(3rd April, 2007)
prologue:: i know it looks a little lengthy. please read it in parts but please READ IT!!! and comment.
“What makes you angry?” he asked.
Sri Venkata Krishna Murthy was his name but he was known as ‘Chinna’ among his friends. And ‘Kaalia’ among his enemies. Both the names pointed towards his small height and dark complexion. When they called him Chinna they meant ‘my little brother.’
Although ‘Kaalia’ (darky) was derogatory. This was not because of any racial discrimination against him, for all who called him Kaalia were themselves dark, but it was due to the fact that they couldn’t find any other name that annoyed him.
Chinna was a final year student of mass communication and journalism and for achieving 61% marks in his semester examinations his father gifted him a latest model of Sony handy-cam.
“Thank you dad,” he said into the camera recording his first video, “I hope 65% is enough for a motorbike.”
Chinna was excited when he showed the camera to his friends. They examined it in all the ways they can as a doctor performs an autopsy. They asked questions too, questions that showed how much ‘in-depth’ knowledge they have when it comes to handy-cams.
“What’s the maximum zoom option?”
“Is the battery life good enough?”
“What model is it? SM760? I think SM800 is the latest.”
“What is the maximum pixels size, 1024 by 768? Do you have night mode video recording?”
“Hey the sound quality should be perfect when it comes to making good videos. What’s with it?
Some questions were dumb,
“Do you know how to operate it?”
“Can you record a video of mine?”
And some were just jealous.
“I don’t like the color. A black piece looks good.”
“I think you spent more money on it than its value.”
“Oh man! It’s heavy.”
The first set of questions he replied enthusiastically, for dumb ones he just smiled. And for the envious ones he only said, “It’s a gift.”
His best friend Ganesh Das, a.k.a. GD, was operating the camera and Chinna, holding the mike which he had bought by his pocket money, was speaking into the lens.
It was a mini project they were doing for improving their academic performance. Chinna, although, was dreaming of his motorbike. The short documentary was titled ‘Silly Anger’ and they set out on the busy markets asking everyone,
“Hi. This is Krishna and GD. We are from Ashoka University, mass comm. and journalism students. We are doing a small research. We are having a question and we want you to answer that. But before answering please tell your name and occupation.”
“O.K. GD, start the camera,” said Chinna and turned towards the not-so-interested man and continued, “Sir, what makes you angry? It may be a silly thing or a grave one. Please let us know.”
Saying that he pointed the mike towards a man who looked frustrated as his wife was shopping for hours.
“Go away you people,” he said disinterestedly.
“Sir, it will take only two minutes of yours,” reasoned Chinna.
“Don’t bother me.”
“Sir please, it’s only…”
“Don’t bother me you…. and shut the bloody camera off. You let your wife do shopping for four continuous hours and you will know. You want to know what makes me angry,” he was shouting now, “You people, yes you bloody people make me angry, who just take a bloody camera and bother the world for bloody fun. Go away you idiots.”
His wife intervened or else the man would have hit them. Chinna and GD ran from there and while running Chinna shouted, “Thank you sir. And I’m not married.”
When they were safe GD remarked, “That coward dog. He was letting the anger of his wife on us. It is fun, man, it is fun.” They were laughing. Chinna said, “Whatever, we got the answer to our question. Let’s continue with our work.”
“I am Gaekwad. I am an engineer. The heavy traffic and the pollution irritate me.”
“Hi. My name is Rahul and I am a student. In a bus….,you know, everyday I have to travel a long distance to college and in a bus with, you know, heavy rush I have to stand around a seat, if I don’t get a chance to occupy it. The person sitting, you know, sometimes makes gestures as if he is going to vacant the seat. But he doesn’t leave, you know, sometimes he checks his purse and sometimes just, you know, he changes his posture. He makes me happy for a while, you know, that I will get a seat to sit on. But no, he gets down at the same stop where, you know, I have to get down. This makes me very angry, you know, I have to stand during the whole journey and he teases me for that. At least, you know, he should sit still. ”
“Good morning. I am Gnyandev Bhattacharya. I am a retired government officer. I don’t like the new generation that doesn’t respect their elders. They forgot the values an Indian should have and this annoys me a lot. This also disappoints me. The new generation is going to be the bearers of the Indian palanquin in the near future.”
There was an hour long lecture by the elderly person. Thanks to the battery that lost its charge and ended the speech. They had edited the part that tested their endurance for as long as 60 minutes.
“I sell fruits and their juice. My name is Devaiah. Politics I don’t like. I get angry because of politics.”
“Hi there, I am Yogi and I am a medical student. I really hate it when urgently I need to use the toilet and it is occupied by somebody else or sometimes when the zipper of my trousers gets jammed.”
“I hate politics.”
“I am in a hurry; we will see later what you both want.”
“Hello everybody, I am Jay Mehta and I work in a MNC and it annoys me when my boss shouts at me. I feel like filling his mouth with cockroaches.”
“Politics.”
“My name is Radha. I am a housewife. I told my husband to see a doctor regarding his snoring problems, but he doesn’t. He snores very loudly and that makes me angry.”
“Nitin. I am a hardcore cricket fan. I really get angry when cricketers do not perform well. And I also get ashamed.”
“aaannh….politics, yeah politics makes my blood boil.”
“Hello, my name is Manoj, and I own this grocery store. I don’t like people who buy items at credit. And we sell products at cheaper rates than anyone.”
He thought that this was going to be shown on cable.
“Good afternoon. My name is M.Janakiram and I am a traffic inspector…..hey you, stop there…riding triples on a bike….stop, stop, stop. Wait here……yes, oh, I am a traffic inspector. I burn with rage when people break traffic rules. I also hate people offering bribes and…and some policemen accepting it. I never take bribe, Thank you,” he continued in a whisper, “Let the camera be on and shoot here,” and then he shouted, “You three, breaking the traffic rules. You have to pay the challan. No, no, no, don’t try to bribe me, I don’t accept bribes. I am an honest policeman.”
That was the first time he didn’t take bribe.
“When India lose a cricket match, especially against Pakistan.”
“I hate ….I hate dirty politics.”
“A very good morr...ah...afternoon to all. I am Priya and I am doing my B.Sc. second year. The thing that makes me angry is….aanh…….aaannh….let me think…..aanh…..just a sec……aaannh….that makes me angry…..oohhhh…there are many things but…..aaannnnh…I hate…aaaaannnh…….I hate when I don’t remember small things. Wait… I hate when….aannhh…I…”
She thought for the next couple of days but in vain.
“My name is Atul. I am eight years old and I am studying in fourth class in St. Mary’s High School. I never become angry. But I don’t like when my Daddy shouts at Mummy.”
They got lucky when GD bumped into Azeem, a school friend of his. Though Azeem didn’t have himself recorded, he took them to the house of previous year’s ‘Great Indian Voice’ runner up Ravinder Reddy. Azeem insisted his very close friend to record a two-minute video for them.
“I am a great fan of yours,” said Chinna and continued, “And also I voted for you last year.”
“Hey, thanks buddy,” Ravinder replied. “So, what’s up?” he asked.
GD explained and Ravinder asked, “Do you have any write up or should I say whatever I like?”
“Say what your heart feels to,” replied Chinna with a smile.
“Gimme a minute,” Ravinder said and took out his handkerchief and wiped his face with it. Then he looked at the mirror to comb his already perfectly combed hair. He then murmured something to himself and said, “I am ready.”
GD switched the camera on and said, “Action.”
“Hi everybody. It’s me, Ravinder…O.K….Cut. Let’s do it once again.”
“Action”
“Hi everybody. It’s me, your beloved friend, Ravinder Reddy. And I am, as you all know and thanks to you all, a singer by profession. Now this is a difficult question asked to me by my friend Krishna that what makes me angry. Although I am a very calm and composed person, sometimes even I lose my temper. But I never enter into a fight or argument. Sometimes I don’t get time to water the rose plants in my garden, thanks to my busy schedule. If somebody else, say the maids in the house or my mother, don’t water the plants in my absence, I really lose my nerve because I love rose plants very much. This is a small thing. Another much important thing that makes me really angry is the increasing number of poor and deprived children in the country. Most of them are orphans. It makes me sad and my sorrow turns into anger when I think of the people who caused this. I don’t know who they are but they are one among us. The corrupt leaders are behind it. The people, careless people, are behind it. I will definitely adopt at least one such child in the near future when I will be more successful. At least I will be able to change the life of one such child. I appeal the people to help children so that they can lead a better life. Thank you, I have nothing else to say.”
“That was really good,” said Chinna to Ravinder.
“Don’t mention it buddy,” he replied.
Chinna and GD left his house leaving Azeem and Ravinder behind.
“So what’s up these days? Any singing contracts?” asked Azeem.
“Not yet man, not yet,” Ravinder sighed.
GD said to Chinna, “You are a fan of Ravinder, you never told me.”
“Even I didn’t know it until I met him. I just thought of praising him so that he happily gives us the footage. By the way, I voted for the winner, not him,” replied Chinna.
GD remarked, “So you are learning the techniques of journalism.”
Both of them smiled. Then Chinna pointed out, “Some more people and we are done. This Ravinder is going to give our documentary a lot of weight and marks too.”
They took their camera to an ATM and tried to talk to the security man standing over there.
“Who you people? Go away, go away,” said the security officer.
“Oh don’t mistake us. We are students from Ashoka University,” Chinna tried to explain.
“Ashoka”
“Yes, Ashoka University. Here look at our IDs. We just want to talk to you.”
“No, no. I on duty. No talk. Go away.”
“Only two minutes, please.”
GD was recording all the conversation. Then Chinna explained him all and also said that this will be shown to everybody in the college, even to the principal.
“I the shecurity of thish ATM. I from Nepal shir and my name Jung Bahadur. We get angry lessh. After duty when wife shouts at home I get angry. But shir we get angry lessh. My country very poor shir. I pray, Buddha, to bring money in my country. Shir, children not die of hungry. I pray Buddha.”
“Thank you Bahadur,” Chinna shook his hand and told.
“Thank you shir,” Bahadur smiled and said.
It was almost a week that they had been shooting videos of people. Both Chinna and GD were now tired and fed up listening to the silly things that made people angry.
“You know what makes me angry?” said GD while editing the videos on the computer and continued, “Holding a camera and wandering on streets asking everybody a foolish, useless question and then editing the videos as if we will get an Oscar for making it. It’s a headache.”
“Shut up and do it,” said Chinna and smiled. He suggested, “Let the transition in between the scenes be flashy and add background music. This will cover up all unnecessary noises.”
Two days later the final documentary was ready. It was small yet effective. It showed the frustrated man sans his slang; the elderly gentleman sans his discourse; the foolish grocer sans his attempt for free publicity; the self-declared honest policeman sans his hypocrisy; the girl with amnesia sans her ‘aannhs; the innocent fourth grader sans his parents; the popular singer sans his artificiality and the nostalgic watchman sans his argument.
“It’s missing something,” said Chinna.
“What!,” replied GD incredulously.
“Hey, it’s good but don’t you think it’s just presented plainly. I …think I know just what it needs.”
Chinna then picked up the camera and giving it to GD he said, “Shoot me.”
The following day they presented their documentary to the lecturers, professors and their fellow students. One thing was sure that Chinna was going to receive as much appreciation as Kaalia was going to gather hatred. GD addressed the class for few moments and then the documentary started. It flashed the title ‘Silly Anger’ in large and bold fonts on a black background. The eyes present in the room now aimed only at the large white screen that LCD was projecting the movie on. There was a mixed reaction among the audience. Most of them enjoyed when the characters expressed their feelings, they laughed in unison and clapped in unison. They kept grave faces for some scenes and for some other they were disinterested. The lecturers and professors were impressed. The final part of documentary showed Chinna speaking and behind him was the view of the city from top of a building.
He said, “Anger is a weapon. Where it can ruin a dynasty, it can also help maintain the law. It is up to us to decide in what way to use this weapon. Do we want to waste our energy by burning our blood on silly things such as snoring or shopping or on relative things such as performance of cricketers? Can’t we see that only hypocrites get angry for ‘true’ reasons? But they will do nothing as they are hypocrites. And if any truthful person feels bad for his poor country all he can do is pray because he is poor. Anger is a weapon. It should be stored in our hearts and when the situation actually needs it only then it should be used. Only against falsehood it should be used. Otherwise these silly things that make you angry will make your anger silly.”
There was applause in the room and the screen showed,
“A presentation by
Sri Venkata Krishna Murthy, MCJ04B21
Ganesh Das, MCJ04B08.”
(2578 words)
