Random Thoughts

West Bengal or Paschimbanga ?

2011-08-31T13:49:00.004+05:30

Paschimbanga. I should have no problem with this name for our state. Nor would have an average Bengali . After all, we use this name often enough in Bengali correspondence or in our conversation though 'Paschim Bangla' is used at times.
The name also contains the historical as well as the geographical memories of Bengalis. It reminds us that Bengal was once undivided and there was an eastern part and western part each with some distinctiveness - within the overall cultural umbrella there were differences, in dialects and food habits. We had the 'Bangals' of East Bengal or Purbabanga and 'Ghotis' from the west or Paschimbanga.
And of course, the name also reminds us that there was a partition, a traumatic event in the life of Bengalis associated with the birth pangs of the new nation, India, that is, Bharat. A name like 'Banga' or 'Bangabhumi' would have ignored this history and might have led future generations to forget the historical perspective.
Some of the objections raised by non- Bengalis of the state, as I find from articles in the newspapers, are not really valid. Paschim is not an exclusively Bengali word, it is in fact Sanskrit and used in Hindi as well. To say that Non-Bengalis will not be able to pronounce this word is unacceptable. They can very well pronounce Uttar of Uttar Pradesh. Why not Paschim of Paschimbanga ? As regards 'Banga', the word 'Bong' (rhymes with Bond) has often been used by non-Bengalis to refer to Bengalis in their conversations. In fact, I came across this word about thirty years back when a public school product, in the instant case a Bengali, used this in a derogatory sense to refer to a Bengali not well versed in the english manners i.e not very sophisticated with forks and spoons and in the dance floor. Now however the word has been brought mainstream by Anjan Dutta in his film 'Bong Connection'. Well, Anjan might have also picked up the expression in his own Darjeeling public school and later at the Park Street restaurants. Be that as it may, Bong is easily pronounced, so Bong-o should not be difficult.
Some one, now settled in the States, wrote about the emotional disconnect she will feel if the name of the State she grew up in was changed from ' West Bengal' to Paschim Banga'. I don't know what she would have felt if she had grown up in Bangalore or Bombay. I think this emotional thing is a bit exaggerated.
If some one talks about Bengali chauvinism in this name change game, I am not prepared to accept that either. Bengalis are undoubtedly chauvinistic in the sense that they are proud of their language, literature , culture and heritage but this chauvinism has never spilled out on the streets and has not affected their secular and cosmopolitan outlook. We should remember that an'Amra Bangali' movement someone tried to start years back in Kolkata never could take off.
Do I then support this proposal to change the name of the state from West Bengal to Paschimbanga? No, I don't. I don't because West Bengal as a name has the same connotations as Paschimbanga has. May be the words are in English, but so is the name of country. I don't think the change is necessary and will serve any useful purpose. On the other hand it will entail some the senseless work and expenditure involved in this change of name game - in changing govt. stationeries, car registration numbers, even the drop down lists of online forms and who knows what else. The justification being given for this proposal has no basis in reality. Going up two three steps in the alphabetical list of the states of the country will not fetch extra central assitance for this state not alter its economy in any way as some newspaper reports have shown. By changing the name of the state, you don't change the wretched condition the state is in. Why do it then? That is not the 'Change' people voted for and brought the new government in with a such a massive mandate.
While I hope there is a reconsideration when the proposal is placed in the Assembly, I find it interesting that this proposal got the blessings of an all party meeting. All party meetings are a rarity in this state torn so long by political rivalries and conflict. Should not such meetings take place more often and come to some consensus on the real and intricate developmental issues confronting the state ? If the Chief Minister succeeds in bringing that about, she will indeed be ushering in some real change.

Political roller coaster

2011-06-06T12:48:00.006+05:30

Cricket is a game of uncertainty, so is politics.
The roller coaster ride that Mamata Banerjee had in her political career amply demonstrates the point. So does the nosedive that Buddhadeb Bhattacharjee's political fortune took in recent times.
In the 2004 parliamentary elections, Mamata was the only one from her party to be elected to the Loksabha. The poor showing of her party in the polls did marginalise it to some extent, more so after the Left Front strode to a convincing victory in the ensuing Assembly elections. She continued to make headlines however and kept herself politically relevant through protests and agitations against the government but at least at that stage she could not attract many adherents except for her die-hard supporters. Nobody could foresee what was to happen in a few years time and in fact, there were many who thought her politics were merely disruptive, as the CPM's had been in the sixties and seventies of the last century, stalling the progress and development of the state.
Meanwhile, Buddhadeb Bhattacharjee's star was rising. He was seen as a man of refinement and culture, talking of development and industrialisation in the state and of creating an environment conducive to achieve that goal. He spoke against gheraos and trade union militancy which many considered as root causes of the state's industrial decline and flight of capital from it. His govt. was seen as investor-friendly and his sincerity was not doubted, though doubts remained in some quarters about his ability to carry his party along with him given the party's past antagonism to big businesses and its culture of dictating terms in every sphere of activity.
People were optimistic by and large. In Kolkata they saw flyovers coming up, roads being widened, shopping malls proping up here and there and lot of construction activity going on. They felt something was happening, for a change, in this state.
In 2006 Assembly election, the highly organised, well oiled party apparatus, adept at electoral battles, no doubt did its bit, but this feeling of optimism and Buddhadebbabu's reformist and liberal image contributed to a great extent to the resounding victory that the Left Front had.
The euphoria did not last long though. The turning point came with the fiasco at Nandigram, the block in East Medinipur chosen for a Special Economic Zone ( SEZ ) and a chemical hub where the resistance of the villagers to the proposed acquisition of farm lands under the Land Acquisition Act was sought to be suppressed and crushed by the joint efforts of the police and the CPM's cadres. This area was known to be dominated by the CPM which possibly never anticipated such a strong resistance from the villagers and reacted viciously, using terror tactics to force them into submission. Some of the pitched battles that ensued at different parts of Nandigram were beamed on different TV channels. Then came the fateful day in March 2007 when 14 villagers ( official estimate ) were killed in police firing. The incident caused wide spread outrage not only in the state but all across the nation. Even left leaning intellectuals came out on the street in a protest march in Kolkata to condemn the incident which shattered the pro people image of the government and the CPM and revealed the ugly face of a cadre raj that Mamata Banerjee was all along complaining about.
Mamata was already agitating against forcible acquisition of land at Singur where the Tatas had been granted a lease to set up their automobile factory to manufacture a small car Nano - the newest kid on the block - advertised as the cheapest car in the world. She had gone on a hunger strike on this issue, but her agitations did not have much of an impact till then. On the contrary, many in the urban middle class thought that, in her strident opposition to any project of the CPM led government, she was only destroying a chance that the state was getting for economic regeneration. It was generally accepted that in a land starved state like West Bengal, agricultural land needed to be taken over in any industrialisation drive but the plight of the evicted farmers who may not have known any other form of livelihood, as a consequence of any forcible take over by the government under an archaic law had not really penetrated the consciousness of many in the urban educated classes but after the Nandigram episode they realised that the land vs industry was a complex and sensitive issue which needed greater attention and consideration to the interests of the affected farmers and could not and should not be resolved by brute force alone in a democratic and politically aware society. The episode caused widespread resentment against the government and gave Mamata's agitation a new lease of life. With an expanded support base now, she launched a demonstration blocking the national highway outside Singur for ten days or so, a discredited government remaining a mute spectator. The government did not concede to her uncompromising demand that the lands of the unwilling farmers were to be returned but the Tatas had no option but to pull out from Singur though their factory was nearing completion.
Singur was a dream that never came true, not only for Buddhadeb Bhattacharjee but many others in the state who were not necessarily CPM sympathisers, but Mamata was already on the road to achieve her dreams which seemed nearly impossibly only a few months back.
The downward slide in the CPM's as well as Buddhadeb Bhattacharjee's political fortune which started then was only helped by the party's obdurate behaviour at the national level and was reflected in successive elections thereafter culminating in the Left's defeat in the Assembly elections which changed the power structure in the state after 34 years and made Mamata Banerjee the newest CM of West Bengal.
These ups and downs will remain an important chapter in the history of West Bengal. Much has been written about it, more will be. Not only about the rise of Mamata Banerjee as a phenomenon in West Bengal and Indian politics but also about the rise and fall of the CPM dominated Left and their 34 years of rule which also is a phenomenon of sorts in the context of a democracy which allows people to exercise their options for a change every five years.
While looking back, one may feel happy about a democracy which allows opposition to operate and take up causes of interest to the people, a democracy that allows a free and independent media capable of bringing under scrutiny and debate every action of the government or a party, and finally about the people generally docile, mostly silent, sometimes even dumb, but who can at times say - this far, and no further. But a doubt lingers. Will our politicians as a class continue to rely on street agitations and blockades as the only forms of political action or shift the emphasis to well argued and informed debates in the Assembly of elected representatives ? Further, in these days of the electronic media whose reach is far and wide, even in the rural areas, and which is ever ready to take up controversial issues for a debate and panel discussions involving not only politicians, but also civil society members, a political message can be sent out to a wider audience than can be done in a rally to influence people in general and thereby the government if need be. It is not that politicians have not learnt to do that, they are doing it already and had to do it during the period rallies and processions were not allowed before the last election. Why not make it the general practice, instead of flexing muscles at mass meetings to put pressure on a democratically elected government?

Friday for all

2011-05-25T23:37:00.000+05:30

Friday is a lucky day for Mamata Banerjee. Apparently it has always been so, as the Newspapers say. 13 has turned out to be a lucky number for her too. It is the 13th year after she broke away from Congress to form her own party and continue her struggle against the CPM and the Left Front which ruled the state.
And on Friday, the13th May,2011 she achieved what she set out to do. She defeated the CPM led Left Front in the Assembly election convincingly. Her party, Trinamul Congress, and the allies got an overwhelming majority and ousted the CPM from power after a prolonged rule of 34 years.
She is undoubtedly the architect of this victory. People rallied around her, they responded to her call for 'change' and voted for her, her party and her allies. Even her detractors could not but admire her courage, her determination, her uncompromising and determined struggle against the CPM and as she never failed to point out, its misrule.
Now as the Chief Minister of West Bengal , a position she assumed last Friday (Friday again !), she has many challenges ahead, many expectations to fulfill but if one starts with the basics, she has to deliver on the promise she has made to the people of restoration of the rule of law and peoples' faith in it and to run a government on the basis of policies and programmes framed, initiated and implemented by it in a transparent manner and not a government run by the party's diktats at all levels. She has repeatedly said 'Dalatantra noi, Ganatantra chai' . That is the 'change' she has talked of and if she has to bring that about, she has to ensure that her party functionaries at different levels do not fall prey to the lures of the same ' Dalatantra' that she opposed so vehemently, for power can be too tempting and leads easily to its abuse.
In a meeting with district police chiefs, the new CM has sent this message as reported in today's papers. She has asked them to maintain law and order at all costs and act impartially without bowing to any political pressure.She has also asked his party colleagues to ensure that there is no political interference in the work of the police and the administration. She is reportedly proposing a citizen's committee of eminent people for every police station to act as an interface between the police and the people of the area.
This, no doubt, is a good beginning but I hope she is talking not only of tackling political clashes and violence which is of course essential, but also of law and order in the broader sense encompassing such matters as regulating processions and rallies so that they do not block the flow of traffic, ensuring observance of traffic rules by both pedestrians and vehicular traffic, taking errant buses, minibuses and autos to task, not allowing organised groups to stop work or block roads on the slightest pretext or indulge in vandalism on roads, hospitals or educational institutions. There are many such things ( one can go on enlarging the list ) where a 'few' dictate terms to 'many', which are assumed to be and accepted as exercise of democratic rights in our culture but are really antithetical to true and proper democracy and they need to be set right.
It is a tall order and can not happen overnight but any visible steps in controlling the chaos that we witness on a day-to day basis will go a long way in ushering in the 'change' that we believe she has been talking about and pave the way for development in the state. She is the unquestioned leader of her party and is already attaining an iconic status in the minds of the people which is evident from the frenzy of the crowd that collects wherever she goes - she can possibly take the tough, mostly non-populist decisions required to bring in this transformation.
History has given her the opportunity.

Friday, the 13th

2011-05-14T12:05:00.002+05:30

( I posted this on 12th, but Blogger went into maintenance and the post vanished. I have reposted it from a copy which I kept because of the Blogger's uncertain behaviour )

Friday, the 13th has ominous connotations in the Western culture. Many believe it is an inauspicious day, a day on which one does not undertake a journey or start a new venture. The superstition, it is said, dates back to Friday, the 13th October, 1307 - the day on which king Philip of France arrested, in a sweeping and simultaneous action, all members of the Knights Templar in France and subsequently tortured them to extract false confessions and burned them at stakes. He also pressurised the then Pope to take similar action on the Knights Templar all over Europe virtually eliminating a highly respected christian military order which had existed for two centuries and served as the main fighting units in the Crusades.

(In his best selling novel Da Vinci Code, Dan Brown resurrected the Knights Templar as a secret organisation which continued through the efforts of the survivors of that onslaught and helped preserve the Holy Grail. But that is fiction, though Friday, the 13th October,1307 is part of Europe's history which led to many legends and myths and gave rise to the superstition associated with the day and date.)

Nearer home, on Friday, the 13th May, the results of the Assembly election will be declared in West Bengal and if the analysts and the pre and post poll surveys are to be believed, the Party in power for the last 34 years, no Knights Templar though, will be routed in the hustings. Not with the help of the sword but through a democratic exercise of power.

If that happens, it will be a 'change', a great 'change' undoubtedly which many people have been talking about for sometime, but will it mean a change in the political and economic culture in the state ? It is hard to tell.

The polls had to be spaced out in six phases and conducted under the watchful eyes of security forces to ensure they are free and fair. It is common knowledge that without those security forces there could be rigging, intimidation, booth capturing and in many places people would not have felt free to exercise their choices. But this happens in most of the states in this country, not only in West Bengal, even though we never tire of proclaiming our democratic credentials and their reaffirmation every time there is an election.

What is special here is the culture of protests and of rallies,strikes and bandhs which bring public life and economy to a standstill pretty often . What is worrisome is the possibility of continuation of a state of war between contending political parties both inside and outside the legislature and the resulting turf war to gain political control of geographical areas as well as social, cultural and educational institutions.

With a stagnating economy, finances in poor shape, high level of unemployment, infrastructural bottlenecks for industrial development accentuated by land acquisition problems ( which probably is most important cause that turned the tide against the ruling regime ),education and healthcare needing attention and volatile interest groups ready to be mobilised on the streets, any new government will have a lot on its plate.

Mamata Banerjee has unquestionable qualities of leadership. She has built a party almost singlehandedly and has become a symbol of resistance which has drawn people from all walks of life under her banner to fight against the might of a highly organised CPM in power. She is a great fighter and has shown considerable political acumen and savoir faire in her long and sustained battle against the CPM and the Left Front, but if her party wins tomorrow, which seems most likely, she will need to show an additional quality, that of statesmanship, to steer the unstable ship that West Bengal is, if she has to succeed in implementing the road map for development her party manifesto promises for the State.

To start with, what people need is a functioning democracy which allows them freedom of speech and dissent, provides them dignity, and opportunities regardless of party affiliation, where opposition is accommodated and listened to and most importantly which brings about a rule of law people respect and follow, on the streets, in schools and colleges, in their places of employment and in voicing their grievances. That would presuppose a responsive bureaucratic and law enforcing machinery free from political interference.

According to all reports, Nitish Kumar has turned the tide in Bihar. There is no reason why it can't happen in West Bengal. I hope Friday, the 13th May, 2011 turns out lucky for the State else we have to be content with a democracy that only comes into existence every five years (it could be less ) at the voting time under increasingly heavier armed guard.

In the wonderland of computers

2011-04-13T11:46:00.004+05:30

My love affair with the computer started a little over twenty years back.
IBM's PC, though a wonder child, was still in its infancy and the model that had recently entered the market in our country was called the PC AT. Though AT stood for 'advanced technology - an improvement on the earlier versions of PC XTs - with its processing power of about 8 mhz and 1 MB of memory, it would really be considered primitive by today's standards. Computers have evolved so fast in the last twenty odd years that kids toying with powerful PCs or laptops today won't give the AT a second look and would rather be amused at the word 'advanced' applied to its configuration.
Let me put this in the historical context. IBM came out with the PC in 1981. It took a few years for the PCs to reach our shore. Though the PC was a personal computer, very few were thinking of using it at home - it was too expensive ! Moreover, there was not much you could do with it at home unless you were into programming. You had to learn at least the commands of DOS ( disk operating system ). The 'user friendly' graphic user interface - GUI - ushered in by Windows 3.1 was still somewhat away and the 'mouse' was safely hidden in the corner of a room behind the cupboard ! There were some earlier versions of Windows, but I have not come across any.

Some of the foreign banks at that time were trying to introduce computers to simplify their operations in Calcutta, but were facing stiff resistance from the trade unions apprehensive of job losses. One or two tea companies were also facing similar problems in their tea gardens in the Dooars. I was involved in negotiations with some of the trade unions to try and persuade them to accept computerisation in the interested tea gardens. I had only a vague idea of what the computers did, but was a firm believer in new technology and knew, from whatever little I had read, that computers held a great promise. In discussing with the unions I was not merely doing a job, I was doing so out of conviction.

We were then executing a ILO-UNFPA project for the welfare of the families of tea garden workers in the Dooars. Our office soon got a computer, a dot-matrix printer and a photocopier on the project's account. The computer was meant for preparing a database of the tea gardens and for processing information relating to various project activities. There was a catch though. Nobody knew how to operate the computer ! The desktop remained on top of the desk with its black and white monitor gazing idly at the horizon and if someone thought of switching it on, after some irritating noise and few letters flitting by on the screen, it showed a cursor blinking invitingly against the letter C in capital.

We were in a place known as Binnaguri in the middle of the Dooars, in the back of the beyond so to say, about 100 kms from Siliguri - the nearest city where one could hope to get someone who knew about PCs and programming, though programmers those days were hard to come across. I was meanwhile going through the DOS manuals which came with the PC and trying to familiarise myself with its commands, but it did not take me far. I was yet to understand that we needed a programming language to develop our database and an interpreter or compiler on our computer for the purpose.
Our project director got in touch with a professor of physics heading the newly formed computer centre at the North Bengal University near Siliguri. He agreed to help and came over to our office one day. He told us candidly that he was new to a PC and its programming though he had some experience with mainframe computers, but he would be able to prepare a database management system with dBase III plus, a software he had brought along in a floppy to install in our computer. I was fascinated as I watched him make a new directory and transfer the files from the floppy. But when he started giving a brief outline about how to go about dbase programming, my attention was riveted to the book he had brought along. It was a book on dbase III plus. With his consent, I got the book photocopied, all 200 odd pages of it - thanks to the copier we got for the project, this was no problem !
Armed with the DOS manuals and the book on dbase, and with a computer at my disposal, I got neck deep into my own project - to understand the computer, its operating system and dbase III plus programming. I would be in the computer room every day in the evening after office hours. Every one knew where I could be found in the evenings those days. Since my bungalow was in the same compound, there was no problem about getting a cup of tea or any other beverage for that matter, to keep me going. It finally paid dividends- I created the database system for the project and the professor did not have to come again.
When I was able to generate a report for the first time after all the inputs had been given, I felt an exhilaration which I thought could be compared to the feeling of a farmer at harvest time when he watches his fully grown crop that he has so painstakingly planted and nurtured.
This was the beginning of an affair that continues, an affair that has gone through many phases - firstly, it was learning some of the languages like Basic and C and making simple programs with them till I realised that the computer world was moving too fast for an amateur like me dependent solely on books and his own methods of trial and error, then flirting with newer and newer application programmes that I could get hold of freely thanks to my subscription to PC Quest, a magazine which I think did the most to popularise computers and the internet in this country in their early stages ( by this time I had shifted to Calcutta and had my own computer, a 66 mhz 486, my costliest purchase till then i.e end 1994 ), and finally the internet and the World Wide Web.
The internet when it came, provided three options. The graphic option which is commonplace today was very expensive, the shell account which allowed text based access was only slightly less so, but there was a concessional shell option for students. I took the third one of course in the name of my son who had just been admitted to the degree course in Electronic Engineering. Incidentally, my son was taking some interest in programming those days and learning pretty fast. He has gone on to become a software professional and possibly my old 486 had some contribution to it !
In the text based internet access, you could not see the images in any website, but you could know their locations and download any if you wanted to view the same with a picture viewer or imaging software some of which you could get free from the net itself. Still surfing was not a pleasant chore. It was at this time I came across a program called 'shellsock' floated by some young men in Bangalore. I downloaded and installed it in my computer. A bit of tweaking was necessary with the Internet Explorer or Netscape and I had graphic access to the net ! And had no problems thereafter. Except that access was always slow and frequently interrupted.
I still marvel at how two youngsters who came out with the 'shellsock' beat the system. VSNL, the only provider those days and wholly Govt.controlled then, soon started lowering the access charges and though graphic access charge was still moderately high, I switched over soon.
Today of course the net is almost a lifeline. It not only helps me pay my bills, book my tickets, speak to my son in UK and write this post, it remains a vast reservoir of information which I can tap whenever I need. I was just checking with the net when Microsoft came out with Windows 3.1 and found it was in 1992. I started out on my journey into the wonderland of computers a year or so before that. I think I am one of the few oldies to do so.

English and me

2011-04-03T22:57:00.004+05:30

I think it was in one of the episodes of Dadagiri hosted by Sourav Ganguly which I happened to watch. A well known Bengali film actress was an invitee in this episode. She was giving forthright answers to the questions she was being asked and when asked if she had any regrets in life she said yes ; one of her regrets was not studying in an English medium school.
Her answer struck a chord in me. She did not explain or elaborate, but I felt I understood what she meant. From whatever I knew of her from the newspapers I knew she was a smart and educated person. Someone who lived in Mumbai for long periods in different spells, has attended numerous International Film festivals and must have had interactions with people in English over the years and from the few expressions of English that she used in the episode while talking, I could see that she knew English well. Then why this regret ?
We are a country with many regional languages. Though Hindi has been and continues to be promoted as an official language, English retains its importance as a link language, a language you need to know to pursue higher education and to have better job opportunities and greater career options. More importantly, in the common perception all over the country, anyone who knows English well is considered an educated person and in fact some amount of 'superiority' is attributed to a him if he speaks and writes in English with some amount of fluency - this may be a legacy of 200 hundred years of British rule which we have not been able to shed off yet.
As a result, someone with just a smattering of English learnt through indifferent schooling may find it hard to move up - in careers or in social circles. He may have to do a lot of hard work to brush up his English to be able to belong, and till then suffer from a feeling of inadequacy for no fault of his.It could be a he or she, but the position remains the same and a regret is quite possible.
I faced some problems myself. English literature was one of the subjects we had in our Intermediate Science years in the college. I used to feel quite uncomfortable in the class of one our English professors who taught us English poetry. I did not have much of a problem in following his lectures even though they were at times in quite a flowery language and had too much T.S.Eliot thrown in for a first year student to comprehend, but he had this habit of asking one of the students to stand up and narrate in his own language some points he had been explaining. Being unable to speak in English, I used to be afraid of being called up. More so because, branded as a good student, I dreaded being exposed as one who could not express himself in that language. Instead of facing up to this challenge- after all a bit of broken English would not have mattered that much and in any case, most of the other students were facing a similar situation - I chose an easier route, a psychologically weaker one I must admit, I started skipping his classes.
The problem lay in the way we were taught English at our Bengali medium schools. We learnt the letters of the English alphabet more or less at the same time we learnt those of our own language and English was a major subject we were taught in school. In our time in the fifties out of eight papers in the School Final, two and a half were of English. But no classes were there even at the senior level on spoken English nor were there classes to teach you how to write in the language on your own. Some schools or some teachers might have been exceptions, but what I am saying was generally true. There was some emphasis on grammar, rightly so, but otherwise we had to answer question from texts, prose or poetry, which the teachers more or less explained in a class. We prepared the the answers either from some notes given by the teacher in school, or from a private tutor (for those who could afford) or from the numerous books- the so called 'notebooks' - that were available in the market with suggested questions and answers. So, it finally came down to memorising some of these answers and hoping for the best in the final exams.
The situation may not have changed much over the years. In fact with 'objective' questions where you have to choose from multiple answers and less emphasis on composition, the situation could have only got worse. When the Left Front came into power in 1977, it banned teaching of English in primary schools and the primary sections of the Govt. or Govt. aided schools. There was a lot of uproar about this at that time and a section of the intelligentsia came out strongly against this policy. I thought at that time that the debate missed the main point. It is not when you start teaching a student a language, but how you you teach him is more important.
My own experience is quite illustrative in this regard. When we were in class VII, we were for the first time required to answer questions from English texts in English only. Our English teacher would come to the class, write out a question from a prose or poetry piece on the blackboard and then its answer from a notebook he kept for the purpose. We used to copy whatever he wrote and memorise the same. That is how we were being taught the language. I wish he had acted differently and taught us in those preparatory years to write on simple and familiar topics, including those in the textbook and tried to develop our speaking and writing skills, but I realise now that he was just a product of a system, an exam oriented mindset and a syllabus that did not leave him any time or inclination or for that matter much of a scope to do so.

The gentleman's game

2011-04-01T11:30:00.004+05:30

I felt I didn't have much of an option. When the whole country would be glued to the TV to watch the match, I could not afford to be the odd man out. An unprecedented hype had been generated in the week before with all the newspapers devoting their first pages to its possible outcome, analysing the past history of clashes between the two teams and their current strengths and weaknesses. Someone even went into a hyperbole and wrote that it was the game of the century which, of course, was a tall claim considering that the century is as yet too young. But then, it was not just a World Cup semi final played by India, it was a semi final between India and Pakistan. And that makes it different. It was not only two highly skilled teams meeting in the cricket field, but two nations born twins in 1947 and having a long tradition of rivalry clashing metaphorically, in a simulated war - a Kurukshetra of cricket in which national prides get involved.
I watched the game and was glad that I did. What happened is now history. India won though there were times when it looked like they wouldn't. The game went almost through a roller coaster and there were occasions when you could bet either way. It was undoubtedly enjoyable cricket with some good batting, some good bowling and fielding, some goof ups and some miraculous escapes.
Any way much has already been written on this game and on individual performances by better experts than me. I don't intend to cover the same grounds here. I will leave it to the political analysts to speculate over the outcome of our Prime Minister's diplomatic initiative in inviting the Pakistan PM to watch the match and having a cosy chat with him during the game and then at the official dinner hosted in his honour. It is better left to them to speculate on the political significance of Sonia and Rahul Gandhi's presence amongst the aam admi in the stands at Mohali and of course on her smile which is indeed rare and the jubilation expressed by her after the Indian victory. For me, this only indicates the significance of this game and also shows how much cricket has become part of our popular culture.
Oh, well, I forgot to mention Sourav Ganguly who seems to have added another feather to his cap by debuting as a commentator in this match. His was the sole Bengali presence, if not in the field, at least associated with it.
Those things apart, what I felt and I am sure everyone else who watched the game did too, was the palpable tension all through and the strain on the nerves individual players must have undergone with the burden of expectations they were carrying from their respective countries. What really was praiseworthy was the total absence of any foulmouthed abuses or lack of decency during the game which is not very uncommon these days. Even in this war of nerves, the teams kept their cool and played like gentlemen.

Reality Shows

2011-03-22T20:29:00.000+05:30

I was reading a news item from the Times, London published in one of our newspapers about a question in this year's SAT that puzzled students in America aspiring to enter the Ivy league institutions, Harvard and Yale. As SAT questions usually centre around grammar, algebra and problem solving, the students who prepared for them assiduously, as they do in this country, were quite unprepared for writing an essay on " Do people benefit from forms of entertainment that show so-called reality or are such forms of entertainment harmful ?"
There were certain aspects in the details given in this news which are quite revealing to me. I have watched some movies on American campus life and the students in them seemed more interested in fun and their prom than in their studies but this column made me realise that the students there and their parents too, are as serious about tests and exams as their counterparts in our country. They spend considerable sums of money on private tuition to prepare for the SAT exam as a good score in it is essential for getting entry into any University . One father who was quoted as saying that his son worked too hard to watch TV ( how could he, therefore, answer such a question on reality shows ? ) could be anyone from this country too.
The question itself is not easy to answer. And since I have not watched most of the reality shows and none consistently, I know I am not the right person to do so. Still I thought I will make some observation particularly in the light of a film I happened to watch.
Reality shows are coming up in different formats all over the world and newer ones are being added now and then. These shows include ordinary people, and not professional actors, in various settings. It may be a quiz contest like the 'Kon Banega Croropati' or a singing contest like the Indian Idol modelled after the American shows 'who wants to be Millionaire' and the 'American Idol' respectively. It may be a show like the 'Big Brother' and its Indian counterpart the 'Big Boss' in which a group of contestants are required to live in a house isolated from the outside world and interact with one another over a period of time under the watchful eyes of a camera all along. It could be a show in which the participants are required to overcome various challenges and perform some daring acts (with proper safeguards provided to prevent mishaps ). In one of the shows, Survivor , the participants are required to live in the wilderness and perform various acts to test their endurance and resourcefulness with the camera recording their activities. The list goes on.
The element of competition is there in each of these shows ( huge cash prizes are involved ) and that does provide varying degrees of thrill which attract all types of viewers but otherwise the audience for each type of show is obviously different.
A show like the 'Indian Idol' surely attracts more of the musically inclined. Talking of this show a few episodes of which I did watch, I felt that it provided a platform for many a talented singer to show their talents not only in front of the judges or the studio audience but in front of a much larger national audience. This is an opportunity the contestants would not have got otherwise - an opportunity which may have helped quite a few of them, not only the winner of the show - in launching a career in music or show business instead of remaining a local sensation amongst friends,colleagues and relatives.I have however some reservations about the children's show like 'Sa Re Ga Ma Pa' (song) and ''Dance Bangla Dance' (dance ). I am impressed by the performances of the children some of whom are amazingly gifted. These shows are so popular that I think a second or third series is now going on.The parents must be very keen to see their children getting into the shows and performing. I feel though that these children are too young to be brought into such public competition. Some may find it difficult to cope with failure emotionally and as for those who are being lauded and praised sky high for genuinely good performances, the celebrity status at such a young and tender age may be counterproductive.
The dangerous potential of a reality show was however revealed to me when I watched the movie 'Condemned' in one of the movie channels on my TV. The film tells the story of a multi-millionaire TV producer who gets ten convicts sentenced to death for various crimes of extremely violent nature released from prison and releases them in an island in a secret location on condition that they will have to kill one another in a 30- hour period and the sole survivor will get his freedom and a huge prize money. None of them can attempt to flee as an anklet is fitted to each of their ankles with a powerful explosive timed to detonate after thirty hours or before if anyone tries to remove them. The convicts have no option but to do his bidding. The man has arranged for a multitude of TV cameras fitted at strategic points all over the island to be able to record the movements of each and every one of these convicts and the violent actions to follow. He has a control room with computer and electronic experts to record all their actions and upload them in real time to the internet to their website for people to watch in streaming videos after paying a fee for registering to the site. The payments are directly routed to his bank account.

He also arranges ads to inform prospective viewers about the reality show and in fact gives an interview brazenly to a TV channel with the same object confident that he will have finished his project and made his money by the time the authorities discover the island's location.

The film thereafter rolls on with gruesome killings being enacted on the island as each one of the convicts tries to track and kill another, all being fed in real time to all the computers which log on to their site in the internet.Their console records more than a million hits in no time and the man makes some millions in that time.

I do not want to go into further details. It is a film depicting violence, though it ends with the indirect message that crime does not pay ( which most of such films does ), it feeds on people's voyeuristic tendencies and their desire to experience vicarious thrills. These are the same traits that the protagonist in the film banks on in his project to make money. Though it is fiction, can one rule out the possibility of someone getting such a grotesque idea and exploit this human weakness- is it the male psyche only ? - to make money ? After all, pornographic sites which panders to such base instincts dominated the internet in its early stages and possibly does so even now.
The internet is a powerful tool. It is a tool that can be used as a source of information and knowledge, for education and entertainment, for communication and networking, for running the economy and business and myriad other useful purposes, but it can also spread garbage and filth or stir up dark embers lying dormant in many of us as shown in the above example. One can always argue it is the viewers' choice, it is up to him to watch or not, but that argument is more like the drug traffickers' who would like to pass the buck on to the addicts who sustain a demand. But the young addict who tries a drug for fun or a kick mostly under peer pressure or sometimes being duped by someone else, gets unwittingly hooked and addicted. It is only possible because the supply is there and readily available. Even Adam could not resist the temptation of the fruit firstly because it was there and secondly, it was too tempting and forbidden.
Contents shown on the TV can be and are sometimes controlled on the basis of a social consensus. It is not that easy to monitor and control the contents in a vast network like the internet, but there should be continuing efforts to do so.

The Dog beneath the Skin

2011-03-18T13:22:00.003+05:30

The expression ' the Dog beneath the skin' which I used in my post 'Women : on the march' was borrowed from the name of a play written by the poets Auden and Isherwood though I gave it a meaning all my own. In the play it was a dog's skin that was used by a missing baronet Sir Francis Crewe as a disguise to move around as a dog and watch the people whom he found out to be mean, hypocritical and vulgar creatures - under their apparently sophisticated skins.The dog I was referring to is an animal and as dogs are, may be quite lovable and loyal and in fact a thoroughbred, but not being much of a dog lover myself, I was restricting it to its other characteristics which Pavlov so successfully used in his 'conditioned reflex' experiment. It is a creature of habit. And if one has been conditioned for ages into such a habit - in fact from the beginning of agricultural society- it may not be easy to grow out of the same inspite of all the refinement that even a liberal education provides.
So the idea of the second sex and male prominence continue to persist even in these days of gender equality which is pronounced from all public platforms. At home, in the workplace and on the streets.
At home, it can and does often lead to marital friction. It would not be fair to put all the blame on the male attitude though on the increasing instances of marital discord or divorces that are taking place these days ; women marching ahead are sometimes marching too much ahead. After all as someone remarked on my last post " it's the dog in question,who runs the risk of being starved to death these days. " She has a point. A woman too, financially independent and her own 'woman' so to say, is often too assertive about her own demand and personal freedom to allow the necessary space for adjustment which is essential in any relationship, more so an intimate one.
It is possibly the pompous male ego which led to the term ' male chauvinistic pig ' to describe the attitude of some males of our species. It would be most unfortunate if there is a role reversal and the female equivalents go on increasing in this feminist era.

The real and the unreal

2011-03-16T16:48:00.000+05:30

My son Anindya wrote this comment on my last post 'Japan Earthquake' :
'Same reaction with gargi :), we were telling her lets see the news , there is a big earthquake, but she was least interested. For her these scenes are common in movies and so she was not much interested. Nowadays such a small kid is exposed to so many unreal things that they miss the reality.'
(Gargi is my granddaughter, not yet 5 years old )
I was in fact pondering over this as I wrote the piece and had continued, but I decided to keep the extended portion for another post. This is what I had penned :
'I remember about forty or forty five years back, a film called King Kong ( the original one ) was released in Calcutta and when King Kong appeared on the scene, I am told, some people fainted. I am sure even a child today would not do so now as he is growing immune to such shocks with the continued exposure to giant and monster films that are so common today.

The films will be there because we want them. People love to watch violence, they also love to watch the macabre and the weird. They thronged the Colosseum in ancient Rome to watch the gladiators fight to the finish. They love to watch bullfights in Spain and cockfights in rural India. If two bulls start fighting on a Kolkata street, a crowd will immediately form to watch the fight and some would start cheering one or the other. Public execution was quite common in America at one time. Though the authorities thought they were setting an example for would-be criminals to be afraid of, people actually gathered to watch the show for entertainment only.

There is something about violence, even in nature's fury, which makes the adrenaline flow when we watch. From a distance, personally unaffected. In the civilised world we no longer have the gladiator fights ( except in some moderated form in boxing or freestyle wrestling ), we have shifted to other forms of competitive sports which provide similar tensions and thrills to watch. The evolution of cricket from its 5 day test matches to a faster ODIs and then to its present T 20 form is an example, it fulfils our craze for the 'fast and the furious', but all these still do not fully satisfy the primitive human desire which drew us to the gladiator's arena. The modern films pander to this desire.They know that is where the business is.

We watch them, so do the young children. It is for us to make sure they retain their sanity and remain sensitive to the real world and its joys and sorrows.'
It is however easier said than done.
There is one consolation though. Even before the TV invaded our homes with an extension of the visual world with various doses of unreality, children all over the world were being fed with stories of fantasy, of giants and dwarfs, of the lands beyond the seven seas, and of the imprisoned princess and the prince charming who fights the demons of all shapes and sizes to rescue her from a distant castle or a cave. And later, with comic book stories of super heroes or of Tintin in his various adventure trails. It allowed their imagination a free run, but they learnt to tune in with reality as they grew up. So will the children of today given the right direction.

Japan Earthquake

2011-03-15T17:57:00.000+05:30

The dividing line between the real and the unreal is getting increasingly blurred in today's world.
I was watching BBC World News when they came up with the story of the Japan earthquake. At 8.9 in the Reichter scale it is one of the most severe earthquake to have occurred in recent times and it has caused an unprecedented devastation in a country which is quake prone and known to be well prepared to meet such an eventuality.
As I sat watching the TV, they showed live video footages of the earthquake as it was taking place. An office room was shown shaking with papers flying around, a retail store could be seen with all the racks of canned goods rattling, the cans falling off and people with perplexed faces moving around. They showed the Tsunami wave triggered by the earthquake which struck the shores and swept away a township crumbling all the houses like so many match boxes and then rumbling water everywhere with cars and vans and rooftops floating here and there.
I sat there watching, transfixed, heard the voices in the TV talking about the number of people who have died or are missing, and the number of homes destroyed. I suddenly realised to my horror that I was not being moved emotionally. My head was registering all the news and its seriousness but my heart was not reaching out in sympathy to all these people, thousands of them, who have lost their lives or their friends and relatives or their homes.
Because it seemed so unreal, like in a film. I watch films often in the TV, in Star Movies or HBO or such other channels and most of them depict violence, disasters, destruction or devastation in graphic details. Today's technology allows them to be so realistic that you feel it is really happening. What have I not seen ? What have you not seen ? Violence, brutality, people being shot at and killed or blown off, cars blown to smithereens, towering infernos, nature's fury - you name it, it is there. You retain your sanity because you know, deep in your heart, it is only a film you are watching, not something real but your senses get numbed, the shock factor wears off, you are rendered insensitive. Even if something similar is happening in the real world, you refuse to believe it is your world.
That is what I suppose was my first reaction, as I watched the live TV coverage. Was it really happening or was it just another series of scenes from a movie ? I had to stir myself as if from a stupor and wake up to the enormity of the tragedy that struck some parts of Japan that day.

Women : On the march

2011-03-12T11:51:00.002+05:30

I was in my second year in Presidency college in 1959 when Prof. Kajal Sengupta was appointed as a teacher in the English department. Presidency being a co-educational college, there was no dearth of female faces in the campus and addition of a new one would not have aroused much of an interest except for the fact that Prof. Sengupta was the first woman teacher to be appointed in the college. We used to look at her with a bit of awe as she walked briskly past us along the corridor and up the wide stairs to take up her classes. Being the only woman among the teaching fraternity could not have been easy for her. That too in a college which took great pride in maintaining its tradition of excellence . She must have been conscious of the responsibility that she had taken as a lone representative of her sex to prove herself equal to the task. That probably explains the reserve and aura she maintained at all times. It could be a defensive shield also in a predominantly male preserve. At that time some of us youngsters who never knew her or attended her classes, did not realise it though . We mistook it for a superior air which we thought she had imbibed from Oxford.
Girls were going to schools and colleges in quite large numbers by then but not many could be found going to work.Women were already in some professions like the medical or teaching professions but those were still in the nature of exceptions. This reminds me of the first working woman I came across few years before. It was in the mid fifties when I was possibly in class eight. I would often meet this young lady on my way to school. Dressed in a starched and pressed cotton saree, she would be crossing the wooden bridge connecting Kalighat and Chetla on her way to catch a bus at the Rashbehari crossing. I could guess she was going to the office like all the men rushing from the Chetla side of the bridge at that hour.
As time passed, more and more women were joining the workforce in various fields. Economic compulsions brought middle class women out of their homes to look for and join work - in the telephone department, in post offices and other organisations. Slowly and imperceptibly social mores were changing, though it was not easy for the Bengali middle class to accept and adjust to them.
Satyajit Ray's Mahanagar captures this period of transition. The film was released in 1963 and narrates the story of a traditional family in which the housewife is compelled to join work as a door to door sales person to supplement her husband's income and make both ends meet. There are tensions in the family as a result which form the theme of the movie.The husband's parents do not approve of her going out to work and the husband himself starts developing a complex when he finds his wife become the major breadwinner of the family.
The film records the hesitant and tentative steps a middle class woman was taking as she stepped out of home and into the outer world and the stresses she had to go through, both in the family as well as in the workplace, as she proceeded to gain confidence and achieve a sense of independence.
The period of transition is still not over. Women are in large numbers at the workplaces today, they are in almost every profession, in every sphere of economic activity. They have proved themselves equal to men and many have excelled in their chosen fields. Society has grudgingly accepted the emergence of the new woman but has not yet been able to shake off its ambivalent attitude towards her. Habits die hard, social attitudes die harder. The dog beneath the skin - it lurks beneath many a liberal skin - longing for the stereotype of the demure, submissive woman who should better be at home tending to her folks, bares its fangs only too often.

Egypt Burning

2011-02-24T16:51:00.002+05:30

'It started as a demonstration and turned into a revolution.'
Why and how did it happen ? It could not have been a cake walk with at least 300 dead and thousands injured. It could not have been easy for men and women, boys and girls, staying together in thousands in Tahrir square day and night, some sleeping, if and when sleep was possible, in makeshift tents and some in the open, in that cold and without any toilet facilities.
After writing my last post on Egypt which I felt lacked the flesh and meat, the blood and sweat of the uprising, I read some blogs in the net and through them came across the website of Al Jazeera, a highly respected news network in the Arab world known for its independent news coverage. Al Jazeera had its journalists on the ground with the demonstrators recording and reporting every event during the turmoil. I turned to their page 'Egypt Burning' which includes video films in three parts covering the 18 days that it took for Mubarak to step down. These videos give a 'feel' to what happened.

( These videos are available in YouTube too. One problem I face in watching these videos most of the time is the frequent interruptions and sometimes indefinite wait for the streaming to take place. This taxes anyone's patience. I downloaded one of these videos to my computer for uploading to the blog in order to circumvent the problem and convert it to a local video. I have done this in the past successfully, but in this case, the server rejected the upload from my computer each time I tried possibly because of the video's size - about 135 mb each or copyright restrictions. In this day and age when the internet is an enabler in social and political changes, I find it ridiculous to be unable to watch a YouTube video without unnecessary hang-ups.I have so far found no solution.)

Bengali and the Blogger - 2

2011-02-22T14:33:00.000+05:30

It is just to record that the Blogger has finally come up with a Bengali option. It is unlikely to be a result of my post, but coming so soon after my write-up, it gives me some satisfaction.

বাংলায় যারা লিখতে চায় তাদের খুব সুবিধে হোলো |

Egypt

2011-02-22T14:26:00.001+05:30

The ripple from Tunisia soon started spreading across the Arab world. As it travelled along the Nile, it turned into a massive wave of protest that lashed onto the Hosni Mubarak regime at Cairo. On the 25th of January a million or more people collected at the Tahrir square with their one point demand - Mubarak to step down and go. They were mostly youngsters, men and women, Muslim and Christians, from all walks of life. With the national flag of Egypt in most hands they were there for eighteen days in a non-violent protest, assault by police and pro Mubarak thugs notwithstanding, till Mubarak stepped down and left the country.That's how the 30 year rule by a strong man who was supposed to have brought stability to Egypt and maintained it with an iron hand, ended. In ignominy.
What happened in Egypt has been etched into its history and is now common knowledge in the world but without undermining the resolve of the people of Egypt and the grandeur of this revolution, my layman's mind has been pondering over some intriguing questions about the role of the Army. The Army was very much there at Tahrir square, but they did not intervene. If they did, it would surely have meant considerably lot more bloodshed and a long drawn battle for the people to achieve their goal. This is what is happening at the moment in Libya where another strong man is ruling for the last 40 years.
It is obvious that the Army did not support the Mubarak regime any more, but what is not so obvious to me is why. Army normally is a beneficiary in any dictatorial dispensation and must have been so in Egypt also. Still they remained silent when the status quo was challenged and finally changed. Is it some internal power dynamics in Egypt or possible international reactions ? I have not found the answer from the reports and analyses I have come across so far.

But the Army did earn as a result the goodwill and respect of the people. The Army is now in effective control of the State and has promised to help in the formation of a civilian government to which it will hand over power with an amended constitution in six months time. Power, however, is too alluring to give up easily and with stern measures required to handle the strikes that have reportedly broken out in many government establishments and banks by employees who could not raise their voices in the previous regime and the economy at a standstill, the Army may have a justification in continuing in power for a longer period. This has happened elsewhere before. The positive sign though is the existence now of the Trustees of the revolution, a body of academics and politicians, working as a watchdog and also the alertness and vigilance of the youth movement displayed in the gathering of nearly a million again at Tahrir square to celebrate one week of their revolution.

The other concern in many minds is about the Muslim Brotherhood, an Islamist movement, which was the main opposition, though banned, in Mubarak's time and has a large following particularly amongst the poorer section of the people because of the social services it has been rendering for years through its educational institutions and hospitals all over Egypt. Though the Brotherhood did not inspire the revolution nor had any leading role, it did participate in it and is likely to have a major role in any future government formation.
The youth movement was and remains secular. It happened not only because of economic frustrations but also because the people wanted to 'breathe free' as one blogger wrote. Just as they would not like to have fetters politically they may not like to have too much of religious constraints either in public life. According to a newspaper report I read today, a women's group came out in a procession yesterday in Tunis in protest against some activities by an allegedly Islamic group and the banner they held up read ' politics ruins religion and religion ruins politics'. Same sentiments may be running in Egypt too.
Under the circumstances whether there will be an Islamic sway in a country with 90% muslim population or the Brotherhood moderates its approach in tune with the aspirations of the youth or other liberal formations come up out of the youth movement directing the country's future remains to be seen.
P.S I have no expert knowledge either of Tunisia or Egypt or for that matter, the Arab world. What I have written is based on news reports, articles here and there and few blogs. What I am interested in is to watch and understand the progress of history which is in the making in our time.

Good Morning, Tunisia

2011-02-16T12:41:00.000+05:30

Sidi Bouzid is a small nondescript town in Tunisia where it all started on the 17th of December last year when a young fruit and vegetable vendor had his cart and his wares confiscated. When he protested, he was first slapped and then beaten by a woman municipal inspector. He went to the municipal office nearby and then to the district governors office but there was none willing to register his complaint or to listen to his grievance.
Mohamed Bouazizi, the young street vendor, had problems with the municipal employees in the past too as he did not have any license to trade, but this time he could not accept the humiliation any more and set himself on fire in front of the governor's office in the crowded street.Bouazizi suffered 90% burns and later died, but as the news spread the people of Tunisia perceived his act as an ultimate act of protest against a regime that denied him justice and the right to live with the minimum of dignity. The fire he lighted spread across the whole of Tunisia and caused a mass upsurge that led to the fall of the authoritarian regime of Ben Ali which ruled the country for 23 years.
Bouazizi's self immolation was a very sad but individual act which under normal circumstances could have agitated not only the onlookers but also many of the people of the town. The emotional response could have led to protests against the highhandedness as well as as the callous indifference of those in authority and perhaps hit the newspaper headlines but who would have thought that it would lead to such mass protests across the whole of Tunisia? Who would have thought that it would launch a revolution and be a definitive moment in the history not only of Tunisia but the whole of the Arab world, particularly Egypt, as it enters the second decade of the 21st century.
In retrospect it appears that the incident occurred at the right moment in history. The anger and frustration in the minds of the people against a corrupt and authoritarian regime which did not allow the right of dissent and the simmering discontent from rising unemployment and inflation were waiting for a trigger to explode and Bouazizi's act was that trigger.
It was not a revolution led by a charismatic leader nor by any armed group of revolutionaries. Though reportedly helped by the labour unions, it was a people's revolution, a revolution mostly by young people who faced police batons and bullets but stuck to their demand for the end of Ben Ali's government and wanted nothing more than good governance and a corruption free democratic framework which provides basic rights and free speech.And it was powered and sustained by the communication networks that the internet has provided in today's world.
Future will tell what what happens in Tunisia which is in a state of transition today with an interim government that has promised a free and fair election in a short time. It won't be an easy task to bring democracy in a society which has never known it before. Those who had power and vested interests in the old regime will surely be jockeying for power in any structure that emerges. The police and bureaucracy and their attitudes will not change overnight and corruption does not vanish in a democracy as we all know to our cost, but if adequate checks and balances are introduced to protect the rights of the people and the country comes up with a proper democratic and secular constitution in conformity with the demands of the revolution and the people remain vigilant as they have been so far, the process will be on its way to realise the goals the revolution set for itself.

(Source- newspaper reports and articles )

Sarshe Mach

2011-02-09T14:29:00.007+05:30

In the last post, I wrote about a fish preparation I cooked - Sarshe Aar to be exact. It occurred to me while reading the post again that I had come across a number of blog sites devoted to Bengali cooking recipes and in fact, had occasionally consulted one or two. Just google 'Ilish Macher Jhol' and you will be given a number of website options to pick up from. That goes for any other food preparations too.Obviously, many housewives have found an alternative way to channel their energies and share their considerable talent thanks to the net and in fact to blog sites.Some even go to considerable lengths to make their sites attractive with pictures of various dishes they make and share with their readers.
Some of these sites have quite a good following not merely because of the dry recipes but the interesting way they are presented. That only shows that to have a readership, you need to focus on one particular subject and follow through, instead of hopping from one subject to another. A butterfly or a grasshopper may be very interesting to look at in nature, but a hopper like me has little hope.
I do not have any intention of writing recipes here and change my essential character as a hopper but I thought I could share my own thoughts about sarshe mach which is a singular Bengali delicacy. I do not claim to be a good cook. I started more or less at a time when Indians generally turn to Bhagabat Gita or chalk out plans for various places of pilgrimage. But my progress as a pilgrim took me to the kitchen for some on the job training through the age old trial and error methods with occasional inputs from external sources.
For a restless mind like mine ( possibly the root cause of my smoking ), some one who makes a cup of tea in one burner while cooking in another, cooking needs to be simplified to the extent it does not compromise the essential taste. So what I do generally is for a man, may be even a woman, in a hurry. I use the word generally with some deliberation, for you can not take too much liberties with every dish that you make.
It all started when powdered sarshe ( mustard ) came into the market and made things easier for me. What we need is a few spoonfuls of the powder made into a slightly watery paste with adequate water and a pinch of salt. It should be left for about ten minutes as recommended on the cover. We also need to have a half spoonful of turmeric paste ( again from readily available powder ) and five or six green chillies.Meanwhile wash five or six fish pieces ( cut pieces for Aar or Ilish, full pieces for Parshe or Prawns), mix them with some turmeric powder and salt, and fry them in mustard oil in a kadai. I prefer the kadai with its curved bottom, it allows me to assess the correct measure of oil.
In case of Ilish and Parshe, you should be careful to fry in low heat, otherwise the skins will start getting stuck to the spatula or hata .
Take the fried pieces of fish out and put four five green chillies, sliced in half to splutter in the same oil in low heat for a little while and then put the turmeric paste in it. As oil starts separating, put the fish pieces back in the oil and spread the mustard paste evenly on it. What I do then is to add water slowly while stirring on one side to make an even gravy. The amount of water needed is based on subjective assessment.
The mix is now brought to a boil in high heat while the stirring continues to prevent any lump formation.Once it reaches the boiling point, I lower the flames and put a cover on the kadai for cooking to continue for six seven minutes. In case of Ilish and Chingri (Prawns), five minutes is good enough. I check the salt at this time and if required, put some salt to taste. The dish is ready to be served with steamed rice.
In case of Chingri, you may think of some grated or scrapped coconut to be added after making a paste with a bit of water. But that is too much of a bother, the Chingri tastes good otherwise too.
Obviously, this preparation may be embellished by better cooks, but if you want a moderately tasty sarshe mach dish, this abridged version seems good enough to me.
Any discerning reader will note that I have not given any measure for the mustard powder or the turmeric powder to be taken unlike the other blog writers who are all meticulous on such matters. I have left it for someone who is interested to discover on his own as I did. The joy of discovery is as much as the dish itself ! The first dish may fail the test, so what, there is always the next one.
If you are cooking for yourself or your family, the world will not crumble if you make a mistake. You may raise a few laughs instead which is equally good for health.

When was the last time you did something for the first time ?

2011-02-06T14:49:00.000+05:30

When was the last time you did something for the first time ? Asks one ad which comes up frequently on my TV screen these says. It set me thinking. I live such a conventional life, every day is really a 'repeat' of the previous day and the following one is not likely to throw up any surprises either. It would have been boring, dull and frustrating if I did not have my TV to watch, the net to surf, the cooking I do, the club I go to for a swim and also to have a chat with one or two friends but with all these activities, there is no novelty, no sense of adventure and no feeling of fulfillment. Well, I read books occasionally and that can be absorbing and at times an uplifting experience, but the books are some one else's creation and not mine.
I was thinking of all these as I walked back from the bazaar in the morning. I realised that this train of thought must have prompted me to buy a species of fish, Ar mach, which I did not have in the last twenty years. I have never cooked this fish before - I did not have to cook twenty years back, nor did I have to do any household chores either - so, it might be a bit of a novelty.
As I was walking, I came across a gentleman I had met a number of times on the streets but never spoken to. He is my next door neighbour, but I, being what I am, have never bothered to introduce myself to any of my neighbours in the locality in the last six years. I stopped him, got ourselves introduced and started chatting. It transpired that both of us finished school in the same year and being a very old resident of this place, he knew my father, a doctor, who used to visit this place pretty often in our childhood. He also knew me by name because of my academic accomplishments in the bygone days. Another friend of his, of the same locality, joined us and after a few minutes of small talk which I am not much good at, I left, but deep within I felt some satisfaction for doing something very ordinary and normal, but new and out of character as far as I am concerned.
I realised suddenly that the blog I have started is also a first for me. Every new post is something I am creating, however humble that is, something new and adventurous, something which did not exist before. I was just reading an interview of Kiran Desai, the winner of the Man Booker Prize of 2006 in Telegraph today and she says " I have the creative energy of Rushdie and the immigrant's heart of Naipul ". I do not have the creative energy of either Desai or Rushdie or for that matter any author, and as regards being an immigrant, I really do not know because living in my own country, sometimes I feel I do not belong, but I always wanted to write. I did not have the confidence to do so.Words were never in my command, they are not so now either. They have a tendency to play hide and seek when I look for them and remain hidden most of the time though I know they are very much there - somewhere.
When I took the first step to write, I was fighting against a mental block, against a feeling of disability and inadequacy. I was crossing a barrier that had planted itself in my mind long ago like an iron in the soul. But I did.

কলকাতার কনসার্ট

2011-02-05T19:12:00.001+05:30

কুঁদঘাটের বাস স্ট্যান্ড এখন প্রায় ফাঁকা | একটা বাস দাঁড়িয়ে আছে ,ভিতরে দু একটা লোক মাত্র | একদিকে কয়েকটা ফাঁকা ট্যাক্সি , অন্য দিকে ওদেরই ইউনিয়নের ছাউনিতে বসে কয়েকজন হাতে চায়ের ভাঁর নিয়ে গল্পগুজব করছে | দুটো কুকুর ফেলে দেওয়া কোনো খাবারের উচ্ছিষ্ট নিয়ে ভীষণ ব্যস্ত | দূরের এক কোনে দাঁড়িয়ে একজন মনে হয় জলত্যাগে নিবিষ্ট |

রাস্তাঘাটে লোকজন এখন বেশি নেই | ফুটপাথের পাশে কিছু দোকান খোলা, কিছু খুলব খুলব করছে | উল্টোদিকে রাস্তার ধারের স্টলগুলোর দু একটায় সন্ধ্যার প্রস্তুতি চলছে ,অন্যগুলোয় ঝাঁপ এখনো বন্ধ | এখন বিকেল পাঁচটা , এখানকার কলকাতা শ্বাস নিচ্ছে , সকাল থেকেই ত দৌড়ের শুরু , দুপুরের পর এই একটু বিশ্রাম , সিনেমার ইন্টার ভালের মত আর কি , কিছু পরেই রাস্তার আলো জ্বলে উঠবে ,সন্ধ্যার পর্ব শুরু হয়ে যাবে |

আমি হেঁটে মেট্রো স্টেশনে পৌছলাম , একটা কাউন্টারের সামনে পিস বোর্ডে লেখা 'সঠিক ভাড়া দেবেন' ,সেই কাউন্টারের সামনেই দু একজনের পিছনে লাইনে দাঁড়ালাম | আমি খুচরো নিয়ে বেরই ,সঠিক ভাড়া দেব বলে, তাড়াতাড়ি ও হবার সম্ভাবনা , কিন্তু সব সময় দেখি খুব কম লোকেই সঠিক ভাড়া দেয় | কাউন্টারের লোকটি কিছু বলে না , গুনে গুনে খুচরো ফেরত দেয় | একদিন জিজ্ঞেস করতে বলল, 'কি করবো বলুন, কেউ মানে না ,ঝগড়া করবো ?' সত্যি কেউ মানে না, ঝগড়া করে কে আর অপ্রিয় হয় |

কেউ কেউ মানে , তাদেরই ভোগান্তি | বেশিরভাগই মানে না ,এটাই কলকাতার বৈশিষ্ট্য | এই যে স্টলগুলো মেট্রো স্টেশন চালু হবার পর দেখতে দেখতে রাস্তার একধার দিয়ে বেড়ে চলল , এটা নিশ্চয়ই কোন আইন মেনে নয়, কিন্তু লোকে মেনে নিয়েছে |সন্ধ্যের পর এদের রমরমা | কোথাও চপ কাটলেট ভাজা হচ্ছে ,চাউমিন তৈরী হচ্ছে, কোথাও মাটন বা এগ রোল | এক জায়গায় আবার মোমো , তার গুনাগুন যাই হোক না কেন | রাস্তায় আলো জ্বলে উঠলে এই রাস্তায় ভিড় বেড়ে ওঠে , অফিস ফিরতি মানুষ , দোকানে কেনাকাটা করা মানুষ, এছাড়া ত রিক্সা , ট্যাক্সি অটো র চালকেরা আছেই | পথ চলতি মানুষের অনেকেই দাঁড়িয়ে যায় এই সব স্টলের সামনে , সারাদিনের খাটাখাটুনির পর ক্ষুধার উদ্রেক স্বাভাবিক | অতএব দোকানগুলো লোকের সুবিধেই করে দিয়েছে | এছাড়া এদের পিছেনে কোনো না কোনো রাজনৈতিক দলের মদত থাকতেই পারে , সুতরাং চুপ থাকাই ভালো |

আমি বাড়ি ফিরছি, রাত আটটা, রাস্তা এখন প্রানবন্ত , প্রানের জোয়ারে ভাসছে | সাইকেল,রিক্সা,অটো,বাস,গাড়ী চলছে ত চলছেই , পথচারীদের কথা আর নাই বললাম | এরই মধ্যে কোথাও একটা রিক্সা রাস্তার মাঝেই সওয়ারী নামিয়ে দরকষাকষি শুরু করলে আর কথা নেই, তার ইচ্ছে হলে সে করতেই পারে, অটোও হটাত দাঁড়িয়ে পড়তে পারে রাস্তার মাঝে , এটা ওদের গণতান্ত্রিক অধিকার | তাছাড়া ওদের ইউনিয়ন আছে , অতএব পুলিশ থাকলেও নিশ্চুপ | মাঝখান থেকে কিছু সময়ের যানজট , গাড়ির হর্ন, কোলাহল | ওদিকে একটা নতুন স্টলে সিডি,ডিভিডি বিক্রি হয়, সেখানে সবসময় কোনো না কোনো গান বাজছে, বেশ উচু পর্দায় | সব মিলিয়ে একটা কনসার্টের মেজাজ এসে যায়, তবে তার জন্যে শুধু কান থাকলেই হবে না ,মন চাই | অবশ্য কানে টান পড়লে মন কেন, মাথাই চলে আসে এত জানা কথা |

অসুবিধে গাড়ির চালকদের | আমাকে মাঝে মাঝে গাড়ী নিয়ে বেরোতে হয়, সন্তর্পনে চালাই, পথচারীদের বাঁচিয়ে, রিক্সা ,সাইকেলে ধাক্কা না মেরে চলে আসি কোনমতে | কোথাও একটু লেগে গেলে ত কথাই নেই, দোষ গাড়ির এ ত জানা কথা | দরিদ্র জনসাধারনের এই দেশে গাড়ী থাকা ত কোনো গুনের কথা নয়, হলোই বা আপনি রোড টাক্স দিচ্ছেন, হলোই বা সাইকেলটা বেখাপ্পা আপনার সামনে এসে পড়েছে অথবা ওর ত লাগেনি | কে শুনবে !

সন্ধ্যের পর কুঁদঘাটের এই মেলা এমন কিছু স্বতন্ত্র নয় অবশ্য , একই চিত্র বেহালার ট্রাম ডিপোর সামনে অথবা যাদবপুরে | এটা কলকাতা স্পেশাল | রাজীব গান্ধী বলেছিলেন কলকাতা মুমূর্ষু , মৃত্যুমুখী, বা মৃতপ্রায় | এ নিয়ে অনেক সোরগোল উঠেছিল অবশ্য, অনেক কলকাতাপ্রেমী প্রতিবাদ জানিয়েছিলেন | সত্যিই ত, কে বলে কলকাতা মুমূর্ষু , অতি সতর্কতার সাথে রাস্তাটা পার হতে হতে ভাবছিলাম , এখানে ত প্রানের আতিশয্য | টলির নালায় জোয়ার না থাকতে পারে, নোংরা ফেলে ফেলে সেটাকে নর্দমা করে ফেলা হয়েছে তাতেই বা কি, আমাদের প্রানের জোয়ার আটকায় কে ?

স্কুলের প্রথম দিন

2011-01-30T17:43:00.001+05:30

আমার ছেলে তখন পাঁচ ছুঁই ছুঁই|নার্সারী ক্লাসে ভর্তি হযেছে|স্কুলের প্রথম দিনে আমি ওকে স্কুলে নিয়ে এসেছি|কোনো কান্নাকাটিই করে নি আসবার সময়|বাবার সঙ্গে এসেছে,বাবা সঙ্গেই থাকবে এরকম কিছু ভেবেছিল হয়তো|আমিও নিশ্চিন্ত ছিলাম, কিন্তু ক্লাসের দরজায় পৌঁছে যেই বুঝল আমি চলে যাব,দিল কান্না জুড়ে|আমায় ছাড়বেনা কিছুতেই|যত বোঝাই স্কুলে অনেক বন্ধু হবে,খেলা ধুলো করতে পারবে,অনেক রাইমস শিখতে পারবে, কত আনন্দ করতে পারবে, কে শোনে কার কথা|ও কিছুতেই আমার হাত ছাড়বে না,বাড়ি যাবে|বাবা মাকে ছেড়ে নিজের পরিচিত পরিবেশের বাইরে এই অজানা অচেনা ক্লাসের নির্বাসন কক্ষে যেতে ও একেবারেই নারাজ|ওর কান্না থামাতে না পেরে আমি যখন প্রায় হাল ছেড়ে দিয়েছি পাশের ক্লাস থেকে এক কম বয়েসী টিচার বেরিয়ে এসে ছেলের গায়ে মাথায় হাত বুলিয়ে ওকে শান্ত করে হাতে একটা চকচকে আধুলি ধরিয়ে দিলেন|ওই আধুলি টাতেই মন্ত্রের মতো কাজ হল|আমার ছেলে ওই মেয়েটির হাত ধরে ক্লাসে চলে গেল|
টাকার মর্ম তখন আমার ছেলের বোঝার কথা নয়,পারিপার্শিক জগতের 'টাকা স্বর্গ টাকা ধর্ম' মন্ত্র নিশ্চয়ই ওই বয়সে ওর অবচেতন মনে ঢুকে যায় নি| কিন্তু দুটো মিষ্টি কথা আর ওই চকচকে ধাতব আধুলিটাই মন্ত্রের মতো কাজ করেছিল সেদিন,ওই দিয়েই টিচার মেয়েটি সম্ভবত বোঝাতে পেরেছিলেন ও পুরোপুরি শত্রুপুরীতে এসে উপস্থিত হয় নি|
আমার নিজের অভিজ্ঞতা অবশ্য অন্যরকম|আমি যখন প্রথম স্কুলে যাই আমার বয়েস আটের কাছাকাছি|স্কুলে যেতে হবে বলে কান্নাকাটি করার বয়েস পেরিয়ে এসেছি|তাছাড়া বাড়ির চৌহদ্দির বাইরে বন্ধুদের সাথে খেলাধুলোয় তখন আমি অভ্যস্থ|আমার সমস্যা হলো অন্যজায়গায়|আমাদের হেঁটেই স্কুলে যেতে হত,দূরত্ব এমন কিছু নয়,যদিও আজকের দিনে একেই বেশ দূর মনে করেন অনেক বাবা মা|কালিঘাটে আমাদের বাড়ি থেকে চেতলা স্কুলে যেতে পথে আদি গঙ্গার উপরের কাঠের পুল পেরোতে হত|এখন আর সে কাঠের পুল নেই,এখন সেটাই পাকাপোক্ত চেতলা ব্রিজ|কাঠের পুলের পাটাতনগুলোর ফাঁক দিয়ে তলায় বয়ে যাওয়া গঙ্গার ঘোলাটে জলের স্রোত স্পষ্ট দেখা যেত|প্রথম দিন তো বটেই,বেশ কয়েকদিন ওই ব্রিজ পার হতে আমার খুব ভয় করত|মনে হত গলে পরে যাব|হাতে বই খাতা নিয়ে পা টিপে টিপে নাম জপ করতে করতে পার হতাম|দুচারদিনেই ভয়টা চলে গেলো,কবে তা মনে নেই|

Bengali and the Blogger

2011-01-29T12:51:00.001+05:30

If you want to write a blogpost in Bengali in the Blogger, you seem to have three options.
You may install a free software like Ekushe or any commercially available one in your computer and use its virtual keyboard to type in Bengali with the help of your mouse in MS Word and later transfer it to the blogger editor by the usual copy and paste method. It may not be that easy for those unused to a Bengali keyboard. Bengali, unlike English, joins consonants with vowels as in কি , কো   and also have many joined letters like স্থ or জ্ঞ and typing them may prove difficult.
The other option is to use the Google transliteration website and use the editor to write your post. You may have to use the virtual keyboard at times by clicking an icon, but that is occasional and only for words that the editor does not throw up as an option. It seems O.K after some practice, but the editor does not have a 'save' option and the written piece may vanish, if by chance the touch of a key or on the pad,moves the browser to another page. It can be quite frustrating to have to write the whole thing once again when the thought process might have already changed. It has happened with me more than once. I had then to copy and paste para by para to the blogger. Irritating.
Thirdly, you may download and install Google transliteration IME (input method editor). Now you have an additional language installed and you can switch between English and Bengali at will whether you are using Notepad, Word or the Blogger directly.I was surprised though it did not have the 'dari' to mark the end of a sentence, a drawback that can be managed in the QWERTY key board itself ' এইভাবে |' .
I forgot to mention that Windows itself allows Bengali to be installed as an additional language, but I did not like the font and in any case, the problem with it is the same as the first option I mentioned.
Surprisingly, the blogger does not have an option for using Bengali directly although such option is available for some Indian languages like Hindi, Tamil and one or two others. Apart from its rich literary traditions, Bengali is one of the most widely spoken languages and according to the Wikipedia ranks sixth in the world. It is also the national language of an independent nation, Bangladesh. Google may include Bengali later as an option in the blogger but I find no justification for its not doing it so far.
I doubt if anyone in Google will be reading this post but if he does, he should take note of it.

বাংরেজি

2011-01-27T09:29:00.000+05:30

লক্ষ্য করলেই দেখা যাবে যে আমরা কথোপকথনে বহু ইংরিজি শব্দ ব্যবহার করি ৷ কিছু কিছু শব্দ আছে যেমন টেবিল ,চেয়ার ,গেলাস যেগুলো অনেকদিন হলো বাংলাভাষার অঙ্গ হয়ে পড়েছে ৷কিছু বাংলা শব্দ আজকাল আমরা আর ব্যবহার করি না বরঞ্চ ইংরিজি প্রতিশব্দগুলোই সহজতর হয়ে গেছে।যেমন ধরা যাক বিদ্যালয় , মহাবিদ্যালয় ।আমরা এখন ইস্কুল কলেজ বলতেই অভ্যস্ত । এছাড়া আজকের প্রয়োজনের অনেক শব্দই আছে যেগুলো মূলত ইংরিজি যেমন কপি ,টাইপ, ফ্রিজ ইত্যাদি । সময়ের সাথে সাথে ,নতুন নতুন অভিজ্ঞতা প্রকাশের প্রয়োজনে অথবা নতুন ধরণের উপকরণের বর্ণনায় নতুন শব্দ ভাষায় সংযোজিত হবে এটাই স্বাভাবিক ৷এই কারণেই মুসলিম আমলে আরবি ফার্সি থেকে বাংলাভাষায় অনেক শব্দ এসেছে পরে ইংরিজি জমানায় ইংরিজি ভাষা থেকে ৷আজকের দিনে পশ্চিমী দুনিয়ার সাথে আমাদের যোগাযোগ এখনো ইংরিজির মাধ্যমেই , তাই ইংরিজি থেকে আরো শব্দ আসবে এটা মেনে নিতেই হবে ৷যে কোনো জীবন্ত ভাষা এভাবেই এগোয় , এভাবেই সম্বৃদ্ধ হয় তা নিয়ে কিছু বলার নেই ,তবু বলতেই হবে আমরা নিজেদের ভাষার শুদ্ধতা বা নিজস্বতা রক্ষার ব্যাপারে যথেষ্ট নিস্পৃহ৷কথায় কথায় ইংরিজি ব্যবহার করা আমাদের স্বভাব ৷শিক্ষিতদের মধ্যে এই প্রবনতাটা যেন বেশি ৷এক্ষেত্রে আমি বাংলায় সাধারনভাবে প্রচলিত ইংরিজি শব্দগুলোর কথাই শুধু বলছি না । আমরা আবেদনপত্র না বলে application বলি, অগ্রাহ্য হয়েছে না বলে rejected হয়েছে বলে থাকি, এরকম উদাহরণ অনেক দেয়া যেতে পারে, তা ছাড়া মাঝে মধ্যে পুরো ইংরিজি বাক্যও এসে যাওয়া অস্বাভাবিক কিছু নয় ৷শুনলে মনে হবে আমরা এক মিশ্র ভাষায় কথা বলছি যেটা বাংলা নয় ,বলা যেতে পারে বাংরেজি ।

আমরা যখন কলেজে পড়তাম ,কয়েক বন্ধু মিলে ঠিক করেছিলাম ইংরিজি ব্যবহার না করে শুধু বাংলাতেই কথাবার্তা চালাব ৷পুরোপুরি সফল হবার আগেই আমাদের উৎসাহে ভাটা পড়ে ৷এখন তার জন্যে দুঃখ হয়, মনে হয় এ বিষয়ে আমাদের সকলেরই আরো বেশি সতর্ক থাকা উচিত ৷

চড়ুইভাতি

2011-01-27T00:46:00.009+05:30

চড়ুইভাতি কথাটা আজকাল আর ব্যবহার হয় না ৷বনভোজন ও নয় ৷আমরা এখন বলি পিকনিক ৷

এই শীতের মরশুমে সবাই নিশ্চই পিকনিকে যাছে , কলকাতার উপকন্ঠে, নদীর পারে অথবা কোনো পুরনো বাগানবাড়িতে৷আমার প্রথম পিকনিকও তখন্ কার কলকাতার উপকন্ঠে , সে জায়গা এখন কল্লোলিনী কলকাতা ৷সিরিটির থেকে যে রাস্তা এখন বেহালার দিকে গিয়েছে, পঞ্চাশের দশকে সেটার চারপাশে ছিল গ্রামীন পরিবেশ ৷কাঁচা রাস্তা , ধান ক্ষেত আর অনেক পেয়ারার বাগান ৷রাস্তার মোড়ে কোথাও একটা আঁসফলের গাছ ছিল, যে গাছ থেকে আমরা অনেক আঁসফল পেড়ে খেয়েছিলাম৷সেই প্রথম , তার পরে এই বছরখানেক আগে বাজার থেকে কিছু আঁসফল কিনেছিলাম , সে স্বাদ কিন্তু পাই নি

আমার বয়স তখন নয় বা দশ , আমরা সমবয়সী এক দল ছেলে মিলে এসেছিলাম পিকনিকে ৷টটিদার উদ্যোগে , টটিদারই উৎসাহে ৷টটিদা ছিলেন আমাদের থেকে সাত আট বছরের বড়, তখন স্কুলের উঁচু ক্লাসে পড়েন, কিন্তু আমাদের বয়সী ছেলেদের সঙ্গে ছিল তার বন্ধুত্ব ৷আমাদের নিয়ে তিনি একটা ক্লাব গড়েছিলেন , তাতে কম করে কুড়ি পঁচিশজন ছেলে জড়ো হয়েছিল ৷টটিদার বাড়ির সামনেই ছিল চারুর মাঠ ,আমাদের খেলার মাঠ , আমাদের বাড়ির খুব কাছেই ৷মাঠটা কোনো এককালে পুকুর বুজিয়ে তৈরি হযেছিল, বর্ষায় খুব জল জমত ৷আমরা বর্ষাকালেও সেই গোড়ালি উঁচু জলে খেলাধুলো করতাম ৷বাড়িতে তার জন্য বকাও কম খেতে হত না ৷

প্রত্যেক বিকেলে আমরা সব জমা হতাম চারুর মাঠে ৷সেখানে টটিদার নির্দেশে আমরা কুচকাওয়াজ করতাম সারি বেঁধে ৷তার পরে হত নানা ধরনের খেলাধুলো ৷ টটিদার এক বিশেষ আকর্ষনি শক্তি ছিল আর ছিল নেতৃত্ব দেবার স্বাভাবিক ক্ষমতা, আমরা তাকে ভালবাসতাম, তাকে মান্য করতাম ৷ টটিদার ও ছিল আমাদের সবার প্রতি সমান স্নেহ ৷

টটিদাই উদ্যোগ নিয়ে সেবার আমাদের পিকনিকের আয়োজন করলেন ৷সিরিটিতে ওঁর কোনো আত্মীয়রা থাকতেন , তাদের বাড়ির কাছেই জায়গা ঠিক হযেছিল ৷আমাদেরই বন্ধুদের কেউ একটা ঠেলা গাড়ি জোগাড় করে এনেছিল , তাতে বাসনকোসন চাপিয়ে আমরা এক সকালে হাঁটা পথে রওনা দিলাম সিরিটির উদ্দেশ্যে । কালিঘাট থেকে পথ কিছু কম নয় কিন্তু আমরা তখন ছোট আর উৎসাহে ভরপুর ,হই হট্টগোল করতে করতে পথ পেরিয়ে এলাম ।

একটা পেয়ারা বাগানের ভিতর আমাদের জায়গা ঠিক হলো , পাশে একটা পুকুর ,একেবারে প্রকৃত বনভোজনের পরিবেশ ৷আমাদের মধ্যে সম্ভবত অরুন ই রান্নার উদ্যোগ নিয়েছিল , আর কে কে আমার মনে নেই , কিন্তু আমরা ভাত মাংসের ঝোল ঠিকই খেয়েছিলাম ।সারাদিন ধরে পেয়ারা বাগানে দাপাদাপি করেছি , গাছে উঠেছি , পিঁপডের কামড় খেয়েছি , বিনা অনুমতিতে পেয়ারা পেড়ে খেয়েছি ,কিভাবে দিন কেটে গিয়েছে জানতেই পারিনি ৷সূর্য ডোবার আগেই অবশ্য টটিদা আমাদের জড়ো করে, জিনিসপত্র গোছগাছ করিয়ে নিলেন ৷তার পর এক ঝাঁক স্মৃতি নিয়ে বাড়ি ফেরার পালা ।

সেই আঁসফল গাছটা আর নেই , সেই পেয়ারা বাগান ও কবে বিলীন হযে গেছে , কিন্তু আমার মনের কোনায় রয়ে গেছে আনন্দের এক টুকরো স্মৃতি, হীরের টুকরোর মত । এতদিন পরে এই জানুয়ারির শীতে , সূর্যের কোমল আলোয় হটাৎই সেটা ঝলসে উঠলো ।

The pencil between the fingers

2011-01-25T18:06:00.000+05:30

I was about five years old when our family came to Kolkata. I did not know how to read and write yet.
I was excited when a neighbour who was very fond of me gave me a gift on the eve of our departure to Kolkata but when I opened the gift, I found it was not a toy that could have interested me, but a book I was unable to read. Unlike the children's books of today it did not have any illustration either for me to browse through and enjoy.I remember I was so disappointed that I wept and wept, and had to be consoled by my elder sister.

As a child I could not appreciate the first gift in my life, nor could I understand the love and affection it contained !
The book, I remember, was named 'Kutkuter Daftar' and was about the life of an Ant and its travails. I read it much later, but I must admit it did not leave much of an imprint then.
I learned to read and write soon enough with the help of my elder sister, my Didi, my first teacher who guided me in my first attempts to write the letters of the Bengali alphabet. Didi must have done the same with her other younger siblings. She was around ten or eleven then and was very fond of reading which she is even today, but surprisingly she never went to school or rather was never admitted to one. Girls were already going to schools and colleges those days though the number was not as large as it is today, and it was becoming a socially accepted phenomenon unlike in the days of my mother's childhood when girls were married off at the age of twelve or thirteen in most families even fifty sixty years after Vidyasagar's efforts to educate the girlchildren. Social attitudes take time to change whatever revolutionaries may think, but in Didi's case my surprise is all the more because our parents laid a great stress on education. They possibly thought that a girl's salvation lies in her marriage and though education could be one attribute, it was not the most important one in finding a match for her. They were not wrong in a way for Didi was married off when she was sixteen.
There were a number of children in our age group in the neighbourhood and Dadamoni ( my immediate elder ) and I made many friends. We ran around the lanes and bylanes or played games in a nearby field. We were growing up as normal kids and learning our 3 R s at home. There were many to discipline us for unruly behaviour and occasions for disciplining were not at all infrequent. More so, because Dadamoni and I fought too often over many issues which must have seemed significant at our age. A slap or two and even more severe beatings were not at all uncommon. Of course, Dadamoni bore the brunt more often as he was the older one. I remember one instance when we were tied together back-to-back still angry and straining to get hold of each other as our mother and some elder brothers looked on.
It was at this time that our father thought of furthering our education at home before sending us to school. Days of blissful ignorance were to be over and we had to prepare for becoming responsible citizens of the world. He appointed a private tutor who used to come to our house generally in the afternoon at around four p.m when we were supposed to be at play. Sometimes when we were not at home, he would walk across to the park nearby to seek us out and bring us back for tution. Apart from his bald head, I do not remember much about Mastermasahai (teacher ). But I do remember he was no miser when it came to meting out punishment for tasks not done or for being naughty.He generally used the scale, but at times he deployed a more severe tactic. He would put a pencil between two fingers and press till you cry out. Needless to mention, Dadamoni, the naughtier one, was the usual recipient of his largesses.
Finally, we were sent to school on the same day. I was not even eight at that time, but since there was no age restriction those days, we were considered good enough to be admitted to class five and six respectively. Obviously tutoring at home had its merits. ( a bit of warning here ! as in some ads with stunts.Parents better not try this out these days, else they will not find any school to take their children in )
Since there is a lot of learned talk now-a-days about discipline and punishment at school and pundits agree that these are reprehensible, I would like to mention that when we were at school in the fifties, it was quite usual for teachers to use a scale on a student for some wrongdoing or other or ask him to stand on the bench or more humiliating, ask him to kneel down while holding the ears in one corner of the classroom. Being a good student or being considered one, I was fortunate that I never suffered any of these, but I do not know of any of my classmates or for that matter any in my school, having committed suicide as a result. Many on the other hand had gone on to become very successful persons, just as my Dadamoni has despite those pencil and fingers tricks of our Mastermashai.

Roti changes to Ruti

2011-01-20T17:48:00.000+05:30

From a historical perspective Roti (the flat round homemade Indian bread or Ruti in Bengali) is a rather new entrant in the Bengali diet chart. We never had ruti in our menu as children. For us it was always Bhat (cooked rice ) for lunch and dinner. Ruti was the main food item for people in Bihar or other northern and western provinces who preferred ruti to rice.Of course people here would occasionally go to one of the many Punjabi dhabas nearby to have a taste of roti and kasha mangso, but that was 'eating out'.

Then came the food crisis in the late '50s. Rice became scarce and much dearer. The whole State was brought under a strict rationing system. We had to buy rice at the ration shops, but the allotted quantity was far too inadequate and of course of much inferior quality. That was when Bengali homes switched to wheat or rather atta, its ground form, for making rutis at home at least for the evening meal. Shops sprang up in each locality with the necessary machines to grind whole wheat into a rather coarse powdery form of atta. We would take wheat purchased from the grocer to one of these shops for necessary conversion and bring the atta home.

The practice continued in most Bengali households and soon became a normal one. In many a Bengali home, ruti has replaced rice in the evening meal. As for me, I take ruti for dinner for more reasons than one. Firstly, it does not have to be made at home these days. A few metres from my house, there is an outlet making rutis in the evening . It is pretty cheap. Recently, thanks to the inflation, they have raised the price, but it is still Re.1.25 per piece which, for me, is quite reasonable considering that I take only three rutis. I find they do a brisk business which indicates that many a household not only has rutis for dinner, they do not care to take the trouble of making them. Secondly, since the number of rutis I take is fixed, I have a control over my diet and thirdly, rutis being fibre rich may have health benefits. I can not however vouch for the last point as I have not felt any such benefits myself.

I have had some experience in making rutis myself with not much of a satisfying result. It is not so much as making the dough from the atta, but rolling each piece out as a round one before heating it on the oven, that daunted me. Before venturing into a fresh attempt, I thought I would check with some experts this time. Google was my best bet. After all I found out 'how to make curd' through Google - I find the net an amazing source of information for a person as lazy as I am, but that is another story which I may share some other time. After my misadventure with luchis, I searched and found out a blog post which detailed luchi making with a few snapshots of different stages of the process. So I searched and lo and behold, I came across a number of videos demonstrating the making of ruti - here I should call it roti, as in Hindi- in detail. I came across videos showing the functions of the electric roti maker too.

The great thing about the roti maker is its ability to save people like me from a lot of embarrassment by rolling out the rotis in perfect round shapes and sizes in a jiffy.

It is of course not worth investing in one for three rotis a day !

Luchi and Begun Bhaja

2011-01-20T11:11:00.001+05:30

Bengalis love their food. Though they are quite liberal and would not mind sampling various cuisines, particulary North Indian, Continental or Chinese, at the end of the day, it is 'Mach-Bhaat' (fish curry and cooked rice ) for them. Well, even though I said Mach-Bhaat, it is never as simple. The daily meal consists of in addition some daal ( pulses ) and vegetable preparations at least. And what a wide variety there can be in each of this item !

Bengalis take each item in the meal in a specific order. Daal, Tarkari ( veg preparation ), fish, mutton, and sweets ( if there are any ). Not the other way around. There are other specificities too. If there are two fish preparations, you have to take a particular one first, then the other. In sweets, you take sandesh or rasogolla after mishti dai, not before . It is possibly to prepare your taste buds with each intake for the next one.

Mutton is also a favourite item in the menu , though an occasional one . By mutton I mean of course goat meat and not the lamb variety. Chicken was a taboo in many households in our childhood, more so in the brahmin ones. It used to be mutton curry on a Sunday and we would look forward to it.

Why on a Sunday ? I do not really know, but can only surmise. Everyday was a fish day in any case in a middle class Bengali household, mutton was a change of taste, something special, on a day of holiday when every one in the family could sit down together to have a meal. Moreover , Bengalis considered mutton too heavy for daily consumption and of course a bit too expensive even in those days when mutton sold at Rs.4 or 5 a kg (in the '50s).

Today chicken is quite popular. The number of shops selling poultry in the bazaar testifies to that. But when I see the long queue in front of the mutton shops every Sunday , I realise that the same tradition - mangser jhol on a Sunday- continues.

Bengalis' love for sweets is also well known. There are three sweetmeat shops within a hundred metres of where I stay. This must be the case in any residential locality of Kolkata. It seems that the craze for sweets has not much abated despite the increasing incidence of diabetes in this part of the world.

I find many non-Bengalis associate Kolkata with 'mishti dai' (sweet or sweetened curd ) now a days. I like mishti dai too but I do not understand this preference when Kolkata has many other sweets to boast of. Rasogolla, for instance, which must have travelled far and wide thanks to K.C.Das's Rasogolla sold in sealed cans.

A celebrity visiting the city these days loves to say, ' I love Kolkata and its mishti dai '.Obviously the Kolkatans are charmed. They would have been overwhelmed if he or she had said 'I like Ilish macher jhol ( hilsha curry ). But that is most unlikely. The public relations man who tutors the celebrity knows pretty well that such an announcement will sound pretty hollow - and be taken with a pinch of salt, because no body but a Bengali can really manage the hilsha bones effectively enough to be able to enjoy its taste.

In my search for the identity of a Bengali, my identity that is, I find food habits a major component that constitute it. I can go on naming food items one after the other which are quintessentially Bengali though some of them are fast vanishing from our plate. Mainly because of the labour involved in their preparation and the lack of time (or initiative ) on the part of the housewife - who may also be a working mother. I can name, for example, Mochar Ghanta or Enchorer Tarkari which people flock to have these days in some of the restaurants which have come up to serve Bengali cuisine.Fortunately so ! Same goes for Pattishapta Pithe or Naru which Bengalis buy from some shops today rather than make it at home.

I am sure all these items are still being prepared in some households, but the general trend is, as in many other things modern, outsourcing. That may have taken the personal touch away .

Another essentially Bengali item is luchi which I think is still a favourite in every Bengali home. It is taken with any of a variety of items, begun bhaja (fried slices of brinjal or eggplant), aloor dum ( a potato preparation), kasha mangsho ( a meat preparation) or payesh ( another sweet Bengali delicacy).

A few days back I decided I would make some luchis for myself. The thought of having some hot luchis for breakfast which I had not had for a long time was quite tempting. Added to that was my recently awakened Bengali fervour and that launched me into the project.

After all, luchi making is no big deal. As child, I saw my mother making luchis so many times. She had to feed a large family. When she made luchis, it was in large numbers for an eagerly waiting assemblage. She would make these with an ease and deftness which I always admired - all the myriad jobs she had to do she did with the same ease and deftness, always fast and tireless. But I admired her even more after my recent experience.

You just have some maida (flour), mix it with some water and a pinch of salt in a flat bottomed bowl to make some dough, divide the dough into some balls, press each ball with your fingers on a chaki (flat round wooden board ) and then use the beluni ( the wooden cylindrical roller with grips on both sides) to roll each ball separately into a round circular piece four or five inches in diameter - voila, the preparation is complete ! Just heat some oil in the kadai ( round pan ) and put each round piece to soak into this hot oil for frying.There will be this sizzling sound and the luchi will just puff up. You turn both sides in the oil to make it perfect - the puffed fulko luchi.

Not that difficult, I thought. Since I had the chaki and beluni, I got some maida and got into the act straightaway. When I started making the dough, I realised something was wrong. It was sticking to my fingers and to the bowl. Have I put more water than necessary? I added some flour, and again some more and eventually managed to make the dough and the balls, though they remained sticky still. The problem actually accentuated when I tried to roll out the balls on the chaki and make the round pieces. I knew that my pieces would not be round or circular, that would require more practice, I was ready for that , but I was not ready for what was happening. The wet maida was sticking to the chaki and as I pressed the roller, there would be a tear here and a tear there. Some maida was sticking to the roller too. I had to manage by adding more dry maida on the balls and also by sprinkling some on the chaki itself before trying to roll each ball. This is, I suppose, what they do while making rotis ! Finally, the job was done- I had five pieces- they could not be called round by any stretch of imagination, their shapes defied geometry, but they were the products of my most sincere even if foolish efforts, so I lovingly put each individually into the heated oil.I would say they behaved, though not as well as well made luchis normally do, but they also sizzled in the oil and one or two even puffed up to an extent.

Finally I had my breakfast with some operationally challenged luchis and begunbhaja (which I got done in the same oil ).

Where did I go wrong ? I asked my daughter when she visited next.

It was the simple matter of adding some oil to the flour before making the dough with water. If I were Sherlock Holmes I would have no problem finding it out for myself, but I am not. I am just a true blue Bengali ! And I mess up too often.

But I could not leave it at that. I had to make my luchis next day and this time things worked, though the shape of the luchis left much to be desired.

There is always a tomorrow.

Tequila or Somras ?

2011-01-17T13:48:00.005+05:30

This post was originally intended as a comment I made to my nephew Tanmoy's post 'Tequilla Bottle' in his blog ' Ulysses in Utopia'. Though I posted the comment, I thought it could also be published as an independent post. I may have made a few alterations here and there though.
Well, you have mentioned Mohua which is a tribal favourite in places where Mohua trees grow. Once I spent a night at Ajodhya Pahar and I woke up in the morning with a ‘top, top’ sound in my ear coming from a distance. A short walk brought me to a tree, the Mohua tree’ I learnt, from which flowers were just falling off making that rhythmic sound. One or two santhal girls were collecting the flowers in a basket to take home for making the family brew.
In tea areas in North Bengal and Assam, the labours brew ‘rice beer’ i.e a liquour fermented from rice.In the Dooars, it is known as Hadiya or hariya. I forget what it is called in Assam. If you travel along the highway from Jalpaiguri towards Assam, you may come across girls at roadsides at different places sitting with a Hadi and a few aluminium glasses selling the brew.
In rural areas of Bengal, they ferment the juice from date palm (khejurer ras) and palm (tal).Tari, they call it, I think. And of course in the South they have the very popular tody which is made from coconut .
In the towns and cities of Bengal,you will find Deshi Mader Dokan, shops selling various brands of country liquor.These are all Govt. licensed.You will find similar shops all over India as distinct from those selling India made Foreign Liquor,IMFL- beer,whiskeys etc. I don’t think our indigenous brews can really be marketed worldwide – unless in the the last forty years they have improved their standard. Though Saratchandra in the past and Sunil Gangopadhya and his group in their Khalasitolla days were quite enamoured by it.
I should not leave out the ‘cholai’-the strong distilled brew which is generally sold in clandestine shops and is often adulterated with some other intoxicants but has a strong base among the poorer section of the working class.
In fact, occasional reports of large scale deaths that we read are from consumption of such adulterated cholai or arak.
What I want to say is that India has a multi-liquor diversity and the unity lies in the fact that drinking is as ancient as anything you can think of. If you go by Nirode Chowdhury, it might have been the cause of split between the Sura and Asura, Devas and Daityas. Somras is something you find in ancient texts and in his Brave New World, Aldous Huxley found it a necessary ingredient in the lives of the people he depicted.
The social stigma associated with drinking is a very Bengali middle class thing.Though I should not say that drinking is widely prevalent among the Bengali middle class, a large section is not immune to its charm as the thriving businesses of the wine shops indicate. But they would rather keep it in their closet. and to that extent it may be another instance of our hypocrisy.

শেষমেষ বাংলায়

2011-01-13T17:19:00.016+05:30

রোমান অক্ষরে লিখে বাংলায় transliteration ! Google সে সুযোগ করে দিল । একটু অভ্যেস করতে হচ্ছে , কিন্তু মনে হচ্ছে বাংলা keyboard এ লেখার থেকে সোজা । অন্তত আমার কাছে । Blogger এ সোজাসুজি বাংলায় লেখা এখনো সম্ভব নয় কিন্তু হিন্দী এসে গেছে , আশা করি কিছুদিনের মধ্যে বাংলাতেও পারা যাবে ।

এটা প্রাথমিক প্রচেষ্টা ,লিখতে সময় লাগছে ।সরাসরি বাংলায় লেখা অভ্যেস নেই অনেকদিন , তাছাড়া , আমাদের অবস্থা তো ন যযৌ ন তস্হৌ ( এটায় unicode লাগলো ) । ভালকরে ইংরিজি শেখাও হলো না, বাংলাটাও যেটুকু জানতাম ভুলে যাচ্ছি ।

Krishnakali Ami Tarei Boli

2011-01-08T23:31:00.003+05:30

I was once again listening to this song rendered so beautifully by Suchitra Mitra.
But this time my mind was more on the lyrics. After all a Tagore song is best appreciated if the lyric is well understood.
I could vividly picture a sky dark with clouds and the the plants in the paddy fields swaying with the gust of a wind that blew from the east. I could see a dusky village belle rushing out of a hut to look for her cows lowing in fear of an impending storm.
I could see this as I listened to the song. With a few words, Tagore could make the image as real as real could be. I remembered my experience of being caught in a village road more than forty years ago when I saw a patch of dark cloud in the distant horizon across what seemed like a limitless paddy field suddenly engulfing the whole sky and then a raging storm that was almost turning the world around before it started raining. But then Tagore is the greatest poet we ever had and one of the greatest the world has ever seen.
I did not have any encounter though with any village belle, dark or white. May be because I never had Tagore's eyes.
On a more prosaic note, this post is not about poetic imagery. It is about Tagore's way of looking at life. What did he see in this girl ? She had a dark complexion, which would not find much favour with the match makers of the village those days and will not even today.When it comes to girls, we continue to have a fixation about the fair complexion - any matrimonial column is a testimony to this.
But the poet saw in this dusky village girl a stunning beauty. In her dark gazelle eyes, and in her flowing locks of hair. In the way she stepped out of her hut and looked at the sky. She was ,to him, like a flower, the flower Krishnakali. Whatever others might say, they may look down upon her for her dark skin but the poet makes us look beyond her complexion and see her as the beautiful girl she is. Tagore wrote this a long time ago when we believe prejudices were stronger and much more entrenched. We adore Tagore- our Rabindranath, our Rabi Thakur- but we learn nothing.

Pocket Garer Math

2011-01-08T19:57:00.001+05:30

The Gorer Math or the Maidan as we call it, is the large and grassy expanse of open space right in the heart of the city of Kolkata.

We used to call it the Garer Math in our childhood or youth. I think the word Maidan came much later.

The word must have been coined because it was and remains today the wide open field ( Math ) in front of a fort ( Gar ), the Fort Williams , which the British had established as their army headquarters to control their interests, later the empire.They had left a field wide and open in front in order to be able to spot and track any approaching army. The rear was protected by the river Ganges or Hoogly as it is called here.

The Maidan is not as grassy or green as we have seen it in our childhood , but dotted with trees, it still remains one of the few places in the city one can go for a walk in the morning or evening or even in the daytime in winter to have a breath of fresh air. One can spend idle time with the family sitting on a bench or on the grass and enjoy the sunset across the river Hoogly ( Ganges ) which flows by in the west. Or just savour the beauty of the Victoria Memorial in the south and the chaotic vibrancy of Kolkata life all around.

The press rightly termed it the ‘lungs of the city’ which continue to supply some much needed oxygen to a city which is being depleted of this basic and essential element everyday through the toxic emissions of a tottering transport system and the garbage and filth that the congested city fails to clear with any degree of efficiency.

This patch of green, this lung of Kolkata, was under periodic invasion for a number of years by Fairs of all kinds and by occassional but large political assemblies and the consequent littering and rampage were starting to give early signals of pulmonary diseases which afflict the rest of Kolkata.

Thanks to the pressures brought in by environmentalists, more so by the persistent crusade of Subhas Dutta and finally the intervention of the High Court, the Trade Fairs and Book Fairs held in the Maidan at regular intervals have now been shifted. The political rallies have also moved away, though only a short distance, to choke Kolkata traffic and cause more immediate inconvenience to its people.

I do not know when Garer Math entered our vocabulary in a figurative sense in the expression 'pocket garer math' but whenever it was, it remains as meaningful today as it was then. The Bengalee pocket has always remained more or less 'garer math' i.e empty or without any money.( There are always exceptions ).

Even if Garer Math becomes greener and more trees grow on it- I hope that happens- with things as they are, I do not see any prospect of money flowing into Bengalee pockets or for that matter in the State. But our heart will remain at the right place, both medically and otherwise.

Change ? What Change ?

2011-01-05T13:35:00.006+05:30

This is what I wrote about a year ago but it remained as a draft.
"I have not written for quite sometime. It happens with me all the while. I engage in some activity or other, start it with some gusto and then my interest peters out. At least temporarily. Some sort of hibernation, I suppose. It serves an useful natural purpose in case of some living species; in my case none that I perceive.
When I was hibernating, the world was not. Things were happening here and abroad. Post Singur and Nandigram, Mamata Banerjee waltzed her way to victory in a number of constituencies in the last Parliamentary elections. To the accompaniment of her Ma Mati Manush orchestra.She went on to become a Railway Minister in the Union Cabinet and succeeded in inducting a number of her deputies in the party to become junior ministers. Frankly I don't know what they do at Delhi,but they never fail to attend the inauguration ceremonies of various projects that Ms Banerjee has launched and continues to launch in her home state of West Bengal.In fact, she has gone on a spree launching projects,whether they be coach factories or new trains, possibly in a bid to dispel any notion of her anti-industry image which the Singur-Nandigram and the Nano Hatao programme might have protrayed.Only future will tell how many of such projects will see the light of the day, but people have short memories. It is the beginning that matters.More so,if it is loud enough.
The CPM led left front built a fortress over the years in West Bengal.After 32 years of uninterrupted rule,the fortress can't be said to be crumbling, but there seem to be enough cracks for Mamata and her party to make inroads into hitherto red bastions - whether they be rural areas, panchayats or educational institutions.A no-holds barred turf war is going on with the Assembly elections, barely a year away, in sight.Calcutta is back to the days of bandhs and processions.We,oldies, have seen it all in the sixties and early seventies of the last century when the Left was planning to come to power.
It is no consolation though that history is repeating itself.Mamata Banerjee and her party faithfuls are talking of 'Change',but apart from proposing a change in the Government,no other outline of such ' change' is visible."
Since then the Assembly election has drawn nearer. The turf war I wrote about has only intensified, if the recent student elections and associated violence in some colleges are any indication.The metro channel is getting blocked practically everyday in rallies and counter rallies causing the usual traffic disruptions and inconveniences to the people.But we, Bengalees, take all these in our strides. We accept this as part of our political culture and know that net practices are required for any big match.

If any thing of note has happened in the last one year in this state, it is the use of the word 'harmad' which, thanks to Mamata Banerjee, has entered our vocabulary and after the country's Home Minister used it in his official communication, is surely on its way to being included in the Oxford dictionary.
After all, nobody can really blame us for neglecting that dictionary. We have contributed words like 'gherao' or 'naxal' to the Oxford Dictionary in the past too.

Suchitra Mitra

2011-01-04T12:07:00.001+05:30

Suchitra Mitra is no more.

I have never been a great lover of music. I do not have shelves full of music albums,cassette or CDs, but I always loved her Rabindrasangeet. I loved her voice and her distinctive style. One of the few cassettes I have in my car is hers - I listen to it at times. Her 'Krishnakali ami tarei boli' lingers in my ears.

I do not know how to express my condolence, but I share it with all those who love music and Rabindrasangeet, hers in particular.

A star many of my generation looked up to is gone.

Different Strokes 3

2011-01-03T12:57:00.024+05:30

I was nearing my retirement when I started swimming again on a regular basis. It was really on medical advice - intended to check, if possible, the progressive weakening of my backbone and the consequent backache I had been suffering from for the past twenty five years.

Well, there was a span of a year or so, about twenty years before, when I had used a swimming pool and helped my children learn to swim. But time had moved on and the ageing process taken its toll. I could feel the difference this time around. I could feel the stiffness in my body and the lack of rhythm as I swam.

I persisted though. The idea of keeping myself fit was of course foremost in my mind, but I found swimming a very relaxing and in fact very soothing form of exercise. I also found new friends. Fellow swimmers, nearly my age but mostly younger and from different professions. After a swim, we would all meet and sit at a table in the club, have a cup of tea or two and some snacks and chat for a hour or so before going off in our own ways.

I started looking forward to these adda sessions, more so after retirement when time ceased to be a constraint and could be a bit oppressive at times.

Coming back to swimming, I found the initial stiffness gone after a few months. I was swimming normally, but just having a swim for sometime everyday was no longer satisfying enough. I needed something more, something to work towards to, to achieve.I decided it was never too late to learn and I would teach myself to improve my technique, swim better and more effortlessly.

I had no instructor at hand nor at my age, 60 plus already, I felt like going to one. Thanks to modern technology, I had other options. I turned to the Net. I searched YouTube and came across a number of videos on swimming lessons on different strokes. I screened all of them and finally selected some to download. These are excellent videos which I would recommend to any aspiring swimmer. Excellently shot from different angles, underwater or above water, sometimes in slow motion and with commentaries to explain the techniques, these videos were my instructors. I watched them for hours ( cumulatively over a period of time ) to understand the way these elite swimmers swam, their arm and leg movements, the body roll in freestyle, the double kick in butterfly and what not. And I was trying them out in water.

It is one thing to know in your mind how it is to be done, it is quite another to do it in practice. In swimming, and may be in many other activities where body coordination is required, driving for sure, the body has to know. The body has to absorb the knowledge.

The body finally does.

This is not a post about swimming lessons, but one thing I can not but share about swimming which I learnt a bit late in the day, though as a student of physics in my college days, I should have learnt it much earlier. It is the drag or the resistance of water which you need to reduce through streamlining the body and executing the strokes properly that gives the swimmer a greater advantage than trying to apply greater force mindlessly.

I continue my swimming, all the strokes, and feel more at ease doing them than ever before. My battle with the butterfly stroke, however, is still not over, but it seems that I am winning despite the limitations imposed by my back.

My adda also goes on. So also the back problem. That after all is life.

PS. Could not resist the temptation of embedding aYouTube video and giving a link to another. But there are many more for anyone interested including a two part video of Michael Phelps Butterfly with his Coach's commentary.

Merry Christmas - A Postscript

2010-12-29T18:30:00.001+05:30

Santa seems to have worked overtime this Christmas. After distributing the gifts to the children he must have thought about my predicament. My infamous Fame episode, that is.

Four of the six latenight tickets I purchased by mistake and left with the young man at the reception at his suggestion, could be resold and I could finally recover two third of the money I thought I had totally lost.Well, not exactly two third, for the nearly 10% extra I had to pay for online credit card transaction was lost in the process.

Something is better than nothing after all, even when the ego gets a hard knock.

Merry Christmas ?

2010-12-26T09:57:00.002+05:30

Merry Christmas, world. Merry Christmas to you all.

Why the question mark ? The Christmas day has not been as merry as one would have wished for some in this wide world. That includes me too.

The passengers stranded at several European airports, huddled in the airport lounges in the icy winter and waiting for the next flight, possibly indefinitely, to take them to their desired destination, to their family and friends for this christmas have surely had their merriment curtailed. A newspaper picture showing two women stranded in an airport and raising their glasses in a toast indicates that the human spirit is indomitable and that, at least some can make the best out of a pretty bad situation.

The GSLV rocket that India launched on Christmas day to put a geostationary communication satellite in orbit exploded 47 seconds after liftoff. The launch vehicle just disintegrated in orange and white plumes and plunged into the Bay of Bengal causing another huge setback to the country's space programme which is otherwise noteworthy. The monetary loss is a little over 300 crores in rupees which of course is little change compared to what the successive scamsters have been able to swindle out of the country's exchequer. But it is not the money, it is the failure of our scientists to correct the engineering and technological snags that caused the crash which is of concern. I am indeed proud of the achievement of our space programme. Only the other day,we have been able to send an unmanned probe to the moon. We also have had a number of successful launches and some of the geostationary satellites in orbit must have been behind the succes of our telecommunication facilies available today.But three crashes out of seven launches should make everyone sit up and take serious note.

As for me, generally Christmas day is no different from any other day in the calendar, except that I receive some SMS greetings which I try to reply. But this time, my daughter wanted me to book some tickets online for a film showing in one of the multiplexes - Fame in South City Mall. My daughter-in-law has come from UK with my granddaughter for a visit. So she thought it was a good idea to go for a cartoon film to watch with them and of course my grandson. The children are just over four years old.

It was a very good idea, I thought. And as a computer savvy man, used to online purchases, I agreed. I went to the website, selected the movie and the date (today's ). When selecting the time, my mind was thinking of the children and I thought morning would be the best option. So I selected 10.30, clicked went to the next page, completed the visa card verification formalities and finalised the purchase. The page confirming the purchase came up and I informed my daughter over phone that the job was done.

When I got a printout, I was appalled. The time was 10.30 pm and not 10.30 am. It was impossible to go to watch a movie with the children at that hour. Why the children ? I would not be interested in going at that late hour myself. I knew I had messed up. I was so content in getting the movie seats at 10.30 which to my mind somehow appeared the morning hours, as if by some fixation, that I missed seeing the pm in the timing. I was really dejected, in fact shattered. I had already agreed to the terms of the multiplex that the online tickets, once purchased, won't be refunded or exchanged. So, it was a total loss. I had to inform my daughter and though, highly embarrassed, I did and told her the programme was off and I had lost around Rs.1450.00. Merry Christmas. For record, my daughter was quite nice about it, she did not embarrass her father a bit.

I thought of retrieving the situation, if possible. I got in touch with my son-in-law who came over within no time and we drove over to South City. But the young fellow at Fame said that he could do nothing, no refund, no exchange even though I was ready for an upgrade to their Gold Class on extra payment. He suggested however that I collect the tickets from the counter and leave them with him. He said he would try to sell the tickets, as many as possible and let me know after the show starts. I can collect the money,whatever that is or the tickets from him later.He gave me his card too with his contact number. I knew the chances were slim, this being a late night show but since I didn't have much of an option, I did as he told.

We two went for a cup of coffee from the food court. That I thought was our Christmas, but there too, the food court was so crowded, we did not get any seat. Sipped our coffee standing amidst a huge crowd and came back.

A note : This online booking for a movie in Fame is a farce.Even after you book the tickets and get a printout of the confirmation, you have to collect your actual tickets from their counter. You have to be personally present with the credit card used for the purchase and stand in a long queue to get the tickets. Why online then ? To enable people like me to make stupid mistakes and lose their money just by oversight ? And feel really old ?

Different Strokes 2

2010-12-22T12:23:00.008+05:30

A few years later, when I was in college, a few of my friends and I decided to go swimming in the Lakes every morning. We would wake up very early in the morning, meet at one point in the locality and walk all the distance- three or four kilometers - to the public pool near Golpark.

The public pool - a waterbody separate from the main Lake, was ( and is ) quite large. It has on one corner, the Dhakuria corner, that is, the Anderson club, which I understand has been renamed as the Indian Life Saving Society. This club is a social and swimming club exclusively for members using part of the pool for its swimming needs. The rest was for us, the hoi polloi.

In summer, the pool used to be quite crowded. People of all ages could be seen there in the morning, some possibly for a dip but most for a swim. The front portion, quite a large portion ,was enclosed by railings, had waist deep water for learners and smaller kids.The rest was for swimmers and those who intended to swim.

The distinction is deliberately made. There were many accomplished swimmers who practised in the public pool. Some were participating in State or even National level competitions. On the other hand there were others like us who knew swimming but were untrained and untutored.What they did not lack was enthusiasm.

Soon, as the news spread of our morning venture, a few other boys of the para (locality) joined us. My younger brothers also did. It was quite a team, of fourteen - fifteen boys, all in their teens and of different ages , trudging along early in the morning to the Lakes to have a swim or learn how to.

Southern Avenue, the road we used to walk along, is one of the better roads in Kolkata both for pedestrians and vehicular traffic even today. Those days it was still better. The houses that lined the sides of the road were two or three storied, owned by single owners, each with a courtyard however small, with some flowering trees or plants and a car or two in the porch.The days of promoters and multistoried apartment blocks which line the road now on both sides , were yet far off. The pavements were wide and uncluttered. Though Southern Avenue does not seem to have been invaded by the army of hawkers even now, Kolkata streets were yet to come under their total dominance.The wide islands that separated the up and down roads for vehicles were well maintained and had always a splash of green on them. There were quite a number of trees which lined the roads on both sides - I suppose that is why it was named an Avenue in the first place.

I do not know whether Southern Avenue has been renamed. The renaming spree , of streets and roads, even of Calcutta to Kolkata, was yet to come. In the intervening years this seems to be one of the major achievemnts of successive municipalities in this State regardless of political affiliations.

This team of boys would walk every morning along the Southern Avenue to go for a swim. And walk back. There would be a lot of chit chat, cracking of jokes and pulling of each others legs.Time would really fly. We would see the morning sun rising from behind a distant rooftop reddish, golden in all its resplendence. We would see the roads being sprayed with water to clean them in the morning hours , a practice which gradually disappeared from Calcuta on its way to becoming Kolkata.

And the boys all learned swimming. None became an expert swimmer, but I am sure, they enjoyed the experience of those days and cherish it in their memory.

When winter came, most dropped off but the core group, the hardcore, so to say, continued.We would wake up when it was totally dark and set on our adventure at the crack of dawn as the veil of darkness slowly lifted.The water was cold, may not be icy cold, but bitterly so. We would oil our bodies quite lavishly with mustard oil, massage it well before entering the water. This reduced the feel of the cold. Such oiling would not be accepted in a proper swimming pool, but ours was like a natural waterbody - a large pond actually, though man made and the water plants that grew on its side and at its bottom and the rays of the sun, I suppose, protected it from any pollution.

On our way back, we would stop at a sweetmeat shop on the roadside near the Lake whenever someone had some money ( I rarely had any ) and buy some hot jelabis to share. ( I have continued to love the taste of jelabis and though I avoid sweets these days, I do take a jelabi or two from time to time. )

There were only a few swimmers in the Lake in the winter. Those who came were good swimmers, mostly practising for some competition of other. Most of my training was actually by watching them. I used to watch their arm and leg movements and imitate as far as possible. This improved my swimming skills. I was no longer a rustic as far as swimming was concerned but I always felt that I lacked the smooth and easy glide that many of them had. Nobody ever told me ( because I never had a trainer or a coach ) about streamlining the body, about the shoulder roll in freestyle, the high elbow catch and arm pull with a gap in your armpit or for that matter the nature of the flutter kick. These are things I learnt much later and would talk about in the next blog.

We saw for sometime Mihir Sen, the first Indian to cross the English Channel, practising. We also saw Kalyani Bose practise. Kalyani was the no 2 in West Bengal in the women's category.And we met Netai Pal, who soon became our Netai da. We used to notice this man practising his butterfly stroke for an hour or more. He would go around the whole pool, must be about five hundred meters , swimming butterfly in a slow and steady motion and then rest for a while to start afresh. His butterfly was a treat to watch. One day Netaida approached us himself. He was perhaps intrigued by these boys who braved the winter to come swimming in the lake. He was a number of years older than us, but quite easygoing and had no airs. We came to know that he was the reigning national champion in butterfly.

All these people who came to the lakes to swim on a regular basis were from middle class or in fact mostly, from lower middle class background. That very much included Netaida. I do not know where he got his first training, but when we met he was training himself or trying to improve his timing on his own. At the end of his session, he would take down an ounce or two of glucose which he carried in a piece paper rolled into a pouch. He would explain to us that it was to remove fatigue and revitalise him.

Looking back I feel athletes like Netaida never got the support that they deserved from the country. They did not have the training facilities or the nutritional support they needed nor could they afford these on their own.From the reports I see in the newspapers, it seems that the situation has not changed much.

Not that Netaida could have made it in the Olympics. Though he had wide shoulders, powerful arms and a strong build, his height at around five and half feet was a disadvantage. But with proper nutritional support, physical training and guidance of a good coach, he could surely give it a try. At least, that is what I believe.

Netaida wanted once to enter a team in a waterpolo competition. He chose a few of us. We had never played waterpolo before. But we practised under his guidance for a week or so. The time was really not sufficient to master the art of the game which apart from skill, needs a lot of stamina which you cannot develop overnight. So the inevitable happened. We lost miserably in the first round which was played in Hedua in north Calcutta.

I liked the butterfly stroke and used to try it out with a few tips from Netaida. Yes, I learned it to some extent but it remained an unfinished business, because slowly, as it always happens with me, my interest started shifting to another exciting sport - rowing. As we walked alongside the main lake, I would watch the rowers, whether in fours, or pairs or in a single scull and would be impressed by the rhythmic pull of the oars, the coordinated body movements of the rowers and the speedy glide of the narrow boats in the water. I thought this was it, for me. Speeding through the water in a scull alone, with the air brushing my face and body was suddenly an exhilarating idea.

There were a number of rowing clubs in the Lake - one of the few places where there was such an opportunity in the country. Fortunately there was the Calcutta University rowing club with a meagre subscription. I joined. I could persuade mother to give me the money required. As I became an avid rower, I dropped out of swimming and the team or whatever was left of it did so in no time.

I lost touch with Netaida and have no idea how far he went as a swimmer or what he became later but I do remember how beautifully he used to execute the butterfly stroke.

Different Strokes

2010-12-17T10:54:00.007+05:30

I learnt to swim when I was around eleven.

There was no swimming pool near the place we lived in Kalighat. Nearest was the Dhakuria Lakes almost four kilometers away where apart from a swimming club,there was a public pool.It was too far for me at that time. So,the only option was the Adi Ganga which flowed by the famous Kali Temple nearby. It was within easy walking distance from our home.

Adi Ganga is an offshoot of the the river Ganges ( Ganga, the sacred river of the Hindus ), but is known to be the original channel through which the river flowed about four centuries back. Consequent to an earthquake or some such natural catastrophe, Ganga changed her course leaving this channel emaciated and depleted of the vigour of the mighty river. But it still had high tides and low tides, and though at low tide, the water went down to knee level or slightly more at some places, at high tide, it was still imposing and had strong currents. The river water was muddy at high tide and carcasses flowed at times, but it was not as dirty and polluted as it is now.

Hindus revere their river Ganga, it is Ma( mother ) Ganga to them,but they have no qualms about doing their morning ablutions on the river bank or throwing refuse or garbage into the water. It has been used as a sewage canal for such a long time and absorbed so much effluents, that the water today is almost blackish. To top it, the power that be keeps the sluice gates that joins it with the main river closed most of the time during the year, so the river has practically become a long stretch of stagnant water.

Fifty five years ago, it was not so bad. Or if it was, my eyes were too fresh and naive to detect it.

So, it had to be the Ganges for me to learn swimming. But the Ganges at high tide could be treacherous.Every year one heard of one or two cases of drowning- mostly of young boys.One of my cousins, two years older, had drowned a few years back. My father, a stern disciplinarian, would never allow it. Nor would any of the elders in the house. So I approached Shibuda (da- a honorific for an older person,like an elder brother ) who lived next door and was a friend of one of my elder brothers. Shibuda was like a friend to all of us young boys in the locality and ready to spend time with us. He agreed to take me along and help me learn to swim. All in secrecy.

This urge to learn swimming was part of the overall urges that I felt as a young boy to learn so many things, but it was special for some other reason.We are many brothers. All my elder brothers,my elder sister,even my mother knew swimming. They all learnt it when very young in village ponds before we came to Calcutta.Our ancestral home was in East Bengal, now Bangladesh - a land of rivers and water bodies where children were taught swimming very early in their life, at least in those days.Even my Dadamoni, my immediate elder, a little over two years senior knew how to swim. This last one used to irk me most. Dadmoni and I played all games together,we used to have common friends in our childhood and we fought a lot too.There was a lot of love and competition in our relationship as kids. And here was something he could do and I could not.I needed to change that badly.

Adi Ganga it was.Everyday, I would go through the newspaper to check the tide timings and Shibuda would decide on the appropriate time to go for a swim lesson.With a shorts for a change I would sneak out and with Shibuda and a few other boys who all knew swimming, would walk across to the Ghat - the steps built for devotees to go for a holy dip in the Ganges before they visit the temple.In a short time, I learnt to float and splash around with Shibuda's help . First round over, but my swimming saga would continue.

It may not be totally out of place to record how I learnt cycling about the same time. This also had to be done in secrecy, because our father always felt it was too dangerous to cycle in Calcutta and would never have allowed.

Our family's first stop after partition of India and Bengal was Basirhat a small town those days. Father was the super of the AG hospital there.He bought a Raleigh cycle and would go to the hospital or for other visits on it. Sometimes,he would seat both Dadamoni and me on that cycle and walk with it to the SDO's bungalow for a game of tennis.We used to look foward to these visits and used to look longingly at that brand new gleaming cycle. Dadamoni and I thought that one day we will ride that cycle.

Shortly afterwards,it was I suppose early 1949, we came to Calcutta and to our utter disappointment, Baba sold the cycle. He said Calcutta was not a place for cycles.

So, in this venture Dadamoni and I were together. Those days you could get small cycles on hire, possibly four annas (one fourth of a rupee) an hour. I don't remember how we used to manage that four annas (we were not given any allowance, children our age were not supposed to have any money and the school we both went to provided tiffin. So, there was no tiffin allowance to save from either ), but we did and hired the cycle whenever the money could be managed. One of us would ride the cycle and the other held it from behind. Calcutta had far fewer cars those days.Only an occassional car would ply on Sadananda road which has heavy traffic these days. And since there was only an wooden bridge connecting Chetla,( the pucca bridge came much later ) there was no traffic on that stretch of Rashbehari avenue. We did not have to fear much from a passing car.

We learnt cycling soon enough, though it involved some scratches here and there from occassional fall on the metalled roads. Later, it was Shibuda again for help and encouragement. He had a cycle and never said no when we asked for it for a spin. Even though those days my feet could hardly touch the pedals of the standard size cycle, I would borrow his often to move around. It felt great.

Shibuda had a lot to contribute to that feeling.

Inertia

2010-12-16T10:26:00.002+05:30

It is like a sudden shower in the desert.It rains for a while but even before the flowers can bloom,the sun comes blazing and drives the rains away.The desert is back to where it was, arid and pitilessly barren.

What should be the title of this piece ? My aborted blogging effort ?

A 'body' in a state of rest continues to be in a state of rest unless an external force is applied to it. Newton was of course right, though he was talking only of inanimate objects. I realise increasingly that I am being reduced to one. Pressing the 'Restart' button is a renewed effort to move this mass of inertia.

Brick Lane

2009-03-17T13:22:00.005+05:30

Images of children running across a paddy field, chasing a butterfly, playing in the rains or splashing in a pond are too universal to be just personal, but they evoked memories of a lost

childhood. My childhood, the part of which I remember, was not spent in a village, but the innocence and the joy of living rang a very personal bell.

These images of a lost and carefree childhood in her native village in Bangladesh form a recurring theme which captures the homesickness of an exile which Nazreen feels she is in the film Brick Lane. It also symbolizes, along with the letters from her younger sister who has chosen her own life, her yearning for freedom from an imprisoned womanhood which has been conditioned to accept fate and endure.

The film, based on the novel by Monica Ali, tells the story of Nazreen, a girl from a village in Bangladesh who is married off at the age of seventeen to a much older man and goes off to live with him at Brick Lane in London. She is now a mother of two teenaged daughters, locked in a loveless marriage with a pompous man who takes his male superiority as well as his position as a husband and a father for granted and is totally insensitive to the feelings of either his wife or daughters. Nazreen lives the life of a housewife totally subservient to the needs and whims of her husband.

Into her life comes an opportunity. To earn on her own by sewing jeans, and also comes Karim, the young man who brought her work and then love. We notice her slow transformation into a new woman. The docile silent Nazreen, who never used to go out of her home except for shopping, gradually finds her feet, refuses Karim’s proposal of marriage and stands up to the old woman, the money lender, who was fleecing the family. And finally, she talks back to her husband of twenty years and refuses to go back to Bangladesh with him preferring to stay instead at Brick lane with her daughters.

She rediscovers herself and emerges from the shackles of the past.

The film’s movement is subtle and never forced. Never melodramatic. It uses narration at times to supplement the limited dialogue which accentuates Nazreen’s silence and the emptiness of her life. Tannistha Chatterjee’s portrayal of Nazreen is simply superb. She has acted through her very expressive eyes. One jarring note I feel is the character of Charu, which could have been less of a caricature though Satish Kaushik did his job well.

I liked the film, but I was wondering about the coincidence. A similar village or a village-like small town in Bangladesh (then East Bengal ) was in my mental landscape when I wrote the last post and this film came along.

Refugee, but the lucky one

2009-03-14T12:38:00.002+05:30

Our family hails from a village called Damodardi in the district of Faridpur in East Bengal, now Bangladesh. This village was lost to us, particularly our parents, for ever with the Partition in 1947, which affected millions of lives in Bengal and Punjab.

I was too young then to feel the pangs of partition. Barely three years old, my life moved within the confines of the family and did not extend much beyond the house. No relationship grew with the place we lived in to leave any permanent imprint in my mind, though vague memories persist. Memories of trees and ponds, and of monkeys jumping from one branch to another, sometimes even intruding into the verandah to the consternation of us, children. Also memories of a stream and a makeshift bridge made of two coconut palm tree trunks which I crossed on occassions on an uncle’s shoulder.

May be these memories have been reinforced a bit by stories I heard later from the elders.

The land we lived in was free from the communal violence that gripped many parts of Bengal in the pre and post partition days leaving a trail of unprecedented bloodshed . Thousands died and many more had to flee their homes clutching whatever little they could of their belongings. They fled under cover of darkness, avoiding gangs of marauders and rapists and crossed the border to an unknown future. We were lucky we did not have to face this trauma. Even if any insecurity was felt by the adults, it did not percolate down to the chidren.

We had to leave eventually but were fortunate on another count : our father was a Doctor in Govt. medical service and could opt for a transfer to Basirhat, not far from Kolkata in what came to be known as West Bengal in Independent India.We came to Basirhat and then, after a year or two, to the city of Kolkata. We did not have to live on the streets, or railway platforms or in jabar-dakhal ( forcibly occupied) colonies, fighting poverty, hooligans and the police for sheer survival. We were refugees but luckier than most and didnot have to face the insecurites that many had to live with.

And how lucky for us to be thrown into a culture that was our own ! Yes, there were those initial years when we were branded as ‘Bangals’ (from East Bengal ) with our distinct dialects which varied from district to district. There were rhymes to depict us which were not really complimentary, but these did not last long. The Bangal and ‘Ghoti ‘ ( the originals of Kolkata) rivalry was mostly played out for years in the football leagues where the teams East Bengal and Mohun Bagan ( Kolkata’s own) were the major contestants.
We got integrated into Kolkata life easily enough. But having grown up listening to the stories of our land, its rivers, paddy fields and monsoon rains along with the stories of its abundance, some of which might be a little exaggerated, all of us, people of my vintage, carry our ‘desh’ in our hearts, deep in our souls.
I love rivers, in fact any water bodies and today I like to think that this love connects me to the ‘desh’ that we lost.

Mona Lisa Smiles

2009-03-04T09:08:00.010+05:30

No, I am not talking about the Julia Roberts film. Though I liked it very much.

I was surfing the net some years back and came across Mark Harden's Artchive, an extraordinary storehouse of digital reproduction of great works of art of all times.
Well, to be frank, it was not idle and random surfing that led me to this site. I was wondering for sometime whether I could ever have a look at the works by the great masters of yore and it struck me that even if the originals are far beyond the reach of ordinary folks like me, I could try and locate some prints in the net. Google was not my favoured search engine those days. In fact I don't think Google had yet come of age. I am talking of more than ten years back. So, I tried Yahoo and it did not disappoint me.
I found a treasure house. I could look up Van Gogh, Gauguin, Cezanne, Picasso, Monet, Manet, Degas, Renoir, Rembrandt, da Vinci, Michelangelo and so many others.. You name any of the old masters and he is there with some of his collections well catalogued and well documented.I must admit, before anyone jumps to a wrong conclusion, that I am neither an artist nor an art connoisseur. Nor a student of art history nor even a millionaire looking for prospective buys. I don't own a gallery nor do I intend to have one. Not that I can afford. I am just an ordinary person for whom I believe the masters painted . I just wanted to have look at these paintings.

The site allows you to download the pictures. Many of which I did. In fact, I was again browsing through some of them when the idea of writing this post was born. I did have have print outs of some of these works and framed them to hang on the walls of the small flat I live in. But no one visiting me have so far noticed them though I have a Renoir or a Picasso or a Michelangelo, even if it is only a print. Sad truth is that the prints are not large enough, nor are the walls. After all, it is not a millionire's wall.
I had an opportunity of visiting some parts of Europe later and stay in in Paris for two nights. The tour around Paris in the package that I had to opt for did not include a visit to the Louvre.So, I decided to drop off at the Tuileries to pay a visit to the museum. Alone.

It still towers over the city!
The palace which Louvre once was, is magnificent , but its view, in my opinion, has been marred by a modern monostrosity, a glass pyramid at the entrance to the underground lobby, which, by itself, could have been beautiful but just did not fit in the landscape. I thought we only had the distinction of spoiling the beauty of a heritage building or an ancient piece of architecture !
Once inside, I could have spent hours, but I had little time. So I had to content myself by visiting one or two wings. My priority of course was to see the the smile that has intrigued people of many generations. When I reached there, I saw most visitors had similar priorities. It was almost a Kolkata scene. A crowd eager to have a look and a snap. Even with my Kolkata expertise I could not push through the crowd to get a frontal picture with my camera.
Much better images of Mona Lisa or for that matter of Venus de Milo shown below, are available in the net , but I thought why not get my own 'labour of love' in my post.
Both these works of art, one a painting and the other a sculpture, are perhaps the most easily recognisable to the common people, because they have been most often reproduced, one in print,the other in replicas throughout the world. People of my vintage would remember the replicas of Venus de Milo sold in Rather Mela (Fairs held on the occassion of the Rath Yatra festival ) year after year, possibly even now.
Since I started with the search of Van Gogh paintings when I used Yahoo, I should include one here for whoever wants to have a look. I don't know why I have always liked Van Gogh. Is it because of the paintings which appealed to me, the abandon with which he painted and the strong brush strokes and vibrant colours he used or because of the life Van Gogh had to live ? I don't know but I regret I missed going to the museum which store his paintings at Amsterdam.
Olive trees !
I should have concluded here, but I can not resist the temptation of putting up one piece of art which defined the times that the artist lived in and possibly continue to define ours.

Guernica

Slumdog Millionaire -3

2009-02-23T18:01:00.004+05:30

I am happy that the film got so many Oscars. Not only because I liked the film ( though I had some reservations about the story which is a bit farfetched ) but also because it is an Indian theme, based in an Indian metro and its cast and some of its crew were Indian. This is not being patriotic, but I think it is the first time so much Indianness has been appreciated in the global filmscape.

I do not have any illusions. This is a British film ( though on an Indian theme ) and because of that, I think, it got so much global media attention which made the awards possible - merits aside. I hope however that this leads to a better appraisal of Indian films ( the more serious ones I mean ) in the global arena in future .
There is a flip side though. We might soon be flooded with slum based clones sending messages of ' hope and optimism ' and having mostly irrelevant song and dance routines coupled with some never ending fight sequences.
As a postscript, I must add that I am happy for Rahman who has finally got global recognition. When he burst into the world of cinema in Roza and then in Bombay some years back, even someone like me who is not an afficionado of music got struck. He is a star in this country for quite sometime, the Oscar has only put an international stamp on his status.

The Backwaters

2009-02-22T18:46:00.017+05:30

The backwaters of Kerala have been a tourist destination for quite sometime now. Located at Kumarakom about 15 kms from the district town of Kottayam, its network of rivers and canals with occassional villages in the lap of nature on both sides, and the greeneries accentuated by rows and groves of coconut trees have been attracting people from all over the world who feel the need of a bit of communion with nature at its most charming.

During a visit to my son's place at Bangalore about two years back, he arranged a trip for us and two nights stay at a resort in the backwaters at Kumarakom. There is a number of resorts in the region located on the bank of one canal or another. Ours was named Golden Waters.

We took a train from Bangalore and after an overnight journey, reached Kottayam sometime in the morning. A car and around an hour's journey later we were at the resort. The first impression as we reached, of the green lawns, plentiful plants with flowers in a variety of colours, trees, specially coconut trees, all around and the red tile roofed cottages , many built on concrete pillars over a canal which flowed through the whole stretch of the resort was quite pleasing.

The cottage we stayed in was quite comfortable with all the amenities we needed.

We just lazed around the first day, walking on gravelled paths, sitting and enjoying nature on the bank of the canal that flowed in front and generally doing nothing. Of course, we did not miss the Kerala cuisine at the restaurant and were told that a Bengali cook would prepare some Rohu fish the following day.

The restaurant as the backdrop.

A Kathakali dance performance that the resort organised for the travellers at night.

We went on a cruise in the morning to the bird sanctuary located near the giant lake which the canal meets. I understand many of the rivers and canals of the backwaters empty into this great expanse of water.

We had a keen bird watcher , a young and charming girl with us on the motor boat. She was ecstatic when she spotted a kingfisher on our way. Having seen many kingfishers in my time and at very many places, I could not share her ecstacy. The sanctuary, which we finally reached, was a bit of disappointment. We did not come across many bird species apart from one or two woodpeckers and some common herons or egrets. I understand now that a cruise in the lake could have been much more promising. I recall my visit to Bharatpur bird sanctuary and the boat ride in the lake there where I had the opportunity of seeing hundreds of birds of many species including a lone eagle on a tree top. I am no birdwatcher but who does not like birds? When we were young, even the Calcutta zoo was a veritable paradise of birds. The lake inside in the winter would be full of migratory birds ducks,whistling tills, brahmi ducks of glorious plummage and so many more whose names I do not know. Once I saw a Siberian stork laying her egg on a small island in the lake. I went to the zoo recently and had the shock of my life. Not only were birds scarce, many of the animals have disappeared.The zoo which used to look so green, appeared grey.

My son and I went for cycling after returning from the cruise on the roads around. He got so apprehensive after some time about the safety of his father with his creaky joints in the speeding traffic on the road, that I found it prudent to return to the cosy resort and went for a swim instead in the excellent swimming pool that the resort had.

We arranged for a boat ride the follwing morning and took turns along with the boatman to row.

He and I, both, have been rowers at one time or another at the Dhakuria lakes. But I preferred this pic of his for the post. We missed the snake boat race which is a very attractive event in Kerala and takes place in the backwaters . I inderstand it takes place as part of Onam festivies at the lake,Vembanad, which the lake I referred to, is called. (I must admit I did not know much about this famous lake before I started writing this post.) Each Snake boat has about a hundred or so oarsmen rowing to the rythm of their song. I have seen this race, as many must have, in the Discovery channel, but it would have been a treat to watch it live.

But Onam was just over.We had a taste of it while returning. Because of the rush, we could get train tickets only in 2nd class three tier. This in itself would not have been a problem, but we were given a special reserved coach at the end of the train without any conductor guards. We found the compartment filling up with people, mostly students, returning from Onam holidays to their colleges or places of work. We could hardly sit comfortably let alone sleep in our berths. Moving around became impossible - it was so crowded.

Possibly because it was Kerala, we could at least sit or were allowed to. I am aware that in some places in the country that would have been too much to expect under similar circumstances.

All good things end, bad things too. We reached Bangalore in the morning.

Dogs and other pets

2009-02-20T10:49:00.015+05:30

I have never been fond of dogs, stray or otherwise.

I am not really scared of them but a little wary and so, prefer to keep a safe distance . It is actually a family tradition. I grew up in a large family which neither had the space nor the money to afford the luxury of having a dog as a pet. This was true also of the middle class neighbourhood we grew up in. Love of dogs was reserved mostly for a bit wealthier people who lived in posher areas.

I know times have changed and dogs have entered middle class homes , as pets I mean. But in the fifties and early sixties (ah, of the last century !) middle class life was hard enough to sustain itself without the added distraction of looking after a pet dog. If at all, a bird or two, a parrot or a myna, was good enough to satisfy extra-familial love instincts. We had at our home a parrot on one occasion, kept in a cage in the verandah. Since we always forgot, Mother would feed it regularly. She belived that the parrot talked and responded to her queries. She would try to convince her children of this amazing feat of the parrot, but they were quite sceptical . We knew that some parrots could imitate human voices, but ours was surely not one of them. The sounds it made were only discernible to our mother, possibly because of her abundant motherly instincts, but not to us.

Much later, I stayed in a Bungalow in the northeast in one of my travels and came across a talking Myna - a Pahari (of the mountains) Myna -which greeted me in the morning with a distinct Hello. It could utter a few more words and even a sentence or two quite distinctly. I remembered our poor parrot which had flown away at the first opportunity when the cage door was left inadvertantly open and missed the opprtunity of a proper and and more rigorous training to improve its phonetic abilities.

Coming back to dogs, some people in the neighbourhood did display canine affections by offering surplus food to one or more of the many street dogs that roamed in our streets.These were days before the refrigerators were to make their appearances in city homes. The need to dispose of surplus food especially of fish bones could easily be combined with an urge to reach beyond the mere human species. It definitely helped some cats and dogs, but made the streets dirtier, but then who ever bothered about Calcutta streets ?

One of my younger brothers though was a bit of a genetic variation which is as it should be as Charles Darwin thought and pronounced . Otherwise, how would there be any progress in the process of evolution ? He was the one who would plant flower plants in pots and make them grow on our roof, would bring birds, love birds or otherwise, and look after them. He even started at one time to feed a street dog - a puppy at that time- which would hover near our house from then on. The puppy grew up soon enough to be a handsome young male with a shiny black coat. Even though most of us kept our usual distance, we could not but like it. But it contacted some disease which all street dogs are prone to and its coats disappeared revealing blisters on its skin. It died soon thereafter.

I don't know if this brother of mine experimented with puppy love again, but he has retained some of his habits despite many limitations.He continues to nurture flower plants and has an aquarium for goldfishes. In fact I maintained a small aquarium of my own with his help for some time. I had to abandon the project when I moved to smaller house after retirement. But I found having an aquarium and looking at the fishes gliding back and forth in the water in utmost serenity, effortlessly and without any sound, quite relaxing and to use a modern term, destressing. I might aquire a small one again.

When I was living in the tea areas of Assam and North Bengal, I did toy with the idea of having a dog as a pet to give my son some company. I had a spacious Bunglow and enough people to look after a dog but I never got around to having one despite persuasion from some of my Manager freinds.

Almost all tea garden Managers had a dog or two, mostly the big ones. Labrador,Alsatian,Dobberman, Golden Retriever and in one instance, a Pyrenees which was as big as a calf. Knowing my lack of any special fascination for dogs however brilliant their pedigree was, most Managers or their wives were polite enough to keep their dog or dogs in some other room when I visited them but some would not care. Invariably these dogs would snuggle close to me, a perfect stranger, with the idea perhaps of winning me over. A feat they never succeded in achieving. I was not going to be drawn so easily into their love nets ! I remember having almost skipped a heartbit when the Pyrenees came to me once, very unexpectedly and from behind. He sat by my side silently, possibly expecting a caress which he never got.

Well, it is not that I do not appreciate dogs . After all, your dog is the only one who recognises you instantly even when the whole world fails to do so and showers you with all the affection in the world on a hard and tiring day. After you got a firing from your boss,that is. Or your wife.

Of leopards and men - 2

2009-02-18T11:49:00.003+05:30

The wild elepahnt was dead too.I mean the first one I saw.
I was driving along the road when I saw a group of people in the adjacent field crowding around what looked like a huge steel grey mound from a distance. I stoped the car and went over. I saw a huge tusker lying on its side, very much dead. The forest officials examinning the animal told me the elephant had been eletrocuted. A herd crossed this field the previous night and this one must have raised its trunk and touched the HT lines that passed above. A silent,instant and tragic death for such a magnificent animal.
This was way back in 1974 during my first and short stint in the Dooars. When I returned to the Dooars in 1989, I stayed there for a much longer period and travelled extensively by road. This was when the Dooars with its neverending tea gardens and forest reserves,its abundant green cover and natural beauty charmed me. I came across wild elephants - single, in twos or in a small herd - on the road on number of occassions.I first met a leopard too this way, very much alive and bright in the headlight of the car I was in. It slunk away noiselessly into the roadside bushes.

Many of the leopards of the Dooars reside in the tea gardens, I was told once by a forest official. The gardens provide enough bush cover and nooks and corners for their shelter and possibly rabbits,goats and dogs provide them enough food. I have not heard of any special liking they have for men or women, but attacks occassionally do take place when any of them feel treatened or cornered by fortuitous circumstances.

I had spotted the leopard very near the campus we lived in. I saw it in fact on more than one occassion when a colleague told me that a leopard had been sighted inside the campus and some stray dogs were missing. I am no lover of dogs, more so stray dogs which disappear overnight and would not have been much concerned at such a development but my colleague had a dog of his own and two small children. He had reasons to be worried and felt we could not allow a leopard to have a free run inside our living area. However much we may like a wild animal, it should better be left in the wild and there only .

Good point. So we contacted the Forest department. It was quite prompt in arranging a large cage to be placed in a bamboo grove, actually a mini forest , on one side of our large campus. The cage had a partition of iron bars in it with two entrances on opposite sides. A goat was to be caged in one partiton as a bait while the other was left open for the leopard to enter, should it ever be so tempted.
A goat was accordingly arranged, kept in one of the partitions and provided enough grass and fodder to munch and sustain itself.
Days passed without any sign of the leopard. The goat continued to grow fatter and possibly become more juicy. After about ten days when we had almost given up, the leopard struck one night (or rather we struck gold ) at around 8 o'clock. We rushed to the spot with torches and found a young leopard growling and plunging again and again on the cage bars, its nose bruised and bleeding with the skin on its nose lacerated in its futile attempts to escape. The trap door on its side of the partition was shut unmercifully. On the other side, a short distance away stood the goat, like a statue, totally transfixed in mortal fear. A strange sight indeed, of the predator and the prey - almost within touching distances
It was difficult to pull the goat out, it had to be dragged out literally through the other door. Life came back to it when it was out of the cage and it fled with lightening speed without even stopping to say thank you.
We felt pretty bad for the leopard and contacted the forest people . They advised us to cover the cage with tarpaulin to make the inside totally dark .We were told that this would calm the animal down.That was how we left the leopard, inside the cage, to contemplate its fate which turned out fine eventually as the forest department took it away the next day and released it in the jungles where it belonged.

Of leopards and men- 1

2009-02-17T16:04:00.008+05:30

My first encounter with a leopard was quite dramatic.

We were in our office in the Doors one morning when a phone call came to my senior colleague from a Manager of a nearby tea garden. He informed us that a leopard had been killed by the workers in his garden.He sounded very worried and said he was sending one of his Assistants to discuss the problem with us.

He had reasons to be worried. Leopards were ( and are ) protected animals and killing one was a punishable offence. The forest officials might as well harrass the Manager of the garden rather than confront the unionised and sometimes volatile workers when they came to know of the incident. He was the easier prey.

Troubleshooting for tea gardens was our job, though handling leopard deaths was not generally on our agenda. We could not, however, avoid the issue and leave the Manager to his fate.

We were discussing what to do when the Assistant Manager arrived in a Jipsy. He hurried to the office and told us that the workers,mainly women, were plucking in one of the tea sections when a leopard which was lurking behind a bush, suddenly sprang on a woman and wounded her severly. As the animal was mauling the woman, others tried to shoo it away. The commotion alerted other workers in the nearby labour colony who rushed in with bows and arrows and managed to kill the leopard.

We asked where the animal was at the moment and he said he had brought it along.

Dumfounded, we went to the Jipsy and found sprawled in the dicky a magnificent young beast its skin and spots glistening in the sun, obviously dead but looking as if it were just asleep.

When you have a problem and you don't know how to solve it, shove it to somebody else - that seemed to be the Manger's motto. He had got rid of the dead leopard and thought,the problem too at one stroke.

My colleague had a fertile brain and had a penchant for dramatics. While I was pondering whether we should contact the forest department or not, he came up with an idea.What an idea it was ! He advised the Assistant to return to the garden with the dead leopard, talk to the garden union leaders and arrange with their help a mini gherao of the Manager in his office with the leopard kept in front. He did so. The local leaders cooperated knowing that one or other of their members might otherwise be arrested. My colleague contacted the forest Ranger when we came to know that stage was set and told him of the gherao and the agitated workers demanding compensation from the forest department for the injured worker. They were requested to visit the the garden, pacify the workers and take the dead animal away. The Ranger was a practical man. He did not want to take any chances. If a leopard could be a victim of mob frenzy, there was no guarantee others wouldn't be. He requested us to tackle the issue ourselves and send the dead animal to their office when peace returned.

This was dutifully done and the matter ended there.

In the Wild : Bandipur

2009-02-16T11:03:00.003+05:30

I went on a weekend trip to Bandipur about a year or two ago.My son and I drove down from Bangalore and stayed in a resort just outside the National Park. The Jungle Resort,if I remember, was cosy, comfortable and quite hospitable.
Bandipur Wild Life Sanctuary and National Park is located on the highway from Mysore to Ooty nearabout the border between the States of Karnataka and Tamil Nadu. It is around 800 sq.kilometres and is a connecting link between Mudumalai Wildlife Sanctuary in Tamil Nadu and Wayand Sanctuary in Kerala.This is part of the area that the dreaded bandit Veerappan ruled for nearly twenty years smuggling ivory and sadalwood and killing scores of forest and police officials to evade arrest.
After a satisfactory lunch, we went on a safari into the forest in an open jeep and came across a plethora of wildlife.My camera was quite busy. The snaps I took lay hidden in my computer for a long time. I thought I would share some with anyone interested.

The herd on the left had one tusker barely visible.Some of the glamour and magnificence of the herd are missing as a result. I took a number of snaps of this herd but could not get a frontal image of the tusker.
I have had a long association with elephants.Having lived for a number of years in the tea regions of Doors, I have seen one or two wild elephants a number of times, mostly while driving down or rather being driven down long stretches of road at night.In fact, on more than one occassion, some have been been unexpected visitors to my Bunglow compound in the Doors or Terai.But this was the first time I was seeing a herd in its natural habitat.

We saw a herd of bisons also. They didn't like the approacing intruders and slowly retreated into the forest.I caught the herd in my camera too,but I preferred this one which was prepared to cast a long lingering look back.

We failed to meet royalty though.We were told one had to be a bit lucky to do so.Moreover, with overgrown bushes on all sides it would have been impossible to spot one,if a tiger was indeed moving about stealthily at a distance. But we did have a glimpse of his cousin having a lazy siesta on top of a watch tower.
The leopard was sprawled on the watch tower apparently sleeping. It took us fifteen to twenty minutes of wait to see it stirring to life. My camera did not have telephoto lens, its zoom was not good enough, but I could get its yawn. Sheer boredom I suppose ! Or irritation at these intruding eyes.

You could see a flock of deer even at the roadside.They were quite at ease with cars passing by, at some distance though.

While grazing, one looked up .. just in time.

We returned to the resort before darkness descended. At night as a prelude to dinner,the resort organised a campfire.We sat around and chatted . The Manager joined in and time passed by in the flickering light of the fire.

Next morning we went on a trek to the nearby hill accompanied by a young guide the resort provided. It was not a steep climb by any standard but not so easy either, but it was fun. On the way up ,we came across a ledge on the side of the road and lo, underneath were two nests of weaverbirds.I had never seen one before though seen its picture as a child.

The trek ended at the top of the hill from where one can have a grand and panoramic view of the country side.On one side, we could see the never ending forest cover of the Bandipur sanctuary.
On our way back after breakfast, we stopped at Ranganathittu, the bird sanctuary on the bank of the river Kavery ( Cauvery) one of the grand rivers of the south. It is an idyllic place, a place to walk around under the shades of giant trees and listen to the twittering birds .It is also a place which allows you to go for a cruise in the river and watch birds in the islands and an occassional crocodile sunbathing in isolation. But Kavery was in spate and the boats were not prepared to take any chance with an angry river. We had to remain content to sit by the riverside and contemplate nature before finally calling it a day.Oh, only after we had some lunch at the cafetaria.

Dwija .. who?

2009-02-15T11:52:00.000+05:30

I was searching Dwija on the Google, hoping somehow to find my name somewhere in the web, but knowing it was most unlikely. Wonder of wonders ! I did find a reference to a blogsite ,not mine of course, but a Dwija's nonetheless. Dwija turned to be a charming 28 year old American woman with a husband and two kids from Temecula, California who seemed to be a prolific blogger with a variety of interests.

Now, I have nothing against 28 year old Americans, particularly if they are women, but the name foxed me. Dwija is a Sanskrit word, very much Indian in sound and meaning, and as a name eminently masculine. I can never think of Dwija being a girl's name in Bengal or anywhere else in India. For that matter, it is not a very common name either and many people I know and who know me spell the name incorrectly( they miss the w ).I have given up correcting them long ago, except trying to make sure that it is spelt correctly on legal documents and finacial instruments.

One of my friends explained that the girl's father or mother might be an Indologist or involved in Asian studies. Pure conjecture on his part, but he cited the case of Uma Thurman whose father,as he said,is an Indologist. Uma, after all is an Indian name, in fact one of the many names of the Goddess Durga. However, this does not explain why the parents would choose a boy's name for their girl child. If it is her real name, of course.

Dwija means the 'twice born' and refers to the one who realises Brahman( The Infinite or God) or in more mundane terms, any brahmin who is born again spiritually after his Upanayan or the sacred thread ceremony. It also refers to any species coming out of eggs and includes birds and even snakes. In the latter aspect, the word is sex-independent. My mother was perhaps not that concerned with these meanings when she named me. She was reading Saratchandra's novel Bipradas when she was pregnant and the name of Bipradas's brother Dwijadas appealed to her. Thus, my name.
My mother was not unaware of the meaning though and did cherish high hopes for me,but that she did for all her children. All mothers do.
The name may have been adopted by the California girl to symbolise her birth in blog space. I can try and solve the puzzle by getting in touch with her or but then the mystery evaporates.
May be later.

Slumdog Millionaire- 2

2009-02-13T21:55:00.000+05:30

I came across some amazing videos thanks to my son through the link he sent me - http://www.currybear.com/wordpress/?p=2316#comments.
If interested, anyone can have a look. I took the opportunity however of getting the third one of these videos from Youtube and is putting it up here. Ravi, a boy from one of the slums in Mumbai and a seller of fans made of peackock feathers has picked up not only English but many other languages that include French,Italian,Russian and Arabic from the streets.His English is not that sophisticated, but good enogh for communication. His fluency is amazing. It is not only his language skills but the smartness and ease with which he faces the camera that astonishes me. The boy, now a teenager, remains a seller of handmade fans on the streets of Mumbai. I only hope that these
video clips which are globally viewed will get for this talented boy some help that changes the course of his life. He does not have to be a millionaire, but he surely deserves a better life.
It is most unfortunate that we have failed to create a sysytem which nurtures, nourishes and develops such talents among the teeming millions in this country and its slums. Ravi has been spotted.The person who did so and followed it up deserves to be congratulated.But what about the others like him who trudge through life unnoticed and unsung ? Are they not born to blush unseen and fade away?Do they not get sucked into the underworld as Salim did in the film or try out a different path as in the case of Jamal. It was only a directorial twist that saved Latika from eventual prostitution but many other girls would not have been so lucky, would they?

With all its merits, Slumdog Millionaire suffers from the problem of trying to reach a global audience and please the Indian diaspora at the same time. The english used by the characters is too proper and sophisticated, not like Ravi's, not the street smart type. Though it sounds O.K in the game show, it sounds unreal in some other contexts. Hinglish - a mix of Hindi and English which Indians ( speaking Hindi) do use - would have perhaps done better and satisfied the glaobal audience.Finally, Danny Boyle could not escape the lure of Bollywood and in addition to a fairy tale ending, had to entertain us all with a song and dance routine!

Slumdog Millionaire

2009-02-12T11:50:00.000+05:30

Surprisingly, I thought of writing my first blog after watching Slumdog Millionaire.Not that the film has anything to do with blogging. Not even the fact that a boy from a Bombay slum goes on to win a game show was an inspiration to become a writer of sorts.Just that I liked the film and felt like writng a few lines about it.
That it does not turn out to be my first blog is not of any consequence though.
Thanks to the net I had the opportunity of downloading the film and watching it on my computer much before it was released in the halls in Calcutta. I don't claim to be a connoisseur, but frankly I was impressed - the manner of telling the story,the back and forth movement between the past and present without losing continuity, the deft and fast editing, the excellent camera work and the brilliant sound effects kept me absorbed. The film has since got a number of Bafta awards which I think are well deserved. I am sure it will get a few oscars, at least in editng and sound.The sound and music,not so much the songs to my mind,seem to have been married to the sequences enhancing the viewing experience.
The audio-visual impact would undoubtedly be far greater and more intense if viewed on a large screen with Dolby surround system. I did miss that.
A lot has since been written about the Slumdog. Some valid criticism has also been made.Particularly about the main storyline. A friend of mine whose staple diet is cinema and good cinema, and who incidentally has been an inspiration behind my current craze of collecting and watching old classics, called the story preposterous. One cannot deny that the main story is bit of a fantasy. One wonders can it happen, can a slum boy answer all the questions that came up in the game show through his horrid experiences in life ? Were not the last answer, and also the last but one, which made him the winner pure shots in the dark? Was not the love story bit of a fairy tale ? Valid points. But did I care for these points when I watched the film ? Did I not on the other hand get engrossed by the way the story unfolded itself ? By the life of the children in the slum,the police chase,the gruesome riot, the underworld and its nefarious designs with the boys and with Latika - the girl ?Didn't it feel like hard hitting reality? Is not there a real possibility of a slum producing a Salim as well as a Jamal ? The film makes it believable through the childhood tendencies of the boys.In fact, that is the point.The film makes the whole thing
believable. That is cinema.

2009-02-11T11:47:00.000+05:30

I often thought of maintaining a diary.I did start a number of times,but these efforts were shortlived.I was thinking why? and came to some conclusions.Firstly, perseverence has never been one of my strong points.I give up too easily. After all, giving up does not require much of an effort. This may not be true of our politicians though or for that matter Dhanjaya (in the story) who had to be kicked out when all efforts failed to get him out.

Secondly, my life and the events that shaped it were not interesting enough to be recorded. Or so I felt.I know this depends a lot on how you look at things. After all a daisy in the field or a skylark flapping its wings across the sky caused a lot of uproar in someone or others mind. We all know of the face that launched a thousand boats much earlier.And an enigmatic smile that artlovers all over the world still debate about. Nearer home, we have Bankimchandra,otherwise a very rational man, swooning over a cuckoo's 'pancham swar' -the fifth note in the musical scale or Jibananada,the natural poet,enamoured by the weeping Kite.Well, I tried but could not look at things the way they did.Something must be amiss in my DNA.

Thirdly,one needs to have an orderly thought process when you write. Mine shifts very fast from one direction to other, almost in Brownian Motion.So fast in fact that I often forget what I started with.

I have heard that writers often suffer from a mental block when inspite of best efforts they fail to produce anything. Something like what happened to the great orator Edmund Burke in his first speech in the British Parliament.He started with ' I conceive... I conceive...' and could not proceed further prompting another parliamentarian to intervene and say 'Mr.Burke conceives, but cannot produce'.Any way, great writers,why great - even small time writers come out of such block soon enough. But in my case, well , I conceive..but seem to suffer from a perpetual mental block.

After all, even if it is your diary, your own private space, you might be leaving it for posterity to browse through.Even if they don't erect a statue of yours for crows to do what they do best, you would like them to have an appreciative smile on their face.

That is how I thought.

I am maturing however.May be it has taken a bit too long to do so, nearly sixty five years.If I have not made any impact on the world all these years, I am not going to make one in the years left to me. Posterity can take care of itself. So why not experiment with your thoughts however random they are . Somewhere in Chaos Theory it says that one random act generates another and then another and finally a pattern emerges. Just as Brownian Motion can be defined in Physics by a mathetical equation.Well, so what if a pattern does not emerge.The World is chaotic enough as it is.I can not make it worse.

2009-02-10T11:02:00.000+05:30

I was reading a news article on a current research finding that even short lasting experiences were likely to provide greater happiness than purchase of material goods.Watching a movie, visit to a coffee shop or a day-out could be more invigorating,make you feel more alive and above all add to the 'memory capital'- memories that could be cherished in tranquility.

I did'nt need researchers to tell me this. For me,this was quite obvious and,though such experiences also come at a cost,cheaper.I think this is true for most others ,except some having a pathologically acquisitive temperament.If one needs any confirmation,one just has to hop across to the nearest shopping mall and watch hundreds of young people , some not so young, moving around more for the experience or the possibility of one, than for buying anything.I am sure some do buy goods otherwise the malls would cease to exist,but I am just giving the general picture.

It has always been true for books.It is not only invigorating but more profitable to read one than buy it.I am sure this principle was known to book lovers much before Mark Twain announced it to the world.

I was however wondering about the scientists who were engaged in this momentous piece of research.Poor fellows obviously had nothing else to do.No movies to watch,no books to borrow.no picnics to go to. But they have indeed come out with a new word,at least for me,- 'memory capital'. When all other forms of capital are getting eroded in the worst ever recession in my lifetime - it is a pretty long one - memory capital remains in tact and in fact can be made to grow. Through short lasting experiences maybe.