Killing the Water is a collection of twelve short stories by Mahmud Rahman published by Penguin Books. The author is a native of Bangladesh who has lived in the United States since the early 1970s. He has the rare quality of being versatile in both English and Bangla literature, having translated the stories of the late Mahmudul Huq into English and written a pioneering analysis of the transplant fiction of Kazi Anwar Hossein (of Masud Rana fame.)
The stories cover a lot of ground. They deal with themes ranging from the 1971 War of Liberation to racial violence experienced by a fresh immigrant in the United States. In between, we sample generous helpings of relationships and symbolism, unexpected multi-racial bondings, intimate details of Bangladeshi culture and affectionate remembrances of the way things were in that land in mid-20th century. And as you might expect, lots of water - ponds, rivers, rain, storms and cyclones.
Two things stand out about the collection. First is the depiction of details of rural Bangladesh in the mid-20th century. An example is the Tabij that Altaf, the protagonist of City Shoes in the Village, receives from his mother, and how he reacts to it. Some descriptions are almost photographic: eg, the way Moni scoops up the coconut flesh after drinking his Daab (Before the Monsoons Come), and the subtly class-conscious interaction between Reza the insurgent and the mango-seller (The Interrogation.)
The second is treatment of the migrant's experience of not quite belonging. In your heart of hearts, you don't really belong there because you are the perpetual newcomer. And since you have left home, you don't quite belong here, either. So you take refuge with other migrants of similar experiences (Yuralda, Neela) or people at the fringe (Carlotta.) This neurosis travels backward in time to afflict Moni (who should be a freedom fighter but cannot), and Altaf (who by throwing away the Tabij makes a valiant attempt to cut all ties to his own roots.)
Going back and forth through time is a common occurrence in these stories, as memories of the motherland dominate the psyche of many characters.
The writing style is varied and rich. There is epistolary narration, surreal rationalization of evil, bluesy loneliness and longing, and good old fast-moving storytelling.
The stories have momentum and keep the reader going. They are worth reading for their humane and insightful portrayal of people caught between worlds. The book was recently long-listed for the Frank O'Connor Prize. So go get yourself a copy and give it a whirl!
Showing posts with label NRB. Show all posts
Showing posts with label NRB. Show all posts
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Moving Back: Child's Point of View
NRB parents who are thinking of moving back: the essay at the bottom of this page might be of interest.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Can We Make Them Stay?
In March 2006, in the middle of my tenure at DataSoft (a Dhaka software company), we found ourselves searching for a pre-Sales Engineer - someone with both technical knowhow and customer savvy. We interviewed many candidates with no luck: usually the ones who spoke well did not understand technology, and the geeks could not express themselves well (as a test we asked them to present a talk on a topic they chose.)
We struck gold after the fifth or sixth interview. Khaled: a brilliant fellow, articulate, a patient listener who could earn the customer's trust, but technically sharp - he seemed to have it all. Towards the end of the interview I asked one of my favorite interview questions:
"What do you see yourself doing three years from now?"
"Living abroad, of course! I will get out of Bangladesh the first chance I get - probably within the next year."
His answer struck me with blinding force. All these years I had been on the other side of the fence (having left when I was 16.) Suddenly I realized what others who had stayed back and tried build the country had faced when so many of our talented and well-educated kids left.
Within the past week I heard of two other cases of bright, one-in-a-million types who have left the country. One had started a well-thought-out Web 2.0 startup 3-4 years ago. I saw one of his papers in a Microsoft MSDN guide and was very impressed, only to be told the bad news that he was no longer around having first gone to Malaysia and then to the US. Another person I heard of got a job at Microsoft even before he graduated from college and took off. This person was apparently quite the genius. And every year our ACM champions get picked up by Google, Microsoft or other global companies.
Ok... so what? Those who want to leave will leave, right? Perhaps. But perhaps some of them would have stayed back if the right incentives were offered. In whatever IT strategy we have as a nation, we have never tried to address this issue. People like the cases above should be offered golden handcuffs. They ought to be treated as princes (or princesses) and every resource should be put at their disposal so they are able to build a globally successful IT business from right here in Bangladesh.
Only then will we get that success story that we need for the dam to break and our IT industry to break throgh to the next level.
In the meantime, let us also not forget our IT pioneers - the ones who have stayed back and who are fighting on the IT frontlines every day, sometimes against very difficult odds - with the respect, resources and support that they deserve. It is because of them that we even have an IT industry in Bangladesh.
We struck gold after the fifth or sixth interview. Khaled: a brilliant fellow, articulate, a patient listener who could earn the customer's trust, but technically sharp - he seemed to have it all. Towards the end of the interview I asked one of my favorite interview questions:
"What do you see yourself doing three years from now?"
"Living abroad, of course! I will get out of Bangladesh the first chance I get - probably within the next year."
His answer struck me with blinding force. All these years I had been on the other side of the fence (having left when I was 16.) Suddenly I realized what others who had stayed back and tried build the country had faced when so many of our talented and well-educated kids left.
Within the past week I heard of two other cases of bright, one-in-a-million types who have left the country. One had started a well-thought-out Web 2.0 startup 3-4 years ago. I saw one of his papers in a Microsoft MSDN guide and was very impressed, only to be told the bad news that he was no longer around having first gone to Malaysia and then to the US. Another person I heard of got a job at Microsoft even before he graduated from college and took off. This person was apparently quite the genius. And every year our ACM champions get picked up by Google, Microsoft or other global companies.
Ok... so what? Those who want to leave will leave, right? Perhaps. But perhaps some of them would have stayed back if the right incentives were offered. In whatever IT strategy we have as a nation, we have never tried to address this issue. People like the cases above should be offered golden handcuffs. They ought to be treated as princes (or princesses) and every resource should be put at their disposal so they are able to build a globally successful IT business from right here in Bangladesh.
Only then will we get that success story that we need for the dam to break and our IT industry to break throgh to the next level.
In the meantime, let us also not forget our IT pioneers - the ones who have stayed back and who are fighting on the IT frontlines every day, sometimes against very difficult odds - with the respect, resources and support that they deserve. It is because of them that we even have an IT industry in Bangladesh.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Numbers
Ever since rice prices went through the roof, a set of numbers have made their way around my head. Price of 1 kg of rice: Tk 28 ->30 ->32 ->35 ->38 ->40 in some places (I am talking about the fattest grain, cheapest rice.) Kgs of rice needed to feed a family of four for a day: 2 kg or more. Price of dal: > Tk 60/kg. Daily cost of rental in a Tong room: 50 Tk. Fuel to cook for one day: Tk 15-20.
The average that a day-laborer makes in a day: Tk 150-200 for men, 100-120 for women. Rickshawallahs make a little more, maybe 220. And this means working every day, come rain or, as in today, blistering hot sun. The working person at the bottom rung of the ladder does not yet starve, but is coming awfully close. Touch and go - if they miss one day of work, there are no safety nets to help them.
------------------------------
Meanwhile... I chatted with Ifty Islam on a couple of occasions. He has recently set up shop in Dhaka - a Private Equity firm called Asian Tiger Capital Partners. Ifty comes with impressive credentials, including Managing Director of Deutsche Bank Securities in London. His goal is to attract Foreign Investment into Bangladesh. AT is thinking large numbers - their writeup on Bangladesh suggests FDI inflow of USD 7Bn by 2015 is possible (FDI inflow in 2007 was USD 450Mn approx.)
So... what is "Private Equity?" Traditionally, private equity refers to private investors pooling funds together and buying out existing, mature businesses and then reshaping or reselling them. I think Ifty's model is more along the lines of getting foreign investors to invest in businesses in Bangladesh that are unable to expand - even though they have good ideas, branding, and opportunities - because of lack of capital. He is also open to venture funds, but that does not appear to be the main thrust of the business.
NRBs play a critical role in Ifty's vision of Bangladesh development. He wants to "brand" Bangladesh as a success story and make it a self-fulfilling prophecy. NRBs can help in every step. Ifty has put his money where his mouth is; one hopes AT Capital succeeds by attracting lots of investment, generating good returns for investors, and, most importantly, contributig towards Bangladesh's development.
--------------------------------
It is almost surreal to think of the numbers in these two scenarios. Between them, they capture the dilemmas and frustrations of a developing country that needs to feed its people today, while thinking and building big for tomorrow.
The average that a day-laborer makes in a day: Tk 150-200 for men, 100-120 for women. Rickshawallahs make a little more, maybe 220. And this means working every day, come rain or, as in today, blistering hot sun. The working person at the bottom rung of the ladder does not yet starve, but is coming awfully close. Touch and go - if they miss one day of work, there are no safety nets to help them.
------------------------------
Meanwhile... I chatted with Ifty Islam on a couple of occasions. He has recently set up shop in Dhaka - a Private Equity firm called Asian Tiger Capital Partners. Ifty comes with impressive credentials, including Managing Director of Deutsche Bank Securities in London. His goal is to attract Foreign Investment into Bangladesh. AT is thinking large numbers - their writeup on Bangladesh suggests FDI inflow of USD 7Bn by 2015 is possible (FDI inflow in 2007 was USD 450Mn approx.)
So... what is "Private Equity?" Traditionally, private equity refers to private investors pooling funds together and buying out existing, mature businesses and then reshaping or reselling them. I think Ifty's model is more along the lines of getting foreign investors to invest in businesses in Bangladesh that are unable to expand - even though they have good ideas, branding, and opportunities - because of lack of capital. He is also open to venture funds, but that does not appear to be the main thrust of the business.
NRBs play a critical role in Ifty's vision of Bangladesh development. He wants to "brand" Bangladesh as a success story and make it a self-fulfilling prophecy. NRBs can help in every step. Ifty has put his money where his mouth is; one hopes AT Capital succeeds by attracting lots of investment, generating good returns for investors, and, most importantly, contributig towards Bangladesh's development.
--------------------------------
It is almost surreal to think of the numbers in these two scenarios. Between them, they capture the dilemmas and frustrations of a developing country that needs to feed its people today, while thinking and building big for tomorrow.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
A Good Father
A main reason I returned to Bangladesh in 2005 after three decades abroad was so I could spend time with my aging father.
Four days ago my father had a severe heart attack. When I found out that he had fallen ill in Sylhet, I took the next flight from Dhaka and brought him here on the same plane. From the airport I took him straight to Apollo Emergency. But it was too late. He passed away the next morning.
Thus, my return to Bangladesh was indeed a true blessing, because I was able to spend time with my father the last two and a half years. I just wish I had a little longer time with him.
For many NRBs this is the classic fear: getting that phone call from home during a medical crisis while so far away. But look what happened - I was so close and still I could not get there on time.
Which leads me to think that the price of living abroad is not so much that we are not there during times of crisis of family members. It is the time spent doing everyday things, year after year, away from parents (well, unless you are lucky enough to have your parents near you.)
After all, time is the most precious thing we have in life, and I am very grateful to God that I was able to spend these 2.5 years close to my father.
More on my father here .
He was a good man and the best father one could wish for.
ps, I am very unhappy with the restrictive visitor rules at Apollo.
Four days ago my father had a severe heart attack. When I found out that he had fallen ill in Sylhet, I took the next flight from Dhaka and brought him here on the same plane. From the airport I took him straight to Apollo Emergency. But it was too late. He passed away the next morning.
Thus, my return to Bangladesh was indeed a true blessing, because I was able to spend time with my father the last two and a half years. I just wish I had a little longer time with him.
For many NRBs this is the classic fear: getting that phone call from home during a medical crisis while so far away. But look what happened - I was so close and still I could not get there on time.
Which leads me to think that the price of living abroad is not so much that we are not there during times of crisis of family members. It is the time spent doing everyday things, year after year, away from parents (well, unless you are lucky enough to have your parents near you.)
After all, time is the most precious thing we have in life, and I am very grateful to God that I was able to spend these 2.5 years close to my father.
More on my father here .
He was a good man and the best father one could wish for.
ps, I am very unhappy with the restrictive visitor rules at Apollo.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Bangla Signs in Singapore
Singapore has many Bangladeshis. I understand once it was 250,000 but the number has decreased because now they are also hiring from Thailand, Indonesia and the Philippines. Most of the Bangladeshis there work in construction, but there are also white collar workers in various banks and other corporations.
During my last visit in 1996, I was excited to find just one restaurant with a Bangla signboard in the Serangoon (Little India) neighborhood. This time I found an entire neighborhood of Bangladeshi stores and businesses. Here are some Bangla signs.
The square behind Mustapha's store where I found many Bangladeshi stores:
Some signs in Bangla:
The humongous Mustapha store (I heard they even arrange flights from Bangalore in which the IT crowd flies in for a shopping holiday, stay at Mustapha's hotel, shop at Mustapha store, and fly back):
Biriyani Ahoy!
Lungi store - I saw many men wandering around in Lungis:
During my last visit in 1996, I was excited to find just one restaurant with a Bangla signboard in the Serangoon (Little India) neighborhood. This time I found an entire neighborhood of Bangladeshi stores and businesses. Here are some Bangla signs.
The square behind Mustapha's store where I found many Bangladeshi stores:
Some signs in Bangla:
The humongous Mustapha store (I heard they even arrange flights from Bangalore in which the IT crowd flies in for a shopping holiday, stay at Mustapha's hotel, shop at Mustapha store, and fly back):
Biriyani Ahoy!
Lungi store - I saw many men wandering around in Lungis:
Friday, July 13, 2007
NRB Disillusionments
During my recent trip to Silicon Valley, I repeatedly asked my Non Resident Bangladeshi friends to at least think about working in Bd. So, how badly does Bd need skilled managerial, business and IT skills? Example: there are at least 100,000 Indians who hold high-paid jobs in Bangladesh (BOI has issued 65000 work visas to Indians, and the rest are there temporarily or with other visas). While I do not begrudge them one bit - they bring a lot of value to our businesses (eg, Unilever Bd, headed by a group of Indians, is one of the most profitable branches of Unilever) - surely, this number indicates the need for talent, right?
Guess what I repeatedly heard back from my NRB friends? "Yeah, sure, they will pay Indians or other foreigners well, but as soon as they see another Bangladeshi - no matter how much American experience they have - Bangladeshi organizations will not want to pay high salaries."
Is this really true? Anyone have real experiences? Certainly my short experience with the BD IT sector indicates otherwise - there was no end to the ways in which the IT community made me feel welcome back home - but maybe I am an exception or did not have grand enough expectations?
While in Singapore, I was talking with another friend, originally from Bangladesh, who used to work for a US-based Fortune 100 company. As an executive of this company, he had spent 2.5 years pursuing a grand vision for a manufacturing plant in Bangladesh which, in the end, had come to naught. He fought battles both internal (so-and-so Minister asking for Ghush, being tripped up by powerful businessmen, etc) and external (forces at his multinational which did not want this large work going to Bangladesh.) As I lobbied him yet again to consider a position in Bd, he shook his head, saying the experience had left him with too much bitter taste.
So... what gives? A serious impedance mismatch? Can't this be fixed? Is this our Khaislat?
Guess what I repeatedly heard back from my NRB friends? "Yeah, sure, they will pay Indians or other foreigners well, but as soon as they see another Bangladeshi - no matter how much American experience they have - Bangladeshi organizations will not want to pay high salaries."
Is this really true? Anyone have real experiences? Certainly my short experience with the BD IT sector indicates otherwise - there was no end to the ways in which the IT community made me feel welcome back home - but maybe I am an exception or did not have grand enough expectations?
While in Singapore, I was talking with another friend, originally from Bangladesh, who used to work for a US-based Fortune 100 company. As an executive of this company, he had spent 2.5 years pursuing a grand vision for a manufacturing plant in Bangladesh which, in the end, had come to naught. He fought battles both internal (so-and-so Minister asking for Ghush, being tripped up by powerful businessmen, etc) and external (forces at his multinational which did not want this large work going to Bangladesh.) As I lobbied him yet again to consider a position in Bd, he shook his head, saying the experience had left him with too much bitter taste.
So... what gives? A serious impedance mismatch? Can't this be fixed? Is this our Khaislat?
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Bank Experience
Some days ago, I had to go to a (govt) bank for some business. This is not my "normal" bank, but my Father maintains his account there. So I go there, say, once every 2-3 months. I was wearing a short sleeve shirt, casual pants and sneakers. I had to open the door myself despite the sentry sitting inside - he could not be bothered. The bank officials did their work for me, but only after my pushing and prodding. They were not exactly cooperative or helpful. And as I was leaving I barely restrained myself from yelling at the sentry because he would not get up and open the door for me.
So I was annoyed and weighed whether to go back and yell at all of them. After all, my Father has banked with them for 20+ years.
Instead, another opportunity presented itself. I had to return in a couple of days for another errand. But instead of preparing for a fight, I tried an experiment. I put on a nice shirt, creased pants, a blazer, and a pair of black leather shoes. And wore a serious scowl on my face.
Voila! At my approach, the sentry stood up, opened the door and saluted me smartly. The bank officials were all very cooperative and I got the errand done in record time!
Lesson: if you are going to a (govt) bank in Bd, dress better than anyone working in there and act mean!
So I was annoyed and weighed whether to go back and yell at all of them. After all, my Father has banked with them for 20+ years.
Instead, another opportunity presented itself. I had to return in a couple of days for another errand. But instead of preparing for a fight, I tried an experiment. I put on a nice shirt, creased pants, a blazer, and a pair of black leather shoes. And wore a serious scowl on my face.
Voila! At my approach, the sentry stood up, opened the door and saluted me smartly. The bank officials were all very cooperative and I got the errand done in record time!
Lesson: if you are going to a (govt) bank in Bd, dress better than anyone working in there and act mean!
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Laptop Repair
One of our laptops had an, erm, accident. Water was spilled on the keyboard. It refused to power up after that. We tried to dry it out for several days; still it would not work.
My friend Bappu pointed me to a repair shop in Elephant Road called Imex. It is a down-to-earth place on the second floor near "Bata Intersection." It is run by one Asif who has HP/Compaq certification for supporting PC and laptop repairs. I knew I was in good hands when I entered because Asif glanced at my (closed) laptop and guessed the right model number (1700T.)
Well, they fixed it! Luckily the motherboard was ok, but Asif had said they could even replace that if need be. Charge was Tk 1000 (for labor and some minor cleaning up and PC board re-soldering.)
Amazing.
My friend Bappu pointed me to a repair shop in Elephant Road called Imex. It is a down-to-earth place on the second floor near "Bata Intersection." It is run by one Asif who has HP/Compaq certification for supporting PC and laptop repairs. I knew I was in good hands when I entered because Asif glanced at my (closed) laptop and guessed the right model number (1700T.)
Well, they fixed it! Luckily the motherboard was ok, but Asif had said they could even replace that if need be. Charge was Tk 1000 (for labor and some minor cleaning up and PC board re-soldering.)
Amazing.
Friday, January 19, 2007
A Visit to the Clinic
I crashed my racing bicycle the other day (entirely my fault.) One of the resulting wounds needed checking out. A doctor friend recommended another doctor, who happens to work in a "middle-class" clinic near Kolabagan (as opposed to, say, Apollo or United Hospitals.) When I called the doctor he asked me to come by his clinic.
I went with some trepidation. My past experiences with most Dhaka doctors and clinics, from the 1970s and 80s, had been dreadful (unless I went to my doctor friend or cousin for help.) There were nightmarish memories of obnoxious doctors, waiting forever and not getting to see them, and bad diagnoses. My worries were made worse as I walked into the second floor, where the doctors' chambers was. There were many many people milling around, some standing because there were not enough chairs. There appeared to be no way of keeping track of the order of patients.
I looked around to find the receptionist and tell them about my arrival, but none was there. Eventually I found a payment booth and talked to the man there. He in turn yelled "Jahangir! Jahangir!". Turned out Jahangir was the receptionist and gatekeeper to the doctor I wanted to see, and he was in constant motion, moving around the patients, then to the doctor chambers, and so on. I gave him my information and asked him to convey to the doctor. A little later he said the doctor had asked me to wait, since he was doing an emergency surgery.
I settled into a chair and watched the other patients. A nervous father and mother brought in a teenager daughter with a big burn covering her forehead. The girl was completely quiet. People freely talked to strangers about what was afflicting them. The man sitting next to me apparently had a very bad pain in his foot for no apparent reason - as I overheard him talking to another fellow he had just met.
Many men were in blazers or suits and ties. They held X-Rays and Lab Reports like medals of valor. There was a window behind my chair from where one could buy snacks - at very reasonable prices. Potato chips were a hit. I guess you get hungry waiting for the doctor. A patient bought two sets of soft-drink and chips and gave one set to the payment booth man - saying "You need to eat" - and walked off.
Another doctor walked through the hallway to his office. A small procession of patients followed him to the door of his office, at which point his gatekeeper decided whom he could see. Some of the patients stood up respectfully and offered their salams as he passed them beaming in a divine manner.
After about an hour of waiting, I asked Jahangir how much longer. He said the doctor was almost done with the surgery and would be here shortly. So I sat down again. Although I was running out of patience, I told myself it was really really important that I not lose this waiting-game. Then it would become a black-mark in my experiences here.
The doctor finally arrived, about an hour after my arrival. He saw several patients (mostly young children and women) before seeing me. I was very impressed at the way he examined my wound, listened to me, and pointed out the diagnosis (nothing serious.) My impression of Bangladeshi doctors improved considerably after this encounter.
As I came out of the office I saw the crowd had thinned. Many had already seen their doctor. One guy was wondering aloud if he could get a rickshaw to take him to Nakhalpara. Some had given up and left for the night. Once I had gotten past the fear of the crowd, I came away with a renewed respect for the patience and forbearance of the middle-class Bangladeshi.
I went with some trepidation. My past experiences with most Dhaka doctors and clinics, from the 1970s and 80s, had been dreadful (unless I went to my doctor friend or cousin for help.) There were nightmarish memories of obnoxious doctors, waiting forever and not getting to see them, and bad diagnoses. My worries were made worse as I walked into the second floor, where the doctors' chambers was. There were many many people milling around, some standing because there were not enough chairs. There appeared to be no way of keeping track of the order of patients.
I looked around to find the receptionist and tell them about my arrival, but none was there. Eventually I found a payment booth and talked to the man there. He in turn yelled "Jahangir! Jahangir!". Turned out Jahangir was the receptionist and gatekeeper to the doctor I wanted to see, and he was in constant motion, moving around the patients, then to the doctor chambers, and so on. I gave him my information and asked him to convey to the doctor. A little later he said the doctor had asked me to wait, since he was doing an emergency surgery.
I settled into a chair and watched the other patients. A nervous father and mother brought in a teenager daughter with a big burn covering her forehead. The girl was completely quiet. People freely talked to strangers about what was afflicting them. The man sitting next to me apparently had a very bad pain in his foot for no apparent reason - as I overheard him talking to another fellow he had just met.
Many men were in blazers or suits and ties. They held X-Rays and Lab Reports like medals of valor. There was a window behind my chair from where one could buy snacks - at very reasonable prices. Potato chips were a hit. I guess you get hungry waiting for the doctor. A patient bought two sets of soft-drink and chips and gave one set to the payment booth man - saying "You need to eat" - and walked off.
Another doctor walked through the hallway to his office. A small procession of patients followed him to the door of his office, at which point his gatekeeper decided whom he could see. Some of the patients stood up respectfully and offered their salams as he passed them beaming in a divine manner.
After about an hour of waiting, I asked Jahangir how much longer. He said the doctor was almost done with the surgery and would be here shortly. So I sat down again. Although I was running out of patience, I told myself it was really really important that I not lose this waiting-game. Then it would become a black-mark in my experiences here.
The doctor finally arrived, about an hour after my arrival. He saw several patients (mostly young children and women) before seeing me. I was very impressed at the way he examined my wound, listened to me, and pointed out the diagnosis (nothing serious.) My impression of Bangladeshi doctors improved considerably after this encounter.
As I came out of the office I saw the crowd had thinned. Many had already seen their doctor. One guy was wondering aloud if he could get a rickshaw to take him to Nakhalpara. Some had given up and left for the night. Once I had gotten past the fear of the crowd, I came away with a renewed respect for the patience and forbearance of the middle-class Bangladeshi.
Friday, January 12, 2007
People, Space, Privacy
I wrote this essay for the Daily Star Weekend Magazine as an ongoing exploration of my re-education as a Bangladeshi.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
In the Land of Cup and Lip: Becoming a Bangladeshi Again
[A slightly different version of this essay appears in The Daily Star Weekend Magazine today. Notes for non-Bengali readers follow the essay.]
After living 30 years abroad, I have returned to Bangladesh. I am re-learning how to live in my native land. While rediscovering many sights, sounds and tastes from my childhood, I am also evolving a new way of living that echoes the rhythm of life here.
Take the seasons for example. Sure, I knew Bangladesh has six, but over the years I had grown clueless about their bounties. Not any more. As Grishho (summer) approaches, all my thoughts turn to Rajshahi mangoes. Water covering miles of fields in Borsha (rainy season) does not unsettle me because in Hemonto (late autumn) I will see the same fields glowing golden with paddyfields. Shorot (early autumn) brings Shaplas of more colors than I had imagined. In Sheet (winter), during an orange-green sunset, I watch the fog roll into the tea garden hills. As Boshonto (spring) emerges from winter, bright orange Krishnochuras set the sky aflame.
I fathom nature's mysteries with patience, but man-made ones stump me. Why do rickshaws have two brake-handles but only one works? What are those towels on the back of officers' chairs for? Why is a job titled "Senior Assistant" when those words mean "Senior Junior?" Why is personal integrity so rare that we point out so-and-so is an "honest" officer as if they were a rare Doodhraj bird (paradise flycatcher)? When I need directions, why does one who does not know insist on being helpful and point me the wrong way? Why do cars blink hazard lights when they are crossing an intersection? And what is a "Gatelock" bus?
Of life's uncertainties, Shakespeare said, "Many a slip 'twixt cup and lip." Living in Bangladesh, the land of cup and lip, I must accord uncertainty its due stature. Making a weekend plan for a short trip out of town? A hartal strikes. Going to an important business meeting? Sorry, my counterpart's aunt died and he is absent from office. Flying overseas tomorrow? At 8pm the night before my travel agent carrying my ticket is stuck in traffic.
With growing uncertainty comes less privacy. At a government office a visitor inadvertently entertains us by discussing private business with the officer in front of five other visitors like me. Back in my own office, a one-on-one discussion regarding an employee's performance issues is interrupted several times as people walk in for various reasons.
I quickly learn to be mistrustful of unexpected privacy. Choosing to walk on the right side of a bridge because everyone else is on the left, I soon discover the reason for my privacy: this side harbors a hidden garbage dump emitting noxious stench.
Following other pedestrians’ footsteps, I compulsively avoid climbing pedestrian overpasses when crossing the road. If I need to cross the road, I will brave oncoming traffic, jump over traffic islands, and risk getting my jeans ripped by barbed wires placed precisely to discourage jaywalkers like me. That overpass is for sissies, not Real Bangladeshis.
Unexpected new words or phrases tell me that even the language has changed. Some, like Bhasha Shoinik referring to those who fought in the Language Movement of the 1950s and 60s, are powerful additions. Shopkeepers seeking class insist their goods, once shosta (cheap), are now shasroyee (inexpensive). But who let irritations like aalga pechail and kora mishTi into this sweet language of mine? Best of all, I hear villagers say Bangla to mean Bangladeshi (“He is a Bangla”), silencing the tedious "Bangladeshi" vs "Bengali" arguments.
Fears that dogged me during the early days of my return slowly recede. The risk of dengue from a mosquito bite sustained during the day no longer keeps me awake at night. Nor do I hunt down the blood-engorged mosquito to check for white stripes as I once did, because this knowledge is utterly useless a posteriori. Food adulteration, traffic accidents, pollution and noise - these are all reduced from unacceptable to mere nuisance.
While fears reduce, death becomes a bigger part of life. I find that we Bangladeshis have trouble letting go of our dead, starting with our two long gone political leaders who, after so many years, still tower over national politics. The newspapers are full of notices of not just some prominent person who recently passed away, but also of 10th, 15th or even the 20th anniversary of important peoples' death! Many of these influential people achieved much because of their focus on the present. Yet, here we are, harping on the past, invoking their memory for sentimental - or worse, manipulative - reasons.
In a bid to shake off morbid thoughts, I explore the parks and gardens. I observe the elegance of the Bulbuli as it weaves in and out of the flowers, and marvel at the resourceful Shalik consistently managing to find food on the roadside. I watch with suspense as a Cheel dives into the water to grab lunch, and my heart jumps with the Fingey as it flicks its long V-shaped tail swinging on electric wires and then swoosh! zips away. I feel – however fleetingly - the profundity of Jibananda Das's words:
"You all can go wherever you want
I will stay right here in Bangla".
The sweetest rewards come unexpectedly. Biting into a LoTkon fruit after thirty years, my mind is flooded with childhood memories, like Proust's character Swann experienced when he tasted a madeleine cookie in "Remembrance of Things Past."
I gauge my progress towards my goal during chance encounters with the locals. Like the time when I am bicycling through a village in Rupganj area. A boy, barely ten, stops me, points to a tall Kamranga tree full of ripe juicy fruit, and offers to climb it and pick some, free of charge. "Want to try it, sir, it is very sweet", he asks me. I had forgotten how unbelievably hospitable, friendly and generous Bangladeshi villagers are. I realize that attaining this level of being Bangladeshi will be tough.
[Notes for non-Bangladeshi readers:
1. Bangladesh has 6 seasons: Summer, Rainy Season, Early Fall, Late Fall, Winter and Spring. In Bengali these are Grishho, Borsha, Shorot, Hemonto, Sheet, Boshonto. The language is Bengali (aka Bangla.)
2. Rajshahi in northern Bangladesh is famous for its sweet mangoes.
3. Shapla, a water-lily, is the national flower of Bangladesh.
4. Bangladeshi rickshaws have two brake handles but only one is attached to a (front) brake. There is no brake at the rear.
5. A hartal is political protest that shuts down shops and most traffic for the day. Offices usually remain open.
6. The Language Movement, from the 1950s, was a people’s movement in Bangladesh (then East Pakistan) to promote Bengali and resist the adoption of Urdu (spoken only in West Pakistan) as the national language.
7. Aalga Pechail means “unnecessary complicated talk” and Kora Misti means “very sweet” (used by fruitsellers.)
8. Shalik, bulbul, fingey and cheel are birds of sturnidae, nightingale, drongo and kite families.
9. Jibananda Das, a Bengali poet, is best-known for his celebration of natural beauty of the region.
10. You can reach Rupganj in an hour of bicycling from Dhaka’s diplomatic zone.
11. Kamranga is starfruit. LoTkon is a local fruit, intensely tangy with a nice flavor.
After living 30 years abroad, I have returned to Bangladesh. I am re-learning how to live in my native land. While rediscovering many sights, sounds and tastes from my childhood, I am also evolving a new way of living that echoes the rhythm of life here.
Take the seasons for example. Sure, I knew Bangladesh has six, but over the years I had grown clueless about their bounties. Not any more. As Grishho (summer) approaches, all my thoughts turn to Rajshahi mangoes. Water covering miles of fields in Borsha (rainy season) does not unsettle me because in Hemonto (late autumn) I will see the same fields glowing golden with paddyfields. Shorot (early autumn) brings Shaplas of more colors than I had imagined. In Sheet (winter), during an orange-green sunset, I watch the fog roll into the tea garden hills. As Boshonto (spring) emerges from winter, bright orange Krishnochuras set the sky aflame.
I fathom nature's mysteries with patience, but man-made ones stump me. Why do rickshaws have two brake-handles but only one works? What are those towels on the back of officers' chairs for? Why is a job titled "Senior Assistant" when those words mean "Senior Junior?" Why is personal integrity so rare that we point out so-and-so is an "honest" officer as if they were a rare Doodhraj bird (paradise flycatcher)? When I need directions, why does one who does not know insist on being helpful and point me the wrong way? Why do cars blink hazard lights when they are crossing an intersection? And what is a "Gatelock" bus?
Of life's uncertainties, Shakespeare said, "Many a slip 'twixt cup and lip." Living in Bangladesh, the land of cup and lip, I must accord uncertainty its due stature. Making a weekend plan for a short trip out of town? A hartal strikes. Going to an important business meeting? Sorry, my counterpart's aunt died and he is absent from office. Flying overseas tomorrow? At 8pm the night before my travel agent carrying my ticket is stuck in traffic.
With growing uncertainty comes less privacy. At a government office a visitor inadvertently entertains us by discussing private business with the officer in front of five other visitors like me. Back in my own office, a one-on-one discussion regarding an employee's performance issues is interrupted several times as people walk in for various reasons.
I quickly learn to be mistrustful of unexpected privacy. Choosing to walk on the right side of a bridge because everyone else is on the left, I soon discover the reason for my privacy: this side harbors a hidden garbage dump emitting noxious stench.
Following other pedestrians’ footsteps, I compulsively avoid climbing pedestrian overpasses when crossing the road. If I need to cross the road, I will brave oncoming traffic, jump over traffic islands, and risk getting my jeans ripped by barbed wires placed precisely to discourage jaywalkers like me. That overpass is for sissies, not Real Bangladeshis.
Unexpected new words or phrases tell me that even the language has changed. Some, like Bhasha Shoinik referring to those who fought in the Language Movement of the 1950s and 60s, are powerful additions. Shopkeepers seeking class insist their goods, once shosta (cheap), are now shasroyee (inexpensive). But who let irritations like aalga pechail and kora mishTi into this sweet language of mine? Best of all, I hear villagers say Bangla to mean Bangladeshi (“He is a Bangla”), silencing the tedious "Bangladeshi" vs "Bengali" arguments.
Fears that dogged me during the early days of my return slowly recede. The risk of dengue from a mosquito bite sustained during the day no longer keeps me awake at night. Nor do I hunt down the blood-engorged mosquito to check for white stripes as I once did, because this knowledge is utterly useless a posteriori. Food adulteration, traffic accidents, pollution and noise - these are all reduced from unacceptable to mere nuisance.
While fears reduce, death becomes a bigger part of life. I find that we Bangladeshis have trouble letting go of our dead, starting with our two long gone political leaders who, after so many years, still tower over national politics. The newspapers are full of notices of not just some prominent person who recently passed away, but also of 10th, 15th or even the 20th anniversary of important peoples' death! Many of these influential people achieved much because of their focus on the present. Yet, here we are, harping on the past, invoking their memory for sentimental - or worse, manipulative - reasons.
In a bid to shake off morbid thoughts, I explore the parks and gardens. I observe the elegance of the Bulbuli as it weaves in and out of the flowers, and marvel at the resourceful Shalik consistently managing to find food on the roadside. I watch with suspense as a Cheel dives into the water to grab lunch, and my heart jumps with the Fingey as it flicks its long V-shaped tail swinging on electric wires and then swoosh! zips away. I feel – however fleetingly - the profundity of Jibananda Das's words:
"You all can go wherever you want
I will stay right here in Bangla".
The sweetest rewards come unexpectedly. Biting into a LoTkon fruit after thirty years, my mind is flooded with childhood memories, like Proust's character Swann experienced when he tasted a madeleine cookie in "Remembrance of Things Past."
I gauge my progress towards my goal during chance encounters with the locals. Like the time when I am bicycling through a village in Rupganj area. A boy, barely ten, stops me, points to a tall Kamranga tree full of ripe juicy fruit, and offers to climb it and pick some, free of charge. "Want to try it, sir, it is very sweet", he asks me. I had forgotten how unbelievably hospitable, friendly and generous Bangladeshi villagers are. I realize that attaining this level of being Bangladeshi will be tough.
[Notes for non-Bangladeshi readers:
1. Bangladesh has 6 seasons: Summer, Rainy Season, Early Fall, Late Fall, Winter and Spring. In Bengali these are Grishho, Borsha, Shorot, Hemonto, Sheet, Boshonto. The language is Bengali (aka Bangla.)
2. Rajshahi in northern Bangladesh is famous for its sweet mangoes.
3. Shapla, a water-lily, is the national flower of Bangladesh.
4. Bangladeshi rickshaws have two brake handles but only one is attached to a (front) brake. There is no brake at the rear.
5. A hartal is political protest that shuts down shops and most traffic for the day. Offices usually remain open.
6. The Language Movement, from the 1950s, was a people’s movement in Bangladesh (then East Pakistan) to promote Bengali and resist the adoption of Urdu (spoken only in West Pakistan) as the national language.
7. Aalga Pechail means “unnecessary complicated talk” and Kora Misti means “very sweet” (used by fruitsellers.)
8. Shalik, bulbul, fingey and cheel are birds of sturnidae, nightingale, drongo and kite families.
9. Jibananda Das, a Bengali poet, is best-known for his celebration of natural beauty of the region.
10. You can reach Rupganj in an hour of bicycling from Dhaka’s diplomatic zone.
11. Kamranga is starfruit. LoTkon is a local fruit, intensely tangy with a nice flavor.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
NRBs Deciding to Return to Bangladesh
Many NRBs (non-resident Bangladeshis) dream of returning to live in Bangladesh: it's a basic human instinct. For some, the dream keeps getting postponed. Reasons come up: financial security, kids' education, occupation upon return, spousal support or lack thereof etc etc. Others decide and take the plunge.
While living in the US, my wife and I also wanted to return to Bangladesh, mostly for parental reasons. But our wishes did not synchronise often. We both loved the US (and still do) and were chasing our goals one way or another. The first time both of us simultaneously wanted to return, in 2005, we did it. Lock stock and barrel.
That's right. We really believe that it is such a big jump (specially if you have lived abroad for long) that the only way to make the change is to be totally committed to it. For us at least, "let's give it a try for 6 months" approach was not going to work.
Events proved we were right in our thinking. Three weeks after returning here, 500+ bombs went off (Aug 17, 2005) all over Bangladesh. Do you think if we had been in "trying out" mode we would have stayed here after that? But we stuck it out, because our firm decision gave us the courage to face the uncertainty.
One immense help in deciding was the general encouragement and prayers of our friends in Silicon Valley (as well as our elder relatives everywhere.) I recall that through the nerve-wracking process of decision-making - and the consequences of that decision such as putting up our house for sale - the encouragement of elders and well-wishing friends were like a calm, steadying force.
It was therefore with disappointment that I heard a story this morning of another NRB family who had decided to return home. When they announced the decision to their (NRB) friends, the reaction was more like "Have you gone mad?" No, this talented, brave, energetic and skillful family has not gone mad. They have made a sane but big decision about where to spend their time and effort on this planet, and need all the support they can get from his friends.
After all, isn't Time really all we have in this world? So isn't it important how and where we decide to spend it?
Bangladesh needs NRBs back here - specially those with skills that are in short supply. Businesses, universities and organizations here need talent in so many areas: management, IT, teaching, banking, pharmaceuticals, healthcare, etc etc.
Many organizations in Bangladesh hire non-Bangladeshis because Bangladeshis are simply not available. I heard - unconfirmed - there are 100,000 expat Indians working in Dhaka firms and organizations, not to mention other Asian and European expats. Don't get me wrong - I do not begrudge them one bit. On the contrary, I believe they contribute a lot to this country and economy, train our people, and help us become more cosmopolitan. However, the numbers show the need for skilled talent in this country.
Lest you think I am painting a rosy picture, let me also say that if you do make the jump, only you can decide your and your family's future and well-being here. This means looking for a job or starting a business or deciding in some other way how to a) support your family and b) put your talent to good use.
Of course, you would have to fight the usual battles: kids education, commute, healthcare, security, food-bhejal, etc etc. But others living here also fight those battles every day, don't they?
And if all goes well, and Bangladesh grows like she is predicted to, then your lot will also improve with that.
It takes courage to make the decision. If someone you know decides, please give them your support and pray for them. If you decide, I wish you all the best and hope your dreams come true beyond your wildest expectations.
While living in the US, my wife and I also wanted to return to Bangladesh, mostly for parental reasons. But our wishes did not synchronise often. We both loved the US (and still do) and were chasing our goals one way or another. The first time both of us simultaneously wanted to return, in 2005, we did it. Lock stock and barrel.
That's right. We really believe that it is such a big jump (specially if you have lived abroad for long) that the only way to make the change is to be totally committed to it. For us at least, "let's give it a try for 6 months" approach was not going to work.
Events proved we were right in our thinking. Three weeks after returning here, 500+ bombs went off (Aug 17, 2005) all over Bangladesh. Do you think if we had been in "trying out" mode we would have stayed here after that? But we stuck it out, because our firm decision gave us the courage to face the uncertainty.
One immense help in deciding was the general encouragement and prayers of our friends in Silicon Valley (as well as our elder relatives everywhere.) I recall that through the nerve-wracking process of decision-making - and the consequences of that decision such as putting up our house for sale - the encouragement of elders and well-wishing friends were like a calm, steadying force.
It was therefore with disappointment that I heard a story this morning of another NRB family who had decided to return home. When they announced the decision to their (NRB) friends, the reaction was more like "Have you gone mad?" No, this talented, brave, energetic and skillful family has not gone mad. They have made a sane but big decision about where to spend their time and effort on this planet, and need all the support they can get from his friends.
After all, isn't Time really all we have in this world? So isn't it important how and where we decide to spend it?
Bangladesh needs NRBs back here - specially those with skills that are in short supply. Businesses, universities and organizations here need talent in so many areas: management, IT, teaching, banking, pharmaceuticals, healthcare, etc etc.
Many organizations in Bangladesh hire non-Bangladeshis because Bangladeshis are simply not available. I heard - unconfirmed - there are 100,000 expat Indians working in Dhaka firms and organizations, not to mention other Asian and European expats. Don't get me wrong - I do not begrudge them one bit. On the contrary, I believe they contribute a lot to this country and economy, train our people, and help us become more cosmopolitan. However, the numbers show the need for skilled talent in this country.
Lest you think I am painting a rosy picture, let me also say that if you do make the jump, only you can decide your and your family's future and well-being here. This means looking for a job or starting a business or deciding in some other way how to a) support your family and b) put your talent to good use.
Of course, you would have to fight the usual battles: kids education, commute, healthcare, security, food-bhejal, etc etc. But others living here also fight those battles every day, don't they?
And if all goes well, and Bangladesh grows like she is predicted to, then your lot will also improve with that.
It takes courage to make the decision. If someone you know decides, please give them your support and pray for them. If you decide, I wish you all the best and hope your dreams come true beyond your wildest expectations.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Attracting Large IT Companies
Tony Blair visited Silicon Valley last week, partly to lobby for bringing more companies to the UK, partly to understand what makes the Valley tick.
Sun CEO Jonathan Schwartz was at a lunch with Blair. Here is what he says about attracting their business to your country.
"So if you want to attract companies like Sun to your economy, focus on investing in education, in your students, and in your leaders. Focus on educating your policy makers as to why you're committed to education - not to build presitigious institutions, but to invest in progress, academic as well as economic. Focus on the value of broad based talent as a competitive weapon, don't be distracted by cost reducing labor."
http://blogs.sun.com/roller/page/jonathan
Sun CEO Jonathan Schwartz was at a lunch with Blair. Here is what he says about attracting their business to your country.
"So if you want to attract companies like Sun to your economy, focus on investing in education, in your students, and in your leaders. Focus on educating your policy makers as to why you're committed to education - not to build presitigious institutions, but to invest in progress, academic as well as economic. Focus on the value of broad based talent as a competitive weapon, don't be distracted by cost reducing labor."
http://blogs.sun.com/roller/page/jonathan
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Personal Space
Because of a sudden downpour at the usual time - 7am - I was late going for my morning run today. When I reached the park at 8:10, I found it empty. Instead of sharing this park with dozens of others - mostly walkers - I had the whole place to myself.
I found myself wondering why this was so. Had the numerous people who walked here every morning, as early as 6am, been scared off by the rain? Were they all busily getting ready for another day at the battlefields of work? Did they decide to forego the Park authority's stern advice, spelled out in bold letters at vantage points throughout the park: the crisp "Health is Wealth", the common-sensical "Of all exercises, Walking is best" and the logic-defying "All the wealth you accumulate has to be shared with others, but your health is for your own enjoyment only."
But here is the weird part. Instead of being pleased that I had this small but open place to myself, I was actually missing those people! I realized that I was learning to become a Bangladeshi again, and that my notion of personal space - once so important to me when I was in the US - was slowly eroding.
Whether or not you agree with Sartre that existence precedes essence, you have to agree that an important essence of being Bangladeshi is making do with tiny amounts of space: an inevitable side-effect of 130 million people sharing a land smaller than Wisconsin. From the moment a person is born, to their deathbed, they must cope and thrive while surrounded by people.
You can call it "making do" with small space - or you can say that they are violating my personal space. It really does not matter. The point is that Bangladeshis deal with this issue heroically every day. But this same heroics can drive foreigners to distraction. Some days I marvel at the heroics, other days I want to pull my hair out.
I marvel at the way a romantic couple makes the long walk up to one of the large flyovers in the city, because there are no pedestrians on top, and they think they are alone on top of the world. I marvel at gaggles of schoolchildren, or the streams of garment workers who flutter out like so many butterflies from their institutions. I marvel at the way shopkeepers at the Bazaar who manage to keep track of the orders of all the customers who are never in line and always crowding them. I marvel at the way that drivers, rickshaw pullers and bicyclists all share the road, sometimes getting in each others' way, always navigating through whatever tiny space they can find, but never losing their cool. And I marvel at the traffic policemen who, despite all the crazy traffic, keep on directing traffic to reduce jams and get people to where they are going. (Well, most of the time. Sometimes the traffic cops seem asleep or just stand there without doing anything.)
I pull my hair out when the Bangladeshi passenger contingent on a flight to Middle East, upon hearing the announcement, rushes to the gate as one monolithic mass, almost trampling each other and small children in their hurry to board the plane. Is the plane going to take off without them? Once inside the plane, when I am standing on the aisle placing the bags on the overhead, why must they push and shove past me instead of giving me 5 seconds to sit down and get out of their way? When I am at a crowded place, such as a Bazaar, I pull my hair out when I am pushed, shoved, stepped upon and sometimes even poked by umbrellas. But no one else seems to mind this kind of behavior - whether on sending or receiving end - it seems they grew up with it and know no better.
Encroachment on personal space goes beyond the physical. What about the intense stares one receives on the road or public space, specially if one is foreign or female (or both?) And at the workspace, instead of delegating work and letting employees complete it in their own intellectual space, we Bangladeshis love to butt in and micromanage. When someone falls sick, every well-wisher has a recommendation for this medicine and that doctor.
So there you have it. For better or worse, to be a Bangladeshi means learning to make do with very little personal space. And it looks like I am getting used to it, even as I enjoy a morning run.
I found myself wondering why this was so. Had the numerous people who walked here every morning, as early as 6am, been scared off by the rain? Were they all busily getting ready for another day at the battlefields of work? Did they decide to forego the Park authority's stern advice, spelled out in bold letters at vantage points throughout the park: the crisp "Health is Wealth", the common-sensical "Of all exercises, Walking is best" and the logic-defying "All the wealth you accumulate has to be shared with others, but your health is for your own enjoyment only."
But here is the weird part. Instead of being pleased that I had this small but open place to myself, I was actually missing those people! I realized that I was learning to become a Bangladeshi again, and that my notion of personal space - once so important to me when I was in the US - was slowly eroding.
Whether or not you agree with Sartre that existence precedes essence, you have to agree that an important essence of being Bangladeshi is making do with tiny amounts of space: an inevitable side-effect of 130 million people sharing a land smaller than Wisconsin. From the moment a person is born, to their deathbed, they must cope and thrive while surrounded by people.
You can call it "making do" with small space - or you can say that they are violating my personal space. It really does not matter. The point is that Bangladeshis deal with this issue heroically every day. But this same heroics can drive foreigners to distraction. Some days I marvel at the heroics, other days I want to pull my hair out.
I marvel at the way a romantic couple makes the long walk up to one of the large flyovers in the city, because there are no pedestrians on top, and they think they are alone on top of the world. I marvel at gaggles of schoolchildren, or the streams of garment workers who flutter out like so many butterflies from their institutions. I marvel at the way shopkeepers at the Bazaar who manage to keep track of the orders of all the customers who are never in line and always crowding them. I marvel at the way that drivers, rickshaw pullers and bicyclists all share the road, sometimes getting in each others' way, always navigating through whatever tiny space they can find, but never losing their cool. And I marvel at the traffic policemen who, despite all the crazy traffic, keep on directing traffic to reduce jams and get people to where they are going. (Well, most of the time. Sometimes the traffic cops seem asleep or just stand there without doing anything.)
I pull my hair out when the Bangladeshi passenger contingent on a flight to Middle East, upon hearing the announcement, rushes to the gate as one monolithic mass, almost trampling each other and small children in their hurry to board the plane. Is the plane going to take off without them? Once inside the plane, when I am standing on the aisle placing the bags on the overhead, why must they push and shove past me instead of giving me 5 seconds to sit down and get out of their way? When I am at a crowded place, such as a Bazaar, I pull my hair out when I am pushed, shoved, stepped upon and sometimes even poked by umbrellas. But no one else seems to mind this kind of behavior - whether on sending or receiving end - it seems they grew up with it and know no better.
Encroachment on personal space goes beyond the physical. What about the intense stares one receives on the road or public space, specially if one is foreign or female (or both?) And at the workspace, instead of delegating work and letting employees complete it in their own intellectual space, we Bangladeshis love to butt in and micromanage. When someone falls sick, every well-wisher has a recommendation for this medicine and that doctor.
So there you have it. For better or worse, to be a Bangladeshi means learning to make do with very little personal space. And it looks like I am getting used to it, even as I enjoy a morning run.
Another Dream Project
I was brainstorming with some brilliant ex-BUET engineers in Dallas and this idea came to us:
1. Pick 10 enterprising and resourceful kids from final year CSE (the self-starter types rather than good-in-the-exam types). This is the critical step. They must be willing and able to read reams of code and figure out how a software is working.
2. Give each a cubicle and a Internet-connected computer.
3. Point them to sourceforge and other open source repositories.
4. Tell them they have 12 months, during which they will get paid, to build whatever they want using open source code. Of course they must show up every day and work on their project.
Who knows, something interesting may come out of this. Cost? Maybe 25-35 lac?
1. Pick 10 enterprising and resourceful kids from final year CSE (the self-starter types rather than good-in-the-exam types). This is the critical step. They must be willing and able to read reams of code and figure out how a software is working.
2. Give each a cubicle and a Internet-connected computer.
3. Point them to sourceforge and other open source repositories.
4. Tell them they have 12 months, during which they will get paid, to build whatever they want using open source code. Of course they must show up every day and work on their project.
Who knows, something interesting may come out of this. Cost? Maybe 25-35 lac?
Submarine Cable
Apparently 23 ISPs are now connected to the submarine cable. My ISP, Grameen Cybernet, claims to be connected. However, I am seeing virtually no difference in my browser and download performance. I measured 27kbps download and 55 kbps upload speeds today. According to my service level I should be getting (pre-submarine) 32 down and 16 up (which, to be fair, I almost never got in reality, so things have gotten ever so slightly better.)
Grameen Cybernet also told me about issues related to how BTTB is allocating bandwidth to ISPs.
Be still my beating heart.
:-(
Grameen Cybernet also told me about issues related to how BTTB is allocating bandwidth to ISPs.
Be still my beating heart.
:-(
Friday, May 26, 2006
Center of Excellence for IT in Bangladesh
I have been thinking about this idea for a while, and wanted to write down my thoughts.
Why?
----
One way that Bangladesh can attain higher success in IT is to achieve excellence in smaller sub-areas of IT. Currently the IT industry in Bangladesh is trying to do too many things with too few skilled people. If we want to achieve success on a broad front of IT, we need tens of thousands of quality IT graduates every year. This is not realistic.
Therefore, we need to pick our battles carefully. Our kids are very intelligent. If we can focus them more in one or two areas, we can establish Bangladesh as a dominant player in certain subareas of IT.
For example, certain Eastern European countries are well-known as developers of Software Tools such as compilers, debuggers etc. The Philippines has established a reputation in animation. Many ATM-banking software packages come from Russian companies. Certain parts of Canada are well known for digital video expertise. And so on.
Once we establish technical excellence in an area, this will lead to more people being trained in this area and one hopes the critical mass needed for take-off will be created.
What Will it do?
----------------
In each Center of Excellence, a number of students (15? 20?)will work with academic and industry people and build software of industrial quality. They will learn to work as teams, use the tools and technologies needed, and under the guidance of a project lead, execute a project. Once the software is done it will be distributed as open-source software.
Why Will it Work?
-----------------
The emergence of open source software is one of the biggest reasons why CoE will work. This kind of software gives a head-start to anyone wanting to build a software project in many areas.
Another reason why it will work is that many bright young students are eager to sink their teeth into knotty, cutting-edge problems. Many CS/CSE students graduate without having built any real-world software because they were so busy learning the fundamentals. They are very eager to learn how to build "real" software.
Finally it will work because it will improve the employment prospects of the students.
Who Will Fund it?
-----------------
Such a Center will need to be heavily subsidized, with the understanding that perhaps, after 3 or more years, some revenue-generating work may be created. However, that should not be the goal of the CoE.
We cannot expect the students to pay high tuitions, although some fees must be charged so that students feel compelled to attend to get their money's worth.
What are the Subareas?
----------------------
Obviously the subareas must improve the employment prospects of the students. At the same time, they must be technically challenging. And they must be growth areas, globally.
Some possible areas are: Web 2.0 technologies, animation, database tuning, GIS, etc.
Is a CoE the Same as a "S/W Finishing School?"
--------------------------------------------
Not really. The difference is in the focus. While both want to make software engineers out of CS/CSE graduates, a CoE also wants to build up a critical mass of skills in a certain technological area so we can compete with the rest of the world in that area.
Who Will Run it?
----------------
A CoE must be run jointly by one or more universities and the IT industry. The former will contribute ideas, students, and skilled resources. The latter will contribute engineering discipline, solving tough engineering problems, and mentoring. Management can be done jointly.
Why?
----
One way that Bangladesh can attain higher success in IT is to achieve excellence in smaller sub-areas of IT. Currently the IT industry in Bangladesh is trying to do too many things with too few skilled people. If we want to achieve success on a broad front of IT, we need tens of thousands of quality IT graduates every year. This is not realistic.
Therefore, we need to pick our battles carefully. Our kids are very intelligent. If we can focus them more in one or two areas, we can establish Bangladesh as a dominant player in certain subareas of IT.
For example, certain Eastern European countries are well-known as developers of Software Tools such as compilers, debuggers etc. The Philippines has established a reputation in animation. Many ATM-banking software packages come from Russian companies. Certain parts of Canada are well known for digital video expertise. And so on.
Once we establish technical excellence in an area, this will lead to more people being trained in this area and one hopes the critical mass needed for take-off will be created.
What Will it do?
----------------
In each Center of Excellence, a number of students (15? 20?)will work with academic and industry people and build software of industrial quality. They will learn to work as teams, use the tools and technologies needed, and under the guidance of a project lead, execute a project. Once the software is done it will be distributed as open-source software.
Why Will it Work?
-----------------
The emergence of open source software is one of the biggest reasons why CoE will work. This kind of software gives a head-start to anyone wanting to build a software project in many areas.
Another reason why it will work is that many bright young students are eager to sink their teeth into knotty, cutting-edge problems. Many CS/CSE students graduate without having built any real-world software because they were so busy learning the fundamentals. They are very eager to learn how to build "real" software.
Finally it will work because it will improve the employment prospects of the students.
Who Will Fund it?
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Such a Center will need to be heavily subsidized, with the understanding that perhaps, after 3 or more years, some revenue-generating work may be created. However, that should not be the goal of the CoE.
We cannot expect the students to pay high tuitions, although some fees must be charged so that students feel compelled to attend to get their money's worth.
What are the Subareas?
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Obviously the subareas must improve the employment prospects of the students. At the same time, they must be technically challenging. And they must be growth areas, globally.
Some possible areas are: Web 2.0 technologies, animation, database tuning, GIS, etc.
Is a CoE the Same as a "S/W Finishing School?"
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Not really. The difference is in the focus. While both want to make software engineers out of CS/CSE graduates, a CoE also wants to build up a critical mass of skills in a certain technological area so we can compete with the rest of the world in that area.
Who Will Run it?
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A CoE must be run jointly by one or more universities and the IT industry. The former will contribute ideas, students, and skilled resources. The latter will contribute engineering discipline, solving tough engineering problems, and mentoring. Management can be done jointly.
Barriers to Venture Capital
Venture Capital is a powerful and effective way for doing big and interesting things in cutting-edge technologies. VC enables entrepreneurs to pursue their dreams by providing funds for their projects in exchange for a share of the business they are creating. VC have enabled many success stories in Silicon Valley (eg, Sun, Google, Cisco) as well as in other parts of the world.
A VC investment is not a loan. If you are an investor, risks in funding a VC project are very high. If the venture fails - happens 90% of the time - you lose your investment. But gains are also high, with 100x returns not uncommo in a successful venture.
The other day I was talking to someone from the British govt who has worked in Bd for several years on promoting different types of businesses. When I found out that he had an investment banking background, I asked him what were the barriers to creating a Venture Capital friendly environment here.
He mentioned two top items: no "exit strategy", and the lack of minority rights.
"Exit strategy" is how a VC investor realizes their gains in a successful venture. In the West, when a VC-funded company turns into a successful business, it is either floated (IPO) in the share market (in which case the investor makes a ton of money from selling their share of the company), or it is sold to a bigger company (in which case usually the investor's share also becomes a lot of money.) In Bangladesh, this person pointed out, neither is a viable option. The stock market is not vibrant, and there is no practice of buying out companies.
Minority rights was unfamiliar to me. So he explained it. VC investors are usually minority shareholders in a company (ie, they own < 50%). In the West, with this much ownership, they still have lots of rights and power within the company. However, in Bd, in a company boardroom, the majority shareholder has much greater power over the rights of the minority shareholder.
I plan to dig in more. I have heard lots of businessmen in Bd are sitting on tons of money, and we need to enable them to profitably put this equity back into the economy. A VC culture would be a boon to our IT business and help create an economy based on higher value goods and services.
A VC investment is not a loan. If you are an investor, risks in funding a VC project are very high. If the venture fails - happens 90% of the time - you lose your investment. But gains are also high, with 100x returns not uncommo in a successful venture.
The other day I was talking to someone from the British govt who has worked in Bd for several years on promoting different types of businesses. When I found out that he had an investment banking background, I asked him what were the barriers to creating a Venture Capital friendly environment here.
He mentioned two top items: no "exit strategy", and the lack of minority rights.
"Exit strategy" is how a VC investor realizes their gains in a successful venture. In the West, when a VC-funded company turns into a successful business, it is either floated (IPO) in the share market (in which case the investor makes a ton of money from selling their share of the company), or it is sold to a bigger company (in which case usually the investor's share also becomes a lot of money.) In Bangladesh, this person pointed out, neither is a viable option. The stock market is not vibrant, and there is no practice of buying out companies.
Minority rights was unfamiliar to me. So he explained it. VC investors are usually minority shareholders in a company (ie, they own < 50%). In the West, with this much ownership, they still have lots of rights and power within the company. However, in Bd, in a company boardroom, the majority shareholder has much greater power over the rights of the minority shareholder.
I plan to dig in more. I have heard lots of businessmen in Bd are sitting on tons of money, and we need to enable them to profitably put this equity back into the economy. A VC culture would be a boon to our IT business and help create an economy based on higher value goods and services.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Driving in Dhaka
During my first few weeks in Dhaka, I was constantly stressed by the driving. I mostly relied on a driver, but was worried he was going to hit someone or something. Amazingly, nowadays I am relaxed in the car.
Some unwritten rules I have gathered (remember, you drive on the left here):
If you are at an intersection and want to turn right, it is best to be on the leftmost lane and swerve all the way to the right at the last possible moment. This helps keep everyone awake and provides free brake-check for parties on the right.
Rickshawallahs will not brake unless faced with a situation where the cost of not braking is significantly higher than the cost of braking. One such situation is a policeman with a big stick. Impending collision with a speeding car does not constitute a reason for a rickshawallah to brake. After all, it is easy for the car driver to brake and resume, but it is much harder for the rickshawallah to do that.
If you are a CNG driver, then the amount of arrogance you show while saying "No" to a prospective passenger's trip request should be directly proportional to how exhausted/sweaty/pitiful the passenger looks.
If you are a bus driver, nothing will dare get in your way. Do as you please.
Honking is an act of courtesy. You should honk whenever there is the remotest chance that the person (or vehicle) in front of you is unaware of you. Sometimes you should honk to make sure your horn is working. You should do this preferably between 2am and 4am.
If you are near a pedestrian overpass, you should be really watchful for pedestrians. Whenever they see an overpass, Bangladeshis have the curious need to cross the road. Since it is easier to dash in front of speeding cars and jump over traffic islands than it is to climb the overpass, most people will opt to get in the way of your car. The govt should have built overpasses for the cars at major pedestrian intersections in order to save the pedestrians so much inconvenience.
Some unwritten rules I have gathered (remember, you drive on the left here):
If you are at an intersection and want to turn right, it is best to be on the leftmost lane and swerve all the way to the right at the last possible moment. This helps keep everyone awake and provides free brake-check for parties on the right.
Rickshawallahs will not brake unless faced with a situation where the cost of not braking is significantly higher than the cost of braking. One such situation is a policeman with a big stick. Impending collision with a speeding car does not constitute a reason for a rickshawallah to brake. After all, it is easy for the car driver to brake and resume, but it is much harder for the rickshawallah to do that.
If you are a CNG driver, then the amount of arrogance you show while saying "No" to a prospective passenger's trip request should be directly proportional to how exhausted/sweaty/pitiful the passenger looks.
If you are a bus driver, nothing will dare get in your way. Do as you please.
Honking is an act of courtesy. You should honk whenever there is the remotest chance that the person (or vehicle) in front of you is unaware of you. Sometimes you should honk to make sure your horn is working. You should do this preferably between 2am and 4am.
If you are near a pedestrian overpass, you should be really watchful for pedestrians. Whenever they see an overpass, Bangladeshis have the curious need to cross the road. Since it is easier to dash in front of speeding cars and jump over traffic islands than it is to climb the overpass, most people will opt to get in the way of your car. The govt should have built overpasses for the cars at major pedestrian intersections in order to save the pedestrians so much inconvenience.
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