Dude, where’s the black guy?
There is a class of people, who are not atheistic or agnostic, and yet have a delightful disregard for the totalitarian veneration that religion demands. It is from the ranks of this crowd that I have heard about the “sexy Swami” (Krishna) and “hippy God” (Shiva). Belief can have the strangest roots, and my religion serves up a unique God for each of our numerous peculiarities. To each, her own belief and who are thy to ask why or how come? However, the problem with being among such irreverence for such a long time is that you start to forget the precepts that govern safe conversation among strangers.
Sandy had invited over a group of people for a party at my place. Although most were friends of hers, they were mostly just acquaintances of mine. It was a smart company and the conversation was consistently enjoyable, especially when experienced through that unpleasantness filter called beer.
Over the course of the evening, the conversation meandered through some hazy pathways to arrive at the Ramayana. I mentioned, without really thinking about it too much, that the epic is a very racist thesis. Usually this goes down among those who know me more intimately as the kind of thing that could be expected from me. I am either ignored, or an animated conversation ensures only to be drowned soon enough by the words of Monsieur Eminem. But the company on this particular night was probably not as de-sensitized to art of recreational bomb throwing.
The evening could probably have been salvaged if I had mentioned at this point that I was only trying to stir up the party and that we should probably just turn up the volume if anyone felt strongly about this. I guess however that the beer induced euphoria was demanding more cacophony. It has a will of its own, and it easily outmatched my own. I buried the party irrevocably into a discussion on the Ramayan with my next words. Ramayan, I told my friends, is racist because the white people in it are gods and the black people are monkeys. The beer must have dulled my thoughts, for if I were sober I would have said that the Ramayan was racist because the white people are Gods and the black people are monkeys and demons. Drinking makes me slightly forgetful.
I could as well have smashed a brick on someone’s head. An intense conversation ensued. Although it was not my intent that night, I did end up learning a lot. The first being that Tamil Nadu seems rather unique in not worshipping Ram as a God (I had thought this to be true of all southern states). The second was that Ramanand Sagar is the pre-eminent sage of our times.
This last assertion is not as strange it may seem at first glance. There is a rich tradition of interpreting the Ramayan in all significant cultures that came in touch with the great epic. Valmiki Ramayan of the ancient times, Kamba Ramayanam of Tamil Nadu and Ramakien of Thailand all say the same essential story. However, they are hardly the same. In Kamba Ramayan, Ravana is a sensitive, virtuous dude and a virtuoso Veena performer. In Ramakien, Sita is the daughter of Ravan and Mandodari. However, in spite of all the rich cultural diversity, everybody at the party considered Ramanand Sagar’s Ramayana as somehow being the baseline. The ‘official’ Ramayan had become a TV soap opera. Ironically, yours truly was more guilty of this travesty than anyone else. Kamba Ramayana, after all, can hardly be called racist. Yet, that is the label I chose to affix to the epic.
Depending on the charity of the company I keep, I am considered either tragically confused or benignly confusing. I do not do myself any favors, especially on things that interest me. I am confused if I know too little. I make an effort to be informed and then I am not confused anymore. This makes me uncomfortable, and I learn even more about the subject until I am back to being confused. Being confused seems to be my natural state of equilibrium. Besides, there is the peculiarity of the minority syndrome that I carry around. Having lived as a papan in Tamil Nadu, as a madrasi in India and as a desi in the West, I probably do not fall into any neat ideological category anymore. So here I am, admiring the Ramayan and calling it racist in the same breadth. Admiring the Indian civilization and being deeply disturbed my some of its manifestations, particularly institutionalized racism, at the same time.
Racism. It is a fundamental force in Indian history. Our entire history can be cast in terms of human beings trying to overcome their fears of each other (and of the plain old “other”). Each time, just as our better instincts seem to be taking over, something enormous comes down like a force of darkness to destroy everything. First the Aryans overran the Indus Valley city states. Later, the Turks under Babar overran Delhi. And finally the British overran Siraj-ud-daula. In each case, the more powerful sword destroyed the achievements of a more advanced culture. More pertinently, in each case, the victor considered himself not only superior but also whiter than the vanquished. These unfortunate happenings are not lost on the Indian people. I am certain that more face cream is sold in India than anywhere else, and I am sure this is not just because there are a lot of Indians. Fair and Lovely zindabad.
On the bright side (dear mischievous me, talking about “bright sides” and “forces of darkness” in the context of racism!), the great churning in contemporary Indian society will eventually make everyone look not like black or white but as some shade of brown. However, while we are still playing (and winning) this fight against our baser instincts, it may not be a bad idea to be self critical. Richard Corliss, TIME magazine’s movie critique, wrote a series of articles in TIME introducing America to the delights of Bollywood. After watching a truckload of Hindi movies, he was obviously baffled when he asked why all the Heroes were whiter than any Indian he knew personally? I think he has a point.
My friends from the North (which to me means any place north of the four southern states) often ask me often how Rajnikant could ever become such a big hero in Tamil Nadu. I usually parry this question with one meaningless sound-bite or another (“Rajnikant Rocks”, “He is Maharashtrian, so go figure!”). However, the reason I don’t usually express is the reason I believe to be true. After decades of watching white stars (MJR, Sivaji, Kamal) play heroes in what is basically a black country, the Tamils were probably more than happy to embrace one who looked like them. It did not matter that he was an actor without acting talent. It did not matter that he was an icon without a sense of style. It did not even matter that this embodiment of Tamil people could not even speak Tamil. He was one of them and they would make him great through uncompromising adoration.
Getting back to Hindi movies, I don’t think the masses up north are quite ready yet to accept a Dhanraj Pillay as hero(except maybe as a caricature such as Krishnan Iyer MA of Agnipath). However, maybe it is time we saw at least a Leander Paes. So dude, lets get out that brown guy. How about a Ramayan II, this time with a Ram who is atleast slightly on the darker side of a vanilla cone.
Vijay Ramachandran
Sandy had invited over a group of people for a party at my place. Although most were friends of hers, they were mostly just acquaintances of mine. It was a smart company and the conversation was consistently enjoyable, especially when experienced through that unpleasantness filter called beer.
Over the course of the evening, the conversation meandered through some hazy pathways to arrive at the Ramayana. I mentioned, without really thinking about it too much, that the epic is a very racist thesis. Usually this goes down among those who know me more intimately as the kind of thing that could be expected from me. I am either ignored, or an animated conversation ensures only to be drowned soon enough by the words of Monsieur Eminem. But the company on this particular night was probably not as de-sensitized to art of recreational bomb throwing.
The evening could probably have been salvaged if I had mentioned at this point that I was only trying to stir up the party and that we should probably just turn up the volume if anyone felt strongly about this. I guess however that the beer induced euphoria was demanding more cacophony. It has a will of its own, and it easily outmatched my own. I buried the party irrevocably into a discussion on the Ramayan with my next words. Ramayan, I told my friends, is racist because the white people in it are gods and the black people are monkeys. The beer must have dulled my thoughts, for if I were sober I would have said that the Ramayan was racist because the white people are Gods and the black people are monkeys and demons. Drinking makes me slightly forgetful.
I could as well have smashed a brick on someone’s head. An intense conversation ensued. Although it was not my intent that night, I did end up learning a lot. The first being that Tamil Nadu seems rather unique in not worshipping Ram as a God (I had thought this to be true of all southern states). The second was that Ramanand Sagar is the pre-eminent sage of our times.
This last assertion is not as strange it may seem at first glance. There is a rich tradition of interpreting the Ramayan in all significant cultures that came in touch with the great epic. Valmiki Ramayan of the ancient times, Kamba Ramayanam of Tamil Nadu and Ramakien of Thailand all say the same essential story. However, they are hardly the same. In Kamba Ramayan, Ravana is a sensitive, virtuous dude and a virtuoso Veena performer. In Ramakien, Sita is the daughter of Ravan and Mandodari. However, in spite of all the rich cultural diversity, everybody at the party considered Ramanand Sagar’s Ramayana as somehow being the baseline. The ‘official’ Ramayan had become a TV soap opera. Ironically, yours truly was more guilty of this travesty than anyone else. Kamba Ramayana, after all, can hardly be called racist. Yet, that is the label I chose to affix to the epic.
Depending on the charity of the company I keep, I am considered either tragically confused or benignly confusing. I do not do myself any favors, especially on things that interest me. I am confused if I know too little. I make an effort to be informed and then I am not confused anymore. This makes me uncomfortable, and I learn even more about the subject until I am back to being confused. Being confused seems to be my natural state of equilibrium. Besides, there is the peculiarity of the minority syndrome that I carry around. Having lived as a papan in Tamil Nadu, as a madrasi in India and as a desi in the West, I probably do not fall into any neat ideological category anymore. So here I am, admiring the Ramayan and calling it racist in the same breadth. Admiring the Indian civilization and being deeply disturbed my some of its manifestations, particularly institutionalized racism, at the same time.
Racism. It is a fundamental force in Indian history. Our entire history can be cast in terms of human beings trying to overcome their fears of each other (and of the plain old “other”). Each time, just as our better instincts seem to be taking over, something enormous comes down like a force of darkness to destroy everything. First the Aryans overran the Indus Valley city states. Later, the Turks under Babar overran Delhi. And finally the British overran Siraj-ud-daula. In each case, the more powerful sword destroyed the achievements of a more advanced culture. More pertinently, in each case, the victor considered himself not only superior but also whiter than the vanquished. These unfortunate happenings are not lost on the Indian people. I am certain that more face cream is sold in India than anywhere else, and I am sure this is not just because there are a lot of Indians. Fair and Lovely zindabad.
On the bright side (dear mischievous me, talking about “bright sides” and “forces of darkness” in the context of racism!), the great churning in contemporary Indian society will eventually make everyone look not like black or white but as some shade of brown. However, while we are still playing (and winning) this fight against our baser instincts, it may not be a bad idea to be self critical. Richard Corliss, TIME magazine’s movie critique, wrote a series of articles in TIME introducing America to the delights of Bollywood. After watching a truckload of Hindi movies, he was obviously baffled when he asked why all the Heroes were whiter than any Indian he knew personally? I think he has a point.
My friends from the North (which to me means any place north of the four southern states) often ask me often how Rajnikant could ever become such a big hero in Tamil Nadu. I usually parry this question with one meaningless sound-bite or another (“Rajnikant Rocks”, “He is Maharashtrian, so go figure!”). However, the reason I don’t usually express is the reason I believe to be true. After decades of watching white stars (MJR, Sivaji, Kamal) play heroes in what is basically a black country, the Tamils were probably more than happy to embrace one who looked like them. It did not matter that he was an actor without acting talent. It did not matter that he was an icon without a sense of style. It did not even matter that this embodiment of Tamil people could not even speak Tamil. He was one of them and they would make him great through uncompromising adoration.
Getting back to Hindi movies, I don’t think the masses up north are quite ready yet to accept a Dhanraj Pillay as hero(except maybe as a caricature such as Krishnan Iyer MA of Agnipath). However, maybe it is time we saw at least a Leander Paes. So dude, lets get out that brown guy. How about a Ramayan II, this time with a Ram who is atleast slightly on the darker side of a vanilla cone.
Vijay Ramachandran
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