AaNdharbela : Darkness Defined

AaNdharbela--written by Mrs Suchitra Bhattacharya
Published in Sharodiya Ananda Bazar Patrika.


firstly kudis to Suchitra Bhattacharya for being able to pen down the most turbulent time of Bengal politics in recent times....the Singur-Nandigram massacare...though the places and the characters are all changes yet the connection can be made without any effort.

The story revolves around an elderly man, Prabhash who has an ancestral land in Ruudrapur....thing take unexpected ( or expected??) turn when a foreign business man ...some Sakura comes up with a car-plant proposal...and huge land in and aroung Rudrapur needs to be acquired. The government's turning a deaf ear, its pro-active acquisition and tourture...the present political scenario of the ctate, the sharp polarization, disillushionment of the intellectuals with the so called communists....all these come as it had actually happened.

Suchitra touched politics without being political. Nowhere she can be accused of dogmatism...well some people may find her work a bit disturbing because she by far represented the voice of common man. The characters...those characters who are not associated with political organisations.....react in the way the general people reacted.

She has tried to maintain a distance so that she may not be regarded a spokesperson of a particular political organization....the problem with this state lies in this malicious tendency...either with "us" or with "them" and thanks to the Chief Minister this split is clearer than ever. people surrounding Prabhash are divided, his son...a college lecturer...and a smart and trendy 'communist' is in favour of giving up the land...he has no sentiment for the landless farmers who earn working on their land....roblem is he is the owner and he is settled in the city with hardly any attachment to ta rural life....he fails to understand the sentiments of the farmers...but what complicates the situation is his "communism"...which claims to establish his pro-poor legacy while at heart is is nothing but an outright rightist. He lobbies for the investors...investment is necessary but not at the cost of lives of poor people...but for the people like Ayan....the city bred brand-conscious communists...what the CPM government declares is comminism....these people have known to love CPM because it breeds jobs and other earning oppurtunities in return.
The inhuman, illegal misrule of the Left Front is lablasted at.

Expanded Metro and Frustrated Politics

After the long lone wait Metro rail started rolling from Tollygunj to Garia bazar since yesterday. I had my first ride today and it was such a relief for the daily commuters like us. From Naktala (Geetanjali) to Rabindra Sarovar only in 10 minutes...gosh...the regular jostling for autos, then traffic snarl, then the pollution and the inevitable late....I am now spared of that Horror. thanks to our railway minister, Ms Mamata Banerjee. whatever the CPI(M) may say, u did it for us and thats thats the thing all will remember.
It was rather shocking, or should I spare that too, because shock is I guess no longer the term to be associated with the ruling party....to see the CHief Minister, The self-professed champion of Bengali culture and intelligentsia...blurting out venom against the actually acting minister. in Bengali there is a term "bhaat debar murod nei, keel marar gosai"( u don't have the capacity to feed but u never fall short of beating)...CPI(M) and the government it heads is following this line.
This is nothing but utter frustration, 33 years of complete non-performance......33 years of incompetence....33 years of torture, of corruption and gradual and steady down slide of the state. the party got the toughest drubbing at the recently concluded Lok Sabha polls, in the just concluded Assembly by-elections. it is frustrated to see that not only the general people leaguing behind Mamata, also the Bengali film fraternity, which he once counted as his strongest constituency, too is quing up...and not for nothing.,.....she delivers
Its 3 months she took over as the Railway Minister and she has shown how a department can be used to help the state and work for the people. the CPI(M) is now unnerved. Its can sense the plight that ts going to face in the forthcoming Assembly polls and more awaiting if Mamata goes on her develpoment drive in this way....who cares what the CPI(M) is telling?...we are helped and relieved....thanks to didi

Afuran

OBLIVION....(short story)

Nizam was fast asleep. Mithi Amma fed him, some vada that she prepared early evening before the news came. Mithi Amma was sitting, wide awake, looking bluntly at the moon dim glimmering outside the window pane. Late night it was. All the proceedings took a lot of time.

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Nizam never studied Quran. He learnt, he was taught that he was a Muslim. He was never even taught how it felt to be a Muslim, he never felt anything special, never couldn’t differentiate if the ‘others’ felt other way as he could never be other. It was not that he bothered though. Nizam loved Mithi Amma, grandma of his friend Santanam. He was taught that Mithi Amma, Santanam were ‘other’. They were different. Nizam often wondered, how? They all had two hands, two legs…only when they spoke he understood nothing. And yes, Mithi Amma’s husband and Santanam’s grandpa was different. He was a photo man. He never talked, never walked, never even ate. He wore mysterious glasses through which Nizam could never see. He was a photo man…always wearing a garland.

“Ammu…why is Santanam different?” often he would ask his mother.

“They are Hindus…they worship different Gods….but they are good….”

Yes…yes….he had seen. Mithi Amma worshipped Gods which were like the dolls of his cousin sister. But Santanam never plays with these dolls which Mithi Amma worshiped. Nizam also never played with them.

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Nizam was only six years old. He lived in the least known Ghulab Chowk in Ahmedabad. It was one of those dingy over crowded residential places in the town. The market place was not far. Ghulab Chowk never required descriptions. Almost every town in India has places like it. It saw the two communities residing side by side. It never created any problem, except some small incidents during the riots. Yet then Ghulab Chowk never hit the head lines. Neither the Muslims nor the Hindus were brutal enough, perhaps.

Nizam was a resident of Ghulab Chowk ever since he was born. His father too. Might be his grandpa, whom he has never seen, too. Nizam did not know. Nizam was happy in the small world of his own, with the dreams he dreamt but never understood, with the friends who were either similar or different, but he never bothered. Nizam attended the nearby English medium school. It was necessary, his Abbajan said. Santanam went there too.

Arzan, Nizam’s Abbajan, was a self made man of sort. Education was never a favorite occupation with the youth of his community in the locality. Arzan and many like him in the locality were made to believe that they were a special community and they have the right to special privileges. What privileges nobody ever asked. Never did any privilege come. And yes they were to vote, that was essential for the continual flow of privileges. But Arzan thought more. Blessed probably he was that he went to a bigger school and befriended people from better families.

Arzan studied. When the similar friends dropped out to join their fathers as daily labors or set sail across the Arabian Sea, Arzan continued to study. He studied hard and ended up securing a good job. His academic record has always been brilliant. Along with the education he brought the air of liberty otherwise denied to the residents on the both sides. He was an MBA, worked for a reputed multi-national company. The pay cheque was phenomenal, at least in comparison to the other ‘similars’ in the locality. After all the daily wages and Arzan’s pay package could hardly meet.

Like any other upwardly mobile Indian, Arzan gave his family a taste of Good-Shining India. A car for occasional family outings, a revamped and redecorated house, and week-end shopping mall vistas--- these became a part of their life…a far cry for most of the people belonging to his community in the locality. Gradually the lines separating him from his ‘other’ friends became blurred. It never mattered for him. Though he even had thought of injecting the idea in his son after the Godhra carnage and aftermath, still he never felt the binaries to be too strong as to hinder him from making good friends. Arzan met Salima at the office, a brief courtship followed. Salima’s family objected to her love marriage and Arzan’s family to a working wife. But all evaporated with time--- Salima and Arzan were happy together---- working together, spending together. A new lease of freshness, a new outlook crawled in. By the time Nizam was born all animosities died down. Though Arzan’s father Amanulla Sahib could not live to see his grandson, Nizam got the company of his grandma Rabeya’s when toddler. Mithi Amma too was there, but her company became more prominent and to some extent necessary too, after Rabeya ceased to live. The working parents were relieved of their tension and Nizam was also happy getting to spend more time with Santanam. Days passed so good….who could have even thought of this?

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When Mithi Amma moved into Ahmedabad, she was already widowed. She was brought here by her son Karthikeyan and daughter-in-law Revathi. Earlier Karthikeyan had a small business in Madurai. A certain advertisement in a news paper struck his eyes. He applied for it, and got into a diamond factory here. His business had already hit the rough patches. So this was a smooth way out for him. His only sister was already married off to a rich farmer of a nearby town. Therefore Karthikeyan had no problem in shifting to Gujarat.

But after moving in, he had to face huge difficulties. There were no Tamil families nearby. A sense of alienation crept in. Mithi Amma and Revathi thought of some domestic business. But could not because of the linguistic hindrances--- culture, language--- nothing matched. Nobody even bothered. In the midst of all these, one day Revathi met Salima at the nearest stationary shop. Salima’s demeanor and warmth took no time to endear the ‘outsider’ and Revathi and her family took no time to shed their well-caressed orthodoxy about the ‘others’. Salima taught them Gujarati, Revathi showed them South Indian cuisines. The two families spent time together on various occasions. Revathi started a handloom shop mixing Gujarati and Tamil crafts and patterns, Salima stood behind her as a rock solid support. Things went on so smoothly---- Navratris, Makar Sankranti, Id….both the families enjoyed together. Then Santanam was born, followed by Nizam. Though both were made aware of the other ones ‘otherness’, it was never stringent. It is so, in India religion becomes an indispensable luggage to carry through out the life for an individual. Religion is a must; so as to say the primary identity of an Indian….even a ‘liberated’ family needs to carry it, whether to be a bigot or not was individual choice, in many cases though. These two kids, though made aware, their awareness never clogged the way of mutual respect and warmth. Even the Godhra riots could not embitter their relation. Actually Ghulab Chowk remained relatively calm--- except for some stray incidents. But as it happens… …life is jeopardized just then, when it seems all are going perfectly all right.

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It was week end.

---“Reva, I’ll be going to the Dazzling Shopping Mall…today evening…will you come?”

---“Oh…sure…I would love to…Navratri approaching, even our Ramzan…need to buy some stuffs…”

---“That’s great…be ready, ok? 5 pm? Or should we make it a bit more lately? I’ll call you…”

---“5 pm is ok. I’ll be ready…will you be taking Santanam? Won’t take Nizam…he has got fever…”

---“Oh God… how’s he now? Consulted the doctor? Mmmmmm…..why don’t you keep him with Amma? She will take care of him…and yes…ask Arzan bhaiya to reach there after office…will have dinner together please…”

----“Hahahaha…ok baba…I’ll tell him…Karthik bhaiya will be there too, no? Well we can bring some for Amma…”

----“Sure…don’t be late ok? 5 pm sharp…”

“Sure...”

It was about 7 pm. Nizam was watching cartoon at Mithi Amma’s place. Amma was busy with the customers at the handloom, adjacent to their living room. Suddenly a commotion rose…then some murmurs…then cries….then shrieks…..Nizam turned pale….the world seemed spinning in front of Mithi Amma…she quickly shuffled through the channels till she stopped at a news channel….the breaking news read

“The consecutive blasts at the Dazzling Shopping Mall…over 300 feared dead…” the screen showed only blood…the disheveled bodies…people running mad….crying….extremist Islamic group suspected…compensation….blood…blast……

Bratyajaner Ruddhasangeet

Thursday I was opportune enough to watch Bratyajaner Ruddhasangeet at Kalamandir. Bratya Basu had made quite a name with his political production earlier, Winkle Twinkle. So the drama coming from this man, based on legendary Rabindrasangeet singer Debabrata Biswas, rode the hype from the very beginning. To be frank, Bratya did justice to his reputation--slips and some weakness are there still though, I think. What I feel about Ruddhasangeet is Debabrata Biswas here is a ploy---his life well delineated though---yet the character plays a number of shades. While at one hand, Bratya tries to capture the present in the trope of history, on the other, efforts to institutionalize Rabindranaath Tagore and his songs and the inhuman, demonic intrusion if the "institution", that never allowed anyone to surpass it and mount the steps of popularity, is severely lashed out at. In the drama, as history invades, past is relived, present becomes more vivid.

Bratya's present political activities quite places himself with a clear camp---thanks to the ruling front and its leader the divided 'campified' Bengali existence is very much to the fore. Basu tried to capture the dilemma that rocked the communist party in the time of its inception and cites the 'disillusionment' of the Bengali intelligentsia with the Communists or rather the 'party'. But as I said earlier, history played a trap at the hands of Bratya who I felt tried to bring up recent topical allusions time and again through the play. At a time when the 'communist' party is reeling under one of its worst debacles and rough times, the personality cult, the imbecile eulozisation of some foreign communist leaders who does not have even obscure relation with Indian society and polity whatsoever, the party shielding the leaders and the foul cry of plotting against all who try to defy or question 'party-line'...all these are not new....its the 'tradition'...as Bratya tried to make it out, I felt. So Bratya can easily put dialogues like, "can you assure that when your party comes to power it will not fire on the poor farmers?"( Nandigram, said anyone?) "Its better to be Maobadi than a Kamaobadi"( '70s had Naxal menace but Maoist allusion definitely establishes it in present mileau.) on Debabrata Biswas, or even his Rittwik can challenge Pramod Dasgupta of shielding the favourite leaders in the name of some far flung leaders of Europe or Latin America when they fail in direct confrontation falling short of proper argument. Nothing new, it was and it is the same and Bratya pointed out the fact quite deftly. And sure kudos for the man who can directly chalk out Jyoti Basu ( the semi-god in Indian Communism scenario), Pramod Dasgupta or Suchitra Mitra and present them directly on the stage...... and to be remembered however less the path may be followed still the state is ruled by leftists.....lolzzzz

True some elaborations could have made things more logical...but did Bratya sit for logically testifying things?.....on one hand he had to frame the life of a legend who was severely wronged and on the other he had to use the same as a trope to shoot his political views and if he chooses his events accordingly he does so in every right of his that he enjoys as a creator. Did he mislead?...if yes, suit him.....if not, take the art for art's sake......a conditioned mind probably hinder the appreciation of the drama....and it is outright political. Bratya did not have any liability to please all the political groups.

The use of the stage was Intelligent....Brechtian inclination was palpable enough. But regarding the characters....Debshankar Halder was superb in the role of Debabrata Biswas, in his moymansing dialect he simply went on winning the hearts and though out the lenght of the play he simple proved his credentials. But Salil or Rittwik's characters were rather poor in ther etching out. Salil was a bit loud and Rittwik appeared Shakespearean fool.

On a whole job done really well....though....it may leave a number of political questions unanswered, or rather Bratya omitted some...but as I said he probably had no intention to please one particular colour. And when the wind of change in undoubtedly sweeping this part of the world, a dramatist can not probably risk his production....lolzzz

Hoy Naki ?...

Ami jedin BaNchte cheyechhilam
Tomra bolechile--
"Dhurr...e abar hoy naki?"
Kebol upohaas
Ami praan bhore nihshwas nite cheyechhi
Kintu spondonheen nishchol praan...
Du'chokh bhore dekhte cheyechhi,
Nithor nishpolok drishti te
Du'haat diye chhute cheyechhi---
Hemsheetal joragrosthota amake graas koreche...
BaaNchar neshay buNd hoye
Gumre gumre shesh hoyechhi..
Onek poth periyeo
DaaNriye sei eki bindutei...
Aaj ektu chhuti chailam
Nihshwas thomke jabe
Du'chokh buje...dhora chhoyar gondi periye
Ushnotar ojana taane
Aaj chhuti chaai...
Tomra bolcho,
"Dhurr...tai abar hoy naki?" ...

White Tiger in Grey Backyard

Finished The White Tiger....Arvind Adiga is stupendous in delineating the reality of Indian polity. The White Tiger is well written...though it appeared to me to be too conscious to satisfy the western appetite. The Man Booker award did not come out of blue...definitely well depicted...Indian can surely 'boast' being rated among the best known corrupted nations of the world...but is that to this extent?

what I feel....Adiga aimed at capturing the pitch-black darkness that continues to exist under the much camoufalged Shining India...croes and crores are spent to advertise India's steady march into the power circle of global politics though at the centre the poor citizens suffers the painful plight inflicted upon them...and remain quite oblivious of the fact...and thats probably the reason when Balram Halwai breaks free, though savage and utter immoral his way is....it lands a real hard punch to digest...

Adiga surely knows to employ words so as to capture our imagination just the way it ought to be. The novel, if form is considered, is a kind of reinventing a long drawn practice. As Joseph Conrad deployed the travelogue method to probe into human psyche, to bring out man's sojourn into his inner self in 'The Heart of Darkness', as James Joyce used bildungsroman form to depict an artist's psychological growth in his 'The Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man,' Adiga deftly used the epistolary form. But a 21st century novel probably realistically discarded the 'letter-novel' form only to re-invent it in 'email-novel' form. Balram Halwai sends emails to the Chinese Premier unfolding his rise to success that in its due course lamblasts the corrupted hypocrite Indian social institutions and politics-- the sarcasm in the tone his hardly missed.

The story is of a boy from the 'Darkness' (the caste-religious fraction ridden villages in Bihar-Jharkhand), Balram Halwai...his struggle to come to terms with the extreme humiliation he faces at the hands of the upper castes, how he manages an escapade to Delhi as a driver, and how he is gradually engulfed by illegal and immoral activities...and how he finally ascends a position of his own and settles in Bangalore. Now he has money and even after a murder he is declared missing by the police...Balram now can bribe police, same police who made him sign a forced confession of a murder which actually was committed by his master's wife once. The sarcasm is evident when he joined the landlords house as a driver...the rich landlord funds the political party of one big 'socialist'...the landlords bribe the ministers of the cabinet headed by the 'socialist' to evade income tax raids. The socialist empties his lung power to prove himself the messiah of the Darkness...but when it comes to polling, Balram and his likes knows that they are not entitled to vote...because the socialist's men will take care of that....then with Ashok, the landlord's younger son moving to Delhi, Balram leaves for the big city ...that ultimately ruins him though giving him enough wisdom...he committed crime, he murdered Ashok to grab his money.....to establish an identity of his own...tired he was of the inhuman oppression ... he chose to betray the society to see his dream come true...had he made himself to stick to the societal norms...he would have ended up working for others as drivers the whole of his life....Adiga touches this very grey zone of man's life...the White tiger, with his dark mind scape...delving deeper into this blurred existence of human beings....where immorality is palpable but can never be altogether condemned....intriguing questions goes on arising...

The White Tiger is dark, very dark,....very savage....utterly fascinating and mesmerizing....