Songs and music of 1971: The sad news of Tariq Ali’s death jogs my memory

About two months ago Tariq Ali phoned me to check on my health in the midst of COVID-19. I thanked him very much for his concern and he explained, "We are both connected to two wars, the Bangladesh Liberation War and, because both of us were born in early 1945, Hitler realised that he had no hope as far as the Second World War was concerned! So, I had to check up on you!" This was an example of Tariq Ali's sense of fun and humour and of his caring for others.

For many years after 1971, I had kept the painful memories hidden and had not spoken nor written about my experiences of 1971. After a chance meeting in 2007, Tariq Ali and Mofidul Hoque managed to help me start speaking about what I saw and what I felt about 1971.

In 1971, Oxfam was assisting about 600,000 Bangladeshis in over 50 refugee camps in the border areas from Tripura right round to the outskirts of Kolkata in West Bengal. Teams of young medical doctors and medical students worked on a rota basis. Hundreds of these very dedicated medical personnel came, largely, from Kolkata and Mumbai medical colleges.

The monsoon in 1971 was a bit like that of 2020 and many refugee camps became severely flooded. In July the doctors, led by their professors, came to me and said that they were sure that a lot of the medical conditions had been aggravated by the sadness and depression that was seen and felt in the camps. They said that they were sure that if each refugee community was provided a harmonium and a set of tablas, the overall health situation would improve. They had experienced the joy which came along with the artistes, one of whom was Tariq Ali, of the 'Bangladesh Mukti Shangrami Shilpi Shangstha' who had visited many of the camps. Their strong request for these musical instruments was supported by another refugee, Samir Paul, a professor from one of the universities in Bangladesh who assisted us in many ways. Without asking for permission Oxfam's higher authorities, I ordered a large number of harmoniums and tablas.

Samir Paul had pointed out that the Bengali language and culture were behind the demand and need for Bangladesh's independence and that the 'theatre of culture' was not less important than the 'theatre of war.' After the musical instruments had been delivered to the camps, one day, with the rain pouring down, Samir exclaimed, "Look around Julian Bhai." "We have nothing, and yet we have everything." "We have our music, our songs, our dreams and our respect." Thank you for helping us and believing in us."

Later on, in August, the doctors confirmed that the atmosphere in the camps had improved in a remarkable way. When I visited a camp near Kolkata at a place called Gobardanga, an old man who had come as a refugee from Munshiganj, said that when the music was played for the first time, he had closed his eyes and had remembered the smell of cooking from his wife's kitchen and had heard the noise made by his goats and chickens. The melodies and the songs encouraged him, he said, that he and his family will soon go home.

I learnt later on that the powerful folk songs which were sung by Tariq Ali and his colleagues persuaded some of the men and women in the refugee camps to go back across the border and join with the bands and groups of freedom fighters in Bangladesh.

I will miss him very much but I will treasure my memory of him and remember how we used to share all our individual feelings related to 1971 and the development of Bangladesh since then.