Visiting somewhere 23 years later, you’d expect it to all feel totally fresh, but no; there was something familiar about my visit.
Could it be the stories I’ve heard growing up or the countless home movies seen in various friends houses when I’d visit? Could it be that I was just desperate to make some form of connection and had convinced myself or that I just have incredibly good memory? No.
It was the people & only after speaking to them you realise they are just like you and me.

I remember sitting around one evening and explaining to a villager that we have very little free time in the UK so keep in touch via the internet where we can share photos of our lives- he looked at me like I was an idiot and said “oh you mean like facebook?” as he pulled his phone out of pocket!!!
He explained its not so popular there as people didn’t see the point replying to people one by one on a phone when they could just arrange to hang out in person instead- surely that was better?
It made me think that maybe he was right, is it true that we are in fact so busy that we can’t spend time with loved ones or is it something which has been conditioned into us by mobile phone/ BT adverts/ TV etc over the course of time?
Lesson learned- I switched off my phone’s roaming capabilities to disconnect from the outside world and enjoy discovery for myself, and not to share instantly.

I didn’t spend much time in Bangladesh- in fact it was a grand total of 4 days including a Wedding and Mendhi sandwiched in the middle of that so most people I met were within 10 minutes walk of me and the photos taken were a mix of those and what I photographed from my coach window to and from the airport.
I had so many photo opportunities but instead decided to stop and talk to people, something which I’m really glad I did.

I remember an old man inviting me to his home so he can show me his pride and joy- hit western style fully cream tiled bathroom which he had built after saving up for a very long time, his one piece of the dream.
As I looked around though he had a lot which westerners would envy- he lived in a spacious home surrounded by lush vegetation, had great neighbours who would commune at the bottom of the hill throughout the day and plan on who’s hosting dinner that evening. He had no worry of theft- he’d wake up to noisy kids playing football on his lawn who’d later assist him in hanging his washing. He had clean air, blue skies and childhood friends still living next door. Maybe he had more of my dream than he realised.

I met so many intelligent and capable people who had the raw skill sets that could easily lead them into managerial or project leading roles with some nurturing but they did not have the resources to hand, so spend the next few decades looking at ways to escape.
Is that the best thing to do? I do not know- however most British Bengali kids parents did have that dream once and nearly all crave to go back once their kids have grown up.

The most memorable moment for me was on the night before I left- I returned from visiting a sick uncle quite late at night and found my grandmothers brother had came to see me. He watched me make a shisha before we got chatting and was amused because it reminded him of my grandad, who passed away before I was born, as he was one of the few people who loved it too.

He said my demeanor and stature was like seeing a ripple in time which took him back to that age when they were young.
He told me, with tears in his eyes, the night my grandmother passed away he cried for me because I’d grow up without any grandparents love, that I may not recognise him but he has loved and prayed for me every friday for the last 23 years. He was elated to finally meet me as an adult and to hear of my life now, as he suspects he wont be here the next time I visit Bangladesh.

As I journeyed back on my coach and looked out the window all I could do was think of my grandmother & what her life growing up must have been like.
Maybe this is why it all felt so familiar.