Rahul Raj and the Absence of Pressure

Rahul Raj is dead, killed by the bullets fired by policemen for whose subsistence ,taxes have been paid by his parents. Psychiatrists will delve into his behaviour, as to why he got a gun, held the conductor and several passengers of the BEST bus captive, fired a few shots and why he wanted to talk to Raj Thackeray.

 

Was it a Rang De Basanti syndrome--in which a protest is launched against the misdoings of an omnipotent state by the youth of India? Was it an effort to have publicity, in which ,like in films, he would be on National TV , declaiming the wrongness of the actions of the MNS goons? Was it an attempt to give a voice and action to the thousands of Bihari youths, who migrate outside the state in an effort to get a sustainable livelihood--the opportunity for which is lacking in their home state? Or was it a protest at the looting by the rest of the country of Bihar's and Eastern India's immense natural resources for little compensation by the Central Government for quite a few decades? Or was it just the expression of foolishness by a boy of limited intelligence who did not know any better?

The fact remains however, that a gun toting youth, who had killed no one and who had no criminal records, was killed by a hundred policemen whose efforts at controlling real killers of the Underworld still leaves a lot to be desired, and whose efforts at controlling the MNS miscreants, is still questionable.

The fact remains that a young adult of India has been killed by a State which guarantees a fundamental right to work anywhere in this country--and possibly that was all this misguided Rahul was wanting.

True, enquiries will be launched, no police officer will be deemed guilty, a report by the CBI or a retired Supreme Court Judge or the concerned department will gather dust and the incident will worry us for a few days , before being forgotten under the pressure of work. Did the police have justification for their action? Yes, they will say. An unstable youth with a gun, who had allegedly injured a passenger, had taken a government employee hostage, and who refused to surrender--needed to be stopped. Of course, we tried to aim at the peripheral parts of the body, but we failed. There is a limit to police patience. We were apprehensive that he would cause further damage to personnel and property. And that of course will be accepted.

Years ago . when I was a registrar at a Government Medical College, Mamata Banerjee and her firebrand Trinamool Congress party launched a misguided agitation to march to the Mahakaran, the seat of the West Bengal Government. After they breached one of the barriers, the police opened fire. 21 persons died and hundreds were injured. I would never forget that evening.

The injured and dying were coming in streams. We were tackling the cases on the floor, on the beds, resuscitating them and sending them to the operating theatres. Most had bullet injuries, fractures, abrasions, cut injuries etc. As I prepared to leave for the Operating room, I noticed a young boy in one corner, lying on the makeshift bed.An IV drip was running, Oxygen was being supplied, and a harassed intern was pressing a sterile dressing to his chest wound to stem the bleeding. There was a feeble pulse and the boy was gasping. I bent down and he suddenly clasped my hand. His eyes opened for a few moments, as he glanced at me. I gripped his hand and started shouting for him to be taken to the cardio-thoracic Operation Theatre. As the trolleys started coming in, the boy gasped again, and there was no pressure on my hand. We started APR, but to no avail. That absence of pressure on my hand was the signal that life had flown out through the small wound in his chest, killed by a state which would not listen to him.

(stock picture)

I have grasped since then, thousands of hands, but even now I can feel the pressure on my hand--and then the absence of it.

That is how easy it is to be killed. It is so much more difficult to live. That is why such deaths still pain me--and I wonder as to why we are slowly losing our patience and compassion--and why deaths like this are getting commoner by the day.

Winter is coming....

There is an anticipation in the air. The morning sun is muted, even mellow. The birds have started leaving the shadows and started preening themselves in the sunshine. The milkman's voice seems a little hoarse and he clears his throat frequently. The morning tea seems a necessity, and the warmth of the tangy beverage a little bit more welcome.

The air conditioner hums seem much less obvious. Pluto gets up a trifle more slowly in the morning and prefers to raise one curious eyebrow at first. At night, watchful mothers close open windows, and down regulate the ceiling fans. Stretching hands look for some cover at night---a blanket or bed sheet  will do.

Woollens are remembered, sari pallus are tightly held over the body , shawls are taken out gradually. Full sleeves are preferred. The central air conditioning seems a little high. The roads are now covered with rain water. Once the rain stops, the dry leaves and dust would have formed a thick paste which would stick to shoes and chappals and bare foot for a long time.

The people from the hills with their coloured woolens stretched over the railings of public parks are yet to arrive in numbers. The leaves of the trees occasionally waft down--the numbers are increasing. The hint of smog is there.

(saurav)

We wrap ourselves in a cocoon of warmth.Winter is the best season of Kolkata.

Love Song In Winte...

The Domino effect

Everything is interrelated.We, our families, friends,colleagues,relatives, acquaintances,animals, trees etc. This has special advantages. We can learn from everyone for everyone knows at least one thing better than me. I had a peculiar failing when I was a school student, all of 12 years old. I just could not spin a top. You know, the ones with the thread called latti and the wooden top with a metal pin sticking out. Countless times I tied the thread round the top and threw it on the ground. And every time the top would lurch to one side and then would overturn or twirl sideways on the ground for a second or two and then stop. My embarrassment knew no bounds. All my friends would snigger and look amused whenever I did my top antics. On the way back from school, I had to go beside a row of shanties every day. I used to look with envy at the boys, some much younger than me, who would carelessly throw the top in the air and effortlessly draw on the string such that the top would land on the hand and start spinning!!!!

                       

I mustered up courage one day and tentatively asked one boy whether he could teach me how to spin the top. He looked at me condescendingly and asked."Sahab log ki school mein sikhata nahin?" I mumbled,"No". He took pity on me, and started to show me the technique. It took me a couple of days and countless tries before I started getting the hang of it. I learned how tightly I had to wind the thread, what was the force required, the timing, the pull etc. Within a week, I had got the hang of it. My friends stopped laughing. I started to modify the technique and perfected some stunts like catching the top between my legs etc.

But I have never forgotten the torn vested, unkempt haired boy who showed me something which I could not have ever done without his help.

So, I taught some other boys, and they taught others, and I dare say many boys gained a skill ,which though materially unrewarding , did a lot for confidence and self belief, which I am sure, they carried on into their later life and their children. This is a positive Domino effect. That is why education and teachers are so important for society, because they can have the most widespread domino effect, spanning decades and states and countries.

Domino effect can also be negative. Specially the cheap tricks carried out by politicians like Raj Thackeray.

By creating discrimination on the basis of language and geography, they can create the same Domino effect of violence in the villages and towns and cities and the whole country. No one denies him his opinion of home jobs for home people. But by reserving jobs, they are merely creating a pampered society which shies away from competition. My greatest thrill was when I came through an All India competition. I knew from that day, that I could face competition and survive. That feeling can never be in your core, otherwise. And it is that feeling and belief is what you fall back on in your darkest days. And you survive, strong and confident than ever before, because you trust yourself, and you back yourself anywhere, anytime.

Enough of homilies. Enjoy this wonderful truelife Domino effect.

The Band Mania

Mohiner Ghoraguli were much before its time, but they were the pathbreakers. Driven by the flair ,vision and commitment of Gautam Chattopadhyay  and the others like Pradip Chattopadhyay ,Biswanath Chattopadhyay ,Ranjon Ghoshal ,Abraham Mazumder ,Tapas Das, Tapesh Bandopadhyay and Raja Bandopadhyay, they wrote about urban life and the problems of ordinary people.

Prithibita Naki-Mo...

   

Sumon, unwittingly ,started the Jibonmukhi trend,(a term he was never comfortable with). Strongly influenced by Pete Seeger, his poetry(i.e. his lyrics), sang with simple accompaniment swept everybody off their feet.

Parar chhotto park...

The bands came later. Cactus led by Sidhu, had the wonderful Halud Pakhi, but failed to find direction and versatlity later on. Bhoomi ,with their simple folk tunes and Palligeeti, struck gold with Baranday Roddur, but again were unable to come out with innovations. Though they are widely popular on stage, their music remains predictable. Rupam and his Fossils took up Hard Rock and Grunge music. They continue to have a cult following, but many music lovers are not comfortable with their sound or style. Balancing everything, following a middle path regime was Chandrabindu. They had clever lyrics by Chandril and two fine lead singers in Uppul and Anindyo. They were trying innovations and probably were the most universally accepted by a cross section of viewers.

The controversial music director Pritam, who has churned out hit after hit in Hindi films, was a past member of this band.

Other bands like Krosswindz, Lakshmichara, Dohar also have their niche audiences.

The Band Music phenomenon ruled for a decade from late nineties to the end of the first of the 2000 decades. But due to the changing viewer tastes, their popularity is not like what it was 5 years back. One of my favourite songs of the early Chandrabindu is given below. Click on the Play sign.

03 Adorer Nouko by...

The new stars

Why am I going on and on about the current adhunik bangla singers? I believe they are equally talented as their Hindi singing counterparts. They lack publicity, marketing strategies and language problems.

The senior ones like Srikanta, Rupankar,Monomoy ,Lopamudra, Shubhomita all lack show biz qualities. They are more comfortable with a harmonium and tabla rather than big orchestras. It is too late to change. It is a tragedy that such wonderful singers do not find a national stage and remain confined to Bengal and Eastern India. But then, these singers are also unwilling to come out of their comfort level and be daring and uncertain.

But look at the raw young talent who by coming through the competitive, televised talent hunts, are at home being simultaneous singers and stage performers. Debojit, Anik,Amit and now Debabroto and Soumen together with Ujjaini and all show that a new group of eager young singers are shooting up fast. With music directors like Anu Malik, Sh-Eh-Loy,Pritam, Shantanu, Himesh,Aadesh already willing to incorporate them into playback singing, Bengal's new brigade seems on an inexorable upward march. How many survive in this cutthroat industry remains to be seen. Discipline, versatlity, dedication and the luck is so necessary with ,of course, the basic talent.

When will these new singers produce songs like this?

11 Tomar Tane.mp3

All of them in the great tradition of the famous singers who still live on through these songs.....

Kishore Kumar- Sei...

Bangla Gan

A sea change has enveloped Bangla songs. Sandwiched between the golden oldies , Hindi film music and bands--the individual singer has had to steer along a gradually narrowing road.

Apart from the jibanmukhi or reality singers, a strong undercurrent is flowing with Rupankar, and Monomoy. and others.

monomoy.mp3

Gaan khuje pai .mp...

Monomoy is trained, and given the circmstances can be an icon for the youth, with his voice and with his behaviour..... The song above shows that given a tune, he can belt it out well.

Rupankar has the most romantic of voices and Neel Dutta made good use of it in Chalo let's go.

Nostalgia

They describe it in Wikipaedia like this.

The term nostalgia describes a longing for the past, often in idealized form. The word is made up of two Greek roots (νόστος nostos "returning home", and άλγος algos "pain"), to refer to "the pain a sick person feels because he wishes to return to his native home, and fears never to see it again". It was described as a medical condition, a form of melancholy, in the Early Modern period, and came to be an important topic in Romanticism.

Ivanovich

How can you measure the flavour of a Coffee House Cold Coffee and chicken pakoras like this? Or the flavour of the mangoes in ahuge basket that my father used to bring home? Or the taste of the Chingri malaikari my mother used to cook so so long ago?

The first coloured moth flipping on the ground? The gently trickling waterpath from an overturned glass? The discarded glittering chocolate wrapper paper?

Or the smell of the wet earth after the rain, here, right here in the heart of Kolkata? The Prawn Cocktail at Skyroom, or the fresh baking smells of Flury's? The sounds of the bands playing at Trinca's flowing out in little windy spurts as the doors swung open to let the guests in.... Or the anticipation of listening to Hemanta Mukherjee's Puja song--"Bandhu Tomar Pather saathike chine nio" The whir of the 33rpm black discs on the record player where you had to place the turntable pin on...

The churan taste at the school tuckshop, the musty smell of the greenroom below the wooden stage, the group of us wading home after the typical Kolkata waterlogging-Subir, Ranju, Kaushik, Pushpak, Somenath.....

I will always reserve a space for nostalgia. If it is a disease, I am glad I am infected!!!!!!

Listen to these songs.

Hemanta Mukherjee-...

Mon Matal Sanjh Sa...

Music and Kolkata

So where does music begin and where does it end? Like Kolkata there are no limits, no lines, no barriers.Every family has a Cd, or a cassette player or a radio, or Tv or an IPod or MP3, MP4 players, USB Drives, and notebooks.The favourite pastime is singing or playing the tabla on the nearest hard surface.Almost every child knows oris trained in either music or dance.One of the favourite day-out activity is going to a "function". And every celebration must have music and song.What is dying out perhaps is the appreciation for classical music functions--even though apparently there still are a goodly number in attendance.Bangla Puratoni gaan, Raser Gan, Bhaktigeeti are heard in limited areas as many of our youth are being drawn to Hindi Film music thanks to the talent shows. But to the credit of these shows, the prize winners are usually the ones with the trained voice, versatile and rich in delivery.
What is abiding is the love for music, which is now a passion and a commitment....
Listen to this Anjan Dutta favourite...

Ghawr.mp3

Anjan Dutta--A Tribute

Anjan filled up a vacuum in our lives. Having grown up in a world of Chayachabir Gaan and Anurodher Asar, of correct music and Rabindrasangeet--and yet, in real life enamoured with Park Street, College Street book shops , Coffee House and Flury's and Trincas and the music of Dylan, Denver, Joan Baez--Bengalis to the core--as much in tune with the Achar Jars drying on the rooftop and with Musical Bandbox, we yearned for someone who would come with Bengali songs and lyrics which would portray the actual world we lived in and loved to live in.

Sumon had started the trend with his pathbreaking Tomake Chai.

I remembered slogging to myriads of cassette shops before I got one at Symphony(?) beside Metro Cinema. And how I rushed home soaked by the incessant rain, changed my clothes and sat with a cassette player for a straight 6 hours. But Sumon wrote a different story than Anjan.

Anjan's first show was as far as I remember at Gyan Manch. When his first cassette arrived, I was at hand in a local shop where I had made a deal to buy it first. Pretty odd behaviour from a developing Orthopaedic Surgeon, you could say---but that was an indicator of how thirsty we were for OUR music. Yes, the lyrics which in a few phrases would reiterate our exact feelings and the music which like western country music was easily recognisable and reproducible with a simple instrument like the guitar.

Anjan grew on us as we did with him. We realised that Anjan did not have a great variety of melodies. Many of his songs were like previous ones. His world was limited. He had a fabulous voice. His lyrics became a little predictable. Like clothing styles we grew away from him. We were married now with children and a time consuming profession. And yet the regard continued. Every cassette and then CD had to be purchased and listened to. I suspect Anjan also grew away from his music, as he turned to telefilms, travelogues, feature films, and film music.

So when I heard that he would perform at Gyan Manch on the 11th of October, just after the Pujas, I made a beeline for tickets a week ago---only to be told that it was not necessary to buy tickets so much in advance, but to come 30 minutes before showtime. That dampened my spirits. Was Anjan being relegated to a bygone era? With him, were we also becoming irrelevant? Taking no chances, I bought the tickets in the morning and was surprised and vindicated 30 minutes before the start to see the House Full board.

What followed was sheer magic. Anjan read out the letters , took up his guitar and sung---and how he sung and how well he played!!! He is about 58--59 years old but his voice is still as good. Well accompanied by his "Godots", including Neil, he conveyed every single emotion and message that we wanted him to. The high point was when he told the audience to sing 500 miles. The whole hall responded--single matrons, company vice presidents,housewives, teachers, college goers, school students, all sang along in reasonable pitch. A very special moment indeed and Anjan looked overwhelmed also. Three hours of undiluted songs and lyrics came easily to him. the guitar was in exceptional mood and the synchronisation with the rest of the band , the splendid guitar riffs created some very, very special emotions. Perhaps the lighting could have been a bit better, the sets a little more polished---but we didn't care.

Anjan has grown older and so have we---but he has taken us along with him. He now sings with his son--"Gaichi gaan aami aar Godot".

"Chokher jal kimba paani, she to nontai theke jai...." There were a lot of tears that day, Anjan, most of it suppressed by the periodic handkerchief.

Anjan, thank you again for a wonderful evening, thank you for the nostalgia, and thank you for showing that a corner of our hearts will always be green or is it Neel???

Gaanwala, gaan thamio na!!!

Gaanwala.mp3

Love U Kolkata: Anjan Dutta - Full Collection

Love U Kolkata: Anjan Dutta - Full Collection
This is a great site for Anjan's songs. I daresay you have heard most of them. But I will take Anjan's songs anytime, anywhere!!!!!

Henry Island Part4

Coming back from Bakkhali, we decided to explore the private beach at Henry island itself. The motorable road ended after a 5 minute drive, after which we had to make it by foot for 10 minutes.That involved crossing a rickety bamboo bridge jointly with a series of cows who patiently gave us the right of way.

On both sides were mangrove trees. Almost 40 varieties of these trees are grown here, one of the largest in Asia in terms of the different types under cultivation.

The area was obviously marshy, and we had to walk through the narrow muddy road, looking right and left at the glorious red mangrove swamp.

We then walked through a pathway amongst the casuarina trees--and the beach was right in front us!!!!!Desolate, with only a few cows grazing  far away towards our right, a lone fisherman trudging along with his net, and a solitary boat in the distance.

Amongst the trees, a good 20 feet above us swung a shark like fish--a grim reminder as to how much the sea had swept in a few days back.

The only sounds were of the wind passing through the trees, the occasional mooing of a cow, and Pluto's panting.

We started speaking in whispers at first!!!! Somehow it seemed unethical to break the silence. The sun set behind the treeline, transforming the sky into a collage of a million colours.

The twilight etched the leaves sharply for a few moments, before it enveloped us.

The clouds bereft of the sun loomed large over the trees.

The stretched out fishing net subsided onto the beach, its white globes disappearing with the fading light.

 

The lonely, dying mangrove branches stuck out for awhile as did a slate rock.

The water ripples started to disappear into the background of the sea. The fisherman cast his net for the last time.

We wended our way back after a mini spat between Pluto and the cows. The cows won because they stopped in the middle of the bridge, and we thought it prudent this time to  give them the right of way.

Nearer home the blue-black sky stared at us from the waterbodies, interrupted only by the splashes of a few intrepid fishes wanting to catch a view of the last light of the day.

 

Even Pluto became strangely silent.

That is the effect Henry Island has on you....

Metro Heights Durga Puja 2008--the last day

All too suddenly, the day of departure had arrived. The hectic preparations, the meetings, the discussions,the altercations,the consensus, the compromise and the anticipation had all led to this. Durga Maa and her children would depart, leaving behind an emptiness that is hard to describe. At this age,  the departure reminds and leaves us closer to our final reckoning.The ladies gather for the elaborate sindur khela with the deities. Then the traditional rituals as seen in the pictures and videos.

 

Impromptu jigs break out  to the incessant dhaki beats.Anybody and everybody joins in.

 

At the end of the day, I saw the empty pandal standing desolate, without a soul in sight. Only the Mangal Ghot remained. Perhaps that is the real meaning of these Pujas, the meaningful residue that remains long after the Dhakis have gone home. Goodness wins over evil. That is what we want and like to believe.

At least, for another year.........