Yaba daba doo!

You have to admit when you read “Yaba Shundori (beauty)” the next thing you feel compeled to do is see ithe “shundori” herself – but alas, she was rather elusive and RAB only just kept missing her for an hour! Which, had she had a publicist, would have been her publicist’s dream come true – just follow the line of the stories that were concocted around her and her chubby, yuppie, hubby(?) and their decadent, lascivious lifestyle.

What got the papers excited were talk of her Tk. 70 lakh plastic surgery, skin pigmentation lightening (something tthis writer would have never had known could be done had it not been for Michael Jackson – but wait, his condition was the result a rare African American disease that is so rare that it has never infected another African American!), two maids to look after her beauty, Tk. 1 lakh in beauty products a month – two things dawned on me, a) she was one of spectacular assets, and b), more mundanely, even I could be come a “shundori” at that price!

After all that hype, her picture in the papers was a major let-down. I can understand that the last couple of days would have been very trying for her, her being on the lam and all, but I would not be surprised if her boyfriend-husband-DOM* doesn’t actually sue her when all this is over. I mean, where DID all that money go?! Trying time or no, with that kind of money pumped into her face (where else could it go?), her ogling public, I’m sure, had expected much more.

Guilty or not, what a spectacular lifestyle she lived. If my opinion matters, I think she was just whiling her time away as a boy-toy with this old rich buzzard (come on, he could have used some of that money he spent on her cosmetic upgrades on himself). In all likelihood she was hoping that he would croak on one of their skirmishes – either from their frantic closed door politics in overseas chambers or from the hotel tab the morning after! As for the charges of peddling yaba, it was probably a small favor for her favorite financier. I think that as far as peddling goes, I am sure she took the limo and not the metro! Peddling? No. Courier service, more like it. But then that’s just my opinion, and I have nothing more solid than speculation and wild guesses to back my claims.

Having said that, just imagine the times she lived in! She was young(er), decadent was god, and she was above the law. Foreign trips, chartered GMG flights (this was the clincher, in my opinion, as to their real aspirations – I mean for a couple that reportedly spent Tk. 1.5 crore over 11 days in Tokyo, to charter a Bombadier to Cox’s Bazar for a honeymoon is just so sad), diamond tiaras, designer outfits, Victoria’s Secret lingerie – she was living the fairy tale princess dream; only in this story the princess was a little PG-18 (well, she was 26) and was married to the frog.

What a scandal the press can rile up; oh what lurid details they can hound out – even the ever stoic men in black seemed quite amused to relay stories of ostentation underlined with seductive overtures and insinuations. What’s more, is that you’d think I was making all this up from reading trashy tabloids and not the more respectable mainstream papers! So just imagine what the tabloid had to say! Yaba, whether you did it or not, know someone who does, or didn’t even knew what was happening, is suddenly the story on everyone’s mouth. Respectable people are sneaking peeks, between reading the other stories, at the Yaba story made famous by the Yaba “Shundori.”

Does anyone REMEMBER the six young men who were caught by RAB with Yaba in their procession at all? Amin Huda, that oldish looking 36-year old has some recall value in this development owing to his kinship with a prominent (and as one paper labeled it, controversial) businessman, who himself was quite the rave in his time in the 80s and 90s for his own PG-18 reasons. I mean, wasn’t the story leaning towards Amin Huda being the mastermind and key manufacturer of Yaba in Bangladesh? Now the Yaba story has hit its prime with the “shundori,” and following along the dotted lines of her frequent flier destinations, suddenly the drug is an imported product! At least we are on the downward slope, unless of course there are any more revelations of the “marital” bliss shared between the princess and her lovable hotelier.

As for the plight of our delinquent hotelier, with the weight of the world piling on his shoulders, Yaba “Shundori” or not, Jannatul Ferdous, no matter how cosmetically enhanced, was, at least for him, his first (and last) vision of heaven for a long, long time.

* Dirty Old Man

Whatever happened?

Whatever happened to the guy we knew…
The little engine that could…
Sput, sput, sputter with a ne’er care in the world
The boy-man who repeatedly fell…
Either in love or on his ass? Or both?

Whatever happened to the guy we knew
The boy with the nazi salute…
The desert fox?
The boy-man with the golden heart?
Beat, beat, beats me why it doesn’t beat no more.

Whatever happened to that boy we knew?
The corporate guy with the suit of wool
You know, that guy with his Manhattan strut…
The guy who stood his ground on crutches
Perhaps you knew him better…
As that Yiddish New Yorker on Mercer Ave?

Whatever happened to that guy we knew…
That guy hidden behind all that cigarette (?) smoke…
That dude who inhaled deep and never let go?
The boy-man with a point to prove.
You know, chicken little who cried for help?

Whatever happened to that guy we knew…
You know, that guy with a brick wall of attitude.
That dude who spoke but listened not
To anyone who cared to tell him who, when or what.
I’m sure you’d know whom I mean...
Even if you had met him once.

Whatever happened to the guy we knew
The one who sometimes tried too hard
The educator of men
The boy who cared as deep as he dared.
Perhaps you knew him as the wayward guy
With bills to pay...

Whatever happened to that guy we knew
That simpleton who basked in glory?
The man with a cannon
Or so he said
That rumbling sound, that something you just can’t forget
The man who got under your skin
But you liked it that way.

Ah hah, that man you simply couldn’t put down
But despised with all your heart… for most of a minute.
Who know whom I mean…
That man, that child, that wicked, wicked guy
Who would just leave without a goodbye.

The one who was always there but behind the scenes
Behind the shadows, behind the trees
The dude-man, the nigger-hater
If I could only put a name…
A guttu, a goots, a gutiere

What does it all mean?
A name to love, but hate to love as well.
It seems that this guy had one more trick.
Ne’er one to stay too near
An arm’s length was a safe bet
He rolled a joint, and rolled away…
This time a bit too far out of reach.

Whatever happened to that guy we knew…
Whatever I am hearing, is it true?
Has the desert fox deserted us all?
The news I hear on silenced lips…
Whisper his fate
Which brings me to ask
Whatever happened to happy endings?

In Memory of:
Syed Nahoum Ali
December 26, 1971- August 25, 2007

Forever

Silently I sit with my thoughts,
Meandering between images of sudden
Love? Lust? Perhaps, agony and desire.
What wills a man to choose as he does?
When all that he wants is that he has foregone.

Winter cold in all clam and cacophony,
Weather-beaten but for cynical compassion,
A truth unknown; kept hidden in the twilight
Of recourse and reminiscence.

Wither the winds of sorrow,
Blow across the plain flatlands of status quo;
A dust cloud through barren waste,
Weaning itself off the rain
That promises rescue.

Not from thirst
But, from surrendering to the beaten down soul.
Can the yesteryears of post parting
Be worthy of so many memories?

Such that during times of togetherness and post period
Merge into one and blur the lines of wisdom?
Forever shall my mind wander the desert plains?
To regurgitate the promises never made,
But forever filled with good intentions.

I smile at the irony that life opens to my eyes;
For in its twisted humour of vacant laughs,
I stand corrected; I stand holding little but a resigned smile.
Forever is a long time,
But that is how long I pay penance to your absence.

For your not being here to stand beside;
For your not clutching a waiting hand;
For your lips not brushing across a hungry pout.
All seems destined to oblivion,

Yet there is so much to live for
And a life of free choices bound by principle,
Forever is for how long I pay my penance.

- 15 May 2007

Thunder reason

Clash of thunder,
The gods play;
Lightning bright,
Thunder loud.
Rain pelting on arid land;
Gazing up towards a shortened sky,
Merry-making pitted patter
As death cycles by.

Wonder lust in reason,
Sudden release of raindrops
The size of dinner plates;
Crashing onto the ground,
Washing away sins of dust,
Cleansing the tired,
Revitalising all passion and glory.

Parting along ravines of streaks,
Running streams of lines,
Across the frail leaves on trees
Almost stopping to listen
To the sighs of relief,
The sun unmercifully hanging above
Silently watching, and waiting for her time.

Today there are smiles,
From ear to ear among the faces
Rejoicing in the mercy of cool waters.
Those cascading drops coupled into release,
Of passion but not purpose;
Of dreams but not reason;
Of forgetfulness but not forgiveness.

All around the grass seemingly pray in unison
On this dark, seasoned night.
The passion fruit of seduction,
Hovers in the air
For nights like these
Are for surrender
To one’s unspoken fears.

Ne’er a night like such comes twice in a lifetime
In a hurry to relinquish the sacred touch
Of a forbidden want
That revels in emotions.
Churning restlessly like the clouds above,
Stirred by wind forces
That lies invisible to the casual observer.

Unremembered occurrences,
Caught in the eyes of forever.
Bursting were it not for the rainfall.
The heavy fears of humanity,
Tossed around like a coin in a tin cup
Ironically from the nervous habit
Of an unfulfilled dream.

The clouds clash
In claps of thunder;
For the gods play
Beyond the distant moon rising
Yet under the eyes of the wavering sun;
Which, but for the clouds
Would seek its revenge.

What of the light that shines
In the lonely rooms,
Scattered among the living?
Peppered like careless salt flakes,
From the casual brushing hands of uncaring gods.
The demented and the denied,
Share a defiled place along the windowsill.

The rain that falls,
Anoints with equal fervour
The chosen and the unworthy;
Almost like a holy man
Who acts with neither rhyme nor reason.
The anointment washing away the sins,
Of a presumed guilty conscience.

As the rain pauses for breathe,
To let up in some way
And gather its strength to an encore,
The unreformed mortals look up at the sky to see,
Whether after all that unrelenting beating
If the squeaking of wheels can be heard
As death cycles by…

- 07 June 2007

Cycle of touch and go

Forever is long time,
Time waits for none.
None but the poor soul without options;
Options only to wait or not,
Not promised, yet not surrendered.

Surrendered day in and day out,
Out of nothing hope lingers.
Lingers only as if by ghostly presence.
Presence of mind to know or deny;
Deny everything, yet deny days.

Days to months to years,
Years to a decade;
A decade much in touch and go;
Go, but never distant, yet always far.
Far from over, yet always close to ending.

Ending with a peck of resistance.
Resistance to goodbyes;
Goodbyes that mean hellos,
Hellos yet that do not mean farewell.
Farewell without sense, yet in full sanity

Sanity clinging to hopes,
Hopes that cannot flower;
Flower sweet truth and distinct scent,
Scent that power imagination or dreams.
Dreams that seemingly last a day, yet stays for forever…

– 16 March 2007

Divided You Stand; United We Fall

Following is a opinion piece that I had published in the formative years of this century. We were in the midst of the "non-cooperation" movement - a situation not very different from the current series of blockades we have suffered in the name of protecting the "people's rights" and "democracy." Ironically the "non-cooperation" was similarly billed. I think the sentiments are still relevant today.

The spokesman for one party calls it a success, the spokesman for another party calls it a failure. The people calls it farcical, and it is not the recent elections they are talking about.

The term "non-cooperation" when last used was used to send a strong message across nearly a thousand miles. The call was a prologue to the historical six point demand - in 1971, which led to a war. Today the call can be heard again from the same party, but this time could it just lead to a civil war, setting brother against brother, father against son?

As the situation progresses, or in this case deteriorates, no party can claim success or failure with the present political crisis. The shout that the success of the movement is the call of the people or the cry that the people has not supported the call of the movement are all personalized "wet dreams" conjured up by the leadership of the respective political parties in the country.

No contributing member of society should say that he can support either parties in light of the present political situation. People do not bring out their vehicles in a hartal because of the risk of its destruction and the risk to their lives, not because they fully believe in the cause of the opposition. People are attending office not to show support for the government in this period of opposition called "non-cooperation," but because they cannot afford to loose any more working days.

Destruction of property, public or private, is a crime. Not because of the unruliness and chaos it brings but because of the amount of valuable foreign exchange wasted. With the loss of more and more working days and loss of productivity, more and more failed deadlines in the export industries and more and more missed school days, the people of this country are being asked to pay a far heavier price then they can either afford to pay or are willing to pay.

The person making a contribution to society, the person trying to make ends meet, the honest individual who wants nothing more than to live his life are the people who are saying - enough. The political leaders are playing their own game of supremacy in their ongoing struggle to be one step ahead of the "enemy", loosing the true sense of the fight far behind.

The masses supporting the movement have always been delinquents and people who cannot make a contribution to society. The economy does not help, with the growing disparity between the "haves" and the "have nots" an animosity for each other has developed. With the advent of corruption there are a lot of people in the country with amenities that they do not deserve, advantages that are not their due. Because of this the country must undergo intense reform for any headway to be made. But with a reformed and new competent leadership.

The majority of the people in this country are moved by emotions and sentiment, not the black and white of an economic or an ideological platform. A definite lack of formal education among the voters only helps in the confusion. In a country where the voters cast their votes with the recognition of a symbol instead of a rhetoric, democracy is not what needs to be fought for. The leadership of this country must concentrate on encouraging foreign investment, open markets and seeing that the living standards of the people improve.

The leadership is only putting the wool over the masses' eyes, and confusing them with irrelevant ideas in their pursuit for power. With the support of people who do not know better and who do not understand that destruction of property, the killing of people over what is considered ideology differences is pulling the country further down into the doldrums.

The old styled politics of yester-year has to be discontinued immediately for a more intelligent approach to development. Unfortunately, the political culture is still embedded in the politics of nostalgia. Political leaders are still judged for competence with familial ties instead of education or ability. The leader of an mostly uneducated nation must be among the most highly educated, and one with the ability to use that education effectively. Lee Kuan Yew, Singapore's Prime Minister until 1990, was the architect of the economic miracle that has increased the Singapore per capita income to US$ 23,000, in just 30 years. The second richest nation in Asia, after Japan, Singapore was officially recognized as a developed country this year.

The present day hot item on the world agenda is democracy for all. Bangladesh in the present day is still too immature to utilize it for the benefit of all its citizens. Democracy comes with liberalization of the economy and with the liberalization of ideas. The people would still prefer to have their thoughts governed.

The majority of the people are more concerned about at least two square meals a day, they do not care for ideas that promise them a better life in the near future. The masses are like small children, only just beginning to venture out into the world. They are not equipped to understand that a little restraint now will promise a consistent uniform country-wide development later. And besides the economy has conditioned them to only think of their own benefit and the benefit of their kin, what matter is it to them of the benefit of people with whom they have no contact.

The country is in need of a positive development in the hands of a leadership that is committed to the good of the nation and not just their own kin. In the twenty-five years of the nation's independence such a leader has yet to rise. Today a larger number of the people in the country are more educated and more cognizant to their environment then the numbers during the independence; today the people are demanding of their rights.

With the growth of industrialization in the country and the export of labour, more and more people in this country are becoming aware that the economic benefits can also be theirs. This industrialization was jump started by industrial investment, and by foreign investors. If the current political trend continues the country will loose what little development that has taken so far, alienating foreign investors and local investment.
further.

The economy has never been the ruling party's to own. It has always been the asset of the nation and its people. The political opposition parties at any given time in the last twenty-five years have attempted to hurt the economy in their bid to hurt the ruling party. The result : An occasional change in the leadership and a failing economy.

The politics of this country has proved farcical to outside observers. The only news that reaches beyond the borders have been negative. News of floods, news of famines, and news of political unrest have saturated the papers abroad. If the political crisis can be averted, then news of development, news of progress and news of social reform can take their place.

The newspapers report that US Congressman Bill Richardson is very excited with his first visit to Bangladesh. Richardson describes Bangladesh as an "important" country and that he will present a "first hand account to the US Congress on Bangladesh." The question is what thoughts does he take back with him?

Time and time again, the political opposition has deliberately attempted to foil any prospect of foreign investment. When the US Trade delegation visited Bangladesh in July of last year, when the British Trade Delegation was in Bangladesh in November of last year, the first thing they witnessed was the day long strikes called by the opposition party. They witnessed that the political nature of the country's political parties to bring the economy to a standstill.
It is small wonder that the leadership do not realize that by subjecting the country to undergo economic and social degradation the task they want to take up of saving the country becomes far more difficult. Ironically, with the political culture of mass destruction and blatant disregard for property that the disillusioned youth of this country are witnessing, the true problems of development is yet to surface.