Bengalis and the scenario of political violence

I remember in the 1950s there was a stir in Kolkata over the increase in fare of trams by one paisa – it was much before the introduction of the decimal coinage. In those days, one paisa was just one paisa, a circular bit of copper with a hole in its middle. Well – the increase led to a stir and police firing. I was a school student and at home. The windows had been kept closed by my mother to shut out the unpleasantness outside, and I was trying to open a panel and peep outside when suddenly a bullet whizzed past my ears and embedded in the wooden frame of the window.
That was my first experience with violence.
Later, when I was in college, there was this milkman who used to deliver milk to our house – he was a jovial character, a Bihari and well loved by one and all. One morning, he failed to come. And, we learnt that he had been killed in a bomb explosion. He had tried to intervene in a political quarrel and paid the price.

In those days the Naxalite movement was always in the news. Young and bright students would form groups on the sly to rebel against the authorities. They felt that the country was not in good hands and they wanted to change it.
And, in order to tackle that thinking a new police officer came to Kolkata. He was young and it was rumored that he would go around the city in plain clothes and would stop when he saw a gathering of young boys. He would alight, go near them and eavesdrop. Then he would order his force to take them in and carry them far away where they would be released and asked to run. And – a bullet in the back would mark the end of a would-be rebel.
I have no idea about the truth of these reports because, by that time, I had left Kolkata and heard about these instances when I came home on leave. It seems at the time many of these youngsters left Kolkata for fear of being hounded out by the police. Rumor has it that one of them had fled to Mumbai and made a name for himself in the movies. Once again – I do not know whether it is true or just another imaginary tale.
Anyway, the Calcutta Coffee House on College Street in the educational hub of the city surrounded by institutions like the Calcutta University, the Presidency College, and the Hindu College played a major role in shaping the future of Bengal. Intellectuals gathered there and over cups of coffee would debate the future course of action depending on which the wind blows. (to be continued …)
(Image courtesy wikimediacommons.org)

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Back in Kolkata, I turn over a new leaf

Even though I came back to Kolkata, it was not for good. Having tasted freedom and interacted with people from different parts of the country, I wanted to explore places outside Bengal. It was the time of Naxalite movement and the political scenario was changing in Bengal. I wanted to fly away.
I knew that my stay in Kolkata would be short-lived because my sights were already on Nashik – it was the place where I would get a chance to work on the aircraft as a whole and, hence, my choice.
However, till I got the job in Nashik, I would have to find some means to ensure that I did not have to beg my parents for pocket money that was necessary for a young man to maintain a decent outlook – therefore, I met my Principal at ATTI. He agreed to retain me for a princely stipend of one hundred rupees per month.
In the late 1960s, it was quite sufficient for my bus fares, occasional tea and cigarettes and, of course, movies. My friends of school and college days had scattered, as did my friends of my locality – we would meet once in a while and exchange news and views. Somehow, all of us kept getting separated and the gap kept widening.
As for me, when I was at home, I took up writing – that too in Bengali.
That must sound strange to many because I am a Bengali and my mother tongue is Bengali – but, since I had my schooling in English medium, I learnt the Bengali alphabets only when I was in Standard VIII. Hence, my knowledge of Bengali was limited to the extent of passing the exams.
But, I was determined to write in Bengali – come what may.
It was indeed a bold decision and I wanted to prove myself in my mother tongue. I kept it a closely guarded secret from my parents and also my friends and brothers. I did not want to be made a laughing stock. Therefore, as a first step, I got hold of a few Bengali magazines to understand what topics sell and I found that it was crime – a subject after my heart. (to be continued …)

Another interesting blog - Citizen Journalist

Another interesting blog - Violence and atrocities