Of Singers and Security Guards

So Prashant won, of course. After the power went out, my host sister started making frantic phone calls to neighbors and relatives, while the rest of us ran outside, listening for the telltale sounds of celebration. About twenty minutes later the fireworks started and the phone calls came, and siblings squealed with glee. I stayed and watched for a while, but eventually I went to bed, lulled to sleep by the sounds of distant singing.

The next day was a holiday. Even our program took a day off, though most other schools took four. I went to the bazaar to watch the celebrations. So many people were in Kalimpong that day, with thousands crowding into the Mela Grounds for a huge program. From the bleachers I could see the whole thing: mostly students, clumped together by their school uniforms. There were bursts of singing, and an arrhythmic clamor of drums and cymbals. Occasionally there would be a loud crack as kids tossed M80s into the air or scattered crowds with larger fireworks. No one seemed to mind, and slowly the air was permeated by the smell of gunpowder.

The crowd in the Mela Grounds gradually spun out into a procession that took over the streets and ran through the whole town. Everyone seemed to be singing and chanting and waving banners. But not just for Prashant. Sure, his face was still there amidst the flags, and here and there rowdy groups would shout his name. But it was nothing like the parades of support before the finale. Most of the songs were Nepali songs, most of the chants were chants of Gorkha pride.

There is a very different mood now that Prashant has won. All the talk has suddenly turned to bigger matters, and one specific idea that has faded in and out of Nepali consciousness for decades is again resurfacing: Gorkhaland. For a long time the Darjeeling District has felt alienated and neglected by the Hindi and Bengali speakers on the plains. Development programs initiated at the state level from Kolkata just don't seem to make it up to the hills. But the bureaucratic desire and ethno-psychological need of the Gorkhas for their own autonomous state in All India is one that has thus far been ignored by the rest of the country.

Somehow, however, the Prashant's run for Indian Idol became inextricably linked, either consciously or subconsciously, to the idea of Nepali vindication and of Gorkhaland. Everyone seems to think that, now that Prashant is Indian Idol, full statehood for Darjeeling is more possible than ever. This sort of talk is new to us, and so far we've been incredulous. But there is an energy to Kalimpong these days and a strange belief that one just naturally follows the other. "Do you really think," Tanya's sister says, surprised, "that we would spend so much money and time for a person? We only did it because it means we get Gorkhaland."

The reasoning seems to be along these lines: a) if Prashant wins, it will show the rest of India that Gorkhas have talent, and b) if Nepalis can show the rest of India that they are numerous enough to dictate the results if a show like Indian Idol, they will no longer be ignored. And, so far, they aren't being ignored it all. You see, it isn't over.

On Tuesday, during the second, more relaxed day of celebrations, an FM radio DJ out of Delhi made a comment along the lines of "Now that the watchman has become an idol, who will do the job of watchman?" Due mostly to their stereotypical portrayal in Bollywood films, most plains Indians believe that Nepalis are all khukuri wielding thugs who mostly get jobs as watchman and security guards. This goes back a long time, to the British use of Gorkha army units to control protests during the Indian independence movement. And for a while, because of their reputation as fierce fighters, many Nepalis who moved down to Delhi or Bombay or Bangalore, far from the majestic Himalayan hills of Darjeeling, were able to find jobs mostly as police or private security guards. Not that this matters, however, compared to the meaning of the remark. It was a Don Imus sort of thing. Imagine a radio DJ in the states saying "If we let the Mexicans get uppity, who is going to be our maids?" That's how the Nepalis took it.

The next day the whole district held a strike, and people came out for a proper protest. I wasn't there, but everyone said it was pretty big. They even burnt an effigy. The DJ claimed that his comments were misinterpreted, and apologized.

The strike was over the next day, but plenty of people were still pretty upset and continued to protest throughout the region. Then last night we started to hear rumors of violence erupting in nearby Siliguri. Nepali protesters attacked by vicious Bengali mob. Nepali protesters attacked by police. Army called in. Curfew in place. Nepalis being run out of town or forced into hiding. Four dead. Dozens dead. Five hundred dead.

This morning the newspapers give conflicting accounts. Still, things seem to be pretty bad. My host mother's oldest son lives in Siliguri attending flight school, and she has been on and off the phone with him all morning. Last we heard the violence had stopped, but the curfew was still in place. She tries to hide it, but I know she is scared.

There is something incredibly surreal and postmodern about all this. It is so strange to think that it all started with a reality TV show, a talent contest. But then, that wasn't really where it started, was it? The roots of this run deep within the basic cultural divide between people in the hills and people in the plains.

And what does Prashant, the boy from Darjeeling, say? He urges people to end the violence, saying that it will spoil the moment. He is worried that such agitation will distract him from his work on his new album, will break his concentration. There was a time when Gorkhas hung on their hero's every word, but now he seems hopelessly naive. After all, this was never really about him. It has always been about bigger things, more important things than singers, or remarks about security guards.

There is so much tension in Kalimpong today. There is a sense that something has started. No one seems to know if the end will be a successful bid for Gorkhaland or a replay of the violence from twenty years ago. Whatever really happened in Siliguri, things are happening now. I can't shake this feeling, and I can't help but suspect that the TV show's grand finale was really just the beginning.