When for the very first time…I lisped…It was you in broken form. When for the very first time I fumbled the word “Maa” it was you I took refuge in. Toddling my way when I fell and hurt my knees it was you again giving shape to my pain. A pre-teen kid with intense interest in “Nonte-fonte, Aranyadeb, Handa Bhnoda and Feluda” it was you who filled me with thrill, connect and excitement. Like every teenager I too wrote poems, and yes my crudeness, immaturity, deformed narration was again encased in you! How innately you were there when I sat staring at an autumnal sky waiting for Durga Puja or maybe curled up in my bed listening to Rabindra-Sangeet or tapping my foot to a Bangla Band Track. School ended I joined college; I took up English as my major subject. But in every book fair, in every little magazine I smelled you, I felt you. You were the one who made me love literature; fall in love with it…
I have crossed the threshold of student life, entered the world of adults. I am a working professional-or so the society would like to refer. I sit back and wonder sometimes, how could you be such a formidable presence in my life? Perhaps after my mother it is you who encircles my being. My madness for Kolkata, Satyajit Ray, Theatre, Poems, Rabindra Sangeet, Rabindranath-himself, Anjan Dutta, Films, everything…my entire being roots back to you. I would not have been complete without you. If you are not there, I shrink to nothingness. Yes you my mother tongue…my bangla!
I write this piece in English-an apparent irony to what I wrote? No, it’s just that I wanted to communicate to all irrespective of languages…that my language is my foundation. I speak in Bangla, I love in Bangla and I dream in Bangla.
“Moder gorob Moder Asha…Aa mori Bangla Bhasha...” (The crescent of our pride, the silver line of hope...ah…Bangla…my love!)
