A "Foreigner" Comes Home
EXPATRIATE Bangladeshis prefer Bangladesh Biman as the mode of transportation to Bangladesh. Aside from sentimental considerations, it is the only airline that heads directly for Dhaka. Seasoned travelers are aware that Biman's in-flight service is very good, and that its ground services are not that good.
Bangladeshi-Americans boarded the Biman flight from New York on December 21, with a smattering of non-Bengali Indians headed for Delhi, and West Bengalis headed for Calcutta via Dhaka. Once inside Biman, a Bangladeshi feels halfway home. For the sake of the foreigners, I have always wished Biman's English announcements were a little more comprehensible. Right now, they are not!
Settling down in my seat, I began sampling Biman's audio selections. There was the recitation from the holy Quran, western classical and pop music, Rabindra Sangeet, modern Bengali songs, and surprise, surprise, old, old Hindi songs! I felt sympathy for the "shurokaars." All the haunting tunes, enchanting melodies are taken. They have to navigate through the minefield of existing tunes. Any infringement would bring charges of plagiarism. A "shurokaar," dilemma is that of a satellite launcher who finds that all the favourite orbits are filled, and that he/she has to chart a new course. The world of tunes, like the orbiting satellites, is extremely clouded.
Two songs by Runa Laila grabbed my attention: "Shilpi" and "Aanchal charona charona." I had not kept up with Runa since she was a teenage sensation in the fading days of Pakistan. Listening to these two songs reminded me how much she has grown in music virtuosity and stature. Caliber-wise, I have to place her alongside my all-time favourite vocalist, Lata Mangeshkar.
Biman's landing at Brussels was reasonable. The two landings at Delhi and Dhaka were too rough for comfort. The pilot seemed to descend too quickly. Only a few hours after we landed, another Biman would crash-land at Sylhet.
Prior to landing at Dhaka, a stewardess handed me a disembarkation card meant for "foreigners." As I was mulling over the irony, the airport immigration officer rubbed it in even further: "Do you have brothers and sisters in Bangladesh?" After the usual, interminable delay in receiving our luggage, we exited through the customs, and were truly home.
What brings us back? The native soil, we are sons of, of course. The pull exerted by the native soil is enormous. A Texan colleague had brought soil all the way from Houston to New Jersey to make sure that his new-born was born under Texas soil!
Having suffered respiratory ailments and allergic reactions on exposure to Dhaka's ominous pollution, this time I was determined to bring a real, protective mask. The mask filters polluted air through two cartridges which traps automobile exhausts and particulate. On my second day, as I wore this out-of-the-world looking contraption, a handicapped beggar started laughing at me. I laughed back. When two people laugh for no reason, it is a free fall into the depths of laughter. The only difference between us was that I was laughing in fresh air!
Improved transportation made our obligatory trip to our ancestral homeland easy. We reached our destination near Feni in about four hours. These days village Bazaars are like mini-towns, complete with electricity, gas and telephone. The only complain I have is that when you come from abroad, you are made to feel like a grain of sugar in an ant colony. I felt like telling my village "deshis", many of whom no doubt my relations long lost: "Hey I am human too. See, I have arms and legs. Don't give me that look!" In the village, it was great to see the stars in the sky - a pleasure denied us due to pollution at Dhaka. Who would have thought that the Bengali name "Dhaka" would come to mean noxious cloud cover!
There is no rhyme or reason to Dhaka traffic. Traffic lights are mere suggestions, to be obeyed or ignored a one's convenience. Then there is the question of hospitality. Refusal to eat at someone's house is tantamount to insulting the honour of the family. Whether one is hungry or not, is not the issue. That you have to eat is a given. If the hosts could be convinced that how much one ate bore no relationship to how the guest actually felt about the host, perhaps they would moderate their insistence.
In many households, tea comes already made up - complete with sugar and milk. Out of politeness, sometimes I suppress the fact that I drink "black" tea - which has acquired the intoxicating term "liqueur" locally. I wish I could beas brave as the Australian visitor who announced on entering our house: "I know Bangladeshi culture. I respect and admire Bangladeshi culture. But please, I am not going to eat anything!"
On our last visit to Bangladesh two years ago, I asked my younger son what he thought of Bangladesh. "Disorganised", he answered. That pretty much sums up things over here. There is no equilibrium in politics, only extremities. One is either a diehard supporter of the Awami League or its virulent critic. My associates tell me that if BNP had signed the CHT accord, the Awami League would have been just as vociferous in protest, as BNP is now. The two major parties shout at each other at the top of their voice, drowning the merits of each other's points of view. More listening, and a little reticence would help.
The writer was severely criticised by friends and well wishes for writing a piece in The Daily Star in support of the CHT accord. On such "controversial" matters it is better not to take sides, friends advised me. I was unaware that I was taking sides; I merely expressed an opinion. Bangladeshis living abroad do not much care whether BNP or Awami League is in power. What they care about most deeply is the integrity and sovereignty of Bangladesh. Any party tinkering with either will meet with the wrath of Bangladeshis everywhere.
Bangladeshi mosquitoes impressed me. Unlike their American cousins who feed on, oblivious of the mortal danger that lies the flick of a hand away, Bangladeshi mosquitoes are so slick. They run sorties at every angle, testing the weakness in my mosquito net defense. If they find one, they make the best of their meal ticket. I wish our politicians demonstrated the same single-minded dedication to the task at hand.
People have a great deal of difficulty with the truth here. Moral values and public life have been placed on separate tracks - the twain never meets. American President Harry Truman had summarised the ultimate authority and the accountability of the President in the famous saying: "The buck stops here!" In the Bangladeshi parlance, the bucking of the downward social trend has to start with the political leaders. The nation's morality, integrity and honour derive from that of its leader.
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