Getting down, or Innocent until proven Gali

The other day at lunch, I told a story about a bus ride in New York City.  I was headed uptown, to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  I got on a took a seat by the window.  A few stops later, three teenage boys got on.  They had probably grown up in New York, but were speaking Bengali among themselves.  Consequently, they spoke freely, about some girls that they knew, even about people on the bus.  I couldn’t catch all of it, because their accent was really harsh and my vocabulary of gali (curse words) is really limited.  But nonetheless, I decided to mess with them.  As we approached 80^th street, where I would be getting off, I turned to the one sitting next to me and said, “Shoro, ami nambo” (get back, I’m getting down).  He looked shocked and said, “Sorry—what?” so I repeated myself.  He jumped back and his face went pale.  All three of them were looking at me.  I didn’t say anything else, to leave them with the impression that I had caught every word.

I told this story at lunch the other day in the BRAC Canteen.  The BRAC Canteen is worth a visit.  It tells you a great deal about the organization, its operating philosophy and those who work here.  It’s about 1,000 sq feet, long tables with plates of chilies and slices of lime, and water bottles.  Recently they added an outdoor section (~400 sq ft) because it was so crowded.  You have to buy your ticket before 9:30AM, and it can only be used on that day.  It’s 35tk (about 40 cents).  By noon, you’ve been given a little pink paper ticket, stamped with the date on it, to take with you to the canteen.  I try to go on the later side, 2PM or so, to avoid the lines that form around 1, when most folks go.  You grab a tray and it’s a bit like a full-service buffet.  A staff person puts a heaping portion of rice on your plate, with a small scoop of the day’s vegetables.  You take a small bowl of dal (watery lentils), and then your voice of chicken, fish, or egg.  Grab a spoon (if you want one, most folks eat by hand) and a glass, and go to your table.  If you are in a hurry, you can get in and out in 15 minutes.  Rarely are you there for more than 25 minutes.  You may very well spend more time dealing with the elevators to get to and from the cafeteria than actually inside of it!  Despite the fact that it’s 16 floors away from my office, I sometimes think about taking the stairs.  At least on the way down.

The canteen used to terrify me.  Most interns and visitors never make it inside there.  It felt (and still feels during the rush hour) like a trough, meant as a chance to scarf down food instead of enjoy a meal.  It’s crowded and everything moves quickly.  Also it has a bit of the high school cafeteria feel to it, and when I didn’t know many people, I was always intimidated about where to sit.  The food is basic.  There’s a joke among some staff that as the restaurant on the other side is called Shuruchi (Shu means tasty), we should call the canteen Kuruchi (Ku- meaning bad).  But it’s cheap, hygienic, and efficient, and rarely bad (rarely excellent), so it’s definitely the norm for most BRAC staff.  In fact, at the training centers and branch offices across the country, pretty much all staff eat communally (the food in the branch offices though is usually much tastier though, since it’s made for a few dozen people instead of hundreds).  And the canteen is for everyone, from the CFO down to the drivers.  The chairperson often has food from the canteen brought up to his office.  It’s a hierarchy-free zone and part of the BRAC daily routine.  People are comfortable there; I base this on how much slurping I observe, as people often pick their plate up to tilt it into their mouth and get that last little bit of broth.  I am not at that point yet! I have a daily negotiation with the cafeteria ladies to get them to shovel less rice onto my plate.  It’s bad manners (and wasteful) to leave food on my plate, but my ability to consume rice seems far below par compared to other BRAC staff.  Maybe that’s a good thing; one of my own hypotheses is part of why the elevators seem increasingly slower is that the average size of staff members is increasing (especially girth), which means the maximum capacity per ride is decreasing.  But I never mention that in the canteen.  Instead I try to share a bit of the cool news that I learn about new programs and things, what’s in the news, and whatever else there is to discuss.  But when I told this story about my bus ride, one of my senior colleagues thought it was hilarious, and immediately began telling it in Bangla (for some reason it’s funnier when he tells it), over and over, to whoever we are sitting with.  I think the joke might be partially on me, but they definitely love that these Bengali teens got their just deserts.  I guess it’s all in how you tell it?

Meanwhile, I keep hoping that we’ll get just desserts in the canteen one day!

Getting Jiggy WID it*

*WID=Weekend in Dhaka.  Maybe it will catch on.

Dhaka appears to have cosmopolitanized during my absence.  I had a Friday filled with fun and, wait for it, culture! 

I woke up early on Friday morning to the sound of my alarm.  Not early enough, because I barely have time to eat breakfast before I’m out the door trying to catch an auto-rickshaw down to “Puran Dhaka”, that is, Old Dhaka.  On Friday mornings, the incredible Taimur bhai of the Urban Study Group leads walking tours of old town, pointing out architectural gems to raise awareness of how vulnerable many important heritage sites are.  My colleague Ishtiaque, who lives in Puran Dhaka, had agreed to go with me this week, which is probably the only thing that got me up and out the door.

By the time I got down to Old Town, it was pouring rain.  The Christian cemetery where we met had limited shelter, so we were getting quite wet (Especially those who arrived punctually, which I, as a semi-local did not!).  Despite the rain, Taimur bhai decided to start the tour, and about 10 “visitors” plus 10 “volunteers” got moving.  What I love about old Dhaka, especially on a Friday in the rain, is that it’s quiet.  Many of the roads we took precede Liberation (1972) and they are too narrow for cars.  One has to keep an eye out for rickshaws, but to find a space to walk with relative peace and quiet is a treat.  We wandered into gardens and temples, even a few workshops were artists are preparing statuettes of Durga (the Hindu goddess of ??) for the Puja celebration next week.  While being in crowd of foreigners certainly attracts a lot of attention, and some of the volunteers seemed to think that I was actually there to entertain them, there’s something to be said for having a guide who is an expert on all things related to Old Dhaka, history, and architecture, and get access to rooftops, homes, and other cool things that normally you’d never get a glimpse of.  One thing about Dhaka that I really love is that it has so many secret charms that I’m still discovering.  We found a greenhouse of orchids, another anti-greenhouse (i.e. rainproof house) for cactus. Dhaka rewards those that are willing to explore.   The rain fortunately stopped pretty quickly as well.

We walked up an appetite!  Many left directly after the tour, but Taimur bhai, two British women who had worked in Bangladesh in the 1990s (one of whom was back for more!) and I went out for lunch at the famous Star hotel (for those who know Delhi, it’s similar to Kareem’s in reputation and décor).  There’s a Star Kabob near my apartment (I go often and in fact took my parents for breakfast there during their first WID), but this was one of the original locations and therefore thought to be even tastier.  Normally I might defer on the food choices to a Bangladeshi, but I’m freshly back in the country and have a list of things that I want to eat!  Taimur bhai and the waiter both laugh as I pepper him with questions about what they have that day.  I order mutton kichuri (dal, rice, and spices) and bhortha (smashed something, in this case potato and dried fish).  We order food for three, but are too full to finish everything in front of out (even me).  Wash it all down with a cup of tea with generous amounts of milk and sugar.  Avoid the sleepy stupor that white rice and the sugary tea can induce.

From Puran Dhaka I head to Dhanmondi, where BRAC is holding a photo exhibition on “Visions of Empowerment” at Drik Photo Gallery.  While the space is a bit drab and the walls a bit dirty, the photos speak volumes—the pictures really capture the depth, range, and longitude of our work.  On one wall there is a black-and-white photo BRAC’s first textile centers next to a portrait of a beaming young woman that just completed BRAC’s new driving course.  You’ve come a long way, baby.  What really brought the exhibition to life was another young woman darting around taking pictures.  She was smiley and very confident in her work—she was gallery’s own photographer for events.  I learned that she’s a member of BRAC’s adolescent clubs and through it had received a training on photography a few months ago.  Now here she was.  I went over to check out a few of her snaps (I looked good, so she knows what she’s doing), and was rewarded by excited and the opportunity to have my picture taken with her and a few other club members that were there.  It was fun and inspiring.

Around the corner from Drik is the Bengal Gallery of Fine Arts, considered the most prestigious in Dhaka.  Right now there’s a display of some of Goya’s prints.  We wander through and run into a few friends, who want to hear about the trip.  I personally think that the Bengal Gallery is just the right size—the Met kind of freaks me out.  So that makes 11 art museums I’ve seen in the last month (12 if you include Drik but photography isn’t art, after all.  That comment is for Ruthie).  I find myself making analogies of organizational coordination to impressionism (obviously French not American, geez), or more recently how we are making a mosaic…….so it seems that there is some level of art knowledge that can be gained by osmosis!

Final stop of the day was a place called Mermaid’s café, which just opened in Gulshan 2 circle.  The decorations look like a rundown tiki torch Hawaiian lounge or as one friend says, “where the truckers go for their honeymoon,” i.e. Cox’s Bazar (full disclosure, I took Ruthie there so obviously think it’s got some merits).  We didn’t come for the décor though, we came for the music (Jazz and blues) and the company (BFF, my guru, et al).  Dhaka’s a small town though, by the end of the night, I’ve seen one co-worker, two friends there with other groups, and two people who went on my walking tour this morning! No secrets here.  The band was surprisingly decent—in the middle a woman with a killer voice did some Norah Jones covers that were spot on.  By the end of the night, there was even a bit of a dance floor taking shape.  We of course added our support.  It was surprisingly like the Tavern, the bar I spent many a WIB (weekend in Boston) nights in Cambridge, with my crew back in the days.  Relaxed and fun.  I won’t say I forgot I was in Dhaka, but Dhaka felt a lot more like Cambridge that night than it has in a while.

So—walking+good food+inspiration+art+music+friends.  That is a GOOD Friday!

Up next: the story from the trip to the US that has been told THE most times since returning (and not just by those who were there).  Any guesses?

Going both ways

When life takes away youtube, drink lemonade and
cookies (NYC).

So just now, while procrastinating about writing, I came across a tweet that sounded hilarious:

Tom Murphy ‏@viewfromthecave

This is just too good: NGOs + Nairobi + The Office = Aid for Aidhttp://bit.ly/PnExyG  HT @SwahiliStreet

I love the premise—I’ve been talking about trying to make a similar show based in South Asia (surprise) for the past year.  So far I’ve only gotten as far as writing 1-minute awkward scenes and coming up with a few key cast members.  These guys are much more with it, they’re applying for money on kickstarter, a cool new fundraising platform.  I click through and want to watch their short clip.  No can do.  It’s on youtube, which hasn’t been accessible to those in Bangladesh for several weeks, since the massive uproar about the insulting movie about the prophet went viral.