That was perhaps when she lost the middle class in Calcutta, at about the same time that Jyoti Basu gave way to Buddhadeb Bhattacharjee, someone younger, and willing to at least admit that the Left Front had ignored urban Bengal. She was forced to look beyond her comfort zone, to rural areas, which, for decades, have been LF strongholds. The need to make rapid inroads into the landless poor who have not traditionally voted for her — but did not benefit from land reform — explains her shrillness over Nandigram and over Singur; the need to try and win over the 28 per cent of the electorate that are Muslim explains her inability to commit to membership of the NDA.

The truth is, though, that there is much else that she could have done to win over the landless poor. Yes, the development of rural land has been politically charged throughout modern history, from enclosures in 18th-century England and the peasants’ revolt that it inspired onwards; but the manner in which Mamata chose to take up the cause reflects the second aspect of the Bengal’s self-imagined national character that she represents — the “cholbe na” part, which refuses to acknowledge the passing of history, which insists that Bengal can turn the clock back, or at least through an effort of will prevent it from moving forward. “No” can be said in many ways. It can be said, like Karat and Manmohan Singh, softly but firmly. It can be said, like Bardhan and Mamata, loudly and assertively. The problem is when that volume, and that assertion, become exactly the sort of self-expression that a politician believes the culture she represents demands .

... contd.