I’m often told that Bengali is such a beautiful language.

Easy to understand. Sweet on the ears.

Although, the ‘mother’ tongue is essentially Punjabi, my mother is fluent in Bengali as well. And my parents have done such a fabulous job passing it on to me. At a point of time, I could read and write effortlessly as well - but then one day I wrote Bengali in my Hindi exam paper in school and the writing was consciously stopped :)

Bengal had been the place to be in our country a few decades ago. An illustrious capital of the nation, the degradation happened so fast, our people are still living in denial.

Literary greatness. Revolution. Scientific discovery. Mastery in the musical and art domain. Political dominance. Cinematic excellence. Demonstration of great courage. Delectable cuisines. Apathy. We’ve got it all.

Despite all of the above, Bengal is one of the most backward states in India today. In terms of economy, development and whatever else you can think of.

I don’t really know who is to be blamed. All I know is that I do not have the opportunity to live and work in the city I was born in. And it is a shame.

***

I had heard this song when I was very little, and I didn’t really know what it meant. Kabir Suman sings about an underage rickshaw-puller in Calcutta who is distracted by the ongoing kite festival in the city. A juxtaposition of the spirit of freedom he dreams of, and the kites of freedom calling it to him.

As beautiful as the thought is, Bengali just adorns it further.