Top 10 cities I visited

Barisal is the village my dad grew up in, his childhood home. Pretty much everyone in Bangladesh (or Asia, for that matter) grow up in cities/villages other than the bigger metropolitan cities that they eventually move to for work, marriage and ultimately, family. However, it is very uncommon for those families to ever make that connection and more often than not they never return or visit their roots.

That was certainly the case among my dad’s other siblings. As a matter of fact, of the 7 other brothers he had, my father was the only one to visit his village with his family. My numerous cousins, all city boys and girls, had never visited the countryside and missed out on one of the most serene and beautiful places in the country. It’s quite different from the hustle and bustle of the city, but besides the beauty and simplicity of life in the village, the major difference that stood out for me was the dignified life all villagers led.

Being content with very little, people there led a humble life and yet didn’t appear poor. The poverty and crime permeating big cities was lacking, because everyone made a responsible living in spite of harsh circumstances. Being close to the sea, Barisal is one of the areas that gets hit every year with floods Bangladesh in famous for. An entire family – averaging ten or more members – would work 15 or more hours in the fields year round, only to have floods wipe away the fruits of their labour within hours. And yet the next morning they would wake up, thanking Allah for their lives and health and head out to the fields with heads held high. The Muslims living here were not scholars or people of outward piety; they simply practised the basics, had etiquette, and showed their gratitude to everyone. I met and learned from people, who with no or little education, seemed to know a lot about the world. I and my father would spend every day with one of them – a poor deaf and dumb farmer – who intrigued me more than many PhD’s I have ever come across.

Life was very simple – at the time the village had no electricity, no roads, and boats were the only form of transportation. But the place was clean, the air pure, and children my age uncorrupted by the filth of the cities. Obviously the people were very nice – even when we visited the poorest of families they would be ready to cook us a meal in spite of them not having much.

One of the things I loved about my father was his interaction with the poor. He never thought of himself as better or more educated; he would joke and laugh with the poorest of the poor and listen to their needs. And he encouraged us – his sons – to wipe away pride and vanity from our hearts and always pay attention to everyone regardless of race, class or intellect. And if I were to thank him for doing me only one favour before he passed away, giving me the opportunity to visit and see his humble roots would definitely be it.