Tag Archives: Kolkata

Jadavpur, Kolkata, Personal

Winning the gold

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BA15399 I have consistently maintained that life, especially academic life, is getting the tougher as I tread my way forward in life. I passed my Secondary as a topper from a school which had about 350 students, and my batchmates numbered a mere 26. Of course, such a feat was no feat at all. Then I was off to St. Xavier’s, one of the premier colleges of the city, for my Higher Secondary. Toppers from all schools and students better than me by far crowded around me. While the real reason of my miserable performance in the next exam lay somewhere else, it cannot be boasted that I could have topped even if I had tried. And then to Jadavpur University. At each rung better and better students were selected, so that the competition became not just tough, but at times miserable and hopeless (for me, of course). Knowing my own limitations the most I could try for was a good show.

However, this was only academics. Needless to say, in the existing job scenario in India, academics is the one salvation open to an aspirant. Sports, unless you make it big in Cricket (and which is very difficult, given that only eleven players are chosen out of a billion!) is a big no. Yet it gives an obvious satisfaction if one did well in sports and games. For all the cricket season my (almost) sole reason for going to college was cricket. Now that the cricket season is over I am considering switching over to some other game- say badminton. Ever since I can remember, I have liked sports and did well in all of them. Although I have never had technical training in any except badminton (that too for just a month), I caught on to a game very early and very well. And I am sure professional life would not see an exile from sports. In this mad race of getting good marks (the still madder race of getting a job lies a bit ahead) where the student’s life traverses from one class to another, from one library to another, the open ground works to open my mind, to clear my conceptions and priorities, and give confidence.

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I had heard of a certain Sports Day being organised annually in our University. Unfortunately none of us (my classmates) had seen it for ourselves, until this year, our fourth at the University. Strolling casually on that clear Monday (25 February 2002) I, Ajay and Amaru (two of my friends and classmates) registered our names for the shot-put throw event. We desperately wanted to run the sprints, but we did not have shorts or spike shoes, and hence had to settle only for the iron ball. I remembered Class X when I had won the shot-put gold for my House. That was six years ago. Could I repeat it again? But then that was in a small school where I was a reasonably strong guy. Now I was in an University where there were many stronger and bigger guys than me. Besides I did not have any training in the event, and relied on just brute force. We took a ball and went to the allotted space for the event and started throwing. I did almost as good as Ajay, which was creditworthy, given that he is a much stronger person. Even though I could not be confident of coming anywhere near the top, I fantasized that I had won the event.  And then the actual event came (uptil now we had been practicing by ourselves). My first two throws were disqualified as I had crossed the line after my throw, the second time most foolishly. But I told myself that I had a third chance and I could win in just one good throw. And like a dream come true, I did.

I did not go to check how far I had thrown. As soon as the 16 pound (that’s my guess) iron ball dropped,  the people around me proclaimed I had won. I just couldn’t believe myself. I had repeated what I had done six years back. That time too all were amazed at how far I had thrown the ball. This time too no one expected me to do any wonders. I was the true black horse. Later the distance was measured and I had thrown a good 8.74 metres (almost 29 feet). It was sweet. I told myself that if I could not win the gold in academics, I could do it in something else. The next evening I got my gold.

As I saw the people running the sprints, doing the high and long jumps, I was very miserable. I knew that if I had participated I would have won some medals- certainly in the hundred metres sprint. But unfortunately we did not have shorts, and some of the events passes by without our knowledge. We consoled ourselves that there’s one more year for us. We vowed that next year most of the medals should go the English Department. And I personally promised myself that I will win the Best Sportsman award for myself. Till next year….

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Kolkata, Life, Personal

St. Valentine without Valentine

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Bassano_vignette One of the earliest mention of St. Valentine in serious literature comes in Chaucer’s Parliament of fowls, back in 15th century. In that book two types of lovers are mentioned- the honourable, steadfast lover who would rather die than have anyone other than his one and only love (the tercel eagles in Chaucer’s tale); and the smaller, realistic cocks and fowls who are always eager to find a quick way around the problems (if any), or switch their attention to some other desirable recipient faced with any initial rejection. The differentiation stands in black and white. Like George W. Bush, the American President, said in the aftermath of WTC bombing- you are either with us, or against us. In actual life, however, sticking to such rigourous distinction is highly problematic. Of course, the tercel are an idealisation, symbolised by such figures are Troilus, Romeo and others, but then they are idealisations. With Helen of Troy, a group of men (her suitors before her marriage to Menelaus) remain eternally faithful to her love and memory, and thus wage a ten years war far away from homeland, for the sake of a rival’s wife. Love does not survive in such purity anymore. One would like to see those mythical figures nowadays. One wonders how they would act. Questions remain, doubts linger, and with a resigned satisfaction that the mythical love is split milk, today’s lover become the lower fowls. The tercel eagles are relegated to the fine print columns of madness and tragedy.

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Reams have been written about how St. Valentine is alien culture in India. India’s ideal is the love of gopis and Krishna (forgetting so frivolously that Krishna flirted with dozens of gopis while he incestuously loved Radha, who was an aunt to him by relation, and while he ended up marrying Rukmini), or Ram and Sita (and again it was Rama who doubted his sexually chaste wife Sita and banished her while she was pregnant). It is argued that alien notions of love, or even occasional expressions of love, would play havoc with native culture. What is forgotten is that we are perfectly happy watching Hollywood movies, organising Michael Jackson shows, shaking hands with the Americans……Of course this foolish pretension is advanced by only some fringe sections of our society who are notorious for their foolishness, and so my outrage is limited to them only. On second thoughts, I believe that their actions and thoughts are so frivolous that they don’t even deserve a sane man’s outrage.

And so St. Valentine’s came. I have never believed that Calcutta is a Romantic city, the same way Paris, Rome, Venice, Miami or other cities are. But love is as alive here as it is anywhere else. Perhaps love is not so visible here, but it exists- behind the bushes in the Victoria Memorial premises, on the different park benches in the Lake area, in the green expanses of Nicco Park, in the romantic waters of Nalban, in the stairs and promenades of Nandan and Rabindra Sadan, in Lindsay Street and the cinema halls, in the college premises, in the housing colonies, in the street corners, in the music galleries, in the Book Fair, and in the departmental lobbies, and of course inside every married home. The rare occasion came when the average Indian found courage and opportunity to present a red rose to someone he/she liked. The rare occasion when the loving couple moved to a little more romantic corner of the city. And it was a great respite, an assurance that the city is alive. Long live St. Valentine!

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Kolkata, Personal, Society

Calcutta book-fair 2002 – old wine in new bottle

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bookfair Calcutta Book Fair is a very queer phenomenon. In times of receding book culture, this fair has brought multitudes to the milieu of books, and smiles to the faces of writers and publishers. One is surprised at how popular this annual event has become. One needs no statistics that outside the serious student who customarily visits the College Street, and the rare casual book reader who buys one or two, the books hardly receive any patronage. And yet come the end of January, and the Maidan air is thick with dust and smell of books. Calcutta has always been called (for whatever reasons) the culture capital of India (as if other parts of India are shorn of ‘culture’), and this late craze with books lends further credence to the added, rather preposterous claim of Calcutta being the intellectual capital of India. Of course such branding makes for chauvinism, but if the general Calcuttan is asked, he or she takes evident pride at this annual event. Other cities to have their own book fairs, with even more grander titles like Indian Book Fair, Asian Book Fair, or even World Book Fair – some, from time to time, and some regularly- but perhaps nowhere is seen this popularity verging on craze. One does not know if the average Calcuttan is fond and fan of books, but at least for two weeks he/she is. So what makes it so? My surmise is – Marketing. The Calcutta Book Fair has been marketed like nothing before or since. For the last ten years the Calcutta Book Fair has been branded a part of Calcutta culture- and if one know what pride a Bengali takes in his/her culture, one knows that it was indeed a very good tactic. Every year sees more and more stalls crowding at the fair, more and more books published just before the fair. The government does not show half as much interest in governing as it shows in staging this event- and ever since Buddhadev Bhattacharjee, a confirmed book and culture loving intellectual, became a part of the government (who, about a year and a half ago, became the Chief Minister), the fair has received a staunch patron.

Unless one has been to the fair one does not know what it means. A million people poring over books in half a thousand stalls in an area of a few hectares, is a sight indeed. The advanced countries sure cannot stage such an event- they just don’t have that many people. India being India, people will tolerate anything to be near what they claim as their heritage- the books- and given the number of Bengali books that come out, one is sure that the book business is going strong. The crowd, the dust, the lack of proper amenities (proper walking and moving space, telephones, water, toilet facilities, eateries, information centres, etc) does not deter the Calcuttan. Come rain or shine, he/she will pay the annul pilgrimage to the Maidan at least once. Some to it many times. Some visit the fair everyday that it lasts.

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The fair brings together many people. People selling books, people selling little magazines, people selling handicraft wares, people doing small road skits, people singing in a group and what not. Bookworm jostles with the book thief, and all have a merry time. Statistics are lacking as to, of the people visiting the fair grounds, how many actually buy books. One feels certain that a large number of people visit the fair grounds just for the experience- taking a look at books from all over India and the world, meeting acquaintances by chance, getting to ogle at celebrities who pay token visits, eating at the various stalls, and just hanging around with friends. All local books, and most popular books, are available at the College Street, and that too at much lower prices- and so the sensible desist from buying books at the fair.

It is said that the rich men buy books, and the wise men read them. If you want to have the best of both worlds, you buy as well as read them. If you are wiser you posses and read a book without buying them. Thus, at the fair, there is no shortage of those who are fond of possessing the books without the means. Previous fairs have seen attempts on part of the fair authorities to grant a semblance of respectability to this not-so-honourable means of procuring books. Thus, they made those caught red-handed sit in essay competitions, and then granted to them the stolen books on satisfactory composition. Even later attempts saw the authorities quizzing the caught person about the book, about the need of the book and about his/her economic condition, and on being given satisfactory answers, the books were gifted. Unfortunately this book fair saw the use of heavy handed means. Security was heavy, thanks to the first terrorist attack in Calcutta just a few days prior to the fair, and few would have ventured on such daring adventures as book lifting. My personal opinion is that the Book Fair would lose much of its charm without these colourful and desperate personalities. For my part, I think that the publishers are bigger thieves than the book lifters, charging as they do exorbitant prices for books that should have come cheaper.

I too have been paying my annual visit to the Maidan for the last ten years. Our family shifted to Calcutta from Adra (my father having a transferable job) on 5th of December, 1991. Two months later I went to Book Fair. Ever since I have not missed a single year, avidly waiting for that wintry fortnight when father loosened his purse strings a little bit. Myself being a great book lover (I am very fond of my personal library, and I would buy books even when I do not have immediate plans of reading them) I would save as much money as I could from the little I got, and then I would happily spend them. The smell of new books was even more mesmerizing to me than the smell of new bank notes.

Lately, however, the charm of the Book Fair has diminished a little bit. The prices of books and certain other mundane compulsions (many of the books that I really needed could not be found at the fair, and most of those useful books could be had much more cheaply at College Street) forced this awareness that the Book Fair is not so charming anymore. Perhaps a few years from now on when academic pressures would be gone, when my pockets would be lined with silk, I might find better use of this event. But for now I would rather pay my pilgrimage visit, and make do with as little purchases as possible. But undoubtedly, the Calcutta Book Fair has certainly had a positive hand in my education by fostering a love of books that was not there in the beginning.

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