My mom got a phone call from Bangladesh this weekend. It was from a lady who used to be our neighbor in Chittagong for as long as I can remember. Obviously after my mom came to US to live with me, she lost touch with a lot of people in Bangladesh. This lady was missing my mom so much that she set her son, Morshed, on a manhunt literally. Her son had cell phone numbers that my parents had used in Bangladesh at different times. He called each one and talked to the person answering the phone to figure out if that person knew where my mom is, could give him a number where he can reach my mom. He hit gold when one of those numbers was answered by my phupu. My mom gave my phupu her phone before leaving Bangladesh. So after pleasantries, Morshed got my mom’s cell phone number here and called over the weekend.
I was so touched by this incident. I kept thinking about chachi (as we used to call her) all throughout the weekend. I remember she used to send us Halwas, mistis, different types of pithas almost every week. My sister and I were regular visitors to her kitchen. Both her and her husband adored the two of us since they had three sons and no daughters. Whenever I had gone to Bangladesh in the past, I had always made a point of visiting her since she was always just couple of steps away. Now with Abbu gone and chacha retired, I hear they have relocated to Dhaka to live with their son. I kept thinking would I see them again?
Why do I not meet people like that over here? Is it me? Am I not open enough to people? Or is it really the people in Bangladesh? Are they born to be hospitable towards everyone? Are they more trustworthy towards people? Whatever it is, I am missing my childhood days like crazy.