The Colosseum and (above) the Spanish Steps are popular tourist destinations in Rome (Pictures by Ranjita Biswas)

Accha Bhai, ekhan theke kon dike gele Spanish Steps pabo? (Brother, how can I reach the Spanish Steps from here?)” A startled look, then a wide smile and the guy selling sun-hats near the Spagna Metro station replies, “Apni Bangali? Hein, jaan baan-dike soja (Are you Bengali ? Yes, please go to the left and then straight on)”.

It could have been me asking for directions on a Calcutta street. The only difference was that I was in Rome and trying to locate the famous Spanish Steps. Thanks to Roman Holiday with Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn, it is one of the most romantic spots in the eternal city and I just had to experience it. These days, the square where the Spanish ambassador had his embassy once is an adda point for tourists and locals.

By now, while exploring the charms of Rome on my own I had learnt to recognise the vendors who were sure to be from Bangladesh — be it those selling red roses near the ship-like fountain at the Spanish Steps, mementoes and imitation Gucci bags on the pavement near Piazza de Popolo, or scarves to young tourists in front of a Basilica who had to cover their bare arms. So I promptly started speaking in Bengali with them, much to their delight.

It was obvious that they were hired as cheap labour by owners of shops who were mostly Italians. A little chatting and they would warm up. They said they were “legal” workers. “We have valid papers,” one of them declared. And how they have adapted! They speak fluent Italian, even as they spoke between themselves in their own tongue, “Aajke bikri bhalo hoi ni.”

When I said I came from Calcutta, someone recalled a visit to Howrah; another remembered BBD Bag and the crowds there. “I wish I could go to your city, Didi! Maybe someday! It’s so near but I didn’t have the money,” a young man who works at a pizza joint regretted.

When I told them I had been to Dhaka during the Bhasha Divas celebration in February, they were even happier.

It happened in Florence too. After oohing-aahing over the perfect David and the amazing Duomo and the Ufizzi gallery, I headed for the flea market, a budget traveller destination. I eyed a particularly enticing leather bag but even the flea market price was too much for me. I wondered if I should bargain. The shopkeeper saw me hesitating and lit a matchstick and let it burn on the bag’s skin to prove it was genuine leather. Then he asked casually, trying to place me: “Where are you from?” I had heard him speak with his assistant in Bengali, so I replied in Bengali. He smiled and said, “Apner jonye daam alada. Apni to desher lok (For you the price is different. You are, after all a person from back home).” He reduced the price several notches; the bag now nestles in my cupboard.

A young Bangladeshi selling cheap sunglasses near the Colosseum invited me to visit their para in Rome to taste authentic machher jhol-bhat (fish curry and rice) and listen to Bengali folk songs. On that hot summer day in Rome, I felt as if I was not far from home.