What is Happening in Bangladesh?

What is Happening in Bangladesh?

Lizi Rahman

It's been almost eighteen years that I have left Bangladesh. After leaving Bangladesh, my first visit was after almost four years. This trip was very busy and hasty. During this trip in 1992, I was only able to visit or contact very few friends. My trip was marred with numerous obstructions. There were Immigration interview at the US embassy, health issues, lack of a car, and a lack of working telephones, etc.

Since that trip, my next visit to Bangladesh was in 2003, after more than 10 years. The country had changed a lot in the last ten years. I was not even able to recognise Shantinagar, where I grew up. There were high-rise buildings everywhere, and the green lawns and flowery gardens had disappeared. There were more vehicles on the streets than people. Despite these changes my trip to Dhaka was a very pleasant one. During this trip I was able to trace many of my friends. My school friends were scattered but I found them. I was able to get in touch with all my writer friends from the 70's, with whom I had lost contact for 25 years. All my friends hosted get-together parties. Many high-rise restaurants had opened in Dhaka, I was invited to several of them.

I always love to eat while I travel. Different foods can be bought anywhere around the world, but the taste of the food won't be same everywhere. Food will taste unique in its own region. So, to take advantage of the opportunity, I ate a lot of 'mishty' and 'pitha'. I ate a lot of fish and vegetables, vartas, kababs, biriani, roasts, etc. I wasn't worried about gaining a few pounds.

There's no place like home. People are relaxed, life is easy, there are social and cultural gatherings. What life do we have in US? It's all work, work and work. Our time is measured. We have to do everything on the dot of the clock. Everything is inter-related. If we miss one thing, our whole day will collapse. We have to rush everything. Even on weekends, we have to do a lot of work, take care of lot of things. Not only do we work at our jobs, we work at home too. There are no servants or relatives to help us out. Women especially have a very hard life here. We do our own laundry, shopping, cooking, cleaning, paperwork, and much more. It's so hard to squeeze in a little time for ourselves. When I have a little time, I'm left with no energy. I can't even sit in front of the computer to write. Day by day, month by month, year by year, we're getting older. When I'll be really old and disabled, I will be unfit to live in this country. I will not be able to keep up with this busy life.

Moreover, I feel lonely. I have a very few close friends here. People around me are busy, and many of them seem phony. I have stopped going to the cultural programmes because they have not changed since the very first time I have seen them. Despite many new immigrants and artists, they lack sincerity and originality. Nothing attracts me anymore. My life is lonely, depressed, dull and busy. During the blistery cold and harsh winter days, life seems more difficult. A glimpse of Dhaka and a contact with dozens of long lost friends, made me laugh again. I felt it was the happiest time of my life. I did not have to cook, shop, drive, serve, wash, launder, or go to work. All I did was shopping, chat, eat and laugh. Not to mention, during my leisure time, I wrote a lot of articles, which would have been impossible to do while living in New York. Unless I am highly motivated, I cannot write more than one article a month or so. My creativity is suppressed by my busy life style.

I have decided to come back to Dhaka in a few years and settle down. Settling in Dhaka will be the most fulfilling and happiest thing for me. I have told everyone that I will be back forever in a few years and everyone seemed to be excited about the idea.

That was in September 2003. Two years have passed since. I made another trip to Bangladesh in the summer of 2004. Despite the traffic jam, and the bombing of Sheikh Hasina's meeting, and strikes, this trip seemed to be the happiest one, too. I spent a quality time with my relatives and friends. I published a book, I wrote many articles, I did television interviews, I ate more foods, I bought more sarees and many more. This trip strengthened my desire of returning to Bangladesh.

Since then I kept in touch with my friends and family on a regular basis. I have been spending long hours talking to them. Everyday I read the internet editions of all the Bangladeshi newspapers. But recently, my desire return home is getting weaker. Everybody, even my friends and relatives in Bangladesh, are discouraging me about returning to Bangladesh. When I read the newspapers, I feel scared for the safety of my friends and family there. My mother was hospitalised for one problem. That was treated and got cured. But the process of treating made her sicker than ever. My sister loves to go to cultural shows but she has stopped going to any gathering. People are fearful of their safety. Parents are scared for the safety of their children. Businessmen are scared of their safety. Strikes, or hartals, have made business come to a standstill, and more importantly, the recent bombings have made life come to a standstill. Foreign and local investors are afraid to invest in Bangladesh.

Bit by bit, the bombings got out of hand. The bombers were targeting many locations and situations. First it was the cultural programme of Pahela Baishakh. Then they bombed the cultural organisation of Udichi. Then they bombed various theatre halls and political meetings across the country. The British High Commissioner came under bomb attack. Nothing has been done about these bombings. The bombers got fierce and strong. They displayed this fearlessnes through 500 coordinated and simultaneous bombing all over Bangladesh. Now there are incidents of bombing everywhere. There are remote control bombs, there are suicide bombers. These people have recruited, brainwashed and trained numerous people all over the country. These 'jihadi's are killing innocent people while getting killed themselves. They are threatening lawyers, journalists, teachers and government officials. They are killing people in order to go to heaven. Bangladesh is at the mercy of these militants. Politicians were their targets before, but now they are targeting police, judges, lawyers, journalists, performers, educators, students, and many others. A bomb was even planted under a bus, just to kill innocent people.

The newspaper headlines give me the shivers, especially when I read that fifteen people, including judges, lawyers and police, have been killed since the banned Islamist militant outfit Jama'atul Mujahideen Bangladesh (JMB) started terror attacks. In the latest wave of strikes by JMB, there were suicide bombers in Gazipur Bar Association building and at a police check-post at Chittagong court building. Seven people, including two lawyers and a police constable, were killed, and 78 others were injured. On November 14, JMB killed two senior assistant judges and wounded three people in Jhalakathi. On October 3, attacks on the courtrooms in Chandpur, Laxmipur and Chittagong districts, killed four people and injured 38, including a judge. On October 18, militants hurled a bomb at the vehicle of judge Biplop Goswami in Sylhet, leaving him injured, He later died. On August 17 simultaneous serial blasts at 459 spots in 63 districts across the country killed two people and injured many others.

During my childhood, my friends and I used to go out a lot. We had no fear for anything. Our parents were not worried for our safety. We would take a rikshaw and roam around the city aimlessly without any problem. Now, can anybody, male or female, adult or child, go out and roam freely in the city? Not only are there hijackers, muggers, robbers, now there are suicide bombers. Nobody feels safe in Bangladesh anymore. My friends and relatives envy me for staying in a country where despite the latest Homeland Security Acts and others terrorist acts, I can go anywhere anytime of the day or night. I can eat fresh and healthy food, get proper medical treatment and say or do anything I wish to without any fear. When my friends discourage me about returning to Bangladesh now, I stay mum. I do not know what to say to them.

In my mind I keep hoping that maybe someday, somehow, things will get better. These militant mujahidins will be uprooted. Law and order will be restored. People will have no fear for their safety. They will feel free to go anywhere. And may be then like many other expatriates, I will feel free to return to Bangladesh and live a happy, peaceful life.

Copyright (R) thedailystar.net 2006 http://www.thedailystar.net/magazine/2006/01/01/perception.htm

Ma's tragic loss fuels quest for a Queens Blvd. bike lane Read more: http://www.nydailynews.com/ny_local/queens/2009/10/28/2009-10-28_mas_tragic_loss

by Lizi Rahman
Special to the News

Wednesday, October 28th 2009, 4:00 AM

Lizi Rahman stands next to a memorial where her son Asif was hit and killed while riding his bike in February of 2008.
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Lizi Rahman stands next to a memorial where her son Asif was hit and killed while riding his bike in February of 2008.
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* 'Ghost bike' pays tribute to cyclist who was killed

It was a cold but clear and crisp day. When I came to the kitchen for breakfast, my son Asif was already heading for the door.

It was his third day at his new job, and he did not want to be late. He excitedly told me the day before that he rode his bicycle to work and that it only took him 25 minutes. Asif loved to ride his bike everywhere.

Even though he was a 22-year-old young man, I did not want him to ride his bike to work. As he left for work on that fateful day, I could not help but caution him to ride his bike carefully. As he carried his bike down to the street, he kept saying, "Okay, Mom" in response, as if I was a little girl. I sighed and concentrated on my breakfast.

At the end of the day, I came back home from work but Asif did not. Instead, two police officers came. They told me that Asif swerved to avoid a double-parked car and was fatally hit by a truck. He died instantly from internal injuries.

It was Feb. 28, 2008. Asif told me it took him only 25 minutes to go to work, but he never came home.

Asif was a very talented young man. He loved to perform spoken-word poetry, beat boxing, hip-hop music, painting and photography. When Asif was around, he filled our small house with joy and laughter, chasing after his little brother, teasing his big sister.

Without him it seems empty and quiet.

After that tragic day, when I visited Asif's accident site for the first time, I was shocked and surprised to see that there was no bike lane on Queens Blvd.

I remembered whenever I expressed my concerns to Asif about riding his bike, he laughed out loud, "Don't worry, Mom. There are bike lanes everywhere, and I always carry a bike route map."

But after his death, I realized that our roads are not safe for bicyclists.

I know how painful it is for a mother to lose a loving son. I do not want any mother to go through this pain. From that moment, I thought of helping to get a bike lane on Queens Blvd.

I started to write letters to our elected officials including Mayor Bloomberg, the commissioner of the Department of Transportation, congressmen, the borough president and City Council members, rallying for a bike lane on Queens Blvd.

I got responses from Council members James Gennaro (D-Fresh Meadows), John Liu (D-Flushing), Eric Gioia (D-Sunnyside), Tony Avella (D-Bayside) and Rep. Anthony Weiner (D-Brooklyn/Queens). There has been no response from Mayor Bloomberg or Transportation Commissioner Janette Sadik-Khan.

I believe that it is important to make our roads safer for the bicyclists and to make sure they get home safely to their loved ones.

More and more people are riding bikes during these times of global warming, traffic congestion and high gasoline prices. While the mayor is encouraging people to ride bicycles, he keeps quiet about a bike lane on Queens Blvd.

In response to Councilman Avella's letter, the transportation commissioner's office responded, "The request to place a bike lane on Queens Blvd., maintain flow without increasing congestion and maintain as many parking spots as possible conflicts with our goals for continued safety improvements for this corridor."

It's been almost two years, and nothing has happened yet. I do not know how many deaths will get us a bike lane. Or how long will it take.

Will someone explain to me why it is so hard to put a bike lane on a dangerous road like Queens Blvd., which has six lanes each way, when we have bike lanes on single-lane roads?

Lizi Rahman's son, Asif, was fatally struck by a truck while he was cycling on Queens Blvd. at 55th Road in Elmhurst on Feb. 28, 2008.

Read more: http://www.nydailynews.com/ny_local/queens/2009/10/28/2009-10-28_mas_tragic_loss_fuels_quest_for_a_queens_blvd_bike_lane.html#ixzz0qEOdao4P

In praise of Mother's Day

Liza Rahman

Mother's Day is here. Many of us have already planned for this day, some are still planning. Mother's Day is not new for the international community but to many Bangladeshis, it's a relatively new celebration. In this age of information super highway, lot of Bangladeshis are now familiar with Mother's Day. But a few years ago, it was quite an unfamiliar term. In fact, many rolled their eyes when they heard that people in the western world show their love and affection to their mothers on a given day of the year.

I was one of them. While in Bangladesh, I never heard of Mother's Day. In 1988, when I finally settled down in the United States, my children were young and started to attend schools. Through them I came to know about Mother's Day. They used to bring handmade cards and other crafts from school as Mother's Day gift. After that, through sales at various stores and friends at work, I learned more about Mother's Day. At first I was somewhat sarcastic about Mother's Day, because of the way mothers are being treated all year long. They spend their old age all by themselves. Their children and grandchildren live far away from them. Some people spend their old age in a nursing home, eat their dinner with strangers, cared for by professionals not loved ones. They wait eagerly to see the faces of their loved ones, who only show up on certain days of the year.

Which made me think that we love our mother all year long, our love is not limited to one particular day of the year, we love and take care of our parents all year long, we love them with all our heart, there is no need to show off our love. Maybe that is why people in the East never thought of showering their mother with love and attention on a particular day of the year, because they worship their mother all year long, all life long. Like in Islam, it says, that "a man's heaven lies at the foot of his mother." This made people respect their mother more than anything. But gradually I became quite fascinated and used to the idea of Mother's Day. Now, I eagerly wait to see how my husband and children are going to show me their appreciation on this day.

Early in the morning, I wake up from the noise and smell from the kitchen. My soon to be adult son makes my favorite breakfast of pancakes or bagels, also he makes scrambled eggs and toast, hot beverage, cold juice. Everything he puts on a tray along with the morning newspaper and a flower and brings to my bedroom. At that moment I feel like I am the queen of the day. After my daughter went to university and started to stay in a dorm, I thought my luxury of having breakfast in bed had ended. But from the next year, my son started to make my breakfast. My daughter would buy something very precious and expensive for me. My husband would take me out for dinner to my favourite restaurant. While feeling like a queen, I try not to ignore my own mother. If she is

nearby, my siblings and I try to take her out, buy her something special. After living in the US for several years, she too became quite used to in this tradition. Now, back in Dhaka, on this day, she expects a call from her children. Even though we call her all the time, but we make sure to call her on Mother's Day.

The concept of Mother's Day might be new to us but this is a very old tradition. Many people might not know this tradition is thousands of years old. In the ancient Greek Empire, the spring festival honored Rhea, wife of Cronus and mother of the Gods and Goddesses, it lasted from March 22-25. In Rome, the most significant Mother's Day like celebration was dedicated to the worship of Cybele, another Mother of Gods or Magna Mater. Cybele was the daughter of Heaven and Earth and was the mother of all Gods. Ceremonies in her honour began some 250 years before Christ was born. This Roman religious celebration was known as Hilaria, it lasted for three days from March 15-18.

During the 1600s, England celebrated a day which was called Mothering Sunday. They celebrated it on the 4th Sunday of Lent (the forty day period leading up to Easter), it honoured the mothers of England. During this time, many of the England's poor worked as servants for the wealthy. As most jobs were located far from their homes, the servants would live at the houses of their employers. On Mothering Sunday, they would have the day off and were encouraged to return home and spend the day with their mothers. They would bring a special cake called mothering cake to provide a festive touch. It was kind of fruit cake or fruit filled pastry known as simnel. Also, they served a sweetened boiled cereal dish called furmety at family dinners during this celebration. As the spread of Christianity through out Europe, this celebration changed to honour the Mother Church. People began to honour their mothers as well as the church. By the end of the 19th century, Mothering Sunday had completely died out.

After WW II, England started to celebrate Mother's Day again when the US servicemen brought this tradition to Europe with them. The commercial enterprises started to use this occasion to make a profit.

Mother's Day was first introduced in America by Julia Ward Howe (who was famous for writing the words to the Battle Hymn of the Republic). Julia Howe began promoting the idea of a Mother's Day for Peace. It was celebrated on June 2, 1872 to honour peace, motherhood, and womanhood. In 1873, women in 18 cities across America held a Mother's Day for Peace gathering. Boston celebrated this day for almost ten years. But the celebration died out when Julia Howe was no longer able to pay most of the cost for it. Howe turned her efforts to working for peace and women's rights in other ways.

Anna Jarvis is known as the real founder of Mother's Day. She is the real power behind the official establishment of Mother's Day all over America and world. After the death of her mother, she swore at her mother's gravesite to dedicate her life to her mother's project and establish a Mother's Day to honour mothers, living and dead, as her mother believed if families honoured their mother on a special day, the fighting and hatred would soon end. Anna Jarvis felt children often neglect their mother enough while she was still alive. She hoped that Mother's Day would increase respect for parents and strengthen family ties. There is a persistent rumour that Anna's grief was intensified because she and her mother had quarreled and her mother died before they could reconcile. In 1907, Anna had her first Mother's Day celebration with a small group of people. After that she started a letter writing campaign, which was the most successful letter writing campaign in history. Gradually people joined in her work, newspapers wrote editorials, people lobbied for it. Finally, the lawmakers started to recognise this celebration.

In 1910, the governor of West Virginia issued the first Mother's Day Proclamation. In the same year, Oklahoma celebrated Mother's Day.

By 1911, every state of America had its own observances. By then many countries including Mexico, China, Japan, South America, and Africa started to celebrate Mother's Day. On May 1914, Congress passed another joint resolution designating the second Sunday in May as Mother's Day. In the same year, President Woodrow Wilson issued the first proclamation making Mother's Day an official national holiday.

At the end of Anna Jarvis' life more than 40 countries celebrated Mother's Day. Today, Mother's Day is celebrated almost all over the world. Most celebrate this day on the second Sunday of May, just like America but there are some exceptions. Spain celebrates it on December 8, on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. They not only honour the mother of the family, also Mary, the mother of Jesus Christ. France celebrates it on the last Sunday of May. On this day, a special cake resembling a bouquet of flowers is presented to mothers at family dinners.

Mother's Day is a very special day for people. We all love our mother, but on this particular day we love to show that off. The consumers have taken this opportunity and today almost 96 percent of American consumers take part in some way on this day. Everything is on sale at stores, from shoes to dress, expensive jewelry to cosmetics, handbags, household items, greeting cards, gift cards to beauty parlors, spa, facial, manicure, pedicure, buying cakes, candies, dinner, etc. Mother's day is the busiest day for many restaurants. Without a reservation, people don't dare go to the restaurants because waiting lines can be a mile long. Florists look forward to this day, because this day is considered as one of the best sales days for them. People can order flowers on the phone or internet from anywhere in the world to be delivered at the doorstep of their mother.

Everyone is trying to make a profit on Mother's Day. They are creating new ideas to market their products, people are just falling into their traps. Anna Jarvis opposed the commercialisation of the Mother's Day. She said, "I wanted it to be a day of sentiment, not profit." We don't remember the main theme of Mother's Day. Anna Jarvis wanted people to spend quality time with their mother, she wanted people to send hand written letters to their mother, not beautiful cards with printed wishes that she called "a poor excuse for the letters you are too lazy to write." She opposed the selling of flowers and cards, she was even arrested while picketing the sale of flowers on Mother's Day. At the end of her life, she was so horrified and disgusted by the commercialisation of her dream child Mother's Day, and wished she hadn't started it.

On this Mother's Day, remembering the main ideology of this day, let's put some personal touch to the gift for our mother. Many families begin Mother's Day with breakfast in bed. Usually dad and kids will let mom sleep late as they go into the kitchen and prepare her favourite meal. The best way to celebrate Mother's Day is to give your mom the day off. Let her take it easy and relax while the rest of the family does the work. If you are able, visit mom in person. If you can't visit her, be sure to call her. Buy her something that you know she has been wanting. Also, many handmade gifts such as a nice picture with mom on a beautiful frame or old pictures of mom in a photo album, or a hand made shawl or scarf can be a good gift. To show our love, we don't need to spend a fortune. A favorite plant in a pot can brighten mom's day. A recipe book or a new set of stationary for writing letters can be very useful. Or you can take time off to run an errand for her. Be appreciative; don't wait after her funeral to let her know how much you appreciated her. If you have already bought a card, tuck a personal letter inside. Patch up a quarrel before it's too late. Make a meal for your mom or for another mom.

Most of all, instead of waiting for a particular day to tell mom, how much we love her, let's just do it more often. Let's visit or call her more frequently. Let's just remember love is not a can of water, it's like an ocean. It'll never end if we give it out everyday.

Happy Mother's Day!

Liza Rahman writes from New York, USA.

My book on Liberation War of Bangladesh

Kishorir Hcokhe Muktijuddho

http://books.google.com/books/about/Ki%C5%9Bor%C4%ABra_cokhe_muktiyuddha.html?id=D8YEMwAACAAJ


Oh! America
A book on the lives of Bangladeshis immigrants in the USA.
http://books.google.com/books/about/Oh_%C4%80y%C4%81merik%C4%81.html?id=S21pAAAACAAJ

Welcoming Bengali New Year

Article


By Lizi Rahman

Photo: Baishak at Ramna Park © Jean Sack

Photo at Ramna Park © Jean Sack [click to enlarge]Welcoming Bengali New Year

This year in New York, the winter seems long and bitter. Even though the calendar is announcing spring, it’s freezing. But I close my eyes and in my mind I can feel the hot summer breeze, and I can visualize thick and dark clouds of a “Kaal Baishakhi” storm (Kaal meaning very dangerous).

This time of the year, it gets very hot and humid in Bangladesh. All of a sudden, the sky changes color and numerous storms strike like thunderbolts. According to the Bengali calendar, it’s the end of the month Chaitra, the last month of the year. Soon, there will be Baishakh, the first month of the Bengali calendar, when thick smoky clouds cover the sky and strong gusts of wind shake the trees, blow them away, uproot them, rip off fruits from the trees, massacre houses. Despite the strong winds and heavy rain, the village children run to the backyard, and with enormous joy and glee, they collect the fallen raw mangoes, which are equally tasty when you eat them with a touch of salt and red chilli powder.

I was born and raised in Dhaka, the capital of Bangladesh. Very few people have a mango tree in their backyard in the city. Twice a year, I used to visit my maternal grandparents’ home in the countryside where there were plenty of mango trees. Whenever there was a ‘Kaal Baishakhi’, we would all run outside to see who could collect most mangoes.

The celebration of Bengali New Year is known as “Pahela Baishakh” or 1st Baishakh. The traditional way of celebrating it is called ‘Haal Khata’, which means New Ledger. All the storeowners would hold a special celebration on this day. All year long, they sell their merchandise on credit. On the first day of the year, they invite their customers, and offer them delicious Indian sweets. People flock to the stores, according to their ability they pay back all or some of their debts, eat sweets, chat and leave. I used to go to the local stores with my grandpa or uncles, and come home with a sweet memory. In the city, this tradition was dying even during my childhood.

On this day, people decorate their houses with intricate designs (alpana) using rice flour paste, in the front yard. This tradition can still be seen at weddings, in the front yards and hallways, but now they use white, red and yellow paint.

Groups of students, teachers and artists gather under a big banyan tree in Ramna Park before dawn. Huge crowds would gather under the shades of green trees by the beautifully flowing Ramna Lake. The women would wear white or cream-colored cotton sarees with red borders, and a red blouse. Part of their makeup is a bright red dot on their foreheads. Men would wear white or cream colored ‘Punjabi’ which is a long loose-fitting shirt, made of very fine cotton or silk over white pants. People would listen quietly to the welcoming song, and some would sing along. The performers would sing Tagore’s famous song “Esho he Baishakh, esho, esho…”, which means ‘Come Baishakh, come, come, with your hot airy breath, take away all our pain, blow away the trash of last year’.

Every time I hear the song, or even think of this song, its powerful words and melody give me goose bumps. I see the green grass and graceful trees of Ramna Park, the white sarees with red borders. Even after all these years, I can visualize everything; I can hear every single sound.

After the cultural performances, people would have breakfast with traditional rice and fried Hilsha fish. They cook paesh with milk, sugar and rice, which is similar to rice pudding. Then they would head for the Bangla Academy to attend the Mela to see and buy traditional handicrafts. People would come from distant villages to sell their handicrafts: potteries, decorative pieces made of bamboo, wood, or fabric. There would be manual ferris wheels called “Charkee”, and magic, puppet shows, an ancient version of a Broadway show (Jaitra), a poetic dialogue between poets (Kaabir larai), and many more.

Now it’s like history. I haven’t been to Bangladesh for more than ten years. But even though it’s not easy to keep track of the Bangla calendar, at the time of Bengali New Year, we feel nostalgic. It’s like our wedding ‘saree’, a very expensive six-yard long bright-red pure silk fabric with gold embroidery, which we rarely wear, but we dare not give away. Instead we take good care of this saree, for the memories.

It’s not easy to hang on to one’s traditions. But I must admit, it’s much easier in New York than other states. With the growing Bangladeshi community, there are many cultural organizations, Bengali newspapers and other resources. Despite our busy schedules, we try to get together in the evening of our new year. We attend cultural programs, wear white sarees with red borders, and a big bright red dot on our forehead. After the cultural shows, traditional Bengali food would be served.

No matter where we live, no matter what we do, no matter what our religion, on this day, we all become 100 percent Bengali and we are not ashamed to display that.

About the author:

Lizi Rahman, a Bangladeshi-American living in New York, wrote about the Bengali New Year for the Bangladesh International News last year. Jean Sack has asked her to let us republish it here. Lizi Rahman has just published a book on living in America