Flavors of India

There is a geographic sentiment in India, which is probably not so starkly visible anywhere across the globe. There are distinctive cultural nuances that take to make a Tamil a Tamil, a Punjabi a Punjabi or a Gujarati a Gujarati. And if you are an Indian, you are probably very sentimental about which city you were brought up or which part of the nation you hail from. Of course one has family values that one gets exposed to, from the small days of his childhood. One usually has a school to go to, where he learns about nations, civilizations, societies and great minds – but, he somehow portrays an imprint of the place he hails from. A place is probably one of the most significant intellect feed above all; and for someone like me, who’s had a dumb past, being from a place that’s least likely ever to get an entry to the record books as a place with its own point-of-view, a new city called Calcutta, where I had to move in twelve years ago, smiled when I was unimpressed with the way she looked.
It took me unusually long – seven years to be precise, before I realized that the city has grown inside me. And Calcutta had remained unusually patient during that span. This had happened because none of the two of us had a choice. I was interestingly daft for my age, the present day kids of mid-twenties are a testimony to that; and of all the virtues Calcutta has, patience was the top order requirement when it came to handle a grownup scatterbrained like myself. A decade now in the metropolis, I have a few larger than life reasons that make me indebted to this place. It is not just the memories that I carry with me as many would like to think or tend to do – for they are often the easiest of things to borrow from your past and feel good about the times you had. This city has taken my wanton state of mind in consideration, and has characteristically planted a series of thoughts that is to be mine for the rest of my life.
This city has taught me to take pride in being a Bengali, discounting the omnipresence of Tagore or Satyajit Ray. Being Bengali, as I have grown to understand, is a state of mind. There probably is no other community with so many distinctive facets that a Bengali can feel good/bad about – depending on whether he considers himself ‘in’ or ‘out’ of the rest of the society at large. Interestingly, after coming to appreciate the Bengali in myself, I have never felt the need to get an approval from the rest of the nation about my being ‘in-sync’ or not. Probably that reflects the pride factor in me. I thank Calcutta for that.
What’s in ‘being a Bengali’? Is it in expressing solidarity with Latin American culture and in reading about Balzac-Shakespeare-Marx? Is it in having a natural disregard of authority and for critically estimating everything? Is it in being under Communist rule for near-eternity; or is it about Monkey-cap, Keo Karpin and Sourav Ganguly – as many like to think? I say it is probably all and yet none of the above. Mastering Shakespeare is easy compared to culturing friendliness towards strangers. Reciting Wordsworth with carefree gaiety is effortless compared to faith in a belief that excessive wealth can have negative effect on a man’s character. And while there would always be a school of thought that would label Bengali as second-rate and hesitant competitors in the ‘real’ world, I would continue to believe that these opinions are kind of quick-fix ‘expert comments’ that tries to covers up the need to apply intelligence to even gauge this community marginally. Being Bengali is about understanding and striking a balance between money and peace of mind. In a world where one’s greatness is measured by the billions that he owns or the aggression that he shows, this series of ‘Bengali’ outlooks might seem incongruous, even incredible to all – but trust me, you will eventually bump into a wanderlust Bengali family taking their half-yearly vacation in Goa or Shimla, where they would give you sharply etched views about the state of the world, and would probably sing a folk song about birds flying home, with remarkable ease the next moment. The amount of awareness demonstrated, the apparent detachment towards the result, and the contentment with present is a combination that would leave you confused. That’s the joy Calcutta breeds in you – if you give in to the city and let it guide your soul.
What else has Calcutta done to me? She has made me realize that it is quintessentially in a Bengali’s nature to value warmth over indifference, mind over matter and contentment over restlessness. A friend of mine (not a Bengali), while pondering over a decision of mine to comeback to Calcutta from Delhi, where I am currently posted, asked me why I would want to leave such a ‘happening’ place like Delhi. My sole question to her was what exactly happens in Delhi. She had no concrete answer. And, speaking of the way I have seen other cities gets me one more reason to look up to this great city of joy. Delhi, for example, being the political capital of our country sharply reflects its political sheen to my eyes. Almost every common man that you fancy culturing would announce his proud connection with a MP or a commissioner or a counselor, or even a police officer – and demonstrate an attitude of being above the law. Bombay, our financial capital, equals to money. Part time works, share trading and sleepless nights, transactions and how, twenty-four by seven busyness… its money or nothing. And people couldn’t be less concerned about what your contacts are, as long you don’t possess the mother of all knockout punches. Bangalore and Hyderabad, India’s IT hubs, experience their personal nirvana in blind-worshipping US or European multinationals based out of an aren’t-they-great-to-have-employed-us attitude. Money remains crucial, but somehow the means assumes more important dimension than the end.
I feel exceedingly good that Calcutta is not bound by any of these categories. I feel happy seeing the father who buys farm fresh groceries everyday and the off-spring who grows up appreciating global literature – the only way to understand the concept of human civilization. I feel happy witnessing a footloose Bengali family whichever corner of the world I travel to – exploring, seeking, appreciating, but completely devoid of the greed to settle down to get a share of the pie. I am proud that when the rest of the country sings ‘e gori, thoda nachke dikha’, we still get our dosage of both local Minstrel and Woodstock Classics – live, at the same venue. I feel relieved witnessing that when speed assumes an all time high in our country, the Bengali community still lets the mind wander in the maze of art, drama, emotions and genuine humanity.
For blind critics of this ‘fish and rice’ clan – being Bengali is not about the community protests that one witnesses on TV when Sourav Ganguly is kept out of the team. It is not about industrial strikes and political bandhs either. It’s about the key thoughts that lead to such visible actions. It is about collective belief in the philosophy that a society or a state is essentially ours to build. To give in to whatever is being practiced can spell a disaster; and the negative forces at work might get away with it. For starters, India at 2007 doesn’t consider the erstwhile coach to be the best thing that happened to our cricket team. And India at early 2008 agrees to the fact that industrialization is good as long as it doesn’t narrow down or cut into the base of our societal/economical pyramid. Once again, what Calcutta thinks today, India thinks tomorrow.
Calcutta has taught me that being a Bengali is about being a conscience indicator. It is about questioning the obvious and at the same time it is about learning to appreciate the universal forces at work – through humans and through nature. My senses have thus developed breathing in a City whose culture is the culmination of the language, philosophy, music, poetry, film, drama, tarja, jatrapala of her land. Of Tagore, Nazrul, Jibanananda, Lalan, Satyajit, Amartya, Nati Binodini, Jahir Raihan, Rammohan, Vidyasagar and Vivekananda. The Hindu, Vaishnava, Islam, Buddhism, Brahmo Samaj, Atheism and Socialism. The Sufis and the Sadhaks. The kirtans, shyamasangeets, bauls and bhatialis. The Marxism, Secularism and Bhasha Andolan. The Titumir, Kano-Sidho, Birsa, Khudiram, Master-da, Bagha Jatin, Subhas Bose, Bhasani, Tebhaga, and Naxalbari. Permeated by an open society and free-thinking lifestyle. The quest for truth and the courage to challenge and question the unfounded. Calcutta has enlightened me with the history of struggle of more than a thousand years – the history of an incredible development of the human mind.
And by all of these, she has demonstrated that a city should have a representative mind of her geography, to help in constructive evolution of the personality of its dwellers. A city should be beyond just being ‘clean and green’, ‘dynamic’, or being ‘cool’. Cosmetic touches are skin deep. The mental health of a place is a sum total of the inexplicable network of history-religion-art-culture-tolerance and the resultant attitude that boils out of it. The forecast of the future lies in the past.
I am lucky I was mindless when I came here. I am also lucky that I was a lot younger twelve years ago.