Anecdotes from Indian History

I recollect and pen down some anecdotes of Indian history from different sources.

When Shivaji maharaj got to know that the venerable Sinhagad fort has fallen but his favourite chieftain Tanaji Malsure died in the bloody battle he commented languidly “ Gad ala pan simha gela”. That means “We won the fort of Sinhagad but my lion is gone”. Simha translated to English is Lion. Shivaji maharaj lovingly called Tanaji as Simha or Lion.

When Warren Hastings attacked Awadh, the locals started to flee in fear. In hurried manner they were taking all they could with them and as it happens they made several mistakes in the flurry of activities. This is elaborated in a Hindi couplet by anonymous nicely.

“ Ghode par Hawda, Haathi par Jinn,

Jaldi bhago Jaldi Bhago Warren Hastin…”

This means that when they saw Warren Hasting they hurriedly put Hawda ( used on Elephant or Haathi) on a Ghoda (Horse) and a Jinn( usually put on a Ghoda,Horse) they put on back of Haathi (Elephant). These are mistakes made while they were busy fleeing.

When Birbal died Akbar lamented

“ Kanhai Brija Chor Giya, rahe Giya sab Ahir

  Sab shobha darbar ka har liya Bal ka bir”

This means as Lord Krishna left Brajadham, everyone was sad and desolate. Similarly Birbal’s demise took away all the joy and glory of his (Akbar’s) Navratna sabha/darbar.

When the last Mughal emperor Bahadur Shah Jaffar II was deported to Rangoon, Burma by the British, he was imprisoned in a small cell where he wrote on the wall with charcoal the following couplet.

“Na kissi ke Ankhon ke Noor hun

Na Kissi ka dil ka karaar hun

Koi Aa ke shaama jalaye kyun

Koi aa ke char phool chadaye kyun

Main woh bekaasi ka majaar hun”

Translated this means neither am I light of anybody’s eye, nor am I desire of anybody’s heart. Who will come to my grave with flower wreath? Who will light a lamp in my honour after I am gone? Because mine is the grave of despair.

This was in 1857. Many years down the lane I read in Indian Express that President of India, Dr Abdul Kalaam visited Rangoon and Bahadur Shah Jaffar’s grave. He spread a chaddar and offered flowers and lit a lamp. And he wrote in the visitor’s book: “Sir, at last somebody from your country remembered you and came to light a lamp in your grave. At last one of your countrymen remembered you.”

When Ishwarchandra Vidyasagar helped in formulating and promulgation of Widow remarriage Act and spreading women’s education, textile designers from Shantipur presented him a Dhoti with inscription like this .

“ Benche thako Bidyasagar chirojibi hoye,

   Stri shikkha korecho prosar, diyecho bidhobar biye”

Rajkahini by Abanindranath Tagore is a shadow of Todd’s Annals and Antiquities of rajasthan replete with anecdotes from Rajasthan royals. However since it is well known I abstain from quoting many stories.

When Sri Chaitanya spread the bhakti rasa and swept people of Bengal by Vaisnava sect, a phrase indictaed his popularity - 'Shantipur dubu dubu Node bhese jai' . This means Shantipur is already submered with bhakti rasa, Nodia is also going down.

Some historical evens etch a mark on collective human memory by being part of songs or poems. When Marathas used to  invade Bengal and demand tax, the following poem was born which is still sung as a lullaby. 'Chele ghumalo para juralo, borgi elo deshe, bulbulite dhan kheyeche , khajna debo kise ?'. This means as the young child falls to sleep, the Maraha (borgi) arrives and demands tax. However the landowner pleads since the birds ate the paddy seeds how will I pay tax ?

Nice examples.

‘Amai Bhasaili re’- Bengali song that bonds three nations (India, Pakistan and Bangladesh)

Note : I could not find many historical details like year of recordings of different versions . So I cannot authenticate who sang it first or whose version is older due to paucity of data in internet. However I tried aligning these versions chronologically and put the years of recording wherever I could find data. I seek help from my readers for more information. Your comments are most welcome.

A recent Coke Studio Pakistan video on Pakistani pop music pioneer Alamgir singing ‘Amai bhasaili re’ spurred my interest to search more.  

And what I found after sifting through internet is profound. The following article will show how a strong musical bond exists between three countries – India, Pakistan and Bangladesh of the Indian subcontinent through a song sung in the language Bangla.

‘Amai bhasaili re’ is a Bengali song of the genre Bhatiali. Bhatiali songs are sung by sailors/fishermen/boatmen in West Bengal and Bangladesh. They are well known folk songs handed over from generation to generation and are very popular for their simple tune and soulful lyrics. Google search shows this particular song ‘Amai dubaili re, amai bhasaili re’ was a collection of the Bengali poet Jasimuddin and made popular by Abbasuddin Ahmed, the singer from Bangladesh. Please click on the following video for Abbasuddin’s recording.  The song has simple words but intense meanings. The sailor complains to the river waves that your ups and downs is drowning me at one time and floating me at another. It seems the shore is distant, however the boat which is broken should not drown. The shore has to be reached. Similar situations in our life makes us boatmen cruising through the turbulent sea of life where our ultimate redemption lies in reaching the end of our life - the death - the shore.

In India it was popularized by several singers. Nirmalendu Chowdhury became immensely popular in post independence Calcutta by swaying a whole generation of youth to its melodious tune. In the movie Ganga made by Rajen Tarafdar in 1960, Manna Dey sung this song under the baton of music director Salil Chowdhury.  

 This song , translated to Hindi by Gulzar with words differing from the original while maintaining the spirit was used sung by Hemant Kumar in 1961 in a Bimal Roy classic ‘Kabuliwala’. Note the tune; it is same as the original bhatiali song.

Then in Pakistan the pop icon Alamgir popularized this song in 1970’s. He migrated from Bangladesh to Karachi during the turbulent seventies. Along with him migrated this Bengali song which became an instant hit in Pakistan and a highpoint of his career when he recorded it in 1973. The recent Coke Studio video by Alamgir shows the immense popularity of this song which has swayed an entire nation for decades. Being a pop music pioneer and a pop icon in Pakistan, Alamgir commands a huge fan following spreading over generations. Following video is his interview on this topic where his awestruck musician friends chip in. 

This song continues to be popular in Bangladesh and India. Following videos are testimony of that. 

Sailors all over the world sing while rowing   to keep off the drudgery. However everywhere their songs reflect the perennial flow of the river, the ups and downs of the waves and how it blends with human life. Examples of the likes of Bhatiali genre or sailormen singing can be had from Russia and US. ‘Song of the Volga boatmen’ is a famous example from Russia. ‘Old man river’ is another example from the US. It also influenced Bhupen Hazarika of Assam, India in ‘Bistirno Dupare’. That is a different story altogether.

So the universal appeal and the ubiquitous popularity of the Bengali bhatiali song ‘Amai bhasaili re’ proves the existence of a unique musical bond and common heritage running through a vast sub-continent despite the geographical barrier and political animosity. This also proves that music has a timeless appeal that transcends borders and generations.

Note: I included only one Bengali song to illustrate the musical bond between three countries. However Hindustani classical music (the ragas and gharanas) and Quawalis and Ghazals form a common bond between India, Pakistan and Bangladesh. Rabindrasangeet, Nazrulgeeti, Atulprasadi, Dwijendrageeti, Lalon geeti, Baul songs form another common bond between India and Bangladesh. And then there is Bollywood whose songs and singers has charmed all across these borders for generations. I still remember a top Pakistani diplomat with roots in Murshidabad royal family scouring Calcutta music stores in early 2000’s to collect Pankaj Mullick songs. And I also remember flowing tributes by Javed Akhtar and Gulzar on Noorjehan who migrated to Pakistan after partition.

Marilyn Monroe and Chanel No.5

During my M.Tech in Biotechnology in Jadavpur in 2001, one of my professors from Chemical Engineering Department Dr. Pinaki Bhattacharyya used to teach us diffusion. He used to take example of Chanel No.5 while explaining how fragrance molecules diffuse from one place to another. With a naughty smile he mentioned Marilyn Monroe loved to wear Chanel No.5. Then he digressed to nitty gritty of chemical engineering. But why did a smile hang on ?

I decode his furtive smile today. Today after long I retrieve the video which shows why Marilyn was famously linked to Chanel No.5 ! I could after all decode the hint in his smile. Watch it. Marilyn famously answered " Only a few drops of Chanel No.5 " when asked what did she usually wear to bed at night ! Much is left to your imagination.

Another ad on this theme was by Brook Shields for Clavin Klein jeans. " You know what's there between me and my Calvin Klein Jeans ? ....Nothing" said Brook Shields whose Blue Lagoon made many young men come of age in early 1980's.

How Bibhutibhushan published Pather Panchali

I share this anecdote from Sagarmoy Ghosh’s book ‘Rachona Sangraha’

Bibhutibhushan after his graduation worked for the rich Bengali zamindar Khelat Ghosh in Bhagalpur, Bihar. He was a manager at their timber industry. Trees of the forest in Bhagalpur were felled, cut and supplied to the timber merchants. Bibhutibhushan was working in that forest and this was the place which shaped Aranyak. This was also the place where Pather Panchali was written. Bibhuti babu being a sensitive soul longed for the literary adda of Calcutta and Upendranath Gangopadhyay was a lawyer in Bhagalpur at whose residence a weekly literary meet would take place. Upen babu noticed a tall man wearing a dhoti and kurta with a lathi and lantern at hand comes, sits quietly, listens intently and leaves quietly. One evening it was Kalboisakhi jhor. Nobody arrived at the meet. Upen babu found only Bibhuti bhushan is present. Quizzically he asked “ What do you do ? Why do you carry a lantern ? Why do you come ?” Bibhuti babu said he works at Khelat Ghosh’s zamindari, carries a lantern because he has to walk through the forest when he goes back at night and that he comes to enjoy the literary flavour. Upen babu asked “Have you written anything ?” “Yes,” said Bibhutibhushan, “ I have written a novel”. Upen babu was about to fall from his chair “ What !! You have written a novel?? People start with short poetries, and then they graduate to short stories. How come you have written a whole novel?? OK…give it to me next week. I shall read”. This was the conversation. After that Bibhuti babu left when the storm subsided. Next week Bibhuti babu came back with the novel he called Pather Panchali and very shyly handed it over. By the time Upen babu finished reading it he realized he has spotted a gem. The moment Bibhutibhashan came for next meeting Upen babu exclaimed “ Apni ke he moshai ? Ei lekha to jogot joi korbe !”. Looking at a shy Bibhuti babu Upen babu said “ But a word of advice…..you have to learn the metrics of writing….some chapters are too long, some are short….please count the words and distribute the chapters evenly….then you give it to me …I shall arrange for its publication”. Bibhuti bhushan was amazed. He went back and made the changes. When he handed over the final manuscript Upen babu said “ Bibhuti babu, as a father takes a son’s responsibility, I take your manuscript with same responsibility. I am going back to Calcutta. My son-in-law is funding me to start a weekly literary magazine. I promise your novel will be published in my magazine in episodes and mark my word, you are the next star of Bengali literature”.

Then Upen babu made Calcutta his base and started the magazine “ Bichitra”. In no time Bichitra became talk of the town. Bibhuti babu got the news of the phenomenal success of Upen babu’s effort but found that his novel Pather Panchali is still unpublished. By now almost a year has passed and Bibhutibhushan took up a school teaching job and came back to Calcutta. One day after school he visited Bichitra’s office. Upen babu was not there but a few suited booted Bengali gentlemen present there dismissed a dhoti kurta clad Bibhutibabu wearing a torn brown soiled cambis shoe as if he was a piece of dirt.. They were animatedly discussing sexuality in D H Lawrence’s literature. Waiting for Upen babu , a shy Bibhuti babu stood outside the door. Suddenly from a room inside came out Upen babu. Looking at Bibhuti babu coyly waiting outside he ran and embraced Bibhuti babu and exclaimed “Lo and behold the next star of Bengali literature. Bibhuti, you are going to revolutionize the literary field”. The gentlemen sitting on sofa were incredulous. They could not believe what they heard from a man of stature like Upen babu. Their jaws opened in disbelief and the collective thought was “ This man ! this lowly man with such dirty clothes and shoes is going to be the next star !! No, impossible .” How wrong they were. Pather Panchali started as episodic novel published in Bichitra. Bengal has never witnessed such plain emotions, such simplicity coming out from a village boy living a mundane life. It was so fresh. Upen babu got flooded with congratulatory letters. Bibhuti bhushan later on told that being a village boy he never liked the noise of Calcutta but that afternoon when Upen babu heralded him to the pantheon of Bengali literature he was ecstatic and humbled.

Rest as they say is history.

NB : A letter shortly after the publication of Pather Panchali came to Bichitra office. Bard of Bengal from Jorasanko, Calcutta wanted to know from Upenbabu who this new writer is !!

Santa Came to Kolkata

Christmas in Calcutta has always been a nice time. Hailing from a liberal family we always enjoyed the revelry of the festive season in Park Street. Nahoum’s cake ( the last Jewish shop in New Market), Flurys pastries, Jim Reeves, midnight mass at St. Paul’s cathedral and fairs in Maidan were parts of Calcutta living. As a child, I always received goodies in Christmas. That none other than Santa Claus brought them was my firm belief until my age of innocence was gone.

So it was natural that my nephew Harsh would be treated likewise during Christmas. And being a little child Harsh always believed in Santa. But the winter of 2003 was different. Harsh was 6 years old now. He demanded the proof of existence of Santa. No longer could he be placated with the story that Santa daddu brought all the goodies from distant North Pole riding on a sledge.

Seeing is believing. Being his dearest uncle I was entrusted with the duty of taking him to Santa. Many wise men and women suggested me shopping malls, restaurants and churches as probable places of Santa’s presence. Persons dressed up as Santa generally entertain little children in these places- they said. Now with this piece of information Harsh offered his help also. Every morning my cherub would scuttle pages of newspapers and Santa’s photo in any advertisement or news would herald Santa’s arrival to him which I had to take note of seriously. Why did these papers have Santa’s photos? To build a festive mood or attract children? Uff !!!

Anyway armed with this information Harsh and I embarked on the journey to find Santa on 25^th December evening in Kolkata (politically correct rechristened version of Calcutta). A visit to St.Paul’s cathedral and scenes of nativity therein did not show presence of Santa. With anxious nephew on tow I meandered through traffic filled roads of Kolkata to reach Park Street at 8’ o clock.  It was choc-a-bloc with revelers. But to Harsh it meant nothing.  Looking for Santa we reached Music World. The guard, to my nephew’s dismay, declared Santa was there but he left just now.  I was not prepared for what happened next. Harsh started crying and blaming me. A little child crying on the street can be a difficult proposition. This scene and my explanation thereafter attracted many sympathetic passersby who suggested that last resort of Santa may be shopping malls. We headed to Shopper’s Stop. It was 9.30 p.m. Santa was there in the morning. He has left in the evening. Harsh was furious. He would not budge a single inch. It was my entire fault and I had to pay the price by standing whole night in the December cold, declared harsh. Lot of coaxing and cajoling had us on the way to home. And voila! Our luck shined. Santa was there, in front of a restaurant. But spotting a real Santa Harsh became transfixed. When Santa said Hello and handed him a chocolate, Harsh was already speechless with awe. That white-bordered red velvet coat and white cotton beard of Santa bowled him over!

We did not walk back home; we flew. We soared on ecstasy; the ecstasy of seeing Santa brought wings to my nephew’s long cherished wish. On that day I realized the power of the sentence “Seeing is believing”. I shall never forget those twinkles in a little child’s eyes.

College Street Boi Para

As an exiled Calcuttan I witness with deep sadness the decline of a great city. Calcutta these days looks like a rich zamindar (landed gentry) falling into hard times. Yet in this city there exists an institution which I consider to be one of the best in the academically inclined world. I am talking of College Street ‘boi para’ (The ‘book shops/stores’ of College Street). Noted Bengali writer Shankar once lamented on closure of Thacker Spink, a Barnes and Nobles of India. But my story of College Street will show not all is lost.

It was 2007. I went home in June after joining IIT Bombay as a research scholar. I was looking for some books and what better place can be than College Street! I visited almost all the pavement book stores in search of ‘The Meditations’ by ancient Roman philosopher king Marcus Aurelius. Ever since I read Upamanyu Chatterji’s English August wherein the reference of this book I found, I got interested to get a copy. From the reference I knew Penguin India published this book way back in the 1960’s. But my search in College Street was in vain until I went to Dasgupta & Company, one of the oldest book stores in India since 1880’s. Following is the transcript of my dialogues with the affable Mr.Aurobindo Dasgupta.

Me: Hi, Do you have a copy of ‘The Meditations’ by Marcus Aurelius?

Mr.Dasgupta: No. That book is out-of-print for pretty long time in India. Penguin used to publish it in the sixties. But why do you need that book? Where are you from?

Me (surprised, thinking this man already knows what I know about the book!)  : Oh ! it is not there. Well…actually I am from IIT Bombay. I read a lot and I am interested to read this book.

Mr.Dasgupta: I see. You are from IIT. So you must have an internet connection?

Me (a little more surprised): Yes, but why do you ask?

Mr.Dasgupta: Well…then please log in to MIT library website. You will find the book. They have a copy. You can download the chapters and print.

Me: Thank you. I shall try that.

Now I was more than surprised. Could a College Street book store owner be so knowledgeable? My doubt was put to rest once I logged in to MIT library site. OMG! The book was very much there, for free!

Now tell me which book shop owner in this whole country can surprise you with such erudite all-encompassing love for book?

A Loyal taxi Driver in Calcutta

It was winter of 2003. We sold out our big ancestral home in posh South Calcutta location due to some unavoidable reasons and purchased two flats in a not-so-posh locality in Calcutta. Understandably we were sad since our distinguished forefathers who were a part of Bengal history enjoyed almost a century of residing in that posh locale. But one incident that happened to me in that time etched a deep memory.

It was a wintry morning. I was going to see our new property. I came out from our three-storied building to the street in front and hailed a cab. The taxi driver looked at me quizzically and then gave a long stare at our ancestral house. The moment I hopped in and told him my destination, he asked me “Is it your house? Does this place belong to you?” while starting his taxi. I was perplexed and became a little uneasy because many-a-times when you sell out a big property a lot of people in locality get to know somehow and become extra-inquisitive about the deal and its paraphernalia. And ours was a disputed property. So I had reasons to be alert. Anyway I said a curt “Yes” and kept mum through rest of the journey except while giving directions. When I reached my destination after half an hour or so I asked him how much should I pay? His reply baffled me more. He said “Babu, I will not take a single penny from you. This ride is for free. Even I can offer you a free ride every time you or your family member boards my taxi. I am forever grateful to your family. My father survived because of your ancestor’s kind refuge”. You do not expect this kind of answer from a cab driver who generally minds business. I was clueless. I asked him the reason for such kindness. Then he told me a true-story that shows loyalty, chivalry and humanity is not all lost in these days of all-pervading consumerism and capitalism. Hold your breath dear readers; I am going back to 1946!

16th August 1946 is a black day in Indian history. On that fateful day Muslim league launched their demand for a separate Islamic nation (Pakistan) strongly across India. Calcutta was the worst hit. History says at least six thousand people were butchered in Calcutta alone due to Hindu-Muslim riot ( Readers may watch a movie ‘Hey Ram’ starred by Kamal Hasan and Rani Mukherji to get a gut-wrenching glimpse of what actually happened on that very day on the streets of Calcutta or read ‘Bangalnama’ by Tapan Raychaudhuri). The said taxi driver is a Hindu whose father was young in 1946. Their family was disturbed in the said riot. Our family with the leadership of late Sri Kushi Prasun Chatterji ( my paternal grandfather’s eldest brother), a noted lawyer and Congress patron of his time in Calcutta offered refuge to many riot-stricken Hindu families including this said taxi driver’s family in our big ancestral mansion. Angered by this the local Muslim league leaders barged in and demanded Kushi babu’s intervention in supporting riot-afflicted Muslim families also. Kushi babu showed exemplary courage that day which is still remembered by old-timers in Bhowanipore locality of Calcutta. He immediately wrote a pact with Muslim league leaders that innocent Muslims will also be given refuge in our home given that they should not fight at any cost with the Hindu refugees. Realizing the graveness of the situation the said leaders signed the pact; the Muslim victims of riot too came in our house. For next seven days or so until the riots and hostilities subsided, until the communal hatred ebbed away the Hindu and Muslim riot-afflicted victims stayed in our house peacefully with their food and shelter completely taken care of by our family. This taxi driver was not even born then, his young father  took our refuge. Then they went back to their own homes after situation improved. And Kushi babu’s benevolence became folklore in Bhowanipore, Calcutta ( Kushi babu’s courageous tale got recounted recently albeit with less details than mine in 2007 by Dhritikanto Lahiri Chowdhuri in Anandabazar Patrika after he received Ananda Puroskar for his book ‘Hatir Boi’).

Now recounting his tale the cab driver told me with tears in his eyes “ Babu, once your forefathers saved mine. And my father always told me showing your house that anybody from that house is my guest and savior. Your house is our temple, babu ! How can I forget that you stay in that house and come from that family which saved our family from perishing for sure? Babu, my father is dead. But as long as I am alive I will follow what he said. I will not take a single penny from you, babu. Please tell this to your family also.” Now my eyes moistened as I heard his story. He left. But he left an indelible impression on me. I understood it is not a building that a man resides makes a man. It is not money that makes a man. It was Kushi Prasun Chatterji’s life-saving measures and good deeds that saved so many families from perishing away. And this extra-ordinary loyalty of an ordinary cab driver restituted my faith in humanity.