In a hierarchical society is there any greater privilege than being able to declare yourself free of class, wonders, Shougat Dasgupta
WHEN I WAS 11, i became aware of class. It says something about my sheltered upbringing in the Arabian Gulf that I was not already aware of socioeconomic stratification, of inequality, of the idea that some people had less and others more, or that birth and surname could be stand-ins for character. True to this upbringing, my first encounter with class was not personal but through my growing interest in British popular culture, mainly football and pop music. I had already been following English and Scottish football for three or four years, insofar as this was possible in the 1980s with so little live football to watch. Instead there was shortwave radio tuned to the BBC World Service, weekly televised highlights, and books and VHS videos. And imported newspapers and magazines, days and weeks old and very expensive, bought for me by my bemused father.
Around the time, I saw a clip from a 1964 BBC Panorama documentary in which a presenter marvelled in Received Pronunciation at the swaying, singing Kop in Liverpool’s last home game of a championship-winning season. “An anthropologist studying this Kop crowd,” says the presenter, looking at the massed ranks of wan, skinny boys and old men singing Beatles songs, “would be introduced into as rich and mystifying a popular culture as in any South Sea island.” Here was an Englishman standing before other Englishmen as if before an alien tribe. The educated, plummy-voiced BBC reporter might as well have been from another planet, so distant was he from the shared culture of the crowd. Like the reporter, I wondered how they were so in sync, so tuned to one another that they improvised lyrics and segued into different songs and chants in one unfaltering voice.
Diese Geschichte stammt aus der July - September 2017-Ausgabe von The Indian Quarterly.
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Diese Geschichte stammt aus der July - September 2017-Ausgabe von The Indian Quarterly.
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The Image-Maker
Sukumar Ray’s most vivid images were saved for his classics of nonsense verse, but his singular eye, writes Nabarupa Bhattacharjee, found its earliest expression in photography
The Nawab's Last Sigh
Rudely awakened by the fact of independent India, an aristocrat in Meerut clung to his past. Now, he tells Sunaina Kumar, all he has left are his memories of a glorious age.
The Guest
Vaiyavan is the nom de plume of MSP Murugesan. Born in 1936, he did sundry jobs before obtaining postgraduate degrees by correspondence and then served as an English and Tamil teacher till his retirement in 1996. His writing career began in 1956. Multifaceted and prolific, he has to his credit a long list of short story collections, novels, plays, literary essays, poems and children’s stories. He has won several awards including Tamil Nadu government awards for best book on culture (1982) and best science book (1992) and the Malcolm Adiseshiah award for active participation in neo-literacy activities (1996). In his short stories and novels, Vaiyavan revels in a zest for life. Humaneness is the hallmark of his work, as the pain and pleasure, trials and tribulations of people in different rungs of society are described in minute detail. —CGR
The Birth of an Anthem
From right-wing slogan to moving patriotic song and now back to Hindu nationalistic war cry. Rimli Sengupta on the evolution of Vande Mataram
The Birth of a Parent
The beginning of a new life can create other strange new lives, reflects Manidipa Mandal
The Unknown Soldier
One man wondered and worried about his disappeared brother all his life.His granddaughter continued the search. Preksha Sharma resurrects a man and his story
The Art Scene
For the new kid on the block, it certainly has pedigree. The Centre for Con-temporary Art, housed within Delhi’s Bikaner House complex, finally opened its portals to welcome art aficionados during this year’s edition of the India Art Fair. Nature Morte was invited to stage the centre’s much-awaited inaugural show, an opportunity the gallery found too irresistible to pass up. The ambitious exhibition it mounted, The Idea of the Acrobat, occupied both floors of the recently renovated building and brought together the works of a dozen well known artists in a multitude of media. The line-up included Bharti Kher, Atul Dodiya, Dayanita Singh, Shilpa Gupta, Ayesha Singh, Khyentse Norbu and LN Tallur to name but a few.
Long, Long Ago
Arundhuti Dasgupta and Utkarsh Patel recount obscure creation myths from around the world, many echoing each other
Family Business
AT THE DINDUKKAL BUS DEPOT, the abortionist pushed her way through the crowd thronging the bus and finally managed to board it. She placed her travel bag beside her on the seat, calling out to her niece to hurry up. The young woman renewed her efforts to break free of the tangle of limbs and claim the seat reserved for her.
A Goan Childhood
Fragments of memory of a time long gone, from a life lived far away. By Selma Carvalho