Bengali Cultural School, Grooming students for the Gods to see by Sam Mukherjee

The statues made by ancient Greek sculptor Phidias stood on the roof of the Parthenon on the highest hills in Athens. Only their front portions could be seen. When the time came to pay the man for his hard toil, the accountant complained, “ Phidias, you have charged us unfairly for sculpting them in the round,” which meant that he had billed them for doing the posterior of the statues that no one could see. “You are wrong,” Phidias told the accountant, “The Gods can see them.”

I was reminded of this story when I visited the Canada Bengali Cultural School of Mississauga. Although the name suggested that here were children from all age groups studying the Bengali language to clear exams, further observation revealed that they were also being trained in dance, drama and music. And that’s not all. They emerge as total human beings with a deep concern and respectful regard for all nations, languages and religions. Every teacher in this school is like Phidias, tutoring and mentoring them not for the world to praise them for scores on their mark sheets but grooming them for the Gods to see.

The Canada Bengali Cultural School of Mississauga is a success story driven by ingenuity and industry. Connected to their countries by an umbilical cord that is stretched but never snapped, the teachers and students forming the ambience of the school take you on a journey of discovery where negative emotions and religious rhetoric have been unable to subvert universal brotherhood.

I worked out the arithmetic. The year: 1979. Two individuals: Sarama and Siba Mukherjee. Their dream: To begin and continue a Bengali language school that will not only allow learning of the language but will assist children in growing up into complete, caring individuals. The result: For detractors and supporters to savour.


Sarama Mukherjee was a teacher at Prabartak Nari Mandir in Chandannagar, near Calcutta, before she came to Canada. Currently she is the Principal of the school with zeal unparalleled even today and a refusal to proclaim herself as Caesar. In this dream-turned-into-reality school, challenges have been met collectively. The management has been based on the industrial democracy principle, in other words, participative management. And something quite fundamental is strikingly present - dedication. One realizes before long that a hangar-sized facility isn’t required to radiate total joy in one’s work, optimism for the future and attempt to create decent human beings with homespun virtues.



In 1981 the school became affiliated to the Peel Board’s Heritage language program and the number of students and teachers began to grow. Throughout it’s history the school has enjoyed the support of the Peel Board of Education. The credit course program for the Bengali language was established soon after. The first Ontario Academic Credit (OAC) course was offered in 1992 and many students completed their OAC successfully thereafter. A good measure of the level of education achieved by the OAC students is indicated by the fact that they can enroll at a higher level at the University of Toronto’s Bengali Language programme. A close teacher-student ratio helps maintain a high standard.

Said ex-student Nina Mahbub, now a Senior Account Officer, Corporate Banking at Scotiabank, who began Bengali school as a teenager, “More than teachers they were second mothers. They were role models in every sense of the words.” The staff comprises parents of students past and present. And although it wouldn’t be Nina’s first choice for her Sundays, in retrospect, she’s glad to have attended as it opened her life to her heritage. “Classes were fun and I graduated from the first credit classes,” she recalled. Her face lit up and the serious executive behind her dark brown business suit melted as she recalled having the greatest parties in school. She has volunteered and is keen on doing so again as and when circumstances allow.

Reminiscing she continued, “ I began to appreciate Bengali and this has extended into my life. I am open to all cultures, languages and religions.” Her exposure extended into understanding not only Bengali traditions but also Hindu traditions and she is confident that the two religions could live harmoniously. “It has added depth and richness to my life,” she said.

The syllabi include Iswarchandra Vidyasagar’s, ‘Barna Parichay,’ History of Bengali Literature and Tagore’s works. Celebrating Eid ul Zoha, Saraswati Puja as well as Rabindranath Tagore’s and Kazi Nazrul Islam’s birthdays promotes multiculturalism.

The school has actively participated in fundraising programs for Credit Valley Hospital, Cyclone disaster in Barrie, Ethiopian famine, Bangladesh flood, Gujarat earthquake to name only a few.

Another unique feature of the school is to encourage adults whose mother tongue is not Bengali to participate in learning the language to help them communicate better in mixed surroundings.

Sulogna Sen, a Chemical Engineer from the University of Waterloo and now involved in project engineering at Zeton Inc., a manufacturer of pilot and modular plants, is also a proud ex-student. She had enrolled at five and knew early on that it was important to learn the language to communicate effectively with people in her community. It also gave her a better understanding of roots and traditions both her own and others’. She said, “There was a sense of family that developed amongst everyone in the school. I decided to pursue the credit classes offered through the school.”
Her memories both inside and out of the classrooms are fond ones. She feels that being in the school increased her confidence. “I am appreciative of the strong dedication of the teachers and all the attention they gave to each and every student.”

Sulogna has taught dance at the school and witnessed a keen desire to learn among her pupils. Monitoring their progress was a rewarding experience for her. She added, “Participation in celebration of different religious functions has given me a broader understanding of the world and the people around me,” and goes on to praise the teachers, “Teachers have taken on their roles on a voluntary basis. Since the level of knowledge of the students can vary, this special attention allows everyone to learn at a pace that they are comfortable.” Her suggestion is to involve present students to take a greater role in the direction of the school and form a student committee to assist the planning of activities and hold student run events to bring upon a new wave of ideas. Sulogna is of the firm opinion that by being educated in our own heritage, we are better able to share and represent our cultures with those around us and add to the multicultural society of Canada. “I want my culture and traditions to be passed on to future generations,” she said.

Future plans are to introduce regional language classes and offering credits for Dance, Drama and Music.

The school has successfully managed to convert some uninvolved beginners to passionate believers. Isolationist slumber and ennui have given way to the gung-ho spirit over the long years. No gulping books. No utopian visions. No blinkered perceptions. But tolerance over bigotry, buoyant optimism and serene confidence in its students has displayed a well-placed loyalty in the institution for those who belong and visit. The Canada Bengali Cultural School of Mississauga is a great vehicle to translate our past into the future and draw us into becoming a thoughtful community instead of being lured into becoming an unthinking herd. It can be frightening to lose your identity and no sane Bengali is going to make the wrong choice now that the fruit is ripe. Twenty-five years ago, perhaps yes, but not in 2003. It is our nearest and dearest way of understanding ourselves in a land so far from our roots and finding our way onward. The obituary of such an institution must never be written.

For admissions and contributions, please contact:
Sarama Mukherjee
saramamukherjee@hotmail.com
Tel: 1- 905- 542- 0054

Research for this article was done by Partha Mukherjee.

* Article courtesy southasianoutlook.com
This article was published in the November issue of southasianoutlook.com

Thou - that every word... by Devankur Thakur

A waking Dream By Ms Bithika B Biswas

A waking dream

Geeta wakes up with a choked throat and reaches for the phone to check time. It’s 3 a.m. now and her whole body is shivering. Was it a dream? Is it the same bed where she was sleeping sometimes back? She looked around. Alok is sleeping on his sides holding his pillow tight. Piu is also in deep sleep clinging to her. Where was she then? It was a very small bed and she was sleeping with Piu and a tiny little baby on her sides. There were scorpions all around the bed trying to get inside the mosquito net and she was desperately trying to save the little one from them. Geeta was tucking in the net from one side and the scorpions were getting in from another. It was as if she was fighting the last battle of her life. Geeta saw one of them actually crawling onto the feet of the baby and screamed hard. She woke up with a jerk to reality. It was a dream!
She reaches for the water bottle. The bottle is almost over but her throat is still dry. She is sweating like a fish. Who was that little baby, she thinks. Geeta holds Piu close to her body and feels relieved while Piu secures her arm and leg around her. Piu sleeps in between Geeta and Alok and never goes off to sleep till the time she feels her mother by her side. Geeta gets up, splashes water on her eyes and comes back to the bed. She feels her abdomen with her hands and thinks about the life that is springing inside her. How badly she wanted a baby. She realised it strongly when she held and cuddled Reena’s newborn baby a month back. Reena is her college friend and it was her second baby after her 6 years old daughter. Her heart melted looking at the cherubic face of the baby boy and she knew she wanted a baby again. Even Piu needed a company.
“I want a baby at home, a real one, not a doll. Ask God to put a baby in your tummy please! When your tummy will be big and fat, doctor uncle will take the baby out for me. I want my mom’s baby....not a cousin...Please mom...”
Piu’s words started ringing on her ears. Every time she prays she asks for a baby and a puppy and complains God does not listen to her prayers. May be it is Geeta’s craving and Piu’s prayer that have brought about this new life in her.
Alok does not want a baby. Though he says he does not want now, she understands he wants never. He has his list of priorities in life and a baby fits nowhere there. He has just got promoted in his job with a dream position and an enviable package. He is happy and wants to live life to the fullest, a life he always wanted to live... good money, great car, people working at his command where he is not answerable to anybody; not even to his wife. Geeta feels good to see him excited and happy. Otherwise, most of the time he spends with them, he is irritated and angry. Questions irritate him, invade his space, he wants to breathe free. He will fulfil his responsibilities as a father and a husband but, love; he is not sure of. He candidly admitted that a few days back chewing cashew nuts and sipping his drink. Their ideas of happiness do not match for quite some time. Geeta has realised that his world has become big and small things in everyday life cannot make him happy any more.
“What happened? Why r u awake? ” Alok’s words brought her back to present. Unmindfully she dropped the water bottle on the floor and the sound woke him up.
“Nothing, I had a bad dream. Not getting sleep now.”


“Okay, it is just a dream. Close your eyes and try to sleep. Do you need a medicine?” Alok asks in his sleepy voice.
“Yeah, you are right. I will be fine. No need to take medicine.” Alok goes back to sleep even before she could complete.
Alok knows Geeta takes pills for stress and does not forget to get one if he sees her awake at night. Geeta closes her eyes and tries to sleep. Even a couple of years back, she remembers, seeing her awake at night Alok would crawl towards her, hold her in his arms and try to put her back 2 sleep playing around with her hair, messaging her brows and rubbing his hands on her belly. Most of the times such attempts used to end up with a love making session and they used to fall asleep in each other’s arms. A wry smile has played on her lips thinking of the idiotic rhymes he used to sing to her whenever she was upset, hurt or angry. Actually, for Alok, everything comes with an expiry date; his shoes, his watches, his car and so are his relationships. He hates to repair his stuff if it stops working. Most of his shoes lie unattended in one corner of the house and his one time favourite watches in some corner of his cupboard. He feels no pain when he sells his old car and buys a new one. He can switch off from things in such a short time. She sees no difference between herself and his old stuffs. She was his world at one point of his life, and now just a liability. He will make sure that she lives fine with Piu but that is all, beyond that the door is closed. He does not like to talk about feelings, love and care; those are all outdated stuffs in this relationship. Her heart longs to see him holding her in his arms and telling her how much he needs both of them. She knows it is an impossible dream, but the hope keeps her going. May be some day.... it will happen, but if she does not need him that day? She knows she will never feel that way in her whole life; she never could leave him when he asked both of them to walk out of his life two years back for some other woman. She stuck to her belief that he would come back. He came back but she never got back the man she loved and married.
Why am I brooding over these silly things?” Geeta thinks, “These thoughts have already taken away my sleep and they will take my life some day.”
Accept things as they are and be happy, Alok told her one day. Right he is, but wish I had a button in place of my heart to switch on and off. Alok is honest enough to admit that he is not ready for a baby mentally, physically and financially. He is just trying to continue with this relationship and he is not sure whether it will work or not. She understands it means a full stop and any discussion beyond that will create a stir at home and Alok does not like this. She must try hard to keep this relationship alive till the last day; the truth in her life needs to be kept in one piece, the truth that her Alok loves her and wants to be with her throughout his life. She holds Piu close to her heart and closes her eyes. It is 5a.m now and she has three hours to sleep before she wakes up and gets ready for an early morning appointment in the nearest nursing home. That is no sacrifice any way, but a sensible and logical decision to make life better and happier in future, just a small adjustment...

Smile of the month - The Frog-store

On the 64th anniversary of our independence, a tribute to Doordarshan - The 1st Lok Seva Sanchar Film on National Harmony

Byomkesh Bakshi Thriller, Part II

--2--

I knew Inspector Pronob Guha – the in-charge of the local police station. He was a very active and a seasoned professional, but somehow he was not very friendly with Byomkesh, though his feelings never came out through his dialogue or body language. As he would talk to Byomkesh with some extra respect and would end each sentence with a subtle laughter, possibly their polarities were opposite and Pronob Babu didn’t like private interferences in Government work.
After listening through my story he said, ‘what are you saying! Crime in the detective’s den! But when Byomkesh Babu is around why do you need me? Let him investigate!
I was so annoyed, I replied pretty roughly, ‘Byomkesh is not in town, had he been here, he would have surely investigate.
‘Okay! Then I am coming. He, He!!!
Before he hung up he annoyed me thoroughly again with his laughter.
Pronob Babu came with his men half an hour later. He looked at me, had a silent laugh and started examining the body very thoroughly, collected the pistol in a handkerchief and then sent the body to the hospital for post mortem.
After all these, he called everyone for interrogation. I told him whatever I knew, and then everyone gave their statements.
Let me try to give a summarized version of all the statements.
Manager Shivkali Babu was an unmarried man and since last twenty five years he was working as the ‘mess in charge’. Natavar Naskar came three years back and since then he was living in that room only. He was around fifty and didn’t mix up much with people, only Ram Babu and Banamali Babu would visit him sometimes. He was very particular about paying the rent and that’s why Shivkali never had anything against him.
Today evening Shivkali went to buy some vegetables for the mess kitchen from a wholesaler but couldn’t reach in time and had to return empty handed.
Bbhupesh Babu worked for an insurance company and had got transferred to Kolkata just a month & half back. He was widowed with no kids and a frequent traveler.
He described everything perfectly from the early ‘card sessions’ to the evening of the accident, he also mentioned the man with the brown stole whose face he couldn’t see as was running away through the lane, wouldn’t be able to identify him in future.
Ram Chandra Roy and Banamali Chanda’s statements were quite similar, I noticed one thing -though Rambabu was quite and calm but Banamali Babu couldn’t hide his expressions of the shock he had.
They both were in Dhaka and worked for an British company. During the partition riot they both lost their families and could only escape with their own lives. Ram Babu was forty eight and Banamali Babu was forty five. Since the last three years they had been staying in this mess and working in the same bank. They loved playing bridge but couldn’t play since they came to Kolkata. Finally they were having some good times since Bhupesh Babu arranged the Bridge sessions in his room.
Today they came to Bhupesh Babu’s room and within five minutes they there was this ‘Bang’ sound came from the lane below. They knew Natavar Babu from Dhaka, but he was just an acquaintance, didn’t know much about him. Natavar Babu used to work as an agent in Dhaka. Here as they were in the same building Ram Babu and Banamali Babu would visit him sometimes. They didn’t really know if he had any other friend here; they had a glimpse of the man in a brown stole, but of course couldn’t see his face, as he was already on the main road and was quite far. They wouldn’t be able to identify him in future.
Other members of the house couldn’t say much, most of them were in the corner room of the first floor – some were playing chess and others were watching the game. Most of these people only knew Natavar Naskar by face.
Haripada – the only servant of the mess said something interesting – around six in the evening Suren Babu – a first floor boarder, sent him to bring some ‘Aloor Chop’ (a very popular Bengali evening snacks {fried} to be taken with puffed rice & Green Chilies), while coming back through the backdoor he heard someone talking to Natavar Babu in a very low but harsh tone, but the door was closed so neither he could see anyone nor he could recognize the voice.
Generally no one used to come to Natavar Babu’s room which made Haripada more suspicious but he couldn’t do much.
Suren Babu approved Haripada’s version and said he surely asked Haripada to bring ‘Aloor chop’ around six pm.
One thing became clear that just half an hour before his murder Natavar Naskar had a visitor; most probably no one from the mess, because no one had mentioned it. Could be that man with brown stole or someone else.
After noting down everyone’s statement, inspector Pranab said, “you all can go, now we will search the room. And yes! One more thing - Ajit Babu and Shiv Babu you two, please do not leave Kolkata without my permission, till the case is solved.”
“What!” I almost shouted in exclamation.
“Yes! Both of you are wearing Brown stoles, He He He!”
We all went back to our rooms, none of us could even think of playing cards any more.
The next day passed by without any mentionable event. No news came from the police. Last night inspector Pranav searched Natavar Babu’s room; took some papers and locked it.
Sometimes I was compelled to think that how much Pranav Babu hated us, but his expressions were so polished that one would understand every hint but could say nothing.
In this case, though he knew that I had a strong alibi, but he just had to tease me.
The morning was like any other morning; everyone was indifferent; the office goers went out in time; and no one was bothered - that a man was killed, who was our neighbor; living in this building since last three years.
I went to Bhupesh Babu’s room in the evening. Ram Babu & Banamali Babu was there, all were looking very depressed. We discussed a little about the murder and about the ineffectiveness of police’s work over the tea and then returned home without even mentioning cards. As I was climbing the stairs up, suddenly this idea flashed in my mind – though inspector Pronob was smart enough, but I had a feeling that he would never be able to crack this case; Byomkesh was not in town; card sessions were also not quite happening – in such a situation, shouldn’t I write down the whole episode and have a detailed documentation! It would rather give me a chance to get busy and it might so happen that with the help of my documentation Byomkesh would crack the case when he is back!
I started writing things down the same night. Keeping every possible detail in mind, I tried very hard to maintain the right perspective. I truly didn’t want Byomkesh to pick up any loose-end of my account. I finished my writing the next afternoon. And I believed it was only my version of the story which ended, but the real story didn’t end. God only knows when & where the actual story would end! It might also be so, that the murderer’s name would never come to light. With a frustrated mind I lit a cigarette and then suddenly Byomkesh entered carrying his suitcase.
I jumped up from my chair, ‘Hey! You are back! Are you through with the work?’
Byomkesh said, ’I couldn’t even start my work dear, departments started fighting over some trivial issues and I couldn’t wait for them to finish so I told them I would be back in some time when these issues are sorted out.’
Satyavati must have heard Byomkesh’s voice from the kitchen; she came out running, wiping off her face with the loose end of her sari. Though they were not newly married, but still Satyavati’s face brightens up with an amazing light every time she unexpectedly finds Byomkesh by her side. I patiently waited till the end of the romantic scene, then told Byomkesh about the murder and handed him over my write-up. He immediately settled on his easy chair and started reading it over the special cup of hot tea made and served by Satyavati. By the evening he was through with the story and said, ‘Inspector Pronob is quite a man! Oh…How much he hates me! Let’s meet him tomorrow and for now, let’s go and meet our neighbor - Bhupesh Babu.
I could happily make out that Byomkesh was interested in the case and said, ‘let’s go, we might meet Ram Babu and Banamali Babu as well.’
We went to Bhupesh Babu’s room, Ram Babu & Banamali Babu were also there. Byomkesh didn’t need any introduction, everyone knew him. Bhupesh Babu welcomed him with all his warmth and then lit his stove to make tea.
As usual, Ram Babu was quite but Banamali Babu’s frightful eyes were moving around very carefully. Byomkesh sat on a chair and said, ‘ I was also addicted to bridge once, then Ajit taught me chess, but now I no more like any of these games.
While pouring tea leaves in the boiling water Bhupesh Babu looked at Byomkesh with a smile and recited loudly, “Now I’ll play the game of death with my own life O’ dear…!”
I was truly surprised to hear him reciting Tagore – an insurance guy and Tagore’s philosophical poetry – truly surprising!
‘Absolutely correct,’ said Byomkesh, ‘you know, after playing so much of the game of death, it’s so tough to enjoy any other simpler game.
Bhupesh Babu said, ’your’s is a different story altogether, but I also deal with death each passing day – I mean - insurance is nothing but the business of death, you see! But then again, I still enjoy playing bridge a lot.
Though Byomkesh was talking to Bhupesh Babu, but his eyes were moving on Ram Babu & Banamali Babu all the time. They were sitting quietly; perhaps they were new to this kind of a sophisticated discussion.
Bhupesh Babu brought tea and cream cracker biscuits on a tray for all of us, picking up a biscuit Byomkesh said, ‘you are also a very different kind of a person, as bridge is an intellectual game, mostly intelligent people gets attracted to it. Some people play bridge to forget the pains of life – actually many years back I heard of a person who played bridge to forget the painful loss of his only child.’
Three pairs of eyes moved towards Byomkesh ’s face from different directions as if they were all driven by a single machine; no one uttered a word but kept looking at Byomkesh’s face silently. And the room got filled with solid silence.
After finishing the tea Byomkesh took out his handkerchief, wiped his face and then broke the silence, ‘I actually went to Katak, and just arrived today and came to know about Natavar Naskar’s murder from Ajit. A murder in the same building, where I live! I was so intrigued I thought it should be a good idea to meet you all and talk.
Bhupesh Babu said, ‘then I would certainly say – the murder had at least one good after effect that you came to my room, HA HA...! I didn’t knew Natavar Naskar, never seen him actually, but Ram Babu and Banamali Babu knew him a bit I believe.’
Byomkesh looked at Ram Babu, who was trying to keep his serious face intact but I somehow could see a shade of fear on it. He cleared his throat twice but didn’t say a word. Byomkesh turned towards Banamali Babu and asked, ‘you must have known Natavar Naskar for long, how was he as a person? Banamali exclaimed, ‘What! Oh yes! He was a good man, but…’
Ram Babu suddenly cut him short; perhaps he had collected himself by the time and decided to act – we didn’t know him closely. He was our neighbor when we were in Dhaka and that’s how we knew him.
When did you leave Dhaka?
Ram Babu thought for a while and said, ‘5-6 years back, around the time of partition we came to Kolkata’.
Both of you were working in the same company over there as well?
‘Yes!’, said Banamali Babu, ‘Have you heard of Godfrey Brown – a British Multinational Company we were….’
Before he could finish Ram Babu again interrupted, this time he suddenly stood up and said, ‘Banamali ! We have to visit Narayan Babu at 7, do you remember? Okay gentlemen, we have to leave now.’
As they were going out, I found Byomkesh watching each of their moves thoroughly.
Bhupesh Babu was smiling silently, after a while he said, ‘Byomkesh Babu, your questions are apparently so simple but Ram Babu possibly had taken offence.’
Byomkesh said,’Why? Why would he take offence, I don’t understand! Do you have any clue?’
Bhupesh Babu moved his head from left to right, ‘No! I know nothing, though around that time I was also in Dhaka but I didn’t know them.’
So when the partition and communal riot started you were also in Dhaka? Asked Byomkesh
Yes, a year before partition I got transferred there and came back when the fire of the communal riot broke out.
For sometime silence prevailed in the room. Byomkesh lit a cigarette, Bhupesh Babu looked at him and said, ‘Byomkesh Babu, the story of this person you were telling us, who used to play bridge to forget the pain of losing his son, was that a true story?’
Byomkesh said, ‘yes! It was a true story, a pretty old one; I heard it when I was in college. But why do you want to know this?’
Bhupesh Babu didn’t answer, but got up; walked towards the wooden drawer; took out a photograph and gave it to Byomkesh. I could also see a photograph of a nine/ten year old boy, very good looking and very cute.
‘My Son!’ Bhupesh Babu uttered very softly. Byomkesh forcefully took his eyes off the photograph to look at Bhupesh Babu’s face and exclaimed,’Son …. !’
‘Yes my son! Who died sometime back.’
The black day when communal riot started in Dhaka, he went to school but only to never return.
Byomkesh uttered through the solid silence, ‘your wife…?’
‘She also died; she had a rather weak heart; couldn’t take the pain. But I lived – neither could I die, nor could I take the pain of the loss. It’s been time; I should have forgotten everything by this time, but no…! It never happened that way….I work, I play bridge, I talk to people, I laugh, but I just can’t forget it Byomkesh. Would you know about any medicine which would help me forgetting this painful memory…?’
Byomkesh took a deep breath and said, ‘the only medicine for this is time Bhupesh Babu.’

Read the last part of this story
in the next issue of megher khata....

Featuring Shivangi Biswas, Rionaa Das and her mother Monica Das