Srimongaling

Sometimes, there are moments when you just want to escape.... from what, who, or where.. you often don't know. You just want to leave.

I've been having those moments a bit too often lately. So, with less than an hour's planning and with two good friends on each side, we hopped on a bus to Srimongal ... the tea capital of Bangladesh. We didn't know much about it... neither did the locals... and embarrassingly indeed, Lonely Planet said little about it. While driving up there, we noticed how dry and barren the tea fields looked due to it being the dry season. Though slightly discouraged at first, we soon realized there were some hills that were still covered lush green tea plants!!

We found a nice shallow stream - only ankle high at some points- with clear, cool water. After walking for a while in this stream - surrounded by tea and holy trees - we laid on the grass and stared at the cloudless (chemicalless) sky. The next day, we ventured off into the Lowachhara Rainforest Reserve. Wild ginger plants greeted us with their fragrant white flowers as butterflies and birds flew about. Lemon groves, tribal hospitality, and hours of botanists' dream-come-true ... we slept well that night. Next-cum-final day, we rented three bikes - first one lacked a pedal and a bell, second one's seat and pedal kept falling, and and the third one was just plain wrong. Either way, we biked our way through the tea-covered hills, local villages until our bums can take no more. So what to do next? Ah of course - lay a la nude in our favorite stream. As the water flowed around us, I just couldn't stop smiling. From what was I trying to escape? The water knew.

share on: facebook

Cat got your mother tongue?

February 21st (Ekushi February) was International Mother Language Day. And I was in the city that started this whole movement.

In 1952, the then West Pakistani government was forcing the predominantly-Bengali East Pakistan to adopt Urdu as the sole official language of united Pakistan. The East Pakistanis were already getting the left-overs of West Pakistan's meals, and now they were going to be stripped of the one thing that was truly theirs - their mother tongue. On February 21st of that year, people from various walks of life - students, academics, doctors, farmers - all united and rallied against the Urdu decree. Five were martyred.

Since then, Bengalis on both sides of the border celebrated this as Language Martyr's Day, with poetry recitation, traditional music and dances, and wearing somber clothes.

Nowadays however, 'Ekushi February' became the commercialized holiday we all love to fear in the West. On this day, the martyrs' memorial becomes a huge county festival scene, with people buying flowers and selling kabobs. Girls decked out in the latest "Ekushi fashion" giggle with their hubbies on the steps leading to the memorial, while politicians release hot gas everywhere they go.

I felt a bit detached from this holiday for a couple of reasons. First of all, my previous paragraph depicts my disgust for the holiday-making on this somber day. Secondly, I felt detached maybe because I, along with like-minded Chittagonians, am still fighting to get our language recognized. Bengalis and Bangladesh declare with pride how they fought for their language, but they don't acknowledge the other languages they are suppressing within their borders. It's also a pity how Chittagonians nowadays are opting to only speak in Bengali and trying to fade their Chittagonian cultural identity. As Bangladesh celebrated this day with black saris and bright orange flowers, I sat in my room dreaming of Azad Chittagong.

share on: facebook

An Ode to Jamuna

The Jamuna Cries

They talk of knowing why
the Mississippi cries
Of unheard shrills and unknown woes.
Yet ask why the Jamuna cries.
Silence ... for only I am to know.

The Earth sang Her lullabies
When the Nile was still in the womb.
The Monsoons quenched Her thirst
When the Rhone trickled unassumed.
She battled a legion of tempests.
She labored under Surya's rage.
She breastfed thousand villages.
She withstood Durga's rampage.
And yet, no one saw Her eyes.
... Heard Her cries.
... Felt Her cries.
But I.
After Her long journey,
With me She sleeps.
Deep into my body,
She lays. She cries.

share on: facebook

Swimming with Brahma's Son

Another reason why I was eager to visit Tangail was to see the expansive Brahmaputra River. The Brahmaputra (Sanskrit for Brahma's Son) is one of the longest rivers of Asia, and when it joins with the Ganges and Meghna in Bangladesh, the three form the largest delta in the world. Colloquially, the Brahmaputra is known as the Jamuna in Bangladesh. My expectation of an unfathomable river was not met since it was the dry season, and the river was running only 40% of its full flow. Nonetheless, it was a breathtaking vista - blue water, cloudless sky, pure white sand... add that with some great friends... you got yourself an unforgettable experience.

share on: facebook

Tango in Tangail

Sweets and Strings

share on: facebook

Tangail: Land of Sarees and Saccharine

Upon hearing that I would be going to Tangail for the weekend, friends and colleagues painted a clear picture of what Tangail was going to be like... a town full of sweets and sarees. And due to my still Barney-induced imagination, I started envisioning saree-clad damsels in distress serving me sweets. Regardless, I was uber-excited for this venture into the heartland of Bengal.


Tangail was everything I expected - and a bit more. We visited saree weavers carrying out a centuries-old tradition. It was a sight to see - dozens of nimble, busy hands pulling and tugging exuberantly colorful threads home more to an artist's palette than in these loud loom houses. These Tangailah sarees are famous throughout Bangladesh for their fine weaving and beautiful designs.


My next stop... Sweets. I was never a big fan of sweets - whether Bengali or American. I preferred the occasion rice pudding or ras malai, but never a whole ChamCham. Yes, the dreaded Chamcham. For me, it is synonymous with diabetic overdose. After one spoonful, I put my sweet-dependent manhood to shame, while my local Tangailah friends gobbled 5 whole chamchams in one sitting... yeeesh!


Enjoy les pics!

share on: facebook

Meeting the Caliph

"Don't be a Qadiani," I often heard my mom yell back at me to shut my sass mouthiness. Qadiani? I always wondered what that meant ... what, or rather who, was Qadiani?

It took me a while to have the "ah ha" moment... but when I did find out, it was more of "hmmm?" moment. Por qoui? Basically, the Ahmaddiya movement started in the late 1800's when an Indian Muslim named Mirza Ghulam Ahmad of Qadian, Punjab started teaching a syncretic, 'reformed' version of Islam. It could be compared to the Baha'i movement in Iran, also taking place around the same time. Mirza basically proclaimed he was the promised Messiah, the Mahdi, and the Mujaddid - all rolled in one. He tried spreading his message in the Islamic world, as well as to other faiths in distant lands. Unfortunately, his message of being the Messiah - the last prophet - did not appeal to the world's established faiths, particularly to the majority Muslims who saw him as a heretic (Prophet Muhammed was deemed the Last Messenger).

Last week, there was a three day Ahmaddiya congregation in Dhaka ... the 86th Jalsa Salana. I was invited by one of my colleagues - though I would've found myself there regardless since the mosque is two blocks away from my apartment. The religion junkie that I am, I threw myself in the crowd for two of the days. It was interesting to say the least - a largely Bengali-speaking population was lectured by Bengalis, Pakistanis, Arabs, and even a Bosnian. I was amazed to see the dispersal of the sect, and also their ability to use a multilingual approach, technological advances, and modern issues to address the needs of their community. They called for tolerance and unity - something Bangladesh can offer if it follows its constitution wholeheartedly. The Ahamaddiya Caliph concluded the Jalsa Salana calling for nothing more than world peace. Amen.

share on: facebook