'Literature Festivals'

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!

So a 'unique' and 'great' theory of culture production is being born out of Literature/Art/Culture festivals: the theory of the ‘making of pulp culture'. Whether it is great or petty, good or evil, truth or untruth, big or small, anything or everything could be made out of this fictional fluidity. Culture is treated as mere pulp, culture is viewed as mere pulp, moulded out of pulp, and a philosophy of culture is being manufactured as a final outcome of this chaos. As per its demand and sales, this culture pulp itself is marketed and sold as a novel product! The morally pauperised author is only good to be treated as mere pulp! An utter nonsense of total absurdities in the name of real art and literature!