the only thing constant is cha-nge

I've blogged a few times about my walk to work and my "friend" at the tea stand.  We have a morning routine--I avoid eye contact until he says, several decibels too loud, "Hi friend!" or "Apni bhalo?" at which point I smile and say hello back, or affirm that I'm good and ask about him.  After doing this for a week or so, he invites me to sit and have tea.  I've been talking about having tea at this particular place for many months; I think it's one of the best located tea stands in the area.  A great waterfront view, off the street so it's "quiet" (in the sense that there's no honking or rickshaws to content with).  The first morning he asked was a day when I was struggling health wise, so I thanked him and said I'd come another time.  A few days later, I saw him again, and when he offered, I explained that I was on my way to the office so was unable to stop.  He told me that he didn't have a job (kaj kori nai).  I pointed at the tea pot that was covered in soap suds in his hand and asked, "Don't you work here?"  He shook his head no and then mumbled something that was beyond my Bangla comprehension.  Seemed like a natural ending point so I continued on to work.
The following day, we say hello (today I get a "Hello friend! Hello friend!  Good morning! How are you!  Fine!!"), and I ask his name.  He scrunches up his face in concentration and then says in English, "I am Mr. Tauhid."  I've not inquired about his age, but I'd guess he's about 20 years old, so the fact that he included a "Mr." just gets me giggling.  I introduce myself as Ms. Maria, which just feels silly.  I decline the offer of tea yet again and head onwards to the office.  I say "Tauhid" a few times to myself so that I can remember it--names here are still unfamiliar enough that they don't stick in my head well, so I have to repeat them and sometimes write them down before they are firmly lodged in my memory.
Some of my guy friends warned me that a guy can say "how are you friend?" and still not be a good person (I love that they think that this might not be obvious to me).  They are often suspicious (in a protective way) of my interactions with strangers, particularly as in Bangladesh people are fairly aware of class, and so my socializing with the guy at the tea stall is more alarming than someone from "a good background."  I point out that the interaction is fairly limited and in a public place, and frankly, given all the other strange interactions that I have had on the streets here, I feel a lot  more comfortable when there are friendly faces scattered on my normal routes who I could avail for assistance should I need it.  And in truth, I liked the morning hello's with Mr. Tauhid; I looked forward to it and purposefully went that way to see him.  It wasn't a deep relationship but one that was consistently pleasant.
On Sunday, I cut down the path as usual, but realized that something was different.  The entire tea stand, which had fit 4-5 tables, had been dismantled.  You wouldn't have known that it had ever been anything other than a stack of random pieces of wood and other junk lying around.  Over the course of 3 days, it had completely disappeared.  No signs or violence or foul play; it was really as though it had simply been erased.  Mr. Tauhid was nowhere to be seen either.  Not on Sunday.  Or Monday.  Or Tuesday.  I kept walking that way, hoping that he would around and pop out like he used to to say "good morning friend!," but there are some new people that sit there now who just sort of stare at me as I stare at what used to be a tea stand.
This happens all the time; in other spots I've seen things change overnight; buildings spring up, people pack up and move, and things shift, but it had never really been personal to me.  There is less security here, less planning, and while some social relationships are extremely strong (particularly family), everyone has also found ways to deal with constant change and unexpected losses.  Even in their friendships with me; people assume so hard that I'll be leaving, either now or in a few months or maybe even a year, that they keep a bit of distance in a way that I'm not really used to.  But in the context of all these things happening, social chaos if you will, one has to develop coping mechanisms to deal with tragedy and maybe more precisely, things that don't make sense.  Unsolved mysteries. What's hardest for me is that you move on without an explanation.  Likely I will never learn the story of why that tea stand came down over night.  Or what Mr. Tauhid is doing now that the tea stand where he didn't work is closed.  Learning the "why" is a luxury sometimes; it assumes planning, it assumes rhyme and reason.

I read the following passage in Hessler's book about China, Country Driving, and thought it applied to Bangladesh as well:
Everything shifted: the rules, the business practices, the challenges of daily life.  There was always some new situation to figure out, and it was hard for people to get their bearings.  Often the ones who reacted quickly without thinking were the most successful.  Sustainability was a luxury that few could afford to worry about, especially in places here young people were likely to leave anyway.  Long-term planning made no sense: the goal was gain some profit today before you found yourself overwhelmed by the next wave of change.

My assumption that my interactions with Mr. Tauhid would continue indefinitely was based on an assumption of permanence.  I could say I'd get tea later (pore) because we had all the time in the world.  "Pore" decision making on my part!