Letter From Boston
Nostalgia
Charles River
I moved to Boston many years ago, and have been living on and off in this city for almost 30 years now. Before my wife Rumi and I came to Boston, and even after that, I used to take pride in my association with Dhaka, where I was born and spent my formative years. I would frequently brag to family and friends about my knowledge of its nooks and crannies, its oli-golies, whether in the old town or in its newer parts. But now, after having lived and worked in the city of Boston, I am starting to feel the same way about Boston and its twin city, Cambridge. Not that I am switching my allegiance to Boston; let truth be told--Boston can't hold a candle to Dhaka. Really? Readers might ask with suspicion in their eyes. To which, my response is an emphatic and resounding "yes". Boston does not offer the variety, color, flavor, and charm that a diehard Dacca-ite like me longs for; nor does it have the same emotional tug. There are no 'fuchka' shops around the corner, nor anything resembling the din and bustle of Farmgate or Gawsia market. How much I miss the smell and 'controlled chaos' of Dhaka and its bazaars. I once had, in a flight of hyperbole, described the footpath market in Gulistan the "largest open air department store this side of the Suez". I still recall that after reading this passage, Shahid Bhai, my old editor and mentor at The Bangladesh Times, stared at me in bemused disbelief, but then had let it go untouched. So I miss all of that. However, after you have lived in another city for more than half of your adult life, you develop roots, associations and memories, whether they are your most favorite ones or not. In Boston there are things one misses. For example, there are no Bengali radio stations that you can turn on to get the latest cricket news or sing along with Bengali jingles. However, it does have one Hindi radio station with two hours of live programming on weekends. The radio program, Jhankar, has been with us for more than 20 years, and has become a source of family entertainment, even for my kids who do not like the music but enjoy the commentaries in English. Likewise, when we go to Harvard Square, it brings up memories of movies Rumi and I saw and times we spent window-shopping when I was a student. The 'Square', as it is known as to the regulars, always reminds me of my friend Dr. Iftekhar Hossain Gora, who passed away a few years ago. Gora, when we first came to Boston, introduced us to the Bangladeshi community, to the coffee houses, cheap movies at the Harvard Square Theatre, and best buys at downtown Filenes' Basement. Incidentally, when we were at Dhaka University, it was Gora who had introduced his countless friends to Sakura snacks and Shahbagh markets, and relentlessly explored new eateries on behalf of us. What triggered my nostalgia was a recent copy of the Boston University (BU) Alumni Magazine and an email from my childhood friend, Kassim (not his real name). The magazine contained two photos of the BU campus on Commonwealth Avenue, an area I lived in as a graduate student in the 1980s. One of them was from1983 and the other 2008. As I looked at the pictures, I could not but marvel at the changes that has taken place in the last quarter of a century. Wow, a quarter of a century, I mused. So many images came streaming down the memory lane from my earlier days in Boston: Halloween with my children, apple-picking with my wife and friends, trip to New Hampshire to enjoy leaves in fall colors… The other collection of pictures came from Kassim in New York City, who works on Wall Street but is also immersed in the world of YouTube, FaceBook, MySpace, and blogs. His emails come on a steady basis throughout the day, and my morning cup of coffee would not be full without the Kassim update as soon as I log onto my office computer. Even at the cost of going off the topic, here is a sampling of the titles from just one day's emails: 'Football and the blonde woman' (joke about dumb blondes), 'How Palin was really selected' (a humorous video about Sarah Palin), 'Roubini predicts prolonged recession' (a serious article on the US economy), 'Atul Rajani Dijendra Geeti' (a YouTube link). I have known Kassim since our days together in Eskaton Gardens when we were in middle school. Kassim takes special pride in his strong networking relation with the Bangladeshi community in New York, New Jersey and Washington DC. He is the go-to person when I need any insider intelligence, the latest scoop from the expatriate rumor mill, or raise money for charity. The set of pictures Kassim sent me a week ago were some photographs of nineteenth- and early 20th-century Dhaka. I could not take my eyes off a black-and-white, 1904 picture of my alma mater, Dhaka College. I could barely recognize it, trying to place the college canteen and the North Hostel, where I lived for six months, or the yard where Azad (Nizamuddin Azad) and Kamal (Sheikh Kamal), my friends but on opposite side of the political spectrum, almost came to blows over rival demonstrations. To cap this write-up, let me turn from nostalgia back to reality. Last Sunday, Rumi and I started out for Cambridge to attend a concert by Hoimonti, a Bangladeshi artiste, in Cambridge. It was a bright, sunny afternoon, with temperature in the mid 60s, which is considered almost warm for a fall day in Boston. We were on Memorial Drive, which runs along the Charles River, the major waterway dividing Boston and Cambridge. The sun, which sets early as winter approaches, cast a beautiful golden light over the river--illuminating the cars and building on both sides of the river. Joggers and pedestrians were out in hordes, and sailboats and canoes completed the picture. I looked at Rumi, and saw that she was feeling the same way that I was: Do we park and take a stroll along the river, or do we go inside and say good-bye to such beautiful nature and outdoors? So we parked the car behind the venue, a school auditorium, and crossed the overbridge to the Charles River side, drawn by the greenery, the reflecting sun, and the flowing water. Maybe, we thought, we'll come back after the sun sets, or maybe we'll just connect with nature this afternoon and attend the concert on a different day.
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