E. B. White and Brevity (with some Mujtaba)
The other day I was invited to a gala dinner event. Towards the end of a most inspiring evening, and just before the dinner, the Chief Guest delivered his speech. Trouble was, it was a long delivery: we all felt the labor pains. At one point, he said "And I now digress to say that..." and the young man sitting next to me groaned, "Oh no, please please don't digress!" I felt bad for the CG, who, in his seriousness, had forgotten he was the last thing that stood between the audience and its dinner. He should have listened to E. B. White and Will Strunk's timeless advice: "Omit Needless Words."
Somehow in our cultural makeup, specially when using English, we just love to pile in the words. "With humble submission I beg to state that" was what the Brits taught the Indians to start letters with. That is gone, but now in its place, I once gave a speech to an august body in Rajshahi that started like this: "Distinguished Mayor of Rajshahi, Honored City Council Members, Respected representatives of XYZ Furrin Organization, Highly Regarded Members of Parliament and the rest of you riffraffs I mean honored ladies and gentlemen." Once was enough, never again I swore. [Ok, ok, I didn't really say riffraffs - just checking if you are paying attention.]
Ok, so what's the connection between verbosity in Bangladesh and an American writer? Simple: White's lessons and examples, if followed, would result in more precise and effective use of English words in our culture. Here is an introduction to his works and lessons.
Elwyn Brooks White (1899-1985) is best remembered for his essays, poems and sketches. He also wrote the classic children's stories Stuart Little and Charlotte's Web. With Will Strunk Jr, White was the co-author of The Elements of Style, a guidebook for writing well.
White’s essays are infused with a profound civility and respect for nature. A master of writing style, he was a persuasive champion of plain and direct writing. A gentle humor permeated his words.
Take, for example, his essay Riposte, where he discusses a recently published article, The Meaning of Brown Eggs, written by an Englishman. White is not pleased with the article’s attempt to categorize Americans based on their preference for white eggs over brown. "Why is it, do you suppose, that an Englishman is unhappy until he has explained America?" he asks, arguing, "... but one seldom meets an American who is all tensed up because he has yet to explain England."
At the end of A Listener’s Guide to the Birds, a poem describing various bird sounds, White signs his name in bird-watcher terms:
"E. B. WHITE (gray cheeks,
inconspicuous eye-ring,
frequents bars and glades)"
Or take the start of The World of Tomorrow, an essay on the World’s Fair in New York,: "I wasn't really prepared for the World's Fair last week, and it certainly wasn't prepared for me. Between the two of us there was considerable of a mixup."
I first encountered White's work in 1977, when I entered Cornell University, New York, as a freshman. To my dismay I discovered that all freshmen were required to take a full year of English writing classes. I thought this was a waste of time since I knew all there was to know about writing. After all, hadn’t I earned an “A” in O-Level English? The first essay I wrote for my class proved me wrong. My typewritten paper came back from the teacher covered with red (outright mistakes) and blue (suggestions for improvement) marks.
I was humbled. A friend saw my predicament and brought me The Elements of Style. Not since Class 3, when my father gave me a crash-course in English grammar, had I learned so much about writing in such a short time. Soon my run-on sentences stopped running, my modifiers stopped dangling and my infinitives were joined: I made it through the writing class.
That was in 1977. Since then, this little book - originally written by Strunk, then revised and updated by White – has been my constant companion. With twenty-two precise and clear rules of English grammar and an inspiring essay on writing style, it has shaped my thinking and helped me communicate my ideas clearly .
Some of these rules yield direct, forceful words. For example, using Rule 16, “Put Statements in Positive Form”, we write, “He usually came late” instead of “He was not very often on time.” Rule 15, “Use the active voice”, exhorts us to change, for example, “My first visit to Boston will always be remembered by me” into “I shall always remember my first visit to Boston.”
Other rules dispel confusions of grammar. Rule 1, “Follow the possessive singular of nouns by adding ‘s” is followed by examples “Charles’s tonsils”, “Burns’s poems”, and “the witch’s malice.” I also find Rule 10 useful: “Use the proper case of pronoun.” This rule lets me write “Will Jane or he be hired?” instead of “Will Jane or him be hired?”
An important theme in The Elements of Style is Rule No. 17, "Omit needless words." I let the book elaborate: "Vigorous writing is concise. A sentence should contain no unnecessary words, a paragraph no unnecessary sentences, for the same reason that a drawing should have no unnecessary lines and a machine no unnecessary parts. This requires not that the writer make all his sentences short, or that he avoid all detail and treat his subjects in only in outline, but that every word tell."
What a beautiful world it would indeed be if all needless words were omitted! What would the politicians say? Or all those people yakking on their mobile phones? And wouldn't Bollywood have to shorten all its movies to five minutes?
In addition to being influenced by Strunk's thoughts on brevity, White was also a fan of the American philosopher and writer Henry David Thoreau. Having built a house near a pond in Walden, Massachusetts, Thoreau had lived there, alone, for several seasons, sustaining himself with food he himself grew. The book Walden, which Thoreau wrote during this sojourn, remains a classic of philosophy and simple living.
White had read Thoreau's Walden so many times that he had memorized parts of it. He even thought that Walden's Table of Contents, wherein eighteen chapters are named using thirty nine words, was a lesson in brevity.
In the essay The Retort Transcendental, White speculated on how he could quote from Walden in answer to common questions.
For example, if he ran into a friend after a long time, and was asked, "Where have you been all this time?" White would reply, "If a man does not keep pace with his companions perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer." Or if he walks into a restaurant alone during a busy hour, and the headwaiter - unhappy about one person perhaps taking up a whole table - asks accusingly "All alone?" the proper Waldenian response is, "I feel it wholesome to be alone the greater part of the time. To be in company, even with the best, is soon wearisome and dissipating."
But even Thoreau is not immune from White’s humorous prodding. In A Slight Sound of Evening, an essay discussing Walden, White writes: “Thoreau said he required of every writer, first and last, a simple and sincere account of his own life. Having delivered himself of this chesty dictum, he proceeded to ignore it.”
Born in 1899, White attended Cornell from 1917 to 1921. During his senior year he was the chief editor of the college newspaper Cornell Daily Sun. Most of his professional life was spent working for the New Yorker and Harper's magazines. In 1937, he bought a farm in Maine and lived there with his family. He then split his time between writing and farming. Many of his essays have real-life, touching descriptions of his experiences with nature and animals at his farm.
Here is an example from his essay A Report in Spring: "No rain has fallen in several weeks. The gardens are dry, the road to the shore is dusty. The ditches, which in May are usually swollen to bursting, are no more than a summer trickle. Trout fishermen are not allowed on the streams; pond fishing from a boat is still permissible. The landscape is lovely to behold, but the hot, dry wind carries the smell of trouble." I don't know about you, but reading this I can feel the crackle of dry air on my skin.
While White covered many genres, for me he belongs squarely in the canon of nature writing, the crown jewel of American literature. Molded by America's pioneer spirit, wide open spaces and magnificent mountains and prairies, the writers of this genre - Thoreau, John Muir, Peter Matthiessen, Aldo Leopold, Edward Abbey, John McPhee, Barry Lopez and others – spent much time in the American wilderness and wrote about their experiences in a way that was both universal and personal.
White’s essays are powerful because they ring true, since they are borne out of his lived experience. But what makes them enjoyable is his way with words. As another American humorist James Thurber said, “No one can write a sentence like White.” And in the heart of White’s crisp sentences was his passion for brevity.
This love-affair with brevity has universal parallels, of course. The notion that a well-crafted creative work contains no more and no less than what is necessary to express the artist’s vision is an old one.
Shakespeare excelled in precise and parsimonious use of words, lending punch to his writing. That is why we find it so easy, even after 400 years, to use one of his phrases to express a complex or subtle notion.
Tagore's songs are masterpieces because they have exactly the right number of words and notes: no more, no less. That's one reason they have the power to move us without being sentimental or maudlin.
The great classical composers, such as Mozart and Beethoven, also wrote their music in the same way. In the movie Amadeus, based on Mozart’s life, there is an exchange between Mozart and his benefactor, the pompous Emperor Joseph II. Mozart plays a piece he has just composed for the Emperor. The Emperor likes it, but since he is Emperor, he feels he must find a fault. “It has too many notes,” he says, “Cut a few”. The precocious Mozart quickly retorts, “Then which notes would your Majesty like me to cut?” For this the Emperor has no good answer.
Our own master stylist, Dr. Syed Mujtaba Ali, was also a proponent of brevity. In an essay on Bangali food habits, he says that our dinner parties serve too many dishes. When he complains the host, the usual reply is, “We did not know which dish you would like, so eat the one you like most.”
But that probably means the host does not know what his or her masterpiece is. "Does a novelist write a novel with five different endings and let you choose the one you want?” asks an exasperated Mujtaba.
Brevity adds another dimension to the well-executed creative work: we enjoy it without feeling the load of the artist’s hard work behind it. The artist or writer may have had to struggle and revise many times, but what we enjoy is the final, polished work, looking effortless. For example, when we see an Olympic diver, we marvel at his grace, though he never overtly reminds us of the years of hard work he has invested in preparing for this moment.
So it is with White’s work. A few sentences into one of White’s essays, my mind is usually filled with joy, hope, and a sense of well-being. But White was a generous craftsman: for those who want to create like him, he left instructions.
Young Bangladesh
My uncle told me this story years ago. During President H. M. Ershad's time, a village was facing a disaster. Mr. Ershad had ordered officials to deal with the matter urgently. They had worked hard and disaster was averted. Now the President was visiting in a helicopter. When his helicopter landed in a field, it was completely surrounded by hundreds of joyous kids. Mr. Ershad apparently looked at the official next to him, pointed outside, and said, "We have averted disaster today, but what will happen tomorrow when all these kids must be taken care of?"
Well it looks many of those kids are doing Bangladesh proud today. One example is the really young team that defeated India at World Cup Cricket yesterday. There are several teenagers in the team. As the Daily Telegaph said,
"These Bangladeshis have an impish verve all their own. Their youngsters are not only ardent but cheeky and streetwise. They are the youngest Test nation but they don't die wondering."
Ah, all those years of eating chotpoti/fuchka and playing truant/cutting classes to practice cricket pays off! A day like this is enough to make a fan out of a crusty cricket-agnostic like myself.
Another example is GMB Akash, a young photojournalist, who was chosen in an important list of worldwide top 30 "New and Emerging Photographers to Watch in 2007". Akash is 30, the only South Asian in that list.
Yet another example is young novelist Tahmima Anam who I have mentioned on this blog before.
And so the list goes on. Naeem Mohaiemen, in an essay, commented on how young Bangladeshis who have been successful abroad rarely get the rave reviews they deserve in their homeland. Yes, they deserve more attention. Problem is that our culture has a historical tendency to tilt towards elders and towards the past.
But today I see a change. So many of the kids I meet at different occasions - from the classrooms and halls at BRAC U. where I teach, to budding software engineers at various firms or friend's houses, to school and college students I run into while wandering or photographing - show confidence, self-esteem, and yes, verve.
The future of Bangladesh is in good hands.
Heroes
Heroes are hard to find, but sometimes you find them in unexpected places. For me, my Father is one such hero. Only two days ago, my Aunt (Mejofufu - who is much older than my Father) refreshed my memory about his involvement in the 1952 Language Movement. He was a student in Dhaka University, and was staying at my Aunt's house. One morning he wanted to go to school in a hurry. "Give me daal bhaat, or whatever is cooked" he asked my Aunt, "I have a long day." Yeah, long because we was demonstrating for Bangla with the other students. But then he got clubbed by the police and passed out on the street. He was taken to Dhaka Medical, and later an Ambulance brought him back to my Aunt's house. Luckily he recovered.
My Father rarely discusses this episode of his life but to those who know he is a true Bhasha Shainik. Who knows, maybe one day he will get recognition for his sacrifices.
There is also my Mother who passed away too soon. In her short life her grace and kindness touched everyone who met her. She was the pivotal point for our extended family to remain united. She was also an amazing cook who trained my tastebuds and gave me my taste for elegant food. She had helped so many people in so many ways that I am sure their blessings will carry the day for her.
Among my contemporaries, there is Dr. Qader, who supervises the Intensive Care Unit at the Children's Hospital. There were many opportunities in this talented doctor's life when he could have taken a job abroad (or a more lucrative one at a private place in Dhaka.) But his goal in life seems to be saving children's lives - specially those who don't have any alternative. An unsung hero, but one who has made a huge difference in many many lives.
Another contemporary, Ali Ishtiaq, worked in Silicon Valley and had a luxurious lifestyle there, which he traded-in three years ago to be with his ailing parents in Dhaka. He has taken incredibly good care of them, moving them to an airy, open apartment and looking after them in every possible way. His mother passed away three days ago. She breathed her last with her head on his lap as the car was speeding to the Emergency. Few of us get (or make) this kind of opportunity to take care of our parents.
On the public front, there is Dr. Yunus. Let's hope his political venture works out best for him and the country. There are two others I respect. One is Shykh Siraj, whose TV show Hridoye Maati o Manush has revolutionized agriculture in Bangladesh by giving ideas, courage and inspiration to the nation's farmers. The other is Magistrate Rokon-ud-Dowla whose tireless hunting for food adulteration has exposed many nasty food businessmen.
Well, the list goes on, but I want to mention one other person who passed away today. I met him very late, after he had fallen ill, but I was always touched by his soft-spoken manners and by his kindness. He was a pioneering civil engineer of Bangladesh, a founder of The Engineers, who not only built many structures here but also overseas. He was Mr. Manzur Husain and I hope that his soul finds peace.
A Visit to the Clinic
I crashed my racing bicycle the other day (entirely my fault.) One of the resulting wounds needed checking out. A doctor friend recommended another doctor, who happens to work in a "middle-class" clinic near Kolabagan (as opposed to, say, Apollo or United Hospitals.) When I called the doctor he asked me to come by his clinic.
I went with some trepidation. My past experiences with most Dhaka doctors and clinics, from the 1970s and 80s, had been dreadful (unless I went to my doctor friend or cousin for help.) There were nightmarish memories of obnoxious doctors, waiting forever and not getting to see them, and bad diagnoses. My worries were made worse as I walked into the second floor, where the doctors' chambers was. There were many many people milling around, some standing because there were not enough chairs. There appeared to be no way of keeping track of the order of patients.
I looked around to find the receptionist and tell them about my arrival, but none was there. Eventually I found a payment booth and talked to the man there. He in turn yelled "Jahangir! Jahangir!". Turned out Jahangir was the receptionist and gatekeeper to the doctor I wanted to see, and he was in constant motion, moving around the patients, then to the doctor chambers, and so on. I gave him my information and asked him to convey to the doctor. A little later he said the doctor had asked me to wait, since he was doing an emergency surgery.
I settled into a chair and watched the other patients. A nervous father and mother brought in a teenager daughter with a big burn covering her forehead. The girl was completely quiet. People freely talked to strangers about what was afflicting them. The man sitting next to me apparently had a very bad pain in his foot for no apparent reason - as I overheard him talking to another fellow he had just met.
Many men were in blazers or suits and ties. They held X-Rays and Lab Reports like medals of valor. There was a window behind my chair from where one could buy snacks - at very reasonable prices. Potato chips were a hit. I guess you get hungry waiting for the doctor. A patient bought two sets of soft-drink and chips and gave one set to the payment booth man - saying "You need to eat" - and walked off.
Another doctor walked through the hallway to his office. A small procession of patients followed him to the door of his office, at which point his gatekeeper decided whom he could see. Some of the patients stood up respectfully and offered their salams as he passed them beaming in a divine manner.
After about an hour of waiting, I asked Jahangir how much longer. He said the doctor was almost done with the surgery and would be here shortly. So I sat down again. Although I was running out of patience, I told myself it was really really important that I not lose this waiting-game. Then it would become a black-mark in my experiences here.
The doctor finally arrived, about an hour after my arrival. He saw several patients (mostly young children and women) before seeing me. I was very impressed at the way he examined my wound, listened to me, and pointed out the diagnosis (nothing serious.) My impression of Bangladeshi doctors improved considerably after this encounter.
As I came out of the office I saw the crowd had thinned. Many had already seen their doctor. One guy was wondering aloud if he could get a rickshaw to take him to Nakhalpara. Some had given up and left for the night. Once I had gotten past the fear of the crowd, I came away with a renewed respect for the patience and forbearance of the middle-class Bangladeshi.
Procrastination and Resolutions
This time of the year is time for New Year's Resolutions. In this context, I think about an essay I read about procrastination.
The gist of the essay is that all procrastination is not bad. There is such a thing called "good procrastination". It is good to procrastinate (or put off) on the mundane chores of life if one is spending the time working on something really Important. This thought ties in nicely if we equate Resolutions with above Important things.
I always try to have only one or two Resolutions, but end up making too many, only to find them unmanageable. One year I tried breaking down into categories, and picking one from each. For example, health, family, religion, job, etc. That seemed to have worked better.
Of course, well-defined goals also work better. When I was working on my book on image processing (which took over a year) I had some clear things I wanted to accomplish - and it kept me on track.
I still believe the best resolutions are those which are ambitious (and planned.) For example, building a new software product, finishing that college degree, writing a book, learning a new language, etc. If one consistently works on a project for one year, it is bound to show some results one is proud of.
There is a danger to sticking to resolutions. New opportunities may be completely missed because of doggedly pursuing old resolutions. So maybe one of my resolutions should be "Execute on 'chance favors the prepared mind'?" Heh-heh :-)
Let's say that some of my most meaningful accomplishments from last year - such as reviving my interest in photography, bicycling the Bd countryside, or writing this blog - were not in any New Year's list. Nevertheless I am grateful for them.
So I have my resolutions. But I hold them close to my chest, and will look back December, Inshallah, to see what surprises life had in store.
Which Language to Write
I was reading writer Mahmud Rahman's blog, where he discusses the language one chooses to write in, and its relationship to one's mother tongue. He approaches the issue from a writer's point of view - that is, the special problems that the writer faces when his or her mother tongue is different from the language that he or she chooses to write in. A fascinating topic.
That's a writer's dilemma, of course, but every time I write something in English - that, say, gets published in the Daily Star - something else bugs me: that the vast majority of educated Bangladeshis will not be able to read what I have written because they are educated in Bangla.
So for me, the big question is: who is the audience I write for? That is the basic question that I think many creative people must grapple with. In the subcontinent, Mulk Raj Anand and R. K. Narayan were the two early successful novelists in English - but look at what happened to Michael Madhusudan Dutta.
If you are a creative person, perhaps you have some thoughts? I have heard arguments that Satyajit Ray's Pather Pachali was really meant for a Western audience. But I have also read about Ray vehemently denying it. More importantly, can one argue that there ought to be a moral bias towards a particular type of audience the work of art is created for?
I have no confusion about who I write on this blog for. It is meant for our friends in the US, as well as anyone else, who is interested in the experiences of a returning NRB. As such, English is the way to go. But I also feel some loss at not being able to write as fluently in Bangla as I once did. My Bangla, as they say, "aRoshTo hoye gechhey." Something I want to fix in the future, definitely.
What Does Catman Do?
Years ago when I was new to Unix, I was having trouble understanding the man page for "catman" command. So I asked another engineer, Steve, "What does catman do?" and he said, "It is the capital of Nepal." Heh heh.
Last week I visited Kathmandu for the first time to accompany my son's school basketball team - my son plays in that team - competing in a regional tournament. They won the championship competing against schools from Delhi, Kathmandu, Colombo, Bombay, Lahore, Karachi, Islamabad and Murree. Congrats Tigers!
Kathmandu was interesting, but also raised troubling questions. They have a huge tourism industry, but where do the tourist dollars go? Talking to some locals, I got the impression the people are very poor. But incredibly nice, friendly and they liked Bangladesh a lot. A lawyer I met during lunch at a local hole-in-the-wall told me that the years of Maoist insurgency had really drained the economy.
I was in KTM the whole time, but if you go on a trek, for $30-$50/day/person you get guide+porter, lodging at "tea houses" and food. What kind of food? The guide shows you a menu and you choose what you want to eat and they cook or order it for you. Wow! Luxury in the mountains. Far cry from the gorp-and-freeze-dried sustenance I endured while backpacking in the Sierra Nevada.
Here is what really bugs me. So these mountains are their country. Yet, the poor Nepalese do the grunt work while foreign tourists explore the mountains like lords. Hardly seems fair, does it?
In the Land of Cup and Lip: Becoming a Bangladeshi Again
[A slightly different version of this essay appears in The Daily Star Weekend Magazine today. Notes for non-Bengali readers follow the essay.]
After living 30 years abroad, I have returned to Bangladesh. I am re-learning how to live in my native land. While rediscovering many sights, sounds and tastes from my childhood, I am also evolving a new way of living that echoes the rhythm of life here.
Take the seasons for example. Sure, I knew Bangladesh has six, but over the years I had grown clueless about their bounties. Not any more. As Grishho (summer) approaches, all my thoughts turn to Rajshahi mangoes. Water covering miles of fields in Borsha (rainy season) does not unsettle me because in Hemonto (late autumn) I will see the same fields glowing golden with paddyfields. Shorot (early autumn) brings Shaplas of more colors than I had imagined. In Sheet (winter), during an orange-green sunset, I watch the fog roll into the tea garden hills. As Boshonto (spring) emerges from winter, bright orange Krishnochuras set the sky aflame.
I fathom nature's mysteries with patience, but man-made ones stump me. Why do rickshaws have two brake-handles but only one works? What are those towels on the back of officers' chairs for? Why is a job titled "Senior Assistant" when those words mean "Senior Junior?" Why is personal integrity so rare that we point out so-and-so is an "honest" officer as if they were a rare Doodhraj bird (paradise flycatcher)? When I need directions, why does one who does not know insist on being helpful and point me the wrong way? Why do cars blink hazard lights when they are crossing an intersection? And what is a "Gatelock" bus?
Of life's uncertainties, Shakespeare said, "Many a slip 'twixt cup and lip." Living in Bangladesh, the land of cup and lip, I must accord uncertainty its due stature. Making a weekend plan for a short trip out of town? A hartal strikes. Going to an important business meeting? Sorry, my counterpart's aunt died and he is absent from office. Flying overseas tomorrow? At 8pm the night before my travel agent carrying my ticket is stuck in traffic.
With growing uncertainty comes less privacy. At a government office a visitor inadvertently entertains us by discussing private business with the officer in front of five other visitors like me. Back in my own office, a one-on-one discussion regarding an employee's performance issues is interrupted several times as people walk in for various reasons.
I quickly learn to be mistrustful of unexpected privacy. Choosing to walk on the right side of a bridge because everyone else is on the left, I soon discover the reason for my privacy: this side harbors a hidden garbage dump emitting noxious stench.
Following other pedestrians’ footsteps, I compulsively avoid climbing pedestrian overpasses when crossing the road. If I need to cross the road, I will brave oncoming traffic, jump over traffic islands, and risk getting my jeans ripped by barbed wires placed precisely to discourage jaywalkers like me. That overpass is for sissies, not Real Bangladeshis.
Unexpected new words or phrases tell me that even the language has changed. Some, like Bhasha Shoinik referring to those who fought in the Language Movement of the 1950s and 60s, are powerful additions. Shopkeepers seeking class insist their goods, once shosta (cheap), are now shasroyee (inexpensive). But who let irritations like aalga pechail and kora mishTi into this sweet language of mine? Best of all, I hear villagers say Bangla to mean Bangladeshi (“He is a Bangla”), silencing the tedious "Bangladeshi" vs "Bengali" arguments.
Fears that dogged me during the early days of my return slowly recede. The risk of dengue from a mosquito bite sustained during the day no longer keeps me awake at night. Nor do I hunt down the blood-engorged mosquito to check for white stripes as I once did, because this knowledge is utterly useless a posteriori. Food adulteration, traffic accidents, pollution and noise - these are all reduced from unacceptable to mere nuisance.
While fears reduce, death becomes a bigger part of life. I find that we Bangladeshis have trouble letting go of our dead, starting with our two long gone political leaders who, after so many years, still tower over national politics. The newspapers are full of notices of not just some prominent person who recently passed away, but also of 10th, 15th or even the 20th anniversary of important peoples' death! Many of these influential people achieved much because of their focus on the present. Yet, here we are, harping on the past, invoking their memory for sentimental - or worse, manipulative - reasons.
In a bid to shake off morbid thoughts, I explore the parks and gardens. I observe the elegance of the Bulbuli as it weaves in and out of the flowers, and marvel at the resourceful Shalik consistently managing to find food on the roadside. I watch with suspense as a Cheel dives into the water to grab lunch, and my heart jumps with the Fingey as it flicks its long V-shaped tail swinging on electric wires and then swoosh! zips away. I feel – however fleetingly - the profundity of Jibananda Das's words:
"You all can go wherever you want
I will stay right here in Bangla".
The sweetest rewards come unexpectedly. Biting into a LoTkon fruit after thirty years, my mind is flooded with childhood memories, like Proust's character Swann experienced when he tasted a madeleine cookie in "Remembrance of Things Past."
I gauge my progress towards my goal during chance encounters with the locals. Like the time when I am bicycling through a village in Rupganj area. A boy, barely ten, stops me, points to a tall Kamranga tree full of ripe juicy fruit, and offers to climb it and pick some, free of charge. "Want to try it, sir, it is very sweet", he asks me. I had forgotten how unbelievably hospitable, friendly and generous Bangladeshi villagers are. I realize that attaining this level of being Bangladeshi will be tough.
[Notes for non-Bangladeshi readers:
1. Bangladesh has 6 seasons: Summer, Rainy Season, Early Fall, Late Fall, Winter and Spring. In Bengali these are Grishho, Borsha, Shorot, Hemonto, Sheet, Boshonto. The language is Bengali (aka Bangla.)
2. Rajshahi in northern Bangladesh is famous for its sweet mangoes.
3. Shapla, a water-lily, is the national flower of Bangladesh.
4. Bangladeshi rickshaws have two brake handles but only one is attached to a (front) brake. There is no brake at the rear.
5. A hartal is political protest that shuts down shops and most traffic for the day. Offices usually remain open.
6. The Language Movement, from the 1950s, was a people’s movement in Bangladesh (then East Pakistan) to promote Bengali and resist the adoption of Urdu (spoken only in West Pakistan) as the national language.
7. Aalga Pechail means “unnecessary complicated talk” and Kora Misti means “very sweet” (used by fruitsellers.)
8. Shalik, bulbul, fingey and cheel are birds of sturnidae, nightingale, drongo and kite families.
9. Jibananda Das, a Bengali poet, is best-known for his celebration of natural beauty of the region.
10. You can reach Rupganj in an hour of bicycling from Dhaka’s diplomatic zone.
11. Kamranga is starfruit. LoTkon is a local fruit, intensely tangy with a nice flavor.
NRBs Deciding to Return to Bangladesh
Many NRBs (non-resident Bangladeshis) dream of returning to live in Bangladesh: it's a basic human instinct. For some, the dream keeps getting postponed. Reasons come up: financial security, kids' education, occupation upon return, spousal support or lack thereof etc etc. Others decide and take the plunge.
While living in the US, my wife and I also wanted to return to Bangladesh, mostly for parental reasons. But our wishes did not synchronise often. We both loved the US (and still do) and were chasing our goals one way or another. The first time both of us simultaneously wanted to return, in 2005, we did it. Lock stock and barrel.
That's right. We really believe that it is such a big jump (specially if you have lived abroad for long) that the only way to make the change is to be totally committed to it. For us at least, "let's give it a try for 6 months" approach was not going to work.
Events proved we were right in our thinking. Three weeks after returning here, 500+ bombs went off (Aug 17, 2005) all over Bangladesh. Do you think if we had been in "trying out" mode we would have stayed here after that? But we stuck it out, because our firm decision gave us the courage to face the uncertainty.
One immense help in deciding was the general encouragement and prayers of our friends in Silicon Valley (as well as our elder relatives everywhere.) I recall that through the nerve-wracking process of decision-making - and the consequences of that decision such as putting up our house for sale - the encouragement of elders and well-wishing friends were like a calm, steadying force.
It was therefore with disappointment that I heard a story this morning of another NRB family who had decided to return home. When they announced the decision to their (NRB) friends, the reaction was more like "Have you gone mad?" No, this talented, brave, energetic and skillful family has not gone mad. They have made a sane but big decision about where to spend their time and effort on this planet, and need all the support they can get from his friends.
After all, isn't Time really all we have in this world? So isn't it important how and where we decide to spend it?
Bangladesh needs NRBs back here - specially those with skills that are in short supply. Businesses, universities and organizations here need talent in so many areas: management, IT, teaching, banking, pharmaceuticals, healthcare, etc etc.
Many organizations in Bangladesh hire non-Bangladeshis because Bangladeshis are simply not available. I heard - unconfirmed - there are 100,000 expat Indians working in Dhaka firms and organizations, not to mention other Asian and European expats. Don't get me wrong - I do not begrudge them one bit. On the contrary, I believe they contribute a lot to this country and economy, train our people, and help us become more cosmopolitan. However, the numbers show the need for skilled talent in this country.
Lest you think I am painting a rosy picture, let me also say that if you do make the jump, only you can decide your and your family's future and well-being here. This means looking for a job or starting a business or deciding in some other way how to a) support your family and b) put your talent to good use.
Of course, you would have to fight the usual battles: kids education, commute, healthcare, security, food-bhejal, etc etc. But others living here also fight those battles every day, don't they?
And if all goes well, and Bangladesh grows like she is predicted to, then your lot will also improve with that.
It takes courage to make the decision. If someone you know decides, please give them your support and pray for them. If you decide, I wish you all the best and hope your dreams come true beyond your wildest expectations.
Bicycling Tips for Dhaka
I have finally gotten the hang of bicycling on Dhaka streets. Here are some guidelines I find useful.
Since Dhaka streets are prone to traffic jams, it is best to be flexible about destinations and times. Even better, try not to have a destination at all. Because if you have a firm destination in mind, then all other cars, busses, trucks, CNGs, rickshaws, motorcycles and pedestrians will simultaneously decide to go to the same place. Thus none of you will get there in the foreseeable future.
For bicycling purposes, street and footpath are interchangeable. In fact, footpath is preferable. Think about it. Unlike a nasty "Tata Mahindra" bus, no matter how hard a pedestrian runs into you, or you into them, they cannot crush your bones.
Also, using the footpath makes you adaptible. If your progress towards unknown destination stops due to a jam, you can keep moving by switching to a footpath.
Always wear a helmet. This will make sure you get the attention you deserve. Note however people are not staring in admiration of your impeccable safety standards. They are wondering how mad you are to be wearing this gizmo on your head on a hot day as sweat streams down the sides of your face.
Wear those zip-off-leg pants. Then open the front of the zip so your knee pops in and out in sync with pedaling. This provides much-needed air- conditioning your body. Also, those wondering about your sanity will stop wondering and avoid you.
Use a bell liberally. The soothing sound provides a musical counterpoint to the ongoing concerto for car and bus horns. The preferable spot to use the bell is on the footpath, when you are right behind a pedestrian. As a bonus, you will see their jumping and dancing skills.
For safety, use buffers when crossing or turning in insanely busy streets or roundabouts. Buffers are other pedestrians, bicycles and rickshaws which are crossing the street at the same place as you, but are closer to the approaching traffic. So if busses are coming from your left, your buffers should be crossing the street on your left. Thus, if a runaway bus cannot stop in time for your crossing, hopefully the collision with your buffer will stop it before it hits you.
Although it is sometimes tempting to go slow and savor the noise and fumes - I mean, peace and greenery - try to maintain a good pace. There is nothing more embarrassing than being left in the dust by a thin rickshaw-wallah carrying two overweight parents and a kid while you amble away on your fancy foreign made bicycle wearing that helmet.
Speaking of rickshaws, another great way to make friends with them is to follow one carrying many jute sacks full of rice. At an opportune moment - eg, when it is taking a turn and its balance is compromised - rear-end it firmly. Be sure you have a quick escape route before attempting this maneuver. Observe avalanche of the sacks from a safe distance.
If traffic heading in your opposite direction is completely stopped while you are breezing along, you can make many more friends my smiling and waving at the stuck people as you pass them. Loudly sing "Pichdhala ei pothTare Bhalobeshechhi" for extra effect. (Translation: Oh how I love this paved road!)
Us Banglas take our expectoration seriously. Try to anticipate when a person near you is going to spit, clear phlegm or throw pik (the red stuff resulting from chewing betel leaf) and which direction they will aim. Sometimes you will hear a throaty warning signal, but they can also strike silently. Avoid being in the same spot at the same time as flying expectorant.
Along the same lines, exercise caution when near a bus - specially a long distance one with open windows. Sooner or later someone will hurl through a window. Try not to get any on yourself. Double decker busses are even more dangerous. Aren't you glad you are wearing that helmet?
Never assume that just because you are on the left side of the road, other vehicles on the same side are headed in the same direction. Every 11th bicycle, 14th rickshaw and 7th motorcycle is headed wrong-way. No, they did not spend many years in America and think it is ok to drive on the right side. Actually I don't know why they do it - for shortcut purposes?
Be extra careful around traffic policemen with big sticks. They can become excited unexpectedly. Excited traffic police swing their sticks wildly. Try not to get your nose smashed in.
Delay your normal morning shower until after the bike ride. If you need a grey shirt, wear a white shirt during your ride and find an older bus spewing out black smoke. Follow this bus for a few minutes.
When you are getting tired of waiting to cross the road, never underestimate the power of stepping in forcefully in front of a moving vehicle. This is the only way to make them stop. Hopefully the buffer you have kept on your left will help. But if not, be brave. And if the vehicle doesn't stop - hey, you did leave your life insurance policy with your SO before leaving home, didn't you?
Consumption and Waste
When I entered Cornell as a freshman in 1977, one of my roommates was Mike S., grandson of a Nobel laureate and a brilliant fellow. Mike breezed through his homework-sets and had time left over to help me with two things killing me: helping debug my first programming assignments (in PL/C, on punch-cards, for an IBM 360), and typing my handwritten papers. This was a great relief to me.
For my part I lectured Mike on things and in general showed him the folly of his American ways. Thus it was that America and I started adjusting to each other.
I had already spent two years in London and so was not in total culture-shock. Nevertheless, my old Bangladeshi habits died hard. One of these was "do not waste."
So I got on Mike's case every time he left the room with lights on. He was polite enough to agree in principle, but I could not make him change his habit in practice. He would forget and then make some wishy-washy excuse.
Finally one day he confronted me: "But Ihtisham, if I turn off the lights how can it possibly help your power situation in Bangladesh?"
This was a moment of profound shock and revelation for me. Not only had this smart, kind individual not understood why we needed to reduce waste, further, he had somehow confused my innate desire to reduce waste in every way - for the good of the planet and its future generations - with a desire for diverting the saved energy to Bangladesh!
It was only much later I learned that at many American dinner tables, when children refused to finish their food, their parents reprimanded them by invoking "all those starving children in India." Perhaps that's where Mike's extrapolations originated.
When I explained the real reasons to him, Mike was only half-convinced. Even after the shock of the Oil Embargo, America had access to virtually unlimited energy and other resources. So why bother turning out the lights?
Variations of this scenario played out repeatedly during my earlier days in the US. Why are you throwing away that perfectly fine shirt? Those shoes you threw away are intact - so what they are not fashionable? Is it really necessary to upgrade the car every other year? The amount of food that I saw wasted at Cornell Dining (an all you can eat joint) staggered me.
What was it about my background that had made me so sensitive to waste? Mainly because Bangladesh has so many people squeezed into such a small, resource-poor area, that every useful thing has to be used to the max. You were not Bangladeshi if this you were not embedded with this value.
Ok, ok, so Bangladeshis sometime take "do not waste" to an extreme. While every conceivable item gets recycled, the purpose is not always noble. Eg, Jinjira, a place near Dhaka, acquired its notoriety through making counterfeits some of which utilized recycled packaging of the original products. (In recent years, of course, counterfeiters in China and Thailand have left Jinjira in the dust, and thank goodness for that.)
In an ironic twist, I was simultaneously being seduced by America's affluence. For example, I recall being overjoyed that Cornell Dining's supply of chocolate milk never ran out. I could drink as much as I wanted! Having arrived in America with two suitcases (one with books and records; the other with clothes) pretty soon I needed a dozen boxes for my possessions.
Today, I find that back in Bangladesh, I am less likely to turn out the lights when I leave the room, and once in a while I do not clean out my plate completely.
As for children who grew up in American abundance, they must feel like my roommate Mike when they see "do not waste" in action in Bangladesh. However I am proud to say that our initially reluctant children have become conscientious about turning out lights and cleaning their plates.
Bangladesh appears to have changed too, specially in the upper and upper-middle classes, where affluence has brought plenty of consumption accompanied by the inevitable waste.
For example, in all-you-can-eat buffets in Dhaka restaurants you will see many unfinished plates of food.
Even in villages, where a torn sandal used to be repaired and re-repaired until it was in shreds, today a villager is more likely to replace it promptly if it rips.
Over the same years the US has also changed. Waste has not gone away completely, of course, but every locality has a recycling program. Things have come a long way since the 70s.
But the US still remains the biggest "consumer/waster" on the planet. A recent article in The Independent newspaper stated that if all people consumed resources at the American rate, we humans would need five planet Earths to support our lifestyles.
I wonder how many Earths would be needed if all humans consumed/wasted at the Bangladeshi rate? 0.5? 0.25? 0.1?
Silk and Science Laboratory
Yesterday I visited Dhaka's Science Laboratory and, while waiting for a meeting, had a fascinating discussion with a young scientist about silk production.
Silk is produced in Rajshahi. Why Rajshahi? Because that's where most of the mulberry (toot in Bangla) trees are. And mulberry leaves are the food of silkworms.
The young silkworms are fed these mulberry leaves, which they apparently eat day and night. Then they build a cocoon around themselves using their saliva (entering the pupa stage.) As they spin the saliva round and round it hardens to become silk thread. An adhesive is also created from the saliva at the same time - this adhesive sticks the threads together.
If silkworm's lifecycle is allowed to proceed naturally, then they grow into moths inside this cocoon, breaking the cocoon and flying out. Unfortunately breaking the cocoon creates tears in the thread.
So instead, when the cocoon reaches the optimum size, it is boiled. This kills the worm inside. It also removes the adhesives that hold the silk threads together.
Now the unbroken thread of the cocoon is pulled, unravelling the cocoon. Incredibly, the thread from one cocoon can be up to 250-300m long. (That must have been one dizzy worm, spinning around so many times to create its cocoon!) This silk thread is woven together to make Rajshahi silk.
Not all cocoons are boiled. A fraction are saved and used for breeding purposes for the next generation. The scientist guessed the length of the life cycle to be 2-3 months.
While we were waiting we also discussed the environment. I mentioned to him my concern about the possible compromise of the food chain with chemical impurities with our rapid industrialization. He said yes, that was inevitable, and the most likely and damaging culprits were heavy metals. Eg, lead in paints and dyes, tungsten, etc. Arrgh. This lab was working on creating new natural dyes. But they had doubts about economic viability.
Science Laboratory has many divisions working on research, testing, prototype building, better processes, certification, and other types of work. The scientists I met there were knowledgeable and proactive. Do we as a nation make optimum use of it?
Thanks to my friend Rahim for making this trip possible.
Books Here, Books There
After many attempts I finally started reorganizing my disorganized books today. While doing so I reflected on how my book habits have changed in the year I moved back to Dhaka.
The single most important change is this: back in the US, I relied on libraries for a large chunk of my reading matter. In Dhaka I am on my own.
So, if I want to read a book I don't own, I must buy it. English-book selection in Dhaka - while better than before - it still modest. I monitor the stores carefully, pouncing on new and interesting titles when they show up - assuming they are priced right.
Yes, English books are expensive here. Dropping USD 8 on a book in the US was not a big deal, but out here, spending Tk 500-600 on a book somehow does not feel right. Luckily there are breaks to be had. I picked up Ian McEwan's Saturday for Tk 325 (from Omni) and Amitabh Ghosh's Hungry Tide for Tk 450 from Aziz Super Market.
Ah, yes, Aziz Super Market. This is the new book mall in Dhaka. It is truly wonderful. And if there are not enough English books, the shortage is made up by the Bangla books of all kinds.
Another issue is protecting books that I already own. They require vigilant maintenance. For example, while reorganizing my books today, I purged a good many of
cockroach eggs, and ended up lining the shelves with roach-killer poison. Then I worried about the books getting poison on them, the story of the King and his Doctor playing in my mind.
Any travel outside the country presents an opportunity to acquire more books of my choice. Careful lists are written and re-written, often to be superseded by the books that I see on beguiling displays at the actual bookstore. Sometimes my "list" books are no good - Don DeLillo's Underworld was disappointing - while a displayed book - such as 1599, A Year in the Life of William Shakespeare - turns out to be a treat.
Then there are books that I could have, should have bought while I was still in the US, but did not. But maybe that direction is best left unexplored.
More heartbreaking is when I look for a book I know I have but cannot find in my shelves. I lost it - or maybe even gave it away! - while in the US. Or perhaps they were lost in transit. A bundled edition of Updike's Rabbit novels, a 100-year retrospective essay collection on Paul Strand the photographer, along with Edward Said's Orientalism, are some that I search my shelves for in vain.
I have much to be grateful for, though. All my autographed books have survived, including those by Syed Mujtaba Ali and Ansel Adams. I had had the good sense to
pick up all of Garry Winogrand's exceedingly rare photo monographs. The Sweet Flypaper of Life, a book of words and photos by Langston Hughes and Roy de Carava is a book I love much and turn to often. It was a lucky day that I decided to splurge on that one.
Finally, the entire world of Bangla books is now open to me. It is a joy to discover new talents as well as the works of older, established writers (well some of them anyways :-) ) And I have already started collecting autographed copies: the first two were Syed Manzurul Islam and Muhammad Zafar Iqbal.
So I ask myself, isn't it nice to come home, and proceed to complete the reorganization.
[King and Doctor story: many many years ago, a King had a trusted doctor who took very good care of the King. The King liked the Doctor which made others in the Court jealous. So they conspired and convinced the King that the Doctor was a Bad Guy. The King decided to behead the Doctor. The Doctor said, please grant me one last request. I want you to read a book that I will leave for you, but read it after you kill me. After Doctor is beheaded King sits down to read the book, finds pages sticking to each other. So he moistens his index finger by licking it and uses it to separate the pages. The book is the Doctor's life story. At the end it mentions the unjust beheading, and says that the Doctor got his revenge by lacing pages with poison which the King has by now ingested. As the King reads this in horror, the poison starts to act and he dies.
courtesy by...
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