Home

Featured Articles

Oct 10, 2025
Dr. Nidhi Shendurnikar

Trivikram Gajulapalli’s ‘Chiquita’ Takes You on a Journey to Self-Discovery

A sixty-year-old Texas-based biker, mountainous landscape, a family in conflict, a painful separation, heartfelt conversations, and a deep dive into eastern religion and philosophy from a westerner’s perspective -- Veenaa Vedika Productions’ ‘Chiquita’ is an endearing tale that holds your head and heart for close to an hour. The story revolves around Charles, who lives with his wife and is passionate about biking and freedom. Life changes forever when Charles undergoes a traumatic divorce, ending his thirty-year marriage, leaving him alone to deal with the vagaries of the world. Broken and devastated, a near-fatal accident leads him to encounter a ‘higher power’ in the form of the ‘Devi’ to whom he surrenders unconditionally to experience peace and light. ‘Chiquita’ is not a film merely about an individual’s rediscovery of himself; it is a subtle portrayal of the essence and depth of human relationships. In today’s times of fragility and uncertainty, the film’s narrative emphasises the beauty of the father-daughter, grandfather-granddaughter, neighbourly camaraderie and the bond that one shares with oneself. The message that for each one of us, the road to self-discovery is different and that only we can determine what path we follow rings loud and clear in each of the film’s frames. The worlds inhabited by Charles and Chiquita are distinct, signifying a contrast between eastern and western cultures, and yet the viewer is made to appreciate the art of navigating between two opposing worldviews. The film’s first half focuses on building a context for Charles’ personality, his life, his troubled relationship with his wife and daughter on the one hand and his love for travelling, biking, meeting people and exploring nature on the other. He is shown to be a free-spirited, outspoken person going about life in a routine manner until tragedy strikes. The second half follows his inner journey of regaining confidence in himself through belief in ‘parashakti’, mending the bond he shares with his daughter, but without losing his faith and ideals in the process. Biking and ‘Devi Bhakti’ are central to Charles’ existence as he recovers from a heartbreaking phase of life. Throughout the film, we see Charles as someone who carries immense respect for others’ values and opinions. Whether it is stacking away pagan idols in the attic to not invite the displeasure of his conservative Christian son-in-law (Joel) or to honour his daughter’s (Anna) belief in a particular way of prayer before meals, Charles’ actions convey a sentiment of mutual respect for religious, spiritual beliefs that may be different from what one has faith in. At the same time, he does not believe in imposing his ideas on his granddaughter (Olivia). He encourages her to question and disbelieve, a practice that is fast shrinking in present times. Charles and Anna both ultimately cultivate a sense of respect for each other’s beliefs. The profound conversation between the father-daughter duo, where Anna understands Charles’s embrace of the ‘parashakti’ philosophy, is the high point of the film. ‘Chiquita’ attempts to underscore the power of prayer, gratitude, acceptance, mutual respect and devotional surrender. Charles’ life trajectory and encounter with the supreme force show that anyone can be the chosen one irrespective of colour, creed, gender, nationality and faith. One has to simply “be open to receiving the Devi’s blessings and light” which Charles is as a “Devi Upasak” (a worshipper of the Divine Mother). The divine in any form is a source of strength and ‘Chiquita’s’ visions help Charles express his innermost feelings and vulnerabilities, which he had otherwise hidden from the world for a long. Through Charles, the viewer acknowledges that the ultimate purpose and lesson of human life is the unity of the self and the world (Isha Upanishad), the presence of the divine in every individual (Shvetashvatara Upanishad) and supreme knowledge (Kena Upanishad). The background music of the film transports the viewer to a different world where one is deeply immersed in the tradition of ‘bhakti’ and ‘yoga’. Mantras in the background, visual imagery of idols inside Charles’ house, chanting of prayers and manifestation of the ‘Devi’ first in the form of a little girl and then as Olivia is powerful and leaves a lasting impact. The positive impact of ‘dhyaan’ (meditation) has also been effectively portrayed. All characters in the film are well etched and contribute to the progress of the narrative. For instance, Charles’ neighbour (Freya), a young woman who manages both studies and work, comes across initially as a carefree, no-nonsense lady but is someone who is deeply intelligent, sensitive and responsible, especially in her understanding of what ‘Chiquita’ means to Charles. The film does well to introduce and cultivate appreciation for indigenous beliefs and knowledge systems among a broad spectrum of audiences. The film is a sincere endeavour to unravel the complexities of life and compels the viewer to look inward and find meaning in nature, human bonding, and to forge a meaningful connection with the divine supreme. However, Eastern philosophy and religions have several layers. They are complex systems in themselves, developed over thousands of years, inheriting a vibrant civilisational and cultural legacy. The director could have delved deeper into the principles of eastern religions, particularly Sanatana Dharma and explored its relevance not just for individual beings but also for the world at large. There is little attempt in the narrative to uncover the fundamental dichotomy between Western and Eastern civilisations and how they are opposing in their worldviews on many important aspects of life. This would have provided the viewer with deeper insights about the future of the civilised world, given the current state of uncertainty, one-upmanship and global conflict. The viewer would be interested in understanding what drew Charles to Paganism and why Devi worship made sense to him, in a rather elaborate way. Many moments in the film require the viewer to put on their thinking caps and reflect on deeper questions about life and human existence. When Charles says, “that crash signalled a reset” – one is taken back to those moments of life which ensured a turnaround. Olivia’s observation about “doing the right thing” when she asks Charles to come and stay with them conveys the sensibilities and emotions of a young child who also understands the difference between ‘right’ and ‘wrong’. Charles’ admission of how the ‘Parashakti’ has brought wholesomeness and balance to his life is quite telling of the qualities of femininity that were lacking in his life before. Anna’s guilt for not being there for her father is relatable to the situation of many young adults today who leave their parents behind and get busy with their lives and careers. Many such scenes in the film speak directly to the audience. Through Charles and ‘Chiquita’, who is none other than the ‘Devi’ herself, one realises how a single moment of ‘Bhakti’ can transform a person’s life, can show the right path and answer all questions unanswered thus far. ‘Chiquita’ leaves with you an important question that each one of us may try and answer – “How do you reach something that looks like it's right there, but it actually isn’t?”

Oct 09, 2025
V. Sai Bhargav

Not the Slipper, Not the Sarcasm — But the Strength of Dharma

A slipper flung in rage and a jest uttered in arrogance — both reveal how far we have drifted from the discipline of Dharma. In a land once guided by the Buddha’s compassion and the Vedic sanctity of vāk, even speech was sacred, for words could heal or destroy worlds. The uproar in the Supreme Court over the Vishnu idol case is not merely a legal episode — it is a mirror held up to a civilisation forgetting how to speak with reverence. In the Aṅguttara Nikāya, the Buddha once saw a monk scolding another in anger. He waited patiently and then said, “If you plant a seed on stone, will it grow?” The monk replied, “No, Lord, it cannot.” The Buddha smiled and said, “So too, a word spoken in anger never bears good fruit. Speak only words that fall on fertile ground.” This gentle story from the Tripitikas holds a timeless truth — speech, once uttered, becomes karma. When words spoken from a seat of highest authority lose compassion and restraint, they fall not on fertile hearts but on stone — wounding the very faith of the people they are meant to guide. So it was when Justice Gavai’s words, spoken in sarcasm about the devotees of Bhagwan Vishnu — reportedly asking devotees to seek answers from the deity Himself— struck a deep wound in the hearts of Hindus. What may have seemed a passing remark in court echoed far beyond its walls, reminding us that when reverence is met with mockery, it is not just faith that is bruised, but the nation’s moral conscience itself. The Modern Courtroom and the Sacredness of Vāk A recent uproar in the Supreme Court over remarks made in the Vishnu-idol case has reopened an ancient question: what is the moral discipline of speech for those who judge? The Vedas call vāk — speech — Brahman’s breath. The Ṛg Veda says, “Vāco vai Brahma — by speech, the worlds are sustained.” For this reason, every Hindu, Buddhist, and Jain text insists that a judge or ruler must speak without hatred. Ironically, the Dhamma itself offers the clearest guidance on such matters. The Tripitikas emphasise Right Speech (Sammā Vācā) — one of the Noble Eightfold Path. The Buddha advised: “Speak only that which is true, kind, and beneficial. Let not your words cause harm to others.” (Aṅguttara Nikāya) In that light, Justice Gavai’s sarcastic remark about the devotees of Vishnu seemed to stray from the Buddha’s own counsel. It reflected not the compassion of the Tripitikas but the harsh tone often born of modern ideological bitterness. When the heirs of the Dhamma forget its gentleness, even a word from the bench can wound more deeply than a verdict. Imported Roots, Forgotten Foundations India’s judiciary today rests on the twin pillars of British legal positivism and Enlightenment rationalism. These gave us valuable structure, but severed law from Dharma. Where ancient Nyāya sought truth through reasoned inquiry, colonial training taught procedure without conscience. In replacing the ṛta of the Vedas — the cosmic order of truth — with rigid statutes, we built courts that know the law but forget the soul behind it. Dr B. R. Ambedkar warned that political democracy cannot survive without moral democracy. He looked not to Westminster, but to the Buddha’s Dhamma — to maitrī (friendship), karuṇā (compassion), and samyak vāc (right speech) — as the ethical roots of justice. Sri Aurobindo, too, cautioned that India had borrowed the form of Western institutions “without inheriting the soul that should animate them.” And Deen Dayal Upadhyaya reminded us that a system of law divorced from Dharma becomes “a weapon of adharma.” The result today is a legal culture fluent in citation but poor in self-restraint, precise in argument but hollow in spirit. To reform it, we need not reject modernity — we must re-anchor it in the civilisational soil of the Upaniṣads and Tripitikas, where justice was not fear of sanction but an act of sva-dharma — inner discipline guided by conscience. The Wounds of Iconoclasm History shows what happens when the guardians of Dharma forget their duty. From the shattered Bamiyan Buddhas to the broken Vishnu idols of Khajuraho, India’s sacred art and learning have fallen before those who saw the divine image as blasphemy. Their fury was not born of ignorance but of an exclusivist creed unable to accept another path to the divine. Dr B. R. Ambedkar wrote bluntly in The Decline and Fall of Buddhism in India: “The Musalman invaders sacked the monasteries, killed the monks, and burnt the books. This was the final blow to Buddhism in India.” Ambedkar’s grief was not sectarian — it was civilisational. When Nalanda and Vikramashila burned, it was not only stone and scripture that turned to ash, but the moral light of Asia itself. Swami Vivekananda warned, “We allowed our temples to be broken because we forgot the spirit that built them. Strength — strength is what the Upanishads teach.” And long before him, Swami Dayananda Saraswati declared in Satyarth Prakash: “When men abandon the Vedas and neglect self-defence, the destroyers of Dharma rise and trample upon them.” The lesson is clear — not vengeance, but vigilance. Lessons from S. L. Bhyrappa and Kumārila Bhaṭṭa Reading S. L. Bhyrappa’s Sārtha opened my eyes to that forgotten era of intellectual valour. Through his pages, I met Kumārila Bhaṭṭa, the Mīmāṃsā scholar who entered Buddhist monasteries in disguise to master their philosophy and challenge it on equal ground. When victory came, he felt remorse for his deceit and chose self-immolation as penance — purifying his act through truth. His story carries two timeless lessons: that Dharma must be defended not only with courage but with integrity, and that the highest battle is not waged with weapons, but with śāstra — disciplined thought. In a time when speech itself can wound a nation, Kumārila reminds us that conviction must always walk hand in hand with compassion. The Middle Way Between Contempt and Violence The recent conflict between an unguarded tongue and an angry protester reveals how far we have drifted from that discipline. Neither derision from authority nor retaliation by force belongs to the Dharmic way. As the Buddha said, “Like a bell struck in anger, the sound returns to the striker.” Our tradition shows a higher path — the debating table of Kumārila Bhaṭṭa, the calm logic of Ādi Śaṅkara, the serene compassion of the Buddha. There lies strength, not in iconoclasm, but in reasoned courage. Reclaiming the Judicial Conscience Reform must begin in the mind. Law schools should teach not only statutes but Dharmaśāstra, Vinaya Pitaka, and Arthaśāstra, reminding future judges that justice is an act of service. A judge guided by Dharma fears neither power nor popularity; he measures every word as offering. When the judiciary rediscovers that moral vocabulary, corruption will fade naturally — for the one who sees law as sacred cannot sell it. Conclusion The task before us is not just to rebuild statues, but to rebuild the spirit that once guarded them — the culture of disciplined dialogue that made India unconquerable in mind and soul. Legend tells of a Buddhist monk who stood helpless as invaders shattered the great Buddha of Bamiyan, whispering, “You can break the image, not the idea.” Centuries earlier, as Nalanda burned, the guardians of Dharma watched their libraries turn to ash — the flames consuming not just books, but centuries of reason and reverence. That fire has not died; it lies dormant within our civilisation. Hatred still breathes — and when the time is right, it will bloom again, if we remain weak. Our duty, then, is not mockery from the bench nor rage from the bar — not the loose tongue or the thrown slipper — but the awakening of strength, unity, and restraint. As Swami Vivekananda said, “Strength, strength is what the Upanishads teach.” Let us not repeat the silence of our ancestors; when Dharma stands awake within us, no power on earth can break it again.