Nov 21, 2011
Nov 10, 2011
LIFE IS NOT DEATH
By Manash Pratim Gohain
"Kohua bon mur oxanto mon
aalphul hatere lua xaboti
O eti eti khon jen mukutare dhon
Eneye heruwale nahe ubhoti....." (my heart is just restless kohua grass; hold on to every passing moment like priceless pearls with love; they will never come back)
'Xudhakantha' (one with the magical voice) DR BHUPEN HAZARIKA: He was a leftist, he changed his politics to extreme right, but never played a central part; come what may he sang from his heart.
He drew blood for the soil, he appeased Bangladeshis, he dreamt of religious harmony, he was at a captive end, but he lived his life from his heart.
In your words you said it Bhupen da: "Mur gaan houk bohu asthahinotar biporite ek gobhir aasthar gaan..." (Let my songs be a source of inspiration amidst wide spread gloom)
Even at 85 his explanations and conversation are pregnant with innocence of a child, the rebel of the adult heart and obviously the maturity of a life complete.
He sang his life to glory, bringing tears, giving hope, bled many hearts, made the spring air dance in romance and mixed the fragrance of Kopou (foxtail orchid) with Assamese femininity.
He was inspired, he is an inspiration. He is educated and he educates, he was incited and he incites. He joined us when Assam was in a deep slumber and for seven decades and more he dawned on us as a guiding light.
Wasn't he the: "Kaal ratrir bukute lukai aasil ei probhat, buji la ne nai..." (In the heart of the darkest night lies a bright dawn)
The Bard of Brahmaputra, the man with his inseparable black Nepali cap with the khukuri pin till his death, is a celebration for one and all from the region we loosely refer as North East, as well as in Bangladesh, Nepal and Bengal. His sang for every occasion, for every reason, for every season, for every lover and specially for the river. The impact of his songs, words and presence in our socio-political-cultural milieu is nothing less than our mighty Brahmaputra.
Did I meet him once or those meetings continue? Personally a bouquet, which at death blooms into a recollection. It was my birth right to meet him. I met him first at the HMV and EMI cassettes, and I still live with those vivid memories of struggle to keep the magnetic running, met him at innumerable bihu tolis and in my mother's narration on his visit to Darang College when she was a resident there. His live composition of "xitore xemeka rati..." and the day she performed on the stage as he sang "shyam kanu..." Met him many a times in dejected hearts, or in the undying spirit of those ready to take the metal in the heart. And it has been simply musical.
But it was at his residence in Guwahati, where I realised the presence of a legend I know was always there, just like the river whose presence can be felt only when you feel its current. He didn't sing for me, neither for us (which is why I got an opportunity to meet him). But even that "no" offered a two hour journey of a life time (the year could be anything between 1991 to 1994). After restraining from music till the end, he did present a mushy romantic bihu to my delight as I walked out. And the last in flesh and blood was at Nehru Stadium (probably 1996) when the genius shared and enthralled us with Lata Mangeshkar.
His critics may say he faltered. They simply missed out on a good review of a masterpiece should I say. He loved the "megh", the neyor" and he found peace and harmony in "Pua Mecca". His poetry with Brahmaputra transcends caste, creed, religion and hatred. Needless to say this Assamese is a much a Mishing, as much as a Bodo, a Nepali forever, and someone whom the Bengalis think is a Bengali.
Bhupenda we remember your words: "hoitu nitou hazar jonor hazar xorai pam..tothapi kio bexex jonor morom bisari jam..." (I may get thousand accolades from others, but will always return to seek the love of my own)
He is the Assamese sentiment, he is the river himself, which is why he changed course.
"Ami axomiya nohou dukhiya" (we Assamese will never be poor). Indeed he left a tradition of richness, rich enough for us to dream big.
Factfile: (Not in order)
* Born on September 8, 1926 at Sadiya, Assam to Nilakanta and Shantipriya Hazarika.
* Died on November 5, 2011 at 4.23pm at Kokilaben Dhirubhai Ambani Hospital and Medical Research Institute, Mumbai.
* Xudhakantha - In 1968, then Assam Sahitya Sabha president Late Ananda Chandra Baruah honoured Assamese legendary singer, poet, music composer, filmmaker and a prominent litterateur Dr Bhupen Hazarika with a title "Xudhakantha" at a programme held at Banshi Gopal Natya Mandir in Majuli.
* Bangladesh Government has honoured Dr Bhupen Hazarika with Muktiyodha Padak, the highest civilian award of Bangladesh
* He first sang (Biswa Bijoy Nojowan) as a 10-year-old kid in cultural doyen Jyotiprasad Agarwalla’s second film “Indramalati” in 1939.
* Completed PhD from Columbia University in the early 1950s on how cultural tools can be used to spread the reach of adult education.
* He wrote, composed and sang more than 1,500 songs.
* In 1992 he was conferred with India’s highest honour in cinema, the Dada Saheb Phalke Award.
* He was conferred with the Padma Shri in 1977.
* Honoured with the Padma Bhushan in 2001.
* Honoured as Assam Ratna in 2009.
* Edited a popular magazine 'Amaar Pratinidhi'.
* He also served one term in the Assam Assembly as a Left-leaning independent politician in the late 1960s. But his attempt to enter the Indian Parliament as a BJP candidate almost four decades later didn't materialised.
* He served as the chairman of the Sangeet Natak Akademi.
* President of Assam Sahitya Sabha in 1993.
* Award for the Best Regional Film (Chameli Memsaab; Music by Bhupen Hazarika) in the 23rd National Film Awards in 1975.
NOTE: As I board the New Delhi-Ajmer Satabdi for Rajasthan, Assam grieves on the final journey of Dr Bhupen Hazarika on November 9, 2011. It leaves me some six free hours. Here are a few thoughts on Dr Bhupen Hazarika from a novice who knows not how to pay tribute.
"Kohua bon mur oxanto mon
aalphul hatere lua xaboti
O eti eti khon jen mukutare dhon
Eneye heruwale nahe ubhoti....." (my heart is just restless kohua grass; hold on to every passing moment like priceless pearls with love; they will never come back)
'Xudhakantha' (one with the magical voice) DR BHUPEN HAZARIKA: He was a leftist, he changed his politics to extreme right, but never played a central part; come what may he sang from his heart.
He drew blood for the soil, he appeased Bangladeshis, he dreamt of religious harmony, he was at a captive end, but he lived his life from his heart.
In your words you said it Bhupen da: "Mur gaan houk bohu asthahinotar biporite ek gobhir aasthar gaan..." (Let my songs be a source of inspiration amidst wide spread gloom)
Even at 85 his explanations and conversation are pregnant with innocence of a child, the rebel of the adult heart and obviously the maturity of a life complete.
He sang his life to glory, bringing tears, giving hope, bled many hearts, made the spring air dance in romance and mixed the fragrance of Kopou (foxtail orchid) with Assamese femininity.
He was inspired, he is an inspiration. He is educated and he educates, he was incited and he incites. He joined us when Assam was in a deep slumber and for seven decades and more he dawned on us as a guiding light.
Wasn't he the: "Kaal ratrir bukute lukai aasil ei probhat, buji la ne nai..." (In the heart of the darkest night lies a bright dawn)
The Bard of Brahmaputra, the man with his inseparable black Nepali cap with the khukuri pin till his death, is a celebration for one and all from the region we loosely refer as North East, as well as in Bangladesh, Nepal and Bengal. His sang for every occasion, for every reason, for every season, for every lover and specially for the river. The impact of his songs, words and presence in our socio-political-cultural milieu is nothing less than our mighty Brahmaputra.
Did I meet him once or those meetings continue? Personally a bouquet, which at death blooms into a recollection. It was my birth right to meet him. I met him first at the HMV and EMI cassettes, and I still live with those vivid memories of struggle to keep the magnetic running, met him at innumerable bihu tolis and in my mother's narration on his visit to Darang College when she was a resident there. His live composition of "xitore xemeka rati..." and the day she performed on the stage as he sang "shyam kanu..." Met him many a times in dejected hearts, or in the undying spirit of those ready to take the metal in the heart. And it has been simply musical.
But it was at his residence in Guwahati, where I realised the presence of a legend I know was always there, just like the river whose presence can be felt only when you feel its current. He didn't sing for me, neither for us (which is why I got an opportunity to meet him). But even that "no" offered a two hour journey of a life time (the year could be anything between 1991 to 1994). After restraining from music till the end, he did present a mushy romantic bihu to my delight as I walked out. And the last in flesh and blood was at Nehru Stadium (probably 1996) when the genius shared and enthralled us with Lata Mangeshkar.
His critics may say he faltered. They simply missed out on a good review of a masterpiece should I say. He loved the "megh", the neyor" and he found peace and harmony in "Pua Mecca". His poetry with Brahmaputra transcends caste, creed, religion and hatred. Needless to say this Assamese is a much a Mishing, as much as a Bodo, a Nepali forever, and someone whom the Bengalis think is a Bengali.
Bhupenda we remember your words: "hoitu nitou hazar jonor hazar xorai pam..tothapi kio bexex jonor morom bisari jam..." (I may get thousand accolades from others, but will always return to seek the love of my own)
He is the Assamese sentiment, he is the river himself, which is why he changed course.
"Ami axomiya nohou dukhiya" (we Assamese will never be poor). Indeed he left a tradition of richness, rich enough for us to dream big.
Factfile: (Not in order)
* Born on September 8, 1926 at Sadiya, Assam to Nilakanta and Shantipriya Hazarika.
* Died on November 5, 2011 at 4.23pm at Kokilaben Dhirubhai Ambani Hospital and Medical Research Institute, Mumbai.
* Xudhakantha - In 1968, then Assam Sahitya Sabha president Late Ananda Chandra Baruah honoured Assamese legendary singer, poet, music composer, filmmaker and a prominent litterateur Dr Bhupen Hazarika with a title "Xudhakantha" at a programme held at Banshi Gopal Natya Mandir in Majuli.
* Bangladesh Government has honoured Dr Bhupen Hazarika with Muktiyodha Padak, the highest civilian award of Bangladesh
* He first sang (Biswa Bijoy Nojowan) as a 10-year-old kid in cultural doyen Jyotiprasad Agarwalla’s second film “Indramalati” in 1939.
* Completed PhD from Columbia University in the early 1950s on how cultural tools can be used to spread the reach of adult education.
* He wrote, composed and sang more than 1,500 songs.
* In 1992 he was conferred with India’s highest honour in cinema, the Dada Saheb Phalke Award.
* He was conferred with the Padma Shri in 1977.
* Honoured with the Padma Bhushan in 2001.
* Honoured as Assam Ratna in 2009.
* Edited a popular magazine 'Amaar Pratinidhi'.
* He also served one term in the Assam Assembly as a Left-leaning independent politician in the late 1960s. But his attempt to enter the Indian Parliament as a BJP candidate almost four decades later didn't materialised.
* He served as the chairman of the Sangeet Natak Akademi.
* President of Assam Sahitya Sabha in 1993.
* Award for the Best Regional Film (Chameli Memsaab; Music by Bhupen Hazarika) in the 23rd National Film Awards in 1975.
NOTE: As I board the New Delhi-Ajmer Satabdi for Rajasthan, Assam grieves on the final journey of Dr Bhupen Hazarika on November 9, 2011. It leaves me some six free hours. Here are a few thoughts on Dr Bhupen Hazarika from a novice who knows not how to pay tribute.
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 9, 2011
How I became a Bhopali?
How I became a Bhopali?
PART 1: Bashir saab and unki shayari, aur unki hathoon se banaya hua chai ki piyali
October 8, 2011, at around 7pm - while negotiating the daily posts on FB, I stopped at a poetic rendering by a friend. The originals belong to Waseem Barelvi and it reads:
"Tumhaari raah main mitti ke ghar nahi aatay, Isi liye to tumhein hum nazar nahi aate; Muhabbaton ke dinon ki yahi kharaabi hai, Ye rooth jaayein, toh phir laut kar nahi aatay; Jinhein saliqa hai tehziib-e-gham samajhne ka, Un'hi ke rone main, aansoo nazar nahi aatay, Khushi ki ankhon main ansoo ki bhi jagah rakhna, Bure zamaane, kabhi pooch ker nahi aatay."I definitely don't have an overt shayarna andaaz and Barelvi is someone I read for the first time. But somehow the simple process of trying to understand the sher again transported me to 2001 monsoon days of my Bhopali calendar. I also got tempted to post the first ever sher (my favourite) on my FB wall which says: "Shohrat ki bulandi bhi palbhar ka tamasha hain, Jis daal pe baithe ho wo tut bhi sakta hain," by Bashir Badr.
Yes, the memories took me to the doorstep of Syed Mohammad Bashir or the famous Bashir Badr, a master act with words and who has enthralled the poetic world with more than 18,000 couplets. Yes, a decade ago, I was at the doorsteps of one of the greatest poets of our times, bracketed with the likes of Nida Fazli, even though I had no knowledge (not that I have a great deal of it now) on how to read and write Hindi and a big zero on Urdu. My spoken Hindi had been a source of entertainment for my colleagues at least for over a decade now. But for me Bashir saab introduced me to love language, place and people in the most simplest manner, but most importantly to appreciated shayari which in Bhopal apparently everyone seem to do from birth.
It was a windy morning with the sweet smell of rains lingering in the air as I rode past the Upper Lake (the beauty of which I am leaving for another ode) towards old Bhopal to the posh residential locality of Idgah Hills. My pillion was Manish Choure (from Ujjain), our chief designer, a friend who accompanied me to many assignments as well as doubled up for me as a photographer in some of my romantic treks. The official photographer with us was Mujeeb Faruqui (from Bhopal).
The then 56-year-old poet welcomed us into his kothi. The very first expressions and exchanges indicate that Bashir saab is too young at heart, probably younger than this rookie journalist in his early 20s. As he led us in he said: "Come in. I am all alone till my son returns from school." He was talking about his primary school going child from his second wife.
His room is as poetic, books casually placed everywhere. A couple of writing spaces and odd couplets written on loose paper popping out from books urging to be read and rightly appreciated. But I am all at sea, cursing myself as to why do I in the first place decided to meet Bashir saab when I have no idea of Hindi and Urdu prose and poetry? But I was destined to meet him, become his friend and probably learn the language of love.
"So what do you want to know?" asked Bashir saab. I definitely don't have any questions for Bashir saab. I was somehow trying to get out of the business of pagemaking and writing features seem to be a way forward. A visit to Bashir's residence (with prior appointment) is to profile a great poet and his work and make a mark as a writer. And I said: "I don't know anything about you, about poetry, about Hindi and Urdu. But I want to write a piece on Bashir Badr the poet."
My ignorance was not taken as an insult even though I approached him professionally. He is good in English and I was at ease. He smiled at my Hindi. He asked me about me and when he came to know that I am from Assam he took us to his kitchen and said: "For you I will make the tea myself. He asked the help to leave the kitchen and there Bashir saab explaining poetry like A for apple to a nursery kid while brewing tea like an expert and treating me like a tea connoisseur . The tea was poetic too, and should I confess Bashir saab today that it tasted sublime, probably like the flavour of moonlight captured in the dew drop of the 'ek kaali do pattiya'. Maybe it was the magic of those poems you recited and explained during the making of 'Assam special' (he said that). In between I started taking Urdu notes in English, with help in spellings from Bashir saab.
Those first two hours of meeting, sipping tea made by the poet himself and engrossed in his explanations as to what he meant in some of his famous couplets were just the beginning of many a visits during my three years in Bhopal and every time Bashir saab made tea for me. And every time Bashir saab would recite and explain what his poems meant.
We bid goodbye armed with a gift (but of course books on Urdu poetry) each. But the first day of our tryst with Urdu poetry, Hindi language and friendship with Bashir saab needs celebration. It has been a heady dose so far and at midday neither me nor Manish were in a hurry to reach office. Our return journey to 8/1, Malviya Nagar was cut short at the scenic Winds and Waves on the hill overlooking the Upper Lake. The beers and Bashir saab's poetry was intoxicating. Like we can't stop humming a tune which touches our heart.......
A persistent banging on the door of Manish's flat, Raj Apartment, E-7, Arera Colony woke us up. It was raining outside. As Manish opened the door, his flatmate Pankaj rushed in and said: "How they hell you are sleeping at this hour? Aaj office se chutti mara hain kya? I was at the door pressing the door bell, calling you on your cells and banging the door for half an hour?" We checked our mobiles. Some 50-odd missed calls from Pankaj and other colleagues from office.
It was 9pm and as we were travelling to our office at Malviya Nagar in an auto, both of us tried in vain to figure out how we reached Manish's place? And we entered the office probably a minute after our editor took the final call to inform the police about us suddenly going missing while returning from Bashir Badr's residence and probably a minute early before the call was to be made.
I did profiled Bashir Badr. I surprised everyone, but self the most. Thank you Bashir saab for letting me understand poetry without understanding its written script, for calling yourself my friend and finally making me a Bhopali.
*THIS WRITEUP IS DEDICATED TO OUR OLD TIME FRIEND AND COLLEAGUE NASIR KAMAAL WHO COMPLETED HIS JOURNEY RECENTLY
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Logh tut jate hain ek ghar banane me, Tum taras nahi khate bastiyaan jalane me," --- Bashir Badr
It was a windy morning with the sweet smell of rains lingering in the air as I rode past the Upper Lake (the beauty of which I am leaving for another ode) towards old Bhopal to the posh residential locality of Idgah Hills. My pillion was Manish Choure (from Ujjain), our chief designer, a friend who accompanied me to many assignments as well as doubled up for me as a photographer in some of my romantic treks. The official photographer with us was Mujeeb Faruqui (from Bhopal).
The then 56-year-old poet welcomed us into his kothi. The very first expressions and exchanges indicate that Bashir saab is too young at heart, probably younger than this rookie journalist in his early 20s. As he led us in he said: "Come in. I am all alone till my son returns from school." He was talking about his primary school going child from his second wife.
His room is as poetic, books casually placed everywhere. A couple of writing spaces and odd couplets written on loose paper popping out from books urging to be read and rightly appreciated. But I am all at sea, cursing myself as to why do I in the first place decided to meet Bashir saab when I have no idea of Hindi and Urdu prose and poetry? But I was destined to meet him, become his friend and probably learn the language of love.
"So what do you want to know?" asked Bashir saab. I definitely don't have any questions for Bashir saab. I was somehow trying to get out of the business of pagemaking and writing features seem to be a way forward. A visit to Bashir's residence (with prior appointment) is to profile a great poet and his work and make a mark as a writer. And I said: "I don't know anything about you, about poetry, about Hindi and Urdu. But I want to write a piece on Bashir Badr the poet."
My ignorance was not taken as an insult even though I approached him professionally. He is good in English and I was at ease. He smiled at my Hindi. He asked me about me and when he came to know that I am from Assam he took us to his kitchen and said: "For you I will make the tea myself. He asked the help to leave the kitchen and there Bashir saab explaining poetry like A for apple to a nursery kid while brewing tea like an expert and treating me like a tea connoisseur . The tea was poetic too, and should I confess Bashir saab today that it tasted sublime, probably like the flavour of moonlight captured in the dew drop of the 'ek kaali do pattiya'. Maybe it was the magic of those poems you recited and explained during the making of 'Assam special' (he said that). In between I started taking Urdu notes in English, with help in spellings from Bashir saab.
Those first two hours of meeting, sipping tea made by the poet himself and engrossed in his explanations as to what he meant in some of his famous couplets were just the beginning of many a visits during my three years in Bhopal and every time Bashir saab made tea for me. And every time Bashir saab would recite and explain what his poems meant.
We bid goodbye armed with a gift (but of course books on Urdu poetry) each. But the first day of our tryst with Urdu poetry, Hindi language and friendship with Bashir saab needs celebration. It has been a heady dose so far and at midday neither me nor Manish were in a hurry to reach office. Our return journey to 8/1, Malviya Nagar was cut short at the scenic Winds and Waves on the hill overlooking the Upper Lake. The beers and Bashir saab's poetry was intoxicating. Like we can't stop humming a tune which touches our heart.......
A persistent banging on the door of Manish's flat, Raj Apartment, E-7, Arera Colony woke us up. It was raining outside. As Manish opened the door, his flatmate Pankaj rushed in and said: "How they hell you are sleeping at this hour? Aaj office se chutti mara hain kya? I was at the door pressing the door bell, calling you on your cells and banging the door for half an hour?" We checked our mobiles. Some 50-odd missed calls from Pankaj and other colleagues from office.
It was 9pm and as we were travelling to our office at Malviya Nagar in an auto, both of us tried in vain to figure out how we reached Manish's place? And we entered the office probably a minute after our editor took the final call to inform the police about us suddenly going missing while returning from Bashir Badr's residence and probably a minute early before the call was to be made.
I did profiled Bashir Badr. I surprised everyone, but self the most. Thank you Bashir saab for letting me understand poetry without understanding its written script, for calling yourself my friend and finally making me a Bhopali.
*THIS WRITEUP IS DEDICATED TO OUR OLD TIME FRIEND AND COLLEAGUE NASIR KAMAAL WHO COMPLETED HIS JOURNEY RECENTLY
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Logh tut jate hain ek ghar banane me, Tum taras nahi khate bastiyaan jalane me," --- Bashir Badr
Sep 16, 2011
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