JOURNALISM AND ME
It was 11th of March (my birthday), 1952, when a heretic named Ernesto Guavera was treading the contours of the Atacama desert in a quest to explore different faces of humanity. It was 23rd of March, 1931, when Bhagat Singh, aged 23 then (I am an year older to him at this juncture), embraced the gallows for the sake of a vision, an independent India.
On being rendered jobless after toiling for 4 years for an engineering degree, I was blessed with some leisure to introspect my aspirations from life. The sagacity of the aforementioned visionaries, and many more, had inculcated in me a sense of social awareness. A fervent desire that had perished a prolonged period of dormancy had started to make it’s presence felt. Journalism, other than the murky Indian politics, offers a platform to opine, get heard and get paid for it! A journalist is bestowed with the onus of bridging the gap between the truth and the mass, thus making it a socially responsible profession as well as a fulfilling experience. The respect and recognition the profession draws has served as an impetus for me to forego the lures of the IT industry and thrive for taking up social causes which have languished in the necropolis for long.
Couple of years down the line, I aspire to make my mark as a journalist whom the society looks up to for truth, logical and impartial opinion. If I succeed in making optimal use of the platform this profession provides to unravel the fallacies in society and make living a pleasure for even a handful of the needy in the process, I would consider my tenure well lived and well served.
Friday, March 26, 2010
The Split India Movement
I would risk my mere existence to prescribe a special screening of ‘Chakde India’ as a medication to the disease which has beseeched the revered scion of hate politics in India, Baalasaheb Thackeray, to disparage the might of the Indian Constitution time and over again. In a quest to forge a “Maharashtra for Maharashtrians”, the mighty soul has harbingered a series of lash outs against non Maharashtrians, be it a vow to flush out of Mumbai, migrants from UP and Bihar or nourishing a fervent desire to raise a Hindu terrorist faction to exterminate Muslims in India.
Let us retract a few paces in time to the era of British oppression in India. I believe that Baalasaheb is not oblivious of a certain Mangal Pandey, a Bhumiyar Brahmin from UP, who became a martyr, thus insinuating an unrest that eventually culminated to what is famously referred to as the ‘Sepoy Mutiny’. Pandey’s mantle was willingly shared by many. Maharashtra saw the emergence of brave hearts of the order of Rani Laxmibai, Nana Saheb and Tantiya Tope among others, who led a handful of men recalcitrant to British regime, with panache. Their legacy was carried forward by the likes of Baalgangadhar Tilak, Binayak Damodar Savarkar, Gopal Krishna Gokhle etc, who toiled their entire lifetime with the likes of the Lalbahadur Shastris and Jayprakash Narayans, to materialize a vision of free India. It is to remind Baalasaheb, who has mastered the art of staging agitations based on regional bias without an iota of compunction, that an independent India, which has offered him the platform and liberty to be atrocious and hostile to immigrants in Maharashtra, was born out of a vision that surmounted regional or cultural barriers.
Let us steal a sneak peek into how Baalasaheb and his acolytes have carved a niche for themselves in the murky Indian politics. That he has always been vocal about Muslim immigrants and insurgency in India calls for an applause. However, the remedies suggested to eradicate the trouble are worth sending a shiver through one’s spine. Touted as one of the perpetrators of Babri Masjid demolition, Baalasaheb had willingly disgraced the Indian constitution which espouses secularism and had been designed by Bhimrao Ambedkar, a visionary of Maharashtrian origin. His urge to generate a Hindu terrorist faction to annihilate Muslims in India, has been detrimental to his already prevalent radical image. Such opinion has attracted remonstrations from across the country, except from his political brethren with similar notions.
One can hardly avail to expect a softer stance from someone who has voiced his admiration for Hitler and even an ardent desire to emulate the mighty Nazi. In various interviews to Asia Week, Indian Express and Navkal, Baalasaheb has expressed a fervent appreciation for Hitler’s charisma, artistry and organizational skills. (I believe he had missed out on the organizational skills of his Indian predecessors like Swami Vivekananda or Subhash Chandra Bose, who has a more soothing and innocuous impact on world history).
It is unfortunate to reckon that Shiv Sena, over the years, has lost it’s sheen and is a sorry shadow of what it had set out to be at it’s inception. Befriended by a herd of lumpens, the party has indulged in a series of pogroms which has debilitated it’s appeal among the mass. This can be attributed to the party’s obsession with an almost nondescript Marathi culture at the cost of subjugating the more illustrious ones in comparison. The party’s tenacity to curb an individual’s freedom of expression has drawn ire from various quarters as well.
Let us consider a few examples of how Shiv Sena has been subjected to derision for it’s frivolous acts. Needless to say, Baalasaheb lambasting Sachin Tendulker has been touted as the pinnacle of his delirium in recent past. The ‘Little Master’ was convicted of going on air claiming to be an Indian over a Maharashtrian. Off late, Shahrukh Khan’s bewilderment at the exclusion of Pakistani cricketers from the current edition of the IPL registered him in the bad books of Baalasaheb.( Pakistan is the current T20 champions and the presence of pin up boys like Shahid Afridi, Shoaib Malik or Shoaib Akhtar would have boosted ticket sales!!).
Shiv Sena might tend to shove off such allegations under the wraps and blame it on media for such calumny and negative publicity. But one thing for sure is that the Shiv Sainiks find it condescending to make peace with their oppositions. How else does one explain a handful of vandals breaking into and ransacking Mumbai office of IBN Lokmat and IBN 7? This was obviously not a first time for Shiv Sainiks. Back in January 2008, they had been accused of vandalizing journalist Kumar Ketkar’s residence. Even the ‘Bombay Natural History Society’ was not spared of Shiv Sena’s wrath for still lingering on with ‘Bombay’ instead of ‘Mumbai’.
Another aspect where the Sena supreme scores low is the disparaging attitude he cherishes towards his political rivals. It all started in the 60’s with addressing South Indians as ‘lungiwallas’. ( Sir, how about a certain Major Sandeep Unnikrishnan who was selfless enough in sacrificing his precious life while evacuating hostages from Taj Mahal Palace Hotel as a part of operation Black Tornado, in YOUR MUMBAI?). His demeanor towards Rahul Gandhi has raised many eyebrows as the latter was ridiculed as ‘Rome putra’. I wonder what has held Baalasaheb back from denouncing ‘Mumbai Indians’, the IPL franchise owned by Mukesh Ambani. ( Baalasaheb seems to believe Mumbai is for Maharashtrians. Moreover, Mukesh Ambani is a Gujrati by origin).
To conclude, the time is ripe that Baalasaheb and his compatriots realize the need for a change in disposition and abstain from venting spleen on every individual convicted of puncturing Marathi sentiments. That ‘Marathi Manoos’ has a flexible loyality is evident with Congress being at helm for the last couple of years. The facetious approach adopted in implementing grave issues, in the form of hooliganism, makes the entire effort a mere baloney. With one in every four residents of Mumbai hailing from a non Maharashtrian background, a softer stance and acceptability towards a multi cultural Maharashtra would help Shiv Sena emerge out of the ashes with a revamped image and wider social acceptance. Further, it would relieve the octogenarian from the predicament of being touted as the harbinger of the ‘Split India Movement’.
I would risk my mere existence to prescribe a special screening of ‘Chakde India’ as a medication to the disease which has beseeched the revered scion of hate politics in India, Baalasaheb Thackeray, to disparage the might of the Indian Constitution time and over again. In a quest to forge a “Maharashtra for Maharashtrians”, the mighty soul has harbingered a series of lash outs against non Maharashtrians, be it a vow to flush out of Mumbai, migrants from UP and Bihar or nourishing a fervent desire to raise a Hindu terrorist faction to exterminate Muslims in India.
Let us retract a few paces in time to the era of British oppression in India. I believe that Baalasaheb is not oblivious of a certain Mangal Pandey, a Bhumiyar Brahmin from UP, who became a martyr, thus insinuating an unrest that eventually culminated to what is famously referred to as the ‘Sepoy Mutiny’. Pandey’s mantle was willingly shared by many. Maharashtra saw the emergence of brave hearts of the order of Rani Laxmibai, Nana Saheb and Tantiya Tope among others, who led a handful of men recalcitrant to British regime, with panache. Their legacy was carried forward by the likes of Baalgangadhar Tilak, Binayak Damodar Savarkar, Gopal Krishna Gokhle etc, who toiled their entire lifetime with the likes of the Lalbahadur Shastris and Jayprakash Narayans, to materialize a vision of free India. It is to remind Baalasaheb, who has mastered the art of staging agitations based on regional bias without an iota of compunction, that an independent India, which has offered him the platform and liberty to be atrocious and hostile to immigrants in Maharashtra, was born out of a vision that surmounted regional or cultural barriers.
Let us steal a sneak peek into how Baalasaheb and his acolytes have carved a niche for themselves in the murky Indian politics. That he has always been vocal about Muslim immigrants and insurgency in India calls for an applause. However, the remedies suggested to eradicate the trouble are worth sending a shiver through one’s spine. Touted as one of the perpetrators of Babri Masjid demolition, Baalasaheb had willingly disgraced the Indian constitution which espouses secularism and had been designed by Bhimrao Ambedkar, a visionary of Maharashtrian origin. His urge to generate a Hindu terrorist faction to annihilate Muslims in India, has been detrimental to his already prevalent radical image. Such opinion has attracted remonstrations from across the country, except from his political brethren with similar notions.
One can hardly avail to expect a softer stance from someone who has voiced his admiration for Hitler and even an ardent desire to emulate the mighty Nazi. In various interviews to Asia Week, Indian Express and Navkal, Baalasaheb has expressed a fervent appreciation for Hitler’s charisma, artistry and organizational skills. (I believe he had missed out on the organizational skills of his Indian predecessors like Swami Vivekananda or Subhash Chandra Bose, who has a more soothing and innocuous impact on world history).
It is unfortunate to reckon that Shiv Sena, over the years, has lost it’s sheen and is a sorry shadow of what it had set out to be at it’s inception. Befriended by a herd of lumpens, the party has indulged in a series of pogroms which has debilitated it’s appeal among the mass. This can be attributed to the party’s obsession with an almost nondescript Marathi culture at the cost of subjugating the more illustrious ones in comparison. The party’s tenacity to curb an individual’s freedom of expression has drawn ire from various quarters as well.
Let us consider a few examples of how Shiv Sena has been subjected to derision for it’s frivolous acts. Needless to say, Baalasaheb lambasting Sachin Tendulker has been touted as the pinnacle of his delirium in recent past. The ‘Little Master’ was convicted of going on air claiming to be an Indian over a Maharashtrian. Off late, Shahrukh Khan’s bewilderment at the exclusion of Pakistani cricketers from the current edition of the IPL registered him in the bad books of Baalasaheb.( Pakistan is the current T20 champions and the presence of pin up boys like Shahid Afridi, Shoaib Malik or Shoaib Akhtar would have boosted ticket sales!!).
Shiv Sena might tend to shove off such allegations under the wraps and blame it on media for such calumny and negative publicity. But one thing for sure is that the Shiv Sainiks find it condescending to make peace with their oppositions. How else does one explain a handful of vandals breaking into and ransacking Mumbai office of IBN Lokmat and IBN 7? This was obviously not a first time for Shiv Sainiks. Back in January 2008, they had been accused of vandalizing journalist Kumar Ketkar’s residence. Even the ‘Bombay Natural History Society’ was not spared of Shiv Sena’s wrath for still lingering on with ‘Bombay’ instead of ‘Mumbai’.
Another aspect where the Sena supreme scores low is the disparaging attitude he cherishes towards his political rivals. It all started in the 60’s with addressing South Indians as ‘lungiwallas’. ( Sir, how about a certain Major Sandeep Unnikrishnan who was selfless enough in sacrificing his precious life while evacuating hostages from Taj Mahal Palace Hotel as a part of operation Black Tornado, in YOUR MUMBAI?). His demeanor towards Rahul Gandhi has raised many eyebrows as the latter was ridiculed as ‘Rome putra’. I wonder what has held Baalasaheb back from denouncing ‘Mumbai Indians’, the IPL franchise owned by Mukesh Ambani. ( Baalasaheb seems to believe Mumbai is for Maharashtrians. Moreover, Mukesh Ambani is a Gujrati by origin).
To conclude, the time is ripe that Baalasaheb and his compatriots realize the need for a change in disposition and abstain from venting spleen on every individual convicted of puncturing Marathi sentiments. That ‘Marathi Manoos’ has a flexible loyality is evident with Congress being at helm for the last couple of years. The facetious approach adopted in implementing grave issues, in the form of hooliganism, makes the entire effort a mere baloney. With one in every four residents of Mumbai hailing from a non Maharashtrian background, a softer stance and acceptability towards a multi cultural Maharashtra would help Shiv Sena emerge out of the ashes with a revamped image and wider social acceptance. Further, it would relieve the octogenarian from the predicament of being touted as the harbinger of the ‘Split India Movement’.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
SUMAN CHATTOPADHYAY………..THE FALLEN HERO?????????
Once upon a time in the land of the Aryans, there went a tenet that encouraged the Bengalis to bask in the glory of their revered geographical boundary, West Bengal. It was, perhaps still is, hailed as the intellectual capital of India. Why not? With a plethora of recognized and acclaimed achievers in their respective domains tracing their origin here. Be it science, music or literature, one stood no chance in falling short of choices. One had the likes of Tagore, P.C.Sen to vouch for.
However, the aspect hidden from public glare, which in due time became Bengal’s nemesis, was the state’s recalcitrance to accept changes. Submerged in the glory of the predecessors, Bengal was unwilling to keep up with the erstwhile social reforms that were taking the world by storm. Obsessed with ‘Bangaliana’, epitomized with meek, taciturn, dhoti clad ‘Babumoshais’, the state embraced Communism with arms wide open and turned it’s back from everything other than it.
Needless to say, cultural evolution came to a standstill. Bengal, at that juncture, was not ready to look beyond Tagore. ( Readers, this is by no means an attempt to disparage the noble laureate, he is timeless). While the world rocked and rolled with the Beatles, crooned and rode high with Bob Dylan or Jim Morrison, rock and roll in Bengal was incarcerated within a select audience, sardonically classified as the ‘Classes’ by the puritans. A child was berated on expressing a penchant for playing the guitar. An youth was subjected to walking the lonely corridors and parents often contemplated a rehabilitation, if found trying to explore the nuances of rock and roll. It was widely regarded as a condescending act, so dismal was the state.
Amidst such atrocities emerged an emphatic persona, Suman Chattopadhyay, who deserves every bit of adulation for transforming and popularizing the sound of contemporary Bangla music. Needless to say that he was an able successor to Gautam Chattopadhyay, who was touted as the harbinger of contemporary bangle music, popular as ‘Jibonmukhi gaan’. With his advent into this genre of music with ‘Tomake Chai’ back in 1993, suman ably ended the lull that loomed large after Mohiner Ghoraguli, a brainchild of Goutam Chattopadhyay, disintegrated in 1981. The genre dealt with socially relevant issues, punctuated with tunes utterly non existent in the horizon of bangle music till then. Bengal, which had till then been a necropolis for western music, was suddenly all ears to Suman Chattopadhyay. He was inundated with applause from all quarters. Be it Tomake Chai, Gaanwala or Petkaati Chadiyal, the heretic in Suman was distinctly visible. The sagacity of his lyrics had the youth in a frenzy. Being an ardent of Bob Dylan admirer, Suman’s rendition of Dylan was apparent in his compositions like ‘Uttoro To Jaana’.
However, the king’s scepter has it’s fair share of thorns and so did Suman’s ascent to the crest. Though his advent into the bangle music scenario created an urge in many to follow his suit, it did not take his distractors long to shower his music with a plethora of sardonic comments. An esteemed yesteryear’s exponent of Rabindrasangeet even went to the extent of commenting………If this breed of musicians( Suman and his acolytes) christens their music as Jibonmukhi, had we spent all our life in nurturing ‘Moronmukhi’ music. Fortunately, the efficacy of his music helped him steer clear of such derisions.
In Bengal, a musician does not live by his music alone, but his life is put under scanner every now and then. Suman’s turbulent conjugal life, ornated with numerous associations and subsequent splits had already ignited enough ire, which debilitated his audience base. That he converted to Islam and rechristened himself Kabir Suman, to marry Sabina Yasmin, was not taken kindly by a chunk of his audience. That he lacked contrition for this act was termed profane by many. Still, the impact of his music over rode such distractions and prevented Suman, the Musician, to fade into oblivion.
Bengal,a Communist stronghold and rightly so with the ledgend of the late Jyoti Basu, had witnessed a benign amalgamation of culture and communism in the state. The so called cultural stalwarts of the state had always shown a fervent appreciation for the Communists. On the contrary, Suman joining Trinamool Congress, demeaning the glorious history of Communists epitomized by the Che Gueveras, Fidel Castros or M.N. Roys, showed him a poor student of etymology, thus raising many eyebrows. Detractors took no time to label him a gold digger, well versed with the dynamics of Bengal’s murky politics. However, that he still had his veracity in place and joining Trinamool was no ploy to align himself with the emerging political honchos was proved when Suman revolted, time and over again, against the inconsistencies prevailing in his party, thus making a travesty of his critics.
An appeal………let go of his squalid conjugal life, let go of his political ambitions( I doubt if he at all nurtures one!). let he be remembered as a sagacious heretic who enlightened Bangla music with a new sound and an unique perspective with panache. HAIL SUMAN…………..
However, the aspect hidden from public glare, which in due time became Bengal’s nemesis, was the state’s recalcitrance to accept changes. Submerged in the glory of the predecessors, Bengal was unwilling to keep up with the erstwhile social reforms that were taking the world by storm. Obsessed with ‘Bangaliana’, epitomized with meek, taciturn, dhoti clad ‘Babumoshais’, the state embraced Communism with arms wide open and turned it’s back from everything other than it.
Needless to say, cultural evolution came to a standstill. Bengal, at that juncture, was not ready to look beyond Tagore. ( Readers, this is by no means an attempt to disparage the noble laureate, he is timeless). While the world rocked and rolled with the Beatles, crooned and rode high with Bob Dylan or Jim Morrison, rock and roll in Bengal was incarcerated within a select audience, sardonically classified as the ‘Classes’ by the puritans. A child was berated on expressing a penchant for playing the guitar. An youth was subjected to walking the lonely corridors and parents often contemplated a rehabilitation, if found trying to explore the nuances of rock and roll. It was widely regarded as a condescending act, so dismal was the state.
Amidst such atrocities emerged an emphatic persona, Suman Chattopadhyay, who deserves every bit of adulation for transforming and popularizing the sound of contemporary Bangla music. Needless to say that he was an able successor to Gautam Chattopadhyay, who was touted as the harbinger of contemporary bangle music, popular as ‘Jibonmukhi gaan’. With his advent into this genre of music with ‘Tomake Chai’ back in 1993, suman ably ended the lull that loomed large after Mohiner Ghoraguli, a brainchild of Goutam Chattopadhyay, disintegrated in 1981. The genre dealt with socially relevant issues, punctuated with tunes utterly non existent in the horizon of bangle music till then. Bengal, which had till then been a necropolis for western music, was suddenly all ears to Suman Chattopadhyay. He was inundated with applause from all quarters. Be it Tomake Chai, Gaanwala or Petkaati Chadiyal, the heretic in Suman was distinctly visible. The sagacity of his lyrics had the youth in a frenzy. Being an ardent of Bob Dylan admirer, Suman’s rendition of Dylan was apparent in his compositions like ‘Uttoro To Jaana’.
However, the king’s scepter has it’s fair share of thorns and so did Suman’s ascent to the crest. Though his advent into the bangle music scenario created an urge in many to follow his suit, it did not take his distractors long to shower his music with a plethora of sardonic comments. An esteemed yesteryear’s exponent of Rabindrasangeet even went to the extent of commenting………If this breed of musicians( Suman and his acolytes) christens their music as Jibonmukhi, had we spent all our life in nurturing ‘Moronmukhi’ music. Fortunately, the efficacy of his music helped him steer clear of such derisions.
In Bengal, a musician does not live by his music alone, but his life is put under scanner every now and then. Suman’s turbulent conjugal life, ornated with numerous associations and subsequent splits had already ignited enough ire, which debilitated his audience base. That he converted to Islam and rechristened himself Kabir Suman, to marry Sabina Yasmin, was not taken kindly by a chunk of his audience. That he lacked contrition for this act was termed profane by many. Still, the impact of his music over rode such distractions and prevented Suman, the Musician, to fade into oblivion.
Bengal,a Communist stronghold and rightly so with the ledgend of the late Jyoti Basu, had witnessed a benign amalgamation of culture and communism in the state. The so called cultural stalwarts of the state had always shown a fervent appreciation for the Communists. On the contrary, Suman joining Trinamool Congress, demeaning the glorious history of Communists epitomized by the Che Gueveras, Fidel Castros or M.N. Roys, showed him a poor student of etymology, thus raising many eyebrows. Detractors took no time to label him a gold digger, well versed with the dynamics of Bengal’s murky politics. However, that he still had his veracity in place and joining Trinamool was no ploy to align himself with the emerging political honchos was proved when Suman revolted, time and over again, against the inconsistencies prevailing in his party, thus making a travesty of his critics.
An appeal………let go of his squalid conjugal life, let go of his political ambitions( I doubt if he at all nurtures one!). let he be remembered as a sagacious heretic who enlightened Bangla music with a new sound and an unique perspective with panache. HAIL SUMAN…………..
Friday, January 1, 2010
Remembrance
“When you are brought into this world, they say you are born in sin, at least they gave you something you didn’t have to steal or have to win”, words rightly put together by the rocker Bon Jovi which gives a sneak peak to the mundaneness of our lives. Dodging the risk of belittling the impetus that irks us to live a mad life, prioritized by an epicurean vision, what follows in this write up is not a derision to the pleasure we find in philandering with time or money, but the plight of several others, who pass by as mere spectators to our opulence, undone by fate or their own misadventures at some point of time or the other.
Durga Puja in West Bengal has attained the status of a folklore to the rest of India.
Every individual who can relate themselves to the traditions of Bengal, wishes to live up to the legend of exuberance that sweeps the state for those four days and nights. We tend to reserve our best for that tenure, look the best, eat the best, hang out at the best places, in short, make an attempt to take a grab at the best of everything we have ever aspired to have. We wish the halcyon days never cease to exist.
The flipside to the aforementioned gesture is the silent hue and cry raised by that section of the population, who wishes to be a party to the celebration from their inner core, but fails to make the cut due to numerous constraints like local atrocities, political pogroms added to poverty to name a few. They are left with not much but to make silent complaints to the Almighty for being apparently partial with his benevolence. “Every dog has his day” might sound apprehensive on paper, but majority of these people never had their day and many are not apprehensive or expectant enough to have one in near future, their optimism being flushed away by prolonged miseries in various forms.
True celebration is mindless, is probably what they opine of the seemingly ostentatious display the more privileged puts up as an expression of their gaiety. One cannot justify labeling them snooty, because, for obvious reasons people preoccupied with finding a modest meal for their family will always find it taxing to relate to a dinner at some posh Park Street restaurant, it is as incomprehensible as Sir David Gilmour and Himesh Reshmiya residing in the same mental space.
Let me skip the predicament of propagating another soul stirring tale of deprivation and the human tendency to turn our back on the plethora of plights that looms large around, until it affects our own self ! Let the harbinger of life make His best attempts to impart equality in every dimension of life among the masses. On our part, let us do what is least demanding, an act of Remembrance. Amidst this festivity, getting submerged in fun and frolic, let us not be oblivious of those who will be ruing the financial loss incurred because of no work due to puja holidays or those who will be busy reconstructing thatched roofs of their dwellings. An occasional remembrance will not pull them out of their miseries for sure, but might pass on positive vibes that would give them the zeal to put up a brave face before the adversities and realize, human beings are yet to be depleted of humanity.
Durga Puja in West Bengal has attained the status of a folklore to the rest of India.
Every individual who can relate themselves to the traditions of Bengal, wishes to live up to the legend of exuberance that sweeps the state for those four days and nights. We tend to reserve our best for that tenure, look the best, eat the best, hang out at the best places, in short, make an attempt to take a grab at the best of everything we have ever aspired to have. We wish the halcyon days never cease to exist.
The flipside to the aforementioned gesture is the silent hue and cry raised by that section of the population, who wishes to be a party to the celebration from their inner core, but fails to make the cut due to numerous constraints like local atrocities, political pogroms added to poverty to name a few. They are left with not much but to make silent complaints to the Almighty for being apparently partial with his benevolence. “Every dog has his day” might sound apprehensive on paper, but majority of these people never had their day and many are not apprehensive or expectant enough to have one in near future, their optimism being flushed away by prolonged miseries in various forms.
True celebration is mindless, is probably what they opine of the seemingly ostentatious display the more privileged puts up as an expression of their gaiety. One cannot justify labeling them snooty, because, for obvious reasons people preoccupied with finding a modest meal for their family will always find it taxing to relate to a dinner at some posh Park Street restaurant, it is as incomprehensible as Sir David Gilmour and Himesh Reshmiya residing in the same mental space.
Let me skip the predicament of propagating another soul stirring tale of deprivation and the human tendency to turn our back on the plethora of plights that looms large around, until it affects our own self ! Let the harbinger of life make His best attempts to impart equality in every dimension of life among the masses. On our part, let us do what is least demanding, an act of Remembrance. Amidst this festivity, getting submerged in fun and frolic, let us not be oblivious of those who will be ruing the financial loss incurred because of no work due to puja holidays or those who will be busy reconstructing thatched roofs of their dwellings. An occasional remembrance will not pull them out of their miseries for sure, but might pass on positive vibes that would give them the zeal to put up a brave face before the adversities and realize, human beings are yet to be depleted of humanity.
Never Cry Again
Kolkata, the city of joy, as the name suggests, is expected to be inhabited by jovial people with happiness oozing out from every face, where liveliness of the people lends life to the atmosphere around such that one can breathe the gaiety in the air. Usha Uthup, in an ode to her favorite city sings, “Shohorer rani go amra tomay jani go, tumi je maya rupkatha”. But times have changed, fight for survival is getting fierce with time. The gaiety has evaporated from the city’s atmosphere. We find the courteous, happy faces being replaced by gloomy ones burdened with the pressure of survival. Instead of lavish zamindars we have malnourished urchins crowding the streets. It seems that the mechanical engineers from the IITs are giving a run to the ‘humane’ aspect of human beings, as apparently more and more robots are produced under the human skin.
However, my objective is not to focus on the plights of the Kolkatans, but a particular aspect of student psychology, that is closely linked to the present mood of the society. Depressed, hung down faces, with tears rolling down the cheeks on OUR LAST DAY IN SCHOOL. We cry to our heart’s content to mourn over this day, we fear separation from our teachers who had been a source of inspiration throughout, our friends who constitute an integral part of our days and nights, and on top of all, the pain of being cast away from a building that has served as our second home for the last 15 years of our life.
Here in lies my objection. Why to lament on a day which aspires to be a day of our lifetime. The days to follow would possibly lead us to a never ending saga of struggle. All of a sudden we are exposed to the possible hardships of the mortal life, as if at the end of a smooth journey we suddenly find ourselves at the edge of an abyss. If we balance ourselves, we are destined for prosperity, otherwise absolute destruction. At this crucial juncture, shall allow emotions to take precedence which eventually follows up to a squalid future? Shall we allow time to guide us like depressed commoners or attempt to take over the reigns of destiny from time in our own hands?
We claim the school to be our second home, our friends are no less than our family, teachers are given no less respect than our parents. But how many of us wish to whine in pain during the dusk of our life? None. Then why shall we walk out of school for the last time as students with gloomy, depressed faces as our final memories? We lament of separation from friends. But, is the basement on which we build structures of love and friendship, where every brick is our every bit of faith, weak enough to be toppled by momentary separation? Is the bond that binds us not strong enough to withstand the executioner’s axe. ‘One for all and all for one’ is what we believe in and will believe forever. Then why fear loosing friends? Would the respect for our teachers evaporate with the course of time? No, our feelings are not superficial.
Memories are an individual’s greatest asset with which we , an asset with which we never have to part with till our last breathe. Similarly, the cherished memories of our school days, the funniest and saddest of events, each and every corner of the building would be deep engraved in our heart. Oblivion, I am sure, would never succeed to separate us from these fond memories. More over, will not the school authority be kind enough to allow it’s loyal ex students to have an occasional glimpse of their ‘second home’, to revamp their treasured memories and to feel the feel of the atmosphere they had spent their prime in?
The D- day is not to lament but for taking resolution to be achievers. The inspiration from our teachers, love of friends and memories of our beloved school should no longer be our weakness, but a moral boost. There can be no better homage to our teachers than to materialize the dreams they have of our prosperity, no better way to express gratitude to our friends than to justify their faith in our abilities. Like Athos, Porthos and Aramis, we will always vie for “ALL FOR ONE, ONE FOR ALL”.
However, my objective is not to focus on the plights of the Kolkatans, but a particular aspect of student psychology, that is closely linked to the present mood of the society. Depressed, hung down faces, with tears rolling down the cheeks on OUR LAST DAY IN SCHOOL. We cry to our heart’s content to mourn over this day, we fear separation from our teachers who had been a source of inspiration throughout, our friends who constitute an integral part of our days and nights, and on top of all, the pain of being cast away from a building that has served as our second home for the last 15 years of our life.
Here in lies my objection. Why to lament on a day which aspires to be a day of our lifetime. The days to follow would possibly lead us to a never ending saga of struggle. All of a sudden we are exposed to the possible hardships of the mortal life, as if at the end of a smooth journey we suddenly find ourselves at the edge of an abyss. If we balance ourselves, we are destined for prosperity, otherwise absolute destruction. At this crucial juncture, shall allow emotions to take precedence which eventually follows up to a squalid future? Shall we allow time to guide us like depressed commoners or attempt to take over the reigns of destiny from time in our own hands?
We claim the school to be our second home, our friends are no less than our family, teachers are given no less respect than our parents. But how many of us wish to whine in pain during the dusk of our life? None. Then why shall we walk out of school for the last time as students with gloomy, depressed faces as our final memories? We lament of separation from friends. But, is the basement on which we build structures of love and friendship, where every brick is our every bit of faith, weak enough to be toppled by momentary separation? Is the bond that binds us not strong enough to withstand the executioner’s axe. ‘One for all and all for one’ is what we believe in and will believe forever. Then why fear loosing friends? Would the respect for our teachers evaporate with the course of time? No, our feelings are not superficial.
Memories are an individual’s greatest asset with which we , an asset with which we never have to part with till our last breathe. Similarly, the cherished memories of our school days, the funniest and saddest of events, each and every corner of the building would be deep engraved in our heart. Oblivion, I am sure, would never succeed to separate us from these fond memories. More over, will not the school authority be kind enough to allow it’s loyal ex students to have an occasional glimpse of their ‘second home’, to revamp their treasured memories and to feel the feel of the atmosphere they had spent their prime in?
The D- day is not to lament but for taking resolution to be achievers. The inspiration from our teachers, love of friends and memories of our beloved school should no longer be our weakness, but a moral boost. There can be no better homage to our teachers than to materialize the dreams they have of our prosperity, no better way to express gratitude to our friends than to justify their faith in our abilities. Like Athos, Porthos and Aramis, we will always vie for “ALL FOR ONE, ONE FOR ALL”.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)