Manhattan and Sylhet

Downtown Manhattan feels like Sylhet, Bangladesh to me.

The crowded streets, buildings towering high, mess of traffic, street stalls with trinkets and food, and lingering smell of piss.

I only remember Bangladesh from the three summers I spent. If I had to count, I’d say it totals a full 8 months, which isn’t a lot when you consider that I’ve been around for 23 years.

Those summers were filled with scorching heat, a constant barrage of family, so much curry, and a little bit of cow poo. You would think it’s nothing at all like the iron titan of a city I live in.

Still, I’m constantly reminded of the old country. Every time it rains the smell of water against topsoil reminds me of a life I only glimpsed. I simple life, albeit harsher one. I miss it. If only because it temporarily removes me from the constant weight on my shoulders.

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