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New Indian Express
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- New Indian Express
Films, literature, paintings, and musical notes drenched in the rains
Drench words Think rains, and for many avid readers, a book that swiftly comes to mind would be Chasing the Monsoon: A modern pilgrimage through India by Alexander Frater. The book chronicles the author's journey across India in pursuit of the rain, delving into its impact on society, culture, and politics. Rain, as a literary device, recurs with compelling symbolism across genres and cultures. In Haruki Murakami's South of the Border, West of the Sun, rain is tied to the reappearance of Shimamoto, Hajime's childhood sweetheart. Every time she enters the narrative, they are associated with rain. In One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez, there's a line that goes: 'It rained for four years, eleven months, and two days.' The torrential rain begins from the night of the massacre of banana workers and it continues, it serves as a symbolic cleansing, and reshaping the town of Macondo. In The Rains Came by Louis Bromfield, set in the fictional Indian city of Ranchipur, monsoon arrives with devastating floods, and through the destruction comes a transformation. The key characters in particular reevaluate their lives and relationships as they begin to re-prioritise what, and who, is important to them. Rain inspired poems can't go without mentioning Rain by Edward Thomas. He uses the weather to set the mood of his wartime poem that captures solitude and mortality. Some other picks are Song for the Rainy Season' by Elizabeth Bishop, A Line -Storm Song by Robert Frost, and The Rainy Day by Rabindranath Tagore. In Malayalam, Rathrimazha by Sugathakumari, Mazha Pusthakam by Tony Chittetukalam, Mazhakaalam by Anvar Ali, and Thoraamazha by Rafeeq Ahamad are some works that rush to mind.
Resala Post
26-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Resala Post
Delving into 'Vergando' The Heartbeat of Latin American Culture
In the vast, colorful, and passionately expressive landscape of Latin American culture, certain words and expressions emerge that do more than merely convey meaning — they embody identity, emotion, and heritage. One such word, rich with texture and regional resonance, is 'Vergando.' Though not commonly found in formal linguistic references or textbooks, 'Vergando' has, in various regions and cultural contexts, become an organic representation of transformation, endurance, and expressive defiance — values deeply embedded in Latin America's history and soul. To understand 'Vergando' is to embark on a journey into the nuanced heart of Latin American culture. It is to listen to the whispered folklore in rural villages, feel the resistance in street art and protest songs, and decode the soul of a continent that has long embraced both the beauty and pain of life with unflinching grace. This exploration will uncover the linguistic roots, cultural manifestations, artistic representations, and social significance of 'Vergando' — a term that, while elusive in formal dictionaries, pulses through Latin American life as a true cultural heartbeat. I. The Etymological Roots of 'Vergando' At first glance, 'Vergando' appears to be a gerund form of the Spanish verb 'vergar.' Traditionally, vergar means 'to bend' or 'to yield.' In Spanish grammar, the suffix -ando signifies an action in progress — thus, vergando translates literally to 'bending' or 'yielding.' But in the cultural context of Latin America, 'Vergando' has evolved into something more profound than a verb. It implies not just a physical act, but a philosophical and emotional posture — the way people, communities, and cultures bend without breaking, adapting to hardship while retaining spirit and dignity. This interpretation finds its roots not only in the Spanish language but also in the shared experiences of colonization, resistance, adaptation, and renewal that characterize Latin American history. II. Vergando as a Metaphor for Cultural Resilience Throughout centuries of upheaval — from European colonization to dictatorship, economic crises, and social inequality — Latin America has had to bend, often painfully, under the weight of external pressures. Yet it has not broken. In this way, 'Vergando' becomes a metaphor for the spirit of survival. Just as a tree in a storm bends to avoid snapping, Latin American societies have endured by adapting: preserving indigenous traditions under colonial rule, developing syncretic religions blending Catholic and native beliefs, and expressing dissent through coded artistic forms. This cultural elasticity, this creative and dignified yielding, is at the core of what it means to be 'vergando.' III. Artistic Representations of 'Vergando' 1. Literature In Latin American literature, themes of resistance and transformation — the essence of 'Vergando' — are omnipresent. Works like One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez, or The Death of Artemio Cruz by Carlos Fuentes, depict individuals and societies bending under the pressure of time, politics, and personal guilt. Poets like Pablo Neruda and César Vallejo write about pain and revolution with words that, though not explicitly saying 'vergando,' evoke its spirit: an aching resilience that refuses to surrender completely. 2. Music From the poignant ballads of Mercedes Sosa to the fiery salsa of Rubén Blades, Latin American music is suffused with the rhythms of 'Vergando.' Take Sosa's interpretation of 'Solo le pido a Dios' — a prayer of hope and resistance sung in the soft yet defiant voice of someone who has bent under grief but still sings. Reggaeton and hip-hop artists in urban Latin America also embody 'Vergando' in their lyrics, often narrating life in neighborhoods marred by violence or poverty, yet pulsing with pride and creativity. 3. Visual Arts The murals of Diego Rivera or the surreal pain of Frida Kahlo's paintings are vivid visual representations of 'Vergando.' They show bodies and communities that have endured oppression, disease, and heartbreak, yet persist through expression. Street art across Latin American cities — from the favelas of Rio de Janeiro to the alleys of Buenos Aires — is perhaps the most raw and immediate display of this concept. Each mural or graffiti tag is a declaration: 'We are here. We are enduring. We are creating.' IV. 'Vergando' in Ritual and Tradition The cultural rituals of Latin America, many inherited through generations, often embody the act of 'Vergando.' Consider: The Day of the Dead (Día de los Muertos) in Mexico: A celebration of life in the face of death, honoring ancestors with altars, marigolds, and skull-shaped candies. It's an annual act of remembering and bending grief into joy. Candomblé and Santería , Afro-Latin religions in Brazil and the Caribbean, which merge Catholic saints with African deities. These religions are literal examples of spiritual vergando , merging identities while preserving essence. Carnival, with its explosive costumes, dances, and masks, reflects communities yielding to the chaos of life through controlled release, honoring freedom through structure. V. The Role of Language: Code-Switching and Oral Histories In Latin America, language is fluid. Spanish and Portuguese dominate, but indigenous languages — Quechua, Aymara, Guaraní, Nahuatl, and others — persist, woven into everyday speech in rural and urban areas alike. This multilingual dynamic itself is an act of 'Vergando.' Communities adjust to dominant tongues for survival, but still whisper their truths in ancestral languages, refusing complete erasure. Oral storytelling, a powerful cultural practice in many regions, also embodies 'Vergando.' These stories are living, evolving — bent by time, adjusted for new audiences, but grounded in cultural truth. VI. Social Movements: Vergando as Strategy and Strength Social and political movements in Latin America often reflect the dynamic of 'Vergando.' Whether it's the Zapatista uprising in Chiapas, feminist movements like Ni Una Menos , or indigenous land-rights protests in the Amazon, these movements demonstrate strategic flexibility in the face of oppressive systems. 'Vergando' here becomes tactical: adapting methods, using digital platforms for resistance, or embracing international solidarity while preserving local identity. Unlike brute confrontation, 'Vergando' allows for continuity. It is resilience without rigidity, activism with cultural intelligence. VII. Migration: Carrying 'Vergando' Across Borders Millions of Latin Americans have migrated — voluntarily or by necessity — carrying their culture across continents. In these diaspora communities, 'Vergando' is visible in the preservation of food, festivals, and language even while adapting to new homelands. Latino communities in the U.S., Europe, and elsewhere create hybrid identities that reflect both yielding to new contexts and holding firm to old traditions. Children of migrants, often raised bilingually, may straddle identities, speaking Spanglish or Portuñol, eating tacos alongside burgers, celebrating Christmas with both Santa and El Niño Dios . This is 'Vergando' as survival and celebration. VIII. Modern Media and the Digital Vergando In the age of social media and globalization, 'Vergando' takes new forms. TikTok creators, YouTubers, and Instagram influencers across Latin America create content that blends global aesthetics with regional culture. From viral dances rooted in traditional forms to cooking videos that show abuelita's recipes with a modern twist, digital Latin America is 'vergando' before our eyes: absorbing trends, bending formats, but never losing soul. This generational evolution preserves cultural identity while allowing innovation — a perfect embodiment of modern 'Vergando.' IX. Critiques and Controversies: The Limits of Vergando While 'Vergando' is often framed positively as adaptability, it's worth noting that constant bending can come at a cost. There is a growing discourse among Latin American intellectuals and activists that resilience — when romanticized — can lead to exploitation. Some argue that societies shouldn't always have to adapt; systems must also change. For example, praising communities for 'making do' in poverty can overlook structural injustice. The question becomes: when does bending become enabling? How do we balance cultural endurance with demands for change? This tension, too, is part of 'Vergando' — a living, contested practice. Conclusion: The Legacy and Future of 'Vergando' 'Vergando' is not just a word; it is a worldview. It is the soft power of a culture that has endured — through invasion, slavery, revolution, and neoliberalism — and continues to dance, sing, protest, and create. It teaches us that there is strength in yielding when necessary, in adapting without losing oneself. It reminds us that culture is not static but alive, bending toward the future while rooted in the past. As Latin America continues to evolve — facing climate crises, political shifts, and technological disruption — the spirit of 'Vergando' will remain central. It will manifest in how stories are told, how traditions are preserved, and how new generations rise, rooted but not rigid. So next time you see a mural in Medellín, hear a protest song in Santiago, taste mole in Oaxaca, or watch a TikTok remixing cumbia and reggaeton — remember: you are witnessing 'Vergando.'
Business Mayor
25-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Business Mayor
Why hating is the new cool: Ditch love, embrace disdain
Love, my munchkins, is for the birds and bees, and swamijis. Affection is so affected. And to think there was a time when (lazy, last-minute) people actually paid good money to keep the greeting cards industry up and running and 'hearting'. You already know this in your bones, but if you really want to come across as part of the sophisticated set, the true mark of intelligence, taste, and social grace is having a burning disdain for things. And then show it. Music is where we usually first earn our hater's chops. I have been proud, for instance, of hating jazz since my ears started forming out of the sides of my head. While many of my contemporaries and I moved away from Michael Jackson and the Eagles – with an evolving sense of disdain – many also developed a well-tempered fondness for free jazz, where the piano or sax emits notes like my steps out of my favourite Friday night bar. Frankly, I really, really tried to like jazz. But then, I gave up – only to figure that if I'm deaf to Thelonious Monk, Wynton Marsalis, Vijay Iyer and all those who play that slippery stuff, I might as well hate them. Ditto for fusion music, Grammy-winning Shakti be damned. Hating things is so much more focused than loving things. Think about it. Do people respect the guy who says, 'I lurrv pineapple on pizza'? No. But they bow in reverence to the one who viciously denounces it as a culinary crime against humanity. Loving things can be embarrassing (for others), especially when there's a herd who 'adorates'. In college, my friends would swoon over the writings of Gabriel Garcia Marquez – 'If one hasn't read One Hundred Years of Solitude, one should go to a Macondo corner and die a solitary death!' As a result, I avoided reading Garcia Marquez for almost a decade. Even though, over time, I grew to admire the third greatest Colombian (#1 performer-singer Shakira, #2 footballer Carlos Valderrama), my lingering distaste for magic realism is a result of my early brush with the Cult of Garcia Marquez. Fan-gushing reeks of naivete and too-wholesome enthusiasm – two traits that should be reserved exclusively for Bengali parents of single man-boys, and Trump and/or Modi bhakts. Real influence lies in the fine art of hating through the unhinged critique, scathing takedown, snide remark, hit-and-run social media comment. Instead of gushing, 'Koi yahan, aha, nache nache' is SO catchy,' say, 'My god, this is SUCH a rip-off of the Buggles' 'Video Killed the Radio Star'!' Instead of 'I enjoyed Khauf,' say, 'OMG, it's Hindi horror at its most hilarious!' In an instant, you showcase not just your opinion, but the fact that you are opinionated, making you stand out from the liberal/gawaar/fascist/jholawala/[fill in the favourite group you detest] crowd. The media actively encourages social currency to favour those who roll their eyes hardest, sigh the deepest, shout the loudest. If Mark Antony had said, 'I come to praise Caesar, not to bury him,' I wonder which contemporary channels would have lent him their ears. Hating things certainly is a one-step process to make you look tough. You sound like you're ready to do the needful that namby-pambies don't have the cojones for. Calling for war (from well behind the front line), demanding people who have 'Mahmud' ('of Ghazni,' who else?!') in their names be locked up, threatening people who speak in Hindi in Maharashtra and people who don't eat fish in Bengal… It's just a way cooler way to get attention in these attention-deficit times. Love is simple. Hate is layered, fashionably complicated, an anti-naivete vaccine. And nothing bonds people faster than mutual contempt. Anyone can love peace, Kishore Kumar, rainbows, India, rainbows… But along with terrorists, hotel lobby-elevator piped muzak, sycophants, and pleated pants, I HATE cauliflower. Read More Legalize Magic Mushrooms? Massachusetts Should Just Vote No There, I said it. And have no qualms in shouting 'Gobi go home!' from mainstream, social and mixed media rooftops, no matter what the floret-power hippies and broccoli bhakts. You wouldn't have bothered if I had bhajan-ed on about hing kachauri, would you?
Scroll.in
25-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Scroll.in
Myth, machines, and revolution in ancient India: Roger Zelazny's 1967 novel ‘Lord of Light'
The circular nature of time has long been a favorite among those interested in philosophy, spirituality, and literature. There is Nietzsche with his theory of eternal return, Hinduism and its concept of the kalachakra, Gabriel García Márquez's large ring of Aureliano Buendias in One Hundred Years of Solitude, and the deliciously tense scene in True Detective, where Rust Cohle (played by Matthew McConaughey) smashes his hand down upon a cold drink can and explains to his hapless interrogators that 'time is a flat circle'. Roger Zelazny's 1967 novel Lord of Light – winner of the 1968 Hugo Award for science-fiction – makes this circular nature of time the book's primary conceit by making the far future reflect an ancient past. In the process, he marries science to fantasy, fuses myth and history together, and shakes up religion with colonialism to serve a technicolor dream that is part memory, part prophecy. The Star of India The story is set on an unnamed planet colonised thousands of years ago by the crew of an Earthen spaceship called The Star of India. At the time of this colonisation, human technology is already advanced enough to be indistinguishable from magic. In addition to space travel, it allows people to wield superhuman powers, called 'aspects' in the novel, move souls from one body to another, and create fantastic weapons. The planet's native energy-beings are called rakashas, or demons, by the colonisers, who hunt and imprison them. The planet's current population is descended from the first settlers, the spaceship's crew, who have styled themselves after the Hindu pantheon and rule the world as gods from a sky-city called Heaven. Since these 'gods' control the technology of soul-transfer, they can decide whether someone is reincarnated as a prince or a pauper, a Brahmin or a Shudra. They also have ways of knowing exactly how much charity one does (prayer-machines at temples to keep track of donations) and whether one entertains blasphemous ideas (psych-probes to detect errant thoughts). To an extent, this is the old speculative trick of repeatedly throwing 'what-if' questions at a particular situation, concept, or idea (in this case, a religion). What if reincarnation was real? What if there was a way of measuring karma? What if the gods were really petty enough to keep tally of everyone's prayers? To his particular credit, however, Zelazny extends the tendrils of his speculation to touch history. As the fun-house mirror of his story reflects coloniser overlords from the future as ancient Hindu deities, so it reflects their challenger as the Buddha, the story's hero. The non-linear narrative begins with Yama (the god of death) recalling the Buddha from a blissful non-existence, or nirvana. Going back and forth in time, we learn that Sam, as he prefers to be called, was once the reclusive prince Siddhartha, one of the planet's first colonisers. On a fateful day, he came out of his self-imposed exile to get a new body, and saw the world choking under excessive religious control. He grew so disgusted by the actions of his former friends and colleagues that he declared war against Heaven and started preaching an alternate religion (Buddhism) to the masses. This new-age Buddha loses many battles, even dies a few times, but his ideas attack heaven like persistent rust slowly spreading over the hull of a warship. One by one, gods like Tak, Kubera, Ratri, Yama, and Krishna come over to his side. Heaven finds its ranks, conviction, and resolve weakening steadily over time. As we are informed by the work of scholars like BR Ambedkar (notably in his 1948 book The Untouchables: Who Were They and Why They Became Untouchables), a version of this struggle did play out in ancient India with somewhat similar results. Buddhism rose as an alternative to the oppressive practices of Brahminism. It was particularly attractive to those who did not want to sacrifice their valuable animals like horses and cows in the frequent yajnas required by Brahmin priests. In fact, according to Ambedkar, it was in reaction to the growing popularity of Buddhism that many Brahmins gave up animal sacrifices and declared beef-eating a mortal sin. Like Sam's defeats on the battlefield, Buddhism lost a lot of ground when the Buddhist king Brihadratha Maurya was overthrown and assassinated by his Brahmin commander-in-chief Pushyamitra Shunga (an event comparable to the French Revolution in its scale and socio-political effect, according to Ambedkar). After his death, Sam, like the real Buddha, is also declared an avatar of Vishnu, and his philosophies are appropriated by heavenly decree. The lack of outrage As a (non-practising) Hindu and an Indian, while reading Lord of Light 58 years after its release, I often wondered why it had not caused a furore upon its publication. Unlike apolitical mythological retellings (say, Neil Gaiman's Norse Mythology or Stephen Fry's Mythos: Greek Myths Retold), Lord of Light is not just interested in repackaging religious stories. Zelazny puts a finger on sensitive points, say by alluding to the literal demonisation of a native population, or by framing the rise of Buddhism as a reformist religious revolution. My personal theory about what may have worked in Zelazny's favour is the perception of science fiction as non-serious literature. By definition, non-serious literature does not merit serious consideration, while religious hardliners – across religions – are very serious people. They reserve their rage for books by Booker-winning literary stars, not mere Hugo Award-winners like Zelazny. Critics and fellow writers also have similar notions of seriousness sometimes, which they extend to appreciation as well as outrage. This is probably why, in his introduction to the book, science-fiction writer Adam Roberts limits himself to appreciating Zelazny's blending of fantasy and sci-fi tropes (a neat trick, admittedly) while defending him against imaginary charges of orientalism. Similarly, in a 2010 article for The Guardian, Sam Jordison found pleasure in the book's 'dappy dialogue, eastern-tinged scene setting, and epic battles', instead of anything more literary (read serious). Timing is also important. When Salman Rusdhie's The Satanic Verses came out in 1988, Khomeini, Supreme Leader of Iran, had been in power for less than a decade. He and his minions really needed to demonstrate their capacity for taking offence. On the other hand, in 1967, when Lord of Light came out, India's image in the West was all about yoga–Gandhi–spirituality, not religious extremism. Rank-and-file fanatics, such as they were, were not ambitious enough to mine books for religious outrage. At the end of Zelazny's story, the Buddha emerges victorious from a climactic battle and liberates his land from religious control. In the real world, however, we are further along the cycle of time. One hopes that new Indian readers will engage with the book on a less superficial level than its Western audience. After all, having been dead for the last 30 years, Zelazny is safe from outrage in death. AM Gautam is the author of Indian Millennials: Who Are They, Really?. His literary interests lie primarily in cultural commentary, essays, and speculative fiction.
Yahoo
20-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
‘A Different World' Sequel Series Pilot at Netflix Adds Six Series Regulars
Netflix's followup to 'A Different World' has added six cast members to the pilot, Variety has learned from sources. Chibuikem Uche has been cast as Kojo along with Maleah Joi Moon as Deborah, Cornell Young as Shaquille, Jordan Aaron Hall as Amir, Alijah Kai Haggins as Rashida, and Kennedi McClure as Hazel. More from Variety 'America's Sweethearts: Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders' Season 2 Sets June Netflix Premiere Date (EXCLUSIVE) Netflix's Manga Adaptation 'Bet' Isn't Worth the Gamble: TV Review Ten Takes on the Making of Netflix's Epic Series 'One Hundred Years of Solitude' Netflix declined to comment. The followup to 'A Different World' was first reported to be in development in August 2024, with the pilot being announced in March. As reported at that time, the new series would return to Hillman College, a fictional historically Black university, and follow the daughter of original series characters Whitley and Dwayne. Felicia Pride serves as writer, executive producer, and showrunner on the project. Debbie Allen, Mandy Summers, Tom Werner, Gina Prince-Bythewood and Reggie Bythewood also serve as executive producers. Werner produced the original show via The Carsey-Werner Company, while Allen also produced and directed the bulk of the original's 144 episodes. Sources say she would also direct the new pilot. 'A Different World' began as a spinoff of 'The Cosby Show' and followed Denise Huxtable (Lisa Bonet) as she attends Hillman. But after Bonet departed the series following its first season, the focus shifted to characters played by Jasmine Guy, Kadeem Hardison, Dawnn Lewis, Glynn Turman, Cory Tyler, Lou Myers, Darryl M. Bell, Cree Summer, and Charnele Brown. Netflix has eschewed a traditional pilot process for most of its history, only announcing their first ever pilot order in 2023. The streamer has instead focused on straight-to-series orders or script-to-series deals for their shows. But Netflix also previously said that it would never have ads on the service only to begin offering an ad-supported tier in November 2022. Best of Variety New Movies Out Now in Theaters: What to See This Week Emmy Predictions: Talk/Scripted Variety Series - The Variety Categories Are Still a Mess; Netflix, Dropout, and 'Hot Ones' Stir Up Buzz Oscars Predictions 2026: 'Sinners' Becomes Early Contender Ahead of Cannes Film Festival
