My Tryst With Bangla

I had written this in 2010 when the Bengali Committee in our colony had organized Rabindra Jayanti at Sarita Sadan. I had worn a red-and-white saree and recited Gurudev's poetry. It was quite an experience. As usual, I felt awkward, wearing wet red lipstick, wanting to wipe it off, scared of swallowing it and feeling the glare of lights on my face. But when we ended, I couldn't recognize myself. I felt like some artist flown in from Kolkata, such was the effect. 

Unnecessarily long sleep stretches had entered my life after the main bout of exams got over. Mum must have diagnosed it early as three days later, she sent me to Shibangi di’s place to meet up with the two enthusiasts behind the ‘Rabindra Jayanti’  on  16 May- Shibangi di and Neena aunty.

So,began another kind of coaching-a Bangla crash course or ‘Mastering Sruti Natok in a week’ programme. Anyway, coaching has been the buzzword in my life for two years now, though I expected this to be better than unbearable monologues by some middle-aged science freaks. And it lived upto my ideas-with visual aids,a comfortable and amiable environment and ample breaks.

The evening practices brought back those old times when I used to be a part of the plays, dances and songs. With Mili and Lipika aunties taking the lead; other kiddos had succeeded us (very well) in the dances. Catching up with friends was a bonus.

The result?

When D-Day arrived, the audience could vouch for me being a ‘pukka’ Bong! Success- that’s the word, I guess.