The loss of inheritance

Succession frames a timeless conflict in an exciting contemporary context

There should be a word for someone who’s always late to a party–just not fashionably so. This is my predicament as a consumer of filmed entertainment, whose quality is in inverse proportion to that of real life in our era. But last night, I tamed the beast of my indifference and plunged into a show that’s received so much acclaim on my social media feeds, I’ve been predictably repelled by it the last few years. Now it’s time for me to add my voice to the chorus: what a terrific show Succession is!

Act One, E01

Love and land—and the love of land—trigger emotions of mythic dimensions. We’ve seen it in the Mahabharata, the family feud that finds echoes in as wide-ranging locations as Gurgaon high-rises and Dharavi tenements. Where there is a will, there is a feud; where there is no will, there is also a feud. This is usually the way of all property, says the smug Marxist in me, unburdened by any such expectations. Though every December, my sisters and I turn into the very picture of sibling discord over a homemade Christmas cake; its arrival fills the air around us with fear and suspicion over who might end up with the biggest portion.

Watching Succession’s ageing media mogul, Logan Roy, played with spellbinding authority by Brian Cox, instantly brings Shakespeare’s King Lear to mind. (Unsurprisingly, the Scottish actor is known for his portrayal of Lear on stage.) Hubris is Lear’s tragic flaw; he practically makes his three daughters audition in order to prove their love for him. In Succession, too, megalomania and pathos, compassion and avarice, insight and delusion are in full display, often in the same character. And I have two-and-a-half seasons ahead of me, so I’m one happy straggler.

Get back, Simba

My favourite line from Zoya Akhtar’s Luck By Chance (2009) is delivered by Romy Rolly, the portly Bollywood producer played by Rishi Kapoor. An NRI film financier explains that in Hollywood, a film’s script is referred to as “property”. An unimpressed Rolly replies: “Oh, humaare yahaan ‘property’ ko hi ‘property’ kehte hain.” The emotions attached to a piece of land–earned, not inherited— were explored beautifully in Dibakar Banerjee’s Khosla ka Ghosla (2006). From the pathos of a middle-class Delhi retiree losing his land to a usurper, to the execution of a hilarious plan to win it back aided by his children, it’s a happy variation on the property theme.

“Everything the light touches is our kingdom,” says Mufasa to Simba in The Lion King (1994). (“Beyond that lies Andheri, you must never go there,” goes the wicked meme.) Simba flees the troubles he has inherited along with his kingdom and slips into ‘Hakuna Matata’ mode—only to return to his duties and find his place in The Circle of Life. One distressed Mr. Kohli, whom I’ve only recently warmed to, would do well to rewatch the classic. I dream of his glorious return to captaincy, where he whispers sweet nothings into the stump mic instead.

Auditioning for a kingdom

IN SUCCESSION, MEGALOMANIA AND PATHOS, COMPASSION AND AVARICE, INSIGHT AND DELUSION ARE IN FULL DISPLAY, OFTEN IN THE SAME CHARACTER

For all the sound and fury of inheritance sagas on screen, it’s the real-life dramas that keep us hooked. Who here hasn’t been shocked by a model set of heirs turning into mud-slinging simians at the slightest provocation? A disputed piece of property can turn the devil to scripture and a fugitive to the law book. Righteousness raises its pious head within families like too-clued-in ads on Instagram. Clichés like “It’s not about the money, it’s about the principle” follow. Then, a relatively innocuous childhood memory takes on sinister tones. Voila: you have a budget Mahabharata on your hands. Your family will now be the chief providers of voyeuristic delight for your circle of near and dear ones, until the next family feud breaks.

For now, I’m riveted to the glamour and gore of the dysfunctional Roys of Succession. The eccentric Connor, troubled Kendall, reckless Roman and bossy Siobhan have parallels everywhere in the real world–undeserving heirs to hard-won empires. A far cry from Cordelia who, when asked by her father, King Lear, to profess her love for him, replied: “I love your majesty/according to my bond; no more nor less.” Bravo!

rehanamunir@gmail.com Follow @rehana_munir on Twitter and Instagram

international organisation, ‘The Order of the Star’, to promote and propagate his teachings. He was considered Maitreya Buddha, the avatar of the future, the saviour of mankind. In 1911, he was sent to England to be educated and trained. He travelled the continent and was already financially independent, thanks to a large bequest by an American heiress and millionaire, Mary Melissa Hoadley Dodge.

So much was expected of Krishnamurti, but in 1929, he suddenly gave it all up with this radical disavowal: “I maintain that truth is a pathless land, and you cannot approach it by any path whatsoever, by any religion, by any sect. Truth, being limitless, unconditioned, unapproachable by any path whatsoever, cannot be organised; nor should any organisation be formed to lead or coerce people along a particular path.”

Since then, till his death in 1986, Krishnamurti travelled the world, gave talks, and transformed the lives of hundreds of thousands of people. He dedicated himself to freeing humanity from all forms of conditioning and obstacles to the discovery of truth, beauty, love, and the peace that passeth understanding.

Force of nature

Those who knew him, even those who came in brief contact with him, could not but help being affected, even transformed, in his presence. He was a man so simple, so gentle, so original that he was like a force of nature, pure being both in action and contemplation. It would be erroneous to call him a philosopher or his offering to the world ‘teaching’.

Much beyond words and thoughts, he led us to our essential nature, which we can discover only if our heart is full of fellow-feeling, compassion, love, and our minds are completely emptied of all preconceptions: “There is no path to truth: it must come to you. Truth can come to you only when your mind and heart are simple, clear… Then it will come without invitation.”

The Book of Life, a book of “daily meditations with J. Krishnamurti,” is a volume made with excerpts from his talks and writings, one for each day of the year. Covering topics as diverse as self-knowledge, action, good and evil, fear, desire, sex, marriage, intelligence, happiness, sorrow, dying, and rebirth, it is really a book to read, cherish, and grow with.

To me, it was the means of reconnecting with his extraordinary genius.

Krishnamurti reminds us that only a mind that is totally silent, totally purged of its self-centric compulsions and emptied of the burdens of society, can apprehend reality, which is infinite and beyond all mental constructs. Only such a mind is capable of finding love and creating a new world.

While the new year is still young, a volume of daily readings so filled with promise would be a welcome addition to our bedside

bookshelves.

Makarand R Paranjape, former director of the Indian Institute of Advanced Study, is a professor of English at Jawaharlal Nehru University

JUMPING ON THE BANDWAGON The glamour and gore of the dysfunctional Roys of Succession keeps one riveted