Houses were safe and security guards were unknown. The boundary walls were short, and we could scale with ease to pluck a few flowers from many neighbourhood houses. Robbers were few, and none would bother to go to the police when a thief was caught, as punishments were summary and on the spot. There were no chit funds, no crowds, no dearth of jobs and therefore no scams. We were poor, as was the country, but none bothered, and everyone thrived and enjoyed the shortages from rice to sugar, standing in the long queues at the ration shops.
White dhoti and kurta-clad bhadroloks (gentry) would judge anything and everything, from the high inflation to an one-paisa increase in tram fares, justifying the burning of a few trams and saying that the increase in fares was not people-friendly. Tea shops did a brisk business; the earthen cups and lemon tea were the standard (milk was scarce). For a few eligible, it was Charminar cigarettes, costing a whopping 20 paise per packet of 10 sticks. Bengal was poorer, being a victim of partition and home to many refugees, whom it could ill-afford but shared the space and the little they had without a murmur.
Bengal always despised materialistic flamboyance. Cars were always bourgeois, with most taking public transport or using bicycles. Amid poverty and famine, there was something in abundance: the intellect of a high order and unrivalled justified pride. After all, this was the land that gave a saint like Swami Vivekananda; this State produced freedom-fighters like Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose; this was the land that produced the first Asian Nobel Prize winner, Tagore, in literature; this was the land of reforms, from the banning of the gory practice of Sati (bride-burning); and this was the place for widow re-marriage.
Bengal used to look at bribery and corruption with aversion, as the leaders led an austere life. Communism was deep-rooted, primarily thriving on poverty. The government distributed free land pattas, which were the source of livelihood for the peasantry, which had a major say in every walk of life. Bengalis were not very ambitious, nowhere to match the feverish pursuit to own a roof by the Mumbaikars or to get an H1B visa for the children in south India. Clerical or non-challenging jobs, evening-addas, a joint family, and being deeply political were the usual traits of any Bengali who would fight for his rights any and everywhere and any and every given chance.
The present scenario is bizarre. Scams and raids by the agencies overlooked by the court have become the order of the day. What is scary is the defiant attitude of those searched, arrested, their party spokespersons, or their leadership. Attempts are made to explain the happenings as historical apathy or the vengeful attitude of the Centre against the State. This picture may or may not be true, but what about the opulence of anyone remotely connected with the ruling party? Their lifestyle, even among the lowly cadres, is unmissable. The gold they display on them and the size of the chains they adorn make them look like holy cattle. None seem to complain, and everyone seems to live in a state of fear or indifference.
Famous icons have been relegated to sub-optimal quality in painting or poetry. No wonder Bengal is pushed back because no one dares to call the bluff. The lure of politics and making a fortune has blinded most, which includes some of my dear friends.
I console myself as one who has escaped many seemingly lucrative traps. I long for a simpler and dignified Bengal.
Sampath Kumar
Intrépide Voix
