On The Way To Rongpur

I can't believe I am blogging while I am ON A BUS. In an hour I should be at our ancestral village in Rongpur, and the little modem that I talked about here is allowing me to check my email and surf and upload pictures while in between villages that don't even seem to have electricity.

Our trip started early in the morning, when we drove to the bus terminal just outside Dhaka.

Our bus was the 'executive coach' style - air-conditioned, lots of leg space, overhead bag cabins, separate luggage storage and comfortable reclining seats. And surprisingly, it's only 330 taka (at this time 1 CND is roughly 72 taka).

We passed many a local market (like the one showed above). Even while passing through sparsely populated villages I got why Bangladesh is one of the most densely populated countries in the world - there seems to be a crowd EVERY where.

Perhaps this is why the government is sponsoring signs and banners like this one.

Roughly translated, it means "No more than two children, one is actually better." Rezwan talks on this issue here.

The following is a (bad) view on Jamuna Bridge.

Jamuna Bridge is the eleventh longest bridge in the world and the second longest in South Asia [wikipedia]. I remember before this bridge was built, we would have to disembark at this point and wait for a ferry to take us, cars and all, across the mightiest of the three rivers in Bangladesh. The ferry trip alone would take 3 hours. Now the whole Dhaka-Rongpur trip took 6 hours.

This is a food / rest stop the bus made half way into the journey.

I was a bit apprehensive about eating outside, but my uncle assured me it was safe. And not only was I impressed at the cleanliness of the kitchen and eating area (which was air conditioned, again), but more importantly the washrooms were CLEAN! Spotless!

Of course it was a bit weird to have a washroom which was both for males AND females. I mean it's strange to try and blow your nose in one sink while a woman was fixing her makeup next to you.

Bus names on the road are interesting. There's this line called Digantor, which means 'far and wide'. Except maybe the bus is perhaps travelling only 40 km. Bengalis have a tendancy to exaggerate. There's also the Digantor Express, which means it's moving 0.5 km per hour faster.

If you were slightly religious, you can fly Borak. Of course with the way these drivers drove, ANY one would start praying. See the picture below.

Now imagine that bus in front is coming TOWARDS you. At 80 km per hour. And you are going at the same speed as your driver is trying to overtake a rickshaw. Somehow, at the last minute, someone swerves, and you heave a sigh of relief. Until the next minute.

It's winter in Bangladesh. Unlike some other countries, Bangladesh has a crop for every season, and the scenery outside at times was truly beautiful.

Hopefully tomorrow I will be able to wake up early morning and capture some of the village scenes.

Eastern Plaza

Going out in the traffic of Dhaka can be a hassle. You pretty much have to plan your trip well in advance, and if you are going to a far away (relatively speaking, far = 5 km) and traffic is not in your favour, you have to devote the whole day for that trip. Since Eastern Plaza, a famous old mall in Dhaka, was nearby, we decided to go there yesterday.

The best time to go to a popular place in Dhaka, such as Eastern Plaza or Boshundhara City, is to go there during working hours on a weekday. It was virtually empty (again, empty is a relative word).

Eastern Plaza is one of those rare shopping complexes in Asia that have not completely Westernized, but still retains a good mix of the old and the new. You can get anything from cheap DVDs to the latest electronics (top floor) to old, ancient, cultural stuff. This picture is of some holud goods on sale.

One of the top attractions of Eastern Plaza is the whole floor of saree shops.

Almost EVERY shop on that floor is a saree shop. One after another gorgeous sarees line the windows.

An amazing thing I realized, even during my travels in Dubai, is that MEN sell WOMEN's clothes. In Dubai it was common to find men hawking women's lingerie and beautiful Emarati women in burkha waiting to be sized up by a non-chalant Indian man who would stare at their chest then hand them the latest in designer bras. Here too, men sat in saree shops and shouted their wares in top voice.

The traders would target the women who walked by and go "Oh Mishti Apa (sweet sister)! O Didi (sister - reserved if they thought the woman was a Hindu one)! Oh Bhabi (sister-in-law)! Oh Aunty!" The addressing was based on what they thought the woman's age and marital status was. Many Bangladeshi woman counted their age as to when they progressed from one stage to the other. The moment sellers called them as "Oh Aunty" was the time they took a tasbeeh in their hand and started to count themselves as senior citizens.

The sarees themselves were all inspired by Indian designs.

Indeed, most of the top stuff was Indian or Pakistani.

I find an amazing amount of inferiority complex amongst Bangladeshis here. Most people like to boast of how their stuff is 'imported' or 'not local'. Coming from "Proudly Canadian" to "Apa! This saree is good stuff, direct from Bombay!" or "This sandal is good, it's Pakistani!" takes a bit of used to.

Even the dolls look nothing like normal Bengali women! Yes, they call them 'dolls' here. "Apa! Oi doll-er shari ta dekhen na!"

Of course I am surprised by how seemingly expensive stuff is. Yes, if you convert to Canadian dollars it's not that much, but people here don't earn in Canadian dollars. A good saree is 35,000 taka. Can you imagine paying 35,000 for a dress? A gold set is 6 lacs taka. A designer blouse and dupatta set is 4000 taka. And so on.

I am also amazed at how fast people count money. I couldn't count money as fast as normal people here - they are used to handling large bundles of moolah - this trader counted the stack of 500 taka notes as fast as any machine at a bank, and they weren't laid out in the same direction!

One great thing about Bangladesh, and which we in the West should take note of, is how quickly they have completely eradicated polythene bags. All bags are by law paper bags now (been like this for over 3 years). They are strong, don't tear, yet environment friendly, and completely easy to dispose of if needed. Whereas plastic bags used to clog up the drains and litter the streets of Dhaka, these paper bags and the successful implementation of the policy is something Bangladesh can be proud of.

Positive Changes in Dhaka

As our car winded through Airport Road on its way into Dhaka, towards my uncle’s residence, I could not help but notice – the streets were very, very clean. In normal times, the roadside would be littered with garbage, flies hovering and a strange, pungent smell drafting towards the vehicles caught in a traffic jam. Now, there was no litter. There were no tokais. There were dustbins and the garbage was in the bin, with the lid shut.

I asked my uncle about this. It seems the new caretaker government had given thorough instructions to clean up the streets and made many of the roads rickshaw-free, thus preventing them from clogging up traffic. Yes, the roads are still jammed at many places, but for some reasons it seems there’s less pollution than before.

If you read the Western media (in particular Time magazine) you would think Bangladesh was a hotbed of jamaat activists and the country was being taken over by a religious fundamentalist party, choking under Martial law and so on. As I wander through the crowded streets of Dhaka, in my eyes nothing could be further from the truth.

There are a huge number of young women on the streets, heading to work at the large number of multi-national companies that have set up office in Motijheel and Gulshan. Every alley has a computer shop, or a computer literacy program or an English language school. Everyone has a cellphone. Even our maid servant has one!

The biggest benefactor seems to be internet surfers in the country. I came prepared for bad connections, extremely poor speeds and days without the net.This little device above is a USB modem. Inside, it contains a tiny SIM card. All I had to do was install a tiny software. Once it was done, I just plugged in the USB modem. And within seconds I was online.What it does is connect to the cellphone network in Bangladesh. Thus, anywhere you have a cell reception, you have internet. From the tea gardens of Sylhet to the mountains of Chittagong, you are online. Bangladesh seems far ahead of neighbouring countries such as Nepal, Bhuttan, Sri Lanka, Pakistan, when it comes to the Internet. Even India cannot boast of 100% wi-fi capability, while Bangladesh can (conceding of course India’s huge size). I went shopping today and on the way in the car I was surfing! Speed is not bad (234 kbs) which is good for surfing and browsing, while downloading is not that bad.This is near Ashulia, a popular destination for couples and for picnics. It's hard to imagine a more tranquil spot, right next to some fertilizer factories (!) but Bangladesh is such, a land of contrasts. The old and new, simultaneously co-existing, often with trouble, sometimes without.For me, this contrast is symbolised perfectly by the above love sunset, near a fantastic still green lush paddy field, seen through the hazy smog from nearby factories. Even this peace is welcome, given that in a few weeks I have to return to the sub-zero temperatures of Canada and months before I see any greenery on the trees.

Shopping In Dubai

It's so easy getting sucked into this class thing. We were waiting for the bus here in Dubai. I didn't want to get on the bus but rather take a taxi. The reason: "all the people on the bus are this labour class". It's funny how one wouldn't think twice about such factors in Toronto but it's so blatant here in Dubai.

No why would one come into this old place, called Cosmos Lane, leaving behind the glittering malls for which Dubai is famous?

Because it has places like this:

Dubai is crazy. They were tearing up the roads to build more malls and buildings. The remaining roads therefore got busy and jammed. So they decided to relieve the traffic jam by building a metro rail line. So to build the metro line they have to now tear up more roads ...

Then we found this:

Oh, halal unhealthy food! It's great when you can eat anything you want without checking the ingredients or being restricted to vegetables or filet-o-fish.

We had this.

(Note: This was for three people!)

Our bus stop is called Hor Al Anz. Now it's funny when I first heard the name.

"Whore Al What?"

They DO pronounce it 'whore'!

"Yeah," My uncle instructed. "You want to get off at the whore..."

And then, on the bus, "Is it far to get to the Hor?"

"No, no." The Somalian bus driver replied. "The whore is not too far. You sit back ok? Nice ride ..."

The Dubai bus system is awful, a bad copy of a Western system. The most glaring fault was a special section of 6 seats for the ladies. By itself, that is not a bad idea. But then what happens when more than 6 ladies try to get on the bus?

"Sorry, no space!"

Though I wouldn't mind seeing more of Lara Dutta on the side of TTC bus stops.

Dubai!

Immigration was a breeze. No words were exchanged; I just walked and handed over my shiny new blue Canadian passport. The Arab man in a dishdasha behind the counter took, glanced through it, and fed it through a machine, before picking a big peg and stamping my passport. It was given back to me, and I grabbed my bags and headed for fetching my baggage.

As I walked out of Immigration, I glanced back at the section called “Visa Delivery”. A long line of brown men stood impatiently, waiting their turn, while bored policemen dressed in green kept a wary lookout. In another world, that would also have been me in that line, waiting to collect a visa to enter the country. Yet now I just wave the magic Canadian passport and breeze through. Another Sri Lankan man dressed in blue overalls stood waiting with a cart, ready to help me with my luggage.

It’s a strange class system they have here. Brown, uneducated men from Pakistan, Bangladesh and India toil and slave to build the facilities for the Arabs to wine and dine and impress their white business clients, who then sign contracts worth millions to hire more brown workers for sub-minimum wage to build yet another imaginative piece of architecture. The road to Dubai is a highway through the sandy desert. It reminds one of the fact that stripped of all of its artificiality, Dubai could just have been another sand strewn city in the Middle East.Instead, Dubai is about exporting and selling dreams. People buy property because other people are buying property, and thus developers built yet more property. Right from the airport, to the shuttle ferrying me into the city, through huge billboards on the side of the road, all I saw were advertisements from the huge number of real estate on sale here. I had heard that over half the world's cranes were in Dubai, and it seemed to be true.Dubai's most famous landmark - the seven star hotel and the accompanying beach resort. I did think about staying here rather than my relative's place - I just didn't have the $4000 per night on hand.Almost missed this! The Burj Dubai, having now replaced the CN tower as the world's tallest free standing structure, in all it's glory.

I took the pictures from the back of a car, and haven't gone out yet (I am up wide awake in the middle of the night here, still going through jet lag). Hopefully, in the coming few weeks, I will get the chance to explore this fascinating city more.

Meanwhile, in Pakistan ...

WHY is a woman who has been charged with numerous cases of corruption suddenly the best hope for democracy in Pakistan?

WHAT does anyone achieve by killing innocent men, women and children?

WHEN will this madness desist from Muslim countries?

HOW does a bunch of terrorists get the label of an "Islamist" party?

WHO will the fundamentalists blame here? The Jews? The US? The ...

WHERE can I find some solace to numb the anger that I now feel ... the anger that comes from watching the scenes of dead and dying and hurt people, knowing the people who did this, did this without remorse and if, given the chance, will do it again? Can people be truly so monstrous?

Verily, We created man of the best stature (mould),
Then We reduced him to the lowest of the low. - Surah Tin, 4-5.

About those virgins ...

Abdul discovered that the benefits of the 72 virgins were perhaps greatly over-exaggerated.

 

You Know It Must Be Eid When ...

1. You have already decided that Eid will be on Saturday, even though there is a chance it could be on Friday, because Saturday is more convenient.
   
   
2. You already have a list of mosques that will 'celebrate' Eid on Saturday just so you have a backup.
   
   
3. Moonsighting.com worked 364 days a year but you know it will crash today.
   
   
4. Your sister has decided there will be a girls' henna party at your place and you are told you will have to vacate the house. All this without even consulting you.
   
   
5. You don't mind because you are going out for sheesha with friends anyways (hey! Ramadan is over).
   
   
6. Eid is declared on Saturday. Great! Now you can change your MSN nick to "Eid is on Saturday". And still some people will message you "So Eid is on Saturday? Not Friday?". You wonder how they passed university.

A very joyous Eid Mubarak to all my readers.

Goodbye Inzamam

It was a crisp Spring day that March in 1992 and I was just another ten year old waiting to be picked up by my father outside our school yard. As soon as I saw his blue Toyota I ran up and opened the door. Even as he was asking me how my day had been I blurted out, "What's the score?"

He shook his head. "New Zealand has made 262, and Pakistan has already lost their opener."

He drove home quickly, and I ignored all of mom's admonitions as I switched on the TV. Pakistan were in desperate straits - 140-4 and not too many overs left. Pakistan had reached this semi-final with the Mother of All Good Lucks; they needed to win every match and needed EVERY other result to go their way - and it all had happened. But now, New Zealand seemed poised to stop their march to the finals.

Enter Inzamam.

A whirlwind 60 runs of 37 balls later, Pakistan was in the driver's seat, and never looked back.

Those were my first memories of Inzamam. I have grown up watching cricket and of the few of legends that played cricket along this time, Inzamam and Tendulkar would probably rate the most for giving me the greatest pleasure. And now Inzamam is retiring, and Tendulkar may do so soon.

Inzamam was unique - he was a chubby fellow who seemed reluctant to run. When in cricket you win by having more runs than the opposition, he was the enigma. A fat man who just stood at one end and biffed the bowlers all over the park he gave the rest of us mere mortals, the aspiring sports stars without the six-pack or the biceps - the Hope - that yes, we too can make it. He was our hero.

I began to hate the Pakistan team in the mid-90s. A team full of arrogant stars who thought they were the be-and-all of cricket. And in the midst of all those egos, one humble man set himself apart - Inzamam.

I remember his quiet personality before the 2007 World Cup, when someone had accused the team of becoming too religious. "Those who say such things are neither religious nor have they played cricket" was his response. Alas, the World Cup was not too kind for him, and forced him to have an emotional retirement in his last ODI game.

Today, Pakistan once more find themselves in a strife. They lost the first match against South Africa, and need to win here in Lahore to draw the series. South Africa are already ahead by a tall score. The openers are unreliable against a pacy South African attack.

Enter Inzamam. Will he save the day for Pakistan yet again, just as he has done many a time for the last decade, for the last time? In four days, we will know. But for now, I will forget the context, the match situation, the sub-plots. Instead, I would watch Inzamam the legend bat - for the very last time.

Things I Learnt From The Movie Train

When I was a kid, my biggest concern was whether Lion-O would complete the Anointment Trials to become the true Lord of the ThunderCats, or whether my sister was going to finish that last piece of chicken. Apparently, I did not know that Bollywood Indian movie kids on the other hand are very smart and keep up with what their parents are up to, even including details of their love life.


Of course, if you are under stress, haven't talked to your wife properly in months, always sniping and fighting with her, have monetary issues, and your child has a health problem, all it needs to solve ALL those issues is for your wife to ask you for sex.

Using innuendos of course, remember, you are still desi (brown).


I don't know why I cut the next scene - except perhaps because it has the name (almost!) of one of my favourate bloggers.


Well, if after all that (smart kid, horny hot wife, good job and house) you still want to commit adultery, it doesn't hurt that the other lady is oomph!-worthy. Where did you meet her? On "The Train" - hence the name of the movie.

Alas, the only time one hot young lady offered to pay my fare on the subway was ... let's see ... NEVER.

I mean, I even had the drunk-looking "I-am-so-hot" look that Emran Hashmi gives here.


I think my fast has already been lightened, to balance it I think I should go watch some movie that deals with Islamic stuff - you know - like The Kingdom.

Previously: Things I Learnt From The Movie Vivah

Lameass Conversations of The Week - 4

Hena: So are you going to the club social?

Me: If Aaron and Khaled goes, and if Khaled is giving me a ride back, I will go. Otherwise if they can't go, but I am done my studies AND my paper, I will still go. Else I won't go.

Hena: Jeez, You are a computer programmer alright!

* * *

So this newlywed friend of mine, R, dropped in from out of town with his wife. We hooked up with a bunch of other guys and went out for dinner. R was the youngest in our group of friends, and being the youngest and a student, while the rest of us were the working bunch, most of the time we treated R and never let him pay much. So today, R decided to treat us in honour of his newlywed status. He also did not want his new wife to know that this was the first time he was treating the group.

So he took out his gold VISA card, made us order a whole bunch of dishes, and with great pomp and show signed the bill and added a generous tip. It was all going so well for him too - until the over-friendly waitor came back and told him, "Sir, you need to sign the back of the credit card. It looks new, sir, have you never used it before?"

If looks could kill ...

* * *

I go to the IT Help Desk.

"Hi, can you help me configure my laptop for the university wireless network?"

"Um," the guy behind the Help Desk replies. "We have this hour long information session we hold. You have to attend those."

"I don't have an hour." I told him. "It's just a simple thing, can you just take a look?"

"Sorry." He goes. "We can't help you individually. If we help you we have to help every body."

And I am thinking, "And you are called the Help Desk because ..."

Link: Previous Lameness

A Kulkhani at the Mosque

Yesterday, word suddenly reached me that someone close to my neighbour, a good friend of ours, had left for his heavenly abode. Since the departed had been ill, this was expected, nevertheless a sad time for all his relatives and friends.

A kulkhani was quickly organized at the Foundation, which I had to rush to attend, and my neighbour sponsored the iftar there. As I tucked into my generous portion of food, I wondered - how lucky was the brother who had passed away?

There is no custom of an eulogy in Islam, but so many of his friends and relatives who had come to the mosque spoke of how he had made a positive affect on their lives. They were not just being polite - one could see they truly shared the pain and grief of the family - yet held genuine affection in their eyes. Many had taken time out of their busy schedules to drive to the other part of the town just to pay their respects, and eagerly rolled up their sleeves and shared in the volunteer duties that sponsoring an iftar entailed.

They say the proper way to come into this world is for you to be crying, but for everyone else to be smiling. If, on the other hand, if you can leave this world with a smile while everyone else is in tears, as you are eager to meet your Lord, you have done well.

What matters to our Lord, I realized, is the intention behind our actions. Yet for others, our actions speak a great deal. All the lives that this man had touched, and changed in a very positive manner, spoke of a very philanthropic man who didn't hesitate to do the right thing, to share a bit of the blessings that Allah had given him.

Today, as I look around, I see that many a times, our actions do not jive with our words. Yes, Islam is a beautiful religion and yes, Islam does tell us to behave well with our neighbours, treat women with respect, never harm or discriminate based on ethnicity, never to lie or cheat in our business, to always educate ourselves and seek knowledge, to welcome the birth of a daughter with equal joy as that of a son, to not turn our eyes away from the suffering of others and to wish for others what we wish for ourselves.

Yet our actions do not match these ideals. We are eager to recount how the Indonesians accepted Islam not under the sword but influenced by the behaviour of the Arab traders - yet today our adaab - our manners - leave a lot to be desired. We are proud of our ancient scientists and philosophers, yet today we stifle education for half our children and freedom of speech is a defunct concept.

Yes, some of the problems are not ours, the Western world does provide blanket support to many a dictator in the Muslim world, but others are in our hands. We can all improve our personal behaviour to be an example to our neighbours. We can all contribute to welfare programs run by our community centres.

We can all be a positive influence on our society. Let's hope this Ramadan can bring forth a few of the jewels amongst us to light.

This Dude Bugs Me

After work, if I don't have any studies to do, I usually tend to hang around with a few friends and either go to the gym or play some sports like squash or badminton. Since it's now Ramadan, we time it in such a way so that we can do our game, get a good work out, get a shower and just in time make it to the Multi-Faith center here. The local Muslim Students Association serves free iftar for everyone, and you get to pray your Maghreb prayers in congregation and then break your fast with other people too.

For the last few days I have been noticing a trend.

There's some people there who are clearly NOT fasting. That's ok, people have their own reasons for not fasting. But some people are even not Muslims (you can tell) and some even don't observe the decorum of the place!

For example, there's a guy there who shows up immediately after the prayers. As the volunteers are rolling up the prayer mats, he walks in with shoes. And he is dressed in shorts. SHORTS. For the last few days I have seen him in shorts. He gets his food by standing in line like everyone else. And he always goes back for seconds. ALWAYS.

I mean, I know you have come for the free food. We know you are a free loader. That's ok, most of us have done that over time at many places. But at least observe the decorum of the place! Have some respect for the values of the people you are freeloading off from!

Do I sound like one of those rednecks who scream refugees who come into our country must respect the values of this country and not demand change? Or am I right?

I am Muslim and I was NOT supporting Pakistan

After yesterday's cracker of a World Cup final (India vs Pakistan), I could not believe when Shoaib Malik, captain of the Pakistan team, took to the podium for the presentation ceremony and said this:

"First of all I want to say something over here. I want to thank you back home Pakistan and where the Muslim lives all over the world." [Youtube, 3:08].

Let me make one thing very clear to you, Mr. Malik. You are representing the PAKISTAN team. You are not representing the MUSLIMS all over the world.

It bugs me whenever Pakistanis assume that just because you are Muslim you are going to support their cricket team. Hello - NO! The Man of the Match was Irfan Pathan, an Indian, a Muslim (and son of a muezzin to boot).

Then again perhaps I should cut the Pakistanis some slack. They did just lose a humdinger of a match (the final of a World Cup) to their arch rivals. After all, Shahid Afridi did congratulate "all the Indian nations". I am sure the Cheehahah tribe north of Ontario would be happy to be acknowledged.

What a match! Oh, why was it on a Monday? And the star of the game for the losing side? A certain gentleman with this name.



Ah, what a shot! Then again, since I was rooting for India, this sort of headline on Cricinfo was not good.



Finally, Misbah fell.



Ah, you should have spelled your name a little differently! *cough* use a 'z' *cough*

On another note, after seeing a certain picture from the England-Australia game, I think I now know why Twenty20 cricket is gaining in popularity.

The Iftar Time

Sunset is just around the corner, and you are at an iftar party, getting ready to break the fast. If you were a non-Muslim observer, you would think the ritual is pretty simple, right? At the appointed time, eat and the fast is broken - voila! Alas! If it was only so simple. Observe.

"So what time is the iftar today?" One uncle asks.

"7.20." The host dutifully answers.

"Are you sure?" Another queries. "Yesterday it was 7.22."

"Well, it's different everyday..." Yet another starts to explain.

"I read somewhere it's 7.15 today." A kid offers, probably hungry.

"I have the paper of timings." The host announces decisively, before triumphantly flashing a flier in front of the crowd. On one side is the advert for the local butcher for chicken legs at 1.49 per pound. On the flip side are the timings, as attested by the local mosque. 7.20 it says. Surely, that is that, you think? Nope, the fun has just begun.

"Only three more minutes." The host announces.

"Surely you are wrong." The first uncle again objects. "My watch has 7.16 now."

"My watch is correct." Says a third. "It's now 7.18."

"I set my watch by 680 news," The host desperately cuts in, "and it's now 7.17."

"680 news!!!" Suddenly an older gent who everyone has ignored till now exclaims in a loud voice. He is usually ignored because he can be trusted to forever interject with politically incorrect comments (usually about Jews), and true to form he doesn't disappoint.

"680 news time is wrong! It's a Jewish conspiracy to make us Muslims break our fast one minute early!"

There is silence for a minute, then the host exclaims, "7.20! It's time. OK I am going."

The sight of him filling his plate with with delicious food is soon too much and everyone joins in, whether is 7.20 by their watch or not.

On to the next debate - the Maghreb prayer - and which direction is REALLY the Qiblah.

A Little Early Story

The chilly winds of an early Fall morning in Toronto failed to numb her cheeks - they were covered under a thin black cloth. The woman in the niqab walked down the street, oblivious to the stares of other pedestrians; she was late for her volunteer shift at the food shelter.

Mona, the young girl who saw the niqabi cross the street shook her head. She was Muslim too, but why did the niqabi not integrate like Mona? The niqabi was probably born in one of those hardline Muslim countries, Mona decided.

She could be like her - Mona prayed five times, ate halal food, did not date, yet had a normal life. The niqabi could be like her neighbor over there, standing by the bus stop, wearing the pink hijab yet friendly in her appearance. As she walked to her office, Mona nodding a greeting at her hijabi friend.

"She probably thinks I am out to get attention," The pink hijabi thought. "I am not admonishing her for not covering her head, why does she never say salaam to me?"

The man behind the hot dog cart rubbed his hands in front of the stove on his cart. Business was winding down with the summer, and even early openings did not break him even. Abdul had thought the 'halal' sign on his cart would attract more customers, yet the many Muslims he saw exiting the mosque opposite the road did not even glance at him. "Must be because I am a shia," he thought.

"Should I, or should I not?" thought Tariq, as he got a coffee from Tim Horton's. "That guy is so tempting, and halal too!" He then thought of the barely subtle hints his wife had dropped about his growing waistline, and decided to skip a hot dog for lunch today. He passed another bus stop on the way back to work. A man with a thick beard was getting the looks from everyone. Tareq laughed, "Silly immigrants! Why don't they shave and be rid of the hassle?"

It was time for zuhr. Tareq made his way to the small room that served as the neighborhood mosque. He hadn't been there - just last week an old Somalian janitor saw him praying in the hallway and told him about it. He stopped.

The bearded man was the imam. As he removed his jacket, Tareq saw that the bearded man was actually a white guy, and sported a Maple Leafs jacket! Tareq took his place beside the hot dog guy. God! He smelled of hot dog! The women lined up behind.

They all prayed to the same God. For some ten, quiet minutes, there was no Shia, no Sunni, no hijabi, no niqabi - just men and women, subservient before Allah.

Outside, a man pointed at the building and turned to his wife.

"That's the Muslim mosque." He turned up his nose. "The lot! Why don't they go back home?"

Welcoming Ramadan with Squash

So Ramadan will be here in two days. How are you preparing for it?

I have two main goals this Ramadan. One is spiritual, the other is physical.

First, I decided I am going to learn to pray Fajr on time. I do pray Fajr, right before I go to work, which usually happens to be long way after sunrise for 7 months of the year.

Once someone asked me if I pray Fajr on time. "Um," I replied, "for like 3 months of year, yes. You know, when the sun rises at 8 in the morning..."

"Ah," the other person had replied before a shake of the head in the "oh-you-are-so-lost" kind of way. "You wait for winter to pray on time!"

So the spiritual goal of this Ramadan is to pray Fajr on time. Now to the non-spiritual part.

I am going to build some upper body muscle.

Um, what has that got to do with Ramadan? Well, everything!

A good muslim is physically fit - a lesson that seems to be lost nowadays. I was listening to some lecture series, where one of the sheikhs was giving a physical description of the Prophet. His chest, the Prophet's wives are supposed to have commented, was like a folded shirt - a way of saying "six pack" in those times. Wrestling was apparently a sunnah (holy WWF!) and our Messenger was apparently in tip top physical shape.

Yet today you see all those mullahs with a spare tire bigger than the Dome of the Rock lecturing on the Sunnah of eating with three fingers.

Thus I have begun to learn the game of squash - apparently the fastest burner of calories from the indoor sports - and Mousehunter has been giving me some tips.

So today I went to the gym at 5. Then I spent 30 minutes on the stair master and treadmill. Sweating buckets, I then went to the squash court. For an hour I practiced forward drop shots and backhand volleys. Then I did 30 minutes of weights. And THEN I went swimming for 10 laps around the 25 m pool.

Yes! Finally when I was home, at 8, I felt relaxed. Tired, but nothing like a good work out. Oh I could just feel the calories melting away, the muscles in the upper body taking shape, the ...

Then I saw mom had cooked biryani.

Of Marriage Forms

I am researching the marriage laws of a Middle Eastern country for a cousin who, if all things go well inshAllah, is going to get married there shortly. Of course, one of the big problems is that many of these countries don't have proper websites, or even if they do, the English part of it is very badly written or completely unhelpful.

However, I did notice a few interesting things.

One, they love to use the words 'thereof' and 'whereby', and other big words whether they go with the sentence or not. For example,

... presenting the original passports of the spouses or copies thereof in addition to birth certificates whereby an attestation of the original in Arabic is necessitated...

Two, there seems to be no shortage of forms that you have to fill. For example, heading over to the Sharia court section of one city (now this is Islamic courts, folks), I find this gem.

'Proof of Marriage Consummation Form'
Definition:The husband must acknowledge and two witnesses must testify that he has carried out the marriage ceremonials and had intercourse with the wife.

Somehow I don't think my cousin can raise THIS topic with his fiancee.

The "Racist" Fishing Cop

I was talking to another Bengali acquaintance of mine. I asked him how his weekend went, and he replied he had gone fishing for salmon to this place in Port Hope, where he had rented a boat with his family. Naturally, I asked him how it had turned out.

"Oh, it was terrible." He replied. "On the top of that, our boat was pulled over by a racist cop and he ticketed all the adults on the boat."

"Wait a minute." I asked, puzzled. "You got a speeding ticket on your boat?"

"No, no." He laughed. "We were fishing without a license."

"OH." A pause, and then, "how much was the ticket for?"

"155 dollars each." He replied miserably. "What a racist cop. There were four or five boats around us, all had white people fishing. The police boat naturally went to the only brown people on the lake."

At this point of course, I had lost any sympathy for him. I mean, it's not a speeding ticket where you are going 20 over, EVERY one does that. Fishing is simple. You go to Canadian Tire, and buy a fishing license - 20 bucks per person for the year. You can't do that - then the cop has every right to give you a ticket. And, as I told him, he was lucky. The police have the authority to sieze a person's car (because it is used to carry the fish home - fish that is now illegal because they don't have a license).

I am sorry - people are trying to be cheap - but in reality you are cheating the government. And for people like me who pay the fishing license, it's good to see cheats being actually caught and punished. And as for the cop being racist - not only could he have reasons for not going to the 'white' boats (they are familiar people, he knows them, he has checked their license before, etc.) but as long as you are doing something illegal, and illegal because you are cheap, you really don't have any excuse to complain.

The Missing Woman

A long time childhood crush of mine just had a baby daughter, leading me to experience a probably inappropriate twinge of regret that yes - she is well and truly gone. Indeed, it was the sight of her cavorting around on a rainy rooftop in a yellow sari that has probably fueled the testosterone-laden attraction of many a guy towards voluptuous full figured Indian women - now immortalized by Youtube.

However, as I lately purvey the tripe that now masquerades as 'Indian' movies - I see that this sari-clad beauty is now an endangered species. For example, in a song that brings the Canadian-Pakistani talent of Adnan Sami along with Kareena Kapoor, the scion of the famous Bollywood clan, you have this.

It seems more and more Bollywood songs now have our hero dancing with a backup crew that consists of people fitting one job description - you have to be a foreign, blonde female with an attractive figure that you will barely adorn with clothes. For example, the main attraction of the song Kiss Me Baby (yikes, English!) in the movie Garam Masala was this.


A rating of PG-13 on this blog prohibits me from placing some more pictures as example (also because I have a disk quota from Blogger) but you get the idea.

In affectionate remembrance of the truly desi woman, who died an untimely death circa 1990s. Deeply lamented by a large circle of admirers, Bollywood watchers and horny teenagers.

As an aside, I wonder if the large number of foreign women dancing to the tunes of brown men (literally) feeds some hidden desire of us desi men to control the exotic Other Woman. Go to the Facebook album of any of the resident desi "Studs", and you will see one typical picture.

In the club. Beer in hand. Foreign (usually White) Woman on arm.

I have seen even black men who have white girlfriends subconsciously introduce them around as if they are some kind of trophy. I wonder why.

Mine Is Big

I uncovered and showed mine to her.

"Wow, that's big." She exclaimed. She slowly touched it.

"Feels nice too. But my, it's big! May I ask," she continued to stare, "how big is it?"

"Well..." I told her. I didn't exaggerate, I was modest - but she could see it.

"Wow." She exclaimed. "I recently noticed guys are having bigger ones nowadays."

"Hmm." Somewhat deflated at news of other guys with big ones, I replied, "Well, size matters you know."

She laughed. "I think you guys are obsessed more with size. If you ask girls it doesn't matter so much."

"Really? Ya, right."

"Haha ooh yes." She continued. "I mean as far as ... utility goes, size is really nothing, It's what you can do with it. Power, performance ..."

"I..."

She slowly came nearer, and then started to pull down a zipper.

"What I have ... is one size fits all, you know."

The zipper was now fully open.

Delicately, she took my 17 inch laptop and placed it into her generic laptop bag. Yup, it fit all right.

Observations of a Desi BBQ - 2

Q: How to tell a BBQ is a desi BBQ?

A: Tea. We HAVE to have tea. No matter what the challenge, tea must be made.


Tea being made over charcoal left from cooking the chicken.

Note also the big pot (called patil in Bengali) used to keep left over chicken warm.



(Pictures are sourced from Facebook, so if you can't see the pictures, Facebook is probably banned from where you are now)

Canadian Desis Returning To The Gulf

Khaleej Times recently published a very interesting article on Canadian desis returning to the Gulf.

SUCCESSFUL Gulf-based Asians often have a tax-free lifestyle second to none. BMWs, fancy condos, five star travel, household help, minimum one month long paid vacation time and a hectic party/club scene are a normal way of life. The only thing lacking perhaps is a sense of belonging and the premonition that all this is ephemeral.

I wish when I was there in the Gulf, someone had told me how to enjoy this five star travel lifestyle (not to forget the 'hectic party/club scene'). The BMW wouldn't have been bad either!

The truth is in the first word of that sentence - 'Successful'. Now you have to define success, but on the whole I would not argue that an average South Asian family in the Gulf probably enjoys a lot of comforts that they would not enjoy back in Canada. The company usually pays rent, tickets to go back to desiland during the month long summer vacations, tax free income, eating out whenever you feel like it (without worrying about halal / haram or your burger being real meat instead of what is called a 'byproduct'). The trade off is of course living under the constant subjugation of Arabs (called 'Rafeek', 'miskeen') or being in trouble with the law (life is good as long as it's good - any trouble, you're fucked).

To me the writing appears mostly as a fluff piece (even though it raises some interesting issues). I, for one, would have liked the writer to interview more families who had returned to the Gulf and been there for a while now. Do they still like it? Do their Canadian-born kids like it?

There is no doubt that Canada has a problem hiring the immigrants it allows in. The first generation always struggles. As for the second generation? Even I now sometimes think it may not be a bad idea to move back for a bit, make some money and come back, even though last year I was of the opinion I would never move back. After some time, the long winters start to get at you.

"Going back was not an option, none of that one foot here and one foot there business," says Jasmine candidly.

"However, initially, we did have our share of adversity. The usual things - no jobs, no recognition of our credentials (she was a teacher in Saudi), savings rapidly going down the drain, having to pay rent for 12 months up front, post-9/11 retrenchment."

The Sawants, with their two sons, Aniruddh, and Siddhant, now 19 and 16 respectively, bit the bullet and consciously made a decision to adopt the Canadian way of life.

And this last part is where I agree - many of the 'successful' immigrant families I see - where the couple has "made it" - usually stems when both the husband and wife immerse themselves into the system. Rather than fight it or accept the bad bumps, they get involved and try to work their way through it. Sucks if you are a doctor, but most other professions find some vocation within three years.

This is a very interesting article - as I said - when I consider places I wouldn't mind working for a few years other than Canada - the UAE, with a suitable job, is very high on that list. But would you live in a place where nothing is as it seems and you have no future, for (very) high bucks?

Talking About Someone's Wife

Dear Diary,

Does any one still read this blog? No? Oh, I guess it'll just be me and you then. You liked it that way, didn't you?

I went to a wedding last week. Apparently, there are some rules about praising another man's wife that I breached.

My friend, with whom I go way back (hello A.) and his wife also arrived for the wedding. As you know, I am a very, er, observant person. So as soon as I saw her, I told her, "Wow P, you look very good! Those highlights in your hair make you look striking!"

Of course she flushed and replied, "Oh thank you, tell your friend A, he didn't even notice!"

And true to nature A could hardly be bothered and we were soon discussing the dismal nature of the Bangladesh cricket team and the looming Ontario election. We soon split up and I was working the room, when suddenly, half an hour or so later, my friend A again showed up.

"Man, why did you have to praise my wife so much? Now she's bugging me that I don't notice stuff about her."

"Oh?"

"Listen, next time you praise ANOTHER MAN'S WIFE, keep it general ok? Don't get SPECIFIC."

"Ah."

WTF man how can you not notice your wife has ORANGE HAIR.

And it didn't help when I told him "oh well your wife is very pretty so I guess you can tell her you got used to her beauty."

Well ... I thought it was a very good excuse.

There are times I feel sorry for married people.

Oh don't worry about my friend and I - we are good.

The Cat That Sees Death

Sometimes I am just amazed by how much it is that we don't know.

Cat said to predict nursing home deaths

Oscar the cat seems to have an uncanny knack for predicting when nursing home patients are going to die, by curling up next to them during their final hours.

His accuracy, observed in 25 cases, has led the staff to call family members once he has chosen someone. It usually means they have less than four hours to live. [The Star]

Wow.

My grandparents used to tell me stories of how dogs all across Dhaka (and the villages) had started to bark untiringly on the night of the 24th of March, 1971, two nights before the Pakistani army had started their operations against civilians. In Bangladesh, they also believe owls and dogs are harbingers of death.

Goodbye - for now

This post has been some time coming (not to mention it's the 400^th post too).

It's been a wild ride. I can't believe that my first post was actually about a free movie offer. It picked up from then on. I wrote about many things. Some of it even got linked to by others.

I met a lot of lovely people through this blog (and some of them were even girls!). I read a lot of mind-broadening perspectives as I followed links and discovered the wonderful world of bloggers. A lot of readers and commentators I have grown to cherish hearing from.

Recently I went back and read a few posts I had written previously, on various topics. Then I read my recent posts. Somewhere, I felt, the tone and zeal wasn't the same. The passion wasn't there.

I am taking an indefinite break. A sabbatical, if you will. I don't know when I will be back. Perhaps in time for Eid. Perhaps not. In any case, I couldn't leave without saying good bye.

Goodbye.

Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix - Disappointing!

No spoilers - beyond the trailers.

So this is what I had been doing for the last four days - each day I watched one Harry Potter movie, from the first to the last one, in preparation for Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix.

I have a bad record for the Harry Potter movies. I never watched the first one before I had seen the second one - and when I did - it was a late night show. I fell asleep in between the movie. The third movie I enjoyed the most. The fourth movie was again a late night show. And once more, I fell asleep.

So this time I promised myself I would go to an early show - but first, here's a small recap of the four previous ones.

Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone - good intro to the series, good movie and lots of entertaining parts.

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets - the best thinking movie of the series. I really, really enjoyed it as it has a lot of secrets and clues and mysteries that fall into place by the end.

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban - the best action movie of the series. This was my favourite movie of the series up until two nights ago, but still remains a very, very good film. Has a fast pace, lots of action, bits of mystery, and my favourite - time travel.

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire - garbage movie. The worst movie, a total bore, complete lack of coherence where the only significant part is the return of You-Know-Who.

So, what do I make of Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix?

I am ... somewhat ... disappointed in the movie. It wasn't as bad as the Goblet of Fire, but that isn't saying much. First, the pros.

It wasn't boring. I never felt the need to yawn or check my watch - the pace was kept throughout the movie as the story unfolded and never got bogged down. The acting was superb (especially of the character Dolores Umbridge). You felt for the characters when the "good" side fought amongst themselves. There were some great visuals (like the Thames fly-by). The confrontation scenes (be it with You-Know-Who or with Dolores Umbridge) were great, both for their visuals and for their impact.

Now for the cons. First, there was NO MYSTERY in the movie! Like, in the Chamber of Secrets, you had the puzzle as to who the Heir was, or what or where the Chamber was. In the third movie you had the identity of the Prisoner, the mystery of the Dementors and so on. At least in the fourth movie you had the puzzle of the challenges. This movie? It can be summarized by "a bunch of stuff happens".

Next, Harry's story doesn't "grow" by much. You don't find out more about his parents, or anything. I was very, very disappointed with that aspect. I thought they would reveal more stuff about Harry Potter's history.

Next, the over hyped "kiss" scene. There is absolutely ZERO chemistry between Harry Potter and Cho Chang. And if I was the Chosen One who has fought off You-Know-Who, my choice would have been a bit better than Cho Chang! That Patel girl was much better.

All in all, this is probably tied with the Philosopher's Stone due to the presence of some great scenes, and a whole class apart than the magnificent second and third installments of the series, but overall far better than the garbage fourth movie.

Sicko and the Health Care Issue

I remember once I was in southern Georgia, US, on my way to Orlando, Florida. We stopped at this little town where a buddy of mine worked, to rest for the night. He took us for dinner at this small family restaurant, along with a few co-workers of his. During dinner, the conversation shifted to voting.

"So you guys are all voting this year?" I casually asked his colleagues.

"Oh yes," one tall woman replied, "but we haven't gotten our vote card yet."

"Vote card?" I asked.

"Oh yes," she replied, "our company gives us cards with the candidates positions and who they recommended to vote for, and we do accordingly."

My jaw was like an :-0 in shock. And it is because of people like her (and she was not an aberration I found - many in the south of USA are truly politically ignorant hicks who never step out of their own towns and have no knowledge - nor interest - in what is going on at home and abroad), people who never think, yet they vote, that I despair of films like Sicko ever having any impact in the US.

Sicko was not a bad movie (though I maintain Moore's Bowling for Columbine was his best). It did paint a rosier picture of Canadian health care than what is the truth, but despite all the purported problems of our health care, I would not change it at all for an American-style user-pay-as-you-go health care. It is baffling that the richest, most powerful nation in the world cannot afford to provide adequate health care for more than half of its citizens.

It's also surprising how environment is suddenly the top issue amongst all the supposedly educated elite and the secular thinkers of the American political establishment. Yes, Gore my man, kudos to you for raising the profile of an issue you did nothing major about for eight years as the vice-president, but this Live Earth thing wasted more energy than the Canadian army in a single day in Afghanistan! Yes, I know the intent was to raise awareness, but everyone already knows about the environment! It is easy to latch on to the environment as something to do, because other than petitioning the government to sign the faulty Kyoto agreement you don't really have to do much.

While watching Sicko, there are many times I was glad that man, I am Canadian. However, one nagging thought did keep interrupting me - wait times. There are times when I had been down with something, or had a broken bone wherever, and had to wait a week or two before seeing a specialist. In those one or two weeks, pain killers would have to do. At those times, I sometimes wish I could have the option of paying and seeing the specialist early.

However, problems with our system are limited (and caused by) how we run our system, not with the system itself. For no other reason do many Buffalo citizens still try and somehow manage to obtain an Ontario Health card.

Observations of a Desi BBQ

It would be nice if the BBQ set was, you know, ASSEMBLED, before the aforementioned picnic day. If it's your responsibility to bring the grill, you should NOT be stopping off at Walmart on the day of the BBQ!!!



We are now experts in assembly of a BBQ in under 10 minutes!

Women are all about equality of the genders and same rights and all that stuff. Except when it comes to food. Suddenly, it's "Ladies First".

Or to be more precise, Ladies (and their children and other lady friends who they let cut in the line) first.

Then there is the uncle who has appointed himself the unofficial Official Taster. He will come around every 10 minutes and bug the 'chef'.

"So beta, is that chicken done? It looks like it's done. You should take it out. You know what? Let me taste it, I can tell you INSTANTLY if it's done or not...."

The other uncle is the Ph.D. of BBQ.

"Son! Don't arrange the charcoal bricks like that, you need air to flow between the bricks. Here, leave a hole... right here. We need to make the pile around 30 cm high, that should do it. Now, we need to factor in the wind, which is blowing from the north east. So our grill should face east, as the vents are on the south side, so we can have cross ventilation. NOW... for the lighter fluid, I need you to stand back.. this much.... and on my mark, squirt it out! One, two, three... SQUIRT!!!"

At least this is better than the uncle who looks at the lighter fluid, and then his eyes light up as he relives a long lost childhood fantasy, grabbing the bottle and squeezing for all he's worth, treating it like a water canon, as if he's firing ten rounds against an invading army. Apparently making a fire visible from space is a good way to get the BBQ going.

If you, while busy with the chicken, suddenly turn around and see ten people with tongs and gloves ready to help you, relax, they are not there to help you. They are just there because a picture is going to be taken by the official Facebook photographer. Frauds, all of them!

If someone repeatedly comes and asks you "Is the chicken done yet?", after the 5^th time it becomes halal to feed them half-done chicken.

Transformers - 4.5/5

GM had this Chevy Transformers Night last night. Free movie premier (at a drive-in), plus food, drinks and entertainment at the Docks for Chevy owners only. Enter the Mousehunter, who got a couple of free tickets to the event and generously invited me and another friend to accompany him.


Performers at the event.

The Movie Review

Transformers was meant to be a summer blockbuster and it was. It was like sitting in a Formula 1 car. Who cares where the car is going, how's the weather outside and what color the car is - as long as the ride is fast, good and exhilarating, that's all that matters. That's the movie for you - it's great fun, complete entertainment, fully worth seeing on the big screen. Overall - 4.5 out of 5.

There was a plot of some sort. There was a hot girl (very hot). The pace was good and fast - at no time did the film lag or I fidget in my seat (well, except craning my neck in the seat to get a better view out of a side window at times :-p).


The drive-in area.

The Action

With lots of money to burn, you expect the action to be good - and it was - for the most part. The attack on an army base, the desert scenes, the fights in LA and the chases - all choreographed well. When the robots were fighting each other though, it was all a blur. All you see is confusing motion. You don't even know what's happening and then it's all over.

The Transformers

I was a bit disappointed with the transformation sequence. Where's the cool slo-mo of the car/truck/plane-to-robot? It was all a blur. Suddenly they start whizzing and pop! - you have a 20-feet robot. It looked too-CGI and not realistic enough. The robots, I am sad to say, looked more bits-and-pieces than a solid piece.


The old (better, IMO) Optimus vs the new (supposedly slicker) version.

The Fun Factor

Some of the script was really funny. The movie never failed to entertain even for a moment, and even though there were shades of patriotic themes (it's released on the 4th of July weekend after all), it wasn't 'over the head' and in-your-face, you could suspend your senses and enjoy it all.

The Nostalgia Factor

"I AM OPTIMUS PRIME!!!"

Enough said. Go see the movie already.


My prize for winning the Tribond Tuesdays Competition. Thanx again, Mousehunter.

See also: The Mousehunter meets Mezba

Canada Day

What's the first thing you think of when you think Canada?

Cold climate and snow, right?

Last month, we were having a nice spring. 20+ degrees centigrade, clear skies and so on. The my cousins from Texas decided to pay a visit. The night they landed, it fell to 3 degrees and we got a FROST warning (in June!!!) for our gardens.

"M-m-m-ezba!" My cousin told me, immediately on landing, with his teeth chattering, "I h-h-have heard your country is c-c-cold, but this-!"

Talk about an exception proving the rule!

So this week, with another set of cousins coming here from Australia, I decided to check the weather again. We had been having a heat wave recently, with some temperatures going as high as 42 degrees (with humidex), so I was happy.

"It's going to get colder..." went the forecase.

"Oh, no!" I thought, "Not again!" Already, my niece from Sydney had complained their winters were getting colder, with the temperature falling as low as 16 degrees. Our predicted SUMMER temperature for this weekend - 20 degrees!

Thankfully, the weather people were all WRONG. It was a glorious day, as we celebrated Canada Day like thousands of other tourists to Canada, going to Niagara Falls, and then later catching a glorious fireworks at the park.


The American Falls portion of the Falls, taken from the Maid of the Mist.


The Horseshoe Falls portion of the Falls, taken from a distance.




Fireworks at Milliken Park.

Happy Canada Day!