I believe

I Believe,
Some where in between the barrel of a gun and Wordsworth's daffodils lies my guitar.
Somewhere in between sunny days and sleepless nights lies my guitar.
Somewhere in between two breaths and a skipping heart beat lies my guitar.
Above pettiness, below arrogance, beside the colours red and black lies my guitar.
Between acceptance and resistance, between Che and Mandela lies my guitar.
Between slogans and undecipherable poetry lies my guitar.
Somewhere in between Kolkata and Prague, Gautam and Hendrix lies my guitar.
Somewhere in between neon lights and a Strawberry field lies my guitar.
Somewhere in between your body and my hand lies my guitar.

Imagine

Are human beings born with a sense of fear? Fear for example of dark places? Or does it grow from the seeds sowed into our brain from childhood through bedtime stories of monsters, dark world, dragons, evil witch etc. Fear which then grips us firm as we grow older.. fear of getting lost, fear of punishment, fear of retribution,fear of failure, fear of dark places, ghosts... perhaps even God. I always felt that man is born fearless and our socio-politico-eco environment then hard punches fear into our consciousness. To prove this I have perhaps undertaken the greatest risk of all and have conducted an experiment now for over 2years.  The result is startling.

Lyric, my son was born 2 years back and marked the beginning of my silent experiment. The only one harmless instruction given to whoever spent time with him was never to talk of monsters in the dark or scare him or talk of punishment. The 'control' for the experiment were any kid of his age.

Lyric today has no fear of the dark, does not fear entering dark rooms, does not actually feel scared of anything. The flip side however is that he does not know what punishment is :) I do not want to take this experiment any further and I am sure the school where he will finally end up studying will end up doing the needful, in terms of instilling some fear in him, unfortunately. HUMANS ARE NOT BORN FEARFUL!!!

Now imagine a world where a young child has nothing to fear, imagine an entire generation growing up without knowing what fear is... This can perhaps happen only if the causes of fear are removed. No scaresity, no failure, no war, no violence... There will be nothing left to fear.

"You may say I am a dreamer, but i'm not the only one.
I hope some day you will join us... "

Jhumur Blues

https://soundcloud.com/neelav-bose/jhumur-blues

Those were the days I thought would never end. Round neck tee, blue ( only blue) tattered Levi denim, long hair and a head full of idealism... friends, more friends, new friends... Nandan, New Empire, Globe, Canteen, cheap burnt tea, Calcutta book fair, Mohiner Ghoraguli,  Bengali Rock, Neruda, reverse snobbery, love, Central metro station, College square, Coffee house....

Its during this neo - semi - pseudo - intellectual vagabond days that I kind of discovered baul music. Calcutta at that time was also experimenting with Folk and Rock and their fusion. Somehow it all made a lot of sense. Every April there used to be a music fair in the Nandan square featuring music of every genre. The year was probably 1999 when in one of the shows I saw Kartik das baul and heard him perform this song. My friend Sourav was there too. We saw a lot of strange things and didn't know how to react.. we saw Sadhan Das Boiragi, a very senior baul having Coco Cola in a coconut vessel ( mala), we saw a Japanese baul etc.. I was mesmerised with the rawness and purity of the performances of these baul. Anyway coming back to Kartik das Baul, after his performance we caught him backstage and pleaded with him to share the lyrics of this particular Jhumur song ( form of folk song and dance). No sooner did we plead that he started rattling off the lyrics and we somehow managed to note down two stanzas. Incidentally I lost the note soon after, but the lyrics were so heart wrenching and haunting and mesmerising that they were kind of etched in my memory for life. Later on I rearranged the song and set it to a madol ( traditional Santal drum) rhythm... The blues intro came much later.

This song continues to haunt me today as it did back then and is one of my favourite songs. Incidentally this song was the last song I recorded before my heart literally skipped a beat :)

To Barun Biswas

They came each night

bearing evil,

breathing fire

seated on dragon’s tail.

But like King David

he stood, steadfast and holy

in the face of degeneration

which consumes us slowly.

St. George

could not have done better, but alas

a brave beautiful soul was lost forever.

The one I trust

I have know him since the day he joined the organization I was working for at the time, almost a decade back. He always stood out amongst his peer group for various reasons and for reasons unknown and not fully understood, a strong bond was formed that has only grown stronger over the last many years. He is not without flaws but his virtues far outweigh these shortcomings. One thing is for sure, he knows how to bring a smile on anyone’s face. He gets along well with people of any age for example my son who is barely 2 yrs, me a fossil and my parents who are ancient. Sanjit is unique.

Most people unfortunately know him only as a musician of exceptional caliber (of which there is no doubt), however I am not going to deliberate on that but rather say a few words about him as a person. I do not know of many men who love his family and cares about his parents as much as him. His father is an exceptional individual too. He along with his family has see rough times and therefore his success now is all the sweeter and deservedly so. He hasn’t however lost his humility and I certainly hope he never does so.

Many an evening we have spent jamming (Sanjit singing and us listening), drinking (whiskey in a pink plastic glass), eating (pork) and being merry. Parties at his place have always been epic and enjoyable. Made a lot of friends, good friends at these impromptu parties- Tony, Mickey in particular…

Anyway his life certainly has taken a turn for the better after Farah came into his life and the parties at his place have become even more enjoyable with Farah being a perfect host. Great food, great ambience, plenty to drink and general informal bonhomie… suddenly the guitar appears and music takes over… all in all a few hours of bliss with friends and family in a wonderfully done up home.

Writing all of this because I have seen him grow over the years from a small town lad to someone who is doing great in the hallooed west. From a bachelor to a married man. From Sanjit to Mr. Phukan… I wish him the best for the future and wait for the next party with all our friends who were missed this time.. Mahbubani, Nayyar, D, Vyom, Mallika, Mickey …. Also realized that all my good friends are way younger than me J. Never got along with people my age anyways, they are old and boring !

Visions of Potala

On this pristine clear day, under a clear blue sky, with the winter chill across our faces we sat quietly in the mellow morning sun in the courtyard of what is now the defacto headquarter of the Tibetian government in exile - the Namgyal Monastry. We sat, watched and wondered. Not a word was spoken till I asked baba, why is it that I do not feel so strongly about my homeland ... Our homeland... In Bangladesh ... Kumilla, on the banks of the mighty Meghna river? Yet here we are at this Monastry where third generation children are so full of faith, in a mere human being and in a Monastry in a distant land that they or their fathers have never seen - Potala palace. Some going to the extent of immolating themselves for this.
"Perhaps because when we were forced out by partition we came to a place where the language, culture, cuisine were the same. In a way it was like moving from one room of the house to the other and yet it was so so different and difficult. From landed feudals we were refugees overnight..no asset, no address no identity.. Where as for the Tibetians it was far worse, to have had to settle in a land that they had no idea of, it was like moving from one room to another room in another house in another timescape, in another country... Their loss is far worse, far hard hitting, far cruel than ours " said baba.
True baba made a lot of sense, I have no idea about our roots in Bangladesh and frankly I don't care. But the Tibetians in exile stand to lose everything ... Culture, history, tradition, language...their existence is in jeopardy. Yet they believe that one day they will return to the promised land, that the sacrifices of the martyrs will not go in vain. Yet all the strife and struggle and protest and resistance is peaceful... Can't say that about any other religion in the world. My respects...

Album analysis

I would like to have a small discussion on the two, much anticipated bangla rock album by Cactus and Fossils. Read somewhere that it is not correct to compare bands. I have to disagree. I feel to rank is natural, it helps us decide better. Heard both the albums and I have this to say - both have pushed the boundaries of rock music being done in Kolkata. Both the albums are miles and miles ahead and superior to the first set of bangla rock albums that the city had heard in the early 90's. These new albums can be sold in any international market to an international audience. But that's about where all similarities end. Fossils's 4th album is a class act but it fails to live up to the expectations set by F2 ( I don't think F3 was anything to write home about). A theme album hardly wins any brownie points in my book. The issue with fossils, I feel is that it has become a reflection of Rupam's counter views of life. In a way it's not a celebration but a sad commentary on negativity. It's loud and almost raw in energy. True that's what a rock album at the end of the day should be but it has become predictable, we know what to expect from Rupam, we don't have any expectation from Fossils as a band. Rupam has become larger than the band and it is now showing on the bands overall output. The first Fossils album and also the 2nd album, were in my opinion path breaking albums. Cannot say the same about the 3rd and the 4th album. It's going down hill.
On the other hand Blah Blah Blah brings in a whiff of fresh air with its tight arrangement, new sounds, easy listening lyrics and packs a solid rock punch. One also needs to remember that some of the songs had to be re-recorded as Pota left and Dibyendu had to replace him. What works in Cactus' favour is the fact that we do not know what to expect and hence are always taken by surprise. Lot of people are too busy writing off this veteran band but each time they manage to pull off a classic (much like U2). The new guitar sound which reminds us of Tom Morello and exquisite bass work is an added bonus for listeners. The album is certainly not without flaws and I would dare say that Dibyendu's voice is not exactly that of a rock front man. Neither was Pota's but he was unique.
So my vote is with Cactus in this round. The bangla rock scene has surely come alive with the rivalry that is quite evident and in a way good, as it pushes each band to give its best... The winner is always the listeners and fans!

To when we were happy...

Do you remember him introducing us to one Jay Stevens

over red meat, music and some intoxicants -

alcohol, spoken words, camaraderie,

a dimly lit room overflowing with a lifetime of experience collected and

neatly arranged on that shelf against that wall?

The misfits juggled with six strings and stretched vocal chords.

Jim, Dylan, Ginsberg, Kerouac was thrown around with gay abandon,

while the night - that dark whore, the night tangoed with the pacing legs of time outside.

More meat, more music, more intoxicants…

Cannot remember however us leaving or leaving at all.

Perhaps we never left, perhaps the misfits

still sit around juggling those six strings and stretching those vocal chords in

that dimly lit room overflowing with a lifetime of experience collected and

neatly arranged on that shelf against that wall.

To the one who wouldn't write

Have you died of shame lately ?
Felt helpless, betrayed and raped lately ?
Have you taken a local bus with your loved one , or perhaps
Strayed into an abandoned mill lately ?
No?
But have you read the papers recently?
Or
managed to catch that breaking news while having lunch in the cafeteria lately?
Or
Perhaps catch the alert on that recently downloaded app
on your over smart over sized over priced over hyped phone ?
No?
Have you been violent lately?
Do you think you were right?... or left?
Have you watched porn and gambled with your sperm recently?
Have you counted cards and periods recently?
No?
Have you been social on the book of faces lately ?
tagged your friends on that picture of you on Maslow's hierarchy lately?
No?
Good!
But have you been impacted by the falling rupee, rising inflation, falling sensex,rising onion prices, falling necklines, rising hemlines lately?
Have you seen your reflection on an ATM screen recently?
Have you written anything lately?

A less than silent Prayer

Faith I bring on rent,
for I have none.
Hyacinth, Hibiscus,Lotus, Orchids,
Frankincense and Vermillion I offer
for the Shaman said so.
Ancient Mandala I sketch and
Mantra I whisper for 40 days and 41 nights
to Pagan Gods.
21 grams of soul I pawn
against 30 pieces of silver
for Iscariot.

 Then cross legged I sit on a carpet, Persian,
 in the oldest Synagogue in this decadent city
and my sins I confess in Aramaic, Hebrew, Latin, Sanskrit and Arabic.
 Just so the gods may know that I am but flesh,
but blood I will draw
should any less than fortune befall
my expression - Lyric or
my beloved wild flower - Mahua.

Tuccho Ami ( the insignificant one) I first heard of Cactus from a senior of mine who was studying comparative literature at Jadavpur University way back in the mid 90's. He mentioned Cactus to prove that bangla rock bands from Kolkata were as good as the ones in Bangladesh. My first reaction was one of amazement, bangla rock band from Kolkata and named Cactus? Then I heard Holud Pakhi which a friend of mine sang at the college canteen... I was bowled over. My first live Cactus show was at the Presidency College ground and my love for Cactus grew, though at that time they were more of a cover band.... Then during post graduation I remember Holud Pakhi and Sei Tumi by LRB were like our anthem. By that time I had learned a few guitar chords and sang HP night and day and at every gathering. I remember a particular show I had been to where Anjan Dutta collaborated with Cactus and that's a show I will never forget... Cactus is 3 albums old now. I dare say that the album Tuccho Ami is a classic progressive rock album. I have introduced Cactus to quite a few non Bengali friends of mine who today swear by the seer energy, experimentation and the non conformity of the album. Cactus has turned 21 and over the last few days I have been reading comments about how Cactus cannot survive without Pota. My take on the whole issue is as follows. Pota no doubt brings a different dimension to Cactus with his uncanny unique voice and singing style, but a band is much bigger than any individual, no matter how talented he is. Cactus has survived 21 yrs and I have no doubt that they will rock many more years. Why sympathise with an individual who does not think about the band? Did he not know that there is a new album which is scheduled to be launched? did he not know that the 21st year was round the corner? I mean what sort of a rock musician will put aside music to participate in a purely commercial, made for the masses, regional adaptation of Big Boss? And why? For 15 days of spotlight? Some money? Wasn't rock music supposed to stand up against such trappings? Personally I have no sympathy for Pota. My money is on Sidhu and Baji and the rest of Cactus. They might have a new line-up but there is little doubt that the soul of Cactus is the same... If anything it has matured over the last 21 yrs. Just ask yourselves where is Poroshpathor, Abhilaasha and countless others who had come to the party in the late 90s? A Cactus survives against all odds, so will the band. Long live Cactus and bangla rock!

A critical self analysis through the eyes of Lyric

Baba,
You come home late and switch on the TV,
You need to unwind maybe,
Then why do you fiddle with your phone
Even when you are with me.

I know you love me,
I feel it when you hold me, caress and kiss me,
But do you miss me ?
You are busy and lost
with work, guitar, thoughts
At the cost
Of helping me grow and show
That i can be
As good a person as you wish me to be.

Baba,
I love you so, but its sad to see
At times you come home drunk
Why do u forget
that you are a father now not a punk.
Shower me with kisses everyday when you say goodbye
For office
Sing me a lullaby ....

I know you love me,
I feel it when you hold me, caress and kiss me,
But do you miss me ?
You are busy and lost
with work, guitar, thoughts
But at what cost?

Phosphate

They operate, regulate,
Claim to educate,
Sealed the fate
Of innocence, that ate
23 dreams laced with phosphate.

Where is the crown prince and the nationalist?
Busy i guess with their own feast
Coz they don't have to speculate
If their midday meal is laced with traces of phosphate

Therefore I donate
My hate
To you comrade
Who stood silent and watched
23 innocent that ate
Death wrapped in phosphate!

Beach chronicles

...... and then you realize that its not about the ocean or the waves crashing on the beach or the soft sand under your feet or the breeze blowing through your hair. Its about the sky above, the eternal shape shifter - the clouds, that you are actually fascinated about.

Chol jabo guru r bari

Literally translated means ‘let’s go to the master’s house’, this Bengali term is used to describe a desire to travel back to the ‘Guru’s’ abode. Guru, the one who guides through the meandering darkness of ignorance, explains away the maze of complexities that confront us, opens up the mind to infinite possibilities, shows the brilliance of a thousand suns emanating primordial knowledge and teaches us how to tap into the universal rhythm that has been playing since the beginning of time. How can one, therefore stay away from such nectar for long. Again and again one is drawn back to the guru’s abode to deep dive into this sea of nectar. This journey back is as much spiritual and emotional as is physical. In fact more of the former than the later. It’s the wandering mind’s return to the nest.

Through my life I have been lucky to have met people who have shown me the ‘path’. I won’t get into the debate of whether the path shown was ‘right’ or wrong…’left’. Early on I studied under a brilliant man who we lovingly referred to as ‘Rantuda’. A physicist, mathematician, poet and a former ultra leftist. Rantuda in one word was my first hero. He introduced me to the world of Pete Seeger, Suman Chattopadhay, Socialism, Idealism and of course my lifelong love for rationality and reason over emotion. It was much later that I actually realized what a strong influence he has had on the way I have shaped up today. In my strong opinions, extreme views and refusal to compromise Rantuda’s shadow looms heavy.

But my association with him was short lived and my education under him ended after a few years as our lives took us on different paths. He landed up in Singapore and I in Gurgaon. It is here I met the man who I consider to be the closest to what I would call a guru.

I met Virat on my first day at office in Gurgaon and smiled to myself as to how appropriate his name was. He was physically ‘Virat’ and looked more like a westerner than an Indian and certainly nothing like any Gujarati I had known from Kolkata. He was diametrically opposite of what Rantuda was. While Rantuda was a socialist, Virat was a staunch Capitalist. To cut a long story short there was nothing common in between the two individuals. Yet, today I can safely conclude that the two could have been the one and the same individual. Their love for rationality, logic, reason, music, zest for life, rock solid  knowledge base and a never ending thirst for new information in any disciple, anything to enrich the intellectual capital was mind numbingly similar. In Virat I found someone who would qualify as my guru. When I look back and wonder why, what was that one thing that made us gel, I guess it was our love for things creative. Creativity in any form art, music, commercial, non commercial, literature anything and everything. Avant garde or classical it mattered not, as long as it tickled our sensibilities and intellectual faculties. I have always admired his ability to be amazed at something new. I don’t think there is anyone younger at heart and full of enthusiasm as him. A more well read man I am yet to come across. His ability to recollect names of books and authors is amazing. And read he has, and continues to do so regularly. In fact he was singularly responsible for getting me back into the habit of reading. Well traveled too if I may add and hence his experiences are for real, not picked up from Wikipedia or Google.

Being a kind of a misfit myself I found his company more and more enjoyable. He didn’t judge me as far as I know. Every day we talked and talked about everything under the sun. But invariably our discussions would roll towards creativity and music and literature and movies and new stuff we had picked up on the net. My second education phase had started. I believe I have learned more about marketing, philosophy, global outlook through these conversation sessions that what my colleagues would have learned at elite business schools. It was an amazing phase. And when I realized that my time was done at said organization, it was these conversation sessions which helped me maintain composure….

‘Chol jabo guru r bari’ was as much physical as it was Meta physical. A trip to Virat’s house in New Friend’s colony was as pleasurable as the conversations we had. A beautiful, warmly done up apartment where we have spent many an enjoyable hour. Contemporary art adorn the walls, books arranged on a massive book shelf, seasonal flowers adorn the balcony, well stocked bar, fabulous mutton curry, Jim Morrison singing in the back ground or us strumming the guitar, Rafa – the largest and cutest Labrador that I have seen, lazing around the room… guru r bari – guru’s abode ! Every invitation to visit his home was always met with great enthusiasm and anticipation. Yes I have drunk his wine, ate his food, read his books, picked his brains but more than anything trusted him and considered him as a friend, philosopher and guide.

So today when we do not get to meet every day, the emotional, Meta physical desire to get back to guru is ever stronger. There is much left to be learned, be discovered, be amazed at and discussed. Sure I miss those conversations but more than anything miss the comfort of knowing that there is someone who understands my point of view, someone I can just walk across and have a conversation with. Till we meet again and indulge in a new conversation…

Someone I met today...

It is not everyday that each and every element in the equation balances itself beautifully to your liking. So when you meet someone who is immensely creative..a renowned one if I may add, speaks impeccable English, is tall, slightly tanned, oozing with intellectualism, with his glasses perched sensually a midst his salt and pepper hair, nearing 60 ( i suppose), turns up in jeans for a formal meeting, well traveled, well read, is a Bong, who started his career in advertising and gave it up pretty early to follow his dreams, you have an impressionable person like me ( as someone observed lovingly about me) darting to the computer to jot it all down and capture the memories for good.

The person under discussion is Pradeep Dasgupta the photographer.

Over  Espresso dark as the devil and Cappuccino, I conversed with him at the Barista outlet in Safdurjung, right opposite IIT Delhi. Our association with him professionally notwithstanding, we discussed about art and how he feels the art scene will evolve in the near and distant future. His intellectualism and creativity is amply on display from the moment he moves his mouth to speak. So like a little kindergarten student I listened to him awestruck. It was most difficult to interrupt him and talk about business of and on..

As if his work, creativity and intellectualism was not enough his lifestyle and how and where he lives today juts took my breath away...and how. How would you like to get together with nine of your close friends from across the world with varying backgrounds, buy up 12 acres of land on the hills in Kerala, set up a commune, true to your 60's belief of a hippie life ( with proper planning this time), grow your own food, have a common kitchen but separate living quarters ( read proper homes) and pursue your passion? Well that's exactly where he lives now!! I stopped short of asking him if he grew Vitamin G as well ( staying true to the 60s of course). The fact that I now actually know someone who grew up in the 60s and was still true to its essence is something I just cannot believe. If I may add, he did not take a single paisa for this professional association that he has with my company it only re-enforces the wow factor.

Looking forward to meeting him again soon and of course drop into his commune in Kerala where he has most generously invited me to.. 

On Calcutta

Sorry to break your heart Calcutta romantisizers... it is certainly not a city where the old and the new rub shoulders with equal aplomb. Tried extremely hard to think of one 'new' thing that Calcutta has... nothing!! Just an old and decaying carcass. Hyenas and vultures roam around eating away into its dying flesh. It is often argued that Calcutta is rich in culture as against other uncivilized cities, how i ask.... what is that great culture that we keep talking about? What do we mean by this word which is thrown around like a coin every now and then to hedge oneself against so called uncivilized onslaughts... Is it a city which knows how to respect its own heritage, history, women, ordinary citizen, democratic and civil rights, poets, philosophers, teachers, artists, film-makers, musicians...do these people respect one another... am afraid not! Anyone of any repute and with any degree of talent has moved out to the so called uncivilised, uncultured cities, which have welcomed them with open arms.

Coming back to the question of old and new rubbing shoulders and what nots, i doubt. Firstly I dont think that there is anyone young or anything new left in Calcutta. The young and the new left Calcutta in 1969. So the question of old and new meeting at esplanade or coffee house or maidan or offices or trains and buses and rubbing shoulders does not arise. In many ways the city reminds me of Cuba. It was supposed to be a paradise but ended up like a old wrinkled mass of flesh and concrete.

And yet the smell of sweat and the humidity and  the filth and dirt and wrinkled faces, and the protests and, strikes and endless cups of burnt tea, cigarettes, statues, tram lines,  soviet era buses, rains, Nandan, Parkstreet, New market, New Empire, north Calcutta, south Calcutta, university, college street, heavily accented english... evokes a sense of great belonging, cause thats who I am, these are the things that have made me who I am...So irrespective of whether the oft quoted phrase about the old and the new rubbing body parts, I long for the city.. Would I want to live in the city again? would I want my son to grow up in that city? No. My love for the city is like the love I have for Cuba. I dream about it, wonder what it must have been like, what it could have been, but certainly dont want to be a part of it anymore. I'd rather dwell among uncivilized brutes and misquote Trotsky but move forward than take ten steps backward.... 

My heroes: History

                      Universal disdain for history amongst students is quite understandable because it is taught to us as a mere subject which needs to be mugged up. One is tested on ones memory and not taught how to appreciate events which have shaped the world the way it is today or what lessons could we learn from such events. Historical characters are either loved or vilified depending on who is writing and there is no scope of having a different view on the matter. I might hate Gandhi from the core of my heart but I'd be damned for writing so and moreover I have to address the imposter as a Mahatma. Why? My heroes are Alexander and Hitler.

                        Alexander was tutored by Aristotle himself (imagine that) who told him that the world ended just beyond the Caucasian mountains. Alexander not only challenged that but went on to rule half the known world at that time and all before he turned 33 by which time he was dead. Had it not been for his tired and weak army he would have conquered India and world history would have been a little different than what it is now. But more than anything it was the power of his belief and self confidence. He believed that he was the son of Zeus himself and that he was a descendant of Achilles the great Greek hero. He wanted to see for himself where the end of the world lay and if Aristotle was right. In the process he captured half the world and laid the foundation of a uniform administration from Macedonia to the banks of the Jhelum. His military genius was evident from his battle strategy against the Persian king Darius. His other legendary military exploits are well documented and gives credence to his title Alexander the Great. But what is most striking is the fact that he did what he did, conquered what he conquered before his 33rd birthday. Now think of any 33year old man of our age and you will know why he is still remembered today and why he is called The Great.

                         There is no man in modern history who is more hated than Adolf Hitler and rightfully so for the sins he has committed against a particular religious order and humanity in general. However there is no denying his abilities as a leader of the mass. No other individual in history has been so successful in raising nationalistic sentiments and pride. Under him the Germans rose like a nation to be reckoned with and challenged the supremacy of the other west. Yes he killed a million, but so had Gengiz Khan and Alexander whom today we call greats. I believe that if Hitler was born perhaps a few centuries ago he too would be held as a hero and not the villain that he is today. Concepts of right and wrong is highly elastic and certainly changes with time. Genocide was an accepted strategy for kingdom expansion right from the times of Arthur's round table. The Americans continue to monger war and kill innocents even to this day. Great Britain committed unimaginable atrocities on the local population of the nations it ruled and colonised including India. Then why should Hitler's strategy of final solution be viewed any differently. The Germans under Hitler made more progress technologically and scientifically and otherwise than ever. They were way ahead of their rivals in the US and UK. Hitler's only mistake was that he challenged the supremacy of the UK and US. One cannot also forget that his was a meteoric rise from rags to world domination. His generals except a handful were not worthy or competent enough to help him realise his dreams. One cannot blame him for his downfall. In the end when we judge him he will be seen as evil almost like the anti Christ himself but there is no denying his vision,his ability to manipulate and raise resources and simply get a crestfallen nation to rise like the eagle. Is there any politician today who could do that?

My heroes: Music

                        Had it not been for music the world would have been a far worse place than it is now. Music uplifts, relaxes, makes one wonder, gives hope and when words fail it takes over. There are a few genres of music whic appeal to me very strongly namely folk, rock and of course hip hop. The purists would snigger, but I am yet to come across a true blooded music purist. Most are phonies with little or no knowledge of genres or the evolution  of music. One might argue what is the point of knowledge when music can simply be enjoyed. Sorry, to be able to enjoy music it is necessary to know a little bit about its history and geography. My heroes are Raymond Manzerek of the Doors, Gautam Chattopadhay of Mohiner Ghoraguli and Roger Waters of Pink Floyd.

                            I was introduced to the Doors in college and at first did not think much of it till I saw the movie The Doors. Suddenly the 'doors of perception' were like cleansed and I was hit by a goods train. I started listening to their music all over again. Though there is no denying the genius and brilliance of Jim , I personally feel that it was the organ sounds that made the doors The Doors. The organ piece in the song Light my fire in my opinion is the best piece of music composed in the last century. The image of Manzarek looming over the keys with his long blonde hair covering his face, with his left hand thumping away at the fenders bass keys and his right hand weaving magic defined The Doors' sound and rightfully the age of pure passionate honest music. The same magic gets repeated in every single number that the band ever made. The sounds of the organ was mystical and bordered around spirituality. It transported you into another dimension.

                            It is impossible to fathom the genius of Gautam Chattopadhay because he is so much more than just a musician. I was introduced to Mohiner Ghoraguli in 1996 and since then it's been a long love affair with them. I cannot explain the influence the band has had on expanding my musical horizon. Gautam Chattopadhay seemlessly merged Bengali folk, Spanish rhythm, rock strains and hard hitting lyrics and presented it all in an ever so haunting musical package that nothing compares to it. He was a pioneer , someone way ahead of his time in terms of thought and execution and again someone who challenged the musical trends of the time. Gautam brought about a fine amalgamation of art, music and poetry - things that appeal to me most. A true creative genius he also made award winning movies. Much of his success came in the last few years of his life which ended abruptly in 1999. I know this love affair with MG and Gautam will last me a lifetime and I am certainly not complaining. 

                           Nothing can be written about Pink Floyd that has not been written before. The band does not exist anymore and much of the blame has been directed at Roger Waters and how. Arrogant and perhaps musically not as gifted as David Gilmour he has more than made up for these short comings through sheer brilliance of intellectualism. He gave us the first theme albums where one song merged into the next and created an hour long musical message so to say. I believe that a true creative person is the one who conceptualises and not the one who executes. The most difficult question to answer is what and not how. This is where Roger Waters score way above any other musical brain of our times. To come up with the concept of the Wall or the Dark side of the moon deserves much more than what it has already got. If ever there was a Nobel prize for musical genius then in my books Roger Waters would be its first rightful claimant. Today he is old but still defiant and couldn't care less about what the world has to say. A true rock star!

My heroes: Politics

                       Nobody in my family has ever had any keen interest in politics. However like all educated middle class people , political opinions abound. Therefore in a way it's not surprising that I should have a keen interest or at least a very strong opinion on political developments, philosophies, ideologies and the evolution of politics as I see unfurling before me everyday. My political heroes not surprisingly, and as my close friends and associates know, are the ones who resisted or spearheaded revolutions, to change the status quo and bring about change. Parliamentary form of democracy at least the way it exists in India today, finds no sympathy from me. My heroes are Che and Nelson Mandela.

                       How many of those yuppies wearing that famous Che t shirt know that he was a qualified doctor I do not know,how many actually even know his name I have no idea, but everybody finds his image cool, like a nu metal rock star and a rock star he was. He gave up his career in medicine to serve the cause of a revolution which stands proud even today. He set aside his stethoscope and picked up a gun and forced the imperialist forces to flee. The socialistic dreams were realised. More than anything he showed the world that we need not accept the status quo and that change and revolution is possible within our lifetime. His beret, his unshaven look, his rock star like shoulder length hair, cigar hanging from the corner of his lips have been for ever etched in the mind of millions of people around the world. He inspires revolutionaries and political thinkers worldwide as he looks at us with his piercing eyes from that poster we have hung in our room, workstations, party offices , street walls and in our hearts. "Hasta la Victoria siempre commandante Che Guevara ".

                          We live in an age when there are no heroes, no one to look up to, no one worth emulating. Heroes live in the pages of the history book save perhaps a few. Nelson Mandela, Madeba is one such real life hero of our times. He epitomises resistance and an iron will which will never give up or give in. Jailed for decades he never gave up on his dream of an apartheid free Africa. From his jail cell and through his unimaginable sacrifice he inspired a generation fighting for their right to be treated as equals as human beings. I bear witness to the day when he was released from jail, the day a partied ended (at least officially) in Africa. His clenched fist thrown in the air, his ramrod straight posture, his infectious smile and his larger than life persona will never fail to inspire those who believe in changing the world for the better.

My heroes: Mythology

                       Having being raised on a rich diet of Hindu mythology, I got drawn into Greek mythology once the internet opened up its arms to me. It literally opened up Pandora's box. The thing about mythology is that it borders around history and the line that divides the two is ever so thin. I have always been fascinated by Mount Olympus which is there for everybody to see or for that matter Troy which is now a historical site. What if , therefore the Minneator was for real ? Coming back to the main question of who my heroes from mythology are, well there are two. Prometheus and Achilles. 

                         Without getting into the details of who Prometheus was which can be easily dug out from the net, I'd rather discuss why Prometheus . Well for one he was a friend of mankind and wanted to help mankind in a  manner which perhaps the gods on Olympus thought inappropriate . He stole fire from mount Olympus and gave it to man which drew the wrath of Zeus who had him chained to a rock on the Caucasian mountains. Every day an eagle would nibble at his liver causing excruciating pain and ever night the liver would grow back. Next day the same chain of events would follow thereby ensuring an eternal cycle of pain. He was however rescued by the mighty Hercules as on of his might tasks. 

Prometheus therefore was in my opinion the first socialist. He wanted to break the barrier between the one superior (god) and the one inferior (man). He wanted man to enjoy the many benefits of fire. Perhaps had it not been for Prometheus mankind would not have progressed as it has. Unfortunately the evils of class still looms large on our society. The ones who have and will not share and the ones who do not have but need. Question is who will play the role of Prometheus in our dark age.

                           Achilles, the ultimate warrior, the killing machine who no man could vanquish. He knew his fate much before he left for the shores of Troy. His mother a demigod had told him that if he stayed back he would lead a  happy and fruitful life and would be blessed with successors, but forgotten with the passage of time. However if he chose to go to Troy, he would die but his name would be etched in the hearts of men for a thousand years. He chose the later and hence my hero. Do we lead our lives to leave behind successors or do we lead our lives to leave behind a legacy? Should man just work to raise a family and be forgotten with time or should man live for something more than that?Achilles knew what awaited him at Troy and yet chose to be remembered than forgotten. He did what his heart told him to do. The first misfit should I say?

Forever young

It was Sanjit I believe who broke the news to me that morning. I cant remember how i felt at that instant, it seemed unbelievable for sure. Without a moments hesitation Sanjit and myself we took off to the mortuary at AIIMS. Before that however we were seriously shocked at the callous attitude of a certain representative from the administration department. In hindsight we were actually not surprised as we expected no better. I remember reaching the morgue and seeing his father waiting to take delivery of his son's mangled remains...the boy's mother was not yet informed... I hugged the old man and tried to say a few words but i choked. The body was taken to the crematorium and the lifeless body of that bright young boy was placed on the pyre. I could feel my heart being ripped apart when the pyre was lit. No one said a word, just the wailing of a father punctured the evening silence...
I distinctly remember breaking down in front of my parents when i came back home. I couldn't imagine how an organisation could be so cold hearted, the boy was crushed under the wheels of a truck,a young life was taken,yet no one from the organisation bothered to show even a semblance of sympathy.
Worse was to follow. Back at the office the CEO didn't bother to turn up at the memorial meet. The admin decided to pay a few dimes to the family and be done with it...some of us would however have none of it. We put together a sizeable corpus and handed it over to the family. The day was the 28th of February 2011, the young boy was Amit Chauhan...
A year later, on the 28th Feb 2012, on a white board near my cubicle I wrote " Stay forever young. RIP Amit Chauhan"...someone came and whipped the board clean in a matter of minutes ... On 28th of Feb 2013, on my way to office I couldn't help my eyes moistening up as I remembered him. I am sure no one at the said organisation even remembered. They had already done their bit two years back and in true humane fashion "moved on"!
Why am I writting all this you ask? Well  coz it had to be noted for posterity least I forget how I felt when the pyre of a young boy was lit and how not a word was spoken and how a father's wail pierced the evening to see his only son being reduced to ash. Least I forget how fragile a life we all lead.
"Stay forever young. RIP Amit Chauhan.

In my opinion...

Roger Waters is the best lyricist , second only to Dylan !

The more I hear him, read about him, the more I admire him as the most fertile and creative brain that ever was in the history of Rock and Roll…

" What shall we use to fill the empty spaces

Where waves of hunger roar

Shall we set out across the sea of faces

In search of more and more applause

Shall we buy a new guitar

Shall we drive a more powerful car

Shall we work right through the night

Shall we get into fights

Leave the lights on

Drop bombs

Do tour of the east

Contract diseases

Bury bones

Break up homes

Send flowers by phone

Take to drink

Go to shrink....."

If this is not poetry then what is?

Rock is a state of mind, born out of extreme emotions, something that “rocks” you out of your inertia. You will agree that even poetry is ‘Rock’, so is art ! If Storm Thorgerson’s work does not shake us  and rock us to the core, if we are not made to sit up when we see a Wharhol then we are probably blind.

I believe that the beauty of a good rock song is that it need not be a song. Strip it  off the layers of musical accompaniments, instruments and yet it rocks you when you just utter the lyrics. Actually I have always had a problem of separating poem from songs… when does a poem become a song? Just through instrumentation and melody? Certainly not! Writings of 2Pac needs no music… It is classified as HipHop, but in my books its still great writing, literature, poetry…Rock! One cannot ‘do’ rock, one can only live ‘Rock’ and feel ‘Rocked’!

Incredible (indeed) India

Educated people say that there are many India and each reveals itself depending upon who you are and what you seek. There is an ancient India, rich and famous, full of anecdotes, an India where the sages were scripting the Kamsutra at a time when Europe was living on trees, wearing loin cloth and eating raw meat. Then there is an India which has been plundered, looted, burnt, destroyed, re built and ruled upon. Then there is an India which rose in revolt and emerged as a new entity on the world stage. India is supposedly known for its value system, culture, history, heritage, cuisine, languages and what not. A mini Cosmo world in itself. From all of this rose another India, the one we live in, breathe in, exist in, and die in.

No I do not want to write an essay on the so called "emerging India" or  brIc india, or about India the nuclear state, or even about India the next to be super power... I am going to write about an India where I saw my sister being raped yesterday, my brother being stabbed, my mother being assaulted , my wife being sold....

Incredible India indeed! Here cows are worshipped while girls are gang raped, gallons of milk is poured on stones on a single night while thousands of kids go to bed hungry every single day, millions are under nourished while tonns of cereals rot in warehouses, a parliamentary democracy but where the reigns are tightly in the hands of a few, a legal and judiciary system which can be bought and sold like vegetables, an executive which is dysfunctional, an economy in ruins, a health system designed to kill, an education system which is designed to create a breed of morons, a government machinery which is a hot bed of corruption, murderers as chief ministers, rapists as lawyers, thieves as policemen, illiterate  as heads of state and to crown it all a professor as prime minister....Nothing, absolutely nothing is right here. Each passing day brings in more bad news, newspapers are like crime gazettes, news channels like soap opera houses, all bought out by corporates. Everybody and everything is shallow, lacks credibility and worse no one can be trusted. Actually what is worse is the fact that we all know this and live with this and kind of pride ourselves of this pittance of an existence, we pride ourselves in  jugaad which is nothing but going hand in gloves with every wrong doing we see around us... We accept everything, mostly everything that is wrong!
There is no India shining, or emerging or rising ... There is only an India that "so called" was! I shudder at the India my son and his sons will inherit. Diseased, corrupt, dysfunctional, evil, prejudiced, irrational, uneducated, bursting at the seems and yet while I write this article India sleeps.

No I am no crusader and I don't think I can change something that doesn't want to change... I just want out! At the earliest I just want out!

To a new life

         As I lay in bed on this cool spring morning, a blocked artery, an angioplasty procedure later, I still find it difficult to believe in God! Not that I am not thankful for this fresh lease of life and to be able to see my son grow up, and be by my ageing parents and to grow old with my wife. I am thankful to science. I am merely paying the price of not paying enough attention to logic and reason. I should have deduced this near fatal consequence but I didn't. I have no one to blame but my own pseudo epicurean belief about life. I can't say I am any wiser, but I certainly will take time out to appreciate the finer aspects of life, devote enough time to do things I love to do-write more often, sing more often, sketch more often,visit those foreign shores, learn to play the piano (something that I have always wanted to do)......one lifetime is not enough!
         No, I am not scared, no I am not any less radical, no I have not removed my eyes from the class enemies, no I have not removed my fingers from the trigger...but yes I am perhaps a little less angry with the world, a little more careful, a little less 'anti' god damn everything under the sun. Friends, show no sympathy, just quietly learn a lesson here!
          

Organic

There is something red growing
on my tenth floor apartment's balcony.
It is silent like hunger, cold like a fact
and it sways like some unattended lines of a long forgotten poem.

Yet it appears organic and my one year old son tries to reach for it.
Someday he might just be able to touch it, feel it,
smell it, perhaps grasp it with his two hands.

In what you see today as a lone Hibiscus,
growing on my tenth floor apartment's balcony,
I see a crimson tide.
I see a crusade.

Now Day and Night

- A translation of Souvik Bandyopadhyay's poem 

"Ekhon dinraat"

The pale boulevard appears

as a lazy, ancient serpent in this colourless evening

sipping nonchalantly from the chalice of time

we grow antique as well.

Narrow by-lanes, old rusty antennas

no one dwells here anymore

just a few black and white photo albums

of girls..young, frolicking, giggling remain.

Its been ages since spring came visiting Kolkata

Now just a deep, bluish winter

sits hauntingly on the window pane.

No fireworks for a millenia 

of precarious existence-

Now while thinking about my friends

I put on a cold grey suit

and habitually keep floating night and day.