We are in the midst of a 6 hour hartal! Just long enough to throw off the whole work day. I won't complain too much because next Sunday/Monday we have a 30-hour hartal. I'm starting to think that people just don't want to work. BRAC staff unfortunately have to make it up on Saturdays......luckily at the moment I"m working seven days a week so it doesn't much matter when they are in the office.
Except that I use the hartal as an excuse to work from North End, where I've officially built a second office and home. And a family! I have a sister, Smriti, and an adorable younger brother, Farhan, who is hilarious, now that I'm starting to recognize his jokes. He told his mom about this bideshi who is very nice and comes to North End often, but doesn't each lunch. "Doesn't she get hungry?" his mom asked him. "I don't know." He told her. This is before we became buds and he told me that his mom would ask him if the non-lunch-eating bideshi came in today. When I bring lunch, he inspects it now to see if it's up to the mark. His mom has invited me to come try her food, but it's a bit difficult since I have a thing against eating lunch. I told Farhan I could skip breakfast that day and try to eat lunch. He claims his mom makes fantastic kitchuri, which I am craving.
I stopped by last night to grab a few cinnamon rolls and brownies. I learned that Richard Cash has a sweet tooth also as dangerous as mine, so I wanted to pack some sweets to send with him when he goes out to Savar, a smaller town outside the city where the BRAC School of Public Health is located. Farhan made me a coffee and then we talked for a bit. When I left, I assured him I'd be in bright and early today. He threatened to bring lunch for me if I didn't--that doesn't sound like much of a threat given how much he raves about his ama's cooking!
I beat him here, in fact. The owner, Rick, is just back from the United States and came over to show me the counter culture coffee he'd picked up while there (yeah NC). I'm drinking an iced coffee with freshly ground beans roasted in NC--pretty amazing. I didn't think things could get better until Farhan came in--he had a little metal dish of freshly cut "original" mango (aam!) that his mom had sent to me (I think it comes from his dad's bari, hometown, in Jessore, further south), along with two piara (guavas) from the tree next to their house. And it's not even 9AM!! It's going to be a good day!
Back to work on making TB history.
In the spirit of corrections, this one in the NYT this morning really got me laughing (even a quick visit to wikipedia could have prevented this public health switcharoo):
The article on Page 22 this weekend about marital infidelity misidentifies a disease contracted from prostitutes that men in the 18th century could write or talk freely about. It is syphilis, not smallpox.
"Similiarly," I've been informed verbally and via my readers that necessary in Bangla is "Dorkar," not "Dorka." I appreciate the corrections, although unfortunately, it no longer has the same coolness factor and has ceased to be my favorite word. There is a tie now between "cata" (umbrella) and "gari" (transport)--we always want what we don't have.
Except that I use the hartal as an excuse to work from North End, where I've officially built a second office and home. And a family! I have a sister, Smriti, and an adorable younger brother, Farhan, who is hilarious, now that I'm starting to recognize his jokes. He told his mom about this bideshi who is very nice and comes to North End often, but doesn't each lunch. "Doesn't she get hungry?" his mom asked him. "I don't know." He told her. This is before we became buds and he told me that his mom would ask him if the non-lunch-eating bideshi came in today. When I bring lunch, he inspects it now to see if it's up to the mark. His mom has invited me to come try her food, but it's a bit difficult since I have a thing against eating lunch. I told Farhan I could skip breakfast that day and try to eat lunch. He claims his mom makes fantastic kitchuri, which I am craving.
I stopped by last night to grab a few cinnamon rolls and brownies. I learned that Richard Cash has a sweet tooth also as dangerous as mine, so I wanted to pack some sweets to send with him when he goes out to Savar, a smaller town outside the city where the BRAC School of Public Health is located. Farhan made me a coffee and then we talked for a bit. When I left, I assured him I'd be in bright and early today. He threatened to bring lunch for me if I didn't--that doesn't sound like much of a threat given how much he raves about his ama's cooking!
I beat him here, in fact. The owner, Rick, is just back from the United States and came over to show me the counter culture coffee he'd picked up while there (yeah NC). I'm drinking an iced coffee with freshly ground beans roasted in NC--pretty amazing. I didn't think things could get better until Farhan came in--he had a little metal dish of freshly cut "original" mango (aam!) that his mom had sent to me (I think it comes from his dad's bari, hometown, in Jessore, further south), along with two piara (guavas) from the tree next to their house. And it's not even 9AM!! It's going to be a good day!
Back to work on making TB history.
In the spirit of corrections, this one in the NYT this morning really got me laughing (even a quick visit to wikipedia could have prevented this public health switcharoo):
The article on Page 22 this weekend about marital infidelity misidentifies a disease contracted from prostitutes that men in the 18th century could write or talk freely about. It is syphilis, not smallpox.
"Similiarly," I've been informed verbally and via my readers that necessary in Bangla is "Dorkar," not "Dorka." I appreciate the corrections, although unfortunately, it no longer has the same coolness factor and has ceased to be my favorite word. There is a tie now between "cata" (umbrella) and "gari" (transport)--we always want what we don't have.
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