Diwali is the festival of lights. It coincides with the Bengali Kali Pujo. The previous year at AA, I attended the Diwali ceremony put together by the Indian students association. Now this is the point at which I make a pre emptive apology; I realize that people have classes and research and dating and myriad activities to occupy their time with. Hence the very fact that a ceremony was put together is something to be admired. And one who had absolutely no constructive role to play should really not criticize the people who put their time and energy into making this happen. Hence, I should, in all decency shut up right now. But then, my dear reader, astute person that you are, you must have noted that I am not, in fact, shutting up. I have things to say at this point. So let me go ahead and establish my credentials as a critic. I have been part of the organization and logistics of cultural events of substantially larger size and scope in my institute days. I have suffered the consequences of being a part of a not too well organized cultural team and I have also been a part of a very well organized drama team. So here goes. The previous year, we started off by reciting some random shlokas from our religious texts.
First point: distinguish between culture, a fun party and a religious event. Mixing these is a skill that Bengalis and only Bengalis (amongst Indians) have perfected. Attribute it to our superiority as an erudite, scholastically accomplished, and culturally advanced race. This, in spite of our known prejudice against organization! Hence, my suggestions: practice helps. Knowing which shloka from the Bhagvad Gita you plan to recite beforehand is a good idea. Also a good idea is practicing the correct intonation. There is nothing more upsetting than hearing someone barbarically butchering Sanskrit. That language is holy, people! Get my drift? And there is no shame in rehearsing. Asking each other what to do next is pretty sad. When you are doing something, the value of which is as much emotional as it is ritualistic, then get the rituals right. Stupid pagans!
Second point. If you cannot sing, do not sing. Karaoke bars exist for a reason. Importing karaoke into a random evening’s enjoyment is undiluted evil.
Third point: coming up with a little skit is a good idea. Not rehearsing destroys the effect, however. Also, using the old brain for writing a halfway decent script is an awesome thing to do. The alternative, which was what we were exposed to, happens to be shite.
Fourth point: people, please do not applaud the brain dead antics of these people on stage just because they happen to be your friends. The argument, ‘they just need some encouragement’ applies to someone writing an exam/applying for a scholarship/a third world country taking its first steps into democracy. For self delusional people with karaoke microphones, we have straitjackets, and a variety of socks to stuff down their throats and gag them with.
Hence, this year, when I found out that the graduate school was showing Hotel Rwanda, I decided to go there instead. Not one to miss a dinner anyhow, I asked Rachna to get me a dinner coupon (we have to pay for these things, before someone calls me a cheap so-and-so).
Hotel Rwanda talks about how a Hutu hotel house manager cajoled, lied, arm twisted cops, militiamen and UN peacekeepers in a desperate effort to save the lives of the Tutsi refugees who were sheltered at his hotel. C’s blog has a much better description here. But, two things; first, unless it happens or has happened to your own people, somehow we are insulated by several protective layers to the horror of what actually happened. If that were not the case, then an enlightened world would have adhered to the Versailles treaty, or the Geneva convention. We would not have fought the wars that we have. Death so unnecessary and so avoidable would cease to be just a spectacle on CNN. The second point being that while the director worked to make his characters three dimensional, somehow the effect remained that of fiction: we are/were/never will be part of that story. Mousumidi told me to see 1947 Earth, which deals with the issues of the Partition. That is on the cards.
Dinner was good. The Gulabjamun was made of granite though. I decided to keep my remaining teeth and gave up on it as a bad job.
First point: distinguish between culture, a fun party and a religious event. Mixing these is a skill that Bengalis and only Bengalis (amongst Indians) have perfected. Attribute it to our superiority as an erudite, scholastically accomplished, and culturally advanced race. This, in spite of our known prejudice against organization! Hence, my suggestions: practice helps. Knowing which shloka from the Bhagvad Gita you plan to recite beforehand is a good idea. Also a good idea is practicing the correct intonation. There is nothing more upsetting than hearing someone barbarically butchering Sanskrit. That language is holy, people! Get my drift? And there is no shame in rehearsing. Asking each other what to do next is pretty sad. When you are doing something, the value of which is as much emotional as it is ritualistic, then get the rituals right. Stupid pagans!
Second point. If you cannot sing, do not sing. Karaoke bars exist for a reason. Importing karaoke into a random evening’s enjoyment is undiluted evil.
Third point: coming up with a little skit is a good idea. Not rehearsing destroys the effect, however. Also, using the old brain for writing a halfway decent script is an awesome thing to do. The alternative, which was what we were exposed to, happens to be shite.
Fourth point: people, please do not applaud the brain dead antics of these people on stage just because they happen to be your friends. The argument, ‘they just need some encouragement’ applies to someone writing an exam/applying for a scholarship/a third world country taking its first steps into democracy. For self delusional people with karaoke microphones, we have straitjackets, and a variety of socks to stuff down their throats and gag them with.
Hence, this year, when I found out that the graduate school was showing Hotel Rwanda, I decided to go there instead. Not one to miss a dinner anyhow, I asked Rachna to get me a dinner coupon (we have to pay for these things, before someone calls me a cheap so-and-so).
Hotel Rwanda talks about how a Hutu hotel house manager cajoled, lied, arm twisted cops, militiamen and UN peacekeepers in a desperate effort to save the lives of the Tutsi refugees who were sheltered at his hotel. C’s blog has a much better description here. But, two things; first, unless it happens or has happened to your own people, somehow we are insulated by several protective layers to the horror of what actually happened. If that were not the case, then an enlightened world would have adhered to the Versailles treaty, or the Geneva convention. We would not have fought the wars that we have. Death so unnecessary and so avoidable would cease to be just a spectacle on CNN. The second point being that while the director worked to make his characters three dimensional, somehow the effect remained that of fiction: we are/were/never will be part of that story. Mousumidi told me to see 1947 Earth, which deals with the issues of the Partition. That is on the cards.
Dinner was good. The Gulabjamun was made of granite though. I decided to keep my remaining teeth and gave up on it as a bad job.
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