Movie Date with My Brothers: Part II

The conversation was interrupted when a truck hit our CNG as we were sitting in traffic.  The truck driver jolted us forward slightly when he became too eager to move forward.  Our driver gets out to confront the other driver.   Mind you, I was told at orientation, at my security debriefing, by veteran foreigners and locals alike:  if you find yourself in a traffic accident, get away as soon as possible.  It’s quite frequent that a mob will beat the driver who caused the accident.  Luckily, this wasn’t a huge accident, only a dent, and we weren’t the cause.  But our driver caused a scene as he shouts to the other driver.

Remember, we are in the middle of traffic, and it’s starting to move.  It comes to a halt not only because we are blocking the flow of vehicles, but because now every driver, passenger, pedestrian must watch.  This isn’t the rubbernecking I’m used to, where drivers slow down to crane their neck to witness an accident: this is dead stop, wide-eyed and mouth-agape at the two men grab each other’s shirt collar and flail their arms around in menial jabs.  Gia steps out of the CNG along with other drivers to break apart the fight as Sumor yells at the driver to get a move on.

Finally, we enter at Bashundhara City, the eight-floor mall.  It’s claimed to be the biggest in South Asia and the 12^th largest in Asia.  There are 2500 retail stores and food kiosks of both traditional and Western-style alike.  The movie doesn’t start for another 2 ½ hours so we wander around a bit.  Gia and Sumor were uber-big brothers and didn’t let me out of their sight.  We entered into a Western clothing outlet called Esctasy and there were little cocktail dresses that I have never seen a Bangladeshi woman wear.  I don’t know who buys those clothes.  Certainly not me because I don’t need to get anymore attention.

We sat at a table to chat and we talked about the dating scene in Bangladesh.  American pre-teen dates are much more audacious than standard Bangla dating.  Each of them have had a ‘lady friend,’ but ‘many communication problems’ ended it.  Each question I asked, they became more red in the face, but I’m a nosey Nelly.  I asked Sumor how serious it was, and he said, “I touch her.”  He read the confusion on my face, and asked Gia in Bangle how to say what he meant.  He meant, “I was touched by her emotionally, he really liked her.”  After that was cleared up, I asked if they will choose their own wife.  Gia said his father would let him choose for love, while Sumor said that his father wants to pick his wife.

After a few hours of bumming around the mall, we bought our tickets and some snacks for the movie.  The seats are assigned as we sat in the middle of one of the higher rows.  Soon the movie began.  It was called Monpura.  In short, the main character Sonai is sent to live on a deserted island, Monpura, because his uncle framed him for a murder that his mentally ill cousin committed.  Sonai meets Pori, a beautiful island girl in the rivers of Bangladesh and they fall in love, which consists of holding hands, no kissing.  However, Sonai’s uncle finds Pori beautiful and arranges with Pori’s father to have her married to the mentally ill cousin/murderer.  The police arrest Sonai for the murder he didn’t commit, but is released.  He gets to his uncle's house to rescue Pori to find that she poisioned herself because the family lied that Sonai was killed in prision.  Sonai and his broken heart row to the middle of the river, drop the oar and drift to starvation...

I almost cried.  Women’s rights, man!  Gia and Sumor helped translate though most of the time I could understand from the acting and the few words I know.  I thought the cinematography was well done, it certainly made me want to visit a river village.  After the movie ended, we jumped on a bus back to Bonani.  My first time on a bus.  But, for 15 minutes, it was stuck in traffic – at 9:50pm.  So Sumor hailed a taxi and we sped through the streets home.  Gia assured me as we left the theatre, “Do not worry about your security, we will make sure you get home safely!”  And they did :)

Movie Date with My Brothers: Part I

I was worried last week because I thought I accidently asked out a Bangladeshi man on a date.  Pure accident, I swear.

I have been growing close with these local young men working at the restaurant I eat at.  I asked them about their favourite movies and mentioned how I’d love to see a Bangla movie.  We all said we’d go to the movies the next Friday and I should invite my friends.  The Sunday before the movie, I ask one the boys, the accountant, and he said Friday was no good because it was Ramadan – Thursday will be better.  But he did not tell anyone else, and asked for my number.

"Uh oh," I thought as I refused to give out my number, "I hope this isn’t a date date."  It’s not entirely appropriate for men and women to go out in public together if they aren’t married (though it happens, it’s not at all common. I stress, not at all.)  So I’m sure it’s worse if he’s out with a foreigner.  Did I just break a cultural rule?  I show up on Thursday to find both Sumor and Gia are taking me to the movies.

Phew.

We catch a CNG (baby taxi/auto-rickshaw - see picture) and head to the Star Cineplex inside Bangaldesh’s biggest mall, Bashundhara City Mall.  They said this is the nicest and biggest theatre, with cushion seats and three theatres -- I didn’t have the heart to tell them that all seats in the US are cushioned and one standard theatre has at least 20 theatres in your average suburban Cineplex.  Squeezed between Sumor and Gia, they reveal that this is the first time that they are going to the movies “with a lady.”  Sumor, 25, is dressed up in nice black slacks with a sand-coloured shirt that has a black-and-white imprint of an eagle perched on a tree with snakes for roots.  Gia, 23, also in nice black slacks in a beige shirt with light blue trim that traces the collar, back and wide cuffs.  I ask why and they said, “Oh, I feel shame if I take a lady out alone.  If I take her out, a guardian must come along.”  Well, now I’m embarrassed, I ask, “Do you feel shame in taking me out?”  They jump, “No, no, no, you are our sister, it is no problem.”

We wind through Dhaka traffic around 5 pm.  The boys point out important momuments and buildings and tell me the history of each and it’s effect on Bangladesh.  I cannot echo their deep love for their country through cyberspace.  As we pass a memorial for the citizens and students who were killed during the Liberation War, Gia turns to me and says, “I would fight and die for my country. Would Americans do the same?”  As I think of my close friend and her fiancé in Afghanistan, I respond, “Of course, there are many soliders who are putting their lives on their line for American right now.” (In my head, I question whether the choices of war are for ‘Americas protection’ but regardless, I fully respect the soldiers – who must take orders, as sketchy and imperialist as they may be.)  But Gia then said, “No not soldiers, I mean the everyday American – would they die for their country?”

I didn’t know the answer.  Do you?

stay tuned for Part II: Shakespeare - Bangladeshi Style

Behind the Scenes: VIP Treatment

YouTube

How to Lose Two Inches Off Your Waist in Four Hours

I’ve been told that I have an amazing capability to put myself in the weirdest situations.

Well, it happened again.

The principal of my school has a friend who is a singer here and is making a Valentine’s Day special – and needs some pretty, white girls as extras for the music video.  Myself, Darcy from Canada and Akiko from Japan were asked to participate.  We meet with the singer who seems nice and arranges us to go to the studio.

If anything great comes out of this, it’s meeting Darcy and Akiko.  They work for the IOM (International Organization on Migration) and UNESCO (United Nations Education, Social, and Cultural Organization).  After mentioning to Darcy the topic of my project, the next time I saw her she handed me a list of valuable articles on the topic.  I hope to visit her office next week, maybe make some connections and get started on this research.  Akiko is asking her boss at UNESCO if I can tag along for one of their site visits.  I hope this luck continues.

We meet on Thursday night at the language school and get into a car with the singer and his driver.  We were three Chatty Cathys (as my mother would say) in the back seat, sharing our projects and goals.  After a bit, we realize we are in a part of the city that we’ve never been in, and we’ve been in the car for 40 minutes.  Then we turn into this alley that only the width of one car.  Pulling up to this building surrounding by wall, we jump out and scurry inside from the rain.  Following the singer through these thin hallways, also only the width of one person, we sit in his office with his manager and producer.  He shows us some of his past photo shoots.  Darcy and I make eye contact as the singer comments on how he wishes that better production equipment was available in Bangladesh.  I’ll say, my own awkward cribs video and my old point-and-shoot camera take better pictures than this.  And cheesy is not a strong enough word to describe the clichéd and mushy poses between ‘lovers.’  One scene was a fight scene, and if anyone remembers Connetquot High School production of Les Miserables, our make-up was more believable.

So we don’t know what we’re getting ourselves into.  Is this even a legitimate singer?  To be honest, we felt guilted into it.  When our principal sat us down to tell us about the project, she called it the ‘Bangladeshi hospitality’ – that we were doing her a favor of helping her friend.

We are then ushered into another room which they called the practice room.  My living room is bigger.  There are a dozen Bangla girls sitting on chairs circling the room.  Then this short, tubby man gets up and starts dancing the typical corny dance moves of Bollywood/Dhallywood.  Then asks us to get up and learn the dance.  Darcy and Akiko were nervous and felt silly, but the moves were terribly easy.  Whatever dance move was done on the right side is repeated on the left.  I learned very young that that’s a sign of amateurs.  I like to describe the dance moves as “clichéd and unelaborate regurgitation of *NSYNC circa 1999.”  The music itself is a whole other story.

The moves were so easy that I was picking them up before he was finished teaching them.  Darcy and Akiko had me break down the moves into counts and words and we were silly school girls giggling the whole time.  The producer kept yelling at us, and believe me, he’s menacing looking.  The Bangladeshi girls got up to learn it, and they weren’t much better than us so we felt better.

Of course, from hearing music, I was becoming silly and did a little pirouette on the side.  The singer stops and says, “What’s this art?”  Then they made me dance ballet around the room in front of everyone.  I was so embarrassed, man.  My body is not as flexible as it used to be and it looked terrible.  But I’m not sure if they’ve ever seen it, so they were all impressed.  Darcy and Akiko are laughing at me and I’m turning seven shades of red.

So after two hours of practicing the same dance moves, they invite us into the office for dinner.  I don’t know if the Bangladeshi girls got food.  The three of us were so uncomfortable that we just chatted to ourselves as the singer, producer and manager keep eyeing us.  We ask to be taken home around 8:30 and with night traffic, we didn’t get home until 10.  

As per the music video, filming was finished last night and taped a bunch of it and am working it into a Behind the Scenes video.  Akiko backed out but Darcy and I had a good time.  They asked us to wear Western clothes and we laughed because we moved to Bangladesh: we didn’t bring much.  We hoped our backpacker clothes would be enough.  Then the bought us the shirts above...

And if anyone ever wants to lose a belt size in four hours -- come to Bangladesh, get convinced to be a 'VIP' white guest in a Bangla music video, propelled into a stage surrounding by at least 60 sets of eyes staring you down, under spotlights in a studio with no air conditioning.  Swear to Ganesh, inbetween one take, I had to tighten my belt another whole notch.  Darcy saw me trying to hide it but laughed and said she did the same thing.

I was asked to be in another movie, but I am going to pass.  This was a funny experience, I gained extra insight into the country, I met Darcy and some sweet Bangla girls and funny guys, and it will be a riot to watch the final cut on TV and eventually show my grandkids.  But it’s not why I’m here.  I think I’ll take a hiatus from my movie career and hide out in the French Rivera, or, you know, somewhere more remote, like Dhaka.

Coming soon --> Behind the Bangla Scenes: VIP Treatment

"Baby... Shooting... Hospital" -- The Case of the Language Barrier

On Wednesday, I was going to head to Dipali’s house for a visit.  I call before I jump in a CNG (autorickshaw).  She gives the phone to her husband Barun.  It is really loud in the background and all I can understand is, “baby… shooting… hospital…”

Umm, what?

He sounded fine, not upset or stressed so I patiently wait in Dhaka traffic to get to their house.  Dipali comes down to get me, and we head to their apartment.  In her room, is Dipali, Dulal, their mother, Dulal’s wife Meethu Mammi, and her son Sudho.  He’s about 10 months old and the cutest thing.  All he does is stare at me but cries when I hold him.  I am reminded of Mum Mum: we all lounge on the master bedroom’s bed, playing with the baby.  Soon, Dipali says that we are leaving.  Dipali, Meethu Mammi, the baby and myself head downstairs, walk onto the street, down a back street and suddenly in this person’s house.  There are people running in and out of the house, yelling at each other, grabbing things.   I realize: I’m on a movie set.  Barun is a journalist but sometimes directs.  Slowly the phone conversation reveals itself: the ‘baby’ is in this episode of the soap opera and Barun is ‘shooting’ near the ‘hospital’ around the corner from the apartment.

Ooooooh!

We sit down on this bed in this large room and Dipali pushes me in front of these two young Bangladeshis, about my age.  I look at them and they turn to me and say, “Hi, we’re from Florida.”  Praise Allah – American accents!  Turns out their names are Emy and Sam, born in Bangladesh but were raised in America.  Their parents moved their business to Dhaka so they are here for bit renewing their papers.  They are awesome and we chat the whole evening.

billboard of a Bangla movie

There are actresses and actors running about, changing, putting on make-up sleeping inbetween scences.  Emy tells me that it is a soap opera that taken place during the Liberation War in 1971.  We watched one scene where a couple reveals to the parents they are married.  The father is upset, but the friend jumps into the scene with mishti to soften the blow.  Emy said that she is unimpressed by Bangladeshi cinema.  I haven't seen much and I tried to compare to Indian cinema, and she argued, "Indian cinema at least has good production quality at this point.  Here we are still stuck in the 70s.  In some movies, you can still see the hand of the sound guy holding the microphone."

It starts to rain, so we head up to this woman’s apartment.  Emy heads inside with me, thank God, because then she can translate the havoc around me.  Being the token foreigner, I frequently assume that I am being talked about, especially when I hear keys words like, "America... scholarship... ekta bochor (one year)..."  They always ask if I know Bangla, which I respond I am learning (note to self: look up the Bangla word for 'slowly').  But instead of understanding that I don't know much yet (at this point I had four classes), they still try to speak.  So the best phrase I have learned is "ami bujhi na" -- I don't understand.  Sitting around, Emy and I share our frustrations of America and BD: governments, culture, selfishness and capitalism, she’s great to talk to.  She decided, since she's here, to take some classes in the University.  There is an entry exam similar to the SATs, but here in Bangladesh, you must know English to pass the exam.

Proof of Bangla hospitality the hostess serves samosa and mishti.  Samosas are this triangle pastry stuffed with vegetables or meat, and mishti are these Munchkin-sized treats drowned in liquid sugar.  I think these alone are the reason that many Bengalis have diabetes. 

After a bit, it starts pouring and it’s getting late so Dipali insists that I stay, but I just wanted to go home.  She is nervous about sending me home by myself but I have class at 8am.  Solution: they arrange for the production boy to sit in the CNG with me all the way to my apartment, and hour ride in traffic, then go back to the shooting.  Mind you, it’s 8:30pm, it’s not that late but it’s dark and I am nervous to head back by myself.  The whole ride the production boy Alal and I sit in silence, not knowing the other’s language, bouncing through Dhaka at night, food stands lit by candlelight and just as much traffic as mid-day.  In the background is the last call to prayer of the day.  I sit back in the CNG and let the city pass by.