Welcome to my Green Bangladesh: an Introduction (October 3-November 1, 2008)

Why Bangladesh?

Throughout my first month traveling India, I kept an eye out for travelers headed the same way as me--to Bangladesh. Turns out Bangladesh is not a big tourist destination. Finally, in Kolkata, I met one traveler who was going to Dhaka, but primarily to renew his Indian visa. This is why most people, it seems, make it to Bangladesh.

As for me, my situation was a bit different. My Uncle had been to Bangladesh two times, motivated by his connection with a girl he'd sponsored through Save the Children. He had connections to some nuns who ran an orphanage, an organization to which he also donated, and to some middle-class Bengalis he'd befriended. My general itinerary was to include volunteering at the orphanage, being hosted by his friend Mizan, and meeting Shilpi, his sponsor child.

Welcome to Green Bangladesh!

Throughout my email correspondence with Mizan, he kept welcoming me to his "Green Bangladesh." I passed off what he was saying as an exaggeration, imagining instead what I suspected to be the polluted, crowded, dusty streets of this impoverished country. Less than an hour after crossing the India-Bangladesh border (Petrapol-Benapole), what met my eyes were endless fields of nearly neon green, the midday sun reflecting off paddies of rice. The rice seemed plentiful, interrupted only for some small village huts, or one of Bangladesh's many fish ponds.

History

In 1947, when India became independent from the British, borders were drawn that would influence the geopolitical climate of the region for decades to come. Bengal and India were partitioned on the basis of religion at the demands of The Muslim League. Present-day Bangladesh became East Pakistan, governed thousands of miles away in Western Pakistan by people who spoke Urdu, a language more closely related to Hindi than Bangla (or Bengali).

Beyond their respective Muslim majority populaces, the two regions had little else in common. The first major conflict came when the Pakistani government tried to impose "Urdu and only Urdu" as the national language. In 1952, riots in Dhaka as part of the Bengali Language Movement erupted and 12 students were killed by the Pakistani army. Then, in 1970, a catastrophic cyclone killed around 500,000 people in East Pakistan, and the Pakistani government appeared to do little in response.

The Awami League, led by Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, had emerged as the national political party in East Pakistan, with the Language Movement as its ideological underpinning (Lonely Planet Bangladesh, 21-22). Although the party won all seats but one in the 1971 national election and should have constitutionally formed the government of all Pakistan, then-president Khan postponed the opening of the National Assembly in the face of this unacceptable result.

At the Race Course rally of 7 March 1971, Sheikh Mujib was jailed in West Pakistan, igniting rebellion in East Pakistan. Bangladesh's Freedom Fighters fought a guerrilla war against brutal tactics of the occupying Pakistani army. During the nine months from the end of March 1971, 10 million people fled to refugee camps in India. As border clashes between Pakistan and India became more frequent, Indian troops crossed the border and were victorious by 14 December. Pakistan surrendered and Sheikh Mujib took over an independent government of Bangladesh.

The Liberation War remains vivid in the memories of Bangladeshis, commemorated in songs and by memorial sculptures.

I think the most powerful explanation of the nation of Bangladesh I heard during my travels was from a humble Bangladeshi I met on a night boat ride from Dhaka to Khulna. He could barely contain himself when he met me, an American. "I am ashamed, I am so poor," he said. I tried to ignore this, only one in a series of comments I would hear from Bangladeshis evidencing the extent of their self-awareness of their poverty. In any case, this man had an acronym for Bangladesh he wanted to show me--an acronym that summarizes the country's history well. This is how he wrote it in my notebook, minus the Bangla translation:

B-blood
A-achieved
N-noteworthy
G-golden
L-lovely
A-apriciated (appreciated)
D-democratic
E-evergreen
S-soberaign (sovereign)
H-habitation

Language

People in Bangladesh speak Bangla, which is the same as Bengali, the name for the language spoken in West Bengal, India. Not only is this a source a pride for them, so are some of the country's famous poets--Nobel Prize winner Rabindranath Tagore and national poet Kazi Nazrul Islam. Tagore was also the composer of many songs, called Rabindrasangit.

A few of the phrases I relied on while in Bangladesh:

asalam walekum (walekum asalam): hello (Muslim greeting)
nomashkar: hello (Hindu greeting)
donnobad: thank you
ha/ji: yes
na: no
kotai?: where
koto taka?: how much does it cost?
bondhu: friend
bhalo: good
eta: this
ami x jabo: I am going x
mas, mangsho khaina: fish, meat I am not eating
subji khai: vegetables I am eating

Food

As Bangladesh is a Muslim nation, the cuisine is heavily meat-oriented. Being a coastal state filled with ponds and rivers, much of this meat is fish. Bangladeshis eat fish almost every day.

My main dishes are bhat (rice), dhal (bean curry), pani dhal (bean curry that is more watery), dim (egg) and various subji (vegetables). I also occasionally have a tandoori naan (thick fresh bread baked in a tandoor oven). My hosts are often disappointed that I don't partake in what they feel to be the best part of the meal--the meat.

Although I didn't find the main course too appetizing, my favorite part of Bengali cuisine was its sweet desserts, its misty (sweets). My favorites were home-made shemai, vermicelli cooked in milk and sugar, and payish, rice pudding cooked with milk, sugar, cardamom and a small amount of raisins and nuts. These were a nice break from the extreme sweet of store-bought sweets, such as roshogulla, soured-milk balls boiled in syrup (similar to a donut hole that has been soaked in syrup).

And of course, there is chai, that liquid as ubiquitous on the subcontinent as the waterways that carve out the country of Bangladesh. Chai is black tea with milk and sugar, while masala chai, what Americans probably think of as chai, contains the addition of a spice mixture, usually cardamom and ginger, and sometimes other spices such as black pepper, cinnamon, anise seeds, cloves and ajwain seeds. Though the flavor is similar, the chai-making process varies regionally. In North India, chai wallahs (chai workers) boil the tea and milk together, and then add sugar and mix. They mix the tea by pouring it back and forth between two cups. This also helps to cool the tea to a drinkable temperature. In South India, chai wallas heat the milk separately, and then pour it through a tea-containing cloth filter into a cup and add sugar if it is not already in the milk. In Bangladesh, it seems all the chai wallahs use sweetened condensed milk and add this to a cup of tea. And, for the record, when I was staying with a friend in Karachi, Pakistan in 2006, his family used powdered milk. Here is a picture of a chai wallah in his Dhaka shop:

The other thing I will remember about Bangladeshi food is eating with my hands. Learning by watching Mizan mix subji and rice to just the right consistency so that the rice could be picked up and shoved into the mouth with a thumb. "There is more love this way because your hand is connected to your heart," his wife Shobnam explained. I watched many evenings as Mizan fed his wife from his hand, and she him from her hand, from one plate. Mizan arguing that Shobnam was not eating enough. This is also how mothers feed their children--from their hand--they said. This is Bangladeshi love, they said.


People/Culture

As a tourist destination, Bangladesh lacks the historical sights that India offers. It is a country that is not easy to navigate because almost every destination requires both a bus and a boat to reach. I think it is Bangladeshis themselves that make this country worth visiting.

Not used to seeing foreigners (I only saw about 8 Westerners in my 1-month stay), Bangladeshis are excited to meet anyone from outside. This excitement then turns into staring, or questions such as, "What country?" and then sometimes crowds of 10 or more people form. This made for some good photo opportunities, but ultimately got very tiring.



One time, I wanted to use the Internet after I hadn't done so in about a week. On the way, a young Bangladeshi boy asked if he could sit with me. I didn't think he'd stay for the entire hour, but he did, asking me questions about my family, and wondering why I didn't like Bangladeshi food (which I had written in an email). I really wanted to express myself to people back home, but this curious Bangladeshi stood in the way. After the Internet session, I wanted to buy a gift for my host, and the same boy who sat with me at the Internet took me to a grocery store and helped me pick out fruit.

Aside from their keen interest in me as a foreigner, I observed that Bangladeshis are more eager to talk politics than most of the Indians I met. When I told people I was from America (pronounced "Am-rik-a," with a slightly rolled "r"), they often responded with some negative banter about Bush, and some positive feedback about Obama. "100-percent of Bangladeshis support Obama," I was told by one hotel manager. It would have been interesting to be in Bangladesh during the election, but I was en route from Kolkata to New Jaipalguri at that time.

Bangladesh is one of the poorest countries in the world and also one of the most densely populated. Unemployment among educated persons is at around 80%, according to Mizan. Traveling here gave me new perspective on the problems associated with global "development." I have never met a people so self-aware of their own poverty. "I am ashamed to meet you," one excited Bangladeshi man said when I told him I am American, "I am so poor." Other Bangladeshis were similarly apologetic for their inability to offer me anything because of their poverty, or introduced themselves saying, "we are so poor." Though this self-awareness is accurate, I think it is gained in part by the strong presence of foreign NGOs and the UN working in Bangladesh and, as such, it is debilitating. Bangladeshis are innovative and resilient but believe they need so much foreign aid as the solution to their problems. I experienced that such aid makes beggars of entire nations, caught in a vicious cycle of dependence. In some cases, I was told, the aid organizations actually create more harm because their lending system puts Bangladeshis into greater debt. There are some organizations doing a great deal of good, but removed from the daily operations of such organizations and the changing situation of the country, I feel impotent to support them. I feel I should offer a solution, but I don't have one right now.

Despite the poverty, Bangladeshis in general are a very happy people. Perhaps, I was told, the happiest people in the world (according to some survey that was conducted)! They love to sing and, Mizan tells me, 70% of Bangladeshis are natural-born singers. I was asked to sing on many occasions, including one embarrassing situation in which I had to sing in front of a crowd of about 20 school teachers.

Bangladesh is a country of villages: almost everyone is connected to their family village (the village of their parents or grandparents), even if they have moved to Dhaka for work. Families are very tight, which is both good and bad. Although this creates a strong sense of stability and security, it is also accompanied by a sense of responsibility to fulfill certain duties, such as marriage and providing financial support to one's parents. This, in turn, causes tension, which Bangladeshis do their utmost to avoid.


Religion

Bangladesh is about 90% Muslim, 9% Hindu, and the rest of its people are either Buddhist, Christian (mostly Roman Catholic), or animist. I had the opportunity to interact with most of these communities, as Mizan's family is Muslim, I stayed with some Catholic sisters, and met my uncle's sponsor daughter, who comes from a Hindu family. Still, Islam permeates the country, from its food choices to the call to prayer I heard reverberating off tightly-packed rooftops, echoing from mosque to mosque in the dense city of Dhaka.

Friendly Kolkata (September 30-October 2, 2008)

Another of India's bigger cities, I find Kolkata to be much more friendly and pleasant than Delhi. The tree-lined streets are wide but the one-ways, crosswalks, lights and numerous traffic police make crossing much less death-defying. The visual impact of modern buildings, crowded streets and rubbish is offset by the pleasant presence of slightly crumbling colonial-era buildings having colorful, wide shutters and vines growing out of rusting pipes. The city feels more spacious and relaxed than Delhi, though it is equally hot at this time.

As my two train companions Jean and Ishtaq have only 1.5 days to see the city, we take a whirlwind tour. It is already the afternoon when we arrive, and by the time we find the tourist office to get a map, it is getting dark. We could have walked to the tourist office, but, after moral deliberation, we decided to take a rickshaw. Kolkata is the only city in India that has rickshaws pulled by men walking on foot, rather than bicycle, and many of them are barefoot. Of course there is moral debate surrounding this, and I believe that within a year these rickshaws will be phased out. However, they do provide an important source of employment for people who might not otherwise find work.

On the first night, we walk around BBD Bagh, which hosts much of Kolkata's finest colonial architecture. We view historic buildings such as the Writers' Building, originally built for clerks ('writers') of the East India Company and still a haven of bureaucracy. There are many churches in Kolkata, home of Mother Theresa's Missionaries of Charity, and BBD Bagh hosts St. Andrews Church. We also make our way to Babu Ghat in search of a celebration for the current Hindu holiday, Durga Puja. Turns out that although the holiday is about 9 days long, the main ceremonies--that of submerging large hand-made statues of deities in the river--only take place during the final days of the holiday, when I'll be in the heavily Muslim country of Bangladesh. On our way back to the hotel, we walk through New Market, the large market here, and after bargaining hard, I decide to buy two semi-silk saris as gifts for people I will visit in Bangladesh.

During my second day in Kolkata, I again tag along with Jean and Ishtaq. We decide to use Kolkata's only metro line to bring us closer to our destinations. I find it to be surprisingly clean and calm for a country whose streets are crammed with truckstaxisrickshawswalkerscarsdogs, an occasional elephantorhorse. First we visit Victoria Memorial. Built to commemorate Queen Victoria's 1901 diamond jubilee, the structure was finally finished nearly 20 years after her death. Inside, we visit the museum, which hosts somewhat faded paintings of India's spectacular sites, as well as a very informative history of the city focusing on the the experience of Indians living under British rule. After a quick thali, we take the metro to Kali Temple. More impressive are the Jain Temples we visit after. We also visit Mother Theresa's Missionaries of Charity-Home for the Destitute and Dying. We ask to go inside so that we can give a donation. I am surprised at how small the facility is, but it seemed very clean and quiet.

I let myself sleep in the next morning, which is lucky because I am still in my room when two hours of hard rain come. After the rain subsides, the air is cooler and I leave the hotel. I meet a local Indian named Pawan in the street. I am hesitant at first because I have had so many negative experiences with Indians trying to sell me something, but he turns out to be the first to offer me genuine help at no cost. I tell him I want to see Belur Math, the headquarters of the Ramakrishna Mission, and then continue on to Dakshineswar Kali Temple, where Ramakrishna started his remarkable spiritual journey. He accompanies me on this day trip, which is very helpful because otherwise I probably could not have figured out the transportation. It turns out Pawan was a Hindu priest for three years, so I had to listen to his preaching about life the whole time, but I suppose it was an appropriate backdrop for the day's journey.

The highlight of the day turns out not to be Belur Math and Dakshineswar Kali Temple but the time between the two attractions. Pawan buys me street food I had never tried, and it is a joy to eat. I try Bengali sweets, some of which are similar to donuts, fried and drenched in syrup. I try some fried rice (more similar to Rice Krispees than to Chinese fried rice) which is mixed with aloo (potato), onions, lime, masala and a slice of coconut. Watching the wala (worker) fold a piece of newspaper into a container with one hand and mix the ingredients with the other is just as fun as eating his product. Another wala mixes chow-mien-like noodles, lime and masala, shaking it loudly in a can, and then pouring it into a little packet made of recycled newspaper. For dinner we have chola batura, fried puffed bread and a chick pea sauce. Another highlight is the brief boat journey we take to get from Belur Math to the Kali Temple.

When we arrive at New Market, I am surprised at how quiet it is compared to its usual bustle. Tonight is Eid-el-Fitur, the Muslim holiday at the end of Ramadan, and people are at home feasting with their families.

Colorful Varanasi (Benares) (Uttar Pradesh, September 27-29, 2008)

From the Jhansi train station near Orchha, Yuri, Ramon and I take a night train to Varanasi.

Varanasi has been a center of learning and civilization for over 2000 years, and claims to be one of the oldest living cities in the world. Formerly Benares, it is also one of the holiest places in India. Hindus flock to this city of Shiva on the banks of the Ganges River to bathe and pray at one of the river's nearly 80 ghats, or bathing step leading town to the river. Loved ones are cremated at certain ghats, as throwing their ashes in the river cleanses their lifetime of sins. The city is itself an auspicious place to die, since expiring here offers moksha (liberation from the cycle of birth and death). My guidebook explains it well: "The city is the beating heart of the Hindu universe, a crossing place between the physical and spiritual worlds, and the Ganges is viewed as a river of salvation, an everlasting symbol of hope to the past, present and future generations."My rational, Western mind must make the comment here, however, that the river's environmental status, in sharp contrast to it spiritual one, does not project an image of hope and future salvation. The river is visibly filthy. If I understood our guide correctly, people of certain status, such as unmarried persons, as well as Hinduism's holiest animal, the cow, aren't cremated prior to submersion in the river. And the country's practice of throwing garbage wherever certainly has an impact. Upon further contemplation, however, I view the situation through Indian eyes and realize the river is exactly as it should be. In the stories Hinduism tells, the great waters of the Ganges function to swallow the sins of man and so, after ages of digesting man's spiritual grime, it makes perfect sense that the river is physically filthy. The practical-philosophical problem I walk away from this place with, then, is of the possibility of finding within Hinduism myths or an ethos that would inspire a reversal in the environmental degradation of the Ganges. There must be resources within the religion toward this end, but I know too little about it to offer solutions.In any case, Yuri, Roman and I arrive in the afternoon, quite tired and hungry. We are led on foot by our auto rickshaw driver through the old city's narrow labyrinth of alleys, called galis, to Shanti guest house. On the way, we are passed by a group of men carrying a board rapped in shiny red cloth, presumably housing a corpse en route to the burning ghat. After refueling--I with some Thali (a sort of North Indian sampler plate, usually with dahl, rice, roti, and some vegetable curry) and Yuri and Roman with some disappointing chicken burgers (there is no cow meat in India)--we make our way to Manikarnika Ghat, the main burning ghat in the city and the most auspicious place for a Hindu to be cremated. We are led to a viewing point by one of the "helpful" guides (who will later request a donation for money to buy wood to burn those who cannot afford to pay). Here I see three more of the shiny corpse packages. Surrounding the bodies--the red cloth indicates that they are women, a gold cloth indicates a very old person--are male family members who have shaved their heads completely except for a small amount of hair in the back.

In the evening we go to Dasaswamedh Ghat, where there is an elaborate ganga aarti ceremony with puja (prayer), fire and dance every night. People can choose to hire a small wooden boat to float down to the ghat and view the ceremony from the water, or stay on the land.

We decide to resist the constant touts of boat owners and take the short walk, and enjoy photographing the boats and river along the way. When we get to the ghat we watch as Hindus place small baskets of flowers and candles on the river's surface and as others bathe in the holy water. The song, fire and dance ceremony involves a group of male performers who use a variety of slow but grand arm movements, holding different props including fire, and accompanying the movement with song.The next morning we wake up early and leave at 5 am because Yuri wants to see a puja involving fire. We don't find this, but we stay for a long time at Dasaswamedh Ghat, photographing and observing Hindus bathing and performing rituals in the Ganges using natural objects, such as flowers, reeds and turmeric.

Men, women and children are all present and I am impressed at how discretely they can all publicly undress before submersion, using the cloth of a sari (women's dress) or lungi (man's skirt) to conceal the body. At one point, another male singing group parades through the crowd of devotees, playing on percussion instruments. We spend the rest of the day meandering through the galis, stopping for lunch, chai (Indian tea with milk and sugar), and German "apple crumble" (foreign delicacies are reproduced everywhere here for tourists). Yuri leaves this evening.

The next day I decide to go on my own to Benares Hindu University's museum, while Roman searches every guest house for a Nepal guide book. The most impressive part of the museum is a section about a female Swiss sculptor who was drawn to India and did extensive research on its sculptures, uncovering their geometrical patterns. Her reflections on India, and her visceral passion for living here, were particularly moving. After the museum, I walk toward the main road, trying to find a cheap rickshaw but also hoping I will find the international student office to inquire about the prospect of taking a dance class. As it turns out, the classes are only for long-term students, but I meet an interesting Italian girl who has decided to dedicate her life to Indian dance forms. We share a rickshaw until her hotel near Assi Ghat, one of the farthest ghats from the old city where I stay. I am glad I got to experience this part of the city as it is quieter and less touristy than the other parts I have seen.

I return quickly to my guest house, have a quick Thali, grab my bag and share a rickshaw to the train station with a German guy who is in even more of a hurry than I am. We both make it on time for our trains as well as a short power outage. The whole station goes black for a couple seconds. I find my train, as well as two new travelers, Jean (French) and Ishtaq (Belgian, with parents from Kashmir), who are also en route to Kolkata.