15th Aug 1947, New Delhi, India. A proud man standing tall on the remnants of his past declared….Tonight at the stroke of midnight while the world sleeps India awakens to its freedom…or something to that effect. Some “Smart Alec” was sharp enough to observe that at the stroke of midnight half the world was actually wide awake and it was in fact 2 p.m. in the afternoon at New York and people were in fact returning to work from their lunch break. Well these minor details aside, at the stroke of midnight while Indians woke to their first taste of freedom in 150 years, one state switched off the alarm and remained stooped in slumber. Bengal, the chief instigator of the National movement, the pioneer of the freedom struggle was too tired to open its eyes. It was still in shackles, a slave of its own past, of its heydays when the bright young stars of the national leadership hailed from the Bengal skies. Ah! The sweet proud glorious memories. Kolkata had drunk long and hard at its cup of glory. The hangover lasted even longer.
Bengal is yet to awaken to a present when a very different seducer threatens to caste its net over Bengal and bind it again in the chains of slavery. For thirty long years communism has reigned unchallenged and Bengal sways to its hypnotizing tune in dazed assent. It has been bedazzled by the recantations of its own resplendent past and put into a deep slumber of complacency by the panegyrics sung in honour of its brave sons.
Time, it seems, has slowed down for this state in stupor. While the rest of the world rushes by to beat time itself, Bengal’s machinery is coming to a slow grinding halt.
Look around Kolkata and walk down its cobbled streets, this is a city that is clinging to its past with all that its got, petrified at the thought of letting go, lest it may never be able to stand up again. So afraid to march forward into the future lest it plunges into the dark depths of anonymity and never recover. Yes Kolkata has much to loose, more that most in India. But in its desperation to cling to what it has it is loosing out on something even more valuable-time. The time which has been gained by the all else to think beyond their horizons and challenge the very frontiers of time. It is the reluctant child being dragged on its knees by necessity towards the future.
Wrapped up in the tiny bubble of self glory, the Bengali Babus laugh at the world at it hurtles by, amused by what they interpret as the foolish craving to trade the past traditions for improbable dreams. This from the land of the likes of Ram Mohan Roy is irony indeed. The Babus continue to discuss the follies of the world outside in their steamy addas over piping hot cups of tea, only the venue having shifted from the deorhis of the house to government office chairs, lack of space being the coz thereof (population is something that has kept up with the times even in this state). Nothing has changed. “Its yesterday once more” the Beatles soulfully sang. It has always been yesterday here. Yes nothing has changed here as they would have us believe and it has been 60 years since the clock stroke at midnight.
Bengal is yet to awaken to a present when a very different seducer threatens to caste its net over Bengal and bind it again in the chains of slavery. For thirty long years communism has reigned unchallenged and Bengal sways to its hypnotizing tune in dazed assent. It has been bedazzled by the recantations of its own resplendent past and put into a deep slumber of complacency by the panegyrics sung in honour of its brave sons.
Time, it seems, has slowed down for this state in stupor. While the rest of the world rushes by to beat time itself, Bengal’s machinery is coming to a slow grinding halt.
Look around Kolkata and walk down its cobbled streets, this is a city that is clinging to its past with all that its got, petrified at the thought of letting go, lest it may never be able to stand up again. So afraid to march forward into the future lest it plunges into the dark depths of anonymity and never recover. Yes Kolkata has much to loose, more that most in India. But in its desperation to cling to what it has it is loosing out on something even more valuable-time. The time which has been gained by the all else to think beyond their horizons and challenge the very frontiers of time. It is the reluctant child being dragged on its knees by necessity towards the future.
Wrapped up in the tiny bubble of self glory, the Bengali Babus laugh at the world at it hurtles by, amused by what they interpret as the foolish craving to trade the past traditions for improbable dreams. This from the land of the likes of Ram Mohan Roy is irony indeed. The Babus continue to discuss the follies of the world outside in their steamy addas over piping hot cups of tea, only the venue having shifted from the deorhis of the house to government office chairs, lack of space being the coz thereof (population is something that has kept up with the times even in this state). Nothing has changed. “Its yesterday once more” the Beatles soulfully sang. It has always been yesterday here. Yes nothing has changed here as they would have us believe and it has been 60 years since the clock stroke at midnight.
