Striding two worlds

Almost all human beings develop a blind spot for their loved ones, especially for their children. But the very same people seem to have an ambivalent relationship with their country -- sometimes harshly critical while, at other moments, loving without any caveat or condition. Perhaps, this schizophrenic attitude is because we perceive our identity to be inextricably tied to our native land. When this identity suffers because of the negative image of our country, we become frustrated, angry and critical. Interestingly, for me the transition from critical to unqualified love occurs each time I leave Bangladesh for my permanent abode in the United States.

Just as my annual goodbye from my childhood city, Dhaka, ends up being an emotional experience, the readjustment to my other home in Virginia is traumatic. Settling back entails small but tiresome actions -- changing the SIM card, reviving US phone contacts, recalling ATM passwords, even driving on the other side of the street. During the initial weeks, the word routine is dismissed from my vocabulary and life becomes a constant flow of adrenaline.

I must confess, however, that my adrenaline flow is not really at a controlled level in Dhaka. Even on the best of days, the daily aggravations of dug-up roads, garbage piles, traffic snarls, honking buses and vehicles locked in a "crawling war of attrition" are taxing on my nerves. In many ways I feel sorry for the city. It is on the verge of collapsing under the tremendous burden of too many people, inadequate infrastructure, inefficient management and a population whose social fabric is frayed due to fast urbanisation. As for the City Administration, they seem to be on a fast moving treadmill, but going nowhere!

Despite all the energy expended here in futile complaints and frustrations, I am amazed at how I am hit with nostalgia as soon as I board the outward-bound flight. A sound, a smell can overwhelm me with homesickness. I miss the maddening chaos of one of the world's most "unliveable cities." Because there are little pieces of me scattered in all its lanes and landmarks -- the familiar places of my youth and childhood. The university campus whose uneven paths I walked with the confidence of one who thinks she can conquer the world. The Shahid Minar where I lit many a candle in remembrance of the heroes who made sacrifices for the nation's independence. The Banyan tree under whose shade I sang songs of love and freedom -- my imagination bursting forth like the first rays of the morning sun.

Dhaka's eclectic moods are intimately linked to my intellect and emotions. The humid summer heat creating cracks in the parched earth and the cool monsoon showers bathing the dirt-splattered vegetation. The desolate spring afternoons when the cuckoo's desperate calls fill the air with sweet sadness. The colourful flowers sprouting in the few open spaces (not yet "possessed" by land grabbers and builders), reminding residents of the long lost green city. Winters are seasons of happiness rather than discontent since they bring a thankful respite from the heat and Dhakaites swing into a festive mood of celebrations and cultural activities. Dhaka may not be a city of joy, but it is a city of laughter, tears, heat, dust, hope and despair. A city whose uncertain future is wedded to its glorious past where the seeds of an independent Bangladesh were sown.

Many may ask what made me leave Dhaka and opt for a new life of challenge and adventure in a far away land. That's a topic that deserves a full column and more introspection. For now, let me confess that the choice has created a vacuum in my sense of belonging. But it has also given me the opportunity to explore, experiment and discover new realities about myself. Straddling two worlds is like crossing a river riding two horses – it's almost impossible to maintain a balance. Somehow, we immigrants are able to perform the balancing act, and succeed in becoming good citizens in our adopted country. However, we need to make tremendous efforts to form relationships and protect them from the external forces of race and prejudice. We must continually build bridges and tie social knots to ensure that our space is secure. It may require years, perhaps a full generation, of readjusting and revamping of ideas and ideals to weave the social fabric into a rich tapestry with our stamp. And yet, one may never be a part of the whole. In our native country, we are among secure relationships that have coalesced since childhood and can be rekindled only with a slight touch. For, we are always connected to the roots. Which is why each time I take the flight out of Bangladesh I feel that I am leaving a part of me behind. And the question I ask myself is not whether I will ever have that complete sense of home again, but if I will be whole again.

The writer is a renowned Rabindra Sangeet exponent and a former employee of the World Bank.