BackBengalis and the Maharashtrian whose words warped their fate
A dispatch from the grand old city of Kolkata and why Bengalis should not pardon G.K. Gokhale
PremiumKolkata. Why can’t any non-Bengali pronounce it correctly? And I am not going to help you either. But we Bengalis will look down on you because you can’t get your tongue around a simple three-syllable name. I am sure most of you can do so with Vadodara and Thiruvanthanthapuram, however Anglicised and deracinated you are. That’s only one of the many reasons Bengalis think of themselves as superior to other Indians.
The principal reason for that came from a Maharashtrian, Gopal Krishna Gokhale, who, perhaps in a fit of irrationality, said, about a century ago: “What Bengal thinks today, all of India thinks tomorrow." That really ruined things for us. We clutched our bolsters and slept secure in the knowledge that millions of other Indians, for all of whom we had a dismissive name, would be lining up at our door in the morning.
But I digress. Kolkata. Due to a family emergency, I have been staying here for the last 20 days, which is the longest stretch in 30 years. I have no roots. I have no village or home town to go to, like most of my friends, since that will mean getting a visa for Bangladesh, and I’m not interested. I have spent only about one-eighth of my life in Kolkata, my teenage years in Bombay, and most of my adult life in Delhi. I cannot call any of these places home. At best, I am a tourist; at worst, serving my time. I seriously cannot think of a city that I would prefer to die in.
How did I even get here? All Delhi-Kolkata flights have been stopped. We went to Guwahati and took another flight from there. Of the 200 people flying Delhi-Guwahati, at least 120 were going to Kolkata. The people at Guwahati airport were kind, and pointed us to a special queue for those going to Kolkata.
On the Guwahati-Kolkata flight, we were given a West Bengal government form to fill up, where we had to give our Kolkata addresses and cellphone numbers. These were to be deposited at Kolkata airport. But we couldn’t find anyone there to give the form to. We walked out with our luggage. Travel as usual. This is a ridiculous tomfoolery. Other cities and other airports are collecting details of every arriving passenger. And the state governments are following up.
My mother lives in a middle-class apartment building, which is, against all logic, located in one of the poshest part of the city. But it is also the only building in a two-kilometre radius that houses Bengalis. The entire area, which used to house chiefs of British companies, and the Calcutta mansions of princely states, have been replaced by Amazon-carton houses. No balconies, and every window has awesome grills. They have made their money from scrap metal and other residues of industrialization that actual industrialists did not pay attention to.
Meanwhile, the Bengali life goes on. People walk around without masks. The high point in many Bengali men’s lives is jostling and haggling over fish in the morning; the rest of the day is a steady downhill. This is a genetic trait that no lockdown can suppress. The astrology channels on TV, a Bengal speciality I love to watch, are thriving. Babas are solving complicated life issues and peddling rings and pendants with two-for-one offers. In fact, the speed with which the Bengali pantheon of easily angered and quickly appeased has expanded over 34 years of Communist rule, and nine years of Mamata Banerjee deserves a book by itself. Page 2 of all Bangla newspapers feature seers—both Hindu and Muslim—who guarantee solutions in 24 hours. All offer “bashikaran"—controlling a person, usually an unsatisfactory wife or unresponsive object of love. Salvation and peace of mind are available for all Bengalis, but only through spells and amulets placed secretly under pillows.
My best friend in Kolkata is a private tutor, whose observations of the Bengali middle class tell me more than any jargonized sociologist could. How do you answer this simple question that he often asks the parents of his students: Why are you so desperate to send your child for undergrad studies outside Bengal, but still vote for Mamata Banerjee? From him, I learn many things that are a way of life in Kolkata. If you haven’t ever heard of a three-wheeler auto mafia and cartel, come to Kolkata and try to reach Gariahat from Chetla.
What about the covid situation? It’s as good or bad as in any other Indian metropolis, except that one hardly ever gets to know any authentic news from the media. In a state that has no thriving private enterprise, all media, electronic or print, is dependent on government advertising for survival. So there’s no bad news; not allowed. If you feel anxious, you may buy a Hanuman-blessed ring or consult Baba Sarfaraz Khan, who has already published his monthly itinerary.
Gokhale should take the blame. He cannot be forgiven. But the only recourse seems to be a mass Bengali takeover of Pune. And there lies the problem—Pune doesn’t have fish markets where cultural and social exchanges can happen through the pretence of haggling and pressing the fish’s gullet to see if any blood is still oozing. Punekars really have to get their act together. They need to get ready for what Bengal thought yesterday.
Sandipan Deb is a former editor of ‘Financial Express’, and founder-editor of ‘Open’ and ‘Swarajya’ magazines
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