My Feathered Friends

Sparrows are nesting in my veranda again! And it's such a joy to wake up to their happy chirps.

Check out the proud parents.


And their home-delivered supply of food and water. They've now developed a preference for imported bird seeds over the local rice.


Apologies for the poor quality photographs (taken with my cell phone). Blame Nokia.

Time to Go

If I hadn't been born as a human, I'd probably have been born as a tree. I have a tendency to put down roots and spread branches wherever I go. And then when it's time to leave, the uprooting is very painful.

I have recently started a new job. Most would call it an upward career move, but in order to start this job, I had to stop with my old, which was a very sad parting indeed. I had been with that organization formally for two years, and informally for quite a while longer. Tree-natured that I am, it was long enough time for the roots to go down very deep and the branches to spread very wide.

Almost before I realized it, it was my last day at work. And we had a little party!


The food was yummy.


And the atmosphere was festive.


We had two unexpected underage guests.

But we were only serving soda anyway, so there was nothing to worry about.

The Boss pressed an ice cream on me. You can tell that I didn't want it.


Then I got told off when I opted for the junk food. The boss didn't tell off the others who were stuffing their faces - probably because they were not leaving. Such discrimination! Tsk..tsk!


But the tears were brimming in many eyes behind the smiles - in mine too of course, and I had a stash of tissues ready to stem the waterworks.


Yeah and some said 'good riddance!', and 'let's eat!' Oh well, you can't win 'em ALL.


I got some very thoughtful, very lovely gifts. My personal favorite was the scrapbook with photographs and scribblings from my colleagues.


And I want to thank Nuzi, for organizing it all, and for being such a lovely person and the best roomie a person can ever have. I will miss having my personal DJ.


And Akbar, for being friend, philosopher and guide. And the biggest softie ever!


And Afroja, for being such a great sister. Always compassionate. Always ready to lend a hand.


And Beata and Manzoor bhai and Rizwan bhai - what a great team we made!


And to everyone else, I just want to say thank you for making this place my home away from home, and for being caring and supportive throughout this journey. For letting me make so many happy memories. And most of all, for making me feel loved! There will never really be another bunch like you in my life. I will miss you so very much.

So ugh, let me pull up my roots, and go onwards with life. Please pray that I will be happy wherever my journey takes me. And remember, there will always be room for you in my life and my home will always be open for you.

Glory to Shame

Last week Afroja, a very good friend of mine, was invigilating at an examination at the public university where she works. When an unruly student tried to cheat, time and again, she finally took away his exam script. And this is where my story begins.

The young man belonged to the student wing of the Awami League - the party that is now in power in Bangladesh. Furious that a mere teacher would have the audacity to try and stop him from cheating, he first threw a tantrum. Slammed down his hand on the desk, threw down his pencil case, threatened that if he was not allowed to finish the exam he would not allow any other student to do so either. My friend held her ground, refusing to be intimidated. So the young man called in reinforcements. A jeans-clad and sunglass-sporting gang descended on the other students like birds of prey, and took away exam scripts from some, shouting obscenities all the way, threats showering down on the heads of students and invigilators alike.

Wait, wait, the story gets better (okay, worse). Senior teachers were called, and senior leaders of the student body, AND the police! The rowdy student was expelled from the examination, and a subsequent decision was taken at the highest level of the university to suspend him for the time being, and to file a criminal case against him, for the threats he had issued to my friend. My friend came home that evening in a police vehicle. The rowdy young man was taken to jail.

End of story? Of course not! Merely the beginning. Senior student leaders went to the Departmental Head to ask (??) him to lift the case, to revoke the suspension, and to allow the student to continue with the exams. So how much would you like to bet that the leaders were summarily told off by the Head? Well, if you had bet anything, then you lost. For the Head caved. He called my friend to ask if they should lift the case. Another senior invigilator at the same exam gave a statement to the investigation committee that the situation was 'under her control' all the time, and that it was the hot-headed new teacher (my friend) who had been irrational and impulsive! So, another meeting was held, the suspension has been revoked, the case will be lifted, and the student given a license to kill, er, cheat at exams. And who will dare say a word against him? Or the likes of him? My friend has received a lot of calls from unfamiliar numbers over the past three days, and can anyone tell me who will ensure her safety when she next goes to the campus? She will have no option but to arrive at some sort of compromise with the all-powerful student leaders - just to make sure she can continue with her legitimate duties unhampered and unharmed.

Are you wondering how a mere student, or a student wing of a political party, can have so much clout? If so, then you must be from outside the Indian subcontinent, for student politics is a concept still alien outside this region.

For the uninitiated, let me tell you that almost all political parties in Bangladesh have highly active student wings. Student politics gave a new dimension to Bengal politics in the early 20th century and the incentive to student activism mainly came from the nationalist movement launched by the western educated Bengali-middle class. The revolutionary terrorist movement, swadeshi movement and the non-cooperation movement made student politics institutionalized in the first quarter of the 20th century. Student politics has a particularly strong hold on Bangladesh, and I must admit that perhaps there is no other country in the world that is more indebted to student politics than Bangladesh. Indeed, it has given us the right to speak Bangla as the state language, and has given us independence.

However, the glorious era of socially-sensitive and ideology-driven student politics was slowly transformed by a gross manipulation of young minds by a self-serving political leadership. Fragmentation within political parties led to segmentation within the student wings, and affiliations degenerated into a patron-client relationship. In order to establish control over student fronts, the major political parties and their factions began to enlist even non-students into the leadership of student organizations. The non-student leaders of various student organizations are used in intra and inter party political rivalries, where winning is the only thing that counts, by fair means or foul - preferably the latter, often through meaningless loss of lives. The moral bankruptcy of the new generation of political leaders has played a major role in pushing students away from ideology-driven politics towards money and power-driven politics. These student activists are all powerful, extortionists of the highest order, and can pretty much do as they please, on campus or off, for they have the full support of the political leadership.

Now that I've finished blaming the political leadership, let me turn towards the teachers - those who belong to the noblest of professions, whom we look upto, who hold the torch of education aloft. The world over, this is the profession that carries the highest glory, commands the deepest respect. However, it saddens me to say that some teachers in Bangladesh, especially at university level, wish to keep on excellent terms with the student wings of political parties. Student politics is vertically linked with teacher politics, all the way up to the office of the Vice Chancellor.Teacher politics is a curse even worse than this new generation student politics. These teachers keep on good terms with the political leadership and reap benefits. Of course, it is quid pro quo, and in return, these teachers do not ever wish to be at odds with the 'special students', who mostly don't bother about attending classes, only show-up for the exams, and then try to cheat, and mostly get away with it.

And when someone like Afroja puts her foot down and tries to stop it, we recoil in horror at the sheer audacity of this small fry. The entire system conspires against her. I just spoke with her a while ago on the phone, and she is justifiably depressed. She does not fear for her life - you only die once after all, although cowards die many deaths, and she is a very brave soul. She is depressed because for the rest of her teaching career at this university, or indeed at any other public university in Bangladesh, she will forever have to compromise on her ethics and values, and work within the 'system' that has evolved.

My hats off to you, Afroja, for having had the courage to do the right thing. My hats off to you, for showing what integrity and morality is - vestigial traits in our teachers. You have done nothing wrong, so hold your head up high, although I fear you will be punished in some form or other for doing the right thing.

I am so ashamed of ourselves as a nation, and of teachers especially. In a time that calls for situational ethics, moral courage is becoming less evident as a leadership trait. When did we allow ourselves to become complete puppets at the hands of the political leadership? And how can we come out of it? Do we even want to?

Home Improvement

She likes to pretend that she's an interior designer of sorts. She is forever moving things around in the house, or changing the look of a room. Her favorite shows are Lifestyle and HGTV and her favorite websites bhg and decor8. You should know however that all her home improvement projects are executed on a strict budget, and with little (or no) structural remodeling.

She had long wanted a nautical theme for her bathroom (a standard 7.5 ft by 6.5 ft with white tiles) and finally managed to put together enough items to carry this project out.

First came the shower curtain with star fish and cockle shell motif.


She hot glued shells to the net curtain.


A star fish and ranellidae shell garland was hung along the top frame of the mirror.


A bowl of assorted shells sat side by side with a fish-shaped dish on the marbel-topped vanity unit.


An empty gin bottle made a color coordinated vase for peacock plumes, adding a whimsical touch.


Dogs feature prominently in her life, and her bathroom was not to be an exception. There was an embroidered towel and a mug, and Candy's bath-time starfish toy sat atop the wc.


The end effect was of a serene oasis. A little amateurish, a little silly, but she loved it!

Metro Manila

The name of the city has always sounded most cosmopolitan to her. It is not just any city, but a teeming metropolis of cities within a city. Metro Manila is the total urban area that is composed of seven cities and the surrounding urban fringe of nine towns - 636 square kilometers inhabited by more than 10 million people!!! The actual city of Manila is only one of the cities in this urban agglomeration. Known in Tagalog as Kalakhang Maynila or Kamaynilaan, Metro Manila is the National Capital Region of the Philippines. It is an interesting fact that while Metro Manila as a whole is the Philippines' seat of government, yet only the City of Manila is the capital of the country.

The origins of Manila can be traced to the Muslim settlement of May Nilad, a prosperous trading port. The name means "'where the blossoming water plants grow'. Conquered by the Spanish in 1571, it soon evolved into a province, and continued to grow despite adversities such as numerous Chinese attacks upon the Spanish, a brief period of British occupation, and the two World Wars.

(Photo credit: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Metro_Manila)

This metropolis was the Blogging Girl's most recent destination. She arrived prepared to be awed (God knows why, for she had known other mega cities), and was. From her 18th floor hotel window, she could see mile after mile of skyscrapers, and on her walks to her place of work and around town, she marched shoulder to shoulder with the populace. She was even addressed in Tagalog a number of times, making her feel that she belonged!

But it saddened her to see some people living in abject poverty, in makeshift houses, and on the streets. Reminded her of home, sigh!

Weather and traffic conditions seemed to conspire against all her sightseeing plans. But one day her meetings finished early, and she hopped into a taxi to go to the old Spanish city of Intramuros.


It was like being transported back in time...

Fort Santiago was the first Spanish settlement of the area. Initially a log and earth structure, it was later rebuilt in stone. It now houses a shrine to the national hero Jose Rizal.

The Fort had a beautifully landscaped garden. Complete with strategically placed benches to give a breather to those tired feet!

She hired a Calesa to take her around town. Her carriage was drawn by a handsome blood bay called Big Boy!

On her way back, she just had to take a detour to walk along the Manila Bay.


Metro Manila is a shoppers paradise, and when the Blogging Girl says paradise, you'd better believe her!There were five malls within walking distance of her hotel, including the massive SM Mega Mall. The Metro Manila traffic condition does not encourage commuting, so she walked from one mall to the next in blissful anticipation. Returning laden with packages only when she could not carry anything more.


She mainly bought Capiz items for her home. Capiz is both a geographical location and the name of a shell that is used largely in interior decorating and for decorative accent items and accessories. Geographically speaking, Capiz is a province of the Philippines facing the Sibuyan Sea to the north. The Capiz shell, which is used for decorative purposes, is the outer shell of the marine mollusk, Placuna placenta, found in the shallow coastal waters of the Philippines. The Capiz shell is a flat, semi-transparent shell with a gold-tint mother-of-pearl appearance.

And despite dubbing the city the "Ugly Shoe Capital of the World" on her first foray into the malls, she managed to buy quite a few pairs of shoes.

She was in the city of the famed Imelda Marcos after all. It was a kind of obligation!

So she returned home with a bit of a dent in her wallet, but she returned happy. And isn't that the most important thing in the whole world?

Unforgivable Cruelty

A sparrow couple has been nesting in our veranda for over a year. The bulb was missing from the concealed light connection, and it was this little hole that they made into their home. This is where they raised two broods. Cozy and safe.

Safe, did I say? Well, they were certainly safe from the elements. Their babies were warm and unharmed in the snuggly little nest while the parents fetched food.

Our canine child was kept well away from the veranda - or was closely supervised - in case a baby fell down and was trodden on.

Growing up within the security of concrete walls around them, the babies grew up and one day flew away. Leaving the parents cootchie-cooing again. It was fun watching their renewed courtship. And very touching too. Sparrows are monogamous birds, and usually mate for life.

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But we had not foreseen the disaster that was about to befall the sparrrow family in the form of our housekeeper - a sour middle aged woman called Julekha.

Julekha had been unhappy over the generosity shown by her employers to these house-guests (bowl of fresh water, rice kernels etc) and constantly complained about the huge mess they made with their droppings. In all honesty though, there was hardly a mess, they are such little birds! She wanted to close the hole but was deterred from doing so by us. We told her to wait until the babies had flown away.

While we were on our India trip, Julekha took advantage of our absence to firmly close up the entrance to the nest with a piece of cloth wadded into a tight ball. A few days later after our return from India (we had to fire Julekha but that's another story, and the household was in a bit of a disarray), I saw to my horror that the sparrow nest had been closed up! Opening it up unleashed another horror - a dead baby sparrow emerged followed by a dead sparrow mother!! Their bodies had shriveled and they were just beak and feathers and stiff legs! How they must have suffered in that small space, in the dark, breathing in the last bits of air, trying desperately to get out, and slowly suffocating to death!

I called down the curses of all Gods upon the head of Julekha. I am not a violent sort, but if she had been around, I would gladly have throttled her to death! An eye for an eye, doesn't it say? Justifiable homicide, in my opinion. But some would call it over-reaction, I'm sure. Anyway, I fervently hope that Julekha will suffer just such a cruel death, or at least know the fear of suffocating to death.

And every day since we uncovered the tomb, the lone male sparrow sits on the veranda rails and chirps for his partner. He goes into the nest, comes out in bewilderment, and starts chirping again. And I feel so guilty about the death of his family. The male sits on the rails, all forlorn, his feathers fluffed up, and his mourning calls to his lost partner wake us up in the morning. His calls sting my eyes with tears, and I apologize to him a hundred times a day. But nothing in the world will restore his family to him. I only hope that he will be fortunate enough to find another mate soon.

I failed to protect these birds, and I will never forgive myself. Please, dear readers, my humble request to you: if you have nesting sparrows in your home, please protect them while they are raising their brood. If they become a bother, board up the nest, but only once the babies have flown away, and please make sure you are not sealing live birds in. And please also make sure you tell your house-help and your children, that cruelty towards animals is just on on. And that we must protect the weak, and that God has asked us to be kind towards animals.

Summer Pickles

The heat and all the associated discomfort of summer is offset - for me at least - by the luscious, mouthwatering green mango. I just cannot get enough of it. I eat it as chutney, as sorbet, and in the off season, as pickles. Oh yum yum!!!



Since I devour pickles by the kilo (literally), I make my own pickles as home. Buying them from the store would solidly put me on the road towards bankruptcy.

Ranak obligingly bought the fresh mango from the local bazaar.


The ingredients were lined up for two kind of pickles. The sweet 'Kashmiri Pickle" for Ranak, and the "Hot and Sour Pickle" for yours truly. The mangoes were first washed and drained, and then sliced.


The recipies are given below in case anyone is interested.

Kashmiri Pickle

Ingredients:
Mango, white vinegar, sugar, dried red chili, ginger, and salt.



Wash and peel mango. Slice into wedges. Sprinkle salt over wedges. Leave aside for 3 hours.
Wash salt off and drain well. Leave aside for the pieces to dry completely.
Finely slice dried red chili (I use a pair of scissors). Thinly slice ginger.
In a saucepan on medium heat, pour the vinegar, add mango pieces, chili, sugar and ginger.(Mango pieces should not be submerged in vinegar. The amount of sugar depends on how sweet you want the pickle.)
Cook on medium heat for 10-15 minutes, until mango pieces start to soften. Let it cool completely. Put in jars, seal and place jars in the sun for a few days.

Hot and Sour Pickle

Ingredients:
Mango, mustard oil, dried red chili, garlic, mustard, five spice mix, salt and sugar (if necessary).

Wash and peel mango. Quarter and then cut each quarter piece into half (one mango should yield 8 pieces). Sprinkle salt over pieces. Leave aside overnight. Wash salt off and drain well. Leave aside for the pieces to dry completely.
Make dried red chili paste, mustard paste and garlic paste.
Marinate the mango pieces in the chili, mustard and garlic paste, adding mustard oil as necessary. A bit of turmeric powder or paste can also be added to the mix.
Sun dry for two days, making sure both sides get the sun.

Pan fry the Five Spice Mix. Grind. Make some more dried red chili paste and garlic paste. Cut some dried red chili into half (garnish).
In a saucepan on medium heat, pour mustard oil. Add the chili and garlic paste. When oil starts to froth, add the sun-dried mango pieces. Mango pieces should be submerged in oil.
Sprinkle the five spice mix over mango pieces. Add the sliced red chili.
A bit of sugar can be added to take off the very sour edge.

Cook on medium heat for 10-15 minutes, until mango pieces start to soften. Let it cool completely. Put in jars, making sure the mango pieces are completely submerged in oil. Seal and place jars in the sun for a few days.

Please note that all home-made pickles that don't have preservatives added should be allowed some sun periodically.

Bon appetit!

Bangla Nobo Borsho

It's mid-April, Dear Readers, and some of you probably know what that means in Bangladesh! Yes, the Bengali New Year has come around again. The Pohela Boishakh (the first day of the first month of the Bengali calendar) is celebrated with great fanfare across the country.

Ramna park, University of Dhaka and the surrounding areas had a bright festive look. The festival-goers were decked up predominantly in red and white. Greetings of "Shubho Nobo Borsho" (Happy New Year) rang in the air.



The Blogging Girl, too, was appropriately attired.


The queues were a mile long (literally!) and security was tight.


Trade was brisk for flower-sellers.



Our little home also celebrated the occasion. Check out the Boishakhi Entrance.


The Boishakhi Curtains. The Boishakhi Dining Table.


The Boishakhi rug. And the little Boishakhi touches elsewhere.



The family lunched at a polpular restaurant, renowned for its local cuisine. It was a 32 course meal, and we pigged out, tasting almost everything on the menu between the four of us.



The day was rounded off nicely with a visit to a local Boishakhi Mela (fair). The wares were colorful. But the prices were exorbitant!



I would like to wish you all Shubho Nobo Borsho, and hope that the coming year will treat you well.

Awesome Architecture

A long-planned and much-awaited trip to North India and Rajasthan finally happened. The visit took the Blogging Girl to historical cities of Delhi, Ajmer, Jaipur and Agra. And the awesome architecture took her breath away!

Delhi:
The Qutb Minar towers over the historic site where Qutubuddin Aibak laid the foundations of the Delhi Sultanate (the first Muslim kingdom in North India) in 1193. The architecture is a patchwork of decorative panels of Hindu origin - with bells and garlands, and Islamic domes and arches.



Emperor Humayun's Tomb, built in loving memory by his Senior Queen Haji Begum in 1565. This perfectly symmetrical structure of red sandstone and white marble was built by Persians. The plain white marble sarcophagus stands on a simple black and white marble platform. Humayun's family is also buried in the complex.



India Gate and Parliament Square.


Ajmer:
The Shrine of Khwaja Mainuddin Chishti, is the most famous Muslim shrine in the subcontinent. Thw two mosques in the shrine area were built by Emperors Akbar and Shah Jahan. The shrine is reached through a labyrinth of narrow streets, dotted with mosques and shops and houses. Pilgrims to the Dargah include not only Muslims but also Hindus and people of other faiths. A special rice pudding is cooked in huge cauldrons for the devotees.


Remains of the 12th century Taragarh Fort are found on the summit of the Beetli Hill. The Shrine of Meeran Shah is also situated there.


The marble pavillions of Daulat Bagh were built on the banks of the Ana Sagar by Emperor Shah Jahan in the 17th century.


Jaipur:
Amber Fort was built atop a hill by King Man Singh in 1592. Protected by the nearby Jaigarh Fort, the massive ramparts of Amber Fort follow the contours of a natural ridge. It houses a beautiful Sheesh Mahal (Hall of Mirrors), the Jai Mandir with its floral ceiling of alabaster and glass, and the elegant three-storied gateway of Ganesh Pol. The temple of the family deity Shila Devi has silver doors. The zenana mahal has latticework marble screens and a 12-pillared pavilion called the Baradari. Today, one can ride a colorfully decked out elephant to the entrance of the Fort (oooohhh, so exciting!!!), or opt for the boring motorized vehicle.



Jantar Mantar, an observatory built by Sawai Jai Singh II, has 16 instruments like the Rashivalaya Yantra (used by astrologers to draw up horoscopes) and the Ram Yantra, whose readings determine the celestial arc from horizon to zenith, as well as the altitude of the sun. Some of the instruments in the complex are still used.


The Hawa Mahal (Palace of Winds) has an unusual facade, built to resemble the crown of the Hindu God Krishna. It is a five-storied building constructed of red and pink sandstone, with 953 windows on the street side, which allow the breeze to circulate. Its original intention was to allow royal ladies to observe everyday life in the street below without being seen. There are no stairs to reach the upper floors, only ramps, and the roofs are quite low.

The Jal Mahal (Water Palace) was built in the middle of Man Sagar mainly for Royal duck shooting parties. Built in 1799, the palace is now abandoned, but reasonably well preserved. The first four floors of this building is under water, only the top floor remains outside.

The Albert Hall (now a museum) is a fine example of Indo-Saracenic architecture. It houses an exquisite collection of metalware, decorative marble and procelain pieces, miniature portraits, sculptures, paintings, costumes, pottery and woodwork.

Fatehpur Sikri:
Built to honor the Sufi Saint Salim Chishti, this was the Mughal capital for 14 years. This walled city has imposing gateways and an architecture which is a blend of hindu, islamic and christian styles, and clearly reflects Emperor Akbar's secular outlook. Akbar's first wife Jodha Bai's palace is the largest residence in the complex, but his Muslim wife, the Turkish Sultana's house has the most delicately sculpted walls and fine dado panels. There is the Annop Talao, the pool with a seating area in the middle where Akbar's renowned court musician Mian Tansen used to sing. The Panch Mahal, a five-storied open sandstone pavilion was built for Akbar's wives to enjoy the evening breeze.



The Shrine of Muslim sufi saint Salim Chishti is situated within the courtyard of the Jame Masjid. The shrine is built of exquisite white marble, and almost transparent screens surround the tomb, which has a sandalwood canopy inlaid with mother-of-pearl. The mosque complex can be entered through the Badshahi Darwaza and the Bulund Darwaza.

Agra:
Agra Fort, on the west bank of the river Jamuna, was built by Emperor Akbar between 1565 and 1573. The buildings range from the eclecticism of Akbar to the sublime elegance of Shah Jahan. The Diwan-i-Am, with its colonnaded arches, once housed the fabled Peacock Throne. The octagonal Musamman Burj has a clear view of the Taj Mahal. This is where Shah Jahan had been imprisoned by his son Aurangzeb, and spent the last years of his life. His two daughters, Jahanara and Roshanara, also lived in the Khas Mahal, in the two golden pavillions with Bangaldaar roofs. The Forth also houses the Mina Masjid, probably the world's smallest mosque, built for the Emperor's private use.






Lord Treasurer of the Mughal Empire Itimad-ud-Dawla's Tomb is on the east bank of the Jamuana. It was built by his daughter Queen Nur Jahan. This garden tomb is an exquisite combination of white marble, colored mosaic, stone inlay and lattice work. The yellow marble caskets appear at first glance to be carved out of wood!



Emperor Akbar is buried in the small village of Sikandra. Entry to this symmetrical complex is through a massive red sandstone gate with an exuberant polychrome mosaic of inlaid white marble, black slate and colored stone. On each corner are marble minarets. Floral and arabesque designs are carved into the entry hall of the tomb chamber, as well as Chinese patterns and the 99 names of Allah. A vast number of deer and monkeys are seen within the walled garden.

And the icing on the cake for the Blogging Girl, as for every visitor to India, was the Taj Mahal, one of the seven wonders of the world. It was built by Emperor Shah Jahan in memory of his wife Mumtaz Mahal, and took 12 years to be completed in 1643. The exquisite white marble creation appears almost ethereal from a distance, and up close, the details of the decorative elements are mesmerizing.

The Blogging Girl had only one regret: the trip was too short for her to really savour the sights in all their glorious details. And there were many, so many many, that she did not have the time to see. So she is already planning her next (and, ahem, extended) trip to these cities...

Oppression, Violence and Deaths: What Lesson Learnt?

It is an age old story. There were oppressors, and there were the oppressed. There was discrimination and mistreatment galore. There were promises which were broken. Again and again and again. And finally, it was too much.

Dhaka city was rocked by the sound of gunfire on the morning of 25 February 2009. The Bangladesh Rifles (BDR), our dedicated border security force, had declared mutiny. The mutiny is the outburst of a long standing frustrating discrimination of BDR soldiers from their commanders.

A little background is necessary here: The Bangladesh Rifles originated from the East Pakistan Rifles - a force set up in undivided Pakistan - and came into existence in 1972, shortly after the country's independence. The BDR patrols the borders, checks cross-border crime and is expected to provide support to the army in times of war. The 70,000 strong BDR force is organized into battalions along military lines. The BDR headquarter is in Dhaka, its barracks housing approximately 4000 troops. The army plays a major role in staffing, training and directing the BDR. Soldiers are recruited through advertisements but officers are seconded from the regular army.

And this is how the seeds of discontent were first sown. The masters considered themselves an elite class, far above the lowly serfs. There was great disparity between pay, benefits, working conditions and career advancement between the officers and rank and file, and issues of corruption practised by senior officers. While army personnel are frequently sent to UN missions, no such opportunities exist for BDR personnel. There were also allegations of mistreatment. Soldiers raised their grievances again and again with their officers, to no avail. Recently, their Director General had promised to place the soldiers' demands to the Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina when she inaugurated the BDR week events. But he must have forgotten his promise, for he only spoke on behalf of his officers on that august occasion. Disgruntled soldiers grumbled all night. And a terrifying plot was hatched for reprisal.

All Sector Commanders were assembled in the Darbar Hall the next morning when, during the course of an argument between the soldiers and officers, weapons were drawn and fired. We do not know who fired first, but the results were the same. Soldiers and officers died. And innocent civilians were killed and wounded. Gunshots and heavy mortar firing were heard. Plumes of smoke were seen rising from the BDR complex.


107 officers were reportedly killed. Some dead bodies were dropped in canals which were later recovered by the general public on the outskirts of Dhaka.



Among civilian casualties were the 50 year-old man who had gone to collect his asthma medicine from the BDR hospital; the young son of a vegetable vendor; a rickshawpuller; a 23 year-old university student; a day-labourer. They were just going about their business, with no clue about the misfortune that was about to befall them.

Dozens were wounded...




An army helicopter patrolling above the barracks was shot at and mortar rounds were also fired. BDR personnel patrolled the perimeters and used megaphones to announce their grievances to the media and public.


Schools were closed and university dormitories near the BDR headquarters were evacuated. Shops remain closed. Some took shelter behind closed shutters of shops to escape stray bullets. A number of BDR personnel fled the complex in civilian clothes, as did some families. People were in tears over the uncertainty of the fate of their near and dear ones inside the BDR complex.


The army moved to take up position outside the BDR headquarters, effectively putting it under siege.


A 14 member BDR delegation, accompanied by two State Ministers went to meet the Prime Minister. She granted a general amnesty and asked the mutineers to surrender arms and return to barracks. The Bangladesh army also issued a statement calling on the renegade troops to "surrender and go back to the barracks". "Any soldiers who fails to give up arms after this announcement will be prosecuted," the statement said. However, seeing the ever increasing number of army personnel and armaments outside their walls, although some arms were surrendered, the mutineers refused to accede to the PM's requests unless the army moved back to its own barracks. A removal of all army officers from the BDR chain of command was also demanded.

As the renegade BDR personnel started laying down their weapons in Dhaka in response to a general amnesty announced by the Prime Minister, reports started to come in that BDR soldiers in the outlying provinces had also joined the rebellion.TV channels reported that rebellion had broken out in 12 border districts where senior officers, mostly from the army, had fled.

The Prime Minister, in a speech to the nation this afternoon, urged the necessity of a solution through discussion and not force. She also said that BDR personnel should follow their chain of command and should surrender arms. She announced the formation of a committee led by the Home Minister to look into the BDR’s professional problems. She also warned however, that public security should not be threatened and that she would not hesitate to take stern action in the best interest of the nation.

Reinforcements of soldiers in battle fatigues and the police continue the siege to the BDR complex. Arms and ammunition are being brought into a nearby sports field. Army personnel are telling residents of the area to evacuate or take shelter. Cell phone networks outside the capital have been switched off. The Dhaka Medical College Hospital has reportedly been warned to expect heavy casualties.


Are we going to witness another bloodbath today?

While social equity, exploitation and corruption are major challenges in a country like Bangladesh (and indeed, in many other countries), a class struggle should never have to resort to such deadly means. In a democracy, in a people's republic, grievances should not be allowed to explode in this manner. This situation has caught the government unaware, but really, did the government (albeit newly elected), and the intelligence services, have absolutely no idea this was brewing? Could it not have been prevented?

While my sympathies always lie with the under-dog, an immediate acceptance of the BDR's demands would set a dangerous precedent for other disgruntled groups. We certainly don't want to create the impression that "if no one listens to you then go on rampage and your demands will be met immediately." Our strategy should be to diffuse tension instead of allowing it to brew and to the creation of grounds for confrontation, death and destruction. We have survived a war and numerous coups and many violent demonstrations. Has life ceased to have any value? Have we not learnt anything??? Why do we forget so easily?

We have lived under a state of emergency for many months now, and have just begun a new political chapter in the history of Bangladesh. Please let us move forward on the road to functional democracy and leave us not be waylaid, or worse, take a step backward. Dear readers, please include us in your prayers.


(Photo credit: All photos in this post were taken from various websites: BBC, Al Jazeera, Global Voices, Unheard Voices and others.)

Boi Mela 2009

It is the month of February, and this means that it's that time of the year again. This is the month I eagerly wait for. This is the month when my modest collection of books swells in number.

Due to work and other commitments, more than half the month had passed yet I was not able to go to the Ekushey Boi Mela (Book Fair to mark the occasion of 21st February). And I was panicking inside. How many books would I be able to buy if I got to go just once, I wondered out loud. And more important, my book budget was being spent on other things!

But I got to go today. Finally! Accompanied by dear, devoted (read long-suffering) Ranak. I don't think he could stand my whining any more.

The afternoon sun painted everything a glorious golden.



And the atmosphere was festive.



Bangla Academy also dressed up... and there were a few gimmicks to sell books.


The monument erected on the Bangla Academy lawn glowed in the sun.


And there were the books. Oh the glorious, crisp new books.


Of course, if you got peckish after all that shopping, there was street food galore.



And lots of other things.



And beautiful flowers.


Of course, I bought some books. And they ranged from the classics to sci fi to children's stories to travelogues, and many topics in between, some serious, some downright silly.


When our arms started to ache from carrying the books around, we stopped buying, and headed back. At home I spread them out on a table, and as I am writing this, I keep sneaking looks at them, and smiling a smile of pleasant anticipation.

I don't feel like going into work tomorrow, or the next day, or the next. Maybe I'll call in sick, and spend the day in bed.

On Valentine's Day

There was a time when I was living in the land of the broken-hearted. Perhaps you have lived in that bleak land yourself - the place where you awake feeling hopeless and fall asleep feeling hopeless. Where every song, every book passage holds tragic and poignant meaning. Where you cry. And cry and cry. Where you wonder, seriously, if you can ever love - like that - again.

I had been banished to that dark place when Ranak found me.

He was a man of few words but numerous gestures. On the outskirts of that cheerless land where I was living, Ranak took me out for walks, and long rides, made me talk about everything and nothing, and insisted I eat meals with him. And despite my very best attempts to send him away, he stayed and loved me even when I was incapable of loving him back.

Slowly, the deep fissures in my heart began to mend. And when, on one beautiful sunny day, Ranak proposed a forever with him, only one response seemed possible. I packed my bags, and without informing the gatekeeper of that joyless place that had become home, I left.

We got married soon after, on a lovely day in July. He was swooningly handsome in his sherwani. And I was as radiant as only a bride can be.

Today, almost four years and lots of great times and some bitter arguments later, despite being as different as chalk and cheese, we have grown on each other and at least I cannot imagine a life without him. (And I do hope he won't read this entry and get all big-headed, and make me lose my edge in arguments. And please, don't any of you tell him that I've written about him. Let this be our secret?)

So on Valentine’s Day, I offer not chocolates and roses to my dear husband Ranak but heartfelt thanks. For providing me with the one-way ticket that took me away from that sad and terrible place - the land with no sign posts and little hope. For surrounding me with solid and steadfast love. For standing by me and supporting me even when I am at my most difficult. For indulging my silliest whims and most unreasonable demands. For letting me build a home around him. For being my friend.

And to you, dear reader and keeper of secrets, I wish a very happy day, with or without a Valentine.

Picturesque Do Chu La

Do Chu La is a mountain pass, halfway between Thimphu and Punakha. At 10,500 ft, it is Western Bhutan's highest elevation. It gives a breathtaking view of the snow-capped mountains of the Eastern Himalayan range. One can see five of the seven highest peaks of Bhutan, including Gangkhar Phuensum (over 24,000 ft), the highest unclimbed peak in the world.


The surreal beauty of Do Chu La is further enhanced by the Druk Wangyal Chortens - 108 identical Chortens that have been built on the mountain.


The Chortens were built by the eldest Queen of King Jigme Singye Wangchuk, in remembrance of the 'Glorious Victory' in the 2003 war in the southern region of Bhutan, and also a celebration of the stability and prosperity of the nation. The unique cluster of the 108 Khangzang Wangyal Chhortens spiral up to a main monument.



The designs on the Chortens were amazing. I took a closer look at the minutely detailed work.


Facing the Chortens on the crest of Do Chu La stand the Druk Wangyal Lhakhang. The lhakhang is a beautiful edifice in the traditional Zangto Pelri design. Inside, there is a jewel-studded floor and an intricately painted ceiling, and all walls are covered in subtly ornate artwork.


An icy wind was blowing, and the temperature must have been close to freezing. Regretfully, we said goodbye to Do Chu La and drove off, carrying the scene in our hearts, and captured by our cameras.

The Dzongs of Bhutan

In terms of quality and originality, Bhutanese architecture is doubtless the best expression of the isolated country’s unique character. Bhutan’s architectural roots can be traced to Tibet, yet it is obvious that the architects have developed a style which is peculiar to their own country. Dzongs (fortresses) are the most striking example of Bhutanese architecture. The architecture is massive in style with towering exterior walls surrounding a complex maze of courtyards, temples, administrative offices, and monks' accommodation. Dzongs all over Bhutan are different in terms of layout and structure, yet maintain a perfect uniformity of architectural style.

Dzongs are built at strategic locations - at the entrance to a valley, at the summit of a hill or at the confluence of two rivers, and reflect a certain religious and social outlook, as well as of spatial organization. The Dzongs are part of a network that defended the Kingdom against frequent invasians by Tibetans in the 17th century. Dzongs have stone foundations and walls of sand and clay bricks, and wooden beams are skillfully cut to fit most dexterously. Traditional Bhutanese architecture did not use nails or iron bars.

Apart from the sprawling Tashichhodzong of Thimphu,

our travels took us to the Dzongs at Punakha, Wangdue and Paro.

Puakha is the ancient capital of Bhutan, and the Dzong is the Winter Seat of the capital's venerated monastic community. On 17 December 1907, it was in this Dzong that the Dratshang, Ponlops and Dzongpons, on behalf of the Bhutanese population, put their seals on the historic genja and unanimously elected Gongsar Ugyen Wangchuck as the first hereditary monarch of Bhutan.


I thought it Bhutan's most attractive Dzong. Constructed in 1637-8 during the reign of the Shabdrung, the Dzong was Bhutan's second, after Simtokha Dzong in Thimphu. It is 600 ft long, and has housed as many as 600 monks. The Dzong also hosted the National Assembly until the capital was moved to Thimpu in 1961.

The Dzong's location at the confluence of the Mo Chhu and the Pho Chhu (literally, the mother and father rivers) are believed to quell the spirits present wherever two rivers meet. The rivers surround the Dzong on three sides, providing protection from attack. This location proved inauspicious, however, when in 1994 a glacial lake 90 kilometers upstream burst, causing a massive flood on the Pho Chhu, damaging the Dzong and taking 23 lives.

There is a 55 meter traditional cantilever bridge over the river, made of stone and wood. A solid wood door allows entry, and a colorfully painted narrow set of stairs lead to the upper floor. There is a lhakhang inside the Dzong grounds.


Punakha Dzong's defensive fortifications include a giant wooden front door that is still closed and barred shut at night and a steep set of front steps than can be pulled up.


The building has an air of solidity, secrecy even. It is dark, even in full daylight. High inward sloping walls of brick and stone painted white have few or no windows in the lower sections of the wall. The outer walls enclose flagstone courtyards with flowering gardens and ornate galleries - all a bit overwhelming. All doors have thresholds to discourage the entrance of spirits. Upper floors are reached by steep steps carved out of huge single logs, each tread narrow and the rise high - not to be traversed in a hurry.

The decorated windows offer a superv view of the valley. Each window is framed by carved and painted woodwork, known as shinzo. Windows are framed in thick solid wood on the lower floors, with lighter framework and more glass on the upper stories. In the midst of such magnificent surroundings rise the Utse - the central tower housing the Lhakhangs.

The flared roofs have a distinctly chinese style, constructed with bamboo and wood, ornately decorated at the eaves. They are open at the eaves to provide a ventilated storage area. Dzongs are constructed without using a single nail!!!

As we walked outside, an air of tranquility seemed to hold us in enchantment, and I felt all weariness draining away. We sat on the banks of a lily pond, and watched a monk feed the fish. A gentre breeze was blowing, and the warm sun made it all so peaceful.


The Punakha Dzong has survived six fires, two glacial lake bursts, and a massive earthquake. The restoration work on the Dzong epitomizes the highest quality of the 13 crafts of the zorig chusum tradition. Apart from the traditional Bhutanese woodwork, masonry, metalwork, and paintings on the colossal main structures, the new treasures that have enriched the numerous Lhakhangs in the Dzong include more than 200 sacred images intricately crafted out of the five menjim (precious substances) and modern elements that include copper, brass, and other metals.

We next drove to Wangdue, to visit the Dzong at Wangdue Phodrang. The Dzong commands a cacti-covered hill over the Punatshang Chhu and Dang Chhu.

Built in 1638 by the Shabdrung, the Dzong was situated on a site chosen when scouts saw four ravens fly in the four directions, as if carrying Buddhism in the four directions. Its position along the main trading route helped it become Bhutan's third most powerful dzongkhag.

The entry was through an ornately carved high wooden gate, and there were intricate paintings on the gatehouse ceiling.


The view from the Dzong was breathtaking.


If a Dzong is built on the side of a valley wall, a smaller dzong or watchtower is typically built directly uphill from the main dzong with the purpose of keeping the slope clear of attackers who might otherwise shoot downward into the courtyard of the main dzong below. Rinpung Dzong at Paro (also known as Rinchen Pong Dzong or Paro Dzong), is guarded by the Ta Dzong (literally, "watchtower fort").


Rinpung Dzong was built by the first Shabdrung on the site of an earlier monastery built by Guru Rinpoche (who introduced Buddhism to Bhutan). The Dzong has a history of defending against numerous invasions by Tibetans, as Tibet is very close to Paro. Unlike most dzongs, Paro has only once been damaged by fire, in 1907. The utse is the tallest part of the Dzong, towering over the courtyard. There is an elaborately decorated Lhakhang. Paro's utse - built in 1649 - has two Lhakhangs. The annual teschu is held in this courtyard.


There is a bridge over the river, with a heavy wooden door and brightly painted inner walls, and tiny windows.



The winding road to the Dzong lies in the shade of toweing trees.


And there are watchtowers at each corner of the surrounding walls. This Dzong also has a secret underground passage, used when siege was laid to it.


Ta Dzong, shaped like the auspicious symbol of a conch shell, was built in 1668. Unlike the rectangular shape of the Dzongs, Ta Dzong is round, more like the turret of an European castle. It is the only round shaped Dzong in the whole country. In 1968 Ta Dzong was turned into a comprehensive National Museum, housing antique thankha paintings, textiles, and weapons, among other things.


Ta Dzong gives a wonderfully panoramic view of Paro valley and the town.


All Dzongs have a base of solid stone, painted a brilliant white, the color of purity. The buildings seem to be getting lighter as the stories rise. Perhaps they all serve the same purpose: to protect, to enlighten, to cherish.

The Journey to Thimphu

We travelled by road to Bhutan for our 7 days 8 nights tour. We took an intercity bus from Dhaka that took us to the northern Bangladeshi border town of Burimari one foggy morning in December.


Border formalities took a couple of hours and soon we were on our way through the Indian state of Coochbihar to the Bhutan border, approximately 2.5 hours away. We drove through tea estate after tea estate, and then had our first glimpse of the Bhutanese hills, rising like sentinels in the distance.


We halted in the Indian border town of Jaigaon to complete the immigration formalities, and crossed the imposing Bhutan Gate into the Bhutanese border town of Phuentsholing. Bangladeshis and Indians are issued with visa on arrival at no fee, everyone else has to apply months in advance through a Bhutanese Government approved tour operator.


The first thing that struck us was how clean and neat the Bhutan side was, a thought that stayed with us throughout our trip, and was in fact reinforced by each day that we spent in Bhutan.

One must have a Bhutanese guide/driver for any tour within Bhutan, and our driver was 29 year old Choki Dorji, resplendant in the traditional outfit called 'Gho', which he wore with obvious pride.


The journey from Phuentsholing to the Bhutanese capital Thimphu took almost 7 hours. The road winded through mountain after mountain, giving us glimpses of the Wang Chhu River, numerous townships, and the Chhukha Hydro Electric project. The scenery and vegetation changed as we drove. The road climbed to an altitude of 2800 meters at Chupchha and then began its descent into Thimphu valley.



We saw evidence of recent landslides, and heard horrifying statistics of how many vehicles had plunged into deep gorges that year, killing all their passengers, some of whose bodies had never been recovered (shudder...shudder!) Anyway, it soon became dark, and I closed my eyes and left my fate to Allah - and prayed that the driving skills of Choki would do justice to the high reputation of Bhutanese drivers.


Thimphu, the capital of Bhutan, sprawls across the western slopes of the Wang Chhu river valley at an altitude of 2320 meters. It is a well organized city of approximately 100,000 people. The city is a unusual mixture of modern development alongside ancient traditions.



Thimphu does not have any traffic lights. The city takes pride in its traffic police that directs the oncoming traffic with their dance-like movement of their arms and hands. This police box was adjacent to our hotel and I spent a lot of time watching the traffic police.


Norzin Lam is the city's main thoroughfare, and is lined with hotels, shops, restaurants, and government buildings. By regulation, all buildings are required to be designed in traditional style with Buddhist paintings and motifs. The Clock Tower Square is surrounded by shops and restaurants. Fountains and traditional Bhutanese Mani Lhalhor (prayer wheels) make the place a popular gathering place. It is the town's sole open-air theater.


Thimphu is dotted with Lakhangs (temples), Chortens (stupas) and Dzhongs (forts). We visited the King's Memorial Chorten, built in 1974 and dedicated to the Third King Jigme Dorji Wangchuk by his mother Queen Phuntsho Choden Wangchuk.


I rounded the chorten, clockwise as is the custom, but didn't have a prayer wheel in my hand like the other devotees. I made up for it by turning the dozen large prayer wheels set a little apart from the chorten, and prayed for good health and happiness for everyone I know.

We climbed up hills to see the Changangkha Lhakhang and the Zangthoperi Lhakhang, two old temples. Changangkha Lhakhang was constructed in the 15th century and is one of the oldest temples in the Thimphu valley. It is dedicated to Avalokiteshvara, the the Budhdhdist emanation of compassion.

There were prayer flags in each temple courtyard and they fluttered in the wind - the brightly colored good-luck prayers and the standing white funeral flags. The essence of the flag is that the blowing wind captures and carries the prayers from the cloth into the universe and beyond.



The most impressive building in Thimphu is the Tashichhodzhong, originally built in 1621 and home of the National Assembly and the summer residence of the capital's venerated monastic community. The 'Fortress of the Glorious Religion' - a palatial building, was built on the banks of the Wang Chhu River, overlooking Thimphu.

The present Dzhong was built in the 18th century to house government officials. It was later extended to accommodate both the monastic as well as the civil administrative bodies. It suffered severe damage three times from fire and once from an earthquake. Much of the present structure dates back to its historic rebuilding in 1902. The Dzhong was further extended and completely refurbished in 1962, a year after Thimphu was designated the nation's capital.

The Fifth King, 28 year old Jigme Khesar Namgyal Wangchuk, was coronated in the Throne room at Tashichhodzhong in November 2008.

(Photo: http://livinggallery.oneindia.in/v/album01-Living-News-and-Pictures/coronation-jigme-khesar-namgyel-wangchuck/jigme-khesar-namgyel.jpg.html)

We were fortunate enough to catch the few final days of the festivities on occasion of the coronation. There were musical events, and a big fair, culminating in a day-long celebration that took placenationwide - in each city and town of Bhutan.

We also visited the National Textile Museum which has an extensive display of Bhutanese textiles and costumes. (Now when I say extensive, please don't conjure in your mind the endless costume galleries of the Victoria and Albert Museum in London.) Bhutanese textiles are rich in color, pattern and texture. We saw gho, kira and crowns on display from the Private Royal Collection, and mannequins of masked dancers. Photography was not allowed.

(Photos: http://www.chinadaily.com.cn/showbiz/images/attachement/jpg/site1/20080721/000d6065c51b09ee318c34.jpg; http://lh4.ggpht.com/storysinger81/RwoyEZYA79I/AAAAAAAABH0/cKDRUfCBtAk/s800/maskfest+167.JPG)

We stayed in Thimphu for three nights, visiting as many places as possible, tasting local cuisine (spicy!), buying a few souvenirs (so expensive!) and generally enjoying the slow-paced lifestyle of the Bhutanese. Such a welcome respite from the craziness of Dhaka. We then packed our bags and headed for Punakha, Wangdue Phodhrang and on to Paro.