The colors of the flag may be Red and Green but the colors implanted in our imagination are so much more. No amount of depiction will give it any justice, not even representing the blood of fallen heroes with red nor the vibrant pastures and land with green. Perhaps those colors stood out from the grey skies, the orange fire burning our houses or even the black smoke, which represented the loss of our property and our liberty. As a matter of fact, this was a fight for our liberty- the desire of independence from a totalitarian and marginalizing regime that cherished squandering and manipulating the people of West Bengal.

Many may have known it as West Bengal at time but we gave value to that land and we called it ours. It is our desh, our land, and with our histories and imprints left behind. Geographically, it may have been in the Bengal region but personally it is in our hearts. Bangladesh.

We were molded by the poverty, the dearth and the corresponding humbleness. Growing up with large families and low salaries were norm. Having to educate and raise the youth was the expectation. But it was all possible with the beliefs of growing our little Bangladesh and raising it for the rest of the world so that it may be able to trade with the rest of Asia, sell to the Americas as well as delegate with the rest of Europe. The desires to catapult Bangladesh surpassed the tangible inequalities that were given to us. We did not exploit the resources around us but harnessed them. The abundant wheat was used as a staple for meals of rice throughout the day. The fish of the sea was used to support a growing population and the abundant population learned to give back to the land by growing vegetation. Our nationalism, expressed from our anthems and passions were molded by the carnage we suffered and coupled with joys of growth. Through our passion to make something of our desh, we were able to change the dearth and poverty to sustainability and felicity. Through this plight, we learned to enjoy each other’s presence. We were molded by each other’s losses and struggles. Our tears were shared when remembering what we lost and our happiness was enjoyed when thinking about what we will eventually gain in the future.

This toil, lasting decades has resulted in Bangladesh’s burgeon in the world. Just as how this land enticed us, now it also has attracted foreign influences from marketing such as Coca Cola distributors to politics from various Parliaments and the infamous notion of Democracy. We began to trade with neighboring countries and housed outsourced jobs. Our little land grew from something that we were able to support to something that began to support us across the world. The only the way that we can continue growing our nation would be to ironically leave it and later give back. These are the stories that my parents tell me when I ask them about my upbringing.

My parents decided to leave to the West in order for us to grow and gain education. My parents and other like them wanted to make sure that we grow just as how our nation was growing in the context of the world. For my family and others, this was a period of change from learning a new language, English, to learning about a new lifestyle. The hard work that seemed to be engrained in my parents from the beginning allowed them to make impacts and want to be successful in our new land.

Although I was born in America, I shared the pain, the toil and the journeys of the Bangladeshi. Though similar, my immigrant struggle was centered around learning and living in a different culture, while remembering my inherent Bengali side. It was strange at first learning to be free-willed and opinionated at school and yet having to succumb to the monarchy of my family. I was perplexed by the culture shock of having to conform within the household and yet having to be individualistic outside of it. I viewed my struggles as the bridge between Bangladesh and America. Although my struggles were individual in me, they allowed me to understand the overarching theme of wanting to learn and being open-minded to different ideologies. It is because of learning skills and ideas like this that leaving Bangladesh was necessary.

Regardless, there was a sense of nostalgia that my Parents had when they first came to America. They missed the food and the company that they had in their close-knit houses in Bangladesh. Though Defacto-Segregation is deemed to be harmful, it allowed the creation of immigrant cities like Jackson Heights and Jamaica Queens where Bengali culture is prevalent even within the context of a different country. The aroma of cha and the sizzling oil from the street food vendors frying samosas is strong enough to bring feelings of nostalgia and remembrance of the past. While traveling there, my parents would tell me stories of how the food, though similar, tasted much differently. Even foreign products like the Nescafe chocolate powder was different!

Indeed everything isn’t the same. It almost seems as if the Bangladesh of my parents is different to the Bangladesh that I am seeing today. Although I have heard stories about its humble beginnings and the common desires of making Bangladesh a strong nation as a child, I see no correlation with the goals of the past for the future and with what is happening today. The very totalitarian regime that the people of Bangladesh initially wanted to avoid is currently present. Although it may not be of a different imposing nation, it is rampant in killing denizens and restricting the rights and liberties of individuals. Political demagogues and factions are causing controversy while mobile phone companies are becoming monopolies. The natural geography has been replaced with GMO foods from pesticides and chemicals. Although the Bangladesh that we used to know is changing and is not the same as today, the struggles of Bangladesh have shaped my family and I.