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Debu-da -- Large Man in a Larger World

Discussion in 'Snippets of Life (Non-Fiction)' started by ojaantrik, Jan 3, 2009.

  1. ojaantrik

    ojaantrik IL Hall of Fame

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    Come to think of it, you can’t really blame God for failing to make all men equal, or all women for that matter. Not to speak of the rest of the living world, starting from cats, dogs and grasshoppers, all the way back to dinosaurs.


    Inequality notwithstanding, God has ensured that what one loses on the swing, one's almost certainly compensated for on the turnaround. To wit, a spider doesn’t feel too disappointed, or so I presume, that it’s not endowed with a Cleopatra charm. For God, in an effort to cover up the somewhat clumsy job he did on the spider vs. Cleopatra front, sanctioned for spiders an extra allowance of legs to keep them alive and, more importantly, kicking.

    And I am almost certain that the same logic extended to Debu-da. I will simply call him Debu-da, following Bengali custom, because I never found out what his last name was. I was a student of Standard 5 or less I think, when Debu-da managed to catch public attention. I was too young to wonder about family names. Also, I was overwhelmed by the fact that he was the only being I had come across who was literally taller than life.

    Around 7 feet in fact, give or take half an inch at most. By Indian standards, and certainly by any stretch of Bengali imagination, he stood far too overstretched for the comfort of his neighbours, or at least his co-passengers in public buses. Indeed, Debu-da boarding a bus distinctly resembled a giraffe pushing its way into an igloo. It is unlikely that run of the mill igloo occupants would be too elated to entertain giraffes in their living rooms. And, unfortunately enough, much like a giraffe caught in polar wilderness, Debu-da too was quite as defenceless against the 'slings and arrows of outrageous fortune'. At least financially so, or else why would he need to board public buses?

    Going back to the somewhat pedestrian philosophy we started out with though, every bit of aberration in God’s creative adventures has a positive side to it. For example, basket ball teams should probably have been only too willing to pay a tidy sum to rope Debu-da in and train him up as their discovery of the century. But India went for cricket and soccer luminaries and no one in the sports world even noticed him. Besides, to the best of my knowledge, he was not much of an athlete.

    Nevertheless, his height didn't turn into an unadulterated liability for Debu-da. Talent searching scouts spotted him and launched him off on a career linked to the celluloid world. An advertisement programme for the Metro Cinema, standing as it did in royal glory opposite the Ochterlony Monument (now Shahid Minar) on Calcutta’s Esplanade East area, made superb use of Debu-da's height.

    The movie version of King Solomon's Mines, starring Deborah Kerr and Stewart Granger, if memory serves me right, had just arrived in India and the Metro was flooded with school kids from all across the city. To keep the children amused and ensure at the same time that the news would spread, the people in charge of the hall decided to post an usher who resembled a spear toting African tribesman, in full view of passers by. The role fitted Debu-da like a glove as he guarded the imposing gates leading to the theatre, looking, if anything, far more imposing than the gates themselves. They had painted him blacker than the blackest of boot polishes and dressed him up (or down, depending on the way you wish to describe his attire) as best as they could in imitation of characters in the movie.

    Debu-da must have enjoyed his job at least as much as the children loved watching him for the entire length of time the movie ran. This should have brought him a modicum of compensation for the struggle he endured when forced to travel in standing position in crowded Calcutta buses.

    But then all good things in life, including life itself, refuse to last forever. Same for Metro's stint with King Solomon's diamonds and other precious stones. The treasures that Debu-da solemnly guarded lost their shine in Calcutta's eyes ultimately and Debu-da had to give up his weapon as well as cannibal attire. He was about to join the ranks of Calcutta's unemployed labour force when fortune smiled once again.

    The Metro authorities had probably developed a liking for him and decided to absorb him as a regular member of their usher force. Debu-da underwent a magical metamorphosis as a result. The black soot covering him from head to foot was washed off, his ominous looking spear surrendered along with the smart warrior's loin cloth, Debu-da emerged out of the jungles of primeval Africa in a light grey usher's uniform, sporting a navy blue bow tie, dimly visible somewhere up in the clouds where most of his torso lay hidden. Come to think of it, few people ever got to see the face that 'looked down' at them as they handed over the tickets to Debu-da's hands prior to being admitted into the auditorium. For all practical purposes, it was a pair of ownerless hands that they interacted with when Debu-da ushered them in. His face remained shrouded in mysteries that appeared to call for expert mountaineers for a clear resolution.

    I could well have been one of the lucky few who managed to have a glimpse of the face along with the bow tie that adorned his neck. My mom had taken me to the theatre to watch a children's movie and just as we were being ushered in, she had a question for Debu-da. The subject matter of the question I can no longer recall. However, that does not matter. What's important is that Debu-da had to bend low, double up in fact, and bring his ears to the level of my mom's face to be able to hear her speak. And there was no way I could not have seen his face at that particular moment. He was hawk nosed and had eyes that were browner than those of an average Bengali. His eye brows twisted into a frown as he attempted to listen to what my mom had to say and soon after the conversation was over, he straightened up. And that was the last time I ever saw his face in real life.

    It is not clear how long Debu-da served the Metro cinema, probably a short stretch at best. I think he grew ambitious as he watched the endless procession of movies at the theatre and began to look for an opening for himself in the very same profession. Debu-da did not enjoy ushering people in to watch matinee idols. He wished instead that people be ushered in to watch him on the screen. And, in a somewhat dubious manner to be described below, he did manage to fulfil his ambition, though I do not know exactly how he found his way into a movie studio.

    He appeared in his first and possibly last movie, however, in a role that required him to disappear in the very first scene of the movie and remain in that state till the end of the film. It was a Bengali comedy called The Invisible Man and fanciful luck had decreed that Debu-da be chosen to play the title role, viz. the invisible man himself. Sounded a bit like Julius Caesar in Shakespeare's play by the same name, though it was in truth somewhat worse. Caesar had at least kicked the bucket pretty early in the play and no one in the audience expected him to be actually sitting on what appeared to be an empty chair. In Debu-da's case, it was invariably the chair that substituted for him. Besides, the chair or whatever it was that he sat or stood upon hardly ever spoke. No doubt an oversight on the part of the screenplay writer.

    Come to think of it, as an usher, Debu-da was visible at least torso downwards. Once elevated to stardom, he vanished altogether. And this, alas, was a tragedy. Particularly so, since he never seemed to reappear before the world following his brief experiment with acting. Neither his top half that is, nor the bottom!

    What happened to him will remain an open question, to which God alone might know the correct answer. The only trouble though is that God has remained, if anything, even more invisible than Debu-da.

    And that too since the day the universe was created.
     
    Last edited: Jan 4, 2009
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  2. Mindian

    Mindian IL Hall of Fame

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    dear oj sir,

    first of all i would like to extend my new year greetings to u and your family....hope u have a great 2009..

    as usual your writing left me spellbound...your description is SO good that i have a clear picture of debu da in front of my eyes...sad that he literally disappeared from the scene....but i do admire his ambition...from being an usher to enter films....

    enjoyed the humour in your narration too
    regards
    Mindi....
     
  3. Jpatma

    Jpatma Silver IL'ite

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    Dear OJ ji,
    I enjoy your style of narration and the sense of humour. I can understand when we are young how fascinated we become of some personalities and then they move out of our life. Your description is vivid and paints a picture in my mind.
    This reminds me of a beggar in Mumbai who used to come in front of the building (during school hols) and used to sing " chahunga mein tujhe saaj savere " from the film dosti and we use to listen to him & throw few paisa.
    It used to be daily affair and then he just stopped coming. Ofcourse we kids made up some stories out of imagination as to what happened.

    Oj ji please continue we love your style of writing
    May God bless you.
    Jaya
     
  4. Devika Menon

    Devika Menon Gold IL'ite

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    Dear OJ,

    Loved your post. Your passion for writing is so evident from each post of yours.

    Infact I was reminded of one Hindi song:
    "Aathe Jaathe Khubsoorat Awaara Sadko pein
    Kabhi Kabhi ithefaaq se
    Kitne anjaan log mil jaathe hain
    Unme se kuch log bhool jaathe hain
    Kuch yaad rahe jaathe hain"....

    Good post OJ. Loved the tinge of humour too.

    Regards,
    Devika
     
  5. Anandchitra

    Anandchitra IL Hall of Fame

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    OJ
    Another well written blog from you. I also walked alog with on the journey sighting of Debu-da. Sometimes what others think as luck or great publicity like being an actor can be a downfall as the person's individuality is lost.
    Well written..
     
  6. Kamla

    Kamla IL Hall of Fame

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    Dear Ojaantrik,

    Debu-da was a real delight to read. You write so well ! Though Debuda is really a somewhat sad figure, one cannot miss the never-say-die attitude he lived his life with.

    All your writings that I have read so far have an old world charm to it and once again I feel like I have lived in Calcutta and walked those streets!

    L, Kamla
     
  7. ojaantrik

    ojaantrik IL Hall of Fame

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    Dear Mindi:

    Thank you and do accept my somewhat belated New Year wishes.

    I feel so happy that some of you have enjoyed reading my piece. It's so encouraging.

    All the best.

    oj

     
  8. ojaantrik

    ojaantrik IL Hall of Fame

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    Yes Jaya:

    That was precisely the spirit with which I approached Debu-da. He was a 'poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage'. I noticed him for as long as he lasted and then travelled on. But he left his mark on me, or else why should I remember him after so many years?

    All the best.

    oj




     
  9. ojaantrik

    ojaantrik IL Hall of Fame

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    Exactly Devika:

    As you say:


    I wonder why! You are not even aware that you have retained them till they show up all of a sudden.

    Thanks for the fb.

    oj
     
  10. ojaantrik

    ojaantrik IL Hall of Fame

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    Thank you Anandchitra. Frankly, I don't even know if he fell or rose. Perhaps he started a business of his own and moved out of Calcutta. One can build a story starting off from this point!

    oj

     

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