Why a Contemplation?

What is the first thought that reverberates in the heart on hearing RK Narayan and Ruskin Bond? Malgudi and the serene hills in that order, isn’t it? And then the disappointment unfolds. I mean we would like to go over to Malgudi which isn’t a possibility. We might go to Missourie, and then rue our eyesight over not finding the hills as surreal as Bond describes. The intelligent reader wouldn’t be too wrong in waging a guess that this article suggests something about the novel in the title along the lines of the first reflexive thought whenever the two cerebral authors are mentioned. At the same time, the reader is also probably correct that the current article is over-ambitious in its suggestion, implicit too is a presumptuous stand, that the second release of Manik Bal be considered in similar veins. Rest assured, the article will be sincere in its contemplation of “Brothers Sen Gogh” and leave it to the reader to haunt themselves with the lives and struggle of indie artists. The article will return to the presumptuous comparison in conclusion.  

The novel “Brothers Sen Gogh” BSG is the second release of Manik Bal, the first being a collection of short stories “Whiskey and Suicide”. In a certain sense, BSG is the debut novel which captures the struggle of the indie artist Soubhik Sengupta.

What is the novel about?

BSG is not merely inspired by the Gogh brothers. It is probably the most proper depiction to the question “How would the Gogh brothers fare in modern times, and that too in India?” With the Gogh brothers at its heart, Manik takes Sengupta brothers from a small town Shibpur, drowns them in the typical Bengal lore, takes them out of their comfort zone and moves them to a relentless and punishing Mumbai, and (attempts to) delivers SenGogh. The idealism and freedom of indieness is to surrender yourself to the whims of the heart while persuading the mastery of any art form. With this sense ingrained from their father Rabindranath Sengupta, Soubhik adapts it in all of his musical blood veins and heart beats. Supported ably by the younger brother Sourav, the novel is about the search of such idealism that the materialistic success is long forgotten and the reader will bask in the warmth of the journey of the Sengupta brothers.

The novel starts off with Sourav first making a move to the City of Dreams, Mumbai. Finding the right job in Lost in Sound helped Sourav in lot many ways. Not only was he able to find a girlfriend in Nethra, their music sensibilities were aligned like the perfect stars matching for an arranged marriage, it also helped him to support his family and bring Soubhik to Mumbai when a tragedy struck the family. On one hand, Sourav performs the sheet anchor role, similar to what Theo Van Gogh, to perfection, and as expected too. His support for Soubhik was vital: from helping a soft landing in Mumbai, settling down in the city of dreams, introducing to the indie world in best possible way, getting a handful of jobs to support, etc.

Soubhik doesn’t want to compromise on the indie benchmarks and learns hard way that there are almost no takers for his sort of music, and more so in a country like India where the indie culture is near to non-existing. If the past baggage of being unable to make good use of his BE degree, failure at running regular tuitions, unsustainable music trainings to newbies, etc., were any indication, Soubhik didn’t get off to a flying start at Mumbai and botched the dogmatic jobs in a big way. With the few indie music companies left unimpressed with his body of work, Sourav struggled to get the elder brother a breakthrough and with great difficulty put him as a guitarist cum singer in a shady cheap bar named as Parivaar.

The Parivaar bar prostitute Indrani couldn’t happen at a better time for Soubhik. The string of rejections after the demise of parents, loss of hometown, and utter washout of value for his indie music had left Soubhik at rock bottom of confidence. Yes, he had his talent to back it, lyrics to write, and a heartfelt voice to draw solace. Yet, all of them counts to little compared to the warmth and love a woman can give, and Soubhik and Indrani soon fall in love. The change was badly required and as the coincidence of the patients desire for a cutlery being recommended as a healthy diet by the doctor too is stuff of dreams, trouble and heartbreak can’t remain isolated from Soubhik for long.

Amidst the little success on the indie front, it doesn’t take long for Soubhik to lose the love of his life. He goes into the chaos of disaster soon enough, and then manages to cut his roots too. A while later, Soubhik even manages to find an indie clone of himself in Prashanth. The two tango turn out more like identical twins with one of them undergoing a compulsive plastic surgery for the sake of identification. And then how long does a mirage last for the Sengupta boy? The novel is the further journey of whether our Soubhik Sengupta can turn around the sea of failures and get a piece of respect and love for his indie music.

What works in the novel?

Tempting it might be, but it would be a fallacy to call out that the characters are strongly and properly defined, the plot is out of the world, or that the ending completes a circle. Some of it might be true, or even better, and frankly, it doesn’t matter. From the true blue indie Soubhik to the sheet anchor Sourav, classy father Rabindranath to Sourav’s love Nethra, picture perfect Indrani to the tearjerk Prashanth, the characters are the right colors on the canvas called BSG. The scenes capture delight and struggle with same virtuoso and gets the right blend of friendship, love, and mentorship. While these elements make it a good reading, it is not far stretching to say that the picture is way more than the sum of the parts.

Now, imagine what it takes genuinely produce a classic piece of art. Efforts, yes. Perseverance, yes. Support and infrastructure, yes. Ingenuity and innovative, yes. And then something more beyond the chance element. That missing etcetera is to be found in abundance in BSG. At the outset, it dares to venture in a space where few authors entertain their imagination. To give a parallel in the sporting world, take football. Let the imagination run wild and add now add a new dimension to the football universe.

The FIFA World Cup occurs once in four years and it is an event where thirty-two nations participate. The countries emerge from important confederations of CONMEBOL, UEFA, CONCACAF. The other international trophies are Copa America, European Championship, etc. The beautiful game is known for amazing club competitions and club leagues, such as, La Liga, English Premier League, Lique 1, Serie A, etc. Now imagine, remember to let the imagination run wild, that we have tourneys where rebel players run wild without any inhibitions. All these players care is to play the game with flair and fire. Would you like to see Ronaldinho, Eto, and Zlatan Ibrahimovic running riot? Similarly, suppose there’s a rebellious league for lawn tennis, basketball, and cricket.

Do we have a rebellious football in India? Or any other sports? BSG gives a vivid depiction of what a speculative indie music might have done wonders for Mumbai, for the buck paying crowd, and for the indie artists. It doesn’t do by suddenly pulling out a rabbit from the hat and make the protagonist win a Noble prize, a happy ending which gives you the confidence in proposing your love, etc. The struggles of artists, indie or otherwise, is of paramount importance if they are really going to make a meaning out of it, let alone the size become big. It is in face of such dire decision and impossible odds that the spirit of indiesm in the protagonist makes you fall in love, not with him, but indiesm.

The Perfect Dot in the Circle

The struggle of Soubhik has an obvious comparison in celebrated Devdas, an eternal classic of Sarat Chandra Chatterjee. But the canvas put forth by Manik Bal for indie artists goes beyond Soubhik. This work as a tribute to the Gogh brothers gives a platform beyond a particular class of artists. Going forward, I would expect the author to focus more on the journey and travesty of indie artists and not restrict it to Soubhik because that would be an inefficient use of the setup seen in the novel. In my contemplation, I return to this world of struggle without a dedicated concern primed on Soubhik. The monumental efforts to put together the work in heart in a tangible shape realisable by all and sundry, the search for the agents/middlemen to get the work presented to the decision-makers, the endless revisions, the compromises, and finally the rejections through the real and target audience is a mere one closed loop for a struggling artist. He needs to put forth with this vicious cycle ceaseless times over. While I am not an indie author, to say that I don’t care about their struggle is the unbecoming of the only pure purpose we pick up writing. Writing is not about solving societal problems, it is not to tell a good story, and it is certainly not measurable in terms of success and failure. It is all about ‘following your heart’ until its drained of the last emotion. In this pretext, BSG is the go-to-novel capturing the spirit of indie-ness.