I've heard many 'first time to Bangladesh' sotries and they all sound quite similar, so I thought I would share mine below - enjoy!

July 1995

I was aged 11 and my heart was racing from the realisiation that I was ridden of complete control and my destiny completely set. All I could do is pray to myself: “Please don’t let it be crap, please don’t let it be crap!”. There I was, somewhere in North London on a hot sticky July evening in 1995. I attempt to loosen the tie around my neck that feels more like a noose; yes, that's right - I’m suited and booted like a mini-me middle-aged Bengali uncle at a wedding. There I am, my head facing the glass screen in front of me when Baba (Dad) pokes his head through the gap between the curtains and asks me in 'BengLish': "ready ni?" (are you ready?) Without waiting for a response, he pulls the green photo booth curtain closed followed almost immediatley by: FLASH, FLASH, FLASH! My photos are taken.

A few weeks later I was equipped with my first British passport - and inside it, a photo with a kid that looked like he had just seen a ghost: “ergh” I sighed to myself as I looked at the terrfied kid looking back at me. I had no idea of what was in-store for me ahead; nor the rich and turbulent history that preceded the day I received my first passport.

A dream come true

Rewind a few weeks and Dada (my big bro) had just graduated with his MB BS in Medicine; I’ll never forget that day - all 6 of us, minus Dada of course, were waiting patiently by the phone for the call. When the phone finally rang - Maa (mum) answered and Dada told her the great news. Baba looked at me with much pride in his gaze whilst holding back what seemed like a flood of tears, being the traditional Bengali patriarch that he is and the major life milestone, perceived by all South Asian parents of his generation, that he found himself at. Note, it’s tenfold for Bengalis, twenty fold for Bengalis originating from Sylhet! From that day it was decided: "bag pack koro, amra shob Bangladesh jairam!" (pack your bags, we're all going to Bangladesh). Probably not the exact words, but you 'catch my drift'.

Expat Vs immigrant

Lets rewind way back to the 1960s. This is when Baba came over to the UK for the first time as an expatriate and as one of many workers from the commonwealth (I find this word a bit of an oxymoron as there's nothing common about it!) recruited to plug the shortfall in post-war labour. For context, this was a time when Bangladesh was the Eastern wing of Pakistan - East Bengal; toxic fog took over London - yes the kind seen over Delhi, Kolkata, and Dhaka today; and the BBC were introducing a suite of Asian programmes aimed at welcoming 'immigrants'.

At the time, he was in his early 20s leaving Maa, Ta'ma Ta'bhai (grandparents), Kakus (uncles), and Kakis (aunties) behind with a promise of hard work and handsome remittances - and despite having every intention of returning back to his 'motherland', he was of course labelled an immigrant almost immediately (as explicitly referred to in the BBC article above); it seems only certain folks who look a certain way working away from their 'homeland' can label themselves as 'expats'. Baba was no special case - like most Bengalis, he worked in an Indian restaurant; but, unlike most Bengalis at the time - he later got a job in a restaurant chain, something to do with being promised a full-time job but arriving in a foreign land to later understand that someone who appeared to be a friend, nabbed it from him. On reflection it really did work out for the best and this crossroad set him on his way, but that's another story.

Exile

Fast forward a decade to 1971 and we’re at the latter months of the the Pakistani civil war and the liberation of Bangladesh (very difficult to get an article by the BBC on the Bangladesh liberation war at the time it unfolded, despite the land being a former British colony!). This was a time when Maa had to flee with Dada (who was around 4 years old at the time) to the borders of India in fear of her life with my kakus and kakis - Ta'bhai stayed behind to defend our interests, there was a lot of looting and other unspeakable atrocities occurring across Bengali villages at the time. In fact, stories told by Maa has revealed that West Pakistani soldiers entered our village and tied Ta'bhai to a chair. The soldiers were clearly looking to leave much better off. But, it turns out that, of all things, our chickens saved our village with their impeccable timing, as they decided to reveal themselves to the soldiers at just the right time and drawing the attention of the soldiers who ran after them, I assume for food! I guess it was desperate times.

I think the straw that broke the camels back was following some family business catastrophes in Bangladesh which saw Baba's hard work almost completely thrown down the drain. So Baba - having had enough, went back to Bangladesh, collected Maa, Dada and Didi (big sis) - and in his early 30s, made the decision to permanently relocate his family to the UK. Fast forward almost 20 years - back to where we started in July 1995 and another 3 kids later (5 in total), here they were embarking on the return leg, no longer in their tender youth, but in much maturing years.

We of course flew British Airways - Baba point blank refused to fly Bangladesh Biman even though it was much cheaper - to my surprise!

One small step for...

We had just landed in Dhaka (Dacca at the time) after an 11 hour flight, with one non-transit stop in Delhi (now having flown countless times to Bangladesh, honestly, the old British Airways LHR - DEL - DAC flight is the flight to beat but, unfortunately, it was decommissioned many years ago). As we stepped off the Boeing 747 aircraft and into the tunnel leading us to the terminal - whoosh! It hit me like the steam that hits your face when you open the door of a very hot oven, I could feel the heat touch my face! The air was so thick with moisture, It had substance and weight. It was like stepping into a steam room fully clothed - massive humidity and massive heat all at once! The environment seemed so 'alien', we could have been on the moon (if the moon had what seemed like all the world's water in one place)!

Once we got into the terminal, processing was slow but we managed to get through it and we felt ready to tackle Bangladesh.

“Oh. my. god. Where did all these people come from?” I asked in utter bewilderment, looking at my siblings for answers. It was quite alarming to be hounded from the left by porters insistent on ‘assisting’ us with our luggage; from the right by beggars who looked in desperate need of assistance and were asking for £1 coins; and straight on by our driver shouting at us to run into the Toyota Lite Ace minivan - it was like watching a heist conducted by complete amateurs with a tragic getaway vehicle.

A couple of hours later, in our hotel room - I mutter to myself: “oh. my. god. Where have we come to?” All seven of us in one room, a room infested with cockroaches - on the walls, in every nook and cranny - everywhere! And the heat, so much heat. The ceiling fan just circulated the air that was already massively hot; as well as circulating the cockroaches! “I want to go home”, I muttered further.

After a night of not much sleep at all, we were on our way driving north. Soon after we set-off I learned why we needed to stay in a hotel: the drive from Dhaka to our village in Moulvibazar, in the North East of Bangladesh - close to the Indian border, takes over 6 hours with a ferry en route. Also, Kaku chose the hotel and i'm not entirely sure his thoughts of the hotel were the same as ours.

Six or so very sticky and very, very, bumpy hours later, we arrived at the front of the village. “Oh my god - has someone died?”, I thought to myself. There was so much crying - more like wailing. Why the wailing? I was later told it was because everyone was happy to see us and amongst all this kerfuffle - Baba exclaimed after his first foot onto the village mud: "Bonbas taki aisi koto bochor baad!" (I'm finally back from exile after all these years!).

Being in 'exile' for so long explained a number of things: firstly, whenever we went anywhere, Maa constantly pointed out ghost buildings that once stood in a certain location but had long been replaced, and Baba's complete denial of the economic force of inflation on prices!

A foreigner at home and 'back home'

For me, Bangladesh was a complete culture shock. After being born, raised, and schooled in inner city London with the only idea of countryside being Watford Temple, spending a few weeks in the slow paced rural back waters of North East Bangladesh was a revelation. But something niggled at me the whole time I was there - the years of being told at school that i'm not just British - i'm British with Bengali origin; always having to tick the British Bangladeshi or British Asian box on official forms - I arrive in the 'homeland' expecting an immediate connection like those boxes i've ticked infer, only to find that it doesn't feel like 'home' at all. Humidity and heat I have never experienced; monsoon rain incredible but terrifying when driving as a passenger in a 'tuk tuk; I had never experienced a South Asian monsoon before. And digestion of food appeared to be a luxury out there; oh and lets not forget the cockroaches! Bangladesh to me was a place where you join the foreign national queue at immigration and people on the street categorise you as a foreigner. This did not feel like 'back home'.

The Bengali family itinerary

I think Baba could see that we were not enjoying the place he was born and grew up in as much as he would have hoped. So Baba decided to plan an adventurous trip around North East Bangladesh, from: Sylhet Dorga to climbing the steps of Madhav Kunda; and tea plantations to ancient temples. And we experienced this all from our bumpy, and a mostly uncomfortable, Toyota Lite Ace rental.

But we had an amazing time. We saw family members we never knew existed but they seemed to know us so well, like the characters from their beloved but tragic soap opera; and in a short period of time it felt as though we had known them forever - memories that I hope stay with me forever. Those were the days of cassette players and there are certain Bollywood tracks that we listened to on our many adventures in the minivan that when replayed today via my Spotify app on my iPhone brings back memories as though we were travelling through time at the speed of light right back to those moments.

Saying goodbye to Ta'bhai (Grandad)

Amongst all the noise of our many adventures; minivan Bollywood 'raves'; playing in the muddy village courtyard; and all the laughter we shared with cousins - we found peace in saying our final goodbyes to Ta'bhai, who passed away several years before, as Baba performed the final rites by releasing his ashes into the sacred river that adjoins the temple Baba chose.

I think we all felt peace and quiet of the mind as Baba recited the ancient Sanskrit texts of the scriptures to wish Ta'bhai farewell and safe passage into the afterlife, whatever that may be.

I remember this day being pleasant and sombre.

Reflections

This was my first experience of Bangladesh, and at the age of 11 - a very late experience compared to others of my generation - but it definitely did leave a mark. It established a connection with family members - cousins I had met for the first time and looking back, we achieved so much in such little time and has definitely influenced my, often packed, travel itineraries, later in life.

But what our short trip didn't do is spark a love for the land, nor did I get that feeling of being 'back home' when I think back to our time in Bangladesh. That love and feeling would come much, much, later in life.