I was born a Bengali (not geographically correct, I was born in Madras). Both my parents hail from East Bengal… a place called Faridpur (I’ve never been there). So, technically speaking, I’m as proud of those who brought India precious freedom as those who died for their mother-tongue in Bangladesh on that fateful February the 21st (I hope every Bengali is, whether Bangal or Ghoti) Proud I am on paper, but do I really care about my mother-tongue? Do I really care any more about the language in which I called my mom for the first time (ma), I called my dad for the first time (baba), I called all my relatives and loved ones… the people whom I love, who love me so much… (mashi, pishi, dida, dadu, mama, dada, didi, kaku) my friends (most of my bondhus have Bengali names, so this one’s mandatory)… I really wanna share a little piece of information here---I professed my love for someone for the first time in Bangla as well (I stuttered like hell, but that’s another story!)
So when I think about it for sometime, the little statistician inside my head informs me that I haven’t written a full page in Bengali for the last several months (since my ISC exams, I think, which concluded on March 28). This is particularly significant for me, as those who know me know particularly well… I love to write! And I regularly write in English (As I’m doing now, as you can see). So when I discover that I haven’t written anything significant in my first language for the past several months… it’s time to press the panic button… FAST!!!
After a thorough analysis of the causes (the venue of which was my head, and it lasted for about five minutes) and a critical survey of the masses (I asked “one” friend, but I was sure everyone else’s reply would be the same), I concluded that the problem was not only within me, but within everyone else as well… only that they were either too busy to realize it, or simply didn’t care. For a moment, I thought of playing a Buddha, the enlightened one… and preach. Then I was reminded of a hell of a lot of things simultaneously at the same time. First… the definition of Buddha in the 21st century, depicted by two people (whom I know of, there may be many exceptions) who are the enlightened one’s namesakes and are least like the real Buddha. Then I was reminded of the way Buddha was brought in her artistic work by the singer Cora Corman in the movie “Music and Lyrics”. To those who haven’t seen the movie, she was a raunchy version of the sexy Shakira. And I said to myself, tweaking Madonna’s line a bit, “Dear me, don’t preach” (Guess it’s better than hearing from your own daughter “Papa don’t preach”)
(Bad) Jokes apart, the problem that troubled me for five minutes is a big problem in every single part of the world today… and of course, it’s a huge scare in India. India, being a land of diverse cultures, languages and people, will be worst-affected if everyone starts becoming what I’ll become in five minutes from now. People in general, not only kids and teenagers, should take initiatives to glorify their mother-tongues, which is (I think) the only way one can preserve the roots of one’s own culture. These initiatives need not be something extreme… one can easily begin by lightly persuading others to take pride in their languages… and most importantly, take pride in it themselves. Like people are proud for huge salaries, when their children score a goal in the school soccer match… and in case of someone like Paris Hilton, the fact that she managed to look (and say) hot even when she was in jail.
So, I see that even though I didn’t intend to, I’ve ended up preaching… to anyone who’ll check out this blog, and will have the patience to stand my stupid jokes and read until the end… and who might also be neglecting his/her mother tongue in a big way.
Signing off,
Moder Gorob Moder Asha
A Mori Bangla Bhasha…
-Jagannath (back to being good ol’ Jesse)
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