Bengali Culture Quotes

জীবনযাত্রার মান নিয়ে মানুষের রুচি এবং সংস্কৃতি বিচার এবং তার ভিত্তিতে পরিবারবিশেষের সামাজিক অবস্থান নির্ণয় (যা সবসময়ই নিজেদের তুলনায় নিম্নস্তরে) মধ্যবিত্ত বাঙালি জীবনের এক করুণ প্রহসন।

The Bengalis saw endless bloodshed and trouble from 1947 to 1971 and this culminated in the Liberation War of 1971. The blood of 3 million Bengalis helped earn this freedom and also proved that religion could never be the foundation of a national identity. Language, culture and history provide the foundations for a national identity.

What Raja Ram Mohun Roy began as a reform movment early in the 19th century Devendranath Tagore made into a religion. It transformed the Bengali middle class. Rabindranath Tagore expanded that religion into a culture. And that culture became Nehru’s politics.

British officers arriving in India were supposed to spend up to three years in a Calcutta college, where they studied Hindu and Muslim law alongside English law; Sanskrit, Urdu and Persian alongside Greek and Latin; and Tamil, Bengali and Hindustani culture alongside mathematics, economics and geography.

The European empires believed that in order to govern effectively they must know the languages and cultures of their subjects. British officers arriving in India were supposed to spend up to three years in a Calcutta college, where they studied Hindu and Muslim law alongside English law; Sanskrit, Urdu and Persian alongside Greek and Latin; and Tamil, Bengali and Hindustani culture alongside mathematics, economics and geography.

The detective embodies, even more than the romantic drifter, rationality; this intriguing and apparent dichotomy pertains to a significant part of Bengali children’s literature as well – that ofen, especially in the proliferation of adventure, spy and mystery genres in Bengali in the first half of the twentieth century, children’s literature is not so much an escape from the humanist logos of ‘high’ literary practice, but a coming to its irreducible possibilities from a different direction.

The Hungryalist or the hungry generation movement was a literary movement in Bengali that was launched in 1961, by a group of young Bengali poets. It was spearheaded by the famous Hungryalist quartet — Malay Roychoudhury, Samir Roychoudhury, Shakti Chattopadhyay and Debi Roy. They had coined Hungryalism from the word ‘Hungry’ used by Geoffrey Chaucer in his poetic line “in the sowre hungry tyme”. The central theme of the movement was Oswald Spengler’s idea of History, that an ailing culture feeds on cultural elements brought from outside. These writers felt that Bengali culture had reached its zenith and was now living on alien food. . . . The movement was joined by other young poets like Utpal Kumar Basu, Binoy Majumdar, Sandipan Chattopadhyay, Basudeb Dasgupta, Falguni Roy, Tridib Mitra and many more. Their poetry spoke the displaced people and also contained huge resentment towards the government as well as profanity. … On September 2, 1964, arrest warrants were issued against 11 of the Hungry poets. The charges included obscenity in literature and subversive conspiracy against the state. The court case went on for years, which drew attention worldwide. Poets like Octavio Paz, Ernesto Cardenal and Beat poets like Allen Ginsberg visited Malay Roychoudhury. The Hungryalist movement also influenced Hindi, Marathi, Assamese, Telugu & Urdu literature.

The diversity of India is tremendous; it is obvious: it lies on the surface and anybody can see it. It concerns itself with physical appearances as well as with certain mental habits and traits. There is little in common, to outward seeming, between the Pathan of the Northwest and the Tamil in the far South. Their racial stocks are not the same, though there may be common strands running through them; they differ in face and figure, food and clothing, and, of course, language … The Pathan and Tamil are two extreme examples; the others lie somewhere in between. All of them have still more the distinguishing mark of India. It is fascinating to find how the Bengalis, the Marathas, the Gujaratis, the Tamils, the Andhras, the Oriyas, the Assamese, the Canarese, the Malayalis, the Sindhis, the Punjabis, the Pathans, the Kashmiris, the Rajputs, and the great central block comprising the Hindustani-speaking people, have retained their peculiar characteristics for hundreds of years, have still more or less the same virtues and failings of which old tradition or record tells us, and yet have been throughout these ages distinctively Indian, with the same national heritage and the same set of moral and mental qualities.    There was something living and dynamic about this heritage, which showed itself in ways of living and a philosophical attitude to life and its problems. Ancient India, like ancient China, was a world in itself, a culture and a civilization which gave shape to all things. Foreign influences poured in and often influenced that culture and were absorbed. Disruptive tendencies gave rise immediately to an attempt to find a synthesis. Some kind of a dream of unity has occupied the mind of India since the dawn of civilization. That unity was not conceived as something imposed from outside, a standardization of externals or even of beliefs. It was something deeper and, within its fold, the widest tolerance of beliefs and customs was practiced and every variety acknowledged and even encouraged.    In ancient and medieval times, the idea of the modern nation was non-existent, and feudal, religious, racial, and cultural bonds had more importance. Yet I think that at almost any time in recorded history an Indian would have felt more or less at home in any part of India, and would have felt as a stranger and alien in any other country. He would certainly have felt less of a stranger in countries which had partly adopted his culture or religion. Those, such as Christians, Jews, Parsees, or Moslems, who professed a religion of non-Indian origin or, coming to India, settled down there, became distinctively Indian in the course of a few generations. Indian converts to some of these religions never ceased to be Indians on account of a change of their faith. They were looked upon in other countries as Indians and foreigners, even though there might have been a community of faith between them.6

Bengali poem by Ram Mohun Roy which bears on the subject matter of this essay.* Roy explains what is really dreadful about death: Just consider how terrible the day of your death will be. Others will go on speaking, and you will not be able to argue back.

If Bengali is my mother, then English is my father and friend.

All through history every culture on earth has produced its distinct literature - American literature, British literature, Latino Literature, Arabic literature, Turkish literature, European literature, Bengali literature and so on. I am none of these, because I am all of these - Naskar is the amalgamation of all of world's cultures. Naskar is the first epitome of integrated Earth literature - where there is no inferior, no superior - no greater, no lesser. Soulfulness of Rumiland, heartfulness of Martíland, correctiveness of MLKland, sweetness of Tagoreland - merge them all in the fire of love, and lo emerges Naskarland - merge them all in the fire of love, and lo emerges lightland.

যেদিন কাদা-চিংড়ির ছ্যাঁচড়া মুখে রুচবে না, আর বাংলা ভাষা কানে মিষ্টি ঠেকবে না, সেদিন কিন্তু ঘোর দুর্দিন। উন্নতি হইতে সাবধান। শেষটা না পা পিছলে আলুর দম হয়।

রাষ্ট্রে, ধর্মে, সমাজে, তাঁর জীবৎকালে যত আন্দোলন এ-দেশে জেগে উঠেছিলো, তার প্রায় প্রত্যেকটিতে সাড়া দিয়েছিলেন রবীন্দ্রনাথ, তাকে ফলিয়ে তুলেছিলেন সাহিত্যে, কখনো-কখনো প্রত্যক্ষভাবেও অংশ নিয়েছিলেন ; কিন্তু কদাচ কোনো সংঘভুক্ত হননি, কোনো পুরোহিতের আনুগত্য স্বীকার করেননি, তাঁকে বাঁধতে পারে এমন বাঁধন কারো হাতেই তৈরি হলো না। ("শিল্পীর স্বাধীনতা" প্রবন্ধের অংশ)

মিডিয়া যে একটা বিপদ তৈরি করেছে তাতে কোনও সন্দেহ নেই। এক দিকে অডিয়ো-ভিজুয়ালের দাপটে লেখক আর ফিল্মস্টারের দূরত্বটা অনেকখানি কমে আসছে, সাধারণের সামনে নিজেকে দৃশ্যমান করে তুলবার ঝোঁক, নগদ-বিদায়ের লোভ। চোখের সামনে থাকো, নইলে তুমি মৃত— এই রকম একটা আতঙ্কময় উত্তেজনা এখন ছড়িয়ে গেছে সংস্কৃতির জগতে।

সসম্মানে বেঁচে থাকার জন্য যেমন নিজের প্রতি কিছুটা শ্রদ্ধা থাকা প্রয়োজন, তেমনি সংস্কৃতিগোষ্ঠী হিসাবে আত্মপরিচয় সম্পূর্ণ গৌরবহীন হলে মাথা সোজা করে দাঁড়ানো কঠিন হয়ে পড়ে। 'পিতাঠাকুর সুলতান আছিলেন' বলে মিথ্যে আস্ফালনের প্রয়োজন নেই। কিন্তু সত্যিকার গর্বের জিনিসগুলোকে তুচ্ছতাচ্ছিল্য করা আত্মবিশ্বাসের মূলে কুঠারাঘাত করার শামিল। (তপন রায়চৌধুরী)

Multiculturalism--the claim that minority cultures and ways of life should be protected through group rights and privilege--amounts to the Balkanization of this country into blacks, Asians, Native Americans, Hispanics, and so on. It highlights differences and obscures similarities, and it gives each group the idea that it has a special knowledge about itself that no one else can share. How many times have you heard that you have no right to criticize a black (or Latino or Bengali) if you aren't black (or Latino or Bengali)? Multiculturalism is the antithesis of the American melting pot, and quite deliberately so. I've heard black nationalists argue that the melting-pot theory, with the assimilation it demands, is just another racist attempt to "disappear" the black man in America. Multiculturalism is heralded specifically because it keeps people in separate groups. Ironically, if actual multiculturalism--an appreciation for diversity--were in effect today instead of the warped balkanization we have under that label, each of us would be free to embrace a culture other than our own. As a black woman, Paulette Williams would have been celebrating multiculturalism much more distinctly by keeping her own Anglo name. Or perhaps she could have changed her name to Mary O'Reilly or Edna Ferber. Now that would have been real multiculturalism.

When a Bengali Hindu does religious ceremonies according to the local calendar, he or she may not be quite aware that the dates that are invoked in the calendrical accompaniment of the Hindu practices are attuned to commemorating Muhammad’s journey from Mecca to Medina, albeit in a mixed lunar-solar representation.

Food is a big part of my culture, especially sweet foods. When you're Bangladeshi, you're taught that any good news or celebration has to be accompanied with some sweet food. Every time you visit someone's house its polite to bring a box of sweets . But in Ireland, there arent really a lot of places where you can buy Bengali sweets, so when I was younger my mom started making them herself. She was really good at it and I used to watch her. sometimes I helped her out. As I got older, it just felt like second nature to start baking. For school bake sales, I would make my own cookies. for friends birthdays, I would always bring along a cake I baked myself. I became the girl who bakes. and I loved being that girl. I guess baking is kinda in my blood".

বাঙালি হাফ ইনসুলার। নিজের ঘর নিয়ে আগ্রহ নেই। পরের ঘর নিয়ে তার মনীষা টলমল করে। মরাঠি মলয়ালম হিন্দি মণিপুরী নিয়ে তার কোনো চিন্তা নেই, কিন্তু ফরাসি জার্মান স্প্যানিশ নিয়ে তার জ্ঞানচর্চা গগনবিহারী। তার উদ্দীপনা দেখে মনে হয় কালিদাস না থাকলেও চলত, কিন্তু শেক্সপিয়র না থাকলে তাকে মুঠো মুঠো স্যারিডন খেতে হতো। বাঙালি পাঠক, বাঙালি সারস্বত সমাজ যত না ভারতবর্ষে থাকে, তার চেয়ে অনেক বেশি প্যারিসে থাকে, লন্ডনে থাকে, বার্লিনে থাকে।

Reading seems to be easier to defend than writing. Writing is a far larger act of presumption. Sensing this, we seek to shore up the act of writing with false defenses, like the dubious idea that one could ever be absolutely “correct” when it comes to representing fictional human behavior. I understand the desire—I have it myself—but what I don’t get is how anyone can possibly hope to achieve it. What does it mean, after all, to say “A Bengali woman would never say that!” or “A gay man would never feel that!” or “A black woman would never do that!”? How can such things possibly be claimed absolutely, unless we already have some form of fixed caricature in our minds? (It is to be noted that the argument “A white man would never say that!” is rarely heard and is almost structurally unimaginable. Why? Because to be such a self is to be afforded all possible human potentialities, not only a circumscribed few.)

I’m a Bengali,’ I said. His face lit up. ‘Oh Bengali! Bengali, Malayali same thing. Communism, cinema, culture . . .’ He could have gone on talking, but his English was as limited as my Malayalam. Though I could see from his eyes that he was genuinely happy to have me in that chair. I was glad that he did not speak English or else it would have broken his heart to know that I never lived in Bengal and was, culturally, more of a UP-wallah. I have let down—and even offended—quite a few Malayalis during my visits to Kerala. Upon knowing that I am a Bengali, they would presume that I hailed from Calcutta and was bound to be a distant relative of Jyoti Basu. Once, I was at a small gathering in Trivandrum, where a young man, in order to impress me about his knowledge of Marxist literature emanating from Bengal, asked me, ‘So what do you think of . . .?’ He named someone I had never heard of. ‘I am sorry, but who is he?

I’m a Bengali,’ I said. His face lit up. ‘Oh Bengali! Bengali, Malayali same thing. Communism, cinema, culture . . .’ He could have gone on talking, but his English was as limited as my Malayalam. Though I could see from his eyes that he was genuinely happy to have me in that chair. I was glad that he did not speak English or else it would have broken his heart to know that I never lived in Bengal and was, culturally, more of a UP-wallah. I have let down—and even offended—quite a few Malayalis during my visits to Kerala. Upon knowing that I am a Bengali, they would presume that I hailed from Calcutta and was bound to be a distant relative of Jyoti Basu. Once, I was at a small gathering in Trivandrum, where a young man, in order to impress me about his knowledge of Marxist literature emanating from Bengal, asked me, ‘So what do you think of . . .?’ He named someone I had never heard of. ‘I am sorry, but who is he?’ ‘What? You never read his books?’ he was scandalised. ‘He is such a great writer.’ I told the young man that I had never heard of this writer. He was indignant. ‘What? You never heard of him? He is also a Ghosh, then how come?’ ‘I am sorry, but I have never heard of him.’ ‘What? You never heard of him? He is one of the leading lights of communism. How can a Bengali not read him?’ I told him I had never lived in Bengal and that the communist movement did not interest me much. ‘Oh, so where are you from?’ ‘I am from Kanpur, in Uttar Pradesh.’ ‘But you surname says you are a Bengali.’ ‘Of course I am a Bengali, but born and raised in Uttar Pradesh.’ ‘Oh, so you are a rootless Bengali. No wonder.’ The young man looked smug as if he had won a battle and he poured himself another drink. He looked around for approval but, fortunately, the other members at the gathering kept a straight face.