Non-fiction
Do they know it's Eid?
Do you recall the famous hit song "Do They Know it's Christmas?" by Band Aid a British and Irish charity supergroup, founded in 1984 by Bob Geldof and Midge Ure. The record was released for the Christmas market that year. It was sung to raise funds for the impoverished of Ethiopia who were dying in the thousands due to famine while the rest of the world turned a blind eye upon their plight. It became the biggest-selling single of all time in the UK. The song struck a poignant chord in the hearts and minds of the affluent and aid and aid workers poured in to rescue their fellow man. You should listen to the song and ponder upon the lyrics. Parallels cannot actually be drawn - but a poor country like Bangladesh where tens of millions make do on less than a dollar a day, somehow does not quite attract the attention of the world. Actually it doesn't attract our own attention we that live, breathe and enjoy in this bustling megalopolis, sparing nary a thought of the direction we are headed. The chasm between the rich and the poor widens and the better off amongst us cannot even visualize - far less empathize with the abject poverty that surrounds us. We live cocooned in our own comfortable worlds, pursuing our own dreams and asking for more and more not sparing a thought for the less fortunate nor thinking of changing their circumstances. We cannot live in our ivory towers and forget about the city, about the vast majority that populate the slums and the countryside that barely keep body and soul together in life's daily grind. Dhaka is choking under the pressure of a burgeoning population, lack of infrastructure, power, gas and water, the traffic chaos, the waste in man hours and fuel just going from place to place. The loss in productivity some estimates put it at Taka 12,000 crores a year in Dhaka alone ! And then there is the hartal. How can we repeatedly shoot ourselves in the foot? How can politicians hold the country to ransom for their personal vendettas and how and why can we the populace keep on accepting this madness ? Had an interesting rickshaw ride from my home at Gulshan 2 to my office at Bijoynagar due to the hartal. The roads were as good as empty - very few motorized vehicles. Gave me time to reflect. Cost me Taka 60. Money well spent. Only that I was reading about China in "The Economist" the other day. Wondering - what a contrast in my country. Just loving the motherland and being optimistic will lead us nowhere. Patriotic songs and bombastic rhetoric have had their day - or have they. Forty years as an independent nation and we still dwell in the past! Once in the office I'm drowned in my work. The bonus that we are giving to our 500 employees is being distributed at head office and all the branch offices. We are a retail service business and our sales have taken a hit yesterday after the hartal was declared and we are fearing for the worst for today the hartal day. Robust sales of the past days due to the ensuing Eid season will take a nosedive today and we will have cash flow problems in the next two days as remaining bonuses are handed out. We hold meetings to plan for the holiday closure of five days the leave roster, the duty roster, the staff deployment in the various offices for the holidays but on top of everything how do we pay out the bonuses to those remaining employees that are still unpaid. We pray. Somehow we will manage as we have been doing over the past so many years. Running a business is a management nightmare. We are always busy in firefighting, when will we sit down and draw up strategies for growth and expansion and the myriad other things to run a company successfully? Even in this madness I take time out for a hurried lunch with a treasured friend to restore a semblance of sanity in my earthly existence. For a brief hour the joys of friendship puts the day's pressures on hold. Then I'm back to the grind. Good news some creditors' cheques have been honoured and more funds are available. A quick meeting with the accountants for planning of disbursements tomorrow. Then a sitting with the operations staff to monitor vehicle movements and suddenly it's dusk. Time to go home ! Out on the street, after three tries, I find a rickshawallah who agrees to go all the way to Gulshan 2. I offer 60 takas telling him that's what I paid in the morning he demands 80 we settle for 70 and we are off riding into the sunset via Rampura and Badda to Gulshan 2. Mercifully there are almost no vehicles but the road is teeming with rickshaws. The going is good but the potholes on the roads make for an uncomfortable and bumpy ride. I enjoy my ride, chatting with the rickshawallah he is a pretty optimistic guy cheerfully pedaling away and replying to my queries. Yes, he has a family a wife and two kids living in Malibagh Chowdhurypara in a rented hovel in a basti (slum). The older kid goes to a school for underprivileged children set up by an NGO where he can afford the discounted tuition. Yes, he now owns the rickshaw and he's been living in Dhaka for 12 years. My curiosity is piqued shamelessly I enquire "How much do you make ?" He twists his torso, looks me in the eye for a brief moment and nonchalantly says, "Sir, in Dhaka city can you live on less than Taka 10,000 per month?" I am surprised and ask him whether he makes that much. He nods vigorously in the affirmative and then rattles off his list of expenses. His wife doesn't work she looks after the household and the kids. I am impressed and happy for him but in the dim light I also notice his shirt is faded and has holes in it, he doesn't have a vest under the shirt and he is thin and scrawny. He makes 5 dollars a day, manages a family and feeds four mouths. Somehow my own problems seem to diminish I take solace in his cheerful disposition and take a lesson in forbearance. For the rest of the journey I lapse into silence while he furiously pedals away he has to make further trips till late in the night to achieve his target of takas 350 for the day. I remind myself he is amongst the fortunate to be able to make that much ! What about the tens of millions of Bangladesh who make a third of that! A fifth! Are we the children of a lesser God? Forever destined to grinding poverty? To never be allotted leaders with vision, courage and honesty to lead the nation to a brighter future. Will the fortunate ones, the rich, the educated, those in positions of power and responsibility, you and me - never, ever think of the masses. The millions of farmers, the day labourers those that toil from dawn to dusk be condemned to wallow in endless night? I am awakened from my reverie as I give directions and arrive at the gate of my apartment. I pay the rickshawallah the taka 70 fare and on a whim tell him to wait, while I get a shirt for him. I rush up the lift, rifle through my wardrobe and take out a shirt that once was a favourite of mine. I go down to the gate, ask him to take off his old shirt and put on the one that I've brought for him. He obliges, feeling shy at exposing his emaciated chest to me, the caretaker and watchmen of the apartment who gather around in amusement. Everybody says he's looking great. On an impulse he takes the shirt off, puts on his old one and says he'll wear the one I've given to him on Eid day. He then gave us all a grin that was a mile wide and pedaled away.
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