Picnics, as we call them, have been a cherished part of our childhood - in school and even during college days. We've experienced them in many shades. In our childhood, seniors would collect rice, pulses, chicken, eggs, oils, and various spices from the neighborhood. The elders in the team would visit from house to house and would collect from our mothers, aunts, and relatives, contributing to the feast. Utensils were another essential item, ranging from cooking pots to plates, glasses, and more. Similarly, they would gather necessities to cook food at a distant place from our house.
We would walk to the location in procession, with everyone carrying something in their hands, on their shoulders, or heads. Fortunately, near our house stood the Tripara hill range. We used to go to a plain land at the foot of the hills where water would be available, and somewhere nearby a brook would exist. Then began the backbreaking work of making hearths with bricks.
We would collect bricks from around, and our hard work paid off as the hearths were installed successfully. We then looked for dry wood, which was abundant on the hillside. The hearths were lit to burn the wood. Another group would sit around cutting onions, garlic, and other spices. We collected red chilies from home at that time. Some seniors started preparing chickens, involving a lot of work. They would slaughter, pluck the feathers, and cut the chicken into pieces. Amidst all this arduous work, the cooking commenced with pilau, chicken roast, boiled egg fry, and one or two additional items. Those were wonderful days; we enjoyed them, and our childhood became colorful.
Our school or college days also had a similar thrill. We would rent buses, sometimes open trucks, to take us to the destination. The new luxury was a microphone and uninterrupted music from romantic cinemas in Bengali, Hindi, and Urdu. The practice changed to paying a subscription per person. Someone or a committee of students would lead the entire show. We took everything to prepare food, from rice to wood on our bus. On-site, some of us engaged in cooking, while others fetched water, washed plates, prepared spices, and other items. It was a big commotion and uproar. Amidst all this uproar, we enjoyed our time with games, music, and storytelling. At the end of the picnic, we returned to our places joyfully.
This time in Raleigh, North Carolina, we had a wonderful picnic. The families of the Bengali neighborhood organize an annual program like this, where both elders and youngsters in the neighborhood have free time for live chatting, amusements, and food. There is no subscription, nor does anyone collect things like utensils and other materials. Each family takes an assignment to bring something with them to the venue. Some bring rice, some bring chicken roast, and lots of other foods for breakfast, lunch, and desserts. The items they bring create a profuse festival of food and amusement. Even if someone brings disposable plates, cups, and glasses, others bring coke and fruit juices. The Bengali neighborhood of Raleigh arranged a picnic at the Bond Park Boathouse. The whole-day program included games, abundant gossip, chitchats, and roaming around the park. Nobody had to worry about cooking and preparing fires; food was abundant. Anyone could choose from the dishes arranged on the tables. The day was well spent with noises, bustles, and tussles in a city where not even the horns of vehicles are heard.

(The writer is former Deputy Managing Director of Social Islami Bank Plc, now living in USA)