Bengali writer Sharatchandra remained my favorite, and I always wished to read him someday in Bangla. Every bengali girl appeared a liberated woman from his novel.
Dusky yet chubby, nerdy yet flirt, melodramatic yet vivacious.
The day I learnt the bangla script, I bought ‘sharat sahita samagra‘ and began reading the same stories in bangla. To magnify the effect, I switched my room partners to bengali guys and roamed around with bengali girls. My hairs began to curl and was almost about to get a thick spectacle. Could have almost married a bengali woman, but I survived.
Pulled away from jaws of this magnetic culture.
The beautiful people who love to preserve their culture, the literature and the music. No wonder, its one of the most read and spoken languages on earth.
Well, I went on to learn Marathi, Telugu and Kannada too. But, could never assail myself to literary adventures in these languages. They remained working languages where I could only talk and understand maladies of my patients. I can discuss cough, diarrhea, piles in all these languages but Kavi Kuvempu or PuLa Deshpandey remained a mystery.
When I came to Norway, I mastered Norsk in same way or rather a bit more organised than Marathi or Kannada. Now, I write complex scientific literature in Norsk and bit more grammatically sound than natives sometimes.
But, the bengali connection reigns supreme. It probably never played any role in profession or economics of my life. Just the literature or ‘sahitya’.
If one wishes to revive hindi, its not the signboards or official notifications, but the sahitya. Revive Munshi Premchand and Niralas, hindi would bounce back.