On my first day in Law School, as a vaguely clueless kid, all of seventeen years, I entered the library, and wandered around until I found my way to the top floor. Seeing a senior sitting there, I went up to him, and asked, “Could you recommend to me a book about the law?” He looked at me quizzically. “What do you mean by that?” “You know… a book about what law is.” By now, he’d probably recognised that I was a first year, and utterly lost. “Do you mean jurisprudence?” I’d heard my father once talk about “jurisprudence” as if it was something nice. I nodded vaguely. “I don’t know. I think so.” He grinned. “You do mean jurisprudence. Come with me.” He took me to the NLS Juris section, and pulled out The Concept of Law. ”Here, this should give you a good place to start.” He paused. “Or, if you’re feeling adventurous…” He walked a little distance, and pulled out a purple book with a vaguely statuesque, wreathed female figure on the cover, and the emblazoned title that read: Taking Rights Seriously. He grinned again. “Try this. And in your next legal methods class, tell Rahul Singh that you’ve been reading Dworkin.”

And that was the first time I heard the name of Ronald Dworkin, a name that would go on to become one of the most familiar things in the world, conjuring up, the moment it was spoken, a raft of thoughts, feelings, emotions, memories. I didn’t read Taking Rights Seriously, then. I didn’t read jurisprudence at all, through my first year of college. But then came constitutional law. Suddenly, there were a host of issues that I found myself passionately interested in. Free speech. The freedom of religion. Equality. Personal liberty. What were these words that sounded so alluring, and yet bore the faintly vague promise of the breaking of barriers, of constraints, of… danger? What did they mean? What were all these arguments about? I went back to the juris and the political philosophy shelves, and quite by chance, my eyes alighted upon Freedom’s Law. I took a look at the list of contents. Seemed interesting enough. I took it down and started to read. And a world exploded in my head. A constitutive conception of democracy. What was this radical way of thinking, about a democracy that didn’t treat the vote of the majority as determinative? What were these words, “equal concern and respect“, that seemed to lie at the heart of a new, compelling order of things? And above all else, the writing, oh, the writing, so beautiful, so simple, so elegant, so utterly, absolutely, bewitchingly compelling. I was hooked. I read Freedom’s Law. I read A Matter of Principle. I tried to read Taking Rights Seriously. I don’t think I understood much, back then (I don’t know how much I understand now). But I knew that I had found a voice that spoke to me, a voice that made thinking seem beautiful, a voice that, by turns, surprised, astounded, bewildered and outraged, but never failed to inspire.

Because Dworkin didn’t just write legal or political philosophy; he created a world, a world that you wanted to believe in with all your heart, to argue for, to fight to build and protect, if it came to that. It was a world of liberal egalitarianism, of individual rights, of strong and principled judicial ‘activism’ (a word that I know D would disapprove of), a world of – to use his own words – “equal concern and respect“. A world of Brown v Board of Education, Roe v Wade, American Booksellers v Hudnut and Lawrence v Texas. I am no longer as entranced by that world as I once was; but Dworkin, as its exponent, was utterly convincing.

In my fourth year, after having read and re-read Dworkin’s political philosophy, I finally summoned up the courage to tackle Law’s Empire. And, just like in the case of TRS, I felt the frisson all over again, and in all its glory. Interpretation. What a marvelous idea. The philosophers of courtesy. Interpretive concepts. And then came that bit about intention, literary theory, art and constructive interpretation. It was frisson after frisson then, explosion after explosion, a hurricane, a typhoon of ideas swirling in my head, clashing dissonantly with each other, din, chaos, confusion, disharmony, disarray, and oh, all so beautiful. Dilthey. Gadamer. Habermas. Stanley Cavell. Language. Literature. Law. Hamlet, for heaven’s sake! If there has ever been a time when a single text transformed my life, it was the time I first read Chapter Two of Law’s Empire. It changed the way I read, the way I understood, it changed the very way that I thought. And everything that I’ve done since then can, I think, in one way, be traced back to that wild, trembling reading of Chapter Two.

I read all of Law’s Empire, went back and read Taking Rights Seriously, and then back and forth, criss-crossing through Dworkin’s corpus. Gradually he converted me from being vehemently anti-abortion to qualifiedly pro, from being in favour of banning pornography to being entirely opposed to any form of ban, from being supportive of restrictions on free speech to being in opposition to them. In short, I was moving across the spectrum from social conservative to social liberal, purely on the reasoned eloquence, the gentle yet firm and persistant argumentation, and the utterly inspiring vision of Ronald Dworkin. He was a segue into other things: Rawls, Hart, Raz, Berlin, Hayek, Nozick – Dworkin was the foundation, the starting point, the fount of ideas and engagements, and the ultimate point of comparison. When I came out of college, I had developed – in however vague and ill-defined a sense – a “philosophy of life”. At the heart of it was Dworkinian liberalism.

And that, I think, is what makes Ronald Dworkin so special, so central, so integral a figure in my own, individual life’s journey. There is a time in our lives, I feel, when we first experience the need to define ourselves for ourselves, and to position ourselves in relation to others, to the rest of the world. A time in our lives when we first feel the irresistible pull of those tortuous, haunting questions: how should I live? What ought I do? What is true, good, right, just? What is the meaning of it all? It is a time when we first begin to struggle with our own sense of the self, and with a world that is out of joint, where everything seems by turns senseless and hopeless, when nihilism is a step and a shadow away. And I think that at that time, there is nothing more important than to have a guide, a Virgil taking Dante through hell, a set of signposts, a voice that can bring a semblance of order to the maelstrom of our thoughts. And I don’t mean someone who can give us answers – but rather, a compass, a point of reference, that safe harbour from which we can begin our journey, always knowing that we can sail back to it for a while, to rest and recover, if the open sea becomes too frightening. Someone who can set us thinking, in some direction. The rest, I believe, is up to us – but the point of reference is critical. Dworkin was – is – my point of reference.

I’m grateful to Dworkin because I cannot imagine having selected – albeit through pure luck – a better point of reference. That is not because I think he’s correct (I don’t anymore, not entirely), but because he taught me to think. He taught me to question the premises of every argument, to critically imagine my own deepest, most naked convictions, to follow where the argument leads, and above all else, to never stop arguing, questioning and thinking. He taught me that there are no absolutes, no positions that are beyond criticism, modification or reversal, no questions that are or can be off the table, no ideas that ought ever to be taken for granted. For six years, since the time I first ‘discovered’ him, he has been with me, that voice, again, that always reminds me to take nothing for granted, assume no axioms, establish no postulates, think, think, think. But parallel to that, he has taught me also that there are questions worth thinking about; things that matter, issues that count. He has saved me from both mocking cynicism and Thrasymachean amoralism, one of which two seem to infect so many of the people I see around me, and in doing so, has taught me to believe that there can be a meaning to life, and that one must always strive to seek it, even though, like the horizon, it always recedes from your grasp. I do not think that there can be a greater service that one human being may render to another.

I came to Oxford a confirmed Dworkinian. Not the most comfortable of positions to take in the home of analytical positivism. I was apprehensive, at the beginning of the BCL year, that the heirs of Joseph Raz would, through sheer intellectual power, convert me to their side, and the vision of Dworkin was one that I did not want to give up. The exact opposite happened. I brought all my Dworkinian bloody-mindedness to class, spending all my year defending – or trying to defend – Dworkin. I told Professor John Gardner that he perhaps hadn’t quite taken theoretical disagreement into account.  I spoke about plovers’ eggs to Professor Green. I took along Law’s Empire to Professor Finnis’ class, holding it up and reading out passages like some circus showman, to make the point that Dworkin had been misrepresented by his critics. I suggested to Professor Endicott that, if he examined his own position closely enough, he would find that he was a Dworkinian. I texted my friend telling him that Nicos Stavropoulos’ exegesis of Dworkinian interpretivism was so beautiful, that it showed Dworkin’s structure for the magnificent, coherent whole that it was so perfectly, that it had brought tears to my eyes. I walked with another friend in the Balliol Fellows’ Garden, saying things like “But why can’t they bloody see that Dworkin is just… bloody… right! It’s blindingly obvious… isn’t it?” I messaged a third with stuff like “Today, I argued for fifteen minutes with Professor Endicott, and at the end he said… “that’s… interesting.” Yes!!!” It was the taking up of lances, the riding out the joust, the thrill of (trying to) cross swords with the foremost men of jurisprudence, in defence of a man and a set of ideas that I was passionately committed to. It was fun. It was brilliant. It was life. And then, in the middle of the year,Justice for Hedgehogs came out. I bought my copy at Blackwell’s the first time I saw it, and stayed up all night reading it. It was, of course, the last of Dworkin’s books, and the last of my frissons on reading a new Dworkin work. It was a beautiful synthesis, the coming together of a lifetime’s work on law, politics and moral philosophy; and as I read it that night I saw, once and only once, not just law, but the world, the whole world, according to Dworkin: coherence, elegance, simplicity, beauty – the final, harmonious coming together of all things. I have never seen it that way since, but the blinding power of that vision has remained with me, and one of the most beautiful things that Dworkin has done for me is to make me believe if for but one moment, that such a world is possible to imagine.

I applied for an MPhil on Dworkin (of course). What better way to spend a year than reading Dworkin? And over the last few months, the journey has taken me to wild and unexpected places: to literary theory, via Stanley Fish, Derrida, Bakhtin and Foucault; to the philosophy of language, via Wittgenstein, McDowell and Hacker; to aesthetics, via Roger Scruton; and to radical political theory, via Marx. It’s been utterly wild. I’ve gone off in random directions based on my hunches on reading a line in Law’s Empire here, a sentence in Hedgehogs there, a phrase in TRS, and so on. Yet although it’s been random, it’s been incredibly enriching. Although I now find myself disagreeing with Dworkin as much as I agree with him, although I no longer find the ideal of coherence and harmony as compelling as I once did, it’s because he created in me the urge to question. And although I am as confused and lost as I was six years ago, it’s been some ride along the way!

I had a dream. That after finishing my MPhil, I would send it to Dworkin, and he would tell me what he thought - whatever it was – about my bumbling, year-long efforts to defend his legal philosophy against the positivists. I did dream of finally meeting him, and I imagined our conversation many, many times in my head. Now time has killed the dream… like it kills so much else.

–

In my journey along the path I have taken, the study of law, there are two men without whom I would (for better or for worse) be nothing today. One of them is gone. That’s why, today, I feel bereft. That’s why, despite never having met the man, I feel like I’ve lost someone very close to a parent. Although I will return to his work, now, and in the future, again and again and again, I can never again imagine the presence behind those beautiful words. That voice, so powerful, so eloquent, so… liberal, is forever stilled. And the world is a poorer place for it.

What comforts me is that until the very end, he wrote. He wrote in defence of the causes he believed in, the ideas he was passionate about, the things he thought mattered most. He was shattering his lances in the joust even as death whispered a lullaby, he was on the field until the last sun set forever. Like Voltaire, nothing could halt his pen but the grave. And for me, there can be no better example of a life lived well and long, in service of cause and ideal. If I can die like that after having lived like that, I think I will die happy. Because, as Dworkin once told us…

“On occasions like this one it is hard to resist speaking directly to young scholars who have not yet joined a doctrinal army. So I close with this appeal to those of you who plan to take up legal philosophy. When you do, take up philosophy’s rightful burdens, and abandon the cloak of neutrality. Speak for Mrs Sorensen and for all the others whose fate depends upon novel claims about what the law already is. Or, if you can’t speak for them, at least speak to them, and explain why they have no right to what they ask. Speak to the lawyers and judges who must puzzle about what to do with the new Human Rights Act. Don’t tell the judges that they should exercise their discretion as they think best. They want to know how to understand the Act as law, how to decide, and from what record, how freedom and equality have now been made not just political ideals but legal rights. If you help them, if you speak to the world in this way, then you will remain more true to Herbert Hart’s passion and genius than if you follow his narrower ideas about the character and limits of analytic jurisprudence. I warn you, however, that if you set out in this way, then you are in grave danger of being, well, interesting.”

[Image Attribution: By David Shankbone. (Own work.) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0) or GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)], via Wikimedia Commons]

1.         Scott Pilgrim vs. the World

A movie for all ages, seasons and moods. The quest of Scott Pilgrim to fight the seven super human evil exes of Ramona (“prepare to face the wrath of the league of evil exes”) to fight for her love may sound incredulous but unless you have watched the movie, you can’t imagine the visual imagery which grips you and knocks you out at the same time. There is hardly a second where the movie slows down or becomes boring and the only way you can get up to get popcorn is if you pause the movie. Although I am no authority on graphic novels, but this is the most seamless conversion of a comic book into a film that I have seen. The transitions between the shots almost feel like turning over of pages and the visual effects seem right out of a comic book. Funny, sweet and with a thumping soundtrack. Yup, this one can be watched all day long.

2.         Zombieland / Shaun of the Dead

These are two of my favourite zombie movies. It is difficult to enjoy zombie movies that take themselves too seriously. I mean come on? The concept is inherently funny although slightly scary as well. Both these movies make sure that while they are spoofs of zombie movies, the chills are still there. The acting in top notch in both of them and so are the witty lines. It doesn’t matter if you have seen the movies earlier or not. If they are coming on TV, you can start watching them from any point of time and still enjoy them. Favourite sequences? The Bill Murray cameo in Zombieland is totally out of the blue and makes it difficult to not fall off the chair. In Shaun of the Dead, after the zombie epidemic being brought under control, the news reports with footage of zombies being very efficient at menial jobs seems quite believable!

3.         Fight Club

There are two kinds of people in this world. Those who love Fight Club and those who have never punched a wall in frustration. The latter will eventually come around. Describing the plot would be futile as most of us have watched Fight Club, quoted its dialogues on rooftops when drunk and in vivas when sober. Anyone who has spent more than a day behind a computer screen in a glass and concrete building can see the logic of Tyler Durden. The way you look at demo safety instructions in flights changes forever after watching this film and so does the way you look at a black eye.

4.         Devil Wears Prada

Yes, some chick flicks can be good. Okay I can’t think of too many right now but this one definitely is right up there. Firstly, there is Anne Hathway. Secondly, ah, there is Anne Hathway in those nice dresses. And yeah, there is Meryl Streep and Emily Blunt as well. Seriously though the movie strikes a chord with anyone who has felt a bit lost at a new job or wondered what goes inside the heads of ‘oohh…I just lovvee your shoes’ kind of people. Its sharp, smart and comes with a small dose of moral science.

5.         Vicky Christina Barcelona/  Midnight in Paris

These last two Woody Allen movies have been really entertaining. Although only the latter has got critical appreciation and an Oscar but both of them with an intoxicating blend of beautiful locations, attractive women, fantasy stories and soothing soundtracks make for some really delightful repeated watching. People always have interesting and witty conversations in Woody Allen’s films but these two films have been exceptionally easy on the eyes as well.

6.         Main Hoon Naa

There was something really fresh about this movie. SRK was actually playing an older guy, Sushmita Sen was looking hot, you could watch a movie with Zayed Khan without walking out of it and Suniel Shetty was really unintentionally funny. Okay, strike the last one out. Suniel Shetty has always been unintentionally funny. But the point is that even after repeated viewing this film remains entertaining for its unashamed and ridiculous ‘tribute’ to the bollywood style of filmmaking.

7.         Spy Game

There is never a bad time for a good spy thriller. This one is really slick even after ten years of its release. It does not have too much action (which gets boring on repeated viewing), has two really stylish actors in Robert Redford and Brad Pitt and a very smart script which jumps between Redford sitting in a room answering investigators and fragments of his stories scattered all over the world over a number of years. And all this while there is a tension sword hanging with Brad Pitt about to be executed in a few hours at a Chinese prison. What it lacks in terms of details and depth, it more than makes up with style and pace.

8.         The John Cusack films 

John Cusack is a genre unto himself. In a series of films like High Fidelity, Grosse Pointe Blank and Say Anything, he plays a very likable guy who is struggling amongst other things to understand women. In High Fidelity he is always making lists including that of his top ten break-ups. In Grosse Pointe Blank, he is a professional killer nearing nervous breakdown while attending his high school reunion and meeting his high school sweet heart. In Say Anything he is a guy who realizes how fortunate he is for the most beautiful girl has fallen for him and is willing to build his life around her. In all of these, he is eminently likable and sincere while being funny and genuinely confused like, well, you would be.

9.         2012/ Tron Legacy

I am going to be a bit snobbish here and include two movies which look really good if watched on HD or blue ray. Many people criticize 2012 for its crater sized plot holes and scientific inaccuracies but as far as I am concerned, a disaster movie does not have to be scientifically accurate and therefore it does not matter if it’s a little exaggeration or completely unbelievable. What 2012 delivers is on stunning visual effects. And by stunning, I mean effects which watched on HD or blue ray clarity are impossible to look away from. My only fear is that 2012 may have killed off the genre of disaster movies as there does not seem to be anything left to destroy for future movies. Tron Legacy is another really slick movie with a soundtrack to jump off the roof. The virtual world as well as the shots of the real world are quite breathtaking. So are the two actresses who play Quorra and Gem. Having Jeff Bridges doesn’t hurt the acting department even though there is very little left for the actors to do. It’s really difficult to think of any other guy who’d be taken seriously after saying. “Hey…you are messing with my zen thing man..”.

10.       The Scream series

Anyone who loves horror movies would love the Scream movie series and so would anyone who likes comedies. The series is quite innovative in the way it creates a world of slasher horror movies in which the script as well as the characters are aware of the clichés of horror movies. Every movie feels like a fanboy paying tribute to horror movies all the while keeping it extremely funny and yes, scary as well. The motives of killers seem to be satirical as well but then serial killers need motives as much as action heroes need band-aids.

One of the absurd arguments I foisted on her (anon has to be a lady in her mid 30s, I can tell from the writing) was that when a movie that succeeds at the box office, it is the film critic’s humble duty to investigate the formula that makes it a commercial success. To my credit, I did not descend into a classic fine arts (or who is post-moderner) debate about the meaning of art etc., where I would stand on weak ground and sink into the pit I have been digging for myself. I went on – Why investigate the formula of commercial success? It helps us understand the audience to whom we (eventually we hope to) sell our work. Don’t be snobbish about commercial Indian cinema my dear, isn’t it that you are just unable to appreciate the magic behind Ghajini, Dev D or for that matter, Dabangg? You must realize that it does not convey your evolved sense of artistic merit but a void in your understanding of your audience. The villain of the piece is not the ‘big production house’ but your disconnect with the audience. No cold water on your arthouse, no. Just your arrogance, where is the humility to learn what does well? Take a leaf out of my book, and push cinema beyond you and the audience, into newer and more fantastic film-making times.

I riled on and on.  As you can see, I didnt make much sense. Not to anon, not to myself, not to anyone. Film critics dont budge in their assessment of cinematic merit just because the large number of the ignorant tremendously enjoy a most pathetic piece of work. As a film critic, it is expertise, my sense of cinema that guides me in my assessment, not my arrogance or my superior ability to decipher artistic merit. No.

So with that thought, I decided not to select movies to review based on opening weekend box office collections. It used to be a fairly objective criteria for picking movies to review, that and ofcourse – Vidya Balan. Without the first to fall back on, the latter becomes now my sole selection criterion for reviewing a movie. I dont see why else I must put myself through the pain. The kind of pain undertaken by professional film critics who have to go and watch everything that comes out, whether they like it or not and then talk about whether they like it or not.

Coming back to the point, what I did not do with Kahaani (wow, falls within my criterion!) was look at opening weekend box office collections. I also did not read other people’s reviews and paid no heed to the facebook feed. The last thing I am going to do with this one, is investigate the mood of the unschooled birdbrained ‘public’. Until the critic speaks, the rest can banter. I will delve into technique, casting, characters, narrative, plot, camera, direction, script, unravel merits and scoff at faults, with an arrogant all-knowing vehemence. I’ll wear my favorite smug look as I make or break films and film-makers, and their ideas. I don’t follow trends, I reflect the one and only trend. My thoughts are always the crucial one step ahead of time! (breaking paragraph to insert item picture before I fall in love with myself completely).

I watched Kahaani the evening before. If it was terrible, like all movies I review (and dont!) are, it would have been simple. I would return and vent something balanced on the side of negative, grunt a few good one-liners, and pick up a few things from here and there to over-analyze (like I did with The Dirty Picture). But no, I actually thought Kahaani is good. Precarious position. I felt the same as I do when as a lawyer I find that there is absolutely no reason my client should be worried. Golden rule of lawyering, if your client has nothing to worry about, that’s your most serious worry. You will procrastinate forever, put a few junior colleagues on a spit then toast them black before you give your client a reluctant go-ahead. Much the same with saying nice things about a movie?

Decided to I sleep over these thoughts after watching Kahaani the other evening. Didn’t wake up to much inspiration. What with Sachin Tendulkar and Pranab Mukherjee competing for attention (the cricket match and stock markets ending on the same high note). The little break before writing the movie I thought was a good idea. Always think a second time before you say something nice Suhas. Soon, I also began to realize that my multiple experiments with inventing criticism for Kahaani only ended up in nitpicking rants. The kind that readers will soon consider in the wrong spirit, or worse – WHATEVER (like this one by confused-as-hell Rajeev Masand).

Just when I attempted to constipate my appreciation of Kahaani, came this review by Mukul Sharma.  A mix of relief and consternation. Relief because if Kahaani sucks in retrospect, forgotten by cinema or ranked as a lesser achievement than Vidya Balan’s role in Hum Paanch it is Mukul Sharma’s (doubtful) credentials as a film critic on the line, and not my (doubtful) reputation! Consternation because Vidya Balan has become selective about the films she signs up for, and releases at most 2 or what 3 movies a year? By posting on CT a review of one of few movies that I review every year, Mukul Sharma is the (proverbial) cat urinating on my side of the wood.

I did accuse him of pre-emptive plagiarism, while he harped about first-mover’s advantage. I take this opportunity to remind my loyal readers that we will NOT go down without a fight. Until I do, I persuade all of you to absorb my views on Kahaani which you will find here, very fluently articulated and to the point! Your trusted film critic never fails to disappoint.

In this context, Jeremy Patashnik, student of EC 10 wrote his “In Defense of EC 10.” Patashnik insisted that the basis for the walkout was ill founded. He said that the protestors had completely missed the point of Economics –that it addresses positive rather than normative questions. It is not about “Should there be a minimum wage?” for example but about “What happens when there is a minimum wage?” In that way, Economics is a science. Patashnik however, forgets that it is not the positiveness or the normativity of the questions which is at issue but the choice of questions in the first place. For instance, we ask ‘what happens when there are minimum wage regulations’ and arrive at the conclusion that unemployment can be solved by means of ‘labour market flexibility’. We forget that falling wages may actually worsen cyclical unemployment as spending goes down. Since workers do not accumulate capital, they have a higher propensity to consume and if they are deprived of purchasing power, they stop spending which has further feedback effects on output and employment. This is the Keynesianism which the neoclassical synthesis forgets.

Having sticky prices (like the minimum wage) is in fact the very basis of capitalism. It allows for inelastic price expectations. In case of elastic price expectations, if prices rise, one expects them to rise further and if they fall, people expect them to fall further. There is no peg for prices to be centred on. Therefore, when prices fall, people expect them to fall even more and consume less which is why output doesn’t go up on its own in case of a crisis. It requires government intervention to push it up. It is ofcourse, possible to have a crisis even in case of inelastic price expectations but we will not go into that here.

Another scary thing- and this I recall from Mankiw’s ‘Principles of Economics’ textbook which was in fact written for EC 10 and which I have also read as a part of the Delhi University undergraduate syllabus- is that cash subsidies are better than subsidies that distort prices. In other words, instead of allowing for ration shops which give out food at less than market rates, governments should simply identify the poor and give them cash. That way, the poor have a choice as to whether to purchase non food items or to consume food and thus end up with a higher level of utility. (I haven’t presented this argument very well here. Do note that it has a lovely indifference curves related, formally demonstrated proof.) Mankiw forgets that it is the identification of who is poor and who is not that is the problem. In India, beneficiaries of government schemes are identified with the help of a ‘poverty line’. Currently, the Planning Commission has fixed it as Rs. 32. By Mankiw’s cash subsidies argument, only people who earn less than Rs. 32 a day are eligible for the cash subsidy. In case, one earns Rs. 33, bad luck. Moreover, imagine surviving on Rs. 32 a day! This kind of poverty line has a very dangerous Type II error. It leaves out so many people who survive on next to nothing from attaining very minimal standards of nutrition. If food is cheaper, at least they can attain some benefit- even if they don’t reach the highest indifference curve possible. Therefore, if policy makers took their textbook Economics seriously, they would actually create more destitution. Unfortunately, our Manmohan Singh and our Montek Ahluwalia are very good students of Economics.

Crisis wise, there is also the ‘rational expectations hypothesis’. This says that suppose there is a situation of unemployment. Demand and supply have converged at less than full employment output. There is a fiscal thrust to push up output and employment. Suppliers will then see that prices are expected to rise and increase supply. In case of adaptive expectations, supply will rise slowly in response to price expectations which depend on the prices of the previous year. In case of rational expectations however, rational suppliers will already know the full employment output and the price required for demand and supply to adjust at full employment equilibrium therefore they will adjust price is such a way that there is no crisis at all. Therefore, crisis is only due to a shortfall of rationality. The Ratex guys forget that crisis happens because it is systemic. It is not due to a lack of information. It happens simply because the entire system of finance and real capital is inherently unstable. Even if people are perfectly rational, it is theoretically inevitable for crises to happen. One can’t expect that they will simply sort themselves out in the long run when people become rational.

These are only three factors that I can remember from my own undergraduate Economics courses that do not present the entire story. I’m not saying don’t teach Ratex or the argument for cash subsidies. I am simply saying that do teach alternatives to Ratex that talk of crisis as systemic, teach real life reasons why cash subsidies haven’t become popular as opposed to food subsidies, teach us the shortfalls of not having a minimum wage. Isn’t it funny that when someone says something left wing-ish, she is treated as biased and unobjective while whatever the liberal right says, even if it doesn’t present the entire story, is the epitome of objectivity?

So in honour of C20′s anniversary, let’s take a hard look at how our donations to the Hollywood Tropical Island Retirement Fund were spent between August 2010 and August 2011 (and then look forward to throwing away more money when National Treasure 3 releases).

NOTE: Being President of the Milquetoast Society, I do not watch horror/slasher films or their sequels. Was there a particularly scary/bad/silly film? Tell us about it in the comments section.

THE BEST:

1. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2: At this point in the franchise, they could have filmed Daniel Radcliffe taking a quiet nap for 2 hours and it still would’ve made more money than a small country’s GDP. But I am glad they decided not to go gently into the night. By far the best Harry Potter film (after Cuarón’s Prisoner of Azkaban) and it came so near to being a sappy, tear-jerker. Instead, we were treated to meditative scenes scored with haunting music and then contrasted with gritty montages and that awesome Gringotts scene. I enjoyed myself so thoroughly, that I can look past the very average Battle of Hogwarts and the horrifying epilogue. What an end to a glorious era!

2.  Kung Fu Panda 2: Since Avatar, few films have managed to capture the magic of 3D. Most of the time, you end up watching a REALLY DARK movie with one or two gimmicky scenes to justify the uncomfortable spectacles. DreamWorks on the other hand, surged ahead in the 3D rat race with the gorgeous flight sequences in How to Train Your Dragon, and now with Kung Fu Panda 2. I can’t remember the last time I watched a movie so visually pleasing and actually improved with the 3D experience! And the story is pretty good too– similar to its predecessor, but enough fresh material to keep you entertained.

3. X-Men: First Class: After the execrable mess known as X-Men:The Last Stand and the one we’ve been trying to forget (unsuccessfully), everybody assumed this franchise was dead. Everybody was expecting a halfhearted X-Men: Gambit or a hodge-podge X-Men: Deadpool. Instead, Michael Fassbender came along and Batman Begins-ed the hell out of the series. I vaguely remember some sort of exciting Cold War-related story line with cool B-list mutants, Charles Xavier being adorably flirty and the raddest recruitment and training montages in recent movie history. But mostly, I just remember Michael Fassbender being hot while murdering Nazis.

THE DISAPPOINTING AND THE PREDICTABLY BAD:

1. Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides: It is kind of telling when one of the biggest names in the industry playing his most iconic role did nothing for a film. Or when replacing two highly annoying characters with the uber-sexy Salma Hayek didn’t make the script less random or the actors less likely to phone it in. I think we can all safely say that this franchise has ceased to be. It’s expired and gone to meet its maker. It’s a stiff. Bereft of life, its off the twig. It’s kicked the bucket, shuffled off its mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin’ choir invisible. This is an ex-franchise.

2. Transformers: Dark of the Moon: My eyes hurt every time I see that title. It just feels wrong, like having a lamp on when daylight is streaming in through your window. Also, Shia LaBeouf. WHY IS HE A FAMOUS ACTOR WHY WONT SOMEBODY JUST PUNCH HIM? I just get so irrationally angry when I see him. And it’s not like there was a plot or any new material in the movie to distract me. Same old nonsense… Shia LaDouche being douchy, Optimus Prime saving the day, some pretty but bland girl, lots of confusing explosions…. It really requires talent to make a movie about freaking sports car ROBOTS boring. Then again, Michael Bay is also the director who made you want to root for the Japanese in Pearl Harbor.

3. Cars 2: So let me be upfront here. I haven’t watched this film, and I don’t plan to. The trailer simply did not pique my interest.  With what authority am I calling this one of the worst sequels of the year, you ask? Look, it’s Pixar we’re talking about here. The studio that made the Toy Story franchise, that movie that broke your heart even when there was no dialogue for the first 30 minutes and the movie that makes you sing “Just keep swimmin” every time you see a blue fish (don’t deny it). It is not acceptable for them to make a weak sequel to their weakest film. Then again, I suppose other animation houses ought to win an Oscar now and then, to keep the competition interesting.

4. The Hangover II: I think we can all agree that The Hangover was an awesome film because it was so audacious and absolutely hilarious. And they barely had any crude humour, which is saying something for a movie aimed at the male demagraphic.  So why the hell would they ruin the sequel by stuffing it with unfunny, crude “jokes” and ruining any element of surprise by filming the EXACT SAME plot all over again, except in Thailand? Adding a handful of new characters based on old characters and some extra props does not a successful sequel make.

5. Chronicles of Narnia: Voyage of the Dawn Treader: The Narnia books may not be as popular these days; kids today want subtlety. Even so, surely it can’t be that hard to film the most beloved book from a series that is remembered fondly by millions, and had two very successful films preceding it? Sadly, Dawn Treader turned out to be a lacklustre film which went through the motions in such a joyless fashion. What was a tale about self-discovery, adventure and how, often the journey is greater than the destination, became a mindless chase with some villain none of us cared about and a totally adrenaline-free goal. Let’s hope that with The Magician’s Nephew, they can recapture the magic of Narnia.

Everybody is predicting this to be the year Pixar ends its four-year Academy Award streak. The question is, will Kung Fu Panda 2 (KFP 2) be the one to nudge it off the pedestal? Well.  Since Cars 2 hasn’t released yet, I’d say that’s a terribly unfair question. But I can tell you this much: KFP 2 is a visually stunning film, that will have you in splits (you will leave the cinema hall loudly proclaiming, “Victory is ours! Ka-kaa! Ka-kaaa!” I guarantee this). That is, of course, assuming you aren’t one of those snobs who think they’re too good for DreamWorks.

Po the panda is back again as the Dragon Warrior! He is shocked and surprised to discover that his father, the goose is not his biological parent and sets out on a journey to discover his origins (yes obviously, by the end of the movie he realizes that his noodle-making dad is the only family he needs).  At the same time, an evil peacock Shen invents the gun and with it, threatens the old order of kung fu. Po and the Furious Five must destroy the gun and save China (and kung fu).

Just a rehash of the first film’s plot? Sort of. Instead of Tai Lung, we got Shen; instead of the dragon scroll, we got cannons; and instead of a villain who was not content with himself, we got a villain who would not make peace with his inner demons. Even so, I found the sequel far more satiating that its predecessor.  Despite the similarities, this was a very successful sequel because, even though they went with a tried and tested formula, they did it with more flair and confidence.  Jack Black has become comfortable in his role, the jokes and dialogue were extremely funny, the visual effects roundly trumps the old and the storyline was far darker in parts.  Po’s emotional recollection of his childhood in KFP 2 is so well portrayed that it simply cannot be compared to the first film.  KFP 2 felt grander and  more memorable of the two.  I’d even go so far as to say, KFP 2 is ‘The Lord of the Rings’ to KFP 1‘s ‘The Hobbit’.

I cannot stress enough on what a heartbreakingly b e a u t i f u l film this was. With some three or four different styles of animation, ranging from shadow puppetry to computer animation used for different story arcs, one could even enjoy the film with the sound on mute. Be it a peacock tail, drawn using a simple palette of white and red (which, somehow felt more suitable than the traditional blues and greens) or a scared panda running through a forest– where even trees seemed to exude animosity, every single frame of the film is like a painting.

But what I absolutely loved about the film was that it never became too sententious. Funny movies have this terrible habit of become teary and emotional (ugh) in the second half.   A lot of DreamWorks films too suffer from this syndrome,where they have a hard time toeing the line between irreverence and preachiness.   KFP 2 on the other hand, seamlessly weaves the emotional element into its essentially comedic plot. Po always remains Po. He doesn’t become Batman overnight, after crying about his mom for 30 seconds and making an overwrought speech about family, yada yada.  He remains an obese, bumbling panda who constantly surprises himself on the few occasions when he doesn’t trip over his own feet. He finds the strength to face the demons from his past and makes peace with himself. And then immediately sets his hand on fire.

I hate that non-Pixar and non-Studio Ghibli animated films are constantly dissed as either “an animated movie for adults, with no appeal for children” or as “too puerile– animated movies aren’t just for children, you know”, and I don’t doubt that one or the other will be assigned to this movie as well.  As if an animated movie is worthy of our attention only if it appeals to every single person on the planet. This is exactly why Danish and I feel our campaign against evil movie critics is a worthy cause (cash contributions welcome).  Shocker of shockers, sometimes films are made specifically to appeal to a certain demographic. For example, romantic comedies where Hugh Grant plays a shallow British man who falls in love and then wants to be a not-shallow man are made for the smart, sexy, female lawyer demographic.  Should universal appeal or the lack thereof be a criterion for judging the quality of a film? All I can say is that, one smart, sexy, female lawyer and the sticky-fingered, popcorn-spilling, seat-kicking kid behind her thoroughly enjoyed this film.

Now if only they hadn’t put in one of those greedy, irritating, cliff-hanger endings in preparation for a potential sequel.

With the rare exception of the Right to Information Act, 2005 and the NREGA Act, both of which were drafted by the National Advisory Council (NAC), most legislation emanates from the hallowed chambers of our civil service bureaucracy. The process usually gets kicked off by the Ministry in charge outsourcing the entire drafting process to a law firm or a special interest group, after which the draft is circulated to all Ministries for their comments, after which it is introduced into Parliament. This first stage in itself is marked by a ‘conflict of interest’ i.e. bureaucrats whom the legislation is aiming to regulate are the ones drafting the legislation in the first place. The most blatant example of this have been the cases where the Indian Legal Service (ILS), the cadre which controls the Legislative Department of the Ministry of Law & Justice, have drafted legislations in such a manner that they appoint themselves, post-retirement, as judicial members of tribunals taking over the functions of the High Courts. This was partly facilitated by the fact that the Legislative Department of the Ministry of Law and Justice is the Department responsible for introducing all government legislation into Parliament. The second stage of sabotage by the Central Government bureaucracy is the insertion of this innocuous sounding clause right in the beginning of a Bill, which states that the power to notify the various provisions of the Bill is vested with the Central Government. There have thus been several legislations, including Constitutional Amendments, which though passed by Parliament have not yet been notified by our actual rulers – the babudom. In that sense, the RTI Act was path-breaking, since it automatically implemented the provisions of the Bill within 120 days of it being passed by Parliament.

The main problem with the Central Government is that it has absolutely no uniform process of legislative drafting or consultation before the legislation is introduced into Parliament. Some bills like the Copyright (Amendment) Bill, 2010 & the Public Funded Research and Development (Protection, Utilization and Regulation of Intellectual Property) (PFRDA) Bill, 2007 were shrouded in absolutely secrecy until they were introduced in Parliament. However the same government has invited comments on other bills like the National Identification Authority of India Bill, 2010 even before they were introduced in Parliament. Till date I have not heard a single justifiable reason as to why proposed legislation, the very essence of our democracy, are considered confidential. Why doesn’t the Central Government have any rules to regulate this process?

Now after a Bill is introduced into Parliament, in the normal course of events it is referred to one of the 24 Department Related- Parliamentary Standing Committees, each consisting of atleast 31 MPs from both houses. This system was introduced in the year 1993 because Parliament was starting to feel the pressures of time and the need to scrutinize legislation more minutely. Although the initial reports of these Parliamentary Standing Committees have been rather disappointing, they have really picked up pace in the last few years. Some of these reports have been excellent, even by academic standards. In some instances like the PFRDA Bill, 2007 the Standing Committee forced the government to make a record 52 amendments to its original draft. However in other cases like the bill proposing the National Tax Tribunal, the Government proceeded to completely ignore the recommendations of the Standing Committee and pushed for the Bill to be passed through Parliament. Soon as the Bill was passed it was challenged before the judiciary and has since been languishing over there. The pertinent issue over here is whether or not these Standing Committees are an effective interface with members of the public seeking to put forth their views.

From the little experience that I’ve had before these Committees, as a member of small group of young academics/lawyers, there does not seem to be any fixed system to guarantee an effective consultation process. While anybody can send in a written memorandum, an invitation is necessary from the Committee for an oral hearing. This invitation is completely discretionary. The Committees examining the Civil Nuclear Liability Bill, 2010 and the Prevention of Torture Bill had invited our small group as expert witnesses because one of the MPs Mr. S.S. Ahluwalia, had actually gone through our written memorandums and was impressed with the quality of research and the recommendations being submitted by us. The advantage of being invited as an expert witness is the fact that you tend to get more time to present your views before the Committee. Contrast this with the hearing we received for the Judicial Standards and Accountability Bill, 2010. This Committee went overboard and invited everybody who sent in written memorandums and conducted the entire hearing on one day. The problem with this was the fact that despite our group preparing a solid 84 pages report, the lead author of which, was a PhD student at Oxford, specializing in the subject of judicial independence, we were given the same 10 minutes of oral hearing as the other elderly gentlemen who had come to rail against the system without providing any constructive criticism.

Therefore although Standing Committees do provide a platform for broad public consultations there is still much that needs to be done in ensuring that it is an effective consultative process..

Messers Hazare and Co. would have done well to agitate for a cure to the disease and not merely a cure for the symptom as they have done.

The Cover to a Book about Dream

The word ‘comic’ arises from the term ‘funny books’ or ‘funnies’ used to describe the very first works of its kind in the Pre World War 2 era. In the last 25 odd years many creators, critics and increasingly the fans prefer to use the word ‘graphic novels’ to perhaps give more credence to the diverse and more mature storylines featured in them. This rebranding was not simply a marketing ploy, for these new comic books contained intricate plot, layered characters and a dizzying array of art-styles no longer targeted at an adolescent audience. Comics, the publishers want to say, had finally grown up.

The late 1980s was a period of great excitement in the comics world – bold new work was being done and was getting swallowed whole by an eager and thankful audience. Though there has been great work done in the more typical ‘superhero’ genre, it is in the grittier, left of centre comics that has seen an explosive display of creativity.

Neil Gaiman burst on to this exciting bubbling scene as part of the British Invasion of Comic Book writers in the late-eighties. His first work for DC comics(along with rival Marvel forming the principal duopoly in the industry), a miniseries called ‘Black Orchid’ is a surreal exploration of the psyche of a half-human, half-plant superheroine as she tries to come to terms with her role in a callous and violent world. Masterfully rendered in watercolours by artist Dave McKean the book was a critical and commercial success leading to DC offering Gaiman a job as a writer for their new book The Sandman.

The Sandman is the story of Morpheus, the anthropomorphic personification of Dreams. He is a God as we would understand one, representing one of seven eternal truths of the universe. The other six namely Destiny, Death, Destruction, Desire, Despair and Delirium are his siblings and together they are the Endless – a pantheon that stands removed from and above all the other pantheons.

We follow Dream as he escapes from human captivity and deals with ramifications of his past actions across a life going back to the very beginnings of Creation. Gaiman weaves a very dense, very intricate tapestry as he leads us through stories with a supporting cast from Christian, Egyptian, Greek, Roman, Nordic and even Japanese mythology. He uses the whole breadth of human history as the canvas for Morpheus’s life… and succeeds in creating a world of the highest grandeur, leaving the reader in sufficient awe and wonder. Of note is the fact that Gaiman employs numerous classical and literary allusions, much like Shakespeare. It is highly recommended to keep an eye out for them, and to use Google liberally. Though it may seem like a bit of work, it shall lead to a more enriching experience.

With Morpheus we travel to the Biblical Hell, Victorian England, Ancient Greece and in perhaps the most poignant and touching story of all – to the Baghdad of the Arabian Nights. Each of the worlds and the characters in them are meticulously researched and lovingly portrayed.

We also follow Morpheus on a greater journey as he grows ever more ‘human’. When we first meet him he is cold and distant, and over the course of 75 issues we can see his evolution in the changing nature of his interactions with the large supporting cast.

Though the series often bends genres and is meta-fiction, the plotting is pitch perfect. All the individual episodic stories tie into the larger narrative and all plot threads come together for an ending that is as beautiful as it is inevitable.

The art is distinct, well executed and contains an almost astonishing level of detail. Though it may be intimidating to the new reader – it gets easier to read as the series progresses. The starting issues have a darker look and feel, playing into the more ‘horror’ beginnings of the book. But later it lightens considerably more in keeping with the dark fantasy setting.

Special mention needs be made of the cover art, which has been made painstakingly in mixed media by Dave McKean (one attached to the post). Probably the most celebrated covers in comic books of all time – they are breath taking, poetic and leave you with a sense of unease.

The Sandman was hugely successful, at its peak outselling DC’s flagship Superman titles and bringing a new and unique audience to earlier limited world of comics (over half the readers were women and most were over 20). The series won 16 Eisner awards (the Pulitzers of the Comic Industry) over its 7 year run and figures in every critic’s ‘best of’ lists.

Neil Gaiman went on to be a very successful fantasy / horror writer with multiple bestselling novels including ‘American Gods’ and winning the Hugo, the Nebula among other awards. His illustrated novel ‘Stardust’ has been made into a film. He is also a screenwriter for film and TV. But among all his works The Sandman truly stands alone as a testimony to the sheer scope of his imagination.

The Sandman reaches literary heights that so many other graphic novels only aspire to. Norman Mailer called it a “comic book for intellectuals”. If you were to read only one comic in this lifetime – let this be the one.

In many ways, we both share the dubious distinction of being ‘Almost Writers’; writers that were, would have been, could be, should be, can be, please be, and the many other bees that hummed around us, thus forcing us to indulge in writing and appreciating our writing, but never really up to the hard task of going to work with pen and paper, dwindling the riches and comforts of private practice, Volvo buses and a Bisleri bottle. This was the idea anyway. A bus ride to Jaipur, sight seeing, random debauchery and maybe if we were lucky, a little bit of the literature festival. As an Almost Writer, you don’t hound literature festivals, you follow them on twitter and facebook but only if it is really in the news, and has enough facebook friends hooking up links and updates. What also happens with Almost Writers, is you end up intoxicated in the wee hours of the morning in a compartment of the Shatabdi travelling ticketless and generally disturbed about having to make a trip on a precious weekend!

We did eventually enter Diggi Palace; a haveli converted into a heritage hotel and the venue of the DSC Jaipur Literature Festival (JLF) quite easily.  There was little hustle, much bustle, like a late entrance into a leisurely Delhi wedding reception lunch on a winter afternoon, and yes, with a fair spattering of ‘firangs’ (To the credit of JLF, we were forced to turn our heads many times over by as many Indians, but more on that later).

On the front lawns there stood a massive (but gorgeous!) crowd, not much like the wedding reception, but the most colourful, most interesting – waahs and oohs resounding. On the stage, Gulzar, Javed Akhtar and Prasoon Joshi holding the crowd to much drama, Akhtar explaining away sub-standard Bollywood fare by describing it as a glorious gift of democracy, yes – democracy, which makes India beautiful and ofcourse, tasteless, what gets produced, and what writers produce reflect a coalition of flavours voted in by the masses. Gulzar was soon conducting a viva voce on which old songs a school girl knew that made her say they were so much more simple and better. Then there were other piquant observations which suddenly paled into the background when one of us noticed that many in the audience were having beer, and of course why not, on a glorious sunny winter afternoon in Jaipur. Why not!

Akthar - Art and democracy

An estimated 50,000 visited the JLF over its 5 days, an unusually high number for a literature festival, which left many of the participating authors overwhelmed. There were higher numbers on weekends, when some of the Delhi crowd did its literature road trip. The crowds though were surprisingly well behaved for an Indian crowd. One would bump into people to hear apologies and a sincere smile. Though we are all close to a stampede, after all this was a pilgrimage sight, credit to the sponsors – there wasn’t a 100 rupee express darshan. There weren’t x-ray machines, frisk and feel ups, caste system (all areas are open to all, being a Delegate only helps if you want to binge on scotch at the same counters). From writers, to film stars everyone part of the same throng which shifted from venue to venue through Diggi Palace. You could smell the next person, who wouldn’t smell like the next, if you are keen on that kind of thing. Though trust us, you wouldn’t mind some of it at all!

Festival throngs

For us, on both days the routine involved wading through these throngs from venue to venue, venue to watering hole, from the hole to the pool, and back to the venues, the shops, the book signings. Each time, there would be distractions. We are rushing for this session on Memoirs but wait; there is a gang of college (or school?) kids humming Knocking on the heaven’s door….with a guitar and we stop there, beer, cigarettes and all. There’s a panel discussion on The Future of Pakistan between Mani Shankar Aiyar and MJ Akbar but we stop to hear Arundhati Subramanian recite her poem the accusation of being too un-Indian to be writing about India.

The sari says it all!

There were moments; when you felt blessed; to be listening to famously reclusive JM Coetze reading out a story of the soul – of a Spanish cottage and an old woman with cats; you felt happy to join everyone who hung on to every single word, spellbound; you laughed when Ashok Chakradhar forgot the name of the moderator and went on to recite beautifully the awful poetry that came out of Kapil Sibal and his cellphone; ironic moments when you stood in the “Merril Lynch” Mughal Tent or the “Economist” Durbar Hall listening to an American, a Brit and a Mumbaikar talking about their respective memoirs being moderated by a Malyali and forgot that globalisation was a word you first heard in a school debate.

A story for the soul

There was much for the literary inclined, there was much for the celebrity inclined as well; for those who swung both ways, it was an orgy. Om Puri walked undisturbed. Few noticed Tarun Tejpal, fewer did, Rajat Kapoor. Koel Puri drew the stares, so did Kabir Bedi. Ruskin Bond got mobbed and didn’t look particularly pleased for it. No one bothered Vidhu Vinod who looked ready to punch the next guy who got in a foot’s radius. Orhan Pamuk was chatty while signing the books, Coetze dignified.

Bond, Ruskin Bond.

There were the diplomats, the bureaucrats, the politicians, an ex CM, a current CM. Add to this Jaipur school kids, attractive volunteers, the famous aunties of Delhi, their daughters, splash of Mumbai artsy and Delhi arsty, a lot of fartsy, small writers, big writers, readers, dedicated readers, loyal readers, potential readers, potential writers, students, academics, family picnics, skin and hair of various colours, countries, communities, elite, some not so elite, some certainly not, a fair bit of intoxication and everyone easily conversational, the invitation was warm. The sunrays blew away the breeze, cigarette smoke graced the air. This was joyous, noisy and throngy but warm and fun.

Rock!

After indulging the literary, the evenings broke into revelry and a concert. Indian classical followed by sufi rock. The qawwali made better by the alcohol and hope of love, as threads of conversations with beautiful strangers were cheered by hands rising in applause; matching the beat. You picked up from where you left; along with that glass.

Qawwali

Classical

However, joyous and eclectic the crowd, like one of one of our lovers (collaborating can be tricky!) put it so well – there are three pillars to a festival, the art, artist and audience and the better the festival, the more seamlessly they interact. This was the crowning glory of JLT. Yes, maybe there was more English than Indian or international, yes, maybe Shell was sponsoring an event, maybe it was all getting a little too political at times, a little pedestrian sometimes, we all had our observations and reservations.

But with the finest of art, the finest of artists, an audience of connoisseurs, fineness of spirit doesn’t sit all too far. On two winter Jaipur days, we found much warmth and epidemic enthusiasm. The spirits conspired to make JLT the joyous party we little expected but thoroughly enjoyed. We wish to return, year after year.

Some took transcendental steps towards greatness – including Rafael Nadal whose triumph at three of tennis’ four Grand Slams were each achieved on a different surface; Spain’s national football team, who won the World Cup by adhering to an eye-pleasing pass and move style of football; and Kobe Bryant whose second consecutive NBA Finals MVP, helped the Los Angeles Lakers capture their 17^th title. Some exhibited nerves of steel when lesser mortals would have crumbled – Graeme McDowell’s intrepid putt to secure victory for Europe in the Ryder Cup; Sebastian Vettel’s start-to-finish triumph at the season ending Abu Dhabi Grand Prix to clinch the Formula One title; tiny Serbia’s Davis Cup victory in front of a raucous crowd at Belgrade were all displays of guts and courage. But part of the problem when you write on, and watch more than one sport, as Simon Barnes helpfully points out in his book – A Meaning of Sport – is to find a formula for answering the question: which sport do you like best? Thankfully for me, ever since football captured my imagination, I haven’t had to look beyond it for the answer.

Yet, it wasn’t Spain and their World Cup victory that provided the greatest pleasure, but rather the cream of Spanish clubs, F.C. Barcelona, who have made this a year to prize, by playing the most beautiful and most merciless football, with scarily metronomic regularity. Their 5-0 trouncing of arch-rivals Real Madrid at the Camp Nou on November 29 represents without a flicker of a doubt the definitively brilliant moment of 2010. It isn’t often that one has the privilege of watching such a perfect amalgam of beauty and efficiency on the football pitch, but Barcelona’s performance on that night was all that and more – indisputably the best I’ve ever seen.

In a season marred by the ignominies of FIFA’s award of the rights to host the 2018 and 2022 World Cup Finals to Russia and Qatar respectively, amid allegations of corruption against several of its prominent members, Barcelona’s triumph in the Classico served to remind us of why we continue to show interest in this blemished sport. Beautiful football and effective football do not always coincide – one only needs to look at Arsenal who have been sublime at times over the past few seasons, but are trophy-less since 2005. Barcelona on the other hand, not only play gloriously, but also win gloriously. Since Pep Guardiola, the midfield pivot in Johan Cruyff’s Dream Team of the 1990s, took over as the club’s manager in 2008, they have won one Champions League, two Spanish La-Liga titles, one UEFA Super Cup, one FIFA World Club Cup, one Copa Del Ray and two Spanish Super Cups – that’s eight pieces of silverware in the last two years – all achieved by playing in an outrageously gorgeous manner.

But back to their victory over Madrid, it wasn’t expected to be anything near as easy as it turned out to be. After all, Jose Mourinho who had masterminded Inter Milan’s win over Barcelona in the semi-finals of the Champions League in April was at Madrid’s helm. Under Mourinho, Real had made an excellent start to the season, looking imperious at times and giving the impression that they could match Barcelona for style and substance, but how wrong we all were. With Xavi Hernandez and Andres Iniesta conducting the orchestra, Lionel Messi, playing centrally as a false nine and David Villa and Pedro cutting in from the wings, Barcelona weaved a string of mesmeric passes throughout the course of the game. Madrid positioned onto the carousel within minutes of the start, were forced into enduring ninety minutes of giddily fluid passing and movement from Barcelona.

Any doubts of Barcelona’s pedigree were put to rest within the early exchanges of the game. Even before they took the lead in the 10^th minute, Messi had struck the upright with a wonderfully lobbed effort that had left Iker Casillas spellbound and stranded – a clear sign of things to come. The opening goal that soon followed was one of ingenious mastery. Iniesta, having taken control of a perfectly weighted ball from Messi in an inside-left position, jinked through a mass of Madrid players before playing an intricate pass into an area opened-up by Villa’s movement to the left. This allowed Xavi, who had made a late run – shrewd as ever – free to finish from within six yards. In many ways the goal epitomised Barcelona’s philosophy – quick, sharp, incisive passing and a spare man available at every juncture.

Dizzying to watch, one can only imagine the pain that the Madrid players had to suffer. The second goal was again a product of the epoch-marking football that was showcased earlier at the global stage by Spain’s World Cup winning squad – Villa picked out on the left by Xavi’s ball, crossed for Pedro to finish from close-range. The third and the fourth goals, both created by Messi’s cunning and finished clinically by Villa were again treats for the connoisseur. Four-nil up, with half an hour still to go, Barcelona kept hold of the ball for what seemed an eternity, lacing one geometric pattern after another. In stoppage time, substitute Jeffren Suarez netted, helping his club complete the 5-0 rout – a manita, a little hand, a goal for each finger.

Of course, Barcelona have defeated Madrid by margins of great decisiveness on past occasions too, not least the 6-2 victory at the Santiago Bernabeu in the 2008-09 season. But this was Mourinho’s Real side – the Portuguese’s teams have never lost by greater than a three goal margin in the past, which disgrace itself he had suffered only thrice before. Lining up Real in much the same manner as he did Inter Milan in the Champions League semi-final may have been a mistake, but it’s likely that Barcelona in the form that they were in, would have defeated Madrid, and trounced them at that, irrespective of any of Mourinho’s tactical scheming.

Messi, in the eyes of most, the best player in the world didn’t score for the first time in ten games, but his influence was palpable. Constantly dropping into midfield and combining with Xavi and Iniesta, the Argentine showed that any suggestions that he wasn’t as complete a player as Cristiano Ronaldo, was far from the truth – if anything Messi is the more absolute package.

The mark of Barcelona’s superiority is particularly evinced by the passing statistics. They completed a whopping 636 passes to Madrid’s 279 on the night with Xavi alone effecting 114 out of his 117 attempted passes – each one of them hit with purpose and precision. For all of Messi’s and Iniesta’s brilliance – the other nominees for the FIFA Ballon d’Or award – it is hard to look beyond Xavi, who has been in almost otherworldly form, as the best player of the year.

At the core of Barcelona’s success is Cruyff’s ideology – pass, pass and pass to death – tweaked to suit modern day requirements. Cruyff during his time as Barcelona’s coach had ingrained in the club an ethos for developing players of a certain ilk, ones to whom the collective constitutes the ultimate. No one typifies this better than Sergio Busquets, the often underrated midfield anchor. Busquets’s ability to read the game and let it flow with simple, yet perceptive passes is a crucial ingredient in Barcelona’s system. He frequently drops into defence as a third centre-back of sorts to allow Dani Alves and Maxwell or Eric Abidal, as the case may be, to bomb simultaneously from full back, creating in effect a 3-3-1-3 shape. The tiki-taka system as Barcelona’s possession style of play has now come to be known is as much a defensive scheme as it is an offensive one – after all, a team must have possession of the ball to score a goal.

But the tactical aspects of their game only tell a part of the story. Eight of their eleven starters on that night – all bar Villa, Abidal and Alves – are graduates of the famed La Masia youth academy, nurtured to uphold Cruyff’s tenets. Cruyff as manager of Barcelona had no doubt had the benefit of an ensemble of star footballers that saw the club win four consecutive La-Liga titles between 1991 and 1994, but the Dutch, himself a product of the famed Ajax Academy was quick to endorse a school of similar virtues at Barcelona, the fruits of which have been splendidly laid bare in recent times.

The present lot are perhaps the cream of the crop, the ultimate oeuvre of Catalonia, a team that rivals the late 1950s Madrid side of Alfredo Di Stefano and Ferenc Puskas, the celebrated ‘total football’ playing Ajax team of the early 1970s, the Manchester United team of the mid to late 1960s that contained the Holy Trinity – Denis Law, Bobby Charlton and George Best – and Arrigo Sacchi’s AC Milan side of the late 1980s. They are, though, only two points ahead of Madrid, and come the end of the season may not even be crowned Champions, but the victory at Camp Nou on November 29 has left an ineffaceable impression that will reverberate through history – a mark indeed of true greatness.