Pohila Boyshack

Happy New Year! The year is 1415 and I hope it’s going to be a belter. 14^th April was Bengali New Year and I’m not sure how they measure it but that’s the year here. Although really they just use the same year and calendar as us on a day to day basis. I know I know, I haven’t written for ages. I have been writing a lot but non of it is suitable for this blog because it’s often angry and overwhelmingly dull and self-indulgent. I could have written about my holiday to India which was lovely and infinitely bloggable (if it really is an adjective). Indeed that was my intention on my return here but then I was mauled by Bangladesh. I’m going to spare you the details because they involve visas and half finished houses and funding and all manner of things I won’t bore you with, suffice to say that the last two weeks have been perhaps my toughest here so far and so I’ve been in no mood to write.

Now with that said, New Year came as a breath of fresh air. In Bengali it’s called Pohila Boyshack, hence the title, and it is by far the most fun I’ve seen Bangladeshis have en masse and in public. I was invited by my good friends at Rajshahi University to come and spend a couple of days with them so off I went. One of them insisted that if I was going to attend the festivities I had better look the part and so they bought me a panchabi and a dhutti. The panchabi is a long sleeved gown that is either made of cotton or silk and comes down to the knees. The dhutti is a very traditional, if slightly antiquated form of dress that is worn around the bottom half. It’s starched white cotton and is folded intricately around until it resembles a skirt or a kilt or something of that ilk. Needless to say that I looked pretty daft, and yet I drew compliments for the entire day. Apparently I looked like an old Bengali prince so I wasn’t really complaining. The first thing I noticed on our walk around the university campus where the festivities were taking place was that this was first big gathering I’d seen that didn’t appear to have any overtly religious overtones. There is a real divide here between Hindus and Muslims and so it was great to see everybody congregate together as Bangladeshis. The day seemed to allow everyone to meet on common ground.

I’ll be honest, that wasn’t the first thing I noticed, rather the thing that struck me were the women. Women here have a habit of being tucked away, out of the public gaze, either in the house or behind the burqa. And yet today they weren’t just visible, they were stunning. The vast majority were decked out in saris of all colours and patterns although most opted for the traditional white and red, often with a gold trim. The fabrics shimmered and shone in the sun and seemed to accentuate the grace with which the women here move. All around us there was the sound of laughter, singing and of traditional music, the harmonium, the khol (a type of drum), cymbals and bells. The air was heady with the smell of cooking as the food stands thronged with people eating ilish mach, a prized river fish, and rice out of earthenware bowls. I found it utterly enthralling and overwhelming. My friends did their utmost to make sure I was included and that I was comfortable but they couldn’t stem the almost constant tide of people coming up to talk to me and to take my picture. Almost all of them were polite and courteous and merely wanted to know where I was from and what I thought of the place but it felt a little bit like some kind of state visit and by five o’clock I was exhausted. I took my leave and went and sat in my cool dark room for a couple of hours in a rather serene daze.

Bangladesh is in the news again. This time for violent demonstrations against women’s rights. It’ll be in the news again, when the floods start, or when another ferry sinks, or to show lines of people queuing for rice. Bangladesh is plagued by poverty but it is not defined by it. It is an incredibly complex and diverse country and yet it is squashed into a strange two dimensional parody of itself in the western media. I want to tell you about my time here because you should know that Bangladesh is more than its poverty, it’s better than its Islamic extremism, it contains beauty and life and it’s these things that I want to cherish and preserve from my time here, things that I hope to share with you.