AGONY AND THE AXONE

"Everyone is mine to torment." — Joffrey

That and possibly offending every sane person from the north-east community. Axone in a nutshell.

Let’s just state the obvious. Representation alone does not a movie make. Is this movie a memorable one? Possibly, but not for the reasons you’re thinking of.

For the longest time ever, including the present day, the rest of the nation has done little to educate itself that there is another, very visible and vibrant part of itself that exists. Let’s begin there.

For the average Indian, we are “eh Gorkha”, “Chinki”, “Nepali” and of course let us not forget the very commendable “Corona”. For the majority again, we are either stewardesses, hair stylists, masseurs and yes, the occasional watchman.

We get asked “You eat dog? You eat snake, snails?”

And of course, the classic, “You north-east?”  

I wish I were a direction so I could tell them to go where the sun don’t shine but I smile as politely as I can and given the circumstance, sometimes launch into this extended narrative of where exactly I am from.

“My father was from Manipur, but not a Manipuri, a Kuki, you know one of the many Thadou tribes; my mother is a Nepali, but not quite, I mean her maternal ancestors were from Nepal but my grandfather, my mother’s father, you know my nanaji was from Muzaffarpur, yes Muzaffarpur of the Bihar kind.” :D :D

Totally worth it.

Anyhow, to come back to the movie and to this rich tapestry of culture and life that teems just north of the subcontinent.

Miss Chanbi in the movie is from Manipur but aha! she is not a tribal. She is a Meitei, so eating pork as depicted in the movie, leave alone handling it would be a definite no no.

Miss Upasana, a Nepali, uses one phrase quite frequently “tero baje ko nati” which quite frankly, no self-respecting Nepali would, at least not in this century I don’t think and delivered in an accent that borders between a teetering Nagamese and something else I am not quite sure what.

Zorem. Not quite sure what his connection is but seems to be veering towards the Thadou/Mizo community. Not to mention the various folks that were generously sprinkled with their odd bits of conversation thrown in, all in varying, peculiar tones and accents, nothing like how normal folk talk.

The premise of the movie was the attempt to cook a particular pungent dish but the rather ridiculous notion of not one single person to help them cook was stretching it a bit much. 

What the movie seemed to have forgotten is that in every single city or town, there is a strong network of fellow residents from every tribe and every group of the north-east. From the government circuit houses to church fellowships there is an invisible thread that links us all together.

What it also failed to portray is that there is an even stronger presence of the civil servants from every rank and file and that is the representation we should have seen. From the IAS, IPS and IFS to the revenue service to advertisement agencies, banks, you name it, we are there. 

But then again predictably, the movie sticks to its usual portrayal of what a profession for the average north-eastern should look like – a singer of sorts, a shopkeeper and an IAS aspirant. Disappointing to say the least. 
And true to form, the saviour here turns out to be none other than the you guessed it, north Indian landlord's grandson because after all, how can we help ourselves?

And then to add insult to injury, one of the sweetest, most poignant hymns, is sung, and quite badly at that too, against the backdrop of a failed attempt at trying to cook the pork/axone. Insulting and in terrible taste. It’s like playing a beloved spiritual hymn or anthem whilst struggling to make rotis and burning them in the process. Absurd and downright stupid.

So let us not fool ourselves into thinking that this was some bold attempt at revealing the perils and pitfalls of negotiating life in the big cities as a person from the north-east. Except for a fleeting reference to an actual assault and the sexist remarks, remarkably toned down, (we have heard worse believe me), this feeble effort should by no means try and speak for us. For in the end, it is just another movie, a grandiose act whose sole aim was perhaps to appease the collective conscience, a feel-good salve for every wrong and slight and insult; which seems quite evident by the effusive, somewhat over the top praise it has garnered on every single review and critique.

So, if cooking and recipes were the recurring theme they should have perhaps looked elsewhere. The iromba for one. In simpler terms it is our version of aloo bharta. Except it has the fiery malchapom aka bhoot jolokia aka the hottest chili in the world, the ngari, fermented fish that can equal the axone in smell and far outrivals it in taste (in my opinion) and to all of that, you can add whatever condiments you like, sliced onions, yongchak, (can’t explain, you have to eat it to know), lotus seeds, dhania patta and whatever else you fancy. Heaven on a plate….

The staple in it of course being potatoes. Boiled, mashed potatoes. The basic unit to every single dish in this country. And every other in the world.

And that, my friend, would have been a great story to be told.

Definitely not this feel good, let’s all bhaichara and Hindi-Chini (yeah you heard that right – Chini as in Chinese) horse hooey pile of whatever that just got served.