The road ahead with Silajit...

I must have been 17 something when I first heard Silajit Mazumdar. It was a Durga Pujo and the Loudspeakers made a darling of Ghum Peyechhe, Bari Ja (You’re sleepy, Go home). To my then easily impressionable & not so discerning mind, he appeared to have set off a storm in the otherwise prohibitively cultured domain of Bengali music. Or at least a whiff of fresh air.

Those were the days – the Jibonmukhi trend had gained a strong foothold in the educated urban & sub-urban youth who had enough pocket-money to render it some degree of commercial success. Suman Chatterjee & Anjan Dutta created a space for themselves in the Anglo-influenced Urban middle class while Nachiketa had enough jibe in his lyrics to enthrall the Sub urban youth - hungry to get past the realm of chocolatey Love songs and the demented domain of Choli ke pichhey kya hai. In short, there was an identified space for everybody.

Jibonmukhi was steeped in a heady mix of youthful rebellion. It questioned the very basis of a civil society driven by individual interests of the ruling elite. And its uniqueness lay in the way it put forward those questions – a very on-your-face, undisguised admission of all that was established by the virtue of its currency and age. That, however, is not to say that the entire lot of Jibonmukhi poets had similar means of expression – varied individual influences provided diverse vehicles to transport the overall genre and its dominant thought from the music studios to the masses.

Suman remained for the elite – almost to the extent of sounding Rabindric at times. His was for the top 20% of the Pareto Distribution. No wonder he sold like hot Jalebis at a famous Halwai. He crafted his lyrics with the mastery of a Dylan (one of his major influences) and put all his schooling in Classical Guitar & Piano to the best use in framing his music. For years he was at the forefront of all things branded anti-establishment – a radical communist at loggerheads with the ruling Quasi-capitalists of Bengal.

Anjan, however, was a raw translation of anything ranging from Bobby Dylan to Paul Simon. His music was awfully familiar to anyone interested in British & American music of the 60’s & 70’s. At times (like in his Bong rendition of Simon’s Homeward Bound or Sarstedt’s Where do you go to) he seemed to have pinched from others books - with an enthusiasm much like that of an errant schoolchild. He was predominantly urban in his themes and had little to relate with overall societal issues. Nonetheless he was successful.

Nachiketa, though not very much in the same league, had enviable commercial success when compared to his decidedly urban & elitist peers. He spoke for the masses and their woes, celebrated their successes and made a mark for himself riding on colloquial verbiage in his lyrics. His raw demeanor in concerts ensured he had a sizeable following in the common man – harassed in transactions in the course of their daily lives.

It would have been much like this when Silajit arrived on stage. He didn’t enjoy the lyrical prowess of a Suman, neither the mass appeal of a Nachiketa. His armory however had something much more lethal – a highly tuned ear for the music of nature and all things natural.

I have learnt later that he was born (and may be brought up) in the musically (and culturally / historically) rich district of Birbhum. Am not sure what musical school he trained himself in – however, his affinity and a colossal appreciation of nature is more than evident in his music. He has also made tremendous use of technology in his music and benefitted from an excellent arrangement in most of his songs.

Silajit stood apart from his early days – off course to the astute ear. While the masses indulged in Ghum Peyechhe Bari ja, you couldn’t have missed the earthy nature of Bajlo chhutir Ghonta. Or Khobor – a commentary on the quickly degenerating urban life in contemporary Bengal.

Past two more albums and some more years, I was back in Bengal on a vacation and accidentally stumbled across Lal Matir Sorane – a divinely crafted collection of Bengali folk music. An assortment of the diverse musical schools on both sides of the International border that cuts through the heart Bengal. It had Bhnatiali, Baul, Santhali – all you could think of. And it wafted through bringing about some sense of seamless harmony in the overall theme – as if to ridicule the very British decision to divide Bengal on the basis of religion.

I have spent my formative years in Jharkhand and there was no missing the authenticity of the tunes from the border districts. As much as it was for the other numbers. I must admit I was mighty impressed and picked up the other available album on the racks then – Rimjhim.

Rimjhim was not a small effort by any measure – though musically not as rich as Lal Matir Sorane. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be so. However, it was more of the Silajit I had known all these years – uncompromised and purposefully loud. Rimjhim accompanied me for a couple of months in UK and received considerable praise from one Jim Ryan – a close mate – an Irishman from London who has always concentrated on Radiohead & REM.

Ever since, I had been following the web space for Sorbonash – Silajit’s next release. And it didn’t disappoint. The music though has changed completely – sounds very western this time – often like a 36 piece Live with Metallica. There are bits & pieces of notes from instruments we don’t get to hear very often. The arrangement is neat and above all – there is absolutely no convergence with the music in his earlier albums. To state the least – this one is different.

At the risk of being judgmental, I could bet my last 50 cents on this guy if it were to be an election of sorts to find out who can change the face of Bengali music. I have rarely seen this much of diversity and willingness to imbibe foreign influences in a Bengali musician. Internationally – that can be noticed in the likes of Peter Gabriel, Youssou n’ dour & Paul Simon.

With such talent in the backyard, Bengali music sure has a long way to go.

Of Hercules and human limitations

At 36, I lead a reasonably healthy life. Or so I would love to think. An hour of Tennis in the morning, 40 mins at the gym in the evening coupled with moderate doses of Alcohol – maybe twice a week. That’s impressive, by any standard.

I fret and fume at all things oily – provided they have been home cooked. An austere Chicken Sandwich and some Boiled Vegetable sautéed in Olive oil for Dinner is a luxury – given none of us are much inclined to cooking a four course meal after a long day in office.

At this rate, I expect to be living till the ripe old age of 70 maybe! And will it be too much to add that I expect to be active till about a year before I start concentrating on my own bucket list. Nah! That’s fair, very fair indeed. Why else would I spend so much time slogging my butt in a Tennis court?
That brings me to my limitations. Limitations that would probably not allow me live a day beyond my Seventieth Birthday. When you set the bar low, it’s just very easy to achieve and bask in that glory.

This is the story of someone who foolishly chose to set it very high – extremely high. She has never played tennis, never watched either. She’s not quite conversant on how a Gym should appear – as much as we are challenged by our expectations on how God should look, if he ever chose to pay us a visit.

She doesn’t believe in controlling diet to keep fit – at 96, she ensures you eat well if you wanted to stay healthy.

Thamma (my Grandma) needs an introduction. At 96, being other things and doing perfect justice to those roles, she’s been one of the best Cooks I have ever had the privilege to come across. Widowed at the age of 39, she’s been a strict vegetarian for the last 57 years. That however has not taken away an iota of her skills in cooking non vegetarian (mostly fish; and all varieties of it) for a strictly non-veg family.

Thamma suffered a cerebral attack when she was 82. She went into a coma and doggedly hung on there for a good six months till a God named Dilip Mukherjee dragged her out of it by her left ear, using some unearthly tricks called homeopathy in civilized society.

She took a little over 3 years to revive - though at the cost of the vision in her left eye. But she came back with a bang – with all her Chitol Machher Muitha & Bhetki Paturi intact. No less worthy of mention was the Mochar Ghonto or Thor Chhenchki.

But Dilip, The Holy seemed to have created enemies in the divine community. In 2004, at the age of 91, Thamma slipped near her bedroom and broke her Hip Joint. No one ever thought she would ever leave her bed again. No human mind, restricted by its limitations, could venture that far into the realm of imagination. But Thamma did, with the aid of a simple Walking stick.

Today, at 96, Thamma is back in the kitchen again – albeit, for occasions close to her heart – belting out some delectable Tel Koi & Potol Chingri. At other times, this true grand dame talks us through her rich experiences in life that include two World Wars, a horrible famine, the Indian independence, creation of Bangladesh, the Oil shocks and subsequent inflation and what not – the least of it being India shining.

I have rarely spent two weeks at a stretch at home (well, my dad’s home) since I left it at the age of 16. Twenty years back, things used to be very different and all these finer delicacies were just taken for granted.

I came back after twenty years to take stock of all that has changed. Thamma, for one, has not.