Glamorous Dhaka

I’m been in Dhaka for exactly 9 days now. It’s taken me this long to get over jet-lag, a nasty cold, to get my Internet service up and running and get generally settled in the motherland.

DHAKA IS A TOTALLY CHANGED CITY.

I’ve heard and seen on television and on the Internet how much Dhaka has changed in the 10.5 years since I’ve been here, but like they say, seeing and hearing are two totally different things. Of course, experiencing a city as a 15-year-old and a 25-year-old are also totally different scenarios.

I came prepared for a culture shock at the vast difference between the rich and the poor, but I underestimated the shock value. A day trip through Gulshan and Bananai (the upscale areas of Dhaka) left me shocked at just how much money Dhaka’s elite actually has. The houses look like movie sets and girls wear a thick face of makeup just to go to the market. I’m staying with my aunt in Dhanmondi which is less elite than Gulshan and Banani but is still an upper middle class area. It’s easy to live in these areas and ignore poverty because shopping plazas, restuarants, beauty parlors and flashy cars surround you 24/7 to block out the real Bangladesh. In fact, I found my first beggar 8 days after landing here. I’ve been walking around with change to give out, but found no one to give it to! I gave an old woman and a small child 10 takas each and they both ran back to their clan of beggar friends and sent them all over to me!

You haven’t experienced a real traffic jam unless you’ve been in Dhaka, Fortunately, I haven’t really been stuck in any so far (everyone keeps telling me how lucky I’ve been!), but it’s only my first week. But I’ve looked over to the other side of the road and seen how 10 cars move every 20 minutes. There are no parking and no honking signs everywhere, which is there more for entertainment value than anything else since people park everywhere and anywhere.

There is tons to do and see in Dhaka. You can spend your entire life in the Gulshan, Banani, Dhanmondi area and not really realize how poor of a country you live in, it seems like. But, poverty is everywhere–from the poorly-clothed children sitting on the sidewalk to the overworked rickshaw drivers–but, it’s very easy to turn a blind eye when there’s a brand new sushi place standing right behind the shirtless 8-year-old boy.

Why South Asian parents should watch ‘3 idiots’

When I’m super excited about a movie, I try not to read up on it too much. The element of surprise is so rare in Bollywood these days that it’s rather nice to go into the theaters not knowing what to expect. So, while I knew ‘3 idiots’ was about three engineering college students, I really had no idea what the story line was. Yes, I expected a story of camaraderie and friendship, but I didn’t expect such a whammy of lessons, ones that South Asian parents especially need to learn.

‘3 idiots’ is about three students at a top engineering college. From day one, they are taught to race with each other, because only the ones that come out on top will succeed in life. Students crammed their way through exams, papers and projects for 4 years, without stopping to think really about what all that studying meant.

But new student, Rancho (Aamir Khan) was different. He questioned professors’ teaching  methods. He wasn’t a bully, he wasn’t a ladies man–he was a total geek, the class clown and the least favorite of all the professors because he refused to just take their word for everything they taught. He wanted proof of science and technology. And while other students were studying all night long, he was conjuring up new projects and new inventions. And yet, he was the top student all four years.

His two roomates and best buddies, Farhan (Madhavan) and Jay (Sharman Joshi) were  on the opposite end of the academic spectrum. Farhan had absolutely no interest in engineering, he secretly wanted to become a wildlife photographer but his father was determined to make him an engineer. He was a bright student or else he wouldn’t have been admitted into a prestigious engineering college, but his disinterest was the cause behind his barely passing grades.  Jay had the opposite problem. He wanted nothing more than to become an engineer. He came from a very poor background with a sickly father, unwed sister and overworked mother. He wanted to make life better for his them, but his family situation stressed him out so much that he couldn’t concentrate on his studies and did poorly on exams and was also at the bottom of the academic ladder.

So, here are the three idiots; the best student in the class and the two worst students in the class. They were the best of friends but after graduation, they drift apart and ‘3 idiots’ the story of how they unite. But, this story has another major theme running through it. The pressure parents put on their children. Suicide rates are exceptionally high at prestigious institutions in India and South Asian culture particularly lacks the element of praise and encouragement towards students. There is a constant pressure to excel but without any motivation. You are scared into doing well, so while you understand that there are bad consequences to failing or doing poorly, you can’t connect with it because it’s an unknown fear. This unknown fear eats away at many students and some simply can’t put up with it.

I really related to Madhavan’s character, Farhan. Farhan’s dream was to become a wildlife photographer  but his father thought it was impractical. Farhan’s father never stopped to think what an impractical engineer Farhan would make. His head was always in the clouds; he was a creative person, technology and science eluded him. But that didn’t matter to his father and so he did poorly. As the daughter of first-generation Bangladesh-Americans, I understand Farhan’s predicament. For as long as I could remember, I’ve loved words. I can’t imagine being anything else except a writer or editor or both. Publishing is not without struggle; there is no straight path to becoming a writer, something my parents fail to understand. The concept of ‘freelancing’ is foreign to them. There is only one path in life;

grade school>college>graduate school>work>marriage>house>kids>death

There can be no other way around this. Unless you are a girl, then marriage can come before graduate school and work.

I’m glad ‘3 Idiots’ sheds some light on the predicament of ignoring one’s heart’s calling to be the ‘perfect child’. Making your parents happy is yes, a child’s duty but you can’t make anyone else happy if you, yourself are not happy first. That is the biggest lesson I’ve learned 2009, which I will fully employ in the new decade.

Go watch ‘3 Idiots’ if you haven’t already!

and Happy New Year

The Big Move

I’m doing it. I’m finally (insha’allah) leaving New York City.

Plans are still sort of up in the air, but my job situation sort of changed as of yesterday. I won’t be working at my full-time job anymore starting next month, so my main source of income will be freelance work. I spent all of 2008 and 2009 fretting over what direction to take my life; jumping from one job to another, never really finding any peace in anything I do. I have some amazing names on my resume and truly learned a lot from my different experiences, but I think it’s time for me to venture out on my own.

I have absolutely nothing holding me back. No significant other and no job, I am finally free to travel wherever I please. Free to be inspired and create.

So, I’m taking the plunge and going to Bangladesh for an indefinite amount of time and from there India. There are tons of stories to be told and I want to tell them.

The museum of my childhood

I went into my neighborhood library after five years today and I didn’t even recognize it. They completely renovated the inside and updated it to meet every multimedia need possible, which I was very happy about. But the unfamiliar layout made me nostalgic for the structure which I had memorized over the course of my childhood and teenage years.

The Broadway branch of the Queens Public Library was my safe haven from kindergarten to my first year of college.  I’ve lived in the same neighborhood of Astoria, Queens my whole life and I grew up going to that library. It was three blocks away  from the apartment I spent most of my childhood in. I knew every nook and cranny of the children’s floor of the second floor. I knew that when you entered the second floor from the stairs, on the bookshelf near the right-hand side next to the bathrooms, I could find the Lion, The Witch, The Wardrobe series in the science fiction section. In the middle  of the floor was where they put the newest editions of the Sweet Valley Twins and Baby sitters Club–that was always the first place I headed to. I knew that on the left, just past the librarian’s desk, towards the window, was where I could find my childhood favorite–Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter.

In junior high school, the library was the only place I could go to meet up with my friends and sometimes I would go just to read, daydream, and write my stories. Like all aspiring writers, I dreamed of when I would see my name on those shelves. In the eight grade, I used the library as an excuse to go out with my first boyfriend. I dumped my younger sister on the front steps of the library (I wasn’t allowed to go out without her), while I drove around in my high school boyfriend’s car. Once, my sister stood on the front steps of the library for two hours in the rain because it was closed and she had no way to call me! To say the least, she was pissed LOL.

I still went to the Broadway branch in high school, but less so because my school was all the way in the Bronx and I just went to my school library instead. In college, I stopped going to my neighborhood library completely, depending on the Internet and my university library.

I walked up to the children’s floor and started subconsciously looking for my favorite books. The science fiction corner was still there, but now Stephanie Meyers Twilight series replaced the Sweet Valley Twins. No matter, it was still the same.

Straight Line

I’ve always thought that if you follow the rules, you’re going to get the results. If you aim high, you’ll get high. But, people make mistakes–they screw up–and sometimes you don’t have the choice to start over. Sometimes, you have to learn to take life in a totally different direction and no matter how hard you try to get it back to the path you originally imagined, it just won’t happen. You’ve got to learn to be resigned to your ‘fate’–rather suffer the consequences of your bad decisions or wrong moves.

Is it too late?

10 block radius

One of the first lessons a writer learns is to write what she sees. But, I’ve been feeling for quite some time now that I’ve exhausted that approach. See, I am a real Queens (New York) girl. I was born and raised within a 10 block radius. The farthest I’ve gone is my high school, in the Bronx (I used to be somewhat smart and got into one of the specialized high schools). I even attended college in Queens.

Growing up in such a diverse city, one would think that I’d constantly have fresh material. But, my eyesight is sore. Sore of seeing the same streets my entire life. My weekends aren’t filled with exciting NYC events. This is mostly because I have no one to hop around with. My friends are all busy with their own lives. I can barely find anyone to have dinner with! Finding myself newly single after 5 years, I no longer know what to do with my time. Oh, there are plenty of things to do, but I’m simply not inspired.

And there’s the other small matter of living with my parents. It’s a cultural thing; you just don’t leave your parents’ house until your married. I mean, no one can really stop me from getting my own apartment, but I’d too feel too guilty. The Bengali community would never let them hear the end of it.

So my weekdays consist of going to my fun yet humdrum copywriting/web production job and weekends run the gamet of various birthday dinners with the same old people. No offense to my friends, but all we seem to do is eat, watch movies and gossip. I wouldn’t exactly call most my friends artsy. I’ve yet to be invited to be anything different or off the grid.

No, I don’t need new friends. I love them just the way they are. But I do need a change of scenery. First, I thought grad school in a different city would take care of that. But why do I need to pay an institution thousands of dollars to get that? So, I started thinking broader until my itinieary reached Bangladesh. It seemed safe yet exotic. I have family there, my parents own a home, I speak the language and understand the culture and I can easily get a job at a publication there through nepotism. Heck, life would be easier there than here! But then I realized, how is that truly living my life?

So I started thinking broader. Paris? I love the city and am mesmerised by it, but what could I uncover about that culture that hasn’t already been done? England? Too expensive and too much like the journalism in America. My thoughts rested on India.

Think about it. I am thoroughly immersed in the culture. I keep up with it’s politics. I speak Hindi. And oh yeah, my slight obsession with Bollywood might come in handy as well.

India as we all know, is huge. Everything there is limitless. The culture, languages, religions. Yet it’s also thoroughly modern. I realize that I truly live in a bubble. I get surprised at things like my cousins in Bangladesh knowing what prom is (and trying to create their own version of it). Bangladesh and India is the land of arranged marriages to me. Hypocritical because I’m always touting to others how progressive these two nations are.

Well, I’d like to explore firsthand how modern these societies are so I’m going to take the plunge. I plan to quit my 9-5 salaried job sometime next year and just travel. Do the cliched writer thing of traveling, selling compelling stories to my dream publications and become a full-fledged writer. Test these “so-called” skills I supposedly have.

I can barely sleep at night, conjuring ip my plans. Dhaka, Sylhet, Chittagong, New Delhi, Bihar, Madras, Gujrat, Mumbai.

Lures of a glossy

Will it ever really go away? the desire to write/edit one of those thick, glossy magazines? As my career is progressing, I cannot deny the truth; I am a web writer/producer. I can write short, snappy yet SEO-friendly headlines, I know when an image looks wack, I can pick out the extra p tag in the HTML bucket. So, what’s wrong with this, you say? Well nothing except for the fact that I am dying to be listed on the masthead of one of the women’s magazines I’ve grown up reading.

Surely, that day will come but for now I’ll have to be content with all the amazing web writing and production skills I’ve earned over the last three years and be content with my job at one of the biggest beauty companies in the world.

:p

Time Out

I need a serious time out. The problem is not that I’m overworked, the problem is that I’ve taken on too many projects at one time and I’m seriously scared that I’m going to end up sucking at all of them because I can’t devote enough time to each!

- My full-time copywriting/web production job
- Journalism courses (which gives me insane amounts of work!)
- The Sari-Clad Bride (my wedding blog that I co-write with two other girls and we still can’t get all the things we want done!)
- Freelance writing (I haven’t pitched a story in months because I just haven’t had the time!)
- Sunehra’s Health and Beauty Talk (My Health and Beauty blog)
- Studying for the GRE
- Grad school Apps

Most of this I can handle, but what I’m really worried about is the GRE. I just do not have the time to study for it. I need sleep and a serious vacation!

Welcome, Ibrahim

Ibrahim: A Miracle

My childhood friend, ‘B’,  just gave birth to her first child, Ibrahim, this morning. She is the first person that I’ve grown up  that has performed this miracle. Though, I shouldn’t be shocked (I’ve had 9 months to get used to the idea), I am.

B and I have been friends almost all of our lives, having met through our parents at the age of 5 or 6.  We’ve seen each other go through every stage of life, so far. B was the first to get married at 18 and I was her friend, sister, maid of honor all rolled-into-one. She doesn’t have a sister, so she’s always been the third sibling to my sister and I. Our personalities and lives (like most sisters) are vastly different. During our college years, she was setting up house and I was partying and rebelling against my parents. She married the only guy she’s ever been with and I can barely hold down a relationship. There are times where I have been insanely jealous of her life. She’s never known what it’s like to be lonely since she got married at such a young age and she genuinely has the happiest marriage that I know of. But, she is aware of this and grateful for it and although we can’t always relate to each others lives, we’ve managed to keep our friendship alive and kicking through the last 15+ years.

Along with a generally happy disposition, she has tremendous faith, which as of late, I don’t seem to have much of. Islam is a passionate religion and while I’ve grown up in a typical Muslim household, somewhere along the line my faith has wavered. I believe in Allah and am not thinking of changing my religion or anything along those lines but there are many things that I have been taught that I don’t believe in or find contradictory. But this method of living hasn’t proven to be very helpful to my soul or conscience and I’ve been giving second thoughts about my negligent attitude towards Islam; and in the middle of my wavering faith came B’s son, Ibrahim.

B and her husband have always been very pious Muslims but over the last few years, her husband has been more in touch with his faith than ever. B doesn’t wear a hijab (knocking the stereotype that a pious Muslimah must wear a Hijab) but she does dress modestly, pray, fast, eat halal and has never touched alcohol. She’s also well-dressed, modern and a working woman. But more so than all of these things, she has always genuinly been an awesome human being. B. completed Umrah Hajj (A religious pilgrimage) just before her second trimester, and while I admired her for it, I also scoffed at it. My inner Muslimah knew it was a brave and wonderful thing to do, but the superficial persona that had possessed me over the last couple of years deemed it unnecessary.

Ibrahim was born in the last week of the holy month, Ramadan, on one of the most important nights of the Muslim calendar, Lailatul Quadr. Lailatul Quadr is a day of forgiveness and remembrance as its the day the Holy Qua ran was sent to the world. And I hardly think it is a mere coincidence that Ibrahim arrived on this holy day–a full 13 days earlier than his due date.

My questions regarding Islam have been mostly about how far does one have to go to be considered a good Muslim? My other issue has been regarding the fact that many Muslims believe Islam to be superior than all other beliefs ( although most religions feel this way about their own kind). But what I’ve been taught and grew up believing as a Muslim is that we all believe in one God, we just address Him differently. And in the process of criticizing my own kind, I seemed to have forgotten this core part of my belief.

But sometimes a small miracle can do a lot to change one’s mind and that’s what my new nephew Ibrahim is to me; a small miracle. When I got the news this morning that he arrived, I was stunned and there was this other indescribable emotion that crept up on me. I was genuinely worried for my childhood friend–neither of us had either experienced the type of pain and anguish becoming a mother brings on. I hoped in my heart that everything would turn out right and it did and once I learned that both B. and Ibrahim were alright, the significance of his birth on my life dawned on me. It was God’s way of sending a message: You might be rebelling against me in spirit, but you still hold me in your heart and here’s a little reminder as to why you love me so much.

Thank you Ibrahim for bringing your mother such joy, for making me an aunt, for reminding me exactly who I am and what I believe in and for arriving at such a crucial moment in my life.

Bless You.

Teenage fashion bloggers turn coveted editors during Fashion Week

The other day my sister and I were having a discussion on how we’re sort of the ‘in-between’ generation when it comes to the World Wide Web. As a 25-year old and 23-year-old, we’re old enough to remember a world where the Internet did not dominate our lives but young enough to be completely inundiated by it for as long as we can remember. We were young teens during the age of dial-up and we’ve seen AOL Instant Messenger go through various makeovers. We discarded our flashy TyPEd LiKe ThIs AOL member profiles and replaced them with Friendster, MySpace, Facebook, etc. We are the generation of the Internet, but we also remember life without it. We had childhoods without it, where computer class consisted of playing Oregon Trail and frankly, not much else. We’ve typed up papers on Electric typewriters and it was even handed in hand-written essays.

We are the generation that grew up on the verge of the Internet and dove in head-fast as soon as we were able to. So, we wonder how is it growing up as a teenager in this day and age of iPhones, Twitter, Facebook, Photoshop, etc and not knowing life without it. We also wonder whether we’d also be coveted teenage fashion bloogers if we wouldve been born at least five to seven years later?

Or maybe if we were actually able to afford everything Chanel and Marc Jacobs, we’d also get to sit front row at fashion week and contribute our profound fashion ideas.

Whatever it is, we’re damn jealous of these little brats;

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052970203440104574404681883885344.html