Sunday, December 20, 2009


I would love to begin this post with a very short instance from my own life.

Early morning, 7.15 am, I reach my college lane and just outside the gate, I put my cell into the silent mode and there is an underlying disappointment that I cannot continue llistening to my favourite Bengali songs. I proceed towards the gate, give a sleepy smile to the watchman and say "GOODMORNING UNCLE!". Then, I march towards the chapel and talk to God in a language my classmates cannot comprehend. Climbing three floors with a continuous thinking process on...I reach the third floor and greet my friends with smiles. Immediately, begins the interactions..."What's the first lecture re?", "Did you start thinking about the presentation?","When is your submission?" and it goes on and on. As I see our disciplinarian...our peon Uncle approaching us, I jump to my feet and ask him,"Uncle BMM ka class hamesha kyon bandh rehta hai ?" After a short conversation with him, I enter the class wishing the earplugs could still be where they are supposed to be with those melodies treating my eardrums. And, then I see a tall shadow and, before I could turn, there's this huge hand banging on my head. And, instantly the words come out of my mouth.."ISSHHH!!"

Yes! This is what my post will be all about... not an "ISSHHH"
but, my roots...that is my Love for the Land of Tagore, My Native Land...Bengal.

Even though, as a kid, I went to the Missionary School, where the only language I was expected to speak in, was English, I wailed and wept and called for my Mother in Bengali, everytime I fell down and earned scars for my knees. Despite the fact that I crazily loved English Literature and specially, Alfred Lord Tennyson's 'TITHONUS', my heart still had a special connection with Tagore's Brilliant work.."WHERE THE MIND IS WITHOUT FEAR" during my schooldays. Even after passing out with presentable grades and taking up the course I wanted to, for graduation, I proudly consider myself as a failure.
I experience a sense of deep contentment that living in Mumbai, one of the biggest metropolis of our country, I am still connected to my Native land and I declare that I will stay like this till my last breath.

It disheartens me bigtime to see Mothers in lovely Sarees at the Puja Pandal screaming at their children "Beta! Have the food. Where's your father?"
Why...?? My heart questions me..
Why should a person not value his own culture, language and most importantly, the roots?
Why don't people wish to pass on their culture to the next generation?
Has globalization snatched away our right to speak in our mothertongue?
Is English the only means of interacting?
It puzzles me and I keep on wondering for hours, again failing to come up with a satisfying answer.

My mind immediately goes down memory lane where I find myself reciting Rabindranath Tagore's geniuses instead of Robert Frost's verses and I recall those afternoons when My Mother would read me Bengali Stories and I would learn how to read and write in Bengali and those were the simple moments when I fell in love with my roots forever.

Am frequently asked by my friends that why do I end up talking in Bengali with my Bong pals in their presence?
A heartfelt apology to you all but, that's the deep love I have for my language that without any effort, involuntarily my heart prompts me to speak in Bengali.
My heart swells with immense joy when I read Satyajit Ray's FELUDA in its original version and see my Bengali buddies reading the translated text. It's an inseparable connection that I have with my native land that I will anyday prefer listening to BENGALI songs over My favourite GEORGE MICHAEL'S romantic numbers. I would anyday love having Ilish Maach (The delicious Fish from BENGAL) than to feast on Pizza Hut's Pizza.I would anyday select the Bengali movie cds over Ranbir Kapoor's Movies, if offered..because the Bongness is a part of me instilled by my family from my very day of existence and am grateful to have kept it alive in me till today and am confident I will treasure it the same way.

Some call me a chauvinist and I accept that tag with grace if it means that my love for my Native land is limitless.
Am proud of my stupendous love for the language that my soul speaks and the lingo in which my heart lets my out its deepest emotions. I certainly do not make an effort to keep this love alive but, basically, it is a continuous process of rediscovering my roots.
The more I learn about it, the closer I feel I am to Bengal. Even after learning to write essays and analyze novels critically, I still resort to my mothertongue when it comes to be vocal about my feelings. I feel uncomfortable penning down my feelings in English when my mind gets stuck and I keep wondering which word would perfectly embody my emotions while, words just flow when my pen writes the language of my LAND...Yes! I indeed find it an unimaginable task to separate myself from where I belong, the land I hail from and wherever my future leads me to, Bengal will hold a special place in the depths of my heart and I will remain a Bong till I close my eyes for the final slumber.

To end with, I would love to include lines by the

Amar shonar Bangla,
Ami tomae bhalobashi.

Chirodin tomar akash,
Tomar batash,
Amar prane bajae bashi.

Random Thoughts and nothing else !


Happy Reading !