The Alphabets of My Life

D a r k

As the consonants move closer to the vowel, my senses get deeper. i feel the core of me striving on a trembling pulse while sights and sounds get a wide dizzy and unearthly, if that should suffice what i want to describe here. The ears are on a hair-raising alert as the sounds of pages i flip and the keys that i hammer send in a sharp shrilly sound while the eyes go ‘wide’ open to a foray of blur. My tongues are tied and they are dry. The saliva hurts it. Even water is like a poison now but my breath, i still have it. No, I won’t back down.

D a r k

D     a    r     k

D           a      r     k

D a                        r     k

No, I won’t back down.

Blogged with Flock

Who am !i

!i

Is this a sequel to when the dive was visualized or is it a fresh moment, !i do not know but the feeling that envelops as a journey to the unknown is taken is beautiful. What triggers it intrigues me and what follows is what you would popularly refer to as history.

Winners write history!

So the trip had begun. The laid back respiration under the moonlit vast slowly loosed its grip as the sun emerged from its immersion to the unknown. It had the most busy schedule to keep – race the sky as temperatures would alter elsewhere. From where !i stood, the land stretched in all directions and it spanned until water bodies bordered it and that was the brink of reasoning, while the journey took an u-turn.

No! Wait, it wasn’t an u-turn; it was sort of the journey that would make one feel one was travelling back the same straight path in which the initial journey was undertaken. !i could feel a glitch so strong then. Even remembering it sends a chill down head to the toe. It wasn’t just imagination – a force enveloping you as it approached from all bordered directions. !i discovered my roots.

Sisyphus, where are you?

Sarcasm or plain ‘Narcissism’

‘freedom of expression’ in whatever form it may be is an unalienable right and so is the freedom to share & defend it but when diplomacy fails, the thin line of mutual respect in whatever grounds are battered.

Personal opinions like these find their voice in a ‘blog’. Therefore I make full utility of blogging sites.

God Speed!

Déjà Vu

[Inspired from the 'drum and bass' jam performed by Raef and Labib]

I pulled in a long breath to go, that one extra mile and catch the glimpse of the rays of the light that were projecting upwards to the sky as the orange sun immersed into the unknown. With that long breath I visualised my dive that I’d attempted several times. Below me was the vast open crystal clear turquoise lake that reflected the supernova the light rays were casting on the clouds.

Each evening was a reflection of the haze that I woke up with each morning and each dive rippled an unknown supernova within me. To have labelled it adrenaline is of course an understatement but the feeling of gliding miles up from the surface of the ground, listening to an unknown sound and seeing that diamond-ring like glaze in the curved horizon sure did absorbed me. Where, I still do not know but it does I knew!

The long breath followed the gradual opening of heart as does the petals of flowers each morning towards the sun. I lifted my claws a little and took one last glance of the earth below…Mother. I twitched my shoulders a little and roared like a thousand lions before I looked upwards to the ever silent sky…Father. I felt the wind that travelled in my heart…Love. My muscles twitched as I forced my wings to obey me. The extra mile had been won and I prepared myself for the dive.

I brought the upward race to gradually rest as I used the thermals to glide…it was perfect. One more time curiosity made me scan my immediate surroundings. I shrugged a little and brushed my cheek against my right shoulder. Then, there, the haze made a comeback. It divided me like it divides the day and the night and that’s when I knew it was time to make that dive like does the sun each evening into that stretch beyond the horizon.

Who am ‘I’?

On Blogging and Uncut!

I am not a card player but when I do, 52 cards shower their charm. I don’t understand why (I don’t understand why I have to understand like ‘Sarkar’ says. I win so that’s good enough, yeah) and I exhibit a game that impresses and sometimes even saddens people (there are bets involved, so). I hate gambling in the lotus posture (I wouldn’t mind if the cards involved were ‘up’ there in the head and heart and of course there is a lot of drama and mathematics (I am not good at it) involved while people spread out their brain in an area not exceeding the size of a single bed but people, please understand it doesn’t trickle a single adrenaline in me as does the touch of a shuttle when I balance it between my index finger and the thumb. I was forced to play cards this morning and throughout afternoon till tea rescued me.

I am not propagating against playing cards; if people enjoy why the heck but I’d rather work on managing my legendary ‘on-the-line’ serves which frustrates my opponents. Yeah, I am talking Badminton here (relax, it ends right in this paragraph) and in no way is my objective of the serves to frustrate fellow players. It’s the love of the game. Passion, dear ones which I think drives us from the head to the toe trickling bursts all over.

Writing has never been tough for me but to meet the objective of it is always challenging. That’s the whole ball game I think. The beauty of the ‘phase’ in between getting started and the delivery, the rush, the playfulness of the mind, the intuition, the tension…oh! Fuck, I miss it though I have no clue when I am writing. I just let my thoughts get hold of the reins and the fingers go…thak-thak-thakthakthak-thakk-thak-thak. Of course there are basic formulations that I have from the start ‘up’ there in the tank, some notes jotted here and there, questions asked, books referred to while writing for a publication but in writings like ‘this’, where I am just pouring out my thoughts, it is a different expression. Totally!

I picked up blogging earlier this year, when I first arrived in Dhaka. Not that I have an impressive record of updating it (I felt quite droll initially…pointless to some extent) but blogs are a priority now and it’s not about impressing people here though some might speculate and mind you, I give a rat’s ass about it. Blogging articulates this ambience and platform where I can converse with myself or anyone in a level that I have not experienced before. There are some glitches as I am used to writing for publications so I always have readers in mind but slowly, that’ll go and I know for sure because I am also maintaining personal notes, the domain of which is strictly not ‘thak-thak-thak’ but a free flow of ink filling the empty pages, the grip of which is tightly reined by thoughts that trickle and keep on trickling like an endless stream gushing down from the mountains.

There, people I just write. Write Uncut! (‘Sarkar’ J)

[I finally managed to get rid of the Synopsis and the ‘metaphor’]

[pull a cigarette – a metaphor that I had introduced in my previous blog ‘The moon has been sighted’ for ‘pulling oneself from the world’. Why? You ask. I quit smoking, that’s why]

The moon has been sighted

Hang on. I need to crap. Literally!

I feel better. The head has been reeling many things since yesterday evening and finally, the battle has been won. Like every other day here in Dhaka, yesterday had a lot of revealing in store for me. While the local people who are keeping this month long fast were observing the sky for the moon which didn’t decide to show up, I decided to attend the ‘Dashain Party’ at the Nepalese Embassy.

[Fucking Synopsis]

I first woke up this morning with the break of the dawn. Hungry, I was and thirsty too but there is this unknown magnet underneath that pulls my body to lounge around. It happens every morning and it just keeps getting better in vacations. Eyes closed, I spend 4 hours further in the bed beating the morning breeze by pulling over the sleeping bag.

When I opened my eyes for the 2nd time this morning, things had changed. I sensed energy in the apartment. ABC, my apartment mate was playing Gayatri Mantra (fuck that Bhajan version) and our maid had finally decided to be punctual and today, she was in the mood to do the laundry. Thank you so much. I pulled a cigarette and started thinking about the fuss that was sighted at the Embassy yesterday. What actually, happened?

It is an idiom that Nepali Embassies throughout the world waste a lot of tax payer’s money in their unknown or should I say unreported ways. Similar is the case in Dhaka but yesterday, things got a little messy in the ‘bassy party. A group of young MBBS students who have a year to pursue in Dhaka University went frenzy with one of the Embassy Officer. Nepali parties, yeah!

Of course, there wasn’t a drop of liquor served to fuel it but it was the general frustration of students who had to cope up with a lot of problems in the recent Dhaka turmoil, the base of which is always Dhaka University. This recent paranoia among Nepali students shows what the Embassy has been doing for the Nepali people. It should have at least sent alerts or arrange some kind of security, shouldn’t they? The Nepali Embassy should care!

DEF, a high-ranked Embassy Staff was then swift enough to bid farewell to his ‘distinguished’ guests and all that was left of the party was a single Embassy Officer surrounded by frustrated students. Relax, they didn’t charge him physically. DEF was then overheard remarking from a safe distance, “No more students in the invitees” and he quickly disappeared. All this happened as I sat observing from a distance enjoying my glass of water to complement the not-so-good-few-spoons of food that I had rushed in.

The Embassy Officer was working on his diplomacy skills. Seriously! He was demonstrating his best while the students barged on with one complain after another. Of course the student’s demands were valid but I asked myself, “Is this the right time to do this?” The students could have come yesterday or even before. Why today? Why not after the holidays? The very moment I had walked in to the party earlier this evening, I was spaced out and now, I discovered it was getting sucky so off I was for a stroll.

It was a Dashain Party that went seriously wrong for the Embassy. Had it performed its duties well, it wouldn’t have seen this day but then like all other Nepali parties that go wrong, this party had something to do with liquor too. While I had strolled off, things had changed. Back in the scene, complains aside, the students were demanding two bottles of whisky and when the Officer finally gave them one, they wouldn’t STOP!

Khoi, ending ali jhoor bhayo hai but what the hell!

Good Morning Dhaka!

(729 words to be read under strict PG)

[The Thrill is Gone: B. B. King and Tracy Chapman is playing in the background.]

There was time. I was innocent (ha-ha-ha) and today is a different time altogether. Life has seen many ups and downs and still it goes on unaware what’s in store next. It has thus been a rolling stone with no head or tail of anything I did or managed to accomplish. Actually, I was always surprised with what I could do (he-he) save for the ‘what’s in store next and still, the freewheeling spirit travels on like the bubbles that you come across when you ‘pop’ open a shower gel lid.

(Now, that was a fucking synopsis I had to write because I am so fucking used to it.)

So you see what those times have in store for us. Times that are spent in complete isolation in shut perimeters where the only reality is you and the immediate surroundings. And sometimes the bubble manages to float a bit longer than usual and you so want to land it in your palms but then again, a ‘pop’ and who is delighted? You of course…do you get what I mean as you try to realize the faint sound the ‘pop’ produces as you read this?

Herein Dhaka, ‘the world is only an illusion’ thing spurs into life. I wake up to heavy ears and glary sky. The ceiling fan has been going round and round in circles the entire night trying its best to articulate a breeze but maybe it isn’t aware that I hate it for its annoying sound (heavy ears) so much that I am ready to take-in the temperature but of course my apartment buddy wouldn’t agree to that OR would he? Ami Ki Koren, AC bhalo na (What do, AC is bad for me in Bengali)

And the mosquitoes have had a great psychedelic party this whole time while I was undergoing rejuvenation in subtle spheres of the body and mind. I wonder if the mosquitoes get a kick out of me. I bet they do as I encounter none until evening. I guess they chill out the entire day with altered visions, sounds and thoughts that they have sucked off me. Fuck! I have swollen spots all over. How do these mosquitoes defy all these anti-mosquito products is a big question in my mind and anyone who comes up with a remedy should be nominated for the Nobel Or Noble Peace Prize and not only a nomination would suffice. S/he should be honoured with the (I’d kill for a) Nobel or Noble peace prize in France, where the mosquitoes are no more to be found. I wonder why…maybe it is because of the arrogance in the air that the world so talks about. No offence!

So, the morning has broken and it is such a drag to pull oneself to the dining where a cup of warm tea is waiting because I made this stupid rule for myself that I prefer not to be served in the bedroom (thanks to Ma’s strict upbringing back in KTM). And then everybody including Appu (Bengali for sister and I would not like to call or treat her like Dhakaduites do to a maid) is stunned at the amount of effort I make to make myself a breakfast of cheese-omelette, sausage, chocolate-spread toast and a glass of lemonade. Yeah…lemonade because this is a country with mad temperature and I think I missed to mention that I have been sweating the whole night and I badly need to refuel. All the time! Dhaka has turned me into a thirsty beast.

The obligatory tobacco rounds up the break-fast and fuck! I ain’t got anything to do the whole day because my classes are in the evening and then, the temperature outside is not too inviting. It so wants to rip your skin apart no matter which brand of UV cream you use and since you’ve just woke up, you don’t want to go sleep again so you brave to venture out into the metropolitan that’s full of shocks (for a supposedly traditional Muslim country) and your shirt that just came off the laundry seems it just came off an athlete and all that within minutes you hit the road. Sweat-Sweat-Sweat…I wonder when my body and mind will acclimatise to this new setting.

The Morning is over!

IRREPRISIBLE RATIONAL REVOLUTION

IRREPRISIBLE RATIONAL REVOLUTION

Language Revolution and Dhaka’s Radio Boom!Is Bangladesh prepared for the final frontiers?

I am happy to know that Bangladeshi people are doing what they can to save their ‘Bangla’ language, which I discovered, is the world’s 5th widely spoken lingo but I also see that there’s encroachment particularly in the radio waves which could result in a disastrous culture shock for many people across the nation. This, I am saying from direct experience.  In my recent car ride experience in Dhaka, I was tuned into some of the local FM stations hoping to hear some local music but I was treated with Deep Purple and Aerosmith instead (why can’t we have some southasian music programs). Even the female radio presenter, who I should add has a promising radio voice, was alternating between English and Bangla. I have nothing against English language (actually, it is my earner in life ) but if proper steps are not taken to differentiate English and Bangla Language programs, the outcome could be fatal as language is a powerful tool that can open and block access to opportunities in life at the same time.

Many Dhakaduites that I have met have little then fair English abilities (and I see many young people interested to learn English and are joining special language classes) and while I was enjoying my car ride, I saw many people in the streets and in the chai shops all plugged in and I am assuming they were tuned into the FM stations and the driver of the car said I was right. FM surely is in a boom here despite its primary stage but programs that broadcast bilingually should be careful so that they don’t help create more gaps in an already divided society. [Will discuss more below on the ‘gaps’]

The production chiefs and the presenters should take into consideration various factors while they design show concepts or write scripts and that goes for the music selection to be broadcasted as well. Radio is one of the most powerful weapons in the media arsenal as it is cheaper in the receiving end and the costs to disseminate are relatively cheaper and more resource-full then other media outlets but it is imperative to realize that these radio waves have a power to influence the audience in a huge way as it’s not just the music or what the presenter is saying but also the way the radio waves interact with the brain waves of the audience. It is physics my dear with some biology! So it is utterly important to also realize what kind and type of music you are broadcasting as music itself has powerful abilities to influence people so it is important to note that you aren’t broadcasting sad and heavy music in the morning and active music in the evening, for an example. Music being broadcasted needs to be parallel with the time and ambience or music itself can be fatal too. Radio guys have a social responsibility while at the same time provide some descent entertainment. Now, that’s tough, isn’t it? Now, that’s the power of radio which is at the receiving end a very visual communication. And these days, the saying goes – it is not what you can’t do, it is what you can imagine, you can do.

[Now, back to the ‘gaps’]Bangladeshi people and sociologists and media experts and then eventually the government will realize slowly how powerful the radio can be considering the fact that the radio waves travel 360 degrees in split-second transmission straight to the audible ears and the audience needn’t know how to read/write and their investment is a one-time purchase of a radio that will either run on batteries or electricity and now it is even mobile with cellular phones. [Considering the fact that a daily newspaper here is priced at 10 Tk, the monthly expenditure for news for a layman is rocketing at 300 Tk which means the lower level of societies have no access to ‘information’; forget the ‘right of information’ issue which a daily newspaper recently covered] Radio is thus cheaper and at the same the most effective. Do you guys broadcast news and issue based programs? I am asking this as I am unaware and I little than fairly understand ‘Bangla’ but am looking forward to at least speak this language and surprise a few people in my life. So, realize the power, ladies and gentleman, it is no doubt endless but again, going back to the ‘encroachment’ that I earlier mentioned in reference to the ‘language revolution’ the radio has brought with it, the pitfalls are also endless to such a state that the prevailing cultures of the nation might disappear and trust me, nothing is more stupendous then having an identity crisis as your identity.

The use of English language will primarily do two things – firstly, it will generate more audience who are eager to learn the language and that will soon multiply and boom too and secondly, the language and the music will open up gates of new perceptions and culture which I should add are very influencing as the fruits are very attractive for this young nation with young people. This will no doubt result in new ideas and new ideas means a new division in the society. Is Dhaka and Bangladesh ready for the new frontiers?

[The blogger has five years experience in the field of radio broadcasting]

Of ‘southasian’ Ripples and Dhaka! Mother of all Stalemates

Today is my 6th day here in Dhaka and life seems pretty unimaginable without a fan or an AC (think about the energy demands and as I write this, I see a stretch of houses who survive without any artificial breeze). The weather’s been depressing these past few days with 100+ mm showers giving me my first flood experience in life and a wild-wild rickshaw ride (I am loving it! full-on).  Trust me on the ‘wild’ part because this is someone who’s into extreme trekking, bungy jumping, canyoning, cycling and ‘mind’ exploring! Whoever says Dhaka is not an adventure should ride a rickshaw or try crossing the streets at Panthapath here in Central Dhaka. [Refer my first blog: Crazy Dhaka: Crazy Driving and you’ll know]

A hotshot businessman here in Bangladesh says, “Initially, the ‘plan’ allocated 8 people per plot but what we have here today is almost 600 people living in one plot (phew! By the blogger) which is one of the main reason for this floating experience (pointing towards the sewage waves in the streets from the comfort inside his car).” This opinion helped clicked open an apparent realization to this Dhaka novice that we ‘southasians’ seem to have pretty similar problems in almost every sector of our lives and that Dhaka is hugely divided into haves and the ‘have-nots’ without a middle class in between.

The question beckons me ‘why?’ If we observe carefully, we see that we come from different backgrounds, engage in unique cultures and come from places ranging from the highest mountains to the ocean level and we even follow a plethora of organized religions ‘but’ our ‘culture’ (don’t read ‘traditional’) in life is sucky throughout the region no matter what. One of the states declaring they have the highest happiness per capita in the region is like the one of the best jokes I have ever come across and add to the fact the ‘regional cooperation’ so highlighted by the Indian premier in the recent SAARC. Read between the politics and it doesn’t take a fool to realize that the mire we are in is destroying more lives then what Mother Nature’s tsunami did.

We ‘southasians’ are buying tickets on our own for a ride that we so know is in dire straits but still we shine on often not realizing how puppets we have become. We even pay tax these days for our own breathing space. With regional powers gaining strength and momentum across the world, ‘southasia’ meanwhile seems pretty divided and locked up in their private conflicts that are so rippled by foreign hands while the southasian working class heroes pay their taxes heavily to fuel a fire that will soon consume all of us into ‘dictatorism’ if we do not look and act ‘constructively’ forward for a transition which is often dubbed as turning the world energy shift upside down.

And the question beckons again ‘Why?’ Why and what are we southasians waiting for. Isn’t it up to us and in our hands to decide our destiny for ourselves than being the receivers of the least effective energies of ripples that generate in somebody else’s stalemate. But, please don’t make this question a mother of all stalemates as we southasians always do.