A typical Sunday evening at a hospital

 

It is Sunday evening once again and time for me to visit the Fortis Kidney Research Institute for my mother’s haemodialysis. As I drive down through the relatively posh residential areas of Southern Avenue and Hindustan Park with my mother sitting next to me, I plan how to utilize the next 5 hours. Over the last 2 years, sitting in the hospital, I have acquired enough proficiency to represent India in a Solitaire World Cup or a Cross Math World Cup or any other World Cup involving online games. Unfortunately, today there is no ODI or T20  match as well and for once I cannot help but curse the BCCI for their insensitiveness.

At the hospital gate, it is a big queue of vehicles waiting for patients to be escorted in  a wheelchair. It is a Sunday and as always there is a paucity of housekeeping staff, this means that even if the wheelchairs are there, our wait is going to be longer. While most drivers remain cognizant that it is a no horn zone, one Uber driver is not so considerate. Happily he starts honking causing the security personnel to come running. There is  a heated exchange of words between the cab driver and the security personnel which brings all other activities to a standstill. Some responsible citizens try to intervene before the matter gets out of control and peace is restored albeit a good 5 to 7 minutes being lost in the  whole process.

After getting my mom on to a  wheelchair, I walk into the lounge to complete the formalities. The waiting area has fewer people today as most doctors do not conduct OPD (Out Patient Department ) visits on Sundays. There are a few mechanical processes to be completed and there is a  long queue at each counter especially at the billing counter. While the processing time for the corporate and insurance patients seems significantly lesser than that of patients paying by cash, there seems to be a problem today with one of the insurance patients. The Insurance office is closed and the helpless patient party has a difficult time getting an agent on the helpline number. A protracted discussion goes on between the concerned party and the hospital staff while people waiting in the queue tend to get impatient. Finaly a compromise is worked out and the queue moves ahead.

As far as the patients are concerned, almost all  the patients are sitting on  wheelchairs while the caregivers ( maybe I am being euphemistic in using that term for lack of something better) are standing in the queues. Most people are known to each other by now as they  meet every weekend, so it is customary exchange of pleasantries. 

As I look around, I see some similar traits among most of the patients. They seem to have gone into a reclusive mood and keep staring blankly at the gate or the walls. They do not really seem to be interested about anything that is going on around them. The relatives who accompany the patients have to really coax the patients to speak or express their views on any specific matter. Mr Basu (name changed) has been undergoing dialysis for 12 years now, Mrs Basu accompanies him on these sessions. When Mrs Basu asked Mrs Basu if he was okay, Mr Basu nodded his head and said something that nobody around could comprehend. Only a nod of the head and blink of the eyes conveyed his response which seemed to satisfy his wife.

One lady sensitized the group that her husband’s systolic BP had reached the northern side of 200. Suddenly there is complete silence as all eyes are glued no to her. She narrates the sequence of events and how she reacted to the situation while others listen with rapt attention. I am incurably tempted to believe that she is a doctor simply going by the names of a plethora of hypertensive drugs that she remembers, deep down I marvel at her ability to remain calm and combat the situation. It reminds me of how adversity brings out the best in a septuagenarian Indian housewife as she struggles to provide medical assistance to her ailing husband.  As for the others, it is a malaise that can occur any day with any of the patients and therefore these tips are invaluable. Remember the saying “Experience is a very good teacher but the tuition fees are very high”.

  Mr Badshah ( name changed ) arrives for his dialysis. He is one of the few people who have the strength and courage to ride  a bike on his own and he carrying his helmet is proof of the fact that today is no exception. However, he is clutching on to his chest and the first impression that others get is that he seems to suffer from a bout of asphyxia. A chair is offered to him and even someone volunteers to get him a glass of water. He gesticulates for immediate transfer to the dialysis room and almost all other patient parties are willing to cooperate. I feel proud that even in this arid age of nihilism, we remain as considerate to our fellow beings.  Only the housekeeping staff do not seem to be perturbed, in fact they giggle between themselves that this is a regular ‘drama’ whenever he is late and needs to overtake a long queue of waiting patients. Nonetheless  everyone prays for Mr Badshah’s speedy recovery as he  is escorted into the emergency room.

For this dialysis session at 16.30 PM,  there are at least 20 patients lined up. It is almost 17.15 PM by now and no one has been taken in. Some of the patients and their relatives start venting out their frustrations at this inexplicable delay in starting the procedure. At the enquiry, we are told that the earlier session started late due to weekend  maintenance activities taking longer than expected. One gentleman, who was one of the earliest to arrive, loses his cool and asks as to why the hospital cannot call and inform all patients to come a little later than normal. The lady at the enquiry happily absolves  herself from such responsibility saying that the issue needs to be taken up with the dialysis staff.

Suddenly the phone rings and everyone present heaves a sigh of relief as the first 6 patients are called upstairs. My number is 11 and  based on  my years of knowledge in  Statistics and queuing theory, I am reasonably confident that my mother will be called in the next 20 minutes or so.

The lift to the dialysis room can accommodate only 2 wheelchairs at a time and there is a bit of a scuffle among patient parties in trying to go up. Luckily sanity prevails and they decide to stick to their original sequence.

Contrary to my expectations, then next 6 patients are called up in about 15 minutes. As I reach upstairs, there is the customary queue around the weighing machine. Some people who are too weak to stand are actually weighed while seated on a  wheelchair and the weight of the wheelchair is subtracted to arrive at the weight of the patient. Even this arithmetic by the housekeeping staff requires a calculator and the process ends up taking longer than expected. This is a very critical process since the weight of the patient reflects the amount of fluid accumulation in the patient’s body since the last dialysis got over.

Finally, it is time for the dialysis to start. Here again , some patients have specific preferences for some beds while for others there are constraints that dictate the need for a specific bed. One lady walks up to a specific bed which prompts her fellow patient to remark that she is jumping the queue. The first lady promptly responded saying that she is Hepatitis positive and that she is going to a bed which is marked for Hepatitis  positive patients only. The second lady apologised and parity is restored.

A lady from the hospital canteen went around asking patients about their meal preferences. Mr Sen (name changed) called the lady and said that the cake  served last time was stale, the lady refused to accept the allegation and said that several others were given the same cake and that there was no such complain. While Mr Sen remains convinced about the veracity of his allegation, the lady from the canteen simply ignored him and moves on.

  As all the relatives came down having settled the respective patients, they formed small groups. While the ladies huddled together in a corner, some of the men folk preferred to go for their customary smoking session.

In a few minutes, almost every one in the waiting lounge starts looking at their handphones and there is silence. Everyone seems to have reconciled to the fact that this entire set of activities is something unavoidable.

Dialysis is a never ending process and once it starts, the patient has to undergo dialysis for the rest of his/her life. While the patient or his family  members may not enjoy it, deep down the family members are grateful that they have an opportunity to get this treatment for their near and dear one. They would rather go through the process for days and months than be relieved from doing so.

MISSION IMPOSSIBLE

“Ami Bohu Bahsonaye Pranponey Chai
Bonchito Korey Banchaley Morey”
“Many are the deep desires of the heart, depriving me from them has Thou saved me ..”. Rabindranath Tagore
As I woke up on a typical monsoon morning in Mumbai and sluggishly got ready to face another day in office, the thought suddenly occurred to me as to whether in my wildest of dreams could I have ever imagined doing what my current profession is.
Although brought up in a conservative environment in a cocooned atmosphere, my indomitable imagination knew no barriers and at various stages of my adolescence, I envisaged pursuing varied occupations for a livelihood, in reality ending up not getting anywhere near.
No specific reasons for my abject failure in pursuing my dreams; some attributable to extraneous factors like cost; some as all of us prefer to allude to mere ‘bad luck’; but most failures are a result of my lethargy and well chronicled habit of procrastination.
“Ami Kebol-i Shopono Korechhi Bopono Batashey
Tai Akasho Kushumo Korinu Choyono Hotashey”
“I have built castles in the air and pursued futile dreams in desperation…” Rabindranath Tagore
Soaring High Above the Heavens- In a Seven Forty Seven- Commercial Pilot
Lines from a Susan Ray song, but for me had a magnetic effect. Yes, wanting to be a commercial pilot was a secret ambition I nurtured for several years of my life till my tryst with reality. By the time I had come of age to pursue a career in flying, I found out that the expense involved was mercurial and even my considerably affluent background would not be adequate to meet the financial challenges. Not that I received too much of support from home; my professor grandfather did not even entertain the proposition for discussion and my central government executive father put the topic aside with as much alacrity as he would have put numerous junk files in his office.
The end result is that the world never got to hear the words “Captain Anindya Chaudhuri is in command”. :-)
Even today, after more than 100 official air trips and almost an equal number of personal ones; my heart skips a beat as I board an aircraft. From the tarmac, I try to catch a glimpse of the men in the cockpit and wish if I could be one of them.
Not to be let down by my dreams remaining unfulfilled; I sometimes end up speeding along the highway in my car, my humble way of experiencing the feeling of a pre- take off speed build up .
MIG for A-320- Fighter Pilot with the IAF
After a decent graduation with a first class in Statistics Honours from Calcutta University; my wings clamoured for the skies and I seriously deliberated with the idea of joining the IAF through CDS ( Combined defence Service Examination) or more charismatically put, I wanted to become a fighter pilot.
Almighty had blessed me with the physical pre-requisites in abundance but had never endowed me with the adequate courage and boldness required to defy my elders and go ahead in persuasion of my dreams.
As if to complicate matters; my father often quoted the example of one of his acquaintances who joined the Air Force but ended up in a tragic accident in a ‘sortie’, spending the rest of his life in a wheelchair, far from the battlefield.
The moral of the story is very simple- most of us prefer to sing “Janaganamana  Adhinayaka Joyo Hey “in the drawing room; not on a battlefield.
Almighty had other designs; so instead of CDS; it was ISI (not the one across the border though :-) ).
A First Class Masters Degree from ISI   followed by a cushy job in Citibank completely bound me to the pleasures on the ground rather than inspire me to pursue the ones off it.
So that is how, the flight never took off.
Managing A Tea Estate- Manager
I remember going to one of the Tea Estates for an invitation lunch with my father during his posting in Assam. The experience for me was breathtaking. The manager and his wife had a lavish bungalow with three to four bedrooms, each of the size of a small flat in Mumbai ably assisted by an army of ten odd servants; three cars with two for official use and one for personal; a small tennis court, a swimming pool and a garden that would put many of the Mumbai gardens to shame. As if all the above was not enough; the entire region was blessed with a beautiful climate; so typical of the forests of the North East.
In my imaginations; I pictured the manager going after man eating leopards and tigers; very similar to what we get to read in the Jim Corbett and Kenneth Anderson stories.
I had made up my mind; this had to be it. I wanted to be the manager of a tea estate. My father did not worry much about this proposition; he knew that it was impossible for me to be anywhere in the vicinity of a tea estate, forget becoming a manager.
Even today I Google on job sites trying to find if I can get anything similar but that remains a futile pursuit 
That is one ambition I still harbour; a thought I still ruminate over every cup of tea that I have on a rainy afternoon in Mumbai.
“Ekla Boshey Badol Diney Bhabi Koto Ki
 Ebar Amar Jabar Pala Boley Ketoki”
“Aimlessly my thoughts wander on a rainy afternoon as the screw pine flower prepares for its impending departure” Rabindranath Tagore
Born Free Syndrome- Wild Life Conservationist
One of my all time favourite films childhood was Born Free- while other youngsters may have been more interested in the Julia Roberts or Sharon Stones of the world; I watched Born Free over and over. For me the ultimate bliss was a job of a wildlife conservationist.
To that extent; I have even enrolled for a society that does lot of work in Africa on wild animals.
Most of these projects are self funded. Now I have the money but I do not have the time.
It would not be out if place to argue that my passion may have been triggered also by reading “Chander Pahaar” by late Bibhutibhushan Bandyopadhyay where the protagonist Shankar, a country lad finds himself in the land of the lions when he takes up a job in Uganda. However, given my well publicised fear of  domestic animals ranging from dogs to rats; my detractors would argue that this is a classical  case of insanity.
As Boman Irani said of some Abbas Bhai in Munna Bhai MBBS –  I would argue that a lion is an animal “of principles”, not an unscrupulous creature like a field rat.
Not quite sure if I will ever get to this mission but if I do; I will be the happiest person on earth.

Retrospection
I would not like to believe that thoughts on any of the above professions which I wanted to pursue were absurd. However, on hindsight, I feel that most of these desired professions had one common point – that they were unconventional.
We grew up in a very conservative atmosphere. In our times; the thought was ingrained in us that one had to be a doctor, engineer or accountant in order to ensure a basic security. Benchmark of success was getting a good job in a good company with a decent salary; ensuring a decent standard of living and so on; all aimed at minimising the element of risk.
Society is changing; so also people’s outlook towards life is changing. Alternative professions are becoming the order of the day. Kids of today have started looking at different avenues which we could not have dared to explore.
Even today’s parents have become more daring and flexible as far as their children are concerned- may be the financial support that they already enjoy is driving this flexibility. Young mothers have started believing that their sons can be Sachin Tendulkar or AR Rahman or Mani Ratnam.
My father always used to say that it is natural for Rohan Gavaskar to be a cricketer or Saikat Mitra to be a singer- true to say that they did enjoy a genetic advantage.
However, come to think of it; neither was Rahul Dravid from a cricketing background nor did Rathindranath Tagore become a poet.
Nonetheless, yes, I think one profession that has still remained elusive to the middle class is flying ( at least, I feel so and would be happy to stand corrected if otherwise)
Also, one more thing I feel about our systems and society is that it is too rigid, We need to bring in more flexibility- why should an engineer not be allowed to learn medicine at the age of 50 if he meets all the medical criteria?
I do not lament that I could never become one of the above- may be I was not destined for the same. I am happy with what I have achieved, not complacent though.
There are lots more I would love to do- only time will say if I can.
But till the last day of my life, the above four options will remain my most cherished ones
To close again with Tagore
“Joboney Joto Puja Holo Na shara
Jaani Hey Jaani Tao Hoyeni Hara
Je  Phool Na Phutitey Jhorilo Dhoronitey
Je Nodi Moru Pothey Haralo Dhara-
 Jaani He jaani Tao Hoyeni Hara”
“Nothing in life is a waste; be it the stream that dried into the sand or the flower that did not bloom. Every event in life has a purpose and hence woven by the Almighty”  Rabindranath Tagore

Lords

28^th April 2012- Lord’s
The day began with the heavens pouring but for me it had to be a special day of my life. After the customary sumptuous buffet breakfast; I decided to proceed to Lords, the Mecca of cricket; the place every cricketing buff like me dreams of visiting at least once in a lifetime.
Walked to Knightsbridge Station; took the Piccadilly Line train to Green Park and then the Jubilee Line train to St John’s Wood. Amidst the downpour, I began my walk down to Lords with the eagerness of a devotee visiting a temple.
As I entered the ground through the Grace Gate, I was almost in a trance. Everything in this country is well organised; so I had no hesitation in taking a conducted tour of Lords for only GBP 15/-. Our guide, a solicitor by profession, seemed more interested in cricket than any one I have seen in my life.
Just so you know my dear reader, we were a group of ten comprising six Australians, three localites and yours truly holding the Indian tri-colour. During the course of our tour, scheduled for an hour and forty minutes, our guide asked many quiz questions and most humbly as I may state, I was the only person who gave all the answers, and correct ones at that.
Give me a pat on my back, if you like; the guide remarked jocularly that my tour fees should have been waived off but unfortunately that cannot be done.
First we stopped at the long room on the ground floor of the pavilion; a 90 feet room where nearly 600 people can sit. This is where the members enjoy a drink as they watch a test match. It has big glass windows for the audience who do not have to withstand the chill of the weather and yet can watch the match from the ground level. The long room has two doors; one opening to the ground and the other to the staircase. I dare not say this is the stairway to heaven - every time a wicket falls, the new batsman walks down the staircase, through the members in the long room and into the field and the dismissed batsmen takes the way back (imagine the plight of someone who is out for a duck and has to take the walk back this way no sooner than he arrived in the middle).
For a moment, I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what was going on in the mind of a young lad of 24 as he took a walk along this path to the middle on that ‘summer of 96’-the walk that heralded the arrival of the ‘Prince of Calcutta’ – the beginning of a generation of ‘Dadagiri’; the birth of a man who was to script Indian cricket history in his own way.
 I also tried to imagine the feeling of another 24 year old Indian as he held aloft the Prudential World Cup on 25^th June 1983 on the balcony of the pavilion; Kapil Dev and his team had destroyed the mighty Caribbean team at this venue and shook the whole world.
We may have won the World Cup for the second time; but to the present genre who have watched the game on 25^th June 1983- 2^nd April 2011 will never be as captivating or enthralling as the earlier one. It is like first love- which never fades.
From the long room we proceeded to the dressing room.  As one goes up the stairs; to the right is the home dressing room where we went first. Our enthusiastic guide was eager to show us where Andrew Strauss sits to where Kevin Pietersen sits and which window was accidentally broken after the bat ‘slipped’ from Matt Prior’s hand in the recently held India England test match. There are huge wooden boards containing the names of English players who have hit a century in any test match at Lords or have taken 5 wickets in an innings or 10 in a match. Ian Botham is the only person to have his name in both the batsmen’ and bowler’s lists and also holds the record for the best bowling figures in an innings by an Englishman at Lords. No wonder, one of his fellow cricketers and then skipper of England had asked him after one of his numerous superlative performances “who writes your scripts”? 
From the home dressing room we proceeded to the visitors’ dressing room. Here the boards had many familiar names that evoked lot of sentiments for me; most notably Dilip Vengsarkar with three entries for his three centuries at Lords; Saurav Ganguly for his debut century; Mohammed Azharuddin for his hundred in 1990-91; Rahul Dravid for the century at the twilight of his career and even Ajit Agarkar for that blitzkrieg hundred of his. Kapil Dev figured in the list of successful bowlers for his 5 wicket haul in the 1982 series.
Interestingly, the legendary Sunil Gavaskar had never scored a century for India in any test at Lords; he scored 188 for Rest of the World against MCC in the Bicentenary Test match and so figures in the list.
As one went through the records; it was surprising that some of the greatest cricketers of our era do not figure in the list. Two of the greatest batsmen of modern times have never scored a hundred in Lords- Sachin Tendulkar and Brian Lara;  so haven’t Clive Lloyd and Javed Miandad; while among bowlers, the most notable missing names are Dennis Lillee, Shane Warne and Imran Khan, arguably the best all-rounder of his times.
I went out to the balcony and sat at the cement bench from which Sourav Ganguly had waived his shirt to the whole world- passion on his sleeves.
We were also shown the Ashes, kept in a small urn surrounded by a glass case, but insured for a few billion pounds. While our guide passionately spoke of the Ashes duels, I was in a pensive mood thinking of the Prudential World Cup. Probably our guide read my thoughts and so he specifically took me to see the Prudential Cup which we had won in 1983 but now adorns the Lords’ museum. As any other Indian; I felt very emotional as I watched the Prudential Trophy on the balcony of the museum.
Photography is prohibited in both the pavilion and the museum; so we trudged along to the newly designed media box which gave us a fantastic view of the ground and the adjoining stands.
As the tour got over, I took the walk out through the Grace Gate, filled with a sense of accomplishment- a feeling of having seen something which I will cherish for years to come.
Here, I sit in my room late at night, in my humble attempt to pen down the experiences of a thoroughly memorable afternoon, I hum to myself
“Jokhon Shobai Mogon Ghumero Ghorey
Amar Ghoom Niyo He Horon Korey
Ekla Ghorey Chupey Chupey
Esho Kebol Shurer Rupey
Amar Chokher Joler Diyo Shaara”
(When the world is in peaceful slumber, rob the sleep from my eyes. Silently tip toe in to my room Oh Lord and answer my tearful prayers.)
- “Amar Nishitho Raatero Badolo Dhaara” from Tagore

Blasts Do Not Rock Me

It has been an eventful eighteen hours and while I sit in a bus ( in my attempt to get to office) helplessly staring at the skies and at the standstill traffic, I thought it may be a good idea reminiscing over the sequence of events which happened since last evening.

Three blasts tried to scare us. No, I dare not say that three blasts rocked Mumbai. We are now seasoned veterans, we have been through 26/11, the serial blasts on 7/11 and so on.

As for me, in the words of Shakespeare, "I let this pass by me as the idle wind which I respect not".

My friend Santosh, the encyclopaedia that he is, tells me that yesterday was Kasab's birthday. I trust him to be a fairly authentic source, so I will take the liberty of using this information.

Many of my colleagues including Shalinee, Dignesh, Joseph, Binsy, Sunayana and yours truly were around when Kasab wrecked havoc on innocent people, we are all there when his friends decided to give him this equally 'bloody' birthday gift.

What did the blasts mean to us? As a first reaction, anxious phone calls to and from our family, relatives and friends; surfing on the net to authenticate the veracity of the things we heard; cautionary sms's to all we care for and then leaving for the safety of our homes.

Most of us reached home at the stroke of midnight and did not have time to do retrospection.
It was "A Wednesday" and all of us had to get back to work on the next day.Talking of the above film, the protagonist there thinks of the society and embarks on a purging exercise. However, that is a film and the reality is a stark contrast.

Most people could not spare a minute to think of such details as to how many innocent people died, how many were injured, how many were rendered homeless and the overall damage it may have caused.
If anyone did worry about these things, that is great. I do not blame anyone for not doing so, it is just that we are so busy with ourselves that we do not have time for such finer aspects of life.

When we woke up this morning, we did not have fear in our minds as we left home. We were not worried as to what might happen today, it was the incessant rain that was more of a concern for us.
 It is as if we have learnt to throw caution to the wind, we have long resigned ourselves to our fate, we are prepared to take life as it comes.

To summarise, we have become tough. We are not overly perturbed by anything happening around us, but the bigger question to be asked is "Are we losing our human virtues in the process?"

Reminds me of the song
"Ei Dil Hai Mushkil Jeena Yahan
Zara Hatkey Zara Bachkey Yeh Hai Bombay Meri Jaan
Be Ghar Ko Awaara Kahtey Log Hus Hus
Khud Katey Galey Sab Ke Kahey Isko Biz Nas (Business)"

That is what is Mumbai.

I have become a part of this system. After four long and gruelling years, reality is far from my expectations, better to say, I have decided to lower my expectations.

I have often read that Mumbai embraces all who come here; there is a living for everyone here. The fact is that while there may be a living but there is no home.

Needless to say, I have to go back to the great man
“Diney Diney Kothin Holo Kokhon Bukero Tol
Bhebeychhilem Jhorbey Na Amar Chokhero Jol"
(Never realised how gradually I have turned into a stone and my tears have deserted me.)

They all say, Mumbai is a very professional city, I would say more of a heartless city. Professionalism has nothing to do with shunning normal human values.

Did I not read any where that Mumbai was voted the rudest city in the world? As they say “the proof of the pudding is in the eating”.

I have lived through a blast, probably I will live through many more. I have learnt the art of ignoring the pain of the people who have lost everything, I am too insensitive to feel it.

I will worry about increments and bonuses because I will never realise that all these are important only as long as I am alive and how long I am alive is something I do not know. 

I will worry more about the inflation than a bloody inferno because for me an inferno is a temporary scalding for some people; inflation is a permanent hole in my pocket.

I will not die in fear of a resurgence of the blast, I will live on because I am already dead and you cannot kill a dead man.

Bengali Culture- The Changing Landscape

"Shokatorey Oi Knadichhey Shokoley Shono Shono Pita

Koho Kaaney Kaaney Shunao Praney Praney Mongolo Barota”

(Listen O Lord to the wailing nation,

Whisper in their ears, spread in their hearts Thy Holy Message..)

For a very long time, I have been toying with the idea of penning down my feelings about this topic but my well ingrained habit of procrastination has always got the better of me.  Finally, on an idle and lazy morning, with the skies pouring and having loaded myself with a heavy breakfast, I decided to do a bit of introspection.

I have been branded by some as an orthodox imbecile, no prizes for guessing that this article of mine would not do much to improve my reputation in their eyes. However, that does not deter me from expressing my honest opinion even if that means incurring the wrath of many unfortunate readers who happen to set foot on this blog.

I have no qualms in humbly expressing my opinion that the entire Bengali culture has reached a rock bottom and am quite certain that only a Herculean effort can resurrect the entire race to its former state of glory, if at all.

What is the cause for this moral and material degradation? Numerous. A clinical assessment will tell you that the decline which started in the late seventies, spread its tentacles through the eighties and nineties culminating in perhaps the most deplorable state over the last decade. The most affected has been the younger generation who have suffered the maximum from the pangs of this steep decline.

Just as an example of where our present generation lies, when I recently asked a couple of highly educated representatives of the modern era as to who coined the phrase “Jai Jawan Jai Kishan” – they all gave me a bewildered look. Like an apologetic parent trying to divert attention from an embarrassing question asked by a kid, I quickly changed the topic and asked them as to who had said “Marbo Ekhaney Lash Porbey Shmoshaney”? They all had the answer at their finger tips.

May be this incident is a slight deviation from the topic at hand; it was just a humble attempt to highlight how the present generation is disillusioned and have not developed the interest in things they ought to know.

Coming back to our culture, my conclusion about its downfall stems from certain glaring areas where the decline is most prominent.

Game Shows- the small screen

The most popular platform for demonstrating talent today happens to be the numerous game shows which are conducted across the various Bengali television channels. Superstars of yesteryears who appear as judges or compeers are the biggest attractions for these shows where the performers display their multifaceted talents in the field of music, dance or in joke shows. In most occasions, we are left dumbstruck, silently admiring the tremendous talent that this generation possesses. What is amazing is that this ability is not restricted to kids alone; you see glimpses of the same among the youth and even middle aged housewives. Hats off to them for coming out with flying colours in their persistent endeavour but still, one cannot help asking a few questions and extremely pertinent ones at that.

As my late grandmother used to enquire about the child performers, “Accha shara bochhor jodi ora ei shob korey, tobey porashona kokhon korbey?” (If they are performing these acts throughout the year, when will they study?)

Perhaps a very valid question to ruminate about, but a bit out of place in the current context. This problem may haunt a septuagenarian who has always believed that studies hold immense importance in the life of any adolescent irrespective of his or her socio economic background but the fact is that today’s parents do not feel likewise.

Modern parents (at least one segment of them) may feel that that the real test for their three year old daughter lies in successfully replicating Madhuri Dixit’s ‘Dhak Dhak Karney Laga’ or Kajol’s ‘Jaati Hun Mein, Jaldi Hai Kya’ with the same degree of aplomb and sensuality rather than going to school and trying to find out what a tyrant like Mahmud of Ghazni did more than thousand years ago.

“Service to man is service to God”, so by entertaining people, they are indeed doing a noble act.

My question to the most esteemed parents is that what is the moral and material benefit that the child is garnering from participation in this kind of a show? Agreed, their daughter’s talent is coming to the forefront, agreed she is getting rid of the element called ‘stage fright’ but are their childhood not being ruined in the process?

To put it in Bengali, as the great man had said

“Bonyora Boney Shundor, Shishura Matri Krorey”-

(Wild animals are most beautiful when seen in the wild; a child is most beautiful when in the arms of his mother).

Please allow them to grow in the normal course, do not fast forward their childhood and make them wonder what those pelvic thrusts mean in reality.

If we corrupt our future generations, we will suffer and so will mankind. In an era already contaminated by unwarranted negative influence of electronic and print media, let us try to shield them from the wrong things rather that expose them to the naked facts and that too at an impressionable age.

Coming to the joke shows, most of the jokes that we hear today have a sexual connotation. It is as if, entertainment of any form is not complete without a reference to the three letter word. It is as if the performers forget that there is an appropriate time and forum for these things; one cannot just say anything anywhere. I do not know if there is any censor board which approves or edits these shows but all I can say is that sometime, we need to put our foot down and draw the boundary.

At times, watching these performances becomes quite embarrassing, especially if one is at home with elders.

As far as the child artistes are concerned, some of these performers will ultimately make it big, one or two may become household names, but the others will all fade away. In the process, they would have lost prime time of their lives searching for something not worth it salt.

The consciousness will not arise in these young minds; it has to come from the elders. Elders can only think in the right direction if they have the right bent of mind, if they are willing to foster the right culture, a culture which had made Bengalis a dominant force in the world, a culture which has long deserted us.

Bengali Films- from the small to the big screen

Graduating from the small to the big screen, while the level of non commercial Bengali cinema has gone up tremendously, one cannot help but only take pity at the abysmal state of commercial Bangla films.

As I proceed to evaluate Bengali Cinema of any form, one basic assumption is that Satyajit Ray does not figure in this comparison. He stands like a Colossus in the history of Bengali, Indian and even World Cinema, so drawing any comparison with him will only shame our fellowmen and skew our findings.

We have the new genre of directors like Sandip Roy, Rituparno Ghosh, and Aparna Sen who take very relevant social topics or social problems and try to convey a strong message through their movies which do not necessarily have a commercial perspective.  

 Even if there is no underlying message, it is a good reflection of the changing times. One can readily think of ‘Ballygunge Court’, a movie which explores the pain of parents whose kids have all left for US in pursuit of greener pastures; it brings tears to our eyes as we reminisce our selfish motives and complete disregard for the people who have given everything to get us to where we are.

Talk of ‘Nishi Japon’ once again a beautiful narration of the complexities of the human mind.

Talk of ‘Anuronon’, a depiction of the changing times and how individuals living under the same roof drift apart and what it leads to.

Talk of ‘Hit List’, one wonders how difference of opinion among simple people can lead to heinous crimes and what is the ultimate outcome of such action.  The list is quite long.

Movies of Prodosh Mitra (our very own Feluda) or Byomkesh Bakshi (the indomitable creation of Saradindu Bandyopadhyay) are still crowd pullers. These films may not have a social message or a commercial perspective; they do not call for too much directorial acumen as well. The sheer creative skills of Ray and Saradindu are able to carry the film. The other important factor that contributes to popularity and entertainment of these films is familiarity. We know the characters from our childhood days, we know that Byomkesh’s wife is Satyabati and how they met for the first time. We do not need anyone to tell us that Lalmohanbabu’s driver is Haripadababu and that Lalmohanbabu’s creation is Prokhor Rudro. We know the end of the story, so neither does the director have too much of flexibility to twist the story, nor will the audience accept anything different from that what they know will happen and therefore they want to see. So it is not true that the common man every time wants something very original or something outstanding, he is prepared to accept the simple things, if served in good taste.

However, in the case of commercial Bangla cinema, what we get is far from palatable.

The story line is pathetic, the dialogues are in poor taste, the outcome predictable and sitting through a fully commercial Bangla cinema can be a horrendous experience. Some of the films are blatantly copied from Hindi movies, so many of the ‘hits’ in recent times can be traced back to some Bollywood blockbuster.

What adds to the woe is that the director does not care about the fact that a village in West Bengal is radically different from that in Punjab, so the scenes shot by Kajol in ‘Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge’ cannot be replicated for a Tollywood heroine whose role is that of a girl living in some remote village of interior West Bengal.  

This stark deviation from reality makes the entire experience of sitting through the movie unbearable. As one goes through the ordeal of watching the full movie, the rational mind can only wonder what has led to this terrible decline.

It is not therefore a surprise that I would rather watch a ‘Saptapadi’ or ‘Trijama’ or ‘Bicharak’ a hundred times over rather than watch some super hit movie of recent times.

It is not as if there were no remakes in those days. Many of Uttam Kumar’s movies and hit ones at that were remakes.  ‘Jay Jayanti’ was a remake of ‘The Sound of Music’ while ‘Jhinder Bandi’ was inspired by ‘The Prisoners of Zenda’. Even ‘Ogo Bodhu Shundori’, Uttam Kumar’s last movie was inspired by ‘My Fair Lady’.

What made the difference between the remakes of those days and the remakes of today is that the director used the story as the backdrop and did the appropriate modifications, not to forget the superlative performance of the actors which added a new dimension to the movie like Soumitra Chattopadhyay’s unforgettable performance in the role of the villain ‘Mayurbahan’ in ‘Jhinder Bandi’.

Okay, enough of criticism of modern Bengali cinema. That is not to say that I do not watch new films, I do so because I feel that some of these movies are a good cure for insomnia and to develop the virtue of patience.

 I wonder at times as to whether the actors also feel that way as well or is it that they are motivated by the monetary aspect only.

I feel sorry for Bengali cinema, I feel sorry for the numerous talented actors who for lack of script or for lack of proper audience are not able to do justice to their talents or are required to things that they themselves may not appreciate. I feel sorry for the industry as a whole.

My analysis would not be complete if I do not refer to the subject of comedy. We had some of the greatest comedians of all times who not only enriched Bengali cinema but even stamped their class in Bombay film industry, most notable being the legendary Kishore Kumar and Utpal Dutt, not to forget Bhanu Bandyopadhyay, Jahar Roy, Tulshi Chakraborty , Santosh Dutta, Rabi Ghosh, Anup Kumar and Chinmoy Roy.

Who can forget the camaraderie of Soumitra Chattopadhyay, Rabi Ghosh, Anup Kumar and Chinmoy Roy in ‘Bashanta Bilap’ or the performances of Tulshi Chakraborty and Bhanu Bandyopadhyay in ‘Sharey Chuattor’ or Kishore Kumar in ‘Lukochuri’? The list of modern day comedians may be long and there is no doubt about their capabilities but the humour depicted in the movies can at best be described as “constipated”. The dialogues may appeal to the grass root level but for the logical mind, there is not much to laugh unless someone from the row behind tickles you.

Even after I have watched it a hundred times, I still want to see ‘Sharey Chuattor’. We see still burst into laughter as we see Bhanu Badyopadhyay’s episode of ‘Mashima Malpo Khamu’ or the sequence where Uttam Kumar is being followed by his mess friends as he tries to find ways of meeting and talking to Suchitra Sen. Everything is so uncomplicated, so simple, yet it has an everlasting effect on the minds of the audience.

It is a well established fact that the fate of Indian films hinges on the quality of music and the songs. People remember ‘Shaptapadi’ more by ‘Ei Poth Jodi Na Shesh Hoy’ or ‘Hospital’ by ‘Ei Shundoro Shornali Shondhaye Eki Bondoney Joraley Go Bondhu’.

However, being from the land of Tagore, I would like to take music as a separate chapter in my analysis.

One last retrospection, may be the standard set by Uttam Kumar in tandem with Suchitra Sen, Madhabi Mukherjee, Sabitri Chatterjee or Arundhati Devi  was so high that the average Bengali mind will never be able to accept any one else as the matinee idol . Also, it may be that the positive competition that existed that between Uttam Kumar and some of his compatriots like Soumitra Chattopadhyay, Biswajit Chatterjee and Anil Chatterjee took Bengali cinema to heights that will never ever be scaled.

Forget about heroes, I think the calibre of some of the supporting artistes like Kali Banerjee, Shyam Laha , Chhaya Devi to name a few, are still unparalleled.

One thing we cannot ignore is the effect of a good story. Uttam Kumar may have made Sata Bose a household name (‘Satyasundar Bose’ in ‘Chowringhee’) but one cannot forget the contribution of Shankar. Bikash Ray made the role of ‘Jibon Moshay’ immortal but then Tarashankar Bandopadhyay had to write ‘Arogya Niketan’ first. Bonophool wrote ‘Hatey Bajarey’ first, the late Ashok Kumar merely enacted the role and that he did to perfection.

One does not get to see uncomplicated fully family entertainment oriented movies like ‘Dadar Kirti’ (once again the original story was by Saradindu) or ‘Balika Badhu’, the kind of movies made by Tarun Majumdar.

It is not that present day Bengali authors are not as talented as their predecessors; somewhere the marriage between the right story, the right director, the right artistes is not happening.

Once that happens, we can expect greater things from the same industry.

Bengali Music

The other day I had the misfortune of switching on the television and coming across some movie where the hero is dancing and singing a song which when translated means that “Oh I cannot take the heat of the chilly any more, only panache is the sweet smile of your sweet face”. I was told that it is a hit song.

The state of music in Bengali films is deplorable to say the least. There is nothing new in the tune, the lyrics are mundane and one feels disgusted after hearing a song.

Talk of the yesteryears; the lyrics were touching, the music melodious and the effect  long lasting.

Love in those days, was conveyed beautifully using such sweet words. Songs like “Shaat Shagorer Parey- Amar Shopney Dekha Rajkonya Thakey” (Sagarika) still creates a different atmosphere. It is eternal, it appeals to all ages and across all times.

One still wants to hear romantic numbers like “Ke Prothom Kacchey Eshechhi, Ke Prothom Cheye Dekhechhi” (Sankhabela) or “Shurjo Dobar Pala Ashey Jodi Ashuk Besh To” (Indrani).

The words were captivating, the tune mellifluous, and the effect lingers on in our mind.

Profound love between the hero and the heroine used to be expressed in sweet words, sublime expressions and soothing music and did not need the most abused three words “Ami Tomai Bhalobashi” (I love you).

There was no element of vulgarity in the whole song. In yesteryears, the same feelings were conveyed through use of such pristine words. Who can forget Uttam Kumar and Suchitra Sen singing in ‘Idrani’

“Tarporey Shara Raat Amra Dujoney Miley Bhabbo

Hridoyer Lipikatey Ke Jeno Likhechhey Ek Kabyo

Jonakira Dwip Jweley Amader Shathey Raat Jagbey

Duti Praney Chupi Chupi Notun Shey Shur Ek Lagbe

Jonakira Jaguk Na, Parney Shur Lagook Na

Paoatey Chaoar Hobey Shesh To”

(We will wonder through the sleepless night as to who scripted our epic love story. The fireflies will stand testimony to the tune that we sing in the dark night as all our longings culminate in attaining the cherished.)

There was no dearth of emotion, yet use of metaphors left so much to imagination. It is not always that everything has to be said in so many words, let some things be assumed by the audience and that will have a different effect altogether.

Songs like ‘Jiboney Ki Pabona’(Teen Bhuboner Paarey ) where Soumitra Chatterjee plays the role of a road side Romeo in trying to eve tease Tanuja or “Hoy To Tomari Jonyo” (Teen Bhubaner Paarey) will be enjoyed for ages.

Songs with a comedy effect like ‘Ek Poloker Ektu Dekha’ (Lukochuri) or ‘Arey Kya Sharam Ki Baat’ (Chadmabeshi) are eternal creations; these songs were not the stereotyped hero heroine songs but they will remain with us forever.

Is the decline attributable to the fact that we do not have playback singers like Hemanta Mukhopadhyay, Shyamal Mitra, Gita Dutta or Manabendra Mukhopadhyay amidst us or the likes of lyricists and musicians like Gouriprasanna Majumdar,  Salil Chowdhury and Pulak Bandyopadhyay?

Today we have Bengali singers who are ruling the Bombay film industry; most notable being Shaan and Shreya Ghoshal. There lies the grief and agony; if they can rule Bombay, why cannot they resurrect Bengali film music to its former glory?

Talking of non-film music, somewhere around the eighties, we first stumbled upon songs of a different nature by a group called “Mohiner Ghoraguli”. While we had to wait for the Indian Pink Floyd Suman Chattopadhyay to make his mark through ‘Tomake Chai’,  concurrently in Bangladesh we had a host of groups like ‘Feedback’, ‘Souls’, ‘Miles’ and ‘Renaissance’ coming up with these so called ‘Jibonmukhi Gaan’.

Slowly and steadily, we had this trend in Epaar Bangla ( West Bengal) as well with the likes of Anjan Dutta, Mousumi Bhowmick, Nachiketa, Shilajit and Pallab Kirtoniya to name a few.

The first few Bengali bands to make a mark were ‘Bhoomi’, ‘Chandrabindu’, ‘Cactus’ and so on and today we have numerous ones like ‘Dohar’.

‘Jibonmukhi Gaan’, as the name suggests were songs of life.  Simple language used to convey a sense of revolt,  had a tremendous appeal to the teenage segment and created a revolution. Gradually over time, the themes assumed more mild proportions. The catalysts that contributed to the popularity of these songs were ‘catchy’ tunes, simple words interspersed with abuses to create a revolting effect and of course the theme which was designed to curse the existing state of things, all  so reminiscent of the youth.

Today we have numerous singers possessing the highest level of talent who sing in bands or as solo performers. However, with time, there has been a sharp deterioration in terms of content and quality.

Again, one gets to hear in every other song , the words ‘Raater Abdar’  or ‘Bichhanar Chadorey’ or ‘Leper Adorey’ so frequently that at times one feels the sanctity of nuptial love and conjugal relations is lost.  These songs have now lost the freshness and appeal of their initial years.

What happened in the process is that amidst all this turmoil, the so called “Adhunik Bangla Gaan” went into some kind of oblivion. Who can forget Shyamal Mitra’s golden numbers like  “Keno Tumi Phirey Eley Ami Andhokarey Khnujey Pai Ni Jarey Jodi Aloye Taarey Peley”.  In another of Shyamal Mitra’s unforgettable numbers “Dur Noye Beshi Dur Oi Shajano Shajano Bokul Boner Dharey” , the sweetness of our mother tongue  and the use of words leaves us spell bound. I die to hear words like

“ Bono Horini Torito Chokito Charaney Chomoko Lagaye Diye

Taar Cheye Bhalo Chok Duti Dekhey  Jekhaney Jeto Shey Dnariye
Shekhaney Amar Matal Hridoy Shedin Giyechhey Hariye”

( Even the frightened doe stopped in her tracks  as she witnessed the eyes of my beloved)

One still fills a sense of intoxication to hear Arati Mukherjee’s “Tokhon Tomar Ekush Bochhor Bodhoy, Aami Tokhon Ashtadoshir Chhoyaye” or “Ei Mom Jochonaye Ango Bhijiye Esho Na Golpo Kori”.

Today we do not get to here songs like “Kotha Bolo Na Keu Shobdo Koro Na Bhagoban Nidra Niyechhen Golojog Shoitey Parenna”. Tarun Bandopadhyay, Protima Bandyopadhyay and Nirmala Misra were luminaries at one point of time but the art that they practised and propagated has gradually moved into obscurity.

In summary, we have to work together to resurrect Bangla music, how and when is for all of us to see. We have the talent, we have the words, we have the tunes. It is just that we need to think in the right direction.

In the words of Tagore,

“Protidino Tobo Gatha Gabo Ami Shumodhur

Tumi Deho Morey Kotha, Tumi Deho Morey Shur”

(Everyday has been woven by Thee, give me the words and the tune to sing Thy praise)

Saving grace

Developments have their negatives but I cannot ignore the blessings of this boom. Cultural degradation may have happened but there are still some sublime moments that you can pick up from the wreck.

My three year old niece, an American by birth, after watching Gaaner Oparey on You Tube, sings to me on the phone

“Gaye Amar Pulok Lagey Chhokhey Ghonaye Ghor

Hridoye Mor ke Bnedhecchey Ranga Rakhir Dor”

(An inexplicable sense of pleasure grips me and sends me into a frenzy as I wonder who is it that has tied the pleasure strings around my heart.)

As I hear her, I can only think of what Tagore had said (who else could have said it so aptly)

“E Shudha Bochono E Shukho Porosh Angey Baajichchey Bnashi”  

(These sweet words, this pristine touch, rings all the bells)

Could I have asked for anything more ethereal?