+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
BOHAG MATHU ETI RITU NAHAI
(Bohag is not merely a season)
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
BY UDDIPANA GOSWAMI
===================
It is Bihu back home
Perhaps there is bohag in the air,
Perhaps death.
Perhaps dhol-pepa-gagana sound
Perhaps bullets.
Perhaps the kopou is in bloom
Perhaps blood.
...bullet, blood and death, death, blood and bullet: that's all there is. Perhaps I am better away; or perhaps, better home...
But it is Bihu today
Back home,
And I am away.
***
I wrote this in 1998 in a bout of intense nostalgia that was mixed with sadness at the loss of a highly romanticized paradise. It is Bihu again back home, but home has lost much of its romance, because I have lost much of my romanticism.
Or perhaps not. If I had, would I be running away today from Bihu back home because I cannot stand the cacophony of the growing commercialization of Bihu (as of everything else) in Guwahati? Bullet, blood and death seem preferable to this cacophony, because they at least indicate that somebody is still fighting for something, that somebody still has faith in some ideology, and has not freshly sold their integrity and pandered the collective soul for a few hundred thousand rupees.
***
But this is not a discussion of how the flag bearers of the aspirations of every small and big nationality in Assam are increasingly going around - as a senior friend wryly puts it - with a 'to let' sign on their behinds. This is a discussion about the increasing commercialization of Bihu as it is celebrated in Guwahati. The sell-out of ideology by its keepers is relevant to this discussion only as far as it explains the larger phenomenon of commercialization of society in Assam at large. After all, if the price of a car is the same as the price of a soul, imagine the number of cars there will be cluttering the street outside every bihutoli in Guwahati. Would not the smoke from these cars smother all ideologies?
***
When Radha Gobinda Baruah brought Rongali Bihu onstage for the first time at Latasil in Guwahati in 1952, I wonder if he had any idea that in another half century, everything about Bihu would be stage managed - from its form and content to its very spirit - and that to the unrestrained demonstrations of love, laughter, gala and gaiety that characterize Rongali Bihu would also be added the ostentatious demonstration of wealth. Today, Bihu has become big business. Some individuals live solely on the income generated by organizing Bihu once every year - also, there are the ridiculous add-ons like Bohagi Adarani Utsab (festival for welcoming Bohag or spring) and Bohagi Bidai (farewell to Bohag) celebrated before and after the actual traditional Bihu time. All in all, almost every time of the year has become festival time because staged festivals translate into income generation. There is no dearth of sponsors, or of artistes and wannabes, or of organizers. If there is any dearth, it is of the spontaneity that Bihu stands for.
***
As a child, Bihu time was an exciting and busy time for me too. When rehearsing for chorus or Bihu dance competitions organized in various bihutolis, I did not however realize that I was also being part of a process of commercializing Bihu. I only used to get goosebumps every time I sang 'Sira Senehi Mur Bhaxa Janani' or 'O Mur Apunar Dex' and saw the gamosa fluttering atop the flag post at the bihutoli. I was amazed at the richness of my culture while watching the cultural shows that many times lasted till the pre-dawn hours. I questioned nothing, accepted everything; even the fact that Mukoli Bihu (open-air Bihu), which is the only true kind of Bihu, had become an aberration, organized only at select locations in Guwahati.
***
I had never seen Bihu outside Guwahati, except in films and on television. In Sibasagar last week, I saw Bihu in a different form. Most of the celebrations were in the open air. At the Gargaon Kareng Ghar, from tiny tots to youngsters, everybody formed troupes and was dancing. At a village near Charaideo, I saw little girls and boys going from house to house singing husori and dancing Bihu and blessing each family at the end of the performance as was the ritual. It was a pleasure to see these tiny ones tottering around and banging on their instruments trying to achieve some semblance of tune and rhythm. A filmmaker friend from Kolkata was fascinated by the colorful picture these little dancers projected. I found myself wishing I had had a share of this when I was a child.
Then suddenly, while driving around to catch some of the color on camera, our car had to brake hastily as a troupe of these pint-sized performers threw a bamboo pole on the road. In order to be able to proceed, we had to pay them a ransom, and I realized they had imbibed the contemporary easy-money culture quite thoroughly. If it is not a bamboo pole, it is a gun; if it is not a troupe of dancers, it is a band of current or ex- 'revolutionaries'. And if paying up is the only way to pass by and continue on one's journey, who wouldn't? We certainly did. Anybody mindful of their own interests would.
Just as a corporate house would pay a troupe of local young men a sum of more than a hundred thousand rupees simply for coming first in a husori competition (and they instantly spend that sum on food and drinks). If this effectively dilutes any resistance to their anti-local activities and co-opts the section of the society that is most likely to resist, why not?
***
It is Bihu back home, and for once I am glad I left before I saw more.
(SOURCE :: my-guwahati.blogspot.com) first published:April 19, 2006, 16:43 ISTlast updated:April 19, 2006, 16:43 IST
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Just back from Assam, after covering the Assembly elections, and nothing could have been more pertinent than what my best friend wrote. About the State - of moral decline. About her State, a state that has seen insurgent groups popping up everywhere. Spewing Ideology and Blood. But reaping the benefits of the spilt blood is the urban elite of Assam. From high profile journalists cum researchers cum expert analysts to the wannabe academics to NGO activists to peace mongers, Assam is surviving off anti-insurgency money. (AND SOMETIMES MONEY FROM THE INSURGENTS.) And the innocent erotica of Bihu is losing out to the politics beyond the Guns. Read On.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
BOHAG MATHU ETI RITU NAHAI
(Bohag is not merely a season)
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
BY UDDIPANA GOSWAMI
===================
It is Bihu back home
Perhaps there is bohag in the air,
Perhaps death.
Perhaps dhol-pepa-gagana sound
Perhaps bullets.
Perhaps the kopou is in bloom
Perhaps blood.
...bullet, blood and death, death, blood and bullet: that's all there is. Perhaps I am better away; or perhaps, better home...
But it is Bihu today
Back home,
And I am away.
***
I wrote this in 1998 in a bout of intense nostalgia that was mixed with sadness at the loss of a highly romanticized paradise. It is Bihu again back home, but home has lost much of its romance, because I have lost much of my romanticism.
Or perhaps not. If I had, would I be running away today from Bihu back home because I cannot stand the cacophony of the growing commercialization of Bihu (as of everything else) in Guwahati? Bullet, blood and death seem preferable to this cacophony, because they at least indicate that somebody is still fighting for something, that somebody still has faith in some ideology, and has not freshly sold their integrity and pandered the collective soul for a few hundred thousand rupees.
***
But this is not a discussion of how the flag bearers of the aspirations of every small and big nationality in Assam are increasingly going around - as a senior friend wryly puts it - with a 'to let' sign on their behinds. This is a discussion about the increasing commercialization of Bihu as it is celebrated in Guwahati. The sell-out of ideology by its keepers is relevant to this discussion only as far as it explains the larger phenomenon of commercialization of society in Assam at large. After all, if the price of a car is the same as the price of a soul, imagine the number of cars there will be cluttering the street outside every bihutoli in Guwahati. Would not the smoke from these cars smother all ideologies?
***
When Radha Gobinda Baruah brought Rongali Bihu onstage for the first time at Latasil in Guwahati in 1952, I wonder if he had any idea that in another half century, everything about Bihu would be stage managed - from its form and content to its very spirit - and that to the unrestrained demonstrations of love, laughter, gala and gaiety that characterize Rongali Bihu would also be added the ostentatious demonstration of wealth. Today, Bihu has become big business. Some individuals live solely on the income generated by organizing Bihu once every year - also, there are the ridiculous add-ons like Bohagi Adarani Utsab (festival for welcoming Bohag or spring) and Bohagi Bidai (farewell to Bohag) celebrated before and after the actual traditional Bihu time. All in all, almost every time of the year has become festival time because staged festivals translate into income generation. There is no dearth of sponsors, or of artistes and wannabes, or of organizers. If there is any dearth, it is of the spontaneity that Bihu stands for.
***
As a child, Bihu time was an exciting and busy time for me too. When rehearsing for chorus or Bihu dance competitions organized in various bihutolis, I did not however realize that I was also being part of a process of commercializing Bihu. I only used to get goosebumps every time I sang 'Sira Senehi Mur Bhaxa Janani' or 'O Mur Apunar Dex' and saw the gamosa fluttering atop the flag post at the bihutoli. I was amazed at the richness of my culture while watching the cultural shows that many times lasted till the pre-dawn hours. I questioned nothing, accepted everything; even the fact that Mukoli Bihu (open-air Bihu), which is the only true kind of Bihu, had become an aberration, organized only at select locations in Guwahati.
***
I had never seen Bihu outside Guwahati, except in films and on television. In Sibasagar last week, I saw Bihu in a different form. Most of the celebrations were in the open air. At the Gargaon Kareng Ghar, from tiny tots to youngsters, everybody formed troupes and was dancing. At a village near Charaideo, I saw little girls and boys going from house to house singing husori and dancing Bihu and blessing each family at the end of the performance as was the ritual. It was a pleasure to see these tiny ones tottering around and banging on their instruments trying to achieve some semblance of tune and rhythm. A filmmaker friend from Kolkata was fascinated by the colorful picture these little dancers projected. I found myself wishing I had had a share of this when I was a child.
Then suddenly, while driving around to catch some of the color on camera, our car had to brake hastily as a troupe of these pint-sized performers threw a bamboo pole on the road. In order to be able to proceed, we had to pay them a ransom, and I realized they had imbibed the contemporary easy-money culture quite thoroughly. If it is not a bamboo pole, it is a gun; if it is not a troupe of dancers, it is a band of current or ex- 'revolutionaries'. And if paying up is the only way to pass by and continue on one's journey, who wouldn't? We certainly did. Anybody mindful of their own interests would.
Just as a corporate house would pay a troupe of local young men a sum of more than a hundred thousand rupees simply for coming first in a husori competition (and they instantly spend that sum on food and drinks). If this effectively dilutes any resistance to their anti-local activities and co-opts the section of the society that is most likely to resist, why not?
***
It is Bihu back home, and for once I am glad I left before I saw more.
(SOURCE :: my-guwahati.blogspot.com)
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