West Bengal or Paschimbanga ?

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.

Different Strokes 2

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.