Abhishek Induwar's promise

On October 7, 2009, Maoists beheaded inspector Francis Induwar and left his dead body on a highway. The Maoists had demanded the release of arrested politburo member of the Communist Party of India (Maoist) Kobad Ghandy. Government of India did not relent and as a consequence Francis was killed. The video is heart-rending. Most likely, the executioner was 28-year old Kundan Pahan, a self-styled CPI (Maoist) zonal commader known for his murder streak.
I am with Abhishek. If someone killed my father like that I would have taken my revenge. I cannot express my hatred enough for these murderers, especially the maoist sympathisers. Many of them are in the US, enjoying the spoils of US imperialism and trying to strike a moral stance. A "class act," in my opinion. Dear Abhishek: study hard, build your capabilities, and most importantly, have an open mind that allows ideas to come freely from the top, bottom, left, and right. Stay away from ideologues. The rich are not agaist the poor. Many rich people want to genuinely help the poor. The communists drive a wedge between the two.
The maoists have a long history. It started with the Naxalbari movement. Many starry eyed and confused students - supposedly brilliant, too - of India, especially Bengal, murdered many people. The state reacted and there were many so-called "encounter deaths." The Maoists, it seems, are following the footsteps of Chairman Mao, a fascist leader who is responsible for killing millions in China. The confused Naxals, once sloganeered "China's chairman is our chairman."

Let a thousand "Alok Raj"s bloom

Panchayat polls are going on in Nandigram, located in south western West Bengal, a state which has been ruled for the last thirty years by a "democratically elected" communist party. Hooligans of political parties are having a field day terrorizing the local people and making them vote for their respective parties. Local police here is an extension of the ruling communist party. Luckily, however, we have the Central Reserve Police Force personnel trying their best to ensure law and order. The CRPF officers' promotion and transfer are not in the hands of the ruling political party and they do not care to appease the local political goons by looking away.

From this conversation between Alok Raj, Deputy Inspector General of the CRPF who is on duty at Nandigram, and Laxman Seth, local communist goon who is also an "elected" Member of the Parliament of India, we understand why India needs more officers like Alok Raj:



More about the incident here. CRPF has pledged that they will ensure fearless voting. Meanwhile Nandigram's police officer-in-charge has claimed he was "beaten up" by the CRPF. Probably the "officer" was spreading fear.

WTF question of the day

Should libertarians preach?

Allah tero nam, Ishwar tero nam

Not this, not this

Thanks to a rendition by Amit Paul in the recently concluded Indian Idol competition, I came to know about Rabbi Shergill's 'Bulla ki Jaana'.
The lyrics of the song (Suman Kashyap's translation is reproduced below) is written by eighteenth century Punjabi Sufi poet Bulleh Shah.
Bulleh Shah's amazingly powerful lyrics is an example of apophatic, or negative, theology. This attempt to describe the undescribable is found in the Christian, Jewish, Buddhist and Hindu traditions. My favorite is the ever-searching and ever-wanting mantra in Advaita Vedanta:
neti, neti or not this, not this.

In Brhadaranyaka Upanishad, Yajnavalkya is questioned by his students to describe God. He states "The Divine is not this and it is not that" (neti, neti).

Thus, the Divine is not real as we are real, nor is it unreal. The divine is not living in the sense humans live, nor is it dead. The Divine is not compassionate as we use the term, nor is it uncompassionate. And so on. We can never truly define God in words. All we can do is say, it isn't this, but also, it isn't that either". In the end, the student must transcend words to understand the nature of the Divine.

In this sense, neti-neti is not a denial. Rather, it is an assertion that whatever the Divine may be, when we attempt to capture it in human words, we must inevitably fall short, because we are limited in understanding, and words are limited in ability to express the transcendent. [Link]

Plotinus, the die-hard third century Platonist, took inspiration from these eastern ideas, and wrote the famous Enneads.

Generative of all, the unity is none of all, neither thing nor quality, nor intellect nor soul, not in motion, not at rest, not in place, not in time...

If any one were to demand of nature why it produces, it would answer, if it were willing to listen and speak: You should not ask questions, but understand keeping silence as I keep silence, for I am not in the habit of speaking.
(as quoted in Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan's The Bhagavadgita)

Bulleh Shah, Yajnavalkya, or Plotinus's thoughts are a whiff of fresh air. They release us from our habits of thought.

This weariness, forgive me, my lord

This weariness, forgive me, my lord!
If ever, I fall behind in my journey.
My heart trembles in a strange fear
Forgive me that agony, forgive me my lord!
This impoverishment, forgive me, my lord!
If ever, I look behind;
In the heat of the day, in the blaze of the sun,
Your garland withers on the worship tray;
Forgive me that dullness, forgive me my lord!

Captain of our souls

What more can we say about our country's darling son? In every way he has shown us the path, inspiring a nation by his ideal of sacrifice and service. More photos here, with descriptions.

Rabindranath said, "If you want to know India, study Vivekananda. In him everything is positive and nothing negative".

"We perceive his influence still working gigantically, we know not well how, we know not well where, in something that is not yet formed, something leonine, grand, intuitive, upheaving that has entered the soul of India and we say, Behold, Vivekananda still lives in the soul of his Mother and in the souls of her children.", wrote Aurobindo.

The monks of Ramakrishna Mission work tirelessly for the welfare of the needy. Their activities are carried out in various parts of our country on the basis of the principles of Shiva Jnane Jiva Seva ("Service to people as service to God") and work is worship.


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Santana - Soul Sacrifice (Woodstock 1969)

Mike Shrieve - Drums
José Chepitó Areas and Mike Carabello - Timbales and Conga
Gregg Rolie - Keyboards
David Brown - Bass
Carlos Santana - Guitar (Gibson SG Special)

Ustad Rashid Khan declines invitation

Ustad Rashid Khan has declined to participate in this year's North American Bengali Conference. Here's what he had to say:

Dear Debashish da,

I am sorry to inform you that, I shall not be able to perform for your Banga Sammelan Concert to be held this year in.

My experience this year in April, in the US, was a nerve wrecking one. We are Artists, who have been awarded and felicitated by the highest offices in India and abroad. We represent the Culture Heritage of India but I am sorry to say that my experience there was such that I don't think I would want to go there for a second time and face such humiliation.

Hence, I would ask to be pardoned, and an once again taking this opportunity to thank you for having invited me to your conference.

Lots of love & regards to my audience and best wishes to everyone.

RASHID KHAN

You can read the letter on NABC website. Look under the left frame (International Performers).

Ustadji is one of the finest vocalists of Hindustani Classical. He comes from the Rampur Sahaswan Khayal Gharana,and was trained by the famous Ustad Nissar Hussain Khan. We spent whole nights waiting to buy tickets to his concerts at Nazrul Mancha, the Open Air Auditorium at Kolkata. I remember once we touched his feet after a concert. Ustadji is also a glaring example of the success of the Guru-Shishya parampara (which is a way of imparting tacit knowledge) in Indian Classical Music.

A whole day would be spent on practising just a single note. [Link]

Reminds me of a comment in Rock Street Journal: Santana (one of my favorite guitarists) can squeeze color out of one note. Malmsteen's unnecessary speed does not impress me much. Well said!

After hearing him, none other than Pandit Bhimsen Joshi (who comes from the mesmerizing Kirana Gharana) remarked,

"There is now at least one person in sight who is an assurance for the future of Indian vocal music."

Ustadji's rendition of the Yaman is one of the best I have heard till date. If you have napster, look it up. Also hear his Hamsadhwani, a very popular Carnatic raga known by the same name in Hindustani Classical. Here is a clip [10:10 - 7:20; there's a little conversation in between) of Hamsadhwani from Ritwick Ghatak's film 'Meghe Dhaka Tara' (The Cloud Strapped Star).

It falls into many grammatical categories

Only six degrees (of separation)

The band got its name - Moheener Ghoraguli - from the poem Ghora (Horses) by Bengali poet Jibanananda Das.

Victory to thee

Thou art the ruler of the minds of all people,
dispenser of India's destiny.
Thy name rouses the hearts of Punjab, Sindh, Gujarat, the Maratha country,
in the Dravida country, Utkala (Orissa) and Bengal;
It echoes in the hills of the Vindhyas and Himalayas,
it mingles in the rhapsodies of the pure waters of the Yamuna and the Ganges.
They chant only thy name,
they seek only thy blessings,
they sing only thy praise.
The saving of all people waits in thy hand,
thou dispenser of India's destiny.
Victory, Victory, Victory, Victory to thee.

The world's rhythm in my veins

I cannot translate this into English. You have to know the language. Words are not words. They have lives of their own.

[Update: The video has been changed. This one has subtitles in English.]

The rabindrasangeet is sung by Debabrata Biswas, the freebird on screen is Anil Chatterjee, and the clip is from Komal Gandhar (E-Flat) directed by Ritwick Ghatak. All his life, Ghatak had protested against the partition of Bengal.

Gayatri Spivak revisited

Arnab Ray has blogged about Radheshyam Rasia's bhojpuri singing, with a brief reference to Spivak's theory of the subaltern.

Two months ago, I had written about the popular and the subaltern, with an embed of the same Rasia Tailor video. But now, I think a more accurate analogy to Spivak's Can the subaltern Speak? is the last scene in Antarmahal, where Jashomati, the zamindar's younger wife played by Soha Ali Khan, commits suicide.



Antarmahal is based on Tarashankar Bandyopadhyay's short story Protima. It's not clear if Jashomati is menstruating (see the movie and read Spivak's paper to know why I ask this question), but the ending is pretty close to Spivak's theory of the subaltern. In her original essay, Spivak writes about the suicide of Bhuvaneshwari Bhaduri, a young woman in her teens in 1926, and tries to drive home the argument that the subaltern as female, cannot be heard or read. Spivak is sometimes difficult to grasp, and is known for her obscurity. The point is made, however, in the last scene and it aptly portrays the original title of Spivak's essay: Power, Desire, Interest.

I am not a student of literary criticism, nor am I driven by the romanticism of protest. Any wrong analogies drawn, I hope, will be forgiven by those who know better.

Didn't you enjoy Amar Pal's mellifluous voice? [starts at 3:00]

I could be arguing in my spare time

One needs to agree on something to even present a contrary position. One needs spare time too. Enjoy!

Bountiful blabber beckons bums

For unavoidable circumstances, this blog will remain dormant for many months to come. Regular service will resume if I get back my sanity from the continuous onslaught of information, arguments and opinions scattered all over the world of weblogs.

Till then, goodbye to the blogosphere. Thank you so much for your indulgence.

Nothing comes

This room has plastered white walls,
books, machines, pencils and erasers,
light from the windows, even darkness in the corners.

In the morning, the sun comes in an orange-yellow,
which is different from the yellow-orange of evening.

Sometimes, two pigeons come looking for food,
phone calls come, dhobi comes with the clean clothes.

Why don't you come in these lonely evenings?
Sometimes, I wish you too had come by mistake.
Don't you know, when nothing comes, what comes is pain?

===================================

Yes, nothing comes. Iron Maiden is going to Bangalore. And we are sucking thumb in this village of ours.

In our college days, we had grown up listening to IM, and cheering Chintu, Jose, Chandhok, RR Singh and Srini to their renditions of Where Eagles Dare, and Hallowed Be Thy Name. IM was different from the other noise-generating, body-building type heavy metal bands (e.g. Megadeth; British heavy metal bands are anyday better than American ones). Their lyrics was engrossing - Coleridge's Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Icarus from Greek Mythology, Fear of the Dark and Wasted Years - and they had those mesmerizing twin lead guitar riffs by Dave Murray and Adrian Smith.

Here's a video of Seventh Son of a Seventh Son. Do listen to the melody of the twin lead at 2:35 and 2:07.

Poem

-- Donald Justice (1925 - 2004)

This poem is not addressed to you.
You may come into it briefly,
But no one will find you here, no one.
You will have changed before the poem will.

Even while you sit there, unmovable,
You have begun to vanish. And it does not matter.
This poem will go on without you.
It has the spurious glamour of certain voids.

It is not sad, really, only empty.
Once perhaps it was sad, no one knows why.
It prefers to remember nothing.
Nostalgias were peeled from it long ago.

Your type of beauty has no place here.
Night is the sky over this poem.
It is too black for stars.
And do not look for any illumination.

You neither can nor should understand what it means.
Listen, it comes without guitar,
Neither in rags nor any purple fashion.
And there is nothing in it to comfort you.

Close your eyes, yawn. It will be over soon.
You will forget the poem, but not before
It has forgotten you. And it does not matter.
It has been most beautiful in its erasures.

O bleached mirrors! Oceans of the drowned!
Nor is one silence equal to another.
And it does not matter what you think.
This poem is not addressed to you.

(Chandrabindoo's Tāke Khoob Kāchhe Jei Pāi)

The Unvanquished

enjambed!

i thank you God for most this amazing...
-- E. E. Cummings

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)