Revathi’s Salaam Venky is not just another emotional Bollywood drama; it is a film that dares to ask some of life’s most unsettling questions. What does it mean to live well? And perhaps even more importantly, what does it mean to die with dignity? Inspired by the true story of Kolavennu Venkatesh, a young chess enthusiast who suffered from Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy (DMD), the film is based on Shrikant Murthy’s book The Last Hurrah. At its heart lies a son’s extraordinary spirit and a mother’s unshakable strength.
The story follows Venky (Vishal Jethwa), a 24-year-old confined to a wheelchair, who faces his debilitating illness with remarkable humor and optimism. His mother, Sujata (Kajol), is the backbone of his life, tirelessly supporting him and standing by his side as he makes a difficult request: the right to die on his own terms through passive euthanasia. Their journey is both heartbreaking and inspiring, weaving together moments of laughter, despair, and resilience.
The film is based on the book The Last Hurrah by Shrikant Murthy, which is inspired by the true story of Kolavennu Venkatesh, a 24-year-old chess player and film buff, who suffered from Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy, and his mother K. Sujata's struggles.
Venkatesh was wheelchair-bound since six, and later took to chess. At 24, when he was in final stages, he moved the Andhra Pradesh requesting euthanasia. He died in December 2004 - two days after the court rejected his plea.
Factually, the film remains close to reality in its depiction of Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy. The physical struggles, reliance on a wheelchair, and breathing complications are shown with authenticity. The subject of euthanasia, however, involves some artistic liberty. In real life, Venky’s plea for euthanasia came years before the 2018 Supreme Court ruling that legalized passive euthanasia in India, and his request was denied. The film, however, presents the struggle with more hope than reality allowed. Similarly, while Venky’s wish for organ donation is highlighted, the medical truth is that his condition limited the possibility of donating multiple organs. Yet these liberties feel less like distortions and more like creative choices meant to emphasize the larger message.
Kajol delivers one of her most affecting performances, capturing Sujata’s quiet strength and emotional turmoil with restraint. Vishal Jethwa shines as Venky, embodying a character who is witty, lively, and deeply human. Revathi’s direction is sensitive and thoughtful, though at times the film slips into melodrama with its background score and emotional high points. Even so, the sincerity of the narrative keeps the viewer invested.
Ultimately, Salaam Venky is not just about death—it is about life. It is about celebrating the days one has, no matter how limited, and questioning the systems and taboos that deny individuals the right to choose how they want to go. While the film may not capture every detail of the real-life case with clinical accuracy, it succeeds in bringing dignity, empathy, and awareness to the conversation around rare diseases, euthanasia, and organ donation.
This blog is part of Sunday Reading. Assigned by Dr. Dilip Barad sir. Click Here
Introduction
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, a celebrated Nigerian author and public intellectual, has captivated audiences worldwide with her powerful speeches. From her moving message to Harvard graduates to her seminal TED talks, Adichie consistently uses personal stories to explore complex ideas. Whether she is challenging us to value truth above all else, redefining what it means to be a feminist, or exposing the danger of a single story, her core message remains the same: honesty and a full understanding of our shared humanity are essential for building a more just world.
Video 1
The Danger of a Single Story: Why We Need More Than One Narrative
In her now-famous TED Talk, "The Danger of a Single Story," Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie masterfully uses personal anecdotes to expose the harm caused by incomplete narratives. She argues that when we only hear one story about a person, a culture, or a place, we risk creating a one-dimensional stereotype that robs people of their dignity and humanity. Her powerful message serves as a vital reminder to seek out diverse perspectives and to challenge the assumptions we hold about the world.
The Problem with Single Stories
Adichie begins by reflecting on her childhood in Nigeria, where she read British and American books that filled her mind with images of blue-eyed, snow-playing characters. As a result, she believed that books, by their very nature, were meant to be about foreigners and topics she couldn't relate to. This "single story of what books are" was shattered when she discovered African writers who showed her that people like her could exist in literature.
She extends this concept to her experience with a new house boy, Fide. Because her mother had only ever spoken about his family's poverty, Adichie could not see them as anything else. Her "single story of them" was that they were poor, and she was "startled" to discover that Fide's brother could make a beautifully patterned basket. This realization was a turning point, showing her how a single narrative can blind us to the full humanity of others.
Pity and Power
When Adichie moved to the United States for university, she found herself on the receiving end of a single story. Her American roommate's "default position" was one of "patronizing, well-meaning pity," based on a single story of Africa as a place of catastrophe and incomprehensible people. Adichie poignantly explains that her roommate's perception left no room for the possibility of a shared human connection.
Adichie argues that this issue is fundamentally tied to power. The ability to tell another person's story and make it the definitive one is a form of control. here is a quote from the writing of a London merchant called John Lok, who sailed to west Africa in 1561 and kept a fascinating account of his voyage. After referring to the black Africans as "beasts who have no houses," he writes, "They are also people without heads, having their mouth and eyes in their breasts."
Breaking the Cycle
Adichie admits that she, too, has been guilty of buying into a single story, specifically about Mexicans as "abject immigrants," based on media portrayals. This moment of shame was a powerful lesson in how easily we can fall into the trap of stereotypes.
However, she emphasizes that stories can also be used to empower and humanize. She shares stories of resilient and ambitious Nigerians: a publisher who proved that Nigerians do read, a TV host who tells stories that are often ignored, a female lawyer challenging an unjust law, and many more. These are the stories that add nuance and complexity, countering the simplistic narrative of a continent in crisis.
Adichie's final message is a hopeful one. She urges us to reject the single story in all its forms, to seek out "a balance of stories." By doing so, we can "regain a kind of paradise"—a world where we see each other not as stereotypes, but as complex, multi-faceted individuals, united by our shared humanity.
Video 2
We Should All Be Feminists: The Case for Equality
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's powerful essay, "We Should All Be Feminists," is more than just a speech—it's a vibrant call to action. Originally a TEDx talk, this work has become a modern feminist manifesto, breaking down complex ideas about gender and culture with clarity and humor. Adichie argues that feminism is not a label for angry, man-hating women, but a fundamental belief that men and women should have equal opportunities and value.
The Misunderstood Label
Adichie begins by sharing her own journey with the term "feminist." As a young girl in Nigeria, her friend Okuloma first called her a feminist, not as a compliment, but as an accusation. Later, she was advised by well-meaning people that feminism was a label for "unhappy women who couldn't find husbands." In response, she began to add qualifiers to her identity, calling herself a "Happy Feminist" and a "Happy African Feminist who loves lip gloss and high heels." This part of her story highlights the many misconceptions and stereotypes that prevent people from embracing the word. Adichie shows us that true feminism is about authenticity—not about conforming to a rigid set of rules or sacrificing your personal style.
Everyday Inequality
Adichie uses personal anecdotes to illustrate the subtle and not-so-subtle ways gender inequality plays out in everyday life. She recalls a childhood moment when, despite getting the highest score on a test, she was denied the role of class monitor because the position was reserved for a boy. This small injustice, she argues, is a symptom of a larger issue.
She also shares stories about her experiences as a woman in Nigeria, from being assumed a sex worker for dining alone to being ignored by hotel staff when accompanied by a male friend. These examples show how deep-seated societal biases can make women feel invisible and undervalued. Adichie’s powerful message is that these "small things" are not insignificant; they are symptoms of a system that believes men matter more than women.
Changing How We Raise Children
One of the most profound sections of the essay is Adichie's critique of how we raise boys and girls. She argues that we trap both genders in rigid boxes. Boys are taught to suppress emotion and link their masculinity to dominance and money, while girls are taught to "shrink themselves," to be likable and accommodating, and to not outshine men. Adichie points out the absurdity of this double standard, particularly with concepts like the word "emasculate" and the pressure on girls to marry.
Instead, she urges us to teach both our sons and daughters to be "full, free, honest versions of themselves." This requires a complete re-evaluation of gender roles and expectations, allowing children to develop their talents and personalities without the constraint of outdated gender norms.
Redefining Culture and Feminism
Adichie confronts the common argument that gender inequality is simply "our culture." She powerfully counters this by reminding us that culture is created by people and, therefore, can be changed. She uses the example of killing twins in Nigeria—a practice that was once part of the culture but has since been abandoned. If a cultural practice causes harm, she asserts, it is our responsibility to change it.
She concludes with a simple, yet revolutionary, definition: "A feminist is a man or a woman who says, 'Yes, there’s a problem with gender as it is today. And we must fix it. We must do better.'"
Adichie's essay is a testament to the idea that gender equality is not just a women's issue—it is a human issue. It affects us all, and it is up to all of us to work towards a more just and equitable world.
Video 3
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's Call to Courage: A Message for All Graduates
In a powerful address to the Harvard Class of 2018, renowned author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie offered a simple, yet profound, piece of advice: "Above all else, do not lie." This message, delivered with her signature blend of wit and wisdom, is not just for Harvard graduates; it's a call to action for everyone navigating an increasingly complex world.
Adichie's speech, titled "Above All Else, Do Not Lie," delves into the political and personal importance of truth. Drawing on her experiences growing up in Nigeria, she reflects on a time when America was seen as a beacon of truth, a place where lies "could never happen." Today, she notes, the line between truth and falsehood has blurred, making the defense of integrity more crucial than ever.
The Power of a "Bullshit Detector"
Adichie's honesty is disarming. She readily admits to her own small lies—about her height, being stuck in traffic—but she distinguishes these from the more significant deceptions that compromise our character. She shares a humbling story of flattering a writer she hadn't read, a moment that taught her the value of a "fantastic bullshit detector." This is a tool we all need, she argues, but it's most important to use it on ourselves.
This self-honesty is the hardest kind, but it is also the most freeing. It means admitting when we've failed, when our work isn't good enough, or when we're hurt instead of angry. While it's uncomfortable to face these truths, Adichie assures us it’s the only way to grow.
The Courage to Be Human
Adichie challenges the graduates, and by extension all of us, to embrace their humanity—to be imperfect and to still do what is right. She urges them to make literature their "religion" and to use it to understand the human story. People are not abstractions; they are "fragile, imperfect, and full of pride." It is this understanding that allows us to act with empathy and courage, even when the stakes are high.
She applauds the students' past activism but reminds them that outside the "Harvard bubble," the consequences are real. Her message is clear: don't provoke for the sake of it, but don't be silent out of fear. And most importantly, resist the easy path of cynicism or "empty cleverness."
Using Your Privilege for Good
Adichie acknowledges the immense privilege that comes with a Harvard degree, or any platform of influence. She encourages the graduates to use their access not for personal gain but to "change a slice of the world." This can be as grand as shaping the media to prioritize truth over profit or as personal as challenging tired assumptions.
Finally, she offers a comforting thought about failure. A degree, no matter how prestigious, does not grant invincibility. She reminds us that doubt and self-belief are both necessary for creating something of value. She concludes with a beautiful Igbo proverb: "Whenever you wake up, that is your morning." What matters is not a perfect, traditional arc, but simply the courage to wake up and try.
Adichie's speech is a powerful reminder that in a world full of noise, the quiet act of telling the truth, both to others and to ourselves, is a revolutionary act. It’s a message that resonates far beyond the walls of Harvard Yard, urging us all to be courageous, to be honest, and to do the necessary work of making the world a little bit better.
Conclusion
Adichie's work, rooted in her own experiences, reminds us of the profound impact of stories on our lives. She shows us that a single story, whether about a person or a place, can rob people of their dignity and humanity. But, just as stories can be used to dispossess and malign, they can also empower and repair. By embracing a variety of narratives, challenging our own biases, and valuing truth and courage in all aspects of life, we can collectively work toward a more complete and honest understanding of the world—a world where we can all be full, free, and true versions of ourselves.
This worksheet is assigned by Dr. Dilip barad sir to critically engage with the film adaptation of The Reluctant Fundamentalist , To explore postcolonial theory such as hybridity, third space, Orientalism, Re-orientalism.
A. Pre-Watching Activities
1. Critical Reading & Reflection
Ania Loomba’s reflections on the “New American Empire” dismantle the simplistic center–margin map of globalization, showing that power now operates through a dispersed network of military, cultural, and economic influence. This network reaches into every corner of the globe, shaping lives without the direct colonial rule of earlier empires. Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri’s Empire similarly reframe globalization as a decentered, deterritorialized system of sovereignty. Power is not solely concentrated in the “West” but circulates through global flows of capital, media, and governance, where nation-states, corporations, and supranational institutions collaborate in maintaining dominance. This moves beyond binaries: Pakistan is not simply a periphery to America’s center—it is enmeshed in the same global capitalist system.
2. Contextual Research
Mohsin Hamid began writing The Reluctant Fundamentalist before September 11, 2001, envisioning a story about a Pakistani man navigating life in the U.S., success in global finance, and questions of belonging. The 9/11 attacks radically altered the narrative’s trajectory. In the post-9/11 climate, suspicion toward Muslim men became institutionalized, and America’s sense of its own invulnerability shifted into a politics of fear and preemptive action. Hamid rewrote the novel to reflect this transformed world, infusing Changez’s personal story with geopolitical urgency. His minimalist dramatic-monologue structure mirrors the paranoia and lack of mutual trust in U.S.–Pakistan relations. The shift from a generic immigrant success narrative to a pointed exploration of surveillance, racial profiling, and ideological suspicion underscores how global events can reshape both personal destinies and artistic visions. Hamid’s rewrite ensures the novel is not just about one man’s disillusionment but about an entire era’s reconfiguration of identity and power.
B. While-Watching Activities
1. Character Conflicts & Themes
Father/Son Generational Split
Changez’s professional ambitions reflect a generational shift from poetry and cultural heritage (embodied by his father’s literary sensibilities) toward corporate efficiency and global capitalism. Symbolically, his immaculate suits and analytical speech patterns contrast with his father’s traditional dress and reflective manner. The tension is understated but underscores a cultural negotiation between rootedness and transnational aspiration.
Changez & Erica
Erica’s inability to fully see Changez as himself—projecting her deceased boyfriend onto him—becomes a metaphor for America’s inability to perceive Pakistan beyond its own narratives. The visual framing often positions Changez slightly blurred or shadowed in Erica’s gaze, signaling emotional and cultural estrangement.
Profit vs. Knowledge
The Istanbul sequence juxtaposes corporate valuations with the city’s layered history. Changez’s boardroom assessments reduce cultural heritage to market figures, while the camera lingers on ancient architecture—inviting viewers to question the commodification of knowledge and the erasure of cultural memory
2. Title Significance & Dual Fundamentalism
The title’s “fundamentalism” operates on dual registers: religious extremism and corporate fundamentalism in the market’s supremacy. The film visually parallels these through the repetition of ritualized spaces—mosques and corporate offices—both sites of disciplined, unquestioned devotion. Changez’s “reluctance” is visible in moments where he hesitates before delivering ruthless corporate verdicts, and later, when he refuses to commit to violent extremism, instead embracing a third space of cultural critique.
3. Empire Narratives
Post-9/11 paranoia is depicted in airport interrogations, FBI tailing, and hostile glances on New York streets. Yet, Mira Nair also stages moments of cross-cultural dialogue—in the Lahore café conversations, in music scenes—that resist binary hostility. Ambiguous framing (shadows, partial reflections) often suggests the viewer’s complicity in stereotyping, pushing us to question the gaze of Empire and our role as witnesses.
C. Post-Watching Activities
1. Discussion Prompts
1. Does the film truly open a space for East–West reconciliation, or do surveillance and mistrust undercut its gestures toward dialogue?
While Mira Nair’s The Reluctant Fundamentalist visually stages numerous moments of cultural exchange—tea shared between Changez and Bobby in Lahore, warm colour palettes during family scenes, and the inclusion of Urdu poetry—the film’s mise-en-scène is equally saturated with symbols of surveillance and latent hostility. Close-up shots of Bobby’s concealed microphone, security checks, and the ever-present armed guards puncture the possibility of full trust. The dialogue often oscillates between sincerity and veiled suspicion, showing that even seemingly open conversations are mediated by the post-9/11 security apparatus. Rather than resolving tensions, the film keeps reconciliation precarious, suggesting that under a global empire, gestures toward dialogue are constantly undercut by systemic mistrust.
2. How does the loss of the novel’s single-voice monologue affect the narrative’s ambiguity in the adaptation? Does the film’s multiple perspectives dilute or enhance the tension?
Hamid’s novel relies on the dramatic monologue, a device that forces the reader to inhabit Changez’s account without external verification, creating a fertile ambiguity where sincerity and manipulation blur. The film replaces this with cross-cutting between Changez’s perspective, Bobby’s point of view, and flashbacks, offering viewers a more conventional narrative structure. While this broadens emotional engagement—allowing us to see Erica’s mental deterioration, Jim’s mentorship, and Bobby’s covert mission—it also risks over-explaining and thus reducing the interpretive space the novel leaves open. However, the tension is not entirely diluted; it is reconfigured. Visual juxtapositions (e.g., Changez’s tender moments with Erica contrasted with scenes of FBI raids) produce a form of cinematic ambiguity where suspicion lingers not in the narrator’s words but in the editing rhythms and framing choices.
2. Reflective Journal
Watching The Reluctant Fundamentalist through the lens of postcolonial theory made me confront the subtle ways I, as a viewer, am positioned within global narratives of identity and power. Before the film, I understood post-9/11 racial profiling and Islamophobia largely as abstract political issues; the adaptation translated these into intimate, human-scale experiences—Changez’s humiliation at the airport, Erica’s inability to truly see him beyond her own grief, and the quiet erosion of trust between him and his American colleagues. These moments forced me to recognise that representation is not merely about who appears on screen, but about how gazes, silences, and narrative control are distributed.
The film shifted my perspective by making me more aware of the “double consciousness” that postcolonial subjects often navigate—constantly performing identity for the dominant gaze while trying to preserve authenticity. It also revealed how global empire operates not only through military or economic dominance but through subtle cultural mechanisms: the corporate ladder, the media’s framing of terrorism, and the romanticisation of certain forms of “acceptable” otherness.
By reflecting on my own viewing position—someone shaped by globalised media, yet also aware of postcolonial histories—I see more clearly how empathy can be compromised by the very systems that produce the stories I consume. This awareness deepens my understanding of postcolonial subjects as negotiating a “third space” (in Homi Bhabha’s sense), where resistance and assimilation are not binary choices but constantly shifting survival strategies.
Reference
Mira Nair, director. The Reluctant Fundamentalist. Doha Film, Institute Mirabai, Films Cine Mosaic, 2013. Accessed 14 August 2025.
This blog is assigned by Dr. Dilip barad sir to critically engage with the Novel Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie , To explore various point like Character Study—Midnight's Children, Narrative Technique—Midnight's Children, Deconstructive Reading of Symbols, Mr. Rushdie and Mrs. Indira Gandhi, Nation and Hybridity: Postcoloniality in Midnight's Children.
Video 1
1. More Than a Machine
The bulldozer starts as a literal piece of construction equipment, but Rushdie uses it as a metaphor that contains two sides—construction and destruction. The etymology of “bulldoze” (to intimidate/coerce) deepens this meaning.
This point sets the foundation. The bulldozer is no longer neutral—it embodies both the promise of progress and the threat of erasure. Rushdie’s choice of this object makes it an ideal vessel for exploring how something designed to build can also be weaponized to destroy.
2. A Symbol of Emergency
Rushdie situates the bulldozer in the historical context of India’s Emergency (1975–77) and Sanjay Gandhi’s slum clearance drives. These events inspired the fictional bulldozer’s role in Midnight’s Children.
The bulldozer here moves from metaphor to historical-political emblem. It represents state overreach, authoritarianism, and the suspension of civil liberties. The Emergency context cements the bulldozer as a recognisable shorthand for state power in moments of crisis.
3. Machinery of Erasure
Rushdie depicts bulldozers literally and symbolically wiping people away—dust covering individuals like ghosts, official language masking chaos, homes snapped like twigs, and lives dismissed as collateral damage.
This is the heart of the metaphor. The bulldozer becomes the tool of a state that erases not only physical spaces but also dignity, humanity, and voice. The “machinery” is not just mechanical—it’s bureaucratic and ideological, operating with chilling efficiency to overwrite memory and identity.
4. Losing a Piece of History
The destruction of the silver spittoon is equated with the loss of freedom. It’s not about the object’s monetary value—it’s about its role as the last physical link to family, identity, and heritage.
This personalises the political. The bulldozer doesn’t just flatten houses—it obliterates individual histories. Rushdie uses the intimate loss of a single object to mirror the collective loss experienced by a community, making the tragedy emotionally tangible for the reader.
5. A Timeless Symbol
Even decades later, the bulldozer remains a potent emblem of coercive state power. The metaphor resonates globally, wherever governments use the language of “improvement” to mask displacement or erasure.
The bulldozer escapes its original time and place, becoming a universally recognisable image of authoritarian control. Rushdie’s use ensures the reader keeps questioning who benefits and who disappears when power is exercised under the guise of progress.
Video 2
1. Need to Study the Narrative Before the Film
Before watching the film adaptation of Midnight’s Children, it’s essential to understand the novel’s narrative design because the film does not fully replicate the structure or techniques Rushdie employs in the text. The book, studied as a postcolonial work, combines multiple storytelling traditions and intentionally disrupts conventional Western realism. Its layered narration, temporal shifts, and cultural references create an experience that cinema, due to its time and format constraints, can only partially capture. Without grasping these features, viewers may miss the richness of its form and meaning.
2. Hybridization of Techniques
Rushdie fuses Western postmodernist strategies with Eastern oral storytelling traditions, creating a narrative that is both experimental and deeply rooted in Indian culture. The Western side contributes the novel form itself, attention to historical realism, and Aristotelian cause-and-effect logic, while the Eastern side adds the “masala” quality—episodic adventures, fantastical incidents, and mythic echoes. This blending produces a hybrid narrative form that reflects India’s colonial past and postcolonial identity, making the story a literary embodiment of cultural fusion.
3. “Story Within a Story” Structure
Western frame narrative metaphors:
Russian dolls – A narrative structure where stories are placed one inside another, like nested dolls, with each inner story revealing more depth or a new perspective on the outer one.
Chinese boxes – A frame-within-a-frame approach where narrators or contexts keep shifting, giving the reader layered points of view and an evolving interpretation of events.Examples – In Frankenstein, the story moves from Walton’s letters to Frankenstein’s account, and then to the creature’s own voice, echoing Plato’s layered dialogues.
Indian oral narrative parallels:
Panchatantra – A wise Brahmin, Vishnu Sharma, teaches a king’s foolish sons life skills through a chain of animal fables, each carrying moral lessons that connect back to the main frame story.
Kathasaritsagara – Begins with Shiva telling tales to Parvati, which are passed through Gunadhya and Somadeva before reaching Queen Suryavati, creating multiple storytelling layers.
Vikram–Betal – King Vikramaditya repeatedly carries the spirit Betal, who tells him a moral tale each time, ending with a riddle that forces Vikram to start the journey over.
Simhasana Battisi – King Bhoja is stopped by 32 magical statues, each narrating a story about King Vikramaditya’s virtues before allowing him to sit on the throne.
Arabian Nights (Alif Laila) – Scheherazade keeps herself alive by telling King Shahryar a new story every night, each tale leading into another, sustaining suspense and delay.
4. Mythological Storytelling as Frame
In Indian epics, stories are often framed by a larger mythic context that shapes the audience’s understanding. TheRamayanabegins with Valmiki’s philosophical question to Narada, which sets the stage for Rama’s story, while theMahabharata is told through multiple narrators across generations. Modern dramatists like Girish Karnad adopt this method, using myths as frames to comment on human nature and contemporary life. In all cases, the frame narrative gives cultural resonance and emotional depth to the embedded tales.
5. Application in Midnight’s Children
Rushdie adapts the frame narrative concept through the metaphor of pickle jars, each preserving a specific memory or chapter from the narrator’s life. Saleem tells his story to Padma in a way reminiscent of Scheherazade in Arabian Nights, where storytelling becomes an act of survival and identity-making. The 30 jars correspond to the 30 chapters of the novel, with one left empty, suggesting the open-endedness of history and personal memory. This structure both organizes the novel and emphasizes the act of preservation through storytelling.
6. Fusion of Western & Eastern Devices
Western
Eastern/Indian
Unreliable narrator
Sutradhar/Natya style
Social realism, historical events
Magical realism, fantasy
Historiographic metafiction
Mythic parody, episodic frames
Myth for universality
Myth for parody and cultural satire
7. Significance of the Structure
The novel’s structure is not an ornamental device but a core element of its meaning. Rushdie’s layered narration mirrors the fragmented nature of memory and the subjective retelling of history. By embedding stories within stories and using the pickle jar metaphor, he underscores how myths, historical facts, and personal experiences are all subject to alteration over time. The form itself becomes a commentary on the nature of truth, suggesting that all narratives—whether epic, historical, or personal—are essentially “pickled” interpretations.
8. Film Adaptation Limitations
Translating the complex structure of Midnight’s Children into film presents significant challenges. The cinematic medium often demands a more linear, time-bound narrative, which means much of the novel’s multi-layered storytelling, shifting perspectives, and embedded tales are lost. While Rushdie contributed to the screenplay, the adaptation cannot fully replicate the richness of the novel’s chutnified narrative. A long-form web series or multi-episode adaptation might be better suited to preserving the book’s intricate storytelling methods.
This worksheet is assigned by Dr. Dilip barad sir to critically engage with the film adaptation of the novel , To explore postcolonial themes such as hybrid identity, narration of the nation, and the politics of English, To foster reflective and analytical thinking through guided activities.
Pre-viewing Activities
1. Who narrates history — the victors or the marginalized? How does this relate to personal identity?
History has traditionally been narrated by the victors, who control records and shape events to legitimize their dominance, often silencing or distorting the voices of the marginalized. However, counter-histories from oppressed groups challenge these dominant narratives, revealing overlooked truths and complexities. This directly impacts personal identity — when only the victor’s version is told, marginalized communities inherit a fractured or erased sense of self, while recovering suppressed histories allows them to reclaim pride, agency, and authenticity. In essence, the storyteller of history shapes the collective memory that individuals draw upon to understand who they are.
2. What makes a nation? Is it geography, governance, culture, or memory?
A nation is shaped by the interplay of geography, governance, culture, and memory, but it can survive even if some of these elements are absent. Geography provides physical boundaries, governance offers political structure, and culture fosters shared traditions, language, and values. Yet memory — the collective story of a people’s past, struggles, and aspirations — often proves the most enduring, sustaining nationhood even in exile or under foreign rule. Ultimately, a nation is less about fixed borders and more about a shared sense of belonging, imagined and reinforced through the narratives its people hold in common.
3. Can language be colonized or decolonized? Think about English in India.
Language can be both colonized and decolonized, and English in India is a prime example. Introduced by the British as a tool of control and elitism, it initially marginalized local languages and served colonial interests. Over time, however, Indians reshaped English by infusing it with native idioms, cultural references, and hybrid forms like Hinglish, transforming it into a vehicle for their own stories and identities. While it still carries social privilege and can perpetuate inequality, its Indianized forms show that it has been reclaimed — no longer solely the colonizer’s tool, but a language adapted for self-expression and cultural ownership.
While -Watching Activities
Opening Scene — Nation & Identity
In the opening scene of Midnight’s Children, Saleem begins narrating his life by linking his birth on 15 August 1947 — the exact moment of India’s independence — with the birth of the nation, immediately merging personal biography with national history. This makes Saleem a living metaphor for India itself, his life unfolding as a reflection of the country’s journey. Saleem’s personal history becomes one such shared narrative, embodying the hopes, struggles, and contradictions of the newly independent state.
Saleem & Shiva’s Birth Switch — Hybridity
Midnight’s Children, the birth switch between Saleem and Shiva occurs when a nurse exchanges the two infants at birth, resulting in Saleem — born to a poor family — being raised in wealth, while Shiva — born into privilege — grows up in poverty. This reversal produces hybrid identities in which each boy is biologically tied to one social group but socially and politically embedded in another. Saleem embodies privilege without lineage, while Shiva possesses lineage without privilege, together reflecting the fractured yet interconnected nature of India’s post-independence identity. This fluidity aligns with Homi Bhabha’s concept of the “Third Space,” where identities are not fixed but negotiated between cultures, classes, and histories. The motif also mirrors the real dislocation of the postcolonial period, when colonialism had upended traditional social hierarchies, leaving behind complex, layered, and often contradictory identities that challenge clear-cut divisions of class and heritage.
Saleem’s Narration — Reliability & Metafiction
In Midnight’s Children, Saleem narrates his life story in a highly self-conscious manner, frequently questioning his own memory and accuracy, which immediately signals his role as an unreliable narrator. This narrative choice compels viewers to question the “truth” of history itself, implying that national histories, much like personal accounts, are not fixed records but constructed, subjective interpretations open to revision. Rushdie himself has remarked that memory is “a way of shaping the past,” and the film preserves this metafictional quality, reminding audiences that the history of a nation, like that of an individual, is always a selective, interpretive, and often contested narrative.
Emergency Period Depiction — Democracy & Freedom
In Midnight’s Children, the Emergency of 1975–77 is depicted through mass sterilizations, demolitions, the imprisonment of the Midnight’s Children, and the silencing of dissent, critiquing how post-independence democracy was eroded by authoritarian rule. Reflecting historical realities — over 11 million coerced sterilizations, jailed political opponents, and curtailed press freedom — the film uses Saleem’s experiences to show that independence did not guarantee liberty, as internal abuses of power could be as oppressive as colonial rule.
Use of English/Hindi/Urdu — Linguistic Identity
In Midnight’s Children, code-switching blends English with Hindi and Urdu words like yara (friend), kachcha (raw/incomplete), badmaash (rascal), and duniya (world), as in “Arre my God they found the badmaash! It came to our own duniya.” Such “Indian English” mirrors India’s postcolonial hybridity, where English — a colonial inheritance — is infused with native vocabulary and rhythms. This refusal to translate terms, much like Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o’s idea of decolonizing language, asserts cultural identity and resists linguistic homogenization.
Reference :
Mehta, Deepa, director. Midnight's Children. 2012. Accessed 12 August 2025.
Rushdie, Salman. “Midnight’s Children : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming.” Internet Archive, archive.org/details/MidnightsChildren. Accessed 12 Aug. 2025.
Comment on the ironic mode of ‘The Patriot’ by Nissim Ezekiel.
Introduction :
Nissim Ezekiel’s The Patriot is a satirical monologue that makes clever use of irony to critique shallow nationalism and uninformed patriotism. Through the voice of a self-declared “true Indian,” the poem humorously exposes the contradictions, ignorance, and superficiality that often characterize performative displays of love for the nation. Irony is the central device Ezekiel uses to turn the speaker’s grand claims into sources of both comedy and reflection.
Comment on the ironic mode of ‘The Patriot’ by Nissim Ezekiel
The speaker of the poem uses Indianised English, full of grammatical errors and awkward expressions. While this might appear funny, it is also symbolic of his confused thought process. He makes bold statements like “I am standing for peace and non-violence,” and “All are brothers, no one is enemy,” without offering any real logic or plan. These statements are full of contradictions—he claims to oppose violence but talks about punishing people harshly. This use of verbal irony shows that what the speaker says and what he actually means are very different.
Ezekiel also employs dramatic irony, where the audience understands the flaws and confusion in the speaker’s words, but the speaker remains unaware. The man proudly claims he can solve the nation’s problems and unite everyone, but his arguments are weak, clichéd, and contradictory. His desire to go to the Himalayas and live like a saint if things go wrong reveals his tendency to escape from responsibility—another ironic contradiction to his claim of being a “true patriot.”
The title of the poem itself is deeply ironic. A “patriot” is someone who truly understands, serves, and sacrifices for their country. But the speaker in the poem does none of these things. Instead, he makes exaggerated statements, misuses political and religious ideas, and tries to appear intelligent without truly understanding the issues. This contrast between the title and the actual content creates a powerful satirical effect.
Ezekiel’s use of Indian English is also an important tool of irony. The speaker tries to sound educated and modern, but his broken language reflects the confusion of postcolonial Indian identity—trying to mix Western ideas with Indian realities, often without much understanding of either. His misplaced confidence adds to the humour and makes him a symbol of those who speak loudly in the name of the nation but don’t truly engage with its complexities.
Despite the humour, Ezekiel’s tone is not cruel. He is not mocking an individual, but a mindset—a type of nationalism that is loud, shallow, and confused. Through irony, he encourages readers to think more deeply about what it means to be patriotic.
Conclusion
The ironic mode in The Patriot is central to its meaning. Through humour, contradiction, and an unreliable narrator, Nissim Ezekiel critiques blind patriotism and shallow political views. The poem challenges us to see beyond slogans and emotional speeches, urging us to adopt a more informed and sincere form of nationalism.
Short question
Explain Nissim Ezekiel as the true Patriot.
Nissim Ezekiel can be seen as a true patriot not because he glorifies India blindly, but because he dares to examine its flaws with honesty, care, and humor. In his poem The Patriot, Ezekiel presents a speaker who proclaims himself as a “true Indian” and makes exaggerated claims about bringing peace and solving national problems. However, the speaker’s broken English, confused thoughts, and contradictory statements expose the hollowness of such shallow nationalism.
Through this satirical portrayal, Ezekiel critiques a kind of patriotism that is loud but uninformed. The speaker in The Patriot misuses political slogans, shows little understanding of complex issues, and switches quickly from confidence to escapism—saying he will go to the Himalayas if his plans fail. This character reflects many people in society who use patriotic language without real knowledge or commitment.
In contrast, Ezekiel’s own approach to patriotism is much deeper and more sincere. He shows that true love for the country involves critical thinking, self-reflection, and the courage to question what is wrong. His poetry does not aim to insult India but to hold a mirror to it. By highlighting issues like communalism, corruption, and political confusion through irony and humour, Ezekiel encourages his readers to become more aware and responsible citizens.
Moreover, Ezekiel writes in Indianised English, a deliberate choice that connects him with everyday Indian speech. This adds authenticity to his work and shows his deep engagement with Indian identity and culture. He does not reject Indian reality or blindly follow Western ideals. Instead, he uses his literary voice to reflect the true conditions of society and inspire thoughtful change.
In this way, Nissim Ezekiel emerges as a true patriot—someone who believes that questioning, correcting, and caring for the country are essential parts of loving it. His patriotism is quiet, thoughtful, and reformative, not loud or performative. By using poetry as a tool for truth and reflection, Ezekiel serves his nation with honesty, humility, and hope.
Group Discussion :
Which poem and questions were discussed by the group?
1) Rutvi Pal: About poet: Nissim Ezekiel
2) Devangini Vyas: Plot summary of the poem
3) Shrusti Chaudhari: Critical Analysis
4) Trupti Hadiya: Stanza vice thematic study
5) Rajdeep Bavaliya: Nissem Ezekiel’s poem “The Patriot” can be – and has been – read in at least two conflicting ways: as a satire and mockery of the speaker of the poem, and as an affectionate portrayal of the poem’s speaker.
6) Sagar Bokadiya: Is the speaker’s broken English meant to be satirical, sympathetic, or both? How does Ezekiel balance humor and respect in his portrayal of the speaker?
7) Krishna Vala : Style and Form
Which points were easy and which ones were difficult for everyone in your group to understand?
Mostly the all topics are easy according to me. I thing the question about irony is difficult but in group discussion i get the point.
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