Kaurav belonged to the first generation of this millennium that witnessed a revolution centered around a piece of agricultural land. His English teacher had commented, “Like 1947, this too is just a transfer of power, not a revolution.” Today was the 16th of February, 2014. The members of the protest march against the Nandigram massacre were now divided into two groups.
The first group, lifelong supporters of the CPIM who had received government grants, refused to acknowledge the new government’s authority. The second group, who received almost nothing despite their contributions to theatre, saw their senior members using their influence to secure grants. These individuals later gained positions like Railway Passenger Service Committee members, Theatre Academy chairpersons or members, and even ran for elections, becoming ministers or MPs. The first group questioned the ethics of the second, while the second retaliated below the belt, claiming the first lacked ethics altogether. However, this theatre wasn’t group theatre; it was corporate theatre, where friendships and enmities were never permanent.
This situation was new to Kaurav, and he couldn’t quite grasp his own reactions. He remembered seeing more administrative books than plays at the Chorus Repertory in Manipur. Initially puzzled, he later realised that even within the same language theatre, the divide between rural and Kolkata theatre in West Bengal existed due to such reasons. He understood why they received eighteen salary grants while others were unaware of the system. He also recognised the necessity of proper administration and power to ensure effective management. Hence, he saw the advantage of having a representative in parliament from the theatre community. Ronida and Subrata Bose had realised this before him. Politics pervades every aspect of life. Kaurav never intended to organise. His entry into theatre was driven by artistic passion, and he considered himself an outsider. The unfolding events left him feeling suffocated, making him acutely aware of how slippery the organisational ladder was, how moss-covered time had become. Sleepless nights left him irritable, and his throat felt parched.
Suddenly, he noticed everything had become eerily quiet. The car was moving, the tires scraping the road, but the Bollywood melodies the driver had been playing were gone. He couldn’t recall the last song that played. Despite being enveloped by the sound, the silence now felt unsettling. Curiously, he peeked ahead to find Sushrutda pulling out his sarod three rows ahead. Kabir, the flutist, closed a slightly open window, making space for Sushrutda to sit alone with his sarod. Binoyda, the percussionist, brought out his pakhawaj, and Tanmoy started playing as well. Saurav, knowing the esraj wouldn’t be effective in the bus, assumed the role of listener. Sushrutda tuned his instrument and began. It was now 2 AM. To awaken Hansadhwani at such an hour seemed premature. On Ronida’s advice, Kaurav had recently started learning dhrupad. He hadn’t yet mastered ragas, relying heavily on Kabir, who was four years older but a close friend, to identify them. However, recognizing Hansadhwani posed no difficulty for Kaurav, as he’d been hearing it daily for the past two months. That night, for about an hour and a half, they played Hansadhwani, Desh, and Durga uninterrupted. Nobody seemed to notice or care about Kaurav’s presence, assuming he was asleep or simply not thinking about him. Kaurav himself wasn’t troubled by this. However, when Sushrut transitioned into Desh, Kaurav felt an overwhelming surge of emotion. In that moment, he wished to retreat into a rabbit hole, hiding in the jungle, away from familiar faces, just for a while.
Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The views and opinions expressed in this novel are those of the characters and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of any agency, organization, or entity. Reader discretion is advised.