In 1971 as America entered its second decade of the Vietnam War and American families were entertained by Archie Bunker and “All in the Family” on their TV screen, in Bangladesh, a freshly independent nation, on the other side of the world as we reached our teenage years, a bleak future greeted us. The new nation’s economy broke down, politicians became corrupt and nepotism became the governing force of the day. We became the latest saga of an all familiar post colonial countries: another national story of nepotism, corruption, and inept administration mismanaging the nation’s resources. The nation in the midst of a famine, with its economy hitting the ground, and with seven children at that time, my parents had no more money to afford new clothes for all of us. Situation compelled us to be innovative and adapt to new ways of living. One such new adjustments was to buy clothes from the secondhand market that we called “Taal Company Bazaar”.
The Chittagonian (local Chittagong dialect of Bengali language) word for huge unsorted piles is “taal” and thus the name of the whole marketplace for used clothes imported from the West was “Taal Company Bazaar”, a name never officially sanctioned, but a name that resonated in the hearts and minds of millions of poor and beaten down middle class; an unpretentious name, a name that conveyed the simple truth and symbolically portrayed the status of the whole nation at that time. These vendors of old clothes imported from the West used to line up their stores in shacks on the two sides of dark dirt alleyways piling in large heaps. The clothes were all mixed together, shirts, t-shirts, pants, slacks, sport jackets, formal wears, undershirts, under wears, pajamas, all together, auctioning off sometimes one piece at a time, sometimes in a bulk to individuals whose self-pride and dignity had been beaten down by the realities of failed economy of a newly liberated country, a country that promised them prosperity not poverty.
At the very inception of this market this was a shopping place only frequented by the very poor, destitute and marginalized segments of the society, the ones you see living in the slums, in card-board shacks near the swear drain, the ones near the garbage dumps, and yet ignored by the society as if they were non-existent in this world. Now, with the economic worsening of the nation, what US secretary of State Henry Kissinger dubbed as “basket case” even the middle class started loitering in these dark alleys of used clothe market. For the middle class, at the beginning buying and wearing second hand clothing from the West was embarrassing and shameful, something less than dignified. A middle class in Bangladesh in those days was the one who still had the stubbornness of mind to tolerate hunger and not begging for help openly. A poor was one who had accepted his fate and was not hesitant of begging anymore.
I enjoy your stories. Having traveled in Bangladesh, Nepal and India, I can visualize some of the scenes that you describe.
What a moving story.Those of us who come to the USA from another country have a special appreciation of what it means to be an American and to be in America.
Glad you made it here and we are lucky to have such a good doctor and such a great person in the US.
You are an immigrant that America wants to come and join our great country. One that sees there are plenty of opportunities if you work hard. You came for all the right reasons and have captured the American dream. There’s a right way and a wrong way to the path of American greatness. Thank you for choosing the right way. You have my complete respect.
Nizam, you are richly blessed. Thank you for publicizing your amazing story.
You have so much to be grateful for.
Warmest wishes,
Your friend,
Larry Keast
Thank you for sharing part of your own story Dr Meah.
Dr. Meah, you know how much I have admired you and trusted you since the day my Dearest Friend, Mr. I.J. Sutton spoke so highly of you and your great achievements. He had told me a little of your story; nothing like what is here, but how great you were in becoming a Physiciam. Being a retired nurse, I see the perfection in your clinic. From the time I come in the door and I’m greeted by Sam, go back to the exam room and geta hug from Tonya on the way and your PA Stephanie was oce a patient of mine as a child. I was her pidi-nurse at Dr. Hardoin’s clinic after I left Labor and Delivery at Community. Then back in your surgery suite, there’s always sweet Debbie to take care of me. I love your story. I can just see little boy’s eye looking at the Bengal Sea and wanting to be on the other side. I’m so grateful you came to America. That’s why I INSIST you do all my procedures. I just have so verymuch faith in you and I trust you.
Dr. Meah, you know how much I have admired you and trusted you since the day my Dearest Friend, Mr. I.J. Sutton spoke so highly of you and your great achievements. He had told me a little of your story; nothing like what is here, but how great you were in becoming a Physiciam. Being a retired nurse, I see the perfection in your clinic. From the time I come in the door and I’m greeted by Sam, go back to the exam room and geta hug from Tonya on the way and your PA Stephanie was oce a patient of mine as a child. I was her pidi-nurse at Dr. Hardoin’s clinic after I left Labor and Delivery at Community. Then back in your surgery suite, there’s always sweet Debbie to take care of me. I love your story. I can just see little boy’s eye looking at the Bengal Sea and wanting to be on the other side. I’m so grateful you came to America. That’s why I INSIST you do all my procedures. I just have so verymuch faith in you and I trust you. (My post is being refused. it says I’ve already said this. That’s not true. So I will just let it stay here untill I can talk to someone in the office about it.)
You are a great doctor and an inspiration to us all. I love your stories!
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