Shonar Bangla!

Shonar Bangla!

“Maa, I wanted to tell you something since long. I want you to meet Sonal. We have been dating each other since long and want to settle down now,”Joidev managed to utter the words after full night’s rehearsal.

Joidev’s mother, Mrs Dey was highly bong in nature. She took pride in Robindro Songeet, Durga Pujo, Jamai Shosti, Maacher Jhol, Rosogolla and above all in not knowing (to speak)the national language of the country-Hindi.

“Is she a Bengali?” she enquired in a most casual way.

“No Maa. She is from Bihar, but has done her graduation from BHU”, Joidev spoke in a low pitch knowing completely what storm the line would bring next.

“B-e-e-h-a-a-r-i!!!!” she screamed

“Oh!!! So you are so grown up now. You want to marry and that too a bihari girl. Did you at all think twice before saying these to me,” Mrs Dey said in a pitch louder than normal.

Mrs Dey was a widow aged around 50 and mother of her only child, whom she called Babai (typical nick names which only a Bengali will keep). Babai or Joidev was in mid-twenties, very eligible bachelor, as per the job-salary criteria. As for the physical appearances, he was good-looking except for the flabby body which was the characteristics feature of any Bengali boy, and it was considered to be an asset to be showcased before friends and family. None could dare speak to Mrs Dey about his son’s increasing weight at an alarming rate. She would shun them all saying with pride, “Bengali and food goes hand in hand. We, Bengalis are fond of eating and that reflects in our looks as well.”

The feeling of pride is good as long as its domain is restricted to self. When pride causes one to look down upon others, pride gets converted to arrogance and several problems crops up. Same happened with the Dey family as well.

“How can you think of doing this Babai? We are Bengalis and have different kaalture and heritage. Our lifestyle is completely different from theirs. All of us, including her will have problem in adjusting with each other. Had your father been alive, this would never have happened. Why did you think your mother to be incapable of choosing a good bride for you?” Mrs Dey tried her convincing tone in the beginning, which later on was activated to the emotionally blackmailing tone.

“Maa, she has been staying in the hostel and is very adjusting. She works in the same company as mine. I know her very well. Also, she is very mature and above all I love her Maa,” Joidev spoke with the target fixed in his mind.

Having failed in her first attempt to convince her son, Mrs Dey took the second step, “Didn’t you find someone from Bengali community? Caste was never a bar for me. I know all the tricks of these non-Bengali girls’. They want to save the crores of money, which otherwise would have gone for their dowry. They deliberately set up traps to catch hold of Bengali boys.”

“You are being mean Maa. I love her”, Joidev said in an attempt not to lose his temper as that would spoil everything and Mrs Dey would start with the most effective weapon of hers-her ‘tears’.

“I know, I know… these prem and all. Don’t teach me”, she said sarcastically.

Joidev now felt a bit restless and seemed to be losing the game of debate that day, which was the question of his entire life. He used the opponent’s own weapon to attack the opponent.

“Maa! How can you be so narrow-minded and rigid? We, Bengalis are known for our openness and broad-mindedness. The concept of love-marriage and inter-caste marriage has been most prevalent in Bengali community since ages. What Bengal thinks today, India thinks tomorrow. People in our community are going for inter-country marriages and you are unable to accept a girl from the same country?” Joidev paused for a while and looked at his mother just to know the impact of the words spoken by him. He was otherwise ready for a larger speech quoting culture, heritage, and famous Bengali personalities.

Mrs Dey seemed to be almost convinced. Only her ego had to be satisfied and the mission was accomplished.

“Acha, do whatever you wish but remember, Bihari eats only litti and chokha, then don’t come to me with complains,” she said almost accepting her defeat.

Almost immediately, just like a small kid, she came up with another long list of agreements and contracts, which Babai had to sign even without reading, “Aami kintu hindi bolte parbo na! (Don’t expect me to speaking in hindi). I will not change my food-habits. I will not eat chhatur shorbot (drink made of powdered baked gram) (Bengalis don’t drink anything, they eat!). I will eat mishit-doi and not khhatta-doi. She has to adjust to our way of living etc. etc.”

Adding to these, she also said, “Why are you in such a hurry for marriage? You are at a tender age now. You have lots of time for this marriage and all. I can get better girls for you.” This was supposedly her last attempt to convince him.

Babai okayed everything except for the last part; and smiled and hugged his Maa. He didn’t have any other verbal answer in the given situation.

The marriage was a peaceful one and post-marriage days were passing rather fast. Joidev and Sonal had their majority of the day spent in office and the small amount of time they had after coming from office, was spent very judiciously by the daughter-in-law, so as to avoid any confrontations. After about 2 years of their marriage, the couple were blessed with a cute-little boy. They named them Sonjoy. All attention of Mrs Dey was now focussed on the upbringing of Sonjoy, who reminded her of Joidev’s childhood days. Days passed and Sonjoy started going to school. Mrs Dey had taken the full responsibility of feeding him, playing with him, fulfilling all his tantrums and also teaching him to read and write.

The child was also too fond of his grandma and could not tolerate a single word against her. One day Sonjoy rushed to her grandma and opened his Hindi book and said, “Thakuma (Bengali word for grandma), I will teach you Hindi. It is very easy.” The little boy had overheard from somewhere that her grandma couldn’t speak Hindi and did not feel good about it. He felt, his grandma was not inferior to anyone in any respect; and took the initiative to undertake the task of teaching Mrs Dey the official language of the nation-‘Hindi’.

All her pride of not learning the language vanished somewhere and she said, “Whatever you say, my babu.”

Another day, Joidev was coming from office when a high speeding Tata Sumo, hit his car. Sonal was little injured, but Joidev had to be hospitalized immediately. He had been unconscious since the incidence occurred because of a deep cut on his forehead. Mrs Dey was informed and she rushed to the hospital instantly along with Sonjoy. The doctors asked her to wait as they were proceeding urgently towards the operation theatre with Joidev lying still on the stretcher. Only after the operation, the doctors could let her know about her son’s situation.

“Kintu…”, she shouted, not knowing what to say next. Her voice was chocking, but was loud enough to be audible. One of the doctors turned back. Mrs Dey immediately read the name written on the doctor’s i-card- ‘Dr. Aniruddh Agarwal’. She then ran to him and with folded hands asked “Dr. babu, mera ladka thik ho jayega to? Kichu chinta ka baat to nahi hai na?” She then started weeping covering her face with the corners of her cotton saari. Dr Agarwal just patted her and went back to the operation theatre.

Sonjoy, who peeped from one of the pillars in the corridor of the hospital, was too innocent to understand what was happening. All he knew was that his baba had got hurt and would be well very soon. What gave him self-admiration was his grandma’s successful Hindi conversation with the doctor. He smiled taking all the credit of his teachings, just like a dedicated teacher who is filled with pride at his students’ success.

At another corner, in front of the statue of Lord Ganesha, Sonal was sitting motionless, with folded hands and eyes closed, blood oozing from her fresh wound, in her arms. Mrs Dey joined her in the same pose. Both of them prayed in their respective language to the same God, with moist eyes, begging for the same thing.

Hope God has no prejudice in the language chosen to accept the respective sets of prayers!