The Art of Being a Stranger

October, 2013

There is a unique experience in being a complete stranger in a foreign land. Especially if you don't know the language. All your other senses perk up when you've lost your voice as your primary vessel for communication. You start noticing things. You start letting small things fascinate you and common things bewilder you. You start understanding your hidden skills of being a master at translating body language.

It’s easier to feel lonely almost insignificant when you are a stranger in a foreign land and you cannot speak the language. It's easier to judge people and to fall victim to believing stereotypes. 'Chinese people are rude!' It's trying to glom onto the only thing that you know or have heard about these people who are so 'different' from you. This is the worst thing to focus on but it may be the only opinion you are being exposed to because you are trying to stick to your own kind and comfort zones. Such are the dangers of the Expat Diasporas. It's easy to 'other' places that aren't home when you are being influenced by people who ‘feel’ like home.

But do travel. We must travel. I wholeheartedly encourage you to travel. If we don't then we close many eyes that exist within ourselves. My advice to myself and to all the lucky strangers in foreign lands, do travel alone sometimes. It’s great to travel with your best friend. However, take a day to get lost in an area completely alone. Get all your feelers out and figure out what it means for you to be an alien. Figure out who you are when you are an alien.

When travelling with another, set common goals early and respect individual ones. Plan for the trip but don't sweat the details. Unless you are really looking to relax in style; stay in hostels or home stays, eat at local dives and get drunk at bars where the cups aren't always sparkling clean. Start with no expectations but keep track of all your ‘firsts’ and YOLOs. Hit as many of your personal goals or points on a bucket list as you can. Do give each goal enough space and time for the experience to seep a little into you. Learn some insider tips from both the place and the people in it before you leave. Be safe. Be grateful. Be constantly amazed.

In my life and time I hope that I continue to be a stranger in many places. I assure you that I can hardly wait.

Some More Tiny Rhymes

October 1st, 2013  

I could live
Un-surfaced and whole
But wouldn't I rather
Lose my bits
And spill onto you?

Emerge,
Inundated.
Drowning in your sorrow.

 

August 29th, 2013

Fake lives behind fake smiles.
Two thruths behind fake lies.
We live and we breathe in heavenly peace
Knowing these masks
Are ours.
To keep.

 

 July 21st, 2013

I remember ginger wine.
I, remainder of a perfect embrace
Heir to a multitude of unforgettables;
Though being moulded constantly
By silted mountain streams
Remain a secret vault for
Succulent memories.

 

July 13th, 2013

Happiness is a duck.
It keeps all woes, realities and monsters at bay,
Waxy feathers bearing against the flood,
A blinding disease.
For short dry periods of time.

 

July 13th, 2013

My feet will never be clean.
I will not use them
Only as hangers for glittery trots.
My feet will be feet,
Dirty, dusty, unapologetic.
Trudging through green
Mudding through inky clouds
Trampling boundaries.
Barefoot through priceless memories.

 

June 20th, 2013

Us things.
Things that bleed
breathe, sigh in error.
Smelling of trouble
And fear.
Spicey. Tangy. Warm tongue in mouth.
Leaving minds
Free to wander
Into illicit grounds.

 

May 24th, 2013

I picture myself rising,
Levitating. Above the big words and wit
Rising. Beyond the distractions and gore,
Resting these old bones.
Damp in an enclave somewhere
Finding a niche etched in a hollow
Slowly feeding the moss.
Quietly, willingly, gratefully.

 

 

The Man Who Couldn't Cry

The Man Who Couldn't Cry
Nov 4th, 2013

I knew a man. He couldn't cry.
He held mine in his cupped palms
Breathed light into them
Made my solitary (often pointless) shedding of NaCl
Into a regular production.

He loved a girl.
A parasite really.
Bi-polar nutjob, ready to kill him.
Loved her so hard a planet imploded.

When he was lonely he serenaded.
The stars, the moon,
The beauty beside him.
With useless poetry, hopeless romance,
Declarations of forevermore.

A man,
His lover, his songs.
Better half, of a distanced memory.

Post Disaster Relief

Monday, 10/06/2013

Chin up little girl.
It won't hurt as much tomorrow,
Even less the day after.

Hold yourself close.
Whisper on, words
you didn't get to tell him
Things that seem important
Only in your head,
Only when you can't sleep.

Think of it this way,
If not anything else
You were an evening
Undeniably well spent.

Little Poem Things

One for The Road, 
Saturday, May 25th
 

I wish I could stuff that evening in a time capsule

Tuck in the red, green, yellow threads of memories

Your eyes,

Liquid with devotion and burning incense

Staring up at me.

I wish I could stick it in a bottle to pour when needed

On nights when you stare daggers at my poor heart

Through the shape shifting mirror 

of a mercurial muse

Unforgiving, flitting, free.

Nishigondha

Thursday, May 23rd 

Submerged in a sea of rain
Smelling excruciatingly like the night

She stood alone in her bright colors.

Sore thumb against the line of ants
She bloomed, wafting heady dirty desire
Waiting; to be swept off of her feet

Or be bought for the night.

.

A Ritual For Parting

(After much needed gracious editing by Rushnaf Wadud)

There should be a ritual

for when people say goodbye.

A secret handshake,

a hug,

an eye-roll,

a kiss.

It should be specific

and maybe a little

predetermined.

Couples should talk

about it before they get

into a relationship;

before they fall

into each other’s

precarious arms.

Otherwise

you say goodbye

and stare

at the backs of heads,

creating a vast amount

of empty space

as you walk away.

You don't know

if you did too little

or didn't say enough.

If you had managed

to let them realize

that safe travels

does not just pertain

to them driving.

That it means come back to me,

unharmed and unscathed

and I promise to make it better.

A hug should say that,

a special look at the airport

should express that and more

without you having to say anything

at all.

Ah! and for us fools

who haven't practiced,

we'll just stick to hoping

they could read minds.

You Know Nothing About ME

Dear 'friend', yes m'dear, this one's for you.
Thank you for attacking me with you words last night dedicated to dictating what I should and should not believe in. In guiding my moral compass. It definitely helped me figure out that indeed we have nothing in common and you don't understand me at all. Which is perfectly alright, really.

Fyi, I am a human being, selfishly looking out for MY RIGHTS, my safety, dreading the decent into oblivion of my country. I am against political parties using us and playing with our lives. I am not pro-woman’s rights, pro-man’s rights, pro-child’s rights. I am pro-human rights. I stand against murder and war and bigotry. I believe in peace, love, co-existence and personal preferences. Get it right. Till you do, please don’t start a conversation with me with comments like ‘you must be very happy that 25 Hefazatis died’. How dreadful are you?

You said; 'ekta shishur galey 'rajakarer phashi chai' lekha and ekta class 6 er madrasar bacchar hatey latthi tuley deya with a 'nastiker phashi chai' bandana’, is the same sort of sin. Let me refresh your memory with some definitions; Rajakar- During the Bangladesh liberation war 1971, Pakistan forms several Paramilitry forces and this is one of the forces. The word Rajakar today carries the meaning ‘traitor’ in common Bangladeshi parlance. I am sure I don't have to remind a devout patriot like you what their crimes against this country were. But in case you have forgotten massacres, killings, rape, arson and systematic elimination of minorities and intellectuals may jog your memory. Here's another one. Nastik- Atheist. Someone who does not believe in God at all, therefore, he or she also does not believe in self as God is nothing but self. In Bangladesh context today, Nastik is someone who has been bad mouthing Islam in public blogs. The fun thing I'd like you to notice here, atheism is a personal preference. JUST like religion is. So just like one can choose to be a Muslim, they can choose to be an Atheist.

Now that the definitions are out there, I wonder if you still find similarities between them. I wonder if you feel that Rajakars and Atheist bloggers indeed deserve the same kind of capital punishments. Also, when that child got those words written on him his parents were with him, I doubt that the parents of the boy from the madrasa intended for him to get in the middle of a mindless violent protest. A religious war as you mentioned.

For the second part of this post, a reference to the 13 point demand. Here are some interesting ones that I think you might want to see; 8. Stop foreign cultural intrusions including free-mixing of men and women and candlelight vigils, and put an end to adultery, injustice, shamelessness, etc in the name of freedom of expression and individual, 9. Stop turning Dhaka — the city of mosques — into a city of idols, and stop setting up of sculptures at intersections, colleges and universities, 10. Scrap anti-Islam women policy and education policy and make Islamic education mandatory from primary to higher secondary levels.

These specific ones really did grind my gear, I hope you understand why. When I mentioned this last night, you replied with ‘there’s no reason to accept all of the 13-point demand’. M’dear, I think you forget that Hefazat-E-Islam isn’t ready to have ‘some’ of their demands met. That’s kind of the problem.

To end; here’s a thought to the Malthusian theory! Let it all burn, let it all burn down and maybe we’ll come out golden from the ashes. And might I mention that I would be grateful if in the future you please refrain from having these conversations with me.

Little poem things

 My calloused feet have seen more of this world
Than your young starry eyes.
So I'll wait,
Till they're wizened and dark,
And the world has wiped that smile off your lips.
Then maybe, we can be at the same level of ignorance,
To be as in love,
As you wish
We already were in.
----

In many ways

This City was about you.

In intertwined fingers

In glittering nights,

Bird song at charukola.

To sit for hours watching

The grass greening

At our usual haunts.

I reject this City today

To forgive my flaws

Forget your memories

Replace us from the map.

To calm my pounding heart

At every intersection

That bears your name.

.

 

A Generation Awakening: February 2013

I was becoming a cynic about this country. No one seemed to care enough about anything or anyone. There were so many complaints. Some may have had good things to say but everyone definitely had something negative to share.  It was becoming harder and harder to blindly follow a country that was imploding into itself. It was getting more and more difficult to believe that I am a patriot. Or that I was raised a patriot. Or that the love of the land and its people were the only reason I have ever cared to do anything at all. Working with youth volunteers, I was unfortunately getting deeper and deeper into the mindset of a generation that seemed to care about nothing but its resume and a healthy paycheck.

Then it happened; Shahbag. Someone wrote something. Couple hundred kids got some candles out. A voice started calling out slogans, a group started singing, some poets recited, posters were made, festoons were hung and I witnessed through the mist, a generation growing a conscience.  

Generally as a rule of thumb, I hate going into crowds in Dhaka. All we girls know why. But here was a new kind of crowd! Each person respectful of the one next to them. Men and women deemed equal. Sitting shoulder to shoulder. A packet of Energy biscuits were opened and shared amongst a crowd of strangers smiling at each other. No one was taking credit for sponsoring but candles were being passed around, banners were popping up without logos and water bottles were in abundance.

I went once, skipped class and went again, dropped work and went a third time. First I was calling people, scheduling meet-ups. Then I started going alone. I found myself near where Lucky Akhter was belting out a volcano and I started to point my finger, raise my fist and reply to her chants. Every time I went, I found a miracle. I could not stay away; I could not wait to be amongst a crowd of the most magnificent men and women I have ever met. The air was electric and I was proud to be a charged particle. A generation was awakening, letting its presence acknowledge, rising up to social responsibility. I was at the epicenter of life; happening. I felt reborn.

Often times we lose sight of what we fight for and we complain about things that don’t change. Someone trying to get an objective opinion asked me why I keep going and I have no good answer. I just know that if I didn’t then I would be missing out on history being made. I didn’t want to be objective; I wanted to be young, spontaneous, obnoxious, uninhibited, hopeful and completely biased. No matter how cynical I still feel and how much my faith wavers that something good is going to come out of all this; I keep going for completely selfish reasons. Projonmo Square gives me hope. It gives me roots and a sense of solidarity. It pumps me with the feeling of self-worth. It makes me part of a huge soul being shared by a million Bangladeshis. 

So I’ll keep going.

Join me, or don’t.