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.
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?
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?
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.
new faces always remind me of old times...
i wont lie to you about it; but sometimes in the faces of my students, I see faces of my friends... companions... acquaintances ... it is weird. but anybody who is in the teaching profession will probably agree with me.
university never changes... there's always one or two nerds asking pertinent but sharp questions about this or that...trying to trap the teacher....only the smarter teachers can keep their 'superiority platform' intact (yes, yes i am one of them) at the face of those arrowing queries. Still you can never dislike these kids who make you feel the need for self-improvement every day. And of course, there are the beauty queens ... whenever they open their mouth to speak (which happens rarely) there is a pin-drop silence in the class.. everybody looks at them (or at their mouths to be specific...lipstick and all that).. many hearts palpitate fast as they slowly ask a very ordinary question in an epic fashion. “didn’t I just explain it?” the teacher smiles, while the nerds frown. The class goes on. Then there are the rock-stars; boys and girls -- smart and witty, cool and in-control -- without whom the class is never a fun. And there is the rest of the student populace... who shine dimly and half-dimly in the class. However, it’s not altogether unusual when a rather dim one flashes out like the Halley’s Comet and outshines everyone else.
the first class of a new semester usually begins with “getting-to-know-each-other” type questions… I ask them about their schools, colleges, hobbies and so on… and then I ask them to ask me questions some of the first questions I get are something like this:
madam, are you married?
“No.”, I say, “happy?”
“Yes”, they say, with a chuckle spreading from ear to ear. (didn’t I just sound Eliotic?)
Another FAQ is why did you choose to take up teaching? Now that’s what makes me think. In my very brief three-semester teaching career, I had to answer it several times. Half-heartedly speaking, I gave them half- witty or rather half-honest answers. After all, who wants to engage into a “why” discourse in an Eng-101 class? As I am digging deep into the question today, I wouldn’t mind finding the answer to the big WHY?
My friends in the university are a great influence. Tuhi and some other girls always thought I would be terrific teacher. Once in a summer afternoon I taught them poetry (adrienne rich) basking in the lavish Rokeya Hall lawn … now I realize that they read so little themselves that it was extremely difficult for me not to have sounded intellectual. My friend Moushum also thought I could be a good teacher; but in addition to that, she also knew about my infinite indolence and of course, my near-zero time sense. Moushum never thought I could fit into a 9 to 5 work schedule. cheers dosto! I also think alike… great minds do so.
Had we but world enough and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love's day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood;
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow.
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state;
Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long-preserved virginity;
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust.
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
Now, therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like am'rous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapped pow'r.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life.
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
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