An R Rehman, Kazi Nazrul Islam, Karar Oi Louho Kapat — And the Case for Purity of Culture

First the context.

A new movie named Pippa which is based on the 1971 war. The music is by A R Rehman, and one of the songs is an adaptation of Kazi Nazrul Islam classic — Karar Oi Louho Kapat. For reference, it is here

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fTu76zQnaRw

And this has created an uproar. Many are accusing Rehman and others of distortion, not just adaptation. The heat is so much that the family of Nazrul has come out in protest, and even one of the singers has expressed his innocence.

Do the accusations have any merit? Well, maybe.

I don’t have the requisite expertise on the music to comment. But the broader question is not so much about the song and the music, but the philosophy of artistic freedom, and the preservation of culture.

Who owns Kazi Nazrul Islam? Yes, he was a Bengali, but does that make Bengalis only his custodian? Not, because culture is universal, and it transcends all boundaries.

What about the consumers of his creations? They will have an evolved view of his work and can have a view in case they see a deviation. But clearly, they have no legal right. Which is only with his family, and they can allow some rendition/ adaptation/ modifications to his creations.

But if the artist is universal and belongs to the society, can the art only be a property of the family? Or should we not have the freedom to adopt and adapt as we evolve? Shakespeare’s work has been rewritten keeping the crux the same, while there are thousands of adaptations of the dramatic form. Games have changed, movies always take liberty with the story on which it is based, dances have been reengineered, and mixes across genres have happened. So why not a song of the Nazrul Islam?

Maybe it will be a more detailed discussion for another day, but let us just spend a little time looking at the ones who are up in arms. Especially the more aggressive ones, who get into expletives quickly, but hardly talk of anything else except hurt sentiments.

My suspicion is majority of these desktop defenders are hardly aware of the song, and forget even the nuances. They are agitated because it is a cause that will make them look cool. As a cultured Bengali who appreciates music, knows about Nazrul Islam, and above all has a voice.

And this is where I recollect a narration written by author Sunil Gangopadhyay years back.

Sunil was traveling by a tourist bus somewhere in Northern India.

There were a couple of Bengali tourists families, who were chattering away. Sunil assumes that the families never thought or cared that there may be other Bengali-speaking people on the bus, and soon moved into uncomfortable terrains.

It came to discussions on culture, how Bengali culture is probably one of the best, how Tagore and Sarat Chandra are the gold standard etc. And lots of associated paraphernalia — the sweetness of languages, Vivekananda and his virtues, Bose and its valor.

However soon it moved into uncomfortable territories — about other people on the bus. Their looks, dress, and obvious lack of culture. Sunil by this time was twitching in his seat.

Suddenly Sardarji got up, took up the Public Address System, and spoke in chaste Bengali.

“As I know Bengali, I understand that there are few Bengali families on the bus.

We all love Bengal and respect its culture.

May I request one of you to please come and recite a poem written by Gurudev for all of us to enjoy?”

There was stunned silence. No takers.

And the Sardarji himself recited one, from memory — most probably “Debatar Gras”.

Well in my mind, this captures Tagore in Bengal and among Bengalis. Or for that matter Bengali literature. Or for that matter our sense of ownership about Bengali culture, and feeling proud of it.

We all feel so proud of Vivekananda, Ram Mohan, Vidyasagar, Subhash Bose, and Aurobindo, — but the awareness about them (except a small minority is abysmal).

Coupled with that is the difficulty of accessing their work. Almost all of that is in print, and available only at bookshops (which decreases geometrically as one moves away from College Street). Except for DSpace and the National Digital Library, there are hardly any digital archives, and they too contain copyright-free work.

The availability of the books online is limited. The iconic publications like Gangchil, Anustup, Krittibas, and Ebang Mushayera just don’t exist there. Even the Ananda Bazar Patrika group is so archaic.

A language will show its love for it only through action. By reading it, discussing it, making it available, and making all attempts for wide dissemination.

Sadly for Bengali literary work that is lacking today. While people still feel proud about it — similar to a Zamindar who feels good about ancestral property while they squander it away.

And then make hue and cry on Social Media, for a few likes and retweets.