A bit on Singur and Nandigram protests

When Singur and Nandigram was steaming, more in the minds of the middle class Bengali intelligentsia, various celebrities and groups were busy fishing in the murky water. It was possible to track the events better by watching from a distance.

The awesome and loud protest by the devi’s and babu’s termed as ‘sushil’ was rather extraordinary. Also it was surprising to watch the hardcore self proclaimed underground rebels joining hands with reactionaries, theorizing and justifying their stand in their various inscriptions and dialogues. Almost every of these were documented in the newly discovered net sphere by enthusiastic cyber volunteers where they were published and republished. Whichever side one belongs to, it is undisputed now that these volunteers were basically honest, sensitive to voice their concern over an important socio-political issue of their time. Emotions were running high with obvious support from a big chunk of the ironically bhadrolok society. Also the protests were a relatively trouble-free one sided act as their enemy number one were defensive from the very beginning. Without any real backlash from the tactfully low key opponent the hullabaloo went on in full swing. Lot of imaginative forecasts and rumors were floating in the hot wind and as it is pathetic to see, there is actually no difference between an illiterate, superstitious village folk and a high educated, rational, city dweller buddhijibi on this matter.    

From the background the nefarious authorities were proactive. They were invisible as always, wearing different masks at different time but purposely promoting the welfare farce. If that clicks, well. If not, no problem.

There will come plenty of opportunities to them in the drastically changing scene of Bengal. The only difference may be that this surge of activism will not repeat, as the intelligentsia can’t sustain a particular emotion for a long time.

The Son

The son is in trouble again. Parents are spending sleepless nights storming their conscience to find out a solution. The mother is worried to that extend that she started calling the parents of his classmates to verify his school activities. She also started monitoring him from the balcony when he is playing.

The causes of the worries are as following:

1. he is not attentive in his class
2. he is slow and therefore cannot complete class works in time
3. he is not aware about the value of time
4. he prefers to watch too much TV
5. he sits with the home computer only to play games while in his computer class at school marks poorly
6. he rarely reports about school activities because he doesn’t think they are important
7. his handwriting is bad
8. he likes to eat only junk food, does not like the regular home food
9. he is not imaginative
10. he does not like to read
11. he does not like to sing
12. he is lazy
13. he is growing eccentric by nature
14. mothers of his playmates are storming the house to complain that their kids are getting thrashed by him whereas he quietly returns home hiding the wound he got by a blow from a mate
15. he cannot deal with his playmates with a clever approach 
16. when he plays he plays too much, when he sleeps he sleeps too much, when he enters the bathroom or toilet he spends time too much
17. he never listens to the mother at first, rather ignores her. He only acts when he realizes that the mother is going to cross her tolerance limit
18. he has learned to lie smartly
19. he speaks unnecessarily and foolishly among elders and outsiders

The list is never ending. All that the parents are now doing is, loosing their temper everyday, shouting and quarrelling among themselves. Hoping for the day when the son comprehends their anxiety and change his nature.

Recently, the son got the news about a drawing competition at school, organised by the leading English daily. He has never participated in a drawing competition before.  He collected and filled the entry form by himself without consulting the parents. The night before the competition saw stormy scenes at his home because it appeared that no one was available to drop him at the venue. He arranged his drawing kits quietly, and prepared himself for the competition though he was not very sure about reaching there. He was really feeling bad to create so many problems to his parents but also was unable to resist his strong desire to participate. The parents were impassive and doubtful. What will he draw there? Does he realize how serious the competition is? Why waste time? Ultimately, the son somehow was able to reach the venue and participate. There were thousand of participants. He won the third prize.

The son is eleven years old.               

The fighter extraordinary

Last Tuesday I was watching the IPL match between Kolkata and Mumbai. I was never a keen cricket watcher except a brief stage during my school days when I was expecting myself to grow up as a cricket all-rounder; though I was never chosen to play for either any local or school team. These days my only interest and excitement is to watch Sourav Ganguly at the crease, batting for his side. The dear dada of the Bengali clan rarely fulfills our expectation nowadays. Most of the time he winks his eyes, then pats a few ball before nicking one for an easy catch. We rarely see him to rule the field. Yet he is still a darling of a cricketer, a wonderful example of self esteem and determination. A rather uncharacteristic Bengali indeed.

So many needless words were spoken to prove or disprove Sourav as a cricket persona. But in the public domain, the sheer quality of his struggle to restore his image back was permanently embedded. Public memory may be short but there is something called collective memory and Sourav will wait there, quietly, to inspire many others fighting there own battle.

Something like a Prologue

This should be the beginning of a long cherished desire of a broken man. Unaided and alienated from his likely milieu, he is living his droning life with the longing to share some of the thoughts and ideas which once was the stimulus of many of his unfinished actions.

This should also be the beginning of a quest for excellence of the human kind, a living page to inform and exchange the immense cerebral assets nurtured by this lovely planet; so old yet so youthful everyday.

This should also be the beginning of a process to place uncomfortable questions in front of our somewhat weird society we live in: political, social and cultural. There are individuals veiled among the mass who enjoy daring the big brother, who may or may not be watching.

The broken man is well aware about his own hypocrisy but all together attentive about others too. The method he wants to follows is neither hard nor too odd. Whatever you do, try to know what you are doing. You may or may not have an acceptable answer to the why. Those who know the answer are thus special. He believes that this is an adequate and honest method of action. He wishes to continue with it.

A little poem to end with. This is a translation of Shyamal Jana’s Bengali poem:

my love gone with the water flow

still it adores the river thou.         

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