I have never been to a mall. Or at least that’s what I would have said before the cruel trip to Bangladesh. I had never seen these people-so called extended family, for ten years, and I’m pretty sure they like us for our money.

As a teenager living majority of her life in New York City, I have not once glanced towards a mall. The thought of the whole socializing in a mall with friends at the food court thing, never dawned on me. I’d rather stay on my couch and have my brains melted by the violent cartoons.

The faithful day had come when my cousins wanted me to go out to the mall for a change of scenery. The hot weather in Bangladesh wasn’t really allowing me to leave the comfort of my private room and shorts; the rules of modesty really don’t ease my comfort for laziness. Yet it was a battle that I would have lost either way.

Gathering all the strength that I had to muster in order get there, I finally looked around. There were stores next to stores. Seasonal sales, mannequins with English branded clothing and one weird thing- no signs of a food court, anywhere. It would have made sense in a way. Almost everyone, if not everyone, was fasting. People were not eating from sunrise to sunset in order to please God and his prophet. No one needed to tempt the hunger everyone had to go through. But the only thing that seeded my annoyance were stores hoarding their sales arrows, signs and banners toward their stores.

In which case brings me to the fact of how abusive the clerks are to drag you into their stores, making you feel like you’re are being punished into the depths of hell. Like the guy from the store makes you feel guilty for not at least looking but when you go in, you come out with 15 items that you will never use.

Knowing that the only reason that my parents brought my siblings and I here was to reconnect to our roots, it really isn’t helping when I walk through the malls that try too mimicking the western styles. There were stores that had the traditional saris and dress of the olden days. Every store either looks as if the clerks had an archive behind them while you were in front of them, separated by a glass table.

The western clothes show, that there isn’t a hint of originality with the companies that mass-produce these items. The traditional clothing never come in a variety in sizes-but the ones that do aren’t really modest. Nothing was eye catching, I just found myself scanning over the items.

We jumped from stores, going in every single store that the mall had provided. I had bought items that I, still to this day, never pull the tag off. From tops to dresses, lien jeans to sweat pants, then traditional to outrageous, I could at least say my new wardrobe has a happy home in the shelter. I certainly do regret wasting my time there, yet I do wonder what would be my thoughts if I didn’t go to a mall. Would I have been still unaware to the annoyance of clerks forcing you in to your doom? Would I have just moved on with my day instead?

My cousins shopped until the sun had set and I was left with a burning passion to get to my room and shorts. As they drove me back home I took a glimpse of the busy street only to realize that there was another mall down the block. The only thing I remember from that point was the grins plastered on my cousins’ faces- I seriously didn’t want to go in there.


So coming back home- to New York, I tried to satisfy the hormonal teenagers- I call friends. I had gone to Macy’s, the closest thing to the definition of a mall. A large building or series of connected buildings containing a variety of retail stores and typically also restaurants. In doing so I had the same feeling that past summer. It was pointless. It wasn’t a big deal. I could have gone through my entire life not caring about the mall. Teens can meet up anywhere else, why a place with stores and busy people busting to get to the next sale? Seriously, anyone who is anyone can live a grand old life without having to go to a mall.

I have never been to a mall; at least I wish I could say that now.