Bong Tip 137: Babu
shonaaa!!...baayere thanda ache!..Bina Monkey tupi berobena kintu!..(troll
face)
It is pretty late at night and here I am, poring over a
computer screen, my brain feeling the effects of an afternoon siesta gone
wrong, or long shall we say. Going through the funnier parts of a 20 year Bong
upbringing and quietly chuckling to myself has so far seemed to be a much
better alternative to sleeplessly tossing and turning in bed. And as usually
happens at night, I find myself reflecting on something I’ve never attached any
importance to, let alone give any serious thought; my bong connection
.
Born in the heart of Bengal but raised in the diametrically
opposite part of the country, in faraway Gujarat, my life has certainly been
dichotomous to say the least. Raised in a pretty standard Bong home, learning
reading and writing Bengali even though it wasn’t a part of the school
curriculum, you’d think there was nothing in me that wouldn’t be like the
quintessential Bong. And maybe I was, for all I know.
But over time, as my peer influence started having a greater
impact on me and my friend circle started comprising of kids other than those
whose houses I visited with mom and dad, I started seeing other cultures, their
habits, their way of life, and started relating to them. Even then, I was still
as much a bong as ever before, still relishing ever morsel of my favorite rice
and fish. But something more essential in me had started changing, something
that somehow seemed to be much more deeply ingrained in the other Bongs I knew.
Bongs, they say are immensely proud of their history and
culture. They can go on about their achievements for hours at an end. Ouch! Did
I just say they? But then I don’t really feel comfortable using
the first person pronouns here, having never done the same myself. I personally
always felt more proud of Tagore being the first Indian to win the Nobel Prize
than Tagore, the Bengali being the first Indian to win the Nobel Prize; always
related more to Amartya Sen the economist than Amartya Sen the Bengali.
My mom says I’m weird; my friends say I’m more a Gujarati
than a Bong; and I say, how different is being a Bong from being a Gujarati
really? Why is it so bad if I relate more to my Indian identity than my Bengali
one? Yeah I know; sounds extremely pretentious. But true nonetheless. I truly believe
that a time will come when national identity shall far supersede regional
identity, when a Gujarati living in Gujarat is no different than a Bong living
there, when values are not a reflection of where you were brought up, but how
you were brought up.
But then what do I know; I’m plain weird.
