Politics, War And Yes Love!
By Aakanksha Mohan Sharma
Countercurrents.org
Politicians love politics. Love for politics results into conflicts. Conflicts results into wars. Violence, killings, and destruction happen in wars. There is one more thing which happens in wars- LOVE. There are many forms of love which happen in politics and wars. The first one to talk about is jingoism. Well, these are not only policy makers and men with guns at borders in the trap of this love but countless others also. Media often shows it’s over whelming “love” with policies. Media’s love for getting trapped into this love is not exceptional. Coverage of Iraq’s invasion and bombing of Afghanistan shows that the government’s capacity to overwhelm the means of communication is truly awesome. Media is at consensus with officials at the helm of affairs.
Recently, Indian media reported about an avalanche in Kashmir which killed few Indian security officials and injured few of them when it made an Army training camp its target. They covered it in details but they forgot to report about the teenagers who got killed allegedly by Indian security forces in the same week. Earlier this week Wamiq Farooq was hit by a tear gas shell in his head when police was throwing tear gas shells on the protestors. Zahid Farooq also fed to death by a gun shot when he was playing cricket. Another teenager named as Inayat khan was also killed in such incident in the same week.
Killings of these teenagers could be dramatic breaking news if these killing would have happened in some other part of the country. But it got just one minute coverage in the era of 24/7 news channels. The Kashmir’s story is a prime example in this league of state lead journalism. This is not the first time police bullets killed innocent civilians but it has been happening since an armed insurgency broke against Indian administration twenty two years ago which hardly gets any coverage in national media.
Well, everything is fair in love and war. Though there are many who do not agree with benett’s indexing hypothesis but there is a fair degree of relevance of his indexing hypothesis in defining relationship between media and policies. . According to Gregory Nokes, a former correspondent with the associated press, the administration dominates the national news agenda “about 70 percent of the time. It determines when something becomes news, and how long it stays in the news.”
Well, much of this love which brings out hatred. There is another love which happens in wars and conflicts. Love which makes moon looks bigger, birds singing when actually they are just doing their daily routine, breeze flowing in rhythms, music becomes more musical, and even stars seems like falling from a blazing sky when actually they are the meteors heading towards earth. Every thing becomes beautiful when one gets trapped into this form of love.
A real life Romeo and Juliet story happened recently in Middle East with a Palestinian- Israeli twist. The boy was from Gaza and the girl lived in the West Bank. They communicated though internet and political problems prevented them to meet each other. So, this modern day Juliet travelled through dangerous tunnels to Egypt where she met her Romeo for the first time and they went to Gaza to marry. He saw her first time covered with sand all over head to toes.
One of my Hungarian friends told me about a play which she had watched about Romeo and Juliet in Budapest. It was about an Israeli Romeo and Palestinian Juliet. This time they weren’t the families on the opposition but the religion, culture and nationalities took the place. They didn’t die in the end as in the classic Romantic epic but they regained consciousness after consuming poison. She looked at as the solution for the political problem between Israel and Palestine. She thought that even they need to regain humanism and love for each other in solving their political problems.
There was another famous play “Palestinian Romeo and Israeli Juliet produced in 1990’s which talked about love in war.
In the same league is a docu- drama, “In fair Palestine- Romeo and Juliet” acted, directed and produced by the Palestinian high school students in Ramallah. It gives a picture of life of young people in Palestine.
Even in this production by young Palestinians, the Romeo and Juliet did consume poison but didn’t die in the end. Here, Romeo does not hear of Juliet's faked death because a messenger sent to bring him the news is stopped at an Israeli checkpoint.
There is a famous real life love story with American- Iraqi twist. The American soldier left Army to wed his Iraqi love who was a doctor. So, love do happens amidst all the bombs and destruction and so do the politics happen and so the do the war.
The trailer of this docu drama produced by young Palestinians high school students is for all those who are in love with love in the month of Love…
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dkGSGlpwUyw
Monday, May 17, 2010
Saturday, April 24, 2010
AN APOLOGY TO MY GRAND CHILDREN!
I vividly remember my Grand mother telling me her childhood tales. Her fascinating tales always made me speculate curiously about her being a kid. They always made her eyes moist though repeating it every night. Her childhood was all about fields, cattle, ponds, and rural adventures in Pakistan of Undivided India. I used to relate every cow with one of her cows who was her favorite of all her cattle’s. “She was the most beautiful cow in whole village. Her grace, conduct, and affection made her so distinct from everybody. She was my favorite and I was hers.” She used to tell this with a spark and an excitement of a kid in her senile eyes. I didn’t have any cow except those wandering on roads. I wanted to go near them but was so scared and told my Grandmother that they scare me when I go near. She said, “They are not yours. That’s why.” Now, I wanted to have one and asked my parents to get one for me. They ignored it and told me that there is an ailing cow near by and I can visit her. My parents too had similar stories to share about their childhood and teenage. Their life with fields and animals made my childhood full of these adventures. I started visiting this cow with a cousin. I touched a cow for first time in my life. She started recognizing us after a week and I patting her with ease. She passed away after a month leaving us cow less all over again. Now, I could easily understand the moisture in my Grandmother eyes when she used to remember her dear cow.
I am an owner of many cows today. White gives white milk, pink one gives strawberry milk, and brown one chocolate milk. And, I can own as many as I want and they will never die. So, no moisture in eyes! I too have fields now though not huge like my other friends as I have lesser neighbors but still I can grow any crop of my choice. I get a satisfaction when I grow a crop and harvest them. I feel happy when number of cows and hens increases in their shed and coop. My parents know only about eggs which they used to get in their farms but I get mystery eggs and they too in different colors every time.
Today, my farming world is virtual contrary to my childhood. And, I am happy with this virtual farm as I believe in intentions. It gives me a joy of doing some thing what my grandmother used to do. I am not sorry for my self but I am sorry for my grand children. I am sorry that I would have virtual tales to tell them about my farms and animals. Some times, I wonder would my senile eyes get moist when telling them my virtual tales! But I feel a sense of satisfaction when I see children of next generation of my own family telling me that I am too old fashioned and i don't know how to use machines. I feel sorry for kids of kids of this generation because they would not be able to understand the moisture in eyes.. I am sorry for the generations coming ahead..
Aakanksha
I vividly remember my Grand mother telling me her childhood tales. Her fascinating tales always made me speculate curiously about her being a kid. They always made her eyes moist though repeating it every night. Her childhood was all about fields, cattle, ponds, and rural adventures in Pakistan of Undivided India. I used to relate every cow with one of her cows who was her favorite of all her cattle’s. “She was the most beautiful cow in whole village. Her grace, conduct, and affection made her so distinct from everybody. She was my favorite and I was hers.” She used to tell this with a spark and an excitement of a kid in her senile eyes. I didn’t have any cow except those wandering on roads. I wanted to go near them but was so scared and told my Grandmother that they scare me when I go near. She said, “They are not yours. That’s why.” Now, I wanted to have one and asked my parents to get one for me. They ignored it and told me that there is an ailing cow near by and I can visit her. My parents too had similar stories to share about their childhood and teenage. Their life with fields and animals made my childhood full of these adventures. I started visiting this cow with a cousin. I touched a cow for first time in my life. She started recognizing us after a week and I patting her with ease. She passed away after a month leaving us cow less all over again. Now, I could easily understand the moisture in my Grandmother eyes when she used to remember her dear cow.
I am an owner of many cows today. White gives white milk, pink one gives strawberry milk, and brown one chocolate milk. And, I can own as many as I want and they will never die. So, no moisture in eyes! I too have fields now though not huge like my other friends as I have lesser neighbors but still I can grow any crop of my choice. I get a satisfaction when I grow a crop and harvest them. I feel happy when number of cows and hens increases in their shed and coop. My parents know only about eggs which they used to get in their farms but I get mystery eggs and they too in different colors every time.
Today, my farming world is virtual contrary to my childhood. And, I am happy with this virtual farm as I believe in intentions. It gives me a joy of doing some thing what my grandmother used to do. I am not sorry for my self but I am sorry for my grand children. I am sorry that I would have virtual tales to tell them about my farms and animals. Some times, I wonder would my senile eyes get moist when telling them my virtual tales! But I feel a sense of satisfaction when I see children of next generation of my own family telling me that I am too old fashioned and i don't know how to use machines. I feel sorry for kids of kids of this generation because they would not be able to understand the moisture in eyes.. I am sorry for the generations coming ahead..
Aakanksha
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Is It A Time For Integration?
By Aakanksha Mohan Sharma
06 December, 2009
Countercurrents.org
I was waiting for a taxi in a cold winter evening at queen's way priory stop in Birmingham city. The taxi driver called me. It was no doubt a British voice, an absolute British accent. The man on the phone asked, "Can you see me now?" I said, "No, I can see a taxi but I can not see you." He said, "Well, the man you are looking at is me" I asked, "Are you an Asian?" He said, "No, I am a British." Then after a pause he said, "Well, I am a British Asian."
After few moments I was in the taxi on the way to sally oak, a twenty minutes journey. "You said that you are a British when I asked you on phone!" I asked with curiosity. He said, "Yes, I am a British. However, my parents are Asian. They are from Pakistan." I said, "So originally you are a Pakistani." He looked into the mirror and said, "I am a British national and would not like to label myself a Pakistani. I was born and brought up here only. I do not like the heat. I love the breeze and rain all over the year. My family and friends are here. I love my home island."
After a brief silence, he told me that he could not speak his native language. "I visited my parent's home place last year. It is Mirpur in Pakistani administered Kashmir. It was tough for me to communicate with the people there. They laughed and said what would you do if these white people throw you out from their country one day?" I said, "Why would any body throw me out of my own country? I have a British Passport and I enjoy my life as any other British citizen." I said, "It means you feel more comfortable with English people than Asians?" He kept quiet for a while. He broke his silence with a word- "Paki." He said, "Some times they call me Paki.I was working in a company last year. They used to refer me as 'that Paki boy'. I do not like it. When they give me their citizenship, why do they call me by such names? However, it is fine. It is everywhere. It's not an issue I think."
He told me that he has some other issues with his identity. He said, "I am not originally a Pakistani. I belong to Azad Kashmir and as far as I know, it makes me a Kashmiri more than a Pakistani. I have never seen Indian Kashmir and do not know much about them. However, I know that there is a line of control, which divides people from both sides of Kashmir. That is stupid to divide people like this. Moreover, I know that India and Pakistan have fought four wars for this region. I do not know how the people who live on either side of Kashmir justify with their identities. I do not know much about Asian politics but I feel if they solve this most of their problems would be automatically solved." He asked me curiously, "What do people from Indian Kashmir call themselves- Indian, Indian Kashmiri, or just Kashmiri?" I said, "you can ask your self."
I told him that the friend whom i am visiting belongs to Indian administered Kashmir. We reached sally oak. I could see my friend waiting out side her home. He asked her what you call yourself. "She said, "I am a Kashmiri." He asked her again, "Indian Kashmiri?" She said, "No, I am just a Kashmiri." He asked her, "What Passport do you have?" She said, "Indian." She added hastily, "Well, I am a south Asian." He smiled, looked at me and said, "Isn't it better for me to be just a British rather than getting into a never ending confusion?"
This twenty- minute journey showed me the chaotic picture of Indian sub continent- An Imbroglio of identities, borders, citizenship, human relationships, politics. Kashmir is one of the most volatile territorial disputes of south Asia. The parties to the dispute are India, Pakistan, China, and People of Kashmir. India claims Kashmir as an integral part of India. Pakistan and China claims it to be a disputed territory. People of Kashmir are waiting from 6 decades to decide their destiny. Present distribution of land area controlled by India, Pakistan, and China is as 45.62 per cent, 35.15 per cent, and 19.23 per cent respectively.
I thought is looking towards European Union an answer to the problem? Is it a time for integration for sub continent? His taxi disappeared after a minute and this twenty-minute conversation ended with out any solution. Just as our political elites who never come with a solution do not matter, the conversation was for twenty minutes or for twenty years.
By Aakanksha Mohan Sharma
06 December, 2009
Countercurrents.org
I was waiting for a taxi in a cold winter evening at queen's way priory stop in Birmingham city. The taxi driver called me. It was no doubt a British voice, an absolute British accent. The man on the phone asked, "Can you see me now?" I said, "No, I can see a taxi but I can not see you." He said, "Well, the man you are looking at is me" I asked, "Are you an Asian?" He said, "No, I am a British." Then after a pause he said, "Well, I am a British Asian."
After few moments I was in the taxi on the way to sally oak, a twenty minutes journey. "You said that you are a British when I asked you on phone!" I asked with curiosity. He said, "Yes, I am a British. However, my parents are Asian. They are from Pakistan." I said, "So originally you are a Pakistani." He looked into the mirror and said, "I am a British national and would not like to label myself a Pakistani. I was born and brought up here only. I do not like the heat. I love the breeze and rain all over the year. My family and friends are here. I love my home island."
After a brief silence, he told me that he could not speak his native language. "I visited my parent's home place last year. It is Mirpur in Pakistani administered Kashmir. It was tough for me to communicate with the people there. They laughed and said what would you do if these white people throw you out from their country one day?" I said, "Why would any body throw me out of my own country? I have a British Passport and I enjoy my life as any other British citizen." I said, "It means you feel more comfortable with English people than Asians?" He kept quiet for a while. He broke his silence with a word- "Paki." He said, "Some times they call me Paki.I was working in a company last year. They used to refer me as 'that Paki boy'. I do not like it. When they give me their citizenship, why do they call me by such names? However, it is fine. It is everywhere. It's not an issue I think."
He told me that he has some other issues with his identity. He said, "I am not originally a Pakistani. I belong to Azad Kashmir and as far as I know, it makes me a Kashmiri more than a Pakistani. I have never seen Indian Kashmir and do not know much about them. However, I know that there is a line of control, which divides people from both sides of Kashmir. That is stupid to divide people like this. Moreover, I know that India and Pakistan have fought four wars for this region. I do not know how the people who live on either side of Kashmir justify with their identities. I do not know much about Asian politics but I feel if they solve this most of their problems would be automatically solved." He asked me curiously, "What do people from Indian Kashmir call themselves- Indian, Indian Kashmiri, or just Kashmiri?" I said, "you can ask your self."
I told him that the friend whom i am visiting belongs to Indian administered Kashmir. We reached sally oak. I could see my friend waiting out side her home. He asked her what you call yourself. "She said, "I am a Kashmiri." He asked her again, "Indian Kashmiri?" She said, "No, I am just a Kashmiri." He asked her, "What Passport do you have?" She said, "Indian." She added hastily, "Well, I am a south Asian." He smiled, looked at me and said, "Isn't it better for me to be just a British rather than getting into a never ending confusion?"
This twenty- minute journey showed me the chaotic picture of Indian sub continent- An Imbroglio of identities, borders, citizenship, human relationships, politics. Kashmir is one of the most volatile territorial disputes of south Asia. The parties to the dispute are India, Pakistan, China, and People of Kashmir. India claims Kashmir as an integral part of India. Pakistan and China claims it to be a disputed territory. People of Kashmir are waiting from 6 decades to decide their destiny. Present distribution of land area controlled by India, Pakistan, and China is as 45.62 per cent, 35.15 per cent, and 19.23 per cent respectively.
I thought is looking towards European Union an answer to the problem? Is it a time for integration for sub continent? His taxi disappeared after a minute and this twenty-minute conversation ended with out any solution. Just as our political elites who never come with a solution do not matter, the conversation was for twenty minutes or for twenty years.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
End of the solitude
I got up in the morning yesterday and read – “Mughli is dead...” Somebody had posted this on face book live page. Suddenly I went back to the day when she served me delicious Nadroos (lotus stem) saying, “My son loves to eat. I will cook nadroo for him (lotus stem) when he comes back.” Mughli's fragile face is still alive but she is dead. Mughli was one of the thousands women of Indian administered Kashmir who are a part of Association of parents of disappeared persons who claims that more than 10,000 men of Kashmir are disappeared since Indian counter-insurgent assault began in the kashmir valley in 1990.
“My husband divorced me after three months of our marriage. Therefore, I raised him all alone. I am sure that he is alive and will come back before my death, as he is my only hope. Who else will do my funeral dues?” Mughli had said while pointing me to eat properly.
She waited in despair for her only son in a large house located in Habba Kadal, part of old city of Srinagar where she died on Sunday leaving her dream of hugging her son once before departing from this world.
Indian Security forces allegedly picked her son, Nazir Ahmed, a teacher by profession when he had left for school in 1991.
“I always used to see Nazir coming back from school in the evening from the window. I keep a watch at the window everyday as I am sure I will get a sight of him here only.” Said Mughli watching out from her window.
She had a firm belief in God. “Come with me to the shrine if you want.” She had asked me. She went to the two shrines of the city, weeping and wailing, as if she would not go back home if she does not finds him that day only. However, that was her weekly routine. Most of these women find refuge in faith, however; divine power also cannot heal their wounds.
“I am feeling dejected and ill- fated today.” Said Parveena Ahangar on phone, the president of Association of disappeared persons whose 16 years old son, Javed, was also allegedly picked up by the Indian security forces and never came back.
“We have been fighting from last 18 years to know about the where about of our children, husbands, fathers, brothers but have achieved nothing till date. But we cannot stop fighting for justice as Mughli did till her last breath” said sobbing Parveena.
However, Indian authorities dispute the disappearance figure and assert that most of those alleged to be missing slipped into Pakistan for guerrilla training.
Enforced disappearances persist in many countries all over the world, which is particularly a cruel human rights violation; a violation of the person who has disappeared and a violation of those who love them.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The International Convention for the Protection of All Persons from Enforced Disappearance, an international human rights instrument of the United Nations intended to prevent forced disappearances states that
No exceptional circumstances whatsoever, whether a state of war or a threat of war, internal political instability or any other public emergency, may be invoked as a justification for enforced disappearance.
The widespread or systematic use of enforced disappearance is further defined as a crime against humanity.
The Convention attracted 57 signatures when opened for signature in Paris but As of July 2009 only Albania , Argentina , Mexico , Honduras , France , Senegal , Bolivia , Cuba , Kazakhstan , Uruguay , Mali , and Japan have ratified the convention.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
I saw my childhood...
I saw Mars last night. I didn't see it red. I saw moon and clouds walking together. In fact they were running.I think they were moving to some other Island. But i know few of them could not leave this island as i heard rain in the morning. I saw rain on my window pane. I saw a rainbow.
Rainbow over my home...
I saw an old woman giggling like a little girl. I met a girl who had lost her wallet and needed 6.75 pounds to go back home. I saw tears in her eyes. I saw a kid getting late for his school. I saw worry on his face. I saw an ant. I heard the noise of water sprinkling out on green grass. I heard the voice of dried leaves while walking. I saw gold, red, crimson, brown, yellow shades on trees. I saw less leaves on trees. I saw autumn leaving. I felt the cold. I saw my school in an Old photograph.
My school
I saw my home covered in snow.
Thats how it look in winters...
I reached my class and i saw my teacher with an usual smile. You are 5 mins late. I saw her loving me for this. I saw my school and college teachers in her. I saw my editor in her. I saw my friends in her. I saw acceptance for my bad habit in her. I saw my childhood.
My home, my childhood... New Tehri Town..
I saw Mars last night. I didn't see it red. I saw moon and clouds walking together. In fact they were running.I think they were moving to some other Island. But i know few of them could not leave this island as i heard rain in the morning. I saw rain on my window pane. I saw a rainbow.
Rainbow over my home...
I saw an old woman giggling like a little girl. I met a girl who had lost her wallet and needed 6.75 pounds to go back home. I saw tears in her eyes. I saw a kid getting late for his school. I saw worry on his face. I saw an ant. I heard the noise of water sprinkling out on green grass. I heard the voice of dried leaves while walking. I saw gold, red, crimson, brown, yellow shades on trees. I saw less leaves on trees. I saw autumn leaving. I felt the cold. I saw my school in an Old photograph.
My school
I saw my home covered in snow.
Thats how it look in winters...
I reached my class and i saw my teacher with an usual smile. You are 5 mins late. I saw her loving me for this. I saw my school and college teachers in her. I saw my editor in her. I saw my friends in her. I saw acceptance for my bad habit in her. I saw my childhood.
My home, my childhood... New Tehri Town..
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Mirza Ghalib and love in time of Archies...
The world is fast paced. Every thing is instant. Na koi aag ka dariya hai, na doob ke jaana hai, yeh instant jammana hai...
My mother says that love was a passion in their time but it has become a fashion now. We fell in love but not for the heck of flaunting it on one particular day. I said, love is still a passion perhaps this day has made it a fashion.
However, majority of the people love this day to celebrate it as a day of love though most of them dont know the origin and history of this day. This ignorance is not an exception.
One name Mirza ghalib is very famous for love poetry but most of the people dont know that his anniversary comes a day after Valentines day. One of my friends think that he is a fictional character of black and white days of celluloid.
I met a young boy at Mirza Ghalib ki Haweli on valentines day. He said, that his style of love has become very old fashioned now. Nobody cares about these things.
But exceptions are every where...
Sarah and Clement, a spanish- french couple came to Mirza Ghalib ki Haveli to spend their V- day. Sarah fell in love with Ghalib's poetry after reading a translation of one of his verses..
"Yeh Ishq nahin aasan, itna samajh leejiye,
ek aag ka dariya hai aur doob ke jaana hai...
Mohd Ajmal, an old resident of Chandni Chowk thinks that difference between Ghalib's sense of love and today's love is as similar to the difference between nai dilli and purani dilli."Nai dilli looks beautifull but i dont feel the warmth which i feel in purani dilli. Similarly, these days people flaunt their love but it lacks depth and warmth."
'arz-e-niyaaz-e-ishq ke qaabil naheeN raha
jis dil pe naaz tha mujhe wo dil naheeN raha"
He said, "this verse of Ghalib is perfect for this generation which can confine love to only one day of year."
A very small portion of this haveli is kept by Govt. of India as a heritage site. The owner of the Haveli says that "we take rent from all other portions of the haveli except this and it doesnt makes a difference for us as Ghalib never piad rent to my great grand father in his life time."
This small portion of Haveli is so much full of love and pain that you dont need a single glittering day to feel that.
I came back from the Haveli and went to PVR Priyas to watch a movie in the evening. I could see countless couples roaming there with gifts, mostly from archies. Ghalib sahab would have never written "Yeh ishq nahin asaan" if he would have ever visited Archies gallery.
But I do feel that even in this time..."yeh ishq nahin assan"... Hats off to Ghalib Sahab... Happy Valantines day to you too...
Monday, January 26, 2009
Historically Correct...
So, West like slums, they like dogs and yeah they like slumdogs too...
We like Obama, we like White stars and yeah we like nominations in oscars too...
We love to be loved by Uncle Sam and brigade. We are so obsessed with the idea of being accepted by "The first World". And yeah, we are so touchy to be called as a Third world country. We didnt like it at all when Mathew Hayden spoke about, what he perceived as, poor ground conditions and inordinate delays during matches "that happens in Third World countries" last year.
Well, Neither I have any problem with ten nominations of Slumdog Millionaire in Oscars nor do I doubt the cinematic excellence of the film but that excellence is not an exception.
"What changes would you do in Devdas to make it eligible to get nominated for oscars?" This was the question which one of my friends asked me recently. "They should have cut it short and blah blah blah..." I made an attempt to give a cinematically correct answer. She said, "It would have nominated in Oscars for sure if Devdas was a bevda of any Jhuggi- Jhompdi of Kolkata."
Her answer might not have been a cinematically correct one but a historically correct one for sure.
There are very few Indian films or films based on India to get the nominations in Academy awards and all of them have common elements- Hunger, poverty,and struggle for survival. Sadly, all of them are symptoms of a same disease- The Third World... The tag which we hate to have for us.
We find films loaded with these syptoms if we go back to the history of Indian films in Oscars. Mother India was the first Indian film to be Nominated for the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film made by Mehboob khan in 1958. It was a story of a mother from poor rural India who kills her son to keep the honour of a daughter of her village. It is a showcase of Post- independent India which brings forth a story of great survival in the most adverse conditions of that time.
Mira Nair brought a brilliant film, Salam Bombay, on the tribulations of day-to-day life of children living on the streets of Bombay in 1988. The film was made by Nair to address the situation of poverty in India. It too got nominated for "The" Academy awards.
Third in this brigade is the legendary film Lagaan made by Ashutosh Gowarikar in 2001. The film was a cinematic masterpiece about the struggle and victory of oppressed peasants of British India who were suffering from a prolonged drought.
Another film which made a presence in the same category was Deepa Mehta's Water in year 2005. Although it was an official entry from Canada but it was a film set during the period of British rule in India and the orthodox hindu traditions. It showcased the plight of a group of widows forced into prostitution and miseries.
We appreciate this fact that Uncle Sam and brigade is concerned about the problems of Third World but we have something more to offer to the world of creativity and Cinema. We dont care if our style doesnt goes with your trends.We dont care if you dont give damn to the things other than slums and poverty. We dont care if you dont like the brighter face of the third world. We dont care if you think that we deserve only three nominations in last 60 years of Cinema. We dont look at Academy awards as the ultimate recognition of cinematic excellence. You might think that, but we do care Uncle Sam... Thats why we are known by a name which we are reluctant to call upon by.
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