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‘Two Constitutions’ Myth: How The Bengal Files Spins Lies About West Bengal

Sheikh Ayesha Islam
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‘Two Constitutions’ Myth: How The Bengal Files Spins Lies About West Bengal

Cinema is a potent vehicle for societal reflection, critique of authority, and the cultivation of empathy. However, when a motion picture selectively manipulates historical facts to advance a political narrative, it functions as propaganda rather than artistic expression. The Bengal Files, directed by Vivek Ranjan Agnihotri, exemplifies this phenomenon. The film presents historical events through an exceptionally partial lens, raising serious questions regarding its fidelity to the historical record and its potential influence on public perception. From a legal and ethical standpoint, the deliberate distortion of history can undermine informed discourse and manipulate collective memory for ideological purposes.

The film is set in the turbulent period of 1946–1947 Bengal, encompassing Direct Action Day, the Noakhali riots, and other episodes of communal violence. These events were undeniably tragic, and their remembrance is crucial. However, the narrative reduces multifaceted historical realities to a simplistic “victims versus aggressors” framework. Hindus are depicted almost exclusively as helpless victims, while Muslim political actors and mobs are cast solely as perpetrators. This portrayal offers little nuance and largely omits the broader socio-political context, raising concerns about selective representation and the distortion of collective memory.

Selective Memory, Skewed Narrative

Dialogues in The Bengal Files further underscore its polemical tenor. One character chillingly asserts:
“Jab yeh illegal immigrants ten percent ho jaate hai, toh yeh vote bank ban jaate hai … bees percent ho jaane par yeh apne rights ki demand karte hai … aur tees percent hote hi naye country ki demand karte hai (When these illegal immigrants reach ten percent, they become a vote bank … at twenty percent, they start demanding their rights … and at thirty percent, they demand a new country)”.

This line insinuates that demographic changes are part of a deliberate political strategy, tapping into contemporary anxieties about identity, nationhood, and political power. Another character claims:
“Yeh Bharat nahi hai, yeh Pashchim Bengal hai. Yaha pe do constitution chalta hai. Ek Hinduon ka, aur dusra yeh Musalmaano ka (This is not India, this is West Bengal. Here, two constitutions operate: one for Hindus, and another for Muslims)”.

The invocation of “dual constitutions” fosters perceptions of deep division and mutual distrust, portraying the Muslim community as inherently oppositional.

A further example is provided by a character who envisions a Muslim occupying India’s Prime Ministerial office:
“Apna naam bata. Taimur. Lekin socho, san 2050, jab yeh India ka pehle yuvaa minority prime minister banega, tab humaari democracy ki kitni badi jeet hogi (Tell me your name.” “Taimur.” “But just imagine, the year 2050, when he becomes India’s first young minority Prime Minister, think of how great a victory it will be for our democracy).”

Dialogues That Fuel Division

Although speculative, this dialogue frames political change as a threat rather than a democratic evolution, leveraging fear to influence audience perception. Collectively, these lines illustrate how selective scripting can manipulate historical memory and contemporary political discourse, raising ethical and socio-legal questions about the responsibility of the media.

Beyond its dialogues, the film relies on visceral visuals to heighten its impact. Scenes depicting massacres, beheadings, and sexual violence are rendered in graphic detail. As noted in the NDTV review, the film is “disturbingly graphic, gory and gruesome.” While cinematic portrayals of violence are not inherently objectionable, here they appear less aimed at illuminating historical truth and more focused on eliciting intense emotional reactions that align with a specific communal narrative. The prioritization of shock over contextual analysis is a hallmark of propaganda, manipulating audience emotions to reinforce a particular ideological perspective.

Shock Over Substance

The timing and context of the film’s release further reinforce its interpretation as a propagandist work. It premiered amid ongoing political campaigns in West Bengal, a state where identity politics remain particularly sensitive. As India Today reported, the release “has sparked political fire over the state’s past,” with debates extending beyond cinematic critique to encompass electoral and communal tensions. Propaganda is most potent when it taps into preexisting anxieties, and the film appears strategically positioned to do so.

Supporters contend that the movie sheds light on historically underrepresented events. Actor Mithun Chakraborty defended the film, asserting to ABP Live, “If we show the truth, it’s called propaganda.” While this defense frames the film as an exercise in historical revelation, a critical reading suggests that selective storytelling and emotionally charged depictions blur the line between historical representation and ideological messaging.

Director Vivek Agnihotri asserts that mainstream narratives have historically downplayed the suffering of Hindus in Bengal. While such intentions may be genuine, intent alone does not shield a work from scrutiny. When historical events are presented selectively, excessively dramatized, and stripped of contextual nuance, the risk of misleading audiences and exacerbating societal divides becomes significant.

Critics have been nearly unanimous in highlighting the film’s agenda-driven storytelling. Cinema Express described it as “reeks of propaganda” and a work that “strives to incite, not introspect.” This critique aligns with the assessment of The Hindu, which panned the film for transforming historical tragedy into a vehicle for present-day political messaging, rather than fostering reflection or reconciliation.

This illustrates the essence of cinematic propaganda: not the invention of events, but the selective framing of truth. By exaggerating specific narratives, projecting fear, and reducing historical complexity to a binary of victim and aggressor, The Bengal Files shapes audience perception in a calculated manner.

The Bengal Files is not merely a historical retelling; it is a narrative filtered through an ideological lens. It relies on selective storytelling, emotionally charged dialogues, and graphic depictions that function less as historical analysis and more as a tool of propaganda. By presenting events in a skewed and one-dimensional way, it risks distorting collective memory, shaping public perception, and inflaming communal tensions. Cinema has the capacity to educate, provoke reflection, and foster empathy, but when used to advance a partisan narrative, it must be scrutinized for its ethical and legal implications. Audiences deserve portrayals of history that are accurate, nuanced, and reflective, not portrayals that exploit tragedy, amplify divisions, or manipulate sentiment to serve contemporary political ends. A film may claim to highlight underrepresented perspectives, but as the critical reception proves, selective framing and emotionally charged dramatization blur the line between storytelling and agenda-driven messaging, making critical engagement by viewers more necessary than ever.

From 1943 Bengal to 2025 Gaza: Behala Friends’ Durga Puja Strikes a Chord

Suman Sengupta
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From 1943 Bengal to 2025 Gaza: Behala Friends’ Durga Puja Strikes a Chord

[dropcap]K[/dropcap]olkata’s Durga Puja is no longer just a puja, it has also become a specimen of artwork. During the days of puja, Kolkata turns into a moving art gallery. People of all religions are enjoying this art without paying any entry fee. Several puja committees this year have, even before the puja formally begins, arranged for special entry passes so that people can see the work of the artists.

One such puja is Behala Friends, which will leave many stunned when they experience it. The theme of the puja is Nabanna—War, Wounds and Hunger. The main artist is Pradip Das. Pradip, one of the members of the Behala-based artist collective Chander Hat, has already created several works in Kolkata pandals on Partition and its pain. This year, the surprise presented by Behala Friends in South Kolkata will undoubtedly create a stir in the minds of people.

When Gaza Meets 1943 Bengal

Who suffers the most in wars? Do those who wage wars or fight in them even get a scratch? When an economic crisis deepens, when food shortages appear, when a small shelter turns into ruins before one’s eyes, perhaps some people enjoy it on the screens of televisions or mobiles—but do we have any idea what effect it leaves on the minds and bodies of those who actually live through it?

A poet named Nima Hassan, unable to find a roof over her head or even a little food, was forced to leave Palestine with her seven children and expressed her condition in poetry. And when the Palestinian theatre worker Riyadah is heard in Arabic saying, “The daily act of making bread no longer exists in this country,” it somehow merges with the image of Bengal’s famine of 1943.

bengal durga puja gaza genocide famine behala friends kolkata Behala Friends

A mother carrying her child roams the streets of Kolkata in search of some food, her body worn-out and exhausted, while the cry of “fan dao… fan dao…” (give us rice water) echoes around. In some strange way, Gaza of 2025 and Bengal of 1943 blend into one. It is from here that the theme Nabanna of Behala Friends begins.

At the entrance of the pandal, on one side, are the words Free Palestine—this writing, carrying the cries for survival, is also a collection of writings from many people. On the opposite side, the word Genocide is written using the Coca-Cola font. There is a reason behind using this font: these multinationals are the ones who indirectly sponsor such genocides.

From Anne Frank’s Piano to Bengal’s Famine

Next comes the second part of the pandal. Bullet wounds are clearly visible on the walls, and magnifying glasses are placed as part of the installation so that the depth of the wounds can be seen even more starkly.

Behind that, through a small opening, one can see a piano—as if Anne Frank’s hidden piano during the genocide in Germany. In artist Pradip Das’s conception, this piano is like the hidden piano from Roman Polanski’s 2002 Polish film The Pianist. Even when everything is snatched away, even when everything is lost, somehow something remains, surviving again out of the ruins.

Then come the locusts, and with them the famine of Bengal in 1943. Although the soil of Bengal was so fertile and so full of crops, how the people of Bengal suffered such misery—because of colonial rulers, profiteers and neglect—has been tried to be portrayed in the third section of the pandal.

Those memories were kept alive by the artists, writers and playwrights of that time. The poetry of Sukanta Bhattacharya, the plays of Bijon Bhattacharya, the paintings of Somnath Hore, Chittaprosad and Zainul Abedin all captured the images of that period. Fragments of those poems, plays and pictures have again been brought alive in the brushes of Pradip Das and other collaborating artists. For the past three months, with tireless labour, the pictures of people’s cries from Bengal’s famine have been merged with the cries of survival from today’s Gaza.

bengal durga puja gaza genocide famine behala friends kolkata Behala Friends

History Repeats Through Hunger

Journalist and historian Vijay Prashad, in a 2025 essay, wrote that in 2024, those who survived in Gaza were already hungry, and that number is steadily increasing. Yet the food produced in Gaza was enough to feed all the people there, but still, people go to sleep hungry every day.

The condition of the people of Bengal at that time was, in many ways, similar to today’s Gaza. In 1995, Professor Amartya Sen had written that the Bengal famine was not caused by a shortage of food but by unequal distribution of food and the greed of a few people. The income gap between a handful of profiteers and the majority of ordinary people was so wide that, while hoarders flourished, mothers with emaciated children in their arms wandered the streets of Kolkata in search of a morsel of food.

It may be that the geographical distance between Gaza and Bengal is 5,000 kilometres, the difference in time more than 80 years, but somehow the cries of ordinary people from both places merge into one. And this work of merging has been achieved by artist Pradip Das.

George Orwell once wrote—those who propagate for war, those who want war, do they themselves ever go to war? Then for whom is this destruction written? In 1995, Mahasweta Devi wrote that history is not just the stories of kings and rulers, of bravery and valour; history is also the story of people’s sweat, blood and labour. History also tells the story of people’s daily survival.

That is why Bijon Bhattacharya, in his play Nabanna, brought the stories of those people, saying, “We did not die in famine, we built our homes upon dead bodies.”

This pandal in Behala not only rekindles those memories, it also provides food for thought. That is why, standing before the idol of Durga, one finds reflections of that time. Yet within it, there is also hope, there is also survival. Amidst the conflict of good and evil arises another maternal figure. Somewhere, Gaza’s Nima Hassan and the mothers of Bengal from that time merge into one. There remains no distance of space or time.

If someone calls this pandal a work made only about Gaza or Palestine, that would be wrong; and if someone says it has captured only the famine of Bengal in 1943, that too would be wrong. Space, time and people all fuse together and take form through the artistry of Pradip Das. Through a combination of images, poems and songs, Kolkata sees its neighbour 5,000 kilometres away. It identifies with the mother of 80 years ago.

Nabanna means the festival of survival; Nabanna means the celebration of food.

When Pather Panchali Challenges Bengal Files: A Puja Tells Kolkata’s Forgotten Story

Suman Sengupta
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When Pather Panchali Challenges Bengal Files: A Puja Tells Kolkata’s Forgotten Story

[dropcap]O[/dropcap]ne of South Kolkata’s most well-known roads is Leela Ray Sarani, also known as Sarat Bose Road. Cutting across Southern Avenue, many streets flow into Rashbehari Avenue. By one such street, the Samajsebi Sangha was founded in 1946. Among its founders was Leela Ray, who had once worked alongside Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose. Many might assume that this year’s puja theme at Samajsebi Sangha is about social service. But that is not the case. Instead, it is about remembering the history of how, after the communal riots of 1946 in Kolkata, Leela Ray, Meghnad Saha, and others stood with riot victims, leading to the creation of Samajsebi Sangha. Hence, the theme has been named Pather Panchali.

At a time when a non-Bengali filmmaker is attempting to distort history in the name of showing atrocities by the majority community during the Kolkata riots, this puja has sought to highlight how a street in this very city became a symbol of communal harmony. Artist Pradip Das has tried to depict this, and he deserves credit for choosing this moment. He has worked on such concepts before in several Kolkata pujas, but this year’s choice of theme is particularly meaningful. Bengali history, he reminds us, is essentially a history of secularism, often chronicled in print through various presses. To symbolise this, at the entrance of the pandal he has placed a printing press and the cover of a book titled Manifesto of Secular Bengalis. It makes one feel that no matter how hard divisive forces try, Bengal’s soil will remain an unyielding fortress of unity.

samajsebi pather panchali bengal files durga puja theme kolkata

A Street That Opened Its Doors in 1946

Every street has its own history, and re-presenting that history for our times is undoubtedly praiseworthy. The neighbourhood around Samajsebi Club also carries its own stories—not just as history but as lived memory. The old louvred windows, car porches, large mirrors, and the people of the area have preserved that memory. When fratricidal riots broke out in Kolkata in August 1946, it was the residents here who opened their doors in the name of unity and peace. This is the history of Samajsebi Club, still remembered by many. Leela Ray, through her association with Subhas Bose, worked with like-minded individuals to bring relief to riot-affected people. After the riots of August, she took the initiative to establish this club, and the puja began that very year. It was never merely a religious festival for the majority community—it stood from the outset as a celebration of social solidarity, communal harmony, and resistance to violence. This is why, even today, the sound of the azaan at the entrance of the puja remains an integral part of its journey.

When films like The Bengal Files spread half-truths, it becomes essential to highlight the resistance that existed in those times. That is what this puja’s theme attempts to do. Beyond the narrative of communal violence instigated by the Muslim League, sections of the Hindu Mahasabha, the British rulers, and Mohammad Ali Jinnah—there also existed resistance and efforts to halt the riots. This too was a major part of that era, and the artist has sought to portray it. Surveillance aircraft, vultures, truckloads of weapons, sirens, and bomb blasts were everyday scenes then. This dark period is shown in the pandal, alongside the humanity that also prevailed. Figures like Leela Ray, Jadunath Sarkar, Meghnad Saha, Sarat Bose, and many others rose to defend Kolkata’s communal harmony, and their contribution has been powerfully depicted.

samajsebi pather panchali bengal files durga puja theme kolkata news pujo

Trucks That Carried Both Weapons and Relief

All around the pandal are images of trucks. Just as those trucks once carried weapons for riots, they were also used by Leela Ray and Ashrafuddin Ahmed Chowdhury to rescue riot victims. Historian Soumya Basu’s writings mention such examples. When the riots subsided, it was decided that a dedicated organisation should be formed for social service—and thus Samajsebi was born. This year’s 2025 puja has therefore gone beyond ritual, becoming a witness to history. Houses that still stand today have had their façades decorated with images and cut-outs of hope from that time. During the Second World War, 142 Lake View Road housed an American military hospital. Later, its staff joined Leela Ray and her associates in aiding riot victims. Several books record stories of those times: how Haider Ali of old Ballygunge Circular Road was saved by his Hindu neighbours, or how TN Ghosh of Amir Ali Avenue was rescued from Hindu rioters by a Muslim family.

Such stories live on in the memories of the people of this area, where the spirit of secular humanism triumphed over destructive forces. If the scattered newspaper clippings of those days were pieced together, they would reveal an alternative narrative—one that stands against propaganda films like The Bengal Files which rely on half-truths. Offering such alternatives is the true task of an artist, and that is exactly what Pradip Das has done in this year’s Samajsebi puja. This puja is, in essence, a collection of memories. Memories as simple as sharing tiffin at school, where Hindu and Muslim made no difference then, and still do not today. That is why historian Susnato Das’s words resonate strongly within this pandal: “After 1945, the British wanted to continue ruling India from outside, but they feared that if Hindus, Muslims, Christians, and Sikhs united under one flag as they did in Netaji’s Azad Hind Fauj, their rule would collapse.”

The naval mutiny and labour movements of that era displayed such unity. To counter it, the British sowed seeds of communal division, splitting workers and peasants along religious lines. Yet, they ultimately failed. This is why Samajsebi’s Pather Panchali speaks of an alternative vision, one that every Bengali should see. It reminds us how deep-rooted the history of secularism in Bengal truly is. And even though this year’s heavy monsoon rains may have caused much damage, if one gets the chance, one must visit Samajsebi’s puja in South Kolkata at least once.

The piece has been translated from a Bangla piece, published at inscript.me.

Mad, Musical, and Magnificent: Remembering Zubeen Garg

Anup Dutta
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Mad, Musical, and Magnificent: Remembering Zubeen Garg

[dropcap]I[/dropcap] am contemplating whether I should write about Zubeen Garg’s art or his personality. You are familiar with his literary music work and have studied it in detail too, so I would rather write about the person. It’s possible that many of us (including myself), who have been detached from Axhom or from North East India, know very little about him—or perhaps nothing at all. Very well then, let’s talk about the man.

The man, whenever he walked and wherever he went, carried with him: “Mei ghenta care nahi karta hu” (I don’t give a damn about any of them). On the evening of Friday, April 14, 2017, when he walked onto the stage in Guwahati to perform at the start of Bohag Bihu (also known as Rongali Bihu), marking the Assamese New Year, Zubeen was completely enamoured by the huge gathering and the festive mood. He was there to sing only for Xhomiya—for them alone. Zubeen knew every verse, every chord, every tune of his repertoire.

But as he was singing only for the audience, the organisers stopped him midway while performing Dil tu hi bata from Hrithik Roshan’s superhit Krrish 3. According to media reports, the organisers of the Noonmati Bihu Committee stated that they had an agreement with the singer, insisting that he stick only to Assamese songs during his performance.

A Clash at Bihu: Songs, Silence, and Defiance

As the matter persisted, he didn’t say a word in protest. True to Zubeen’s cliché, his silence was taken as assent. There, Zubeen said again: “Mei ghenta care nahi karta hu.” And when that happens, the legendary singer leaves, always being both happy and hurt.

He reached another Bihu function in Guwahati. Here, he broke into a smile. People were excitedly waving at him. He waved back. His face was glowing with happiness. He probably recalled: “Mei ghenta care nahi karta hu.” Zubeen, the man, sang songs till past 2 a.m.

News spread like wildfire in Assam. By Saturday morning, social media was abuzz with the issue. Hundreds of Assamese and others jumped into the debate. A news report published by The Hindustan Times was titled, “Assam split over singer Zubeen refusing to sing only non-Hindi songs for Bihu.”

“It was an insult to Zubeen that he wasn’t allowed to sing his own song. The way the organisers stopped him midway was bad. I stand with Zubeen,” popular Assamese actor Jatin Bora told journalists in the report.

But this man was above all this. He didn’t feel betrayed, cheated, or exploited by what had happened.

A friend who lives near Sharabbhati (a locality in Ulubari, Guwahati) narrated a memorable incident of Zubeen. People who knew him admit that he could work throughout the night and preferred spending the day at home with family members and his dogs.

The Night Wanderer: Anecdotes of a Mad Genius

It was midnight, and Zubeen was engrossed in adda mari (an informal gathering of like-minded people) in one corner of a residential colony in Guwahati. A man in messy clothes stood by and shouted: “Tu Zubeen hai na? (You are Zubeen, right?).” Even before Zubeen could reply, he added: “Tu bhi meri tarah raat ko ghumta hai.. Pagla! (You too roam like me in the night…mad).” But what came next surprised everyone. “Main toh paagal hoon hi” (I am a declared mad person), said the man in messy clothes, before disappearing into the darkness.

Much later, early this year, in an interview, Zubeen accepted this truth to heart. “I am mad, I want to give everything of mine to people,” he told POP Pavelopedia in January.

Beyond powerful voices, romantic ballads, and mournful songs in dozens of languages, Zubeen’s lifelong friend was the common man. They served as his eyes and ears, his advisers and aides in all his pursuits and interests. The smiling legend—who played multiple instruments, acted in films, composed scores, and filled concert venues—devoted hours and hours to distributing medicines, food, shelter, and solace to whoever approached him.

Friend of the Common Man: Music, Charity, and Humanity

There are hundreds of people ready to recount anecdotes about Zubeen’s love for Assam and his affection for the common man. He made huge donations to various social causes. His charity, the Kalaguru Artiste Foundation, donated generously during floods in Assam and beyond. People recall that Zubeen even played charity football matches to raise funds for flood-affected communities.

This story is just one of the folklores that add to the mystique of Zubeen. During the COVID-19 pandemic, this man even offered his two-storey residence in Guwahati to be used as a COVID Care Centre, helping to address the urgent shortage of beds during the crisis.

Zubeen was preternaturally refined. He had the time and freedom to pursue his interests and take care of himself, his family, his friends, and anyone who came within his horizon—the poor, the needy, the chailwallah, the orphan, the destitute, or the patient lying outside on the footpath of a hospital. In each one of them, he discovered form, fragrance, tone, colour, and texture. His works and deeds were both philosophical and abstract. With his music and his acts of generosity, this man fascinated Assam and the nation for over three decades.

However, the story of Assam’s eternal man is hidden and untold. Not his death, though—and let’s accept this: ৰাইজ (pronounced as raiz, meaning people or public in Assamese).

Two Years, No Justice: Mamata Govt Moves to Review Faizan Ahmed Autopsy, Mother Opposes

Shahnawaz Akhtar
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Two Years, No Justice: Mamata Govt Moves to Review Faizan Ahmed Autopsy, Mother Opposes

Kolkata: The lawyers representing the state (Mamata Banerjee government) have sought the formation of a medical board to review the two autopsies in the Faizan Ahmed murder case.

On September 24, after 15 months, the hearing on the murder case of IITian Faizan Ahmed resumed at the Calcutta High Court. Surprisingly, the state counsels made an oral submission before Justice Tirthankar Ghosh, requesting that the two autopsies be reviewed by a medical board.

On October 14, 2022, Faizan Ahmed’s partially decomposed body was found inside his IIT Kharagpur hostel.

The first postmortem conducted at Midnapore Medical College had concluded that Faizan Ahmed, a third-year mechanical engineering student of IIT Kharagpur, had died by suicide. However, his parents refused to accept the Kharagpur Police’s claim, pointing out several inconsistencies. They moved the Calcutta High Court, where the police failed to provide a clear explanation for the cause of the 23-year-old student’s death. Justice Rajasekhar Mantha, who was hearing the case, appointed retired forensic expert Dr. Ashok Kumar Gupta to independently review the matter. After carefully examining the video footage of the initial autopsy, Dr. Gupta observed what appeared to be signs of hemorrhage on Faizan’s body, raising serious doubts about the suicide theory. He recommended a second autopsy to ascertain the truth. The court accepted his suggestion, and a fresh postmortem was conducted at Calcutta Medical College. The second report dramatically altered the course of the case—it confirmed that Faizan’s death was not suicide but homicide.

After the findings, the court also set up a Special Investigation Team (SIT) led by an IPS officer. Later, a division bench comprising Chief Justice TS Sivagnanam and Justice Hiranmai Bhattacharyya confirmed that further investigation would proceed based on the outcome of the second postmortem and continued with the SIT.

The order of September 24 (copy with eNewsroom )also mentioned that the report of forensic expert Ashok Gupta (submitted to the court in May 2024) has been kept on record.

“We have opposed it and said that tthe second postmortem was upheld by the division bench. And the bench of the then Chief Justice had approved the formation of the SIT in it too,” Faizan Ahmed’s counsel Anirudha Mitra told eNewsroom.

Mitra also informed the court that they had presented all the recordings and opposed the formation of the medical board.

Faizan’s mother accuses state of betraying victims

In 2023, Rehana Ahmed had written to West Bengal Chief Minister Mamata Banerjee, urging her to intervene and help secure justice in the case. However, while Mamata Banerjee spoke publicly on two other cases of students’ murders—one involving a Jadavpur University student and another of a medical student at RG Kar—she did not make any statement on the murder of IITian Faizan Ahmed.

“I have a question for Mamata Banerjee. It has been two years, and we did not get justice. And now we see the state requesting a medical board. Why do they want to review the autopsy? To change the outcome of the second autopsy? As the mother, I do not allow any other postmortem of my son,” said Rehana, the grieving mother.

“Since the death of my son, we have never received support from the Bengal police or state counsels. Is this how you treat the family of a genius who was murdered in Bengal?”

Significantly, the state lawyers had also opposed the formation of the SIT and argued to continue with the Bengal police, but the division bench had gone ahead with the single bench decision.

“Does the state stand with victims or with perpetrators?” questioned Rehana.

The court of Justice Tirthankar Ghosh has fixed November 6, 2025, as the next hearing date in the case.

Zubeen Garg’s Legacy—Songs in Assamese, Protests Against CAA, and a Heart for Che Guevara

Vidya Bhushan Rawat
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Zubeen Garg’s Legacy—Songs in Assamese, Protests Against CAA, and a Heart for Che Guevara

[dropcap]T[/dropcap]he spontaneous outpouring of grief all over Assam at the demise of Zubeen Garg indicates that those who speak of love remain forever in the hearts of people. Assam has often been in the news for the wrong reasons, but few outside really know about the deep cultural connection and unity among its people. Zubeen was someone who opposed the CAA, spoke out against hatred, and refused the pull of Bombay cinema’s homogenising demands.

I don’t think the superstars of the tinsel world have that kind of dedicated fan following. It also shows the power of native languages. Let us not call them “regional,” as every language is a national language in its own domain.

Frankly speaking, I don’t watch or follow cinema or cricket, so I don’t comment on things around them. I watched old cinema, sang songs, and stopped following cricket after the late 1990s, when players became superstars and were being auctioned and purchased.

I saw a few clips of an anchor referring to Zubeen Garg as a Bollywood singer who became famous from a Ya Ali song. As I said, the Delhi-based overrated anchors push their nationalist agenda without understanding native issues. Every native is a national in their own land, so terming them “regional” is hypocrisy. A “celebrity anchor” was visibly shocked when Zubeen told her that he loved Socialism and his idol was Che Guevara.

Also, don’t start bringing your LIMCA book records for everything. These are ways that companies use to legitimise their actions. Facts are not merely numbers but the faces and feelings of people. No one can quantify them.

We all know very little about our world, and you won’t be able to understand even India by just watching idiotic and mediocre anchors defining things on their prime time. We must remember that hatred and fake news have an expiry date. Love conquers. The love and affection that Zubeen got is the result of his love for his roots. He remained natural, unfiltered, and totally in love with his land and people. This is the power of native language that connects.

Zubeen Garg’s role in the anti-CAA protests

Zubeen Garg was more than a popular singer; he was a cultural backbone during Assam’s anti-Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA) movement. From the moment the Bill was proposed, he allied with student organisations like the All Assam Students’ Union (AASU) and led peaceful protests. He helped mobilise youth, using his crowd-pulling power in public meetings, raising his voice in mass gatherings, and even joining hunger strikes with AASU to protest non-violently. The Assam Tribune

He repeatedly urged the protests to be conducted without bloodshed, insisted that legal avenues be pursued, and remained firm in his belief that the people of Assam would reject the CAA. In one public statement in March 2024, he said, “Protests against CAA should continue … wherever, however I can,” stressing that there should be no more deaths in the name of agitation. The Times of India

His admiration for Che Guevara and his socialist leanings

Zubeen Garg openly expressed his admiration for Che Guevara, the Argentine revolutionary. On his social media, he described himself as “Socialist” and said his idol was Che Guevara. Facebook While there is less detail in public records about precisely how deeply he studied Guevara’s life or ideology, this identification reflects Zubeen’s avowed political consciousness — not merely as a performer but as someone who saw societal struggles, who aligned with the underdog. His socialism wasn’t just rhetorical; it informed his public positions (against the CAA, for communal harmony) and shaped his identity among fans who expected more than just songs.

Comrades and Comebacks: Saira Shah’s Book Sparks Debate on the Left’s Future in India

Staff Reporter
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Comrades and Comebacks: Saira Shah’s Book Sparks Debate on the Left’s Future in India

New Delhi: “Today’s very popular subject could attract in this city, so many people, it speaks volumes,” said former Vice President of India Mohammad Hamid Ansari, looking at the full auditorium at the India International Centre, Lodhi Road. Ansari, who also read the last part of the book at the launch, was speaking at the release of Comrades and Comebacks: The Battle of the Left to Win the Indian Mind, authored by social activist and politician Saira Shah Halim. The former vice president also praised the summing of the book.

A Book on Left Politics Across Eras

Halim’s book, which traces the journey of Left politics from India’s freedom struggle to its role in 21st-century electoral battles, was launched in the presence of Salma Ansari, CPI(M) leader Brinda Karat, and Lt General Zameer Uddin Shah (Retd). The evening brought together political thinkers, academics, students, and activists, reaffirming the enduring relevance of Left ideas in the country’s political imagination.

Distinguished Panel Discussion

A panel discussion followed, featuring former Chief Election Commissioner SY Quraishi, former MP Subhashini Ali, author and translator Rakshanda Jalil, and Supreme Court advocate Sanjay Hegde, with senior journalist Paranjoy Guha Thakurta as moderator.

Quraishi applauded Halim’s effort: “First of all, congratulations Saira, for writing the book. The only genuine people, the secular people in the country are the Left.”

Hegde called her work “the next little red book,” applauding her courage in “swimming upstream” against dominant narratives. Subhashini Ali noted that despite repeated declarations of the Left’s demise, Halim had written with “determination and hope.”

Rakshanda Jalil described the book as refreshing and designed to spark conversations. She suggested that Comrades and Comebacks should be adapted into visual or cinematic forms to reach wider audiences, while stressing the cultural dimensions of Left politics: “Songs like Chhodo Kal Ki Baatein carried ideas across India. That kind of messaging matters.”

Sacrifice, History, and Contemporary Struggles

During the interactive Q&A, Halim reflected on the personal and collective sacrifices involved in political change:
“Some people are in jail for just dissenting against these powerful voices. That’s the price for freedom, and that’s the price Bhagat Singh and Che Guevara paid. I think in our own capacity, we all can make a small difference and contribute towards the larger goals.”

She underlined that her book was written for lay readers without jargon, aiming to link world history, Indian history, and economic theories in a way that speaks to Gen Z. By connecting global Left movements with India’s freedom struggle, she sought to create intersections that would make complex ideas accessible.

Voices of Support

Brinda Karat stressed the book’s relevance in a time of widening class divides and toxic politics: “This is important to understand exploitation today and how we counter it.”

Lt Gen Zameer Uddin Shah (Retd), former Deputy Chief of Army Staff and ex-Vice-Chancellor of AMU, called Halim’s effort sincere: “The Left, no matter what name you give it, wants the betterment of the country. Saira has done a great job. I read her book and I must compliment her for the labour she has put in.”

Author’s Vision and Political Journey

Halim, who has been a social and peace activist, educator, theatre artist, and three-time TEDx speaker, joined the CPI(M) in 2022 after years of activism on farmers’ rights, gender equality, and protests against CAA and NRC. Contesting her first election in the Ballygunge Assembly by-poll the same year, she reminded the audience that she had raised the party’s vote share from 5 percent to 30 percent. For her, this was evidence that sustained engagement can revive faith in progressive politics.

In her address at the launch, she said: “With whatever is happening in the country, the price rise, the increase of religious fundamentalism, the difference between the haves and have nots – we need a more radical (non-violent) approach. I feel the country is a little fed up of the soft stand that sometimes secular parties take. I’m here to change things. I’m not here for fame and glory.”

A Collective Reflection

Through Comrades and Comebacks, Halim argues that Left ideology remains vital for countering inequality, authoritarianism, and communalism, while also presenting alternatives to today’s divisive politics. The discussions at the India International Centre reflected the same spirit—blending history with contemporary urgency, and politics with culture—to highlight why the Left continues to matter in India’s democratic journey.

London Dreams, Kolkata Nightmares: Why the City Deserves Better, Not Bigger Promises

Jawhar Sircar
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London Dreams, Kolkata Nightmares: Why the City Deserves Better, Not Bigger Promises

Largest Democracy, Smallest Justice: How India’s Courts Fail Muslim Prisoners

Vidya Bhushan Rawat
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Largest Democracy, Smallest Justice: How India’s Courts Fail Muslim Prisoners

[dropcap]T[/dropcap]he judicial system is not actually ‘denying’ bail to undertrials languishing in jail for the last five years—it is reinforcing the belief that the state can put anyone behind bars without giving any reason. There is no accountability for anyone. Another person will be released citing ‘human rights’ and ‘personal liberty’ as the reasoning. The right to free expression is essentially reserved for those with considerable influence and expansive legal representation in the courts.

How do you expect justice when appointments are made by retiring others? Party spokespersons are being appointed to the judicial system. People like Ram Rahim enjoy state patronage, and courts have allowed that to happen. What are common citizens supposed to do?

The fact is that judicial verdicts have never been truly objective—they are subjective. Legal instruments are used only to justify conclusions. This is why Justice Muralidhar or Justice A.P. Shah never reached the Supreme Court. The abrupt transfer of Justice Muralidhar from Delhi to Odisha is a case in point. Both the government and lawyers know who can grant bail and who cannot. Is that objective? Justice Bela Trivedi never granted bail to anyone during her tenure, and nothing happened. A few questions were raised, but there was no accountability.

Subjective Judgments, Selective Justice

Judicial impartiality is nothing but naivety. The judiciary is also part of the system and cannot really oppose the state or its leaders. Perhaps the only time the judiciary showed real spine was during the Emergency, when they called Indira Gandhi to court and declared her election from Rae Bareilly invalid. But can the judiciary do it today?

Most judgments today read like long speeches filled with hollow words—‘biggest democracy,’ ‘liberty,’ and ‘human rights.’ Now, some more such words are being added. These lofty terms are used selectively. Courts, too, understand who is powerful. Big names get relief because they can hire big lawyers who can demand bail at any time.

Bail rejection of Umar Khalid, Sharjeel Imam, Athar Khan, Khalid Saifi, Gulfisha Fatima, Meeran Haider, Shifa Ur Rehman, Mohd Saleem Khan, and Shadab Ahmed became a national outrage, but the dark reality of our time is that people are rotting in jail for five or more years without any charge sheet or trial. This means the process itself is designed so that the families and loved ones of those arrested suffer not only physical harassment but also daily mental torture. The state apparatus is completely unaccountable. We once said that police officers or legal officers must pay the price if a case is wrongly imposed on an individual who suffers for it, but that seems impossible now. Bureaucracy, judiciary, police, media, and government all wield power without accountability. Law has simply become a tool of intimidation, used at the whims of these institutions.

Law as a Weapon, Not a Shield

It may be time for political parties, lawyers’ associations, and the media—at least those who have the courage—to stand up and speak against this blatant violation of the law. The law is meant to liberate us and provide justice. It cannot be reduced to a punishment or a threat against political opponents.

The hypocrisy is evident when former CJIs repeatedly emphasised that ‘bail is the rule and jail the exception,’ but perhaps that only applies to people like Ram Rahim.

One need not be deluded. Liberty, freedom, and human rights are provided not by principle but by the state and its ruling apparatus. This is loud and clear. Those who can afford powerful lawyers and strong backing can enjoy these rights; the rest will continue to suffer. Someday, the Supreme Court may wake up, and we will again sing songs of victory and joy—‘justice is done.’ Journalists and opinion-makers will once more declare that the judiciary is the last hope in dark times. Meanwhile, political prisoners will continue to suffer and die, with no one held accountable. The grand show of the ‘largest democracy’ with its so-called ‘independent judiciary’ will go on, while the aam janta is expected only to clap and bow to the power of ‘justice.’

Who Owns Urdu? Javed Akhtar, Religion, and the Fight for a Shared Language

Dr Ishtiaq Hussain
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Who Owns Urdu? Javed Akhtar, Religion, and the Fight for a Shared Language

[dropcap]“B[/dropcap]ahut Samjhe the Hum Is Daur Ki Firqa Parasti Ko
Zubaan Bhi Aaj Shaikh -o-Brahaman Hai Ham Nhi Samjhe” (Rashid Banarsi)

Around 225 years ago, in the city of Calcutta (now Kolkata), the seeds of division between the Urdu and Hindi languages were sown with the establishment of Fort William College. The British colonial administration introduced separate language primers and translated Persian and Sanskrit texts into Urdu and Hindi, which were distinguished primarily by their scripts. This bifurcation laid the foundation for a divide that later deepened through the politicization of language and the eventual religious association of Urdu with Islam.

Ironically, in the present context, one of the most prominent institutions associated with the development and promotion of Urdu, the West Bengal Urdu Academy, succumbed to similar tendencies. The Academy was scheduled to organize an event titled “Urdu in Hindi Cinema” from August 31 to September 3. The event aimed to explore and celebrate one of the most vibrant and influential cultural spaces where Urdu has thrived. Hindi cinema has long served as a transnational vehicle for embracing Urdu, helping to preserve its beauty, idioms, and lyrical richness across linguistic and religious boundaries. However, the event was postponed following pressure from two Muslim religious organizations. Their objection stemmed from the inclusion of celebrated lyricist Javed Akhtar, whose offensive and dismissive remarks about Islam have often sparked controversy.

The decision to postpone the event in response to these objections raises serious questions on different points. First, the dismissive use of Urdu cultural spaces by a few literary figures affects the inclusive and tolerant nature, as well as the tradition of refined literary expression within the Urdu language. Secondly, the encroachment of linguistic and cultural institutions by religious bodies. Third, the independence and credibility of the organization involved in the preservation of Urdu, and lastly, the future of Urdu itself.

When Faith Overrides Language

It is important to mention that religious organizations are partially precise in terms of their right to express discontent with views they find offensive related to faith. Although it should be based on constructive dialogue with mutual respect for those who differ and should not be selective. In a democracy, dialogue, dissent, and critique form the bedrock of civil society. Likewise, cultural figures such as Javed Akhtar also bear a responsibility to engage with belief systems respectfully, especially in public or institutional spaces. Insensitive or derisive remarks, regardless of intent, risk alienating audiences and undermine the spirit of constructive engagement. In today’s communally polarized climate, such remarks are often weaponized—not just to critique individuals but to vilify entire communities.

Therefore, as a public intellectual, these things must be taken into consideration, and unnecessary derision of beliefs should be avoided in serious literary or cultural discourses. And in terms of spaces related to Urdu, it adds woes to the already diminishing circles and risks undermining the effectiveness of intellectual engagement.

Javed Akhtar and the Burden of History

However, the choice of the Urdu Academy as the platform by a religious organization to register such objections is also deeply problematic. It puts the language and institutions dedicated to its survival and growth in a precarious position. Urdu, unlike Arabic, holds no intrinsic religious sanctity. In fact, during the 15th and 16th centuries, when the language existed in its early forms like Hindavi or regional variants such as Dakkani, it was considered unsuitable for religious writings. It was only in the 18th and 19th centuries, during the reformist movements, that Urdu began to be employed for religious discourse.

The association of Urdu with Islam was further cemented during the colonial period, when the language emerged as a symbol of Muslim identity. This perception, however, ignored the diversity within the Muslim community—spanning sectarian, class, ethnic, and linguistic lines. The post-colonial fate of Urdu has been shaped by these historical legacies. In Pakistan, despite being the mother tongue of less than 10% of the population, Urdu was declared the national language and used by the Punjabi elite to suppress other ethnic languages like Pashto, Sindhi, Balochi, Saraiki, and Bengali. In India, Urdu too faced structural neglect, primarily due to its association with a religious minority and its stereotyping as the language of Islam. However, there have been continuous efforts to challenge the sectarian appropriation of Urdu within academic and cultural circles.

Religious institutions have undoubtedly contributed to sustaining this language, but their intervention in secular institutions, as represented by this incident, would restrict the relevance of Urdu to a theological domain. This would, in turn, lead to the overshadowing of the secular literary and cultural dimensions of Urdu by religious connotations. It would reinforce the stereotyping of Urdu as inherently Islamic, thereby resulting in alienation of the non-Muslim Urdu speakers or their well-wishers.

Moreover, it would hinder the potential of Urdu to serve as a bridge across communities, particularly in the already dwindling state of multicultural spaces. And most importantly, this trend demonstrates a dangerous precedent of subordination of cultural and literary discourse to theological gatekeeping.

The decision by the West Bengal Urdu Academy to postpone its program under religious pressure is yet another blow that deserves lamentation. It undermines the Academy’s credibility and its stated purpose: to promote and preserve the Urdu language. This surrender to the religious bodies represents a failure of institutional responsibility, which is the norm of the day in West Bengal these days.

The Academy, which enjoys patronage and access to significant resources, is one of the few state-supported institutions dedicated to Urdu in India. Its responsibilities are therefore magnified, as it is expected to safeguard Urdu from political neglect as well as sectarian appropriation. At a time when Urdu faces unprecedented politicization and has become, unjustly, a target of hate, the surrender of one of its key institutions to sectarian interests is indeed troubling. It is a symbolic blow to every voice that envisions the safeguard of Urdu as an essential endeavor in line with the preservation of India’s pluralist and democratic identity.

Safeguarding Urdu’s Plural Legacy

Therefore, it is crucial to delineate religious and secular-cultural spaces when it comes to language. Historically, before being appropriated as a symbol of religious identity, it drew heavily from secular, syncretic, and humanistic traditions. The interplay between its secular and religious dimensions should be acknowledged and preserved, not manipulated to serve ideological ends.

The space for Urdu must be reclaimed as an inclusive, pluralistic domain along with the upkeep traditions of Tehzeeb to foster sensitivity and empathy within its dwindling spaces. More than just a language, Urdu is a cultural and historical legacy that belongs to all Indians regardless of religion. Urdu institutions and the wider Urdu-loving public must remain vigilant and assertive. Cultural programs, literary events, and educational initiatives must continue without fear of ideological backlash.

Most importantly, Urdu must be re-situated within India’s broader democratic and pluralist ethos and should be celebrated not as a communal relic but as a living, evolving, and inclusive language.

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