দূর সুদূরে যেখানে তোমার সুর পৌঁছয়
বুকেরও বুকের ভেতর থেকে , আমায় ছুঁয়ে
সেইখানে যদি বসতে আমার সাথে, আরও এক প্রহর
এলিয়ে দিতাম ঘাসের ঠোঁটে আমার ক্লান্ত শরীর,
বসন্ত নিয়ে যাওয়া হাওয়ার মত সেই সুরও চলে যায়
অচেনা কিছু দিগন্ত খুঁজে পাওয়ার আশায়।
To Arijit Singh's soulful music for Pagglait, to Sanya Malhotra's triumphant performance.
বয়সের সাথে কলকাতাও ফেলে এসেছি কলকাতায়
পথে খুঁজি না আর পথের হদিস, সন্ধ্যের Acropolis
প্যারামাউন্ট আজ ট্রিনিটি সরণি, রিগাল অপচয়
নন্দন দোতলা, সত্তরের হাতছানি, ছোপ ছোপ সময়
রাতে হাঁটা ভূতের গলি, ডেকে ওঠে থেমে যাওয়া ঘড়ি
রিপন স্ট্রিট, মৌলালি, রুবি, মুছতে থাকা এক একটা আশ্রয়
ভাঙা দেওয়ালে মানুষের বাস, ভাঙা বাড়িতে নয়
চুন খসে যায় শহরের বুকে, ইতিহাস ফেরে আমার দিকে
নদীর কান্না ভেজা খাল, বিখ্যাত সেতু যখন বর্তমান সঞ্চয়
লিখতে তো পারি প্রেম নিয়েও কত কিছু অবহেলায়
সেই সব কথা - যারা তোমার মনে আসে, মুখে নয় -
বয়সের সাথে সব অবহেলাকেও ফেলে এসেছি কলকাতায়।
Let's for a moment recount Majrooh Sultanpuri's famous lines from the 1956 cult classic, C.I.D :
Kahin pe nigaahein, kahin pe nishaana
Jeene do zaalim, banao na deewana
Now let's come back to the present. The new Uttarakhand CM (I remind you, he's very very very new : the last CM was replaced just a couple of weeks back ) says that it was Amrika that ruled over us for 200 years, and that the Sun never set on that empire, bla bla bla ... Are we really supposed to believe that any person in India, whose profession is politics, doesn't know about the British? Or is it by design that this guy keeps making controversial statements every week, be it on women's attire, or on our overlords?
His appointment has served its purpose. He has been given a particular job and he has proven to be quite good at it. He is the bait where someone wants our nigaahein to rest on, and my friend, the nishaana are you and me.
Koi na jaane, irade hain kidhar ke
If you thought that that was the only game being played last week, you are
mistaken. Pratap Bhanu Mehta's resignation, followed by Arvind
Subramanian's, is the other tip of a very deep iceberg. Destroying the
only good Indian private (and liberal) university's reputation plays right
into the hands of the powers that be.
Maar na de na teer nazar ka kisike jigar pe
Naazuk yeh dil hai, bachana o bachana.
In West Bengal, all of a sudden one sees chaos in the BJP ranks due
to quite a few 'unsatisfactory' candidatures. It is as if the BJP got
cold feet because the wind was indeed favorable, and that the party WANTS to
lose this election to TMC. The Bengal assembly in any case is all set to have a strong opposition for the first time in more than 50 years. Is it really though a bipolar election? If the CPIM-INC coalition is indeed serious about banking on anti-incumbency, where is the fight on the ground? One would expect that they must be seriously concerned about the BJP eating into their vote share. Memes do not win you elections, issues do. Does the Bengali voter know what she is voting for? Is corruption the agenda? Or is it unemployment? Is she voting to assert her religious identity? Or is the concern cultural pride? The state votes in a few weeks, and we do not have a single clear message from any political party. The media has built up a local election at the national scale, and none of the TMC spokespersons has shown the maturity to lower the stakes! It's only appalling. If a wheelchair dominates headlines, it simply tells a story of the state's spine.
While I made an abrupt jump from national to state politics, to my eyes there is a distinct similarity. It is as if no matter whether it's the incumbent or the challenger, a game of distractions is all that is going on. I quote Majrooh Sahab once again :
Tauba ji tauba, nigaahon ka machalna
Dekhbhal ke ae dilwalo pehlu badalna
Kaafir ada ki ada hain mastana
Tagore argued long back in his Nationalism leaflet about the pyramidal structure of power in India where the base and the body remain static, and the tip keeps flirting with various changes. One would expect that to have changed during 70 years of democracy, but alas! West Bengal, literally and metaphorically is still stuck in the past, in the worst possible way. If this goes on, the Bengali children will keep losing their childhood to the same old illusions, and the parents will keep spending the dusk alone, but with inflated egos, thanks to their successful children paying taxes in distant countries. But election after election, we will not ask questions about the detrimental re-distributive policies of the Left, or of the Congress breaking the backbone of the youth in the 1970s. Neither shall we ask why there is such brazen corruption at every level today, nor do we feel the need to question why "Jay Shree Ram" is relevant at all! We will leave ourselves at the mercy of the political goons, and sing :
In our democracy even NOTA does not make practical sense. The only hope then, is in the people, strangely, where it should be. Unless the people start asking questions, the political banners won't. But indeed, are we, the people, really deserving of good governance in West Bengal?
In a state where intellectuals look down upon anything beyond Dumdum and Garia, at least yours truly doesn't expect change anytime soon. We hear a lot about the Bengali pride. But whom are we kidding? Bengal's history is as colonized as it could be. Anything and everything rests with Kolkata, and so does the Bengali pride, that is being marketed nowadays. If you are a Bengali from Kolkata, and you know who you are, ask yourself how much of an oriental attitude you suffer from. You speak, in the same breath, of Cuba, Moscow, Vietnam, but you haven't heard of Patiram. You mock the knowledge of idiotic anchors when they say that Tagore was born in Santiniketan, but you mock the dialect of the very people of Bolpur if you get a chance. You say that caste is irrelevant in West Bengal because you have only seen Kolkata, a city dominated by the upper castes. Give me one Bengal chief minister from the so-called "lower" castes.
To be honest, the hypocritical Kolkata-elite is in decay. It's a process that has just started. Don't make the mistake of thinking that only people born in Kolkata make up this elite. It is a self-feeding structure. It has contributions from every district of Bengal. This elitism is a seductress, and the honey-trap is laid for everyone - man, woman, transgender, Brahmin, Kayastha, Shudra, Dalit, Muslim, you name it. The seduction of being hailed as an intellectual Kolkata-Bengali is the disease that has become a terminal illness.
Aaya shikari, o panchhi tu sambhal ja
Dekh jaal hain zulfo ka, tu chupke se nikal ja.
Like in any other illness, the vogue-word is "roots". Until each of us accepts our respective roots, there can never be any Bengali pride. This means an outright rejection of trying to fit-in anymore. It is only then that we will truly ask relevant questions to and of the power structure.
Till we meet again, let me leave you with Sahir's memorable lines from the Guru Dutt-debut Baazi :
"Tadbeer se bigdi hui taqdeer bana le,
Aapne pe bharosa hain to yeh daav laga le"
To the new, that will arrive someday
I have but a word of caution tonight
The nights are dark, and clouds are grey
And anything else relevant, is white.
Lest I forget, the obvious is simple,
But the simple isn't obvious, my friend -
Days can be dark in an artist's dream,
But dreams have a cost, and you must pay.
Don't be scared of the night,
Night's only a symptom of time.
Time, a silent, creeping parasite
Feeding on your beloved life,
Reveals its shades once in a while -
The darkest gliding on white lies.
At such an epoch, shines a bloody Moon
Over torn, lost, burnt silver clouds
Fields cower into winter slumbers
As jackals step out of pits to howl
Mute trees lend ears to whispers
A thousand cracks line the ground.
The encircled prey kicks at a stone
A slice of hope lights up the grass
Razor teeth land on the calf
And thirsty grass bathes in blood.
The voice speaks softly to the dew
Are you not afraid of the dark?
In this dead dark night
A soul speaks to the tavern
Where a crowd has gathered
A crowd of shadows, feasting
On flesh, bone and blood.
A sinister Moon lines the pallets
As dutiful clouds guard the square;
The darkness whispers into the breeze
A tale of shadows and mercenaries,
The breeze blows gently by the streets
Letting the city know what it all means ...
And the city, ever so awake,
Slides deeper into sleep.
Never set out on a night like this
That doesn't belong to dogs, but to beasts
There would be no alarm to warn you
But a pair of cold hands, and a sharp steel.
Be careful by the window too
There are eyes, where they shouldn't be.
Tu jaata kahan hai deewane!
As a greying grass of the day awaits moonshine
A moss covered stone awaits but a long summer
The Earth wanders through its destined orbit
Circling a stormy Sun, oblivious to the life within.
Life is but that bubble around crashing tides
Game for a few ashore, for beholders the only sight.
Tides, the first responders to ancient rhythms
Rhythms, inevitable; which the heart gladly skips.
হিমুর পকেটে সূর্য ডুবে যায়
ময়ূরাক্ষীর সন্ধ্যেবেলায়
গোধূলি পেরিয়ে পথ শুরু যেখানে
আর কাঁটাতার শুধু পায়ের তলায়।
ফুঁপিয়ে কাঁদেন ফুফা, ছেলের কোঁকড়া চুল
মায়ার ফেরে হিমুকে ঘরে থাকতে দেওয়াই ভুল।
বরফ পড়ে না শহরে, জমতে থাকে বুকে
পেতে চেয়েছে যারা, তাদের স্বস্তি গেছে চুকে।
হিসেব করেছে মশা, খাটের বাইরে থেকে
রক্ত কতটা পেতাম, যদি চুষতে দিত ফ্রীতে।
নাম করেনি পুলিশ, ডাইরিতে ঘা খেয়ে
ঘুমিয়ে পড়েছে হিমু, ময়ূরাক্ষীর পাতা বুজে।
তোমার অন্ধকার আমি চিনি না
কোনো কোনো আলো এসে চিনতে দেয়নি বারবার।
না, তারা ভোরের আলো ছিল না
সেই সব আলো রাতেই জ্বলেছে আজীবন।
জ্বলজ্বল করা সব আলো নিভে যায় একদিন,
নিজের আগুনের অহংকারই একমাত্র জ্বালানী;
সেই আলোয় স্নিগ্ধতা পায় চন্দ্র, অস্তিত্ব বৃহষ্পতি
নিভে গেলে নিভে যায় অন্ধকারেরও রশ্মি।
আলো নেই যে মহাবিশ্বে,
সেখানে অন্ধকার দেখেছে কে?
যদি আদৌ না চিনে থাকি
তোমার আঁধার দেখতে চেয়েছে কে?
স্থান, কালের ওপারে দাঁড়িয়ে আছো তুমি
কারোর অপেক্ষায় নয়; অস্তিত্বে নিজের।
রাত নেমে আসে আমাদের ঠিকানায়, বাগানে
চিঠিবাক্স শূন্য বুকে তোমার ডাক খুঁজে ফেরে।
কে দেখেছে কালপুরুষে মিশে যাওয়া জোনাকির অন্ধকার?
কে শুনেছে শব্দ ঘাসের ঠোঁটে তোমার চোখ রাখার?
নির্বাক, নিঃস্তব্ধ পৃথিবী কেঁপেছিল ক্ষীণস্বরে
পূর্ণিমা যা ছিল, রয়ে গেল অন্তরালে।
