This was a scene in Dhaka, the Old Town. We wondered into little streets full of vendors, rikshas and tuk-tuks. The heat was insulting everyone and made street dust and pollution stick to people's necks and faces. It is hard to believe that this is a parallel world that still goes on while we , here, enjoy our supersonic cars, electric can openers and nose-hair shavers. It seems that time had stopped there. Women wear saris and everything is made by hand. I imagine these two women to be a mother (in law??) and a daughter. They just bought these new pitchers and a new broom. Now their home will be a better place. All around them you see a lot of fruit, especially watermelons. How sweet and delicious! Not far from where these women are walking there is a dock on the river Buriganga. And by this dock there is a huge watermelon market, with many varieties of watermelons. It is a place crowded with men bringing fruit by boats, and selling them. I have never seen such enormous piles, mountains of watermelons.
Bangladesh street scene is a place of very pleasant yet curious people. So it is not a surprise that while my husband was taking pictures, men would gather all around me and my son. Some would just stand there and stare, some would pinch my son's cheeks and smile at us. But most often there would be questions about how many children I had and if I wanted more, and if my husband was working hard, and if he was making a lot of money, and if he was making me a happy woman. They were very honest, genuine and asked close to their lives questions. These men were compering our lives and measuring them. The conversations would usually end with a lot of laughter as the punch-line crowned the exchange of ideas.
There would be similar conversations with children who would come in groups out of nowhere at the market places. They would smile and use hand gestures to ask questions. But one time, we just finished walking around the shell market, two women approached us and gestures us to come with them. They were smiling and had honest faces. We followed them. The women led us through a labyrinth of narrow streets. We ended up at this amazing, brightly painted gate. We walked in and there was a group of young women, maybe teenagers, who spoke some English. One of them shook hands with me and told me she was Jasmine. Then, we were taken inside of a house. It was a nice break from the heat of the streets. The inside of the house was dark, simple but very clean. We were led into the kitchen. We were gestured to sit down on the bed by the window. So we did. But as soon as we touched it we felt there was someone sleeping on it!!! A young man jumped up as he saw us. I could feel his embarrassment. By this time there was a crowd of women in front of us. They all burst out laughing. We sat there for a brief moment in an awkward silence. I decided to start a conversation about who is who's mother or neighbour. A few moments later we kindly thanked for the hospitality and left. In commemoration, we took a few pictures just outside of the home. And what a memory!
We both added something out of this world, something incredible to our lives that we will be talking about for the rest of our lives. I want to say thank you to all these women who gave me a moment of their time and let me and my family into their home. I feel especially honoured because a kitchen is a sacred place. Ladies, I am sending " The Warmest Thank yous."
2 comments:
Nice memories and experiences, thanks for sharing it...
Thank you for reading! Hugs!
Post a Comment