Thoda pyar, thoda logic

We at MiD DAY went out and watched Thoda Pyar Thoda Magic recently. The film is packed with tricks that its makers imagine would delight the kids.

I don't know about the kids, but most grown-ups who watched it with me thought it was cheesy.

Last week, thousands thronged to the house of a phenol manufacturer after he claimed a Sai Baba image had miraculously opened its left eye. Here was magic in real life.

Many of us who find an angelic Rani Mukherjee pedalling down from the heavens on a rainbow laughable can actually believe that a marble image can open its eyes, or a clay Ganesha sip milk, or a picture of Jesus start bleeding. We are, in fact, desperate for magic, which is why the house of A Babu has become a pilgrim spot since Wednesday, when the Shirdi seer reportedly gave his benediction.

The police always look for motive when they are called upon to investigate a murder. However strong our personal need for magic, we in journalism ask ourselves rational questions when confronted with stories such as this one. We wondered, "Who's the miracle helping?"

No one had reported instances of faith healing: the lame suddenly finding strength in their feet and walking, or the mute discovering words and talking. But one man was raking it in.

Babu was suddenly a hero, and we wanted to know more about him. We got the dope. He is a longtime resident of this south Bangalore neighbourhood. Some say he was a washerman who used to rob passers-by. Others say he is in heavy debt. He lives on a plot that belongs to a 500-year-old math. He is fighting a court order to stay put, and has roped in some 80 others to carry on the battle. Today, he is best described as an entrepreneur running a business selling a bathroom hygiene product.

Gavipuram is known for a 12th century Shiva temple. It is not posh and middle class like neighbouring Basavangudi. Its ups and downs and old trees remind you of a Bangalore emerging out of little village clusters. A little way up is a crematorium, and its expanses give this extension a macabre beauty. The perfect setting, you'd think, for wayside robbers.

When our chief reporter B V Shivashankar went to meet Babu, he found him an amiable conversationalist as long as they discussed the glories of Baba. The moment Shivashankar asked him questions about how much money he had collected, and what he intended to do with it, Babu became abusive.

A Marwadi businessman had placed bundles of Rs 500 at the deity's feet. Others had made smaller offerings. I don't know how many came out of despair, and how many out of greed. But we at MiD DAY thought it our duty to let you know that Babu's piousness vanishes the moment you ask him what he will do with the cash. You know he deals in phenol, but did you know that he spouts such disgusting filth you would want to use some of his hygiene product to clean out your ears?

Thoda Pyar and Thoda Magic was Mumbai trying its hand at a pop Christian, Hollywood-style parable. But who can dispute its message that we need a little love and a little magic? And in any case, we always have the Babus of the world to remind us that we need thoda pyar, thoda logic.