Slumdog Millionaire reloaded

If there is one scene you remember from the "Slumdog Millionaire", it has to be the one when the little boy hears that his favorite Bollywood star is in the area, and he wants an autograph more than anything he wanted in his life. He’s in a toilet cubicle at the time and he can’t get out. He’s so frantic that he eventually dives into the toilet hole and into the sewage pit below to swim out.

Why is the scene stuck in my head? Because I was that boy once since my arrival in Dhaka. Rain is falling hard here during the monsoon season. In a lot of places the sewage system is open, as in when you use the bathroom, the sewage goes out to the street. Just like that, in front of the sidewalk. Nothing beats the smell of Dhaka's sewage.

Anyway, at some point I needed something from the market. Parked my car and began walking. And then it started pouring, the kind of pouring I have only seen here, in the Desh. The roads became brown rivers, in a matter of minutes. All of the garbage along the streets was swept into these raging rivers. Then, it happened. The sewage overflowed, across the sidewalk, into the streets. The streets became sewage in their own right. There was at least a foot or two of water in some places near the market.
I had just finished shopping. Time to go home. I started running back to my ride. Tried to keep the distance from the street, so the spray of the cars would not get me. And then this Nissan Patrol decided that driving 10mph on the flooded street was not fast enough. No, he was going to do 40mph. The spray he created could have rivaled the one done by a professional water skier on a abrupt cut. I was caught completely off guard. All the sewage water soaked me to the skin. I was soaked with garbage, feces, urine, and whatever else was in that water. Good thing I was not smiling. Or at least I hope I wasn't.

I don't ever remember taking a longer shower then the one I took once I finally got home. And I don't remember a vodka tasting so weak either.

My life revolves around food

This statement is just nothing more then a confession. No, I do not yet need to enroll in an Overeaters Anonymous group therapy. 

In the office, I am always invited to eat mangoes and other seasonal fruits. Lunch is always a big deal and it has to be discussed in great detail. If you are invited by somebody at a restaurant or their house, regardless of the huge plate of rice, vegetable and meat you consume, you are bound to disappoint with how little you have eaten. In the afternoon, you swap stories about what you had for lunch and have another snack of two. Later on, you discuss what's going to be for dinner.

It took me a bit to realize that in this country any meal that doesn't include rice is considered a ‘snack’ - even if it looks like a standard meal itself in other countries. Every social event involves food in one capacity or another. If you go to someone’s house, you will always be fed. Even if you don't, the thick mixture of milk, sugar and tea leaves that is called 'cha' gives you the calorie-equivalent of a meal by itself.

The obsession with food extends beyond social settings to office life. I have realized that asking if someone has eaten is also a sign of politeness, as is piling someone else’s plate with food. Work is regularly interrupted by various seasonal snacks to share: huge, sticky jackfruit to plunge fingers into, plates of fresh mango or pineapple. And those questions of ‘have you eaten?’ in the post-lunchtime continue, with more detailed discussions of exactly how many ‘items’ we have all taken on that particular day.

I have Bangladeshi friends posting awesome pictures of the food they had for dinner on their Facebook pages. New restaurants that are just opening up are discussed at length along with menus and buffet prices.

Social life, work life, weekend life. It's true: my Bangladeshi life revolves around food.

The World’s Happiest People

Hard to comprehend, but Bangladesh is the happiest nation in the world. Shocking, I know! The happiness survey was done by London School of Economics. Data is not very new, it might have dropped some places lately.

However, how on earth could that be? This is a land plagued by environmental disasters, lack of infrastructure, health and education, and I can go on and on. And still, Bangladeshis derive far more happiness from their small incomes than many other rich countries like USA or Britain. And as far as I know people here aren't doing Prozac.

This proves that Bangladeshis have defeated poverty with their natural sense of joy and happiness. You will find people here who smilingly doing all his/her works only with a income of less than a dollar per day. With life being harder here, there are lower expectations. People ask for less because they know they can’t afford it. The relative hardships one faces here have led to a greater appreciation of the smaller joys in life.

I did not take me long to realize this is not a poor country. It does have a lot of people trying to make ends meet every single day. But it is the one who can not smile even if he has a lot of property and money, who is really poor. It is the one who can't be happy with a little or with others' happiness. And that is for sure not the Bangladeshis.

And like Harry Kemp said:

"The poor man is not he who is without a cent, but he who is without a dream"

National Martyr's Memorial

Located in Savar, the National Martyr's Memorial (Jatiyo Smriti Soudho in Bangla) was built to honor the martyrs who sacrificed their lives in the Liberation War of 1971. The war gave birth to what is now the country of Bangladesh.

Constructed from concrete, all surrounding paving is red brick and the complex itself is huge. A large body of water reminds you of the reflecting pool in DC, with the graves of many unidentified freedom fighters along the way.

Huge masses come to spend time here. The Memorial is incredibly important to the Bangladeshis, who are extremely proud of it. One will be  deeply moved, finding it a magnificent tribute and representation of the amazing struggle this country had to go through to gain independence. Or at least I was!

Baliati Jomidar Bari

It is actually too bad that the country does not lend itself to traveling long distance. So I am for the moment confined to exploring around Dhaka.
Not too worry though, there is plenty around town, you just have to go look for it. Last weekend, we decided to visit the exotic Baliati Jomidar Bari at Manikganj. I did not know until now, but a zamindar on the subcontinent was an aristocrat, who held large tracts of land and held control over his peasants, from whom he reserved the right to collect tax. The zamindars built lavish palaces, lush gardens, schools, temples, etc.

The great Baliati Zomidar Bari is about 200 years of old. The whole premise is a huge. There are around 200 rooms available. Back side of the palace has a pond with also lavatories. Most of the buildings had a touch of Greek-Roman style in the pillars and the roof. And as everywhere here, there is little care given to the old buildings which seem to be just decaying away.


Overall, a pretty pleasant discovery and one our small group really enjoyed. Seriously thinking about opening my Bangladeshi tour company :)

Color me surprised!

We had diner one night with one of our local friends. We talked about arranged marriages and what factors were important in choosing a good wife/husband. Among wealth, class, etc, color of the skin ranked really high. To my surprise, this was really important!

There is a beauty myth well entrenched in the Bangladeshi culture: Fairness is beauty and a lighter complexion is the ticket to a better life. The Bangladeshi  culture attaches a certain prestige to whiteness.

You could speculate that colonizers’ complexions became standards for beauty for the colonized. Or you could blame the “class complex,” because those who are from a lower class tend to be darker because they’re exposed to the sun more in their work. This would link whiter complexions to higher education and class. Or you could blame this on the white colonists: the Brits created racial boundaries by instilling the attitude that if you are not white, you will always be inferior. 

Dhaka is lined with massive billboards advertising Fair and Lovely’s bleaching skincare products. The white skinned beauty peering from it has, to me at least, very little in common with majority of the people you see on the streets. In Bangladesh to be called kalua (Bengali for dark) is derogatory, while gori (white skin) is synonymous with being beautiful.
As for my personal opinion, I can't decide whether this obsession with fair complexion is a colonial hangover or just a case of wanting what you do not have (I can vividly remember there is tanning saloon at every corner in the US and being sun kissed means a sexy look).

But above all, I can barely hide my feelings of betrayal and disappointment: I truly believed my Deshi friends loved me for the size of my heart, not for the color of my skin :)

The Driver - Emperor of the street

You even see this in the way they hold their heads high when talking to their "bosses", the car owners. These are the warriors serving with great loyalty. After all, the lives of the whole family depend on their lives on the skills of The Driver.

The good ones demand good money. They have narrow eyes and steely appearance. They are the Bangladeshis samurai. They judge at every moment what is required to get into and hold a space as the traffic flows around them, constantly changing and switching in all directions, the only expected thing being that the unexpected will shortly occur. The owner it is important that their car gets through each trip as unscathed as possible, especially the shiny new cars that you occasionally see. The master berates the driver roundly if anything comes into contact with the car.

Becoming Himu

I have wanted to own a Punjabi for a long time. Until recently, I was too embarrassed to buy one and wear it out in public. I feared that by wearing it I would be seen as one of those expats who wears local clothing because they think they can now just blend in. I have always seen the wannabe locals as imitators.

Despite my hesitations, I stuck to my guns and bought an yellow Punjabi from the store that everybody highly recommends here, Aarong. Whoever think that buying a Punjabi is easy, should reconsider. Most of the Bangladeshis are simply not as tall, so fitting a 6'4" Bideshi in one took a solid, painful three hours shopping experience.

Any hesitation I had to wear one was quickly alleviated by the response of Bangladeshis who approach me after seeing what I was wearing. First check was the pair of guards in our building. As I hoped into my car, I got a ‘You are looking great today, boss! Very nice Punjabi’

As I was checking if they were just smiling, and not laughing, I thought how awkward a comment like this would sound in the States. But this Bangladesh, so I needed to go with the culture.

Later, the boy who is walking Oreo looked to me and said:

‘Boss, you look like Himu’,

‘What?’

‘Himu, the boy in the yellow Punjabi’

Turns out Himu is a very popular fictional character created by the most beloved  Bangladeshi writer Humayun Ahmed. His appearance is odd. He always wears a yellow Punjabi and walks barefoot. I have still to meet on Bangladeshi who does not love the character.

So, now I am used to being stopped many times by smiling Bangladeshis who comment on my yellow Punjabi.  If they don’t stop me, they would just smile as I walk by, indicating their approval. Take it that, despite what I thought, they're happy to see the white guy dressed up in local gear.

Bashundhara City

I know, I know, it is hard to believe, but Dhaka has what is seems to be the 12th largest mall in the entire world, Bashundhara City. It literally looks like a city. Located smack in the heart of Dhaka, the mall is spotless as any  in the USA, and has more shops and customers than any on the American soil. There are more then 25,000 visitors daily.

This mall reminded me again about the contrasts of Dhaka. As you walk out into the dirty streets, you are surrounded by the ever present group of kids begging for money or food.

’Boss, boss, give me taka’, 'Boss, I am hungry'. 

Same thing, different neighborhood. It did not matter I had just left a luxurious mall with gorgeous escalators, air conditioning, and thousands of overpriced shops.

What happened to the distribution of wealth? Here, it seems to be going only to the people at the top. Incredible riches, luxurious Mercedeses, Lexuses, BMWs. Cars are spotless, in contrast to the streets. Drivers are parking next to street children sitting on top of a pile of garbage.

I would be a hypocrite to count myself out of this sad story. I live in the 'upper crust’ part of town in a beautiful apartment, have bags fulls of money (by local standards). And most of all, I have an OPTION. Option to just pick up and leave, go back to 'Merica, or wherever I choose to. This is a privilege not everybody has here.

This extreme poverty next to opulent wealth has been with me since I arrived here, and is one that I will grapple with during my entire stay here in the Desh. Until I excersise the OPTION and take the lessons I learned here to my next assignment or home, when I move back to the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Holy cow!!! (smuggling)

The cow is held sacred in India. Hindus worship cows, seeing them as an essential part of human life - providing milk, dung for fertilizer and muscle to work. Killing a cow in India will attract jail sentence and it is illegal to export them for slaughter.

Across the border in Muslim majority Bangladesh, situation is completely opposite:  beef is considered a delicacy and in high demand. 

In fact Bangladesh needs three million cows to keep up with internal consumption, but the country can only supply one million. So where the rest coming from? It's being smuggled from India, in a trade worth around 1 billion US dollars per year.

Smuggling the cows is dangerous business. The Indian Border Security Force has had a pretty liberal shoot to kill policy. More than 1,000 people have been killed by them along the border during the last decade. Many more have been tortured.

But as long as the economic incentive is there, somebody is bound to do the illegal trade. By now, I have learned how to tell an Indian cow from a Bangladeshi one (mostly by size and horns). And I have been stuck in traffic for so many hours because of traffic jams caused by trucks full of Indian cattle.

Slaughtering of cows has long been an emotional issue in the subcontinent. The Sepoy Mutiny of 1857, which marked the end of Mughal Rule and the beginning of the British Raj, was sparked by rumors that the rifle cartridges used by sepoys, or soldiers of the East India Company, were greased with beef and pork, which offended both Hindu and Muslim.

But stopping this trade would have a serious impact on the Bangladeshi economy. I would bet rising beef prices could even spark riots here. After all, how can you live here without gorur mangsho (cow meat)?

Ramadan, Opa-Bangladeshi style

This is my very first Ramadan spent in a Muslim country. Hard not to get excited. I did spend time alongside with some Muslim coworkers, but my "experience" has been limited to inquiring about customs and rituals. I have never lived the experience.

This time is different. The capital seems to get a different feel as Ramadan rolls around. First anomaly, Bangladeshi style? Big businesses create an artificial crisis and prices rise before the arrival of Ramadan every single year. Forget about being pious, this is the time to make money! In other parts of the Muslim world, prices drop on this occasion. Not in the Desh. Sugar, cooking oil, even vegetables prices are hitting all times high. Food adulteration is also reaching its peak during this season. I am also being told that incidents of criminal nature will increase, because the bad guys need to profiteer as well.

And there is the iftar! Oh, the iftar, the meal that breaks the fast. The prophet used to do it with a glass of water and two dates. But here this is taken to a different level. Let me just say that I never heard of a meal that consists of a pre-plated iftar (meal) followed by a full course buffet. Anywhere you turn these days it is about iftar. Ramadan in Bangladesh should be rephrased as the month of free-style eating. But, I will have to come back to the subject, because I will plenty of opportunities to be part of it.

Just a quick observation though:

A month dedicated to fasting and abstinence is being turned into a month of food festival here. To me, this goes against the very purpose of fasting, which  is to remind you of the sufferings of the poor and to practice self control  

Anyway, I guess is easier to observe from the outside, so this year I decide to give it a shot and try to observe the Holy month of Ramadan. Will see how it goes!

Fighting food adulteration, one cow at the time

You learn quickly in Dhaka that you can't really trust anybody when it comes to food. Everybody messes with it no matter how low or high they are on the chain. They mix inferior quality with the standard one, ripen fruit prematurely or prolong their shelf live by treating them with toxic chemicals. This is in my opinion the most serious curse this country is facing. It is self inflicted and man-made, but so far they have not been able to address.

Until now, very little has been done to address the issue. Last week though, we finally got the "Safe Food" law approved. The law imposes harsh punishments like jail time of seven years' imprisonment for the first time offence or double that for a repeat.

Now, allow me to be skeptical about the implementation of this law. After all,  the country is not particularly known for implementation of its own laws. I am still to see anybody being stopped by the police for a traffic incident and I have been here for 6 months already.

So, what am I left with until the law is strictly reinforced? Well, fighting food adulteration by going back to the basic (as in the source). Here is the cow (or should I say bull?) that will give me some peace of mind when it comes to the source of protein for the family.

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