Latest news with #Raghavan
Indian Express
a day ago
- Entertainment
- Indian Express
How a 1989 Malayalam film examined the aftermath of the state's repression of a helpless individual
Hours before the evening bus is supposed to arrive, the old man has seated himself at his usual spot, waiting for his son to come home as promised. Raghu, the younger child of Raghavan Chakyar, is a student at an engineering college in a distant town. 'Isn't today the right day?' Raghavan asks his daughter while returning alone from the bus stop for the first time. 'It is probably just a day's delay,' a neighbour tells the old man on the second day that Raghu fails to turn up. On the third day, Raghavan goes to the bus stop in the morning, only to return — once again — alone. 'Did I not tell you the bus won't come in the morning?' comes the gentle chastisement from the boatman who has been ferrying Raghavan to the bus stop. Slowly, over the course of its 110-minute runtime, a terrible absence — a person-shaped hole — takes form at the centre of Shaji N Karun's 'Piravi'. Generally believed to be inspired by the infamous case of the disappearance of P Rajan, a student at the Regional Engineering College Calicut, during the Emergency, 'Piravi' (1989) was Karun's directorial debut. Already a lauded cinematographer, especially for his work with auteur G Aravindan (who also co-composed the music for his protege's debut), Karun won wide acclaim for the Malayalam film, including the Mention D'Honneur – Camera D'Or at the 1989 Cannes Film Festival. While the filmmaker denied being inspired by any specific story when making 'Piravi', saying that it was about the wider problem of custodial deaths, the parallels with the Rajan case are undeniable. 'Piravi' is set in 1988, 11 years after the Emergency had ended, but like Raghavan in the film, T V Eachara Warrier had set out on a dogged quest in 1976 to find out what happened to his son, Rajan. His long battle that finally unearthed the awful truth about his son's disappearance — wrongful arrest, torture and death in custody — resulted in one of the most well-known habeas corpus cases in India. It rocked the Kerala government, leading to the resignation of Chief Minister K Karunakaran a month after he led the Congress-led coalition to a landslide victory in the 1977 Assembly election. ALSO READ | Priya Sachdev called Karisma Kapoor-Sunjay Kapur's kids her own, said 'friendship' is the key: 'We have four children' Karun, in 'Piravi', was less interested in the legal and political aspects of the nightmare that Warrier endured, than he was in exploring, through the visual medium, the problem of depicting a disappearance: How do you show someone who is not there? Raghu's is an unfathomable absence and the film, as it delineates the anxiety and grief of the bereaved, takes shape around the vacuum that comes to represent the missing son. The film marks a visual and sonic challenge, masterfully tackled: Like Raghu, the rain announces its arrival — monsoon winds slam doors and windows, waves crash on the beach, the afternoon darkens — only to disappoint. The landscape is suffused with sound, both human and non-human — the gentle gurgling of the river, the susurration of the wind through the reeds, the tick-tock of Raghavan's wristwatch. Yet, what throws these into sharp relief, making each one ring out loud and clear, is the utter silence of the one who never returned home. Many films have been made about that dark period from June 25, 1975, to March 21, 1977, most of them focusing on the political machinations or stories of state repression. As its creator stated, 'Piravi' may not be explicitly about the Emergency, yet few other films have so effectively examined the haunting question of what happens after an episode of state repression. What happens to the ones left behind? Decades after Warrier trudged from pillar to post, desperately seeking out the truth and trying to hold to account those responsible for his son's death, 'Piravi' reminds viewers of other fathers and mothers, husbands and wives, haunted by the disappearance of their loved ones.
Scroll.in
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- Scroll.in
Jeet Thayil's new ‘documentary novel': The restless lives of those shaped by separation across times
Wild metal music in the streets of Hong Kong, electric screech of napalm, monks on fire, screaming horses. Nightly brawls in Central and Wanchai. People from all over the world roam the island, squaddies, sailors, bankers, spies, drug dealers, con artists, all kinds of adventurers looking for booze and trouble. 1967, Year of the Fire Sheep, the Age of Aquarius and Vietnam. Fifty years later, he tells his son of his Hanoi adventure. It is unusual to hear stories from George's past. Father and son aren't close. In his late teens and early twenties in Madras and Bombay, George aligns himself with the student communist movement. Years later, while working in Hong Kong, Raghavan, a friend from his days in Bombay, offers to arrange a visit to North Vietnam. (Journalists from Western publications aren't allowed into the north.) Raghavan is a known communist and a correspondent for Blitz, the tabloid of the Indian independence movement. Unexpectedly, he'd accepted an invitation to George's wedding and they've been in touch ever since. 'This was in 1972 or 1973,' George says. 'Every journalist worth his salt wanted to get into Hanoi. They'd never have let me in, but Raghavan vouched for me. I have no idea why. We had our disagreements.' 'What about?' 'After Stalin and Mao, I cooled a little. He would talk about Che and I'd counter with Isaac Babel.' A bit of the old bounce returns to his voice. ' 'He didn't give in, neither did I.' 'You hit an impasse.' 'Actually, it was a huge surprise to hear from him.' North Vietnam considers India a friendly nation, so the trip has to be arranged from Delhi. George flies in from Hong Kong and meets up with Raghavan. Together, they take an Air India flight to Hanoi. For the next few months, he files stories about what people say and what they wear, how they live, what they eat, how much or how little they sleep, stories about women as equal partners in the building of the nation, about sustainability and the environment before these topics become the fashion. 'What I wanted was to concoct a potted spiritual history.' 'Not sure what that means, spiritual history?' 'As in, describe how a material object, say a bowl of soup, or a hammock, or a wristwatch, might affect someone's spirit.' 'Well, go on,' says his son, drawn in. It is as if, after a lifetime of silence, George has discovered conversation. 'Objects have an inner life acquired from the people to whom they're attached. I thought it might be possible to describe a society by describing the things it uses, grand objects as well as humble ones, especially humble ones.' He is talking about humility, but there is a hint of pride. 'You can tell a lot by looking at a water canteen used by a soldier in a presidential motorcade. Or a small, propeller-driven airplane full of chickens and bicycles. If you study the way a pulverised bridge is rebuilt … Objects tell stories. I thought, if I found the right ones, I could recount…' He stops and stares into the distance. Then he goes to the storeroom off the kitchen and his son follows. George looks into the drawers of half a dozen file cabinets in which he's saved the documents and sundry keepsakes he brought back from his trips, as well as household materials, tax receipts, property papers. His son knows the cabinets well. He's looked through them many times for clues to those years. The drawers are deep and crowded. George fishes out all kinds of things, examines them at length, then puts them back where he found them. Official invitations, photographs and postage stamps. Newspaper cuttings. Chopsticks, bowls and teapots. Coins and banknotes. An ornate buffalo-horn comb. He hands over shredded notebooks held together by thick rubber bands, some notes in a mixture of Malayalam and English. Some entries ticked, some not. When his son asks why, George says a tick indicates the note has been used in a report he filed. His son is dismayed at how many have never been used. George keeps searching and finds a peaked cap with a yellow star on the band, red and yellow silk flags, perfectly preserved, Ho Chi Minh propaganda posters, not so well preserved. 'Here it is,' he says, holding up a black-and-white photograph, a woman on a motorcycle looking into the camera. 'Who's this?' 'Nguyen Phuc Chau, our manager on those trips.' 'I remember the name. It's in your journals. A lot.' 'We wanted to see what it looked like, the border between south and north. Really difficult to get permission, but somehow she fixed it up. She told us to have a heavy breakfast. Long drive. We might not eat for a while. It turned out to be not difficult at all. I asked why she tried to frighten us. I honestly wanted to know. You know what she said?' 'I'm sure I don't.' 'That's how she was trained. From childhood. Always to be ready for disaster. The remark stayed with me, and even now I can recall the tone of voice in which she said it.' There are clues to all this in George's Vietnam notebooks. This passage in particular: Left Hanoi 8 m. They sent 2 jeeps ahead – one with petrol, the other with 200 kgs worth of food including 100 bottles of beer and 1/2 doz baskets of live chickens. Wondered why this waste. But the wisdom of it dawned on me as we bumped our way from hazard to hazard on the way to the 17th Parallel. At Ben Thuy ferry in Vinh got word that a pontoon bridge had been disrupted by storm. So turned back and stayed the night. Though capital, the city's been badly crippled by bombing. Rather primitive living conditions at best guest house. Life revolved around a well from which you drew water. About 11 next morning, got word bridge was open. But progressed hardly 30 km when we had to stop. It was out of commission again and 2 km of trucks had lined up. Heavy duty trucks laden with tyres, petrol in cans, boats, pigs, steel rails, crates of unknown goods. After hrs of waiting at this causeway amidst paddy, we walked to the bridge, crossed it and found another jeep coming for us. Our manager Nguyen Phuc Chau had found a telephone – in that desolate paddy expanse she could get Hanoi and 17th Parallel towns in 10 or 15 minutes – contacted the administration in Ha Tinh and arranged for a pick-up. She had said nothing of it, told us we'd have to walk 10 km to the nearest guest house near Ha Tinh – and that's what Raghavan and I set out to do. When the jeep picked us up, I asked Nguyen Phuc Chau why she didn't tell us it was coming. She said: to keep your morale high. I've never seen Raghavan happier than in the midst of a ruined countryside among people who won't accept ruin as their destiny. Thanks to Nguyen Phuc Chau's resolve we reached Ha Tinh guest house. From main road a dust track through marsh and paddy branched off through fields until we reached an enclave set amidst pine and banana trees. Why a guest house in this far-off place, I asked. This is one of our evacuation sites, said Nguyen Phuc Chau. Idyllic cluster of huts, overrun by frogs, resounding with the croak of crickets. The girls managing it greeted us with a warm 'Chao Dong Chi' and gave a sumptuous dinner. But, for breakfast, no bread or even noodles. We were too cut off.
Hindustan Times
21-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Hindustan Times
Review: Rama Bhima Soma by Srikar Raghavan
Srikar Raghavan's Rama Bhima Soma; Cultural Investigations into Modern Karnataka requires the reader to have vast reserves of reading stamina, an empathetic world view and a willingness to travel deep into different geographies, perspectives, communities, stories and movements, even those whose politics the author may not agree with. A Yakshagana performer; just one of the many facets of Karnataka (Shutterstock) A self-professed 'inveterate bookworm,' 'more of a reader than a writer' and 'a Kannada-nut', Raghavan speaks to the English reader who may or may not be Kannada literate as well as to the Kannada reader who has felicity with the English language. How this book unites two universes that have their own complicated history of separation is its strength and success. 598pp, ₹899; HarperCollins Neither its extensive research nor its collation is as impressive as the fact that the author did not learn to read and write Kannada in school. He learnt it as a post-graduate student, using a Kannada-Kannada-English dictionary. In the prologue he writes that the first Kannada novel he read was Shivaram Karanth's Chomana Dudi. And from there began his journey towards Kannada literature, Karnataka's history, culture, politics, socio-economic realities and drama. Raghavan dives headlong into all of these, following every lead and thread, sometimes interviewing sources on their death bed (though neither he nor the source knew that). As the cover suggests, the title references a game played by school boys. 'It requires only a ball, no fixed number of players, no teams, no designated boundary and no premeditation,' he writes. It is a game with no end, though the beginning is very clearly indicated by the pitching of the ball into the air three times (that's counted as Rama Bhima Soma!) After the ball is thrown in the air, the nearest person grabs it and aims it at some other player – it could be anyone nearby or farther afield. Whoever grabs the ball after the hit, then repeats the cycle. This goes on till 'collective exhaustion sets in, or the bell rings...' This game is the book's underlying metaphor. Will every player get a chance to hold the ball, aim and strike? Will the ones getting hit often (for whatever reason) manage to dodge the ball and also get to wield it? And more importantly, will everyone get to play on the same field [of Karnataka] together? The author follows his curiosity to delve into relationships between various socio-political movements, events, books, people, communities, performers, writers, artists and others who shaped or were shaped by the state's morphing landscapes, in any order that draws him. This volume, therefore, is not the history but 'a history, a personal micro-history' of Karnataka, writes Raghavan. He makes no bones about where he stands with respect to the politics of the state and the country, yet, goes to great lengths to probe the thought processes of those who hold the exact opposite positions. This adds to the book's texture. If you are a feminist reader, however, you might despair at the scale of masculine energy in the politics and sociology represented here. You will, however, encounter bright places like the interview with Du Saraswathi or the story of doctor-turned-activist Kusuma Sorab, known as Kusumakka to the girls she worked with. The chapter entitled On Conversions, Controversies and Communalism stands out in how it juxtaposes the syncretic history of the Baba Budana Giri shrine in North Karnataka with an account of the rise of right-wing ideology in the region (and state). It describes the fluid times when 'the Veerashaiva and Sufi orders in North Karnataka interacted and fused with a rare syncretic spirit,' even as Ibrahim Adil Shah II ruled Bijapur and Akbar ruled the north. Scholar Rahamath Tarikere is quoted: 'The gurupanthas (local guru-shishya traditions that stand outside organised religious orders) recognised that caste, untouchability, gender inequality and social concerns were the key hindrances to spiritual achievement,' as were religious differences between Hindus and Muslims. It is ironic that fundamentalism looms against this backdrop. Srikar Raghavan (Courtesy A Suitable Agency) Intensive interviews feature throughout but the ones in the chapter entitled Forests, Conservation and the Ecology of Change' that track environmental movements and protests are especially good. The story of how Indian Forest Officer SG Neginhal 'planted and raised one and half million trees,' told by veteran environmental activist, SR Hiremath, co-founder of the Samaja Parivartan Samudaya (SPS) is one among many others. The formation (and fragmentation) of the Dalit movement, trade unions, workers' movements; the arguments and friendships between socialists, Marxists and communists; the travails and triumphs of artistes across forms and genders; the average do-gooders working on the fringes of society but holding its fabric in place with their idealism and hope – all this and more are presented in great detail. If you are interested in how people make history and enjoy examining layers of belief, thought and action; if you like stories about how politics and religion are being cast aside by some citizens who nevertheless are making a positive impact on their world; if you like random facts (Did you know there is a variety of rice named after the former Prime Minister, HD Deve Gowda, in Punjab?) and want to grasp the stories behind the storytellers; if you have an appetite for tales that take you on trails, and if you have strong wrists – it's a heavy book! – you will be happy to read Rama Bhima Soma. Charumathi Supraja is a writer, poet and journalist based in Bengaluru.
The Hindu
19-06-2025
- Politics
- The Hindu
Review of Srinath Raghavan's new book on Indira Gandhi
Srinath Raghavan's latest book, Indira Gandhi and the Years That Transformed India, examines her political career as India's long 1970s. It takes a chronological arc: her assumption of prime ministerial office in 1966, her struggle to take tight control of the Congress party, her landslide electoral win of 1971, thereafter her leadership of the country in the war with Pakistan, the imposition of Emergency, loss to the Janata Party in 1977, her stint in opposition, return to office in 1980 and her assassination in 1984. Placing this extended decade in a global context, Raghavan argues that 'the long 1970s were the hinge on which the contemporary history of India turned, transforming the young postcolonial country into today's India.' In an interview, Raghavan explains various ideas and events that marked these tumultuous years. Excerpts: In this political history of the Indira Gandhi years, a word that recurs repeatedly is Caesarist/Caesarism. In your view, is it central to understanding the changes that she oversaw, and how it transformed the Indian polity? Caesarism refers to a style of politics in which the leader seeks directly to connect with the people, bypassing party structures or the parliament. I found it useful to understand an important change in the Indian politics ushered in by Indira Gandhi – more useful than currently modish terms such as populist or charismatic. Democratic politics has, by definition, an element of populism. And charisma is only one aspect of the Caesarist style of leadership. Was she already inclined to the Caesarist style? Did her style shift-shape along the way? Indira Gandhi adopted this mode of leadership in response to the specific problems confronting the Congress party. The party's drab performance in the 1967 elections underlined its inability to carry with it significant sections of the electorate. At the same time, it accentuated the power struggle within the party between the prime minister and the regional grandees who controlled the machine. Indira Gandhi moved towards a Caesarist style both to undercut her rivals in the party and revive its electoral fortunes. Her decision to split the Congress was undoubtedly a crucial first step. But equally important were the extraordinary performance of her party in the general elections of 1971 and the decisive military victory over Pakistan later the same year. These, in turn, propelled the party to a massive win in the State elections of 1972. None of these could have been predicted when she broke the old Congress. But cumulatively they cemented her control of the party. Without such dominance it is difficult to imagine the party tamely falling in with her decision to impose the Emergency in June 1975. The triumphs of 1971-2 to the imposition of Emergency in 1975 and the rapid consolidation of the Emergency regime — do you see a vein of risk-taking running through the entire arc? Or did, as in the popular view, fortitude give way to paranoia? I don't see her as an inveterate risk-taker. Rather she had a sharp, instinctive grasp of power relations (whether in domestic or international politics), an instinctive sense of timing and a willingness to make bold choices. These qualities worked for her in the crises of the early years, but they also led to counterproductive outcomes in later years—not only the Emergency but also her handling of the problems in Punjab, Assam and Jammu and Kashmir during her final term in office. All along, she tended to blame difficult situations on the machinations of her domestic or international opponents. This made her somewhat impervious to introspecting on her own choices and their consequences. Yet, as her bete noire Henry Kissinger once said, even the paranoid can have real enemies. You write that 'the long 1970s placed the Indian economy on the road to liberalisation, if only via a crooked path'. Do you think this point remains little appreciated? Indeed. The received wisdom on Indira Gandhi's economic policies is that they were 'socialist' and they tightened the grip of the state on private capital. This is true, but it is also a partial picture. In fact, the heyday of nationalisation and state control in the early 1970s proved brief, though it was damaging enough. The embrace of these policies coincided with the onset of a global economic crisis triggered by the collapse of the Bretton Woods system of stable exchange rates and the oil shocks that followed the Arab-Israel war of 1973. Such was the impact of this global crisis on the Indian economy that Indira Gandhi was forced to embrace conservative macroeconomic policies and move in the direction of liberalising controls on the economy. Before and during the Emergency as well as in her last term in office she adopted strong anti-inflationary policies. During these periods, she also espoused pro-business policies — policies that were viewed favourably by established players like J.R.D. Tata and newer entrants like Dhirubhai Ambani. In so doing, she put the Indian economy on the long road towards liberalisation. The tenure of the Janata Party was a vital phase of the long 1970s. How much was Indira Gandhi a defining factor in the manner and pace at which the regime unravelled? The Janata government was united in its desire to fix Indira Gandhi after 1977, but divided on how best to proceed. This led to some spectacular own-goals such as the abortive move to arrest her in 1978. Indira Gandhi, for her part, proved more astute in playing on the faultlines within the Janata Party and on the thrusting ambition of some of its leaders. In particular, her move to support Charan Singh's bid for premiership ensured that the Janata Party was broken beyond repair or rapprochement. How important were these years out of power, 1977-1980, in her own eventual evolution? These were undoubtedly the most challenging years of her political life. Yet, her ability to retain a grip on a section of the Congress party, to revive her popular fortunes by dramatic moves (such as in support of the Dalits after the massacre in Belchi), and to bounce back by winning the 1978 by-election in Chikmagalur — all showcased her political instincts and tenacity. At the same time, these years also led her further down the path of personalising power in the party (which she split for a second time) and of relying on her younger son, Sanjay Gandhi, who was clearly the dynastic heir apparent. You conclude that while the Janata government had successfully rolled back the Emergency, it did not reconfigure the coordinates of parliamentary democracy put in place on Mrs. Gandhi's watch. Yet, did its record inform the coalition governments to come in later years, of the 'third front', BJP, and the Congress? The Janata government certainly foreshadowed the era of coalition politics that began in the late 1980s. While several of the main protagonists of this period were active in 1977-79, it is not clear they had learned much from that bitter experience. Rather, the record of some of the later coalition governments bore out the dictum that the only thing we learn from history is how to make new mistakes! You choose not to speculate about the reasons for her announcement of elections in 1977. But did this announcement embed in the Indian political system the centrality of elections? The outcome of the 1977 elections demonstrated that even the most powerful political leader could be unseated and humbled. Coming in the wake of the Emergency, when institutional checks and balances had manifestly failed to uphold democracy, elections were now regarded as central to Indian democracy. A decade ago you had published a profile of Indira Gandhi - from then to now, has your assessment of the arc of her prime ministerial career altered? My assessments have changed in a couple of ways. The availability of newly declassified archival materials, including from the Prime Minister's Secretariat, has enabled me to understand better the ideas and impulses that lay behind many of the choices and decisions made by Indira Gandhi and her contemporaries. This is true even of such well known episodes as the nationalisation of banks. At the same time, I have developed a deeper appreciation of the gulf between intentions and outcomes, and how the latter were decisively shaped by the wider, including the global, currents of the long 1970s. At the outset of her premiership, for instance, Indira Gandhi wanted to restore the economy to the track of planned economic development (on the Nehruvian model). But the economic imperatives and crises of the period effectively led to rather a different model of political economy — one that combined targeted anti-poverty programmes with a liberalising, pro-business outlook. This framework has proved durable and continues to shape Indian political economy today. The interviewer is a Delhi-based editor and journalist. Indira Gandhi and the Years That Transformed India Srinath Raghavan Allen Lane ₹899
Hans India
13-06-2025
- General
- Hans India
10-day yoga training for police begins
Tirupati: A10-day yoga training programme for police personnel commenced at police parade ground here on Thursday. Speaking after inaugurating the training programme being organised as part of the month-long Yogandhra programme, Additional SP (Armed Reserve) Srinivas Rao said daily practice of yoga will not only help physical fitness but also helps to overcome stress. Police personnel can improve their performance with regular yoga practice that helps them to focus on their duty, he added. Indira Gandhi Rastriya Kalakendra Regional Director Raghavan and professors Jyothi and Lakshmi Narayana said physical fitness and stress-free lifestyle is a must for the police to perform their duties well and the 10-day training programme provide the police practice Yoga including Pranayamam.
