Dumping grounds for a rotten political
culture
M. P. Balaram
Truth cannot always be hidden beneath the
golden pots of lies. Witches of 'evildom' sometimes come out of their night caves.
Gods of Truth and wisdom do sometimes show us the ritualistic dance of evil
beings in broad daylight, in front of our very own eyes. It seems that nobody
is yet aware of the significance of this 'Macabre' dance play. As a result, the
most literate and culturally developed state is now under threat of a most
dangerous kind .This virus can spread and infect everything we own – not only
the mind and spirit but the very ethos of a whole population. Our cultural and
political identity itself is in danger.
Evil has now decided to remould the God's
own country in its own shape and image. No doubt about it. Hell is the new
role-model of this God's own paradise. Otherwise, how can we justify the
surrender of the whole legacy of our 'great literature and art' for a simple
price of fame and fortune. How can we
legitimise the loss of art's aura of truth, wisdom, ethics, and integrity? When
art and literature is lost and surrendered, people are the ultimate losers. Each
and every mantle of culture is then lost and once again we are metamorphosed
into either naked chimpanzees or simple savages. Literature/Art/Culture
festivals of the day are clear manifestations of an infectious virus of a
special kind that dangerously spreads and causes the extinction of Art/Culture/Literature
itself. Surrendering oneself for fame and fortune and for a 'reasonable price'
ultimately begets nullified, neutralised, castrated, perverted, ornamental art.
Festival venues has become the new avenues or dumping grounds for discarding
the last remains of a ‘rotten’ political culture. So ultimately this is not a
cultural issue. Politics of the festivals is to be followed and studied
properly.
The young writer – honoured, rewarded and
appreciated in current fests – undergoes a qualitative metabolic change of his
conscience. He is treated as an alien, as an elevated phenomenon, or as a
prototypical specimen. All his innate potential to evolve as an integrated,
creative person is snuffed out at the moment of his transformation/degradation into
narcissistic showmanship. Festivals prepare the most favourable ground for
building nonsensical celebrity images in the field of literature/art/culture.
Its virus, once transmitted, cannot be easily treated and cured. The elevated
podium meant for celebrating art is really meant for alienating art.
Now the young writer (and the young
reader) has to choose: whether I ought to belong to an elite grouping whose
only concern is about themselves, whose only belief is in the
perverse pleasure principle of narcissism and whose
mind and spirit is immersed in
only images of the ‘self’. His endless
monologues are focused on I and he is always speaking to himself. Imaging himself as a living legend, his lifelong
action and talks are centred on one main subject: a capital I. Then the
aura of fame and fortune begins to favour this God sent ‘Genius’, and he is
soon elevated to heaven to become a member of the club of celebrities. But
there is another option to choose for the young writer (also for the young
reader): The choice of ‘Resistance, Rebellion, and Death'. It is a hell having
no celebrities. Freedom is his birth right, and he will inscribe it on every
word, sound, or colour he creates. With fire in spirit and action, he lives and
works ‘dangerously’. He addresses the whole world and there are no barriers
here for action or talk. Here he is one among the subjects and no one is
subjected or surrendered in the name of a hierarchical order. So the word celebrity
is treated here as a 'taboo'. In this universe of People's Art, elite festivals are also banned.
It was M. N. Vijayan who called these kind
of 'charming', 'attractive' species as Swarna Malsyangal (Golden fish). Now
in an the all-pervasive polluted air, water and soil, yesterday's 'innocent'
tamed fish have been transformed in to cruel biting sharks .They bite or
swallow you either partly or wholly. Blood, i.e. the blood of the 'different
other', is treated as the most tasty and nutritious food. The only command they
obey is that of their ruling bosses, those who gives them fame and fortune. All
others, irrespective of left or right, are considered as mere insects. I
am the most beautiful name in the world. You are the most hated. Slavery
is my accepted profession. Freedom is not at all seen in my profile.
Freedom is not ‘my’ choice. Prometheus,
Spartucus, Bazarov, Reskalnikov – all those having the gene of resistance,
rebellion (and heroic death) should be confiscated. All those models known as
'Classics' should be treated as pure manure. Whole History has only one value. You
can either make use of it (for your benefit) or throw it as useless (also for
your own interest). Most of the time history is a thing that should be wholly
forgotten. Discourses centred on literature, art, form, content, sensibility,
purposefulness etc. etc. are utter nonsense. But let them assert their own
'values' or 'non-values' and argue about its 'existence' or 'non-existence'
repeatedly, endlessly. In the eyes of good marketing, every word uttered and
even the non-uttered silences are potentially profitable. Even the preaching of
heavenly morality or satanic evilness are sometimes profitable. Making use of
morality and immorality, making each and every thing credible or incredible is itself
an art. Net result should be emphasised: Profit. Therefore, my (festival)
master and I (author celebrity) believe in one and only God – Profit. The God
of fame and fortune! Long live our masters!
Long live I!
