It was in the 1990s that my Mejho Mama (my mother’s second brother, who is no more) took us to the Russian Cultural Centre in Dhaka to watch a documentary film, “Muktir Gaan”. Then a teenager, my heart was always ready to fall in love. And I did. He was the narrator of the story -- the young man with the black-rimmed, thick glasses and a determined jaw, the one who could not join the frontline freedom fighters because of his myopia. I could feel his heartbreak, the emotions he described on setting his foot on the liberated part of his motherland, my beloved Bangladesh.