Palestine in Bengal

Some years ago, I was taking a train ride in Bengal, going from Kolkata to Bolpur.

In recent years, roads have improved, greatly cutting down driving time between those two cities. Also, cars on rent, including driver, is common these days. So, often end up renting a car while in Bengal. However, this was one of the occasions when I did not have a car. Thinking about it, I would have liked to own a good bicycle while in Santiniketan, which would keep me mobile and healthy. A scooter is also good, but not worth owning it if we only visit once in many years.

Anyhow, this specific time, I was traveling by train - not a bad way to go if you wish to meet up fellow travelers and get their feelings. On this occasion, I had my mother with me, and on the trip she was speaking with another resident of Santiniketan. I was taking pictures out of the window and into the compartment, and listening to the general conversation.

On the other side of the central aisle, there were a few Bengali youths, from suburban Calcutta, who were going a few stops only and not all the way to Bolpur. They were loud in their discussion, but not disrespectful of others. I actually liked some of their topics of discussion, which included state level politics, the so called degradation of the global environment and who was responsible for it. They discussed CPM government. I could guess that the feelings of these youths were no more about blind support of the communist regime, but same time, a lot of apprehension and suspicion of western influence on India and the power of the corporations. They were all worried about getting a job. They did not talk about work ethics, discipline and the virtue of working hard - something that I often felt was an issue that should be addressed. Anyhow, I did smile at some of their comments, and even joined in and offered my comments here and there. I was pleasantly surprised to note that they actually welcomed my participation. Clearly, I did not live in India - they had figured it out and also heard by mother speak about me to her friend. Somehow, my opinion seemed important enough for them.

Their talk moved on to street protests in Calcutta - something to do with rising price of things. They laughed about some of the police being pelted by stones and the police rounding up some innocent bystanders, while some of the real miscreants got away. In the process, the boys described one youngster, who was not present in the train, as a “palestine” boy, in Bengali. I had not come across the term. The boy they were speaking about had a Bengali name, was clearly a boy of the neighborhood, and had no ancestry in Palestine. He was not an Arab nor a Muslim. The term Palestine was not used as a Geographic location. The boy was not called Palestinian. Rather, the term was used as an adjective.

Eventually I figured it out. A ‘palestine’ boy, in Bengali, for these kids, meant a boy that was brave, was daring, stood up for his rights, was not afraid to face up to big opponents. It was an admirable adjective, betting local a local hero.

I found it amusing, and worthy of introspection. Here was a part of the world where folks were not Arab, not Muslim, and far removed from the Arab-Israeli conflict. But, television and international news had brought the world closer to home, and in the process, it was the stone pelting youths of Palestine that these unemployed kids of Bengal identified with.

It was almost like a David and Goliath story, but in reverse. Here David was not a poor Jewish village boy. Instead, it was a poor Palestinian kid, standing up to the Israeli tanks and armored cars. The Israeli army had turned into Goliaths. And the story had permeated through layers of linguistic, ethnic, cultural and civilizational barriers and reach remote corners of Bengal, where a brave boy taking on the state apparatus protesting rising food prices or their inability to get a good job. Identifying with the proverbial David, he begins to identify a brave brothers as ‘palestine’ boy. The exact term used, which kept ringing in my year, was ‘সে ছেলে প্যালেস্টাইন ছেলে’ or, ‘that boy is a palestine boy’.

In a way, David and Goliath had turned Bengali, and Palestine had arrived into the heartland of Bengali street culture.

Today, with the recent application by Palestine to the UN for recognition and statehood, and the intense backdoor horse trading by the US on behalf of Israel to prevent it, was the trigger that tweaked my memory about the incidence on the train in Bengal some years ago. This shows how the US-Israel axis is slowly losing ground on the ground globally - some of it in strange ways, such as these young kids of Kolkata, who find heroism and fighting the justice in the actions of Palestinian youngsters wanting freedom from oppression, and their underdog status naturally attracts sympathy, whereas the Israeli juggernaut and its US ally is considered the Goliaths of today.

Perhaps I should take a few more train journeys this time in India. Another way of keeping in touch with the land.