Durga Pujo and #HokKolorob

Courtesy: Somnath Roy and Saikat Bandyopadhyay

Everything stated here is based on recollections of eye-witnesses

While one of the largest ethnic groups in the world was busy celebrating their biggest selfie season, a small group decided to keep #HokKolorob going. To be fair, they had their own set of selfies as well, but these selfies would not be too out of place in history books of generations to come.

There was  a clarion call for #HokKolorob-ers on Facebook on Oshtomi and Nobomi, supposedly the grandest days in the City of Joy. Nobody took them seriously: it was, after all, Pujo — the season that smells of new clothes, perfume, and stale chilli sauce.

Oh, and the location! The location! Who on earth would want to brave them at Maddox Square, that rectangular stretch of non-grass where heaven descends four days a year to lure males from all corners of the city?

But #HokKolorob roared back, and how! They marched inside the non-greenest of grounds, heads high, banners in their proud hands, the blaring microphone drowned in a kind of protest Kolkata has seldom seen: music. During Pujo.

“#HokKolorob,” they roared (sans the hashtag, because “hashtag HokKolorob” sounds un-cool). “#HokKolorob”, the others echoed back.

It was too good to go on uninterrupted. The organisers arrived at the scenario. Apparently they had received a letter from Police Headquarters last night: the organisers have been accused of providing #HokKolorob with “space”, of entertaining #HokKolorob.

The organisers requested #HokKolorob-ers to not “spoil” the Maddox Square Pujo. They requested, because requesting politely is still fashionable among certain people.

#HokKolorob obviously had no such intention (it would have been rather ambitious: who on Earth can “spoil” a Maddox Square Pujo?). They wanted to be a part of it; they wanted to be another group who would sit in the glamorous section of the Pujo and keep to themselves, their music, and their posters.

The tone changed slightly. There was apparently a threat that if the trend (of music and calligraphy) spread through the ground the precious Pujo environment will be “spoiled”.

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Summary of the above paragraph:

The organisers were scared that their Pujo may be “spoiled” if everyone present at the ground took to music and calligraphy.

***

They kept insisting, the tone seamlessly fluctuating between requests and commands. The latter may have to do with the fear of police and administration. Having grown up in the locality I have never come across a rude Maddox Square Pujo Organising Committee.

#HokKolorob agreed: the venue was shifted to outside the ground, between the southern and eastern gates (in other words, around the Richie Road-Valmeek Street crossing). They protested. Through music. And banners. Especially “VC tumi dushtu lok, tomar mathay ukun hok”¹.

People — youngsters or otherwise — ignored the fragrance of new clothes, perfume, and stale chilli sauce to gather around the group. They were curious: what is #HokKolorob? Will they come in aid of students of other colleges as well?

Dusk melted into evening amidst Pujo light. They never stopped singing. Roads were not blocked (special care was taken to ensure that). The passers-by often stopped by to join in the chorus. #HokKolorob continued.

The confused organisers stood on the pavement on the other side — flanked by police —with a “why us?” look. The policemen were certainly not amused by slogans like “police tumi marle eto, maine tomar barlo koto?”² or “police tomay japte dhore / gan shonabo bisri shure”³.

No, the police did not dare touch #HokKolorob-ers. But they prepared themselves — for the next evening at Laboni. Nobomi night was also supposed to be an onslaught of posters and music.

***

Nobomi was when the police struck. There were representatives from the Special Branch. They wanted to interrogate certain #HokKolorob-ers. Then they arrived.

Two police vans arrived on the scene. It was déjà vu for students present on that dreadful night at the campus on September 17. Some #HokKolorb-ers were painting banners on the road-divider. The police went for them.

Things started with interrogations, but were soon elevated to threats. When it was pointed out that they were not doing anything illegal, the police arrested 13 #HokKolorob-ers.

Media stepped in. They had to step in. On probing it was revealed that the #HokKolorob-ers had been arrested under Section 151 of the penal code.

Section 151:Knowingly joining or continuing in assembly of five or more persons after it has been commanded to disperse. Whoever knowingly joins or continues in any assembly of five or more persons likely to cause a disturbance of the public peace, after such assembly has been lawfully commanded to disperse, shall be punished with imprisonment of either description for a term which may extend to six months, or with fine, or with both.

Meanwhile, the other #HokKolorob-ers waited at the bus-stand, and were asked by the police to leave. When the confused #HokKolorob-ers asked for a reason, the following conversation ensued:

Police: Please do not stand here.

#HokKolorob-er: Why can we not stand here?

Police: We are not misbehaving with you.

#HokKolorob-er: We never said anything about misbehaving. We just want to know exactly why we cannot stand here.

Silence.

#HokKolorob-er: Why were our friends arrested?

Police: Oh, so you have not got that? Come to the police station, we will explain you.

The 13 #HokKolorob-ers were released after an hour and a half. Some of them returned to Laboni. Some did not. Then #HokKolorob tuned in with the ubiquitous “we shall overcome...”

***

There is a lot to overcome, it seems. Exactly why police get away with brutal assaults on students and manhandling girls while #HokKolorob-ers get arrested for painting banners remains unknown.

Kolkata probably cares. She probably does not, despite having witnessed 1905, 1946, and 1971. She goes on nevertheless in sensuous meanders from Laboni to Maddox Square and beyond. She had cried her heart out the day #HokKolorob took centrestage on September 20.

Some day she will join in the march to overcome as well. Some day she will respond to #HokKolorob.

***

Translations (I am terrible at this):

1 VC, you’re not-so-nice. May your hair be full of lice.

2 Police, you did us bash. Did you get a lot of cash?

3 Police, we will hug you tight; and create a racket with all our might.

The fun has just begun, #HokKolorob

I do not know whose hand this is. Arijit Chakraborty had uploaded this.

Wake up, little ones. You have had a good weekend’s sleep. War has resumed. They have struck another blow. Put your armour on. Wield your scimitar. It is time again.

As I had warned before, war has begun. We are not discussing their rally earlier today, which had, as expected, turned out to be a damp squib. In fact, it turned out to be so hilarious that I have decided to watch it if something tragic happens to me in future.

Check for yourself.

But that is not the real threat. The talons have been sharpened behind those iron doors. The fangs have come out. As the #HokKolorob fraternity knows by now, they have gone for the obvious target: the father of the (mysteriously near-nameless) lady in question.

We know his reaction. Mr Father does not have an issue with the ruling party or the Vice-Chancellor. Was he threatened? Was he bribed? We will never know the truth.

Or maybe we will.

But that is hardly the issue here. They have made an attempt to dent our biggest armour: solidarity.

Do realise the gravity of the situation. They will not dare touch us one by one, because they knew #HokKolorob is a hundred thousand strong, that too only if we count the physical presence on a rainy afternoon in Kolkata.

They will try to target the others, especially the war-heroes that were bruised and had been held prisoners. They will go after them with the single-minded intention of separating them from each other; worse, from #HokKolorob.

They will try to terrorise #HokKolorob. Do not fear. They have probably realised the power of social media by now. They had thought they had got away that night. They did not expect #HokKolorob to happen — but it did. We did turn up in thousands. They could not raise a finger at us as our representatives braved the rain and the barricade and met The Governor.

#HokKolorob has used social media to great extent till now. Let us continue to do the same. As long as they know the #HokKolorob fraternity is closely connected to each other they will not dare to strike a blow.

But what if they do? What if a bunch visit your place and threaten you, or worse, your family? Please do not risk your life or put your family at risk for the cause. We do not want martyrs.

But.

If they come at us and you decide to quit the battle for perfectly valid reasons, do warn #HokKolorob on social media. By now you know who the key people are. Let them know exactly what they are up to, so that #HokKolorob can prepare ourselves and think a step ahead.

Do not worry. The think-tank of the mission know well. They will not reveal your identity. But information is crucial to them. You will not be considered a coward. If anything, you will be as much a hero as any of #HokKolorob, since #HokKolorob knows it will break your heart to opt out.

#HokKolorob will not disown you, and neither should your conscience. Just keep #HokKolorob informed. We will be as proud of you as we are now.

It seemed rather one-sided till today. Crushing them will be more fun now. 

Let’s.

Kolkata is where it always was: #HokKolorob

Proud to be acknowledged by #HokKolorob Facebook page. Please visit them (us) to show your support.

Photo courtesy: Ronny Sen (via Manali Roy). Ronny, if you object, please let me know before suing me. I will take it down.

It was that kind of day when it rained in Kolkata and it did not in Mumbai. It was also that kind of day when I was hooked on news channels on television instead of browsing or reading.

You see, along with the skies, Kolkata also poured down in Kolkata. For a cause; for a good cause; and they kept pouring through the day, taking on the rain and the administration: and how!

Let me be honest here: I had been losing faith on the city — the cosiest and homeliest of cities that has ever been — over the past decade. Kolkata still existed, and ruled, over my conscience: but did the people I know as Kolkatans exist anymore?

The city had started moving away from me. Initially I had felt that the problem lay with me, but others agreed. It was not the same city anymore. Roads remained derelict, the sky gray, cars numerous, people faceless; but the city had managed to move away from me. It had lost its compassionate face — the one we were used to grow up to.

Those outside Kolkata yearned to go back to the city, but almost never did. Those in the city were eager to leave. When electricity became surplus, the general consensus was that it was due to the lack of industry.

Then #HokKolorob happened.

The skies had opened to stop them. There were the rulers, who could have landed blows more brutal than they did that night. There were the opposition, who could have lured them to make this a political agenda.

But then, these were Gen-Y Kolkatans. The students of Kolkata: the ones we had dismissed, laughing at their overuse of SMS language and leet, rolling eyes at their IPL fanaticism, feeling frustrated at their seamless acceptance of western consumerism.

What we forgot that they were also the kick-arse generation of Kolkata. Unlike us, they were not going to take things down, just like that. They were going to hit back — in style.

Bathroom singers sang. Strangers held hands. Those who would not brave a walk to Dhakuria braved it. They sat down when they were not allowed to go further, but they refused to budge. They braved weather. They tweeted so vehemently that they made #HokKolorob a trending hashtag.

In other words, they did something we had only dreamed of doing: they got their job done — without resorting to violence — without coming under the wing of any political party — in a day.

They used technology: photographs were clicked, videos were shot, and everything was shared on social media. News of that night from Jadavpur University was all over social media before mainstream media had got a whiff of it.

The kids knew what to do; and did exactly that. They used social media to spread the message; and they went viral; and suddenly people started Googling for “HokKolorob”.

The rally was supposed to start at 2 PM. By 6 the count in the 3-mile long rally had crossed 50,000; the procession took 50 minutes to pass. The protestors sang, held proud (and water-proof) banners, and walked; and walked; and walked. The chant, for once, was not "In-clawb jinda-bawd."

The names of political parties were, I repeat, absent on the banners: if they were present, they were neutral, and were aimed at all parties, showcasing their attitude towards contemporary politicians).

There were others, too. The Jadavpur University alumni; students from other colleges; ex-students from other colleges (even 70-year olds); the ones that could not join protested from their own vantage points (this included Delhi) and promoted their movements on social media.

We, the ones past our mid-lives and in another city and itching to join them, were there, too. We were with them on the biggest city in the world: the internet. There we were, lending out our hands in whatever limited way we could. Re-tweeting and sharing was the least we could, and we did exactly that; #HokKolorob continues to trend.

I repeat, there was no political involvement. Neither did they throw stones or vandalise. There were no reports of ambulances, or any traffic, being held up by the rally. They were, after all, educated people with impeccable civic sense — unlike hired political employees who would come in truckloads to fill up numbers at Brigade for money and free lunch.

A cynic in me died today. I feel like letting the world know that Kolkata can, she still can if she wants to. I feel like yelling (which is not the most intelligent thing to do at midnight, more so given my voice) in elation; instead, I chose to write.

Kolkata is where she was. All she needed was a jolt.

Students are what they always used to be. All they needed was unity.

We can still hold hands to bring about revolutions. Maybe someday we will also bring down Bastille. And from these worst of times, there may arise, almost like a phoenix, the best of times.

#HokKolorob has possibly triggered that. We may not know it now, but we may have probably seen history unfold before our eyes.

I am proud to have witnessed September 20, 2014 unfold before my eyes. I am proud to have seen HokKolorob become a success.

Thank you for making a tired, pessimist, 37-year old cynic cry; and die. Sleep in peace, little veterans of war. It has been a long day. Thank you for letting me sleep in peace as well.

I am proud that supermen like these romp across the city, completely oblivious to what they have pulled off today. 

This picture turned up under #HokKolorob hashtag on Twitter. The person is called Rizal Saifullah Khan, but his peers prefer to call him Biceps Khan. The caption is mine (yes, I suck at these).

HokKolo-robbery and more

Disclaimer: 

This post represents my personal opinions. I have not been provoked by anyone to write this.

With apologies to Nemai Ghosh

Dear fellow HokKolorobbers:

Congratulations on giving it back to them. I am way, way senior to you (to the extent that you are closer in age to my daughter than to me), but I guess respect has nothing to with age.

However, you must realise that the power you are up against does not really abide by logic, or do not really believe in fairness. In a way the power you are up to is worse than Lord Voldemort.

Note:

There are two reasons for bringing up Voldemort here:

1. In Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, for once, Voldemort admitted he honoured bravery (though he probably lied).

2. The people in question will be utterly confused: it will take them ages to figure out whether Voldy was a Maoist.

But that is not the point of this post, though some day I would love to discuss Tom Riddle (see what I did there?) with the next generation.

We cannot help you directly. We are tied up by commitments, professional and otherwise, that have put up geographical barriers strong enough to stop us from helping you. Worse, we lack your zeal. It is embarrassing, but it remains the fact.

However, we may come of help, and by that I do not mean candle marches. We will share everything you update us with. There will be help, financial or otherwise, from people who love to do things for a cause. As Dumbledore (mwahahahaha!) said, “help will always be there for those...”

It is time, however, for you to understand and appreciate certain aspects:

You have been doing a phenomenal job, but without any serious plan. Did they outnumber you that night? Probably not. So what went wrong?

You did not have a Plan B.  It is time you have one. As long as the revolution continues, continue to have Plans B, C, or whatever letter of the English alphabet you choose. Move on to Chinese once you are through with them, since I have been told that they have a lot more letters.

This probably means you need to think ahead of posters, rallies, and social media. These may serve the purpose in the long run, but will not help you in direct physical combat with the administration. If it comes to direct physical confrontation, make sure you are ready. And as you know, it has, and will come to that at some point of time.

This time it may not stop with lathi. They will not hesitate to take things a step further. You know that, do you not? If you do, prepare yourselves accordingly.

By that I certainly do not mean you go out and hit people. That is certainly not something the civilised do. At the same time, defending yourself and your friends is extremely crucial when they come at you. Again. And try to trample you brutally.

That is all I want to say. Remember the golden rule of combat: the side that has more survivors wins. We cannot afford to see you being trampled by brutes. We cannot afford to see you manhandled.

Go all out. Rip them apart. But more importantly, defend yourselves and your friends. Do not let go of the hand of the person beside you, but as the pretty air-hostesses say, please adjust your own oxygen mask during emergency before helping others putting theirs on.

But more importantly, use your greatest weapon: unity. Do not give up on each other. Take them on. Remember, you have the power that we never head — that of social media that can make your revolution global in minutes. Make use of that.

Combat with unity. Combat with education. Combat with technology. Combat with a plan. 

And, amidst all this, do take care of the girl whose molestation had triggered #HokKolorob. I do not know her, but she is feeling guilty. Reassure her that you are only being human.

Stay well. Make life miserable for them unless they give in. But at the same time, stay safe. Revolution often comes at the cost of blood, but it should ideally come at the cost of blood of your opponents. Shedding blood is cool, but making your opposition shed blood is way cooler.

A well-wisher.

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PS 1: They do not earn Rs 112 a month anymore. It is a ridiculously outdated slogan.

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PPS: We care.