The shame that is poverty
Syed Badrul Ahsan walks down middle class lane
Ashim Choudhury is set to take many of his readers back to their childhood. If you are part of the lower middle class or plain middle class and if you went to school in the 1960s in this part of the world, you cannot but marvel at the discovery of how much it is that your family shares with the Biswases in this tale, or in these tales, of familial bonding. More to the point, Choudhury speaks of a Bengali family from West Bengal, one whose head, Samar Biswas by name, holding a mediocre position in the Indian air force, is at intervals subjected to transfers from one spot to another, wife and children in tow. That again is a reminder for readers of all the parents, fathers in particular, whose occupations saw them move from one place to another through their careers, compelling or inducing spouses and offspring to relocate more or less constantly and build life anew over and over again. But, mark you, these are men who do not aspire any more, at a point, to higher perches in their professions. They are individuals in whom aspirations are condemned to die a slow death. But all too often ambition is transferred from them to their children, especially the brighter ones among them. The expectation is simple: where the fathers have come up against a dead end, the sons and daughters just might make the walls come tumbling down. Samar and Basanti are, therefore, a metaphor for the lives many families in the Bengali clime, or even on the larger subcontinental canvas, have led in the past and will pursue in the times to be. In their children, four of them and all boys, come typified the dreams and fears of a class. Add to that the old fashioned structure of the lower middle class family, with husbands arrogating to themselves the right to make decisions for the family and brooking no dissent on that score. And thus you have Samar Biswas, sergeant in the air force, martinet to his sons and sometimes a symbol of violence to his wife Basanti (on whose back he rains down blows even as with his other hand he holds her by her hair). Samar rarely smiles; and with his sons he is the very emblem of authoritarianism. Despite it all, however, there are dreams he nurtures, through sending the children to some of the most expensive of schools. Not all the boys approximate his dreams, though. The eldest, Borda to his siblings, is wayward and incapable of mending his ways. But then, in this eldest child are reflected the frustrations that arise out of unending poverty. His mingling with the children of rich parents, his infatuations with girls and his desire to 'show off' (a rather subcontinental formulation) are again a deep-rooted malaise in the middle class. It is, at the same time, a measure of social protest. Now contrast Borda's unhappiness and resultant determination to escape his condition with the yearnings of his brothers, especially Kalu. In a very important sense, Ashim Choudhury builds a major segment of his story around Kalu. There are the prejudices the boy is subjected to, notably owing to the darkness of his skin. In today's terms, comments on Kalu's complexion would be regarded as having a certain racist undertone. And do not forget that in Bengal, black or dark skin colour has generally been a target of contempt. The evidence is there in the story, and not just because of Kalu. The negotiated marriage of a female relative --- and it is Samar who does the negotiating --- is in danger of falling apart unless the dark skin of the woman is resolutely concealed behind a necessary mound of make-up. The marriage is solemnized, to everyone's relief. And yet it is a marriage that does not last. The woman is soon sent back to her family by her in-laws. But we are getting ahead of the story. And it is Kalu, sensitive, intelligent, ambitious and profoundly attached to his mother, who becomes the symbol of the dilemma faced by the middle class. He is proud, indeed arrogant, about his knowledge of English and of a certain sense of belonging where dealing with other English-knowing boys of his class is concerned. Even so, he is terrified of his identity being discovered by his classmates. That his father is a pretty lowly employee in the air force is a truth he conceals through airily telling everyone that the man is in the air force. The impression is what matters. Judging by the telling of it, Kalu's account of his father's position would make one feel that it is one of a man of respectable, superior rank in the force. And then come Mukul, the son of a man who actually flies air force jets. It is sheer agony for Kalu, for Mukul knows about his father. But then there is Ahmed, who to Kalu belongs in his class because of his poverty. There comes a day when even Ahmed becomes a cause for Kalu's shame. Ahmed is not poor, his mother fetches him in a car and his father is a district magistrate. The story is complex because complexity underlines the middle class. Trapped between high ambitions and painful realities, the middle class is often caught seething with rage over its conditions. Kalu's dreams of an artistic career do not come to pass and he must follow his father into the air force. His Senior Cambridge scores, unfavourable in comparison with those of his classmates, push Kalu into giving up on the world. Or, more to the point, his ambitions collapse in a heap around him. He grows into his late teens, as he must, with the awareness which comes to one brought into contact with experience. He runs into homosexuals in his class; he keeps his head down when a teacher asks, in the examination hall, if anyone has not cleared his fees; and he discovers the pleasures of sex when the maid Bimla rides him in a frenzied demonstration of passion. Ashim Choudhury tells a riveting tale of ambition aroused and then thwarted by the realities on the ground. The final words in The Sergeant's Son say it all: 'At Bangalore's Air Force No. 3 Ground Training School, in Jallahalli, a new and strange life awaited Kalu. All that the boy had asked for in life was a pen or a paintbrush. Instead, thrust upon him was a rifle and a bayonet. In his heavy leather boots he plodded along.' (The Sergeant's Son is available on www.uread.com; the author's blog is ashimch13@blogspot.in,/u> ) Syed Badrul Ahsan is Executive Editor, The Daily Star.
For all latest news, follow The Daily Star's Google News channel.
Comments