Ami Bangla Bolti Pari Na

I have become lazy in blogging my experiences as I am coming closer to the end of this journey. The excitement of being back home soon makes me think that I can just tell you all of the last experiences, but for the sake of continuity and my poor memory, I’ll try to summarize some stories in my last 2 weeks.

Khulna Journey
The journey to Khulna was approximately 300 km, however it took me close to 9 hours to reach. Part of the journey involved taking a ferry across a river. The actual ferry ride was 20 minutes, however, the traffic and the inefficiency of loading and unloading made this part of the trip about 3 long hours. It was an interesting experience though, with the bottom floor full of vendors selling fruit, fish, and chaat, the middle floors with a restaurant and rooms, and the top floor a place to sit and enjoy the view. The bus conductor served as my mini guide for this part of the ride and treated me to a cup of cha.

SMO Excursion

On a couple of my days in Khulna, I took a break from the hospital and accompanied the WHO surveillance medical officer to rural areas where she works in various roles. One case involved a child with acute flaccid paralysis (can’t move limbs of body, usually legs) which has to be investigated for fear of polio. For this trek, we took the WHO truck to a river, a small boat across the river (2 min ride), and a flat bed rickshaw (called a van because it’s also used to carry goods) to the patient's house. This ride was one of the most enjoyable parts of my trip. The SMO and another surveillance officer sat in the front, while I sat in the back with my feet dangling off the back. The weather was beautiful with a slight breeze, clear blue sky, and just enough shade along the way to not become too hot. Basically, we went down the main road of the rural area for a 40 minute ride. Along the way, we passed small market areas areas, huts covered by different forms of leaves, government schools, rice fields, banana trees, betel nut plants (closed off areas covered by cloth since they grow better in less sunlight), the river, a lake, ducks, chickens, cows, people using man made ponds to take showers, wash clothes, or play in. This list can go on and on. It was the quintessential rural scene that we’ve seen in the movies of the subcontinent's rural areas.

We approached the patients house by walking along a narrower road made of caked mud. The house was approximately 20 feet across by 8 feet with a bed on one side, and everything else on the other side, including a black and white tv. They were expecting us as the mother was dressed up and had biscuits served in individual bowls. The SMO determined that this was most likely not polio, but probably juvenile arthritis or another infectious cause which was temporary. While there, I met the uncle of the child who knew Hindi. We talked about India, my experiences, and then he invited me to his house (30 feet away) for fresh coconuts. He climbed the tree in front of his house (about 30 feet high), cut down a couple of coconuts that dropped to the ground with a thud, and began using a sickle to cut them with his father (who looked like the reincarnation of Tagore). He poured the contents of the coconut into a steel cup and handed me the glass. The taste of the coconut water was delicious, looking a little like lemonade, with a slight coconut taste (not overwhelming), which was perfect for that warm day (though here, they usually drink it during the winter). He then cut open the green outer covering to reveal the light brown exterior which we are more familiar with, and peeled away the exterior, handing me the white meat of the coconut. The taste was amazing and unlike any coconut I had ever eaten. It was firm and fleshy, but not hard such as the ones we find in our supermarkets, so I could easily eat it by biting. As we parted, he cut two more for me and packed them in a polythene bag for me to take back to my hotel. As he apologized that he did not have much else to offer, I told him that this was more than enough and I appreciated his hospitality.

Touristy Excursions

I made a friend at the medical college. He was a physiotherapist who had trained in Dhaka and found it hard to make a living doing what is relatively a new/luxury field in Bangladesh. Out of his kindness, he offered to take me on a couple of outings so I could see more than my boring life between the hospital and the hotel.

The first involved renting a boat and going along the Rupsha River. The boats were what you typically see in Bangladesh – an approximately 15 foot long wooden boat, with an engine attached to one end that sounds like a diesel engine. It was relaxing and nice just to see life along the river. Within in the river were dolphins, which my friend saw three times and I did not see once.

The second excursion was to a nearby old Mughal town named Bagerhat which housed a 400 year old mosque known (not too creatively) as the “sixty dome mosque” (actual number was 67). The mosque was modestly designed and sized compared to other Mughal structures, however, was still impressive to see with its various domes. We then took a “van” to the famous mazaar of Khan Jahan Ali. I didn’t go inside the actual mazaar (was not going to make this mistake twice a la Ajmer), but there was plenty to observe around the area. Most famous is the lake, about 50 feet from the mazaar which is famous for having crocodiles. We walked to the area where there are supposed to be crocs and to our luck, there was a female crocodile with her head out of water, sitting motionless in the water, looking directly at the stone bank 15 feet away from us (CRIKEY!!). For some unknown reason, I wasn’t too scared (though I always made sure there was someone between me and the croc) and we all just watched in amazement at the crocodile sitting there still as statue. From the distance, we saw the water moving in a pattern that meant another crocodile was approaching. We waited to see what would happen, both in fear and excitement. It came closer and closer to the other one sitting in front of us. The huge male finally arrived, made a couple of grunt sounds, and (in front of all of us) began mating. Yeah, what an experience. I took pictures and videos and could not believe that I was standing 15 feet from wild crocodiles mating. After doing his deed, the crocs dispersed and so did we as the two year old child of my friend began crying hysterically.

Failed Mutiny Attempt

While at the ICDDR,B (famous research center in Bangladesh) for a meeting with other people working on my project, we heard from others that was a situation unfolding at the BDR (Bangladesh rifle) complex. Gossip was widespread as fears of curfew, mutiny, and the number dead starting spreading. My colleagues told me to go straight home and wait to see what happens. The complex is approximately 6 km away from us, on the other side of town, so we couldn’t hear the gunshots and fighting going on in the midst of a pretty busy area. A few people standing by the complex were shot from stray bullets, however, most of the dead were those inside the complex. Apparently the BDR was not happy with the way they were being treated, getting less funded than the army, and had other complaints, so during their annual ceremony, a team of them rose up against those in charge and basically had a standoff with the army and other armed forces. The number dead is still up in the air, but the latest news is saying up to 130. After two days, the BDR surrendered and investigations have started. Though I was initially scared as I was taking my auto back from the icddr,b office, things since then have been pretty calm in the area where I'm living. Most businesses and life is running as usual, besides schools being closed and markets around the complex being closed. As all news channels are in Bengali, I had to wait for the English newspaper to really know what was going on (my family here translating leaves out a lot of the details, they’d mainly tell me the big news and not to worry). It was a little boring to sit at home and not go anywhere as I was reprimanded from doing so from family in three different countries, however, it was probably best to be safe. I have now seen just about every side of Bangladesh including the good, bad, and ugly.

Closing Remarks

In my closing days here in Bangladesh, I’ll leave with these words from the poem, “Gitanjali” by Rabindranath Tagore. I think this does the best job of summarizing my sentiments with the people I was able to bond with, in such a short time (enjoy Nani and Ashraf Uncle).

Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not. Thou hast given me seats in homes not my own. Thou hast brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger.

I am uneasy at heart when I have to leave my accustomed shelter; I forget that there abides the old in the new, and that there also thou abidest.

Through birth and death, in this world or in others, wherever thou leadest me it is thou, the same, the one companion of my endless life who ever linkest my heart with bonds of joy to the unfamiliar.

When one knows thee, then alien there is none, then no door is shut. Oh, grant me my prayer that I may never lose the bliss of the touch of the one in the play of many.

(the pictures accompanying this email can be seen at http://picasaweb.google.com/samustafa/LastWeekInBangladesh# note: the last picture of the set is going to be the cover for the Bangladeshi version of Swades.)

Valentine's Day in Dhaka

Yesterday was the first day of Spring here for which they have festivals and programs across the nation. I went with a couple of young guys (friends of my family here) who took me around to the performances, the university campus, photography exhibits, etc. More than anything else they explained, the guys sit around, and the girls all dress up for the guys to look at them (I swear Sophia, it wasn’t me). The girls all wear the colors of Basanti – orange, yellow, red – mainly in sari form. The guys wear whatever the hell they feel like wearing though a majority had on kurtas. (I had my American version on – jeans, kurta, and Converse All Stars). It ended up being a day of us basically walking around in various parts of the city and observing Dhaka more than anything else which I enjoyed.

We ended up eating at a chicken joint eerily similar to Ravi Kabob in DC – it had simple tables, a simple menu, tons of customers, and the inside even featured a mirrored wall. You have two options there – roasted chicken or chicken schwarma so I decided to go for a little of both. The schwarma was lackluster and pretty standard, but the roasted chicken served with fresh french fries, a tomato chutney, and a mayonnaise/hot sauce combo was excellent. Cooked through with the right spices and served with your choice of paratha or a Mediterranean style naan, though it was probably best eaten plain or with the chutney. The day long adventure was capped with my first ride on a local bus (I haven’t even done this in India), in which we both climbed onto and departed off of a slowly moving bus with a “conductor” yelling the bus route and hitting the side of the bus as needed to pick up passengers or to signal to go on.

Today was Valentine’s Day. This holiday has really taken off in countries outside of America. In today’s largest circulated English newspaper in Bangladesh (The Daily Star), there were huge ads of different businesses seeking Valentine clientele – Pizza Hut (“love happens at Pizza Hut’), KFC (we celebrate love), and a condom company introducing a chocolate scented condom (fall for the seductive fragrance of love). I explained to the Utpal (18 yr old son of Uncle) that if a guy took a girl to these places in the states, he’d be asking to get slapped. (side note: if we really want to tackle the influence of globalized food like McDonalds, we just have to show the world what these places mean in America). Beyond this are the usual flowers, couples going around, etc. Being solo in this country, I decided to go to the opposite spot of lovebirds – The Liberation War Museum.

Finding this place was quite a pickle. My map was incorrect therefore I ended up walking in circles around the actual location (one block away from where I’m staying). The sign in front of it was quite discrete as well with a sign probably made 20 years ago in the standard tin and paint combination. After paying the admission of 3 taka (5 cents), I walked in.

The museum, though aesthetically simple, was a wealth of information that really let you understand the soul of this nation. Outlined in the chronological exhibit were the times of the Mughals, British Invasion, India and Pakistan independence, the language movement, and the eventual liberation war. The heroes of the country were detailed in various forms such as the Dhaka university students who died in protest, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, women fighters, Shere Bengal and others whose names I can’t recall. Using clothing, photographs, and other memorabilia, it told the story of all this in an excellent manner. Here are some of my reflections following this.

- The importance of violence in forming this nation is something that Bangladeshis embrace. I don’t see it as barbaric by any means. It was what they had to do to gain the independence they desired from both the British, and then Pakistan. The red circle in their flag represents the blood shed for the nation (the green represents the greenery of the country).

- I never really understood the implications of creating a West and East Pakistan but I think I have a better picture now. It really never made any sense from the get go. These two Muslim areas are separated by location, culture, and language, though they may share the same religion. I’m sure the Muslim League and Jinnah saw that if Muslims were divided even more, then that would make for an even weaker Muslim agenda in the region. I’m also sure that India saw it to their benefit to support Bangladesh through all of this which they did. It seemed like this rift between East and West Pakistan also stifled the progress of these nations from 1947 as well, creating a wastage of resources and mental effort towards war. (I’m 100% sure that the British knew what they were doing in the midst of all this).

- Interestingly enough, Russia was one of the first countries to show support to Bangladesh during their liberation struggle, while the United States turned somewhat of a blind eye to the genocide and were even supplying arms to West Pakistan at the time. Senator Edward Kennedy was one voice in the US who stood up against the Nixon Policy.

- Bangladeshis seem to have a respect both for India and Pakistan. India they admire for their secular viewpoint, economic progress, and support during most of their history. Pakistan, it seems mainly for just religious reasons, honestly. Though Bangladesh has a long ways to go as far as development and are still forming their soul, they have an interesting location in that they are within India, yet close to the Far East of China and Burma. They seem to borrow and side with the different countries/ideas when necessary but it seems now that they are headed in a more pro India direction.

- The Bengali language is something that is coveted and taken with great pride here. Part of Bangladesh’s reason for leading this Liberation War was based on Jinnah and West Pakistan’s policy to make Urdu the official language. A movement in Bangladesh was against this from the beginning which erupted in violence, February 21st, 1952. In honor of those who died, and to recognize the importance of Bengali, February 21st is a day of mourning (as well as International Mother Language Day started by Unesco in this day’s honor). Part of the festivities is a month long book festival with about 200 stalls taking place at the nearby university. Though 98% of the literature there was in Bengali, I was able to find a couple of English books by Bengali authors.

In a lighter story, I was able to meet a couple from Colorado spending time here in Dhaka (as part of a larger tour of the whole of India, for which they left their jobs) at the museum. We talked about our experiences and what we’re doing here. Though they are loving their trip, they said it becomes both a blessing and hassle to stick out so much. I told them that it’s a little easier for me to deal with being here since I blend in pretty well. We starting walking out when a well dressed Bengali man approached them and struck up a conversation of what they’re up to, where they should go, etc. He glanced at me for a split second and said, “Oh, I see you have guide”.

Chitta GONE (get it? The actual city name is “ChittaGONG” but i'm not there anymore. yes, I have put in my application to the national enquirer)

So I’m back ‘home’ in Dhaka. Good ‘ol Dhaka. Where the food is always coming and the traffic noise constant.

Here are some closing thoughts on Chittagong.

So staying in Chittagong was my first real experience here living ‘alone’. In Dhaka, I stay with the family, in Rajshahi, I basically had an uncle living 20 feet away from me who’d do everything for me. So how did I survive in a third world country on my own? Simple! By booking a good hotel, getting room service, and paying more than the normal charge for transportation!

The hotel was pretty good. It was made less than five years ago and featured internet in the lobby, a great restaurant, good maintenance/cleaning, and a decent location. The tv situation was subpar as some channels came clear and some didn’t. There was no pattern to this and the channels that were clear could change depending on the day. So sometimes I’d watch national geographic or bbc, somedays mtv india and espn but never all in the same day. The restaurant featured great Chinese/Thai soups, spring rolls, and ravi kabob type food in the kadai and kabob dishes which I’d get with the best naan I’ve had in Bangladesh. This was more than sufficient.

(while typing this, aunty brought me my evening snack which was another variation of Maggie – this time with cauliflower, carrots, aloo, and 2 mini jaali kababs on top – kinda like a combo b/w a shaami and chapli, crispy on the outside, soft in middle. Seeing that ramen was once loved by fifi and currently by anu bhai, I think you guys have a new standard for how to make that 10 cent ramen)

My main issue with the place, and being on my own in general here, is something all people who look different in a foreign country must face (esp south asia) – getting taken advantage of. I know, I know. Big deal. It’s a difference of 50 cents in a transaction. But it’s the principle of it that gets me. Whenever I’d take an auto or rickshaw, I’d be quoted a higher than normal price. The one time I went shopping for pirated music/movies, the price was raised for me and I knew it as I saw someone else just quoted a cheaper price. Even some of the hotel staff, which really got to me. One guy claimed he had broken sandals and he needed money, but then the next day he had sandals that were of a different color and well intact. The inconsistent and random charges I’d get for using the internet, etc. However, this is something I will have to expect and account for, especially if I’m going to be wearing my Dansko clogs around Bangladesh. (it’s the one thing people stare at most when I’m walking by. Not my dashing good looks, not my dapper style, but more, what the hell are these monstrosities on his feet).

I was able to make a friend, with one of the hotel staff actually, who took me around to a couple of places. He happened to have roots in India and could therefore talk in pretty good hindi which I could understand 80% of the time. He was one of those guys that you’d say, “shakal se sharif lagtha hai”, and though my guards were up, I took up his offer to go sight seeing. He took me to Foy’s lake, which is basically like a state fair crossed with Jordan Lake with standard rides, boats, zoo, trails, etc. It was relaxing, peaceful, and aesthetically pleasing though by no means breathtaking. We climbed up a hill and got a decent view of the city, which was clouded with a haze (not sure if it’s fog or more pollution). He told me about his family, friends, and desire to go abroad. We went to the zoo which was really a site to see. Every animal essentially had the same style of accommodation – concrete and/or sandy grass with a big chain link fence around it. Not too much to frolic and be animals I guess. The “please don’t feed the animals” was ignored by most so that was interesting to see. The only staff I saw was one guy who fed the lions and one Bengal tiger. For being a bare bones zoo though, they had a good range of animals – peacocks, pythons, a tiger, lions, different breeds of monkeys, birds, and other local animals so someone like me can get a good idea of what is the local fauna here. Yes, fauna.

Chittagong is most famous for being a port city where most goods of Bangladesh come through – cars, tv’s from china, you name it. So one afternoon, Imtiaz took me down to the Bay of Bengal where I was able to see and appreciate the huge number of both commercial boats from around the world and local fishing boats. We went to a beach area which is a popular place to hang out and enjoy yourself. Shops, horses/atvs for rent, picnics, boat riding, and of course, couples trying to meet outside of the public’s eye. The beach didn’t have much sand on it and was pretty much a muddy bank. It was still beautiful to see with the ocean there and the sun setting into it. We basically walked around, talked, and sat on the humongous boulders placed by the government for visitors. Not too many people go to the beach to actually swim but there were a few kids and women in full shalwar kameez enjoying themselves. It was a really nice scene – with the sun setting, people enjoying themselves, the air force doing practice runs overhead, and a cool breeze.

slumdog broke

Today was a day in which I saw poverty in my face. More so than other times. I have seen the poor in the government hospital that I am a medical student at in Greenville, NC, but this was different. I have seen the poor of India on the streets, but this was different. Maybe because this was in my face versus from the backseat of an a/c Honda City. I spent half my day observing as my unit on peds was admitting patients today. In the evening, I went walking by the river.

This morning at the hospital was everything you’d expect a third world country government hospital to be and more. This ward is bigger than the one in Rajshaahi as it houses all 3 units in one humongous ward (roughly 75 – 80 beds but many more patients). I saw one ten year old boy come in stiff as a board with muscle spasms. He was diagnosed with tetanus and it was feared that the portal of entry for the bacteria was through a broom his mother used to hit him. There was a pustule type lesion on his left arm that was mildly swollen. Tetanus basically keep your neuromuscular junction from relaxing therefore you get locked in place. First your limbs and jaw, and if time passes, your face locks into a smile, your neck and back into a backwards C shape, and eventually your respiratory muscles, preventing you from breathing. He was in the beginning stages with his left arm locked into a flexed position and neck/jaw rigidity. He would grimace every so often whenever he would have spasms. He could open his mouth slightly but not all the way. The necessary steps were taken to help him but no staff really flinched or missed a beat as they had many more patients in dire conditions to see. He was put into an isolation room which was quiet and dark, but he had to lay on a mat on the floor as the one usable bed was occupied by someone else.

Another patient had cerebral palsy (a group of conditions that affects control of movement and posture, also lacks mental capacity). As with other people with terminal disabilities in third world countries, her future is not bright and it will be tough for her to have any functional therapy she can afford. She was foaming from the mouth and I’m not exactly sure why. The attending, mother, and other doctors didn’t seem to mind. It left a disturbing picture in my mind. Even more disturbing was seeing her grimace in pain when the doctor tried examining her. Bedside manner in government hospitals doesn’t exist. The patient and family are assumed to be ignorant and therefore treated as if they are a child no matter the age. Patients and families are talked down to, poked and prodded without warning, and become the specimen of 20 so medical students at once without permission. The poor are learned on by students and doctors around the world.

Another patient had probable tubercular meningitis. Since the doctor wasn’t sure of the diagnosis, the patient was receiving a slew of antibiotics (at least 6 including TB drugs, vancomycin and ceftriaxone). The patient was obtunded, malnourished, and lying there as if death was approaching. Antibiotics are given like candy here. Since diagnostic procedures and lab capabilities are limited, doctors treat everything and hope one of the drugs works. I can’t imagine the resistance bacteria are gaining in these countries and even though non communicable (non infectious diseases) are on the rise, I foresee a future where the bacteria fight back bigger and stronger than before.

The sounds/noise of a pediatrics ward, full of 80 – 100 or so patients is something that will stick with me forever. In the midst of patients coming in today, a baby from the next unit, approximately 20 feet away from the tetanus patient, passed away. The mother was rocking back and forth, crying at the top of her lungs, while reciting what seemed like a dua/cry for help as I’d hear Allah every so often. Onlookers were staring but this did not matter.

Food is provided for the patients by the government. A small sized cart carrying huge pots of gosht ka salan, rice, vegetables, and daal stops by each section of the ward and gives out food. Patients/families bring their dishes up to the cart where they receive the food. The smell of it is not appetizing.

One girl was repeatedly having apneic episodes so cpr was performed twice under the most calm circumstances I had seen doctors carry this out on a ~3 month old girl. A scary looking suction device was used to remove phlegm and fluid from her airways. Each time material was stuck in the miniscule size suction device, it was dipped in water and cleared out.

Bangladesh is not all poverty, but a huge percentage of it is. The fact that I’m in a government hospital everyday allows me to see the sick of this population. It’s in my face. I try not to think about it and focus on the project. I think I’m reaching a saturation point. I don’t know what to do or how to solve the problems. I try to make kids smile but what does that do for their families, for their future life. This trip has confused me even more. What is my place in this world and how do I solve what I think is not right.

Walking towards the river was not too touristy as the lonely planet book describes. The smells are possibly the worst I’ve smelled in my life – a mixture of sewage, trash, and seafood. The trash stations are every 50 to 100 meters or so where crows, chickens, dogs, and people forage through to find what they can. I walked on this road parallel to the river where there was very little going as it was mainly a loading area. I did happen to see one person bringing in a manta ray on a cart approximately 6 feet by 5 feet across. After praying asr in a masjid, I walked out onto the “pier”. This was one of those scenes of poverty you usually see in pictures and movies. The pier was made of wood and was pretty sturdy. On each side of it was a muddy bank where about 25 children were playing. Some were running around, others were making “mud balls” and throwing them at the other kids, others playing this game where you use a stick to hit another stick in the air. A goat was tied down and watching the fun. There were old rusty boats that were wholly on the bank, god knows how old, or what their story was. On the river you could see lots of cargo boats and those of the small variety used for fishing and transporting people. Close to the river bank were people carrying sacks of something (guessing rice) on their heads to a nearby waiting truck. About 200 feet from the water were some homes constructed of bamboo and tin. I imagined one of the patients I saw in the hospital I saw today coming from here.

Chittagong-6

Alhumdulillah, I reached Chittagong safely. The journey was not bad - a comfortable bus ride that lasted about 5 hours. Though sitting in the front has its advantages for feeling less bumps, hearing the horn every ten seconds can get a little annoying. We stopped at a rest stop where I had a chicken salad sandwich, chicken cutlet, and mithai for about $2. Surprisingly, the chicken interpretations weren’t bad.

I took a risk on the hotel by looking it up in lonely planet and it ended up being a good choice. About ten bucks a night, but with clean rooms, great staff, new furniture and tiles, and a decent view of the city from it’s 9th floor courtyard. I’m on the 7th floor. Namaz is on the 10th (more to come later on that).

I’m in the old heart of the city, where the train station is, the river not too far away, and more vendors than you can count. I went walking around and it was an intense experience in which every sense was on alert from the smell/stench of the dried fish market to the yelling of shopkeepers telling their prices. You name it, you can find it within walking distance. There is a fish market, produce market, traditional mall, vendors selling everything from bobby deol’s greatest hits (I thought you had to actual have a hit to have a greatest hits) to jewelry to fake purses. It’s like Chinatown, the fair, the farmer’s market, and the mall wrapped into one. The markets here are more of the Old Delhi style but even more congested. So many people were in this area that you have to use your traffic skills to get around. I even did some bargaining though the fact that the shopkeeper was only too happy to accept my counter offer of 100 taka for an 8 in 1 Bruce Lee movie collection and MP3 collection of the latest Indian songs (including Delhi-6 which I really wanted) made me doubt that I got a good deal.

The staff has been interesting. One guy is from Kolkata so he knew hindi and we talked a little bit. Another told me about where the staff prays namaz on the 10th floor. I went there at maghrib and they were about to start praying separately when they noticed me looking around waiting for the jamaat. In broken hindi, someone told me that none of them are imams, to which I replied we’re all imams (I know, give me an askar). I ended up leading namaaz and I’m not sure what kinda reaction they had. A couple were confused when I didn’t lead du’a after namaaz and they just waited until I got up to pray sunnah. But overall, I think I’ll be ok here. They have an overpriced restaurant which is convenient and internet in the lobby. Can’t ask for much more.

Ps. I need emails from you guys to let me know what’s going on there!

maach, cha, and fried green tomatoes

I take back everything I said about the food of Bangladesh. I must revise it to just don’t eat out and eat at some momma’s kitchen. The home cooking in Dhaka has really spoiled me and has let me get to know what Bangladeshi food has to offer.

Their subzis have a common spice (I think haldi/turmeric) that is in most of them so they all have a similar taste. What’s in season these days is carrot, papaya, aloki, gobhi, bhaigan, lal saag, cabbage, etc. They’ve all been excellent which is the case abroad with most produce. The different one I had was this fried bhaigan dish that isn’t breaded and keeps the skin on. They have both purple eggplant and a green one as well. Still not fully sure if they taste differently.

The roties are extremely soft and can’t really compare to any taste as far as Indian roti. Apparently they put boiling hot water into the aata before making it and this makes it really soft. They almost look like flour tortillas, but use the same flour as rotis in India. Made fresh, these are pretty good. They have parotha (which I think is slightly fried and not like ours), puris (both plain and stuffed with beef, not complaining here), naan, etc. The main thing is that they’re not eaten often and usually at breakfast or dinner if at all.

Side note : Pizza hut in india is currently running a stuffed crust deal there that stuffs it with your choice of paneer or chicken sausage. And we thought we had it good.

They have something they call singhara, which is essentially a aloo samosa. Their samosas usually mean stuffed with beef and the aata is made differently almost given it a puri crispness to it, versus flaky singhara.

The only daals I’ve had have been yellow. I couldn’t really tell you what types, but I know I’ve had moong. Besides that, they seem to be local varieties that are slightly different from ours.

Mithai has been par excellance at the household. Saveyaan, shondesh, rosgollah, sooji ki mithai (which is kinda like the saveyaan consistency), firnee, this one where they took frozen mango pulp (preserved in the freezer from summer) and mixed it with milk powder (sounds weird, but tasted good once again). Haven’t had a bad mithai yet.

The fish. The first day I was here, they had a fish that had quite a bit of bones, but since then, auntie has made fish with easy to remove bones. I couldn’t tell you the name of them, but they’ve all been pretty good. One kinda like bass, one tilapia type. Most are of the white variety, some flaky, some a little tougher. They seemed to be cooked pretty similarly in a salan, cut in pieces from the head down to the tail, cooked with skin on which is easy to remove. Usually aloo, pyaas, tamatar are added in a haldi based salan.

I haven’t had two cups of “cha” that tasted the same. Cha without milk seems to be pretty popular. I’ve had cha with elaichi, wth cinnamon, with milk, etc. I guess the variety of tea leaves is pretty high as they do produce tea here and are close enough to india to get tea from there.

While writing this email, uncle just came back from a weeklong business trip along the northwestern district of Bangladesh. With him, he has brought an arsenal of food from the region. Huge bags of “super quality” rice, a damn tasty fruit called kewel (a combo of an amrut because of its consistency and apple because of it’s outward appearance and sweetness, but the size of an extra large grape), a special kind of matar, green tomatoes, green bananas (to cook with fish), green eggplant, 2 humongous fish from a friend’s pond, 2 King ducks, 4 boxes of mithai (types specific to their region which were mainly milk based), green coconuts (to drink the healthful milk) , a ripe papaya, and a partridge in a pear tree. Man, it’s like when pappa comes back from his meetings, except these things don’t have pharmaceutical companies written all over them and are edible. They were happy to see me excited (and thought I was a sheltered American boy though I tried explaining I like this kind of stuff). They also commented that it’s a good trait that I eat and enjoy whatever they feed me. The legend continues.

It is now 11 pm, and we are eating snacks while cooking dinner. I helped by cutting onions for a fish stew using rewey fish (cross between the white flaky nature of flounder and steak like qualities of tuna). It was first fried and then put in a salan with onions and tomatoes and may have been one of the best fish dishes I’d ever eaten. With the fresh green tomatoes, I cooked fried green tomatoes to share my food with them. I used a tempura mix, salt, and pepper and it turned out pretty good, owing mostly to the great tomatoes. Everything happens for a reason, and I have thoroughly enjoyed having my train cancelled for today. Though I had planned to lose enough weight to fit comfortably into my sherwani, signs are now pointing to doubtful.

strangers with kindness

I’m starting to think there is something in the water here (besides arsenic) that makes the people of Bangladesh extremely helpful to strangers.

Today was a long day. After waking up early, I headed to the Bangla Biman office which is more like a train station type setting with the busy crowds there. (the actual train station on the other hand is extremely clean and well organized unlike India’s). I looked at the ticket number being served, “143” and looked at my ticket, “253” and headed to one of the empty spots on the leather couches. After waiting what seemed like an eternity, my number was called and I got my flight changed in 5 minutes. The employee was nice and helpful, though she didn’t really react when I complemented her bracelet.

Waiting in line at the office for longer than planned, forced me to rush back to my place to finish packing, eat lunch, and leave. After gathering my things, we were about to head out when the electricity went out. We were on the 8th floor of the building with my super size suitcase, pilot case, and messenger bag. Without a choice, we hauled the bags down the stairs. Mithun put me on a rickshaw and I held on to my belongings as we headed to the station.

After reaching the station, I thought I’d be cool and take my bags myself as I am an American and that’s what I’m used to. Once I quickly realized that I have no idea where I was going, I agreed to pay the ~15 year old coolie 20 taka to help me out. While trying to confirm if I was at the right platform, I approached a well dressed man and asked if he spoke English or Hindi. He said English and I asked him if this was the right place. He looked at my ticket and said he was in the same car as me and he’d help me out. We got to talking and he told me about his family and job, I told him about mine. He talked to the ticket person to put our seats together so we could sit together and he’d help me once we arrived. After watching a couple of trains arrive with thousands of people from Biswa Ijtema, things were not looking too good. (Biswa Ijtema is basically a tabligh-e-jamaat worldwide conference in Dhaka once a year. It’s the second largest gathering of Muslims after Hajj so around 1-2 million people make it here.) Out train had been delayed and then had technical issues with all the people riding on top of it. At this point, the earliest my train would come was another 2 hours (in addition to the 2 I already waited). The uncle told me I could return my ticket and try again tomorrow, as he rushed to catch a bus.

I reached one of the ticket counters and asked again, Hindi or English, and then he told me to go to another area of the station to return my ticket. Someone happened to overhear this and seeing that I was clueless, he told me to follow him, and he took one of my bags. The queue was pretty long, so Raqul (the nice person) told me to stay with the bags (including his) and he took my ticket to wait in line. After consulting with some people, they advised me to take the bus the next day (which Raqul was planning to take tonight). He returned my ticket, and then said for me to follow him again, this time to the bus station to get a ticket. We took two rickshaws, and he actually even had one of my bags ( I know I should never trust someone this much, but I just did.) We reached the bus area, and he was waiting and looking for me. He told me to wait again as he left me with my bags. After coming back with a general class ticket, I told him I wanted A/C coach (I know, I know, forcing a stranger to get me A/C). He said no problem, asked for more money and came back with a ticket confirmed for tomorrow morning. After exchanging numbers and thanking him, he put me on a rickshaw to go back home.

I have now come back home, am lying down and typing on my laptop, while auntie is making noodles and cha for me. God bless Bangladesh.

(note: the family I’m staying with is usually really helpful, but one son had to defend his thesis today, the father is out of town for work with the car, and the other son and uncle are on vacation)