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Since Thursday, Twitter and Facebook have been abuzz with posts from people outraged by the reported decision of the government to declare khichdi — the mishmash of lentils and rice — as the national dish. The debates refused to die down even as Food Processing Minister Harsimrat Kaur Badal clarified: “Enough khichdi cooked up on a fictitious national dish. It has only been put for a record entry in World Food India.” As reported in the media, celebrity chef Sanjeev Kapoor will attempt to create a world record on Saturday (November 4) by cooking 800 kg of khichdi at the India Gate lawns as part of the three-day-long World Food India event.
Badal has also claimed that the event aims to provide a shot in the arm for the food processing industry, and according to news reports, the copious quantity of khichdi prepared will be distributed among 60,000 orphan children and guests at the event. Yet, at a time when India is reeling at the 100th spot among 119 nations in the Global Hunger Index — only Pakistan and Afghanistan are worse than us in Asia — such a gesture only reeks of tokenism. Prepared by the International Food Policy Research Institute, the report points out that child malnutrition in our country is worse than that in North Korea and Bangladesh. At the same time that this report came out, another one was in circulation: Of an 11-year-old girl, Santoshi Kumari, in Jharkhand dying of starvation as she did not have an Aadhaar-linked ration card.
There is an escape from such horrors, but in a desperate attempt to distract myself, I watched Satyajit Ray’s Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne (1969) last week. This is the khichdi (comfort food) of my film watching. Unfortunately, though, every scene of the film — a childhood favourite — cried out “food” and “hungry”, possibly because of the thoughts that preoccupied me. Goopy and Bagha, the titular characters, are two village bumpkins, thrown out of their respective villages (Amloki and Hortuki) because one is a bad singer and the other plays the dhol unmusically. Taking shelter in the forest, they encounter the King of Ghosts who gives them three boons: Eat and wear what you like, travel wherever you want to, and mesmerise everyone (literally) with your music. Armed with these magical powers, they travel to Shundi, win a royal music competition, prevent a war with neighbouring Halla, and get married to princesses.
Yet, as I watched this familiar narrative, mouthing dialogues and singing the songs, I realised that a running theme of the film — though not as overt as the music or the anti-war propaganda — is food. The first boon that Goopy asks of the Ghost King is: “Aamader jeno khawa porar kono bhabna na thakey (We should not have to worry about food and clothes).” In the next scene, Goopy discovers he can now sing and is accompanied by Bagha is a joyous song-and-dance sequence, which ends when the latter remembers his hunger pangs: “Na kheley nai kono sukh (There’s no pleasure without eating).” Food is no problem: They just need clap hands and “korma, kalia, pulao” appear magically. (Actors Tapen Chatterjee and Rabi Ghosh would later recall what a pain it was to eat this rich food, which would arrive in the morning but would go cold by the time the scene was shot.) The scene ends with the duo deciding to go to Shundi to take part in the music contest. As a parting shot, Bagha (Ghosh) tells a dog to eat the leftovers, and quips to Goopy: “Kukure khay bhuter khabar (A dog eats the food of ghosts).”
This is a dark, dark comment. Ray was not unfamiliar with the hunger. Barely 25 years before, a man-made famine killed millions in Bengal. Historian Madhusree Mukherjee, in her book Churchill’s Secret War, compares the British prime minister’s decision to stockpile food to be akin to Hitler’s Holocaust. In 1943, Ray was in his first year of employment in the advertising agency Keymer’s and, as Andrew Robinson writes in Satyajit Ray:The Inner Eye, he was insufficiently moved by it. But this indifference resulted in a decades-long guilt, which would be resolved only with Asani Sanket (1973). Its contours are already visible in Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne.
In an early scene in the film, the stark difference between Shundi and Halla are made evident through the report of a spy. Even as he ogles at the Halla prime minister feasting, the spy informs that Shundi has no preparation for war. There, people are busy cultivating food. In the contemporary Cold War era, this would have been a pointed criticism of nations, such a Halla, investing more in the arms race than in uplift of citizens. Later, when Goopy and Bagha are arrested by the Halla army and served an unpalatable gruel in prison, they manage to escape by bribing their guard with a feast, summoned by clapping hands.
In the climactic scene, the underfed Halla army begins its march, roused by the evil magic of a magician. But Goopy and Bagha intervene — not only with their music, but by also calling for a feast from the skies. “O re Halla rajar sena, / tora juddho korey korbi ki ta bol (O Halla King’s soldiers, / what will you get by warring)?” is a poignant cry against war. Immediately afterwards, they cause a rain of sweets. As the song ends, the shot cuts to the skies, where pots of every imaginable and unimaginable sweet appear. Naturally, the hungry army scatters and the evil plans of the prime minister are scuttled.
Unfortunately for the malnourished children in our towns and villages, there is no Goopy or Bagha to summon clouds of food. For them, an extravaganza like the one starting in Delhi today might seem somewhat like “bread and cakes”. Historians doubt Marie-Antoinette ever said, “If they don’t have bread, let them eat cakes.” The enemies of the French monarchy, however, used it effectively to illustrate the insensitivity of the rulers. In contemporary India, invention of such fiction is absolutely unnecessary — the facts are horrifying enough.
