Bangladesh, Sylhet, Kuru Gao is its name
Or Nanny’s Bari (village) as we all grew to claim
That’s where my mind heads at the mention of green
A place of fond memories, cacophony, serene Continue reading “The Colour Green”
My dad arrived in the UK as a teen. He’d have loved to have gone to school but he had to work to support his family in Bangladesh. Whatever moderate amount of English he speaks now has been picked up through his career in a grocery store and a never ending string of restaurants. Needless to say, my dad can’t write in English (only his version of shorthand when taking down curry orders – see image, aww!). Continue reading “What Role Models Are Made Of”
Background: I love to cook and have started a small catering business here in Riyadh. During the month of May 2013 I took over the restaurant in the compound I live in – to offer Curry Nights once a week. This is what I wrote (and later told my Dad over Skype) after I hobbled home and fell onto my bed:
I stood in my dad’s shoes for a mere 9 hours today…something he’s been doing for longer than I’ve been alive. My throbbing feet force my mind back to my childhood when he would finish a stint at the restaurant in the early hours then get up to take us shopping for Eid clothes. I always wanted matching jewellery with my outfit and back in those days, Asian fashion shops were scarce. So my dad took us out for hours – hunting for new clothes (and my matching accessories). As I would insist on finding the right shade of bangles, I don’t remember him ever complaining – not about him being tired and not about him spending his hard earned money. His feet must have throbbed from the night before, or at least felt heavy with the anticipation of doing it all over again after our shopping trip.
It’s amazing how parents have the capacity to put their needs and wants aside to make their children happy. I’m truly blessed to have such parents.