Being Bengali

The other day a colleague, who has returned to India after having lived in England for the last seven years, was talking about stereotypes. About how everyone around him, be it the Brits or the Indians, assumed several things about him, simply because he was an Indian living in the UK. But then again, I found nothing strange in the idea of the stereotype. Because I know from personal experience that whenever a person belonging to a minority community (owing to his creed, religion or region), lives within the parameters of a majority community, the latter always assumes things about him or her. It is the majority’s way of dealing with anyone who does not fit in, or is not one of them, so to speak.

Here are some of the generalizations that I have put up with all my life. I am okay with questions being asked about me and my family of course, after all how do you learn about different people if not by interaction? But it is the confidence with which these generalizations are stamped on me that I find amusing. The assumption being that since I am a Bengali, the following must be true about me:

Myth 1: Sayantani is a Bengali name, and it sounds like St Anthony. So I must be Christian.
Reality: On the contrary, Sayantani is a Sanskrit name meaning evening. I was named so by my grandfather because I was born at about 8 pm.
And I am a Hindu and not a Christian.

Myth 2: Home must be Calcutta.
Reality: Sorry to disappoint but home is Delhi, in fact, it is in Gurgaon, Jatland.

Myth 3: I must be a fanatical Durga-worshipper.
Reality: I am an atheist, so the question of worshipping Durga or anybody else does not arise.

Myth 4: I must be passionately in love with Sourav Ganguly.
Reality: Err, no. I do not have the hots for him. His inclusion or exclusion in the team does not alter my life.

Myth 5: My mother must make rasgullas in her spare time.
Reality: Again no, she has far better things to do with herself.

Myth 6: My mother must wear Devdas-style Bengali sarees at home, and put 100 gms of sindoor in the parting in her hair.
Reality: She wears sarees, yes, Devdas style or its volume or price, no.
Sindoor yes, but not a hysterical quantity.

Myth 7: I must break into Rabindrasangeet every now and then as a matter of choice and principle.
Reality: Although I speak the language fluently, I can barely croak in it let alone sing.

Myth 8: The only food cooked at our house is rice and fish.
Ever heard of dal, roti and subzi?

Now the assumptions from the other side, that is, when I go to Calcutta, where I am again assumed to be different because I am a Delhi Bong. Mind you, the assumptions are less here not because Calcuttans are any less judgmental or opinionated than Dilliwalas but it is so only because I visit Calcutta once in like two years, whereas Delhi is where I am based.

Myth 1: I do not eat fish.
Reality: I love it so much I could live on it.

Myth 2: I do not read/write/speak Bangla.
I do all of them and more, probably better than a lot of people living there, specially the younger generation whom I see avoiding the mother tongue like the plague. To me, nothing sounds sweeter than Bangla.

Myth 3: I must hate Delhi because it is such an unlivable city.
Says who? I love it passionately.

Signing off,
The very-Bengali, yet very-Delhiite, Sayantani