Things end but memories live on-Goodbye to my Dadubari

It’s been 3 weeks into 2021. I was planning to be regular on this blog but I had some things I needed to attend to the last few weeks. Change is hard but change is what helps bring growth. More about the change at a later date.

Today I want to talk about my Dadubari (Grandfathers house).

If you are a Bangladeshi or an Asian like me, you know the importance and significance of your family house. If you live in Dhaka and you are not from Dhaka, you have that place outside Dhaka that you can always go back to. The place where your parents grew up, the place where your grandparents live, and the place that you have an unexplainable connection to.

For me, that place was in Barisal, the home of my grandparents on my Father’s side. I did visit Sylhet, the hometown of my mother, but it wasn’t as regular as Barisal. Today on a phone call while going to work, my Mum told me that the very house that I have so many vivid memories of, my dad has so many memories of, will be demolished because a new railway is being built in the area. The railway will need to go through the area where our house is built on. At that moment all the memories hit me. I didn’t realize how much I would miss the place. I visit the house last in Nov 2013.

The only photo I have of the house. Nov 2013

Just like that all my plans of revisiting the place were gone. No more I had the chance to look forward to my trip back there. I was planning to go there last year or even this year but then Covid happened. I was planning to make new memories there, take lots of photos and videos and relive the childhood memories I had. I never got to truly know the area my Dad grew up in or my grandparents lived in. I had planned to get to know the area better when I went there next time. But there’s not going to be any next time. All I have are now memories.

I have memories of going there every vacation for a few years straight until we stopped. All relatives from my father’s side would gather together for that one trip in the year. I don’t remember when we stopped going on that trip but it just faded away as we grew older.

I have memories of long bus rides and overnight launch journeys. I used to be fascinated as a kid about the size of launches and the number of people in them. We used to book these cabins with small single beds, an old CRT tv etc. I don’t remember the exact layout. But I remember how excited I felt when the launch left the terminal. I used to love the food. The packed food that my mum brought. No matter what it was, it was the best food in the world for that night. I used to go out and admire the open waters and the cool breeze. I waited for morning to see the beautiful nature in its best form. The bus rides were filled with excitement too. Most times we would rent a big bus for the whole family. I always tried to grab the window seat. The bus needed to cross ferries to go to our destination. We used to grab snacks on the ferries. My Dad used to tell me stories of the number of times he crossed the ferry. He used to tell me about the vendor from whom he used to buy snacks years back. That same vendor was still selling there. He used to tell us countless stories on the journey. Some I remember, some I don’t but I still remember how fascinated I felt like a kid visiting his Dadubari.

I have memories of reaching the house around early morning. All the people in the houses adjacent to ours would huddle around to greet us. We weren’t related by blood but they treated everyone like family. The hospitality we got was out of this world. As soon as I got off the car and entered the open area in front of the house, I loved it. The open nature and fresh air. There was something about the air in the village that Dhaka city didn’t have.

I have memories of fishing in the pond behind our house. We had this small pond with fishes to be caught. Dad used to teach us how to catch fish with a fishing rod. We used to catch the fish and immediately fry it. Nothing like fresh fish out of the water. I still remember the feeling of catching my first fish. I was elated inside but scared outside. What if the fish jumps out and attacks me. I also remember taking a bath in the pond. I didn’t know how to swim. My cousin used to try and teach me. But I was too scared. I would still go down the stairs and take a bath. I remember sitting near the pond and admiring nature. We had an open kitchen at the back near the pond. I would be fascinated to see how the food was being cooked. And talking about the food. The food was something else. There’s nothing like food with fresh ingredients. From vegetables to meat everything was locally sourced. The taste is something that can’t be replicated.

I have memories of going around the town with my Dad and relatives. He used to show us the school he went to, shops he went to and gave us a tour of the area. Since it’s a small village it was a pretty close-knit community. Everyone knew each other and we would always get treated especially when we went to a store that Dad knew.

I have memories of staying up late at night with cousins. We used to go to the roof and tell ghost stories to each other. I was too young to know any. Dad and uncles joined in too. It was a festive atmosphere. Since it was in the village when it was the night everything was pitch black outside. We had electricity but when you went out for a walk nearby it was all nature and everything was dark. Sometimes the electricity went out and we had to use candles. That is when the ghost stories became scarier. We had multiple rooms in the house but we used the big balcony on the second floor for sleeping. All of us cousins used to make our beds there. Enjoy the open-air while trying to sleep after the ghost stories. There were bugs and mosquitoes that we had to fight off but once we were out the sleep was special.

That’s a lot of memories I still remember for a place I haven’t visit in 7 years. I wish I made more memories and got to know the place better. I don’t know how accurate my memories are but those are the ones that will live on with me. The place will be demolished, replaced by a new railway. But the memories I hold can’t be demolished or replaced. Those I will hold on to and recall on a beautiful day with a cup of coffee.

I probably talked too much on this post. Don’t know what I just wrote. But if you have similar memories of a childhood place I would love to know. You can DM me on my Instagram.