Every October, the trees here cloak themselves in remarkable shades of colour before surrendering their leaves to the coming season. Whenever I step outside at this time of year, I am reminded of an old Bengali song: "O fallen leaves, I belong among your ranks."

For me, October also arrives with a familiar sense of unease. Yet life rarely pauses to accommodate such feelings. Beneath the visible rhythm of life in America lies a world of invisible burdens. The hardships people carry may vary in form, but they are often strikingly similar in substance. There is quiet suffering beneath the polished veneer of modernity. Stress is woven deeply into everyday life. Perhaps that is why, despite cleaner air and fewer environmental hazards, heart disease remains so widespread. Here, the wounds and losses of life keep pace with the demands of work and survival.

In the United States, midterm elections are held in November of every even-numbered year. Those wishing to avoid queues may vote early, often throughout October. There is no practice of marking voters with indelible ink. In most cases, all that is required is proof of identity.

While casting my vote during the early voting period this year, I noticed something that caught my attention. Young people who have not yet reached voting age and are therefore unable to vote themselves can still receive online training and assist in the administration of elections. Back home, however, election day often brings much of the country to a standstill. Government offices and many private institutions effectively suspend normal activities while employees are assigned election duties. Considerable public time and productivity are absorbed by the process.

What impressed me even more was the confidence with which these youngsters, alongside retirees in their seventies and eighties, carried out their responsibilities. Watching them, I found myself thinking of the Bangladesh I once hoped to see: a country where citizens could exercise their democratic rights in an environment that is free, fair, transparent and devoid of fear.

Whenever I return to Bangladesh, I prefer to keep to my own routine. I enjoy sleeping when I wish, rising when it suits me, setting out on a whim and returning at my leisure. For some reason, however, I have never been particularly adept at adjusting my schedule to fit that of others.

I can also recognise the subtle differences in hospitality. There is a world of distinction between someone saying, "Do come by," and another saying, "You simply must come." One invitation is polite; the other carries genuine warmth. I appreciate both being a guest and being welcomed wholeheartedly.

The difficulty, however, often begins in the bathroom.

I am not referring to every household, of course. Yet a clean and well-maintained washroom is fundamental to comfort and dignity. There should be toilet tissue, hand soap and paper towels. Surprisingly often, these basic necessities are nowhere to be found.

Perhaps that is why I am reminded of something I once read by the Indian writer Khushwant Singh. He suggested that there are three ways of understanding a country. First, examine its airport and, more importantly, the condition of its washrooms. Second, observe its traffic system and how faithfully people obey its rules. Third, look at the traffic signals in the red-light district and see how many motorists ignore a red light. In other words, the true character of a society reveals itself in the everyday behaviour of its citizens and in the extent to which they respect the rules governing public life.

A few days ago, I had occasion to visit Jackson Heights in New York on an urgent matter. What I found there was deeply disappointing. A group of Bangladeshis had blocked a main thoroughfare and become embroiled in a violent confrontation. Chairs were being hurled across the street as one side charged at the other.

Coincidentally, it was the very day on which Bangladesh's Prime Minister was addressing the United Nations General Assembly. Local residents stood watching in disbelief. Soon enough, the police arrived.

One could almost imagine an officer asking a colleague, "Which country do these people come from?"

And upon discovering that they were Bangladeshis, perhaps muttering in exasperation:

"If you want to fight each other, go back to your own country and do it there."

Such behaviour inevitably disturbs the peace that so many of us have worked hard to build abroad. Do these individuals not realise that such conduct serves no useful purpose in a foreign country? If anything, it brings embarrassment upon the nation they claim to represent.

The truth is that we carry our habits with us wherever we go. Whether at the ballot box, on the roads, in public spaces or within our communities, those habits shape how others perceive us. They can enhance the reputation of our country, or diminish it.

Unfortunately, all too often, it is the latter.