The Little Things That Matter

Photos: Kazi Tahsin Agaz Apurbo

There used to be a tradition in every Bangali family with children going to school, in Bangladesh, not too long ago – to write down experiences. A trip to the market, buying vegetables with choto chacha, going to the gorur-haat days before Eid with cousins or just taking a road trip to the nearest picnic spot with family – elders would always encourage the children to write down their experiences – in Bangla and in English.

For youngsters today, this age-old practice might sound like updating a Facebook status in short form. However, this essay writing practice was one of the many family rules that children had to follow (for which many thanked their parents later on in life), which helped them read more, perfect their sentence construction, become bilingual in the true sense, and of course have flawless handwriting.

Yet another tradition in these old Bangali families was the memorising of poetry. Even today in many families, there are a few poems that are usually drilled inside your head while growing up. Being a Bangali, studying and memorising Tagore's 'While the mind is without fear', Frost's 'Stopping by Woods' and Emily Dickinson's 'Success is Counted Sweetest' were part of the tradition, strangely enough. Accompanied by Tagore's 'Amader choto nodi chole bake bake,' children were bribed with sweets and extra TV hours if they could also recite the English nursery rhymes.

Humayun Ahmed had also mentioned in 'Amar Chotobela' how his father would bribe him and his siblings with coins, candies and other attractions if they could memorise and deliver equally well, the masterpieces by Nazrul and Tagore. And the children did just that!

It is not that children are not smart today. They sure are; they are just taught in different ways. Traditions have changed, but values stayed. Many a child will recite a Sukumar Ray poem along with the 'The wheels of the bus go round and round' – thanks to Youtube and all the other media they have access to. The other day, I found myself watching the animation versions of Antara Chowdhury's songs that I had memorised as a child from cassette tapes. My 3-year-old niece, who I was watching the animations with, was singing along with me.

These little Bengali traditions will definitely stay, and in no way shall we let any other civilisation take over this beautiful culture of music, poetry and love.