Sitting in English class at college, I suddenly realized—I was thinking in Bengali. All day I write, read, present in English, but when contemplating deeply, my mind’s voice returns to that familiar rhythm learned from mother.

In moments of fear, “Allah” escapes my lips. In joy, “Bah!” In deepest sorrow, the tears that come are Bengali tears. No translation needed—direct from heart.

Other languages I learned from necessity, but mother tongue I learned from love. It’s my mind’s default mode. When solving complex problems, my brain operates in this language.

When I fall in love, I think in Bengali. When angry, I curse in Bengali—silently. When happy, that joy expresses itself in these words. My most authentic emotions emerge in this language.

I try explaining to English-speaking friends—the feeling in “brishti” that “rain” lacks. The warmth in “ma” that “mother” doesn’t touch.

My dream language is Bengali. My prayer language is Bengali. My deepest thought language is Bengali. Other languages are acquired skills, but this is my soul’s language.

The day I understood this truth, I also understood—no matter how fluent I become in other languages, deep in my mind will forever flow that rhythm, that melody—learned from birth itself.