Practically speaking, to get along in this world, professionally and commercially, English is essential, and in a globalised setting, unless we adapt to the existing way of operation, we stand to fall behind.
Well, whether we accept it or not, that is how the situation stands and. To be downright clear: Proficiency in the language, which has an undeniable colonial link, is a must.
Nope, I am not whining because Bangla is not a major tongue. Needless to say, for any language to become global an imperial past, usually laced with repression, forceful domination by use of duplicity, military might, and relentless plunder seem to be pre-requisites.
Don’t get me wrong, I am not criticising or lambasting history because human society has never evolved by any moral definition, rather by selfish interests layered with the pretense of benevolence.
Bangla may not be a major world language, but those who learned it as a mother tongue, and grew to love it, braved opposition to take to the streets for the right to speak it.
Today, that movement is recognised across the world, with February 21 becoming International Mother Language Day.
Would I be wrong in saying that the united move to safeguard the right to speak Bangla also gave the world a chance to pay respect to all mother tongues?
Any discussion on mother language day, anywhere, will invoke images of sacrifice, a glorious chapter written in blood -- in Bangladesh.
Our passion for the language does not derive from any larger practical motive. We love it because we spoke it as a child, with all our initial desires and aspirations expressed in it.
We revel in it because 1952 is entrenched in our existence.
Will Bangla become a major international language? Let’s not be irrationally emotional about this. Chances of that are low.
If I may be allowed to be a little pragmatic here: The path to a language becoming truly global depends on the economic might of the country which uses it.
We are still far from becoming a formidable economic giant. During many international travels, I found Hindi being spoken in several places. The reason for this certainly has a link to India’s recent economic boom, supported by steady growth.
Ask sociologists and they will possibly credit the popularity of Bollywood before smooth economic pace for the spread of Hindi.
Interestingly, when a nation becomes an acknowledged economic power, its people also begin to expect others to understand their tongue.
Once at Delhi Airport, at a duty-free, the attendant selling me a soda bottle was surprised when he found that I didn’t understand Hindi. “I can’t believe that you are from Bangladesh and can’t understand Hindi,” he remarked.
Well, that line made me think, and I soon concluded that the young boy at the shop was vocalising a feeling which was subconsciously influenced by his perceptions of a robust India with a global footing -- culturally, politically, and, thanks to its movie industry, linguistically.
But Bangla is also heard in places one would least expect it, and that has got something to do with economy too, albeit indirectly.
In search of livelihood, millions of Bengali-speaking people have spread out across the world, and they keep the tongue alive.
Once, travelling to Kenya, I found myself chatting to another UN official, headed for Somalia. The conversation began in English. The guy thought I had come from London whereas I assumed he was from an Arabian country.
After a while, he brought out a CD and, staring at the title Jail Theke Bolchhi, by James, he remarked: “Dada, apne Bangali?”
Well, that was the end of English and formality. He was from Kolkata, and I was Dhakaiya.
So, for the rest of the journey, we left the other passengers irritated with our non-stop chatting. Hilsa fish, road-side rolls, Dhaka biriyani, Kolkata bars, Satyajit Ray, Bobita, Rituparna, James, Miles, and whatnot.
Once, in another country, I was walking back to my hotel after a run outside, wearing a Bangladesh football team T-shirt.
From a distance, I saw a man standing outside what appeared to be a construction site.
Visibly tired after work, he was preparing to sit on a stool but my jersey made him curious. As I came closer, he seemed to be looking straight at me, and possibly at the flag emblazoned on my shirt, his expression a bit quizzical.
I smiled, saying: “Ki bhai, kaaj shesh?” (brother, is your shift over?) and that line changed the confused look into a wide-toothed grin. We chatted for some time, in Bangla. Felt refreshed and went our separate ways. Whether Bangla becomes an international language or not, we love it.
And when in some foreign country, we come across some other Bangali, somewhere inside us, an adrenaline rush will be felt, the heart will soar, and we will inevitably say: “Bhai, apne Bangali!”