Bangladeshi Culture
January, 2003: A labor of love in foreign, unfamiliar territory. I am born, a culmination of my parents’ hopes, dreams, and aspirations. A culmination of the growing Bangladeshi diaspora.
September, 2007: First day of preschool. First separation from parents. First break from my extended family household. I am a free spirit. Loud and unfettered. I make a new friend during naptime. When I learn she has recently immigrated from Bangladesh, I’m ecstatic to speak with someone who shares my roots. Over the years, we connect over our love of aloo bhorta, beating our fathers at ludu, and sewing kathas with our grandmothers. I learn to fall in love with what is already inside me.
June, 2010: My first few times in Bangladesh cement these feelings, resonating deeply with the stories I grew up hearing of bustling cities and tight knit villages. I find the green hills of Rangamati mesmerizing, the vibrant colors of jamdani sarees and the Boishakh festivities invigorating.
November, 2014: I visit Bangladesh once again, this time for an extended Thanksgiving break. It’s during this trip that I begin to catch sight of the legacies of post-colonial development. Tales of poverty, violence, and desperation besiege me and I am left heartbroken, realizing this is why my parents so keenly departed from their home. Fast forward to winter break and my sister and I secretly watch “A Crime Unpunished: Bangladeshi Gang Rape,” the documentary that begins my love of consuming documentaries about every subject. I develop an infatuation with stories of social injustice.
December, 2019: My most recent trip to Bangladesh. We land in Sylhet and for the first time ever, I feel too foreign for my native soil. I am held accountable for assimilating into American culture as I grew.
As a 16-year old woman, I have transitioned to a new category. I am too old to mingle freely with childhood friends. And definitely too old to wander my village without supervision when I reject the advances of a local gunda. I find that this invites disdain and resentment from our community for bruising his ego.
“That’s what happens when women don’t stay in their lane.”
As I spend more time with old friends and family, I am shocked to learn why it’s a burden to be female in Bangladesh, a notion which I never faced while growing up in America. I am even more shocked to hear the lived experiences of the women I hold close to me. In the next few weeks, I absorb the all-pervasive racism and misogyny in Bengali culture and tradition, disheartened to realize how oblivious I’d been up to now.
I have to confront loving a culture that shames women for speaking up, that teaches men toxic masculinity, and manipulates religion to justify sexism. This same culture would have left me out to dry for defending myself.
2020: Unburdened and becoming, eyes wide open. I realize that I love a culture that also needs to be fixed. I know I have to educate myself and be an advocate for young girls doing the same. As I’ve continued to educate myself through documentaries and lectures, I know I want to help to root out the unwillingness of individuals to abandon customs and traditions that impede progress. Throughout my life, I’ll continue to seek opportunities to promote girls’ education, expel child marriage, secure the rights of LGBTQIA+ individuals, ensure the safety of sex workers, and do my part to change the narrative surrounding discrimination and intolerance of underprivileged women in the US, Bangladesh, and wherever I am needed.