Avatar: Liberal Guilt and Liberal Fantasies

Arawak men and women, naked, tawny, and full of wonder, emerged from their villages onto the island's beaches and swam out to get a closer look at the strange big boat. When Columbus and his sailors came ashore, carrying swords, speaking oddly, the Arawaks ran to greet them, brought them food, water, gifts. He later wrote of this in his log:

They ... brought us parrots and balls of cotton and spears and many other things..... They do not bear arms, and do not know them, for I showed them a sword, they took it by the edge and cut themselves out of ignorance... With fifty men we could subjugate them all and make them do whatever we want.

These Arawaks of the Bahama Islands were much like Indians on the mainland, who were remarkable (European observers were to say again and again) for their hospitality, their belief in sharing. These traits did not stand out in the Europe of the Renaissance, dominated as it was by the religion of popes, the government of kings, the frenzy for money that marked Western civilization and its first messenger to the Americas, Christopher Columbus.

Thus begins Howard Zinn's magnum opus "The People's History of the United States". It is a book that many a "Proud" American would place in his closet rather than his bookshelf. The stories of heroism that he tells his children in late night stories and school history books, the inheritance to the Western enlightenment and visions of democracy that he so vehemently proclaims, would be reduced to a mere exercise in rhetoric and hypocrisy, if history was known to the ordinary man as in this fashion.

James Cameron has brought out the skeleton from the closet. In this he has not said anything new. In fact a thousand activists are fighting Jake Sully's battle at this very moment, as I write. These battles are being fought with more ordinary weapons, and the familiar unfairness that God bestows upon reality. Jake Sully's tale is another fairy tale from the big screens of Hollywood, but it is unique in its exploration of the issue of development, in "entertaining, mainstream cinema", in the pop-corn munching, soda sipping multiplexes,those mosques of urbanity, which, ironically, are often the very symbols of the development that Cameron questions.

Cameron has also played out the ultimate intellectual's fantasy, in pitting the liberal,eco-friendly, pacifist, science PhD intellectual brigade against the unholy alliance of the headstrong stupid six pack, and the suave, clean shaved cold blooded calculating businessman (I was often tempted to replace W and Cheney in these two positions as I watched the movie!).As Col. Qaritch talks of pre-emptive attacks, and Selfridge talks of the quarterly earnings, the liberal is taking his sweet revenge over an world it has failed to control.

Avatar's position on the politics of development does not come out loud and clear though. In fact, it seems, it is happy to take the Luddite position, without much explanation. It is in the end, only good triumphing against the evil. But is the evil a necessary one? Avatar refrains from answering this all important question (But then, it is probably expecting too much from a fantasy film of sorts). However, it is a question that requires a deeper thought. For Avatar's villains are also the heroes that we have worshiped since the dawn of civilization. If Christopher Columbus is a shame that the white man would like to hide in the myriad descriptions of conquests, so are the early Aryans, whose invasion of India left very few traces of its original inhabitants.Almost all of the world's greatest civilizations have been constructed over the carcasses of a weaker people. Development, too, has followed a similar path. And it is not the greedy capitalist or the feudal emporer alone, who have wreaked the havoc. The cherished Empire of the people, Stalin's USSR sacrificed millions to the altar of development. Today, as India's "socialist" Government goes on a development spree to become a superpower, we see the all too familiar faces. From the Sardar Sarovar project in Gujarat, to Nandigram in West Bengal it is the same question that haunts the modern liberal intellectual, the child of Socrates and Columbus. In fact, one cannot hide a chuckle at how Art imitates life, when the Vedanta Inc. threatens to take over the Nyamgiri mountains in Orissa, home to the Nyam Raja, the deity of the Kondh tribals who inhabit the adjoining area.

Very soon, such insignificant details would be buried within the weight of history books, and the obscurity of academic theses. The history of India's development, would probably have such trivia as mere footnote, or may omit them altogether. For as Kundera says, the powers that be do not want to change the future, but want the authority to rewrite its past. As the deeds of Columbus, or W or Chidambaram are erased from the books of history, and the memory of the people, sometimes, they would peek from obscurity in the form of Clementin's fur hat, or Cameron's movie.

An Interpreter for the Bengali Diaspora

Like Ray’s globe-trotter Manomohan Mitra (in “Agontuk” or “The Stranger”)¹, the Bengali has never been a “KupoMonduk”. The Bengali migration has not just been across the barbed wires separating the two Bengals, but has often carried him across the oceans, to new continents and cultures. Jhumpa Lahiri is a product of that “Wanderlust”. More than any other writer of her time, Jhumpa has emerged as a spokesperson of her generation, one that has been born and brought up outside Bengal, spent their lives far away from the sights and sounds of this land. It is a life lived in a myriad of fragmented cultural identities. The middle class Bengali values of home, the All-American values at school and the big wide world, the Indian identity at Diwali, all combine, collide, embrace and sometimes repel each other in this strange whirlwind of immigrant existence. We have met this generation, often looked at them with the curiosity of a stranger, but have never quite been able to fathom the complexities and confusions that surround their lives.

It is a generation, often misunderstood, by Bengalis at home, and at large, by the Indian community, which alludes to the word “A.B.C.D” with deriding connotations. But such casual, offhand criticisms do little in understanding the complex dynamics of the American born Bengali generation. The one dimensional clichés that have existed in Bollywood (and very recently in Tollywood too) in the name of “crossover cinema” have only worked in order to enhance these widely believed stereotypes, but have failed to give us a more nuanced look at this generation. Jhumpa, on the other hand, tells the tales of more ordinary people, multihued characters who are far away from the cartoonish caricatures of pop culture. In the “Namesake”, Moushumi Majumder (often described as a character close to Jhumpa’s own self) does not try to balance Bollywood and ballet, nor is she given to the stereotype of the Western Bengali fawning over “Baul”. Moushumi is intelligent, self assured, reads French feminist theory, and carries herself in her own friend’s circle without the burdens of expressing her Indianness.

But questions of identity creep in more subtly into her literature. The sense of belonging or the absence of it expresses itself in strange ways through the pages of her stories. To some, the faraway land that one has left behind becomes a mere detail in their lives. Dev, in “Sexy”, defines his identity simply by a point in the map of the subcontinent. Beyond that, he says to his girlfriend, there’s “nothing she’ll need to worry about”. It was a life that he was prepared to forget, just like the wife he had at home, in those precious moments with Miranda. While some forget easily, others cling to their identities with a zealous passion like Mrs. Sen. She wears her identity in multi colored sarees (and stores more of it in the form of more sarees in the wardrobe), her cravings for fish and in her refusal to adapt to the customs of the new land.

The house has come up as a dominant motif in diaspora literature, time and again. In Naipaul’s protagonist Mohan Biswas, whose life is in many ways a symbolism for the existence of the displaced amidst others, we notice the strange yearning to own a house, a tract of land that he can call his own. Amidst strange people in strange places, one’s own house becomes the only expression of a threatened identity. Sanjeev, in “the Blessed House”, becomes zealously protective of his home. Although not overtly religious, he violently opposes the placing of Christian memorabilia in his home. His repeated insistence signals the insecurity that he faces over his identity, and that he wants to cling on to the image of the house that he presents to strangers as the only source of his identity in a foreign land.

The sense of displacement is also often accompanied by the pangs of separation. None expresses it better than Mr. Pirzada. Mr. Pirzada’s life is an anachronism in the most literal sense. The arms of the small pocket watch that he carries, points to the time in Bangladesh, where he regularly calls his own near and dear ones. The concept of time, in this foreign place, carries to him, no other meaning. There can be no better symbolism of displaced existence, one that captures the protagonist in that one small idiosyncratic moment, and reveals him in such great detail. While new identities are created, old identities which have expressed themselves so fiercely elsewhere merge seamlessly in this distant land. The two Bengals come together at the dining table as Mr. Pirzada “eats rice with his bare hands”, and the baffled young child expresses, as nobody else can, the futility of partition. “It made no sense to me” she says “Mr. Pirzada and my parents spoke the same language, laughed at the same jokes….chewed fennel seeds after meals as a digestive…. Nevertheless, my father insisted that I learnt the difference”.

Finally, the greatest source of cultural confusion, as Jhumpa has correctly identified it, is names. Which immigrant has not faced this situation, when in an apparently friendly crowd, the harmless question of “What is your name” suddenly creates that odd feeling of isolation, when you want to look away from the prying eyes? To Gogol Ganguli, life’s confusions start with his own name, a name that suddenly separates the All-American kid from his peers. To the young Dixit girl (in the story “Sexy”), who used to be taunted with “The Dixits dig shit” in her school bus stop, the Indian name is more than a source of confusion, it is a deep scar that she will carry throughout her life. It is Jhumpa’s ability to put into paper these small fleeting moments of humiliation and shame that makes her a great writer.

But Lahiri, inspite of the rich social experiences portrayed through her writings, is hardly an “academic’s writer” or a “postcolonial poster girl”. She is, rather, a “writer’s writer”, more of a craftsman, one who carves a beautiful narratives out of everyday existence. Jhumpa is a product of that new generation of writers, whose training in writing has been in the “creative writing” classrooms of Ivy League universities, leafing through the Janet Burroways and the Yellow Gotham softcovers. One can see in her the qualities of a trained writer, a sharp eye for detail and complex character sketches. She eyes the Bengali life with the wonder and the curiosity of an outsider. The intricacies of mundane Bengali life take a new color in her pen. When the young child wonders why Pranab kaku barges into the house without knocking or an appointment, or Mr. Pirzada makes a deep well in the rice to pour more lentil soup, or when Eliot notes with surprise as Mrs. Sen uses “a blade that curved like the prow of a Viking ship” (“bnoti”) to cut vegetables, it is only Jhumpa who stands with one feet on each aisle can capture these tiny, insignificant moments so beautifully. Her building of a scene often reminds one of John Updike. Like Updike, her portrayal of small town America is rich in detail and imagination, signaling a sensuous engagement with reality.

But perhaps Jhumpa’s greatest strength is in her portrayals of characters. Through each small incident, each idiosyncrasy, she slowly and painfully constructs her characters. Each of her characters is a different human being, one who deals and lives with her immigrant identity in her own unique way. They are often lovable, sometimes selfish, but they resonate with the warmth of proximity. Take Aparna for example, the protagonist’s mother in the story “Hell Heaven”². Even when she emerges as a control freak mother to her teenage daughter, we never forget the greyer shades of her character. Her muted expression of love for Pranab kaku, her unhappy marriage and confinement in a foreign land, her conservative Bengali values, all reinforce each other to create a character that is richly layered. But amidst all these complications, she never seems a distant woman, a woman who could reside only in the pages of a novel. In moments that she longs to hear “Boudi”, or discusses “Nargis, Raj and the umbrella” with the bubbliness of a teenager, we could see in her the newly married girl next door. It is this ability to build convincing and endearing characters that separates Jhumpa from the scores of others in the same trade.

The major criticism against Jhumpa is that she has rarely stepped beyond the Bengali-American perspective. New York Magazine, in speaking of her new book, writes “Unaccustomed Earth is, once again, about upwardly mobile South Asians from New England”.³ But then Hardy never went beyond Wessex or Faulkner beyond the Yoknapatawpha County. R.K Narayan never went beyond the small town in South India, nor did Jhumpa’s other idol Gogol go beyond cold and damp St. Petersburg. Jhumpa herself retorts “It baffles me. Does John Updike get asked this question? Does Alice Munro? It’s the ethnic thing, that’s what it is. And my answer is always, yes, I will continue to write about this world, because it inspires me to write, and there’s nothing more important than that.”³ Writing is a craft that’s deeply personal. Stories are not drawn out of vacuum, but out of cold hard reality. But the writer does not merely document reality, she transcends its objectivity. Jhumpa has done it time and again, telling us how upwardly-mobile-South-Asians-in-New-England is not just a stereotype, but an endless variety of faces whose lives and dreams represent the world itself in a microcosm. In doing this, Jhumpa has ushered in a new era in Indian literature, and we hope, there comes out more of her kind, “from Jhumpa’s Overcoat”.

References:
1. http://www.satyajitray.org/films/agantuk.htm
2. http://www.newyorker.com/archive/2004/05/24/040524fi_fiction
3. http://nymag.com/arts/books/profiles/45571/?imw=Y

The post originally appeared in "Bangalnama". This is a very interesting webzine run by a group of friends, in an effort to chronicle and celebrate the culture, politics and identity of (erstwhile) East Bengal. It is an issue close to my heart, as it is an history whose bits and pieces I have grown up seeing. The webzine contains a number of interesting posts, which I would highly recommend.

Bikes and Boyhood Memories

As I lifted my new bike up the stairs of my Apartment, I remembered an older bike, thinner and lightweight. I, too, was then, a skinny young teenager, so different from my present persona. I used to lift the bike on my shoulders, my thin frame barely managing to carry it beyond the first floor stairwell. Slim, maroon, shining new, and it was probably one of the few possessions that I was careful to keep that way. Most memories rust, like neglected furniture in monsoon verandahs, but a precious few must be remembered sometimes, wiped clean of dust, to whisper to us, of happier times, more carefree days.

The bike was an everyday companion, one with whom I have probably spent more lonely evenings in little known neighborhoods, than with the best of friends. Small town “mophoswol” childhoods are blessed with a certain feeling of reassurance. Neighborhoods may be unknown, but were rarely unfriendly. I may drift far away, but down a few blocks, I will always know a “kaku” or “dada”, the kind who always knew how to set things right (or so it seemed back then). Long relaxing bike rides across winding alleys, the wayward slum off the township, or planned officer quarters with neatly trimmed gardens started becoming the time I looked forward to, through boring classes on moral science, geography and SUPW.

As dusk settled on blast furnaces and employee quarters, middle aged housewives peeked from their balconies, their eyes still heavy with contented “bhaat ghum”sand a cup of tea in their hands. The cacophony in the kitchen would announce “Kaajer mashi’s” hurry in doing the last utensils of the day, and a tea cup with a Mary’s biscuit at the corner of the plate, would sum up the Bengali idea of “bikelbela”. I would meanwhile, find an excuse to sneak out, carry my cycle downstairs, and away!

It was that time of life, when thinking of profound questions gave me a feeling of wisdom, a sudden heady feeling of being grown up. Big names crowded my head, and “reflection” had suddenly turned into an activity. It was also a time of guilty pleasures. It was in one of those bike rides, a few neighborhoods away, when I gathered up the courage to go and ask a middle aged shopkeeper “ekta filter wills”, feigning the offhand air of a regular. I still remember how I felt dizzy, after my first cigarette, and was almost falling off the cycle. But of all feelings, the sweetest was that of freedom. My protective Bengali childhood, the expectation of peers and parents, the stress of end semester, the pressure to conform to changing fashions of teenage, and most of all, the pressure of growing up, were all tossed by the wayside, as the bicycle whizzed past neighborhood houses.

Today, visions of neat, orderly, contented American life, with plasma Television sets flashing in the living room, and water raining down upon bushes trimmed with geometric precision pass me as I ride down the slopes of Pittsburgh’s hilly terrains. This land feels strange, the smell of the earth unknown, but I can feel the same bliss of freedom on a bicycle seat, that my younger self felt years, years ago.

P.S. The post is heavy on Bengali words. So, here is an appendix.

"mophoswol" :small town

"kaku":Uncle

"Dada":Elder brother

"bikelbela":dusk

"kaajer mashi": housemaid

"bhat ghum": En extended nap after a heavy lunch (which consists mainly of rice and curries)

"ekta filter wills": "One filter Wills please" ("Filter Wills" is a popular brand of cigarette)

Musings

This is more of a note to myself than a blogpost.
I just started reading William Barrett's "Irrational Man: A study in existential philosophy".
I have merely read through 30-40 pages, but I can feel that same sense of excitement, that I had encountered when I was first introduced to Postmodernist thought. In a sparsely populated classroom of a fourth year IIT elective, a most lucid and wonderful teacher had introduced the engineer to Beckett and Camus.

Now, as I try to make sense of postmodernist thought, trying to break through the shackles of fashionable jargon mongering that much of this field is believed to be about, I find in Barrett, the most able guide.

Dostoyevsky seems to make more sense to me now. Raskalnikov's critique of the liberal rationalism that was pervading Russia at the later half of the 19th century seems more fathomable. With the advent of the modern industrial age, as science made inroads into the very depths of the human mind, faith, with all its elaborate rituals and symblisms which had given man strength and purpose, was slowly eroding away from human cosciousness. The great void, a nothingness,surrounded this loss of faith. For the rationalist philosophies which emerged out of this churning never adressed mankind's most intimate issues.
Marxism believed in religion as the opium of the masses, the sigh of the opressed, and it sought to drown the individual within rigid definitions of class. However, what the rationalist philosophies failed to capture was the despair of the modern man, the irrational being whose consciousness transcended the mere mechanics of rational beliefs, whose thoughts were much more than elements made of simple building blocks that the English empiricists loved to play with.

And the journey of the modern man has not been easy, as he has traversed to fill this void that the disappearance of faith has created. Through Nietzsche's sufferings, through Dostoyevsky,Kiekergaard we finally come to the existentialists.

Blogging the elections

I know I am late in the party. The elections have already begun, and the great festival of democracy has reached the zenith of excitement. The war of words have taken ugly turns, the "musical chair" of the less reliable partners is also in full swing. Twenty four hour news channels no longer have to rack their brains to come up with inconsequential news items to fill that void in the "Breaking News" category. The TV channels are having a feast, and so is, I imagine, the middle aged Indian male. Finally, in the battle for the "TV remote control" , there is a credible excuse!

But where do we start analyzing the elections? Is it an election of many firsts? or is it simply a repetition of the same old game of coalition politics, the same "dirty politician's game" that much of middle class India seems to be tired of?

The foremost difficulty in giving a fair perspective of general elections is the problem of memory. Elections come once in five years, and the news that had created waves five years back, the headlines that we had swallowed eagerly has already gone out of our minds. We dont even remember the high drama of the previous elections, the feuds that began and the friendships that were forged, the promises that were made, and the critiques that were made (of the previous regime).

However, to start off, probably all of us acknowledge, that the elections are being fought at times that are quite remarkable, in its own accord. The global economic meltdown has forced the Government in the backfoot. Surely, anti-incubency factor would help the Opposition. However, the BJP does not seem to be interested in cashing in on this issue. This is of course, quite predictable, given that their economic stance has always been more pro free market, pro capitalist. Hence, it is impossible for them to suddenly come out and acknowledge the obvious failures of a newo-liberal economic agenda, and press for a more closed economic system. This wouls also dent their middle class voter base, who depend on the BJP to push forward a more pro-reform policy. The only parties who are at a perfect position to exploit the accidental coincidence of the meltdown and the elections, are the Left parties. They are doing their bit, in blowing their trumpet on how they saved India from being badly hurt by obstructing the reform agenda when they were sharing power. However, the influence of the Left is limited to a few States, and much of their energy in West Bengal is spent on having a one to one battle with Mamata Banerjee,the mercurial leader of Opposition. Little else matters there, as far as election campaigning is concerned.

This is also an election marked by a lack of frenzy, a lack of an utopian hope on a new order, of change that is going to show a new path. Rather, it seems to an election where keeping the house in order seems more important, than shooting for the star. This also looks rather odd, when we look back, and see that the last big election that we followed was an election of huge promises, the "hope for a change". While America was fighting for change amidst an economic recession, and a terrible blunder of a wasteful war, in another part of the world, in a matter of few months, we are seeing an election, where the country is having an election on rather dull issues, and spicy non-issues, where there is little that is expected from each side. India has seen more exciting elections. BJP riding on the Ram Mandir wave, or more recently on the "India Shining" wave, a byuoyant Congress riding on the Gandhi factor. However, all this have become cliche now.
Hence, to keep up the pace, we only see a battle of words between two rather dull people, people for whom words cannot spell the same magic as it could have done for better politicians.

So much for now. It will be a rather busy week in terms of academics, but I promise to come back here and keep up my election blogging.

The Spicy Chicken Curry

Cooking,to me, is a weekend luxury, and an integral part of that grand narrative, often described as the "grad student experience". As a rule, I never take the trouble to go through the detailed rituals of Bengali cooking, in weekdays. Weekend evenings, however, are filled with th fragrance of exotic spices, and the smoke alarm lies in the table, its batteries stripped off.
What do I call it, the "chicken kalia", the "chicken bharta", the "chicken korma"? It matters little to a novice like me. Also, not being a "food blogger" technically, I will take the liberty of not classifying the dish into a specialized compartment.
I shall only say, that in this big wide world, I differentiate the tastes of Bengali chicken, into two subclasses. In one class is the "jhol", chicken pieces floating in an enticing watery soup, one that used to be the staple of elaborate Sunday lunches, back in my childhood. Bengali food bloggers often use the name "Robbarer chicken"(The Sunday chicken), which I find immensely nostalgic, and can identify myself readily with the origins of the name. The Sunday chicken is a delicacy, that I have never ever eaten outside, and is actually, an extremely tough dish to make, though you may think on the contrary. It is the simplicity of the dish, and the lack of spices, that makes it tough for a novice cook, who attempts to hide his lack of intution behind the mystifying effect of a concoction of spices, that might entice the indian food novice.
The second, is the chicken with a spicy gravy, one that is relished with a "Roti" or a "Naan" (Indian bread), one which I have ordered in restaurants without fail, since the time I have started eating out.
Still today, the perfect dinner for me, is spicy chicken curry, with Bread.
Hence, the Saturday aventure.Without more ado, let me present to you, my version of the spicy chicken curry. A bachelor, as I am, the quantities are meant for 1 person. Of course, I must caution you, in cooking, the multiplication of spices,does not proceed in a simple linear fashion.

Ingridients

1. Mustard Oil: Chicken needs lots of oil (My weekend cooking is exempt from the general principles of healthy food that I attempt to adhere to)

2. Whole Garam Masala (This is a mixture of spices that my mother used to make at home, but you can find the mixture at any Indian Grocery Store)

3. Onion: 1 (Assuming onions in your kitchen are as big as the ones that abound the supermarkets in Pittsburgh)

4. Ginger Paste

5. Plain Yougurt

6. Minced Garlic (I used the readymade one)

7. Salt

8. Two Split Chicken Breasts

9. Ground Garam Masala (another Indian Store specialty, unless your mom put it in your suitcase while leaving home)

10. Salt

11. Sugar

13. Bay Leaves

14. Green Chilli :1

15. Ground chilli
Method:

• Cut the onion into half. Put half of the onion into the mixer with a little water. Make a paste of the onion.
• Cut the chicken into medium sized pieces
• Put the chicken pieces in a bowl. Pour the onion paste into it. Add 2-3 spoons of ginger paste, about half a spoonful of minced garlic (I am not so sure about the garlic, as I have grown up in a non-garlic household. However, I just add a pinch, influenced by the bengali cooking experts on the internet). Add about 4-5 Spoons of Yogurt. 1-1.5 spoon ground Garam Masala and about 1/2 a spoon of turmeric.Add about 1/2 a spoon of ground chilli (Depends on how spicy it is). Cover the chicken and let it marinate for a couple of hours. The more, the merrier. When I plan in advance for guests, I would generally do this process the day before, and let the chicken marinade overnight. However, the bachelors own eating plans are never made days in advance, and hence a couple of hours is the standard advice. In my scant experience, I have found marination to be an extremely useful tip in the chicken cook's bag of tricks. The more you marinade the chicken, the more the juices go into it, it becomes softer, and the less you have to cook it.However, you need not worry if you want to skip the marination part also. If you are in a real hurry, just leave it for 5-10 minutes, while you are arranging the other stuff, and getting the oil to heat up.
• Okay, part One is over. Come back after two hours. Put 4-5 spoons of mustard oil in the pan and heat.
  
• While the oil is heating, slice the other halkf of the onion that is left.
• Once the oil is smoking hot,Put the bayleaves.
• Now put the onions into the hot oil. Be careful to stir the onion continously, otherwise the hot oil will cause the onion to burn black. This is one of the most common mistakes of the novice cook. You must cook the onions only till they are transparent. Never let them turn dark brown.
• Put 1 spoon of sugar. The sugar in US really does not do anything to the taste. In this case,it is advantageous, because I want the sugar only for the color. If its the Indian sugar, add less.
• As the onion starts turning transparent, add the whole Garam Masala. I just add it with my hand. It is difficult to give an exact estimate, but lets say 1 spoon. Keep stirring it in this whole process. Otherwise, the masala will get burnt spoiling the whole effort.
• When the onion starts turning brown, add the marinated chicken.I add 1-2 more tablespoons of oil at this point. Since most of the initial oil is now spent in frying the onions and whole garam masala..Voila! you are done. thats it to the "adding ingridients" process. The rest is the painful task of stirring it throughout the cooking procedure.
• Make sure, throughout the process, the gas is set at high. Now, keep stirring it, coating the chicken with the masalas. I cannot overemphasize the importance of continously stirring the whole concoction, for otherwise, the oil will burn the masala, which will stick to the bottom of the pan, and this will spoil the whole taste ( I have burned it a number of times, and hence, the advice, even at the cost of repetition).
• Add about 2 spoons of salt (or as per your own estimate).
• Add one sliced green chilli.
  
• The gas should be high, and the pan uncovered, so that the water evaporates. Then, the masala, as well as the chicken will get fried in the oil. The process should continue for a painful 20-25 minutes (Trust me you will get more than compensated when you start eating!). As you keep stirring it continously, you will find the oil is seperating from the spices. This process is called "koshano" and is an integral part of the art of bengali cooking.Its also one of the cook's "Nirvana" moments, when he finds that he has learnt the art to perfection, and without burning the spices, he has managed to get the separation.
  
• Keep adding little water when you feel the spices are sticking to the pan. Add water, and let it evaporate, then add a little more water. You should do this a couple of times.
• If you have not had the chance to marinade the chicken, you can cover it cook for about 10 minutes, so that the chicken gets cooked properly.
• Then remove the cover, and let the water evaporate, so that you are left only with a thick gravy.
  
• Remove the pan from the stove.
• The best way to eat the dish, as I said, is with Naan, or Roti.
  

Issues and Non Issues

So is this a new trend in this year's elections?
Or is it my memory turning rusty?

First there was Varun Gandhi, the neglected stepson of the Gandhi family, playing hard to make it to the frontpages. Then there was the non descript journalist from some mediocre Hindi daily, hurling shoes at Chidambaram in the Bush way. There's Narendra Modi discussing some shit about "Budiyas" and "Gudiyas", which I have not even cared to listen to.

Elections in India, just as in other parts of the world, have always been fought over fancy issues, over utter non issues. But, this, somehow, is carrying politics beyond levels of ridicule.

The country has a lot on its plate. There is an Indian economy that is fighting its own battles over an inclusive model of development, and is being further tested by the recession, that is shaking the very foundations of the free market. Then, there is the issue of security, one which the BJP, one would have thought, would aggressively campaign about.
However, these campaigns have been a damp squib. What has taken centerstage, rather, is the Advani-Manmohan battle of words, or the shoe throwing tantrum.

One wonders, what happened to serious democracy?
When cricket has reduced itself to IPL, has the election also reduced itself to a few fast food'esqe news bytes on the front page?

I have been reading some African-American literature in bits and pieces for the past few weeks. Not that I had specially planned to educate myself about this dark underbelly of American culture in some systematic fashion, but it just happened that the books that I picked up at random in the last few weeks, among my busy APS meeting schedule, were loosely in that genre.

BTW, the APS meeting was great. It was a busy week, getting to know peers and listening to very fascinating talks. It is one of those moments, when you look up from the drudgery of everyday research, and can have a birds-eye-view of the fascinating research that is going on around you, and can feel the passion and excitement of fellow researchers, highly motivated to do good science. My talk went well, and it was especially motivating to hear words of encouragement from people in the community, having the highly reassuring feeling, that the research that I am doing is indeed important to the community, and the problem is not trivial or unimportant to people in the community.

Back to African American literature. I picked up Maya Angelou's "Heart of a Woman" from the thrift sales in the campus. I would not consider her a great literary talent. I have read better writers, definitely, but the story of her life is fascinating. She has lived through exciting times, been through the whole sixties/seventies thing, and has the uncanny ability to attract the best and the brightest, towards her. From Billie Holiday to Malcolm X, her fate has crisscrossed with the most famous of her generation. When Black America was fighting its greatest fights, Maya Angelou was at the center of the action, in Harlem. She was fighting with Martin Luther King, hobnobbing with the black intellegentsia at the Harlem Writer's Association, was sometimes living the struggling black woman's life,singing in the city's poorer night clubs, fighting the loneliness of the single middle aged black woman, or struggling to become a good mother to her son. What her story,as well as Barack's story reveals is an aspect that we often miss out on, while concentrating on the more "important aspects" of the racial question. The questions that foremost come to our mind are more stark issues, that of equality in rights, harassment in workplace or in the street etc.

But what we generally tend to miss out in these more controversial political questions, are the very deep personal struggles of a man, the more subtle problems, which go beyond the more political definition of "discrimination". When Maya sees her otherwise well behaved son threatening to resort to violence, to counter a threat given by a local teenage hoodlum, we feel the helplessness of the Black mother, fighting not only against discriminations, but against a society that has been created out of it. There is little an individual can do, to prevent her loved ones getting sucked into this vicious circle of Black crime(fortunately she manages to do something dramatic in this case).

Obama presents pictures of a more subtle form of discrimination.In his own words:
"Still the feeling that something wasn't quite right stayed with me, a warning that sounded whenever a white girl mentioned in the middle of conversation how much she liked Stevie Wonder, or when a woman in the supermarket asked me if I played basketball, or when the school principal told me I was cool.............".

One is instantly reminded of Dubois.
"Between me and the other world there is ever an unasked question: unasked by some through feelings of delicacy; by others through the difficulty of rightly framing it. All, nevertheless, flutter round it. They approach me in a half-hesitant sort of way, eye me curiously or compassionately, and then, instead of saying directly, How does it feel to be a problem? they say, I know an excellent colored man in my town; or, I fought at Mechanicsville; or, Do not these Southern outrages make your blood boil? At these I smile, or am interested, or reduce the boiling to a simmer, as the occasion may require. To the real question, How does it feel to be a problem? I answer seldom a word."

There is probably no other man who has expressed the deepst wounds of the Black man in as many words. Beyond the political struggles, beyond the questions of rights or affrimative action, it is probably these hidden spears in the most casual of smalltalks, that hurts the Black man the most.

(P.S. I am halfway through the Obama book. He again amazes me. I did not expect such powerful writing skills from such an amateur writer. He expresses himself with a passion that is unequalled by any other commentator. BTW,Dubois is next on my reading list. So,more on this next time)

A Cafe Evening

The music melts into the ears as an integral part of the decor. The lights seem to reflect my moods, or does it define them? The sunlight which comes through the frosted glass panes, that open up to the busy thoroughfare, is the only sense of time, that one can feel inside. Twilight seems to stretch infinitely, even in the cold wintry evenings, slowing down time, as if the laziness inside seems to affect the celestial order.

The large porcelain coffee cup stares into my face. I always love my coffee dark. That's the way I have always had it, since my awkward "fresh off the boat" experimentations. The waitress knows this. She never asks. Her warm smile has a familiarity that separates her from the tons of other smiles that one encounters at the more big, professional stores.

I never put sugar in my coffee. It somehow gives me the odd feeling of trying to artificially sweetening the bitterness. Is coffee bitter? or probably its the inner bitterness that just talks to you in your most solitary moments. Have you noticed your coffee speaking to you? Doesn't it taste different on drowsy weekday mornings, when the dread of the impending work, as well as last night's fatigue, fights against the caffeine in your mind? Or when the day's 7th cup on the "day before the deadline" suddenly gives that odd feeling making you want to throw up?
But this coffee is different. It seems soothing. The fatigue of the weekdays melt away as you feel the evening is going to last for ever. The quiet sips, and the words of your book, they will go on and on. Neither sleep, nor the watch will intrude.

The white porcelain cup is stained with coffee drops, creating strange patterns. The fluid dynamicist in me is amused. I gaze into it for some time, then go back to my book. Tension is building up within the characters in my novels. I look up again. I need a break. I turn my head an notice my neighbors. The strange unfamiliarity that surrounds unknown faces, the blankness that reveals nothing, makes me think, if they can ever be characters in a book? If they can ever express the variety of emotions, if their lives were ever touched by most incredulous people, the most weird events, if their eyes can tell stories of lands far away?

The girl beside me is typing away in her computer, what is perhaps a school assignment. She never does the occasional "looking up" act. Her eyes are staring at the screen intently, from behind those nerdy,minimalist glasses, that you often encounter in engineering grad schools. Her nails are unkempt, and her dress seems so hastily put up that you would imagine she went out of the house in a great hurry.

There's a woman at the table to my left. Her thick glasses and age that speak through the wrinkled patch of skin around her eyes, tell of a life spent in intense scholarly pursuit. I take a peep at the book lying in her table. Its the obscure stuff that is the holy grail of liberal art academics, and wannabe intellectual parties, where they are blurted out with little understanding. Beside her is the so-familiar "Shantiniketan Jhola", that great hallmark of Indian intellectual tradition.

The chair beside that hosts an younger man with a athletic build. He is the adventurer guy, the one who hikes in mountain trails, goes to unknown arid lands, and would probably tell you tales of his treks in mount Kilimanjaro or about smoking grass somewhere up in the icy confines of the mighty Himalayas, if you strike up a friendly conversation with him. The very light hint of the golden beard gives a certain softness to his face when the light falls on it. He is sifting through a book of photographs. Its like the ones you see in National Geographic magazines. He has a camera beside him, on the table, the one whose complicated design assures you of its infinite powers of optical trickery.

There's an young couple to my right. Dressed immaculately, both of them have a glass of hot chocolate in the table. They talk softly, as if of great secrets, and carefully hidden wisdom. Their hands often touch, hinting at that charming unfamiliarity of strangers just fallen in love. A pair of sleek mobile phone lie on the table, its screen brightening up at intervals, announcing ethereal communications, from acquaintances elsewhere.

My eyes travel again to my book. I take a sip at my coffee. The last sip is all that is left. I always take the last sip, unlike the "tea tradition" that I had learned from my father. I get up ot order the second cup. The waitress' familiar smile welcomes me.

Samajwadi,Left and the ethics of politics

A new 24 hour soap opera is playing out in the corridors of power in Delhi in the recent days,following the debates on the nuclear Deal. This is the kind of mega serial that we have been used to, since the days of coalition politics have begun. Remember Vajpayee's 13 day Government or the drama surrounding DeveGowda's resignation in the days of the Third Front.

These dramas have given rise to new kinds of politicians, the "deal brokers". The greatest of them all is a one time small grocery shop owner from Kolkata,a man called Amar Singh. Amar Singh is having a gala time these days, happily playing his role as the King maker.

While on end of the spectrum is Amar Singh, whose stands on important issues can change faster that a chameleon changes color, on the other end is the ever-so-stubborn Prakash Karat. It is in these times of crisis that the true colors of politicians and parties come out.

The media and a portion of the Congress party has been consistently blaming Karat and the Left Front for opposing the Government's developmental plans (read neo-liberal reforms) and coming in the way of functioning of the Government. However, the politics of the Left has always been straightforward. CPI(M) has never joined the Government in the history of independent India,even when Jyoti Basu was openly offered the Prime Ministerial berth by Sonia Gandhi after Deve Gowda's resignation (If it were the Samajwadi Party,or some such, it would have fallen head over heels over such an offer:) ). It has given its support from the outside, always maintaining that it has irreconciliable differences with the Congress Party. The Party's opposition to policies has also been consistent, and even its worst enemy would not blame that Karat has flip-flopped based on secret meetings in 10 Janpath (discussing you-know-what).

That is what the Left is doing even today. With SP supporting the UPA,the Left is virtually isolated now. However,that does not bring them to a compromise on the issues of policy. Also, in the short run, it was not at all in the advantage of the Left to withdraw support from the Govt. It is not in a good shape in West Bengal where it has fared badly both in the Panchayet and the Municipal elections. Also,it is in power in all the three States it is most powerful in (West Bengal,Kerala and Tripura) and with the rising inflation, there will be a huge anti-incubency factor acting against it due to the price rise. Thus, strategically speaking, the Left would want to delay the polls for a few months now. However, these short term political complusions have not caused the Left to make U turns in policy decisions.

Let us take a peek into the Samajwadi Party's role now. SP, probably on account of their Muslim votebank,had been opposed to the Nuclear Deal till about a week ago. Suddenly, at the press conference of the UNPA, Master Blaster Amar Singh says, their knowledge and concerns on the Nuclear Deal are based on what the newspapers have said and what their "Communist friends" are said. (Here again, this time more clearly,"I am in constant touch with Prakash Karat on nuclear deal. Everything we know about the N-deal is through the Left parties.....")

Wow!! I mean Wow!!!

Leave alone a responsible political party, does even a responsible adult individual form opinions based on their neighbor's judgements? Thus, we come to know that the SP's opinion on this important issue was not based on its own judgement of the situation,but simply from hearsay.The next episode, meticulously planned by Amar Singh, is to land up straight on the doors of former President APJ Abdul Kalam (I suspect Mr. Singh had a secret phone call with Ekta Kapoor that afternoon). Now,while Abdul Kalam may be knowledgable on the technical aspects of the deal (its effects on India's atomic research etc.),his knowledge on its political fallout (Concerns on India's strategic alliance with the United States) may only be as much as that of a layman. Therefore, to hold a single individual's views as sacred and immediately declaring a 180 degree turn on policies is "naive", at best. It was a poor attempt to hoodwink the people who have voted them to power, who expect them to take a principled stand on issues, irrespective of the kickbacks or the ministerial berths that they recieve. The drama probably does not end there, for to support the UPA Govt. is to support not only the N Deal, but its various other policies (economic for instance),which they had been opposing tooth and nail till a few days ago.

And the worst part is that portions of the media, and a large part of the "Shining India" seem to have turned their backs to these facts in a frenzy of left bashing. Or it probably says a lot about the priorities of a certain section regarding issues such as "ethics" and "ideologies".

The Edwards Endorsement. What it means?

Barack Obama long deserves a mention in this blog. I have probably never been influenced or felt more hopeful about a political personality. Barack Obama's struggle, from the community worker in Chicago's Southside, to a lone force looking to give a "sane" political alternative, in the neocon dominated American politics, is, to say the least, inspiring.

However, as Obama painfully realizes, as he is choking in the death overs (much like the Indian cricket team), that he is an "Outsider". His liberal values, extraordinary upbringing does not go down well with a large section of America's voters. The "white,blue collar" is more interested in trusting in a woman who had supported a needless war, and is breaking the ethics of intraparty politics in a series of vicious attacks.

In view of this white, blue collar votebank, the Edwards endoresement, which came a few days ago, can probably dramatically swing things in Obama's favor. For no one has talked about poverty, and the interest of workers in this election more than John Edwards. A joint ticket, will definitely boost the white voter's confidence in the Dems.

If it doesn't, then even if the numbers play out in favor of Obama in the convention, it can probably not carry him to the White House. As Hillary campaigns more aggressively, Obama's weaknesses are showing clearly. The average blue collar white swing voter (and even some Dems) going against him will kill the Democrat's best chance in a decade. A Democratic electorate fragmented over the issues of race giving an walkover to Mccain will really be a pity.

This whole IPL thing

The corporate world had long realized that there was a huge,huge market to be trapped in the emerging "Shining" Indian Economy. "Cricket" is that one emotion, that almost every Indian is passionate about, irrespective of caste, creed or religion. From giant screens in plush shopping malls, to small,generator operated TV sets in shanties and slums, it is the thing that defines the sense of being Indian.

Back in my childhood, I remember, this was the one thing, except probably for politics, that sparked off raging debates in fish markets,roadside tea stalls, or in the young teenagers' smoking joints. The older generation fondly tells stories of how they had watched the '83 finals in their newly bought TV sets, on the common "paraa" ones. The 90s generation has its memories of the Hero Cup, the Pakistan match in the World Cup, or the Eden debacle against Sri Lanka. We have grown up with the art of Azhar, the genius of Sachin, and then found a new hero in Ganguly, the man whose mental toughness as well as cricketing skills have never ceased to amaze me.

Thus, if there is one investment that Corporate India can feel safe about, even among the fears of Worldwide recession, it is Cricket. It is therefore, of no doubt, that money has poured into the IPL, and Indian cricket has ceremoniously married its popular counterpart, "The Bollywood", in what could aptly be described as a marraige of convenience.

However, as I sat down to watch the IPL, I could not remain oblivious of the changes that the game has undergone in this attempt to become "Manoranjan ka Baap",(The Father of all Entertainment) as its catchline describes it. The ranting may seem a little cliched and conservative, but I could not but help noticing that the beauty that has been so long associated with the game and has kept us glued to TV sets throughout our childhood is fast vanishing, in this fast food packaging.

The ungrammatical shots, the baseball like pinch hitting, has reduced the game to a mere show of sixes,providing an adrenalin rush to a houseful crowd. The classic defensive shot, or an elegant square cut for a single, have become useless appendages that the batsman must cut off from his repertoire, for the game has now become less about the celebration of style, and more about "instant entertainment".

I wonder what a Gavaskar or a Geoffrey Boycott would have done, faced with a career option such as this. No wonder, Rahul Dravid, probably the most stylish and technically perfect Indian batsman in the last decade, has had little to offer to this form of the game, till now.

To add to this ridiculous circus in the name of cricket, is the Bhangra playing at the top of the voice with every hit. Somehow, it does not go well with cricket when the earth shattering "noise" takes away the mood, as one relishes the action replay of a stylish stroke (the few that there are).

The "loud",sometimes shameless, fast food entertainment should probably be given some other name, other than cricket. The name should probably be spared for a minority who still love to watch the older, quieter,slower form of the game.

There is certainly more to cricket (and to life) than adding more speed to it.

Raj and the Parochial Rhetoric

Stirring up parochial sentiments is no new thing in Indian politics. We have seen that card played over and over again. From Anna Durai to Budhhadeb Bhattacharya, many are guilty of the same offence. But what was new this time round was the style and th directness of the rhetoric, and the follow up that the city of Mumbai experienced.

One clearly understands that this is clearly nothing more than mere vote bank politics. Amar Singh, India's undisputable political "deal broker" is searching for new pastures. Riding on the Big B wave and given the large North Indian population of this cosmopolitan city, Mumbai can definetely be Mulayam's first stride outside UP,where they are fast losing ground.
The first people to object to Amar Singh's attempt would have been the Sena, Mumbai's local strongarms. However, they had their job cut short, by a foolish young man, eager to jump on to the fire. In an attempt to take a bite out of the Sena's Marathi vote bank, Raj Thackerey has landed himself to the far right of the political spectrum, a move that severly undermines the ambitions of a young leader in a cosmopolitan town like the Mumbai.
He can, now, at best dream to be a small time ultra right politician, representing a very miniscule fraction of the "Marathi manoos" votebank. A man with the Thackerey tag should have had greater ambitions in mind.

Now let us come to the ethical and moral aspects of Raj Thackerey's rant. Of course, he sounds like a spoilt five year old, crying "mommy,the neighbor's son is touching my toys".
But Raj does have a point that cannot be ignored,especially when globalisation threatens the existence of local cultures like never before.
Men live in communities, bonded by common ethnicities, cultures, language,religion etc. This basic human need of a "cultural space" can never be ignored in the name of national integration.
National integration is to accept the unity by keeping the cultural uniqueness in its place, not by dissolving it into thin air. Mass immigration to cities always have the danger of encroachment on this local cultural space, and to the undermining of the ethnic values that gives,to much of the city,it original charm. Chennai has stood its ground firmly, warding off a "foreign invasion", even at the risk of losing out to less resourceful cities in the rat race for "we are the IT capital".

I have seen North Indians in Chennai constantly expressing their dissatisfaction at the average Chennai-ite's refusal to accept Hindi as the language of common conversation. What they do not get is the fact that it is a matter of far more importance, than the simple convinience of conversation.

Raj is indeed correct in pointing out the dangers of increased immigration to Mumbai, which encroaches upon the space of the Marathi Manoos by creating a parallel culture, that robs Mumbai of its own ethnic charm. The other thing that one must think,with or without the Raj factor, is the development of the "Bimaru States". The uneven development that India is seeing today, as the resulting mass migration will result in several problems, this being one of them.
Amar Singh would thus do a great service to the nation by developing his own State rather than rabble rousing in Mumbai.

Also, Raj is not the first to play the regionalism card. Most of Tamil Nadu's politics has, and still revolves round the "Anti-Hindi" issue. Elsewhere, the liberal leftist Chief Minister speaks out for a particular cricket player, and his supporters sit on train tracks, demanding that he be reinstated. In the West, we recently heard the great macho man of Indian politics, talking of "Gujarat Asmita".

However, the regionalism card is played much more subtly by more seasoned politicians, and the clash of interests there are not so immediate and apparent as in Mumbai.
The media's Badshah of one day, Raj Thackerey is surely putting himself down as one of the "also rans" of Maharashtra politics, with childishness such as this.

IITM Courses on the Web

A series of IITM courses have been put up on Youtube here. (Source:nanopolitan)
Prof. Mangal Sundar's hard work finally pays off.
Hats off to him,one of the great guys I have seen at IITM.
I watched some of the videos for this one.
Looks great!

Also,it feels great to be sitting in the classroom of one of my favorite professors after some time!! :)

The People's Car

Ratan Tata proudly announced as the "People's Car". While the Nano was released amidst all the
fanfare, and it was hailed as the pinnacle of
technological achievement, the sad irony of the
"people's car" slipped out of the mind of the media
and the millions of viewers.
In today's liberalized India,suddenly, the word "people" has started to mean its tiny upwardly mobile middle class. For a counstry that used to
swear by Gandhiji's "talisman", there could not
be any greater contradiction.

The People's Car indeed...
The unregistered "borgadaars" who used to work for landowners in the fields of Singur,the
unwilling peasants who still haven't taken their meager compensations. Yes,indeed it is the
peoples car.
When Ratan Tata starts his bullcock story about the middle class couple blah blah, is he trying to
portray himself as the people's entrepreneur?
Mr. Tata, the average Indian is intelligent enough to see through your "manufactured" oratory.
An attempt to endure yourself to the Indian "Middle Class" is a carefully crafted business move
to tap into one of the world's potentially wealthiest markets.
If you really had any sense of social responsibility, couldn't you have mentioned the farmers
of Singur,thanked them once,at least once, in a single wasted sentence in the number of
hours that you spent in your technically dazzling presentation, and the press conference that followed?
I believe they are not high enough in the species tree to be termed as "people"....
Alas,Mr. Tata, you never dream of these lesser species in your "sponsored" dreams................

The Story of Nandigram

"The story of Bangladesh
Is an ancient one again made fresh
By blind men who carry out commands
Which flow out of the laws upon which nation stands
Which is to sacrifice a people for a land............."
-Joan Baez


Nandigram is many stories weaved into one,stories that have transformed over the time,in a mad gold rush to gain political mileage out of a few homeless souls.It all started when the Haldia Development authority slammed a notice in Nandigram, announcing the acquisition of land for a Chemical Hub. No dialogue with the people or a priori conversation reassuring the people about their fate was deemed necessary. Quite predictably such a quixotic decision caused panic and widespread resentment among the local people.

Facing eviction, in a desperate act of self defense, the local leaders, who have led the famed "voting machinery" of the CPI(M) over the years,their infamous cadres,turned against them. The terrified villagers joined hands to oppose the party for whom they have voted without a word in the last thirty years.In the wake of this opposition, CPI(M) then did the most predictable thing. They adopted strong arm tactics to crush the rebellion, which led to the now infamous, and horrific incidents of March 14th, where 14 people were killed in the most callous act of Police Firing,on unarmed women and children.

While the Government,in view of the widespread protests following the March 14 brutality, had to eat its own words ,and announce a rollback of its plans for land acquisition at Nandigram(in fact the Government conveniently denied that they ever had any such plans), the situation had gone out of control. The villagers,like all other sane individuals, did not have any belief in the Fascist Government, and they continued the resistance.

As Nandigram came to the limelight,everybody hogged for a piece of the cake.Mamata Banerjee, the mercurial Opposition leader,was trying to revive a failed political career,and there could have been no better turf than Nandigram.The Naxalites, whose movement started from Bengal in the seventies, and still enjoys a support among a portion of Bengal's intellectuals, saw in it the perfect opportunity to make inroads into Bengal.With various self interest group fueling what started out as a spontaneous act of rebellion, Nandigram became a virtual "Muktanchol" and remained so for more than eleven months, a blot in the face of democratic India. From the great victory of people against the SEZ movement, Nandigram turned into a bloody battleground for political power and control. The Opposition parties cannot shrug off the responsibility for this utter chaos that went on for more than eleven months. There was never an attempt of reconciliation which seemed to be serious.

Sympathizers of the CPI(M) are quick to pounce on this opportunity and put the whole blame of the Opposition,forgetting their own responsibilities. They dismiss Nandigram simply as a "political Turf War" where the local CPI(M) supporters,rendered homeless, were forced to to hit back because they were was cornered.But this is as far from the truth as it can be. First of all,because,this was not a spontaneous revolt of the people. It was an operation executed in cold blood with the help of outside goons. This is more than clear from the capture of seasoned criminals like Tapan Ghosh and Sukur Ali from the scene. Secondly, it is highly unbecoming of a party in power to behave in this irresponsible manner,in a democratic set up. The first attempt should have been at a political solution, and in the absence of it, the deployment of Central Forces. While it is the new fashion among CPI(M) leaders to blame the every act of violence on the Maoists, it is not at all clear, how the CPI(M) agenda of the "recapture" of Nandigram is any different from the political theory that believes in power growing out of the barrel of the gun.

Thus the "recapture" of Nandigram isn't simply the fight of the dispossessed CPI(M) supporters, as the party would like to propagandize. It is,first and foremost, the establishment of the rule of the Jungle. This is an well calculated move to inculcate fear in the hearts of the people, so that they will not be able to raise their voice against any such incident in the future. It is a strong political message as to how protests of local people in various parts of the State will be dealt with,if they are in direct contradiction to the Party agenda. Nandigram signifies the complete and unchallenged control of the CPI(M), which will be extremely essential for them in the execution of future projects such as this, completely ignoring the emotions and opinions of the local people. In the immediate future, Nandigram will give back to CPI(M) its lost territory in the villages in the Panchayat elections. It is this very reason that the administration did not take,what was the most logical step: the deployment of Central Forces.The muscle flexing was important, for without it, they do not have the political credibility to establish themselves as a political force.

From a broader perspective,while Nandigram had been heralded as the great victory of the people's movement against the SEZs, the same Nandigram has now brought dangerous implications for politics in Bengal.Nandigram has kicked off a new era in Bengal politics, the era of automatic rifles and AK-47. The prelude was already there in Keshpur a few years ago. But Nandigram has laid bare the extent and the power of this politics. This is a politics we have seen being enacted in the Cow belt for several years now. It is the politics which has produced its heroes in people like Shahabuddin, Pappu Yadav or the recently famous Anant Singh. I fear, the day is not far, when the political landscape of Bengal will be ruled by their likes, or in fact ones that are more superior to them in the art of disciplined and organised violence.

Nandigram,very evidently, is a failure of the Left Front Government. The failure to bring about a political solution to the problem reveals the intellectual bankruptcy in the ranks of the CPI(M) in Bengal today. The recourse to the politics of machine guns is the easiest path a party in power can take, but it does not say much about its political creativity or patience to tread the more winding path of democratic engagement. The consequences of this "shortcut to revolution" can be more far reaching than the leaders in the Politbureau can imagine. As JFK once said " Those who foolishly sought power by riding the back of the tiger ended up inside it ". One wonders if this is the beginning of the end of CPI(M)!

The signs of ideological corrosion has caused a lot of heartbreaks among old time supporters and well wishers of the Party. The Party has always been hailed for its progressive politics.It has been the darling of India's intellectuals.It has always been said the bigger constituency for the left is the constituency of the intellectuals.The fact that they have decided to part ways with the Left is very much evident in JNU,that great bastion of Left politics that has given it some of its finest leaders, and influenced its thought process and its policies over the years.This year's elections saw the complete whitewash of SFI, CPI(M)'s student wing ,at JNU. The waning of the intellectual support base was again evident when a great majority of Calcutta's eminent intellectuals,some of whom were very close to the party until a few days ago, took to the streets, protesting against this act of barbarism.

For the crusaders of democracy, and ,in fact, for the civil societyas a whole, the most overwhelming feeling has been that of helplessness. While the "Katl-e-Aam"(to borrow from the words of Medha Patkar) was being executed in Nandigram, and the whole world was aware of it,there was not a single thing that anybody could do about it. No one(including the media) was allowed to enter the place, as the cadres made a veritable 'Iron Curtain' around Nandigram. A baffled India watched on,as democracy was hijacked by a group of armed goons. A weak Central Govt., depending on the support of the CPI(M),never cared to issue a statement. Another of Bengal's nationally famous leaders, Pranab Mukherjee, was busy elsewhere,trying to pressure the cornered Left to accept the Nuclear Deal.What was a disaster for many,was an opportunity for the seasoned politician.

But while Politicians go about their business, the society only looks on. It sees the other face of Budhhadev Bhattacharya. The cultured Bengali Babu's facade has slipped off, and one can see the Communist dictator within. "They were paid back in the same coin", retorted the veteran leader,answering the queries of the reporters.Comrade,we are, to say the very least,shocked.

Finally,the story of Nandigram,which started off as a victory of the people against the might of big corporations,and the people it infuences,now has entirely different implications in the politics of Bengal. It has degenerated into a struggle for power,and has introduced Bengal to a politics that has been so alien to it in the last thirty years,the politics of violence.
This politics is so very reminiscent of the 70s.For the older generation in Bengal,its Deja Vu all over again..............

Burning Rajasthan

An erstwhile Maharani and a retired military colonel deciding on the demands of the people in closed door meetings.........
There cannot be any worst advertisement for the world's largest democracy.
And the results were no less disheartening.

Even a dumb kid could tell this whole promise about building committees to "look into the matter" is a total EYEWASH.

It is amazing how the same persons who managed to incite the crowds into burning trains and buses can pacify them with such an idiotic solution to the problem.
I would actually have preferred if the people stopped eating out of the hands of such leaders,even if it meant greater carnage and loss of public life right now.


In the midst of it all,the flying Indian economy was grinded to a halt in the capital on a busy Monday morning by the protestors of backward classes.As an educated middle class races towards 9.25% leaving millions impoverished, such backlashes are bound to occur. As the inequalities start increasing, people's discontent will grow out of proportion,and the empty promises of the Kirori Singh Bhainslas of India may not suffice always.

And Yes,The Meenas. to provide a topping on the cake.Isn't that called being GREEN WITH JEALOUSY, reminding me of an old Onida TV ad which used to come on DD in my childhood. :)

Padatik-1973

No film director has explored the conscience of 70's leftist Bengal as well as Mrinal Sen.Although I must admit Sen's brand of old school art house cinema is not quite my favourite(I would prefer somebody like Satyajit Ray any day),Sen's movies are a great way to get into the mind of the 70's Bengali youth.
The 70s, in Bengal,were turbulent times. On one hand, the political and cultural scene was bustling with creative activity.There was a new wave of leftist political thought,sweeping through the political landscape of Bengal. Poetry,theatre and cinema was active as never before. On the other side, there was huge unemployment,poverty,large scale immigration problem accompanying the 71 Bangladesh war. In fact, it was the second, which was driving the first, to an extent.

Sen's "Padatik"(The Guerrilla Fighter) is set in this backdrop. Sumit(Dhritiman Chatterjee), a dedicated Naxalite,takes refuge in the house of a wealthy woman,after fleeing from the police prison van. As he spends his days in isolation, he starts reading voraciously,starts questioning the the means and methods on the revolution that he and so many others in his generation are dreaming of. He also develops an affectionate relationship with the woman,Sheela.


The film can be read and understood ant different levels.

However,what interests me most is the human perception of the political ideology. Sumit's father,a seasoned political activist in his own times,is sympathetic to the ideology.However,he feels distant from the radical smalltalk of today's youth.
Then there is Nikhilda,the dedicated leader,who burns midnight oil,writing leaflets,trying to inspire the common man to join the revolution.While his dedication may be phenomenal,but he is often autocratic and not open to ideas.His political ideology may be a manifestation of his philanthropic ideals,it is quite clear that the new wave of free thought has not clerly fitered through his brain,and his ideas on authority and integrity of organisation is often influenced and guided by the age old traditional beliefs,just as the establishments that he is fighting with.
Then there is Sheela(the beautiful and classy Simi Garewal), the high flying career woman in the advertisement industry on one hand,and a "fellow traveler" of the Naxalites on the other.While Sen tries to sort of portray her as one interested in social change and the feminist perspective,it does not come out quite strongly.On the other hand, a string of interviews talking about the plight of women in the middle of the film is extremely boring, and feels sort of preachy.What does emerge though,is that her attachment to the movement is less because of ideologies,and more emotional,due to her deceased brother,who was a part of the movement. As an aside, ideological positions, are often driven,I have seen, by such emotions,rather than independent thought processes endorsing their validity.
Biman,Sumit's aide, comes out as another interesting personality. While there are some people who are in it for the emotional reason,their are some, who treat the party and movement as a kind of a faith. As Sumit aptly describes him once "mindless cannon fodder".....
While this is the kind that have made up a large class of the so called "party workers" both for the right and the left, and it is often their dedication that builds up a party, their obsequiousness to the authority often means ...........

In view of the sudden resurgence of the ultra left in Bengal, following the protests of farmers in Singur and Nandigram, it was quite an experience looking back at their predecessors 30 years back,at their strength and vulnerabilities,free of the rose tainted glass that the media often wears in its nostalgic rememberance of the heroes if 70s.

P.S. Simi Garewal's "nyaka" non-Bengali Bong is delicious to hear!!!

The Moral Police

Pune seems to have woken up in a jolt from its consumerist trance. As the smoky domains of its dark streets bares itself in the media's limelight, the respected guardians of morality have decided to tackle the situation with an iron hand.

271 teenagers get arrested from a racy late night party, allegedly a "trance party". Police action on drug parties such as this is highly laudible, but the reasons for arresting the whole party without any proper tests, and their entry into the police "black book" for no reason at all(other than attending a sleazy all night party) is highly objectionable.

Also,there are deeper questions to be answered. Instead of catching the dog by its tail, the police ought to go for the bigger fish. As Sagarika Ghosh, in this excellent programme argues, these middle class teenagers are a "soft target" for the police. While the police recieves a pat in the back for the laudable work (both from its bosses, and political gurus), they do not have to worry about high level political connections, and high profile lawyers. It is indeed amusing when the great Godmother of the police force, Kiran Bedi, appreciates the courage of the police,for being able to come done the rich and mighty. Looks like the Kiran Bedis of the world are ignorant of the existence of a certain class of people, known as the "middle class". Dear Ms. Bedi, there is a difference between elite Page 3 socialite parites, and a group of middle class youngsters, with a little money to burn from their new found software jobs, attempting to do "some fun".
Their notions of fun are distorted of course, and for this, the empty consumerism, that is slowly becoming the hallmark of these fast paced cities, like Pune and Bangalore, is also to blame.
Also,many of them were first time offenders, or the curious casual "one puff" guys. To slam police cases against them for such offences is extremely silly. As I watched the program, it occured to me that none of the interviewed, from the conservative Kiran Bedi, to the most liberal, the fashion designer Prasad Vidappa, never questioned the basic premise, which is that the consumption of marijuana as a punishable offense. While all over the world, there is an increasing trend of decriminalising and legalising marijuana, India seems to be vastly unaware of it. Marijuana is supposed to be a reasonably harmless substance in itself , and the only reason of its ban seems to rest on the so called "gateway theory", implying that consumption of marijuana is often the gateway to addiction. The "gateway theory" has been challenged in many quarters, and their are schools of thought, which believe, that legalising marijuana, will contain the vast majority of offenders on the right side of the line, thereby saving them from the real dangers of hallucinating drugs such as LSD.
This would have probably been true for the vast majority of the youngsters of Pune's party, whose only craving was to get a bite (or the puff) of the forbidden fruit. In this society of fast changing moral values, it will be important for the State to remember that weilding a stick is often not the best way to discipline a child.

The Blog is alive again!!

With my laptop in hand, as the days of limited internet access is over, the blog shall come into life again!!

That is,if I manage to escape the clutches of procrastination!!