the shiny silent autumn

A big glass window and the green leaves. My study. Shorot (autumn) announced its presence with a patch of sunshine. The patch brings memories, some happiness, a feel of colder breeze. 

  I am staying at the campus for last few months and did not visit Kolkata. The difficult time is offering a layer of anxiety on every possible day. The patch of sunshine shines, despite of all the gloomy tunes. 

  The pujoshonkha arrived magically, televsion glances are announcing pandal details. The sky is offering the immense blueness, and the clouds. Migratory birds started arriving to the trees around the house. We spotted a Nilkontho as well. 

Shorot is ready, with all the offerings. We are confined. We are not lost among the crowd, we are not lost in silence either. We sit down, lonely, with a patch of sunshine. 

restoring my ancestral home :1

The monkey in my favorite story 'Khirer Putul' written by Abanindranath Tagore renovated her mother Duyorani's ( literally the queen with a bad fate) house with a target. He will change the entire set up if possible. 

I could not be a follower of the monkey. But still, when I began the restoration work around 3 months back, the monkey was in my mind for various reasons. 

Our Kolkata house was built by my great grandfather Kaliprasanna Piplai, a retired judge and a voracious reader. Our family was the victim of the partition of India, where the family had to move to India. Our old ancestral homes ( one at Gaila village and another one at Barisal town)  became parts of a foreign country.  The entire family moved and finally settled at the house at present day New Alipore. 

I inherited a library created by my great grandfather, and slowly built by my grandfather, father and mother. My grandfather Pulin Piplai was a freedom fighter and he established a free community library named 'Study'. Study could not survive for various reasons. But many of the books found a place at our almirahs and an old big book rack. 

Restoration started with my granduncle Fuchi's amazing collection. Fuchi passed away almost an year ago. I talked to some friends of Fuchi, who helped me to arrange his stuffs. 

Story of The Music :1

The songs composed by Tagore gradually becomes the philosophy of life. The renaissance man changed our lives so much with his pen, with his thought. Story of music is a humble venture to listen to the songs along with reading them.

The songs for worship are classified as 'puja' parjay in Gitabitan, the anthology of Tagore songs. But, interestingly, all his songs have the shadow of worship. Worship for God has become the way to self-introspection: 'amare tumi ashesh korecho, emoni lila tobo'( you have made me endless, your greatness). When he says the eternal being that the being has given power to oneself, it goes in the depth of self-realization.

The first song that I am planning to talk about is a song composed by Tagore at the age of 38. 'Bhoy hote tobo obhoymajhe nuton jonom dao he'. The song is immensely powerful, it talks about overcoming the fear. When we live our life in fear, the supreme being can take us to the world that is fearless. We have the power inside us that can help us to take the journey, to the world without fear. It gives a new birth to us.

When we think about the poverty, the fearlessness can take us to the world of plenty. When we are in doubt, it can take us to the world of truth. It can take us to a new life from the life of difficulty.

If we have a wish, let us give the wish to the eternal being. If we are self-centred, the self-centeredness can be turned into useful work. This is a master line from the bani/text which made the song so unique.

We can calm down from many thoughts to one, from chaos to peace. Here is a request to the supreme being, who can give a new birth to one from his own power. The new life will shine in the light of the supreme being.

We often come back to the song, sing it. The song has immense power to absorb one in the light of the supreme power. It is the power that overshadows sorrow and death. Fearlessness is spread in the eternal light.

In the time of turmoil...and the chimes of freedom

Daybreak stranded on Calcutta pavement. Calcutta could not become Berkley. We could not force ourselves to land in the 1960s. Therefore there were diamonds in glossy windows and rust over the bookshelves. They could not become a song anymore. We forced our words to gt stuck in a notebook, freedom for speech cafes remained a mere chayer dokan. Silent speeches moved towards a colder rainy path. There is no need for anger and no need for shame. Because, everything remained just the same. Confinement of a soul into cages or silencing oneself inside a locked room does not really prove anything. The sell of poster colours will never be a topic of a Ford funded research project. Revolutionary ideas will play cricket at the Sunday campus..and the chimes of freedom will continue to shine in the neverland... Because cacophony is another name of silent music. And we continue to sing that music everyday.

Waiting at Varanasi station

I am waiting at Varanasi railway station for last seven hours. I am coming from Kolkata, I need to take another train to Gorakhpur, as I will be spending some time for a research project near Gorakhpur. For the past seven hours I am so closely located near the Ganges, I am closely located near the Vishwanath gali, wooden toy shops, rabri shops and our old house. But I could not move out of the station as the announcements of the train are following short leaps, ‘the train is expected in next one hour.’ I am at Varanasi for the first time after my grandmother’s death. The city was very special to her, as my father was born here in the year 1948. She is the person who spread the urge to touch the city as many times as I can. Last time I had visited the city in April, 2014, I gifter a photo post card of the Malavya bridge located on the Varanasi Ganges. She visited Varanasi nine times, and I was having a feeling that I am completing her 10th visit with the current stepping on Varanasi. But I could just touch the soil of Varanasi. Seven hours of waiting in a ladies waiting hall of platform no. 5 of the Varanasi railway station brought new observations. I found that women students from different corners of UP come to study at various colleges of Benaras and at BHU. Though I have visited BHU a number of times, but encountering students from different corners of the state was totally new experience. I found that students come from Lucknow-Raibarrilley –Benaras rail track, and also from Benaras-Mughalsarai-Patna rail track. A number of women students are friends with the old lady ticket checker woman of the ladies waiting room who speaks a variety of Bhojpuri. I shared a cup of tea with the lady and found that these women students regularly sit at the waiting room and study for a few hours. They also charge their mobile phones and eat their lunch at the waiting hall. Just beside the waiting room, there is a new bhojanalay. The menu include veg and non-veg thalis, north and south Indian snacks and dinner. They pack food and supply order for on-board passengers. They also have a snacks and tea corner. The shop owner was quite surprised to see me for both lunch and dinner at his restaurant. Like Mughalsarai, Varanasi is also a station where many routes are crisscrossed. Trains from different parts of India pass through this station. So, it was also a traveller’s joy to find new routes and googling about them. I came to know that trains from Mumbai to North and East India pass through Varanasi. Trains from Secundrabad also stops here to take a turn for Darbhanga, Patna or Bhagalpur. I noticed a number of known trains from Howrah passing by and tried to track their routes thoroughly, which were partially known by me in spite of my regular Kolkata Delhi journeys. I read story books in between, wrote something, called up home a number of times, had early lunch and dinner, two rounds of tea. Spending from morning to night at the station of a known place was still unknown and refreshing. Though I felt a bit restless in the evening, the feeling that I am at a wonderful city was peaceful. I may exclude this travel from my visit list, but it became a very special travel. I will be back at Benaras very soon, I promised myself.

The Life of Pi and my stories..

The first tears appeared when the young boy was shouting in joy experiencing a terrible thunderstorm..I was feeling like shouting in joy by myself..the joy in danger, walks along with the journey.. The apparently unknown boy lost everything at the Pacific ocean.. And it was a beginning of the unknown world.When groups a fishes attacked him,my eyes saw the shadow of a door which she tried to open in order to find an escape route at the midnight city. When the son of the same master, a man eater roared in full energy, my ears heard a deafening sound, with thousand flashes.. The red carpet movie theater had some exit doors..but can the doors take me there, where I want to go? where i need to go.. I want to shout..yes, I want to cry..because I want my life back..once more, I want to live..

a 'Bangal' conversation and beyond

Two popular Bangla T.V. serials are now using bangal (The speech of East Bengal, traditionally)variety of speech in the script and thus attracting two major chunks of viewers.Firstly, people from Bangladesh who are extremely fond of Calcutta-based serials, and secondly, the 'once upon a time refugee bangals' who are now well settled in West Bengal and cherish the bangal speech varieties. 'They are not using bangal speech properly', says my father, while watching the serial 'Chirosathi' in Star Jalsha. The serial, based on Muktijuddho kaleen Bangladesh is using bangal speech, which resembles the speech variety of Barisal.I tried to convince my father that the variety spoken in Barisal today is quite different from what we speak at home. A family who had left Bangladesh during partition and still using bangal speech for daily conversation is, in fact, archiving the Barisal variety of Bangla which was spoken in 1940s in undivided Bengal.But, today Barisal variety is influenced by the Dhaka Standard Bangla, which is, again influenced by Kolkata Bangla. So, my family does not know how the Barisal-based bangal variety spoken today is different from what we speak at home! An unique example of language maintenance can be heard in the speech of my granduncle, my father and my uncle. They have left everything behind, but they still own their language, which is their valuable possession form their ancestral place. The usual waves of language change has not touched these people of my family. So, we are carrying the old forms, and simultaneously it is really difficult for them to believe that what we speak today is not spoken at Barisal now. Boundaries and distances can do so much for our language,and some of us have never thought about it,perhaps..

tomake chai

'tomake chai' kuri bochore pa dilo. bangla ganer ekti onyotomo biplob, amra jara tar shakkhi thekechi tader aj ek rongeen din. aj sei shoroter sokaler kotha mone porche, jedin bhorbela moshari khulei dekhlam pujor jonyo notun cassette esheche, denimer shirt pore ek bhodrolok hate ekta guitar niye boshe achen. sumanke chinlam, sumaner gan ke chinlam. ar sumaner gan chenate shekhalo onyo ek jogot. suman inspiration dilen somor sen porbar, suman shekhalen biplob ar premer obichchedyo songya. tomake chai shunei bodhoy shoishob theke koishore uttoron hoyechilo ekti projonmer.solil chowdhury-ke notun kore chiniye dilen suman, himanshu dutter nam notun kore anka holo tnar-i sure. notun projonmo tnar ganer line diye poster likhlo,prempotro likhlo ar likhlo jiboner onyo ek bhasha. samyobader gan ghume jagorone tochnoch kore dilo kolkatar nobin akash. mone ache sumaner lekha prothom boita kinte boimelay line deoya,'tomake chai' -er srostar hoye otha ganer golpo, prokasher din i copy-ta songroho kore jotno kore molat lagano hoyechilo. 'tomake chai' bolechilo premer sathe guitar-er ekta kothay jano dibbi sundor somporko ache.je sumaner gan bhalobashe na, ami konodin tar preme pori ni. koishore onek class-er fnake bondhuder geye shuniyechi 'boishakhi jhore ami tomake chai'.onek asharer megh-ke soriye diyeche tomake chai.'tomake chai' hoye uthechilo amar prothom cell phone-er welcome note. aj, ekti ganer jonmodine ei lekhata likhte boshe mone holo, e ganer jonmo amader jobonkei ekta notun jonmo diyeche.ekta gan palte dite pare etokichu? aj arekbar fire dekha, shune neoya sei gan-ke.ar socchar hoye eksathe bole otha-sesh porjonto tomake chai.

My journey with myself..

One little girl traveled these roads years ago, holding the hands of her parents. Today she is traveling alone, but her memories are indicating her ways. The building with a big garden is known to her, which she had drawn in her drawing book, using the new wood pencil from mussoorie. And the balcony of the ashrama, which was her drawing studio once upon a time, is almost unchanged!

My journey to Rishikesh-Mussoorie-Haridwar was a very special journey for me, because I traveled here with the shadow of a little girl. My childhood roadmap was showing my ways.

The journey began from Anand Vihar ISBT at almost midnight, when I boarded a roadways bus for Haridwar.I had to change the bus at Haridwar early in the morning and reached Rishikesh at around 7 a.m. I found myself among the crowd of Bengali and Tamil pilgrims. The old Bengali lady, who perhaps has come for the pilgrimage with a very little money which she has saved was crossing the Shivananda Ram Jhula-the hanging bridge over the Ganges with me. The familiar language was heard at almost every corner of the small town, which was making me very nostalgic. The woman who has come a long way to travel this pilgrimage is perhaps of my age. But it is probably very difficult for her to accept that one Bengali woman is traveling alone. And when you are wearing a bindi and a dupatta, you are never alone in a north Indian road travel.

I wanted to stay at the 'Banprastha Ashram' where I had stayed years ago. But the ashrama does not allow single persons. So I booked a cheap room at the Paramarth Niketan Ashram. I spotted a fantastically located restaurant on the Ganges which has a spectacular view of the river.spending hours there.A sudden storm changed the colour of the river and the whole frame of picture. A took a long walk through the bank of Ganges at reached Laxmanjhula. On the way I met a nun who is actively involved with the Save Ganges Campaign. The primary target at Laxmanjhula was the German Bakery where I had an amazing apple famble.Came back to Rishikesh by an auto and spent some more time with the calmness of the river.

Rishikesh to Mussoorie was a journey of almost 3 hours.I took a local bus from Rishikesh and changed another bus from Dehradun-the capital of Uttarakhand. The old British-styled buildings are a typical feature of Dehradun city, though the city now has a number of branded shops. Woodlands, Cafe Coffee Day and Spykar Jeans showrooms have changed the cityscape.

Our bus moved through the hilly roads, and the cold breeze brought the news that the 'queen of the hill' is not far. I had booked a room at the Youth Hostel which is 6 k.m distant from the Mussoorie town.But the area is not crowded like the Mussoorie bazar area and has a nice view of green mountains. I dumped my luggage at the hostel and rushed to the main Mussoorie bazar by a roadways bus. I was terribly hungry, so I reached my favourite Tibetan food joint Kalsung and ordered a plate of fried momo and a bowl of thukpa. Reached hostel around 6 p.m.and spent a silent evening with green and black mountains.

The next morning, I had planned a wonderful trek. Trek route of course destined Landour, which is my favourite part of mussoorie.I walked through Landour bazar,I entered a few of my favourite old antique shops. I walked to the famous 'char dukan' (the four shops and the Landour church. While walking down, I stopped for linch at the Chhaya Cafe-chicken pot pie and the chocolate cake was absolutely mouthwatering.I walked down till Mussoorie bazar and took a rope way ride. When the rope way reached the view point at gun hill, it started raining heavily. Rain at the hill top, and the dark green pine and devdar trees. It was amazing.

I was supposed to take a night bus for Delhi, but I suddenly changed my plans. Took a bus to Haridwar.Already booked a hotel over phone, but I was amazed to see the wonderful location of the hotel.

The last morning of the trip was taking a walk at the bank of Ganges near the Har ki Pauri ghat.I have written some part of it sitting at a ghat, from where I have also floated a flower and lamp boat.Early lunch at the famous 'Dada Boudir hotel' reminded me again of my childhood.

The roadways bus for Delhi left Haridwar at 12 noon. I got a front seat at the bus. The return journey brought many thoughts.My journey with the shadow of the little girl never brought a feeling of loneliness. My footsteps followed the mental map of my childhood journey. I tried to recall my journey on the rope way, my sharing of lunch from my mother's plate.

The journey was like a pink page fairy tale, the clouds, the stream of the river and the lush green mountains never allowed me to feel alone. And the little girl did not wave her hands to me when I started my return journey. She started nesting inside me after the journey...to my surprise..

Feeling Blue..

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p7AGyNPkXF4

Chena Ochena Ramkinkar

Dilli shohorer konkriter deoyale ramkinkorer chena ar ochena rong..
jolronger bhubondanga kimba shillong pahar..neel-sobujer fnake ghorbari..

Ramkinkorer jolronger chobi amake khub beshi kore tane. ami ankte pari na,kintu koyekta ronger chop obornoniyo bhabe rongin hoye othe kolponay.

National Gallery of Modern Art-e Ramkinkor Retrospective dekhte eshe Gallery-r auditorium theke bheshe asha chena ganer sur shune doure chole gechi dorjar pashe..bishal screen-e natyoghorer samner rastata- bristidhoya sobuj. Kalo bari ar kalabhaban chottorke porday dekhte peye hothat ki bhalo je laglo..

Neel jol ronger somudro, sobuje-anka pahar, shada-kaloy anka beral ar jyamitik nokshay boshonter chobi dekhe thomke dnariyechi. amar priyo buddher murtir ekta bishal chobi ar kalo barir bishal photograph dekhe hothat jano santiniketoner jonyo khub mon kharap kore uthlo.

dilli shohore ekhon boshonto. kintu ramkinkorer jolronger polash je boshonter bhasha jane, take kothay khnuje pabo byasto ei shohore?


tobu bhalo lage. eka eka gallery-r rasta diye hnatte hnatte ghasher opor jhore pora palaguloke hothat khub rongeen mone hoy..

ami chobi ankte pari na..kintu ronger bhasha porte pari..jolronger polash tai je boshonter kache amake niye jete chay, ami je tar theke onek dure..nijer moner modhye tai amio enke niy amar oboyobheen boshonter chobi,lak polash jege thake shei chobir patay patay..

I was trying to write my own 'story of the road' (pOther PNacali) for a long time. Words were not helping me. So, it was becoming a difficult task.On the way to Kolkata suddenly I felt an urge to write on my travel story, Story of the country, the countryside which were known to me- but I have never been there,not even my father.

My early childhood experience of story-telling happened with my grandfather (dada), grandmother (Dadin) and Granduncle (Fuchi). The sources of the story was also a blue-covered notebook whcih was actually owned by my great grandfather but I used to see the notebook in my grandfather's old trunk.

The source of the story was a green village, a few small ponds and a village house.The photographs of the house is kept in the village album. My journey began, destination-the little house of my nischindipur.

I and my friends- Ishani, Anumitra, Ishita, Bidisha and Deepro were exited when a local bus journey was being conducted by lots of international regulations. After hectic immigration tasks, baggage checking, we crossed the no man's land and entered Bangladesh.

I claim myself as a non-religious person. While having tea from a roadside tea stall at Benapole,a sudden comment from a tiny boy, 'Oh! Lokk at the Hindu lady' was absolutely shocking. I can easily say thet a similar comment is not rare in West Bengal for a Muslim lady. But is it Bangladesh? Which fought for 'Bengali' identity? We entered Bangladesh on 16th December, 2011- and the day was celebrated as the 40th anniversary of Muktijuddho.

We crossed the known roads whcih has never been traveled by us.The local bus journey was revealing more wonders.When our bus was crossing Padma through the berge, we discovered that there is a restaurant at the ferry, and it is frying fresh Ilish fishes, the delicious evening snacks welcomed us.

Almost three days in Dhaka was very hectic with paper presentations, adda at Dhaka university's famous Madhuda's canteen, reading beautifully written posters and banners at the campus, eating pulao-kabab-biriyani with the curd drink borhani, a number of rickshaw rides at Dhaka jam, tasting pithes etc.

One memorable event in Dhaka was visiting Rafik jethu-my father's friend. The renowned Tagore-specialist was chairing a session at the conference, when I introduced myself after the session, I was surprised that he remembers my nickname. The next day, when I and Ishita made a visit to his house, I was surprised that he remembers the song which I sang when he visited our house in Calcutta almost ten year ago! We got a surprise lunch at Rafik jethu's place, he also gifted us some books written by him.Rafik jethu has donated all his earnings to the Tagore research institute of Dhaka University and now lives in a small rented flat, still busy with writings.

Another memorable visit was the Bhasha Shahid minar when our friend Sujoy's brothers Rajan adn Gobindo accompanied us.The monument whcih is famous for the garland-decorated photos on 'Ekushe' is not at all well maintained, to our surprise.
For some reason,visit to the national temple Dhakeswari Kali Bari was constantly reminding me that I am a member of the religious minority group of the country.This feeling was a completely new feeling which I never had.The name of the temple is still carried by the famous saree store in Calcutta, but this is the first time we are visiting the familiar temple!

On 19th December evening we started our journey to Barisal-the place where our ancestral house is located. Deepro and Ishita was accompanying me. We rushed to the ferry ghat on Buriganga to board the staemer. Steamer journey was a very familir story for me, so I knew the route, the deck of the steamer was also seemed familar to my surprise! In our small cabin at the steamer, the T.V. was showing a 'Indian Bengali' movie.Dinner was served in the cabin.Early next morning, we reached the Barisal river port on Kirtankhola river.

We took a small e-rickshaw to reach the Ramakrishna Mission where we were planning to stay. After getting our rooms at the mission, we started our journey to explore the town. Barisal Natun Bazar is a busy market place with fish stalls, shops for the famous Balam rice, sweet shops and bakeries.I went to the Shankar Math temple near the famous B.M. college where my Baroma's (great grandfather's sister) name is still curved. We had a grand lunch at the Bismilla Hotel where the rice, subzi, shol fish curry and tha dal was almost identical with my home cooked food. Ishita was surprised that dal is served as the last food item, me and Deepro explained that it is a typically Barisali ritual.

After linch we went to Deepro's grandmother's house.Next to Bibir pukur, a well-maintained pond at Barisal's busy area- the house is now a hospital.The owner, Deepro's granduncle's friend welcomed us and we had a nice chat with him.A reporter from Bangladesh Television clicked our photograph there as they wanted to tell others that the new generation has come here in search of their roots.

Our next destination was najirer pole, a small bridge where our ancestral house and also Deepro's grandfather's house is located.I could easily figure out our house and we got a grand welcome from the owners. My great grandfather sold the house to a friend, but our furniture and utensils are still there with the family.I clicked a photograph sitting on my favourite granduncle fuchi's cot. Nani, Jamil bhai, bhabi, their father and the little boy requested us to have dinner with them. I went to our garden where the old coconut trees are still there (they gifted me some coconuts, the small ghat which I have seen in a number of family photographs is unchanged.I went to the roof. The family still cooks food at my Baroma's kitchen.

Jamil bhai helped Deepro to find out his grandfather's house which has become a vested property now. And at night again we went to our house to have dinner where the pulao, chicken-n-egg stew, prawn, fish and boroi(a fruit which is generally called kul in Bangla) chutney was absolutely delicious.

Next moring, I started the journey to our village Goila, which is a part of Agoiljhara sub-zila now. The village of famous Bijoy Gupta of Manasha Mangal kabyo is a small and green village. On the way, I saw Manasha mandir, my grandfather's school, Goila bazar. To my surprise, I have found that some of my family members and still there in the village. I met Robin Piplai-my cousin brother who took us to see our land.

I saw the ponds which are familiar to me because I have heard of them in the childhood stories. The khirkir pukur still has the ghat. And our house is almost identical in structure with our present house in Calcutta- the doors and windows, the balcony and the design of the roof. I could not enter the house, but visited our neighbour Das' house where the old grandma became extremely nostalgic when she saw me.

I could finally reach the little house. I could actually see the ponds of my grandfather's story. The journey was fruitful.

That was not the end of the journey. We also went to Jibanananda Das's house at Barisal town, the kalibari of Mukundadas near Barisal busstand and started our journey towards khulna that night.

It was not difficult for me to find out my grandmother's house at Khulna town. I remembered she told me how she had left the house without taking her sarees and dolls lying at the house.I also visited her school the 'Coronation High School' and the ghat of the Rupsha river.

Finally moving towards the Benapole border, crossed the border by foot and took an auto for Bongaon railway station. Could not believe that a railway station which is a little far from the border has direct trains for Calcutta.

This is for the first time in my life I had realized that boundaries can create so much distance.This is for the first time in my life I had felt a feeling of losing something big while leaving a place. That was nothing but my childhood tale. But I am sure that I can reach there any moment in my dream, I know.

Bhanga rastay pore ache polash phul.kolkata shohorer chena rasta, ebhabe hnata hoyni onek bochor.dhuloy mishe jaoya polash phuler rong tobu dhulidhushor hoye jay ni..

kolkatar rong hothat onnorokom lage.chokher berongin frame-e koyek tukro lal polash.chena rastar mor theke eka eka hnatte thaki.abcha surer resh poth dekhay.notun kore hothat bnachte icche kore,amar shohore..

NSD Participatory Theater with my students

National School of Drama and the Department of Education, University of Delhi organized a collaborative event for the students of Elementary Education. Miranda House students were also invited. The name of the production is 'Pandita Ramabai'-based on the life of Ramabai, the social reformer from Maharastra.
It was a participatory theater based on a chapter of standard 8th History book.The NSD team presented the life of Pandita Ramabai at the backdrop of 19th century social reform movements. Interestingly, the hindrance of women social workers were emphasized through some actual and some imaginary characters.
The theater had also depicted Ramabai's visit to England, coming back to India and the establishment of 'Mukti Sadan'-the school and institute based on women's and children's education.
The most exiting part was that, the characters of the drama interacted with the students and also had group discussions with them on various social issues.
The discussion questions were not confined to education issues, they had also talked about 'what is not acceptable for women in the society', both in terms of early 19th century and present day situation.

It was a wonderful experience. This kind of participatory theater has a strong need in education. Can't we have these sort of presentations outside Delhi too? Specifically, in small towns and villages? Or in other cities?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pandita_Ramabai_Mukti_Mission

http://www.indiareadyreckoner.com/2010/04/nsds-theatre-in-education-company.html

It is a pity that loud sounds make me cry..
It is absolutely amazing that I live with peculiar sounds..
It is a non-sense that I cannot survive in a world with turmoil of loudness..

silence die,
and I live in re-defined non-silent world..

Because, perhaps, some lives are only for the sake of killing silence,
and also killing oneself for the sake of silence..


Trying to discover silence.
Finally.

another reason to love Ayesha

http://newsclick.in/india/prof-ayesha-kidwai-telangana-linguinstic-basis-states-india

RuddhoSongit/ruddhosangeet

The stream of reminiscence drew invisible lines among the audiences of NSD- the first group comprised of probaSi bureaucrat (wearing tie etc.), the second group consisted of a few old IPTA fans, and a few new generation 'aNtels' like us.

'Ruddhosangeet' was staged at Kamani as a part of this year's NSD festival, and I had the opportunity to attend the show.

For me, it is an extremely difficult task to evaluate the experience,as it was an unique experience which has the zigzag of dark and light. But, the mixture of black and white became grey in colour-and I thought, only words can help flowers to blossom from grey ashes.

The heart of the performance was 'Music'. early IPTA cultural events, the 'culture factor' and clash in the Communist Party of India in late 40s, intermingling of music and theater, the 'originality' debate in Tagore songs- all revolved centering one man and one word- Debabrata Biswas and Music(with a big 'M').

Perhaps, I had expected more from Bratya- who has done a lot of hard work for this production. He has reminded us again that Utpal Dutta was rusticated from Party, Ritwik Ghatak was terribly underestimated by Pramod Dasgupta, Salil Chowdhari was termed as 'protikriyaSil'.

But, still we cannot understand why young Salil Chowdhuri of the drama seems very uncomfortable with harmonium (never used Salil-type chords), why Hemanga biswas seems uncomfortable with Sylheti tongue, why a person suddenly shouts 'ye azadi jhuTa haiN', why policemen started beating Ritwik suddenly and abruptly.

The set of the drama cannot make the audience content, costume design could also be far more better.

Questions remain: a) why the young Manjusri Chaki started singing: is it only because the actress has a formal training in Tagore songs? b) why the second half begins with two songs at the background which were payed almost without any gap?(what is wrong if he uses only one?) c)Why the Charubabu's follower starts delivering a peculiar speech?

But sparks of the production came from a) use of some forgotten IPTA songs b) uttering the GOnoSangit-rabindraSongit debate in a bold and beautiful way c) Pramod Dasgupta, George's sister were big gains from the production.

But, the most important problem was that the main actor Debshankar Halder acted extraordinarily well. And, as a result, the spellbound audience gave just a pass mark to most of the actors.At one hand, there was a huge gap between performance.On the other hand, audience had observed the resurrection of Debshankar on the stage.

It is difficult to term the overall production as a 'failure' as Debshankar resisted it with his voice.But the question which still remains is- why the use of Music is not up to the mark in this music-centric production? ' Dheu uthche kara TuTche' was sung in an unusually fast rhythm (and most of the singers failed to maintain the harmonies).And finally, the end was too sudden! If I could get a chance, I should have changed the last tune. I could bring back the tunes from 'amar je din bheSe gEche', perhaps. Or, as a background voice, I could play the unforgettable lines sung by him- 'aj je kuSum phoTar bEla/ akaSe aj rONer mEla/SOkol dikei amay Tane/gane gane/'

The words of 'ami hethay thaki' are excellent. But Bratya, there is something more than words- that is Music. We wanted the play to interpret His music with Music, we all know that this meta musical journey is not an easy task. But we know that you can do it, as you believe 'artists do not have any party'.Let 'Ruddhosangeet' not becoem another'Ruddhosangeet'.Let your 'protibader bhaSa' bring back the freedom.

ICOSAL 9 Paper

http://du-in.academia.edu/DriptaPiplai/Papers/132949/Analysing-Variation-with-Minimalism---Tense-and-Agreement-in-Rajbanshi---

Back from the go-down of quilts

ICOSAL 9 at Patiala became a memorable international seminar in the country. The adventure began as we started our journey with the University team (the Punjabi Academy sent a car for our University,it reached at midnight as the driver lost his way!!!!

We were accommodated in an abandoned University flat which was being used as the go-down of quilts :-D

The presentation was not a disaster, as I could not sleep completely during the presentation (instead, I was in a dream-like state)as my head was aching in terrible cold.


Interesting findings from the conference:
1. During the inaugural session, there were turbans of 24 different colours!
2. Quote of the seminar: 'We will not allow you to ask more question, gentleman'- the Chairperson of the session of Morphology.:-D
3. In the abstract book, two abstracts were punched together
4. The best paper: 'Linguistics Analysis of the titles of Tamil Cinemas' :-D


Shall wait for the next ICOSAL, also wait for your feedbacks.

From Academics to Advocacy

http://www.cry.org/resources/pdf/CRYinAction2008.pdf
www.cry.org
www.cry.org