Chilli will save the day

Jagath took out a half-full chilli powder packet from the pocket, undid the rubber band, and sprinkled a generous amount on his omelette. Seeing the bright red powder dotting the blandness of the beige egg instantly made his mouth water.

“Ado, don’t you have gastritis?”, shouted Hilmi, his bar mate, from across the table. Six men—all religiously present for their wife-pardoned weekly bar banter—joined in chorus, cautioning Jagath on the dangers of chilli powder as they soaked their livers in double distilled arrack with 66% alcohol content.

Jagath dismissed them with a wave of his left hand while its right counterpart got busy attempting to cut up the chillied omelette with the fork edge. His tongue prickled alive with the burning red thrill of chilli.

“You know gastritis is a disease of doing it halfway. If you eat chilli, you’ve also got to cool your gut after with some curd. I don’t do halfways… I go all the way…” he picked up a piece of egg-tinged flaming chilli red and shook it in front of Hilmi’s face with an obnoxious smirk.

Hilmi laughed and reached over into Jagath’s pocket asking “Do you actually carry around a chilli packet?”

Jagath swatted Hilmi’s hand with his, leaving an oily chilli splatter on his skin. All the tipsy men around the table laughed like a chorus of Sunday crows.

“You laugh. But, do you know, one of our buggers saved his life and escaped slavery because he had a packet of chilli handy?” asked Jagath from the table.

“What tall story you have there?” laughed Alles.

“Tall? This is a true story, son. Straight from the news. You buggers don’t watch the news, noh? So, listen to your old Jaga now. I’ll tell you what’s happening in this world and how a packet of chilli will save you,” Jagath assured.

Hilmi, Alles, Devro, Lalith, Punchi and Ranjith all turned their heads to listen.

The only thing that Jagath loved more than chilli and arrack was telling a good story. He drank deeply from his arrack and smacked his lips in preparation for the delivery.

“So, one of our young buggers thought he was doing the right thing, flying off to Thailand for a job. But, it was a scam..and he was sold to some Myanmar terrorist group…and got put in a slave camp with some hundred-odd more prisoners where everyone was being forced to scam people online…imagine…they were given nine days to secure a target, otherwise beaten until blue…”

“This is for real?” asked Ranjith.

“Yes machan, yes. News, noh? And you know who they were forced to target? Lonely old men who chat up girls on the internet…” Jagath said, looking pointedly at Punchi (who avoided his eyes and returned to the glass of arrack).

“Yeah…,” Jagath continued; “so these buggers had to pretend to be some young girl and lure men in, and then, these scammed old men who bit the bait were passed onto the actual women in the slave camp for the second step…calls with videos…when they would ask for some thousands of dollars for a plane ticket to visit those old men…and you know the rest, noh?”

Six bloodshot eyes around the table stared transfixed at Jagath, who shook his head and devoured another piece of omelette.

“One of these old men that our local bugger had lured into the scam, lost everything to it and took his own life…tsk…damn shame… This was the turning point for our bugger, who thought he couldn't do this anymore, collecting bad karma for the benefit of terrorists, and planned to escape. But, you can’t just escape a terrorist camp, you know?”

Jagath savoured having all eyes and ears hung on him for a few seconds before continuing.

“So, the next time their location was being routinely switched—small groups of prisoners being shuffled around in a van—our bugger tried to bribe the driver…but the driver refused. So, you know what our bugger did? He reached for the packet of chilli powder that his Ma gave him when he left the country—something this poor bugger kept at hand to remind him of home—and threw it in the driver’s eyes. The prisoners got together and beat the driver up, snatched their passports and ran into the jungle. After walking for miles, they met some monk who connected them to the embassy, and this bugger came back home alive to tell the tale.”

Alles shook his head in disbelief, others drank or sighed deeply, finding themselves momentarily sobered from the story.

“And that my friends, is why you always carry a packet of chilli around, eh? It’ll save your life from slavery; whether it’s to terrorists or bland food…” Jagath chuckled at his own joke, but no one else did.

“Son, bring me a curd to appease my gut, will you?” Jagath shouted at a disgruntled waiter.

This fictional story was based on the true accounts of a Sri Lankan man who escaped the Myanmar terrorist-operated cyber crime enslavement camp, in November 2023. Read another story about Jagath from our shadow series.

Reading list, December 2023

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Miranda July's celebration of everyday heroism with quirky characters; Robert Downey Sr.'s satirical critique in "Putney Swope." Quentin Dupieux, aka Mr Oizo’s deadpan humour and surreal narratives. Published works by Joseph Campbell, Maureen Murdock, and Zeno Franco explore universal hero journeys, feminist perspectives, and the psychology of heroism. Iconic characters like Liz Lemon and Deadpool add humour to their heroic narratives. While businesses, including Old Spice, Snickers, and Poo-Pourri, define themselves as hero brands through humorous campaigns.

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Archetype → Hero

Rasa → Hāsyam

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December 2023

Artistic expressions channelling archetype in rasa

• Everyday heroism: Miranda July, an American filmmaker, artist, and writer whose work often explores quirky and unconventional characters. Her work often celebrates the quirks of everyday life. July's characters often engage in acts of everyday heroism, such as breaking out of social norms, expressing vulnerability, or challenging the status quo in small but meaningful ways. The way her characters navigate challenges and interact with the world often involves a whimsical and comedic sensibility, providing a unique lens through which to explore heroism.

• Humour as social commentary: "Putney Swope" is a 1969 American satirical comedy film written and directed by Robert Downey Sr. The film is known for its irreverent and provocative commentary on race, advertising, and corporate culture. The film serves as a vehicle for social commentary and satire, with Putney's character embodying a critique of racial stereotypes, consumerism, and corporate greed. As a token African American executive who unexpectedly becomes the leader of an advertising agency. Despite the absurd circumstances of his appointment, he seizes the opportunity to make significant changes within the agency, reflecting a sense of personal agency and empowerment.

• Deadpan humour: Quentin Dupieux, under his alias Mr. Oizo, is known for his surreal and unconventional music videos that often align with the unique and absurd narratives found in his films. Many Mr. Oizo music videos feature protagonists who are unconventional or defy traditional expectations. The use of deadpan humour and satire, present in both Dupieux's films and music videos, creates a distinctive tone.

Published ideas of archetype in rasa

• Hero's journey: Joseph Campbell's "The Hero with a Thousand Faces." This work, published in 1949, explores the concept of the hero's journey as a universal mythological motif found in various cultures throughout history. Joseph Campbell, a comparative mythologist, identified common stages and archetypes that appear in the stories of heroes across diverse cultures and religions. Campbell outlines the monomyth of hero's journey, a narrative pattern that involves a hero leaving their ordinary world, facing trials and challenges, undergoing transformation, and returning with newfound wisdom or a boon for their community.

• The Heroine’s Journey: Maureen Murdock's work provides a feminist perspective on the Hero's Journey. In "The Heroine’s Journey," she explores the unique challenges and narratives of female protagonists and critiques traditional hero narratives from a gender perspective.

• The Banality of Heroism: Co-authored by Zeno Franco and Philip Zimbardo, This article explores the psychology of heroism in everyday life. It discusses the factors that lead individuals to engage in heroic acts and challenges simplistic notions of heroism by examining the complexities involved.

Characters channelling archetype in rasa

• Liz Lemon in "30 Rock" (TV series, 2006-2013): Liz Lemon, portrayed by Tina Fey, is the head writer of a comedy sketch show. Her character's quirks and comedic situations add humour to her attempts at managing work and relationships, making her a relatable and comedic hero.

• Juno MacGuff in "Juno" (film, 2007): Juno, played by Elliot Page, is a teenage girl dealing with an unplanned pregnancy. Her wit and humour, combined with a sense of responsibility, make her a modern comedic heroine navigating complex life decisions.

• Deadpool in the "Deadpool" film series (2016-present): Deadpool, portrayed by Ryan Reynolds, is an unconventional and irreverent superhero known for breaking the fourth wall. His humour, anti-hero antics, and self-awareness add a comedic twist to the superhero genre.

Channelling the archetype in rasa for business

• Old Spice: "The Man Your Man Could Smell Like" (2010): Old Spice's "The Man Your Man Could Smell Like" campaign features Isaiah Mustafa in a humorous and over-the-top portrayal of a confident and suave character. The campaign became a viral sensation, using humour to redefine the brand's image.

• Snickers: "You're Not You When You're Hungry" (2010-present): Snickers' ongoing campaign revolves around the idea that people become different personalities when hungry. It often features celebrities in humorous situations, and the central message is that eating a Snickers can return you to your normal self.

• Poo-Pourri: "Girls Don't Poop" (2013): Poo-Pourri's humorous campaign challenges taboos around bathroom-related topics. The "Girls Don't Poop" commercial features a confident and unapologetic character, presenting the product as a hero in awkward situations.

Tell us how these stories made you feel, and where they lead your thinking. We’d love to know.

Monthly Story, August 2022

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Image → Ron Lach

Archetype → Rebel

Rasa → Hāsyam (हास्यं): Laughter, mirth, comedy. Presiding deity: Shiva. Colour: white, Adbhutam (अद्भुतं): Wonder, amazement. Presiding deity: Brahma. Colour: yellow

Archetype → Rebel

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Leela stopped to catch her breath before shouting again between the bars of the police cell.

“You!”, she shouted, pointing at the back of the police deputy walking away. His shoulders hung from the relief of having just locked in Leela—the loudest woman he had ever encountered—pricked up again at the sound of her voice.

“You’re a dog! A hired dog paid to bark at us people,” she shouted at his back, trying in vain to rattle the heavy bars. But, the bars stood resolute and responseless.

The policeman sat down at his desk and sighed as Leela turned around throwing her fists into the air. ‘Who’s power? People’s power! You can’t shut us down!’ she chanted.

Her shouting echoed around the cell and fell dead. From the adjoining cell, two women sitting on the floor watched her. One woman chewed betel, wore a chītta wrap and a stained T-shirt. The other wore smudged makeup, a long skirt, and a red satin blouse that took on a ghostly glow under the fluorescent light. Watching Leela, both wore expressions of half-hearted contempt. Leela recognised this contempt so well. From her university days—spent mostly in student protests—Leela had seen how, for most people, it was easier to respond to rebellion with a sudden disdain for lawlessness than to join its exhausting current towards upheaval.

Leela considered the two smoldering faces for a second; “You know why governments always make fools out of people? Because people act like goats who only know how to get herded; you sit here chewing away till the jackals come...,”

“Goats?”, snarled the woman chewing betel; the word ‘goat’ seemed to have struck her somewhere particularly sore. An escaped smile twitched Leela’s mouth; she knew that poking where it hurts was the fastest way to get people up and angry.

“Why does ‘Madam’ here get her own cell? Some big insurgency fellow?” the woman in the red blouse asked the policeman, cocking her head at Leela.

“Please be quiet, I’m trying to record this arrest,” said the policeman, his voice strained between concentration, exhaustion, and annoyance.

Leela felt her mouth open automatically in reaction, despite her best efforts to savor the secret pride of being speculated a ‘big insurgency fellow’. “Trying to send me to the Counter Subversive Unit? Dog!” she screamed at the policeman. But he scribbled away, determinedly ignoring the three women.

“Counter Subversive Unit? Damn good!” the betel woman’s voice cut through. “You insurgency-types belong there”.

“I heard there’s a torture chamber in some coconut plantation where you people are being taken to…”, the red-bloused woman said, unable to hide the glee on her face.

Leela seethed at them; “Yes! Goats like you’d rather see me dead than put effort into rising from your slavery. But, you know what? You’ll never see our revolution dead! Victory to people’s liberation!” she shouted, throwing a fist into the air. But, somewhere at the back of Leela’s mind, her husband’s voice echoed; ‘But, do the people you’re trying to liberate really want to be liberated?’

“To hell with your revolution. We have enough problems as it is,” said the red-bloused woman. “Since you got here and started shouting, they’ve even forgotten our dinner. You insurgency people never make it easy for the rest of us you know,” she said.

The policeman picked up the telephone and reminded someone about dinner.

“You don’t see the enemy do you? You don’t see how they make it about your people vs. my people, and keep us at each other's throats while they empty the bank…?” Leela shouted.

A man in khaki shorts walked in whistling; He held a tray of wrapped food and a glass of water in one hand and three carelessly stacked metal plates in the other. The man smilingly placed the tray on the policeman’s desk; He slid the metal plates under the bars without looking at the women and strolled back out, whistling.

“Wonder what’s in the special meal for Sir...” the betel woman remarked pointedly, picking up a plate.

“Not goat feed for sure...” said Leela, wiping food from the bottom of her plate.

The betel woman’s angry retort was cut off the next second when, suddenly, the electricity blacked out. Everything paralyzed into a soundless night.

“Police station being attacked? They cut the power? Apooo! The insurgency people are coming to kill us!” The red-bloused woman started wailing. “Let the thirty-three thousand gods see this! Oh gods I haven’t sinned that much...”

“Quiet! No one is coming to kill us!” the policeman’s voice snapped.

Without the ceiling fan and fluorescent lights driving them away, mosquitoes took over like a hungry choir. Leela heard their humming circling her. Their stings punctured her skin; She swatted one and got food on her forehead. To her side, a curse erupted in the betel woman’s voice with the sound of a metal plate being dropped loudly onto the floor. The startled policeman—who sounded as if he had just knocked over the glass of water—clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“What the hell is this power cut?” asked the betel woman.

No one responded. Even Leela had nothing left to say.

Only a quiet idea floating in the dark seemed to present an answer too uncomfortable to swallow. It settled down amidst them, growing painfully apparent against the dark.

Read the previous story

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The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.