In Search of Cultural Roots

Early this month I attended a cultural event at Chelmsford, Massachusetts. The festival was organized by Odisha Society of New England (OSNE). OSNE is a cultural group of Odia people, who originated from India’s eastern state of Odisha, in New England region of USA. It started functioning in 1983 in Boston. It is part of the larger Odisha Society of America, the body representing Odias all over USA.

I am an Odia, but I am not parochial. One can come cross parochial people in parts of India, who are closed to other cultures and ideas, and protest migration of people from other areas as they are afraid of losing job and other opportunities. This parochial mentality prevails not only in India, but also in many other countries. I do not bracket myself in this category. I am an Odia, and at the same time an Indian. Both these identities do not contradict each other. Rather my larger Indian identity embraces my Odia identity. When I rise higher, I consider myself not only as an Indian, but also a member of the globe, a global citizen. To put in a different way, there are diverse identities of one person, and they are not necessarily contradictory. In one direction, this identity may start with oneself identifying with his or her village or town, then expanding to province, country and even the world. Drawing from Sri Aurobindo’s philosophy, I am a human being, and my identity does not stop at my village or closed community as it expands further towards an ideal human unity encompassing whole world. Hence, when I say I am proud to be an Odia – this does not contradict or undermine my other identities.

I got an email from OSNE that there is a regional drama festival organized in the first week of June 2015. I was prevaricating as to whether I should attend the event or not as the place was far from my place, and I did not have a suitable transport system to reach the place. But when I talked to the association president, an energetic and affable person, he suggested that I should come and enjoy the event. He offered to arrange my travel after I use public transport to a certain point. From the red line Savin Hill train stop I took train to Alewife, and from there I took a bus to Burlington Mall. The president picked me up from there in his car, and drove around 15 to 20 minutes to reach the festival venue. When I reached the event, the key members of the association were busy arranging various items for the event. I tried to help them. One lady told me to bring a small table from the outside of the auditorium to the dais. She placed on it a beautiful wooden statue of Lord Jagannath. I was very happy to see the statue. I would not dwell here about Lord Jagannath as one can come across huge material in Internet. Lord Jagannath is the reigning deity of Odisha, and every Odia prays Him. Puri, the city where the Jagannath temple is located, is considered one among the four holiest places for the Hindus. In Odisha, I have seen people remembering the Lord before starting any new venture. I have also seen people touching the ground and uttering His name before embarking on any journey.

Before the program started at 4 PM, there were refreshments. I could see the number of Odias swelling as the time moved ahead. I interacted with some of the kids, who came with their parents to participate in the event and/or enjoy the event. While enjoying the delicious refreshments – particularly the chat and masala – I started chatting with two young boys. I asked them what they wanted to be in future, what are their career goals, etc. One of them – the elder one – said that he wants to be a mathematician. I asked whether he knows Srinivasa Ramanujan, the mathematics legend from India, he replied yes. The other boy replied he does not know what he wants to be. I interacted with some other Odias.

There were very few known faces; hence I was almost a stranger. But I could develop quick rapport with some Odias and started chatting with them. I started talking to a couple, siting next to me. Their daughter participated in the program. I asked the lady whether she misses Odisha. She replied, ‘there is no time to miss Odisha. The life is so busy here – taking care of daughter, managing family and job – all these leave no time to think about other things, including Odisha’. Perhaps that was a true confession. The people are so busy here that they do not have time to devote to other things. But, I took solace in thinking that despite their busy schedules they could organize this event, and prepare their kids to participate in the event, and devote time and energy for it, and this is not a small thing. That itself shows that their hearts and minds are embedded in the Odia culture.

I found the programs that night not only entertaining but also educative. The Odissi and Sambalpuri dances I watched after a long time. I liked the children’s drama Hari Darshana, literally meaning the sight of Hari (the Hindu God, considered to be one among the supreme trinity in Hindu pantheon – Brahma, Vishnu, also known as Hari, and Brahma). The theme of the story is this: the son of demon king Hirankashyapu, Prahlada did not relent in praying Lord Vishnu, despite pressure and ploys to kill him. Finally, the Lord emerges from a pillar as a testimony of faith of Prahlada and kills the king. The morale of the story: a true devotion to God can save from pitfalls. I also liked the dramas – Gopal 60, Muktidana and Elo Elo Mo Boulo. All of them drew from Odia narratives. In Muktidana, a girl fights against patriarchal system; in Gopal 60, three friends search and find their father-figure and mentor; and Elo Elo Mo Boulo reflects a deeper sense of humanity in a member from LGBT community. Some other programs like Bollywood dance, band and karaoke were equally heart-touching.

The message I came across was that despite being far from their native place, the Odia people love their culture, and work hard to retain their cultural memory in their daily lives. The organization of such events reflected this. The first generation Odias are strongly rooted in their culture, and are eager to impart it to their children. While I was watching the children’s drama, I could see many of them born and brought up here speaking native Odia. Only few of them had Americanized Odia. I commend the efforts of the first generation Odias who work hard to retain their culture roots, and impart the culture to the next generation. I also commend the efforts of the second generation Odias, who are American citizens by birth, to learn their parents’ language and culture. As I mentioned in the beginning, different cultures and different identities can survive, or rather prosper together, in same person. Hence, for me it is an amazing experience to see how these children navigate through their American identity and Odia identity, and how they are reconciling these two identities.

After the cultural program, we had a lavish dinner. It was a good experience to see so many people, about 150, from the same community. One Odia professor who teaches at a university in Boston gave me and another Odia ride back to our homes. We had a lively discussion in her car. The professor lamented that some Odias prefer to speak in English  with another Odia even though they know Odia language very well. She was not against the English language, and we all agreed that English is a necessary language, and is considered a global lingua franca, but when one is comfortable in his native tongue, why not use that? When I reached my home, it was late night. I was still relishing the cultural event and reflecting on Odia culture and language, but my eyelids were heavy and soon I fell asleep.

Travelling in an Indian Train: Some Impressions

Last week I traveled in a train from Howrah railway station in Kolkata to Jajpur Keonjhar Road railway station to visit my parents. It happened that I was in Kolkata to participate in a conference on Protests at Maulana Abul Kalam Azad Institute of Asian Studies, a well known institute under India’s Ministry of Culture. After the conference I took a taxi to the station. I missed the East Coast Express, and boarded the Jan Shatabdi Express at 1:25 PM. Throughout the journey, which took sharp five hours I interacted with Odia co-passengers non-stop. We reflected on many issues, ranging from politics to economics to philosophy. Modi was a hot subject. We also focused on Indian economy, how salaries are going up, but with little significance as inflation is high. 

While chatting I was also looking through the windows. The vast landscape of Bengal and Odisha captivated me, and made me nostalgic. To be nostalgic is perhaps one of my few weaknesses, which I do not dislike much. At Kharagpur, vendors with tea, local-made chocolates with big offers, and groundnuts came in. Some of the passengers made business with them, while I was continuing chatting with a co-passenger. What disheartened me was the sight of two children, perhaps brother and sister, entering the train and stopping in the middle of the coach to perform before the passengers so that they can get some money. The girl must be around 3 or 4 years, and the boy 7 or 8 years. I lamented that I could not do much except offering some money or indulging in pity that the world is so harsh. The train crossed Kharagpur, then Subarnarekha and Budhabalanga rivers, and local towns Jaleswar and Balasore.

The passengers were also interested in my experience in America, the lifestyle there, and what the people and the leaders there think about India. I was not interested to go deep into these subjects as I was more interested to know more about Odisha, the current developments in the state and in India. After brief engagement on these issues, we again came back to our usual chat. 

As I was turning my gaze around, I found litter under seats. There were banana skins, chocolate and biscuit rappers, polythene bags and used tea cups. I raised the issue of cleanliness and hygiene while referring to the prime minister’s Swachh Bharat (clean India) campaign. We had a long and winding discussion. We also expressed our commitment to a clean India. I talked about America and Europe and how the cities there are clean. We also discussed how the educated Indians indulge in littering in the public places. We agreed that we Indians are selfish and while keeping our houses clean, we do not mind throwing garbage outside our houses. This reflected the lack of citizenship, lack of civic culture and social engagement. One of my co-passengers mentioned the saying ‘sarkar ka maal, dariya mein daal’. It implies lack of concern for public goods. It also implies a cavalier attitude towards public places.

As the train was chugging ahead and our discussion on clean India was getting momentum, I finished my tea. As I was looking for trash can to throw the used cup, one co-passenger pointed his finger down at a garbage heap and suggested I should throw the cup there. I felt tempted. He said, ‘you are in India, and in India behave as an Indian.’ It implied that I may follow rules of cleanliness and hygiene while abroad, but it does not make a big issue if I put a small cup under the seat. I was hesitant. I did not argue. I took the cup and searched for trash can which I found at the entrance, and threw the cup inside after sliding its cover open. The co-passenger did not say anything, but understood my message that I am determined to follow the principles of cleanliness whether abroad or in India.

As we were continuing our discussion loudly, I noticed many missing trays behinds the seats. There were few trays. One can notice that there are holes in the back of the seats as markers of places for knots and bolts for the trays. I asked the reason to one of my co-passengers, who claimed to travel on the same route for 26 years. He does a job of supplier, based in Bhubaneswar, but regularly travels to Kolkata in relation to his job. He is a regular traveler in this train since it started running. To my almost naïve question whether the train was like this since the beginning, he replied with a cool demeanor that the train was one of the best trains on the route. Everything was in perfect shape. Gradually people started sitting their kids on these trays. Satire filled his voice when he said, “the rich kids started sitting on these trays first. When the rich parents started sitting their babies on these trays, people started clapping, laughing in support saying, O’ look at the baby, how cute! How he is smiling, playing! But, nobody looked at those crying trays, which creaked and cracked.” 

He further said, “But, when poor parents started sitting their children, people cautioned that the fragile trays will crack.” His anger at the rich, and sympathy for the poor, notwithstanding, his reasoning appeared sound. The trays were misused. Another co-passenger said, the trays served really well, we could eat on them, could keep small stuff on them, could keep tea and coffee on them. But now there are no trays. To my query, what happened to those broken trays, the old passenger said, the people took away the broken trays to their homes. Another passenger commented, people would love to loosen a knot further instead of tightening it. Most of the trays vanished, and the few remaining seem following the same path. The fragile trays gave a message: the Indian train, carrier of millions of people every day, is in shambles and crying for help. 

I had very nice exchanges with some other co-passengers. I thought about a picture of life and world. I knew that I will perhaps never meet these people in life, but I also knew I had some of the finest exchanges with the people in the train. The exchanges were open, straight from heart. Five hours passed. I felt jealous of time as my journey ended. I reached the destination. As I came out of the station, my younger brother was there to welcome me.

Salabega: An Embodiment of Love and Devotion

I was listening to a famous song written by Salabega, the 17^th century Oriya poet. The songs of Salabega are known almost to everybody in Odisha and in some other parts of India. He is a household name in Odisha. I had an idea that he was a 18^th or 19^th century poet, but a search in internet brought that he was born in the 17^th century. Internet hence proves to be a great utility. I disagree with those who argue that internet diverts our mind, and kills our time. I am a fan of information technology. It has made our life tremendously easy. If a person seeks distraction, it can be a good source. But a person who wants to excel in his field or needs useful information, internet can be a great aid.

Salabega’s story is unique. His mother was an Oriya Hindu Brahmin, while his father was a Bengali Musilm. The story goes that his father Lalbeg, a commander in the Nawab of Bengal’s force had taken part in the campaign against Odisha. While on return he saw this beautiful woman on a pond taking bath. He seized this woman and took away along with him as his prize. He married her (I do not know how far we can characterize it as a marriage. History does not provide much information on it: whether he married her and lived with her as a husband. General belief is that he married her and they lived together as husband and wife).

Salabega, after grown up, took part in campaigns as his father. Once he got severely wounded but could not recover from the wounds, to which his Hindu religious mother suggested to pray Hindu God Krishna. The prayer worked miracle and he was cured. This motivated Salabega to be a devotee of Krishna. Krishna is held an incarnation of Lord Vishnu, and also of Lord Jagannath. Salabega turned to be a devotee of Lord Jagannath.

A few words about Lord Jagannath. Jagannath is considered patron God of Odisha. He is also called living God of Odisha. I have seen people when going out for some work chant Jagannath as they step out of home. I have seen people touching national highways in Odisha and chanting Jay Jagannath (hail to Jagannath), believing that the God will save them from accidents on road and the other problems. There is a long story behind Jagannath, which I will narrate some other time. Suffice to say, Jagannath is a part of parcel of Odisha culture, particularly among the Hindus. The Hindus all over India visit the temple of Jagannath situated on the east coast of Odisha, India. The Jagannath temple is considered to be among the four holiest places for Hindu pilgrimage.

Salabega became a devotee of Jagannath, and started writing poems filled with intense devotion and love for the God. The song I was listening today on YouTube meant that ‘O’ God you are for your devotee, everything you have is of your devotees; you do everything for your devotee.’ It is said that many of his songs were lost as they were not preserved. There is a common trend one can find in Salabega’s poems and devotional songs. He seems to chastise himself, his birth in a family, which is neither Hindu nor Muslim. To paraphrase, he says, ‘My father is son of a Mughal, my mother is a Brahmin, O’ my Lord, you gave me a low-birth.’

The angst is clearly visible in his songs. Though a devotee of Jagannath, Salabega was never allowed to enter the temple because his father was a Muslim. That did not deter this great poet and lover of humanity to continue his work, writing devotional songs. There is a story that once when Salabega was coming from a distant place (perhaps Bengal) to watch Car Festival (this takes place every year, in which the wooden statues of Lord Jagannath along with his brother Valbhadra and sister Subhadra are taken out from the temple by the devotees and placed on wooden cars to visit their aunt’s house This ritual has a strong mythical origin). Salabega thought of watching his God from a close, because for him it was not possible to see the God in the temple. But he was getting late, and he had to walk so much. He wrote in one song, ‘I have to walk 750 kosh (Oriya word, perhaps implying mile).’ The legend has it that the car of Lord Jagannath did not move and stopped at one place despite all efforts by the priests to move the car. Salabega reached the place and had communication with his Lord, and only after that the car moved. To mark and cherish this event, every year even now the car stops for few moments on the road.

I would call Salabega a gift of God. He did not have any formal training in literature or rhetoric or music. His writings were profound, so powerful, it would be impossible to write such inspiring poems without God-given creativity. When I think about this, another powerful Oriya poet comes to my mind, whose name is Bhima Bhoi, whose poems are so powerful, so self-effacing, and so meditating, I doubt whether persons having university degrees could match such poems. I think Salabega belonged to the genre of Bhakti movement. Some other great stalwarts of this movement are Sri Chaitanya and Pancha Sakha (five friends – Balaram, Jagannath, Ananta, Yashowant, and Achyuta). Among many strains of Hindu yogic movements, Bhakti is a prime one which emphasizes on devotion to God. It also demands surrender to God. It is characterized by intense passion and love for God. In that sense it has similarities with another strain called Prema Yoga (meditation of love, in which the Yogi completely surrenders himself to God, and considers the God as if his lover. Mirabai of Mewar was perhaps the highest embodiment of this Yoga, another one was Andal of South India).

When I think deeply about these great devotees who touched the apogee of spiritual realization, I wonder whether the education in the formal institutions can train in these qualities. Most of these people, I mentioned earlier, did not go to any school. Bhim Bhoi was blind, and was a shepherd. Salabega was not educated in the sense we call ourselves educated. But, they left highest imprints in our minds and heart. Their lives were messages.

The life of Salabega raises larger questions before me. Does the education in formal institutions make us really educated? I am not a detractor of modern education system, but I think how far they impart moral and spiritual education to individuals. As I listen regularly the song written by 14^th century Gujarati philosopher, Narsinh Mehta, Vaishanva Jana Jo Tene Kahiye, Jo Pid Parai Janere (the person is divine, who feels and cures the pain of others. One of the favorite songs of Mahatma Gandhi), I realize that true wisdom transcends the limits of formal education as it is not in the pages of book we find it, but rather in a sincere cultivation of our heart and mind. Salabega taught me this.