by Kunal Roy
There is no touch of radiance. There is no touch of wisdom. There is no lap of luxury. It is always the darkness that leads you to them. Through the blind lanes and by-lanes and half-broken steps smeared with filth and grime. The dimly lit vestibules reek of urine and smoke. Hemmed in by thousands of hungry men who await their turn to satisfy their latent lust. The walls are either soiled with betel leaf or stained with smoke. The strains of the popular Hindi melodies float far and wide. And once the musical entertainment is over with a touch of sheer contentment, something big and real gets awfully prepared to appear on the screen! The air is rife with the fragrance of silver bucks. But the prime story is woven around the flesh. The presence of anklets, flute, and harmonium acts as a prelude to the whole act!
The sun has set long ago. The effervescent bubbles of wine eagerly await the lips to touch the soggy edges of the glass. And the performance of the nautch girls seldom turns out to be something more than the drastic reality. At this very hour when the profession is found to be stripped of its historical glitz, the nautch girls are as good as ordinary harlots. There has been a noted decline in the splendour that they once boasted off. However, it is interesting to see how they show a kind of disinterest in calling up the richness of their culture. After all, it is an ‘obscure’ term and the style and steps cannot afford to go beyond the sizzling “Tu Cheez Bade Hai Mast” or the mellifluous “Tip Tip Barsa Pani”.
What has actually made them embrace this profession is a matter to ponder upon! Abject penury, money settlement, and above all a wish for a decent lifestyle stand up and speak for their choice! Gone are the days when the suave and sophisticated babus visited their inner realms to listen to and eulogize the talent embedded in the rich classical tradition. Rare ragas, enchanting bhajans or the golden strains of thumris are a matter of the past now. The local men making a beeline for the ‘show’ are rather interested in some other pursuits.
The rate varies from nautch to nautch. The age matters here. The teens can expect a sum of rupees three thousand, while the rest ( as the age ascends) get a meager amount to earn bread and butter! However, twenty percent goes straight to the pimps. A deplorable fettle indeed!
In the opinion of some noted personalities, socio-historical reasons are highly responsible for this degeneration. People take less interest in music, theatre, and films. The advent of the Swadeshi movement destroyed the babu culture. A sharp decline in clientele dwindled the whole atmosphere.
Flipping through the pages of history, one will surely find how the random changes took place in the lives of the nautch girls. The babus always made an arrangement for the entertainment of the English soldiers. Moreover, the babus used to tie their knot(s) at an early age, and with the passage of time, a sense of detachment developed. This further paved the path for bringing them closer to the nautches, patronising art, music, and culture, smelling the natural perfume, sipping the grape juice, and spending the night in their soft and tender arms!
The recognition of the nautch girls in the 19th and 20th century has paled into insignificance. Today the term ‘recognition’ is nothing more than a curse. They have children whose fathers are yet to be known. A sense of identity crisis prevails upon them. There is no way to break the snare and breath afresh under the blue bathed firmament. Yet they have not quit the battlefield. They are sending their children to convent schools, trying to impart the best training to their untrained minds in order to extract the best out of this life. Some even opine ” This ought to be the last generation to pursue this thankless profession “.
There is possibly no end to their plight. The local hooligans make a regular foray to upset their mental makeup. There is no bright chandelier hanging from the well-furnished ceiling to add a different dimension to their performance. The set is too small to perform, something like a pigeon cote. But the pimps are always there to cordially invite the local babus to make their day! Special nights. And the thoroughfare wears a forlorn outlook and sheds tears on its glorious past that has already passed into a state of oblivion!!
About the Author:
Kunal Roy was born in Kolkata. Right from his childhood, he has shown a tremendous interest in art and literature. With the passage of time, he has begun to pen articles, passages, and poems for different web portals, newspapers, and magazines. His works have also been recognized abroad. He has been awarded many times by the web magazines, printing and publishers guild, and others. In 2007 he received the best award for his dissertation on ‘Bhakti and Sufi Movements – A Socio-Religious Perspective’ from the department of Indology and Research Studies, Ramakrishna Mission Institute of Culture, Golpark, Kolkata. He has also translated three short stories of the book “Love in Siesta” by the author and columnist Avik Gangopadhya. His special areas of interest comprise art, philosophy, literature, sociology, mythology, and astrology. Currently, he is working with George Group of Colleges, Kolkata as an Assistant Professor of English Language and Communication. He is a permanent resident of Kolkata. The author can be contacted at : [email protected]