Which way is up, again?

One can study the political climate in Bangladesh until one is blue in the face and not arrive at an answer as to what kind of democracy we practice.

In 20 years of democracy the nation has been brought closer and closer to its knees. Given the current trend and that no respite seems imminent one wonders what kind of a nation we will celebrate in 2021 when Bangladesh turns 50.

Corruption has been ingrained into the very fabric of the nation's psyche – so much so that even the youth engaged in good jobs in the private sector providing good pay are indulging in corrupt practices. It's like no matter how much they make, making some more 'under the table' can only make life more fulfilling.

When I and my contemporaries were in our twenties – which was about that many years ago – I believe we all put in an honest days work. We were not paid as much as we would have wanted probably but there was honesty and dignity in what we did and how we did it.

Boys and girls of the same age in 2012 can't seem to be paid enough to warrant keeping their noses clean or feel loyalty to the company they represent. I don't really blame these young people as the whole country seems swamped by people who benefit by practicing outside a moral code.

Doing to pretend rather than pretending to do

I've always seen myself as a writer; perhaps, more a 'wanna-be' than an actual 'true' writer for the sole reason that a writer writes. Period. And I don't really, save for occasional inspired (desperate?) out bursts.

In my mind I have convinced myself that a true writer writes obsessively, or rather, religiously – this idea sprouts from a part romantic notion and part realistic understanding. After all, anyone can write obsessively (okay, not maybe anyone per se) but fewer still can probably deliver with true intent, purpose and substance.

In a way my failure to write regularly I find deeper meaning and a relation, perhaps only tangentially, to the failure of the country that I live in. (This analysis could be easily misconstrued as a rather petty attempt to add 'substance' to what is otherwise drivel – of (desperate) intent (to write) without (any) purpose and/or (real) substance. It is not. You, dear reader, are of course entitled to misconstrue its true intent and purpose.)

To put it in one sentence: No one is doing what they are supposed to.

Tipping the gravy train

As I carve this blog post out of thin air, it dawns on me that today would be the first anniversary of my starting this blog on a more regular basis.

It also dawns on me (bright person that I am, some things are all too obvious) that my commitment had waned somewhat from month ten onwards. I had a burst of inspiration back in February of this year, but alas it was as short lived as political stability in the land that I call my home.

This blog post also marks my first post, since twenty-oh-six or seven, that I am writing and posting from Dhaka, having arrived back in my hometown after a welcomed (and thoroughly unexpected) two-year hiatus.

The city I left two years ago was plagued with its share of problems, not least of which were acute power shortage and perennial traffic congestion. Two years have gone to no apparent betterment (unless we account for the fact that the problems have grown) but now I find that the country is in the midst of escalating political instability to heighten the everyday challenges faced by the unfortunate denizens of this city.