The First Election Experience

I cast my maiden vote today. I won't exaggerate and say that it was a liberating experience or that it marked the initiation of my political relevance but somewhere inside it felt good to be exercising the franchise that makes us a part of a democracy. It felt that finally, after all these years I was an adult - now that I had a say in who represented us in the capital.

In most parts of Calcutta, especially the Southern stretch of it that I hail from, "election day" is more of a community exercise. It felt like walking into the para pandal on Oshtomi morning to offer pushpanjoli - seeing all the kaku-kakimas, dada-boudis and distant protibeshis standing in the queue outside the local primary school. Smiling, waving to one another, filling each other in with the latest gossip - it hardly looked the "pitched battlefield" of two sworn rivals of the political arena. It showed that the smart-showers and Kalboishakhi over the past couple of days had felicitated this get-together to a large extent. People looked generally relaxed and unhurried. Though largely a Communist stronghold there was little coercing or pleading on show, just a little raise of a hand here and there followed by a nod of assurance. Persuasion was being played out in all its politeness just outside the booth. And one would take this any day over booth ransacking or manhandling of voters which is so rampant in many parts. Though I was asked a few times about the choice of my candidate by paratoto kakus I have known since birth I evaded giving a direct answer lest I be made to explain my choice in detail, all standing in a queue of considerable stretch, in front of the prying eyes of zealous party-workers and earnest looking army men. Worse, they might make me read their respective party manifestos before I am allowed to vote, I thought. But for all the questioning that I was subjected to I got even by drilling into the head of this kaku's son the mechanics of our great parliamentary system on my way back. By the look of it, he will be pestering his father to satiate his curiosity on the procedure of appointment of the Lok Sabha speaker for the next few days.

I am no political activist. I sport no political affiliations. I exercised my right and to the best of my knowledge voted for "the lesser evil" on the EVM panel. I also weighed the political eventuality in case the candidate I voted for wins and his/her party does well elsewhere and how it would lend stability to a Govt. which can run its course in New Delhi.
I just hope I have made the right choice.
I hope others have made the same.
I hope the coming five years do not stifle out the excitement I felt today in belonging to a system, a great one at that.
I hope I get to vote again.


photo: http://www.bel-india.com

Paying Back in Costly Coins

“All quiet on the western front” seems to be the apt epithet for Nandigram going by the silence in its air which was resonating with gunfire till a few days back. As the apparent tragedy of us all living under a “just” Government settles into our conscience let me digress a bit to vent my then-exasperated-now-consolidated sense of shock and hurt at what happened in Nandigram.

We all know that the brutal retaliation by CPI (M) cadres was prompted by their state of homelessness for the past eleven months. Desperate in their bid to return to home and hearth they organized a clinical purge of the ‘occupying forces’ (read BUPC). Coupled with the complete breakdown of civil administration and the rule of law “something” had to be done from the Govt’s side to restore normalcy in the region. So, going by the ‘stated’ explanation issued from Writer’s Building, owing to the culmination of such serious factors it became imperative for initiation of a calculated and ruthless crackdown. ‘Installation of peace’ was the primary objective. The casualties were all collateral damage.

Point taken. And Rejected.

Any average informed person on the street would pose questions that ‘Alimuddin Street’ might grapple to answer on this issue. The structure of the argument would roughly be in the following format:

• Even after repeated assurances from the Chief Minister that the chemical hub would be shifted to some other place (Nayachar) the Haldia Development Authority did not withdraw the letter proclaiming land acquisition. Going by the Singur fiasco, no wonder that the farmers had scant trust in mere words. Repealing that letter of intent to acquire lands would have precluded all allegations by the Opposition and vacated the need for putting up resistance to police intervention in Nandigram and adjoining areas.

• Why is the Govt. hell-bent on industrializing farmlands at all? Food security cannot be relegated while prioritizing industry. Land-reforms being the single largest poll-plank over the years for the Communists it is imperative for them not to embrace industrialization at the cost of agriculture. Such blatant digression from their manifesto equally concerns their partners and detractors. Industry has to come up, plants need to be installed. But, not by being indifferent to the farmers and their livelihood. There are large tracts of unfertile land where plants might emerge and run smoothly. Why isn’t the Govt. putting its foot down on reallocating land to more conducive places in front of the demanding Corporate giants? Commerce cannot take precedence over basic human needs one must acknowledge. And its high time ‘Brand Buddha’ does.

• The present Chief Minister, a favorite with the city based intelligentsia (not so long ago), was lauded when he headed for ‘Industry Road’ disregarding firm opposition from certain quarters in his own party. In a way ‘Brand Buddha’ enjoyed unanimous support on his progressive policies. But somehow the forward-looking man in him succumbed to misjudgment, insisting on giving away large tracts of fertile land to the obstinacy of TATAs in Singur. Nandigram was even worse. Blood on police’s hands did not simplify matters and pressed with political compulsions in the form of upcoming Panchayat elections he had no choice. The only choice he was left with was a spate of bloody turf-wars to regain lost ground. That’s what he would have us believe. But no Sir. One always has a choice. Especially when one has to decide if to hand over restive parts to the CRPF to call in order or to ascent to a calculated carnage where party cadres rape, loot and ransack at will, only to stamp their authority as the ruling party. The man’s image has been sullied. And though public memory is short, the bloody scarlet of the Red flag might not always evoke images of the Great Revolution from now on. It might just be gory images from Khejuri and Garchakraberia that the 'Hammer and Sickle' would stand for.

• As news of the orchestrated pogrom filtered out from within the guarded corners of Nandigram the media aired it with an impassioned plea; unprecedented coming from quarters where Left-propensities are far too apparent. Intellectuals organized a historic march in condemnation of Govt. complicity and Kolkata saw the first congregation of its kind where thousands gathered by mere word of mouth; people came to condemn an atrocity, to vent outrage and all rallied under a strictly apolitical banner of ‘Humanity’. As an incredible counter-measure intellectuals sympathetic to the Govt. staged a rally to convey their solidarity and support. Even the Rain Gods couldn’t help but mar their march to shame that day. The CPI (M) in the name of a Peace-Rally organized a show of strength out of hired mobs the next day and' seasoned Marxists' breathed fire on non-conformists. Even the Governor’s non-partisan credentials were questioned. Was that not an act of abject desperation? Was that not prompted by a now permanent sense of power becoming synonymous with tyranny that a party state-secretary had the audacity to publicly question the political orientation of the Governor of the State? And that too because he condemned an act of terror as ‘unlawful and unacceptable’?

Show me a thriving democracy and I will show you a place where power doesn’t rot in the security of permanence.

Photos: Courtesy: rediff.com, tehelka.com

Aschhey bochhor ........

With the last beats of the dhak the annual ritual of an ornate farewell is well complete. Life will settle down to trace its daily course amidst the settling dust from past revelries now. The dismantled bamboo-work and torn down banners still bear testimony to the joyous uproar that it was party to for a few days more. Lakshmi pujo will set in, and Kali-pujo/ Diwali will soon follow. The Bangali bhodrolok will go back to the chores of his office as will the reluctant housewife, albeit with a sigh of grudging acceptance.

But, amongst all these tell-tale signs of morose dejectedness there will be the slightest flicker of hope. ‘The hope’ of seeing off the coming eleven months in a hurry. ‘The hope’ of welcoming Maa back into her parental abode. ‘The hope’ that springs eternal in every Bengali heart and makes them sustain the rigors of a tortuous year with abiding tolerance.

Observing through the skeptic’s glasses, when the pandal-hopping child in me occasionally rested on a chair to catch his breath and wet his throat, I observed a series of monumental changes setting into our festivities, almost unnoticed.

As some of my friends observed during our Pan-Kolkata Thakur-dekhaa – expeditions,

“Boddo commercial hoye jachhe puro bepaarta.”

I stood in opposition to this vein of thought. I was emphatic on the point that Durga Pujo , like any other event of such scale and participation, needed funding. It’s only our economy that has got to do with the corporates having all the money and so they are bound to get roped in if BIG MONEY is to be spent. And money always means advertisements and commodification.

No denying this fact.

But, Big Money does not necessarily mean less of bhakti. The latter connects to an individual on a personal, more intimate level, having nothing to do with the pomp and show. Of course a sense of enthusiasm coupled with commerce may cloud the solemn ambience that a traditional pujo may have enjoyed in the past. But, good things always come at a cost. Don’t they?

I wonder if the smug tradition-ist would be better off enduring the sight of a dying Sarbojonin-pujo in a dilapidated pandal, reeking of a whimpering budget. I might sound profane in directly connecting wealth to worship, but I have my theory. Agreed that ‘the spirit’ cannot be caged within the confines of ‘want’, but when one has the opportunity to aggrandize, why not make the most of it?

But, my friends too have a valid point when their arguments are dissected in the light of reason and pragmatic foresight. I could sense a deep suspicion emanating out of their skepticism in ‘Corporatization of Pujos’. There looms large a possibility that our next generation would be treated to ‘theme-pujos’ where the idol and her iconic symbolism is lost in the dazzle of the decor or the minutiae of the art-work in the mandap. People might not even offer a cursory look of reverence to the devi , engrossed in the frivolities the adjoining fair would offer. At the thought of such a grim possibility I shudder with appalled apprehension.

Like always ‘A Middle Path’ seems to be the way to go. Money should be allowed to dominate the proceedings up till a certain extent and no more. Demarcation of commerce and piety should be stark and clear.

For wealth is only a currency of commodity, but prayer a path to peace.

Shuvo Bijoyaa !!!!