I went to Kashmir with my parents when I was a kid studying in Standard V. I would not say that it was a once in a lifetime visit, because I was too dumb to register too many things. Sketchy pictures that made me promise myself to revisit this place as a grown-up are Lidder River, Gulmarg greens, and Shalimar Garden. But soon after that, to most of our ill luck, trouble brewed in the valley and the place nearly shutdown for tourists. A few brave-hearts would go nonetheless, and mostly face dire consequences. Armed forces, both official and unofficial inherited the stretch. They started a series of small skirmishes in between them to prove their respective points. Caught in between all of these, the paradise, which was otherwise home to saffron, dry fruits, apple, shawls and tourists, became the romping ground for extremist militancy and international politics. I liked the place, like so many millions of others – so I was naturally worried. Nowadays, my half-empty-glass mind is passing me hints, which makes me feel that this battle of inheritance is probably getting over. It’s a mixed feeling, to speak out loud.
We had Kashmiri Shawl vendors who used to inhabit the small time lodges of Durgapur during the winters. They would hire hand-pulled rickshaws for the full season and roam around the entire town selling their goodies. I understood two things from this group, a) they loved their valley and b) they hated the rest of India. Discussing current affairs was never my Dad’s forte – so it used to be a one sided complaining bout, whenever GN Shafi, our shawl vendor would come to our quarter with his shawl bundle. Complains against the government, complains against the tourists, complains against the customers – it used to be a complete package.
Coming back to our tour – when in Kashmir, our agent Anandaloke Tourist used to take us for sight seeing – the regulation ones. Among other things, what I had marked then was that the residents were remarkably indifferent to us. They were least bothered whether you bought anything from them or not. Our tour conductor Mr. Mishra’s observations were that foreign tourists, mostly Americans had spoilt them beyond restoration. Dollars were better appreciated even then. Naturally a couple of Indians more or less didn’t bother the locals much. Though this was entirely his opinion, the attitude of the residents did nothing to alter that; it was so blatant that even a ten year kid like me could understand.
During our sightseeing we had visited a few apple orchards, among other things. One particular incident left a bitter taste in my mouth. It was one of the orchards, I don’t remember the name of the place, but most probably it was in and around Srinagar. For a group of tourists from Damodar Valley, there was nothing like green apple laden trees of Srinagar or Anantnag. The crowd had gone berserk, and that was promptly capitalized by the money minded caretakers. In no unclear terms, we were instructed that the cost of clicking pictures with an apple tree as your background was five rupees. To touch an apple while poising was ten rupees! At 1982, that was a big amount – an entire fifteen days conducted-tour to Delhi, Kashmir and Haridwar had cost us four hundred rupees per head. A pack of ten Picture Post cards cost one rupee in Chandni Chowk, Dehi. But the caretakers were adamant about their pound of flesh. And by default, the adventurous few among us decided to touch. One thing made way for other; touch led to temptation (Adam and Eve?) and one guy snapped an apple away, put it inside his pocket and went to lookout for the caretakers – he wanted to know the price of that. In response to his enterprise, three caretakers teamed up and beat him good enough to open his face across two places, before the rest of us rushed to wrestle our wretched hero from them. All along, they kept hollering ‘tourist log sab chor hai!’ as much as their lungs would permit. We had to return their precious little green vice to them and had to flee.
Much later in life, married and all, a visit to Shantiniketan during the famous Poush Mela brought the same attitude back from my memories. There were three of them – shawl vendors. I and my wife were looking for a few nice shawls and maybe a bit of a chit chat while at it. Chit led to chat and that led to a download of an incredible amount of venom- old wine in new bottle, from the ‘oppressed citizenry’ of modern India. My wife, naturally smarter than me, slipped away – she had finished her purchase, while I was left stranded in one of the hundred temporary shacks somewhere in Tagore’s dream land, as I listened to the matchless saga of how the Govt. of India was responsible for every murder, every rape, illiteracy, flood, cold wave, draught etc; at the cost of an otherwise fine winter afternoon. The trio could have started a new religion.
There are two chief components to a tourist attraction. The natural geography is one. The second thing is its people and their output in terms of hospitality, culture, outlook and tolerance. The more culturally tolerant the locals are, the more tourist-friendly a place usually is. But Kashmir has remained different throughout. I fathom that they take a whole lot of pride in being ‘different’. Probably the government of India also thought them to be different. That’s why Article 370, that’s why billions of rupees of grant, that’s why special privileges… the list is typically Indian – tall dark and handsome. Now if I ask a simple question – Against what returns? We probably would not have an answer, any answer.
Most of us know Kashmir history by now. Let us not repeat it. But how about a round of face off? Think, why are we so hell bent on Kashmir? If it is for tourism, the answer is, tourism is doomed and would remain so. The valley people have so much of a deep rooted resentment against the rest of the country, it should surprise one and all as to how the govt. managed to achieve and maintain a peaceful status quo in the first place; how they managed to conduct a couple of elections that were accepted as free and fair, in the second. If it is for the spectacular landscape, the answer is even Himachal, Uttarakhand and Sikkim have stunning landscapes- they need a bit of brushing up. Something that is quite achievable. We don’t need a Kashmir to add significance to our GDP or economy. Then what is it that makes one and all shout about it? The probable single word answer is ego. The interference of Pakistan, which at best is a third rated nation, in the affairs of Kashmir, and the apparent love affair between them and the people of the valley has made us incorrigibly egoistic. If Kashmir goes, we lose out to Pakistan – that’s the sum total of the psychology of a majority of Indians.
But practically, over the years, Kashmir valley has been nothing but an obligation (to put it mildly) on our score sheet. We are poorer by the loss of lots of precious lives, money, resource, time and peace of mind just to ensure that that half occupied fraction of land stays within the political map of India. Out of the three parts, i.e. the valley of Kashmir, the plains of Jammu and hi altitude Ladakh, the later two have anyway decided that they would keep their priorities secured by insuring their future with the sub-continent. As far as the valley is concerned, half of it is ‘Azad’ anyway. Since the separatists feel that it is going to do them a world of good by going their counterpart’s way – my honest opinion is, so be it. Let us rather get a finger amputated than wait for it to malign the entire arm. If that makes you think of a possible precedence for other prospective separatist states, understand that Kashmir valley is different as usual. This is the only place in the whole nation where separatists enjoy and boast of civil and political support. They probably have Pakistani support too. There have been tensions across other states, but none have been sustained for more than a few years – a decade at most. Kashmir has managed to dominate the landscape of turbulence for sixty years. This kind of a situation sounds pretty deep rooted. And such a deep root suggests public sympathy – my samples put aside, look at the current status.
Think about Pakistan and the relation that it shares with USA. Grants, aids, defense and scientific supports, friendly immigration rules – pardon my English, it has been “no give; only take”. Kashmir has been our Pakistan. It has been a sordid history of take and take. All we expected was tourism – they have slaughtered that dutifully. Like USA, if we want something in return, Kashmir screams its jugular out, like Pakistan does. And India, like an old man married to a sexy young girl keeps overlooking and forgiving every darned fault of the valley.
So let Kashmir fall. I would really love to watch the fate of the newly independent valley. They have three choices as of now: a) stay with India – which definitely tops their hate list; b) get their ‘azadi’ – which is a chartbuster and which won’t probably last for more than a week, because that would trigger the third option; which is c) get annexed by Pakistan. If the third is an eventuality, probably that would do some social good to the new state. Given the way the valley inhabitants are, they would love to live life Pakistan (read Taliban) ishtyle. They would find the culture, outlook, political and social arrangements rather conducive, because that’s what they aspire for. But should option c happen, it would be without the billions from the Govt. of India.
At our end, we would sit for a while and feel terrible. A piece of land so dreamt of and glorified. A lot of us would cry their hearts out. I would probably be one of them. But as I watch Headlines Today, I see valley people wave Pakistan flags as they trample and burn the Tricolor – I guess there is but one way. If a few hectares of temporary land allotment can bring out so much of abhorrence, let them dwindle. Beauty can go and kiss oblivion. We will rebuild our borders and save some lives – of people who swear for the nation.
And if at least three of the potentially promising states of the rest of India benefit from those grants, 2009/10 would be the year(s) to look forward to.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Monday, August 18, 2008
The Great Indian Musical Chair
Isn’t it fun? Now look, UPA government, after months of sleeping on a Bill suddenly get so patriotic that they decide to act on the same. Throughout the whole of the second half of 2007 till a few weeks ago, they sat on the Agreement Bill and dampened it with the resultant heat and moisture generated. Reason? Left Front kept threatening to pull the chair from under their rear and our friendly ‘aam admi’ chums did not want to slip out of their Parliament Chairs so soon. Not at least before completing the full term.
Left Front had a few concessions to arm twist from the government as long as they were running in the ‘mili jhuli jhula’ called UPA. So they carried on with the West Bengal carnage they rechristened SEZ, pulled out a stunt of a single-day Muslim rebellion (they badly wanted to paint it as ‘revolution’) to shoo Taslima Nasreen out of the state, so on and so forth. Friendly UPA didn’t do much other than twiddling their big toes. Chair matters, after all.
Now Left front has decided that evidently they have had enough of the pie and its time they migrated to greener pastures. So they have made their stance comprehensible on the Nuclear Agreement. Much in the lines of the famous American Idol (you may want to add an ‘i’ after the ‘d’, and replace the ‘l’ with a ‘t’) called George Bush, they have made it clear to the govt. that ‘you are either with us, or you are selling the nation’. Intelligentsia opinion and UPA image builders have managed to get the govt. to grudgingly agree to go ahead with the judgment on the wall, at the cost of blatant ness displayed to keep their rear glued to the ruling chair. Dr Manmohan Singh has thought ‘so be it’ – and that has started cascading a series of events that probably lacks precedent in modern Indian history.
So the UPA said a ‘yes’ to the bill. Naturally Left pulled out. That made the resultant UPA a probable short of majority in the Lok Sabha. So they took to the main road begging for support from any party that was not hundred and eighty degrees opposite. Qualification stood at hundred and seventy nine degrees.
All these years, the obscured SP honcho Amar Singh, who had found nirvana in the company of Amitabh Bacchhan (read Aishwariya Rai), suddenly came under a different spotlight. The same man, who was so far playing a major role in Bollywood functions and other you-know-what activities, unexpectedly found a place back in the national news channels. Why? Because he is a stalwart of SP, the party that has managed to keep UPA’s rear glued to the chairs of Lok Sabha (I am keeping aside the ‘cash for votes’ scandal – nothing has been proven so far), post the over hyped trust vote.
And at what costs? Well, UPA has to screw Mayawati’s happiness somehow or other. Why? Because she screwed SP’s happiness not so long ago in Uttar Pradesh. I don’t know whether UPA is ready to do the needful or not, but I know that when Left front wanted and eventually screwed the happiness of thousands in Singur or Nandigram, UPA acceded. Mayawati is an individual after all. This is an agreeable proposition in Indian Politics – normally speaking.
The unwritten law here is everyone has to take sides. Fresh out of UPA, Left couldn’t possibly remain a vagabond in national level politics for long, so seeing Mayawati’s ‘plight’, they have come to her rescue. Thus they have added the necessary number weight to her already intimidating frame and are encouraging a now-fortified-Mayawati to gun for the PMO. Currently Left Front is practicing the ‘anti’ govt. stunt, so that bit of endeavor becomes almost religious. And I am also told that there is no religion for Communists.
The way things are, don’t be surprised, if in near future Amitabh Bacchhan, taking advantage of his pal Amar Singh’s recent promotion, tries to get even with SRK. After The Marriage of the decade and Ash’s ‘manglik’ entry into the family, things have not been good with them (much to the relief of Salman Khan and Vivek Oberoi), to say the least. Their films have flopped in Box Office, the directors or producers have been ridiculed in national award functions, the once upon a time Crown Prince of Bollywood has taken to acting as a guide in cell-phone ads; and to add insult to that, that nutty SRK has continuously picked his and friend Amar’s trip, taken his mantle of King of Bollywood, his shows like KBC, and even his brand ambassadorship with ICICI Bank away. Quite naturally, if AB (senior or junior) decides to whitewash SRK, now that they are suddenly important again, I would say it is perfectly normal.
In fact it would be a misdemeanor, considering the fact that the jails around the country emptied their cells on streets a few weeks ago. All the criminal Dicks got out, to be persuaded by Tom or Harry to vote here or there. These jailbirds are our country’s elected MLA’s after all and their country needed their services – to prevent the costs of another election; that’s anyway going to happen in a few months’ time.
Amidst all of these, the bald old Speaker of Lok Sabha - Somnath Chatterjee, who enjoys Lalu Prasad Yadav’s translation attempts during lazy afternoons in Lok Sabha, and who is otherwise an active member of Left Front, suddenly decided, to hell with party and all – he was not going to move out of the chair of the Speaker. Following the Left pullout, he had Front leaders across all probable level call him up and ask him to behave, but he did not look left; or right or anywhere other than the chair. Guess he realized that he was close to his retirement age, so nothing else mattered. Even at the cost of termination of a forty plus years’ association with his Party. Apparently someone has shown some guts, though the intent is not very clear, and the age is too much on the wrong side. But then again, if Rahul Gandhi at his age is considered ‘young’, Mr. Chatterjee has probably just ‘matured’.
As I write all this, Rediff News says “Nobody can stop me from becoming the PM – Mayawati.” So forget ‘Brand India’, forget double digit inflation, recession or shut downs – its time to take sidelines to enjoy the game. Welcome to the Great Indian Musical Chair :o)
Left Front had a few concessions to arm twist from the government as long as they were running in the ‘mili jhuli jhula’ called UPA. So they carried on with the West Bengal carnage they rechristened SEZ, pulled out a stunt of a single-day Muslim rebellion (they badly wanted to paint it as ‘revolution’) to shoo Taslima Nasreen out of the state, so on and so forth. Friendly UPA didn’t do much other than twiddling their big toes. Chair matters, after all.
Now Left front has decided that evidently they have had enough of the pie and its time they migrated to greener pastures. So they have made their stance comprehensible on the Nuclear Agreement. Much in the lines of the famous American Idol (you may want to add an ‘i’ after the ‘d’, and replace the ‘l’ with a ‘t’) called George Bush, they have made it clear to the govt. that ‘you are either with us, or you are selling the nation’. Intelligentsia opinion and UPA image builders have managed to get the govt. to grudgingly agree to go ahead with the judgment on the wall, at the cost of blatant ness displayed to keep their rear glued to the ruling chair. Dr Manmohan Singh has thought ‘so be it’ – and that has started cascading a series of events that probably lacks precedent in modern Indian history.
So the UPA said a ‘yes’ to the bill. Naturally Left pulled out. That made the resultant UPA a probable short of majority in the Lok Sabha. So they took to the main road begging for support from any party that was not hundred and eighty degrees opposite. Qualification stood at hundred and seventy nine degrees.
All these years, the obscured SP honcho Amar Singh, who had found nirvana in the company of Amitabh Bacchhan (read Aishwariya Rai), suddenly came under a different spotlight. The same man, who was so far playing a major role in Bollywood functions and other you-know-what activities, unexpectedly found a place back in the national news channels. Why? Because he is a stalwart of SP, the party that has managed to keep UPA’s rear glued to the chairs of Lok Sabha (I am keeping aside the ‘cash for votes’ scandal – nothing has been proven so far), post the over hyped trust vote.
And at what costs? Well, UPA has to screw Mayawati’s happiness somehow or other. Why? Because she screwed SP’s happiness not so long ago in Uttar Pradesh. I don’t know whether UPA is ready to do the needful or not, but I know that when Left front wanted and eventually screwed the happiness of thousands in Singur or Nandigram, UPA acceded. Mayawati is an individual after all. This is an agreeable proposition in Indian Politics – normally speaking.
The unwritten law here is everyone has to take sides. Fresh out of UPA, Left couldn’t possibly remain a vagabond in national level politics for long, so seeing Mayawati’s ‘plight’, they have come to her rescue. Thus they have added the necessary number weight to her already intimidating frame and are encouraging a now-fortified-Mayawati to gun for the PMO. Currently Left Front is practicing the ‘anti’ govt. stunt, so that bit of endeavor becomes almost religious. And I am also told that there is no religion for Communists.
The way things are, don’t be surprised, if in near future Amitabh Bacchhan, taking advantage of his pal Amar Singh’s recent promotion, tries to get even with SRK. After The Marriage of the decade and Ash’s ‘manglik’ entry into the family, things have not been good with them (much to the relief of Salman Khan and Vivek Oberoi), to say the least. Their films have flopped in Box Office, the directors or producers have been ridiculed in national award functions, the once upon a time Crown Prince of Bollywood has taken to acting as a guide in cell-phone ads; and to add insult to that, that nutty SRK has continuously picked his and friend Amar’s trip, taken his mantle of King of Bollywood, his shows like KBC, and even his brand ambassadorship with ICICI Bank away. Quite naturally, if AB (senior or junior) decides to whitewash SRK, now that they are suddenly important again, I would say it is perfectly normal.
In fact it would be a misdemeanor, considering the fact that the jails around the country emptied their cells on streets a few weeks ago. All the criminal Dicks got out, to be persuaded by Tom or Harry to vote here or there. These jailbirds are our country’s elected MLA’s after all and their country needed their services – to prevent the costs of another election; that’s anyway going to happen in a few months’ time.
Amidst all of these, the bald old Speaker of Lok Sabha - Somnath Chatterjee, who enjoys Lalu Prasad Yadav’s translation attempts during lazy afternoons in Lok Sabha, and who is otherwise an active member of Left Front, suddenly decided, to hell with party and all – he was not going to move out of the chair of the Speaker. Following the Left pullout, he had Front leaders across all probable level call him up and ask him to behave, but he did not look left; or right or anywhere other than the chair. Guess he realized that he was close to his retirement age, so nothing else mattered. Even at the cost of termination of a forty plus years’ association with his Party. Apparently someone has shown some guts, though the intent is not very clear, and the age is too much on the wrong side. But then again, if Rahul Gandhi at his age is considered ‘young’, Mr. Chatterjee has probably just ‘matured’.
As I write all this, Rediff News says “Nobody can stop me from becoming the PM – Mayawati.” So forget ‘Brand India’, forget double digit inflation, recession or shut downs – its time to take sidelines to enjoy the game. Welcome to the Great Indian Musical Chair :o)
The fun of being Manmohan Singh
I think I won’t be the first person to figure out the essence behind Being Dr Manmohan Singh. For anyone interested in patterns like the way I am, the gentleman would present an interesting profile. And one doesn’t have to delve deep, because it is certainly not going to be hi-profile Holy Grail hunt like Da Vinci Code. Despite the fact that it is no end to end match, an opening observation would bring the fact under light that, the gentleman’s reflection through his deeds, matches the crux of the elite dominated oldest political party of our country. Pretty neatly.
See, our current captain is fiercely qualified for anyone’s peace of mind. You name a qualification – he almost has it. You name the toughest of exams – he has topped most of them. You name a Premier College – chances are he’s been there. Books, journals, research papers… his resume is near endless. For someone who’s never heard of him before, a look at his candidature can be an intimidating experience. The CV would threaten to engulf him, even in its neuter state, pitying the observer’s mortality.
Now get out of his CV and take a matter-of-fact look at the man. This whole mumbo-jumbo of an impressive resume vanishes somewhere. I don’t know what comes to your mind, but I think of a goldfish – swimming round and round, but getting nowhere. Soothes your eyes, so they say. Or, maybe a pendulum – Tick tock tick tock… and life goes on. Personality-less, voice-less and opinion-less. Completion of thesis papers needs two of the above virtues, at least. I don’t know how he has managed that part.
He has headed Reserve Bank, been a Finance Minister and is now a Prime Minister – and hasn’t left a constructive mark anywhere. Inconspicuous? Good you realized that.
As far as his first two professional milestones are concerned, the Reserve Bank of India doesn’t have very many testimonials reserved to its credit; neither has India been well financially, ever. Moving over to the victorious, much hyped, highly decorated UPA government – you know how they have performed so far. Recession and inflation put aside, they are so damn scared of losing their ruling status in Parliament that they sit on a bill for months, take no decision about it; and all the same cry hoarse in public about the fact that they don’t want to leave office. Pretty blatant of them. The level of their work-image is so pathetic that intelligentsia around the world gets tired of passing voluntary hints, both subtle and strong, about signing the treaty and thus contributing at least once for the country – but they don’t sign. They don’t move either. And highly qualified and educated Manmohan is the appointed head of this lead-footed government.
Visualize the man again. Old small and gray all over, near lost in the humdrum of Congress stalwarts of the Pilots, the Khursheeds, the Scindhias and the Tytlers; and pushing hard for some personal OTS. Not that The Families want to overshadow him; it is just that they are accustomed to being too imposing. You can not blame them. At their level, they have to be intimidating. Running the nation is sweaty, nasty and thankless stuff. As the pioneer entrants to The Hall of Fame of National Shirks, the party members have munificently flashed the winning combo of intimidation, designer white and holier-than-thou attitude. Pity they did not get that one patented. Now every Tom Dick and Harry is copying that.
And Dr Singh? When fate puts someone beside the likes of Sonia and Rahul – legit heirs to the high and mighty Nehru Dynasty, that someone, even if he is the PM probably muses about the chorus of the remix version of the track ‘Living next door to Alice’ sometimes. It goes – Who the f@%# is Alice?!
Who is Manmohan anyway?
Pretty symmetrical, especially considering India govt.’s status in UN or elsewhere internationally.
Summarize, shall I? Truckload of hi-fi qualifications, much like heavyweight glamour quotient of the party; loads of experience across a wide cross-section of positions of national and international importance, like the proclaimed work experience legacy of Congressmen; impressive acoustics and visibility, and all questionable if mapped against a particular background – ‘results’. We either show results, or we provide reasons for not showing them. Manmohan is a reason, so is his elite party of champion shirkers, with full potential and empty kinetics – I think it is a fairly easy pattern for starters.
Put aside the illiterate Indians, it seems that educated Indians also don’t bother much about such practical shortcomings. That is why I get a mail with a subject line that says ‘ Be Proud of your PM ’. The body of the mail contains the bio data of Dr Manmohan Singh. Issue was I couldn’t see how his qualification has helped my nation. So I thought, am I critically picking and choosing the bad things?
I found nothing else even afterwards, so I chose to pick up the pattern.
See, our current captain is fiercely qualified for anyone’s peace of mind. You name a qualification – he almost has it. You name the toughest of exams – he has topped most of them. You name a Premier College – chances are he’s been there. Books, journals, research papers… his resume is near endless. For someone who’s never heard of him before, a look at his candidature can be an intimidating experience. The CV would threaten to engulf him, even in its neuter state, pitying the observer’s mortality.
Now get out of his CV and take a matter-of-fact look at the man. This whole mumbo-jumbo of an impressive resume vanishes somewhere. I don’t know what comes to your mind, but I think of a goldfish – swimming round and round, but getting nowhere. Soothes your eyes, so they say. Or, maybe a pendulum – Tick tock tick tock… and life goes on. Personality-less, voice-less and opinion-less. Completion of thesis papers needs two of the above virtues, at least. I don’t know how he has managed that part.
He has headed Reserve Bank, been a Finance Minister and is now a Prime Minister – and hasn’t left a constructive mark anywhere. Inconspicuous? Good you realized that.
As far as his first two professional milestones are concerned, the Reserve Bank of India doesn’t have very many testimonials reserved to its credit; neither has India been well financially, ever. Moving over to the victorious, much hyped, highly decorated UPA government – you know how they have performed so far. Recession and inflation put aside, they are so damn scared of losing their ruling status in Parliament that they sit on a bill for months, take no decision about it; and all the same cry hoarse in public about the fact that they don’t want to leave office. Pretty blatant of them. The level of their work-image is so pathetic that intelligentsia around the world gets tired of passing voluntary hints, both subtle and strong, about signing the treaty and thus contributing at least once for the country – but they don’t sign. They don’t move either. And highly qualified and educated Manmohan is the appointed head of this lead-footed government.
Visualize the man again. Old small and gray all over, near lost in the humdrum of Congress stalwarts of the Pilots, the Khursheeds, the Scindhias and the Tytlers; and pushing hard for some personal OTS. Not that The Families want to overshadow him; it is just that they are accustomed to being too imposing. You can not blame them. At their level, they have to be intimidating. Running the nation is sweaty, nasty and thankless stuff. As the pioneer entrants to The Hall of Fame of National Shirks, the party members have munificently flashed the winning combo of intimidation, designer white and holier-than-thou attitude. Pity they did not get that one patented. Now every Tom Dick and Harry is copying that.
And Dr Singh? When fate puts someone beside the likes of Sonia and Rahul – legit heirs to the high and mighty Nehru Dynasty, that someone, even if he is the PM probably muses about the chorus of the remix version of the track ‘Living next door to Alice’ sometimes. It goes – Who the f@%# is Alice?!
Who is Manmohan anyway?
Pretty symmetrical, especially considering India govt.’s status in UN or elsewhere internationally.
Summarize, shall I? Truckload of hi-fi qualifications, much like heavyweight glamour quotient of the party; loads of experience across a wide cross-section of positions of national and international importance, like the proclaimed work experience legacy of Congressmen; impressive acoustics and visibility, and all questionable if mapped against a particular background – ‘results’. We either show results, or we provide reasons for not showing them. Manmohan is a reason, so is his elite party of champion shirkers, with full potential and empty kinetics – I think it is a fairly easy pattern for starters.
Put aside the illiterate Indians, it seems that educated Indians also don’t bother much about such practical shortcomings. That is why I get a mail with a subject line that says ‘ Be Proud of your PM ’. The body of the mail contains the bio data of Dr Manmohan Singh. Issue was I couldn’t see how his qualification has helped my nation. So I thought, am I critically picking and choosing the bad things?
I found nothing else even afterwards, so I chose to pick up the pattern.
In Monologue with Myself
After a year of rudimentary tiff with the vital elements of Delhi, which comprises of the temperature, the volatility and the social life, I have come back to Calcutta. The cabbies here are willing to take me wherever till whatever distance. They don’t deny me of my civil right to ride their vehicle meant for transportation (as long as I have the money to pay), which is so unlike Delhi. And they are a laconic lot compared to their cousins from Uttar Pradesh who dominate the auto-drivers’ landscape in Delhi. They don’t stuff up a perfect stranger like me, with political views, connections and network chats.
It’s raining here in Calcutta, and whenever it doesn’t, it is cool enough for a thin layer of mist to spread itself all over. That takes care of people like me, whose spirits rise when there is no sun during the May-Sept slot. And though the towels here don’t bake so easily like they do in Delhi, I have learnt not to get into a depression mode concerning a few wet linens.
The fruits look unimpressive but they taste better than their up-market and expensive counterparts that gild the local Delhi markets. And though I am missing the hip-hop wannabes everywhere I travel locally, I can not say that their absence poises a vital threat to my visual abilities – I think its time to order for a pair of glasses anyway.
I have come back to the land where the windshields are made up of normal colorless glass, where people don’t push their dead weights on their car horns to express their innate desires, where the latest breed of automobile don’t rule hearts and conversations – but most of all and away from automobile models, I have come back to a land where people take a daily bath, keep their nails clean, and flush (or splash water from a nearby bucket) after using a commode.
Our housing families are pretty relieved to see us. So are the shop-owners of Lake Market. The other day two of them had scolded my wife for her near year-long disappearance. My wife says that she likes it this way. I can not disagree with her, especially when I think of our dear friends in Delhi. There are two of them. If you tried calling one up, he would never answer – our capital city is also the corporate hub of the country after all. Well, almost. Except for useless souls like us, people keep busy. So we would get a no-reply. Then he would call up after few days and accuse us about not keeping in touch, promise to finalize a meeting on a later date, and disappear religiously, with his prototypical no-reply cell-phone. A routine, almost every month.
The other gentleman would brave the initial inertia to call us to his house – and that would materialize. The rest of the evening would be spent sitting in front of him watching him slowly polish a big bottle of booze, enduring worn down pirated DVDs of perfect trashes like Snakes in the Train (yes Train, not Plane – and that’s even worse), or waiting for dinner. Then we would saunter off to his bedroom and sleep either on the floor or on the bed. The house had two bedrooms but he would insist that we chatted till we dropped. For a friendless someone like him, we would be forced to consider the appeal. Still, this gentleman was the best friend we had. At least we were in constant touch – probably because of the years that he’d spent in Bombay and London, far away from the capital.
Life promises to become more predictable now. So that when aunty next door asks the anonymous school boy ‘how was it?’, I can be rest assured that she is asking about his examination papers and not about some of the latest flicks like ‘Tashn’ or ‘Lovestory2050’. No more surprises. My cell number is the same that it used to be one and half years ago. The feeling is that of comfort. I don’t mind that one bit – after all everyone grows old.
It’s raining here in Calcutta, and whenever it doesn’t, it is cool enough for a thin layer of mist to spread itself all over. That takes care of people like me, whose spirits rise when there is no sun during the May-Sept slot. And though the towels here don’t bake so easily like they do in Delhi, I have learnt not to get into a depression mode concerning a few wet linens.
The fruits look unimpressive but they taste better than their up-market and expensive counterparts that gild the local Delhi markets. And though I am missing the hip-hop wannabes everywhere I travel locally, I can not say that their absence poises a vital threat to my visual abilities – I think its time to order for a pair of glasses anyway.
I have come back to the land where the windshields are made up of normal colorless glass, where people don’t push their dead weights on their car horns to express their innate desires, where the latest breed of automobile don’t rule hearts and conversations – but most of all and away from automobile models, I have come back to a land where people take a daily bath, keep their nails clean, and flush (or splash water from a nearby bucket) after using a commode.
Our housing families are pretty relieved to see us. So are the shop-owners of Lake Market. The other day two of them had scolded my wife for her near year-long disappearance. My wife says that she likes it this way. I can not disagree with her, especially when I think of our dear friends in Delhi. There are two of them. If you tried calling one up, he would never answer – our capital city is also the corporate hub of the country after all. Well, almost. Except for useless souls like us, people keep busy. So we would get a no-reply. Then he would call up after few days and accuse us about not keeping in touch, promise to finalize a meeting on a later date, and disappear religiously, with his prototypical no-reply cell-phone. A routine, almost every month.
The other gentleman would brave the initial inertia to call us to his house – and that would materialize. The rest of the evening would be spent sitting in front of him watching him slowly polish a big bottle of booze, enduring worn down pirated DVDs of perfect trashes like Snakes in the Train (yes Train, not Plane – and that’s even worse), or waiting for dinner. Then we would saunter off to his bedroom and sleep either on the floor or on the bed. The house had two bedrooms but he would insist that we chatted till we dropped. For a friendless someone like him, we would be forced to consider the appeal. Still, this gentleman was the best friend we had. At least we were in constant touch – probably because of the years that he’d spent in Bombay and London, far away from the capital.
Life promises to become more predictable now. So that when aunty next door asks the anonymous school boy ‘how was it?’, I can be rest assured that she is asking about his examination papers and not about some of the latest flicks like ‘Tashn’ or ‘Lovestory2050’. No more surprises. My cell number is the same that it used to be one and half years ago. The feeling is that of comfort. I don’t mind that one bit – after all everyone grows old.
Friday, May 30, 2008
The Great Indian Comedy
Got this mail from a friend:
An Old Story:
The Ant works hard in the withering heat all summer building its house and laying up supplies for the winter. The Grasshopper thinks the Ant is a fool and laughs & dances & plays the summer away. Come winter, the Ant is warm and well fed. The Grasshopper has no food or shelter so he dies out in the cold.
The Indian Version:
The Ant works hard in the withering heat all summer building its house and laying up supplies for the winter. The Grasshopper thinks the Ant's a fool and laughs & dances & plays the summer away. Come winter, the shivering Grasshopper calls a press conference and demands to know why the Ant should be allowed to be warm and well fed while others are cold and starving.
NDTV, BBC, CNN show up to provide pictures of the shivering Grasshopper next to a video of the Ant in his comfortable home with a table filled with food. The World is stunned by the sharp contrast. How can this be that this poor Grasshopper is allowed to suffer so?
Arundhati Roy stages a demonstration in front of the Ant's house.
Medha Patkar goes on a fast along with other Grasshoppers demanding that Grasshoppers be relocated to warmer climates during winter.
Amnesty International and Koffi Annan criticize the Indian Government for not upholding the fundamental rights of the Grasshopper.
The Internet is flooded with online petitions seeking support to the Grasshopper (many promising Heaven and Everlasting Peace for prompt support as against the wrath of God for non-compliance).
Opposition MPs stage a walkout. Left parties call for 'Bandh' in West Bengal and Kerala demanding a Judicial Enquiry.
CPM in Kerala immediately passes a law preventing Ants from working hard in the heat so as to bring about equality of poverty among Ants and Grasshoppers.
Lalu Prasad allocates one free coach to Grasshoppers on all Indian Railway Trains, aptly named as the 'Grasshopper Rath'.
Arjun Singh makes 'Special Reservation ' for Grasshoppers in Educational Institutions & in Government Services.
The Ant is unable to cope with the Resesrvation and has nothing left to pay his retroactive taxes; so his home is confiscated by the Government and handed over to the Grasshopper in a ceremony covered by NDTV.
Arundhati Roy calls it ' A Triumph of Justice'.
Lalu calls it 'Socialistic Justice '.
CPM calls it the ' Revolutionary Resurgence of the Downtrodden '
Koffi Annan invites the Grasshopper to address the UN General Assembly.
Congress takes the credit for always caring about the AAM Grasshopeer.
Many years later...
The Ant has since migrated to the US and set up a multi-billion dollar company in Silicon Valley...
100s of Grasshoppers still die of starvation despite reservation somewhere in India.
AND...
As a result of losing lot of hard working Ants and feeding the grasshoppers, India is still a developing country.
An Old Story:
The Ant works hard in the withering heat all summer building its house and laying up supplies for the winter. The Grasshopper thinks the Ant is a fool and laughs & dances & plays the summer away. Come winter, the Ant is warm and well fed. The Grasshopper has no food or shelter so he dies out in the cold.
The Indian Version:
The Ant works hard in the withering heat all summer building its house and laying up supplies for the winter. The Grasshopper thinks the Ant's a fool and laughs & dances & plays the summer away. Come winter, the shivering Grasshopper calls a press conference and demands to know why the Ant should be allowed to be warm and well fed while others are cold and starving.
NDTV, BBC, CNN show up to provide pictures of the shivering Grasshopper next to a video of the Ant in his comfortable home with a table filled with food. The World is stunned by the sharp contrast. How can this be that this poor Grasshopper is allowed to suffer so?
Arundhati Roy stages a demonstration in front of the Ant's house.
Medha Patkar goes on a fast along with other Grasshoppers demanding that Grasshoppers be relocated to warmer climates during winter.
Amnesty International and Koffi Annan criticize the Indian Government for not upholding the fundamental rights of the Grasshopper.
The Internet is flooded with online petitions seeking support to the Grasshopper (many promising Heaven and Everlasting Peace for prompt support as against the wrath of God for non-compliance).
Opposition MPs stage a walkout. Left parties call for 'Bandh' in West Bengal and Kerala demanding a Judicial Enquiry.
CPM in Kerala immediately passes a law preventing Ants from working hard in the heat so as to bring about equality of poverty among Ants and Grasshoppers.
Lalu Prasad allocates one free coach to Grasshoppers on all Indian Railway Trains, aptly named as the 'Grasshopper Rath'.
Arjun Singh makes 'Special Reservation ' for Grasshoppers in Educational Institutions & in Government Services.
The Ant is unable to cope with the Resesrvation and has nothing left to pay his retroactive taxes; so his home is confiscated by the Government and handed over to the Grasshopper in a ceremony covered by NDTV.
Arundhati Roy calls it ' A Triumph of Justice'.
Lalu calls it 'Socialistic Justice '.
CPM calls it the ' Revolutionary Resurgence of the Downtrodden '
Koffi Annan invites the Grasshopper to address the UN General Assembly.
Congress takes the credit for always caring about the AAM Grasshopeer.
Many years later...
The Ant has since migrated to the US and set up a multi-billion dollar company in Silicon Valley...
100s of Grasshoppers still die of starvation despite reservation somewhere in India.
AND...
As a result of losing lot of hard working Ants and feeding the grasshoppers, India is still a developing country.
Friday, May 9, 2008
The Irritating Indian Expressions
1. Anti-incumbency factor – used by self proclaimed analysts when they want to say, ‘we don’t understand these bloody illiterate voters’
2. Alternative cinema – people who use words like ‘metaphor’ and chase prospective producers away, eventually find some petty cash and make low budget films on ‘issues’ – where during siesta time on Doordarshan, they show some Oriya speaking people squatting and boiling water.
3. Indomitable spirit – of Mumbai especially and now other blast affected areas like Varanasi; it’s the habit of people taking the trains and other public transport to work just the day after the flood or the blast. The phrase is used by people who don’t take these public transports.
4. Indian culture – used chiefly by yuppies, who have not read enough to know that other countries too, have culture. This expression is almost always invoked to address the modernity of women.
5. “I am in search of my identity” – a ritualistic quote of creative people when they have just become famous. Also the result of a couple of whiskeys on a wannabe. This phrase is usually delivered from the other end of the alimentary canal.
6. Woman on top – usually found everywhere; and yes, it is followed by two exclamation marks.
7. “Off the record” – I maybe lying.
8. Land of Kamasutra – reference to India. Through this expression, writers and critics argue that since one man, centuries ago, recorded the various positions in which elastic couples can make love, this country was once inherently liberal. It is interchangeable with ‘Land of Khajuraho’
9. Paradigm Shift – an expression used by MBA grads and Amway distributors when they want to say that they do not know what they are talking about. It is often accompanied by ‘synergy’ and ‘leverage’.
10. “Rekha is an Enigma” – Don’t know what it means.
Other FUPs (Frequently Used Phrases)
Abhi-Ash / Big B / SRK / Breaking News / Just chill / Everything is Maya (god knows who is she) / Gimme a missed call / Gandhigiri / Gen X / Indian heritage / IT boom / Foreign Coach / Cricket is a religion / Masterblaster / Cool! / Secularism / Sporting Wicket / Tinseltown / We are not a nation of snake charmers / Southern Siren / Homely girl / Evergreen Hero / Anti communal forces / Ancient Indians knew the distance between Sun and… blah blah blah.
2. Alternative cinema – people who use words like ‘metaphor’ and chase prospective producers away, eventually find some petty cash and make low budget films on ‘issues’ – where during siesta time on Doordarshan, they show some Oriya speaking people squatting and boiling water.
3. Indomitable spirit – of Mumbai especially and now other blast affected areas like Varanasi; it’s the habit of people taking the trains and other public transport to work just the day after the flood or the blast. The phrase is used by people who don’t take these public transports.
4. Indian culture – used chiefly by yuppies, who have not read enough to know that other countries too, have culture. This expression is almost always invoked to address the modernity of women.
5. “I am in search of my identity” – a ritualistic quote of creative people when they have just become famous. Also the result of a couple of whiskeys on a wannabe. This phrase is usually delivered from the other end of the alimentary canal.
6. Woman on top – usually found everywhere; and yes, it is followed by two exclamation marks.
7. “Off the record” – I maybe lying.
8. Land of Kamasutra – reference to India. Through this expression, writers and critics argue that since one man, centuries ago, recorded the various positions in which elastic couples can make love, this country was once inherently liberal. It is interchangeable with ‘Land of Khajuraho’
9. Paradigm Shift – an expression used by MBA grads and Amway distributors when they want to say that they do not know what they are talking about. It is often accompanied by ‘synergy’ and ‘leverage’.
10. “Rekha is an Enigma” – Don’t know what it means.
Other FUPs (Frequently Used Phrases)
Abhi-Ash / Big B / SRK / Breaking News / Just chill / Everything is Maya (god knows who is she) / Gimme a missed call / Gandhigiri / Gen X / Indian heritage / IT boom / Foreign Coach / Cricket is a religion / Masterblaster / Cool! / Secularism / Sporting Wicket / Tinseltown / We are not a nation of snake charmers / Southern Siren / Homely girl / Evergreen Hero / Anti communal forces / Ancient Indians knew the distance between Sun and… blah blah blah.
Thesis on Bongs
Overview:
There are three types of Bengalis that I know. Probashi or Expatriate Bengalis, a fairly large and diverse group about which I won’t write this time; Bengalis who are from the rest of West Bengal – I am one of them; and the icing on the cake – Bengalis from Calcutta. This group is incorrectly known as Bongs, as they are merely a subset. However, this is the only group which matters. Gokhale told of them, long years back, 'What Bengal thinks today, India thinks tomorrow.' To which Rene Descartes responded, 'I think (today), therefore I am (Bengali).'
Physical Description:
The Bong has a large head, glasses, glistening hair and darkish skin. Older Bongs develop an ample stomach to balance their large heads. This happens by the age of 30. They smell of Keo Karpin hair oil. The average life expectancy is 65 years. What is even more impressive is what they do in those years. Outside Calcutta, regardless of weather, sex or age, Bongs can be seen in Monkey Caps. This is a must-have accessory as well as a sign to recognize other Bongs. The Bongling can often be recognized in either over-sized or under-sized school uniforms. The Bong mother's second biggest fear (See diet for the biggest one) is 'porer bochor o lomba hoye gele abar notun skirt kinte hobe!!' or 'Next year, if you grow taller, we'll again have to buy a new skirt!!' Thus, the school uniform is selected to last at least three years. Thus the uniform sits as conspicuously on the Bongling as the plumage of a macaw.
Early Years:
While most Bongs are born with innate talents in singing or dancing or painting or film-making or cooking or embroidery; and their creative talents start getting honed even before they start speaking. Frequent meets are organized between infants and their successful ancestors and other relatives. MA degrees, preferably from Ox-Cam, at least from Presidency or JOO (Jadavpur Univ) are displayed over the cots. The infant is exposed to the best of Bengali thought – Marx, Bentham, Kalidas, Tolstoy, Chekhov, even Hemmingway. This increases the sizes of their heads and the height of their ambitions. Similar examples, though rare, can be found in European tradition as well, like in the case of Mozart. In India, however, Bongs have the sole preserve on such activity during infancy. Soon, when they grow up a little, their characters are honed in the best of schools. Here, I am not referring to the St Paul’s, South Points, La Marts, Don Boscos and all. They are important in the nurture a Bong child goes through. What is even more important are the schools the Bong child passes through before school and after school. Many a Bong child wakes up at five o'clock in the morning to attend swimming classes. After one hour of swimming, he attends tennis coaching before rushing off to one of the South Points, LaMarts etc. mentioned above. School finishes by two or so, from where he scoots along to Singing/ Guitar/ Piano/ Tabla/ Dance Classes, then tuition (for at least three of all five subjects). He rounds off the day with coaching on either Debating or Quiz. Many a Bong mother will carry the child along through this day, feeling equally energized. This behavior is again not restricted to Bongs. It also seen within kangaroos in Australia who rush along from one clump to another bush.
Growing up:
Soon the Bong attains adolescence, doesn't find friends of his age (since everyone is competing for the Nobel/ Booker/ Oscar) and finds intimacy in conversation in his/her parents and poems of Pablo Neruda. When school ends, they move on to the good colleges – Cambridge, Presidency, Xavier's, IIT Kharagpur. The intellectuals (among intellectuals) move straight to JOO (Jadavpur Univ). However, in recent years, Dilli (Stephen's obviously) is becoming the preferred destination for some escapists. In colleges, they decorate their rooms with books or portraits of Kobi-Guru (Tagore). On the opposite wall, men would have posters of Che, Castro and Pele, while women would have Julio Iglesias and Claudio Cannigia, thus expressing solidarity with Latin American culture. All of them share equal interest in the Bong-Rock (Miles, LRB, Bhumi, Chondrobindu, Cactus, James Da… and of course the classic anti-establishments in Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple and DOORS).
Later Years:
Bongs mature early. Critics have said that they grow old early, but that is nothing but old hat. Years of toil and TS Eliot would obviously bestow wisdom. The reason they look older is because the sole purpose of a Bong's life is to win the Nobel, Booker, Pulitzer, or the Oscars (and in recent years, Captaincy of the Indian team). With great responsibility comes great age. Add to it the chlorine in the swimming pools and you know why Bongs grey prematurely. As far as their mission in life is concerned, they have been very successful at it. Majority Indian Nobel Prize winner has been Bong. So have the Oscar Awardees. And most successful Cricket Captains. A clear majority of Indo-Anglian writers. And Bipasha Basu! Once Bongs have kids though, their mission on life changes. The only raision de'etre for them is making sure that their progeny achieves the heights that they could (or couldn't). Hence, they are mostly found outside of schools, colleges and tuition classes.
Diet:
Diet is as important as Robindro Shongeet. There's nothing that a Bong can't eat. However, they prefer protein over other food groups. The largest source of protein for them is fish, then meat, and then mishti (sweets) made from milk. More than fish itself, it is the knowledge of fish which is coveted and enjoyed. Carbohydrates are tolerated if they are fried in oil or if it is accompaniment to fish. Luchis (somewhat like a Puri), Telebhajas (pakoras) and Phuchkas (Paani Puri) are the favored sources of carbohydrates. The Bongling though invariably always has Farex, Lactogen and Waterbury’s Compound. As far as the most important meal of the day is concerned, please do note that what dieticians have been saying in the last few years, Bongs have known for centuries. Breakphast/tiphhin is an occasion where the entire family comes together, to watch the office-going Bong male and school-bound Bonglings eat. The Bong woman's biggest fear is 'Shokale bhaat-dal-mach bhaaja na kheye beriye galo' – 'In the morning, he went out without eating rice, dal and fish fry.' To round off the calories, Dal is often accompanied by aaloo bhaate, aaloo bhaja, potol bhaaja and various other heartily fried stuff. Not for the faint-hearted.
Mating and procreation:
A few Bongs end up being in relationships, which lead to love marriage. This is sometimes shown in movies and song. However, most do not have any such social malignancy and end up marrying the woman of their mother's dreams or men of their father's choosing. This results in mixing the right genes for the next cycle of Bongs. Love marriage, by far is seldom. It sometimes results is tragedy, like marrying into another country (most often, the rest of India). Hence, it is avoided, wherever possible.
Social Life:
Adda, robindro shongeet and cha... Repeat.Do note that the young Bong doesn't have a social life (at least not till he wins the Nobel or gets a Government job). Mosaic para-r rock for the outbound lot, and cha and carram for the homesick; and viola! You have the winning combination in Bong social life. You would of course bump into an intellectually rich Bong mix in Coffee shops, but that’s dealt under Habitat.
Outdoor Passion:
Phootball. Period. The Bongs have had an illustrious history of achievement in football. Every Para (neighborhood) has stories of when they won the World Cup at the expense of the next one. The last time it happened in my parent's Para was in 1986, when Argentina won in Mexico. Diego Maradona, who looks Bhodrolok (gentleman) enough, give or take a few ounces of coke, scored famously using his hand – a skill which he learnt in Kolkata. Over the last few years, Brajeel has been gladdening the hearts of many Zicos and Falcaos and Dungas who were born in Kolkata around 1980s. The only team which is not Bong is Germany as they play with more efficiency and no creativity, which thus is not amenable to adda. Do not ask of a Bong doing anything on the phootball field as then the Bong will keep you occupied about Jakarta, 1962. Chuni Goswami je ball tule dilo PK ke. Match-er aagei bolechilo, 'Ekta Ball debo. Daam kore maarish. Gol hobe'. Chuni Goswami put a football up for PK (Banerjee). He told him before the match itself, 'I will give you one ball. Hit it with a bang. Goal will happen.' Obviously, it is also the crowning moment of Indian phootball.
Habitat:
While you may find a Bong in other places (like occasionally in movie halls), the best time to observe a Bong is in his natural habitat - the best of colleges, the best of schools, the best of coffee houses, and the best of tourist locations. It is here that he will tell you about Balzac while she will recite poetry with gay abandon. To mix in with the Bong, apply Keo Karpin hair oil to your hair and carry a jhola (jute side-bag). Hopefully, they won't notice your small head. Do not worry about not knowing the language. You can pass off as a Probashi Bangali (expat).
Famous Bongs in Literature, Film and Art; apart from the now overflowing Bollywood: Everywhere you care to look.
Closing Word:
Being Bong at the end of the day is a state of mind. Or, a case of being discovered by them.
There are three types of Bengalis that I know. Probashi or Expatriate Bengalis, a fairly large and diverse group about which I won’t write this time; Bengalis who are from the rest of West Bengal – I am one of them; and the icing on the cake – Bengalis from Calcutta. This group is incorrectly known as Bongs, as they are merely a subset. However, this is the only group which matters. Gokhale told of them, long years back, 'What Bengal thinks today, India thinks tomorrow.' To which Rene Descartes responded, 'I think (today), therefore I am (Bengali).'
Physical Description:
The Bong has a large head, glasses, glistening hair and darkish skin. Older Bongs develop an ample stomach to balance their large heads. This happens by the age of 30. They smell of Keo Karpin hair oil. The average life expectancy is 65 years. What is even more impressive is what they do in those years. Outside Calcutta, regardless of weather, sex or age, Bongs can be seen in Monkey Caps. This is a must-have accessory as well as a sign to recognize other Bongs. The Bongling can often be recognized in either over-sized or under-sized school uniforms. The Bong mother's second biggest fear (See diet for the biggest one) is 'porer bochor o lomba hoye gele abar notun skirt kinte hobe!!' or 'Next year, if you grow taller, we'll again have to buy a new skirt!!' Thus, the school uniform is selected to last at least three years. Thus the uniform sits as conspicuously on the Bongling as the plumage of a macaw.
Early Years:
While most Bongs are born with innate talents in singing or dancing or painting or film-making or cooking or embroidery; and their creative talents start getting honed even before they start speaking. Frequent meets are organized between infants and their successful ancestors and other relatives. MA degrees, preferably from Ox-Cam, at least from Presidency or JOO (Jadavpur Univ) are displayed over the cots. The infant is exposed to the best of Bengali thought – Marx, Bentham, Kalidas, Tolstoy, Chekhov, even Hemmingway. This increases the sizes of their heads and the height of their ambitions. Similar examples, though rare, can be found in European tradition as well, like in the case of Mozart. In India, however, Bongs have the sole preserve on such activity during infancy. Soon, when they grow up a little, their characters are honed in the best of schools. Here, I am not referring to the St Paul’s, South Points, La Marts, Don Boscos and all. They are important in the nurture a Bong child goes through. What is even more important are the schools the Bong child passes through before school and after school. Many a Bong child wakes up at five o'clock in the morning to attend swimming classes. After one hour of swimming, he attends tennis coaching before rushing off to one of the South Points, LaMarts etc. mentioned above. School finishes by two or so, from where he scoots along to Singing/ Guitar/ Piano/ Tabla/ Dance Classes, then tuition (for at least three of all five subjects). He rounds off the day with coaching on either Debating or Quiz. Many a Bong mother will carry the child along through this day, feeling equally energized. This behavior is again not restricted to Bongs. It also seen within kangaroos in Australia who rush along from one clump to another bush.
Growing up:
Soon the Bong attains adolescence, doesn't find friends of his age (since everyone is competing for the Nobel/ Booker/ Oscar) and finds intimacy in conversation in his/her parents and poems of Pablo Neruda. When school ends, they move on to the good colleges – Cambridge, Presidency, Xavier's, IIT Kharagpur. The intellectuals (among intellectuals) move straight to JOO (Jadavpur Univ). However, in recent years, Dilli (Stephen's obviously) is becoming the preferred destination for some escapists. In colleges, they decorate their rooms with books or portraits of Kobi-Guru (Tagore). On the opposite wall, men would have posters of Che, Castro and Pele, while women would have Julio Iglesias and Claudio Cannigia, thus expressing solidarity with Latin American culture. All of them share equal interest in the Bong-Rock (Miles, LRB, Bhumi, Chondrobindu, Cactus, James Da… and of course the classic anti-establishments in Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple and DOORS).
Later Years:
Bongs mature early. Critics have said that they grow old early, but that is nothing but old hat. Years of toil and TS Eliot would obviously bestow wisdom. The reason they look older is because the sole purpose of a Bong's life is to win the Nobel, Booker, Pulitzer, or the Oscars (and in recent years, Captaincy of the Indian team). With great responsibility comes great age. Add to it the chlorine in the swimming pools and you know why Bongs grey prematurely. As far as their mission in life is concerned, they have been very successful at it. Majority Indian Nobel Prize winner has been Bong. So have the Oscar Awardees. And most successful Cricket Captains. A clear majority of Indo-Anglian writers. And Bipasha Basu! Once Bongs have kids though, their mission on life changes. The only raision de'etre for them is making sure that their progeny achieves the heights that they could (or couldn't). Hence, they are mostly found outside of schools, colleges and tuition classes.
Diet:
Diet is as important as Robindro Shongeet. There's nothing that a Bong can't eat. However, they prefer protein over other food groups. The largest source of protein for them is fish, then meat, and then mishti (sweets) made from milk. More than fish itself, it is the knowledge of fish which is coveted and enjoyed. Carbohydrates are tolerated if they are fried in oil or if it is accompaniment to fish. Luchis (somewhat like a Puri), Telebhajas (pakoras) and Phuchkas (Paani Puri) are the favored sources of carbohydrates. The Bongling though invariably always has Farex, Lactogen and Waterbury’s Compound. As far as the most important meal of the day is concerned, please do note that what dieticians have been saying in the last few years, Bongs have known for centuries. Breakphast/tiphhin is an occasion where the entire family comes together, to watch the office-going Bong male and school-bound Bonglings eat. The Bong woman's biggest fear is 'Shokale bhaat-dal-mach bhaaja na kheye beriye galo' – 'In the morning, he went out without eating rice, dal and fish fry.' To round off the calories, Dal is often accompanied by aaloo bhaate, aaloo bhaja, potol bhaaja and various other heartily fried stuff. Not for the faint-hearted.
Mating and procreation:
A few Bongs end up being in relationships, which lead to love marriage. This is sometimes shown in movies and song. However, most do not have any such social malignancy and end up marrying the woman of their mother's dreams or men of their father's choosing. This results in mixing the right genes for the next cycle of Bongs. Love marriage, by far is seldom. It sometimes results is tragedy, like marrying into another country (most often, the rest of India). Hence, it is avoided, wherever possible.
Social Life:
Adda, robindro shongeet and cha... Repeat.Do note that the young Bong doesn't have a social life (at least not till he wins the Nobel or gets a Government job). Mosaic para-r rock for the outbound lot, and cha and carram for the homesick; and viola! You have the winning combination in Bong social life. You would of course bump into an intellectually rich Bong mix in Coffee shops, but that’s dealt under Habitat.
Outdoor Passion:
Phootball. Period. The Bongs have had an illustrious history of achievement in football. Every Para (neighborhood) has stories of when they won the World Cup at the expense of the next one. The last time it happened in my parent's Para was in 1986, when Argentina won in Mexico. Diego Maradona, who looks Bhodrolok (gentleman) enough, give or take a few ounces of coke, scored famously using his hand – a skill which he learnt in Kolkata. Over the last few years, Brajeel has been gladdening the hearts of many Zicos and Falcaos and Dungas who were born in Kolkata around 1980s. The only team which is not Bong is Germany as they play with more efficiency and no creativity, which thus is not amenable to adda. Do not ask of a Bong doing anything on the phootball field as then the Bong will keep you occupied about Jakarta, 1962. Chuni Goswami je ball tule dilo PK ke. Match-er aagei bolechilo, 'Ekta Ball debo. Daam kore maarish. Gol hobe'. Chuni Goswami put a football up for PK (Banerjee). He told him before the match itself, 'I will give you one ball. Hit it with a bang. Goal will happen.' Obviously, it is also the crowning moment of Indian phootball.
Habitat:
While you may find a Bong in other places (like occasionally in movie halls), the best time to observe a Bong is in his natural habitat - the best of colleges, the best of schools, the best of coffee houses, and the best of tourist locations. It is here that he will tell you about Balzac while she will recite poetry with gay abandon. To mix in with the Bong, apply Keo Karpin hair oil to your hair and carry a jhola (jute side-bag). Hopefully, they won't notice your small head. Do not worry about not knowing the language. You can pass off as a Probashi Bangali (expat).
Famous Bongs in Literature, Film and Art; apart from the now overflowing Bollywood: Everywhere you care to look.
Closing Word:
Being Bong at the end of the day is a state of mind. Or, a case of being discovered by them.
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