Thoughts of a Jealous Lover

You must know that you can turn around
And find that objects are in love with each other:
Toothbrushes kissing while another looks on.
(You don''t know what this existence is like.
Strangers fear my sunken eyes, blisteringly narrowed.)
At work one Nalgene bottle watches over a smaller one,
A doting mother and a little one at sport.
Even donuts nuzzle and caress each other, the jam-filled ones--
The cruller is lonely.

It gets my hackles up.

I force pencils on my desk to lean away from each other in their jar
I look for sympathetic lamps and curtains, but they're all cold
And tell me snootily to get over it.
Books turn away from me, hiding their faces
Icily from me, coquettishly from one another.

I want them to not touch
I wish I could control gravity
I'd make them float apart, alone, each object isolated and helpless,

Alone.

At home I open the cutlery drawer to see one spoon lying atop another: silver foreplay,
And I shriek, "I've caught you!"
"Now, now." says the top spoon in its plastic organizer, "yes, we are in bed together, but
truly, we were just talking."
So he says--yet I slam the drawer shut and I seethe.

-Miriam Breslow

The Laughing Stock

I am not yet back into the right frame of mind to write...
if i open my mouth, i will be sarcastic, if i write i will be critical...
i'm not sure what might hurt the fragile feelings of the people in power....
therefore, it is better for me to crack some jokes today.... well, not in public..
we cannot shout at the government. let us just laugh.

-Laugh??? At WHOM????

- At ourselves mister. We will not laugh at the cartoon. We will not laugh at the corrupt politicians.
There is no question about laughing at the Truth Commission.
we will only laugh at ourselves.

ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ....
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha

Birthday Banter

another year passed me by two-days back...
another birthday... with gifts and celebration..
another night of being smashed...
another chill reminder of time's winged chariot...

happy birthday to me [?]

Dog Day Afternoon.... Aug 24, 2007

today is the third day of curfew here in dhaka...
we are all stranded at home...

who thought that a brawl between a university student and a non-commissioned army official would trigger such a storm throughout the country?

as far as i understand .. it was ok the first day... the protest was right and spontaneous.. but yesterday's events were politically driven... the government DID withdraw the army camps from the university. didnt they? then what was the point of terrorizing the ordinary people in the streets. i went to the university early in the morning. i had a class at 10.40... as i went there i heard that the classes were canceled. then i saw a procession coming down the mirpur road... if you ask me, most of them didn't look like students. suddenly the mob went wild and the people started throwing stones at the buildings. i could come home somehow...but my TA told me later that The United University building doesn't even have one window glass left unbroken.

you may not agree with me, but we have invited this... we have created a situation for an army-backed government first... and now we couldn't just wait to have them shoving bamboos up our asses. we are thoroughly rotten.

now sit back, you brave bangalees, and suck you thumb.

[not in a mood to finish my previous blog... please pardon my inconsistency ]

These Learning Experiences

There is a Bengali saying that goes something like this: “Buddhiman shikhe dekhe… Boka shikhe theke”. Which roughly translates into English as “smart peoplegetthe lesson from others experiences, the stupid ones don’t until they suffer themselves” I have no doubts that I am a “boka”... because I never learnt from others; I always learnt a lesson only when I had to drag myself through fire… and I forgot them [both about the lesson and the fire] as soon as they were over. And then…those "ooops-I-did-it-again" events were soon resurrected to my misery. The fire must be really tempting and I must be the most stupidest ass walking the face of the earth…

When we were preparing for Australasian Intervarsity Debating Championships [or Australs, for short] back in July 2004, I was quite confident in my abilities. I told our teacher, Meher Nigar June, like a self-confident pompous jerk “Ma'am don’t worry; I am a fast learner.”
She was not happy. the conversation that followed was something like this--

MNJ: fast-learner? I see. But you should rather say you are a hard-worker.
Me: Yes Ma’am. I am that too. [just imagine whatta pompous lying jerk I was]
MNJ: oh, well…

I haven't learnt a great deal from life. But the things I did manage to learn came a little too late. so late, that they were of little significance. It is like the NTV people learning to use the Oxygen cylinder after the entire building had been burnt down and all the films and documents were totally destroyed. An opportunity to apply the skill ofcontrolling fire is of little value now. But there could be a “next time”... who knows? Had they learnt it earlier from numerous garment-factory- fiery-tragedies, the price could have been less. NTV folks must be real “boka” too.

Ma says I took a very long time to learn to read. When my siblings could spell considerably long and complex polysyllabic words like “[e for] elephant” or “[t for television]”, I was stuck at the first letter of the alphabet; all I could do was to modestly spell a-p-p-l-e = apple. After I went to school, my parents found to their dismay that I was fast at learning to swear, fight and do all other kinds of evil deeds but still slow with studies.

It was probably the time when I had emerged as an accomplished popstar. During the Tiffin break, I would go running to different senior students [mostly girls], give a smile and ask them to buy me a Jhalmuri or Amra worth 1 taka. I was considerate enough not to put my 10-11 year old patrons through too much financial hurdles by asking for a 2 taka candy-floss or a 5 taka ice-cream. As time went by and my fame grew, I started to sing half-correct songs in absolutely incorrect melody or recite a newly learnt nursery rhyme with vigorous body movements to a larger audience. Many more patrons were now eager to see me dancing and singing; and then pay for my Jhalmuri. My brother, who was then in class 1, discovered my performance-spree at some point and reported to Ma about it. My artistic endeavors were banned.

The two lessons learnt were: 1. [from the secondary source: Ma] It was not respectable for a singer-dancer to perform everywhere. 2. [from the primary source] My smile had the potential to get me some of the things I wanted.

Photo Courtesy: http://serc.carleton.edu/NAGTWorkshops/earlycareer/teaching/learningstyles.html

Where Have All the Lovers Gone??

If you want to know the truth, we are a shameless nation.
with some exceptions, we, the Bangladeshis, in general never use “sorry”, “thank you” “excuse me” or any other polite words when they are needed, let alone..."could you please tell me" or "may I sit here" or "may ask you a personal..." etc etc. we never stand in lines for elevators. We never open doors for ladies. We are bahadur bangalees; we are discourteous, so? What’s the big deal?

On many occasions, I have wondered that if there was an international spitting competition, nobody could stop the Bengal tigers from being the permanent champions... and guess what, we don't even need stadiums, coaches, trainings and other paraphernalia of some other sports that our brave boys are currently trying their hands on and sometimes shitting in their pants when faced with stronger opponents (remember the recent BD-Srilanka test series??). We could easily use our wide roads as spittoons everyday. look at us now....we spit here and there; now and then; when we are angry or when we are sad; from buses or from rickshaws; leisurely or copiously. we spit, whenever wherever ...this is our national pastime.

Then, there is the peeing extravaganza. By public demand, it can also be titled as the national pastime activity jointly with the previous one. I will not elaborate it any further. But if you are a Bangladeshi, you know what I am talking about. It will be infinitely difficult to find a wall in Dhaka that has not been adequately showered by the natural springs. For us, “All the world’s a lavatory… And all menmerely pee-ers." This is how Dhaka works. We are bahadur bangalees; we are crude, so? What’s the big deal?

We are shameless in these aforementioned (and some more) cases… but don’t you think that we lack shame altogether. We get absolutely tongue-tied with shame and embarrassment whenever it is “Love” that we are dealing with.

Love. Yes... whenever we see people in love, we, the bangalees are disturbed. We say this and that... we criticize and comment. Lovers are a forbidden race here in this pseudo conservative Islamic state. But still young men and women all over Bangladesh fall in love. Like everywhere else, they make promises and break them; they share moments of delight or pangs of separation. But public display of affection is an absolute no-no.

So where do the lovers go?

Ten years back, lovers used to go to the Chinese restaurants and chat over a bowl of chicken corn soup for 3 hours. It was cost-effective for the lovers… a table for two in the corner… half-dark with dim blue bulbs… faint background music and a steaming bowl soup. Who doesn’t know that darkness and soup always have had positive effects on the lovers’ health? The restaurant owners, however, soon realized that their profit in business was inversely proportionate with those 3 hours of love-talks. The good restaurants stopped serving chicken corn soup only. They would only take orders for a full meal … soup, appetizer, main dish, side dishes, beverage and desert. Lovers, as we know, universally run short of cash. Chinese restaurants were soon crossed out of their lists.

Next came the fast food places with fancy and ambitious names like Pizza Corner, Pizza Place, Pizza Palace and Pizza Howdy. Lovers went there and found out that they sold everything but pizzas . They sell small kababs inside small buns and call them Burgers; they also sell big kababs inside a big buns; and call them Hotdogs. . The prices were high but privacy was low. Moreover, those places were heavily lighted. Some places with dim lights like Big Bite (no pun intended) and some with affordable price like Arabian Fast Food managed to retain their places in the lovers’ lists; others were soon closed down.

Then came many lounges and many cafes. The lounge sofas would always be occupied by snooty teenage wanna-bees and the cafes were all appropriated by all those arty pretentious bores. Lovers would always feel out-of-place in their company. We, the bangalees (both snooty and arty), frowned at them… got irritated at their small signs of affection. You know, We don’t like to see public display of affection. Pissing in public is acceptable to us but kissing in public is absolutely intolerable. We are bahadur Bangalees; we are hypocrites. so? whats the big deal?

The lovers soon found their haunts. Lovers from the southern part of the city now go to the good old Dhaka University Campus. Rumor has it that Fuller Road and TSC are the two hottest spots. The place is green and open.; in addition to that, for hungry lovers (no pun again), there are innumerable Badam, Chanachur and Jhalmuri vendors; and all at an affordable price. Lovers have realized that the most other men and women who populate these places belong to the universal brotherhood of lovers themselves.


Rich lovers from the northern part of the town are still suffering from lack of dating places. How long one can browse through the mushrooming fast food stores and restaurants, they have complained. They have demanded for an affordable place for lovers in this locality. The price of loving in this area is high just as the price of any other thing. Rumor also has it that they are planning to hold a procession demanding a lover’s lane. After the emergency is over, that is.

Not-so-rich lovers from the northern part of the city, however, have come up with a unique solution. Garments workers, motor mechanics, domestic helps and rickshaw pullers are now redefining the dating culture. They take a bus up to the Mohakhali fly-over and meet their beloved there. Then, together, they walk up to the middle of the bridge holding each others hands. Then standing by the railing, they do their small love-talks. Buses carrying bahadur bangalees discharge diesel smoke at them; Speeding cars of unsatisfied rich lovers whoosh past them. They remain oblivious to the surrounding....the traffic, dust and smoke. From the temporarily elevated level, the dirty old Dhaka resonates of love and hope for them. We the Bahadur Bangalees curse them from our caves. Chi Chi, What has the desh become?? No lojja… No shorom…. All these people holding hands on the flyover. It is prohibited to even walk on a flyover abroad. Chi chi… There is no niyom in this desh.

And it goes on....

A friend recently told me, "you are just as vulnerable as you seem". We are bahadur bangalees; we are love-haters, so what? no big deal. As long as we don't proclaim our vulnerabilities to others, we live happily ever after in our glasshouses.