Hindustan Times
The Calcutta Boy Syndrome
This week, I suddenly solved a big civilisational mystery. The Calcutta Boy Syndrome! It’s about why they have this imbibed-with-mother’s-milk love of rock’n'roll.
Mind, it’s been a while, quite a few years since I took my first baby steps on Southern Avenue in Calcutta…and like a baby gosling ‘imprints’ the first creature it sees as its mother, I imprinted Bengal. Through the clamour and din of the Tamil and English spoken at home, there was Bengalee, there was the fakir-faced man at the gate who clacked and sang of Ganga Mata and the song that began ‘Opaarey tumhi Radhey, epaarey aami, maaje nodi bohe re…‘ (You’re on that bank, Radha, and I on this, and the river flows between…).
May I also say with simple pride that my great-uncle, T.N. Kumaraswamy, was the first to translate Bankim and Sarat into Tamil back in pre-Independence days?
My Dead Lefty Aunt’s best chum was ‘Roma Mashi’ and I grew up around her in my teens, eating chorchori and all that (Bong veg food rocks, though they themselves dismiss it as ‘ghaas-phoos‘). For years now, a Bengali, the General Sahib aka Attila the Hen, has ruled my life so I get Bong food by the bucket (she decides what to cook: so liberating to relinquish control).
So okay, my head is tuned to Bengal - it ISS a bhery shweet language, kintu bhujhteypari ektu-ektu, bolteypari na. We have a Bengali bou in our family (Mrinalini, my best-loved Big Cousin’s wife) whose mother’s cooking I loved. I have dear galpals who are either Bongs themselves or married to one. And how can I not celebrate those mad months in Cal as a 20-year-old who began drinking at the Maple on the Chowringhee end of Park Street and steadily drank her way through it until she turned on Free School Street and stopped (for reasons only Cal will know) at the last respectable point, How-Hua, the Chinese restaurant where Chimney Soup was drunk ensemble?
I mean, Bongland has never faded and in the middle of writing this, I suddenly got to nibble at mishti (Patishaapta and Lavangalatika), how perfect is that?
But the Calcutta Boy Syndrome puzzled me deeply.
Why did these guys, above all the other gentlemen I have ever met, have this…this affinity, no, this compulsion, for rock? They knew everything about it. As Bonzo, a young person met in First Year kindly explained after I developed a splitting headache listening to rock, “Acid rock is different from hard rock. Acid rock gives you paranoia.”
I tuned right out.
Not that I didn’t want to enter this interesting new world.
It’s just that there was too much else on my plate, then. I had Carnatic, Hindustani and Western Classical to cope with. People tend to have a musical ‘home’. And I knew that Indian Classical was where I really lived and everything else was tourism, even jazz: nice to go, nice to come back
But this week I saw/heard Paban Das Baul and his musical companions, Nemai, Alim Fakir and Mimlu. The elegant Alim Fakir, who looks like Che and even wears a red bandana, sang beautifully of ‘Nobi Rasool’. Paban Das Baul was not bad, either.
See this photo of Nemai (left), Paban Das and Mimlu.
The way Alim moved about, Paban Das’s sudden drumming frenzies to mark the end of verses, his in-your-face affirmations, leaning forward and singing really loudly, all that energy…Baul music was all over the place and hollering fit to die! (Beautiful Parvathy Baul, whom I’ve heard earlier, was so fiery-fabulous that I felt stupid at how exhausted I got after listening to three songs, exactly like with rock).
And the penny suddenly dropped.
The Calcutta Boy Syndrome, their affinity for rock, is in their hardwiring because rock is a kissing cousin of Baul music!
Having decoded that to my satisfaction (you may disagree!) here’s a thought on some of the content, as I understood it.
Beyond the music, it’s the message conveyed by Lalon Fakir that interests me deeply (check out this string of Lalon songs in this video, shared by my colleague Sanyal Babu).
It sounded totally middle ground, making place for different points of view. Stuff like God is ‘in’ us, that the divine impulse is not ‘outside’. That the body is a temple. That each person is a microcosm of existence and is a part of a larger organism: the Universe. That the inner spirit yearns to connect with this truth and be liberated from the mundane. That it seeks its true ‘home’, which is in self-realized harmony with all existence.
The Bauls use metaphors for this like ‘the rainbird longing for the first raindrops’ that Guru Nanak and Bhakti saints have used (And Allan Sealy’s lovely phrase from ‘Everest Hotel‘ comes back: “ecstasy in the lapwing’s gullet”).
The Bauls may vary in philosophical details, but their view of this’God-embed’ sounded very Upanishadic to me.
Upanishads, a supposedly elite Sanskrit scripture?
But it did. And I knew it was a link shared by Bhakti poets all over India, even the rebels - the rockers of religion!
Here are a few of my favourite examples.
Kabir’s doha says:
Jaise til mein tel hai, jyon chakmak mein aag
Tera Sayeen tujh mein hai, tu jaag sake toh jaag
“Like seed contains the oil, and flint stone, fire
Your Lord is within you, realise Him if you can.”
Guru Tegh Bahadur’s beautiful Vairagmayi Bani says:
Puhap madh jiu baas basat hai, makar mah jaise chhayi, Taise hi Hari base nirantar, ghat hi khojah bhai.
“As fragrance in flowers, as your face in the mirror, so God dwells within: seek Him in yourself, brother.”
From across the Sahyadri comes the passionate voice of Mahadevi Akka, the medieval rebel-poet, who was ‘fanaa‘ on Shiva as Chenna Mallikarjuna, the Lord white as Jasmine. A vachana (poem) by her says:
“Like treasure hidden in the ground, taste in the fruit, gold in the rock, oil in the seed, the Absolute is hidden away in the heart, no one can know the ways of our Lord white as Jasmine.” (Translated by A.K. Ramanujan).
Baba Bulle Shah, the Sufi chart-topper says:
Masjid dhaade mandir dhaade, dhaade jo kuchh dhainda; Ik kisi da dil na dhaavin, Rab dilaan vichh rehnda.
“Break the mosque and break the temple, break what can be broken. But spare only the human heart, which is the house of God.”
And where did our mother tongues find these images?
In here, I think, in the oldest known source, the Upanishads (Isha Upanishad 1:15):
Tilesu tailam, dadhineeva sarpir,
Aapas srotassu, araneesuchagnih,
Evam aatmaatani grhyatesau
Satyenainam tapasyonupashyatih
“As oil in sesame seeds, as butter in cream, as water buried deep in dry riverbeds, as fire in friction sticks, so is God hidden in my own soul, if I search with honesty and true effort.”
Or was it in this old ‘Dhyana Bindu’ (’focus point’, traditionally taught to keep up your courage)?
Pushpa madhye yatha gandham, payo madhye yatha ghrtam, tila madhye yatha tailam, pashaaneesh iva kaanchanam…
“As fragrance in a flower, butter in milk, oil in a sesame seed and gold in a golden reef, so is God in all things.”
This is our ‘hidden’ Saraswati, don’t you think, another of our deep civilisational mysteries?
She flows through all our mother tongues, our river of Knowledge.
Baul out loud!
(6 votes, average: 5 out of 5)
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Wonderful, wonderful piece. The video is haunting
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renuka Reply:
April 10th, 2009 at 11:36 am
Thank you! The songs are really something, aren’t they?
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Amazing ! Your blog provokes a multi pronged thought process. Food, travel, classsical music, folklore, spirituality. We feel we are reading an Upnishad. You must have experienced Upanishad (in literal sense) listening to Paban Das, Alim et al. Sitting besides the teacher and listening to him. It’s like the smell of soil when the first rains come. One can only experience it. Yet the blog comes as clean as Kabir says ‘Jyo ki tyo dheeni re chaadariya’.
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renuka Reply:
April 10th, 2009 at 11:49 am
Thank you, Anil, glad you like it. What I felt was a deep sense of pride, not the stupid kind but the glad and grateful kind, in how India thinks things through depite the religious and social pressure to live in a tight, safe box. I think we’re essentially a free-spirited people and the Upanishads have done a lot to keep us grounded and together, they are so chilled out and inclusive. And they flow unseen in so many Indian bhashas, so we understand each other despite the language, literally ‘where we’re coming from’…
Pls don’t mistake this for ‘Hindutva’! Just credit where credit is due.
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rakesh Reply:
April 17th, 2009 at 11:10 am
Dear renuka,
While I know that even the term Hindu was coined by invading muslims,its not what the real thing followed by indians.so hindutva is not exactly what our values were prior to invaders.
So i understand your reluctance to even been associated with hinduism,its politicaly right thing to do in todays India where secularism rules the drawing room conversations and praising our real tradition of tolerance its basic principle.However,I would like to mention that it will be possible to see so many diverse views flourishing only as long as the hindutva, that you despise so much,is alive and kicking..
I find nothing wrong in saying with pride that my ancestors had been ‘hindus’ and that to seek the ultimate truth our aim,even if that defies current societal and religious norms.And it is very neccassary that our tribe is not in minority on this great land,because the day it happens,all the diversity will be gone.
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renuka Reply:
April 17th, 2009 at 7:46 pm
I love being a Hindu myself, it is bliss and freedom the way I experience it. I say so frequently. But I won’t blame today’s Muslims for the actions of past invaders and I won’t blame Indian Christians for the atrocities of the British Raj. I want to move on, with peace and purpose, with the rest of my people. Don’t you
Brilliant.
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Loved your piece and the verses that came along with it - some familiar, some new. I think your writing is refreshing and different because you write as you feel. The images come alive and the lyrics ring in your ears long after you sign off for the day after your tryst with She baba.
Steeped in bhakti, couched in wisdom, ‘ouched’ in well - deserved sarcasm (sometimes), this is just the kind of up, close and personal look we need to have at many cultural icons and ideas we have carried within us down the ages.
I think what you end up doing is unlocking the treasure trove of culture and tradition, dusting off centuries of obscurity, polishing it with your own “take” (I hate this over-used word, particularly because what you are doing is not “taking” at all, but “giving”) or thoughts and presenting it to your fan following with a flourish and some wry, endearing, self - deprecating comments that people have grown to love.
You do not need to wear a certain colour or sport body - art to talk about God and goodness with any degree of credibility. You just need to be human, and therefore, feel and experience what others around you are going through.
Raji
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Masters, I am not worthy.
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I forgot to add, that in tribute to all the Bengali rockers, I went to the Rock n Soul Museum on 191 Beale Street (Beale Street!) in Memphis, Tennessee. I wore the headphones and made a private journey through rock history …and found myself dancing as I went along, it was such fun for this tourist.
Memphis is the buckle on the American Bible Belt and seemed kinda…simple, except for the moving, powerful American Civil Rights Movement museum and the hotel where Martin Luther King was shot…and imagine seeing the bus on which black American Rosa Parks sat…and refused to get up for a white, making a satyagraha movement happen in the US! It led to Obama today.
I can’t say about Tennesse that ‘there aint no place that I’d rather be’…and I would stoutly resist if anyone tried to ‘carry me, back to Tenness-ee’ .
But I remembered Dylan a lot there, he was some kind of anthem man for everybody in Delhi University, at least with people I knew……but I saw SO many kinds of cookies…cookies! … labelled ‘Memphis Blues’ in Memphis, that I couldn’t stop giggling and somebody kindly offered me a drink of water.
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You do get to the heart of the matter– so ‘ non -seriously’.Refreshing.
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Renukaji your articles are joyrides for the soul - first on a highway at full speed, then an off-road 4×4 - then kayaking on white water all the way to the cascades where it takes off on a hang-glider and then settles down sated, yet yearning for more….
btw why is a Bengali guy like Jesus? He stays at home til he’s 30. His mother thinks he’s God. He thinks his mother’s a virgin. ( Nothing like a bit of ethnic prejudice to make an Indian smile, I always say)
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roodrow Reply:
April 16th, 2009 at 9:12 pm
predeep rao, you are forgiven!
~~~from a bengali Jesus boy~~~~
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Mon Dieu! I’m breathless! ‘Au bout de souffle’ as they might say in Shandernagore or Pondisherree. In defense of Bong Brethren, here’s one about my lot , the Tufted Trogs (Nerd Kings?) of Tamil Nadu:
What’s one Tambrahm?
A priest at the Varadarajaswamyperumal temple
What’s two Tambrahms?
A math tuition class
What’s three Tambrahms?
A queue at the US Embassy
What’s four Tambrahms?
The Santa Clara Tyagaraja Aradhana!
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Loved this really lovely piece!
I grew up in Delhi, have lived in the US for years and am now settled in Northern California. I choose to live in the Bay area because it’s incredibly diverse and I live side by side with people from all over the world.
Your piece reminded me again that I had a really privileged upgringing growing up middle class in New Delhi…because I was exposed to this wonderful pluralism and acceptance of differences that is deep rooted in our culture and history. Thank you also for the beautiful translations!
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renuka Reply:
April 14th, 2009 at 3:59 pm
Hi Minky! Nice to see a comment from you. Glad you liked this. Yeah, it was a big privilege to grow up in a ‘poor’ country bursting with other riches. We didn’t have much money in our pockets compared to our peers in Europe and America but we had heaps of other things.
Lots of foreigners have asked me, like I know it’s happened with many other Indians, where I was educated abroad. M’sieur Remy-Martin (the cognac heir) and Helen Gurley Brown, founding editor of Cosmo, included! And I am always pleased to answer, “Made in India.”
It hurts that the same country that gave a whole bunch of us such a great education should have so many areas of darkness. It’s unfair. That’s my dearest wish for India, that a good, solid education that makes us open-minded should be freely available to all. My math, eco and science classes were not great, though. Do see my colleague Kushalrani Gulab’s blog, Expletive Deleted, for some really interesting stuff on education here and in America.
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Agree with all your sentiments:-) Btw, I did see your colleague’s blog on education and posted a comment…
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renuka Reply:
April 16th, 2009 at 10:58 pm
I shuddered too thinking of my math teacher(s)! But u got comfy with it, I’m glad to note, and I alas still turn into a rabbit frozen in the headlights when I see a bunch of numbers.
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Dear Renuka,
Good piece. The range of subjects you write on…..Wah Wah.
The way you linked the Baul tradition of Bengali music with their love for rock. I always felt that there are lot of similarities between Bongs and Mallus. The kind of sarees the women wear, their hair, their love for fish and the men’s love for spirits. Not to forget the love for music, dance in both the states. I have even wondered were both the states joined at their hips at some point of time ?
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To the immensely talented Blogiva and her scholarly readership - namaskar with folded hands. Sometimes you just want to absorb everything that comes off these pages in waves - the scent of the dosai, the sound of the music, the punch in the narrative, the zing in the repartee, the nostalgia in the childhood tales. Sometimes you want to say nothing and experience everything.
Thank you.
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Going through your piece ‘the calcutta boy syndrome’ made me nostalgic about Kolkata.Being a bongo by heart and attitude makes all the difference.It was 5 years ago that I had last visited the place.And the mouth watering shukto,the streets of southern avenue and the Baul music brought back old memories.I’ve myself pondered several times over the choice of the Bongo youths switching on to the present rock music.Who’s responsible? Their affinity with the Bauls was certainly mind boggling.Yes,I agree with you, baul out loud.It means a lot !
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Thanks! Cal was special. Haven’t been back in ages myself….
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