Woh kagaz ki kashti...

"Tum chale jaoge to sochenge,

Humne kya khoya, humne kya paaya,

Zindegi dhoop, tum ghana saaya

Tumko dekha to iye khayal aaya..."

I was just an average kid from 80s. I was from a very middle class family, where the television belonged to the whole locality and VHS tapes were still in fashion. I had a bunch of cousins who were in their youth at that point of time and they liked music. They had a two-in-one and some cassettes. One of their distant relatives used to sing ghazals and thumri. Once or twice, she sang in the AIR Calcutta A. That was some feat then. Not everyone was a singing star performing in TV shows, radio channels or pubs. Pubs were considered low culture, TV had just one channel and radio was state run. Marriage functions were great places to hear some original voices. But Hindi film songs were considered too vulgar. That's just to give you the idea why the ghazal made a way in the middle class milieu and became an integral part of the middle class identity. Later, while doing my masters thesis, I'll find out "classical music was too heavy for the middle class, Hindi film songs were too lowly. The pop-ghazal had the perfect balance." 

   I'm grateful too my cousins for introducing me to a lot of music I'd later develop a taste for. Little did they know how music gets engraved in our mind. I was just a school boy. It is among those bundles of audio cassettes I heard Jagjit Singh's voice for the first time, along with Chitra Singh. I can't remember the name of the album, but it was a compilation of film hits by the pair. The cassette inlay had a black background with the face of the pair and had the song that'll become one of my all time favourites. At that point I had no idea what it meant, nor did I understand the musical technicalities. I recall now, I somehow retained the memory of the sound. It was the 80s, music came in magnetic audio tapes, films were in Eastman-colour, something called "Parallel Cinema" was still there, Shabana Azmi, Smita Patil, Naseeruddin Shah, Raj Babbar, Farukh Sheikh, Amol Palekar were stars of the 'intellectual' middle class, Jagjit-Chitra or Bhupinder Singh were preferred voices for music.

   As I grew up to my own teenage during the 90s, cassettes were still in use. Digital technology did come in, but it was still too costly for the middle class. Some of my friends had them, but they were a still a little more revered to be treated as entertainment gadgets. So we had our Walkmans, two-in-ones, tape-decks... The wealthier could afford a Music system, that had two cassette players and a CD player. One of the cassette players could also record anything from the other cassette, the CD or the FM radio. Oh yes, private FM channels had already come in, but they were not as many or as talkative as today and their reception depended on the position of the antenna! Being able to record was quite a technological challenge. You had to time the two devices, push the switches in the right order and be able to handle them. It demanded practice and efficiency. If you missed something, it meant a series of rewinding and fast forwarding and doing it again. Buttons have not appeared and switches had to be pushed and not touched. I was kind of a techie already. So I mastered the art. One of my close friends had a music system and I had the urge. Initially, we tried that to copy whole cassettes. We were simply unaware of the term "piracy"! Then we started recording stuff for plays at school and locality. But the triumph was the compilation cassette. We sourced a variety of songs from  multiple origins, recorded them in a well thought order and gifted them to the person we wished to impress. CDs were too costly and too complicated to burn. In fact, the cassette was just the right size. A CD would've provided too much space. The number of songs on a compilation cassette could range from 8-12. All that effort just to say a three letter word. Hell, I miss the 90s! Needless to say I was quite a champion of it, doing it for myself and for my friends as well. It was the 90s, music was changing, it was the time for remixes and remakes. Cinema was changing, so were its preferred stars. But, there were a few songs that would appear on almost all such compilation cassettes.

   That was the second time I encountered Jagjit Singh's voice and fell in love. My friend could afford the original cassettes, I would just record. Many of our teenage afternoons were spent listening to them. He was on a singing spree. My friend predicted he'll become silent in a few years. He didn't, and thank god he didn't! As I grew up my music changed. I shifted from one genre to another, but somehow I always felt comfortable in melody and in baritone. The romantic intonations and the brilliance of words somehow kept going with me. I grew older, and after quite some experiments with music, a few years back I started coming back to Hindustani Classical music. Once again ghazal was my way in. As I struggled with the concepts and grammar of it, I downloaded a whole collection of Jagjit Singh's works. Those who understood Hindustani music better than me, told me he isn't good enough. But then, one just doesn't have to be good to make one feel at peace. Before the technical knowledge comes the inexplicable liking for it. That's why when a popular artist fades away, they take too many memories with them. Too many to consist an era.

   I had an affinity for Ghalib's poetry. I don't know why, I think I can trace it back to the same period when the TV serial on his life was being telecast. There is something about that period, that determines my middle class existence, my cultural roots. I now know there are a lot of things about it that's not politically correct or very mediocre, but I refuse to grow old without my childhood and teenage reality. In the past few weeks I've had a new friend. That is not so normal given the person I've become these days. She has re-introduced me to the world of Urdu poetry. In one of our very early conversations she text me some lines from Ghalib. I had downloaded all episodes of the Mirza Ghalib TV serial from torrents a few months back. It is the new millennium, everything's on the internet, poetry is available as e-books, music can be transferred and heard through phones, every computer is a film archive. As I am blogging this very personal and unusual obituary, I'm thinking I'll listen to the complete works of Jagjit Singh once more, and fall in love again.

Jeshob lekhar proyojon furiyechhe...

1.

"Doityer bagane ar basanta ase na. Goto shiit-e kokil dekechhilo, bhul kore, hoyto ba obhyeshe. Kokil-er to ghori nei, calender-o nei. Ki aschorjo, kokil-er to basai nei! Calendar tangabe kothay? Polash fote na e shohor-er pothe, park street-er koborkhanay jhore jaay onami ful, kuriye ene keu garir janlay bikri-o kore na. Kinbei ba ke? Karur to fuldani-e nei, rakhbe kothay? Onami fule to gondho thake na. Ekhon onek rate kolkata sashon kore jeshob sorbonam, tara keu abani-r bari chenena. Eka pothe lampost chnuye name halogen alo, gota rastay makhamakhi hoye kopai-er moto dekhay, bali chikchik kore. Tobu ondhokar-er nesha kate na. O pothe koto lok hnate, karur pocket theke ekta siki-o ki chhitke pore na kothao? E shohore ar siki byabohar kore na keu. Tobu ghorer kone ekta table onekdin dhore thakle tar proti-o to maya pore jay? Bojha jayna obosso, kintu soriye nile payar dag theke jay. Tokhon mone hoy ki jeno nei...

Tarpor onek pore ekdin, prem, nesha ar sms-er moto biroho-o basi hote hote sref obhyesh hoye jay..."

2.

"Othoba kichhui likhbo na. Rabindra sadan theke metro-r sesh station-er nam ki? Dumdum theke sesh train kotay chhare? Mone mone bondhur hat dhorle kotodur jaowa jay? Asol kothata holo, kondike? Durodarshan, Durgapujo, Du:sahos r Durontopona niye amader chhotobela kondike chole gechhe? Ei barti boyesh r komti oxygen kondike jachhe?

Janen na to? Amio jani na. Amra keu jani na. Tobu amra roj eishob kore kore sniri bhenge bhenge kondike jeno egiye jai. Egiyei je jai, setao nishchit kore jani na. Tobu bari ferar tara, lekha sesh korar tara, ticket katar tara. Sesh show-er por sob alo nibhe gele, dorshokder hattali miliye gele, porda pore gele obhineta jane tar r kichhu korar nei. Tobu bari take firtei hoy, kondike? Ekdol manush ache jara nijer hridoytake paposher moto mele rakhe. Tobu banchte tader bhari bhalo lagey. Shohor paltay, somoy paltay, nam-o paltay roj, tobu Cigarette tukro ra bhalobashar keu hoyna, janen?Kintu sob kotha to sotti-e lekha jay na, taina? 

Onek rat holo, shabdhane bari firben…

Aj kondike?"

3.

"Awchin pakhi bujhi shuhdu buker khanchatei ase jaay? Mathar bhitore je pakhita roj dana jhaptay, se ekdin thik ural debe, digontorekhar dike. Dekhe nis. Buker majhkhane je jolashoy bikelbelar dhakuria lake-r moto nissare train-er sobdo gile ney, masjid-er ajan bhese ashar agey, tar gachheo to kolokakoli jome thake. Nahoy tui auto-y beshi bhara dibi na, taxi-r meter scale diye mapbi, kintu tate ki r shohor-ta palte jachhe? Je tramgulo ekhono chora hoyni, je koborgulo dekha hoyni, je shob boi ekhono tor opekkhay college street-r footpath-e obosthan korchhe tader kothay niye jabi? Tui palate chaitei paris, eishob kichhu theke dure, kono ek nishchinto, nibhrito bhalo bashay. kintu ghulghuli diye bhubangram dekha ek r nijer kholos theke nijeke chharano arek, dher kothin byapar. Kota kopai, kota khowai, kotogulo bankura-r bus perote hobe bhebe dekhechhis? Melamath r chayer bhnar-gulo noy felei dilam, kintu metro-r ticket gulo-r ki korbi? Asole ki janis, onekkhon karo chokher dike takiye thakleo khub maya pore jay to..."

4.

"Charpash jokhon chheye jachhe poster-e, amar shohorer mukh dheke jay bigyapon-e, tokhono babughat-er shyaola-y chikchik kore bhorer surjo. Sosta-r aeroplane r cell-phone-er tower dokhol niyechhe je dhushor akash-er, ekhono sekhane du-charte kak-chil guerilla judhho chaliye jaay. Ektu beshi raatey surjo nibhe gele, theme ele sohorer sob kolahol, ekti-duti tara ekhono unki diye jay. Keu tader khobor rakhena, seta onno kotha. tate tader kichhu esheo jabar kotha noy. kintu modda kothata holo, ja kichu nei, ta je adou nei, emon kotha holof kore ekhono bola jachhe na. Shohore jonaki jwole na hoyto, tobu se neel agun kuriye nebar basona aaj-o soman diptimoy.

E shohor chhere chole gele oneker bhalo hobe hoyto, sohor-tar hobe ki? Porajoy nischit jeneo, somoyer kachhe hnatu mure ekdin bostei hobe jeneo, keu kotha rakhbe na jeneo, shudhu biswas-er jore ajo to keu keu lore jaay. Jhogra koraro to lok chai?"

5.

"Fire jachhilo megh. Ki ekta bhebe theme gelo. Tarpor theke gelo karur buk-e. Sei theke shohorer mukh bhar. Omni kore fire jete jete pichhu dakte hoy?

Buk-er thik jekhane asha-ra thake, kimba mathar je kontay, sekhane ki megh-er jaowa mana? Roj jaay na obosso, kintu jedin jaay, sedin to khub brishti hoy. Brishti ki bhalo?Brishti-r joma jole nouko-chithi bhashale keu pabei emon kono kotha nei, sob chithi sotti-e thikanay pouchhoy na. Othocho shohor paltay, projonmo palte jaay, dekhar chokh palte jaay. Gongay bheshe jay nouko tobu gotipoth palte jay. Onek onek khunjle ekta kore milefolok mele, jar dhare dudondo bose jirono jaay. Onek onek somoy periye ekta kore naam na jana pakhir dekha mele.Garia theke je rasta-ta bridge-er dike chole gechhe, onek ratey okhane auto-y sat-atjon-o bose jaowa jaay, ek hatey, kono rokome khamche dhore. Oikhan theke pother dupashe timtime aloy nijhjhum jibon dekhte sobcheye bhalo. Oneke jibon periye aro beshi jete pare, sobai pare na.Aj taratari bari firis... Megh korechhe..."

6.

"Ekrokom deshlai achhe, take bole mom-deshlai. bhari sundor dekhte. Patla dohara chhoto-khato goron, sadharon deshlai-er cheye sob dik thekei alada. Sadharonoto sobkotai jole r ekebare sesh matha obdhi jole. Jara khub boro nesharu, tara jane, oi deshlai-er onno upojogitao achhe. R jara seshob noy, tara khub ekta pochhondo kore na, asole mulyo bojhe na. Karon oi deshlai shudhu poranoi jaay. Kan chulkano jaay na, daant khonchano jaay na. Oshob korte gelei bhenge jaay, bidroho kore bodhhoy!

Kintu bhebe dekhle dekha jabe, nisshese pure jaowai to deshlai-er dhormo. Ektu khon alo deowa, ektu agun, ushonta.. tarpor abar ondhokar... hoyto mukhomukhi bosibar... thik jani na. Mom-deshlai jokhon jole, tokhon thik agun-er porer ongsho-tay gola mom-er kemon ekta khela cholte thake. Jeno podmo-patay jol, jeno shubhro kathinyo theke bayubhuto shunyotay mishye jabar majhe torol dolachol...Mom-deshlai sesh obdhi jolle chhai pray thake na, haoway mishe jaay... kintu sesh obdhi jalale angul purbe, otodur na jaowai bhalo..."

7.

"Last train dhore chaand bari fire jabar por, notebook-e jyotsna tuke rakhe raat. Ontohin kono ek shohure bypass-er dhare, rail line-er pashe bhuttakhete, eka deke fire jaay lokkhipencha. Se daak tumi kokhono shononi. Chaalkol theke bhese asha paka dhan-er gondho periye, onek beshi ratey alo jholmol shohor theke nijhjhum mofossole-r pothe eka bari fere keu. Tar mukh tumi kokhono dekhoni. E shohor-er ja kichhu bhalo r biponno, moidan-er choraigulo, vicotoria-r porita, kromosho khin hoye asha tramline-gulo ar ektu ektu kore hariye jaowa parkstreet cemetery-r shyaola dhora panchil-tar moto aro onek kichhu tomar jonne roilo. Jodio jani, eshob-er kono kichhur-i towakka na kore, ekdin onek bhorer flight-e byasto-somosto hoye tumio kothay jeno chole jabe. Kichhudin picture-postcard pathabe, kichhudin internet-e chhobi lagabe, tarpor sob theme jabe. Asole jibon to thame na, tai ar baki sob theme jaay, jete badhyo hoy. Kokhono kono byasto dupure, khunje dekho, kothao kono odeya chhithi, na khola kham, pore thakteo to pare..."

8.

"Erokom-i to hobar kotha chhilo. Kotha diye keu kotha rakhbe na, majhe majhe rastay dekha holeo chinte parbe na, bhule jabe purono semester-er sob lenden. Tobu bikel goriye sondhye namar pothe, coffee house-er tumul adda-r fanke hothat ekla lage, onek ratey ekta sms-e ki jeno bolte cheyeo nissobde vibrate kore cellphone. Bhishon matha byatha-y shudhu chhoya-y kichhu hobe na jeneo, kar jeno haat kopale pete mon chay.

Jibon-ta oirokom-i. Gonga beye naam na jana nouka kono ekdike chole jabar por, bari firte hobe jeneo onno kothao chole jete ichhe kore. Metro kore dumdum hoye gele arame jaowa jaay jeneo bus-e firtei beshi bhalo lage. Je dighijol onekdin-er chena tobu tar dhare kono shanto bikele bose jol-er chokhe chokhe rakha hoyni, sekhane ghai mere jaay ochena kono machh. Amra jara ei somoy-ke thamano jabe na jeneo ulto hanti, tader ei rokom-i hobar kotha chhilo,tobu...Smritira nirobe janan diye jaay, shyaola-dhora dewal beye jemon bere othe naam na jana lotagulmer dal, ke jane, konodin hoyto ful futteo pare..."

9.

"Asole ektu sondhyer dike airport-er dhar gheshe rasta-ta diye gele gota runway-ta dekha jaay... tip tip alo-r ekta poth. Pash-er rasta diye jete jete mone hoy ekhuni kono uronchakti nebe asbe. Kintu nabe na. Roj gota sohor-er janjot thele pora bus, sei barir samne namiye dey. Haldiram-er alojholmol barita, Rajarhat-er flyover-ta sotti jeneo kichhutei mante ichhe kore na ei prithibite r kothao kono swapno obosishto nei. Apato niriho songskriti-r bukpocketeo kothao bangla band lukiye thake, tikhno jukti-r shanito ostrer sathei olpo jorano uchcharon, duhate agle rakhe chhotobela; oi tuku bhorshai ekhono benche thak. Baki ta amra roj-i coffee-r cup-e bujhe nitey jani..."

10.

"Emoni kono ek badolbelar seshe, fire giyechhilo rajputrer roth. Dhulo chhere molin boson joriye niye, sei meye beriye porechilo, nodi hobe bole. Ekhon tar gohon nabyotay, rajputrer sampan chole na. Bhora borshay dukul chhapiye jokhon bhalobasha ashe, tokhon-o meye kande na, shudhu kulu kul sobde beje jaay cellphone. Bhubandanga-r ranga math periye jokhon cycle-riksha-r tyre-r dhulo miliye jaay, chayer dokan-er radio theke bheshe ashe bishonno bibidhobharoti, tokhon jodi ekbar cycle theke neme ghure darao, khub ki ashorjo hobey?

Temon kore kokhono kheyal korini, kintu mela bhenge jabar por, telebhajar dokan-er bhire, sobar olokhyete tumio ki chhile?Kopai jabar rastay ekdin chandni ratey amar ek bondhu khub matal hoye kende felechhilo. Eishob to r internet-e bojhano jaay na...Ekhane kopai nei, canal nei, deer-park-er machata nei, ambagan-er cycle gulo-o nei...Onekei kichh bujhte parchhe na, kintu jara bujhbe, tader jonno, tor jonno, ekta metho banshi roilo... Paro to scale bujhe niyo..."

Of power and other such cliches...

Let's be very clear about it from the very outset. This is not one of those mushy posts about some obscure affair or nostalgic outpourings of mine. This is as close as it gets to hardcore theory. Probably because I'm on a no nonsense PhD mode, but also because this raises a few questions about the milieu I live in. Days are just mad. Ask any PhD scholar nearing his/her scholarship deadline but seeing no end to the thesis! I don't wish to sound rude, but I know I am. These are the times when you call an idiot an idiot.

Sporting mega-events have a long history. I guess it goes down to the early days of civilization. Documented history will obviously show some Greek competition that finally took shape of the Olympics, but I  suspect it comes from something earlier, more primitive. Hence the involvement of body and bawdy. As man evolved, so did sports. A glimpse of the arena of Computer games and you'll know how cerebral they've become. I can't even install half of them, let alone playing! But the two things that remain constant in games, are the player(s) and the supporters. Even the very cerebral, very solitary ones have their share of supporters. I wonder when and how people decided some will play while the others will watch. I mean, people do a lot of stuff alone or collectively, no body cares. When did sports became spectacle? Is it when some people realized it requires special skills and training to play a game and not everyone has it?

I love Michel Foucault. That man helped me see the power structures inherent in everything. Call me a fanatic or lunatic or whatever you want, I'll still have him on my side. That's exactly his point!

So when some people play and the others watch, there is a clear demarcation, who has agency and who has not. The age-old division between the one who can and the one who can not, those who have it and those who have not. I presume this division is inherent in every sport, every game, every match. There is almost no instance where everyone will play and everyone will win. That's just not the point of any sport. It is, first and foremost the determinant of the victor and the vanquished. Yes, that's just for a time being, but this determining factor is all a game about. Don't get me wrong, I'm not condemning sports. I'm just trying to find out what drives numerous people to engage in a lot of things that may not be part of the game.

Coming back to sporting mega-events, they require something more than just the competition. They require money, they often require involvement of mega-authorities like the State. So here we are, in the 21st century, name a sporting mega-event that does not require the State, the Market and the Media and more often than not, the Religion (that's where the fans belong, for God's sake!) There you go, mega playground of the power. Now if the mega-event happens to be the favorite pass-time of a nation that struggles everyday just to exist, everyone wants a bite of it. Where it is clearly proved that things are not alright, they are not what they should be, mega events like this provides excuse for the mass to feel happy and gives the agencies of power the  opportunity to go unchallenged, unquestioned despite their treacheries.
 

The situation is complicated. On one hand you have the few moments of joy that a battered nation desperately wants to feel (or so they are compelled to think), on the other there are the few skeptics like me, who refuse to believe a nation is more about 11men winning a match and less about 100 people dieing of hunger, lack of treatment or other such issues. Once one of my teachers taught me how internet is not free from any politics, rather it's the new form of politics as it allows detachment and anonymity. Those were early days of internet. It has become bloody complicated these days. I often fail to understand where the boundary of the virtual ends and where reality begins. So when a sporting event of that scale takes place these days, everyone is up there on the net, supporting and cheering their side, expressing their views, abusing the opponents and all that virtuality allows! If it involves nations, make no mistake, nationalism will be on the full swing. It always was. 

What motivates the supporters to feel proud for the team? If you delve deep enough, you'll find pieces of broken egos, humiliated faces, frustrated, defeated lives, struggling for the last drop of hope. Someone to tell them, although they are defeated to the core, someone is fighting their fight, in some form. Sporting events, then clearly are more about warfare and less about fun. Any fun, if involved, is that of  drawing the first blood and chopping the opponent into thin slices, methodically. Have you ever noticed, the two moments when an individual suddenly realizes (s)he is a citizen, who belongs to a nation and has some rights/duties, are the moments of a war or a national sporting event? That explains why skeptics like me are considered nuisance at such moments. Great teachers suddenly become cynical old fools. Great scholars become sexually frustrated weirdos. When someone is fighting hard to keep ones super blown ego intact, with all his/her unconscious exposed and hanging out there like their dirty lingerie, it is evident that there can be only two sides. Either I'm with you, or I should be impaled and burnt alive, nothing in between. At these moments of nationalist ceremonies, skeptics are the reminder of the Real, the constant disturbance in an otherwise happy, bright picture and hence must be offered to the Gods of fanaticism as sacrifice.

So the battle goes on. From Virtual to real and back to virtual. What you think is all in good fun, may feel absolutely disturbing for someone else. Just like you are entitled to your fun, I'm entitled to my disgust. But my disgust irritates you more than your fun disturbs me. There is no innocent fun, not in this late-capitalist, consumerist world. Power does control everything. One of the great success of the agencies of power at such moments is it overshadows your logic and turns you into what it always wanted you to become, One tin soldier.  The moment you abuse the opponent or the skeptic for just being that, you join the army of zombies. In your frantic attempt to annihilate them, you forget, they are exercising the same power of free speech you're so happy about, their argument is equally as important and valid as yours. In our battles of comments and likes and posts and tags we forget, Nation is a virtual category too. So are friends and fans. There are no "real" representatives for you and me. We are what we become, what we choose to become. You see what you choose to see, but that may not be the only version. You do not control this world, it controls you.The sane approach is to accept that. but when was sanity mankind's greatest virtue?

As one national event comes to a super-celebrated end, it gears up for another. The forces that celebrated the 'oh so great' nation, regroups in its fragments. I wished to say, "up your ass, nationalism", but I realize these are the days of multiple subjectivities. The banners will change but the abuses will not, nor will your aspirations to feel like a whole. You stand divided in your humiliations and united in your idiocy. You'll again be happy about some virtual formation that will drain money out of your pocket to make fun of you. And you'll laugh at your humiliation, rejoice, unsuspecting as ever. Skeptics like me will again raise the dirty questions to face more vehement attacks this time, or you'll box us under some virtual category and shut us off your mind. Although you'll know in your mind for certain the glass jar has cracked from top to bottom, but you will not want to see. The friend will again feel bruised, the teacher defeated...

নেশার ঘোরে টলছে শহর

টলছে এ সময়
টলছে আমার অস্তিত্ব
টলছে প্রত্যয়
বাড়ছে আলো, বাড়ছে অসুখ
পাগলামি ও ভয়
বাড়ছি আমি, বাড়ছে শহর
শহর আমার নয়।

শামুকখোলে লুকিয়ে বাঁচা
সাহস উড়োখই
মুখ লুকিয়ে মুখোশ বাঁচে
মাঝারি, মাপসই
ভোরের দিকে সূর্য উধাও
ব্ল্যাকআউট, অন্ধকার
তুলতে মাথা কস্ট ভীষণ
জমাট হ্যাঙওভার।



Neshar ghore tolchhe shohor,
tolchhe e somoy,
tolchhe amar ostitwa,
tolchhe protyoy.
Barchhe alo, barchhe osukh
paglami o bhoy,
barchhi ami, barchhe sohor
sohor amar noy.

Shamukkhole lukiye bnacha
sahos urokhoi,
mukh lukiye mukhosh bnache
majhari, mapsoi.
Bhorer dike surjo udhao
blackout, ondhokar
tulte matha kosto bhishon
jomat hangover.