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Essay

A Different Persuasion: On Jane Austen’s Novels & their Adaptations

By Deepa Onkar

Recently, a realisation dawned – it has been over a year since I have watched an adaptation of a Jane Austen novel as a film or television series. My earliest memories of watching them go back to 1995, when the BBC’s version of Pride and Prejudice was released – I would watch the DVDs, or episodes on YouTube, with some enthusiasm. Over the years, I didn’t lose a chance to watch others: Sense and Sensibility, (film), Emma (BBC television series) Pride and Prejudice (film) and so many others. Looking at the comments on YouTube, it was evident that the Jane Austen adaptation fandom was large, and on a global scale. The seamless way in which the adaptations were consumed in so many Indian homes, including mine, puzzled me. I was familiar with the novels, as I had been a student of English literature in postcolonial departments in India, but that could not be true of so many others.

I fretted about the fact that my literary moorings were not so much in my own mother-tongues, but in English. Middle-class India was forgetting its own languages. English has crept in slowly, unnoticed. We could of course, think like Chinua Achebe, the Nigerian novelist, for whom writing about our own cultural contexts, our histories, landscapes, and memories in English, changes the texture of that language, and diminishes its colonizing weight. It is also the attitude, conscious or unconscious, of so many Indian writers in English. Curiously not many Indian producers have picked up on the idea of serializing the novels of these writers – either in English or in an Indian translation – which should be easy to do. It was the BBC that first produced an Indian novel – Vikram Seth’s novel, A Suitable Boy as a television series (for a global audience).  

The Kenyan writer Ngugi wa Thiong’o has a much more radical perspective than Achebe – that it is not enough for people in previously colonised cultures to write in English, nor to claim it as their own. The very process by which English was acquired was violent and repressive. “(So) wherever you look at modern colonialism, the acquisition of the language of the coloniser was based on the death of the languages of the colonised. So it is a war zone.” Unless previously colonised cultures begin to train to think in their mother tongues again, he says, we will never really be able to shake off the mantle of colonisation.

This is a compelling, if daunting prospect – the work of decolonizing our minds perhaps begins within the education system which, in India, shows little inclination to change – it continues to lie in the shadows of the Anglo-American system, as it has for centuries. I draw comfort from Achebe’s attitude to English, which is the reality of many Indians. I don’t have to give up on Austen. But how do we rescue ourselves, and Austen? A critical and self-aware engagement with Austen – both the novels and the adaptations – seems to be a good place to begin. Reading Austen is arduous for those not born into English: I could hear my mother tongues tiptoe away as I read her. Reading is a solitary activity that connects us with the worlds of others, through the imagination. Watching an adaptation, on the other hand, can be solitary, or not. The visual text communicates through the senses rather than the imagination, although it does not mean it is not involved here.

It was not difficult to identify signs of England’s colonial links in either Austen’s novels, or the adaptations. Distant colonies such as the Caribbean and India were mentioned not infrequently in the novels: much of the income of the vast estates owned by the gentry was obtained from the colonies. Watching BBC’s Pride and Prejudice – and not for the first time – I spotted the tea, drunk in fine cups, the cigars that the men smoked, the cotton print dresses that women wore. I mentioned to a friend that some of the fabrics looked like the double-shaded handloom weaves from Andhra Pradesh, or Tamil Nadu. She agreed. Sometimes, the dresses also had paisley designs – these hugely popular prints were adaptations of Mughal mango motifs on textile. We, the global audience, need to train our gaze to the material roots of the English imagination, and be critical of it, rather than unreflectively consume its creations. Scenes of opulent country manors would appear repeatedly in many of the adaptations, and it was hard not to notice a kind of nostalgia for the glories of Empire. So much of the popularity of the adaptations seemed to be the result of clever packaging of Regency era settings and countryside.

Even as the lavish settings seemed to engulf Austen’s ingenious stories at times, a great deal of effort went into modernizing them. When Colin Firth came striding out of the lake in dripping wet shirt in 1995, the scene seemed to set the tone for other serials and films to become more inventive – as long as it created a stir. Almost every adaptation slipped in new scenes to suit their own narrative. They brought about a kind of visual cohesiveness to the series or films. Informal and relaxed body language, and facial expressions, and the manner in which emotions were expressed were adopted – rather than the stiff, stylized ways of the past. What we watched on screen was a hybrid text. I had no problem with this, unlike many die-hard Jane-ites the world over, who are perhaps purists at heart. Modern informality is, after all, a sign that the boundaries of class have become less rigid.  

When Austen’s world in the novel became too distant, and removed from my own, I would turn to the adaptations. They became relatable on screen. Besides, the adaptations were open to emotional expressiveness, where in the novels, emotions are sub-textual: I have lost count of the number of times I watched Elizabeth Bennett’s (Jennifer Ehle) fiery rejection of Darcy (Colin Firth) in Pride and Prejudice (1995, mini-series) or Elinor Dashwood (Emma Thomson) fall in love with Edward Ferras (Hugh Grant) in Sense and Sensibility (1995, film).

One of the main features of modernisation is the highlighting of the romantic plot. Love, is of course, central to Austen’s concerns, but on screen, it is difficult to see the larger moral order of which it was a part. Often, the biggest obstacle on the individual’s path to win over the object of their love is a moral flaw within themselves. Instead of Austen’s ironic, witty voice showing us the complexities of the individual, and of their interactions with society, we have to rely a lot on dialogue, and the point of view of the main character. Rather than the multiple layers of narrative in a novel, we have a linear effect in an adaptation. Everything is propelled towards a rather sentimental ‘happily ever after,’ which is not necessarily the point of a Jane Austen novel.

We do not – perhaps cannot – get to know the thoughts of Elizabeth Bennett or Elinor Dashwood on screen, independently of others. If emotions were more readily expressed on screen, we also had to contend with the loss of inner worlds, which a reader has access to. Action is all-important in an adaptation. The expression of physicality was thought to be enough to drive it, making up for our inability to know anything else. This seems to be the view of Andrew Davies, one of the most prolific adapters of Austen to the television screen. According to him, sexuality was already a major driver of the novels – his only task was to flesh it out. “Don’t be afraid (to represent) physicality… these are young people full of hormones and they are bursting with energy,” he says, when asked for pointers on adaptation.

In the novels, we also see how a character is separated from, or unable to communicate with the object of their love, until a morally satisfying solution is found. In Pride and Prejudice, Mr. Wickham’s true character had to be exposed, and Elizabeth could overcome her pride, and could accept that Mr. Darcy was right. In Emma, the eponymous heroine had much to learn in order to fully grow up: to be more self-aware and free from vanity, and realize she loved Mr. Knightley. Austen’s dislike of melodrama and writing that was overly invested in emotion is well-known. And so, it seems logical to think that she would not have liked mere ‘feel-good’ romanticism in the productions of her writings.

Morality as a force was more vivid on the page rather than the screen. It was arguably, an imaginatively constructed entity that was contemporaneous with the white man’s burden of colonization. Austen’s depictions of the world she lived in make her a ‘quintessentially English’ writer that is difficult for others to understand. But over the years, I learnt to understand her from my vantage point in post coloniality – the world is constituted of multiple identities and historical contexts, and being curious and open about others is a reasonable way of engaging with my own existential and sociological identities. 

Austen was an insider to her world – she deferred to the fact that women were very dependent on male approval and protection in order to survive. Most of the women in her novels were teenagers when they began their rounds of courtship, and often subjected to severe scrutiny by the world at large. But her women also used wit and rationality to make themselves seen and heard. Elizabeth Bennett (Pride and Prejudice) and Emma Woodhouse, (Emma) for example, challenged the existing model of the ‘superior,’ rational man.

Within the psychological worlds of men and women, Austen sought to describe the play of feeling, will and reason. Post-feminist critiques of Austen have been critical of her acceptance of these opposites and their implied gendered roles. Many adaptations exist, such as Lost in Austen, Pride and Prejudice Zombies, that satirize and parody Austen to a degree that ‘faithful’ adaptations do not aspire to. The comparisons and defenses could go on.

After years of reading Austen, my sympathies have recently begun to shift, imperceptibly – from the ‘wild and rational’ women of Austen’s novels, as Mary Wollestonecraft might have described them, to the quiet and introspective ones – more precisely, to Anne of Persuasion. Austen’s final novel seems to have achieved an introspective appeal that the other novels lacked. Anne’s deeply reflective and melancholic acceptance of her situation – a single woman stranded amidst a family that often exploited her situation – is the culmination of all of Austen’s literary prowess, and she herself seems to be on new ground as she explored Anne’s silences. A little into the novel, when she meets Captain Wentworth after eight years, there is some halting dialogue, as Anne comes to terms with her lost love, perhaps for the millionth time. Through these silences and halting dialogues, Austen seems to be testing the waters of what it means to be deeply self-aware. I’ve also read the dialogues to be a way in which words could be used to establish equality between them. It is through friendship that an egalitarianism of sorts is reached, that grows only gradually in strength.

The 2007 film adaptation of Persuasion portrayed the silences and the hesitant relationship between Anne and Wentworth admirably. It is difficult to portray interior worlds effectively on screen, and Sally Hawkins played the brooding, inconsolable Anne sensitively, particularly in the early scenes. Rupert Penry-Jones was striking as the embittered Captain Wentworth, seeking love elsewhere. The tension in their silences was palpably thick.

The letter Wentworth writes to Anne — “I am half-agony, half hope” — is a study in vulnerability: he is the flawed man who has to let go of his own stubborn refusal to acknowledge his feelings. The letter also indicates the difficulty of speech between them; writing is his only recourse. Men’s points of view are rarely presented in the novels. The adaptations turned this around – nearly all of the men have moments of vulnerability. This is a major breakthrough in modernization. Women all over the globe suddenly came upon visible evidence formen’s struggles with their feelings. This single factor alone, may be the reason for the huge popularity of the adaptations – men suddenly, were human and relatable.

When I learnt in 2022 of Netflix’s release of a new version of Persuasion, I began to watch it excitedly. But only a few moments in, I was sorely disappointed. The character of Anne (played by Dakota Johnson) was nothing like Austen’s – she was talkative and answered back. The key shortcoming of the film was the loss of Anne’s interior world.  When Anne and Wentworth (played by Cosmo Jarvis) meet, in the film, they engage in banter, from their very first meeting. Nothing much is left unsaid.  The absence of speech between Anne and Wentworth, which gives rise to one of the main tensions of the novel, and the earlier adaptation, is completely missing. They have finished saying a lot to each other in the very beginning. We cannot help wishing they hadn’t. Many of the characters were changed beyond recognition, and the sense of many scenes changed.

We know, early on, what the end is going to be. Austen plays words out in the final letter not coldly, but without a trace of extra emotion — that Wentworth’s maudlin show of tears were not for her. Perhaps, that was the final straw that drove me away from the film. I have not gone back to watching a film or adaptation after that. Something within me had died.

References

Language is a ‘war zone’: Conversation with Ngugi wa Thiong’o, The Nation, Rohit Inani, March 9, 2018

Adapting Emma for the 21st century:  An Emma no one will like; Laurie Kaplan, Jane Austen Society of North America (JASNA) V.30, no.1, (Winter 2009)

How to adapt Jane Austen to the screen, with Andrew Davies: Guardian Culture, YouTube, 2018

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Deepa Onkar has degrees in English Literature from the Universities of Madras and Hyderabad, India. She was a teacher at Krishnamurti schools in Bangalore and Chennai, India, and a journalist at The Hindu. Her articles and poems have appeared in The Hindu, Punch magazine, The Bombay Literary Magazine, and The Lake, among others. 

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Essay

Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay’s Words for Would-be Writers

Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay

Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay’s Bangalar Nobbyo Lekhokdiger Proti Nibedon (a request to new writers of Bengali), translated and introduced by Abdullah-Al-Musayeb.

The essay was originally written by Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay (1838-1894), the celebrated Bengali novelist, poet, and essayist. It was first published in Prachar[1] in 1885 and later included in his book Bibidho Probondho[2]. Although this essay is written in Sadhu Bhasa[3], it has an all-time universal appeal due to its significance and originality of thought. In this essay, Bankim offers some advice for the aspiring writers, which are as follows:

1. Do not write solely to achieve fame, as it may hinder your growth as a writer and prevent your writing from achieving the success you desire. If your writing is good, success and fame will come automatically.

2. It is advised to avoid writing only for monetary gain. Though in Europe many writers successfully earn money through their craft and produce quality work, we have yet to reach that stage. When you write for profit, there is a tendency to prioritise entertainment over substance. Writing may lose its relevance and fail to meet its objectives when it considers the reading preferences and tastes of the average reader.

3. Writing with the intention to benefit society and humanity or to create art is commendable. However, those who write solely for personal gain or malicious intent may be regarded as no better than petty merchants like hawkers.

4. Articles that are false, sacrilegious, slanderous or written for private interest should be avoided as they are not beneficial to the society. Using the pen for purposes other than promoting truth and upholding dharma[4] is a sin; therefore, literature should focus on these objectives.

5. Do not publish what you write immediately. Leave it for some time, revise it, and you will surely find many mistakes in the article. Poetry, drama, and novels achieve special excellence if they are kept unpublished for a few years and revised afterward. But this rule does not apply to those engaged in the work of literary periodicals. Hence, periodicals can be degrading for the writer.

6. Intervening in matters beyond one’s purview is universally frowned upon, yet it remains a common transgression in periodicals that defy this norm. 

7. Do not attempt to flaunt your knowledge, for actual knowledge reveals itself naturally and does not require overt demonstration. Endeavouring to display intellect can prove irksome to readers and undermine the work’s credibility. Although articles today often feature quotations in various languages like English, Sanskrit, French, and German, it is essential to refrain from quoting from languages you do not know properly or relying solely on the assistance from books.

8. Do not succumb to the allure of rhetoric and humour. Rhetoric or satire is sometimes required; if an author possesses these skills, they will arise spontaneously — if not, attempting to force them will prove unproductive. Nothing is as unappealing as an ill-timed or insincere use of rhetoric or a forced attempt at humour. 

9. A conventional rule in aesthetics is that rhetoric or satire considered pleasing should be avoided. While I do not endorse this rule, I recommend determining the value of such passages by reading them aloud to friends repeatedly. If the work fails to draw the audience, the author may hesitate to share it again and ultimately choose to delete it from the final product.

10. Simplicity and lucidity are the best ornaments of language. An ideal writer is one who possesses the ability to effortlessly convey ideas to their readers through the use of concise and lucid language. This is because the primary objective of writing is to clarify concepts for the target readership.

11. Do not imitate others. For in imitation, flaws are picked up instead of strengths. Don’t even entertain the thought that I’ll write in a particular style just because other English, Sanskrit, or Bengali writers have done so.

12. Do not write what you cannot prove. Evidence may not always be required but having it on hand is usually a good idea.

13. Bangla literature is considered to be the lifeline of Bengal. So, the development of Bangla literature will be expedited if Bengali authors adhere to these guidelines.

[1] Announcement

[2] Variety of Essays, published volume 1 in 1876 and volume 2 in 1892.

[3] Formal Bengali used mainly for writing.

[4] Values

Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay (1838 –1894) was a lawyer, novelist, poet, essayist and journalist. He authored Anandamath (1882), one of the earliest landmark novels of modern Bengali literature. He wrote and composed the highly popular Vande Mataram (I Praise you Motherland), a song used to inspire activists during the Independence Movement. Chattopadhayay wrote fourteen novels and many serious, serio-comic, satirical, scientific and critical treatises in Bengali. He has also written a novel in English called Rajmohan’s Wife(1864).  He is referred to as the Sahitya Samrat (Literary Emperor) of Bengal

Abdullah-Al-Musayeb is an academic, researcher and translator. He can be reached at musayeb41@gmail.com

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Essay

The Story of a Land at War with Itself

If religion has bound people of different lands, religion has also crafted gulfs between people who shared the birthplace and spoke the same language. If religious hatred led to the holocaust, religion became the cornerstone of India’s Partition. The crimes against humanity in Bosnia also were rooted in religious intolerance, as Ratnottama Sengupta retraced when her brother, Dr Dipankar Ghosh wrote to her from Bosnia-Herzegovina, as part of the peace-keeping forces in 1996.

Map of former Yugoslavia in 1993. Courtesy: Creative Commons

The Bosnian War (1992-1995) was an immediate fallout of the break-up of the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia. It began to disintegrate when Slovenia and Croatia seceded in 1991. Serbia, the largest constituent in the Republic of Yugoslavia, did not want Croatia’s independence as a large Serb minority lived in Croatia. But the rest of the state declared national sovereignty in October 1991 (two years after the fall of the Berlin Wall) and held a referendum for independence on 29 Feb 1992.

Bosnia, the largest nationality, was home to Muslim Bosniaks – they wanted Bosnia to be a unitary multi-ethnic state. The Serbs wanted to be independent if not to unite with Serbia. Likewise, the Croats wanted significant autonomy for their majority areas or secession to Croatia.

The referendum favoured independence, but the Bosnian Serbs opposed this, as they aimed at creating a new state – Republika Srpska (RS) that would include Bosniak majority areas. So, their political representatives boycotted it. And a day before the outcome of the referendum, on 28 February 1992, the Assembly of the Serb People in Bosnia and Herzegovina adopted the Constitution of the Serbian Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina.

Eventually, the European Union formally recognised the newly constituted Republic, as did the UN. It was inhabited mainly by Muslim Bosniaks, Orthodox Serbs, and Catholic Croats. As this Republic gained international recognition, the earlier Cutiliero Plan proposing a division of Bosnia into ethnic cantons collapsed.

Now the Bosnian Serbs, led by Radovan Karadzic and supported by the Serbian regime of Slobodan Milosevic and the Yugoslav People’s Army (JNA), mobilised their forces inside Bosnia and Herzegovina in order to secure ethnic Serb territory. Soon war spread across the Balkan land, accompanied by ethnic cleansing.

Siege of Sarajevo (1992-1996): The Bosnian Serbs who would settle for nothing less than a new state, Republika Srpska (RS), now encircled Sarajevo, the capital of Bosnia-Herzegovina. With a siege force of 13,000 stationed in the surrounding hills, they assaulted the city with artillery, tanks, and small arms. The army of RS, which had transformed from the Yugoslav Army units in Bosnia, fought the army of the Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina (ARBiH).

Inside the city ARBiH, which was the Bosnian government’s defence force composed of Bosniaks and Croat forces in the Croatin Defence Council (HVO), was poorly equipped. It could not break the siege and for six months, the population of Sarajevo lived without gas, electricity or water. It is estimated that of the 13,952 killed during the siege, 5434 were civilians.

Within a year increased tension between the Bosniaks and the Croats led to escalation of the Bosnian war, in 1993. Here on, the war was characterised by bitter fighting, indiscriminate shelling of cities and towns, ethnic abuse, forcible transfer and systematic mass rape of Bosniak Muslim women – perpetrated mainly by Serbs and, to a lesser extent, by Croat and Bosniak forces. Events such as Markale massacre and Srebrenica genocide, perpetrated to raze the Bosniak’s morale and willingness to fight, became iconic of the conflict.

Markale Massacre: In February 1994, the open-air market in the historic core of Sarajevo. Mortars were shelled. This act of targeting civilians in the marketplace was carried out, it was later confirmed, by the Army of Republika Sprska (VRS).

Initially the Serbs were militarily superior due to the weapons and resources from the JNA. Eventually they lost momentum as the Bosniaks and Croats allied against RS following the creation of the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina in 1994.

The repeat shelling of the Markale Market in August 1995 prompted the NATO airstrikes against Bosnian Serb forces and eventually led to the Dayton Peace Accord. The peace negotiations were held in Dayton, Ohio and signed on 21 November 1995.

Srebrenica Genocide: In July 1995, more than 8000 Bosniak Muslim men and boys in and around the town in eastern Bosnia were killed by the Bosnian Serb Army of Republika Srpska (VRS) under the command of Ratko Mladic. Prior to the massacre UN had declared the besieged enclave of Srebrenica a “safe” area but had failed to demilitarise the area or break the siege of Sarajevo.  By 2012, close to 7,000 genocide victims were identified by DNA analysis of the recovered body parts.

Some Serb accounts say that the massacre was in retaliation of civilian conflicts on Serbs by Bosniak soldiers from Srebrenica. This claim has been rejected by the UN and ICTY as “bad faith attempt to justify the crime against humanity”.

US Inaction: The United States took no action till 1995 against the smuggling of arms that had become rampant. It was widely believed that the CIA funded, trained and supplied the Bosnian Army. EU intelligence sources maintained that the US organised arms shipment to Bosnia through its Muslim allies. Pakistan, for one, ignored the UN ban that declared it illegal for other Muslim countries to supply arms in the war. It not only supplied arms and ammunition to Bosnian Muslims, it also airlifted anti-tank missiles.

Serbia did not fight but supported RS with money, arms and volunteers. Croatia too did the same for Croats.

The war ended with the signing of the General Framework Agreement for Peace in Bosnia and Herzegovina in Paris on 14 December 1995. British soldiers were first deployed in 1992 to protect aid convoys in Bosnia during the vicious civil war. They stayed on for peacekeeping duty.

War Crimes: Radovan Kradzic, the first President of Sprska during the Bosnian war, was a trained psychiatrist who was also known for his poetry. But the co-founder of the Serbs Democratic Party was declared a War Criminal. He was hunted down after 12 years as a fugitive in Belgrade and Austria, and extradited to the Netherlands which was then heading EU. There the International Crimes Tribunal for Yugoslavia (ICTY) convicted him on 11 counts of crimes against Bosniak and Croat civilians. Found guilty of the genocide in Srebrenica, he was sentenced to 40 years imprisonment.

Reportedly hundreds of people had demonstrated in his support. Others pleaded that Bosnia and Serbia could not move ahead economically as long as he was at large.

By 2008 ICTY had convicted 45 Serbs, 12 Croats, and 4 Bosniaks of War Crimes against Humanity. Estimates suggest that around 12,000-50,000 – mostly Bosniak – were raped, mainly by Serb forces. About 1 million people were killed and 2.2 million were displaced. This makes the Bosnian war the most devastating conflict in Europe since the end of World War II.

Net Outcome: The Bosniaks accomplished their goal of independent Bosnia. But the Serbs preserved their territorial gains a change in the demographic and self-rule in Republika Sprska. Also, the ethnic cleansing led to changes in the demographic composition of the Bosnian region – with the Serbs gaining the most.

History of the Conflict: The roots of the Bosnian War lies in the history that dates back to the 6th and 7th century when the region came to be inhabited by Slavic tribes. Bosnia was conquered in 1463 by the Ottoman Turks. Under their rule, large sections of the population converted to Islam while the rest remained either Orthodox Christians or Catholics. The Christian Orthodoxy came to be associated with Serbian nationality and Catholicism with Croat nationality. It is interesting to note that all these people spoke the same Slavic language.

Ethnic violence has been endemic in Bosnia and Herzegovina that had been under Austrian rule (1878-1918) before becoming a part of Yugoslavia. Violence engulfed it during WW2 when it was under Croatia, a puppet of Nazi Germany. In 1943-44, most of Bosnia was conquered by Serb-dominated Communists. Consequently, when WW2 ended, Bosnia became a constituent of the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia. It was led by Josip Broz Tito (1892-1980), an ethnic Croat who tried  to create a common Yugoslav identity based on adherence to Communist ideology. When that glue wore off, the nationalist separatist forces surfaced again.

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Dipankar Ghosh, since he went to Pune’s Shivaji Preparatory Military School as a teenager, was mentally equipped to face the tribulations a war brings in its wake. His graduation from Kolkata’s Neel Ratan Sircar Medical College armed him to care for the ailing. And, being the firstborn of celebrated writer Nabendu Ghosh, he had a flair for writing.

All three qualities surfaced whenever the doctor, who retired as a Colonel in Britain’s Royal Army Medical Corp, put pen to paper. And he did that whenever he felt the urge to touch base with his parents in Bombay. From wherever he was camping — Belize, Belsen, Brunei, Cyprus, or in the Gulf War…

In the process, he breathed life into the now lost art of writing letters — which often became travelogues… like this letter to his father:

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Mrkonic Grad. Photo provided by Ratnottama Sengupta

Lt Col D Ghosh, RAMC

RMO, 1 WFR

SHOE Factory, Mrkonic Grad

BFPO 551.U.K.

5th July 1996

Dear Baba,

I have just received your last letter from Bombay. I was worried about your health, which is why I rang you last night. Sorry it was so late. There was quite a queue for the phone, so I had to wait for my turn, Lt Col notwithstanding! I am reassured that you are okay.  

I am sorry the line was so poor, but it is a satellite line, which travels from Bosnia to the USA then is beamed on to India — hence all the static. Mind you, it is full of static when I speak to Lesley and Children in the UK too. Sadly, it is only an outgoing line, which takes call out, but no incoming calls. If you need to get in touch with me urgently, the best thing would be for you to ring Lesley and she can get in touch with me via the Ministry of Defence. 

We have been out in Bosnia for just over three months now, and the problems here seem to be in a state of very uneasy peace, now that Dr Radovan Karadzic has finally handed over the reins of power (Oh Yes!?). We are somewhat concerned that the proposed elections in September might bring about fresh unease and disturbance, even without Dr Karadzic at the hustings, and we might be, willy-nilly, dragged into a situation of tension to try to maintain peace.  Nonetheless, the Bosnians are making some efforts to keep the peace, albeit because we are waving a big stick whilst holding out a carrot.  

The position is especially delicately balanced for us at the moment, due to the ICFWCB’s (International Commission for War Crimes in Bosnia) declaration of the good Dr Karadzic and his General, Ratko Mladic as ‘War Criminals’ for genocide against the Muslims of Bosnia. There’s little doubt, this is due to pressure from the countries with more than a few spare billions of petrodollar in western banks. We are hoping that we will not need to confront the Bosnian Serbs by having to arrest these two persons (since this was not a part of the Dayton agreement that has laid the framework last year for ending the war ravaging Bosnia for more than three years). These two still hold considerable political sway, and have a significant following in this country. 

It seems likely that we (British Army as well as the Americans, much as they might dislike it) will have to stay on in Bosnia for quite a while longer than we’d initially made allowance for. If the yanks want out, I hope we shall pull out as well. The Serbs seem to prefer having us around, to maintain the peace, than any other European nation, as they feel the British army of IFOR has, so far, been fair and reasonable in their dealings with them. (IFOR, you do know, is the NATO-led multinational peace enforcement force here under a one-year mandate). 

This was not the feeling they had about us last year though!

The biggest single problem at the moment, which might cause a major flare up for us, is Mostar. The people of this divided town straddling the river Neretva in south-east Bosnia have selected a Muslim majority council: this, the minority Croatian population are unwilling to accept, and have been boycotting. So far the town, which is known for its mediaeval arched bridge Stari Most, has been run by a peace committee from the European community with the help of IFOR, but they have threatened to hand over the council and resign from running it. 

This would effectively ring the death knell for the first election in Bosnia. Which would mean that the results of all the country-wide elections, due in September, may be an exercise in futility. 

The sad news this morning is that the iconic bridge, which connected the two parts of the city, was blown up by ‘unknown miscreants’ – very likely to have been Croats. Thankfully, Mostar is in the French sector of IFOR overall, so let’s hope and pray.

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Now to give you some idea of all the other things that I’ve been up to, here in Bosnia. In May we started what we call a G5 project, a ‘Hearts and Minds’ operation to try and persuade the people at the grassroots about the benefits of Peace. This is in a small village called Podrasnica, with medical logistic support — essentially, medicines — from Medicine Sans Frontier (MSF), an international humanitarian organisation that provides medical assistance to people affected by wars, epidemics or other disasters.

Podrasnica is a village of some 950 people and is, like most places in the Balkans, nestled in a valley, about ten miles from our location in Mrkonic Grad. 

The people are mostly poor agrarians, eking out a living on small land holdings, or are involved in the logging industry. I run a Primary Health Care Clinic here, twice a week. The locals and also some people from the surrounding villages (though they never let on they are from another village!) are very grateful to have this facility, as they are very poor and many of them are unable to afford the price of medicine, or have transport to travel to Mrkonic Grad, and certainly not to their only surviving big hospital at Banja Luka. We do the basic medical care and also provide them with medicines which are given to us by MSF. 

Most of my patients are elderly people and small children, as the majority of young healthy men and women go to other places, bigger cities or towns, to earn a living  as best as they can. I’ve never come across so many people, in such a small community, with so much Hypertension amongst them. How much of that is the result of the stresses of war and how much of it due to the Turkish coffee they drink, would be interesting to investigate.

The majority of people are by and large sick of the war, and this is the first time, in five years, some of them will be able to harvest their own crops. The vast quantity of what they grew in the last few years was either commandeered by their own Army or looted by the opposition (Muslims and/or Croats). 

The clinic is now quite popular, but it is time consuming as we have to use an interpreter, and I am lucky if I can get through more than 15-20 patients per clinic.  

I have a special admirer called Milija (Serbian version of our dear Emily!) who brings us Turkish coffee. She was one of my first patients. She is sixty-two years old, and is a real darling. She doesn’t believe I’m fifty, which is wonderful for my morale! 

Later this month, possibly on the 16th, we will ‘hand over’ the clinic to the local Serbs, to continue the clinic with ongoing Medical support from MSF and support from us, if they want it. If they do take over the clinic completely, I shall miss seeing the patients. I’m hoping that they will be happy to allow me to continue the clinic, at least once a week. 

The clinic work sustains me through the boredom and the non-events (in real life terms) of the remainder of the week. So far I have had one bottle of ten-year-old Brandy, and a bottle of the local firewater called Sliivo — a fruit brandy they make out of plums). I’ve found out the hard way that it is safer to keep a hand over the little glasses they offer the slivovitz in, otherwise it gets automatically topped up! Even better, so that I don’t drink whilst on duty. 

The vegetables are coming on a treat in Milija’s garden, and the palm trees are loaded with fruits, as are the apple trees next to the clinic. Milija thinks they will have a decent harvest, if the peace holds, and she’s trying hard to dissuade her oldest son from drinking too much — otherwise, she says, she will force him to come and see me! 

The men who do not have regular employment, and there’s a lot of them about, have become apathetic. So alcoholism is rife, and hence, I think, Hypertension and Peptic disease. All my boys have now developed a taste for Milija’s Turkish coffee, but I try to dissuade Milija, as I am fairly certain that the coffee beans must cost quite a bit. 

We always have an interpreter for the clinic, who are generally Bosnian girls, or fellers. They are generally chary (maybe even contemptuous) of the local yorkels, as is normal in all developing nations, and certainly in India. But the vast majority of them seem to have developed a special protective shell, to help them cope with the business of dealing with the needs of their poorer country folks, as the vast majority of them (the interpreters) get paid some DM 1000–12,00/ a month. This is eight to ten times what the ordinary folks in the country earn.  

There are some really bright students amongst these interpreters, who have given up career courses in order to take up jobs with IFOR, so that they can look after their families. One of the girls we have with us in Mrkonic  Grad was a second year medical student when the war broke out. Another girl, the daughter of a Chemistry Professor (her mother), is a graduate Electronic Engineer. She is trying to get funds organised so she can do a Master degree, and then probably a PhD. What will happen to all these blighted lives eventually, who knows?

I am constantly amazed how well these girls cope with living amongst all of our sex-starved, often foul mouthed soldiers. Some, of course, cope better than others, the youngest being just over 16 years old! IFOR has arranged a free scholarship for her, to study in the UK after she’s done her stint with the Army.  

It is hard to be surrounded by so much tragedy and not be repulsed by war and the people who lead nations into them. But draw the experiences of N Ireland into the reckoning and you realise that humankind has still some way to go before being called truly civilised. Amongst all this, when one has to cope with the petty point scoring of the self-seeking people, and self-aggrandizement of personalities around you, then it can get somewhat wearying. 

So far I am managing to cope with the changes that have occurred in my life, and find it comforting to accept that “This too shall pass”. Your letter was a solace.

I hope that my dear mother is keeping well. Please convey my pronam and love to Maa. Hope you are both well when this gets to you. I’ve rambled on too long for now. 

With pronam and love, 

Yours, as ever, Khoka

From left to right: Nabendu Ghosh, Dipankar Ghosh and Ratnottama Sengupta. Photo provided by Ratnottama Sengupta.

Ratnottama Sengupta, formerly Arts Editor of The Times of India, teaches mass communication and film appreciation, curates film festivals and art exhibitions, and translates and write books. She has been a member of CBFC, served on the National Film Awards jury and has herself won a National Award. 

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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

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Essay

‘Wormholes to other Worlds’

Ravi Shankar writes about museums in Kuala Lumpur

Perdana Botanical Gardens. Courtesy: Creative Commons

I had a feeling of quiet satisfaction. I was finally able to locate the passage. I had spent a few weeks trying to do so without success. At ten in the morning, the iron gates of the passage/tunnel under the busy road were open as mentioned in the video on YouTube.  I could see the lakes of the Perdana Gardens ahead. The Perdana Botanical Gardens is one of the major attractions of Kuala Lumpur.

There are also several attractions located around the garden. Among these are the KL Bird Park, the Butterfly Park, the National Planetarium, the Islamic art museum, the Royal Police Museum, and the Tun Razak Memorial. I visited these museums over several weekends. Walking to and from and within these museums keeps me active. Many are located around the Perdana Botanical Garden. Two are around the Dataran Merdeka, the Merdeka Square. The Royal Museum is separate but not very far from these two locations. KL has several other museums that we will examine in a later article.

The pandemic had created a sense of fear within me. In late 2000, COVID was still under control in Malaysia and the national museum was open with pandemic protocols. I was apprehensive but my entry to the museum was smooth. The National Museum of Malaysia (Muzium Negara in Malay) is an impressive structure inaugurated in 1963. The museum was designed in the style of a Malay palace and UNESCO had provided consultants from different countries. The museum is impressive and modern.

The ground floor details the history of Malaysia from ancient times to the Sultanate of Melaka. Kedah in the north was a major historical centre. Excavations have revealed old civilisations. Melaka was a major trading post. Various European colonial powers had fought over the state.  The second-floor deals with the colonial and modern history of the country. I was fascinated by images of the Japanese occupation and the civil war. There are various exhibits located outside on the museum grounds. As the pandemic has slowly declined, the museum has come to life again attracting crowds, especially on weekends. There are local crafts and food items on display and sale.

There is a museum café on the premises that serves good Malay food. I often have lunched there while visiting the botanical garden and surrounding attractions. The textile museum or Muzium Tekstil is in a beautiful old heritage building near Merdeka Square, the country’s historical heart. The building started as the headquarter of the Federated Malay states railways and served later as the main office for different government entities.

Inside the textile museum. Photo Courtesy: Ravi Shankar

The textile museum was opened in 2010. There are four galleries over two floors. The Pohon Budi Gallery deals with the tools, materials, and techniques of textile making over the ages. The Pelangi Gallery deals with batik. I visited the museum with a friend who hailed from Gujarat, and he was fascinated by how batik had been adopted here . The Teluk Berantai gallery concentrates on the teluk berantai (interlocking bays), a harmonious motif made up of individual flower designs stitched together into geometric patterns. The Ratna Sari gallery is also located upstairs. The British had brought in artists and artisans mainly from India to construct several colonial-era buildings in the Mughal style. The museum is within walking distance from the Masjid Jamek station on the Sri Petaling line.

The KL City Gallery tells the story of the city from its founding as a tin mining town to eventually becoming the capital of British Malaya and modern Malaysia. Kuala Lumpur comes from two Malay words meaning the muddy confluence of two rivers. The town at the confluence of the Gombak and the Klang rivers grew rapidly into a modern metropolis. The gallery is operated by ARCH, a Malaysian brand making hand-assembled collectibles and gifts. The story of the city is told through old prints, miniatures, and photos. The centrepiece is the hand-assembled KL City model with over 5000 miniature buildings. The gallery has a café, and the city’s love of food is well showcased. At the entrance there is an I love KL sign popular with tourists and locals as a backdrop for photos.

The National art gallery (Balai Seni Negara) is within walking distance from the KL Hospital station on the newly opened Putrajaya line. The gallery is designed as spaces flanking the circular ramp to serve as exhibition areas for more intimate and contemplative viewing. The spiral ramp in the middle provides a dynamic visual experience to visitors showcasing the building from different angles at every level.  There are galleries located on three levels. There is a mixture of different media like paintings, a few miniature paintings, sculptures, installations, and projected images among others. I love the space and feel of the building. There is a good collection of paintings and other works by Malaysian artists. British colonial artists and their impressions of life in colonial Malaysia are also featured. The gallery makes for an interesting and contemplative outing. 

 

Dataran Merdeka Model
A model at Minniature Gallery
Photo Courtesy: Ravi Shanka

Minnature Gallery advertises itself not as a museum as the pieces on display were all created specifically and are not of historical value. There are thousands of miniature pieces, and the buildings were 3D printed. The location is within the Sungai Wang Plaza, near the Merdeka Square. The recreation of the Dataran Merdeka or the Independence Square and the light show at this historic location (in miniature) is impressive. are miniature models of several locations in the country. While the pandemic protocols lasted, these served as a good introduction for me to the attractions of other states in the country. They have a small store selling merchandise. Most museums in Malaysia have a gift shop and a dining area. The models of different foods from Malaysia in the Minnature gallery are impressive though I am not sure if there is a restaurant on the premises. The amount of detail is huge and the proportions of the structure correspond to the real world.

An artifact from the Islamic Museum. Photo Courtesy: Ravi Shankar

The Islamic Arts Museum (Muzium Kesenian Islam Malaysia) is located around the perimeter of the Perdana Garden. The museum claims to be the largest one on Islamic art in Southeast Asia. The Nusantara region including Malaysia and Indonesia claims to have the largest Muslim population in the world. There are more than 7000 artefacts. The building is spacious with large glass frames letting in plenty of light. The museum is spread over two levels. Level one contains galleries devoted to architecture, the Quran, and other manuscripts, and a gallery each for the art of India, China, and the Malay Peninsula. The second level is dedicated to Arms and Armours, Textiles, Jewelry, and Coins, and three galleries consisting of artworks categorised by their materials – Metal, Wood, and Ceramics. The craftsmanship of some of the pieces is sublime. The dedication of the craftsmen and the time they devoted to their tasks has to be admired. The highlight of the gallery to me was the delightful and elaborate roofs. Each is a masterpiece of design! There is also a fine dining restaurant on the premises.

The original Royal Malaysia police museum (Muzium Polis di Raja Malaysia) was built in 1958. The new building located on the outskirts of Perdana Garden was inaugurated in 1998. There are three galleries: one deals with policing during the early days of the Malay sultanate, the other, with the Colonial Era and the last with the period called Emergency, the Anti–British National Liberation War (1948-1980) which involved guerrilla warfare. There are a variety of materials used by the police force over the ages in the collection. There is a good collection of motorcycles and other vehicles. The police persons on duty at the museum are very friendly. There is a large collection of armoured vehicles and cars and a plane model on the grounds of the museum.

The Royal Museum (Muzium di Raja) was inaugurated in 2013 and was the residence of the King of Malaysia till the royal family moved to a new residence. The huge two-story property was built in 1928 by a Chinese mining tycoon for his huge family and was one of the biggest residences in Kuala Lumpur (KL). The museum provides a glimpse into the life of the royal family though most rooms can only be seen from the walkway. There is a good view of the KL skyline, including the iconic Petronas Tower.

All these museums are visitor friendly and provide a unique glimpse into the history of the city, the state of Selangor, and Malaysia. Tourists might need around three or four days to do justice to the richness on offer. Museums take you to other worlds and times. The American art critic, Jerry Saltz says, “Don’t go to a museum with a destination. Museums are wormholes to other worlds. They are ecstasy machines. Follow your eyes to wherever they lead you…and the world should begin to change for you.”  

A restored museum room in the Islamic Arts Museum. Photo Courtesy: Ravi Shankar

Dr. P Ravi Shankar is a faculty member at the IMU Centre for Education (ICE), International Medical University, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. He enjoys traveling and is a creative writer and photographer.

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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

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Essay

No Bucket Lists, No Regrets

Does having a to-do list help or hinder your journey, whether it be exploring the world or having a sense of achievement in your life? Keith Lyons ponders on the pointlessness and purpose of such lists.

Courtesy: Creative Commons

In an article I recently came across on how to live with no regrets, it started out with the words ‘Make a bucket list’. 

I admit, I didn’t read further. I dislike the term ‘bucket list’. Whether it is a list of random destinations you want to visit before you die, or some vague wish list of goals and accomplishments, there is something fundamentally flawed about creating ‘The List’. 

So what’s so bad about coming up with a list of goals and experiences you’d like to complete in your lifetime? I have several qualms about this approach to life. 

Firstly, bucket lists imply that you have to be close to actually ‘kicking the bucket’  before you start working on that list. That means they can be put off until there is time. Wait til you’ve raised your family. Defer til you’ve retired from work. Pull out the list when your doctor gives you half a year to live. 

The second issue I have about bucket lists is we never know when we are doing to die. The assumption of a bucket list is often that we will live well into old age. Perhaps even make it to 100. But as Allen Saunders pointed out in 1957 Reader’s Digest (and John Lennon later echoed), ‘Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans’. The upshot is that by ‘kicking the can down the road’ , we end up putting off what we desire the most. 

Thirdly, often the formation of these lists comes from fantasy, illusion and magical thinking. We add sights or experiences to the list not from our own innermost selves, but to conform to the aspirations, social norms, and dreams of others. We might hear about a friend’s amazing holiday experiences, be inspired by a travel documentary, or adopt someone’s wish list items, without having compelling reasons or an authentic ownership of the list. 

I’ve seen how this plays out in my previous roles as a professional tour guide and travel writer. Some readers have admitted to me that after coming across an article I’ve written about a remote island eco-resort in the Andaman Sea or a Buddhist temple on the hill flanks of a bamboo forest where monks serve green tea to pilgrims that they’ve added the location to their bucket list. But given that we all experience places differently, how can they hope to replicate my (peak) experience? The other problem with having a bucket list is that it creates great expectations, and those perfect ideals might not match the harsh realities. 

I believe we shouldn’t focus so much on external achievements and tick-box experiences because often the joy and satisfaction they possibly offer can sometimes be fleeting, ephemeral or non-existent. I’ll give you three examples from my own life of some bucket list goals and how their attainment wasn’t all it was made out to be. Maybe you have the same three on your list: running a marathon, seeing the Taj Mahal, and having a story published in a major newspaper. 

Crossing the finish line after 42.195km is a wonderful feeling of completion and exhaustion, and while I still look back on that marathon and marvel at how I managed to sustain my effort over three plus hours, I gained greater satisfaction in training for the run on the coastal hills near my hometown. Perhaps it was the ‘runners high’ and the feelings of agency, freedom and bodily locomotion. I do know the day after the marathon I couldn’t walk up any stairs. 

Not all bucket list endeavours are over-hyped. When I finally made it to Agra to witness for myself the immense white marble mausoleum of the Taj Mahal, I got the standard photo sitting on a bench in front of the reflected structure. But just as memorable were the hours I spent on-site before the tourist throngs packed the grounds, meditatively wandering and pausing to observe and appreciate the monument as the sun rose over the Yamuna River. For me, my time and experience there exceeded my expectations. But other visitors I met during my travels reported vastly different perceptions of the heritage ‘Wonder of the World’.

When I was studying post-graduate journalism at university, I had a bet with a colleague about paying our fees by selling articles to newspapers. The first story I had published took up the front page of the features section of the newspaper, and I got two copies of the newspaper to keep for posterity’s sake. So, imagine how I felt the next day seeing a discarded newspaper floating in the lake beside the university library. Working on bigger projects such as books can also be a roller coaster of emotions varying from elation and excitement to anxiety and relief. Still harbour the deep desire to turn your life story into a book? If so, what have you done lately to put your pen to paper?

As you can see from my examples — and from your lived experience — there is often a gap between how we reckon things will be and how they pan out in the end. There are also another couple of issues with having bucket lists. What we want and truly desire can change over time. What’s important in our 20s or what we are expected to do by our peers and communities can evolve over the decades. Swimming with dolphins might drop from the list if you learn about the treatment of marine mammals. Driving on Route 66 might not have that allure and mystique when you look at the practicalities. Crashing a stranger’s wedding to object to the coupling might have other consequences. As we mature, we might find that our achievement orientation and ambition for success wanes, and that being becomes more important than doing. 

I suspect that many people who do have bucket lists don’t actually do many of the things they have declared will signal they have accomplished something in their lives. They might talk about the things they want to have and exotic places they wish to see, but it is easy to have those items on the list unfulfilled. Not today. Maybe later. 

By the same token, there are many, many people who aspire to better themselves by getting their dream job, migrating to a faraway country, or winning the lottery who never succeed. Having a bucket list is a First World problem. Going through a divorce, developing an addiction, and clocking up debt might be other life experiences we didn’t think we’d signed up for. 

The term bucket list comes from the Justin Zackham’s screenplay which was made into the 2007 film featuring Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman as two terminally ill guys making a list of things to do before they die. In another (better-known) movie, The Shawshank Redemption, Freeman as Red is told by Andy Dufresne (played by Tim Robbins) the sage advice ‘Get busy living or get busy dying’. Perhaps that is the answer to living in the now without regret, rather than having a list of unobtainable items. What’s the best motivation for you?

Palliative nurse Bronnie Ware compiled a list, but it wasn’t a bucket list. Instead, through her work with the ill and dying, she put together their top five regrets. Number one was ‘I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me’. The second was ‘I wish I hadn’t worked so hard’ — every male patient said this, missing their children’s youth and their partner’s companionship.

Third on the list was ‘I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings’. Many people suppressed their feelings in order to keep peace with others. As a result, they settled for a mediocre existence and never become who they were truly capable of becoming. According to Ware, many developed illnesses relating to the bitterness and resentment they carried as a result.

Number four on the list of regrets was ‘I wish I’d stayed in touch with my friends’, while the fifth regret was ‘I wish I’d let myself be happier’. “Many did not realise until the end that happiness is a choice. Fear of change had them pretending to others and their selves, that they were content, when deep within, they longed to laugh properly and have silliness in their life again.”

How about you? Anything on this list that resonates with you? Carpe the hell out of this Diem (Don’t let life pass you by!)

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Keith Lyons (keithlyons.net) is an award-winning writer and creative writing mentor originally from New Zealand who has spent a quarter of his existence living and working in Asia including southwest China, Myanmar and Bali. His Venn diagram of happiness features the aroma of freshly-roasted coffee, the negative ions of the natural world including moving water, and connecting with others in meaningful ways. A Contributing Editor on Borderless Journal’s Editorial Board, his work has appeared in Borderless since its early days, and his writing featured in the anthology Monalisa No Longer Smiles.

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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

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Essay

In Search of the Perfect Dosa

Ravi Shankar trots around the globe in quest of the perfect dosa

Dosa is a speciality of South Indian cuisine. Courtesy: Creative Commons

I was intrigued by the filling of the masala dosa. I had never come across a beetroot-based filling before. The dosas of my childhood used potatoes coloured yellow with large doses of turmeric as the filling. The dosa (a thin pancake made from a batter of fermented lentils and rice) was nice and the strong coffee enhanced the flavour. Indian Coffee House (ICH) is an institution in the Southern Indian state of Kerala though they have a few branches outside. The coffee workers’ cooperative operates over 400 outlets in India. The dosa is good and the chain serves decent food and has an old-fashioned vibe with turbaned servers and solid wooden furniture. There are several restaurants run by ICH in the town of Thrissur (Kerala’s cultural capital). There has been one operating for several years at the Government Medical College campus and two at the Swaraj Round in Thrissur.

Bharat is today a very popular hotel in Thrissur, Kerala, and is packed from morning till evening. People crowd all around you as you eat, waiting for you to finish and vacate your table so that they can enjoy their repast. I find this very disturbing and am unable to enjoy my food when someone is waiting in the wings. Bharat had introduced a triangular dosa in the nineties and they offered a good selection of chutneys and powders to accompany the dosa. The huge crowds mean that the server may not always be able to bring your dosa to the table at the optimum temperature.

Dosa should be served at the perfect temperature. Within a minute or two it should be on your plate from the griddle. Too long a wait and the dish become cold and soggy. Not all establishments are able to commit to this tight time frame. Serving a dosa at large gatherings may be challenging as people have to wait patiently for fresh dosas. Creating a perfect dosa requires expertise, commitment, patience, talented people, and maybe a little bit of magic.

In my opinion, there are two main varieties. The restaurant one is crisp, thinner, and larger while the home-made variety is thicker, smaller, and less crisp. There can be a variety of batters ranging from white rice, a combination of different varieties of rice and pulses and millets among others. Making dosas can be a tough task in hot climates. The kitchen is hot, the griddle is sizzling and the flame a glimpse of the fires of hell. Hot weather is needed for fermenting of the batter. Chefs in cold climes face challenges in this regard.

I have always preferred dosas right from childhood. My mother used to make one from a batter consisting of different types of rice and pulses and the thick dosa went well with spicy chutneys.

A dosa uses the nutritionally sound combination of cereals and pulses used by humans throughout the planet since ancient times. The oil required to roll out the dosa from the pan could be a worry for some. But with non-stick pans, the amount of oil required can be very much reduced.  

Our hostel mess at Thrissur used to make good dosas though we often had to rush into the kitchen to get it piping hot. We also visited a local tea stall where we had the more homely variety with onion chutney and coconut chutney. Pathans, an old restaurant and hotel in Thrissur serves great dosas as do several other hotels.  

Neer dosa with chicken curry. Courtesy: Creative Commons

During my residency in Chandigarh, I was introduced to more unconventional fillings. In sector 11 next to the Postgraduate Institute there was a restaurant that served a chicken dosa with a spicy filling. Punjabis love their chickens. For a brief period, the hospital canteen at Manipal, Pokhara, Nepal was run by a group from Mengaluru, India. I got to taste the neer[1]dosa that goes well with spicy chicken curry. Neer dosa uses water, true to its name. In Nepal, Marwaris carry on the Indian food tradition but their dosas usually are not up to my standards. I used to visit Coimbatore in Tamil Nadu, India as a FAIMER[2] fellow and faculty and this city has a rich tradition of dosa making. The PSG[3] Guest House has a famous dosa maker whose skills and reputation are legendary

The island nation of Aruba in the Caribbean may not be in your mind when you think of dosas. However, the Taj Mahal Indian restaurant in the capital, Oranjestad, would serve dosas every alternate Tuesday. The masala dosas were quite good and filling. I visited with my colleagues from the University. In Saint Lucia in the West Indies, the college canteen made good dosas and these were available in the mornings and afternoons.

Ragi dosas Courtesy: Creative Commons

I was introduced to the ragi dosa in the town of Kolar in Karnataka, India. Ragi and millet have gained a formidable reputation as miracle foods. The ragi dosa is darker in color than its rice cousin, thicker, and may be more filling. I really enjoy ragi dosas. These days I occasionally go to MTR[4] in downtown Kuala Lumpur to enjoy this treat. The MTR ragi dosa plate has two delectable pieces with a small dollop of clarified butter and two chutneys and sambar. Filling and nutritious!In KL, I usually ate dosas for breakfast at the Sai Canteen in the International Medical University. The dosas are crisp and go well with the freshly ground chutney. The Indian restaurants in Brickfields in downtown KL serve very good dosas. Saravana Bhavan, Adyar Ananda Bhavan, and Sangeeta are a few examples. There may be a shortage of servers and the dosas may not always reach you piping hot and ready to eat. Making and serving dosas is labour intensive.

In Mumbai, the Udupi restaurants usually serve good quality dosas and these restaurants have become synonymous with South Indian food. I recently had a Mysore dosa at the Ram Ashraya restaurant in Matunga Mumbai. The Mysore dosa has a spicy lining on the inside and is a delightful concept. The waiting lines were long, and the restaurant was old-fashioned. I felt distinctly uncomfortable. The dosa however was delicious.

Mysore Masala Dosa
Pesarattu Dosa
Courtesy: Creative Commons

Pesarattu is a dosa mainly from Andhra and Telugu-speaking areas of south India made of green gram, ginger, cumin, and chillies. I was first introduced to this delight during lunch at PSGFAIMER, Coimbatore. Each afternoon there were specialties from a particular South Indian state. In KL, I can taste pesarattu at the Green Chillies restaurant near my apartment.

The accompaniments play a huge role in enhancing the taste of the dosa. A perfect sambar with drumstick and other vegetables, different types of chutneys, chamandi (a thick condiment made from chillies, coconut, ginger and a variety of other ingredients) and idli powder (termed gun powder). Chutneys can be made from red chilies, green chillies, and mint. There is also a gunpowder dosa, where a paste of gunpowder is smeared on the inner side of the dosa like a Mysore dosa.  

Spanish Masala movie poster

I remember watching the dosa-making skills of the actor, Dileep, in the Malayalam film Spanish Masala. Dileep was an illegal immigrant in Spain and invents a new filling for the dosa and names the dosa Spanish Masala. With a dosa batter, a hot griddle, cooking oil, clarified butter and passion you can create magic in the form of a rich, thin, crackling dosa. In many ways, the dosa is as adaptable as a pizza. Various fillings and batter can be used, and the dish can be adapted for various tastes. However, maintaining a dosa piping hot may be more challenging, which may account for its lesser popularity as a takeout item. I may have tasted perfection in a dosa only around twenty times in my life. Often, the dosa was not crisp enough, was not served at the optimum temperature, the accompaniments were not of good quality, or the place was too crowded. I often dream of the perfect dosa, thin, crisp, dark brown, and piping hot, just waiting to melt in the mouth!    

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[1] Tulu word for water

[2] Foundation for Advancement of International Medical Education and Research

[3] PS Govindswamy

[4] Mavalli Tiffin Rooms, a restaurant chain started in 1942

Dr. P Ravi Shankar is a faculty member at the IMU Centre for Education (ICE), International Medical University, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. He enjoys traveling and is a creative writer and photographer.

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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International

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Essay

“Bookshops don’t fail. Bookshops run by lazy booksellers fail.”

With its four-storey outlet in GK-2, Ajay Jain has made Kunzum the new happening place for book lovers in Delhi-NCR. He converses with Shantanu Ray Chaudhuri  about his journey and about making brick and mortar stores viable in the era of Amazon as the writer browses through the different sections of the bookstore.

Book event with actor, Kabir Bedi
Book event with Booker winner, Geetanjali Shree
In Kunzum Bookstore. Photos provided by Shantanu Ray Chaudhuri

It is a bookstore unlike any I have been to, and that’s saying a lot. I visited it first sometime in December 2022, when it was still a work in progress, and even then it was stunning enough for me to get my aged parents, who need walking sticks, and my wife, who at the time was nursing a broken ankle, to visit this as a new year outing on 1 January 2023. Since then Kunzum at M Block Market, Greater Kailash 2, New Delhi, has grown to four floors spread over 10,000 square feet. The first floor is the regular bookstore, the second the Penguin bookstore. The third the ‘Theatre Kunzum’ – a 125-seater events hall – and the fourth an eighty-seater theatre, with plans for a café. There are other Kunzum bookstores which are a more modest 2500 square feet each. The original Kunzum Travel Café is approximately 500 square feet.

I enter it and am transported to a book lover’s paradise. Its very affable owner, Ajay Jain, and brilliant curator, Subir Dey – who generates in me a huge complex with his awareness of books and a hole in my pocket with his recommendations for the same – have time and again asked me to work out of the store. Which I would have gladly done, but for the fact that, one, it is impossible to get any work done once you enter its precincts (the only work it allows is browsing its shelves), and, two, I fear that I will end up spending all my salary at the store.  

What makes it remarkable is that Ajay can visualise a store chain like this in this day and age where we hear a constant refrain of brick and mortar stores closing down. Of how difficult it is to sustain one in the age of Amazon. Most of the major bookstores across the country have devoted a large part of the space to stationery and toys. Ajay is determined not to do that. As far as he is concerned, a bookstore is a bookstore. And there will be no dilution of the space. As Ajay says, “I was very clear from day one. We will not sell teddy bears, stationary, croissants (chuckles). It might be a slightly steeper learning curve, but we want to learn how to sell more books. If I’m not selling enough books, why am I in this business? I could have invested this money somewhere else. For me, it’s a social mission to push more people to read. If everyone, every human being on this planet, reads books, it would be a much better place to live in. When we read books, we also challenge rampant consumerism – we are taking the money away from buying other stuff to buy books.”

Given the quite extraordinary range of books, including rare and collectors’ editions – I picked myself a mind-blowing one on iconic book covers, The Look of the Book, by Peter Mendelsund and David Alworth – Subir Dey, the curator, is the backroom star of the show. A quiet, self-effacing book lover, Subir says, “I have been doing this for myself, at home, before Ajay started the bookshops. One day, I just picked up the phone and asked him, how can I help? Then, there is the community angle. I talk to fellow bibliophiles both online and offline who point out all the amazing editions of great books. The curation team at Kunzum is indispensable. Everyone has their favourite genre and we all diligently keep track. The classics and graphic novels are an easy target because of their popularity. Then there are collected works and anniversary/commemorative editions that we try to keep track of. Publishers help us with that too. For example, the Dune series picked up when the new movie came out. There are so many beautiful editions of the book that it is hard to choose. There are graphic adaptations of long-form novels like 1984, Animal Farm, The Kite Runner that we tracked down and have in stock. These are great books for someone who is intimidated by the traditional long-form novel format. This could be their gateway drug into reading and Kunzum would love to get them addicted. Special editions are a brilliant gifting idea. Books are the best gift you can give to people. Most of us have friends who are avid readers. These special editions are a very thoughtful gift. We tell our customers to bring a book to a party full of people who are bringing bottles of wine. We all used to give and receive books as gifts, growing up. Those books shaped our worldview. We are rolling out ads on social media to highlight the special editions available with us and pretty soon you will see more of these titles highlighted not just online but in our stores too. There is a demand for it, we have seen an uptick in the interest among buyers who are looking for specific edition of their favourite books and our team is happy to track them down.”

The Beginnings

Ajay Jain: I have a background in engineering and management, so I worked in the IT industry for five years. Then I got into sports management, and did that for five years. At the age of 31, I dropped everything and moved to the UK to study journalism. I did my master’s in journalism there. I came back in 2002, worked for the Express group, started a youth newspaper, got into blogging and freelance writing – mostly business and tech writing – which I did till about 2006–07. I was one of the earliest professional bloggers in the world. As a journalist/blogger/ influencer (the word wasn’t there at the time), and as somebody who wanted to write books, I figured I wanted to do something where I could create more of a legacy.

Early Reading

Ajay Jain: Growing up, I read the usual staple. You had your Enid Blyton, Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys, Famous Five. Unlike my classmates, I never read Agatha Christie or PG Wodehouse, but I had read all of James Hadley Chase by the time I was in Class 8. My headmaster used to ask me why I was borrowing these books from the library. I did so because they were there! I read a whole mixed bag of books in middle school and high school, even in college. I read Sidney Sheldon, Jeffrey Archer, Ayn Rand – a mixed bag. Anything that caught my fancy.

Travel Writing

Ajay Jain: Around 2007, at a personal and professional crossroads and unable to relocate from Delhi, I said to myself, ‘Okay, let me do the next best thing,’ and I became a travel writer. I’d done a few short road trips around India, and I was really enjoying travelling. Since I’d also learnt photography, I was doing a lot of that. I thought, why not make it a profession? So I hit the road.

I didn’t want to write a Lonely Planet kind of book, and I also didn’t want it to be a literary piece. I was thinking of my own format. The first trip I actually went on was to this place called Spiti in Himachal. I spent a night in Manali, and then headed for Spiti. I crossed the Rohtang Pass. Till then, it was fine because there were other people. I’d never done that kind of terrain ever. I drove for hours in a high-altitude desert area with no road signs, no mobile signals, nothing! Just a track where you followed earlier track marks. After a while I realised I was lost!

The Defining Moment – the Birth of Kunzum

Ajay Jain: I just kept driving, not coming across another human being for hours. Imagine not seeing another human being for hours in a country like India. Suddenly I came upon a plateau, upon a sign that said ‘Kaza’, which was where I was headed! That spot, where I stood, was the most astounding place. As I looked around, the only thing I saw was snow peaks, Buddhist flags flying, complete silence. It was breath-taking. I thought to myself, if this is what the planet is, if this is what India is, I want to be a travel writer. In that moment, not only did I find my direction to Kaza, I found my direction in life as well. The spot where I stood was Kunzum-La.

After I returned, I called my blog Kunzum.com. A little accident in technology worked in my favour. I had reserved the domain called traveltattoo.com as my travel blog. For some reason, the registrar didn’t inform me that my domain was up for renewal. It got taken by someone else. In losing traveltattoo.com, I got Kunzum.com. That’s how the name Kunzum came up.

Kunzum Gallery, Hauz Khas Village

Ajay Jain: I did a few shows for my photography at places like Habitat Centre and got a decent response. I was encouraged to open a place of my own and came across a place in Hauz Khas Village. I picked it up in 2009 and opened up a gallery there. On the first day I sold a print, and then for the next year or so I didn’t sell a single thing! So, I was just sitting there with some friends, mulling over what to do, and we realised that all the people who bought my prints in Habitat just happened to be passing by. They saw the prints, they liked it, and bought it on the spot because the prints weren’t very expensive. I decided to do something there (in the gallery in Hauz Khas) that would get people in. That’s when we decided to offer seating in the gallery- let people come in, enjoy free WiFi, etc.

We set up a small library so that people could borrow books, and decided to serve up tea, coffee and cookies. We thought we could pay for all of this. When we looked at the numbers (and crunched them), we realised that if we pay for everything and a certain number of people come, and nobody pays, we will be out of pocket by so much, but will have acquired some customers for that price of coffee and cookies and all.

Funding the Enterprise

Ajay Jain: I was still freelancing, and had been investing over the years with whatever I’d saved from my various ventures. I was just getting by. We decided to rebrand the place in Hauz Khas from Kunzum Gallery to Kunzum Travel Café. The place took a life of its own. A few days after we opened, someone came in asking if we could do a poetry reading, to which I agreed. Before we knew it, we had over 200 events happening in the café every year. There were all sorts of events – book launches, film screenings, poetry events, talks, etc.

We were clear about the financials. If you benefited commercially from it, you pay us. If there was nothing commercial, if you didn’t have the budget, okay, you could use the space anyway (if the event was suitable). We kept it flexible. My main motivation was to get people in, to see my photography and my books, which were sold at the café.

Bookstore Chain in the Time of Amazon

Ajay Jain: During the pandemic, I was reassessing a lot of things. I have always believed that just because we are doing something well, we should not be doing it all our lives. With the pandemic, I had to shut Kunzum Café for over two years, making do with a skeletal staff throughout. I wrote my first novel. I kept wondering: how do I find an audience for my books? No matter how big your publishers are, or how big you are as an author, you still need to find your own readership. Then I thought, why don’t I set up a book club? A national book club, something that would have many people. The response came in quickly as well. I enrolled a couple of thousand members.  

That’s when I thought, why don’t I turn Kunzum Travel Café into a chain of reading rooms? Build a model where we create reading rooms across the country, where people come and sit and read. The numbers didn’t add up though. There was no model that would make this sustainable for me. Enough people wouldn’t pay enough money to make this a library-type of model. It wouldn’t work in this climate, especially when real-estate had become so expensive. I had learnt how to build a community, how to bring people together through Kunzum Travel Café, but I didn’t know how to monetise it.

People had asked me, will there be more Kunzum Travel Cafes? Will there be a Kunzum Travel Café franchise? For me, Kunzum Travel Café was more of an exercise in personal branding. For the external investor, there would be no ROI since the only one benefiting from Kunzum Café was one Ajay Jain. In the process, I started making money doing brand endorsements through Kunzum Travel Café. It was more like a PR agency, so the only guy benefiting would have been me.

That is when I realised I should open a chain of bookshops! The model would be Kunzum Travel Café, but with a bookshop added to it. I did some back-of-the-envelope market research. There were people buying books, publishers doing business. In absolute numbers, there were more books being sold than ever before. I went to the bookshops which had good business – like Bahrisons, Faqir Chand, Midlands, etc. They had a huge legacy and were located in prime locations. I figured that I’d learnt how to make Kunzum Café in Hauz Khas a destination, and that I’d make this new venture a destination also. I didn’t really feel too daunted by this, I knew we’d figure things out as we went along. If I started asking too many questions, I would have been dissuaded immediately, so I thought that I’d figure it out on the road.

We have five locations. The GK one has four floors, so you can consider them either four stores or just one. At the core, the business model is simple – sell books, and sell enough books to make a profit. It’s still early days for us, we are on the way as we speak. I know that trends are right, and within this year we will be operationally profitable, so I’m not too worried about that.

I did a bit of reading, given that stores were closing all over the world, and the rise of Amazon. If Amazon did not exist, or if Amazon did not offer such discounts, many more bookshops would be open today. People would still prefer to walk into a bookstore for the experience of buying a book over buying it online. Because Amazon offers such discounts, most people think books are easier to buy online. I blame publishers squarely for this, not Amazon.

The Irony of Publishers Killing Bookstores

Ajay Jain: If books and readership are being challenged by other forms of entertainment, and readers are distracted, one needs to look at this as something cultural. That’s why experiences become important. Experiences are connected to physical spaces. That’s how you expand readership. Unfortunately, when I started interacting with publishers, I noticed that they show little intent to expand readership in society. They are making enough money not to think about expanding readership. It’s not enough for publishers to tell me, “Hey, I love what you’re doing at Kunzum Café.” They need to plug the discounting at Amazon, and the piracy of books. More than piracy, I think the discounting is a problem, which publishers can solve partly through lobbying, and partly through curtailing supply, if they want to. They own the product, and if they say no, that can change things.

The publishers’ argument is that they give the books to distributors to be sold, and these distributors are not within their control. The fact is, everyone is traceable. Publishers know who is selling their books, and can plug supply. If a reseller picked up a book on Amazon to resell, the publisher could tell Amazon to stop them. It could get into a cat-and-mouse game but eventually, it would dissuade them so much that the incentive to play this game would go down.

France Shows the Way

Ajay Jain: Look at what happened in France. The government in France forbade Amazon from offering discounts of more than 5 per cent on books. The French government realised bookshops were a national cultural asset. Because of this, bookshops that were struggling are now flourishing, and new bookshops are opening. This change came through legislation.

In India, if publishers want, they can move the Competition Commission, and say that discounting on Amazon is an unfair trade practice. In a country like India, where you have the MRP [Maximum Retail Price], if you can’t sell above MRP, how can you sell below MRP? Especially because all governments in India have the same stated position on FDI [Foreign Direct Investment] in retail, which is to ‘protect the small trader’. So, Competition Commission could look at how these discounting practices are putting businesses in such a precarious situation. If the publishers make enough of a song-and-dance about it, if they lobbied, if they took legal recourse, I think this issue can be resolved. We have a precedent in France now.

Financial Viability

Ajay Jain: When I was doing research, I wasn’t researching into whether I could open bookshops or not. I was researching how to make it viable. I had already decided I was going to commit to this venture. I’d started acquiring the real estate for it. I read someplace, “Bookshops don’t fail. Bookshops run by lazy booksellers fail.” In today’s day and age, not just books, you have to sell every commodity as an experience. You could be selling shirts, shoes, books, anything, because everything you want is available online. But if you want people to come to the stores, shopping malls, markets, you need to create that experience for people.

The Four Cs of Bookshop Design and Marketing

Ajay Jain: I have formulated what I call ‘The Four Cs of Bookshop Design and Marketing’. First is Configuration, which is basically the way you design the stores. If you look around, we’ve designed them in a way that the shelves don’t overwhelm you. There is enough space to move around, to sit down, to go through the books. You have browsing space and you can maintain a distance between yourself and the shelves. Not only is the vibe inviting, the design also allows you to discover books which you may not have discovered in an overstocked bookstore. The whole mood of being inside a bookstore is extremely important.

The second C is Curation. The kind of titles we select, the way we display them, and the way we help customers discover new material. Finding books customers were not looking for makes for a delightful experience. That is what will bring them back. These customers will say, “Hey, you know what? I went to Kunzum and found this great book! I loved it. It was money well-spent and time well-spent.” This is where Subir and his team come in.

The third C is Community, which we were doing at Kunzum Travel Café. We wanted to build a community of not just readers, but creators – writers, artists, designers, editors, everyone involved in creating books. Again, like Kunzum Travel Café, look at it like a larger cultural thing. So, bring in musicians, film-makers, puppeteers! We wanted to bring these people together to create a community.

The fourth C, Convene, aims to bring these people together for events. Ever since we’ve been fully operational, we’ve already hosted over 500 authors. We’re adding many more events, more programming, more partnerships, so that people can come and use our spaces. We make sure that there is enough space for people at our events, and that people don’t have to push bookshelves in order to be able to participate. We have dedicated spaces for events.

Since many people in my team come from the book retail industry, when the first store opened, the first question they asked was, “Sir, haven’t you wasted a lot of space?” The event space is going to be your brand ambassadors, your marketing agents. People will want to come for these events. We built the whole model on these four Cs. The signs are positive. People will come and talk about you, and be here, and will want to buy books from you. It’s just a matter of time before enough people will buy these books.

The Penguin Floor and Other Initiatives

The Penguin floor

Ajay Jain: In GK 2 we had just one floor, the first floor, a general bookstore, to begin with. Then an opportunity came to acquire the rest of the building above. Because the terms were attractive, I agreed. Then I thought, why not have thematic floors? One thought was that half of the second floor could be a graphic comic and art store, and the other half would be for children’s books, with the rest of the spaces above being dedicated to events. I was in the Penguin office having a general talk about multiple things. I really loved their office, so I said, “Look, it’s like a bookstore in itself.” I proposed that we should have an exclusive Penguin store. Penguin is one publisher with such range and distribution in books, no other publisher has ever come close. Their international collection is only increasing, and they have so much to offer. I don’t think the exclusive floor in our bookshop would have worked with any other publisher, just because no other publisher can offer the range Penguin has. They have graphic novels and comics – an important genre for us.

Then we got an offer from the top management, and I got excited. Like everything else in life, I ran with the idea, and decided to work out the viability later. The idea is that our bookshop showcases the best Penguin has to offer, incentivising Penguin to bring in their best in terms of their programming, their authors, and their events. It technically becomes a Penguin showcase. For us, it’s an opportunity to work closer with the world’s biggest publishing house. A few weeks ago, the UK Penguin team confirmed to me that this (the floor of the bookshop) was the only exclusive Penguin store in the world.

As part of a community, we’ve actually taken a lot of initiatives. One of them is called Book Bees, which is a book club for children, for kids up to twelve. Our children’s book section is called Kunzum Book Bees now. We also have a general book club called the Kunzum Book Club. Anyone can become a member for free. If you become a member, you get priority invites to events, we will give you first access to signed editions, which are always in limited supply; we will give you a little discount on our books, stuff like that. That’s part of the community-building exercise.

We launched the Kunzum CEO Book Club, where we’re getting corporates to come on board to encourage the culture of reading. The proposition being that all leaders are readers. If you want to nurture leadership within your organisation, you need to promote readership. We’re reaching out to them, asking them to buy books on a structured basis to distribute them amongst their employees, and maybe go even beyond that, by distributing them amongst their vendors, their customers, to spread the culture of reading.

We launched this programme called ‘Kunzum Key’ which is open to everyone, but primarily for creators of all kinds. You could be an actor, a dancer, a film-maker, a producer, an event-manager, a musician, anything! We give a free membership card that allows them to create at Kunzum – keep their own sort-of-office as long as they follow a fair-use policy. These creators can come, sit here, do their work, hold meetings, have interactions, brainstorm, showcase their work in some way. They will be offered free WiFi, which we don’t offer our regular customers. Every time these creators come they will be given a no-questions-asked complimentary cup of coffee or tea, and the bookstore will give them a very hefty 20 per cent discount on all the books they buy at the store.

Then there are the lit-fests. We are reaching out to every possible event where there are likely to be people who will buy books. We are asking them to make us their official bookstore partner.

Reaching Out to the Underprivileged

There’s a limitation to how many bookstores we can set up and how much we can do in each store. We don’t want to expand our physical spaces indiscriminately because we want to stay true to the culture we are trying to create. If we expand too much, or thin ourselves out, even if we get funding, which comes with its own pressures, we don’t want to lose our essence.

Our idea of expansion is to take Kunzum to potential readers. The corporate sector is a very obvious one. We’ve started doing small book fairs and events at different localities to promote the culture of books and reading at your doorstep. Schools and colleges are important to us. The intent is there. We’ve already reached out to a few schools, some of the DAV schools, where we did some events. There’s around a thousand schools there. Each school in the DAV chain cuts across all segments of society. We’ve also been approached by a few universities and colleges. We have a limitation of manpower. We want to make sure our manpower can pay for itself. We want to reach out to schools to, again, promote this culture of reading. If schools start buying at an institutional level from us, they can make books available for students who are not able to afford books. That’s where, again, we go back to the whole ethos of ‘Curation’ we are trying to create. Don’t just buy books that you think everyone is reading for the sake of being like everyone else. We’ll help you select books that you may not have thought of. I have been thinking of a programme where enthusiastic readers who are unable to afford books can be matched with someone who could fund their books. Of course, we will have to do it in a slightly more structured way. When I meet anyone from above a certain economic stratum, I see how privileged they are because they can afford to buy books but they are not reading books. There are people out there who want to read books…

At an LGTBQIA event that we had done, a guest who loves books said she couldn’t read anymore because of an eyesight problem. There was another young person there who wanted to read books but could not afford to buy. They just got chatting, they’d never met each other, and the former bought the book for the latter. She said, “I can’t read, but you can, so here’s the book for you.” How do we kind of institutionalise this programme? We’ll have to figure it out.

Regional Language Library

There are a couple of issues here. We will have a space constraint – where do we store it? Number two, how would we curate it? Because every language would require a different curator. In a city like Delhi, there would be enough Telugu readers, Bengali readers. But then, Bengali readers may want something other than the popular titles we might store. They might be looking for a larger collection. A lot of vernacular readers invest a lot in their respective languages. We might not be able to build depth to cater to that audience, so that’s a challenging situation to be in.

Going Ahead

We want to be present in every community – corporates, residential neighbourhoods, schools and colleges, etc. In a small way, we are sending books to rural areas too. For that to pick up pace, we need to look at it slightly differently. For now, we’re doing it in our small capacity. The whole idea is, irrespective of how many stores we have, we just want to go out there and get more people to read. Whether they borrow books and read, or buy books from Kunzum or not, let that be secondary. It falls upon every book lover to spread the good word, and encourage other people to read. Once you overcome that inertia and start reading, you stay with it.

Ajay Jain in Kunzum Bookstore

(Published in multiple sites)

Shantanu Ray Chaudhuri is a film buff, editor, publisher, film critic and writer. Books commissioned and edited by him have won the National Award for Best Book on Cinema twice and the inaugural MAMI (Mumbai Academy of Moving Images) Award for Best Writing on Cinema. In 2017, he was named Editor of the Year by the apex publishing body, Publishing Next. He has contributed to a number of magazines and websites like The Daily Eye, Cinemaazi, Film Companion, The Wire, Outlook, The Taj, and others. He is the author of two books: Whims – A Book of Poems(published by Writers Workshop) and Icons from Bollywood (published by Penguin/Puffin).

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Essay

A Night Hike in Nepal

By Ravi Shankar

Dhampus, Nepal. Courtesy: Creative Commons

Seared into my mind’s eye, is an image that crops up every time I think of Dhampus, a hilly village situated at a height of between 1600m to 1900m in Nepal. I recall a rainy day with clouds blanketing the surrounding hills and a young chap strumming a guitar and singing a Nepalese folk song in a restaurant.

Dhampus is drenched in rain during the monsoon but most of the water flows down quickly and there is water scarcity during the summer. The views of the Annapurnas and Machapuchhare to the north are spectacular. The Australian Base Camp is nearby and is a popular trek with foreigners. The base camp used to be a herding place for cows, goats and buffaloes and was called thulo kharka (big pasture). The mountain view and the peace and quiet attracted Austrians who used to camp here for a few days during the 1980s. The locals found the word Austrian hard to pronounce and the camp was termed the ‘Australian’ camp.

The village is mainly inhabited by Gurungs who are one of the many hill tribes who form the famous Gorkha soldiers. The village sprawls over ridges and the houses are spread apart. There are stone paved streets in the center of the village with houses on both sides. The village is one of the entry points to the Annapurna Conservation Area Project (ACAP) and in early 2000 had five or six lodges.

Carrying a change of clothes in our day bags, two packets of Wai-wai (a Nepalese noodle brand), a bottle of water and two packets of biscuits, we were at last in the village of Dhampus near Pokhara, Nepal with a group of medical students and their two community medicine preceptors. We visited the subhealth post in the village and the students obtained first-hand insights into the working of the Nepalese primary healthcare system. We were now waiting for lunch to be prepared at one of the many restaurants in the village.

Thongba. Courtesy: Creative Commons

The climb to the village of Dhampus starts right from Phedi (the base of the hill in Nepali) on the Baglung highway. The climb was initially very steep and on stone staircases. The terrain was rocky but gradually became more fertile. Bamboo groves were in evidence with scattered houses and a few rhododendron trees (Lali guraans in Nepali). There were shops selling cold drinks and snacks along the trail. The main lodges and the houses are situated at the top of the ridge. An attraction for many is Thongba. This is a drink made from fermented millet. The grains are served in a container. You add hot water, wait for a few minutes, and then slurp it through a straw.

We soon reached the settlement of Pothana. The settlement consists of a few lodges run by people of Tibetan descent. Many Tibetans migrated to Nepal as refugees in the 1950s and 60s and settled around Pokhara. There is a large Tibetan refugee camp on the Baglung highway.

While we were waiting for Nepalese chiya (tea) after our lunch, it started raining.  The students were scurrying down the hillside to get to the waiting college buses at Phedi. You can climb down in about forty-five minutes to an hour but this is hard on the knees. However, some of us were determined to continue our overnight hike. The rain was testing our resolve. Eventually, we set off along the ridge. The hills were shrouded in mist. A few water buffaloes were climbing the ridges and probably getting back to the shelter of their homes. The buffalo is an adaptable animal. The ones raised in the plains of India cannot climb hills, but the Nepalese ones do so with ease. 

We were drenched and cold. We decided to have cups of Nepalese tea and warm up. The tea in Nepalese trekking lodges is often served in steel mugs. They may use milk powder or milk from the local buffaloes if available. The milk is usually burnt slightly giving a distinct taste that may not be to everyone’s liking. The rain stopped and we decided to continue.

We soon regretted our decision. The rains started again with renewed vigour. The light was also beginning to fade. It was thundering around us, and we lost our way. On top of that, we were assaulted by bloodsucking leeches. I had encountered these creatures earlier at the Eravikulam national park in Kerala. But that is another story.

We were now getting scared. The trail was not evident. We eventually met a farmer and asked him the way to the village of Landruk. At that time our knowledge of Nepali was rudimentary, and we communicated through actions. He volunteered to show us the trail in return for a small fee.   

We continued along the main trail to the village of Landruk but darkness was falling fast. The trail was uphill, muddy, and slippery, and the leeches gave us little respite. Eventually, we saw the light of a lodge on top of a hill. We reached the settlement of Deurali at 2300 m. Deurali means a pass in Nepali. This small settlement had no electricity. We were sweaty, dirty, and wet. The leech-bites were oozing blood. The next hour was spent carefully examining our legs and removing the leeches by applying salt to the wounds. Luckily Nepalese leeches are smaller than the ones in India and the wounds do not bleed so long.

En route from Dhampus to Landruk
A Lodge at Deurali Pass
Courtesy: Creative Commons

We dined on rice, lentil curry, green vegetables and dried meat and settled in for the night. The darkness was absolute once the lamps were extinguished. I had never previously experienced this level of darkness. The rain continued to drum through the night. The dawn was cloudy, and we could see hills in every direction. The Himals to the north were blanketed in clouds. The lodge had some sel roti (a Nepalese specialty resembling a doughnut) prepared the previous day and we had these for breakfast along with an omelette and chiya (Nepalese tea).

Landruk. Courtesy: Creative Commons

I later did the trek to Landruk and beyond in better weather. Someone once said that weather can make or break a trek. I wholeheartedly agree. The views of the Annapurnas from the trail are spectacular. The forests are green and dense, and the trail is mostly broad and easy to walk on. Landruk has several excellent lodges to spend the night. You can continue down and cross the Modi Khola and then join and climb the main trail to the village of Ghandruk. I have spent a few New Year’s Eve in the lodges of Dhampus. The village is a day hike from Pokhara and the mountain views on a clear day are spectacular. A night hike like the first one I had with leeches and rain is, of course, different in many ways from a day one.

Longer hikes of between a week to two weeks are an enjoyable activity and provide you with a different perspective on life. As roads penetrate ever deeper into the hills, hike trails have become shorter. Today mobile connections are available nearly everywhere. During the early 2000s however, going on a long hike meant being out of contact with the outside world. You stayed in basic lodges and ate simple food. You carried what you required in your rucksack and obtain other necessities at lodges. You realise how much extra baggage all of us carry during our lives. A hike is a step back to a simpler gentler time. I have met several people doing hikes after completing their military service, finishing university, after a breakup, or while contemplating what to do next. You climb stone staircases, cross suspension bridges, crawl through landslides and make way for mule trains. The lack of vehicles makes for a quieter world. As the chaotic voices of the outer world begin to fade, you become more attuned to your inner voices and begin to listen to your soul!

Dr. P Ravi Shankar is a faculty member at the IMU Centre for Education (ICE), International Medical University, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. He enjoys traveling and is a creative writer and photographer.

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Categories
Essay

Moving Images of Tagore



By Ratnottama Sengupta



Rabindranath Tagore spells different things to different people: National Anthems; the Nobel, Rabindra Sangeet, a veiled woman, Sriniketan or Santiniketan. A cineaste might think of Charulata or Kabuliwala, Chokher Bali (Best Friend) or Kadambari. But the subject ‘Tagore and Cinema’ would mean talking of Tagore’s exposure to cinema, his interest in the medium, the fate of his involvement with celluloid, the films based on stories penned by him, their interpretation in a world that is so far removed from his, in historical, economical, and cultural terms… In other words, it would mean talking of what about Tagore endures — and why it reaches out to the wide world of humanity.

To me, it is Tagore’s awesome, inspiring humanism that offers us immense scope to transcreate, reinterpret, relocate the socially relevant developments and rooted characters again and again onscreen. Like Shakespeare, his works are universal in terms of age, geophysical location, terrain of the mind and tugs of emotions…

Rabindranath was almost seventy when he exhibited his paintings that were so radically different from the style associated with the Tagore family artists, Abanindranath, Gaganendranath, Sunayani Devi, or Nandalal Bose. For, if the Bengal School looked East and sought inspiration in delicate miniatures, Chinese watercolours or the sparseness of Japanese zen, Tagore absorbed the boldness of German expressionism and created a unique style. It’s impossible for someone so open to avant garde trends to take no interest in cinema, the 20th century art form that was silently taking its juvenile steps in India when Tagore won the Nobel.

When he visited Russia, he watched Battleship Potemkin, the classic ‘handbook for editors’ (to quote Phalke winner Hrishikesh Mukherjee) that influenced a long line of filmmakers in India too. By 1931, the year when Alam Ara (Hindi) and Jamai Shasti’(Bengali) turned ‘movie’ into ‘talkie’, Tagore was in the last decade of his life. So, when he directed Natir Puja (The Dancing Girl’s Worship) at New Theatres, he was substantially assisted by Premankur Atorthi, who was the first to direct a film based on a Tagore composition. This was the only time when the Renaissance personality directly interacted with the celluloid medium. His nephew Dinendra wrote the screenplay, albeit under Tagore’s guidance, and students of Santiniketan acted in it. More importantly, Tagore himself essayed an important role in the dance-drama which was shot with a static camera over four days. However, the result was more a staged play than cinema. A greater tragedy is that the reels perished within 10 years, when a fire ravished the New Theatres Studio in 1941.

Atarthi’s own direction of Chirakumar Sabha (1932) set off a tradition that received a robust boost, first in the 100th year of the poet’s birth, and again in 2011, when he turned 150 and further. If literary treasures like Gora (1938) and Chokher Bali (1938) were adapted onscreen by Naresh Mitra and Satu Sen, they were remade and reinterpreted by Rituparno Ghosh who veered towards Tagore rather than Saratchandra, the more popular litterateur of Bengal who was a staple of Tollygunge for years. In fact all major names of Tollygunge, from Nitin Bose, Agradoot, Tapan Sinha, to Purnendu Pattrea, Partha Pratim Chowdhury and Rituparno Ghosh have announced their coming of age in cinema with a film based on a Tagore composition. 

It is interesting to note that when Tagore visited Russia in September of 1930 members of the Cinema Board who had a conversation with him regarding his “new film stories” were deeply impressed by the short versions of the stories (as narrated) by the Poet, and they met him at his hotel to discuss in detail the possibilities of filming them. Tagore himself had enough interest in cinema to visit the Amalgamated Cinema Union, where he was received by its president M Rutin and was shown Eisentein’s Battleship Potemkin and portions of Old and New, we learn from his Letters from Russia. 

Although evoking the Bengal of his time in divergent hues, Tagore’s stories continue to inspire man to go beyond divisions of nation, religion, caste or gender, perhaps because they explore how society shapes our love and relationships. This essay dwells on films that highlight the pervading themes of feminism, humanism and universalism in Tagore’s literary works.

Not Slave, Nor Goddess

The champion of women tells us to enunciate aami nari, I am a woman … with pride, because a woman is not a slave nor needs to be the other extreme, a goddess. That it is right for a woman, whether young, maiden, or widowed, to be a person of flesh and blood. That Tagore empathised so deeply with his women characters that today’s social historians are talking of an androgynous strain in the humanist.

* When Satyajit Ray filmed Ghare Bairey (The Home and the World), we got a glimpse of the regressive practices that ailed even the wealthy and educated households. However the most symbolic scene was the one where Bimala is inspired by Nikhilesh to step out of the inner quarters of the zamindar’s household. Even Sandip, the false god, hails it as a ‘social revolution’. Tagore the author goes on to criticise the pseudo rebel but at no point does he criticise Bimala — not even when her sister-in-law cautions Nikhilesh about the freedom his wife is abusing. We find a repeat of this theme in Char Adhyay (Four Chapters) – but we’ll come to that later.

* Chokher Bali, first filmed in 1938, turned the spotlight on the deprivations young widows were subjected to even after the reformist crusades of Raja Ram Mohan Roy and Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar. Very sympathetically, and most aesthetically, it held a brief for their sensuality — even sexual needs, especially when Rituparno Ghosh filmed it in 2003. But even here, before Mahendra’s mother dies, she urges that in her memory he should host a feast for widows — “people feed Brahmins, beggars, even animals, but never for the unfortunate widows,” he underscores.

* Nitin Bose’s bilingual Noukadubi was probably the first to take Tagore to Hindi cine-goers. Incidentally Rituparno and Subhash Ghai’s Noukadubi were also bilingual. In 1944, Milan afforded Dilip Kumar opportunity to mature as an actor, for here Ramesh upholds the flag of humanism. After being boat wrecked he comes home with Kamala, the ‘bride’ he has not deigned to look at, and realises that she is in fact someone else’s wife. The gentleman in him decides to take her to a convent and give her not just protection (from a par purush, stranger) but also proper education — even at the cost of his own spotless reputation and his chances of finding happiness with his beloved, Hem Nalini. 

* In Charulata (1964), although Satyajit Ray continues to unfold her story from Amal’s point of view, his sympathy without reservation lies with the lonely wife. For half a century and more viewers have no doubt that Charu was an alter ego for Tagore’s Natun Bouthan – his sister-in-law Kadambari Devi, who took her own life. This story has inspired Bandana Mukherjee’s Srimati Hey and Suman Ghosh’s Kadambari (2015). Ray underscores this aspiration aspect in the film when Charu writes, gleaning from her experiences, and her writings are published in a magazine. This was unthinkable in the 19th century — and only a deeply humane soul could understand that a woman too needed to express her intellectual and creative self. (This aspect is completely missing in Charulata of 2011,  directed by Agnideb Chatterjee, although it unfolds from the woman’s perspective and unabashedly speaks of her physical intimacy with Amal.)

* For Tagore, perhaps the stifling of this intellectual self was as great a tragedy as the ‘burying’ of her potentials within the walls of domesticity. In the poem ‘Sadharan Meye’ (Ordinary Girl), he urges his contemporary Sarat Babu to write a novel where the protagonist — a scorned woman — goes on to study, travel abroad, re-valued by several admirers, including the man who ditched her for being an ‘ordinary’ woman. The core thought of this poem had inspired a script by Nabendu Ghosh, an altered (and unacknowledged) version of which was made by Hrishikesh Mukherjee as ‘Pyar Ka Sapna’ (Dream of Love, 1969). In recent times the theme has been most successfully revisited in Vikas Bahl’s Queen (2014).

* In Megh O Roudro (Clouds and Sunshine), Rabindranath’s short story creates a protagonist  whose struggle to affirm her dignity in the British ruled 19th century prompts her to read and write under the tutorship of a stubborn law student who is jailed for constantly challenging the discriminatory ways of the imperialists. By the time he is released, she is a prosperous widow who courteously acknowledges his role in her achieving self-confidence. In 1969, Arundhuti Debi, herself raised in Tagore’s ethos at Santiniketan, chose this for her second outing after Chhuti (Holiday) and her lyrical treatment brought her recognition as a director of substance.

* But what happens when a woman cannot fulfill her destiny, as in Streer Patra (A wife’s Letter, 1972)? How did Rabi Babu want his Mejo Bou — haus frau — to behave when the acutely male dominated household turns a blind eye to the injustice of marrying off the hapless orphan Bindu to a lunatic? Not drown her woes in the vast ocean at Puri but to slough off, in a moment of illumination, the shell of ‘Mejo Bou’ and become Mrinal, a woman with .her own soul and individual identity Why must she end her life like his Natun Bouthan — “Meera Bai didn’t,” he points out. And to us, even by today’s standards, it is the ultimate expression of feminism. 

* Perhaps because of the class she belonged to, and with the support of a rebellious brother, Mrinal could do what Chandara couldn’t in Shasti (Punishment, 1970). Tagore knew that neither his ‘Notun Bouthan’ nor his own wife Mrinalini got the opportunities enjoyed by his ICS brother’s wife. Far from it: Chandara’s husband Chhidam places the burden of his Boudi’s death at the hands of his elder brother on his wife. In the prevailing patriarchal society it wasn’t unthinkable: a wife was expendable because you could get another, but not a brother. But the unlettered Chandara has her own estimation of the sanctity that is the conjugal bond. When her husband comes to meet the wife condemned to hang, she denies him the right of visitation by disdainfully uttering a single word: “Maran!” How should we read it today? Go, drop dead or go hang yourself!

* Jogajog (Connection) was written in 1929 in a society where there were caste/ class distinctions even amongst zamindars. Tagore had first-hand experience of this within his family. His crude protagonist is a johnny-come-lately who seeks revenge by marrying the educated and cultured Kumudini. He cannot stand any expression of respect for her brother and feels belittled at the slightest hint of will in his wife. Matters go so far that in the 2015 film, director Sekhar Das can effortlessly trace moments of marital rape in their conjugal discord.

* Chitrangada had poised the question: where lies a woman’s true beauty – in her outward appearance or her inner worth? Should the princess, raised to be as good as a prince, deny her essential self to please a man? Or is she wrong to sacrifice her being for one she loves? In 2008, Rituparno Ghosh gave a whole new androgynous reading of the dance drama, with Madan/ Cupid becoming a psychoanalyst. 

Child — The Father and Mother of Man

Robi, who immortalised his childhood in Chhelebela (Boyhood), could never forget the restrictions imposed by adults and the suffocating effect it had on an imaginative soul. Therefore in Ichhapuran (Wish Fulfillment,1970), directed by Mrinal Sen for the Children’s Film Society of India, he effected a role reversal whereby their bodies get swapped. The naughty child Sushil becomes the father and the senior who covets the youthfulness becomes the free spirited son.

The comical confusion this ensues in the village leads both to realise the importance of their individual positions in life. They get back to their original self with the profound lesson for humanity – that each one of us has a place in the world no one else can ever fulfill.

* Of course the best known child in Rabindra Rachanabali (Creations of Tagore) is Amal. Essentially Dakghar (Post Office) was a testimonial against the crushing of childhood Tagore suffered. In the recent past actors Chaiti Ghoshal and Kaushik Sen have proved the enduring appeal of Dakghar — she in the form of a recorded audio play (CD); he on stage. Chaiti Ghoshal interprets the protagonist she had played with Shambhu and Tripti Mitra not as a Rabindrik character but as any child today, familiar with cricket and computer. Manipur’s Kanhailal has used elements of dance and drama to reinforce this message of freedom beyond frontiers. And, following the 2007 police firing in Nandigram (that killed 14 persons who were opposing state officials on land acquisition drive), Kaushik Sen had interpreted Amal’s desire to send a letter as a message to every household to raise awareness. 

Sen’s Dakghar, then, was not about death but about liberation from life in bondage. “Perhaps that’s why, a day before Paris was stormed during WWII, Radio France had broadcast Andre Gide’s French translation of the play,” Kaushik had said while staging the play. “Around the same time, in a Polish ghetto, Janus Kocak had enacted the play with Jewish kids who were gassed to death soon after.” After such multi-layered readings of the text, Dakghar as filmed by Anmol Vellani in 1961 remains a simplistic viewing — perhaps because it was made for the Children’s Film Society.

* In The Postmaster the child – an illiterate village girl in this instance – metaphorically becomes a mother and a priya , or beloved, of the pedantic city boy who is stirred by beauty of the moon but can’t wait to go back. When he falls critically ill she dutifully serves him and cares for him like a wife. When he is set to depart by simply tipping her with silver coins, the child with a maturity beyond her years refuses to say goodbye. Rejection doesn’t need words: she can negate his very existence by her silence.

* Samapti (Finale) the concluding story of Teen Kanya (1965) remade by Sudhendu Roy as Upahaar ( The Gift, 1975), builds on the flowering of a woman in an unconventional girl child. Mrinmoyee is certainly not a Lakkhi Meye…a good girl , she’s a scandal in rural Bengal of 100 years ago. She escapes her wedding night by climbing down a tree, she spends the night on her favourite swing on the riverbank, she snatches marbles from her friend, a boy… When they try to tame her by locking her up in a room she throws things at Amulya. But when he returns to Calcutta and she’s sent back to her mother’s, she realises grown up love for the man she’s married to, and sneaks into his room by climbing the same tree!

* Buddhadev Dasgupta had woven Shey from Tagore’s late novel written for his granddaughter, and then scripted a feature based on 13 poems by the bard. When we read a poem, certain images arise before our mind’s eye. The director interprets Tagorean poetry through such images and experiences. “It is about how a poet responds to another poet,” he explains.

Of Zamindars and Servants

Robi, the ‘good for nothing’ youngest son of Debendranath, had to prove himself in his father’s eyes by successfully performing the job he was entrusted with – that of collecting taxes, ‘khajna’, from the ‘prajas’, subjects, no matter how impoverished they were. We all know that in doing the job he came across a vast cross section of people of the land whom he would not otherwise get to know so intimately. And while he could not be lenient as his father’s representative, he created caring characters like the zamindar in Atithi ( The Guest) who brings home a vagabond, gives him education, and even prepares to give his daughter in marriage to the free spirited boy whose restless soul drives him away…

* But having seen the reality of the lives of the subjects Rabindranath also created uncaring zamindars like the one in ‘Dui Bigha Jami’ (Two Bighas of Land) that had inspired the Bimal Roy classic Do Bigha Zamin (1953), set in a post-independence India that was rapidly industrialising. Debaki Bose attempted a more literal visualisation as part of Arghya, his Centenary Tribute to Tagore, along with his poem ‘Puratan Bhritya’, (Old Retainer).

* Robi, the motherless child who was raised in a large household in the rigid care of servants, said ‘Thank You’ to them through characters like Kesto, the old family retainer who refuses to leave even when he’s dubbed a thief or driven away. Instead, he saves his master from small pox at the cost of his own life. Tagore, in fact, goes a step further in his short story, ‘Khokababur Pratyabartan’. The trusted servant even raises his son to eventually give him up as the master’s child lost to a landslide in the river! 

Oppression of Religion

Pujarini (Worshipper) was immortalised by Manjushri Chaki Sircar’s dance. Although set in the revivalist times of Ajatshatru who was set upon putting the clock back and wipe out the Buddhist tenor of his father Bimbisara, we can easily identify with Rabindranath’s condemnation of any excess – violence in particular – in the name of Religion. Visarjan (Immersion) too raises consciousness against violence in any form, against even animals, in the name of religion.

* Nor can we overlook instances where he raises his angst ridden voice against the inhuman treatment of humans on grounds of caste or creed. In Chandalika, the untouchable gets a new mantra to live by when the Buddhist monk Ananda says “Jei manab aami sei manab tumi kanya (You, lady, and I are part of the same humanity).” The act becomes a beacon for Sujata, the eponymous protagonist of Bimal Roy’s film, who is on the verge of ending her life (following casteist discrimination).

* Tagore’s poem called ‘Debatar Grash’ (God’s Greed), lashes out against the cruelty people can unleash through the heart rending plight of the mother whose child is snatched from her and thrown into the raging waters to appease the villagers superstitious belief in god’s wrath. Shubha O Debatar Grash (Shubha and God’s Greed, 1964) remains a signature film of Partha Pratim Chowdhury.

* Tagore questioned the very concept of belonging to ideological boxes. His time-transcending novel, Chaturanga (Four Quartet), points out that human experiments (like, say, Communism) have failed because they put ideology in watertight boxes that do not have any room for flexibility. This inspired Suman Mukhopadhyay to film it in 2008. Tagore, who himself created walls and broke them, questions this through Jyathamoshai, his uncle, and Sachish, who invite Muslim singers and feed them at shraddha or funeral as much as through Damini, whom Sachish wants to domesticate much against her wish. She even questions her husband’s authority to will her away along with his property, to his religious guru. Tagore uses the graphic imagery of a hawk and a mongoose that Damini has as her pet (it is well known that these animals cannot be domesticated).

Nationalism to Internationalism

‘Where the world has not been fragmented by narrow domestic walls, and the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habits: into that heaven of freedom’ Tagore, forever and always, wanted his compatriots to awake. That is why Nikhilesh, in Ghare Bairey, does not condone violence even in the name of nationalism. That is why he decries Sandip, who uses the passion of young freedom fighters and the wealth of the poor to fill his coffers.

Beware the false god: Tagore repeats the criticism in Char Adhyay. In 2012 Bappaditya Bandopadhyay revisits the novel filmed by Kumar Shahani in 1997, the golden jubilee of Independence. But Ela’s Char Adhyay review it for its politics, its backdrop of ultras and violence, for the debate that acquired a new validity in the world after 9/11. Tagore was much in favour of non-violence, so much so that he criticised the nationalist movement too when it turned violent. How much of a visionary he was to ask a full century ago: “What will be the state of the nation that is based on violence?”

Young filmmakers are amazed by Tagore’s vivid criticism of the deterioration of party structures although he himself never belonged to any party. Sarat Chandra’s Pather Dabi (Demands of the Path), written about eight years before Char Adhyay, had taken a populist stand while Tagore didn’t hesitate to say through the protagonist Atin, ‘I am not a patriot in the sense you use the term.”

* That Rabindranath was against any form of regimentation is well established. His play, Tasher Desh or the land of cards, perhaps, written to criticise the submission of the conscience in Hitler’s Germany, remains the ultimate critique of regimentation. Directed by Q in 2012, the text layers his criticism of contemporary society by “trippy” visuals. By Q’s own submission, it is a “quirky” retelling of the Tagorean allegory.

* Gora (directed by Naresh Mitra in 1938) goes further: He bows to his adopted mother, hails her as his Motherland and says, every child is equal for a mother, she does not differentiate on any ground. Tagore here gives us a blueprint for an ideal Republic where a hundred flowers can fill the air with a hundred different colours.

* Perhaps the ultimate example of Tagore’s humanism is Kabuliwala, directed in Bengali by Tapan Sinha in 1958 and in Hindi by Hemen Gupta in 1961. An Afghan selling his wares in a Calcutta 150 years ago and striking a friendship with a child who reminds him of his own daughter back home, is a story that will strike a chord in anybody, anywhere in the world, at any given point in time — even in a world swamped with internet, chat rooms, mobile phones and multimedia messaging. 

All of this reiterates the ‘forever-ness’ of Tagore. It also redefines the need to interpret his farsightedness, his comprehensiveness, his universality for our own times, in our own terms. Tagore himself had observed in a letter: “Cinema will never be slave to literature – literature will be the lodestar for cinema.” So we may conclude that since Tagore was primarily delving into human emotions, into the psyche of men and women placed in demanding situations that forced them to measure up to social, political, cultural or gender-based challenges, films based on his stories not only continue to be made but find an ever-growing audience in the globalised world.

(Courtesy: Tagore and Russia: International Seminar of ICCR 2011 held in Moscow. Har Anand publications, 2016. Edited by Reba Som and Sergei Serebriany)

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Ratnottama Sengupta, formerly Arts Editor of The Times of India, teaches mass communication and film appreciation, curates film festivals and art exhibitions, and translates and write books. She has been a member of CBFC, served on the National Film Awards jury and has herself won a National Award. 

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Categories
Essay

Rabindranath’s Monsoonal Music

Professor Fakrul Alam brings to us a discussion on and translations of Tagore songs on the season that follows the scorching heat of summer months

Art by Sohana Manzoor

A rough count of the songs collected in Gitabitan in the section titled “Prakriti” or “Nature” reveals that Rabindranath Tagore composed about sixteen songs of summer, more than 100 monsoonal ones, 33 songs of Sharat or early autumn, five of Hemonto or late autumn, and a dozen or so songs of winter. In addition, he has left us around 93 songs of spring. For many decades, I kept wondering how Rabindranath managed to end up with such a lopsided list as far as his songs of the six Bengali seasons are concerned. After all, late autumn and winter are enjoyable seasons when Bengal is blissfully heat-free and the weather quite mild and bearable; why, then, did he show such fondness for the wet monsoonal months and the rapidly warming and (at its end quite unbearably hot) springtime? But I am puzzled no longer by his preference for our Borsha, for it now seems clear to me that he had good reasons to prefer the monsoonal months over all else. In recent decades, now that I fancy I have something of what Wordsworth calls the “philosophic mind” (and in this age of global warming as well!), I can appreciate fully why the monsoonal months stimulated Rabindranath so continuously into songs.

Think of the summer months. From mid-April till the second week of June, the weather torments us all over Bangladesh with stifling heat and unbearable humidity. Who in these weeks of scorching sun, steadily frying dampness and seemingly immobile and incredibly muggy air does not yearned for an ever-increasing cloud cover leading to sudden bursts of showers and rainy conditions? Isn’t the monsoon a huge relief after the summer months, despite the flaming krishnachuras [flame of the forest] and the seemingly endless stream of summer fruits that arrive in our market then?  Don’t we all look forward to the pitter patter of raindrops, even if accompanied by thunder and lightning, when hot and dry ourselves? And isn’t the fresh green look of nature after a burst of rain so very soothing?

As in his devotional and love poems, Rabindranath captures feelingly in his monsoonal song-lyrics a variety of moods.  One such mood is the longing for relief from an oppressive presence. Registering the cruel heat and humidity of our late spring and summer, his songs often exult in the respite that the monsoons afford us. Hear him thus dramatise the excitement all life forms feel just before, during and after the coming of the monsoons, in the opening two stanzas of the song-lyric ‘Oi Ashe Oi Oti Bhairob Horoshe’[i] [The Clouds Arrive Amidst Joy]

There, there they come — monsoonal clouds—
Exhilarating, awesome, moisture-laden,
Fragrant, earth-soaked, dense, rejuvenated
Dark-hued, somber, glorious— ready to burst!

Their deep rumblings quiver dark-blue forests
Tense peacocks out on strolls cry out,
The whole world is thrilled, overwhelmed. 
Intense, amazing—monsoon is on its way!

Indeed, song after song of Gitabitan record Rabindranath’s fascinated melodic outburst after a dramatic monsoonal outburst. Here is another example, ‘Prochondo Gorjone Ashile Eki Durdeen’, [Amidst Thunder comes a Dreaded Day].

Such a dreadful day, so full of rolling, thundering sounds
Disquieting cloud buildups, ominous endless outbursts!
Such a thick cloud cover; serpentine lightning, scarring night
Making the sky stream tears despite its totally blinded eyes!
But abandon all your fears; stir O scared and slothful ones.
Cheerfully, build up within yourself ample strength
To behold with resolute and wide open eyes His serene presence 
Behold Him seating superbly on his throne –defying death, fearless!

Completely committed to the notion of a Supreme Being in his works, Rabindranath conveys his wonder at the monsoonal drama of clouds, thunder, and lightning and rain in many a song, inspired by scenes that he sees in the last analysis as embodying the power and inspirational presence of the deity.

A sizeable number of Rabindranath’s song-lyrics are in this religious vein, but not all. In other monsoonal song-lyrics Rabindranath presents to us not only the awe-inspiring/ sacramental signs of the deity embodied in such seasonal storms, but also the frightening and intimidating aspects of our rainy season. He is well aware of the deep unease the monsoonal storm’s power and intemperate outbursts can cause, and the way it can scare all things in nature and make them aquiver. The foreboding created by the approach of an overwhelming and apocalyptic force is thus apparent in the concluding lines of the song ‘Hridaye Mondrilo Domoru Guru Guru’ (A Drum Rumbles in the Heart): 

The night is full of thunder and lightning;
The clouds are intense, startling.
Jasmine creepers tremble and rustle in melancholy notes
Woodlands fill with insects chirping in alarm!

In fact, Rabindranath is acutely aware of how the monsoon can disrupt lives, particularly those of people out in the open or men and women who have to travel in inclement weather despite the thunder, lightning, rain and flash floods that the monsoons invariably bring. His concern for such vulnerable people and concern at such intemperate weather comes out clearly in Jhoro Jhoro Boreshe Baridhara [The Rain Streams Incessantly]:

Rain streams down incessantly
Alas wayfarer; alas disabled, homeless ones!
The wind moans on and on.
Who is it calling out to in this immense, deserted, dismal landscape?
The night is pitch dark,
Jamuna restless; its waves agitated, endless; its shores have disappeared!
Dense dark rain clouds hover in the horizon, rumbling continuously.
Lightning darts restlessly, dazzlingly—no moon or stars in sight!

On the other hand, the monsoons are also seasonal visitations for Rabindranath that induce in him desire for romance or romantic cravings that need to be fulfilled.  Note how intensely the yearning of a lover anxious to impart his feelings to his beloved in a rain-stirred mood is articulated in Emono Dine Tara Bola Jai [On Such a Day, They Say]:

On such a day she could be told
On such a dense, dark, wet day!
On such a day to her I could my mind unfold,
On such a cloudy, thunderous, showery day
		On just such a sunless, dense, dismal day!

I’d tell her what no one else would know
	Silence would us probably surround,
We’d face each other, each sobered by a deep wound.
	Incessant rain would from the sky flow; 
	Surely, no one then would be around.

	Societal and family life would feel unreal
	The hullabaloo of life too would feel surreal
What would only matter are eyes feeding on each other
	And two hearts savouring one another;
	All else would merge with darkness.
If in a corner of the house on such a rainy day,
	I had then a thing or two to tell her 
Why would anyone have anything to say?

	The wind blows with great force today;
	Lightning keeps flashing away
What I’ve been storing in my mind till this day
	Is something that I’d like to tell her today—
	On just such a dense, dark, wet day!

Not a few of the song lyrics collected in the ‘Borsha’ [Monsoon] part of Gitabitan depict such brooding and passionate thoughts and the intense yearning for the beloved brought on by the turbulence of the monsoonal breeze. Here is another such song, Mor Bhabonere Ki Haowa [What wind is it lilting my thoughts so amazingly]:

What wind is it lilting my thoughts so amazingly?
Its caress swings, swings my mind unaccountably.
In my heart’s horizon moist dense new clouds swarm,
			Stirring a shower of emotions.	
I don’t see her—don’t see her at all
Only occasionally in my mind I recall
Almost indiscernible footsteps sounding
And ankle bells tinkling, oh so tunefully!

A secret dreamscape spreads
Across the wet wind-swept sky—
A new and ethereal azure shawl!
Shadowy unfurled tresses fly,
Filling me with such intense disquiet
On this far-off ketoki-perfumed wet night.

All in all, Rabindranath’s inspired lyrical responses to the monsoons remind one that he is in some ways a poet following in the footsteps of William Wordsworth. One remembers, in this context, the English romantic poet’s lines in Book I of The Prelude where he conveys his ardent and positive response to the coming of the English spring after the English winter’s life-shrinking barrenness. Wordsworth sees the English spring ushering in a “correspondent breeze” that gives rise to poetry. To make the point somewhat differently, just as the spring breeze is Wordsworth’s metaphor for the muse, Rabindranath finds in the monsoons endless inspiration for composing song-lyrics and poetry. Here is a translation of one of his most popular ones Mono Mor Meghero Shongi [ My Friend, the Cloud]:

My mind is the clouds’ companion,
Soaring to the limits of the horizon
And crossing wide open spaces to sravan’s music 
Of rain falling pitter patter, pitter patter!
	My mind soars on crane-like wings
	To startling, streaking, lightning flashes,
	And rumbling, terrifying,
	Tumultuous, deafening sounds
	Responding to apocalyptic summons!
The wind blows from some eastern sea
Surging, rippling waves crest endlessly
	My mind is fascinated by their frantic motion
	By palm-fringed, dark-tamal tree forests
	And to branches fluttering frenziedly!

Space will not permit any more long extracts, but on the subject of inspiration I can’t resist including the concluding stanza of the much loved song lyric, ‘Hriday Amar Nachere’ (My Heart Dances):

Like a peacock dancing, my heart dances this day.
Showers stream down on newly sprouted branches,
Cricket songs stir forests,
The rampaging river roars over banks and floods villages,
Like a peacock dancing, my heart dances this day!

No wonder then this monsoon-stirred poet has articulated for all Bengalis so melodically the many-sides and wonders of the season as no other writer has; no other writer from our part of the world has been so mesmerised by our rainy season and so stirred into unforgettable songs and poems by it!

[i] All translations from the Bengali song-lyrics are that of Professor Fakrul Alam.

(First published in Daily Star, 2019)

Fakrul Alam is an academic, translator and writer from Bangladesh. He has translated works of Jibonananda Das and Rabindranath Tagore into English and is the recipient of Bangla Academy Literary Award (2012) for translation and SAARC Literary Award (2012).

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