The new year was ushered in on tenterhooks amidst the scare of yet another new variant of the rogue virus that has invaded the physical, material and psychological domains of global humanity. As the mortality rate dipped, there was a collective sigh of relief. Death comes at the end, of course , but the last couple of years have played havoc with our coping mechanism by conflating the palpable personal grief at the demise of a loved one and a universal sense of loss. Losing is the creed of the generation that emerged in the second half the twentieth century. Diligently honing the skills of a bygone Era of slow time, they had but just arrived, when they were unceremoniously thrust into the technological mayhem of the new millennium. 

 

The inability to mourn concretely amidst a continuous struggle for existence breeds mass melancholia that is forwarded and disseminated daily, neatly tucked and packaged as nostalgic memes. Relationships change according to lyrics and lighter/ quicker modes and codes bring instant gratification leading to an inversion in the power structure in terms of value. An upstart work culture and simulated lifestyle obliterates the value of long term experience at the click of a key, both in the public and private sphere. With the tables neatly turned, generation X tightens its purse strings as generation z takes over. The pandemic ironically enough has acted as a great leveller creating a new sense of history before and after, a new normal for all. Totally eclipsed by the ubiquitous sway of technology,  the  standardised subject emerges to efface all 

dissent and  obliterate any trace of aberration. 

 

Those who had resisted this net of surveillance are now forced to join hands and dance the mazy motion of virtual progress. Tragedy has pushed us together into this ' desert of the real' where all risks are virtual till you become redundant. As the euphoria of newly acquired technical skills replaces the passion of resistance, we step on each other's toe trying to tap to a new rhythm. The sharp pain is strangely reassuring, like the searing pang of pure melody or quickened heartbeat responding to archetypal drums that burst forth from our collective unconscious. Unfamiliar and archaic words like sadhna,  riyaz , taalim pull us back to a shared ethos of psycho-social space where memory becomes politically relevant as identity. As we flounder and struggle to pick ourselves up, we are goaded by legendary figures. A voice that remained undeterred by age and circumstances.  A dancer who became the dance. That torque or swerve that represents agency and defies the accepted norms of a cultural code. The subjugated becomes the subject when the alternative wins instead of the mainstream. The rare fruition of innate talent and its full manifestation glorifies life as a choice instead of mere existence. A state of freedom which makes a person apocryphal. Legends are more than persons. They are the accrued splendour of unfulfilled desires in a mundane world. By pursuing a rigorous regime of one's own , the digression becomes an inspiring example and defies the indifference of a random world. Their song becomes our song. A sudden pirouette that challenges gendered expectations. We pause. We look back. A death stands out even in this  carnage.

 

Legends have a presence in absence. They lie dormant within a scattered generation that stretches beyond the limitations and restrictions of national borders. A wound that has healed but will bleed easily when scratched. The nation mourns the demise of two stalwarts at the very inception of this year. Pandit Birju Maharaj and Lata Mangeshkar were doyens in their chosen fields. The masses assimilate them as collective melancholia, to be summoned from memory at the trigger of of a poignant moment. Legends are crucial reminders of possibilities in a mapped world. An act of memory. The pandemic has forced us to slow down. Let us resist this compulsive urge to catch up. Let us continue to reflect. 

 

Dr. Mou Chattopadhyay
Member, Editorial Board
Society Language and Culture