That ought to "tea-ch" me

Photo by Farhan Hadi (F.han on flckr)

 The 16th floor is in a bit of a reorganization at the moment; we're expanding so that there are twice as many seats available on the floor.   In the process we manage to keep screwing up the wireless connection and taking desks away, so there are fewer seats.  I sought refuge on the 6th fl in the human rights and legal services department and then on the 15th floor in research and evaluation (this is a fun organizational ethnography of sorts; how do the cultures compare across departments), and then decided that given the amount of running up and down the stairs I was doing (because email only takes you so far, especially when the people you really need answers from are on the 16th floor where internet nai!), and my increasingly crankiness brought on by my forgetting to eat lunch, that I would just call it a day and work from "home" (someone's home at least).  So around 4PM I walked out.

I traced my morning route backwards, so cut up along the pedestrian pathway that leads up to Banani bridge.  Lo and behold, there was a small tea stand set up, along with half of a table (literally it seemed to have been disconnected from another half; it was an odd size).  And there was Tauhid bhai, just sitting there behind the kettle, smiling at me like we hadn't missed a beat.  I rushed over with a big smile, "Hi!" "how are you?" "Ami bhalo.  Apni koi?  Onek din apni nai chillen!"  (I'm good, where were you?  For many days you weren’t here!).  "Big problem."  "Ki problem? Somosa ki?"  "Big problem."  Not that my bangla would have been good enough to understand the problem, but nonetheless, I wanted answers!  Tauhid bhai had other plans though, "cha khaben?"  How could I say no to tea after assuming that I would never again have this opportunity?! So I sit down on the rickety bench next to the half table, throw my laptop bag down, and try not to think too hard about germs and the tea being made in front of me (It's tea!  you boil the water!  How bad can it be?  Don't answer that)......I will stick to my completely irrational belief that karma trumps typhoid at least 99% of the time.  Tauhid bhai's friends and neighbors have been yelling things to him this whole time and he's done a remarkable job of ignoring them.  Now that I've sat down, Tauhid bhai immediately has 10 other customers--I guess I came right at teatime?  He has a dream to go to Germany, but thinks America is a pretty decent country too.  My tea is super super sweet, but he asks if I need more sugar.   All the guys around me mainly listen; the whole situation is ridiculous--you've got a blonde-haired woman in a bright red salwar sitting at a broken table surrounded by a few guys in lungis (plaid wraps kind of like sarongs/kikois that men here wear, and only wear in public if they can’t afford pants; so it is highly indicative of class), and talking in broken Bangla, but with great (pent up anxiety and enthusiasm) with the young guy who owns the “tea stand.”  I keep glancing out onto the water (supposedly it smells horrible so you don’t want to take one of the little row boats shuttling back and forth, but from 10 ft away, I can’t tell), noting how the late afternoon sun is beginning to create an array of colors in the still water, which laps up against Korail slums on the other side.  Despite the fact that I know that I’m looking at intense poverty and a huge urban challenge, I find the scene beautiful and inspiring.  I wonder if Tauhid bhai thinks the same, or if he’s looking at his home.  Or not at all.  I decide to save that for another day.  My cup of tea is “shesh” (finished), so I put it down and stand up.  “Thank you,” he says.  I just had a free cup of tea.  Why is he thanking me?  It’s one of those interactions that’s common here—you say, “Thank you” with or in place of “goodbye”, at least to strangers or formal acquaintances.  I’m not sure why; if gratitude is true or it’s just a custom.  But I say thank you too.

I walk a little further and a woman who washes dishes for another little restaurant stand comes out and starts talking to me in bangla.  I hear, "…lal…pochondo kori…”  (Red….I like).  I look down and say, “Amar salwar kameez?”  (my outfit?).  Yes, she says, “Khub sonder.”  (Very pretty).  I’m clearly quite pleased about this; more about the fact that I’ve just completed two exchanges almost completely in Bangla (with people that six months ago I couldn’t have communicated with at all), and they were both really positive.  It’s good; Bangladesh and I, minus the minor interruptions here and there, have found a nice rhythm.  I’m still constantly surprised by details, but have a sense of how often I should be surprised.  And anticipate surprises, setbacks, changes, etc. to a much greater extent than I did before.  I’m starting to lay down some metaphorical roots and getting comfortable, both in the sense that I invest more in relationships, plan on a longer horizon (my American club ID expires in May 2014; I’ll admit that it scared me to see that date despite all amar bhalo lage bangladesher jonno—all my good feelings for Bangladesh).  And the other thing that life here reminds me constantly, with Tauhid bhai being a before example, is that life is largely marked by what isn’t anticipated.  Both good and bad.  Most things are out of your control.  So when you have a moment to enjoy, or a reason to be happy, just freakin’ do it.  Revel in it.  Because dark times could appear any time, and you owe it to yourself to really savor the beautiful experiences that the present can send your way.  These days, I’m constantly happy.  Work is good, football is fun, I’m learning so much, and generally I think I’m a positive presence to those around me.  Why question that?

Photo by Farhan Hadi (F.han on flckr)

Heading out to savor rush hour traffic.  Rickshaw lagbe?