MOMENTS OF TRUTH

Several things are happening. After more than half a century Nazim Hikmet has been declared an honoured national poet by Turkish government. So far as I remember Nazim Hikmet died in exile in the then Soviet Union. He was seriously ill. What can be the explanation of this sudden reevaluation of Nazim.May be Turkish government are looking at the past happenings in the history from a different angle,or, it could be that Nazim Hikmet dead is no longer a danger and in view of popular sentiments a little accommodation can be offered to him. In any case we are happy that Turkey has honourably rehabilitated her great revolutionary poet. We remember with what great pride and emotion while in Pakistani jails we used to read and recite Nazim Hikmet. How inspired we used to have been.

From mid twentieth century to its end the church ,particularly the Roman Catholics told the world that Galileo was true in propagating Heliocentric theory and Darwin was perfectly valid in establishing the theories of natural selection and evolution in his Origin of Species. Calumny and humiliation were heaped upon truth for centuries. Ultimately moments of truth appeared with a thunderclap.

Lenin began his State and Revolution with an anecdote.In those times anti Marxists were praising Marx sky high and condemning the followers of Marx. Lenin concluded that in his death Marx was believed to have become harmless.So put an hallow around his name and praise him in order to mollify the ardent followers of Marx.

DO YOU SAY WEDDING?

K.P. Nayar appears to have been greatly relieved after his recent Caribbean round. In those parts imperialism, working class, words like these, appear in discussions like the old days. He started with the objective of showing how effective are the Venezuelan diplomatic actions and simultaneously held an overview of the political happenings in the Latin American countries. For more than last fifteen years words, terms connected with Marxian political economy have become passé to the blue eyed boys of the recent breed of journalists. This is in reference to his Unusual Wedding on the ninth page of The Telegraph of 10th December, 08.

Opportunism is a poor choice to avoid the travails of the path of reason Long before the great revolution in France, Americans fought British imperialism and proclaimed the Declaration of Independence. Decades earlier before the Bolsheviks routed the Czar Mexican working class and toiling masses staged a socialist revolution .Of course, ultimately it was destroyed by the ruling classes. The point is not actually finding out who was the first. This is not a race to become a first boy. The fact remains that revolutions take place. Sometimes they succeed, sometimes they fail. Residual signatures remain enduring for centuries. Bonapartism could not finish off republicanism, or, science based atheism, or, nearer to home metric system for lineal, weight wise and all kinds of measurements and all that stands upon logic and mathematical reasoning. Great revolution of France advanced human civilization exponentially in spite of gory slaughter it entailed, in spite of it devouring revolutionaries in hundreds in guillotine.

Similarly, the revolution staged by Russian Bolsheviks in October, 1917 although fell through after more than seventy years of existence could not eliminate the contradictions those foster the revolutions. It is therefore very natural that revolutionary theories along with their jargon continue to be voiced to the great distress of reactionaries or renegades.

WHY DO I WRITE?

Why Do I write?
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Why do I write? Bcause I cannot do otherwise.
Romain Rolland
Then Romain rolland went on to describe for whom he was writing and also the objective behind his writing.A contemporary eminent intellectual visiting Rolland described Rolland's house. To him from outside the house appeared like Rolland himself,-rugged and ordinary. As you enter the house your impression starts changing just like as you start talking to him or starts reading his works Rolland's great heart and mighty mind starts unfolding before you.

USHA PARINAYA.an ankia drama

We had been to a cultural function, a drama performance by second year students troupe of national school of drama, Delhi. It was held at Rabindra Bhawan. Beautifully enacted on the basis of Madhab Kondoli's ankia nat Kumar Haran. Enjoyed the performance immensely.We were four Krishna, Nina, Shamik and myself. while returning home we were very happy pondering over the promise offered by such fusion drama.28th evening remains memorable.

IN THE SHADOW OF FAMINE

A little before the Pujas of 2006 my daughter visited us in Kolkata. She decided to go for a dinner Bengali style in a much advertised Bengali eatery "Bhajahari Manna". We were seven or eight there. My wife, son, his wife and little daughter, my daughter, myself and another family consisting of a widowed mother and her son and daughter, very close to us from the days of my political activism. The eatery, an extremely cramped outfit with a list of elaborate delicacies of Bengali cuisine on a blackboard hung up on the wall. No printed menu is presented. Occasionally a man gets up and wipes out with a duster an item or two which have been devoured by the eaters already. Two French ladies were sitting beside us on the narrow seat, apparently enjoying hugely the food and the ambiance. Everything was perfectly Bengali. Noise, light, crowd everything.

I suddenly had a desire to find out my bearing. My school days, a part of it, was spent in this neighbourhood. It was 1944 .The shadow of famine, destitution, the Second World War, sandbagged baffle wall, overwhelming black-out nights... were in a deep embrace with Calcutta’s (now Kolkata) life. In the midst of this came world’s most devastating famine. Five million perished within less than two years. The eatery where all this eating was going on in great gusto where after a week Kolkata’s one of the grandest Durga puja, Ekdalia Ever Green club’s Puja was going to be performed, there existed a patch of triangular green fenced off with iron spikes with a small opening. There were a couple of swings and a few wooden benches. People, particularly the elderly and the children used to spend sometime here in the afternoon. Then from some where people started pouring around this what was then called Temporary Park. Some already dead, some were dying. A few who could manage to move, went out routinely for begging, not rice, but for "fan" the slightly starchy water that's released when rice is cooked. People, generally had lost the generosity of parting with a fistful of rice. It was durviksha or famine, when beggars are driven away. Hordes of people, indeed mere processions of skeletons wrapped in skin were moving about in search of food. A mature woman and a man were indistinguishable from secondary sexual features, because there was none that was visible. Everyday they were dying around Temporary Park, every where, in all places. All such places were reeking with a strange smell that only can emanate from dead and drying human bodies. I had a feeling this smell was there all over the country. It was years afterwards that I could forget that particular smell.

Never again I saw such a sight in my seventy-odd years of life. Kolkata was roaring around with American left-hand drive open-hood jeeps, well fed US troops, African-Americans among them a remarkable sight at that time. Gariahat as well as other Kolkata markets were also well stocked with food. Middle and upper class Calcuttans were collecting their requirements with wallets full of war-time paper currency. Only, mindlessness had climbed to a horrible height. As if these deaths and destitution were of no consequence. Famine became only a word for academic discussion. Such things will pass was the attitude. But, although small, a determined band of people were fighting this degeneration. With whatever they had, they plunged into famine relief work. Jainul Abedin’s famous drawings and paintings, Sunil Jana’s wonderful photographs, Bijon Bhattacharya’s plays, Nabanna and others, Jyotirindra Maitra’s Nabajibaner Gan and a plethora of other works tried with steeled determination to stave off demoralization. Then there was the flower of India’s humanism -- Indian People’s Theater Association (IPTA), Progressive Writers’ and Artists’ Association. It is true that with only relief, songs and dramas you cannot reverse this massive torrent of famine and deaths. But yet this effort galvanized into a robust movement for restoration of self esteem, dignity and whatever that was still good within us. It had a highly humanizing effect. Outstanding political individuals, singers, artists, photo journalists, all came together. Their songs, plays, poetry sessions, speeches, wonderful posters prepared inexpensively but with deep passion traveled across cities, villages, and everywhere. The great tragedy had united all shades. In the backdrop was the worldwide antifascist unity of humanity. It was a golden time. People were ready to give every bit of best things they had.

I did not see the Indian freedom movement-era Dundee March, Non-cooperation or Civil Disobedience movements. But what I saw in this resurgence remained the abiding resource throughout my whole life. Just when the independence movement was getting into full throttle culminating into revolt in the Royal Indian Navy, that glorious feeling was snapped. Vicious communal riots cast its shadow all over the country. Horrible slaughter, history’s largest exodus, the country parted into two hostile entities. The moment of glory came within attainable reach and departed without anybody regretting it. Life became mundane with basketful of convoluted philosophies. For the middle classes there no longer existed any noble agenda.

Big degree, big job, big money. The ashes of burnt dreams filled up the air.

Well, at the restaurant we visited, meanwhile the food had arrived. Lovely boneless pieces of Hilsa steam-cooked in mustard paste and mustard oil garnished with green chillies. The aroma of Dehradun rice filled the air. A glass of whiskey would have been very satisfying .What else? Memories still lingered.

Photo from Internet. See economist Amartya Sen's book on the topic: http://books.google.co.in/books?id=FVC9eqGkMr8C&dq=amartya+sen+famine&printsec=frontcover&source=bn&hl=en&sa=X&oi=book_result&resnum=4&ct=result

RATAN TATA's OPEN LETTER-A FEW THOUGHTS

Ratan Tata’s open letter (http://www.telegraphindia.com/1081017/jsp/frontpage/story_9980686.jsp) to the citizens of Bengal, published in most of the dailies of West Bengal on 17th October last has definitely created an interesting situation. After the stun wore off it was found that most of the few reactions that came out were of mute sort. Let us not worry much with the contents of the letter. At different times Ratan Tata made many such statements. What is remarkable this time is Ratan’s frank show of interest in West Bengal’s politics. Very few people in this country who roam around the world of high capital find this activity interesting. Ratan Tata apparently belongs to this minority group. Ratan Tata heads world’s one of the most important capitalist organizations. It can hardly be expected that he would unnecessarily indulge in infantilism of getting pleasure from letter writing. He is one of the most erudite businessmen of India. He spent lots of years at one of the best universities of the USA, entry to which is not governed by donations from paternal inheritance, maternal uncle’s pull or Arjun Singh’s Scheduled caste quota. Entry to which is very strictly on merit. It is to be noted that on the same day Cornell University’s web site came out with the news that Tata Education Trust has donated to Cornell University a grant of 50 million dollars. 25 million for a research in depth on India’s food production problems, nutritional problems and problems related to hunger in India. Other 25 million for enhanced scholarship and assistance to Indian and other deserving students joining the university. Mr. Tata was an outstanding alumnus of Cornell.

Here no paean is intended for Mr. Tata. Let us take a look at the things from a classical angle. By all parameters Ratan Tata is a bourgeois. A bourgeois is the representative of the newest mode of production, capitalism has thrown up .Let us be very clear bourgeois is not an abusive term, as some half baked Marxists with a dismal sense of history wants to suggest. Whatever science and history we are dabbling with are the results of six hundred years of bourgeois development. Abut a decade or two back I suddenly had a feeling that different editions of Communist Manifesto bore the subtle signs of predilections of the individual editors in different editions. Not major occurrence, but very important to take note of. After the words “hitherto existing society” (page 2, paragraph 1) some editions do not care to bear the footnote mentioning Morgan’s reference to primitive communistic society. In some editions in the concluding paragraphs there are lines suggesting that confronted with the insoluble contradictions presented by the existing mode of production some sections of enlightened bourgeoisie may cross over to the cause for a change as demanded by the working class. In some editions we do not find such lines.

There is a possibility that there were some such lines. It does not compromise the contentions of the manifesto. There are myriad sections of capitalists who keenly follow the developments in the workers’ movements. We read in Howard Fast’s Being Red a few American industrialists who were in the same ship while sailing to England asking Howard Fast whether he followed the Wall Street Journal regularly. While Fast confessed that he did not they tell him that they regularly followed the Daily Worker the mouthpiece of the American communist party? Even in this age of bourgeois decadence there are elements of bourgeoisie who could be concerned about the future of mankind. And Mr. Tata could be one of them who are concerned about West Bengal. There is no cause of uproar. The contradiction is that Ratan Tata is not addressing the Bengalis of Bengal renaissance period. He is addressing a people smitten with history’s most touching tragedies. His efforts become pointless in the face of the dialectics of the situation, which he fails to appreciate.

CALAMITOUS MEDIA MANIPULATION

Few days earlier I was listening with horror a news casting in Indian national TV channel. The Newsreader was saying that there had been communal clashes between Bangladeshi Muslim immigrants and indigenous people resulting in half a hundred deaths and hundreds injured. Along with that thousands of cases arson and looting were also being reported. My horror was not confined to deaths, injuries etc. This is commonplace all over the world, particularly in our country. What surprised me was the callous way of naming the religious and ethnic identity of rioting parties. It is a longstanding practice among media community, buttressed by various national and state level laws, to describe the riots as group clashes. It is not that by calling these group clashes essentially make these anything else. Riots remain riots. What is important is media is not stoking any sentimental or emotional situation. It tries to remain objective and responsible. Whatever be the opinion or views of a newspaper or a TV channel its stance remains unaffected.

A well-known columnist writes about the aftermath of October revolution of 1917 as comical socialist experiences. As corollary all the unfinished revolutions in history, or the individuals leading them, like say, Lenin, Thomas Paine -- or why not Napoleon Bonaparte -- are comical. Only that columnist and his tribe, brought up with plenty of milk and whiskey in warm or cool houses, successfully procuring a beautiful university degree and tying up with a billionaire media baron are the models of noncomical successful people. They are never eccentric. They never become mad. Also they are never aristocratic. They have unconcealed hatred for the bloggers.

A few commentators’ way of seeing things is unique. Khudiram Bose was hanged by British government when he was in his teens. His crime was he threw a bomb at a British district administrative head that due to wrong information killed his wife who was at that time traveling in the coach designated to the district magistrate. After mutiny this was the first terrorist act involving a killing and execution. For a century Khudiram is remembered and worshipped by his countrymen, particularly the Bengalis. A commentator went into an overdrive by describing this act as teen-age craze for bravado and also an act of foolishness. Without inviting a debate over effectiveness of terrorism etc. thousands or hundreds of thousands offered their lives for the cause that they believed to be correct. One can question their perception. But it is cynical and heartless to ridicule them. All throughout the history millions are struggling and stumbling for a correct and effective way of removing oppression and exploitation. To get your fat salary you are writing essays to ridicule them. But why ridicule who have chosen otherwise?

With the deepening of economic depression another variety of economic or financial analytical writers have opened up their score. Their task is to affirm in the morning the global nature of the crisis affecting India and in the evening to assure all and sundry about the insularity of India to global crisis. When the question of prosperity through borrowings comes up perspective is global. When in a happening capitalist economy usual cyclical crisis starts, when wars no longer make the economy move, when artificial solvency induced by housing boom collapses in the USA, India cannot escape the consequences. These economists are learned and intelligent people. They are aware of everything. Still they have to write as they are asked to write. They are also a bunch of commodity sellers.