Home in the Global Village :

Welcome home. The immigration official smiled up at me as he handed my passport back. Just those two words and a smile. He did not ask me any of the questions to which I had prepared answers to in my head during my airplane's descent into Chieago's O'Hare Airport. While grabbing my luggage, I was further welcomed y a dozen smiles, and greetings of how ya doing? then the cherry on top. heart rending shout of Baba, Baba, Daddy, Daddy! from my little man, a whirling dervish of madcap hair, long eyelashes, missing tooth, hugs kisses, and manic energy pouring forth in a burst of stories and plans games to be played, books to be read, places to be visited. As I took my wife in my arms and was greeted by the warmth of my mom-in-law, it hit me ..... I was home !

since my move to Dhaka, and my wife and son's continued transition to life in Dhaka (with extended breaks in Wisconsin), I would often trip over statements referring to my life back home. When talking about he US, or 'coming back home' when somehow did not feel comfortable with referring to both places as 'home'' I had fallen victim to a particular emotion when thinking of America that  seems to only affect liberals, especially ones who look at America from outside its borders a sense of disillusionment, a feeling akin to unrequited love (where the object of the love not only rejects the love, but also all of the values of the lover). Like reports in newspaper and friends' blogs about the rightward shift in American politics since the enthusiasm generated on the left by Obama's election. I have been deeply distrbed by the Islamophobia that seems to have risen to the surface at the prodding of the park 51 controversy in NewYourk. I continue to be bemused by the irrationality country is heading (and whose falt it is as to why we are here). Every newspaper opinion piece, dinner conversation and online discussion seemed to focus on all that ails America, making my detachment from America all that much easier. By the time I boarded my airplane in Dhaka, I was thinking of America as the 'other'. 

However, all that started changing after hearing the first shout of 'Baba! My change in perception has continued in my last few days in Wisconsin as I have been reminded why I love home. Coming home to America, my country which has succored me my whole adult life, educatied me., trained me, helped me find my place in this workd and picked me up when I feel, has wiped out all the doubts, the feelings of disillusionment and of unrequited love, which I have felt while I was away for the last couple of years. 

Breakfast every morning of oatmeal, brown bread and fruits with my family while watching the morning sun stoke the autumn leaves golden. walks by the river in the cool day while breathing out steam, visits to my son's school and eating lunch with his classmates, driving fast on the highway and singing to old songs on the radio with my wife and son, laughing with old friends, with the joy and laughter wiping away the years in between. I am again amazed (like I was when I first landed on these shores 22years ago) at hte courtesy and affability of strangers, the diversity and energy that is present everywhere I go and that seems tobelie all of the pundits who are ringing the death knell of the great American experiment. 

Home is where my son and my wife were born. home is a place which resonates with 'yes'and 'can do' where 'impossible' becomes 'i.m.possible': home is where my mon-in-law is my son's best friend and greates teacher. home is where I looked into my wife's eyes 20years ago and vowed to celebrate with her through times of illumination and love, and support her during darkness and turmoil, and bewith her until death. home is wheremy friends are home is where I will vote on November 3th and hop onto to a planne to fly home that very day. Home is wisconsin, America.

Home is where I was born I was born. home is where my ancestors are buried home is where my mother relished the food she feeds me, and bestows on me her blessings by softly blowing on my head after her prayers. home is where my son's "dadaumoni" is waiting to help him grow, where his cousins are there to help him feel he is part of something bigger. home is where my friends are home is where I go back to work on November 4th. Home is Dhaka, Bangladesh.