When we told a performer in Istanbul that we were going to Kolkata (30 April – 8th May) her eyes widened slightly, and she began to warn us; “Saw a man with no eyes…no teeth…hole where his nose was…poverty…be ready to see horrible things…”. Instead, thanks to Couchsurfing’s powers, we stayed with the son of a very wealthy man who owned a fabric factory, and saw very little of all that. Our host said things like “what news of the [enter name here] boys?” when enquiring about friends, hung out with Bollywood stars and politicians, and lived the good life.
VS Naipaul described Kolkata in tragic terms: “All of its suffering are sufferings of death. I know not of any other city whose plight is more hopeless”. One third of the city’s population still lives in the 3,500 registered and unregistered slums that can be upwards of a century old. Like many rapidly modernizing cities, the social and geographic divides between rich and poor are increasingly dramatic. I’m not a fan of slum tourism, and it feels awkward saying this, but living in comfort in Kolkata was a little bit of an anticlimax. Otherwise put; it is really impressive how different Kolkata seems today than its reputation would have you believe.
Part of the problem was that it made us lazy. AC is a mollifying commodity that cooled almost all of my social indignation. It was tough to leave the house to film, and when we did, the performers were hard to find. Had it not been for our trip to see the Bengali Bauls (the main reason why we came to West Bengal), the week would have been almost a complete waste.
The Bauls are a set of mystics who play music and sing for people in return for donations, which enable them to continue their way of life. They sing songs about life’s biggest questions, plucking their one-string ektaras and their fretless dotaras. They will not beg or ask for alms, and will be satisfied with whatever they are given. There was a serene calm around the Bauls we met during our stay with Nitya Gopal Das Baul in his village, Bolpur.
We were told by a reliable source that times are changing for the Bauls. In the last forty years media attention has catapulted the Bauls to fame, and they are now invited to the world’s largest stages. This has reduced their need to play for tips, so they do not busk often. In their trips abroad, they have picked up a more Western philosophy: success can be measured in a CV.
So, West Bengal is losing a unique tradition of public performance that has stimulated local minds for millennia. The Bauls—and other traditional musicians across India—have been given something better than busking: legitimacy. But that is just an illusion that comes with the mainstreaming power of money. A musician who only plays on stages (or at weddings and parties) is not necessarily more legitimate an artist (in my mind) than one who plays on the street. But even the esoteric Bengali Bauls are beginning to be persuaded otherwise.
It’s no surprise why artists would want to get off the streets, as given the chance, anyone would—no more sun, dirt, noise, or pollution. Also, the pay is better on stage, so now the lucky few artists who “make it” can end up with a comfortable lifestyle. I have no problem with people aiming high, but as performers become mainstream, they lose touch with their base. Bauls have been entertaining and inspiring people for over two thousand years. Unfortunately, as the measure of success has changed from the immediate (clapping, audience reaction and donations) to international renown, the social and spiritual benefit of the Bauls has also been replaced. Fame has attracted performers who are motivated by success — there is a new demographic; those who play the music but don’t believe the words.