Samir Dutta
Can You Boogie For 70 Years?
By Deepmalya Ghosh
What does it mean to be a young South Asian man, in this country? How does one strive for better things in life, work hard, have a family, love friends and siblings, embrace the land that you live in, and stay consistent with your own roots? It is no easy task, with no clear answers, especially for those who left their motherland thousands of miles behind. I remember, as a young boy, seeing Kakus and Kakis working through these questions…debating with one another over these matters. At parties, they spoke with one another about how to make sure their children would stay close to home…stay Indian…stay Bengali. The children were all running around and playing, while they spoke and debated. Although it may seem that we weren’t listening, we actually were taking everything in.
Samir Kaku was always in the mix, and always in the forefront of the dialogue. With a strong voice and booming figure, he often led the way. I think, as a child, I was often intimidated by the strength that he exhibited. But intimidated or not, there was something about it that we all wanted and needed in our lives. We were growing up in the 70’s…during a time when hostages were being taken in Iran…at a time when Brown folks were seen as backwards and inadequate (this hasn’t really changed). Where does one find role models during a time like this? There were no Brown folks on the Yankee lineup back then. I mean there were Black Brown folks like Reggie Jackson…but there were no names like Ghosh, Haldar, Dutta, Datta, Ganguly, Sinha, or Biswas (There still aren’t almost 30 years later and I look forward to the day when the first South Asian hits the baseball diamond). Nothing and no one can take the name away from you, unless of course you get married and are forced to change your last name to that of your spouse…but it still remains your maiden name (and then it can possibly become a password to activate credit cards and thus a source of wealth and dollars). That name links you to a vast part of the world, thousands and thousands of miles away, where folks can pronounce it the way it should be.
I, unfortunately, no longer say my own name correctly. It doesn’t surprise me when someone writes out my name, upon hearing me say it, but leaves the H out in GHOSH. It’s my own fault. But, I have surprisingly fond memories of learning to say my name properly in Bangla Eeeschool. Sundays in our homes in Bayside, Floral Park and Little Neck were meant to teach us the language…but as I point out for myself, the retention is not necessarily noticeable…but subtly, it was a time when some form of pride in myself was developed. It was not something that I could see until many years had passed, but fell back on when times got tough. For me it was far less about the language…and I spent more time studying the mannerisms and ways of all our teachers. We were pre-adolescents with hormones flying all over the place…it was a crucial time to insure that there was a connection with all of us. Dr. Dutta was there, leading the way, teaching us about strong folks like Subhash Chandra Bose and teaching us to sing the Indian National Anthem. It was a great system to rebel against, but had its’ subtle positive impact on me, as well.
It was Dr. Dutta…Samir Kaku…who I would see from time to time, as I was growing into a man, and as I began to roam the city, on my own…who would ask about my father, encourage me to re-connect with my brother and be good to my mother. He seemed to recognize the struggles that the Ghosh family had to endure and always remarked at his surprise that I, of all people, somehow stayed close to home. I am not sure that Dr. Dutta realized how important it was to stop and talk to me when he did. In some odd way, those brief moments stabilized me and gave me strength to walk on. Walk on, I do, and often to my own beat…and very often, I am the only South Asian (and therefore, clearly the only Bengali) in the workplace…at a concert…playing softball or on the basketball court…I am the only Ghosh…but, I am proud to be a Ghosh doing what I am doing and living how I am living…and in some way, it is due to Samir Kaku (and all rest of the mothers and fathers who taught on those Sunday mornings in Bangla Eeeschool)…Some are still with us and some are not, but it should be something to take pride in for Dr. Samir Dutta who has reached a milestone in reaching 70! I hope you are blessed with another 70!
Happy Birthday, Dr. Dutta.
By Deepmalya Ghosh
What does it mean to be a young South Asian man, in this country? How does one strive for better things in life, work hard, have a family, love friends and siblings, embrace the land that you live in, and stay consistent with your own roots? It is no easy task, with no clear answers, especially for those who left their motherland thousands of miles behind. I remember, as a young boy, seeing Kakus and Kakis working through these questions…debating with one another over these matters. At parties, they spoke with one another about how to make sure their children would stay close to home…stay Indian…stay Bengali. The children were all running around and playing, while they spoke and debated. Although it may seem that we weren’t listening, we actually were taking everything in.
Samir Kaku was always in the mix, and always in the forefront of the dialogue. With a strong voice and booming figure, he often led the way. I think, as a child, I was often intimidated by the strength that he exhibited. But intimidated or not, there was something about it that we all wanted and needed in our lives. We were growing up in the 70’s…during a time when hostages were being taken in Iran…at a time when Brown folks were seen as backwards and inadequate (this hasn’t really changed). Where does one find role models during a time like this? There were no Brown folks on the Yankee lineup back then. I mean there were Black Brown folks like Reggie Jackson…but there were no names like Ghosh, Haldar, Dutta, Datta, Ganguly, Sinha, or Biswas (There still aren’t almost 30 years later and I look forward to the day when the first South Asian hits the baseball diamond). Nothing and no one can take the name away from you, unless of course you get married and are forced to change your last name to that of your spouse…but it still remains your maiden name (and then it can possibly become a password to activate credit cards and thus a source of wealth and dollars). That name links you to a vast part of the world, thousands and thousands of miles away, where folks can pronounce it the way it should be.
I, unfortunately, no longer say my own name correctly. It doesn’t surprise me when someone writes out my name, upon hearing me say it, but leaves the H out in GHOSH. It’s my own fault. But, I have surprisingly fond memories of learning to say my name properly in Bangla Eeeschool. Sundays in our homes in Bayside, Floral Park and Little Neck were meant to teach us the language…but as I point out for myself, the retention is not necessarily noticeable…but subtly, it was a time when some form of pride in myself was developed. It was not something that I could see until many years had passed, but fell back on when times got tough. For me it was far less about the language…and I spent more time studying the mannerisms and ways of all our teachers. We were pre-adolescents with hormones flying all over the place…it was a crucial time to insure that there was a connection with all of us. Dr. Dutta was there, leading the way, teaching us about strong folks like Subhash Chandra Bose and teaching us to sing the Indian National Anthem. It was a great system to rebel against, but had its’ subtle positive impact on me, as well.
It was Dr. Dutta…Samir Kaku…who I would see from time to time, as I was growing into a man, and as I began to roam the city, on my own…who would ask about my father, encourage me to re-connect with my brother and be good to my mother. He seemed to recognize the struggles that the Ghosh family had to endure and always remarked at his surprise that I, of all people, somehow stayed close to home. I am not sure that Dr. Dutta realized how important it was to stop and talk to me when he did. In some odd way, those brief moments stabilized me and gave me strength to walk on. Walk on, I do, and often to my own beat…and very often, I am the only South Asian (and therefore, clearly the only Bengali) in the workplace…at a concert…playing softball or on the basketball court…I am the only Ghosh…but, I am proud to be a Ghosh doing what I am doing and living how I am living…and in some way, it is due to Samir Kaku (and all rest of the mothers and fathers who taught on those Sunday mornings in Bangla Eeeschool)…Some are still with us and some are not, but it should be something to take pride in for Dr. Samir Dutta who has reached a milestone in reaching 70! I hope you are blessed with another 70!
Happy Birthday, Dr. Dutta.
posted by Deepmalya Ghosh at 11:51 PM
427 comments
