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Beauty and the Beast

July 7th 2008 10:05

Beauty and the Beast


To merely say that yesterday's Wimbledon final between Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal was epic would be to grossly understate the quality of tennis and also to severely underplay the quality and intensity of drama on show for the best part of 5 hours. For a tennis connoissieur the action could have been described as mouth watering - except for the fact that the action on court left your hearts throbbing and mouth dry. The racquet work on display was so sublime as to evoke in supporters of either player an admiration - untinged by any grudge for the other man. Today Federer supporters would have had no choice but to admire and applaud Nadal's intensity, strength, verve, tenacity and quickness of body and mind. And of course, the countless Rafa supporters had no choice but to marvel at the defending champion's breadth and depth of skill, the way how he had answers to every contortionist question that Rafa put to him, the way he was always unflappable - whether he was serving out a gamepoint or had to defend a championship point, how he manages to remain graceful as ever - even when fighting for his very life and of course for the sheer tennis skill and imagination of the Swiss champion. This writer is smitten by the cricket bug and rarely misses cricket action for anything else - given a choice. But there is no confusion in my mind when I call this final between Federer and Nadall, the single greatest event of sporting action that I have had the pleasure of witnessing - bar none. The India-Sri Lanka final going on at the same time had no chance of getting my attention - save the rain breaks that interrupted the tennis match on a couple of occasions. Such was the intensity, ferocity and consummate skill on show in this tennis match.



Call me a traditionalist or a person stuck in a time warp - but the only things that seemed to mar the action on court were the numerous line calls that were challenged by both the players. A whole lot of line decisions were proved wrong when challenged through Hawk-Eye but it somehow did not feel right to this writer when a TV challenge found the outermost edge of the line. It evokes the question - how accurate is Hawk-Eye in reality? Is it accurate down to millimetres and centimetres. Because those were the margins by which some of the line calls were decided.

OK, lets go from millimetres and centimetres on the baselines to degrees of beauty. It must be understood that when categorizing Federer as the Beauty and Nadal as the Beast we are not talking about their visage or their bodily attributes. By that yardstick, both are handsome. Federer in the classical, laidback, gentlemanly way with his dimples, pimples and innocent smiles and Nadal in the visceral, muscular, dark way with his rippling muscles, locks of hair and dusky Spanish complexion. No - we are talking about their tennis here. Federer's is the one that defines the coaching manual itself. His footwork is precise, even measured. His backswing, execution and follow through are all minor works of art. No matter the point, no matter the pressure, he keeps doing it, he is as close to perfection as a tennis player would get and is therefore easy and even dazzling to the eye. Nadal on the other hand has built his own technique. He has customized his footwork, his grip on the racquet and his followthrough to match his strokes. His ferocious forehand ripping top spinners and his amazingly directed backhand shovels, slices and pummels. He is not classical and nor does he look to be very efficient. But is he effective or what? Not just Federer, but hundreds watching on court and millions watching the world over would give testimony on this count. Nadal is, if nothing else, very effective. In many ways, if one were to draw a biblical note to this contest, Rafael Nadal is the consummate Devil to Roger Federer's shining Angel. Of course with all aspects of good and evil taken out of the equation! They are opposites who are so evenly matched - an antithesis to each other, almost.

It was very interesting to note the spread of support in the Centre Court yesterday. It was almost overwhelmingly in favour of Nadal. I have this small theory on this phenomenon. Federer is on that peak that few can imagine or visualize, let alone dare to climb. Nadal on the other hand is somebody you readily identify with. He was not born with the gift of the game. He worked hard for it, he laboured on his game, built it painstakingly from ground up. And one can see it in the way he wins his points. It is not with mesmerizing, magical winners most of the time. It is by wearing the other man down. He is the easier man to identify with. Though by no means a commoner, he does happen to be an easier object to identify with than the icy cool and terrifyingly talented Federer. Maybe that is why almost all of Centre Court chanted 'Rafa', 'Rafa' as the game wound on to its bewitching and thoroughly befiiting end.

As for the tennis action itself, if there was a single biggest improvement in Nadal's game, then it has to be his serve. I had not seen him in Queens but from what was seen of his serve in the last French Open, there was a lot of room for improvement. His first serve was not among the fastest or among the most well directed. Nadal tended to serve to the opponent rather than away from him most of the time. Well, this aspect has been improved upon - tremendously. Not only does his first serve now have more meat to it, it is also well directed and dependable on the big points - a champion's mark, if ever there was one. He still serves more towards the opponent than away from him but with one improvement. His body serves bouncing right upto the opponents' chest or throat are well nigh impossible to handle and are more frequent. His second serve too has acquired that little bit of a kick which makes it difficult for players to line up and throw everything behind the ball for an outright winner. As if this was not enough, Nadal had married consistency with skill in his serve. His first serve percentage in the final - over 5 gruelling sets - was a staggering 73%. This was in contrast to Federer's decent 66%. But Nadal needed this and more to best Federer yesterday.

The first two sets saw the Champion play a poor and loose service game on two occasions. On both occasions, Nadal took the gift without much fuss. At two sets down (6-4, 6-4) the writing seemed to be on the wall for the champion. To make no secret of it, this writer - a staunch Federer supporter - did not see much light at the end of the tunnel. But great champions and especially ones who are spoken of as the greatest ever in the game are made of better stuff than that. It was no secret that the Nadal serve yesterday was impenetrable. It betrayed no nerves, no frayed ends and no trouble with direction or placement or pace yesterday. That Nadal did not let his service game be broken more than once by the champion over 5 sets lasting close to 5 hours is testimony to his skill and to his strength of will. But as simple a problem as an inability to break the opponent's serve (more than on that solitary occasion in the 3rd set) does not stop champions in their track. Federer simply ensured that none of his service games were broken in the third set. And in the tiebreaker - like all great champions - he showed he had that extra gear when serving. In total, the defending champion fired in 25 Aces in the final. A few gems were unleashed in that third set tie break too. And the relentless pressure he was putting on Nadal seemed to work. He got that critical mini-break and made good on it - serving the set out, taking the tie-breaker at 7-5. Nadal did not seem surprised. In fact he looked as if he expected this. His set of jaw and tightening of expression indeed showed the determination to wrest the trophy as it did the respect he had for his esteemed opponent. After a rain break, we saw what was arguably the best tennis this year and maybe of a few decades, in the 4th set. While Nadal is not one to be rallied with for fun, it has to be said that Federer is not the worst back court player himself. To watch these players scramble from sideline to sideline while still being able to time the ball and put in spin or slice on it apart from directing it away from the other player was a mindblowing experience of another order altogether. This is why sport is termed transcendental. Silly things such as taking sides, rooting for one player over another simply fell away. These were replaced with one single element. Awe - deep and ever-growing - at both the players skills, of course. But also at the remarkable hunger that was shown by the two people. Even the most diehard of Federer's supporters had to put their hands together when Nadal managed to drill those passes with inches to spare inspite of being wrong footed and when on full stretch. Likewise, there would not have been many Rafa supporters who did not find it in their innermost hearts to praise the champions' lack of nerves and his outstanding amount of God given skills when he pulled out pass after pass, volley after volley and serve after serve when put under the most severe of tests by Nadal.

But perhaps this is where the whole story lay. It was Nadal who was posing the questions all the time. Federer did well, he did fantastically well. But basically he was responding to the challenges thrown by the Spaniard. The Matador from Spain may be famous for his defensive game. But he was anything but defensive on the Centre Court yesterday. He threw down the gauntlet repeatedly for Federer. Federer scrambled, stormed and dazzled - but all of it was in answer to those ever-present questions from Nadal. He just could not recover enough to pose his own questions. And this perhaps was the secret of Nadal's emergence over Federer. To stop Federer from demolishing him on court and banishing him from his presence is a difficult thing - as all those who suffered in the earlier rounds would tell you. But Nadal was not everybody else. Not only did he stop Federer from attacking him, he reduced the champion to defending against his pushes, punches, shovels and drives - time and time again. Even the most die-heard of Federer fans must have felt that Nadal deserved to win. He was simply playing tennis in another level. It was tennis induced by hunger. A ravenous hunger to get his hands on the crown that he hankered after the most.

But Federer did not get to where he did by simply succumbing when the going got tough. Nadal might be playing fantastic tennis and almost the whole crowd on Centre Court might be behind him and he himself may not have been having the best of times with the Hawk Eye system. Perhaps remembering Federer's not-so-kind words against it a season back, Hawk Eye steadfastly resolved to not give Federer the benefit of doubt! Close line decisions, when appealed against, almost always seemed to go the way of Nadal. A weaker man might have submitted. He may have acknowledged that great although he was, this was not his day. But Federer, as some people say is not merely great. He is the greatest. And so an extra gear was found. That gear to which very few mortals have access to. The 4th set of this finals saw one of the most uncompromising bouts of tennis that was ever on display. Federer used his inside out forehands for all their worth, pushing Nadal into using his backhands one handed or trying to shovel the ball back to Federer's backhand when off balance. Time and again, Federer attacked Nadal's backhand corner and then whipped out winners with his precision-honed forehand. There were even a few balls that Nadal could not run and get to! There was a small phase when Federer was actually outplaying Nadal from the back of court. But it was only a phase. And Federer recognized it. For he judiciously mixed his back court game with glides to the net to finish off points before they could get tiresome. Some of the volleys that Federer used in finishing off points may have been made without much fuss, but orchestrating it required a skill of completely another dimension. This was shown when Nadal ventured into the net once or twice. But for all his brilliance, Federer's game has always been marred with the stigma of unforced errors. His mishits off his forehand are fast becoming commonplace. So, it should be no surprise that while Federer had the higher number of winners, he also led the way with his unforced errors - 52 of them as compared to 27 from the uncompromising Nadal.

The 4th set was eventually taken to a tiebreak where Nadal did manage that crucial mini-break and was at one point 5-2 serving - with an opportunity to finish the contest. Federer stormed back from there. He got two mini-breaks. And after that, he saved a championship point with what has to be one of the strongest shots ever under pressure in recent tennis history - a backhand down the line whipping pass to a perfect approach shot from Nadal who was hunkering at the net for the finish. It proved to be a decisive swing of momentum and Federer eventually wrapped up the 4th set - again at 7-6 with the tiebreaker wrapped up at 10-8. As Vijay Amritraj rightly noted from the Star commentary box, there was a definite tightening in Nadal when the opporunity was there to serve out the match. He knew he had relinquished the opportunity and the momentum had probably swung the other way. But it would be remiss if one does not mention the unabashedly Nadal-worshipping Alan Wilkins and his single point agenda to see Nadal win Wimbledon yesterday! At 2 sets all, 2 games all and deuce, it appeared there was little to choose between Amritraj and Wilkins as rain once again poured down from the heavens cooling off the tremendous heat generated by the contest. A short while later play resumed and Federer finished out his game with two mighty serves. But as strong as Federer was in his own service games (apart from indiscretions he would dearly have loved to avoid in the first 2 sets) it has to be said that he could not find a way to convert too many of the 13 break points that he had on Nadal's serve. He was only able to cash in on one of those break points. In contrast Nadal picked up 4 from 13 opportunities. In many ways, this statistic tells its own story. But it is far from telling the complete story - as is the case with statistics normally. The 5th set had no tiebreak and it went on serve till 7-7. However Federer tripped up when serving to go up 8-7. The signs were there to see when he got down to 0-30 and from then on Nadal was like a hound on the scent of blood. He ran like there was no tomorrow, he returned as if his object of monumental hate was the fuzzy yellow sphere served up by Federer and he threaded passes past Federer as if shooting holes past almost impenetrable enemy defenses. Federer was broken - in serve as in spirit - in the 15th game of the final set. New balls were called for and Nadal duly finished proceedings to wrest control of the Wimbledon trophy from Federer who had held and kissed it for 5 times previously - and continuously. In a fitting gesture, Nadal bit into the trophy as he does on those French Open trophies. While he may be Spanish, the traditional English bulldog qualities that this man shows are there for the world to see. To break Nadal's bite on the cup next year and wrest it from him, one feels would need tennis of an even higher order than what was seen yesterday. Especially since Nadal is still a kid at 22 years of age! Is that possible? Only time will tell.

This was not a fairytale and so did not have a fairytale ending. Beauty did not win and the Beast did not fall. It was the Beast that got the Beauty. But then, was there not a telling statement on this regard by a wise man? Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder! The Beast too is beautiful - in its own way. And while only one can hold the trophy, both were winners as far as sport is concerned. And this is the verdict of a spectator who has never in life experienced such amounts of vicarious pleasure in watching sport than yesterday when Nadal met with Federer and set Wimbledon ablaze. Forget the 5 hours taken by this match. This was a match to be remembered for a lifetime and across generations. It was, in every way, a victory for tennis. And it showed sport as the transcendental pursuit that it is, from time to time!
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Dasavatharam - As I saw it

July 2nd 2008 15:37
Dasavatharam - The Kamal Hassan Magnum Opus

The script in words

[Warning to those who have not watched this movie - all sorts of spoilers lie beyond this point. Beware!]

Leading upto the movie, there was a lot of hype and hoopla. But none of it filtered through to me thankfully. I had not seen a single trailer of the movie or read a single review other than the couple of thoughts put in here at IWD. I went with an open mind to watch an entertainer of a movie.

It is always a pleasure to watch a movie in the Satyam movieplex. I have always loved the ambience and even the parking facilities in the Satyam complex - not to mention the bountiful buckets of popcorn and the other savoury items and delicacies available at the cafetaria there. Yes, consequently it is a bit costlier but I am not a regular movie watcher at theatres - so it is not that big of a deal for me.

Ensconced in the seats with the seemingly bottomless bucket of popcorn, we were regaled with the opening scene which was intended to look majestic, but fell flat on its face. The scene depicted a huge gathering of people with Kamal on the stage in the act of making a speech and with dignitaries of the calibre of George W and Karunanidhi sitting on the dais. What ruined the entire shot was everything looked artificial. Right from the crowds to the stadium to the various people sitting on the stage. They were more like props. From random talk, all comers had praised the graphics work done by some Hollywood artiste. But it did not look all that cool to me.

I have always appreciated Kamal's clear and precise enunciation of Tamil with the right amount of gravity and pause in his spiel. One could see that the timbre of his voice still remained the same during the speech. It appears that Kamal was recounting a scene back in the 12th century to that whole gathering. There was pin drop silence in that huge stadium and they apparently had limitless patience (these are small flaws in the script and direction, in my opinion).

Everybody seems to praise the scenes showing Rangaraja Nambiar - a Vaishnavite intent on saving the Vishnu statue from being desecrated in its own temple. I did not think they were too special though. With no shirt on him, Kamal looked the part of a man past his best physical condition. Mass was there but not muscle. He was a bit too bulky for those action scenes and it did not look very good. The next disappointment was Napoleon being casted as the Chola King and an ardent follower of Lord Shiva. He was a complete misfit from start to finish. It was not the physical aspect of Napoleon which jarred. It was only when he opened his mouth to deliver dialogue in chaste Tamil that he gets found out. Maybe they could have used somebody like Nasser for this role. It would have leant more authority and presence that the Chola King ought to have commanded.

Or was this another way of focussing the viewers on Kamal with no distractions at all?

I also thought it rather strange that the Vaishanvites simply lined up in their vast numbers and stood silently with not too many guards to block them. I would have thought there would have been some sort of an uprising which might have required some show of force from the Chola side. But I am willing to take it in the spirit of the presentation of the movie. What happened next though was purely silly.

Kamal, Rangaraja Nambi, is captured and tied with the statue. After being asked to say Om Namashivaya by the Chola King who just incidentally happens to be his childhood mate, Kamal does not find it in himself to say those words in praise of the three eyed lord. He instead resorts to 'Om Namo Narayanaya' - this time in the rich, luscious voice of Hariharan. Those three words, when rendered by Hariharan have their own beauty.

Kamal is then strung out and hung on hooks pierced through his hide. Even when being swayed from side to side, he finds it in himself to sing a philosophical song with metre and rhyme. As a song, it was OK. It was the best song in the movie, perhaps. But it was immensely jarring considering the turn of events and the current status of the man who was singing the song. The song concludes with the statue of Vishnu being submerged in the seas. A small bit about the grieving, angry wife Asin is also interesting. She removes her mangalsutra (thali) and throws it at the Chola King but she misses and it lands on a carved lion pillar. Small events such as this are linked together at various different parts of the movie and spotting them gives you a small sense of delight.

From here we go to the protagonist Kamal - a scientist in a lab in the US. This is probably the first movie (Hollywood ones included) where I have seen scientists being portrayed as types who would use machines to walk even the corridors within their own buildings. If nothing else, it was accurate and cool. It appears that the scientist team is testing a bio-weapon and the test subject is a monkey. The production appears to have been successful but the security situation of the monkey was not very believable. It appears to have been enclosed within a latch operated, glass lidded container. When news filters down to Kamal that their project had been chosen for funding by none other than George W, Kamal goes and sits in on a meeting with the head honcho.

We also get to see Kamal as George W - horribly over made up and jittery in his movements. But what was accurately depicted was the nasal twang and the accent of George W. Meanwhile, inevitably, the idiotic latched lid came loose and the monkey escaped. And what is more - the bio-weapon was apparently kept in such a way that it was easily accessible - even to a monkey (pun intended). Long story short - the monkey made a meal out of the bio-weapon and was reduced to a grisly, smoking mess in a matter of seconds.

Kamal, the scientist, opts to then wipe out the entire lab area along with all the costly equipments (much to the chagrin of his head honcho) with nothing but - hold your breath - Nacl (Sodium Chloride). Thats common salt for guys who missed their chemistry classes at school. I do not know the science behind this, but I doubt if common salt can prove to be a potent deterrent to bio-weapons.

Now the head honcho who was not totally pleased with the destruction of his lab equipments had new problems to deal with. Kamal, the scientist (his name is Govind Naicker) had now developed new found barriers in his hiterto asleep conscience which did not let him proceed with the bio-weapon manufacture. Lets not miss the Vaishnavite connection here in the name, folks (Govind is another name for Vishnu). These are the small bits that can bring a smile to your face if you take the time and the effort to spot them.

While Kamal quits the scene after a smartly worded conference with his boss, the latter has other plans which preclude the entire team of scientists. He now plans to sell this complete technology to a group of terrorists.

Kamal chances upon his boss' plan and tries to make up his own counterplan to prevent what could turn out to be a global catastrophe if the bio-weapon went to the wrong hands. He succeeds in foiling the evil plans of his boss and escaping with the bio-weapon sample.

Enter Kamal as Christian Fletcher - a hardened ex-CIA agent with more hair on his chin than scruples. He is now a hit man for the forces who wish to buy the bio-weapon from Govind's boss. This is one of the two American characters that Kamal has done in the movie and both are indeed done artfully and differently. Even though George W was only a bit character, one could readily spot the difference in tonality and accent when Kamal provided voice to each of the characters. Where George W's was a nasal twang which jarred against your eardrums, Fletcher's was the slow nonsensical almost-Texan drawl which grated rather than jarred your eardrums.

Govind's first destination is to go to Washington where one of his team mates - another Indian stayed with his japanese partner. It was a good touch to get the Japanese lady to speak some Tamil to show her familiarity with Govind who was her husband's friend. As it turns out, his friend too had sold his loyalty to the corrupt scientist boss and inspite of being asked by Govind to contact the FBI (good luck trying to convince them if and when they get there!), he calls his boss and informs that Govind is in fact at his house. Govind though is eavesdropping on the call and confronts his friend with his opprobrious act. In a matter of seconds, Fletcher is out there by the glass window of the apartment in a helicopter. Now, that was odd. It was cinematic but did not make for good scripting. After a short action scene, which also featured the Japanese lady involved in a Karate showdown with Fletcher, Govind manages to make good his escape. In direct contrast to Rangaraja Nambi's not-so-nice action scenes, the Fletcher combat sequences are all a joy to watch. Kamal still retains his physical coordination and balance. The Japanese lady, inevitably is killed in combat with Fletcher - thereby sowing the plot for the entry of another character. All in good time though.

Govind meets up with an old friend in a very opportune manner and his friend ends up mistakenly sending the packet containing the bio-weapon to India. Fletcher, meanwhile, has tracked Govind down to the courier office as well. This time, Govind thinks hard about how he could be tracked down with such accuracy. The answer lies in his cellphone - he rightly concludes and manages to get rid of the phone by throwing it into another car while making his getaway. In the process, though, he had to leave behind his friend. Govind makes his way to the airport office and tries to see if the package can be stopped from going to India which of course cannot be done. Now, Fletcher too makes his way to the airport office aided by information from the friend who Govind had left behind. Finding no other way, Govind tries to slip into the cargo hold and ends up slipping and falling into one of the cargo containers. He loses consciousness but the loading process ensures that he too is on that flight to India.

Fletcher - finding that he too needs to visit India - looks around for somebody who can speak the local lingo. Enter Mallika Sherawat. While adjectives aplenty can be heaped towards her for her lissome and shapely body structure, not many words (at least nice ones) come to the mind when talking about her facial beauty, expressions or lack thereof. There is the inevitable club song here after which Fletcher instructs Mallika to take out the scientist boss just so that there are no loose ends. And Fletcher too flies to India with Mallika in tow.

When talking about Fletcher, I get the distinct impression that Kamal has used insets in his boots to increase his stature. All in the effort of getting into the character though - which is to be appreciated.

Now starts what is probably the movie's most enjoyable section - the introduction of the Telugu detective Balram Naidu. Here is where Kamal's sharp witted dialogue - which is inherently funny and replete with innuendo - shines through. In fact every scene featuring Balram Naidu brings a smile to the face. Again, top notch voice modulation by Kamal is on show where nobody anywhere could fault him for not getting into the character. Just as he is absolutely American when he is Fletcher, he is absolutely a Telugu speaking person when he is Balram Naidu.

Balram Naidu starts questioning Govind in the airport - which in itself is a small comedy of sorts. Govind tries to explain the concept of a bio-weapon but finds that the officiousness and thick-headedness of Balram Naidu prevented any coherent transfer of information. In the meanwhile, it is announced that detectives from FBI have arrived and that they were going to take custody of Govind. Fletcher manages to squeeze into the interrogation room before the poor FBI agents who are sagging and delayed by the weight of the coconut husks and garlands on them. The ex-CIA man puts down the guards and gets away with Govind and an inspector as captive.

As they try to make a getaway, yet another version of Kamal makes an entry - Avtar Singh (Punjabi pop singer). Kamal, one feels, has done a top notch job on vocal intonation in this character too. Even the Tamil or English spoken by Avtar Singh is tinged with the rich Punjabi flavour. It is a delight to see such a showman in his element. Jayaprada - the ever-vibrant dame pairs up with Avtar Singh as his wife. It appears that Avtar Singh is not so well and when he collapses in front of the airport exit, all hell breaks loose and in the confusion, Fletcher makes his exit with his captives - all this while firmly pointing his middle finger in the direction of the security camera!

Kamal manages to escape from Fletcher's clutches once again. Otherwise, how is the story going to move? This time he goes in search of the package which he has learnt is heading for Chidambaram. Keen but tired readers - please stop and consider. Here is another small significance. Chidambaram is a Shaivite shrine and boasts of a huge temple of Lord Shiva there. Not surprisingly, the package is delivered to another Kamal avatar. This time a nongenarian lady - Krishnaveni. Arguably this is the worst ever made up character that Kamal has played. While still allowing for the fact that 90 year old grandmothers are not the best lookers, the getup of Krishnaveni was eminently forgettable - mostly because it was not very believable. However, Kamal's body language, accent and actions - even the dull eyes that afflict elders, was outstanding even here. It was unfortunately not enough to save this character in this rollicking but not necessarily riveting script.

While Govind tries to wrangle the bioweapon from Krishnaveni, Fletcher too arrives with Mallika to the scene. Apparently he had obtained the information too that the packet was headed to Chidambaram. There is a fight which ensues in which Mallika is killed. And when she is taking her last breath, Fletcher eases out her misery by putting a bullet into her. Although she was asking him to save her, this was apparently his way of saving her.

Before this, the wily Krishnaveni patti (she is actually said to not be in the best of mental health!) had put the bio-weapon inside the statue of Perumal (a Vishnu avatar) as the idol came in procession. Readers would again note the way the story again embraces the Vishnu concept here. It is also mentioned that Krishnaveni had lost her mental health only after the loss of her son - Aaravamuthan long back. Govind manages to snag the Vishnu statue which is seen by the excessively devout grand daughter - Asin. In order to save the statue she too runs with Govind. They run on, then they go on a train and eventually go by truck when they reach a sandy portion beside a beach near Pondicherry. Before this, during the train journey, there is a nice bit of dialogue between Govind and Asin which portrays the casteist sentiments which are still prevalent in some Brahmin minds. There are also digs at Periyar, untouchability and atheism. Again, some quick thinking dialogue saves the day here.

The tired Govind and Asin finally reach the sandy beach portion and decide to rest a while there. Readers would not be surprised to note that this was the spot where the old Vishnu temple was originally located. There are ruins scattered around everywhere. After the routine bickering that takes place between two people who are just about to fall in love but dont know it yet, Govind and Asin decide to seek some refreshment in some nearby shop. Since it would be odd to go into town with a Vishnu statue in hand, they decide to bury the statue in the sand there - just where the old Vishnu temple used to be. Touche`. Enroute to the shop, while still not out of the sandy beach portion, Asin smacks her knee on a pillar protruding out of the sand. This, tireless readers, is the same statue at which Asin (as the wife of Rangaraja Nambi) had thrown her mangal sutra (thali) at. Deja Vu, eh?

Elsewhere it is learnt that all is not well with our singing and dancing Sikh - Avatar Singh. He has got cancer in his throat and requires to make a decision between his career and his life. He chooses life with Jayapradha - quite surprisingly. He also decides that the concert that he is about to give at Chennai is the last one he would ever give.

Govind, when finally getting to the shop, understands that he is being framed for a lot of things by the police and he cannot risk being exposed. With Asin's help, they get what they need and go back to the sandy beach to pick up the buried statue. But to their dismay they find only sand smugglers. When it looks like they are outnumbered and Asin's modesty is about to be outraged, enter another one of Kamal's avatars - Vincent Poovarahan. This is a role of a Dalit Christian which is performed with panache by the veteran actor. The makeup was still not upto the mark - with paint gleaming on his face. Poovarahan is supposed to look black and so they had to resort to a lot of paint to probably get the fair Kamal to look the part. And it shows through in the movie. Apart from the makeup though, Vincent Poovarahan even gives the character of Balram Naidu a run for its money. Small script and smaller scope for this character, yes. But a lion-hearted performance nevertheless.

He comes with television cameras to grab a shot of the sand smugglers in action. This social message (that illegal sand quarrying is a big menace) too is added to the others such as blind idol worship, violence and anarchy in the name of religion, bio-weapons and its inherent hazards etc. in the film.

Now, this diversion is made use of by Govind and Asin to again escape the clutches of the law and they take a lorry used for sand quarrying to help them in their escape for good measure. While Govind tries to drive the vehicle onwards to Pondicherry, the irrepressibly devout Asin wants to get the statue back to where it belongs and tries to wrest the steering back so that the lorry makes a U-turn. No, madam, lorries dont come with power steerings. What results though is an accident with the lorry hitting another van coming from the other side and both parties go crashing into the sand.

Lo behold another Kamal clambering from the van Govind crashed into. This Kamal seems to keep on coming out of the van. He is about 7 feet tall. Khalifullah is a overgrown Muslim man living with his father (Nagesh) and a suitably large family. This avatar too competes for the worst getup with Krishnaveni and George W. Poovarahan is saved because of the script and the ample scope for performance. Here, Govind narrowly escapes the clutches of Fletcher who is still on the lookout for him and hot on his trail. Govind plans to reach Balram Naidu and ask for aid. However, he also ends up missing Balram Naidu who too happens to be searching for the scientist on the run.

Meanwhile we missed the entry of yet another Kamal version - a Japanese martial affairs instructor. Mr. Martial affairs happens to be the brother of the Japanese lady who was killed by Fletcher in the US. His single point agenda is to get rid of the murderer who killed his sister.

Things converge to a scene in a hospital where our Avtar Singh is also admitted. Govind helps in getting the Muslim family treated while keeping the Vishnu statue in a cool storage box in the hospital. In usual clinical efficiency, the hospital staff switches cool boxes between Avatar Singh and Govind. So, Avatar Singh gets the Vishnu statue and Govind gets the cancer drugs.

This does not prevent the gutsy Sikh from performing in the show as scheduled. A peppy number 'Oh Oh Sanam, oh oh Sanam' is performed by Avatar to the delight of the crowd. Jayaprada too dances with him and still manages to look graceful and hold her own. No small thing this at her age. Probably the only better preserved leading lady of yesteryear is Hema Malini.

Govind, yet again, uses the distraction of the concert to escape with the statue from Avatar Singh's cool box. But not before Fletcher shoots Avatar Singh in the throat. A small but frenetically paced chase scene ensues where Fletcher chases Govind in the legendary Bullet motorcycle. Over the years, many of Kamal's scenes deserve appreciation. Notch one more gem up for appreciation. His skill at handling the beefy thumper left me breathless. Even in the best of times, it is tough to smartly alight from the Bullet. But to do that on the run and to let the bike slide out from under you on a platform while still maintaining the balance needed to hit the ground running is something worth mentioning. We dont know for sure that it was Kamal who did that scene but it did look like him. The jury is still out on this though.

The chase scene slowly creeps toward the Chennai beachfront. Meanwhile Vincent Poovarahan is invited to the illegal sand quarry guys' leader's house. The corrupt leader tries to tempt Poovarahan with wealth but when he finds that the brave Dalit man would never compromise on his principles, things take a turn on the uglier side. Before too much could be done though, the sea gods intervened.

Lets cut over to the chase at this point. Fletcher finally manages to corner Govind for a final fight. Some adept rope climbing and ladder climbing on a building under construction amply showcases the arm strength still possessed by Kamal. Tamil movies have certainly seen better action sequences, but this movie is certainly not bad by action standards set by Tamil movies. Fletcher did not however bargain to meet the Japanese martial instructor here. Kamal, in the martial guru role, is again good. Although the slit eyed look does not sit too well on his face - his face looks too wide and altogether big for the ideal Japanese look. Once more, there is a small but nice action scene featuring Fletcher and the Japanese martial arts guru. When it is apparent that he is not going to win, Fletcher breaks open the seal on the bio-weapon and consumes it. Everybody is aghast at this - for surely the end of the world is nigh upon them.

The sea gods had other plans though. Knowing that this paritcular bio-hazard did not particularly like Nacl (or salt), they decided to send a friendly tsunami the Chennaiites way. The sea rises up and consumes anything and everything in its path - including Fletcher in his dying throes. Of course, Govind along with Asin and the Japanese martial arts instructor manage to escape.

Elsewhere though, things are not so cosy for Poovarahan. Even though he wishes to leave the place in a huff, he cannot abandon the sand quarry leaders' family in the roiling waters of the tsunami. In an effort to save his adversary's young children, Poovarahan perishes - a poingnant end to this character.

Krishnaveni had earlier been taken in for questioning by Balram Naidu. She now chances upon the scene with Poovarahan on the ground and dead. She is convinced that this is her son long thought to have departed the land of the living - Aaravamuthan. She finds solace and closure. This scene also highlights the underlying casteist sentiments among a few from the Brahmin sect but Krishnaveni firmly quells any such thoughts about caste and colour with simple but powerful dialogue.

After the hectic escape from Fletcher, Govind and Asin get a moment together when they finally realize that they are made to be together. The place where they announce their love for each other happens to be the same spot where the old Vishnu statue, which was submerged with Rangaraja Nambi tied to it, had washed up. A nice touch again.

It is also revealed that Fletcher's shot that passed through Avatar Singh's throat did more good than harm! The shot passed clean through but not before cutting away the cancer too. So, all is well that ends well.

Tying all this together is Kamal's speech on the dais - with the crowd and the dignitaries still patiently listening. The film does give a clue that it has the Chaos theory as basis - in the sense that random events such as a butterfly snapping its wings might result in an earthquak elsewhere and so on. The film ends on a nice note with Kamal once again delivering chaste Tamil dialogue in an exemplary and powerfully evocative manner.

In conclusion it appears that Kamal has tried to imitate the touch of Hollywood director Quentin Tarantino's style of tying together discrete scenes only to tie them all up in the end with panache and style. The factor hampering this idea is the length of the film and the usual masala elements. And it has to be said that Kamal probably appeared in far too many faces. All in all, this is a family entertainer, a light hearted film at heart and a feast for die-hard fans of Kamal Hassan - probably the most talented film artiste in all of India.

[Yay - for those who made it here, congrats and high fives!]
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Bullies are Cowards (LINK)

June 25th 2008 09:54


Bullies are Cowards

Younger brothers are the best 'made to order' bully material, aren't they? They are weaker, maybe shorter, lighter and probably don't know as much as the elder brother does - about life, love, brotherhood or even the truth about bullying. Every elder brother has, at one time or the other, bullied his younger brother into submission. That is no surprise. But there is a time and age for everything. And there also is a line beyond which the playful bullying of brothers metamorphoses into something really ugly. Into planned ostracizing, into scheming skulduggery and eventually even ruthless extermination. The moment the bullying starts turning into something ugly is when the parents need to step in.

Now to put it all under context, the BCCI and the ICL are the brothers in question. Brothers by their association with the same game even if not by blood. And the parent of course is the supremely negligent and famously indolent ICC. Let there be no question about who the bully is in this case. It is our BCCI, of course.

Credit where it is due

To understand more about this bullying by the BCCI and the continual shut-eye policy by the ICC, we need to look at the whole issue in closer detail. A question to the readers here: Was the IPL successful? Did you like it? Did you like T20 leagues with players from different countries playing together? Are you for more involvement of technology in the cricket action so that erroneous decisions can come down? Well, if you answered in the affirmative to any of the above questions, then ladies and gentlemen, we must thank the Indian Cricket League, aka ICL. This Subhash Chandra (Zee Telefilms) backed league is what gave the world a taste of these systems first hand.

It is one thing to not give them credit for all these innovations and more. But it is completely another to copy the concepts from them and then to try hard to push them into oblivion. Which is what is happening right now. To the BCCI's and Lalit Modi's credit, they will come back and tell you that Mr. Modi was the original proponent of such a league type system almost a decade back. But the truth is that the BCCI rejected the idea and turned their back on the league system - until the ICL made it a reality. This pricked the BCCI into action and act it did. It acted big - on scale and scope. The IPL resulted and it was a massive success - among the playing fraternity as well as with corporate sectors and the spectators. The difference ladies and gentlemen between the two leagues is one word - the tag of 'rebel'. And this tag was gifted to the ICL by none other than the BCCI.

Tagging the rebel

People will rightly point out two things. Subash Chandra/Zee did not float the ICL for philanthrophic reasons. They did see it as a profitable business venture. It was also a culmination of Subash Chandra's frustration at not being awarded telecast rights for home cricket matches inspite of successful bids. The bidding process was of course conducted by the BCCI - lest you ask. The second aspect of the league was the less than enthralling quality of cricket. One look at the rosters in the league would tell you the reason. The top cricketers were missing. And when you ask why the top players are missing from the league, the answer again leads us back to where we started. The 'rebel' tag.

A good, close look at the premise of the two competing leagues - ICL and the IPL - could also be interesting. The ICL backed by worthy cricketers such as the charismatic Kapil Dev, the doughty Kiran More and the outspoken but knowledgeable Tony Greig does not lay all its eggs in one basket, unlike the IPL. The small and garish and therefore attention-grabbing basket of T20. The ICL has always said that its aim is to work towards getting the league teams competing in T20, ODIs as well as longer duration matches. Now that is a concept worth pursuing. The IPL has given us a taste of how saucily interesting contests between two countrymen playing for different leagues can be. Now, if we could take such fiery contests between undeniably great sportsmen onto the next level - that of the ODIs or even 4 or 5 day matches - the game would be the winner. And the spectators would be treated well too. No doubt about that.

A matter of national shame

It is a matter of national shame that cricketers of the calibre of Kapil Dev and Kiran More are not being given their rightful due simply because they chose to support an innovative cricketing idea that they felt would surely benefit the game. Surely the creators of the IPL themselves would recognize that much - that the league format can only benefit the game. Because when we talk about these grand old cricketers not being given their due, there is no pun intended whatsoever. It is quite literal. These people have been cut off from the BCCI's rolls. The monthly pension that was due to the players has been discontinued. While a cricketer like Kapil Dev may not be hit hard by the revocation of the pension amount, it is worth noting the gesture which reeks of snobbery, ill will and an impatience towards anybody who does not toe their line. So, if it was not about the players tarnishing the game or bringing disrepute to it in any way, then what is all the ostracism and targeting about? It is obviously about competition - one feels. Or to be specific, an aversion to have anybody compete with them as far as cricket in the country is concerned.

Does the BCCI own Indian cricket? The legal answer is 'No'. They are simply a private body functioning at their whim and running the whole business of cricket for quite a long time now. Can another body step into the fray and offer the spectators and the cricket world in general another choice? Absolutely. But it is not the legal answer that we are interested in right now. It is the real world answer. The real world answer is given to us by two august bodies - the ICC and the BCCI. And their answer is that the cricket world - at least that part of the world which belongs to India - cannot have competition.

The market as Judge

Many have been the arguments in favour of the IPL that the market is the best judge of the worth of this form of the game. Well, should we not then extend that concept to this ICL/BCCI wrestling match? Do we not feel that the market is intelligent and perceptible enough to separate the grain from the chaff and offer their support to the best in the market? Would it not be beneficial to the game of cricket as a whole? Or even accept both of them if each have definite and individual strengths? Let's take a look at a small example in this context. Let's wind the clocks back by a couple of years. This was a time when the BCCI continued to function in its dithering, plodding way - just as an absent minded Wooster would in a Wodehouse novel. Though it is eminently arguable whether the warmth and good intentions of Wooster can be matched by the BCCI! The players were still getting pittance for pay and many were the news reports of a team like the Railways being made to travel by train for gruelling distances and being made to put up with substandard boarding and lodging facilities. And this, by the way, was the state of the country's largest and most prestigious tournament - The Ranji Trophy. Entry the ICL. Firm and attractive payment contracts were offered to players. Life, in general, seemed to be on the upswing for the players. The BCCI woke up; smelling the ICL. First thing it did was to brand the ICL as the 'rebel league' and issued ultimatums to the player community at large that any player opting for the ICL may never hope to represent the national team again. It then proceeded to revamp the payment systems for the domestic players in a big way. All this worked out to the players' benefit. Suddently cricket, once more became a logical choice for youngsters to pursue as a career. But amidst all this, let us not forget that but for the ICL, all this might never have happened.

Our responsibility as fans

Forget the different players here. Forget the fact that this is all a result of the TV-broadcast-rights wars. Lets even forget the fate of promising players like Ambati Rayudu or Abhishek Jhunjhunwala. Lets swallow pride and forget the demeaning treatment meted out to our one and only World Cup winning captain, Kapil Dev. Lets ask ourselves this one question. Can we, as conscientious and proud cricket fans, afford to have monopolies in the game? In a game which treats the young and the old alike, in a game which treats spin and pace alike, in a game which rewards both the biffers and the artists alike, can we let this festering monopoly take root?

To go back to the theme espoused in the opening lines, this is bullying at its best. Done expertly by the BCCI to undermine and eventually extinguish the ICL flames. The parent body, the ICC too has washed itself of its responsibilities and asked the ICL to get recognized by the BCCI first. The BCCI, I am sure, is smiling at this all and demurely whispering to the ICL - 'over my dead body'.

Bullying is not a display of strength. It is not even a display of confidence or bravado. It is fuelled by fear. Fear of being overtaken, of being overmatched, of being dethroned,. It is the expression used best by cowards in order to prevent a confrontation. To avoid a fair fight by preventing it even before it has a chance of ensuing. If the parent body is not in a position to understand this or if its hands are tied because of the colossal wealth and support that the BCCI possesses, it is time for us to rise up and be counted as passionate cricket fans.

Folks - there is enough room in the world for the IPL and the ICL to stay. Room enough in our hearts to appreciate the pioneering efforts of the ICL as well as the grand scale and scope of the IPL. Let nobody arbitrarily decide to deprive you of what is rightfully yours to enjoy - quality cricket action. Cricket democracy demands a petition on this subject and that is exactly what we have here. Please vote - ye who are against monopoly and ye who would like to see the game improve as a result of fair market competition. You are not voting against the BCCI or the IPL. You are not voting for the ICL. You are simply voting for the improvement of cricket as a game as a result of fair competition.

Online Petition:

Really Long Link
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Few and Far Between - I

June 24th 2008 09:13
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The IPL 2008 - Grand Finale

June 2nd 2008 14:46

After two damp squibs of semifinals back to back, great things were expected from the finals. And did it offer that and more! It was a heart stopper, a gut wrencher, the seat edge thriller that haunts our dreams.

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This matchup was eagerly expected for more reasons than one. The earlier semifinal turned out to be a damp squib when Warne's team summarily squished the Delhi Daredevils while barely breaking out a sweat. And this was also the matchup where the present Indian national team's ODI captain clashed with the vice captain of the same team. Two big hitters. Two hugely influential batsman in the shorter format of the game.

And the verdict is out. We know who is the captain and why he is the captain. Mahendra Snigh Dhoni - ladies and gentlemen, in no small measure proved that he was by far the better man for the mantle of leadership of a cricket team. Where Yuvraj looked lost and hapless and completely out of ideas, Dhoni never made a wrong move. Every move that he made was well thought out and what is more - the Yellows seemed to be jumping effervescently to grab the opportunities on offer. No pressure. No panic. Simple, no nonsense cricket.

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The first semifinal of the IPL was a total damp squib. For all the presence of political bigwigs like Sharad Pawar and Laloo Prasad Yadav, there was not the spiced battle that we expected from two of the top 4 teams in the league.

Amendment - there were indications of a spiced battle until Delhi took guard. Then it all went haywire and all semblance of a contest between the two teams was abandoned about halfway through the second innings.

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My Indian T20 team

May 22nd 2008 11:23


1) Virender Sehwag

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The Chennai Super Kings were trounced, mauled and summarily annihilated. All this not by an opposing team. No, sir - the Mumbai Indians needed just one man, the marauder from Matara to decimate the Chennai team.

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People talk about how winning generates momentum and it helps your spirit and bolsters you for future contests. In much the similar way, I think losing too generates its own momentum. Except that it is force applied in the opposite direction. If winning is accerlation then losing is like braking force.

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