An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge

It was in 1977-78, I guess that the University of Kerala conducted a film festival at the Tagore Theater in Thpuram.  Those were the days when the Hollywood genre held sway over young like I and in equal competitive measure with the Amitabh Bachan flicks. But there was much de ja vu about the retrospective that the University Students core was organizing.

There were a few Hollywood classics like the “Roman Holidays” and the marvels of Satyajit Ray and Mrinal Sen. But mostly the festival was of films that were till then unheard of-films from the Eastern Europe, besides classics of French directors. The one that stood out in memory all these years is a poignant film in black and white , that in fact help germinate a dislike and abhorrence to the  punitive punishment with death. Later the same film was screened by the Surya film society in their festivals.

“An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge”, was a French film from the early sixties. It was adapted from the short story of by Ambrose Bierece. Set in the times during the American Civil war, the film captures the lust of human mind for life.

A Civil war prisoner, a civilian and an alleged spy is to be hanged at the Owl Creek Bridge.

It recounts the illusion the poor man has as he precariously stood on the edge of the bridge with the noose around his neck. He is to be dropped down from the bridge. The rope breaks as he is dropped down and he finds himself breathless and struggling in the icy waters down. 

He senses a superhuman strength as he breaks free from the rope that bound his hands and legs. He swims fast and gets carried downstream by the swift current. The soldiers fire at him when they sense that he broke free. Evading capture he is washed on the bank downstream from where he takes to heels running frantically towards his home. The wild, fatigued and desperate run is through the woods and thickets. He is drained and his feet are with blisters. His clothes torn and tattered, wearied he reaches his home desperately wanting to see his wife and child. As he sees his wife walk towards him with smile, surprise and open arms, he runs towards her. As he is about to take her in his arms he senses a pang...... .The shot we see then is the cut to the incident at the Owl Creek Bridge......

 His great escape was .......

I saw this film again yesterday, from Torrent. Perhaps you would like to watch this short film (of about 15 minutes) in the link here The print is not good but the poignancy of the shots is never fading.

Wax

It is one thing to pat oneself on the back and proclaim that one is a pontiff of sorts; one is on a greater moral and ethical plateau than the ordinary denizens and even one’s spouse, children and friends. But it is a different matter to be humble to not proclaim oneself as the infallible, moralist hero. The pleasure one may sense by this sententious being and when patting on the back is narcosis and the state, narcissism-more so when an image of the wronged is created. This is not a liability found in the elite of the society or the celebrities who are caught with their trousers down, with foot in their mouth; it is also seen much amongst us ordinary souls.

Cheating on oneself is more dissolute than cheating on your spouse or the world itself. I do not know what would be for instance in the mind of Louis Armstrong now. Reading his autobiography, “It is not about Cycling”, I was impressed by the raw courage and perseverance he displayed from a terminally sick stage and come back into the world to inspire awe by winning the most grueling physically exerting sport, the “Tour de France”. I’m sure he would have felt empty within even when he proclaimed that he was wronged and unfairly handled or even when he wore the Yellow jersey of the winner of the tour seven times.

But Armstrong just happens to be another human being who perhaps led himself to be deluded. This deluding happens every day amongst many.

But I think not about deception perse as seen in the case of, say a Tiger Woods or an Armstrong. It is about the character we generally display to the world, the image that we create for public consumption and with some, for comfort of hallucination. What I’m, is best told by my spouse and my children. Mothers may be prejudiced in favour of their child. But I guess the wife/husband or the children may be forthcoming and candid. So what we are is best known from our spouse and kids. This is especially true in case of folks who claim a higher ground for themselves in character, outlook even in mundane or seemingly trivial matters. A person who champions in public the cause of women’s emancipation and equal treatment may be the most cantankerous and quibbling man at home. A man or woman who exhibits the air of a perfect partner may be the artist of malarkey and ruse back home. These fantastic revelations are closed circuited inside the walls of the house and privy to the spouse and the kids only. Some of them can be even misogynist.

I have known a close relative whose promiscuity was deftly covered up by his spouse all the while when she was alive. But it was shockingly made aware to me after her death, his profane indulgence with women and his disregard for his conduct being known to his teen aged daughters. When she was alive he used to assault his wife provoked by his temper and the matter seldom seeped through the walls of the house. He retired from a powerful position with a multi- national company. He was seen and known as a disciplinarian, a gentleman, an unfortunate bereaved, loving husband and affectionate father!

There are some who thrive by blaming the spouse, usually the wife. The image they create to the outer world is that of the gentleman, the tolerant and loving husband, a person who has much forbearance and patience with his spouse. It is a revelation that is opposite that we get to see if the wife chose to talk. Such people are always enjoying the image of the wronged.

It is true that we can find specimen in all matters in the society we live. This person a woman was a termagant - cantankerous and emotionally debilitating in attitude and conduct towards her husband that he was driven into alcoholism. His was not a case of silly excuses and self-justification to hit the bottle. He chose to drown himself in the trickery that inebriation and over dose of alcohol provides. Well his wife was in fact an image of friendliness and the wronged.

Why do I say so much? Because it is mentally comforting to have the image of what you are, of what your spouse or children would define you as.When you know you are a semi-outlaw and a fallible, an ordinary mortal who will stumble,who is not above infractions but moves on, rather than a contrived wax image of moralist and the wronged. 

Livin-in my jeans

Jeans have evolved over the years into apparel that blend, adapt and cannot be torn away from one’s skin, if one is used to wearing jeans. The longer it stays on you, you live in it and Jeans becomes an indestructible part of you. You cannot do without. It becomes your second skin! You feel naked when you cloth in other garments and when you are not in it. You come to live in it, to say figuratively.

Live-in-Jeans or Live-in-relationship! The later has an added advantage unlike with the jeans there is no emotional bond that would restrain you from jettisoning out. Is it more a matter of convenience, or am I being prejudiced and or biased?

The Live-in concept that is now commercially attributed to the denim wear may have originated from the live-in relationships human beings have come to adopt. Though, not a rage yet, it is gradually and imperceptibly catching the attention and impending to be the choice of the “Generation- next”. But the similarity between a jeans that we live-in and the new convenience relationship does not extend yonder.

Can one be critical of this new concept of living together without the sanctity of wedlock, legal license or social acceptability? In a world that is increasingly resonating with the voice of intolerance, prejudice and simultaneously the demand for individual freedom, freedom of thought and way of life, I feel an individual need not have to cede to the scrutiny of the Jones next door. I guess, what my son or daughter does with their life as adults are their choice. Can I put the straight jacket of conventions and the overbearing of a sententious father? I feel my nose should not extend beyond my hands. albeit! And indeed it is a capital “BUT”!

I began to wonder about the live-in-relationships and convenience partner concept that is now seen in many case, when a close friend to whom we enquired if she could refer from her circle of acquaintances any matchmaking proposal for my niece. She did not decline, but at the same time expressed fear that it is now considered akin to donning the cross and heavy mantle when such an exercise is done in earnest. The incidences of broken marriages- divorces, separations and in extreme cases suicide are many that people are scared or frightened to engage in match making.

Now I would like to think if marriage is worth all the risk, that is being attributed to the system and in certain cases, uncritically so. Soon after the World War II and when the Cold war gripped Europe it was not uncommon for young men and women to choose not to have children as they did not wager much survival chances for the continent that was then threatened by Armageddon. Some even decided to stay out of wedlock and its collateral commitments.

What is it that prompts the young to disregard conventions of marriage – something that all may have seen practiced by their parents and elders, an institution that has been thriving for centuries? True there are and have always been cases of baleful and unenviable living in wedlock. Perhaps as true and chancy as a violent misfortune that may befall on a travel by Air, Sea or land!

Whatever may be the raison d'être that bring youth into cohabiting and in a living-relationship with out what they perceive as entrapment of marriage, can I as an adult and in the afternoon of my life criticise the right of individuals to live their life as they deem fit? Have not I accepted the conventions of the society and lived a life in compliance to the accepted rules of matrimony? Was not that my personal decision? And what if a young fellow or lass decides to break the boundaries of convention and trappings and chart a life they deem fit for them in their pursuit of happiness?

 Should I fret, fume, feel sad, morally offended, and be outraged?

But what disturbs me somewhere is the probable denial of the chance for posterity to be reared in the undeniably heavenly cocoon, a sanctuary of the family. Of a home where commitments are indeed what bonds the members.