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!