Srimongaling

Sometimes, there are moments when you just want to escape.... from what, who, or where.. you often don't know. You just want to leave.

I've been having those moments a bit too often lately. So, with less than an hour's planning and with two good friends on each side, we hopped on a bus to Srimongal ... the tea capital of Bangladesh. We didn't know much about it... neither did the locals... and embarrassingly indeed, Lonely Planet said little about it. While driving up there, we noticed how dry and barren the tea fields looked due to it being the dry season. Though slightly discouraged at first, we soon realized there were some hills that were still covered lush green tea plants!!

We found a nice shallow stream - only ankle high at some points- with clear, cool water. After walking for a while in this stream - surrounded by tea and holy trees - we laid on the grass and stared at the cloudless (chemicalless) sky. The next day, we ventured off into the Lowachhara Rainforest Reserve. Wild ginger plants greeted us with their fragrant white flowers as butterflies and birds flew about. Lemon groves, tribal hospitality, and hours of botanists' dream-come-true ... we slept well that night. Next-cum-final day, we rented three bikes - first one lacked a pedal and a bell, second one's seat and pedal kept falling, and and the third one was just plain wrong. Either way, we biked our way through the tea-covered hills, local villages until our bums can take no more. So what to do next? Ah of course - lay a la nude in our favorite stream. As the water flowed around us, I just couldn't stop smiling. From what was I trying to escape? The water knew.

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Cat got your mother tongue?

February 21st (Ekushi February) was International Mother Language Day. And I was in the city that started this whole movement.

In 1952, the then West Pakistani government was forcing the predominantly-Bengali East Pakistan to adopt Urdu as the sole official language of united Pakistan. The East Pakistanis were already getting the left-overs of West Pakistan's meals, and now they were going to be stripped of the one thing that was truly theirs - their mother tongue. On February 21st of that year, people from various walks of life - students, academics, doctors, farmers - all united and rallied against the Urdu decree. Five were martyred.

Since then, Bengalis on both sides of the border celebrated this as Language Martyr's Day, with poetry recitation, traditional music and dances, and wearing somber clothes.

Nowadays however, 'Ekushi February' became the commercialized holiday we all love to fear in the West. On this day, the martyrs' memorial becomes a huge county festival scene, with people buying flowers and selling kabobs. Girls decked out in the latest "Ekushi fashion" giggle with their hubbies on the steps leading to the memorial, while politicians release hot gas everywhere they go.

I felt a bit detached from this holiday for a couple of reasons. First of all, my previous paragraph depicts my disgust for the holiday-making on this somber day. Secondly, I felt detached maybe because I, along with like-minded Chittagonians, am still fighting to get our language recognized. Bengalis and Bangladesh declare with pride how they fought for their language, but they don't acknowledge the other languages they are suppressing within their borders. It's also a pity how Chittagonians nowadays are opting to only speak in Bengali and trying to fade their Chittagonian cultural identity. As Bangladesh celebrated this day with black saris and bright orange flowers, I sat in my room dreaming of Azad Chittagong.

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