Introduction
The year was 1998 when my life changed for
ever – I got married. ‘You complete me’
turned quite true for me. We travelled back to USA a week after marriage where I
was employed as a IT professional with H1B visa ( temporary worker). Next year
we visited Bangladesh
and stayed for a month. It was during this trip I got sick possibly from
Hepatities A which somehow managed to mess up with my bone marrow. I suffered
severe aemia for months and literally returned from the mouth of death. After
that fourteen years had passed and I hadn’t gone back.
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| Bangladesh |
In Summer 2013,
when the news of my father being diagnosed with Pancreatic cancer came I knew I
had no other choice. He had visited us in USA
and later in Canada
along with my mother five times in last fourteen years, the last one almost
four years ago. Now it was my turn. At 73 the last time I saw him he was one of
the most handsome senior anyone would have ever seen. When I mentioned to him
over the phone about my plan to visit he chuckled. “Are you sure you’ll be able
to fly?”
Okay, I do have
fear of height. Flying adds unnecessary anxiety and I try to avoid it by any
means. In last fourteen years I flew only once. I chuckled back. “Are you
kidding, dad? I love flying. I just get sick of sitting idle.”
He laughed.
The fiasco
Some details of preparations omitted,
finally the day came when we travelled to the Toronto Pearson airport in a taxi
cab that didn’t look like one. It was an unmarked car driven by a Pakistani
gentleman and was about 30 dollars cheaper than more conventional ones.
Our main flight
with Etihad was leaving from O’Hare, Chicago
at 8:30 PM. We were to take the connecting AA flight from Pearson scheduled to
leave at 4: 30 PM. We unloaded our bags and carry-ons, went through the regular
check in process and got settled in a nice looking waiting room with neatly
arranged cushioned chairs all ready to board in our flight to Chicago. Little we knew what sufferings
were waiting for us.
Not sure exactly
when the rain had started but it showed no sign of stopping. Our flight was
delayed for hours as it continued to pour to the point where the runway looked
like canals. The waiting room where we waited was partly flooded from a leakage
from the roof. We had to quickly relocate to another waiting room on the floor
above. The problem was we lost our seats and had to be happy with floor space
where many others like us had took refuge.
Fortunately my two kids, 12 and 7, who are the source of constant agony under normal conditions, were totally engaged playing games on their newly purchased tablets – a very wise move on my part. The free wi-fi in Pearson Airport was also a blessing, something that we did not find anywhere else.
The kids even had some fun competing with other kids and even adults in capturing electric outlets to keep the juice for their little machines going. Anyway, several hours later we were finally boarded in our plane, where we sat patiently for another hour or so as it trolled runway to runway for a opportune moment to take off. We already knew our connecting flight of Etihad was a gone case.
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| Waiting patiently in the waiting room, Pearson airport, Toronto |
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| Water leakage in Toronto Pearson due to record setting rain |
Fortunately my two kids, 12 and 7, who are the source of constant agony under normal conditions, were totally engaged playing games on their newly purchased tablets – a very wise move on my part. The free wi-fi in Pearson Airport was also a blessing, something that we did not find anywhere else.
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| Our plane waited just outside the waiting room, Toronto |
The kids even had some fun competing with other kids and even adults in capturing electric outlets to keep the juice for their little machines going. Anyway, several hours later we were finally boarded in our plane, where we sat patiently for another hour or so as it trolled runway to runway for a opportune moment to take off. We already knew our connecting flight of Etihad was a gone case.
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| O'Hare airport, Chicago |
When we finally
reached Chicago O’Hare airport around
9:30 PM we did some very wrong things.
We took the advice of an disinterested AA attendance and unnecessarily made the
trip to Terminal 3 to Etihad counter only to find out that the flight wasn’t
running late and had taken off a while ago as scheduled. AA had provided us a
support number. Unaware of the fact that there were free phones at the AA
terminal to make these calls I used my cellphone in an attempt to find an
alternate way to get out of Chicago
and to our destination. It took me three hours before everything was done, to
my relief and nearly 250 dollars in telephone bills. Not to mention the
desperation and frustration of my wife who all along suggested that we should
have gone back to AA terminal and demanded that they took care of us. I do
listen to my wife but never before the event passes. Some men do not learn from
their mistakes. However, they are also the ones who are good at regretting and
asking for forgiveness. Nature seemed to find ways to keep things in balance.
When we finally
returened to AA terminal it was 1 AM and all attendances had left. Our
connecting flight was next morning at 10 AM. We needed a place to stay for the
night. Failing to locate any AA attendance to get a hotel pass I took the good
decision to call up a local motel 6 and arranged their free shuttle to come and
get us. When we finally reached the motel it was 2 AM in the morning. We were
all so tired that within fifteen minutes everybody were under the spell of deep
sleep.
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| Chicago motel |
Next morning we ate our free continental breakfast, paid our bills and took the free shuttle back to the airport to catch our AA flight to New York from where we would take the Etihad flight to Abudhabi. This was a small plane and looked pretty crammed. But it was only for few hours and wasn’t totally unbearable.
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| New York International terminal |
In New York we had to wait
several hours in the international terminal before we were allowed to check in.
This part was kind of painful as there were no seating arrangements and no food
stores. We stood in long lines until the booths opened. We were quickly checked
in allowing us to enter the actual airport terminals – the nice ones with all
kind of stores and amenities. After another long wait we boarded the Etihad
plane. This one was a large plane (Boeing 777) , very specious. The entertainment system
seemed pretty good. Kids were excited, we were relived, now it was only the
long trip that we needed to worry about. This leg of the trip was the longest –
13-14 hours. Sitting still usually causes knee pain for me. I had to stretch
out a lot during the flight, a lot.
In Abudhabi we had
a short wait before we boarded the connecting flight to Dhaka.
Fortunately we were provided business class tickets as there were no economy
class seats left. Admittedly we had never travelled in business class. The five
and half hour passed by in the nice care of the young lady who attended us all
through the trip. Seats were specious and cozy. All the grudge that my wife had
stored for me due to mishps in the Chacago evaporated quickly. She even smiled
at me as if the whole credit was mine. Whatever! I’d take it.
In Dhaka
From above the ground one can see a lot of
marshlands around Dhaka, the capital of Bangladesh. The city itself is very
crowded with brick buildings, people and cars. My brother in law had come to
receive us. Unfortuantely soon we found out our luggage had not arrived and was
actually couldn’t even be traced. That was just great! We went to my brother in
law’s house without the luggages, not even knowing when we might actually get
them. We were told somebody would call us when they arrived and we would have
to come to get them. No home delivery. Wonderful!
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| Traffic in Dhaka |
The first thing
that one would almost certainly notice in Dhaka especially if coming from developed
countries – the streets had no laws. Nothing wrong with the roads that had
nicely marked lanes and the signals that worked just fine. The problem was
nobody cared for either of them. The busses, cars, CNGs (motorized 3 wheelers
running on natural gas), rickshaws and pedestrians all moved in just about any
direction regardless of the color of traffic signals or the direction of the
traffic. The concept of abiding by the traffic rules seemed a ridiculous idea.
Nothing stayed in their own lanes, even in light traffic - a very rare finding. A Dhaka
driver simply never drive within lanes and never stops at a signal. It is a
total chaos, a total mess, a total failure of all things called traffic rules
and regulations but yet in some weird magical way traffic moved, slowly and
often randomly, but it moved. I guess it was a true reflection of the whole
country – prospering but yet so extremely chaotic.
Another thing one
would surely notice in countries like Bangladesh - people simply do not have the concept of
garbage cans. The whole city seemed like a big dump. Everybody throws just
about anything on the roads, open fields, parks from inside the c ar,
apartments, offices, houses.
My family and the service providers
My parents live in their own house, a five
storied brick building with several floors rented out. They stay on the third
floor and my brother occuppies the fifth floor with his family. We went to stay
with my parents. The theft and robbery is so rampant in the city that every
house is literally enveloped in collapsible gates and grills made of steel. The
front alley has a tall sturdy iron gate at the mouth with unarmed guards attending around the clock. A second tall,
even stronger looking gate binds the six feet high wall that surround the house
on a piece of land no bigger than one
eighth of an acre. Once inside the boundary walls there are two other sets of
collapsible gates before one can step inside our home. All the verandas, total
three of them are secured with grills made of steel . The collapsible gate to
the apartment is always kept locked and only opened when somebody familiar comes. Some of the security measures are present
since decades ago. A few things were built later. Safety was a serious concern.
I learned the thieves had come up with special cutters to cut through grills
and locks.
All the houses in
Dhaka are built with brick and morter with flat roofs as it is a tropical land.
It rains a lot so there are systems in place to ensure rain water do not sit on
the roof. Years before when I was attending Dhaka University a student residential
hall collapsed as rain water collected on the roof and the old building just
couldn’t bear the extra weight. Many students died in that mishap. The hall was
rebuilt. I along with some of my university friends went to see it later during
my visit.
My father’s cancer treatment
My primary reason for this visit was my
father’s sickness. He had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, locally
advanced, the doctors said. He went to India – to Delhi Apollo hospital, to explore the possibility of performing a
Whipple’s operation. Unfortunately oncologists there felt the conditions were
not optimal for a Whipple’s operation. Instead they did a laproscopy surgery of
the bile duct which took care of his diabetis, a sure outcome of pancratic
cancer. My dad returned home and started
his three week long chemotherapy program.
The plan was if after the chemo the cancerous cells shrunk then the
whipple’s operation could be performed.
Cancer at any form
is a pretty bad thing. My dad had always been the symbol of life, strength and
congeniality. A super socially active person he was well known in various
circles for his kindness and generosity – providing free treatment, medicines
and monetery help to the needful. As a family physician he was remakably
successful with most of his patients following him over the years. This time as
I saw him after four years and first time after his cancer diagnosis I got a
shock. He was only skin on bone. The transformation from a healthy 73 year old
man to his current form seemed absurd. In our family and extended family only a
few had died before 90. I wasn’t expecting him to leave us before many more
years to come. We embraced quietly.
“ I heard your
trip didn’t go very well.” He said softly.
I shrugged. “With
my luck anything is possible. Thanks God that I made it here. Toronto had a
record setting rain on the day of my flight. Of all the days in last fourteen
years! Can you believe?”
Dad chuckled. “And
to the person who is afraid of flying.”
I objected. “I am
not afraid of flying. Who told you that?”
He chuckled again.
My only brother,
five years younger than me who I hadn’t seen for fourteen years gave me a big
hug. He looked just the same as I remember seeing him while I had grown older
with sign of aging poking out from every area of my body. We chatted for a
while, trying to catch up for the long gap. We had spoken on the phone
sometimes but that is barely an alternative for an in person conversation,
sitting within arms length. He was married with two beautiful daughters. I
hadn’t met any members of his family before, including his wife of twelve
years. This was a moment I had been really waiting for. Who blew me off was his
youngest daughter, a five year old bomb with an incredibly cute face,
precocious words and busybug attitude.
”Are you my oldest
uncle?” She asked at our first meeting.
I happily nodded
only to be hammered with her next question.
”What did you bring for me from Canada?”
I stuttered before
cleverly answering, “Why, me.”
She looked at me
in disbelief, nodded sort of understandingly and gave me a big hug. We became
good friends there after. My wife had brought some gifts for the sisters. Once
those were delivered she was happy and content. However, what really impressed
her were the tablets. Soon she was running after my two children begging for
some time on the tablets which didn’t prove to be an easy task as I had to
intervene very often to favor her.
My older niece was
ten, struggling with weight, had turned quiet since she turned a pre-teen. She
hung around but spoke very little. It took a while before we connected.
My parents had a
few people who provided various services to them. They had a driver in his
thirtees driving the 1995 Toyota corolla, a teen who took care of the small
pharmacy located in the supermarket nearby, a young man who helped with daily
chores including taking my father to the doctor’s office and clinics and a
middle aged lady with two school going daughters who came everyday to help
around the house – cleaning, cooking, washing etc.
The big family – all the nieces and nephews
I hadn’t seen most of my nieces and nephews
from my immediate and extended families for fourteen or more years. Many of
them were now living in Dhaka. Considering the fact that traffic in Dhaka was
definitely one of the worst in the world I knew it would be impossible for me
to visit them separately. My strategy was to have a house party or something
like that where I would be able to see them all. Somehow this worked out and a
large crowd gathered in my parents house a few days later. My brother took the
effort to order food and managed the impromptu party. We talked, hugged,
eagerly catching up. For me it was a great get together after a long time.
Though, sadly, the sickness of my dad stayed like a overcast. He was one man
who our whole extended family looked up to and nobody wanted to lose him.
Ramadan
We arrived in Dhaka on the first day of
Ramadan. This is a month when any place that is Muslim dominated completely
changes. Eating in public becomes avoidable. Restaurants that offer food before
dusk when a fast is broken put a curtain to cover the interior where patrons
can eat and drink outside of general view.
Folks who fast woke up early morning before sunrise, ate some food and
drank plenty of water in preparation for the day long fast when they wouldn’t
eat anything at all. While I hadn’t fasted for many years (being not very
religiously motivated) and had no reason to eat early in the morning my presence was a must during the iftar when
the fast was broken with delicious foods, some fried, some sweet and other
special preparations. An ifter where all the family members sat around the
ifter table or mat and ate happily is a very pelasant experience. In our house
only my mom was fasting as dad wanted but wasn’t in a physical condition to
fast. So, the ifter was very light. However, in my wife’s older brother’s house
there was an army of people fasting including his young son and daughter. My
son started fasting there as well. The ifter looked really fascinating. Here is
a list of things that we ate in one of the ifter in his house.
Beguni
(Fried eggplant in batter)
Potato
chops (chunk of mashed potatoes battered and fried in oil)
Peyaju
(Fried onion and flour mixture)
Sweet
yogurt
Haleem
(A meat and lentil delicacy)
Khurma
(dates)
Chola
vaja (fried chickpeas)
Sarbet
(delicious drink made of water, sugar and lemon)
Sweets
(various milk and flour products – true delicacies of Bangladesh)
Gilabi (A fried
sweet product, very popular)
Porata rolls
(fried stuffed Indian style tortiallas)
And many more…
Trip to the village
One of my most favorite places on earth is
my grandparents village, located in the district of Satkhira, little over two
hundred miles south of Dhaka close to the deltas of Bay of Bengal where
Sunderbans National Park is located. Just recently as the country started the
war crime trials in an attempt to bring the people who committed crime against
humanity during our independence war in 1971 to justice this region had seen a
tidal wave of protests against government. The reason was obvious. Many of the
people who had opposed sovereignty from Muslim Pakistan in 1971 were
religiously motivated who later established Jamat-e-Islam. Satkhira had been
historically a stronghold for them. Two young workers of the student wing of
the party were shot to death by police just two days ago during a
skirmish. This was a concern as I
planned my short trip to the region. My wife was very weary. Her primary
concern was my health. She had always maintained that my life threatening
sickness that I suffered from after visiting Bangladesh during my last visit
was caused by something in the villages – could it be water or food or dust
alone. I didn’t totally disagree but was still moving ahead with the plan. On
the other hand there were some papers that needed my approval. Dad really
wanted me to go and take care of the unfinished business.
There were several
ways to make the trip including bus, train, plane and private cars. Considering
the heavy traffic on the narrow highways and the delay at the ferry terminals
on the river Padma I decided to take the nightly train which would travel
uninterrupted to my destination using the recently built long bridge over the
mighty river Jamuna. Flying was a choice but it would have required taking a
connecting bus to reach my destination from the destination airport at Jessore
which added an element of risk in case a political trouble breaks down which
almost evidently results in highway blockages.
Settled in an air conditioned compartment priced higher than the rest of
the accommodations in the train, tucked in a blanket and reading an old book
from one of my favorite Bangladeshi writer Humayun Ahmed I traveled through the
night to the famous port city of Khulna, my first stop in the trip. My birth
city, as well as my siblings, this is a beautiful green city in the midst of
towering coconut trees and the home of many of my close relatives. A cousin
brother came to receive me. I hadn’t met him for over fourteen years. We hugged.
The only night I stayed there was understandably hectic as I tried meeting all
my relatives and catching up for the lost time.
My next stop was
Satkhira, a border town with neighboring India. During this part of the trip I
boarded on a government bus service called BRTC as it was the only service that
offered express service to Satkhira. Even then the roughly 80 kilometer trip
took me about three hours. It was pretty good comparing against the other
services that stopped every other kilometer to pick up passengers and took over
four hours – I learned.
The route to Satkhira was a one lane
highway with lush, dense vegetation on both sides with numerous pockets with
groups of huts and small village markets. Pedestrians, bicycles, motorcycles,
three wheeled man pulled rickshaw vans – shared the highway all along the way.
The bus weaved through these mixture of crowd frequently running on the other
side of the road, sometimes coming dangerously close to head on clash with
approaching traffic – an experience that would be difficult to explain. At some
point I stopped looking at the road as the thrill of the ride proved too much
for a weak heart like me. Instead, I
tried to forget about the risks and focus on the greenery, the passing villages
and the markets. This was the core of the country. There life slowed down, the
perception of things changed.
In Satkhira I
stayed in my uncle’s house. He was the only brother of my dad, fifteen years or
so older and had expired only about a year ago. However his widow and the
youngest daughter, let’s call her Shermin, still lived in the house. Shermin
was only couple of years older than me and had also been widowed a few years ago.
She had tied knots once again only a month or so ago to a man in Australia. We were very close
during our childhood and had lot of memories roaming around our grandparents
house. We talked until very late in the night attempting to catch up everything
that we missed over the years.
Next day we rented
a microbus and to Kaliganj, a small town about 22 kilometers away. This was
where we had some businesses to be taken care of. The microbus had no seat
belts beside the driver’s one. There was no AC as well. But it was not a very
hot day and open windows worked just fine to keep us cool. Not that we had any
other options.
Later we made a
quick trip to our paternal village which was just about five miles away. In
last few years several roads were built and many villages were now connected with
paved roads allowing busses, private cars, motor cycles to run. It was a narrow
road with frequent pot holes in some areas but was still much improvement over dart
roads.
In last fourteen
years a lot of changes had taken place in the paternal home. My grandparents
had died long ago. Their memories were still so vivid that I could just feel
their presence. They were buried in the fields near the main house, now nicely
surrounded by three feet brick walls painted in bright white.
In the year 1998
in a big storm the original mud houses fell.
After that the mud houses were taken out and a two bedroom small brick
bungklow was built. It had modern washrooms with other amenities. The new setup
had very little resemblance of what once was my grandpa and grandma’s house but
it was the result of a very different vision of my dad who wanted to make sure
that no matter where we lived we would have some sort of incentive to come back
here even if for a day or two. A nice looking brick banglow with a modern
washroom was something sure to create
some interest, dad had figured out.
This was a place
rooted deep inside me. I stayed there only for about an hour but captured
whatever I could with my camera.
The parties
After coming to Dhaka I had the opportunity
to participate in two get togethers where my frinds from university and cadet
college had gathered. Both the parties went very good and I had met some of my
friends after thirty years. Life had passed by so quick.
My mother
My mother had a
rough childhood as her mom died at her birth. She was brought up by aunts and
older sisters. Those days had imprinted deep scars in her mind because even
after all these years she frequently mentioned it. During this critical period
she remained strong, did her daily chores diligently, prayed, read Quran ,
crushed kerala and papya leave to collect juices for my dad to drink. Papya
juice helped with regenerating platelet while kerala juice supposedly slowed
down cancerous growth .
However, during
intimate conversations it became very clear that no matter how determined she
looked outside, deep inside she was very afraid fearing dad would expire
leaving her all by herself. They had been married for more than 45 years and as
a home maker she was used to depend on dad for practically everything that had
nothing to do with regular house works. Now, dad in a situation where his life
expency became limited mom seemed to fear for the worst. What would she do?
Where would he go? if something happened
to dad? A woman known for her toughness and rigidity mom sounded rather soft,
lost admitting she would have no choice but to spend rest of her life
travelling in a circle to her children’s houses. My eyes teared up. How did all
these years had passed by. I still saw my parents as they had always been –
young and energetiuc. I turned very philosophical.
My dad’s chemo
My dad's chemo had finished. Now we needed to wait for couple of weeks before going for the CT
scan to determine how weel the chemo workeds. He had been feeling good and bad
but still we started to see the contagious smile that he always had before
coiming back.
Coincidence?
Two of my nieces were getting married to men who stayed or studied in Australia.
Shermin had married also in Australia. I wondered what was going on in
Australia?
Returning – the luggage war
Not sure exactly how more than four weeks had passed by. Eventually our time to say bye to
my parents arrived. Our flight was early in the morning around 5:30. So we had
to go to the airport around 3 AM. The return trip was pretty good with no
issues. The only problem that we faced was after reaching Toronto. We could not
find outr luggage which we later learned had been left in Abudhabi for some unclear
reason. Five of the luggages were united with us about couple of days later.
The one missing took another two days before being delivered at our doorstep. Nothing
was missing. Everybody was happy to return home. We loved it in Bangladesh. It
was a truly successful trip, especially the time I had spent with my parents was
invaluable.
