The paradoxes of living in exile

I just got back from Dhaka after a short visit. Ironically, my planned short visit also turned into one of the longest vacations I have taken in recent memory. And, if you ask, yes, it was a true vacation since I did not do much, except read some books, during most of the three weeks that I was in Dhaka. More about that later in this letter, but I have to concede that on my return to the USA at JFK airport in New York, the biggest challenge I faced as soon as I stepped out of the airplane was the cold weather. It is nice to getaway, particularly from the frigid and snowy landscape of New England, during winter, but the downside of this getaway is the shock of readjustment that awaits you when you come back once the vacation is over.
As most of my fellow compatriots living in the diaspora will agree, Dhaka is like heaven in January, while Boston--or Toronto, for that matter--is like hell (well I exaggerate a little bit here) in January or February, particularly after you have enjoyed the milder weather in Dhaka. While I was in Dhaka, one of the most frequently asked questions posed to me was, “So what is the weather like in Boston now?” My short response, given with a lot of face twisting, grimacing, and other facial expressions is, “cold”. For others, I try to come up with a more appropriate description: “miserable'. I am not sure if my interlocutors understood what I meant by the word miserable, but I could tell from their eyes that some of them didn't believe me. Their body language, and sometimes their explicit verbal riposte were, “Then why go back to that misery?” Good question, I would have said or as Hamlet might have said, “Aye, there's the rub”. I would like to concede that I search often for the answer to that question, and I am not sure if I have found the real answer. But that's a conversation I will have another day, I promise.
Now let me come back to the realities that awaited me on my return to Boston. From JFK, I soon was on my way to Boston, and I will say I felt a little more comfortable when we reached Boston's Logan Airport, but I don't know why. One reason might be that I now consider Boston my home base: where I first arrived many, many years ago, leaving my near and dear ones, my parents, wife, brothers, cousins, our old neighborhood in Minto Road, my classmates at Dhaka University, my friends who helped me get married and lent me money to buy the plane ticket, unknowingly pulling up my very deep roots in Dhaka's soil. This time, I got back to work the next day, gradually adjusting to the change of temperature, the fast pace of life, and overcoming the serious jet lag. I went to work on Saturday, tried to get back into the swing of things, and get on with life. I fished out my warm winter gloves, dusted off my winter boots, brought out my thermal undergarments, etc. etc. Well, you get the picture! Before I left for Dhaka, I just casted those away without any thought that I'd need them again ever. Now I am glad I did not toss them in the trash barrel, which I could have easily done before I was leaving for Bangladesh. I was in a “couldn't care less” state of mind, since I was going to Bangladesh where the winter temperature never goes below 45 and the air is crisp but very pleasant in winter. And I was not disappointed since I was walking around in shirt sleeves and slacks during my whole stay. I even took morning walks on the roof every morning in my sleeping pajamas. (I have to admit that I needed hot water for showers, but that was only a minor inconvenience).
The reentry was not too unpleasant after the initial wore off, considering, given that the winter has been snowless so far, almost like last year (see my column, “Waiting for Snow”, Daily Star, March 17, 2012). But it takes a while to get back into the full rhythm of our life in exile. The driving, housecleaning, laundry, grocery shopping, cooking, etc. come back gradually, almost like the missing pieces of a jigsaw puzzle! Admittedly, a few times you trip up, missing a beat here and there, trying to remember this and that, as you try to reconfigure the routine for the weekends, or the TV shows to watch and radio stations to listen to. But once in a while the sweet memories (or you could characterize them as the “aftertaste”) of the trip to Dhaka flash back, along with a few regretsthings you forgot to do, or to buy, or places you could not visit during the trip. But, on the other hand, there were many things I enjoyed NOT DOING while in Dhaka: checking my messages on the cell phone (I had a borrowed one but it was stolen from my pocket at Azad Mosque), checking email every few minutes on the computer, watching hours and hours of sports on TV, or jumping in the car whenever you have a few extra minutes to run small errands. Obviously, there were other pleasant adjustments I make during these trips. Most notably, my dietary habits changed a little bit, going from three Spartan meals a day in exile to multiple, often rich, meals in Dhaka. But, I also enjoyed the variety which I am starting to miss here: guava, pithas, fish fries, various legumes (shak), and the infinite variety of various chatnis and bhartas. Well, maybe I will check them out when I am at the local Indian grocery store next time.

Dr. Abdullah Shibli lives and works in Boston.