This is, in essence, an ode to my own Bengali parents and all that they did not do. Having observed Bengali parenting at great length and in prodigious detail these last weeks, I thank my own parents for straying from the fold in their parenting techniques.
You see, the Bengali umbilical cord is long and sturdy enough to stretch over a lifetime of codependent, poorly-socialized behavior. It starts young—with the oft-unending relationship with the teat. Bengali children are known to breast feed longer than any other peoples upon this earth. Long lunch breaks are instituted in primary schools so that children may run home for mammary-affection. I, personally, am of the school of thought which says that once a child is able to articulate, in full sentences no less, their desire to breastfeed, it has long since been time to wean. But maybe I am harsh in my judgment…. Take for example a young child we shall call S. Any resemblance this description may bear to that of my cousin’s child is, I’m sure, purely coincidental. S is a remarkably adorable child, a little over 2 ½ years old and just brimming with the liveliness and mischievousness which so marks the Bengali young. He is, at his young age, able to recite a variety of nursery rhymes and produces, upon demand and spontaneously, quips which are at once adorable and heart-rendering. It also means that he is able to articulate his desire to breast feed in a number of highly verbal and witty ways. His charm is added to by his sweet appearance, possessing as he does the large eyes, apple cheeks and pouty lips that too often, in Bengali men, disappear beneath poorly groomed, manky facial hair after puberty. But for now, little S is a child of uncommon beauty and charm. What makes his face particularly beguiling is his smile. It is not a smile of bright little white pebble baby teeth, but rather a rakish vampirical grin as his two front teeth have not come in properly and are flanked by rather prominent canines. Why, you might ask does a toddle of his age not have front teeth? The answer you would receive is that the continued breast-feeding is impeding the growth of his teeth. Now, some you with softer, more maternal hearts may be saying, what’s the harm in letting a child have such a small comfort? Well, here’s one possible answer:
The state of little S’s teeth is not the only issue at hand. Bengali parenting is much more than just being lax in the desire to wean. Rather, it is simply another example of the ways in which lives are ruled by the iron umbilical cord. Children are encouraged to rely upon their parents for as long as humanly possible. This results in meals structured around chasing, beguiling, pleading and haranguing children into eating. Others are enlisted in the cause: as one parent mashes flood into a pulpy submission and forms child-sized balls, another adult chases the child, while yet another recalls their talent for Extreme Bengali Guilt, and yet another stands on deck, to take over when one or several of the attending adults collapses in exhaustion. The feeding of a Bengali child can often take hours and shifts are recommended to prevent Feeder Burnout
Me, acting as cajoler/distracter, as S is hand-fed by his grandmother. The process took a mere 3 hours.
This would, on some high-maintenance planet far out in the galaxy, be almost sweet if it did not continue for as long as the child lived with the parents. And given that most Bengalis do not move out of their parents’ homes until they are married, this means decades. Children are cajoled and hand fed by mothers well into the twilight of their years. The intimacy wrought of such behavior also means that parents feel quite comfortable in inquiring into and feeling a dominion over all aspects of their child’s life. Whether the child has slept properly, digested their food, cleared up that awkward rash, gone to the bathroom, blown their nose, impregnated their wife, or wet the bed are all questions well in the realm of Parental Knowledge. Refusing to answer such questions is unheard of and, when very rarely attempted, is usually met by a smack across the back of the head and the pronouncement that you are aushobho, uncivilized. For it is the mark of Bengali civilization to be so inextricably bound by the force of the umbilical cord as to have practically no autonomy at all. But then again, if you are hand fed for your whole life, whatever in the world would you do with autonomy?
