Drishtipat Blog

Another crosspost, on the eve of the 60th anniversary of partition, this piece by bonbibi is brilliant.

On Forum, a couple of days ago, I read two striking articles. One by
Udayan Chattopadhyay, the other by Naeem Mohaiemen. Both pieces came
with evocative tiltes: ‘Epaar Opaar’ by Udayan and ‘A cloud of silence
in Bangla Town’ by Naeem. Both writers - stars of diaspora bangla.
Both with roots in Bongo, one from each of today’s two Bongo-lands (if
you think ‘Bongo’ sounds too African or you’re a sanskritist with a
penchant for grammar then you might prefer saying ‘Vanga’, but it’s
the same) and each trying to catch a glimpse of what’s going on opaar.
So timely! You ‘Banglas’, as a south-Indian friend calls us so as not
to fall into the trap of Bangali / Bengali / Bangal / Bangladeshi /
West Bengali, ‘you Banglas’ he says (pointing to the undeniable
communitas formed by our shared language Bangla; even though,
incidentally, it always reminds me of the drink and makes me laugh),
‘are always talking about how the grass is so much greener on the
other side, and yet, why do you know so little about the other side?’

That was a few years ago and it got me thinking. Yes, we’re from Bongo
which under the Brits became ‘Bengal’. Then things got messy and in
1947 Bongo found itself broken into two, its two parts called by two
names – East Pakistan and West Bengal (yes, West Bengalis being too
sentimental couldn’t just call themselves ‘Bengal minus’ I suppose so
‘West -’ stuck on). Then in 1971 the Pakistanis were kicked out and
East Pakistan took the name ‘Bangladesh’ (that wasn’t really cool on
their part seeing that we had left the ‘West’ stuck to our ‘Bengal’ –
there’s been talk of removing the ‘West’ ever since especially as in
the alphabetical list of Indian states West Bengal always stands last
[things got worse when ‘C’alcutta changed to ‘K’olkata and lost place
in the list of the most important Indian cities and this too just
after ‘B’ombay had turned to ‘M’umbai thus giving us an unexpected
precedence over it! Damn! We were still above ‘M’adras but then
‘C’hennai it became and we were doomed again. Now alas we now come
after ‘D’elhi – yeah yeah, so what, what Bengal thinks today India
thinks tomorrow – take that! *dhishoom*).

I will soon be following the lesser-known tracks along the lines of
division 60 years after independence. Take a look at the spoils of
partition (also the title of a book by Joya Chatterji – the historian
of the ‘Bengal Divided’ fame) look into what still makes a Bong cry
when s/he thinks of opar. In West Bengal, its easy, we’re in denial.
What, with nearly half of Calcutta’s population from opar, you’re in
denial? It’s a strange sort of denial – a good excuse when non-Bongs
point out how WB lags behind ‘yes, but we were partitioned, we left
our best lands there, we don’t anymore get the best fish, we’re
doomed. And this shokh keeps us ignoring what the cool-cats of
Bangladesh are upto.

Ok, we have Chandrabindoo but they have Habib and Arnob and Anushe and
Buno and countless others. Their music rocks, their literature beats
the hell out of our antels (in the literal sense – didi, tumi
Dwikhandita likhe sharbonash kore phelle, tomar shathe prem korbo,
kintu chupi chupii thak) and their fish tastier, their saris bigger
(yeah, they’re the only saris I can wear without having to add an
extra par to make them longer) and their Bangla so much sweeter.

Somehow the West Bengal I grew up in felt like an obhimane bhora
mohila. When someone has been scolded or jilted in West Bengal (dunno
if it’s the same in BD – Bangals are far more practical, less
sentimental than ghotis) the first thing one resorts to is stopping to
eat. ‘Na, khabo na, jao’. Now its like: ‘Na, jao tomar gaan shunbona,
tomar lekha porbona, tomar TV ba chobi dekhbona, tomar mach khabona,
tomar shari porbona, shudhu mone mone dukkho korbo’. Ekhon dekhchi ei
shokakula obhimani nari tumi India-r shona (opore opore) ghoray chepe
dibbi chalachho kintu abar dekhchi ek Mero ba Hindusthani tomar bari
kine phelle takhon bhari apotti karo ‘Kolkatar ar kichu Bangali
thaklona, shalara shob dakol kore nichhe’. Jak, eta niye arekdin.

Deshprem byaparta amay queasy kore. This is maybe why I revel in the
fact of being a Bangali or a ‘Bangla’ as my friend calls me. When I
came across the second half of this youtube clip posted on the
Drishtipat website by Rumibhai, I was left buoyed with the same sort
of feeling one gets when one is really really proud - the base of the
neck swells, the heart expands and the shoulders feel like they’re
being anointed by warm golden rain from heaven. This then slowly
trickles down the whole body, the eyes well with watery happiness and
the fingers are geared into excitedly tapping to an inner rythm. Yes,
I am proud to be a Bangali I started thumping my chest - ‘but isn’t
this tube meant for Bangladeshis?’ a tiny voice reminded me.. but what
the hell! the songs you love best, the authors you read most, the air,
the plants, flowers, birds are all the same on our side too, even the
people you look up to are the ones we too look up to too! There, my
chest is expanding again at Bongo-hood rediscovered and what it has
brought the world and I wish this moment would go on forever. Except
that no, this joy is slowly cracking again. Between the place I’m from
and the place next door there lies a gulf - one raised by the blood of
history, the ignorance of our times. But today, when all is covered
under the rising floods, where are the lines between my place and
yours? Its not just that our tears taste the same, but its also that
when we feel pain, we cry out together in the same Bangla bhasha.