But there was something in the air that said, this year, in Kolkata Independence Day would be different. For almost a week before, nearly all schedules focused on the day. First it was the service engineer who was to come over and take a look at our music system. He would come after Independence Day, he promised, with two days still to go for the holiday. This continued with others till I got the feeling that the midweek holiday was either the end or the beginning of a really long weekend for many who could set their own pace of work.
Then, as Independence Day came close, a mildly festive mood began to emerge. Many paras, or neighbourhood clubs, hung out stings of coloured lights - this is done when there is some kind of puja around or an important day from the past political calendar is to be to remembered. I could not figure out if the embers of patriotic fervour had been rekindled in this part of the country or it was simply another occasion for the local boys to add some brightness to their lives.
However, what really made a difference was what was broadcast through the day for a couple of days leading up to Independence Day from loudspeakers mounted in front of those local clubs. It was all patriotic songs - the world of film music allowed a corner only when it had a good patriotic number to offer. The bonus was getting to hear many old songs written by a succession of talent during the nation's long freedom struggle that had been almost forgotten. It seemed that some of the best of music from a bygone era was having a short revival.
Then on the eve of Independence Day, even I got roped in. My friend, who is a big shot at our club, phoned to say that all friends of big shots had a duty to perform. Independence Day would begin at 7 am with the Veterans' Regatta; then the tricolour would go up at 9 am; and when the national anthem and a couple of patriotic numbers were out of the way, there would be a breakfast fit for the occasion hosted by the club. Thus, I participated in what must be the first flag hoisting ceremony of my life, and I have to confirm that the repast that followed was every bit worthy of the occasion. It is fascinating how nothing of any consequence happens in Kolkata without there being grand khana to go with it.
Thus, patriotic juices suitably galvanised and gastric juices suitably satiated, I came home to rest and be ready for what was for me the major event of the day: going to see a play we had been wanting to watch for some time. Nihsanga Samrat (The Lonely Monarch), based on the novel by Sunil Gangopadhyay, is the life story of Sisir Kumar Bhaduri, the legendary colossus of the Bengali stage who was the harbinger of the celebrated experimental theatre movement that was to come later. His career touched two generations of creative people from Rabindranath Tagore to Satyajit Ray (as in the novel) or Soumitra Chatterjee (as in the play).
The hallmark of a true artist is the way he has to suffer for his art that he cannot set aside and for which he has to repeatedly turn his life upside down. To get his troupe to stage productions for which the audience of the day was not yet ready, he went bankrupt several times, with the commercial theatre of the day being both foe and rescuer. A succession of women gave shape to his ideas on the stage, even as he rode roughshod over their emotions with unthinking self-centredness. The play captured all this and more.
But for me the best part was the songs and the monologues. Some of the finest music of D L Roy and Rabindranath Tagore and uplifting texts (they were part of the plays Bhaduri produced) of half a century were brought back to life with what seemed to be an implicit admonition: let present generations be worthy of inheriting the fruits of the selfless creativity of those who had laboured while dreaming of freedom. After the play, as we went out in the rain, the meaning of Independence Day became so very clear.