A Third World Country

It's 16th December, about 43 years ago, a brand new country was born through a bloody c-section. Okay, I am very bad with metaphors. I mean, a bloody war. It's the country which was referred as the "bottomless basket". It's the country which brings the image of people living below the poverty line, children dying of hunger, high corruption, work conditions similar to those of Industrial Revolution,and just all the other horrible things associated with a third world country. Yes folks, I am talking about Bangladesh, the country I was fortunate enough to be born in. There has never been a day, since I have realized what patriotism is, I haven't felt grateful to be born in the most sacred land there ever was,is and will be.

I'm making this far too much dramatic than I intended. Oh well,I am South-Asian,what do you expect? Haha.

We were discussing Industrial Revolution in our History class the other day, and our teacher asked, "Why do you think the parents agreed to send their kids to the factories, even after knowing the horrible conditions?" So people started giving various answers, and this kid says, "Maybe they didn't care about their kids much." And I'm like, "Watt. You kidding me bruh?" (I didn't say that,obviously) And my teacher is like, "Oh well you bring up an interesting point. Maybe the parents didn't care about their kids the way we do now,specifically American kids. I mean, you could say that..the parents of say...Bangladesh,don't care about their kids like that." And I'm just sitting there in utter amazement. He is my teacher,and I respect him, and I'm sure he just meant to give an example, but that statement was shocking. It literally shook me. I stared at him for a few moments to make sure I'm not hallucinating. Is that the kind of things people think about when I say "I am from Bangladesh"? That my parents can't care less about me, and I was destined to work in a textile mill if I did not move here? Well,crap.

I just have one thing to say about that statement. Money does not affect love, I'd love my parents unconditionally even if they didn't make enough money to survive. I would be filled with bitter feelings about life of course, but that would not affect my love. Just like my country being poor doesn't affect my love. Just like the City I was born in being the 2nd most unsustainable city does not affect my love for it. My love does not depend on some paper pieces, I'm sorry.

You never know how you will miss the smallest things about your country until you leave your country. Not the country as a whole, but you will miss the smallest details you took for granted.

What I miss about Bangladesh?

Crows. My friend sent me a voice message, and I could hear Crows in the background. And I was filled with this zeal which cannot be explained. Crows are annoying as crap,and I miss them. I miss the heat.The humidity. The constant feeling of needing to have a shower. I miss the electricity cuts. The huge window beside my bed through which sun would annoy the Flourine out of me. I miss Azaans( Call for prayers) 5 times a day. I miss the comfort of being surrounded by people who speak Bengali.The time when I didn't have to pay attention to get what people are saying, the time I didn't have to translate my thoughts to another language. No matter how good I am in English, it is not Bengali, it is not the language the college kids died for (If you have no idea what I'm talking about, Google International Mother Language Day). I miss the rain. Not the rain of New England, the rain Tagore wrote songs about. I miss the winter mornings, when the Sun would peek through the fog late, and I would sit in the beautiful sunshine with a mug of tea and Bhapa Pitha (A kind of rice cake,made during the winter). I miss sitting beside my grandma in the kitchen in our ancestral village as she makes breakfast for us in the stove made of clay. And thousands of other things. Just the horrible things associated with a third world country.




Anyways, Happy Independence Day everyone! I guess we all agree on the fact that nothing tastes better than Freedom. Except of course, Bhapa Pitha. LOL.

Until next time then.

-Mourin