Blame Game

When I look back at first year of the ‘age of Poribartan’, like all other educated middle class Bengali people I shudder to apprehend what holds for us in future. In fact this is the first time I am thinking of leaving Bengal more so because of Mohor, my 8 years old daughter. But the thought invariably makes me sad as I love to stay here. And this love is an inherent love of a Bengali for Bengal. It is this love that made me think what it would mean to be way from here. And I realized it would mean a completely different life altogether that starts with adapting the tongue to completely different experience (gastronomic way) and movements (lexicon way). It is not that Bengalis living elsewhere don’t enjoy life, but surely at the cost of missing the intricacies and delicacies typical of the state.  I, for one, am sure, am not prepared for these compromises. Perturbed with the thought I started to think why this had to happen? Why cannot Ms Banerjee be what we all expected her to be? Then it occurred to me – “is anyone in our lives the way we want them to be?” The answer to that, much to our consternation, is a big NO. This deduction made me ponder even further and I started thinking, “is it so that we don’t deserve to be gratified?  Is it that the collective decay of the clan which once dominated the country’s intelligentsia, rendering it moribund?” The mildewed existence that we have brought upon us through ages of mindless vertical growth, self absorption and escapism has perhaps started to boomerang.  It’s strange that we keep up with the unjust ways of people, society and the Dervish dance of the devil called power which has manifested its hideous tendrils in every institution at the micro level and shout out guts out when we see it at the macro one! Is not the macro a manifestation of the micro? And are we not expecting doves from the eggs laid by crows? Blame game can be the smartest and easiest way to stay unaffected, but when the ship sinks no one is spared.

I remember a line from a song by kabir Suman which says- kathar pahar holo (a mountain has been created out of mere words) - and vouch for the same. Orators are ubiquitous here but few are the ones who act. And when it comes for acting on the words which we so ceremoniously proclaim, what a misery it proves to be- such pain! such botheration! Then starts the ‘smarter than thou’ game of ducking and peeping. What a macabre farce our deeds might appear if portrayed in front of us- have we thought of it ever? How ridiculous we would appear to our own selves? It’s a shame that the person who took the simple human initiative to take an accident victim to hospital was given a heroic stature!! Can’t we see the degeneration in us that is reflected in such an effort? That he was lauded because others were playing the obnoxious game of ducking and peeping? Why has the youth, protesting the eve teasing of his sister, to die at broad day light? Doesn’t it reveal the extent to which our morality has been reduced to rubble? How many of us would be prepared to leave our white collared jobs to take up the rugged road of politics in India? Isn’t graffiti (especially in the much hyped virtual wall) more safe and attractive, the likes and mindless appreciations more tempting? That way we can be popular and get aye-sayers galore and what a boost that is to our little ego.

The tolerance we expect from our leaders is hardly shown by us even in the most of simple situations. The way a driver is heckled by others in the same seat if the car takes a little longer to get started at a signal shows our tolerance level, quite disturbingly so. The more powerful is the seat the less is the level of tolerance. Surrounded by sycophants we feel secured of our power and the moment a ‘no’ is uttered our world starts to crumble. The rebel among the tamed ones appears as a great threat and we wield ourselves to make us sure of his doom but remain oblivious of our own face off that results with such an exercise. The inconsistency of character the duel personality, the colossal practise of preaching without practicing, if we think of it, will appear appalling to our own distressed selves. Power makes Demigods out of us and we want absolute supremacy over all earthly beings. This leads towards the indomitable urge to grab and control without sparing a thought about whether we need, can handle or deserve it. The very act of grabbing is so insidiously addictive that in our pursuit we end up acquiring things we have no clue about. The result of this inane act is reflected in the thriving business of the Babas and Mata Jis who take the opportunity of our abject situation and mint money. 

It’s interesting and sad at the same time that we still look back at our past, as we have no options to do otherwise, to find our role models, especially when it comes to moral character. Is it not a hint enough to the mockery of our existence? Before asking the king or the queen about his/her clothes let’s make sure that we are draped properly or at least have covered ourselves enough. Otherwise the covert Sir Epicure Mammon in us will make us look ludicrous perhaps even more than the king or the queen.