Sailing to St Martin's

I've planned a trip to St Martin's, Bangladesh's lone coral island. This small island lies approximately 6 miles south west of the southernmost tip of mainland Bangladesh.

http://www.wikimapia.org/#lat=20.618004&lon=92.350388&z=11&l=0&m=a

It will be a short trip (three days, two nights) and I am looking forward to the break, but as always, my heart is heavy about leaving the puppy behind.

Ekushey Boi Mela

The month of February is probably when Bangladeshis feel most Bengali. It is when we pay homage to the language martyrs who gave their lives on a bright spring day in 1952 defending the right to have Bangla as the state language. This unprecedented sacrifice to defend the mother tongue was the turning point in the political history of the country, and led eventually to the War of Independence in 1971. Since 2000, the day has been observed as the International Mother Language Day throughout the world.

This month is commemorated in Bangladesh by various academic and cultural programs and a month-long book fair organized by the Bangla Academy in Dhaka. Flowers are laid on the language martyr’s monument on 21 February by people from all walks of life. The Ekushey Padak is awarded to distinguished personalities. The Ekushey Boi Mela had initially started as merely a book fair, but it has evolved into a national festival which reflects the cultural spirit of the modern Bengali nation. It is an event much looked forward to by writers and readers (not to mention publishers) alike. This year there are 362 book stalls!! And as you can imagine, hundreds of new titles. This year, the count stands at 1,445 today. And there is still a week to go!

I am an avid reader and for me the Boi Mela is a literary fest where I gorge, literally!! I buy newly published books, as well as ones from my childhood, and the classics, of course. In short, most everything that takes my fancy (Yes, I'll take these three, and those five, please.). I usually get to visit the fair only once (sob sob), as other demands on my time make it near impossible to make multiple visits. I make a wish list on the eve of my much anticipated visit. It is impossible to visit every stall and look at every book, but this year there is very helpful “wall” - listing new releases by publisher, as well as a diagram showing stall locations. Moreover, the stalls are numbered this year.

So I sallied forth with husband, and a big canvas bag. The RAB personnel at the entrance cast a wary look at the empty bag (well, we have become a bit paranoid about security, and it was a really big bag!), and then smiled when I explained it was to hold my purchases. I had just that morning been repaid a loan, and it seemed a sign from above to spend, spend, spend! Two hours later, we left the fair with a bulging bag (and lighter wallets) and on my part, a happy, happy heart! Oh the smell and crispness of new pages, the nail-biting indecision which to read first, and the eagerness to read them all! This year, 53 titles were added to my shelves from that first foray.

Yes, first foray is what you read. For I was fortunate enough this year to make a second trip. On which I bought 50 more books. Oh yes, I do look like the cat who ate the cream (it may actually be the ‘swallowed the canary’ look, but I prefer the non-violent version), but who can blame me? And before I forget, the tale would be incomplete if I did not admit that on an earlier trip to the Etc. Discount Store, I had picked up 23 half-priced English books! It was a most generous gift from the husband (he had offered to buy me a dress, I asked for books - as I usually do).

My bookshelves look so beautiful with the glossy titles. With many-a-promise between the covers, they twinkle at me, singing the siren song, beckoning me to drop everything else and pick them up… I hoard new books like a miser, lest I be left with nothing new to read (that sad occasion eventually arrives, but is offset by more happy trips to the bookstores). However, with a total of 126 new acquisitions this month, that sad day is far off. I am indeed a happy trouper this month.

(photo #2: http://backtobangladesh.blogspot.com/2007/02/boi-mela-photos.html)

P.S. I've read 8 books already! Yikes!!

Tick Tock

I got married well into my 30s. That is very unusual for a Bangladeshi woman. My wonderful parents let me pursue my own interests, and even though my mother succumbed to social (read interfering busybody paternal aunts) pressure from time to time and begged me to settle down, my wings were never clipped. I was able to soar to academic heights, and enrich my professional life both at home and abroad. I also rode on an emotional roller coaster and finally returned home for good in 2004.

I ran into my future husband at a workshop in December of the same year, and while we were nothing more than colleagues at one time, a spark was lit this time around. A whirlwind romance followed and we got married in 2005.

Almost overnight, people started wondering when we would start a family. Heavy hints were dropped, oblique references made, and outright questions asked. We were not to be allowed a period of newly-married bliss. “Your case is quite different”, quipped my sister-in-law (in a not-so-veiled hint about my age), who had gotten married barely out of school, and took nine years to ‘enjoy’ married life and a career before starting a family.

Like most married couples, we too would like to be parents. But in our case, the hope has not yet translated into concrete plans, despite the constant reminders about the biological clock ticking away. We look at baby names on the internet, we find baby clothes cute, the baby furniture at Jatra had me planning a nursery there and then. I’ve already got a number of baby books, do plan on reading them to our child(ren), and the other day picked up a book called “What to Do When There’s Nothing To Do”, which is all about keeping children of all ages happily occupied through games and crafts. But we are not yet ready to actually bring a life into this world. The biological clock has nothing to do with this mental preparedness. But can someone please tell me how to get my point across without sounding vague (soon, soon) or evasive (it will happen when God ordains it) or flippant (we have a child - the puppy!) or downright rude (none of your bloody business!!!)?

Now please don’t get me wrong. I do have maternal instincts (well, I hope I do, look how I treat my puppy!). But I want everything to be just right when our baby arrives. There should be adequate funds to cover all possible contingencies, a nursery straight out of ‘Home and Garden’, the best available nanny because I’d want to go back to work… Okay, I admit I am a compulsive planner. And maybe a baby cannot be planned the same way as a vacation. But don’t all parents want everything to be perfect for their little bundle of joy?

Aap Ruchi Khana… Aap Ruchi Pehna

For all non-Urdu speakers (of whom I am one as well), the title of this post refers to the saying that one should eat to please oneself but dress to please others. This title actually says “Eat to please oneself…Dress to please oneself”.

I went to dinner with two colleagues to Golden Rice on Gulshan Avenue. There was no electricity and the air conditioners were off. But the staff hastily brought a pedestal fan for our comfort. We ordered and then started to chat. There was a rather noisy Chinese family in the room and their frequent bursts of laughter made talking rather difficult. We embarked on a comparative sociological discussion as to how the Chinese were a noisy bunch everywhere in the world.

Our food soon arrived, although the electricity was yet to follow suit. We dug into the yummy sizzling chicken and shrimp with oyster sauce. Once the immediate pangs of hunger were assuaged, we were again able to tune back to the surroundings and began to cast irritated glances at the noisy table. That’s when I noticed that one man was sitting with his shirt off. I mean, he was sitting at the table bare-chested!!! No shirt, no vest, no nothing on the top half of his body. I couldn’t believe my eyes (maybe he was wearing one of those skin color shirts?)! I consulted one colleague and when her eyes popped out at the sight, I knew that my fear was confirmed.

What was he thinking???!!! Well, I admit it was rather stuffy with the air conditioners off. And he was among family and friends (never mind the three strangers at the far corner of the room). He appeared right at home. Not at all self conscious or anything. I was just beginning to wonder why the staff were not saying anything when the penny dropped. Finally! He was in all likelihood the owner of the place. This should have been apparent from the obsequious attitude of the waiters (it took five minutes of waving my hand in the air to catch the attention of one of the four waiters in the room). The other obvious matter was that the man cared naught for anyone else’s opinions. He would do what he pleased. Devil be damned. I wonder if he would have minded if anyone else followed his example. Or would then the restaurant rules suddenly become operational? “Please sir, you will have to put your shirt back on…or leave”.

But nevertheless, owner or not, is it too much for ordinary diners to expect that a modicum of decency be observed in a public eating place? The restaurants reserve the right of admission, but what about diners’ rights? Talk about double standards!

Travelogue: Serene Shillong

Desperate to get away from the tedium of routine life, we thought of quite a few possible destinations. It had to be within easy traveling distance - we could only afford to get away for a maximum of four days (couldn't bear the thought of being away from the puppy for longer than that!), and had to be affordable so as not to result in bankruptcy. In the end we settled on Shillong, the capital of the northeastern Indian province of Meghalaya.

Known as the Scotland of the East, Shillong lies on the eastern part of the state. Situated at an altitude of 4,990 feet above sea level, the city stretches for about 6 km on an elevated expanse. It is situated on a plateau bound on the north by the Umiam gorge, on the northwest by the great mass of the Diengiei Hills that rise up to a height of 6,077 ft., and on the northeast by the hills of the Assam valley. The city derives its name from “Leishyllong” - the Superpower or God who is believed to reside on Shillong peak overlooking the city.

Upon crossing the border at Tamabil (the Bangladesh border town in Sylhet), we rented a Tata Sumo jeep from Dawki (the Indian border town) for Shillong at Rs.1000. The jeep comfortably seats 7 people and their luggage. The road climbed steadily up, the temperature took a welcome drop, and then became quite chilly. Fortunately, we had our jackets out and on they went. The road wound its way through impossibly tall betel nut trees, deep gorges, limestone mountains, coal mines, scattered tribal dwellings and evergreen forests. The going was quite bad in a few places as road works were on, with massive chunks of marble and limestone in use. The scenery was absolutely breathtaking! From a lush canopy of trees we emerged into blinding sunlight reflecting off gurgling brooks The mountains kept changing color as we went on climbing - here they were of pure white stone, just a few miles away they turned dusky pink, then a greenish grey and then different shades of blue. I am not a rock collector, but had I been, the diversity would have had me in total ecstasy.

The forecast had warned us that the first day would be a little cloudy, with some precipitation, and true enough, around noon, passing through a small town, we were climbing through CLOUDS! Not mist, not fog but real clouds! I kept winding down the window for a feel of a piece of the sky on my face. Of course, it was quite cold and we were traveling at 60 km/hr, so after 10 seconds or so my face would start to get numb and I had to reluctantly draw my head back in and roll up the window again. We reached Shillong at 130pm, and the taxi dropped us off at town square, as agreed. We had emailed a few hotels and everyone had rooms available, so we decided to look at a few hotels in Police Bazzar. In the end we settled on ‘The Grace’, situated on Jail Road, a two minute walk from the zero-point of Shillong. Our room was spacious, with a sitting area and windows overlooking the street, and the spotlessly clean bathroom had running hot water (not the sort where a running room boy brings it in a bucket!) It cost Rs 900 per night. We could have stayed for Rs 450, but personally I prefer a comfortable room to come back to at the end of a long day.

After a quick shower we headed out for lunch. Good food is plentiful and reasonably priced in Shillong, and the street food (chow mein, veg momo, pepper fry, aloo tikki) is finger-licking delicious! On average, it cost us Rs. 300 per person per day to eat, and we ate quite well. Shillong is full of Bengali restaurants, and the food is very cheap. Of course, the cooking style is West Bengal-Bengali rather than Bangladeshi-Bengali, but it is similar enough to qualify as home-cooking. There are authentic Chinese restaurants, pizzerias and even a kebab place. Most of the better hotels also have good restaurants.

Stomachs full, we exchanged dollars and with our pockets flush, did a recon of the town center. Getting around in Shillong is easy as one can practically walk around the whole city (it's only 10.36 square km). Police Bazzar is the main shopping district of Shillong and has everything from pricey, exclusive boutiques to makeshift stalls with their ware spread on the streets - selling everything from Chinese sandals to exotic orchids to luscious strawberries to shawls and handbags. For handicrafts, cane work, hand-woven shawls and orange flower honey, there are various state emporia like Meghalaya Handicrafts, Khadi Gramodyog and Purbashree. I am a compulsive shopper (as the readers of my blog well know) and confronted with such variety, I was in heaven! Only the outrageous tourist prices brought me down to earth. I would have browsed endlessly but unfortunately all shops wrap up their trade - literally 7-ish. There really isn’t much to do after that except have dinner and watch tv in the hotel room.

The next morning, we left on the Cherrapunjee tour at 8.00am. Also known as Sohra, the town is situated in one of the rainiest rain-belts in the world, 1,300 meters above sea level. It's a pleasant drive through winding mountain roads. We passed a number of small waterfalls (they would all swell in the coming months with the monsoon rains) and numerous coal mines on the way, and the undulating terrain of tall pine conifers was such a welcome change for eyes used to concrete jungles of Dhaka. The weather proved mercurial, sunny one minute and dark clouds threatening rain the next. The temperature also rose and fell dramatically.

A little further down the road from the Ram Krishna Mission to the Nohkalikai Falls, we were awed by a series of giant pillars or megaliths that had been erected. Such megaliths are a common sight in different parts of the Khasi and Jaintia Hills and are usually erected to commemorate great deeds or to honor dead chieftains. We were quite amused when our guide told us that the larger vertical pillars represented male members, the females are represented by smaller, horizontal pieces. I winced mentally, thinking that even in this matrilineal society, where inheritance passes from mother to the youngest daughter, men are held in higher esteem, even in death.

We were taken through the Mawsmai Caves - limestone caves, and it was an eerie experience to crawl through the stalagmites and stalagtites, with tons and tons of solid rock all around, shiver shiver! We visited the Seven Sister Falls, and the massive stone (almost a mountain really) called Khoh RamHah from where you can get a glimpse into Bangladesh. There is also a Cherrapunjee resort where people stay and go for a guided trekking (easy but long) to the "root tree bridge" village (overnight stay at Cherrapunjee is required). It is a fascinating bridge which is basically a network of tree roots on both sides of two hills to connect two villages. We unfortunately couldn't do this because of our time constrraint.

For getting around town, we were advised to negotiate with taxis, and on our second day we found a driver who spoke excellent English (our Hindi is so pathetic as near non-existent!) to take us around the city . We went to Shillong Peak (10 kms from the city, 1965 meters above sea level, which offers a panoramic view of the scenic country side, and is also the highest point in the State) , Elephant falls (a mountain stream that descends through two successive falls set in dells of fern covered rocks), Ward Lake (which has a charming winding walkway in the midst of flowerbeds bursting with color), Lady Hydari's Park (which has a small museum, a small zoo, an aviary, and a deer park among the tall cedars and pines), Bara pani (a large lake formed after a hydroelectric dam was built across a stream). Car hire turned out to be pretty cheap compared to Bangladesh and the drivers do not usually ask too much to start with (the old story of supply exceeding demand). I am always eager to find out about the socio-economic conditions of the general people wherever I go, and engaged the driver in long conversations. He had studied upto class XII, the car was his own, he lived in a 3-room rented house with his wife and two small children, and managed to save money for their education. He was interested in visiting Bangladesh and Cox's Bazar, and asked if it was true it was the longest beach in the world. I also extolled on the virtues of St.Martin's island (even though I've never been there!) and the Sunderbans, tooting the eco-tourism horn for my country.

After coming back from the sightseeing trip, we went shopping. I went a bit overboard (yeah, so what else is new, you ask). I won't bore you with the details of my shopping, but will admit we had to buy a big bag. Well, our two small (read, tiny!) suitcases were already full with all the winter clothes we had to bring with us! And I also bought a dozen orchids, carrying them with trepidition, lest the border men refuse them entry into Bangladesh. On our way back, we made an early start, and as we wound down in the morning sun through conifer forests, I kept lamenting how I would love to have a pine tree of my own. The driver (the same one from our sightseeing trip of the day before) took pity on me and stopped the car - there were infant pines growing amidst the towering ones, and we dug out a few and put them in a small plastic bag along with some soil. I have made many a purchase in my life, but the tiny pines made me the happiest ever. The saying is true after all: the good things in life don't cost money! (Okay, now please don't spoil it by saying the Shillong trip itself cost money.)

We reached the border around noon, and were back on board a Dhaka-bound bus by 3pm, leaving the exotic capital of Meghalaya far behind, but carrying small pieces of it in memory, and of course, in the form of my acquisitions!

A few travel tips: before you reach the border at Tamabil, make sure your travel tax is paid and you have the money receipt with you. There is no bank at the border and you have to travel 12 km backwards to Jaintapur to find the nearest bank. Eat a heavy breakfast before leaving Sylhet for Tamabil. The next meal is likely to be past midday. And the mountain air quickly brings pangs of hunger. The Tamabil-Dawki border is a relatively quiet one, and they only process about 20 people on an average day. Since Dawki is a quiet border, all good taxis get nabbed by the early birds. Aim to cross the border by 11am at the latest. The roads for the most part are pretty steep and winding and I recommend you prepare well if any of you suffer from motion sickness. There are no money changers en route, so make sure you have at least Rs 1500 with you. And in Shillong, only the State Bank of India (main branch, opposite Shillong Club) encashes foreign currency, and their working hours are 10am-4pm, Monday to Friday, and 10am-2pm on Saturday. Remember the 30 minute time difference. Hotels in Shillong often have windowless rooms - known as standard rooms. If possible, look over the room in person before taking it.

One last word of caution: Shillong is subject to vagaries of the monsoon. The monsoons arrive in June and it rains almost non-stop until the end of August. The downpour often results in landslides and road blockades. The climate is hot and humid during summers but quite cold during winters. October-November and March-April are the best months to visit.

Treasure Trove

I have discovered a quaint little shop which sells pearl jewelry. Cultured pearl of course, my wallet does not permit me to flaunt natural pearl jewelry. Yet. But I am not complaining.

Now this place, tucked away between antique shops and art galleries, has a very average window display, nothing extraordinary to set it apart from the dozen other pearl shops in the market. But step in and prepare to be dazzled. The salesmen are a bit pushy (that’s their job after all) but you have to be firm. They will bring out piece after stunning piece and I can guarantee that you’ll be spoiled for choice.

As a wedding gift, I bought a white mother of pearl and white pearl necklace. It was exquisite and drew attention nestled against the ivory throat of the oriental bride. Wouldn’t suit our desi coloring at all though, I have to admit. On another foray, I bought two pearl and mother of pearl necklace/bracelet/earring sets, this time for myself. One has a bluish gray tint, the other a hint of the palest green. Lovely!

I had bought some sapphire, emerald and ruby beads some time ago and did not know what to do with them. Using them with gold would involve a massive investment, and I pay enough zakaat on what I own already. I didn’t want to use them with gold-plated jewelry either because they seem a tad tacky. So the beads sat in their velvet pouches in my dresser drawer, taken out periodically to be admired, until the day I mentioned my dilemma to the pearl store salesman. “Bring it to us and we will fashion something for you,” he urged me. I was in two minds - I knew they did good work but would I like the final product? Seeing me hesitate, they persuaded me to part with one lot, saying I could always have them unstrung. I waited in trepidation for a week but when I went to pick up the emerald piece, lo and behold! I know I’ve used the words exquisite and stunning elsewhere in this post, but I have to use them again! What an exquisite, exquisite piece they had fashioned for me! I wanted to kiss them! Okay, that is a bit much. I wouldn’t actually want to kiss them.

So the next day I went back with the sapphire and ruby beads and a week later two gorgeous necklaces had been added to my jewelry collection.

Only one drawback - they are now too striking for everyday office wear. So they again nestle in their velvet pouches in my dresser drawer, taken out periodically to be admired, and worn only on the rare occasion.

Being a Glutton

My friends and I visited a textile mart in Mirpur. Confronted with the colors, the patterns, the varieties, and the VERY reasonable prices, my brain moved into overdrive: imagining the use of this one and that one. In the end, I came away with bags and bags of fabric: rich, vibrant shades each and every one: bright ochre, ruby red, turquoise, magenta, moss green, royal blue, flame orange, emerald green... I added a few pastels as well, as an afterthought, in acknowledgement of the hot summer days: sky blue, baby pink, brilliant white, soft beige...

When I finally came to, with the clothes spread out on my bed in the evening, I saw that I have bought not one, not two, but 29 pieces!!!!

I'll admit it: I’m a glutton. It’s rather embarrassing to admit that. But it’s as if another being takes hold and no matter my promises to myself, no matter my good intentions, somehow I can’t seem to stop. Everything fades away when I am confronted with color and pattern and varieties. Not to mention rock-bottom prices.

I am also a bit of an amateur designer myself, and am obsessed with textiles, patterns and colors. I see such possibilities: this material would look lovely as an overhead canopy (a la Jatra), the sheers would make a lovely drape (I converted a chiffon saarie into drapes for the picture window in our apartment), and the possibilities with table linen and cushions are just endless.

But now of course, we have one standard line for all such temptations: "When Candy grows up."

Sigh, the SACRIFICES parents make for children - be they two-legged or four!

Heaven is a Place on Earth

The alarm goes off. Is it time to get up already? I have never been a morning person, and I drag myself out of bed with great reluctance. Every weekday begins with the same words for me, “I don’t want to go to the office.” “Don’t go then,” says my husband as he goes for a shower.

An exuberant puppy greets me. Tail wagging nineteen to the dozen, wet nose repeatedly thrust in my face. She hasn’t seen me for eight hours and it’s playtime! So we play fetch. I water my orchids, looking with great anticipation at the new shoots. Breakfast is next on the agenda. A boiled egg is the puppy’s current favorite. She gets that, along with the chopped chicken. Then it’s a race with the clock to dress, lock up, and get to work on time.

At the office, the rescued Roadesian waits in anticipation for a hug and a cuddle. He raises hell if I try to walk past without. Time goes fast between paperwork, emails, phone calls, classes, and meetings both scheduled and impromptu. My work is diverse and challenging. Never a dull moment! I am one of the lucky few who love their jobs. I have also been blessed with fantastic coworkers. And a cute boss!

After work, sometimes there is shopping to be done (I don’t like the 7pm shutdown anymore). Back home it’s exercise time for the dog, involving an hour of ecstatic running around on the rooftop (she does the running, I make no more than a token attempt). When I am back in the apartment, I need to be half carried into the shower. Dinner follows, there is small-talk with the husband, a couple of phone calls and text messages, and I am ready to call it a night. I retire to the bed with my laptop and a book. One blog entry and a dozen pages later my eyes close of their own volition.

The weekend brings such mundane tasks as grocery shopping, cooking (I only cook once a week - go feel sorry for the husband) and sorting the two dozen outfits I somehow managed to wear in one week. The puppy loves having us home, she sprawls at my feet while I cook, sniffs at the plants when I do my balcony-gardening, begs my husband for a treat off his plate. Visits and outings are crammed into the two days, and board games entertain us on the nights we stay in. Before we know it, it’s Saturday night with the work-week looming. Time sure flies!

What kind of life is this, you say (I agree that it seems repetitive and tedious). But this is a life that is just tailor-made for me. I have most everything that I ever wanted. Wonderful parents, a loving husband, a darling puppy, fantastic friends, a great job (two actually), a decent home. And although I would have preferred a minor change here and there, my almost perfect life is heaven on earth.

Turn Back the Time

I met my best friend in kindergarten. We went to the same school, college and university. Today, three decades later, living in two continents, and seeing each other very infrequently, the bond we share seems to grow stronger with each passing day.

There was a time when spending hours on the phone after school was an essential condition for best friends. Hanging out at each other’s places also rated high. I remember the time when we were making a huge racket at her place when her Dad got home from work. She hid under the bed, I made a beeline for the curtains (just imagine the scene!) She was an early riser and would often catch a ride with her Dad to our place. So many mornings I woke to find her sipping tea with my Mom. We would chatter non-stop, and still find things to talk about.

Nowadays we see each other maybe once a year, and even with the best intentions to stay in regular touch, don’t manage more than a couple of sms and emails a month, and only the occasional phone call. But it’s no longer essential to give each other an itemized rundown of our daily lives. We manage very well on condensed highlights. It’s as if time stops still from one encounter to the next, for we have no trouble at all picking things up from before. Has that come with maturity? Hard to say, because we still act pretty immature around each other. The husbands used to watch our antics with raised eyebrows, and sometimes a touch of disbelief (‘did she really say THAT??’ or ‘tell me they did not just do a hop-dance in the middle of the cafė). But now they are resigned to the fact that when we get together, we revert to single-digit ages. And if they are embarrassed (we would be if they did what we do – talk about double standards!), they hide it pretty well.

Relationships evolve with time, and I believe that Darwin’s Origin of Species theory applies because only the fittest survive. Most of my friendships from the dinosaur era did not survive the ice age, everlasting though they seemed at the time. Quite a few from the stone age also bit the dust. But this friendship is the crocodile that has survived through the ages.

This post is for my best friend Bina, who turns back the time for me.

The Dog Queen

From when I was a child, I have displayed a very special love for animals. I still get kidded for the pronouncement that has immortalized me in my family, “the chicken too are human.” (Okay, go ahead and laugh. Just remember that this was from a 5-yr old who absolutely adored her splecked hens and snow white rooster.)

One of my first (remembered) hysterics took place when I came home from school and found that my Magpie Robin had drowned in the toilet bowl because someone had left the toilet seat up. In an attempt to console me, my Uncle and our driver went out and came home - separately - with 24 Muniya birds. The transformation from uncontrollable sobs to ecstatic shrieks of pleasure occurred in the blink of an eye.

As I grew up, I stopped being so fickle and began to display deep, committed love for my pets. I got a parrot in 1981 - my Uncle again, and she is still living a healthy life today in 2007, mash’Allah. She has gotten extremely demanding and cranky with old age though, just like a human being. When I lived abroad, I would call home and not only ask after the parrot, but also ask that the phone be taken to the bird, just to hear her screech at the instrument. She is a much-loved member of the family. Her favorite pastime is nibbling on my Dad’s fingers.

We had numerous dogs over the years, Roadesians mostly and some mixed breeds, and no mother probably cared for her child more devotedly than I cared for the dogs - bottle feeding the very young, keeping scrapbooks etc. Between pet dogs, I bonded with the neighborhood strays, and once earned the title of ‘Kuttawali’ - I reveled in the title, in fact, rather than be upset about it (okay, so I am a little strange).

My parents’ house is on the short-leg of an L-shaped road, and my mother laughs that as soon as anyone turned the corner, they could tell if I was home or not - for if I were, there would be a semicircle of dogs sitting outside the house. Well they did occasionally take up station there, but they didn’t exactly maintain a round-the-clock vigil! Mom exaggerates so!

Sure I buy bread for the neighborhood strays, and name the puppies, and when one puppy got run-over by a rickshaw and was rejected by his mother I fed him milk and chicken soup until he got well. And I rescued a 4-week abandoned puppy and took him to my office where he gets leftover food (one of my jobs involve running a training center – talk about abuse of power, ha ha). You should see the greeting I get from him everyday. A hug with his front paws around my waist and a cuddle – no less! He’s the high point of my workday! If I am ever asked to send him away (a reasonable enough request, an office is no place for a pet dog after all), I’d quit my job - I wouldn’t want to work for an organization that is not dog-friendly! And if I ever leave this place, he would go with me, no question about that!

But just for these little bitty things, do you think it was fair of my mother to have bestowed on me the title of ‘Dog Queen’??? (To be perfectly honest, it absolutely made my day!)

About Me

Who is this 'average' person behind the Dhaka Dweller blog anyway?

Like you've seen in my profile, I am a married career woman in my mid-thirties. I have been educated in Bangladesh, Australia and the U.K.

I’m a governance/public policy analyst by training, with a strong interest in research and advocacy work targeted towards improving the lives of the average Bangladeshi.

I am friendly and outgoing by nature, yet am actually an intensely private person. I enjoy hanging out with friends, yet am just as happy staying home with a good book. Shopping is my life’s passion, and I am always frittering money away on goodies for the home, loved ones and myself - although not necessarily in that order.

The simple bare necessities* of my life:

Parents: They wave a magic wand and I am a child again - young and carefree.

Ranak: Accountant by training, the most relaxed and down-to-earth individual I have ever known. Puts up with my fiery temperament stoically. A match made in heaven.

Candy: German Shepherd by origin, our only child - so far! Lovable, loyal and intelligent. Great mischief-maker!

Friends: Spread worldwide. They keep me sane when the world around me goes crazy.

Books: If there were none, I would just die.


*Look for the bare necessities
the simple bare necessities
forget about your worries and your strife..

And don't spend your time lookin' around
For something you want that can't be found
When you find out you can live without it
And go along not thinkin' about it
I'll tell you something true

The bare necessities of life will come to you"

Lyrics: Terry Gilkyson, used in The Jungle Book.


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Interview Blues

An acquaintance was recently asked at a job interview to say something about himself that wasn’t on his CV. I wonder what one is supposed to say at such times? ‘I love watching cricket.’ ‘Net-surfing is my favorite pastime.’ Or as I would probably say, ‘Can’t live without books.’

When one is asked such a question, what should the right answer be? Everything that could possibly make a positive impression and provide an edge over the other candidates is already down in black and white on the two carefully written pages. Could it mean that the interviewers want to get to know the interviewee as a person? Unlikely! I mean, what possible bearing could the fact that one is an avid cricket fan have on one’s prospects as a Management Trainee at a multinational corporation??

Some other ‘good’ questions asked at interviews:

Q. Tell us why you want to leave your present job?
A. Because your pay is much better than what I am making right now. (Honest. But a tad mercenary-sounding, wouldn’t you agree? Also implies that you'll leave for a greener pasture the moment opportunity knocks.)

Q. Why should we give you this promotion?
A. Because I have worked my a** off these past few years and I bloody well deserve a promotion! (Wow! Too aggressive by far!)

Q. How can you make a positive contribution to this organization?
A. I know very little about the company other than what is on the net, and I really have no clue what kind of contribution I’ll be making, positive or otherwise. (Such candid admission would certainly have a negative impact.)

Q. What are your weaknesses?
A. I am very short-tempered and a bit of a kleptomaniac but since I’ve never landed in any great trouble you really can’t consider these traits weaknesses. (Well… can you just visualize the prospective employer reeling??)

I once interviewed for a faculty position at the country’s most renowned public university. I fulfilled the academic requirements for the position and was by far the best candidate (even if I do say so myself). I was asked an obscure question from the syllabus, and answered honestly that I had never studied it. When asked why, I again honestly said that students study rather selectively for exams. I got the job but was informed later by the department’s chair that my candor had almost cost me the job. The right answer should have been, ‘I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten the answer to that question.’ A poor memory was apparently a preferable quality in a teacher than truthfulness.

My first lesson learnt as a teacher, ‘honesty is not always the best policy.’ What a strange world we live in!

The Heart Yearns

My husband first left home when he was just 17. He has lived in Dhaka for the past ten years - from his Uni days onwards. He has studied here, taken a job here, even gotten married here. For all intents and purposes then, this town is his home, you’d say. Wrong! Home is where the heart is, and Dhaka only houses his body of flesh and blood. This overcrowded impersonal city is a prison from which his soul yearns to be free. And whenever he gets a chance to visit his northern district home-town, his entire being radiates a joy unparalleled. I get a little envious of the devotion this place generates in him. And many-a-time have fought with him as to how ‘he loves his home-town more than he loves me.’

But I of all people should understand his yearning most – as I too have yearned in the past to leave the glitzy West behind and walk the dusty streets of Dhaka. Homesickness cannot be rationally compared or measured to worldly possessions, it is an illogical emotion that grips the heart and constricts your throat. So many nights, in the Central London flat I shared with two friends, or in the Riverside Drive apartment that had a great view of the Hudson River and Washington bridge, have I sat gripping the phone in my hands, listening to the voice of my parents, throat closed from emotion and tears streaming down my face. I had absolutely nothing to cry about – in material terms, that is. In London I was getting a great education on a full scholarship, in New York I had a good job. It was absolutely SILLY to yearn to be back in Dhaka – amidst the frequent load-sheddings, the pot-holed roads, the stand-still traffic, the relentless heat. Silly? It was CRAZY!

Call it silly. Call it crazy. The fact remains that no matter how far we move away, or how much better we live, the affinity with one’s hometown remains the strongest bond ever, transcending all other ties. Which is why thousands of expatriates spend millions of dollars in making their way back to their roots.

Dhaka is the place I grew up in, went to school, made the best ever friends, fell in love and had my heart broken, stood first in class (and amazed everyone – myself included), got a job, got married… cocooned all the while in the love and security provided by doting parents. Can anything, anyone, ever rival the feelings I have for Dhaka? And now that I am married and ‘settled’ - with a husband, dog and apartment, my kinship with the town is stronger than ever. Sure I miss some of the comforts of living in the West. Sure we Dhakaites have more than our fair share of problems. But I wouldn’t be as happy living anywhere else.

First step on a new journey

I was inspired by Maryam Montague of My Marrakesh to join the blogging community. At first I had no clue what a 'blog' was. And when I found out, I started toying with the idea of having my own. I have visited a few blogs since (Maryam’s most often), to see what I could start a blog about, as I am really not a specialist on anything. In the end, I decided that this blog would be just a normal kind of thing, with random thoughts of an average woman living and working in Dhaka.

Of course I had no clue about html, and settings and the host of other technical know-how that comes with having a blog, but the brave soul that I am, I decided to cross each bridge as I come to it.

Will anyone (other than me) ever read this blog??? Perhaps... and then perhaps not. But planning and creating the blog will give me great pleasure, and that is reason enough.