WHY did IT happen in West Bengal? Was not Bengal supposed to be qualitatively different from the rest of mainstream India — whose politics are predominantly centered on religion, caste and identity?
After the spectacular victory of the BJP in the recently held Assembly elections in West Bengal, my friends from north India have begun to ask me these questions. And I — beset by a mix of self-reflection and critical enquiry, as well as an interplay of my two identities as an ‘insider’ as well as an ‘outsider’ — cannot help but think about what, indeed, happened.
Growing up in a middle-class family in West Bengal, I also internalised a set of distinctive features of Bengali culture which, as it is often thought, is different from, say, what prevails in Bihar, Uttar Pradesh or Gujarat. First, both in school and university — we were often persuaded to celebrate what may be regarded as Bengal’s pride, i.e. the contributions of Renaissance figures like Raja Rammohan Roy and Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar; the heroism of Khudiram Bose and Subhash Chandra Bose; and above all, the poetry of Rabindranath Tagore and the cinema of Satyajit Ray. Pride in these great cultural icons led us to believe that we were different from, say, the “rustic" Biharis or “greedy" Marwaris!
Second, we loved to believe that we Bengalis were inherently radical. Yes, we grew up with some sort of ambiguity towards Gandhi and Nehru because Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose, we were told, was truly radical — a courageous dissenter. Moreover, in the turbulent seventies, young Naxalites from Presidency College and Jadavpur University were celebrated as real revolutionaries — good in physics and economics, and well-versed in the literature of Mao and Che Guevara. This culture of resistance and protest was often celebrated in modern Bengali poetry, theatre and cinema.
Third, it is equally interesting to note that there was a strange paradox in Bengali radicalism as it sat pretty comfortable with what I regard as a sanitised and subtle Hinduism. Even today, Leftists and ex-Naxalites continue to sell radical literature outside the heavily sponsored Durga puja pandals in Kolkata. Educated/ forward-caste bhadralok Bengalis, we should not forget, are no less ritualistic. Yes, visiting a Kali temple or appeasing the God Saturn, or consulting astrologers for solving life’s riddles is a normal practice. All sorts of pujas are celebrated with great fanfare. It is, therefore, not surprising that even secular Mamata Banerjee’s government never hesitated in providing financial assistance to thousands of Durga Puja committees across West Bengal.
Fourth, even though we grew up with Muslim friends, we should not forget that the trauma of the Partition and associated communal violence has continued to haunt Bengali consciousness.
Even in an otherwise progressive Bengal, there exists spatial segregation between Hindus and Muslims, particularly, in poor/working class localities. For instance, in the area where I grew up in Kolkata, I didn’t see any Muslim family. Even in intellectually awakened Hindu families, the idea of a Hindu-Muslim marriage is still not easily accepted. Hence, it would be wrong to say that the bhadralok/forward caste Bengali culture, despite its apparent sophistication and radicalism, was entirely free from Hindu traditions. It was always an integral part of the dominant consciousness.
Though I left Bengal for higher education and in pursuit of my career, I always remained in touch with “home". Now as I look at Bengal as an outsider, I realise that this bhadralok middle class has become insecure and anxiety-ridden. Instead of taking pride in Bengali exceptionalism, it lives with a wounded feeling of lagging behind. No industry, no development, no jobs — this anguish can be felt in every family.
Hence, for higher education or for jobs, — from construction workers to IT professionals — Bengalis are constantly migrating out of Bengal. Even their pride in Kolkata as a cultural city is in steady decline. Unlike Mumbai, Hyderabad, Pune and Bengaluru, they complain that Kolkata is not sufficiently gorgeous.
There was also growing disillusionment with the ruling Trinamool Congress. Visit any roadside teashop in West Bengal, and you can hear tales of scams and corruption, the lumpenisation of the political culture and the massive decline of education during the TMC regime.
Moreover, as the triumphant ideology of Hindutva, and associated stigmatisation of minorities began to enter Bengal, the hypocrisy of the educated bhadralok class became apparent. A visit to any border district, be it Malda or Murshidabad, will show you how Hindus have begun to suspect their Muslim neighbours to be intruders, outsiders or Bangladeshi migrants — these stereotypes that characterise a cleverly constructed polarised political culture have succeeded in poisoning people’s minds.
The essence of Rabindranath Tagore and Kazi Nazrul Islam seems to have been conveniently forgotten. The Muslim is fast becoming the ‘other’, one to be perpetually feared, suspected, controlled and kept under perpetual surveillance. Even the version of sanitised Hinduism that educated Bengalis have begun to follow seems to be in tune with the ethos of a hyper-masculine/ hyper-nationalist discourse of Hindutva. The slogan of Jai Shri Ram, it appears, is no less popular than the chanting of Jai Ma Kali.
Admittedly, there was tremendous psychic and physical harassment faced by many Bengalis during the Special Intensive Revision of the electoral roll. Moreover, the presence of paramilitary forces in every part of Bengal was truly overwhelming. Yet, a fighter like Mamata Banerjee and her lieutenants failed to combat the might of the politics of Hindutva — with its promise of development, industry and jobs; the promise of rescuing insecure Hindus from the politics of Muslim appeasement; the efficiency of a double engine’ government; and the smartness of ‘bulldozer justice’!
