BEING BANGALEE
As the first gleam of a soft light spread across the Dhaka sky, reflecting off the clouds even before sunrise, people were out in the streets. It was April 14, but far more importantly it was Pahela Boishakh; it was the festival of festivals for every Bangalee, the one celebration that is entirely our own as a nation and as a race.
And people were not just out; they were out to celebrate, to paint the streets of the town (literally; one of the widest avenues in the city, the Manik Miah, was painted in an alopona of bursting colours, as were quite a few others). Everyone -- servicemen, entrepreneurs, students, the toddler to the elderly -- were dressed for the occasion; panjabis and fatuas, sarees and kameez in all colours, with red and white being the majority, were headed towards their favourite Pahela Boishakh celebration spots.
And there is one venue that has become synonymous to Pahela Baishakah celebrations -- the Ramna Botomul. The shade under the banyan tree that has hosted the Pahela Baishakh celebrations for nearly half a century -- is still the prime favourite of the serious observers of the festival. The tranquil melody of Raga Ahir Bhairav on Rajrupa Chowdhury's sarod as if opened the gates to a beautiful morning, as the year's theme “Swadesh O Samprity” continued in familiar solo and resonating choral voices -- be it the songs of Pancha-kobi, Lalon or Shah Abdul Karim, or recitation poems, queues formed at the entrances to Ramna in a disciplined manner as law-enforcers kept a sharp eye to ensure safety and organised proceedings. People sat, stood and leaned on trees on both sides of the lake; some even sat down with the entire family having breakfast while enjoying the performances -- that ended with a booming heartfelt rendition of the National Anthem, following a beautiful address by one of Chhayanaut's cornerstones, Dr. Sanjida Khatun.
Not far away from there, another crowd was gathering through, in a more youthful, exuberant mode of celebration. The Mongol Shobhajatra is the biggest parade the capital ever sees, and this time was no different. Students of the Faculty of Fine Arts, Dhaka University (Charukola) brought out their massive structures -- fishes, owls, deer, a man on a tiger, and a shikey (clay pots hanging from jute ropes; a symbol of a prosperous Bangalee household) -- and papier-mache masks as youngsters from all over the city joined in the bustle with beats of the dhol. While city life takes its toll on citizens' 'Bangaliana” throughout the year, this was the day to feel our cultural roots without a hindrance.
Throughout the Dhaka University area -- be it the Hakim Chattar or the Chhobi'r Haat opposite to Charukola, people walked around merrily, ate the batasha and pitha on offer, gathered in circles as snake-charmers displayed their bag of tricks, and bought different kinds of folk musical instruments from the stalls set up. The Charukola premises itself took on the appearance of a village fair, with putul nach house, various types of village carnival rides, and a jatrapala performance.
While cynics look down on the festivities as hypocritical, momentary excitement about our culture, Pahela Baishakh in essence is just the opposite. While it may be inconvenient to begin every morning with panta-ilish or wear fotua- panjabi to a corporate office, it is the one day that reminds us who we are. Without it, the children who have grown up in Dhaka all their life and don't get too many chances to visit his village home -- wouldn't probably know the feeling of getting on a hand-pulled chorki or gotten to play an ektara or a dugdugi. Pahela Boishakh is the one day of the year that helps us recapitulate the tug of our roots.
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