The Rise & Fall of a movement 25th Aug 2017

The Rise

The late 70's, 80's and the 90's were perhaps the most culturally and intellectually bankrupt period in the history of this nation. Quite literally a period of great void. Nothing really of any significance happened during this period and these were unfortunately my years of growing up. There was no anchor to latch on to, no event which would have played any kind of pivotal role in my life. It was a period when all that had to be said and done was already said and done. All the revolutions and radicalism were already over and or crumbling. Every aspect of life and its myriad manifestations through art, literature, movies, music even Bollywood was going through a period of great mediocrity and lack of innovation. The larger than life charismatic  leaders were all dead or just didn't care anymore, lamenting somewhere at the colossus betrayal of some cause or the other etc. It was a period of looking back at the golden days that would never come back and at the same time looking at the dark abyss that lay ahead. We were in a way doomed it seemed. 

It was therefore a period of unease, dissatisfaction and general lethargy. Many of us felt something had to give, give sooner rather than later... it finally did in the mid nineties. It was, as is always the case, with points of inflection in cultural history, through music. It happened in college canteens in Calcutta. It happened through the age old practise of banging the table and singing songs... but this time with a difference. The difference was the accompaniment of an acoustic guitar and a new lyrical format. Lyrics which did not speak of beauty, nature or unrequited love, but of the ugliness of day to day life in the city. Urban songs about urban struggle, love, politics... change in general and a post- revolution realism in particular. Suddenly I, we found an anchor, a pivot... it was positive, creative and gave us a cause to believe in and a movement to be a part of. The Bangla Band movement !Suddenly we belonged to a growing sub- tribe. A tribe of youth who had grown on western music, who were re-discovering themselves through vernacular but through the medium of western rock delivery.. guitars, drums, head banging, long hair, torn jeans, deviant, proud et al. Suddenly the Marx, Kafka, Sartre, Doestovsky fed Bengali boy was expressing himself very simply through the vibrations of six strings and it all made sense. We all genuinely believed in the movement and the change it was bringing. Finally the void was getting filled and it was a period of great satisfaction, sense of purpose and primordial joy. It was simple, pure and relatable then....

The Fall

The youth of the 90's gradually grew out of college and into responsibilities, family obligations, job, career ...the usual routine. 

The movement did not pay bills! Suddenly the insecure Bengali boy whose father was about to retire had to make a choice. He chose wisely as one would say!

But lo and behold there is a new generation of Bengali boys who now sing in the same college canteens, who grew listening to stories of the movement which happened while they were in kindergarten. Of Gautam Chattopadhyay and Mohiner Ghoraguli and the mythical band called Abhilasha and Cactus and Porosh Pathor ( the philosopher's stone) and the legendary Krosswindz and their cult album .. the movement it seemed would survive the passing of the baton. 

But alas... what was supposed to usher in change, stand against establishment, strengthen the sub tribe, provide a platform of expression and yet stay pure and simple is today just the shameful opposite. Rivalry, distrust, money it seems has found its way into our Camelot. Capitalism has reared its ugly head and meddled in the affairs of the movement. Expensive shows, corporate sponsorships, costly equipments and instruments have replaced the simplicity of singing in the college canteens with an acoustic guitar. Lyrics no longer talk of realism but of apocalyptic post- realism, of darkness, sadness and negativity in general. It is no longer simple, uplifting or positive. The youth of the 90's, now are almost all in their 40's, and through their rimmed glasses and excel sheets and PowerPoint presentations, with a great sense of disgust, are witnessing the collapse of this great post-revolution movement... alas it now seems to be imploding and falling through the cracks...

But I believe that the movement still lives. It breathes every time anyone of us, no matter where we might be, in Kolkata or Istanbul or London, picks up the acoustic guitar and sings "Runway jurey porey achey sudhu keo nai sunnota" ( desolation lies strewn all along the Runway) .... the movement is dead! Long live the movement!