Culture
Irvin and Sunquist have mentioned in their very well-researched book, History of the World Christian Movement that “prior to the year 300 AD there had been no consensus among Christians concerning the date on which to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ. Some argued for a spring date, but others suggested December 25...the day celebrated in honour of the ‘Invincible Sun’. Most Christians came to accept December 25, as the birthday of Jesus, integrating thereby elements of the solar monotheism of Solstice and Roman festival of Saturnalia with Christianity”.
To appreciate a meteoric writer like Michael Madhusudan Dutt and estimate his contribution to Indian literature and culture, we need to first take him from the confines of Bengal, where he is stuck, quite unwittingly. In his home ‘province’, he is remembered forever for introducing lasting innovations that enriched a language that was struggling to move out of its archaic mould.
If we are to select one festival that every Hindu in every corner of India celebrates in some form or the other, we would invariably mention ‘Diwali’. It epitomises the operational plurality of Hinduism that has thrived for millennia without a high command, headquarters or one designated holy book.
As many of us admit, one of the major mistakes committed by a secular India was to assume that religious tolerance and amity would last forever. The secular state’s duty was over by declaring public holidays on the major festivals of all religions, but it never seriously considered explaining to the people what and why these celebrations were observed.
Many have often wondered how ancient Indic religions like Hinduism, Buddhism and Jainism (Sikhism is not that ‘ancient’) survived and prospered for millennia without a designated holy book like the Bible or the Koran and with no Mecca, Vatican or Jerusalem to guide people. With a little introspection, we come to realise that it is actually this absence of a ‘central command’ and non-uniform format that account for this.
People often wonder why Bengalis worship Durga on the grandest scale possible during Navaratri and why they do not observe the mandatory fasts or rituals — instead gorging on non-vegetarian food. And, this propensity is not limited to any class or caste because Brahmans and so-called upper castes lead the way to celebrate with the best of fish and mutton dishes. The other question is why is it that only Bengal’s image of Ma Durga is so completely different from the rest of India?
In the performing and the visual arts, there are larger numbers who achieved iconic positions but in the domain of cultural popularisation, theorisation and management, we can recall only very few. Dr Kapila Vatsyayan was the last in the unforgettable trio of Kamaladevi Chattopadhyay and Pupul Jayakar as her predecessors. Each of them embarked upon separate missions within the vast space of culture.
The annual festive worship of Durgā is so comfortably settled in the Bengali imagination that her apparent anomalies and contradictions are hardly examined. The first issue is that popular demand in Bengal mandates that she has to be seen with her four 'children' — which is most unlike other parts of India. The second is derived from this as these four `children' appear quite disinterested in Durgā's ferocious battle with Mahiṣāsura, nor do they play any role in it. The third anomaly lies in the fact that Durgā in Bengal appears resplendent in her best dress with a lot of jewellery, even as she is engaged in a mortal combat.
Onam, which bids farewell, is much more than a festival of joy, for it represents the core of the great reconciliatory heart of Hinduism. Most such celebrations recall the victory of a great God or Goddess over dark forces, personified usually by a demonic Asura. The Ramayana marks the destruction of a Rakshasa while the Durga Puja emphasises Devi’s triumph over Mahishasura.
The atmosphere is so charged after the ceremony for the Ram Mandir at Ayodhya that it seems well nigh impossible to discuss positive aspects of this epic in the life of India without flare-ups. But we are not here to debate whether it is myth or history, or even bits of both, nor condone or condemn the destruction of another place of worship. Here, our focus is on the historic unifying role of an epic that is viewed by some as a sharply divisive text.
“You see” said the Red Queen to little Alice in Lewis Caroll’’s Through The Looking Glass, “it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place”.
She was referring to fast moving developments and how the world under our feet moves so rapidly that we all need to keep running all the time — just to stay in the same place. The Red Queen also gave a corollary “If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that!”
It is only after the recent ravages of the coronavirus that much of the world suddenly realised the virtues of the Indian cultural trademark called ‘namaste’. In the past, foreigners were often surprised or upset when they extended their hand to Indians for a friendly shake, only to be greeted by two palms of the hands joined together, fingers pointing upwards.
Despite considerable material progress, the world still views India as an ancient land steeped in spirituality, with a culture that stretches back to a hoary, unfathomable past. Indians, too, subscribe to this glorification of its timelessness and have been encouraged, especially in the last few years, to take an obsessive pride in this tryst with eternity. Thus, we can hardly be faulted in subscribing to very marketable propositions, like the one that claims our classical dance forms represent an unbroken tradition for several millennia and all of them go back to the venerable sage, Bharata Muni, who composed Natyashastra.
It was only late last night when the hospital sent me a short report on Hari Vasudevan’s precarious condition that I realised he had a middle name as well, Sankar. Caught between a more placid Vishnu and a temperamental Shiva, Hari must have opted quite early for the tranquil deity, for everything about him was so unflappably cool, soothing and gentle.
সম্প্রতি প্রধানমন্ত্রী নরেন্দ্র মোদী যখন শ্যামাপ্রসাদ মুখোপাধ্যায়ের নামে কলকাতা বন্দরের নাম বদলানোর প্রস্তাব দেন, নিঃসন্দেহে সেই বিতর্কিত আইকনকে বাজি ধরতে চেয়েছিলেন তিনি। নাম বদলের ক্ষেত্রে এত মহান দেশনায়কদের ছেড়ে শ্যামাপ্রসাদের মতো সাম্প্রদায়িক নেতার নির্বাচন নিয়ে বাংলার দিকে দিকে জোরালো প্রতিবাদও হয়েছে।
It is needless to remind ourselves that Kolkata once famous for its large number of palatial buildings, which earned it the sobriquet: “the City of Palaces”. At present, however, except the Marble Palace, Jorasanko Thakurbari and a handful of other such well-maintained ones, the rest are all gone or are in a pitiable state of disrepair.
I congratulate the Iran Society of Kolkata for stepping into its 75th year — which is no mean achievement. I also compliment the Iran Society for conducting a 3-day International Seminar on the subject: ‘Persian Heritage of Bengal’. It is, indeed, the most appropriate occasion for deliberating on this topic, as Bengal is certainly a major beneficiary from its six centuries of association with Persian language and culture.
It is quite surprising that the claimed cultural capital of India does not have one worthwhile art museum or an international-standard exhibition space for painting, photography and other forms of visual arts. While the Biswa Bangla complex does the city proud, it is not meant for art like, say, the National Gallery of Modern Art is. This art museum is at its grandest in Delhi, but Mumbai and Bengaluru also have scaled-down NGMAs. Calcutta was obviously bypassed for the fourth NGMA, surprisingly without protest.
It is only natural for Kolkata to have some of the finest specimens of colonial architecture. After all, it enjoyed the status of being, for one and half centuries, the capital of the British Empire in India and of the East India Company’s Dominions, prior to that. We may marvel at the Gothic architecture of the High Court and St Paul’s Cathedral as great examples of this class.
Year after year, people in Kolkata, Delhi, Mumbai and major cities wonder what exactly is Chhatt Puja when they witness so many lakhs and lakhs of men and women from Bihar out on the streets, heading towards the river or the sea. They see them push cartloads of bananas and other fruits or carry them on their heads, but few outsiders understand anything more. The main festival is just six days after Diwali, which explains why it goes by the colloquial name for the ‘sixth’, chhatt, that is also called Surya-shasthi.
Did you know that on November 2 every year, the dead manage to unite billions of living people all over the world?
Many of us know that it is ‘All Souls’ Day’ and that Christians visit the graves of departed family members. They lay flowers at their tombs and also light candles, which brightens these desolated cemeteries.