Dawning

12.24AM.

I just got home after watching "Slumdog Millionaire", the new movie featuring a rags-to-riches story of a boy who grows up in the slums of Mumbai. While an objective review of the film could take me several hours, I must honestly admit that my first thoughts might get tainted with impulsive indignation about the poor light in which the city of Mumbai and the people of India are graphically portrayed. For those reasons, I'll refrain from attempting a review. I cannot criticize the director for being so brutal with his camera. Nor can I sigh in exasperation when a western audience gasps in horror at the sight of stark poverty, the likes of which they either do not see in their countries or choose not to. Life is what it is and things in India are the way they are. A million things contribute to their functioning and you really cannot expect to understand it unless you have lived in their midst. I can neither make accusations nor offer explanations since I am one of several million Indians who are aware of this economic disparity but do little more than comment in a safe environment or make a small donation to a non-profit organisation they might trust.

But I digress. What I can comment about is in fact something more lucid and indeed sublime.  The patriot in me often ignites in argument,protest and rage whenever my country and its people are cast in an unattractive light. I am learning to acknowledge that as much as I pride in my heritage, I cannot deny the existence of a plethora of problems which gain intensity mostly due to inaction. Thus it happened that I adopted restraint in the movie theatre when people around me turned away or let out soft cries when harsh scenes of wretched poverty burned in front of them. However, the same audience watched the movie for the story of a young boy, not for an education about cosmopolitan Indian living. They cried when he pined for his love just as much as they cried when he was beaten on the streets. When the movie ended, a soft applause broke out to celebrate the portrayal of a human story that transcends social differences, economic disparity and religious intolerance. That moment somehow triggered me to remind myself that we are indeed all human, no matter how trite that sounds. We want and need the same things in life, although they might be on different scales. And while prejudices may always exist between societies, they cannot prevail for long when individuals connect instead.

The other thing I noticed tonight was a truth more fleeting and definitely, more personal. There is a scene in the movie where Jamaal, the protagonist,  is on his way to the game show which might make or break his destiny. Stuck in a traffic jam, Jamaal looks out of the window of the car and is momentarily bewildered when a woman recognizes him on the street. Cheering him on his success, she exclaims,"Go win the jackpot, my son! May you have my blessings!".

To me, this scene alone was powerful enough to pack everything that is about Indian culture in a few seconds of cinema. The chaotic traffic  surrounding Jamaal reflects a complex amalgam of differences that thrives in Indian culture. The differences scream out much like the horns of vehicles which blare incessantly. A layman on the street walks on indifferently, weaving his way through this mess just as millions of Indians deal with the vagaries of life they are all too familiar with. It takes a person to get into a bubble in this chaos and observe what surrounds him to understand the bigger picture. Jamaal's bewilderment mainly arises because this is the first time he has been able to step out of his world and experience something more. Recognition for him has always brought pain or abuse. For the first time, he is recognized in fame. For a moment, he forgets about his nondescript existence and observes the functioning of the masses. For me, it took a journey away from home to pause and ponder the same way.

The revelation turned more poignant for me when the woman called out to Jamaal and blessed him with luck. The simple sequence plucked my heart's strings as I thought about all of my parents' friends and even other strangers who automatically became my 'uncles' and 'aunties', old ladies who became 'grandmas' and men a few years older who became 'brothers'.  A certain oneness exists between us as we acknowledge friends and acquaintances as family members do. The warmth that I felt when I heard this woman call to Jamaal as her son is a feeling I can never hope to describe perfectly but fully expect other Indians to understand. I don't mean to trivialize the beauty of human emotions in western cultures but this is a sublime emotion which I have so far experienced only in India or with other Indians. To me, the scene was powerful enough to make me yearn for my own mother and marvel at the unshakeable faith she has in my prosperity (as any mother would have for her child). When I speak to her over the phone and reveal that I am battling a cold or getting depressed at work, she tells me my troubles will vanish for she will pray for me. They might not, at least not the very next day. But hearing her say those words is immensely healing. And trite or not, the heart pines to hear such words of comfort from those dear to it. 

To this day, when people bless me as they'd bless their own children, I am humbled and struck by the power in this parental instinct which forms emotional bonds in the absence of biological ties. So powerful is this emotion that it made me rush to my computer and battle with words to try convey it in the wee hours of the morn. So powerful was this scene in the movie that it will forever evoke a tear for me every time I watch it again, much like it did tonight.

...."For in the dew of little things, the heart finds its mornings and is refreshed."

2.00am