Tuesday, March 31, 2009


A minibus sped past me. Freshly painted in red and yellow with a face of a young lad at the back – in a suit foolishly smiling at all who wish to look upon him. Beside, in bold letters – a name – of an institute – possibly a mushroom institute where people rush to do an MBA.
On the side of the bus in bold: Bagha Jatin, B.B. D Bag......
Lucky souls they were – even after sixty to seventy years after their death we remember them – don’t we? We have named places after them, we still have a chapter on Revolutionary terrorism in our history syllabus and oh yes, we recall their names everyday....
"Ashun ashun, Bagha Jatin, B.B.D Bag.... astey ladies ache......"
Indeed they were lucky souls – they were born at a time when people were silly day dreamers – who were foolish enough to chase their “impossible dreams” and tactless enough to lose their lives in the process. And the stupidest part of the whole thing was that they did it all – not for a better job – not for a pay hike – not for a better standard of living- but for some vague “cause”....
And we are foolish enough to remember them aren’t we?
To be honest after all they did, what did they gain? Weeping mothers and shattered widows – and what did we gain? Well, mushroom institutes where we rush to do an MBA!

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