Dear Vasant Dhoble, you remind me of Kondke; so what?

Vasant Dhoble makes me think of Dada Kondke. So what, you wonder; and actually, that’s the point. My favourite Kondke title, and it’s a hard choice from among several classics, is Andheri Raat Mein Diya Tere Haath Mein. If you’re not chuckling, you don’t know Hindi. So let me explain. The pun is the word “diya”, which can mean both “lamp” and “gave it.” That is, this title can mean both “On a dark night there’s a lamp in your hand” and “On a dark night I gave it to you in your hand.” And of course, the late Dada Kondke knew exactly which of those alternatives he wanted to plant in your mind. (Hint: not the lamp). Kondke was an immensely popular and successful film-maker. He is something of a legend in Maharashtra, but certainly in the rest of the country too. Millions watched his films and laughed at the titles, the ribald jokes, the naughty word play. In college, some of us had a little cottage industry going, trying to come up with Kondke-compatible titles ourselves; of course none of ours could hold a candle, or a lamp, to his. [caption id=“attachment_344667” align=“alignleft” width=“380” caption=“And when you think about that, the really correct response to Dhoble’s antics is: so what? Screengrab from ibnlive”]  [/caption] Given all that, who would suggest that Dada Kondke was a menace to our culture? That his films were somehow “immoral”? To my knowledge, nobody ever has. Which is exactly as it should be. Far from threatening Indian culture, Kondke’s films were, and remain, a living expression of it. For here’s the truth about culture: It isn’t an unapproachable ideal state that’s forever immutable, forever pure. Instead, culture happens all around us, today and every day. It’s joyous, flatulent, uplifting and bizarre. It spits on every definition you can find, bursts out of every straitjacket you can lace up. As much as it is Indian warmth and hospitality, it is also that profoundly Indian suspicion of the “outsider”, that odd Indian habit of insisting on our own particular foods when travelling. It’s sublime, it’s vulgar, it’s routine. It throbs. If Indian culture means Bollywood and cricket, it also means films by Dada Kondke and laments about the glory days of hockey. So, when I hear of people standing up to apparently defend their vision of Indian culture, lily-white and holier-than-thou, I remember Kondke. When I hear of people pronouncing what is and isn’t immoral, I remember Kondke. And when I hear of the antics of this police officer Vasant Dhoble, I remember Kondke. (Think it’s likely Dhoble has seen Kondke’s films? Most Maharashtrians worth their salt have. Are you worth your salt, Vasant Dhoble?). I mean, not long ago Dhoble visited a restaurant in Oshiwara and took 11 women customers he found there into custody “on suspicion of being involved in prostitution”. Why did he suspect these woman of such involvement? Because they had been allowed to enter the restaurant for free. The men present there, on the other hand, had paid. “I never act against customers,” Dhoble has been quoted as saying, “unless they are involved in unlawful or immoral activities.” I mean, where do you start, going through all the implied absurdities here? The women didn’t pay, so they must be prostitutes. The men did pay, so they must be clients. In all this, it’s only the women who need to be punished. The women didn’t pay, so they were involved in “unlawful or immoral activities”. What he saw in this restaurant — and indeed, what he claims to have seen in other restaurants — is “immoral”. Prostitution itself is “unlawful” and “immoral” and has no place in our “culture”. Dhoble decides what is “immoral”. Long list of absurdities, right? When Dhoble does things that suggest all this stuff, the correct response is: please don’t assume you know things about morality, certainly not mine or anyone else’s. I decide what’s immoral or not, for myself. I decide if prostitution is immoral, for myself. For that matter, I decide if Kondke’s films are immoral, for myself. I mean, there are things I decide are immoral, for myself. I am yet to act on that decision by picking up a long stick, gathering some burly men around me, and going out to round up some startled citizens. Partly because I’m not a cop, yes. But mostly because I harbour no illusions that the rest of the world shares my own morals, or that I have the right to make them share my own morals. This is the only reasonable way to consider morality. Because morality doesn’t operate by consensus. For every Dhoble who thinks not paying an entry fee in a restaurant is immoral, you’ll have no difficulty finding others who give that kind of posturing no importance at all, who think it’s absurd to even suggest it, thank you very much. And when you think about that, the really correct response to Dhoble’s antics is: so what? Even if the women didn’t pay an entrance fee, so what? Even if they are prostitutes, so what? Even if Kondke’s films are vulgar and titillating, so what?