Blog Posts by Dhrubaa Ghosh

'North East', 'Assam', 'illegal immigrants'. Keywords that have been 'trending' well since early August. Every news report, article, op-ed is peppered with a group of familiar terms whenever the North East issue is being addressed. Of course, 'North East issue' itself is one of these vague, generalized and therefore safe terms.

Like most content producers living off the web, I wanted to write about the situation in Kokrajhar, Bongaigaon, Dhubri and Chirang. It was a hot topic, after all. Stories, reports and photos of the relief camps looked suitably bleak. There were lots of sad children, weeping women and lost, scarred men.

However, apart from Kokrajhar, capital of Bodoland and Dhubri, I was not familiar with the other names. So I set out to research a bit by looking up legal documents, archival news items and asking my friends in Guwahati about it. It seemed Bodos were forcing illegal Muslim immigrants to vacate their homes and flee to relief camps in a violent land-grabbing bid. In

I was in New Delhi when 'Paan Singh Tomar' was released. There was a multiplex at Nehru Place, and it was barely 15 minutes walk from where I was staying in Greater Kailash (GK 1). There was some technical disruption while running the movie, and a bearded young man, a thin boy, and some others were just as vocal in asking for a replay. Shouting at the theatre manager together created a sort of instant bond. Consequently, four people from the audience settled into Mc Donald's downstairs after the show was over. We talked about Paan Singh, sports, government neglect of sports, the beautiful landscape of Chambal, the link between geography and cultures, and then got into a massive debate on spiritual questions.

None of us remember each others names, and we never met again. But we did have an interesting conversation, thanks to Paan Singh.

As an Indian, it is difficult to decide what India is. Is it the first map we learned to draw in school? Is it supporting Indian cricketers? Hoisting

13 April, 1919, Amritsar. The venue was Jallianwala Bagh, a park enclosed by walls on three sides, with just one exit point via an obscure, narrow lane. A shootout was ordered by Brigadier General Reginald E. H. Dyer, who later on faced a tribunal and was removed from service. He had emptied all the ammunition  in ten minutes, firing 1,650 rounds (approximately), killing thousands who hardly figure in the 'official statistics' given out by the British Government or even the Indian National Congress.

It was a Sunday. Some 15,000 — 20,000 people assembled at Jallianwala Bagh to celebrate Baisakhi Purnima. It's true that meetings had been banned in view of a probable insurgency, but a peaceful gathering (women, children and aged people included) couldn't have been a 'threat' for the well equipped Angrez Police.

Rabindranath Tagore got to know the details by 22 May, 1919. The mass media kept mum and whatever reportage was given out was heavily 'censored' or distorted. Tagore had a tough

Growing up in Kolkata, the golden voice of George (aka Debabrata) Biswas reverberating from the radio, haunted our sultry afternoons. It was rather amazing how he stayed on as a household name even after getting blacklisted by Visva Bharati — sole authorized holder of Tagore's copyrights then. "The advent of microphones saw an entire breed of singers becoming feeble crooners. George-da's sonorous rendering of Rabindrasangeet surely made a difference" observed Satyajit Ray, a distant relative of his. In short - Biswabharati disliked Biswas exactly for what he was — an effortless performer. But despite such hostility, the singer survived.

Debabrata Biswas was born in what is Bangladesh now. That was in 1911, the fateful year. King George visited India, cancelled the partition of Bengal, following which Tagore composed his 'Jana Gana Mana'. This got young Biswas his nickname 'George', and it stuck for life. He was one of those who left the folds of the Communist Party of India out of

Rarely does an auteur have the fortune of starting a century of controversy from the moment he creates a piece. As a phenomenon, Rabindranath Tagore is indeed rare. And the text in question is our national anthem, born infamous exactly 101 years ago.

Not so long ago a hoax message made its rounds via chain mails and social networking sites. This was in 2008, 2010 and 2012. It claimed that UNESCO had declared Jana Gana Mana to be 'the best national anthem of the world'. In 2004, Sadhwi Ritamvara circulated a hate audio cassette against Muslims, where she claims the song was an act of treachery. Hate mails and heated responses have done the rounds every year since 2001. In the late 1960's, 1980's, each time India went to war, each time a new government formed — there has been a furor over the origin of the song.

The Morning Song of India : in Tagore's Handwriting

The Morning Song of India : in Tagore's Handwriting

Jana gana mana adhinayaka jaya hey,

Bharata bhagya bidhata….

Critics, journalists, poets, politicians, and just about everyone has wondered who this 'adhinayak' could be. The

The 65^th Independence Day is done and gone. But all through August, the nation celebrates by posting extra guards at rail stations, offering green, white and orange garments on clearance sales, and protesting against any public issue affecting more than ten Indians.

To keep up the spirit, dear reader, here's a quiz cum survey on our national emblems. Not sure if it's topical or relevant, but that's what democracy is all about.

Q. What is our national fruit?

Yes, we actually have one. It's mango, or as the India.Gov website defines: 'a fleshy fruit, eaten ripe or used green for pickles etc., of the tree mangifera indica…' So the next time you bite into one, do it with reverence. To feel inspired, watch Katrina in the fruit juice ads.

Our question: What is the most patriotic fruit? Mango or banana? Maybe pineapple? What about jackfruit or guava? Do you think the mango is still just as charming? May be it's not 'in' anymore, in these times of imported kiwis or healthy aloe-vera. Aam admi,

Do we instinctively enjoy a game more if we are not the players? What is it about cheering from the ringside that eggs us on so much and sets our blood afire? Or is it our natural instinct to turn any public event into a carnival, and in turn, an answer to all our daily problems?

'Religion is the opium of the people.' It's the most hackneyed quotation of Karl Marx. Sports, movies, and more than anything, politics, are also opiates for mass consumption. The basic requirement is opium. Something to numb the brain so we can black out something; may be everything.

To forget an empty stomach and the failure to fill it, one can drink cheap country liquor and puke. But even that bottle would cost a few rupees, and the effect would last barely a night. On the other hand, hollering with a mob at a game is free if you climb over the fence, and the effect can linger for weeks.The players can be hero worshipped, gossip about corrupt organizers circulated and enjoyed, replays watched, newspapers

Who said Bengalis love fish and sweets over everything else? Neither Sourav the tragic hero nor SRK the new poster boy tops the list. The one thing that all Bengalis adore, sometimes subconsciously, is self-criticism.

Let's check out some pet peeves:

• It's true that Rabindranath Tagore had won the Nobel prize, but it has been stolen.
•  Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose was a great patriot, but no one knows exactly how he died.
• Presidency College has lost its glory, though it's now a University.
• Young Bengalis — that's anyone between 2 to 45 — don't know enough about Ram Mohan Roy or Swami Vivekananda or Vidyasagar or just about any illustrious Bengali, except, of course, Sourav again.
• Jyoti Basu and the CPI(M) had made the state a shamsaan, and now Mamata is adding bits of wood to the pyre. 
• Basically, it's Kaliyug, and the best thing to do is talk about it over tea and a generous helping of oily snacks.

When one proves conclusively that all Indian states and everyone else in the world too has