Probashi Bong Pseudo Intellectuals

The Bong Girl.

Ever seen a walking contradiction in terms? Well, if you’ve seen the abovementioned, rest assured. You haven’t missed out on life after all.

The Bong Girl is a fine example of a tangible object shaped by ideas and opinions totally at war with each other. I mean if according to fellow Bongs you’re supposed to be this rosogolla in a china doll format with a penchant for prostrating yourself at the feet of anyone even an hour senior to you, and on the other hand, according to the hormonal young male population you’re somehow expected to take over from where Bipasha Basu or Koena Mitra or Riya Sen (how I hate her!) left off (on second thoughts, did they?), you’re bound to suffer from an identity crisis. Ye Bong guys, lucky bums, have no such demons to contend with – the whole world knows them for the curable-only-by-marriage romantics that they are, whose valour in the affairs of the heart are enough to give Don Juan de Marco a complex – I mean haven’t you heard Bong aunties discussing animatedly the deeds of the neighborhood lout who actually dared stuff a love note into the novel he had borrowed from the Mukherjees’ daughter?

But the driven-to-schizophrenia Bong female is a different case study altogether.

The Bong ideal of beauty is a living replica of Ma Durga, with lashings of sugar syrup thrown in for good measure. So she must be large-eyed and fair-skinned (Bongs are obsessed with this one) with an oval face, sharp nose, small chin, narrow forehead and a tiny mouth (as opposed to the fuller variants preferred worldwide), and I almost forgot the abundant jet-black (preferably curly) tresses that should reach at least your waist if not lower. Hands must be small and well-shaped with tapered fingers (necessarily fair, of course). Ditto feet. As for figure, no mention of that is ever made in decent Bong households, except a cursory comment on the general build, for as you all know, good Bong boys never look beyond a woman’s feet. And if that meticulously detailed standard of feminine perfection was not enough to drive us poor Bong chicks to set the new lower limit for self esteem levels, a passion for the arts and a thorough training in Robindroshongeet are the other two parameters that you are not allowed to lack if you have any plans of catching a decent Bong “bhalo chheley”. Yes, you guessed right, there is a lot of sour grapes citric acid spilling over the description, but even if I don’t fit the Bong beauty stereotype (most Bongs speak to me in Hindi the first time they meet me, one of those curious ironies of life), I can’t get the rest of it out of my system. The robindroshongeet – good lord, no matter how assiduously you practice your ragas and no matter how knowledgeably you lecture on thumris and dhrupads, what’s the song request that comes after your hour-long dissertation? “ebar ekta robindroshongeet shonao to ma”.

Bong girls must perforce be enamored of two things – academics and music. Dance allowed, but restrict it to Odissi, Kathak and the occasional Bharatnatyam. The premium Bong parents place on their daughter’s education is rivaled only down South. That’s something I’m actually grateful for, and if they only displayed a little more open-mindedness when it came to their daughters’ careers (for a Professor is the only concept of the married working woman most Bongs are comfortable with) it would be greatly appreciated. Of course, to be fair, times are changing, and most Bong parents are all for their daughters working in MNCs, but late night shifts and tours were still a no-no when I left Calcutta. Nevertheless, the Grey Matter is greatly appreciated in Bongland, second only to the peaches-and-cream matter as a yardstick of feminine worth.

Then, the dynamics of exactly how much sexual knowledge one is allowed to possess and still retain the status of a Bong bhalo meye is an example of that subtle quintessential Bengaliness that one never quite figures out in one’s lifetime. Since Bongs, like all Indians, are born as a result of Friday fasts (no, I don’t mean quickies, pervert), Bong parents, like all Indian parents, never feel the need to enlighten their kids about sex. So if, while traveling with your family in a local train, your little cousin reads out a sexologist’s advertisement pasted on the wall, you are, to put it simply, screwed (absolutely NO pun intended). You can’t laugh – that would give away your pseudo-innocent charade. You can’t keep a straight face – you just can’t, DUDE!!! So what do you do?

Now if you think Bong girls have it bad – think again. Sure we’re not allowed to go out with any guy on the face of this planet, and we’re not allowed to display visible signs of enjoyment while watching romantic movies (“eshob phaltu jinish dekhe shomoy noshto korchho – porashona to mathaye uthechhe!) and we’re not supposed to know anything about sex till our wedding night. But that’s still alright. My heart goes out to the poor Bong guys – dude, you have no idea what they suffer! Our poor darling Bong lads’ world begins and ends with momma. Therefore they are taught to not only respect womankind but to positively light an agarbatti everyday at the shrine of momma’s race. Which is all well and good, of course, I’ve always maintained no society is as feminist as ye olde Bengalis’, (Tagore says so too – “matritontro amader rokte”) but the problem arises when momma throws a fit if son refuses to look upon every woman as the Holy Mother. Dude, he’s a normal adolescent boy, even if Bong, he cannot regard the pretty neighbourhood teen (who, if I know her, is secretly deriving a great deal of enjoyment from leading him on, the bitch) as an incarnation of the Mother without thoughts of the prequel to it. But sorry boss, you’ve already breached the first code of conduct – you weren’t even supposed to look at her in the first place! What’s even more interesting is that it’s never the boy’s fault. The evil girl seduced him (I use the word in the Bong context, which means got him to entertain romantic thoughts about her). And yet, we pride ourselves as India’s homegrown love-gurus.

I could of course go on and on about Bong girls, but the fact of the matter is, Bong females miraculously somehow turn out alright. Most of them are very chalu females, who learn to use every stereotype to their advantage. I mean the helpless act galvanizes even Bong guys into chivalry. Then, she has to possess a fair amount of ahem knowledge if she doesn’t want to read Kafka on her wedding night, which probably explains the interest (that some call obsession, but don’t pay any attention to them) in Biology. And most Bong women are pretty darned smart, it’s very difficult to get the better of them – ask me, I attended an all-girls school in Calcutta, I should know. And yes, to top it all, most are very pretty (a proper complex they gave me in school!).We’re the apology letter God wrote after creating Bong men. Well, after that, can the world help but forgive Him?

u got it right there ... i grew up outside calcutta (and bongland) and learnt to laugh at the prevalent misery until being a bong finally caught up with me ...
very pertinent ...
well-said, Nilanjana  


some patterns you mentioned (momma s boy, sexual repression) are prevalent in many other states as well. but one wouldnt expect bongs to have these inconsistencies. when i arrived at bits, i was prepared to fall in love with any bong i met. but most (like Roy and other probashis. all the bong girls in my batch are expatriates. ) refused to conform to the stereotypes, and the regular bongs were quite normal, not as intimidating as i expected them to be .  


i keep telling you.. you really do need me, honey :)  


well wat 2 say...bongs are wierd :)  


Some random blog hopping, net surfing brought me here, and am I not delighted? :)

The eccentricities, the stereotypes have been well handled. I am tempted to do a sequel to this post. :)))

The Probashi Bongs sure need a platform.

Loved the hilarious read!  


Lovely! Big thumbs up :)  


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