Being Free

Chapter One: Origin

My two grandfathers, maternal and paternal, were completely opposite in terms of their characters and personality traits. Being the more affluent and renowned house between the two, my mother’s side of the family always held greater control and it was justified too because of the material support we were given by them. I come from a place that is full of river, canals and ponds all around and yet I share very little connection with the water. My village is full of hard working people and their concern for just living overshadowed all the other needs that our modern world has come to manufacture. A hard day’s work, a belly full of rice and a good night’s sleep, that’s all they need. Among these sunburnt dark muscular folk, there were a few exceptions and my two grandpas belonged to that group. I called my maternal grandfather ‘Dadu’, which truly sounds a lot more affectionate and intimate than ‘Vai’, which I used to call my paternal grandfather.

Dadu was exceptionally ambitious for a half-educated village guy, his will to succeed in the material world was overwhelming. He tried many professions from farming to muhuri (legal clerk), capitalized the political turmoil of the country to his advantage, managed to own a significant amount of land and most importantly produced seven children, mostly smart and very much capable of holding on their own in this cruel world. My mother is the second child of his, not a very joyous occasion her birth, I guess because consecutive female child was nobody’s expectation in that time and place. My maternal grandmother who I call ‘Bondhu’, a term symbolizing the endearment and love we share, was facing serious consequences after the birth of a third female child, my aunt, even her in-laws tried to get my Dadu remarried which according to my Bondhu, failed because my Dadu eloped to India to protest the imposition.

One of Dadu’s distinctive quality would be his preferential treatment to those who don’t seek it. When he saw someone trying hard to make a living, to ensure better future for their children, he supported them. But those who frequented my mamabari (maternal uncle’s house) for handouts, he was disgusted by them and never hesitated to criticize their lack of drive loudly. So he made a name for being a straight guy who doesn’t give two paisa value to what others think. It was an extremely difficult job to extract money from him, for whatever purpose, even his children, my uncles were very much frightened even in their college years to confront him. My mother was the most favored child of his in terms of getting financial support from him largely because she was married to ‘Thakur Bari’ (House of Saints), local alias of my father’s house, poorest of the poor. But the sons and daughters of that house had something that the whole village didn’t, a very fair skin, almost aristocrat in the racial context. The reason behind the naming of the house is that they are Motua, the followers of Horichand Thakur, a religious figure considered avatar of God to a sect of lower caste hindus. My ancestors were singers and drummers and dancers who fronted the large processions of motuas going from village to village to chant ‘Horibol’ and show it’s greatness to people. They were completely careless about the material life having no certain source of income, they were very much dependent on the help of other fellow motuas for their essential needs.

The purpose of this grandfather context is to establish the inherent blend of white and black, industry and lethargy, material and spiritual, of my existence. It is by no means any excuse to the wrongdoings and lousy choices that I am going to talk about here.

Chapter 02

Documenting a person is tough especially if that person is some kind of a genius. Their constant need for attention and uncontrolled self indulgence exhausts me. I came here to get some time off but brought my camera anyway, if something unique happens that require documentation i wouldn't miss the chance. In lieu of special event, I came across this special person who by my every count needs to be documented. Part of his life that is gone without any record like photographs or videotapes, he can tell you the highlights of those parts packaged in less boring way with some superior sense of humor on top. I wont be able to characterize our relationship yet but I feel there is something, maybe not as strong as love but not so meager like a random date. His masculinity definitely got a boost when i let him know that i will make him my subject for my film, and it showed. Maybe afterwards he realized my work might attract an wave of unwanted attention and questions regarding his business dealings. So he made me an interesting counter offer, I should make what i intended to make but he will buy the rights, nobody he doesn't want to see this film, doesn't. It bothered me a bit that he did not make any conscious effort to impress me, which i'm used to after ten years doing this.