentary seat in Canada, that too someone as young as 29 years old. And rightfully we took pride in that matter. But we also took pride in the fact that she spoke Tamil in the Canadian Parliament while introducing herself. Now that’s where we have again prodded into ignorant, overtly-proud territories.

Canada has two official languages- English and French. It is only professional and fair if she had communicated in those two languages alone during her speech, instead of speaking Tamil, a language that a large majority of those in the Parliament could not understand.

It is insulting and disrespectful of the Parliament and the Speaker to have done something to that effect. I’m pretty sure that Canada, due to its multi-ethnic fabric, had other MPs from non-Canadian backgrounds. But we don’t see people speaking Chinese and Latin in the Canadian Parliament don’t they?

Again- a blinding sense of pride that eventually leads to us going in rounds and ending up nowhere, mainly due to our ignorance. It’s okay to be proud, but it’s also recommended to spend a minute to think before choosing to feel proud.

We rolled up our pants a little, and labourisly armed by a camera, walked past the bushes towards the hall. And I starred at what the boy was pointing out all along. The hall was perched at the foot of a massive mountain. My sense of curiosity heightened, as much as my sense of discovering a story left untold. It is the kind of feeling you get when you know you are about to time travel. No, most of you wouldn’t know what feeling I’m describing here, because understandably you don’t get to be on the brink of time travelling all that often.

A cave mountain, it stood tall and all alone with no neighbors around it. The scorching heat was obliterating my sight. It must have the diameter of half a kilometers, at least. And within this area, we were told, we can find a stairs. Yes, a stairs.

We literally scrawled through bushes which were just as tall as I was, taking giant leaps, and negotiating the uncomfortable feeling you get when tips of lalang tend to unceremoniously enter your mouth- all the while looking for a semblance of the stairs.

“Here,” one of my travel partners said, exhaustingly starring at what looked more like an entrance to a jungle.

Slowly, he parted the bushes, and there appeared to be a shabby stone carving stacked atop each other.

“There!” another voice proclaimed. This was not your typical stairs. In fact, it hardly looked like stairs. They were not measured in equal length. And they did not incline in a particular direction. They were all over the place. It will suddenly take a drastic right turn, and suddenly a left one. We left on our all fours at occasions, having to shove the tripods through branches like a baton to those who have reached equal ground.

This was as unkempt as any stairs got. Bushes was all over the place. “Wouldn’t there be like, snakes and all?” one of us nonchalantly asked. We were already halfway through to the peak at that point.

“Of course, there will be. Maybe not so early though.”

Most of us stopped in our tracks. I could sense a bristle of fear illuminating the air around us. Then, a sheepish smile at each other- we have come too far to go back now- so we continued.

We were scaling a mountain that has been left unexplored for maybe five or six decades. At every nook we saw new evidences that this mountain used to be the lair for some religious activities. But no matter how busy and unkempt it was, full of raw earth and prickly insects, there have been forefathers and ancestors who have left behind tracks to guide us. Probably they knew these tracks will come in handy some day.

After half an hour of scaling, we reached an eerie cave, which illuminated no light whatsoever. On the facades of the cave, another mark of a story undiscovered. The name of two lovers etched in red to the wall. My imagination flickered. Whether they were as adventurous as we were, or had decided to make this their last sanctuary, we’d never know. The nature held within itself a plethora of stories, and I wanted to know all of it. I stood up on that unequal plain and looked forth- as the entire Titiwangsa mountain range stood majestically before my eyes, not forgetting that I was standing near the peak of one of the mountains that belongs in that range.

We did not find anything in the cave except for a small light that managed to sneak through the closed peak and illuminated a small place. But there were remnants of railings inside the cave- a clear sign of human activity in the past. It was like seeing Batu Caves some 200 years after it has been destroyed and left to ruins.

There was a small opening in the middle, an opening that seemed to lead to a whole different place. The sound of water running, and the hollow sound of chilled air travelling through it made it even more mysterious. It was inviting and warning at the same time. “Do we have ropes?”

We looked at each other. No we didn’t. There were no ropes, no torchlight, no kits whatsoever. All we had was a tripod and a camera- a very small one at that.

“Better not, we will come back again sometime. With equipments.”

After tip-toeing past a couple of unguarded houses where the dogs were allowed to openly roam to man a vast dry land at the foot of the mountains, we returned back home- having come ever so close yet so far.

We never returned, at least I never did. Months later, when mulling the idea, I was told that the village head where the mountain is located doesn’t want the mountain to be explored anymore. There were political sensitivities. So myth remains- that a historic Hindu cave temple that preceded Batu Caves was located in this very mountain. I knew the mountain had stories to tell. But we were not allowed to listen.

As I recall these memories again, I’m reminded again how this has been the core of all our problems in this country. A staunch refusal to discover; an alarming fear of change and the new. And we have the audacity to ask why art has stalled like time-rusted locomotive, still on its tracks. No matter how much money is pumped into it, a locomotive doesn’t run without fire to burn. And stories that lay hidden on that mountain are our burning fire.

Malaysia has forgotten its history, in fact it wishes not to discover. And with such an ignorant attitude towards history, literature is forgotten, left on the pavement. Literature is that homeless guy who walks around at the foot of the tallest buildings and biggest shopping malls here.

Tomorrow, KLCC will be gone. So will Pavillion, and everything else. Stories will live on- passed on generations. Stories that resemble the lives of a generation. But the problem is we are not writing down stories today. Without them, what story will we have in our hands tomorrow? What tales will we sing to the distant future, without all this economy and buildings?

By failing to tell its stories- we are committing our greatest betrayal to this land, which homed us.

Our apocalypse is not then, but now.

(Note: The mountain in this story has not been named for certain reasons and will remain so. For those who know its name, please do not name it in public domain.)

Considering that you’d always welcome a hit for that filmmaker, you will applaud along with the crowd, but deep down wishing that this success would give that filmmaker the freedom to do what he does best, something that you had grown up loving.

Mayakkam Enna, in simple terms, one such film for me. I grew up as an admirer of Selva Raghavan, but ME is not Selva’s best work to date. Still the film looks set to become a box office and critical success, which I hope will give Selva the freedom to direct something like Aayirathil Oruvan again.

ME’s story has been written all over the net in the past few days- but some were quite misleading, in which they concentrated on the relationship between the hero and heroine at the start of the film. But ME is not about falling in love with your best friend’s girlfriend, but it’s rather about a frustrated photographer’s life journey, which in its own sick and twisted way, brings him to his destination.

Selva almost always has two phases in the films he makes. The first half would contrast heavily from the second, and ME is no different. If you are a fan of Selva and has been following his work, asking for a coherent connection between first and second halves is a travesty.

The first half is about a not-your-typical love story, whilst the second half is a completely different animal, a heavy story of a broken man and his struggles.

While the first half is sweet, immeasurably cranky, funny, and full of life, the second half dies down along with the character’s downward spiral in life.

At times, it takes a patient viewer to bear through the second half of the movie, though the poignant climax more than makes up for some nagging moments in the second half.

Dhanush has hit the ceiling as far as performances are concerned with his National Award-winning Aadukalam earlier this year, and ME is yet another Dhanush show. His different facets from the first to the second halves are brilliantly executed, and for a man only 28 years of age, he is showing incredible maturity and seems to be going through a golden phase in his career.

Richa Gangopadhyay, who debuted in Shekar Kammula’s Telugu political drama Leader last year, is establishing herself as one of the leading new faces in the industry- with a towering performance as Dhanush’s erratic lover and later loyal wife.

All the supporting characters are okay, but two technicians stand out tall compared to the rest- first being cameraman Ramji, who followed his brilliant work in Aayirathil Oruvan with some amazing lens flexing, especially some slow shutter photography shots. GV Prakash is next, with his almost flawless BGM and also songs for the film.

The problem with ME, for me, is the disconnect and a sligthtly erratic screenplay that threatened to throw the film off tandem at times. But Selva’s Midas touch in his scenes makes sure that the scenes are still watchable on their own, and probably why audiences at large could overlook those aspects. But being a fan of his, I am aware that he could do better. Though the story is alarmingly honest to the point of being a documentary (a good thing), I felt like he could played around with the screenplay a little more to fine-tune his end product.

But ME understandably was made within a very short time. Irandam Ulagam was shelved only a few months ago, and then this film was made. Selva is known for taking his own sweet time in making his movies, and ironically his best films were made when he took a longer than usual time to finish his product- Pudhupettai, and AO, his two best films, being the examples.

ME was probably a product made as a form of ‘break’ for a filmmaker who is planning his next heavy project. In that sense, this is still a good film, heads and shoulders above other sub-par films we have seen this year.

But by Selva’s standards, this is like a reverse gear in an inclining career.