Yesterday I went to the nikah, Muslim wedding ceremony, of my neighbour's son. It was held at a community hall around the corner from my house, so I walked. As it turned out, I sat for an hour and nothing happened at all, and the women around me spoke only Malayalam, which I do not. And then there was a huge cloudburst, and Ramesh -- who does not attend any ceremony -- decided that I should be saved from getting soaked. He drove over, I handed my gift to a relative and my good wishes to someone else -- no sign of bride or groom -- and went back home. I missed out on the mutton biryani which was sure to have followed ... eventually ... but it was lovely to drive home through rain. Which stopped the minute we entered the gate.
I have only attended one nikah, in Lahore, Pakistan, when an American Urdu student married a young Pakistani man. So I'll describe that. The names have been changed to protect the bad-tempered:
Mansur's family had accepted Mary, at least outwardly. They had accepted that she brought no dowry -- possibly her American passport was enough -- and they were ready to stand in for her own family in preparing her for the wedding. But they also expected her to act the part.
On the wedding day Mary was in a bad mood. She resented being treated like a doll, having to pretend to be a shy young stranger afraid to raise her eyes before her husband's family. She was being dressed up, and her face slathered with makeup -- Pakistani brides wore more makeup and more jewellry than other people, and continued to wear elaborate clothes for weeks after the wedding. Mansur's sister and two sisters-in-law surrounded Mary where she sat, secluded in a back room, and tried to put on the pink face, the red lips, the black-rimmed eyes, and to give her their own jewellry to wear. It was inconceivable that she would want to look ordinary on her wedding day. But she kept pushing their hands away, and when they were finished she scrubbed it all off.
The men of Mansur's family were traditionally embroiderers. Only Mansur was educated and had left the trade. A friend of Mary's, living in India, had sent her some Benares silk, and she gave it to the family to be embroidered and made into a wedding costume. When it was ready, a few days before the wedding, she found that they had embroidered it in flashy, clashing colours. She refused to wear it. It was too late to start over, and she didn't have the collection of ornate dresses that are part of a traditional dowry. So she bought more silk, had it tailored very simply, and allowed the family to provide the red, embroidered veil.
The family was unable to find anyone to perform the marriage unless Mary converted to Islam. She agreed reluctantly to do so. But when it was done everyone she met, except Mansur, wanted to reassure him or herself that Mary had really undergone a revolution of faith. They would look at her anxiously, and question her about Islam. When the mullah came to perform the marriage he went into the back room where she sat and went through the whole thing again. She was enraged. It was as much as she could do to be polite to him.
Finally, Mary in the back room, and Mansur in the main room with the guests, signed the nikah-nama, the wedding contract. Mansur wore a garland of money and looked happy. Everyone ate a meal and posed for photographs. Mary sulked in the back. Later that night, when they were finally allowed to be together and alone, they set up a camera and took a picture of themselves. In the photograph Mary looked happy for the first time in a week.
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marți, 8 martie 2011
My First Time
The first Tamil movie I ever saw was Pennin Perumai (Woman's Pride), (1956).
It was presented as a classic film to the South Indian community in Boston, where I went to college. I was a beginning Tamil student, so I didn't understand much. Here's what I remember:
The heroine (Savithri) is married off to a rich man's son (Gemini Ganesan). After the wedding she discovers to her horror that he is mentally handicapped. [Extensive research on the Internet has revealed that his stepmother had given him something to make him sleep as an infant, retarding his development.] Being a noble Indian wife she sets out to teach him proper behaviour, reading and writing, etc. By and by he is cured, becomes a normal man, and they are in love.
Meanwhile, the hero's younger brother (Shivaji Ganesan), son of the rich man's second wife, is a villain - which is interesting, because Shivaji Ganesan was one of the top heroes in Tamil films in his day. He was still quite young - that's him holding the rifle in the picture above. I have no idea why he aimed a gun at his older brother, but I think that doing so shocked him into seeing the error of his ways…
More research informs me that the film was a hit, and ran for 29 weeks.
There's a strange reminiscence of the actress Savithri by her children
It was presented as a classic film to the South Indian community in Boston, where I went to college. I was a beginning Tamil student, so I didn't understand much. Here's what I remember:
The heroine (Savithri) is married off to a rich man's son (Gemini Ganesan). After the wedding she discovers to her horror that he is mentally handicapped. [Extensive research on the Internet has revealed that his stepmother had given him something to make him sleep as an infant, retarding his development.] Being a noble Indian wife she sets out to teach him proper behaviour, reading and writing, etc. By and by he is cured, becomes a normal man, and they are in love.
Meanwhile, the hero's younger brother (Shivaji Ganesan), son of the rich man's second wife, is a villain - which is interesting, because Shivaji Ganesan was one of the top heroes in Tamil films in his day. He was still quite young - that's him holding the rifle in the picture above. I have no idea why he aimed a gun at his older brother, but I think that doing so shocked him into seeing the error of his ways…
More research informs me that the film was a hit, and ran for 29 weeks.
There's a strange reminiscence of the actress Savithri by her children
Chitra Talkies
This is about a movie theatre which doesn't exist anymore - it was torn down to make way for an office building. It used to be in Pudupet. The building's facade was Art Deco, with motifs in raised stucco - a stylized eagle, and two side panels with elongated, flameless Olympic torches topped by geometric designs. "Chitra" was written vertically on the main, tallest portion. On either side of the main entrance were semi-circular cement ticket booths with cracks and holes in them, with wooden railings around the top, and small ticket windows with sliding wooden doors.
Most of the time an old black and white Tamil movie would be playing, because the theatre's receipts were too low for it to be able to rent first-run movies. There was a different picture each week, and a separate show at noon. The theatre’s new manager was struggling to come to grips with managing a movie theatre. He was a in his late sixties, his oiled hair dyed pitch black. He spoke with an expression of perpetual bewilderment. On the day I went with him to take a look at the theatre, he strode into the hall, then came back and said, "Did you see that? A whole row of seats has fallen down!"
He continued, “I was here in the morning, and the projectionist asked for oil to lubricate the projectors. He said they should use Vaseline, but it’s too expensive, so they use some other oil. I told him to buy only one litre, and gave him money from my pocket. Then he asked for a cloth to wipe the oil. He wanted to buy it from the petrol bunk. I told him, ‘Don't you know that one cloth there will cost 15 rupees? Take a bus and go downtown and buy it by the meter.’ I drew a map and told him where to go. Can you believe, for the cost of one cloth he got four cloths! I told him, ‘Buy four meters and get sixteen cloths, and they'll be slightly bigger than the ones you'll get from the petrol bunk.’
"On Saturday after the late show the watchman was opening the gate, and a taxi pinned him against it. They took him to the hospital and he died. All day Sunday I was running around to the police, the post mortem, arranging for a casket, attending the funeral.
"I told the police it was an accident, but then that man's son-in-law went and said, ‘It was a preplanned murder. All rowdies go there, and the watchman had so many skirmishes with them.’ So the Inspector came to me and said, 'What do you mean, reporting it as an accident, and now this man is telling me it was a pre-planned murder?' I said, 'If it's a murder, it's your job to investigate it.'
"One night we were at home, and the stall owner came to give me the receipts. Then he said, 'I'm having too much problem because outside people are selling cheap snacks under the gate, sundal and things like that, and I can't compete with them.' So I said, 'Then put sheet metal over the gate.' He said 'I did, but the ice cream seller would sell all his ice cream and then pour the salt water from the melted ice on the gate from outside every night, and it wore a hole, and through that hole they're again selling.'
"Last week four or five people got electric shocks, because the whole place is falling down. So I called an electrician, and he said, 'Sir, there is no insulation anywhere, it's all turned to powder, and all the wires have turned green. Everything has to be replaced.'
"Then one man came from the government and said, 'Sir, everything is wrong,' so I asked the manager, 'How much do I have to give him?' and he told me so much, but that man said, 'No, sir, we've been getting this amount for so many years, you must increase it now.' Then when I'd finished with him a man came from the pension fund and asked for free tickets for his friends and relations. Then the electrical engineer turned up and said, 'Where are the fire buckets?' So I asked the manager, and he said, 'No, they empty out the sand, and by the time the show is over the buckets have been stolen also.' So the electrical engineer said, 'Once a month when I come here for inspection you have to have buckets, take them on rental. Also, my four friends have come from out of town, so please let them in for free.' So I said, 'Give me some time, let me learn, I don't know anything!'
"Seeing all this, one woman was standing in the queue for tickets, and she said, 'Our Ayya!' I said, 'What?' and she said, 'I sleep on the footpath by your house, don't you recognise me?' So I gave her some money and said 'Okay, buy a ticket,' but she said, 'What is the need for tickets? It's our theatre now.' So then some urchins who were watching from outside started waving their arms and yelling, and they ran in, and then some others ran in, about twenty people went in without tickets.
"I'm so tired, I have so many problems, you know I put coconut oil on my hair, and last ten days while I'm asleep hundreds of ants come and bite me, I've got ant bites all over my body."
Most of the time an old black and white Tamil movie would be playing, because the theatre's receipts were too low for it to be able to rent first-run movies. There was a different picture each week, and a separate show at noon. The theatre’s new manager was struggling to come to grips with managing a movie theatre. He was a in his late sixties, his oiled hair dyed pitch black. He spoke with an expression of perpetual bewilderment. On the day I went with him to take a look at the theatre, he strode into the hall, then came back and said, "Did you see that? A whole row of seats has fallen down!"
He continued, “I was here in the morning, and the projectionist asked for oil to lubricate the projectors. He said they should use Vaseline, but it’s too expensive, so they use some other oil. I told him to buy only one litre, and gave him money from my pocket. Then he asked for a cloth to wipe the oil. He wanted to buy it from the petrol bunk. I told him, ‘Don't you know that one cloth there will cost 15 rupees? Take a bus and go downtown and buy it by the meter.’ I drew a map and told him where to go. Can you believe, for the cost of one cloth he got four cloths! I told him, ‘Buy four meters and get sixteen cloths, and they'll be slightly bigger than the ones you'll get from the petrol bunk.’
"On Saturday after the late show the watchman was opening the gate, and a taxi pinned him against it. They took him to the hospital and he died. All day Sunday I was running around to the police, the post mortem, arranging for a casket, attending the funeral.
"I told the police it was an accident, but then that man's son-in-law went and said, ‘It was a preplanned murder. All rowdies go there, and the watchman had so many skirmishes with them.’ So the Inspector came to me and said, 'What do you mean, reporting it as an accident, and now this man is telling me it was a pre-planned murder?' I said, 'If it's a murder, it's your job to investigate it.'
"One night we were at home, and the stall owner came to give me the receipts. Then he said, 'I'm having too much problem because outside people are selling cheap snacks under the gate, sundal and things like that, and I can't compete with them.' So I said, 'Then put sheet metal over the gate.' He said 'I did, but the ice cream seller would sell all his ice cream and then pour the salt water from the melted ice on the gate from outside every night, and it wore a hole, and through that hole they're again selling.'
"Last week four or five people got electric shocks, because the whole place is falling down. So I called an electrician, and he said, 'Sir, there is no insulation anywhere, it's all turned to powder, and all the wires have turned green. Everything has to be replaced.'
"Then one man came from the government and said, 'Sir, everything is wrong,' so I asked the manager, 'How much do I have to give him?' and he told me so much, but that man said, 'No, sir, we've been getting this amount for so many years, you must increase it now.' Then when I'd finished with him a man came from the pension fund and asked for free tickets for his friends and relations. Then the electrical engineer turned up and said, 'Where are the fire buckets?' So I asked the manager, and he said, 'No, they empty out the sand, and by the time the show is over the buckets have been stolen also.' So the electrical engineer said, 'Once a month when I come here for inspection you have to have buckets, take them on rental. Also, my four friends have come from out of town, so please let them in for free.' So I said, 'Give me some time, let me learn, I don't know anything!'
"Seeing all this, one woman was standing in the queue for tickets, and she said, 'Our Ayya!' I said, 'What?' and she said, 'I sleep on the footpath by your house, don't you recognise me?' So I gave her some money and said 'Okay, buy a ticket,' but she said, 'What is the need for tickets? It's our theatre now.' So then some urchins who were watching from outside started waving their arms and yelling, and they ran in, and then some others ran in, about twenty people went in without tickets.
"I'm so tired, I have so many problems, you know I put coconut oil on my hair, and last ten days while I'm asleep hundreds of ants come and bite me, I've got ant bites all over my body."
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