^{MADE BY CANVA}

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As I sit in the humble rickshaw, its rhythmic beat and sways take me not only through the streets of Rangpur, but also through the corridors of time. Sixteen years ago I said goodbye to this city to follow my dreams and ambitions, to embark on a journey that weaved a tapestry of change. Yet even as rickshaws ply the familiar paths, the city hasn't changed.

maintains its constant movement. The city, while not immune to the march of progress, still retains the patina of a bygone era in its oldest neighborhoods. As I walk through the narrow streets, every pavement seems to whisper stories about my childhood. The houses, although worn by time, bear witness to the passing of the years.

The crumbling but enduring charm of the city's old structures evokes nostalgia. The smell of antiquity hangs in the air, mixed with the distant calls of street vendors and the laughter of children playing. It's a journey back in time to a time when life was simple, days were long and worries were confined within the confines of youthful innocence.

As the rickshaw winds through the maze of alleys, I find myself in front of the Presidential House from the 1980s, a symbol of power and history. The picturesque building, unchanged in its architectural grandeur, evokes memories of school trips and rushes through its ornate gates. It is a testament to the city's historical significance and offers a glimpse into the nation's past.

I stand still for a moment, thinking about the changes I have witnessed within the walls of the room and outside. Echoes of my youth resonate against the backdrop of this majestic structure, grounding me in the reality that, even as I have traversed different landscapes, Rangpur remains an unshakable anchor of my identity.

While the old city whispers stories of the past, Rangpur is not frozen in time. The rickshaw takes me through streets that symbolize progress: bustling markets, modern structures and a lively street life. He reminds us that cities, like people, evolve. Once-famous monuments now share space with contemporary counterparts, reflecting the eternal dance of urban planning.

As the rickshaw passes through these contrasting zones, I realize that the heart of my city beats with a double rhythm: one in tune with tradition and the other that resonates with the rhythm of modernity. It is a city in motion, captured

The rickshaw continued its peaceful journey, finally taking me to the cemetery where my father lay. This sacred land, a treasure chest of memories and quiet conversations, draws me with an invisible force. Here are the remnants of the past, the ghosts of those who shaped the narrative of my upbringing.

Headstones and tombs bear fleeting evidence of life. It's a touching moment: communing with the ethereal as I silently thank the man who guided my steps in life and, in death, became part of the city's collective memory.My rickshaw ride through the city, albeit with only one break, captures the essence of Rangpur. It is a city where time seems to have given me a gentle hand by protecting the cradle of my past. Every twist, every familiar vision, rekindles the ardor of childhood, the time when the world was small and dreams were painted on the canvas of innocence.

As I prepare to say goodbye to Rangpur again, I carry with me not only the images of the rickshaw ride, but also the hazy warmth of the city whose power to evoke emotions remains unchanged.

The streets may blur as the images and landscapes change, but the heart of my city keeps pace with me, an eternal companion in the symphony of life.

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