The Bong Connection!

As they say, wherever you go, chances are you will run into a Bengali. They are everywhere. And yes, we’re talking about those outside the boundaries of Bengal. Be it the school parent committee, or your workplace, or the exhibition being organized in the neighborhood gallery, at the local library, at the beach you decided to take a holiday to, you will probably run into one, carefully peering at the portfolio that was just handed in at work, or preening their kids, or gossiping with the neighborhood women. Wherever they go, they have managed to keep their culture unique and alive – that is perhaps what sets them apart from all other communities in the world.

 The bong connection, as hyperbolic as it sounds, ask any Bengali, and they’ll go to lengths to explain it to you, and mostly end with ‘I cannot explain it, but there is something that connects us!’ At this point, most others would give up with an exasperated sigh. It is then that they will try to convince you that unless you have really been to Calcutta and experienced the city with all its charm and hospitality, its boisterous streets, the local street vendors lining every market, however small; the fragrance wafting from the sweetshops early in the morning, the cool breeze of Maidan, the trams in North Calcutta, the evening walk at Southern avenue by the Lake, complete with its ‘lebu cha’, the delights of Nandan and Park Street,   you would not really know why those who have once lived and loved here, can never severe this thread of affection.

Bengalis outside of Bengal always seem to be able to find other Bengalis to chatter with. And sometimes, quite to the suspicion of those who do not understand the language, chatter away in Bengali, just to annoy the others. Be it bonding over the Durga Puja, or reminiscing the ‘phuchka’ , or yearning that ‘shorshe illish aar mishit doi’, or catching up over an intense ‘adda’ session on the state of the world economy, Bongs outside Bengal, always find some shared interest to relate to. It is perhaps the pangs of longing for the affectionate touch of the elders in the family, or the genuine sound of concern in the voice of friends they left behind a long long time ago, or perhaps the shared memory of a time when reading Tagore and discussing the implications of ‘Shesher Kobita’ over some ‘laal cha and singara’ made the day worth its while. Or perhaps it is the shared memory of a time and place that will never again be the same – a place that once used to be home!