Simply Samir

Antabiheen ei andha rater sesh
Kotha je tomari chokher alloy dekha
sonali sadher desh
[ Atl the end of the endless night, where is the land of the golden wish, which you have visualized]

I guess this is more or less the transliteration of this song. This song was composed by Bengali music director Salil Chowdhury and if I am not wrong, he has sung this himself. It is considered to be one of the most popular Bengali songs. Personally I don’t like the song much; neither I’m a big fan of Salil Chowdhury. My knowledge of Bengali music is not quite up to the mark, actually I don’t know much about Bengali music before 1990. In the 90s, with the emergence of the Trio [Nachiketa, Suman, Anjan], I got into the habit of listening to Bengali Songs, and the evolution of the Bengali bands in early 2000 was the icing on the cake. I have heard almost all songs till 2005, after that so many bands started forming that it became like Band-emonium, and I lost interest in Bengali songs again. Before getting into the main part let me answer an obvious question. Why am I writing about this song if I don’t like it? Because the incident attached to the song was so funny that every now I then I remember the song. This song reminds me of Samirda… one of the biggest nutcases I’ve ever seen in my life… And I like him for whatever he is…

Samir Naskar is one of the most famous personalities in our small village. His funda-mental problem was, he was so experi-mental in everything without being judge -mental, people used to think [and still think] that he was mental [Oh!!! I missed senti-mental]. Jokes apart, Samirda is actually a cult figure at our place, there are so many stories about his frenzies, that if I write all, it would be a book and I can easily make a film called ‘Being Samir’. From film I remember, once when all of us friends were discussing about what we all want to be in future, I said I want to make films some day. Samirda’s remark was “When you make films, please give me the role of a fisherman, who is singing folk song in his boat, and rowing towards the sea”. Samirda actually is a good theatre actor, though his face never allowed him to be a hero, but he is really good at performing arts. Be it painting, acting or dancing, Samirda always had his own style of doing it, and those were appreciated also. But he wanted to be a master of a certain category of performing arts, which always used to turn out as a nightmare for others. Singing … is what he wanted to do, and singing… is where he was at his worst…

Let’s time travel to 9 years back, sometimes in the month of October. It was the sixth day of the Durgapuja and there were hints of celebration in the atmosphere. For Bengalis, Puja starts from this date; so at the Puja besides our house every year a small cultural program happens. That year I also sang some Bengali band songs with my band. Ours was the last performance, and Samirda had requested the coordinator to let him sing one song and end the program. Though that dude agreed at that point of time to let Samirda calm down; he had other plans in mind. The moment our program ended, he shut down the lights and blamed it totally on load shedding, and by the time electricity came back, the audiences were gone. Samirda was so depressed, he didn’t speak, didn’t eat , straight went back home. We thought he will forget it after a good night’s sleep….

During Durga Puja, coconuts are required for some rituals. The young club members, instead of buying those coconuts, they used to steal it from different people’s trees after midnight. Since our house was the closest to the Puja pandal, before going to sleep, I made sure that no one is in the garden and I locked the garden door and went to sleep. It was about 11:30 then. Suddenly I woke up at 2 o clock following a loud yell. I could hear my dad shouting “who is this uncouth bastard, who has no sense of civilization? How inhuman this can be?” I asked my dad to calm down and went out to find out what has happened. And what I found out was this…
The coconut thieves had jumped over our fence and made full plan of theft and all, one of them went up to the tree and was throwing the coconuts down. It was the same tree where the loudspeakers of the puja pandal were tied for morning mantra chanting and all. The coconut thief was intriguely busy in his craft, suddenly a screeching noise besides his ears blasted his eardrums as if a bomb had blasted nearby, he lost control and fell down from the tree, straight in the paddy field, which was full with mud. And before the team could go for his help, they heard my dad shouting. They left all the coconuts behind and ran somehow carrying the injured thief [he didn’t sustain much injuries, other than a broken left arm]. I met them outside our house and all of us went to find the source of the sound. And then…

No no, let us go back three hours, we should follow Samirda. After that depressing program, Samirda went home, sat in his courtyard for some time, had a smoke, and the artist inside him started poking him again. So once the coconut thieves left the pandal, he went back to the pandal, bribed the sound guy with a bottle of country liquor, pretended to drink with him, but dint have a single peg, and the moment the sound guy was sloshed and out, he got hold of the amplifier and the microphone. But not necessarily every singer will have the knowledge of sound equipments, Samirda also didn’t have… Instead of connecting the small speakers, he connected the four huge loudspeakers hung at different trees around the village. He opened his music diary, cleared his throat and the moment he sang the first two lines all those things mentioned above happened..[ just to remind you, the loudspeakers blasted, my dad shouted, the thief fell down, broke his hand, the team escaped without taking a single coconut etc.]. And the punishment???

Samirda had to pay for all the coconuts used next day, he had to bear the cost of treatment of the thief, he wasbbanned from the pandal for a day… And when the next day I met Samirda, surprisingly he was humming the same song…
Khuje khuje firi hay re hay [ I go on searching]