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She trailed off into a long silence, reminiscing perhaps of the old Shanghai. She finished the noodles and wiped her hands and lips on a napkin. I followed suit after about a minute.

“…I never did ask him where he learnt to speak English like that. He liked Indians a lot. Apparently, he had fought with the Indian soldiers against the Japanese in the Battle of Imphal. You know, I never thought about this before, perhaps that was where he learnt his English.”

She suddenly reached out and held my hand, squeezing it gently. She withdrew her hand slowly.

The rain had slowed down to a drizzle in the meantime. The wet grass glistened under the lights. It had been a warm day but the rain and the breeze had cooled the night. She got up and looked at me.

“Let us take a walk through the garden.”

“But it is still raining. I get irritated getting wet in a drizzle.”

“Come on, don’t fight your impulse. I know you want to. I can see it on your face.”

She was right. I did want to walk with her through the light rain and feel the cool breeze brush against my skin.

“You know, there is a fragment of a poem that I really like. Nights such as this always bring it to mind.”

“What fragment is it?”

“”Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –”

“That is beautiful. Who is it by?”

“Emily Dickinson. She is one of my favorite poets.”

We walked to the edge of the garden. The rain was only a pleasant short term memory by then. The land dropped below us into a small open area densely covered by shrubs. To the left, below us, was a small lake, half lit by the lights from the houses behind us. On the far right, some distance away, was the airport.

There was a small bench where the garden ended. We sat close to each other. Her hand slipped into mine. She stared at the rippling waters of the lake while I looked at the landing lights turn on and off at irregular intervals. A song could be heard faintly from one of the houses behind us. We spent the rest of the night, huddled together in the cool night, talking of Shanghai nights in the past, good poetry and ambient music, until the first rays of dawn gently kissed our brows.

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Interspersed between these analyzes are interviews with various prominent figures on both sides of the fence. From Noam Chomsky to our very own Vandana Shiva, from Michael Moore to Naomi Klein, from the former CEO of Shell to a corporate spy, they talk about their experiences and ideas, on how they view the corporate world and whether the corporations do good or bad. The interviews are fascinating, informative and in the end chilling as we hear one after the other accounts of how carelessly corporations, more often than not, have disregarded or bent the laws for their convenience.

The documentary is slick and very well made but not facetious. I especially liked the cold and almost machine like voice of the narrator. Her voice enhanced the chilling tone of the documentary. The background music is electronic, modern and catchy but fits the subject matter and narration very well.

The film deals with a serious and depressing topic but by including heart-warming stories of people, who have stood up, fought and won significant victories over the corporations the filmmakers end the film on a note of hope. These protesters have achieved that by starting non-violent grass roots movements which brought to light the consequences of the blind greed of the corporate world. And it is that sliver of hope that lets us leave the documentary without being unduly depressed. That there are ways to control and monitor these huge conglomerates that do not care what happens to the world around them as long as their bottom line is in the green. I think this should be required viewing at every school and college in the world. It should be seen widely especially in India where everyone seems to be embracing globalization without any in depth and serious debate on the consequences of implementing such corporate friendly policies on our society and environment. Very highly recommended.

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The state government arrested her and force-fed her through a pipe attached to her nose. Further, they booked her for “attempt to commit suicide’. As is the case with the mainstream media, they didn’t pick up this extraordinary story because it was unfolding in Manipur, far from ‘mainland’ India. This continued for 6 years till Sharmila decided to come to Delhi where she believed her case would get more exposure. She was surreptitiously smuggled out of Manipur by her brother and continued her fast outside Jantar mantar. After a few days the police once again arrested her and shifted her to the All India Institute of Medical Sciences (AIIMS) and once again a tube was inserted in a nose.

Something else happened in Manipur. In 2004 a group of women assembled outside the headquarters of the Assam Rifles (the main paramilitary outfit operating in the NE). They were all naked and held aloft signs that read ‘Indian Army, Rape us’, ‘Take our bodies’. They were protesting the death of a woman who had been picked up by the Assam Rifles and allegedly raped in their custody. The soldiers claimed that she was a wanted militant. These women also wanted AFSPA withdrawn because they were sick of living under the military jackboot.

Back to the dingy room in AIIMS where Sharmila is confined. The last six years have taken a toll on Sharmila’s health. She is allowed to take a walk in the corridor outside her room assisted by the guards who are posted 24/7 outside her room. When she is not reading she practices yoga to keep herself in some sort of health. There have been a few articles here and there in the papers. Her story has been documented in the non-mainstream print and online media though. She hasn’t met her mother in 5 years because her mother couldn’t bear to see her daughter in the state she is in.

Sharmila’s amazing struggle against the might of the Indian state is a story worth telling. The media has gone ga-ga over ‘gandhigiri’ with silly stories doing the rounds about how gandhigiri is sweeping the nation. But when it comes to an innovative form of gandhian protest it is strangely silent.

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