I wasn’t born in the UK, but I certainly feel more at home in the UK than anywhere else.  My British Bangladeshi story begun after my family’s migration to the UK in 1980.  Growing up as a British Bengali Muslim girl in an inner-city area of London was tough.  Most girls like me struggled with identity due to conflicting eastern and western cultural expectations.  It was difficult to fit in during the primary years of my life as I couldn’t speak English.  My family lived huddled in a room in a flat above a shop and I spent the first few months of my life in the UK staring out of a window, watching the world go by.

My greatest learning of Bengali culture came from spending 9 months in Bangladesh at age 10, when I visited the country with my family during the summer holidays.  I remember spending hours playing with Hindu friends from our neighbouring colony and watching their many religious festivals such as Durga Puja and Lokki Puja from our rooftop.  I was fascinated by the way families made savoury and sweet snacks to celebrate festivities and discovered how my Muslim family prepared for Ramadan, Eid and wedding functions was not that much different.  I would often sit with my elders and ask questions to learn how to make different types of snacks.  During that time and my second visit at 14, I gradually learnt many family secrets - the magic behind tasty recipes and exceptional cooking was often simplicity and patience.  I loved making pithas (savoury snacks), especially Lobon Boras, Shingaras, Chotpoti and colourful Fafra.  In those days I enjoyed using fresh lemon and lime leaves from the trees to lay out rice flour mix and produce colourful Fafra (savoury crisps), which we then preserved by drying them in the sun.  We were allowed to bathe in our very own pond, in our backyard.  The best part of that experience was jumping into the pond from a fallen tree and swimming with my cousins.  It was a totally different world; it didn’t feel so claustrophobic, with more open space and lots of extended family.  I felt freer in the open with plenty of things to do whilst in the UK we rarely felt safe walking down the streets near our home.  I remember being scared at the sight of skinheads holding baseball and cricket bats and the sound of police siren, which indicated another Bengali boy had been assaulted.  In the late 80s our street -`Drummond Street’ was terrorised by the National Front who didn’t like `Pakis’ and then in the 90s there was an emergence of a generation of Bengalis who refused to be treated as outsiders any longer (Bengali Backlash 1997 ). 

My upbringing was heavily influenced by Bengali culture and the expectations of my parents, family and the local community.  Whatever our home life was like, the outside world was oblivious.  I was brought up by my father, who struggled but managed to do his best.  My mother was living with us, but most days she was lost in her own world – suffering from severe depression, she did not acknowledge or interact with anybody.  I don’t know when the roles reversed, but I remember taking care of her when my father was at work.  My teachers had no idea, they never noticed how mismatched my clothing was and neither were they curious about my parents.  They didn’t ever ask me about my headlice problem, nor did they notice the bullying I was experiencing for having a `pagol’ (crazy) mother.  Many of my friends ended up travelling to Bangladesh for arranged marriages at age 16.  A friend got married to a man 10 or 15 years older than her as her parents were worried, she may follow the footsteps of her older sister who eloped at 16.  Another friend was persuaded to marry a cousin who she had nothing in common with, but she wasn’t given much choice.  I considered myself lucky that my father had more trust in me, and I didn’t get married until after I had completed the first year of my Law degree. 

My own sense of belonging didn’t just come from the community I grew up in because I felt ambitiously different.  It developed from books I read, often by women writers who wrote about breaking glass ceilings.  They inspired me to break the cycle of deprivation and I saw education as the only route.  My interest in unusual traditional foods continually increased creativity in me and I found Bengali wedding rituals a great way to bring people together.  I learnt how to make garlands and decorations using fresh flowers and paper.  When friends same age as me, got married at 16 and 17, their parents often trusted me to organise things.

 What I value the most about being a British Bengali is my ability to adapt to both environments very easily.  Coming from a background where Hindus, Muslims and Christians lived in harmony, I’ve always had greater tolerance and understanding of diversity and inclusion.  It probably helps that my middle name is `Shanti’ (which means `peace’ in Bengali).  Over the years I’ve learnt that belonging is something we all seek and although most people associate their sense of belonging to their identity, I feel belonging is something we can create through culture, providing it doesn’t impinge on people’s religious beliefs.  Having lived in Bangladesh for long periods of time as well as growing up in the UK and understanding the feelings of conflict in Bengalis I have come to terms with the fact that my identity is the unique combination of my experiences and learning.  A true sense of belonging is when we `feel’ valued.  My hope for the next 50 years is to see great leadership in women who focus on inspiring people to value others for their human qualities above everything.  A British Bengali woman like me should be valued for my uniqueness and example.   

Monwara is a Charity Leader & Mentor and CEO at Waltham Forest Community Hub., a charity that offers a place where every individual and community is valued, supported and can thrive through community-based activities.