"Where are you from?"

It is a question I've dreaded all my life - "Where are you from?" Not because I don't have an answer to it - because I have too many answers.

Since I am a lawyer, I shall indulge in some statutory interpretation. One of the rules of statutory interpretation is that you must give a term its plain or literal meaning. So, "Where are you from?" then gets interpreted plain and simple as "Where do you usually reside?" For the first seventeen-and-a-half years of my life, this shouldn't really have been an issue. I lived in Manipal.

"Where are you from?"
"I am from Manipal."

Right?
Wrong.

There's another rule of interpretation that says that any statute must be interpreted keeping its purpose or its intent in mind. What is the intent of this question? Depends on context, perhaps? So, in Manipal, in my school, "Where are you from?" could mean "Where do you live?" if a person wanted to know if I take a bus to school or I cycle to school or I get dropped in school or I take the little KMC bus. Or, it could be the equivalent of that ubiquitous Indian question, "Native of?"

In my case, this is an even more difficult question to answer. So, my ancestors on my Amma's side are from Palakkad in Kerala. But I've been to that village (Pallassana) only once in my life. My Palakkad Tamil is fairly weak, and I'm not too fond of elavan or matthan. But on the other hand, I love avial, I have looked in the mirror on vishu many many times, I have said "Happy Onam" to people and meant it, I have watched Malayalam movies and have understood them. Am I then 'from' Palakkad?

My Appa's side confuses the matter even more. They're from Nellore, but settled in Hyderabad - Tamilians from Nellore living in Hyderabad. Speaking in an extreme Telugu-ised dialect of Tamil that I am most familiar with. My name is very Telugu sounding, the panchangam we follow at home is Telugu, many of our rituals are Telugu, many people from one generation above me read literature in Telugu. So, am I 'from' Nellore? Or am I 'from' Hyderabad?

But wait. I grew up in Manipal. I speak Kannada more fluently than I speak Tamil or Telugu. I read and write Kannada as fluently as I read and write English. I've actually studied Kannada formally for years, and I have actually read a Kannada novel without any assistance. I've lived and loved in Karnataka for twenty-three years and I understand Kannadigas better than I understand any other people. I can name all Kannada Jnanapith award winners, but not a single Tamil one. I can name all districts in Karnataka but only five in Andhra (and not a single one in Kerala). Am I from Manipal then? I went to college in Bangalore. So Bangalore?

But often in college, "Where are you from?" was a means of ascertaining what you are. So, Manipal (apart from giving people ideas about it being in the north-east or near the Bangalore airport) confused a lot of people.
Then I would try, "Oh. Its near Mangalore."
"Oh! You're a Bunt!"
Just because I attended random weddings at Bunts' Sangha when I wanted a free lunch?
"No, dude. I'm a Tamilian from Manipal."
"Your parents are from Madras?"
Long explanation.
"But why do you have a Telugu name?"
Longer explanation.

Another common problem with this question as a kid was on trains and buses. Friendly uncles and aunties with their simpler linguistic backgrounds would never understand what a boy speaking fluent Kannada and Tamil studying in Bangalore was doing on a train from Madras to Hyderabad.When I then spoke to them in Telugu, they would just stop talking to me. People are always wary of someone who speaks too many languages. Also someone who cant give a straight answer to "Where are you from?"

Funnily enough, in Delhi, I had no issues with this question. I'd just say "Bangalore" and speak to them in slightly accented Hindi and they'd never suspect that I could have a complex background. They'd just presume Bangalore was close enough to Madras (or "Chinnai" as they call it these days) and that the language I spoke was the general "Enna Rascalaa" language. (Actually, even south Indians have very little idea of South Indian geography - a South Indian friend who has lived in South India all his life tried arguing with me last week that the sea at the Elliots Beach was the Arabian Sea. He refused to believe that Madras and Kerala were on different sides of the coast!)

Sometimes, I have fun with knowing all these languages. My uncle and I went to a Bata showroom last month. The guy at the showroom, from his accent, was clearly from Nellore. Immediately, we started talking to him in Telugu. While he was surprised that we figured he was Telugu, he didn't ask us about it. Then, we went ahead and spoke to each other in Tamil. Just when he thought we must be a border case like him, we talked to each other in Kannada. Bewildered, he asked us, "Where are you from?"

Friendship, Love, Forgiveness and Remembrance

Before I start on the actual business of this post, I would like to point out that 'monads' is not a fake word. Check this out.

Also, major SPOILER alerts.
***

When I watched Dalapathi last Sunday (yet again - will I ever get tired of this movie?), I wondered if they were showing the movie because it was Friendship Day. The thought didn't strike me until I discovered a random channel showing Boys simultaneously. Dalapathi is currently my favourite Mani Ratnam movie, for reasons ranging from deeply personal to highly technical. But the one reason that I want to share in this post (I'll write another long one on Dalapathi sometime.) is the portrayal of a friendship. Mani Ratnam does play the senti card, and plays it quite heavily too. But as a viewer, you never feel its melodrama. Compare this with the recent Nadodigal. This movie is about three friends who help one of their friends run away and marry a girl. Now, this couple are children of rival politicians. In the bloodshed that ensues, the friends who help them suffer severe losses - one loses hearing, another loses a leg and a third gets an ugly gash over his eye (he also loses a girl forever - but the girl is so irritating that you hardly empathise with his loss).

So far so good.

Then the friends discover that the couple have broken up - that they only had lust, no love. So, these friends decide they will kill the couple. Throughout the movie, there are extremely sentimental references to friends and friendship. After a point, I cringed at each mention of the word 'friend'. The movie suggests, on many occasions, that the sole purpose of having friends is so that they can help you run away with your girl/guy at some point.

Which is why a friend who didn't like the movie got asked, "Yen, Meydam? Onga love work-out aaidchaa?"

Nadodigal as the title suggests is a nomadic film. It is never clear on what it wants to say or prove (or disprove). Its biggest drawback, though, is that it doesn't even have good-looking people to make the ticket price worth it.

Love Aaj Kal doesn't suffer from this problem. Deepika looks absolutely delicious. I think her yumminess in this movie is only topped in recent times by Sushma Reddy in that Limca ad (I'm telling you - if I had found any theatre showing that ad before the movie, I'd buy a ticket, watch the ad and cut. Even four shows a day.). Harleen (whose real name is being kept secret, although the internet reveals she's some Brazilian model) looks really cute too! Love Aaj Kal is a strange movie - its humour is smart and subtle, its romance is unconvincing (and a bit sudden and random), its 'message' is not really a message, its point is a bit unclear. If Imtiaz Ali has some insights on love, he's not making them very apparent. One theme that runs through his three movies has been this sudden discovery of love for the person next to you, after being engaged/married to some third party. A friend turns into your 'love', and you discover it a bit late, always.

But I enjoyed myself. I'm not complaining.
***

The most enjoyable, layered, complicated, honest movie I've watched in a while is Blessy's Bhramaram - in Malayalam, starring Mohan Lal. A stranger turns up at a man's house claiming to be his old friend from school. The stranger knows lots of details about this man's school and class and teachers, but his name doesn't seem familiar. As layers peel off the stranger's story, and its emotional core is thrown open to you in a powerful last scene, you are shocked, saddened, silenced. You're blown away.

The movie deals with forgiveness and remembrance. It deals with both a society's inability to forgive, and an individual's ability to do so (even if it might have been out of necessity). It deals with raw emotions of a man whose life has been blown apart by his past catching up with him unexpectedly.

I don't want to reveal more, because this is a movie I'd hate to spoil for anyone. Watch it. Watch Mohan Lal take on a most difficult character's role and play it with accomplished ease. Watch a relatively unknown director take his steps towards superstardom.