For Some Gup-Shup (Conversation With Laughter) In Faridabad
Faridabad Majdoor Samachar To contribute to radical social transformations that are mushrooming all over the world, feel free about : stammering, fragmentariness, incoherence, missing steps…. Social (and natural) reality are very complex and dynamic. Leaps in interactions amongst seven billion human beings are on our agenda. It is only in the present that we can act/prepare to act. What to do and what not to do, how to do and how not to do are coloured by the different facets/ sectionalities in the present and also carry deep imprints of the past but also different pasts of locations/groups. So a request: Try not to be polemical; try not to attempt to clinch arguments; try to respect your own selves (by implication you will respect those around you). Primarily it is to act, it is for better actions that this gup-shup is premised on. “Cataclysmic event” language and imagery seems problematic; languages and imageries that are premised on active participations of seven billion human beings are indispensable for radical social transformations. A technical constraint in the gup-shup is that we will be using mostly English language. Some Statements Etcetera * Small groupings of human beings called birth a shraap (curse) or the fall. Half of their numbers, females were described as sin personified. What was tragic for small groupings is today a tragedy for all human beings, for all living species, for the earth. * It does not seem that something had to happen, rather possibilities and probabilities seems to be the norm. But, once a possibility gets concretized, it has a dynamic and trajectory specific to it. * Relationship between a part and the (immediate) whole. Harmony and conflict between parts and the whole seem to be the norm. Small groupings of human beings embarked on a trajectory wherein the part attempts to control, dominate, mould the whole. Other-ing unleashed – series of “the other – others.”. * Domestication of animals led to the domestication of human beings, slave owners and slaves. * Deformation of communities, emergence of “I” with men as its official bearers. Man woman relations become very problematic. Today, by and large, women and children are also bearers of “I”. “Who am I?” has become a universal question. * Certainty of death after birth becomes unbearable for any “I”. Attempts at immortality. Search for amrit (the nectar of life) Philosophies of rebirth, heavan, hell. Theories of lineage. Tragedies of Alexanders – great thinkers, great warriors, great artists, great sportspersons, great performers, great leaders….. * From “who am I?”, we have entered a phase where there are many an “I” in each “I”. In the process of transcending “I” we seem to have come to the era of ekmev (unique) andekmaya (together). ———————- * Discriminations became rampant amongst human beings. It was a corollary of othering and dominating – controlling – moulding. All discriminations. must be opposed. The question is: How? Discrimination are a breeding ground for all sorts of identity politics. An exemplary end-result is the constitution of the state of Israel. This is how discriminations are not to be opposed. The ways of opposing discriminations should be such that discrimination as such comes into focus. * From domestication of animals to agriculture, from slave-owners and slaves feudal lords and serfs increased the groupings of human beings that led tragic lives. Trade, long distance trade further increased these numbers. But during all this time large groupings of human beings lived in natural surroundings. It is only during the last two hundred years, it is only after steam and coal power was harnessed by human beings that a leap change began. Internal combustion engine, electricity, atomic energy, electronics magnified the leaps in the changes and have brought us face to face with their dire consequences. * It was production for the market that led the onslaught. Artisans and peasants producing for the market using their own and family labour became redundant. For two hundred years now they are face to face with social death and social murder. Peasants and artisans in their Luddite incarnation in England attacked factories at night. Some of them were gunned down and hanged, many became wage-workers or shopkeepers or social outcastes, beggars etc., And many were forced out to the Americas and Australia. A corollary of of the inability to tame-domesticate people in America – Australia was the massive increase in slave-trade in Africa, indentured labour in India, for production for the market. * Steam and coal driven machinery had made large numbers of people in Europe superfluous. The entry of electronics in the production processes has made still more people superfluous….. Its impact on hundreds of millions of peasants, artisans, shopkeepers, in Asia, Africa, South America is devastating and at an electronic pace. They have nowhere to go. There are no “empty americas”. Desperation borne of social death and social murder of peasants, artisans, shopkeepers is the cause of hundreds committing suicides and similar numbers taking up arms in various garbs. Napoleon’s army is miniscule vis-a-vis the militarization in the world today but it is still too small for the desperate hundreds of millions. So, besides state armies there are mushrooming proto-state armies. Desperation of hundreds of millions of peasants, artisans, shopkeepers is increasing the fragility of state apparatuses. Outside of western Europe, Japan and North America this is a very important social setting for attempts at radical social transformations. * In the initial stage of production for the market using wage-labour, factories were owned by individuals. The unfolding of the process led to factories being owned by groups of individuals, by a dozen or so stock holders. The requirements for establishing and running a factory soon started demanding the pooling of resources by thousands. Share holding of thousands became the “owner” of the factories. Needs of increasing size and resources made share holding inadequate and loans emerged as the major source of funds for establishment and functioning of factories. Pension funds, insurance
Post-colonial Kali
Arindam Chakrabarti Before Independence, patriotism often took the shape of mother-worship. The rhetoric of ‘sacrifice’ or balidaan bridged the gap between the political and the religious. In these post-patriotic times, should we, globalized urban intellectuals, indulge in the easy reductive ‘analysis’ of Kalification of the homeland as a psychosis of the colonized bhadralok’s threatened masculinity, the quixotic blood-thirst of a bunch of emasculated wordy nerds? In certain quarters, not only is it ‘cool’ to deride Bankimchandra’s Vande Mataram and Sri Aurobindo’s Motherland obsession but it would be ‘positively uncool’ to be aroused by the part of Tagore’s Janaganamana where the country is hailed as a mother. When that song was sung in a National Congress session, in the presence of, but not in praise of, King George V, certain cynics spread the rumour — apparently all the way up to Yeats and Ezra Pound — that the adhinayaka addressed was the King of England. In response to this debunking spin, Rabindranath had the following to say: “That great Charioteer of man’s destiny in age after age could not by any means be George V or George VI or any George. Even my ‘loyal’ friend realized this; because, however powerful his loyalty to the King, he was not wanting in intelligence.” Unfortunately, among 21st century www-intellectuals, there seems to be no want of such people wanting in intelligence. Some of them may scream in post-colonial petulance: “How could even Rabindranath, who disliked nationalism as much as he hated fascism, address the ‘divine dispenser of India’s destiny’ as a ‘Maa’ (4th stanza)? How disappointingly communal!” Of course, Rabindranath was no Tantrik Hindu. Indeed, it would be an understatement to say that Rabindranath was uncomfortable with the image of Kali the Mother about whom Vivekananda wrote one of his most majestic and deeply personal poems. For Rabindranath, a sophisticated aniconic Brahmo, Kali’s nudity, her skull-necklace, her bloody sword, and lolling tongue must have been abhorrent on multiple levels. As a colonial subject, valourizing the Indian civilization as philosophically majestic, morally pure, aesthetically enchanting and spiritually lofty, he must have found goddess Kali to be much more of an embarrassment than Krishna, the other dark and devious divinity with whose iconography at least the young Rabindranath (of Bhanusingher Padaavali) was almost in love. His novel Rajarshi as well as his play Visarjan feature a Kali temple on top of a hill in Tripura as a seat of violence and intrigue. The plot centres on the abolition of animal sacrifice by a humane king of Tripura who is pitted against the machinations of a power-thirsty priest called Raghupati, who tries to inflame a mutiny, dethrone the king, and abet the weak, envious younger brother of the king to fratricide. The play — a passionate argument against the divisive religious politics of bloodshed — climaxes at the scene where this devout Kali worshipper, now badly defeated, rebukes the stone idol and throws “her” out from the temple down into the river, out of sheer frustration and a crisis of faith. Interestingly, the young Rabindranath would act in this very role of a disillusioned priest-villain and would imaginably enthral the audience with the vitriolic crescendo of an anti-Kali speech. “Kali the Mother” does not afford us any softer face in Swami Vivekananda’s English poem, “For Terror is Thy name/ Death is in Thy breath/ Thou ‘Time’, the All-destroyer!/ Come, Ov Mother, come! Who dares misery love/And hug the form of Death/ To him the Mother comes.” It would be a mistake to associate the word “Terror” here with the ‘terrorism’ of the Ullaskar or Jugantar brand. Before ‘hugging the form of death’ at half the age till which Tagore lived, Vivekananda had gone to Kashmir where he wrote that poem. During this stay, while ritually worshipping Khir Bhavani, he had the thought: “Mother Bhavani has been manifesting Her Presence here for untold years. The Mohammedans came and destroyed Her temple, yet the people of the place did nothing to protect Her. Alas, if only I were then living, I would not have borne it, I would have protected the temple from the invaders.” He, then, distinctly heard the voice of the goddess saying: “It was my desire that the Mohammedans destroy the temple. It is my desire that I should live in [a] dilapidated temple, otherwise, can I not immediately erect a seven-storied temple of gold here if I like? What can you do? Do I protect you or do you protect me?” The present day chariot-driving ‘protectors’ of Ram and Durga should heed these words of the Mother, in front of whose idol we have always sung: “My mother’s image by error with clay I want to shape/ this Ma is not earth’s girl, vain toil, with clay I sweat… My mother has three eyes: sun, moon, and holy fire. Is there an artisan, to build me such a one?” (Translation: Gayatri Spivak). If the maternalization of language or land is necessarily abjured because of its suspected Hindutva roots, then what do we do with the national anthem of Bangladesh — also composed by Rabindranath — which uses “Ma” as a refrain, with no trace of militarism? This whole essay was sparked off by a sequence of emotions I felt when I first heard the new 2011 Janaganamana recording by 39 musicians on YouTube this year. First I was just viscerally moved to tears by it, simply by the variety and richness of styles. The emergent rasa that enraptured me was not Veera but a sublime blend of Adbhuta and Shanta rasa, like one relishes the cosmic form of Krishna, in the 11th chapter of the Bhagavadgita, with. But then I was embarrassed by my own reaction. I had never noticed the presence of the ‘Mother’ in that song (4th stanza) before. Durga Puja was drawing near. There was nostalgia in the air, reminding me of the completely non-sectarian atmosphere of our home Puja at Mominpur where the local rich Muslim family would pay for the sweets on the Ashtami day’s bhog. Was there a secret Hindutva skeleton inside my anti-nationalist closet? Or is senility softening me like the Marxist