Calcutta Diary by Ashok Mitra, Partha Chatterjee

By Ashok Mitra, Partha Chatterjee

The essays in Calcutta Diary first seemed within the fiscal and Political Weekly in the course of the notorious 21-month Emergency imposed in India among June 1975 and March 1977. apparently, Ashok Mitra had labored with former best Minister Indira Gandhi who had imposed the Emergency. The essays recount points of a special and especially tricky section in modern Indian history.

This re-creation contains a foreword via eminent social scientist, Partha Chatterjee, and a concluding observation through the distinguished historian of South Asia, Ranajit Guha. It deals an unprecedented portrait of Calcutta (now Kolkata) in all its dust and glory in a fashion few writers were in a position to trap lifestyles and longing during this infuriatingly memorable city in jap India.

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By Ashok Mitra, Partha Chatterjee

The essays in Calcutta Diary first seemed within the fiscal and Political Weekly in the course of the notorious 21-month Emergency imposed in India among June 1975 and March 1977. apparently, Ashok Mitra had labored with former best Minister Indira Gandhi who had imposed the Emergency. The essays recount points of a special and especially tricky section in modern Indian history.

This re-creation contains a foreword via eminent social scientist, Partha Chatterjee, and a concluding observation through the distinguished historian of South Asia, Ranajit Guha. It deals an unprecedented portrait of Calcutta (now Kolkata) in all its dust and glory in a fashion few writers were in a position to trap lifestyles and longing during this infuriatingly memorable city in jap India.

Show description

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There are too many of them by now to try to enter the latter either: there is standing room only, even in the underworld. Prabir would roam the city's filthy streets, generally purposelessly. One doubts whether he had any political convictions: his feeble attempts at writing poetry belonged to the genre of effusive-lyrical, with certainly no trace of any political ideology. July 20 was a Saturday. Prabir took his meal at nine-thirty in the morning and left home, the dingy two-room ground floor apartment in Bhowanipore in south central Calcutta.

Baburam Ghosh Road is a little alleyway down in Tollygunge on the southern fringes of Calcutta. It is indistinguishable from any other dirty lane in the city: slums, choked drains, stench of human and animal excreta, worn-out roads, non-existent pavements, rows and rows of dilapidated pucca houses crowding upon one another. Each such house is perhaps cut up into several dingy flats, dark, bereft of ventilation, lacking in basic sanitation facilities, an apology of an inner courtyard shared between a dozen families, perennially infested by termites and cockroaches.

Calcutta consists of an unending stream of drama groups. , who cannot scrape the funds to hire a hall but have aspiration written across their hearts, congregate at the Park. They do it every afternoon, but do it with greater gusto on Saturday afternoons, when the crowd collects quickly. The themes of the plays vary, some are vapid-social, some are roaring revolutionary, but nobody minds. A small group of watchers gathers across Raj Bhavan, a makeshift podium comes up, the players perform, the prompters prompt, the playwright improvises, and the audience applauds.

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