I saw a rather unusual Netflix film called Axone , pronounced ‘ akhuni ’. Named after a Naga condiment made from fermented soya beans, the word comes from axo meaning smell and ne meaning strong in the Sumi Naga dialect. A rough paste stored in banana leaf packets, axone is added to smoked pork or beef, snails or vegetable stew for that extra kick. But like durian, axone has a strong, pungent smell that takes a lot of getting used to, a smell beloved in the Northeast but unknown elsewhere.
Shillong-born director Nicholas Kharkongor makes the condiment a metaphor for the people of the Northeast — who look different, speak different, and who have therefore been subjected to some horrific discrimination by other Indians. The movie, coming at a time when the world is raging against the killing of George Floyd by a white policeman in the US, reminds us again, if reminders are needed, of how deep the roots of racial, caste and communal biases go in our own country.
Axone is not brilliant, its solutions are simplistic, the plot patchy, dialogues stilted. But it’s a vital interjection because it puts India’s racism issues bang in the middle of mainstream cinematic consciousness. It’s not a film about the Northeast and it doesn’t have Punjabi actors playing Manipuri boxers. It’s a film by Northeasterners for the rest of India. And it basically says, ‘Look, we’re here, living and working where we want. Get used to it because we’re here to stay.’
The message comes not a moment too soon. When the pandemic broke, many Indians targeted Northeasterners in a bizarre exhibition of ignorance and hate, throwing them out of homes and shops because they thought Northeast = China = Corona. Given the current border skirmish, there are concerns that similar acts might be repeated. But, besides this particular form of idiocy, Northeasterners have been generally targeted both for their features and because their culture is more permissive than the mainland’s.
Most Indians will quibble about this in imaginative ways. They’ll say, look we throw stones at doctors and nurses too, we’re equal opportunity discriminators. Or they’ll say ‘caste’ or ‘religion’ is not equal to ‘race’. But if one whittles the notion of racism down to its basics, as intolerance of the ‘other’, it’s obvious we’ve been infected with a particularly virulent strain of the virus. In the last few years, we have allowed this canker to grow enormously, generously watered and nourished by television channels and social media platforms.
Kharkongor has kept Axone light and funny, a smart choice since he hopes an urban audience might be beguiled into seeing its hypocrisy for what it really is while laughing along and munching chips. God forbid Kharkongor had made a serious film about Nido Taniam from Arunachal Pradesh who died of his injuries after being racially attacked in Delhi in 2014 — that would have been too real for our gated community inmates. They would have branded him an urban Naxal and switched to primetime news hour.
Axone, in fact, takes great pains to not offend the chips-munching viewer. Whether vicious landlady or creepy man-on- khatia, they are all lovable, comical goofballs whose intolerance or voyeurism hides one large, happy heart. Like how our cricketers lovingly call black players kalu and explain it away as a term of endearment. Even the nasty man who makes sexual innuendos is redeemed by a large, curler-crowned mother whose outlandish looks are meant to locate her as an outlier — normal Indians don’t say such things; this is a ridiculously evil exception.
Then, having finally been forced to a terrace to cook the smoked pork with axone for their wedding dinner, the Northeasterners have to further prove their Indianness so that our loving, streaming viewers are not alienated by a film daring to call them out. The character called Bendang (a stand-in for Taniam) who hates Delhi and wants to return home must obviously break into a Hindi song.
Unsurprisingly, many Northeasterners have called the film a copout, but one suspects that Kharkongor’s instincts are spot-on. Just as the ubiquitous Hindi film song has been a bit of a national unifier, it’s the frothy, light OTT film that might just be able to do what no amount of rationalising can — bring home to Indians that it’s simply wrong to call someone ‘ kalu ’ or ‘corona’, bless their loving hearts.
Where the writer tries to make sense of society with seven hundred words and a bit of snark.
