Pahela Baishakh over the years

Well, the Gregorian (western calendar that we all follow) started the year Jesus Christ died, the Islamic calendar marks the Prophet (SM)'s migration from Mecca to Medina, so what happened on the first day of Bengali New Year?

Apparently it is a doctored event, created by the courts of Akbar the Great to facilitate the collection of taxes. Oh how unromantic! It does not commemorate any great personality, or any historical event. But wait. Akbar lived only a few hundred years ago. How did he come to a grand number of 1000 plus for the new year? He did not start the Bengali calendar with a value 0, but instead jump-started it with the then existing hijri-calendar value and merged it with the existing Hindu calendar. Since the Islamic lunar calendar did not correspond to the harvest cycles, the peasants, the backbone of the tax based economy then, had a hard time when the end of hard cycles did not correspond to the tax cycles. So Voila….So there you go, a symbol of our Bengali cultural identity was started on an ad-hoc basis by a bunch of non-Bengalis far far away…

However, we have come a long way since then. The cultural celebrations are growing every year. Instead of the sombre recitals of songs, it has evolved into an explosion of colours epi-centered around Ramna and Charukala Institute. Our Bangaliyana comes out of the fore in celebrations encompassing food, and dress-ups. We even resort to eating panta, the fermented rice, staple of the struggling peasantry without refrigeration. My country cousins however will have none of it. They would rather have khichuri or pulao for the occasion.

My memories of the event are rather sweeter, I mean literally. Out shopping, every store used to have a 'halkhatha' a book of commemoration and a box of sweets handy for all patrons. Free roshgollas…you can't beat that.

Nowadays, with globalisation and what not, we are somewhat torn into two. On December 31st, we go on a rampage of fun and festivities, bordering on wild disco numbers, western outfits, and different forms of 'inebriation'. Three and a half months later, we are again tempted to go 'deshi'. However, I must admit that on more than one occasion, especially in the ghoroa gatherings, after the first 45 minutes of sombre seasonal Bangla music, the eventual requests for songs will be based on Hindi dhamaka. I am sure this year, eventually the nights of 14th April will be taken over by the tunes of "Sheela ke jawani' and 'Munni Budnaam'…..but I digress…

In our household, Pahela Baishakh was a rather simple affair. Luchi and veggies for breakfast, and khichuri and fried hilsa for lunch and that were just about it. We never ventured out to these morning programmes. After spending years of my growing up abroad, I decided to immerse myself in my new found Bangalee identity. I decided to go at an ungodly hour to Ramna. The colours were astounding, and so were the festivities. All of a sudden, it was marred by a loud bang and chaos. A bit later we saw people with blackened and peeled off skins being hurriedly boarded on CNGs and being taken to hospitals. We joined the milieu and decided to get out of there as soon as possible. My first Nababarsha at Ramna will always be scarred by the memories of those bodies of the poor souls getting hauled away.

However, I must say that, the tragedy did not dampen the spirits of the nation in general. Next year, the Ramna landscape was dotted with metal detectors and security gates but the Chayanaut-led festivities went on with full vengeance, as it should. Festivities of Ramna, in terms of the grandeur have spilled out to all the public domains of the city and the rest of the country. A few years ago, my excursion to the lakeside Dhanmondi revealed three different programmes on the length and breadth of the park. I went mela hopping for the whole day, immersing myself in the bright yellows and reds of the saris and flowers and eating my way through the countless food stalls, little girls wearing saris and bright make-ups, boys and men in colourful kurtas and punjabis, some even wearing dhotis.

I felt I had finally arrived back in the 'Bangla' of Bangladesh.

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MK Aaref is an architect. He studied architecture and urban planning at the University of Houston. Later, he specialised in privatisation during his MBA from Aston University, UK. He currently resides and practices in Dhaka