In my previous post I spoke about the role of language and its significance in my life. I mentioned how we were banned from speaking English in the house, as my parents recognised that our home was the only place where we could practice our mother-tongue whereas the outside world demanded English. As a teenager this was rather frustrating but writing this piece as an adult I am ever so grateful to my parents for having such conviction to ensure their children knew who they were.
My parents took us to Bangladesh for almost 16 months and enrolled us in a private grammar school. We also had after-school tutors; one was for Qur’an recitation – in Arabic this is known as tajweed – and the other tutor helped us, inaddition to the Bengali we were learning in school, learn Standard Bangla, which included writing, reading, listening and speaking aspects of the language.
I have fond memories from that period. The hospitality culture humbled me because people’s generosity there is so magnanimous that receiving it leaves you with no other emotion but humility. The next time I experienced such hospitality was through my backpacking journey across South America.
This experience in Bangladesh not only reconnected me to my roots but this was also the moment, now looking back, that was going to change my life. 9/11 happened while we were living in Bangladesh and as a young girl I didn’t know or understand what that meant. It was around that time my dad’s youngest brother was getting married, so the whole family was consumed by the pre and post-wedding preparations. Little did we know that this event was going to change our lives.
I experienced life in Bangladesh. People’s attachment to the land, not in a nationalistic sense, but more in an esoteric way where one shows gratitude and earnestness to the land for providing rice, the staple food for Bengalis. This made me appreciate the greenery around me as well as creating a connection with the earth.
Once again, by accessing the language I gained an insight into the culture, the everyday nuances I would have missed otherwise. It gave me, and continues to give me, access to a world I can escape away to as my work life involves the English language, which, to me, lacks animation and is slightly burdensome. Speaking Bengali gives me life and breathing space; it gives me freedom.
A poem by Ena Ganguly:
you call my name
and I respond
in Bangla.
that’s how intimate
I feel with you.
that your voice pulls
some
from underneath
my tongue.
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