Blogs from Dhaka, Dhaka, Bangladesh, Asia

'Tell me why are we, so blind to see, that the ones we hurt, are you and me’ - from the song ‘Gangsta’s Paradise’ by Coolio CNGs, four-wheel drives, pick-up drop-off cars, dogs, pedestrians, the tempos-of-death stopping suddenly, randomly and askew, and the seemingly out of control buses are there to dodge like bullets. Leaping over the median strip like a cheetah, slithering by the edge of the fence that’s proudly sponsored by a local bank like a boa constrictor, there’s the menace of the mega-conglomeration of choking smoking motorised mayhem once more to brave, on the far side. The trials that need to be overcome for a few groceries! The Bronx, Harlem or Dhanmondi: yo! We’re brothers living in the ’hood. The tea stall guy is on the corner. ‘You close up,’ I threaten him, ... read more

The unworldly villager, the ‘Mofiz’, easily taken advantage of and not altogether at ease with modernity: a ubiquitous someone to be blamed for a haphazardly driven rickshaw, a lack of knowledge of Dhaka’s geography or that ultimately unavoidable wrong step taken on the city’s overcrowded streets. In the village of course there never was a bigger ‘Mofiz’ than me. Watch my attempts at the washing-mud-off-your-feet-without-using-hands manoeuvre, at a tube well, in that way villagers do with ease, without even grabbing onto someone standing nearby for balance, with algae underfoot making the concrete slab slippery. It must be amusing to the villagers, my uncoordinated efforts, but they’re very polite about it. Come to think of it, like most westerners I can’t even properly squat. Watch my attempts to cast a fishing-net in that slightly circular slinging fashion, ... read more