So, after paying our respects to the revolutionary artist Nabarun Bhattacharya at a small gathering, we decided to have dinner at the famous Bagdadi restaurant in Colaba. Incidentally we found ourselves seated right under a poster on the walls of the restaurant that calls for banning of Israeli products as a way of protesting against the countrys gross violation of human rights. Nandan felt happy that at least this much of politicization has happened for the restaurant owners to make a statement like this. Some of us did not think so. We felt the restaurants move was more out of religious concerns than political. Nonetheless a protest was being registered and so we felt alright about it. The companies listed on the poster were mostly American and that led to a discussion on the close ties between America and Israel, none of which is hidden anymore. Indias stand on the issue (which is silence) was also criticised, what with we being Israels largest buyer of arms. (Trade relations amounting to $60bn, according to a recent Al Jazeera report). The amazing Mutton Korma and Beef Chilly was making the atmosphere spicier and our tongues were finding it difficult to distribute time equally between making a point and licking our fingers. I finished last (as usual) and went to wash my hands where I bumped into the captain who had been serving us. I thanked him for the food and we had a general talk about how it becomes difficult to find place quickly on a Sunday. I whined for not having been served the green chillies. He quickly said, Next time zaroor... (Definitely next time...) adding a level of comfort to our interaction. I took it as a sign and immediately pointed to the poster. Why are you banning those goods? Is it a mark of religious solidarity? He laughed out loud. Baitho na... Batata hun... (Please sit. I shall explain.). We sat across a table with a big bowl of green chillies between us. As if he wanted to tease me with those. But what he did was beyond a friendly poke. He shook me awake. Sir if you see, this is all a result of capitalism... all these companies. The money that they make all goes to America. From there it goes to the IMF and from there to the World Bank. What the World Bank does is it gives loans to Third World Countries (like ours) for... lets say, infrastructure development, like building roads and all. And then they say, if you want our money you better give the jobs to our companies. And thus, the local entrepreneur suffers. I dont care if a Muslim dies or even if a Jew or Christian or Hindu dies. I dont care about Hamas or Israel either. What is important to me is that human beings are dying. Tomorrow even if a farmer from our country comes to my restaurant to eat, I am not going to care about his religion. If he is happy, I am happy. But if he hurts, I also get hurt. The poster is just in that spirit. Shafik Ahmed had left me speechless. I kept holding his hands for a while before moving on to the caramel custard. To quote a few lines from Nabaruns poem: यह मृत्यु उपत्यका नहीं हैं मेरा देश यह जल्लादों का उल्लास-मंच नहीं हैं मेरा देश यह विस्तीर्ण शमशान नहीं हैं मेरा देश यह रक्त रंजित कसाईघर नहीं हैं मेरा देश मैं छीन लाऊंगा अपने देश को सीने में छिपा लूँगा कुहासे से भीगी कास-संध्या और विसर्जन शरीर के चारो ओर जुगनुओं की कतार या पहाड़-पहाड़ झूम खेती अनगिनत ह्रदय, हरियाली, रूपकथा, फूल-नारी-नदी एक-एक तारे का नाम लूँगा डोलती हुई हवा, धुप के नीचे चमकती मछली की आँख जैसा ताल प्रेम, जिससे मैं जन्म से छिटका हूँ कई प्रकाश-वर्ष दूर उसे भी बुलाऊंगा पास क्रांति के उत्सव के दिन.
Posted on: Mon, 11 Aug 2014 07:55:45 +0000
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