For Kabir Suman, the legendary Indian songwriter, singer, and composer, the meaning of Bengal extends beyond geographical borders. It blends into the green paddy fields, the language, and the people who have long embraced him with a rare depth of love and respect. Speaking ahead of his special appearance in Kolkata for Rabindranath Tagore's birth anniversary celebrations, Suman made it clear where his heart truly lies, "Whenever I see the word Bengal, I still read Bangladesh."

In a recent interview with Bangladeshi daily Kaler Kantho, the singer opened up about his inclination towards Bangladeshi people. Despite decades of contribution to Bengali music and culture, Suman feels he has never received the love in West Bengal that he has consistently found in Bangladesh. "Bangladesh gave me the respect West Bengal didn't," he reflected. "When I performed in Bangladesh after 13 years, so many cried and pleaded, 'Dada, please come to Khulna once, to Chattogram, to Rajshahi.' Here, such love is unimaginable."

Photo: Collected

For the revered singer-songwriter, the affection from Bangladeshis is not tied to material gain. "I have nothing to gain from Bangladesh, no money or favors," he said. "Yet the love they give me feels as if the army would need to be called just to control the crowds." It is a sentiment that resonates deeply with his personal journey — a journey where the bonds of language, culture, and shared history outweigh the barriers of politics and geography.

At this stage of his life, Suman finds himself turning inward, seeking meaning not in political activism, but in music — particularly in creating Bengali khayals. With health limitations preventing him from playing the guitar, he now performs accompanied solely by the tanpura, an instrument that seems to echo his unadorned connection to his roots.

His admiration for Bangladesh runs alongside a deep sense of nostalgia and enduring hope. He recalls visiting the ailing novelist Akhtaruzzaman Elias in Dhaka, where an unforgettable exchange unfolded. Reflecting on Suman's song about dreams of collective farming, Elias asked urgently, "Will that day never come, Suman?" The memory lingers with him still, a testament to the idealism that continues to pulse beneath his contemplative exterior.

Photo: Collected

Yet, Suman remains realistic about the changes around him. "The spirit of collective consciousness seems to have faded," he observed. "Politics can't thrive on hatred."  He however finds solace and purpose in the rhythms of life and music. "I serve music. I am a servant of ragas."

Looking back on his creative journey, Suman marvels at the songs and lines that flowed through him. "Sometimes I look back and I am simply stunned," he said. "I still can't fathom how I wrote lines like 'Let whims sway even unwilling desires' or 'By God, I have loved you.'" For a man who calls himself a "terrible student," the poetry and depth of his work stand as proof of a spirit shaped less by formal education than by lived experience, passion, and an unbreakable bond with Bengal.

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At the center of that bond is Bangladesh — a place where Kabir Suman, despite all barriers, has found his truest audience and his deepest sense of belonging.