Maoists, train hijack, Bhagat Singh, death:a few questions

This is going to be a note partly on popular history and partly on popular politics. Let me correct myself at the outset and replace the term popular with populist. I shall present an incident that has happened yesterday and present, through making some observations on its coverage in the media, a critique of both populist history and populist politics in as practiced in india today. Broadly speaking, it is also a commentary on the irresponsibility of the media, both print and electronic.

Earlier this morning I had been listening to a programme in the most popular FM radio channel in New Delhi. This programme, to give the devil his due, generally airs good songs, interspersed by mostly mindless remarks by its two presenters. It so happened today that they flew into a rage about the hijacking of a Delhi bound Bhubaneswar Rajdhani express by a band of bow and arrow wielding traibals near Jhargram in West Midnapore district of West Bengal, admittedly a stronghold of Maoists.

They compared this episode with the Kakory conspiracy case, where Bhagat Singh and his associates waylaid a train carrying huge amounts of money collected from people as revenues to the state, and made off with a few iron chests conatining substantial cash. They said that this latter act was one of great patriotism and must not be confused with the dastardly conduct of these unpatriotic tribals who persecute their own people. They kept harping on this diffrenece, invoking 'nationalism' and 'patriotism' to sanctify and distinguish one robbery from another. I was struck by this simple equation of nationalism and patriotism. Even in Hindi they have two separate words for these two terms-jatiyatawad/rashtriyatawad and deshbhakti respectively. I know for a fact that practically all decent schoolteachers do spell out the conceptual difference between them with care. May be you go to a different school to become the most popular deejays in Delhi. I wonder how you can annoint Gandhi the father of your nation and in the same breath rationalize a violent train robbery. More importantly, how do you call one train robbery a protest and another a robbery, especially when both are admittedly targetted against the perceived atrocities of an arguably arbitrary state? Is the so called analytical difference then tethered only to the seats of power and authority? If you happen to belong to the ruling class, then protesters are train robbers and if you do not belong to the ruling class, then train robbers are protesters. Are we going to ask our people to consume this simple a potion?

This is a rhetorical question, but one whose time has come. My question therefore is how we are going to resolve this central methodological contradiction of Indian nation state sponsored nationalism. It appears as though this debate has already been decided by everyone except yokels like yours truly. Don't just think about it, the preachers appear to scream, aren't we paid to teach you the right thing after all?

The deejays then proceeded, I think rightly so, to an impromptu quiz question, asking the audience to name the place where this great train robbery took place. As a clue, they said that a certain kind of kebabs are named after this place. I was very closely attending to their intersting chitchats, and trying to follow the kind of popular nationalist narrative that they were evidently trying to construct and wanted their their listeners to consume.

What is this narrative like? It implies, to exapnd on the point I made above, that robbing a train is good if it is carrying money to be used for the benefit of foreigners in a narrowly ethnic sense. Correspondigly, it demands that no means of public transport, least of all Rajdhani expresses and aeroplanes, may be halted for any reason whatsoever as long as it carries people belonging to the same nation-state as the protesters.

It is time to spoil this juvenile party now. What exactly does this uncritical and uninformed celebration of ethnic nationalism mean to communicate to its peddlers and consumers? This idea of nationalism is precisely what the ruling classes of the post independence Indian nation state wish its 'citizens' to obey without question. Do please read Indivar Kamtekar's wonderfully penetrating piece 'the Fables of Nationalism' if you want to know more. I have neither his elegant language nor his disarming candour and so would stop short of giving you a summary unless you have failed to locate the piece.

To everyone who bothers to read nonsensewares, I have a simple request. Please take some time out to think about this issue. It is an issue that has profound implications on the ongoing debate about the role of history in our life and conduct. Of late I have been observing an alrming trend among our youths to pay no heed to history. They think history is a chain with which we are handcuffed, as Salman Rushdie memorably wrote long ago. In this confusion some clerver people and commentators have spotted an opportunity to make quick bucks, posing as readymade retailers of populist history. The two smart rjays are probably unwitting victims of this lifestyle disease but its more glamourous victims include some of the most famous and readable contemporary non fiction prose writers in this country. These latter write more often for popular media, dishing out wonderfully uncomplicated versions of what they ordain as history. They can afford to do so, for they write lucid prose, lit up by smart metaphors and even smarter turns of phrase.I admire their prose, spellbound by its ironic blend of linguistic mastery and average scholarship. In this day and age of packaging, substance has been forced to take a backseat, if not altogether unseated. I live with the hope that this too shall pass, and I shall live to see a brighter tomorrow.

anger management

Anger and hatred do not come to me very easily. This is one of the major reasons of whatever little good I have done in life and also of the failures that I have successfully accomplished. I believe anger makes one lose one's sense of proportion and commit mistakes. Since I cannot handle anger, I normally stay away from it.

Anger, like atom bomb, is more effective when it is a potential. Others must somehow be made to see that you might just get angry someday. It is the threat that even a quiet chap can sometime fly off the handle that brings people around. But this resource must not be abused, and used very very sparingly. What is the need to burst up in flames when a firm stare or a wave of hand can do?

It worked today. A senior who normally works under another senior got a chance to officiate for a while. This officiting senior promptly got down to showing everybody who the new boss is, for the time being, that is. I was instructed, in the name of a very senior official, to carry out a task that is normally reserved for some other, specific, individuals, none of whom was absent. In response, I tried to reason but was repreatedly told that the instruction came from this other senior person.

Now till a year or two ago I used to take all this lying down since I had this fear of losing such as losing money, losing face and so on. These days I have stopped bothering about such profound things since I know that these things are only partly determined by my actions, no matter how much sincerity I invest in performing them.

Things have changed since. Once I saw that reasoning with this person won't take me very far, I decided to the next logical thing. This was a bit of a bold decision because this other senior is pretty high up in the pecking order. Fortunately, I had no problem in reching this senior's office and securing an appointment. This was in itself a matter of some chance but the lady luck was in my favour this time. On being asked politely whether my senior was directed by by him to ask me to do someone else's job, he flatly replied that he had no knowldge of this fiat and that he would be fine if I continued doing the jobs normally allotted to me. He was in fact generous enough to offer to give my immediate senior a piece of his mind on this issue. But I had no intention to pick up a fight with anyone, least of all with an immediate senior.

Clear in my head and no longer angry at receiving an arbitrary order from someone who I think does not know how to handle authority very well, I politely approached the colleagues who normally handle the job concerened, suggesting them to conitnue with the present arrangemnt till further orders from above.

I strongly feel my immediate senior should not have dragged this super senior official into such a small affair as asking a junior to do a job that's slightly unfit for him. Does this mean that this senior actually knew that the idea was not exactly above board? May be that is why it was felt necessary to invoke the authority of a super senior, to preempt any protest from my side, that is. I am not writing this to show the public my fiery conscience and all that. Rubbish. I know who I am and I don't want public support or opprobrium, thank you very much. But I liked the way I was able to channelize my anger into the something not so deplorable, if not constructive. I have to thank my immediate colleagues who sensed at once that I was getting disoriented and took me out for a cup of tea and spoke to me softly, quietining me down. They have never seen me angry and they did not like what they saw. I know only too well that I cannot manage anger. That is why I just dread it. It unsettles you majorly. Today, however, I learnt a crucial lesson. If people around you offer a little help and you are able to channelize it into the right directions, anger often proves productive in very interesting ways.

Happy Diwali

Light, for me, is a happy smile in the faces on those I respect and care for. Happy Diwali!!!

A poem translated

A good friend of mine, who researches sports culture, had been asking me, for the past few weeks, to translate a rather famous Bengali song for him. He intends to use the translated version in one of his forthcoming papers. This is one friend who has known me since I was a lanky middle school student in the very late eighties and very early nineties, barring a gap of about eight years in between. Therefore, he is fully aware of my procrastinating nature and patiently persisted with me. The idea of translating this small lyric into English remained in my mind, as all ideas I work with do, waiting for the right moment to push other ideas to the background and shove itself forward, so as to get itself an appropriate expression at an appropriate moment. It so turned out that this morning I suddenly felt an urge to complete this pending task. I am satisfied with the end product to the extent I should be. Students of translation would know that it is not an easy job. I am not given to self trumpeting as a matter of course but do like to share my work those whose opinion I value. Since I know for sure that very few actually read this blog and I personally know most of them, I do not mind submitting this little piece to their judgement. Do please read the Bengali original first and then my translation that will follow. The song is far too well known to the Bengalis for me to introduce it to them again. The non-Bengalis, on the other hand, should first read the translation without any introduction. If the translation is good, they will certainly sense the cultural capital invested into this particular song and will themselves find out more about it. Read on.

Bangalir Football

Gnutognuti Rugby noi, Taas Bidi Kheye Somoy Katano noi,

E Khelai nei gynarakol,

Sob Khelar Sera Bangalir Tumi Football!

Aha Ki Modhu ache oi tomar namete bawa Football!

Aha Ki Modhu ache oi tomar namete aha Football!

Tomake lathai roj boot pora koto pa,

Eto lathi khao tobu mukhe kichu bolo na,

Pude maro roddure, kaadaa maakho boroshai,

Tobu phule phnepe thaako awbichawl,

Sob khelar sera Bangalir tumi Football,

Jibone Marane paye paye achho football.

Adhaisho Bochhorer jamidari Ghuche giye

desh chhere paliyeche ingrej,

nokh daant bhanga ek briddho singho se je,

nei tar jari juri nei tej,

tobu maante to badha nei, sei to sekhalo ei football,

tari daulate naam amar hoeyeche Mohun Bagan East Bengal.

Aha ki modhu ache oi tomar namete bawa football!

Aha ki Modhu ache oi tomar namete aha Football!

Sob khelar sera Bangalir tumi Football.

Jaar goal e jao tumi tar buke pore baaj,

Jaar hoye goal koro se je hoi moharaaj,

Rock-e rock-e jhawgra, ghore ghore divorce,

Ilishe ghoti-te Rosatol,

Sob khelar sera Bangalir tumi Football.

The Bengali’s Football

Not brawling as in Rugby,

nor wasting time as in cards or smoking,

There’s no baseness involved in this noble sport,

in this real thing.

Oh the lord of all sports, you the Bengali’s Football,

How your very name spreads sweetness to one and all!

So many booted legs kick you around,

so hard, everyday,

Such heavy pain you suffer, duty bound,

Without having a say.

Comes heat in summer, and slush in the rains,

Yet you remain the same, rolly polly, oh dear Football!

At the legs of life and death, you stand, the Bengali’s Football.

Two hundred and fifty years’ zamindari over, the English,

Left this land for good, an old lion, its roar and tricks all gone,

No harm admitting today that they taught us football, taught this

Mighty sport that made immortal East Bengal and Mohun Bagan.

Calamity strikes the one who happens to concede a goal,

And the one who scores runs the world as a whole!!

Passion runs wild as the Bengali sits down to talk about you,

Husbands divorce wife, fight in your name like children do.

Ghotis and Bangals bring the earth down, emotion their wherewithall,

Your, dear, the lord of all sports, you the Bengali’s football.

Thank you, dear reader, for your attention and patience. You may not know but this is my first successful attempt at translation. My lack of focus always comes in the way of persisting with things. But these days I realize that things have to be done, and it does not matter when you begin. For instance, I started participating in debates only last week and had great fun doing it. I will post that speech the next time. The secret of doing things, I now realize, is in having fun, in enjoying them, without bothering about consequences. You would be surprised to know that this approach often results in excellence as well.

banging my lore-no u ooo please

If there is one place in India which has made me what I am, it is Bangalore. Period. I never wanted to go there, did not know till about a week before I landed that I was actually going and I am not going to settle there for it has no future to offer to my kind of professionals. Ironically though, I am certain that I would be a far lesser person and professional had I not spent half a decade in Bangalore. Bangalore has a way of bringing out the best in you, and letting you go fully secure in the belief that you are going to keep coming back. This is what mentoring is all about.