Wednesday, June 10, 2020

Change and Transition: wading the waters in a pandemic

The year had begun well, full of high hopes and a clear plan. As we have been doing for the past 5 years, I had jotted down my short- and long-term goals for the year and detailed it out over a long conversation with Mahah Mirza, who has been my closest friend for over 2 decades. This was our way of checking and balancing the past, reflecting and moving forward to the future.

My goals for the year included having my parents visit me in South Australia, Mahah and I travelling to Morocco together and a road trip along the legendary Pacific Highway, between Brisbane and Sydney. My fear to overcome for the year was a significant notch in the belt for a person on the path to becoming fiercely independent, I wanted to travel alone and enjoy it.

Then, from a small village in Wuhan, China, a global pandemic raised its head and stopped the world on its tracks. The international borders closed and travel between Bangladesh and Australia stopped except for mercy flights bringing stranded citizens home or bereaving relatives back to attend a death in the family. I lived alone in a country far from home.

The city I live in turned eerie as we moved to work from home. Thousands from the retail, education and hospitality industries lost their jobs as local businesses shut down. Local food banks opened up. Numbers of active cases and deaths started to rise and the across the world we grieved for our lives that would never be the same again.

Time started to move too fast and at the same time too slow for me, as days and nights melted together. I remember shifting from "it's just another flu" to having a full-fledged panic attack standing in front of grocery store aisles with no food. I remember shifting from early morning runs in the park to days where I barely left the bed. The comfort in solitude that I had wanted to achieve so badly was becoming a reality as I began to prefer my solitary confinement over the prospect of spending time with friends. I was able to keep my head above water, but only just.

After spending days in stagnancy, I went into a productivity overdrive to try and control the parts of my life that I still could. I diligently scheduled my days by the hour, filling up weeks with Pinterest- worthy projects and gourmet meals for one. Reading books, listening to podcasts, talking to friends and family online, I was doing everything listed in wellness websites to stay "positive and productive". Even then, I knew that I needed to do more than just wade the waters, waiting for change.

To manage change, you must be able to recognise when change is required. I needed the right tools to better understand my emotions and actions and effectively lead myself and others through the waves of change and clearly steer a path. So, when the opportunity arose, I enrolled in the Change Leadership Certificate course offered by the East West Center, where I had been a fellow with the Asia Pacific Leadership Program. I invited Mahah to join, so we could learn together and be accountable to each other.

The Change Leadership course offered many moments that lit up my brain. I was encouraged to examine my behaviour, coaxed to look at my goal under a microscope and forced to plan forward-facing actions. One such topic that made me reflect beyond the scope of the coursework was the William Bridges Transition Model of change. It provided me with a better understanding of the emotions that I was exhibiting (often un-willingly) during the early days of the pandemic. It also helped me understand the actions of others around me.


The Bridges Transition model explains the three phases that human beings experience when a change takes place in their life. It clarifies the psychological effect of change and helps organisations and individuals understand and more effectively manage and work through the personal and human side of change.

Change causes transition and the transition starts with an ENDING, this is phase one. When a change occurs, some things come to an end, or things are done differently. These endings can be painful and confusing. It isn't the change that we resist but the losses and endings that we experience. Evidently, during this, there will be a period of disruption and disorientation.

If people are not able to let go of the past, they will unnecessarily resist the new situation. It is thus essential to embrace and undertake an ending process that acknowledges, celebrates, preserves the artefacts of the past. Allowing time for a clean ending will gain support and commitment from those affected by the change. If the ending happens well, then, we can move to the next phase easily.

The next phase is the NEUTRAL ZONE. This is the wilderness between what was and what will be. During this period, we separate ourselves from the old, and it's easy to feel restless, lost and impatient, wanting to do something and imagining that nothing's happening.

It is crucial to help people move through the neutral zone as soon as possible as there may be an increased level of anxiety and lowered productivity during this period. People can feel vulnerable and lost. Thus, they need to be provided with a solid sense of direction, reminded of their goals, and encouraged to talk about what they are feeling. This period can also be a time of creativity if shorter-term objectives or outcomes are taken up. This is the time for sorting out and getting the right emotional and attitudinal responses for success in the new situation.

Finally, the third phase, the NEW BEGINNING. This is where we finally allow ourselves to get on with the new. For this phase, Bridges talks about the 4Ps: Purpose, Picture, Plan and Part.

PURPOSE is the 'why we are doing this?'; PICTURE is the shared vision of what it will look like; PLAN is the detailed plan for getting there one step at a time, and PART is all about giving people a part to play that builds ownership and buy-in.

The new beginning is a time of acceptance, openness and energy. People start feeling good about the change and positive about the future. It is important to remember that not everyone will reach this stage at the same time and that people can slip back to previous stages if they think that the change is not right for them. As people begin to adopt the change, it is essential to help them sustain it.

The Change Leadership course led us through a variety of resources and tools that we can use to effectively work through the three phases for any change that we may face. Change is situational and external, whereas transitions are internal: it's what happens in our minds as we go through change. Change can happen very quickly, while transition occurs more slowly. As a leader, it is vital to understand this "human variable" of change, to be able to lead others though it in a productive and meaningful way.

So, my head is still reeling from all the changes that are taking place around the world. I am still living in pieces as my body is in Australia, but my mind is in Bangladesh with my family, where the impact of COVID-19 is rising in alarming rates. However, this Change Leadership course has given me the tools to transition with grace. It has helped me to understand myself, my goals and path forward better. I find myself now, in a stronger state, to be able to mourn the losses, take my time, but come out in front when the waves break.

Monday, April 29, 2019

মাস ট্রানজিট

নব্বই কেজি ওজনের একটা মাস ট্রানজিট 
যখন সিলিং ফ্যান সহ কাঠের বিছানার
উপর ভেঙ্গে পরে 
তখন কেমন আওয়াজ হয় জানো?
ভয়াবহ!

গায়ের ভেতর থেকে আতকে ওঠে শিরা-উপশিরা
দিনে দুপুরে রাস্ট্র হয়ে যায় 
মা-গো জা-নো? ওই বাসার ভোটকি বউটা-না ঢঙ করে 
ফ্যানের সাথে ঝুলতে গেছিলো!
ওজনের ভারে ফ্যান খাট দুটাই গেলো!’
হাসতে হাসতে কুটিপাটি যাবে চারিদিকের সব আন্টিরা। দিবানীদ্রার এ্যাপাটাইযার।

তাই কষ্টগুলিকে বাক্স বন্দি করে
লালকমল-নীলকমল গল্প শোনাই নিজেকে 
টাকা দিয়ে কিনতে থাকি সহনশীল কান, গলা, চোখ
অভিমানে কাতর হয়ে অভিমান করি
চোখ বুজে মুখে পুরি আরেকটা সুইডিস চকোলেট।

বাঁচতে হবেতো, না বাঁচলে সবার জন্যেই অপ্রস্তুত ব্যাপার।

এক যদি হারাতে পারি
দূরে কোথাও গিয়ে ট্রেনের নিচে কাটা পরি
যদি অস্তিত্বটাই ভুলে যাই, তাহলে হয়তো বেঁচে যাবো। 

তাহলে চলে। অনেক দূরের অনেকটা পথ তারাতারি শেষ হয়ে আসে।

Thursday, April 13, 2017

Ugly

I hope
you never find love.
Your friends move away, get busy
Or just too old to keep your brand of company.

I hope
your machines fail at shop class
Your hair gets all frizzy
That you get those ugly liver spots
All over that perfect body.
I hope you get lonely.

I put bits of you in my pockets
Every time I walk out that door,
My foolish forgotten dig site!
I have all your nuts and bolts. 


I hope someday you get ugly.

I swear, I'll become a continent
I'll inject it under my skin,
This need to have to let go
Or to promise you my sins.
Will you miss me?
I miss you when you're gone. 
I miss you when you're here too.
In looking for love in all the wrong place

I hope someday you'll see

You, through me.

Wednesday, April 12, 2017

Chips of thoughts

Wednesday 12th April 2017 at 21:33

Death. It feels like death.
Like zinc in my mouth
Like lead through my veins,
Knowing exactly where to find you
But not knowing how to
Like memories weighing down
a corner of my conscience
Because that's all I'll allow you


An inch of my heart.


Thursday 6th April 2017 at 17:06

I've divvied up our assets,
Here, two for you, none for me.
Here's the flower you never gave
Here's a kiss that lingered too long.
In a box our memories...

I have none that match yours.


 

Monday, August 29, 2016

July 1st And The Post Disaster Identity Crisis

Being of Bangladesh was not something that a lot of our generation had learnt to accept as a positive thing.

Since birth we have been told that being from here might be some sort of a disadvantage, a disability even. The obvious benefits of having a foreign degree perpetuated generations of society-approved ‘brain drain’ and meant that we never quite developed into a clan of devout patriots. There were exceptions, of course.

Despite the disdain, this nation has been a huge part of our identity. We love monsoon rains, listen to Bangla band shongeet, celebrate Pohela Boishakh in red and white and have come to terms with the fact that all of us know someone who loves shutki bhorta; a fermented fish paste that sometimes smells worse than the Buriganga River, choked by human waste. Somewhere in us, we were proud to be Bangladeshi.


I speak of us especially; the Bangali-Muslim-Liberal minded young ones, out to save the world, with rose colored glasses. I had thought that I was one of them, a blind patriot, supporter of everything red and green. What choice did I have? My father was a Muktijoddhya after-all.

We had a set definition of Bangladesh in our heads. When someone from a foreign land asked us about this country, our answer would often be along the lines of: ‘Bangladesh is a small country which shares borders with India and Myanmar. Dhaka is the capital and it is very densely populated. We are a young country that gained its independence in 1971 because of the Language movement. We are very colorful people who celebrate everything. You should visit!’

This initial response never included religion. We were never exclusively Muslim.

On the 1st of July 2016, in a brutal religion-driven terrorist act of violence; a group of six men had rendered us into an internationally acclaimed #PrayFor hashtag.

And it really hurt. Everyone was talking about it, but no one was listening. In a day, our generation was hurled into a massive despair of an identity crisis. We no longer knew who we were. Were we now to be known as an extremist nation? Were we going to be on a no-fly list? Had we become a country where Dayesh had a stronghold? It no-longer fit into the definition of Bangladesh in our head. Us, the ones with the shiny eyes and unlimited mobile phone data.

Nationalism has been a big part of our identity and that being threatened we quickly lost a foothold on reality.

In an attempt to find answers for myself, I had asked some young men and women around me, how July 1st had impacted them on a personal level? Who did they become afterwards? This was collected over a month in September-October 2016. Here is a collection of some of those stories:

1) Female, 27 years old, Development worker:

I worry constantly for people I know and love but mostly I'm just ANGRY. So angry!

I wanted to go for a walk the day after the attack, because I felt like I was suffocating. I walked down the street only to realize and suddenly be very self-conscious about the fact that I was the ONLY woman on the street. For the first time, it felt like every single man was staring at me without trying to be discreet.

One man on a bike, while crossing me said something profane to me out loud and I remember thinking that this person would not have the guts to talk to me under normal circumstance much less swear AT me. It felt like the attackers gave courage to every single creep in the nation to let their perverse thoughts out. Somehow given some unnamed faces the right to treat me like meat!

Then when I went to Agora, I was the only uncovered woman in western clothes and I felt attacked by the other women for refusing to cover. I still sometimes feel like they're wondering why I'm not doing that even though I know I'm probably wrong. I felt judged, othered, threatened.

My mom is worried that I'll get attacked constantly. Not for my thoughts or opinions, but now simply for existing and choosing to be outside.

Now, almost two months from that night, I have realized that the problem is universal; it's not restricted to Bangladesh. Anyone who's thinking it's only in Bangladesh that people are unsafe, is mistaken.

There are more people worthy of love than feared, so let’s just concentrate on that for now.


2) Male, 29 years old, Journalist:

The attack has sent shudders to many of the sane young civilians. I always feel it is a proximity issue. Such attacks have been taking toll in many places. Some of us sympathize, some don't even notice, thinking they are distant global affairs.

July 1 has proven that the devil has come at our doorstep and in a fashion we have never felt so scared about. It has questioned our trust issues. It has made us insecure and thinks twice about who we hang out with in the society.

This isn't just me but from a bunch of young people that I’ve spoken to. I feel very unsafe.

3) Female, 31 years old, Development worker, mother of a baby girl:

I was affected very harshly at the initial stage. I remember walking down the street in my usual shalwar kameez and it suddenly hit me that my arms were uncovered. I panicked.

Added to all this was the fact that my child’s daycare had closed down and even when it did open, I was scared. Would I be able to ever leave my child alone anywhere? Life was at a standstill.

But then I decided I couldn't go on like this. I could not let this one incident take control of my life. So I chose to be not scared anymore. I don't think "desher obostha onek kharap"; this could have happened anywhere and is happening everywhere.

My mom keeps on saying “orna poro na keno tumi ei obosthaye!” But I choose to wear what feels comfortable for me.

Maybe because I usually travel by a car that I don’t feel like I need to cover up more than I used to.


4) Female, 33 years old, Independent consultant, Women’s Rights Activist:

I wear orna randomly, always have but then I like scarves anyway. Sometimes I hate it that I feel better if I have an orna when I walk in the streets, but then I have also accepted that it's okay to give in to that.

Under the current circumstances, it took me almost a month to be alright to walk on the streets or take a rickshaw by myself. It also took me extra courage to NOT wear an orna on the street and the first time I was able to do so post 7/1 felt scary but liberating.

I have had to go through unforgivable mental ups and downs in the past two months. I don’t know how I feel anymore. A friend’s cousin and an associate had gotten out alive from Holey, some had not been as lucky, I have had to help LGBT guys fill out a form for assistance since they got a threat letter mentioning their names, strangers have seemed a lot scarier than ever before.

I think what has really helped me is how well my parents have been handling everything. They haven’t freaked out once or asked me to be extra careful. The other week I was telling my mother about a possible consultancy in east Africa, and she said, “If it happens take it up, these are the chances. Never say no to something because you are worried about safety.”

Things are bad and they are bad everywhere. There is no solution for this, and if you plan to shy away now, then you are looking forward to a lifetime of saying no a lot. What really bother me are people saying that you can’t walk on the streets of Dhaka but not having a problem being a tourist in Paris or Thailand.

So yes, things are bad. Be aware of where you are, what’s happening around you, take basic precautionary methods, maybe have emergency protocols in place.

And then, go out and live your life to the fullest.


5) Male, 31 years old, Police Officer, was then living abroad:

I feel pure rage. This made me specifically opt for the counter terrorist unit. I cannot concentrate on my studies. My thesis got affected.

I feel extremely helpless because I cannot immediately join the fight. I am not scared for myself It’s my family I have at home. I have sent my younger sister to abroad and my parents have gone with her. She will stay there, they will come back.

If I am given the opportunity, I want to fight this evil on the field.


6) Female, 26 years old, Private sector worker, Student:

Every day, I would frantically search for news on the Holey Artisan tragedy, on the newspapers and on TV because somewhere in me I felt that I could not fathom the extent of the calamity that had fallen upon us.

One time I remember talking to a friend about Ishrat Apa and telling her how her smiling face made me feel guilty of breathing. I like addressing her as Ishrat Apa although I never knew her because of the tremendous love I feel for her and for all the other victims.

What has changed after July 1st? Everything.

My whole perception about life and existence in my country has changed. I always thought Bangladesh's problems would not and could not go beyond political turmoil or natural disaster but after July 1st, I now know that anything might happen at any time.

I feel like we are living in a perpetual state of dissonance.


7) Female, 33 years old, Development worker, Mother:

I have come to know after this incident that there are people among us who support these activities. Deep down, the hatred has always been there.

They don’t usually express themselves and they are the most dangerous people.

Initially I had freaked out but now everything is back to normal. I am worried about my son though. I do not know which school to put him in, worried about who will be his friends, scared whether I will be able to bring him up as a good liberal human being.

For myself, I don’t worry much. If something bad has to happen it will happen, what we can do best is be cautious and careful. Leaving the country or running away is not a solution!


8) Male, 30 years old, Entrepreneur:

The July 1st incident has had a profound impact on the collective psyche of the residents of Dhaka, in fact all of Bangladesh. The youth of the city has been trying to make sense of such ruthless acts, perpetuated by some of the people who could be their “friends”.

Personally, it has made me more skeptical of those around me. I am very much aware of a general shift in the perspective as to how I perceive others around me; mostly with a questioning look, wondering if they could be the possible perpetrator of the next such brutality.

My mother worries about what I wear now. She doesn’t feel comfortable letting me go out in a Panjabi. My 14 year-old cousins don’t want to go to school, for they worry there might be an attack there. Another young cousin asked my sister to take down some memorable pictures taken at Holey Artisan Bakery from Facebook. The terrorists have successfully accomplished their goal in debasing the overall sense of security that existed. This has given rise to paranoia. Giving into this paranoia means doing exactly what the terrorists wanted. I have not altered my routine, for I am not going to give into this paranoia.

If you are in the retail sector, there is a very high probability that your business has been adversely affected in the aftermath of the July 1st attack. If you are in the export oriented manufacturing sector, you might not see any changes in the short run. However, the long term revenue curve may still be erratic, albeit the buyers promise of not moving their business elsewhere. The overall situation is not one where one can be optimistic.

Unemployment would be on the rise, investment in the economy has a real chance of falling. This means that those trying to find employment will be disheartened. The overall climate is not one, under which economic growth will be achieved.

Moving within the city has become more difficult due to security concerns. How, then, will goods and people move freely? 


9) Female, 30 years old, Visual media artist:

 It took me almost one month to start my normal life. It was like an emotional roller coaster.

First thing I felt was an unbearable pain, not only for those you died but also for this country. I could not take that truth all I could think was not MY motherland! Then I started to dig into how these men could have become so vicious. I talked to my family members; brother, sisters, niece, nephews, to understand their states of mind.

That night for sure I grew up a bit. I was closer to Allah than ever before, I felt closer to love than ever before and that night took away my fear. Every time I prayed and on my jayenamaaz I uttered Allahu Akbar, Allah made sure that I did not forget to pray for all the victims of July 1st.

We are from one and we will go back to the one. This world is a drama and we all are acting here. This body is nothing but a cage.

But our soul, where we are true, knows no divination. There we are one and to the one we belong!




And then there is me.

I am 30 years old, a young-ish Bangladeshi woman working in an international organization, an activist for women’s rights, a feminist and an artist.

I did not sleep for a month after. Most nights comprised of less sleep and more nightmares. I heard voices screaming, bombs going off, bullets being fired and phantom knocks on the door when I closed my eyes. So after a point I just didn't.


 Let's just say my apartment was very very clean!

Adding my voice to these stories is important because July 1st haunts us all in many ways that cannot always be defined or understood.

It haunts us because it SO EASILY could have been one of us or someone we love. It affects an immense portion of our identity. It is of and by people whose shoes we can so easily step into. It is directly our lives being affected and it is the proof that we can no longer ignore the nearly 60 other individuals who had been systematically hunted and murdered in Bangladesh by religious extremists. July 1st is not an independent incident.

So here it is; ten young people with 10 different stories about one incident that has irreversibly changed all of our lives. These stories represent only a small portion of many countless stories. A small reflection of why, we as a generation, living and warm-blooded may never know where we belong, again.


As a group, not only of these 10 people but a generation we are suffering from PTSD and we must learn to cure ourselves in order to move forward.

Tuesday, June 28, 2016

Like Me, Like You

I don't like hiding it when I like someone. I like telling everyone that I like this amazing person. That their existence makes me glad to have existed. That it's a love story. That the way they walk, talk, move their arms, gaze out at the ocean; it completes me.

I like celebrating that of the many that could've crossed their path and of the many that did cross mine; ours crossed at all. I like recognizing how small the probability of that happening really is and being ecstatic that it did happen. I hang on to their words, I stare at their eyes when they speak and I steal glances over my shoulders when we part ways. I put them up on a pedestal; I am kind, forgiving, patient. I exalt them. I boil over with joy and their name grace my lips candidly but constantly.

I don't choke them. I don't suffocate their dreams. I don't hold their hands and ask for forever. I never demand to be loved back. I play my part and revel in my own feelings; mostly self-inflicted heartache.

Perhaps my love story is not about them at all but about the alternate realities that I create based on who I am with them. A purely selfish endeavor to discover the many facets of being me. Learning, un-learning and re-learning along the way.

In romantic love, I seem to prefer those that are invariably poisonous for me. What surprises is though, how scared people are of being loved. How anxious and uncomfortable they get when they are loved by someone they don't understand.

Hate on the other hand seems a lot easier to accept. People don’t question your intentions when you borrow money and don’t return it; they nod their head in belief when you cheat them and curse their stars when you snatch a promotion from under their feet. But if you love them, they start to look at you with slanted dis-believing eyes; they question your motivation.

It is exhausting loving someone who is blinded by the halo surrounding them. Selfish, just like me. It’s a harmful cycle.

So I float. Up, up and away. Trying my best to devotedly, unconditionally, vigorously and blatantly love me.



 

Wednesday, June 22, 2016

Nani

My hands were tearing up ruti and using it to mop up vegetables and chicken curry from the plate in front of me. A bit of this, a swipe of that, the food did not taste like anything. I was just hungry, shoveling the food into my mouth, too tired to taste. Suddenly I looked down at the plate, my fingers moving, the food being mushed together and I had a dejavu of the time I saw my grandmother’s fingers do the same. I was staring at her plate the same way. She was eating haphazardly, old, ill, slightly delusional. The food seemed difficult to chew, barely enough to keep her big body alive and well. But it did.

My nani has always been a big lady, as far back as I could remember. Everyone said that I got her bone structure. Staring at my plate and remembering her a thought suddenly crossed my mind; what if I turned into her when I grew older. Big, wrinkly, dark circles around her eyes, mopping up gravy with unleavened bread, disoriented and slightly delusional. I panicked.

Then reality hit me smack across my face.
I can only hope that I turned into her. She has been a wishing well of love for our family. Growing up, I have never seen her kitchen closed for anyone. There was delicious food for anyone who walked in through her doors at any time. She has always opened up her house, her kitchen, her life to people in need; helping, encouraging, pushing. Every tradition, every festival was only festive when we were at her house.

She is my favorite. Her children worship her and take care of her unconditionally. She has never gossiped in her life and had taught me all the essentials; how to pickle EVERYTHING, cook the best gorur mangsho with whole spices and pretend-knit for a school-play. She was the superhero who had covered my baby cot with her anchal all night for a week after my birth, saving me from villainous mosquitoes. Not once has she told me that I was getting old, I needed to get married or have babies.

She was the one who made me; the dark-skinned little misfit with self-confidence issues feel like a princess; while the rest regaled over my cousins who had milky-white skin.

To my Nani, I am grateful for your shade. I will always be your ‘Rajkoinna’ and you will always be my best.