This year in New York, the winter seems long and bitter. Even though the calendar is announcing spring, it’s freezing. But I close my eyes and in my mind I can feel the hot summer breeze, and I can visualize thick and dark clouds of a “Kaal Baishakhi” storm (Kaal meaning very dangerous).

This time of the year, it gets very hot and humid in Bangladesh. All of a sudden, the sky changes color and numerous storms strike like thunderbolts. According to the Bengali calendar, it’s the end of the month Chaitra, the last month of the year. Soon, there will be Baishakh, the first month of the Bengali calendar, when thick smoky clouds cover the sky and strong gusts of wind shake the trees, blow them away, uproot them, rip off fruits from the trees, massacre houses. Despite the strong winds and heavy rain, the village children run to the backyard, and with enormous joy and glee, they collect the fallen raw mangoes, which are equally tasty when you eat them with a touch of salt and red chilli powder.

I was born and raised in Dhaka, the capital of Bangladesh. Very few people have a mango tree in their backyard in the city. Twice a year, I used to visit my maternal grandparents’ home in the countryside where there were plenty of mango trees. Whenever there was a ‘Kaal Baishakhi’, we would all run outside to see who could collect most mangoes.

The celebration of Bengali New Year is known as “Pahela Baishakh” or 1st Baishakh. The traditional way of celebrating it is called ‘Haal Khata’, which means New Ledger. All the storeowners would hold a special celebration on this day. All year long, they sell their merchandise on credit. On the first day of the year, they invite their customers, and offer them delicious Indian sweets. People flock to the stores, according to their ability they pay back all or some of their debts, eat sweets, chat and leave. I used to go to the local stores with my grandpa or uncles, and come home with a sweet memory. In the city, this tradition was dying even during my childhood.

On this day, people decorate their houses with intricate designs (alpana) using rice flour paste, in the front yard. This tradition can still be seen at weddings, in the front yards and hallways, but now they use white, red and yellow paint.

Groups of students, teachers and artists gather under a big banyan tree in Ramna Park before dawn. Huge crowds would gather under the shades of green trees by the beautifully flowing Ramna Lake. The women would wear white or cream-colored cotton sarees with red borders, and a red blouse. Part of their makeup is a bright red dot on their foreheads. Men would wear white or cream colored ‘Punjabi’ which is a long loose-fitting shirt, made of very fine cotton or silk over white pants. People would listen quietly to the welcoming song, and some would sing along. The performers would sing Tagore’s famous song “Esho he Baishakh, esho, esho…”, which means ‘Come Baishakh, come, come, with your hot airy breath, take away all our pain, blow away the trash of last year’.

Every time I hear the song, or even think of this song, its powerful words and melody give me goose bumps. I see the green grass and graceful trees of Ramna Park, the white sarees with red borders. Even after all these years, I can visualize everything; I can hear every single sound.

After the cultural performances, people would have breakfast with traditional rice and fried Hilsha fish. They cook paesh with milk, sugar and rice, which is similar to rice pudding. Then they would head for the Bangla Academy to attend the Mela to see and buy traditional handicrafts. People would come from distant villages to sell their handicrafts: potteries, decorative pieces made of bamboo, wood, or fabric. There would be manual ferris wheels called “Charkee”, and magic, puppet shows, an ancient version of a Broadway show (Jaitra), a poetic dialogue between poets (Kaabir larai), and many more.

Now it’s like history. I haven’t been to Bangladesh for more than ten years. But even though it’s not easy to keep track of the Bangla calendar, at the time of Bengali New Year, we feel nostalgic. It’s like our wedding ‘saree’, a very expensive six-yard long bright-red pure silk fabric with gold embroidery, which we rarely wear, but we dare not give away. Instead we take good care of this saree, for the memories.

It’s not easy to hang on to one’s traditions. But I must admit, it’s much easier in New York than other states. With the growing Bangladeshi community, there are many cultural organizations, Bengali newspapers and other resources. Despite our busy schedules, we try to get together in the evening of our new year. We attend cultural programs, wear white sarees with red borders, and a big bright red dot on our forehead. After the cultural shows, traditional Bengali food would be served.

No matter where we live, no matter what we do, no matter what our religion, on this day, we all become 100 percent Bengali and we are not ashamed to display that.

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