Aashiq Abu’s Idukki Gold: A good joint but where’s the high?

Idukki Gold is a 2013 Malayalam movie by Aashiq Abu. Idukki Gold has got its moments and is not as bad as some friends warned me — nor is it as good as many promised. Unlike his earlier films Abu seems to have rolled an average joint — using ‘nostalgia’. Idukki Gold's story has a natural flow which is interrupted with arduous background settings for the characters, especially for Antony, played by Babu Antony. The best lines, undoubtedly, are by ‘Mlechan’ Ravi played by Raveendran. There is an effortless flow Raveendran brings to the ‘free-bird’ Ravi. He steals the show, no doubt.
Writers Shyam Pushkaran and Dileesh Nair have captured the essence of friendships struck during childhood: No matter how big or small you become in life, you’re always seen as that old friend. The four friends in Idukki Gold are on different planes— financially, socially and geographically — and the only thing that binds them is their memories of school days. That is why when Madan (Maniyanpilla Raju), Michael (Pratap Pothan) and Ravi catch up after decades and gloss over the social niceties of meeting, they go onto doing what they enjoyed the most —smoking-up. Soon, the Czech (and Slovakia) returnee Michael, the just-divorced planter Madan and the unsuccessful photographer Ravi come on to the same plane.
For a movie that is essentially a journey down memory lane, the director makes sure that the cliché of ‘good old days’ is kept aside. There have been many films on ‘memories’ and Idukki Gold could have easily fallen into such a mould. But Abu not only stays away from it, but he also ridicules ‘nostalgia’ at least twice in the movie. Even the character of Sadanandan, played by Ravi Vallathol, who chases Ravi for his wedding album, is a mocking at nostalgia at one level.
The smoking-up scenes are pretty explicit. I was surprised that the censor board’s scissors left it intact and that Idukki Gold came through with a ‘U/A’ certificate. That said, one of my personal favourite scene is the way John (Joy Mathew) describes marijuana grown in Idukki. His coffee-brewing baritone and the equally good camera shots make it really tempting.
The voiceover at the end of the movie, saying that ‘it’s not about drugs but about friendship’ could have been avoided. It comes across as though the filmmakers are justifying their choice of story and its treatment. A ‘message’ is not what one expects in a movie like Idukki Gold. However, there is an amount of boldness on the part of the director for choosing to do a movie like Idukki Gold — it’s not a ‘family entertainer’ (a phrase that has been abused by our film-makers).
You don’t have to roll a joint to understand or enjoy this movie and don’t expect to be floating among the clouds after seeing this. Idukki Gold gives the satisfaction of smoking up but disappoints as you won’t feel ‘high’.

Telegram: Matter Serious, No Hope

From smoke signals and cave paintings, used centuries ago, to the latest instant services messages, like SMS, email and fax, communication has undergone a metamorphosis few would have foreseen. In the arena of telecommunication, history is witness to the falling of many a gladiator that once stood tall commanding the awe of anyone who witnessed it. July 15 will witness the fall of a humble giant who conveyed both good and bad news with professional ease and speed — the telegram. The Bharat Sanchar Nigam Limited (BSNL) has decided to discontinue telegram services from mid July given that it is a white elephant. However, the news of the scheduled demise of telegram will not be received with a lump in throat by many. That many telegraph offices are not receiving a single customer throughout the year and that many offices have been converted into customer care centres is proof that this mode of communication has for long been put on life-support. With landline telephones and mobiles phones reaching the deepest of crevices in rural India telegram lost the last of reasons for its use.
The quest to ‘make the world smaller’ led to the invention of quicker means of communication. When the telegram was introduced in India in the 1850s it was a game changer so much so that it holds a prominent role in aiding the British in India to suppress the 1857 Sepoy Mutiny. Even though telephones were introduced a few decades after telegraph was introduced, it was no match to the speed and convenience the latter offered. Until the 90s, which saw the rapid growth in the field of telecommunication, telephones were few and far between. The rapid growth in the sector, however, rendered the telegram obsolete overnight.
Interestingly, cinema has played a vital role in keeping the telegraph alive in popular imagination. Often the message in a telegram is conveyed to the audience by the accompanying background music or the expression on the receivers face. Nostalgia apart, it is a prudent move by the BSNL to shut down telegram services, which are estimated to bleed the company by R300-400 crore annually. Telegram joins the illustrious company of woodblock printing, hourglass, typewriter, pager, VHS, 8-track tape, camera film rolls, etc — things that were once of prime importance and today are of little practical use, but are fondly remembered.

Memories in Sepia Tones With Glossy Effects

Sir James Matthew Barrie, the creator of Peter Pan, once said: “God gave us memories that we might have roses in December.” The mind has its way when it comes to memories. Memories, even the sour ones, which are caustic at first, are bearable as time passes, eventually making them acceptable. Memories are time-machines that can take us to a world long gone, to a world created by our imagination and to one that we long to belong. What divides the harshness of today from the bliss of yesterday, and keeps flickering alive the hope for tomorrow is a rickety old wooden window; a window that creaks at the hinges while pushed open. It leads to an infinity of goodness and mirth. Childhood memories, like the first bicycle ride, college days and the vacations spent in those pristine ancestral homes tucked safely in lush green villages are all experiences cherished. Like precious silverware it is every now and then taken out and polished; the cobwebs of time are dusted; we flirt with it, admire its value and fantasise with its saucy curves. Each time we recall it from the mind’s maze we add more detail to it before carefully placing it back.

The earliest recollection of walking through the paddy fields and coconut groves are invariably seen in sepia tones with a glossy effect. One is always seen walking hand-in-hand with the neighbour’s curly-haired daughter; both admiring the butterflies and listening to the melodious cuckoos. But was it so? Was it really a rosy experience? Were those the thoughts that one had then? The walk in the paddy fields was a misadventure. One had to walk barefoot in ankle-deep stagnant muddy water. Soil mixed with water squeezed up through the toes; the odd sharp twig hurt the feet. It was a tight-rope walk on the ridge; a wrong step and there was the danger of landing in knee-deep dirt. In addition to this was the fear of bloodsucking leeches, tadpoles and snakes. But over the years we have lied to ourselves; we have convinced ourselves that back then things were perfect. Even the little glitches were pleasures that were enjoyed. Nostalgia is a beer-goggle the mind designs to make the present suffering bearable. It is a mirage we create in the deserts we find ourselves in. Given this, it is no surprise that it is mostly people in tough times that have the sweetest memories of the past; people who are content and happy with the present do not generally long for ‘those good ol’ days’. This could be why 19th Century author Josh Billings wrote: “There are lots of people who mistake their imagination for their memory.” So what if it was painful then? What if we slipped and bruised our knees while strolling aimlessly through the coconut groves? The pain was then, it was temporary. Today it is a cherished memory sweetened with a lie we have told ourselves. Those rickety old wooden windows still creak while pushed open. It does not matter what we see; what matters is how we look at it. (This article appeared in The New Indian Express on April 12 2012)