k i t s c h y p o t e m k i n

2011-07-08T13:52:00.002+06:00

"If you care too much about Singapore, first it'll break your spirit, and finally it will break your heart." --- Alfian Sa'at

It is awfully uncharitable of me to be quoting this line now, this year of all years. After all, it has been an awfully exciting year so far, filled with awfully inspirational/cheesy words and phrases. Watershed, landmark elections, groundswell, landmark, hope, change, upheaval, the voice of the people... well, you get the idea.

The year isn't even over. Plenty of things could happen in the next five months.

I suppose I wanted to write this in an attempt to figure out my waning interest in Singapore-related matters. After all, it wasn't so long ago that I was utterly intoxicated by the political happenings on this tiny island. Fun times.

However, even at the peak of my excitement, I knew there was something missing from the picture. I didn't know what was wrong exactly, but I mentally prepared myself for a 'downer' that I somehow knew would come.

Last night, a friend and I went to look at the developments at Punggol jetty. It hasn't been officially opened yet -- which minister will they get to come cut the ribbon? -- and everything was shiny and new. There was a huge sign: 'Punggol Promenade'. I suppose in time to come, no one would use the phrase 'Punggol Point' or even 'Punggol Jetty'. The word 'promenade' will be known as a proper noun to most Singaporeans, just like 'Esplanade'.

There was an old man there throwing pieces of raw meat onto the field next to the main road. It looked rather excessive -- lots of meat, and only one lone dog chowing down. There used to be a lot more wild dogs in the area. Never before did I have to actively look out for them, like I did last night. The man said it was only a matter of time before they would come shoot the rest of the dogs. By the end of the night, my dog count stood at a grand total of two.

I kept thinking about that quote by Alfian, which I first came across on Tym's blog many years ago. I've always liked it, but I don't think I fully felt it before -- my spirit was not yet broken, and my heart was intact. Occasionally angsty, but intact.

As I walked along our latest "waterfront development", it occurred to me that somewhere along the way during the past five or six years, my spirit did indeed become broken, and I think I am now no longer capable of loving this country. I wondered if it was because my heart had become broken to such a degree that while the recent elections did manage to revive it for a short moment (we have a pulse!), it soon flat-lined all over again.

The thing is, I don't have any suggestions for how they could have done a better job at the Punggol Promenade. I would have just not done it at all -- which is really quite unfair, since it isn't my private beach, and who am I to stop others from having lovely waterfront-filled weekends? I will just have to take my retro-aggression elsewhere.

I told my friend I had deliberately not gone to see the railway station when they closed it down. I didn't even want to go on those walks by the tracks which some nice people organised. I didn't want to have anything to do with what I felt was another elaborate, long-drawn funeral for yet another place that would soon be dead.

As such, I don't think I will go to Bukit Brown either.

I can't recall if there were other places that closed down earlier in this year, and I don't know what else will disappear by the end of the year. There are five more months -- plenty of things could happen.

Of course, the right thing to do would be to do something. I know there are folks working to conserve/preserve these places. Bukit Brown still stands a chance, but I'm not going to hold my breath. But hey -- shouldn't you Take action! Do something! Join in the efforts!

The truth is, I don't think I could muster enough interest to be bothered. Maybe it is because I (am too lazy) don't care enough -- and I don't care enough, because I can't care about something I don't love anymore.

In Conversation: Mr. Renovation Man

2011-03-13T13:16:00.007+06:00

Alan asked if I wanted to do part-time work in his gallery on Sundays. It has to stay open, and Sunday is generally a precious day for those who work during the week - would I be interested? I would like to point out that I DO work during the week as well, but my Sundays are not exactly overflowing in weekend ambitions.

So one of the jolly renovation guys doing work at the cafe downstairs came up to make sure they haven't drilled a hole through our floor and to spy on what I was doing. Earlier, one of them sang me a little ditty about how "A smoke a day makes you stronger, and alcohol drives away all your problems." The rhyme is more obvious in Mandarin.

He asked a bit about what I was doing, and I decided to pick his brain about what kind of photographs he would like to see. I've some ideas you see, and the success of these ideas will depend on how accurately I am able to read the mind of an average Singaporean.

Conversation Excerpts (Translated from Mandarin)

"So, if I told you there was a photo exhibition thing near where you live, would you go see it?"

"Yeah sure, I'll pop by for a look."

"What would you want it to be about? If you had a choice?"

"I don't know... something interesting? Like other countries?"

"So if it's photos from around your area, you wouldn't be interested?"

"Why do I want to see where I live? It would be boring! I see it everyday!"

"But photography can let you see the same things but in a different way?"

"Yes I get that. But it would still be boring. Why not show me something I haven't seen before from other countries?"

"So you'd like to see photos from abroad?"

"Yes, if it is nice to look at. It is something new for me to see."

"What if it is photos of your neighbour?"

"I see him everyday!"

"What if the photo were to be really huge? Like a few stories high?"

"Why would you do that? He'll look weird."

"So what would you want to see if it in a photo that's really big?"

"Something moving and interesting. Like landscape and scenery. That would be beautiful."

"So you wouldn't go see your neighbour's face even if its 3-storey large?"

"Yeah I'd go see quickly. But just a quick look, that's all."

"What if its Lee Kwan Yew's face?"

"There's no way in hell I'd want to see that."

Food for thought, folks.

Why, hello there.

2011-03-02T13:25:00.004+06:00

I may have forgotten how to blog.

So yes, from the above photo, you can see that not much has changed. Crazy cat lady status still awaits me in the near future. There are lots of other photos hiding in my harddrive that I've not even looked at, but for that, I'll first need to find a bit of motivation.

Take this set, for example. I was just tickled at coming across random man-made things in the middle of nowhere. I was hoping to formulate some kind of slightly ironic, slightly witty montages, but when I started working on it, my brain blocked itself. I don't think this is the way the photos should be presented, but hell, sometimes, there is just no rescuing a shitty photo even if you slap them together and call it a triptych. I couldn't even think of a title! I keep thinking 'Lost and Found', but at doesn't make any sense at all.

This was a day trip to the Angkor temples. I paid for a three-day ticket, but I only went for a day because shit hit the fan and I couldn't find the time to go. I did not visit Angkor Wat because it was being invaded by busloads of tourists, and I just felt I would rather have no experience of Angkor Wat than a tourist-laden experience of it. On hindsight, I was being really silly.

So I now officially work - as in, have rejoined society as a productive member who expects my bank account numbers to fluctuate (upwards) after a month. I realised a few days ago that I had been unemployed for six months. It is cool that I had enough money to stay unemployed for six months. As for how much I've actually managed to really rejoin society - well, let's talk about that another time, shall we?

2011-01-05T13:51:00.001+06:00

2010-12-17T23:07:00.001+06:00

Hospitals, witnessing the deterioration of the human body, trying to make sense of pointless family feuds and grudges held over from so long ago no one can really remember when it began, wondering if I will turn out to be the kind of child that argues about paying for my parent's medical bills, questioning the morality of putting someone into a nursing home, wondering how a man can hold it together as he watches his body fall apart.

The doctors are full of optimism, and we try to mirror it when we talk to him. You'll be able to walk by yourself soon. You could barely move your arm yesterday, look how much you're improving!

Someone told him yesterday to 'think happy thoughts'. It made me feel like throwing up. If I should suffer a stroke one day and be faced with the prospect of not ever being able to walk unassisted, please do not ever tell me to think happy thoughts.

I asked him today, "What would you like to do when you get home?"

"What's there left for me to do? There's nothing to do anymore."

My grandfather is notoriously grumpy, and although I've grown fond of his curt and brusque way of talking, his reply was heartbreaking.

Last night I dreamt I was on death row. There were mere minutes left to finding a way to get me off the hook, and no one else (including my parents) but me seemed to realise the urgency of the situation. I thought of ways to escape and make a run for it - I can still taste the fear in my mouth.

2010-12-06T18:18:00.002+06:00

"What do you think about all this?"

I can't remember if I ever asked this question to anyone, back in the days when I was the one asking the questions. I know what the right answer is, I know the words they want to hear - expressions of indignation, strong remarks on justice, emotional cries for sympathy. I couldn't help but laugh when I heard this question -- how do I even begin to express what I think? Ridiculous is a word with only 10 letters, and 10 letters are not enough to convey the immensity of the absurdity I see.

So tonight I'm turning the music up loud loud loud and singing along to silly songs. Only 12 hours to go.

2010-11-18T19:08:00.002+06:00

No updates - nothing interesting to say, and also because I've been writing for another blog.

There was a third story from China which I wanted to write about, but too much time has passed and I fear the details are a little fuzzy in my head.

The festival starts in TWO DAYS.

Chinese Impressions 2

2010-10-30T15:05:00.001+06:00

The woman at the airline counter looked pissed off when I argued with her to be reassigned a window seat. I felt bad about being so fussy, but I really hate sitting along the aisle.

When I boarded the plane, my heart sank. I could see from a distance that there was someone occupying the seat I had fought for. I hadn't been in China long, but I had already experienced firsthand how the Chinese are not afraid of public confrontations. I mentally prepared myself for the inevitable argument.

When I got to my seat, I could see there would be no fight. It was an old woman, with her husband next to her, and she gave me an embarassed but hopeful smile.

"Am I in your seat? Do you mind if I sit here? I want to look out the window."

Lifang and Bawen were both natives of Guangdong province. They asked if I could help fill in their immigration forms. "No one from our generation studied English."

From their dates of birth in the passports, I did the math. She was 69, and he was 75.

"How long have the two of you been married?"

"Two years shy of our 50th anniversary," he replied, with unmistakable pride. They reached for the other's hands. It was unbearably sweet.

They used to do business in the region, but had retired long ago and were now heading for a week-long holiday in Phnom Penh. They tried to explain the type of work they used to do, but my Mandarin lacked the vocabulary to comprehend. I did, however, understand that it was large-scale, profitable work which required them to travel to different countries.

"Is Singapore still as beautiful as it was?"

"That depends on whether you think buildings are beautiful."

"Ah well, all in the name of progress. Guangzhou is also too big now. It's such a waste."

They told me to come back to China. I should find a job here, there are plenty of opportunities for someone who could speak English. I should travel and see the rest of the country. China is the most beautiful country in the world, and I had to see it all.

Just minutes before the plane began its descent into Phnom Penh, I found out Lifang was Teochew - the first I had met during my trip.

"I have a traditionally Teochew face."

She was delighted to have found another Teochew speaker, and didn't seem to care that my dialect was worse than my Mandarin. She grabbed my arm and whispered conspiratorially into my ear. It was wonderful.

The pilot didn't do a very good job during the landing - the plane shook a lot more than what I was used to. Lifang saw the look on my face, and she patted my arm as she leaned back in her chair, utterly relaxed.

"I don't have the same fears as you do. I'm not scared. Once you hear the wheels being released, you have nothing to worry about. Trust me."

She gave me a wink.

"We are old and experienced. We know these things."

Chinese Impressions 1

2010-10-30T12:24:00.003+06:00

He was short and squat, and I was uncomfortable. Why had they assigned me the male masseuse, and not my male friend who was in the other room? "I'm happy to be able to serve you," he said to me in Mandarin as he arranged the towels on the chair.

There is always that awkward conversation to be had during a foot massage. It's a lot easier to avoid eye contact during the full body ones, but there is no escape when someone's seated right in front of you. How do you make small talk with someone who's holding your feet? I try my best, in any case.

We went through the usual routine - where are you from, what are you doing here, do you like China? He was very concerned about how cold I was.

"Bad blood circulation. You are too skinny."

I asked him about a tattoo he had on his arm. It looked like one of those insignias that members of a gang would have. "Everyone in my family has one," he said. "It means I have 'heart'."

He told me he had a friend who was in Singapore. I asked if he would try heading there as well, that it might be easy to find a good job in one of the many massage places we had.

"I don't have a passport," he replied. "The furthest place I have ever been is Shenzhen."

We passed some moments in silence before he spoke again.

"If you are in Singapore, can you make phone calls to China?"

For sure, I replied.

"I don't believe you. I don't see how it is possible."

I tried my best to convince him, telling him my parents called me daily from Singapore. I don't think he believed me. When the massage was over, he told me my liver was in bad shape.

Siem Reap

2010-10-15T17:54:00.006+06:00

I find it difficult to accept the fact that I'm actually working and being productive - not when I'm in a town like this, when everyday feels like I won the lottery and got sent on a dream holiday.

Siem Reap is beautiful to me because of its simplicity despite the multitudes of luxuries available. It seems like a contradiction, one which I've struggled with for all of five minutes, but I suppose such things resolve themselves in the end.

Of course, this is only because I've deliberately refrained from seeing things as they really are. The only relevant question I've asked was something about local salaries, but I don't think I really listened to the answer. In the midst of the beautiful restaurants and Pub Street there is reality to be found, but I don't quite want to see it yet.

2010-09-26T22:21:00.002+06:00

I find that I've been getting angry more often -- not the kind of irritation that stems from a momentary frustration which can be brushed off if you just take a deep enough breath, but the kind of anger that makes me want to go on one of those never-ending rants that always ends with an awkward silence and with me feeling embarrassed. Suddenly, I'm back to being a fucking expert with an opinion on everything. I guess I'm still a judgmental bitch, and no amount of wishing is going to make that part of me go away.

To that end, I've kept myself away from most people. I find that I'm much better behaved if I just stay in with the cats.

I always read about people wishing from their death beds that they hadn't worked so hard, that they had stopped to smell the roses and enjoy life and take more walks on the beach etc etc. -- what about the others? What about those who spent their lives walking on beaches? Are there any dying people out there that say, "Fuck, I should've done something useful with myself. I can't believe the amount of time I wasted getting sand out of my clothes."

I have a feeling I'm going to find out.

Things I would like to regret: Spending too much time riding horses, reading far too many books, and wasting too much money on train tickets.

Along The Way

2010-09-16T11:40:00.003+06:00

While on Bus 107

A mother with her young son on a bicycle at a traffic junction, making use of the waiting time by cleaning the boy's face with a towel.
A place called 'Yong's Teochew Kueh'. How is it that can't name a single type of Teochew kueh? Does peng kueh count? Is ngo hiang considered Teochew?
An ad for '24 hour Prawning'. What? Prawning is the new fishing, apparently.
A new 24 hour Indian Muslim coffeeshop on Upper Serangoon. Yay!
Serangoon is in Marine Parade GRC? WTF.
Public Campaign posters spotted: Recycling, Fire Hazards, Be Gracious on Buses

A little notice at our lift lobby informs us that Lift A and B will be permanently shut down in a couple of days. The openings will be sealed up. Since Lift C has gone through the ubiquitous Upgrading and now stops at every floor, joining its gleaming counterparts newly installed at either ends of the building, the HDB folks probably figured there was no longer a need for these two outdated lifts.

I felt a little sad at the thought of these two coffin-like contraptions becoming scrap metal. After all, I've been taking these lifts for the last 24 years, to the point that I can instinctively predict down to the last second how long it takes to reach each floor.

And then felt really sad for myself because it seems that I've formed attachments to inanimate public objects.

Three Things

2010-09-11T15:38:00.002+06:00

1. Heard

"Ah but where is Singapore River ah?"
- local teenage girl speaking on mobile phone while next to the Singapore River.

2. Seen

A man with a bloodied arm.

3. Occurred

A Bangladeshi worker walking towards made a complete U-turn and headed away as I approached.

Homecoming

2010-09-03T16:36:00.002+06:00

I've been meaning to blog, to say something in the public sphere - to issue a statement of sorts regarding my supposedly big leap back home after having been away. However, that would require me to summarise, or to explain, or to offer some sort of narrative, but that all seems rather impossible right now as the words just won't come, and personal understanding seems rather out of reach.

Isn't there supposed to be, at the very least, sort of an emotion upon homecoming? I've been trying to figure out what it is. Relief? Respite? Happiness? Unhappiness? Something? I just haven't been able to figure out what I am feeling, and now I think perhaps the elusiveness of that emotion is due to the fact that I feel nothing.

There has certainly been tangible feelings - such as feeling sated by good food, enjoying being physically seated at a kopitiam, and being able to hold and see the cats - but these are physical responses, not emotional ones, and with regards to the latter department, I must say that the lack of response scares me a little.

Then again, I am a bit of an idiot, and its only been less than two weeks. I've not even unpacked.

2010-08-04T01:53:00.002+06:00

Goodbye crazy land, and thanks for everything.

Will probably (and hopefully) be offline for the next month as I try to keep my mother out of trouble in India, and then there's this beach you see, which is waiting for me before I embark on my professionally unprofessional life.

Kainee Shesh.

2010-07-26T22:50:00.005+06:00

It was late, and as I hung around outside the Building waiting for a CNG to show, I knew I had been spotted. I had seen them as I came out, and it didn't take long for them to be behind me.

"Apu, taka please. We're so hungry."

It also didn't take long for Ruby and Mithu to understand I wasn't dealing out cash, and so their questions started.

"Where are you going?"
"My house."
"Where is your house?"
"Dhanmondi."
"Can we come with you?"
"Why?"
"To see your house!"
"Ha, I don't think that's possible."
"You want to come to our house?"
"Where is it?"
"Agargaon. It's nearby. Come?"

There were other questions, but I didn't understand them.

"You need rickshaw?"
"No, a CNG. Dhanmondi is too far away."

Solemn nods of agreement. Ruby asked if she could have my shawl. I said no, I only had one with me.

They waited with me, yelling and shouting at every CNG that passed. I felt sick to see them so close to the heavy speeding traffic, even though I knew from the feather dusters they carried that they could probably maneuver the traffic a lot better than I ever could. Still, it made me nervous and I ordered them to stand away.

A younger boy showed up, carrying a hot flask of tea. I asked the girls if they'd like a cup. Yes!! We went to sit by the curb, further away from the road. They continued to ask me questions I didn't understand, so I decided to take over the conversation to tell them about myself. One hand each on my lap, listening to me babble in my limited Bangla.

When I lit up a cigarette, both girls looked horrified.

"No! Very bad! Not good!"
"Why?"

The boy, who had been silent all this while, countered with a "It's good!" The girls shushed him.

"Cancer! Make you sick!"
I looked at the boy. "They're right, you know."

We finished the tea, and the boy didn't have change. I was going to let him earn an extra taka, but the girls would have none of it. They took out their own money, made change, and sent him on his way. We went back to look for a CNG.

Before they left me to my own devices, Ruby suddenly asked, "Would you take a photo of us?" She hugged Mithu close to her face, stroking the other girl's cheek. I wasn't carrying a camera, nor had I mentioned photography at all, so I guess this is something they ask everyone - but it was still rather poignant to me. We set a date for tomorrow.

"See you tomorrow!" yelled Ruby as she left.
"Inshallah."
"Inshallah!"

I thought about it on the way back, how the happiness I feel from these small, inconsequential conversations trumps all the good feelings I've ever felt from having someone praise my photos or having my work published. It's nice to think that sometimes it could really just be as simple as that.

2010-07-17T23:29:00.001+06:00

I walked for half an hour from my house to Neelket - last minute panic-induced attempt to sort out shit in my life - and realised I did a good thing cancelling that trek in Nepal because at some point my mother would've had to drag my exhausted body back down the mountain. I mean, she could do it. That woman runs marathons for fuck's sake.

I've been caught up in a wave of anticipatory nostalgia as the days tick off, trying to soak in the things I think I'll forget. Which, given my goldfish memory, is a pretty fucking long list. So I try to keep things in my head - like how, no matter how hard I try, I always end up stepping on someone's spit. It's everywhere. It's bound to happen.

And like how every road junction has the potential to become a clusterfuck of illogical driving - you stare at the mess of vehicles and the one helpless traffic policeman standing in the midst of it all looking slightly overwhelmed, and you just can't imagine how anything will move ever again. And sometimes, the rickshaw wallahs will start bitching - why can't that car just move oh my god they are idiots. Yesterday, my rickshaw wallah got off and went up to the car in front of us to inform the driver that this jam is all your fault, get the hell out of the way. I would've slapped him a high five but that is probably too much.

The guys at the book market tried selling me Lonely Planet's Bangladesh guide. I looked at them and threw up my hands in the air. Ami keno lagbe? I'm ekhane na? (Why would I need this? Am I not right here?) They laughed. New edition. Bangladesh! Come Bangladesh. Thanks dudes, I'm glad we understand each other.

Measure of Adaptability

2010-07-14T11:34:00.002+06:00

The one day I get a CNG driver that actually seems to not have a death wish, I end up feeling extremely impatient in this very safe vehicle and wish that he would just speed the fuck up. I mean, three car lengths between you and the next car? Observing braking distance? How did you get your license?

2010-07-12T12:33:00.003+06:00

Bangladesh Trumps Singapore: Reason #453 & #454
Very high chance that you will pet a goat before the end of the day (every day, any day).
The fastest way to avoid a traffic jam (and to die) is to switch to the opposite lane. Sure there's oncoming traffic, but at least you're moving.

2010-07-11T22:55:00.002+06:00

This image has been blogged and re-blogged to death, and I (obviously) love it even though I've seen it everywhere. Thanks to my current infantile addiction to exploring the archives of Nick Holmes' tumblr (the most attractive man I've ever slept with), I've finally discovered the artist is 27-year-old Sarolta Bán. Guess who else turns 27 this year? I am a talentless idiot.

2010-07-08T21:21:00.002+06:00

193 pages down, don't know how many more to go. My ass is now permanently glued to this chair, and my fingers just can't stop clicking on websites just so that I don't have to insert punctuation (a full stop is NOT OPTIONAL), correct very strange language and feel like I want to yell LEARN SOME ENGLISH FOR FUCKS' SAKE out of the window. That would be just wrong. Very wrong. Mustn't do that.

aquariums and puppets

2010-07-07T20:20:00.002+06:00

So there was a huge French house that I was lucky enough to lived in, even though I was a student and rightly belonged in a dormitory room somewhere. The second floor had a floor-to-ceiling aquarium running around its entire perimeter -- but the water was half-full and it was clear that the great white shark (and smaller tiger sharks?) were not faring too well. There was even a huge sea cucumber stuck on the wall that looked like it was drying out.

So I found the hose, and turned on the pipe and poured the water into the tank which filled up surprisingly quickly. Before I had the chance to see how the fishes were enjoying all the extra water, I noticed a painting/figure/doll of an old woman that was just settling onto the bottom of the tank - no doubt it had been moved around when the waters swirled in.

I stared hard at the wrinkly face and I just knew, that if I stared long enough, it would move. In all my worst nightmares and lengthy-imagination sessions - this always happens. And so her face moved, but I wasn't sure - maybe it was the water that was making her move - and so I tried again and again. And the face got more and more grotesque. I couldn't walk away - what if she followed me? I yelled for Sandrine. I whipped the curtains close around the tank to hide that face from my view.

Sandrine, who had been cooking in the kitchen, came running. What? What? She's alive, I said, trying to sound calm so as to not freak Sandrine out. I let my hands go, and the curtains came down, only now there wasn't an old woman - there was a wooden puppet in the shape of a little girl and she wasn't in the tank anymore. There wasn't any glass between us and her.

Ah. Oh. Sandrine and I stared hard. The little girl came alive, she looked human now, she stepped out and in front of us.

Sandrine tried to speak to her, but it didn't seem like she understood. Try speaking to her in French, I said. It worked (I'm very multilingual in dreams) and the girl said she used to be owned by a duchess, and it was a very long time ago. She didn't seem to realise that time had passed.

I vaguely thought of Harry Potter and how that movie had made talking paintings a lot less scary.

Are you angry I made faces at you just now? I asked. I don't remember her reply. Sandrine was pissed off by now - what the fucked had I dragged her into?

NO MORE AFTERNOON NAPS FOR YOU JESS.

commas

2010-07-05T12:21:00.004+06:00

Was out for the count due to a viral fever that went on for too long (at least it wasn't dengoo), now rushing to finish what I couldn't do due to too much lying in bed incapacitated, currently technically unemployed for the first time in I guess a not-so-long time but still busy as fuck, missing roommate Maria who left for some lovely little island in Norway (enjoy the summer, while it lasts), slightly sad the espresso maker broke but will learn to cope, cat-sighting count at an ALL TIME HIGH and I can't help but think its a sign about something but not sure what, feel like I oughta learn the Robot & Robo, successfully stopped Mother from freaking out about monsoon in Nepal & India, still can't stop fantasising about a beach in Sri Lanka.

2010-06-22T10:57:00.002+06:00

“Thou shall not kill. Thou shall not commit adultery. Don't eat pork.
I'm sorry, what was that last one? Don't eat pork. God has spoken.
Is that the word of God or is that pigs trying to outsmart everybody?”

My annual Jon Stewart obsession is back.

“I want to look back on my career and be proud of the work, and be proud that I tried everything. Yes, I want to look back and know that I was terrible at a variety of things.”

2010-06-18T01:31:00.004+06:00

Sometimes I spend too much time imagining what my life would be like if it had more animals in it. (And I don't mean on my plate, although I do think about that as well.)

Which is precisely what i did

2010-06-14T10:47:00.002+06:00

Its time to stop. To think. To question the self and see if you can find a new way to proceed. Otherwise just put aside that camera and do something else.
- The Spinning Head

Asim Rafiqui says exactly what I am only able to express in vague, unhappy grunts. Too much love for his writing.

The handover process is in full swing - with or without a replacement - and I've had to engage in uncomfortable self-reflection. What does it mean to be in charge? What have I learnt? I've always known that I would be an unpleasant person - I have no patience, no tact, and I'm too prone to arrogance. I warned them all at the beginning. I may yell at you, but I'll always apologise later. But only if I'm wrong. Which I won't be. Or something to that effect.

Today, I received one of the best compliments of my life: "Jess, you are so rude, but you feel our pulse."

How on earth did they ever put up with me? Love them to death.

2010-06-12T22:05:00.001+06:00

En route to Barisal.

2010-06-09T22:16:00.003+06:00

Sights En Route to Sylhet and Back

Nothing like a rat's disembowelment to kick off your day!
The "Magic Tree" car freshener in the shape of a pine tree.
A little van full of packed full of bananas. A windowful of bananas.
The Sea Fish Centre. (No, it is not a food court.)
A room named Compassion.
Two ring floats, a plastic ball, and too much clingy t-shirt action.
Chains around and around an elephant's belly.
The bobbing heads of swimming cows. (Cows are beyond awesome, now that I've seen how they can swim.)
The midnight cry (or moans) of a mating frog.
The heroic/misguided attempts of a shama to ward eagles away from its nest.

Discombobulated

2010-06-05T16:25:00.003+06:00

This is my word of the week. It has been a strange couple of days, fueled by my indiscriminate consumption of coffee.

It has been raining a lot. In the morning, during the night. Someone asked on the way to dinner, does this mean the monsoon is here? I didn't know. I've lived here through three monsoons and I still couldn't remember when the season started. The streets outside were flooded today.

So a building collapsed earlier this week. And then there was that fire where so many, so many had died. And then another building (next to the one that had collapsed) started tilting and they had to evacuate the area. And cracks appeared in the walls of another building, somewhere else, and everyone had to leave too.

I don't get that tingle anymore from these things. I don't feel that urge to hop into a CNG and rush there so that I can be part of the media covering the event. I don't feel stressed about 'missing out' on the action. I can remember how that felt like, though.

I looked through the photos when the photographers came back from those events. Dead bodies, crying people, body bags, charred corpses, more grief, more pain, more loss, all caught on a wide angle lens, and you mark down the ones you want. This image works better than this, don't you see? See how her hands clings on so tightly as her friends try to hold her up? It shows just how much pain she is in. And this one - a hint of a dead body, just a foot, its better than the whole thing. We don't show the whole body. That's tasteless, don't you know?

One of the photographers told me he couldn't sleep all night after covering the aftermath of the fire. It's just too much, you know? I patted him on the back and told him he had to let it go.

During drinks at one of those clubs, I said nothing when the topic came up in the conversation. Isn't it horrible? How so many people died in that fire in Old Dhaka? Yes, its terrible. I looked at my feet and sipped my wine. The woman across me wore a flowy silk blouse in salmon pink with sequins across the collar, matched with a thin belt across her waist. She looked very fashionable. Behind her, two men played a game of tennis. I watched a little cute mouse scamper across the tiled floor.

I feel like I don't live here. Like, this happened in another world, you know? They were still talking about it. I lit up another cigarette.

Nazrul called me two days ago. Where are you? Dhanmondi, I said. And you? Woodlands lah. Next week I come back. Fantastic, I replied. It would be nice to see him in his own country. But how will we meet? You live in Gazidpur! Aiyah. Then I come Dhanmondi see you lah.

I would like that very, very much.

OH GOD NO.

2010-06-01T10:09:00.008+06:00

This was so painful to read. So, so very painful.

Beauties dating 'beasts'

By Goh Shi Ting, Multimedia Journalist, RazorTV

IN THE Disney cartoon Beauty and The Beast, Beauty falls in love with the Beast for his beautiful heart despite his hideous looks.

And many 'Average Joes' are finding that fairy tale coming true for them as they live happily ever after with women who are considerably better looking than them.

Founder of dating agency Table for Six, Andrew Chow, who recently match-made such a couple said that it is 'really true love'.

'They look like an odd couple. The man is 1.65 meters and the lady is above 1.7 meters. The lady is very well-groomed and the man is losing his hair. But the personality and character of the gentleman is so much of a giant. He walks like a man who is 1.85 meters,' claimed Andrew.

However, the reverse doesn't seem to be true. Fewer good looking men are taking 'Plain Janes' as girlfriends.

I don't know where to start. I only regret that I read this online, because if it were in print I'd at least have the satisfaction of ripping this page to shreds and watching each strip of paper burn to its death.

E&S

2010-05-31T22:47:00.004+06:00

Just a little ongoing project of mine which looks at the ground below, and, as John Lennon said, above us only sky.

Let sleeping dogs

2010-05-31T08:34:00.004+06:00

A little altitude makes a whole lotta difference.

My trip north to Sylhet made me feel a little sad for the south of Bangladesh. Sure, the rivers are wider there, but look at all the green they are missing out on! I'm not quite sure why, but up north, the trees seemed greener, thicker, taller and richer. The Sharee river, flowing south from the hills of Meghalaya, was greenish and clear, its water cold and clean. I drank a few mouthfuls whilst on the boat. The last time I drank something that wasn't first boiled or filtered or from a Singaporean tap was when I was 14 years old, at the shores of a lake nestled between the mountains in Yunnan. The taste was the same - cold and free.

We stopped in the middle of the river, as the boatman made a grand sweeping gesture towards the hills in the distance. India! He pronounced, grandly. We got off the boat at some little touristy rest stop, and saw two magnificent Asian elephants.

I am useless in front of elephants. I am in so much awe, that they could be in front of me and not want to crush me to death, that I feel like getting down on my knees to show my respect.

I cannot fathom why animals put up with human beings. It would be so easy to shake off the four silly humans clinging onto its back and lumber away to freedom in the forest. I mean, what could we possibly do? Yell really, really loudly? (No guns present, hence not included in this equation.)

And yet, we've got these elephants doing inane tricks, like a salam with the trunk and a cute curtsey, eliciting loud laughter and even more gawking. What a disgrace. We are not worthy.

This is probably why I like cats, due to their low regard for all things human. They caught on fast to how silly we are.

2010-05-26T12:21:00.003+06:00

I am quite good at cutting people out of my life -- it is not always intentional, and it doesn't always hurt, but it does make me feel like a robot with on-off switches.

What is up with these inward-looking thoughts in the middle of the day?? Oh right. I'm procrastinating.

It's like (here comes the bad analogy) surgery with permanent local anesthesia. You don't feel anything as you slice it off, it doesn't hurt even after the surgery, and there sure as hell isn't any sensation as the wound heals up. You don't even think about it, but sometimes you do get a glimpse of that cavity, that hole which you have created and you wonder shouldn't it hurt a lot more than this when you lose a bit of yourself? How is it possible to feel nothing?

This only applies to self-inflicted wounds. If someone else does the slicing against your free will - it will hurt like fuck. I still can't look at photos of my great-grandmother.

Oh shut up, Jess.

2010-05-25T10:42:00.002+06:00

It occurred to me today, that I no longer notice the scars on my hands and face, that I am puzzled and surprised if someone asks me about them - which is rarely, since they are not really that noticeable - and I reply with a Oh! But that was ages ago! Which is true - it has been almost six months since the crash. I am used to the dentures, I hardly ever forget to wear them in the morning now, and I can taste food again even with that huge piece of plastic in my mouth. I still can't quite take a good bite from an apple though. I showed the dentures to a person I liked, because I didn't want to feel like I was hiding anything, and he said, "Are you trying to make me leave?". I knew it was a joke, but it was a bit of a mean joke, I think.

Anyway, the point of this mid-morning ramble is to muse on how quickly I forget. If a near-death accident doesn't make an impact on me - what can?

no te metas con el toro

2010-05-23T10:46:00.003+06:00

Amongst other random, strange things from my mornings - a Huffingtonpost report on how a celebrity couple no longer sleeps in the same bed, a video on too many of my friends' Facebook Walls on teeny tiny girls doing some sexy dance (so much irony in re-posting a video that you find nauseating), an image of the matador that got gored through the throat (you've been warned), brief musings on how I'm getting increasingly irritated by photographers who are too in love with their own work, shock at news of Sygma being closed down, and trying very hard to recall the last dream I had before I woke up and not being able to and then suddenly remembering it as I brushed my teeth that I had dreamt of two toddlers standing on a parapet and yelling at them to come in IMMEDIATELY and then somehow my mom was there and asking me why I was yelling and I explained to her and she seemed not to quite get it and tried to fall out of the window to see what the fuss was all about and then there was a lot more yelling (from me) as I grabbed her feet and dragged her in.

And then, my Mom metamorphosed into a young Caucasian man with suicidal tendancies ("This is my third try but I keep failing") and I sat with his hands in mine as his wife sat beside us and I tried looking into his eyes to try and understand why why why why why. And his wife, who was blonde with big eyes grabbed my arm and pleaded to help her understand as well.

The daily act of reading newspapers in the morning is always a bit of a despondent affair.
Today's papers, for instance -- An an 18-year-old boy beaten to death in the middle of the night at Kamalapur railway station. A 14-year-old domestic worker who was "found" hanging from the ceiling fan in the house of a policeman where she works. The last line was a particularly nice touch.

The deceased went to sleep around 11:30pm on Saturday and did not respond to repeated calls the next morning, he added.

And the International pages -- out of the six stories on one page, five of them had some variation of the word "kill" in the headlines. Kill. Killed. Killing. Assassination.

I don't really have pleasant dreams, but even my imagination isn't that fucked up. I think now about that line from that speech Meryl Streep gave at a commencement ceremony in NY (another FB-linked video) about how you should pay attention to the cracks because that's where the light gets in.

I like how she whispered this line, leaning in close to the microphone but whispering it so softly that you just had to lean in to listen and thus listened to every word she said.

And this in turn reminded me of a dream I almost had - I can't remember now if I made this up or I dreamt it, but either way it is all very real to me.

And also, there was this:

I subscribe to an RSS feed that feeds (I do beg your pardon) me with lots of interior design images which I usually click through with a Pffffft but this one elicited more of a gutteral purr quickly followed by a brief imagination session about the many ways one can climb into a hammock.

Of course, in my version of this room, there is at least one cat sprawled belly-up on the stone floor, soaking up the sun.

2010-05-11T19:18:00.001+06:00

Writing grant proposals, drinking too much espresso, dreams of Cambodia and South Africa threatening to distract me, really needing a tiny little cigarette.

Things

2010-05-10T17:14:00.003+06:00

- A sign that advertised 'Live Surgical Demonstration'
- Electric storm over Dhaka with humidity so thick you feel like there is a mask on your face. Thunder-less lightning is always unsettling.
- A dream about an entire cinema hall singing out loud BOWIE'S IN SPACE

2010-05-08T02:00:00.002+06:00

Today I met an ayah on the roof of our building. She was walking up and down, across the length of the roof. I watched her for a while and couldn't help but ask her what she was doing. Walking! she said. Because any other form of exercise wasn't possible in Dhaka for her.

The city does strange things to people.

Whoever said that a watched pot never boils clearly didn't watch it for long enough.

2010-05-04T11:53:00.004+06:00

Or at least, I think that is the belief on which my stupid brain operates.

the nearest exit may be behind you

2010-05-03T17:55:00.006+06:00

Back in 2005, I actually did a daily countdown on this blog just to see how many days I had left in Dhaka. I remember getting rather stressed, because I couldn't finish doing all the things I wanted to do.

I expect that things will be a lot different this time around.

On my iTunes playlist is a 45 minute-long recording of an interview I did during my days at Lexean. I interviewed someone who ran a counselling center for single fathers, and I think it was one of the most enjoyable chats I had with someone while on the job. The conversation flowed effortlessly, and it makes me smile hear the words 'acrimonious' and 'state of equilibrium' uttered with a Singlish accent.

I let it play for a bit today - I find it strangely comforting to hear myself talking with a Singlish accent. I'm not sure if it's because I'm overseas, but I often catch myself lapsing into some weird bastardised British/American/Pretentious mixed accent -- it sounds so awful I don't know why people talk to me.

I find that I have a tendency to mimic accents -- you may want to kill me when you hear me speaking to someone who is French.

Anyway, the person I was interviewing was explaining the consequences of divorce and how they are trying to help keep families together, and something he said hit me as hard as when I first heard it:

"And after a while, the child is forced to choose - and that's what breaks children."

2010-05-01T22:11:00.002+06:00

For all those who can't remember the lyrics. Remember - Sunday always comes too late.

That's Not Art

2010-04-30T00:04:00.002+06:00

Rage (when not directed towards me) can be funny. Behold my latest source of the giggles:

That's Not Art by Garrett Murray -- where he bashes the shit out of so-called emo 'art'. I'm not sure why and how he comes across all these things, and god forbid that he's actually seeking them out.

Anyway. This site is not going to help me with my attempt to be POSITIVE and surround myself with GOOD energy. But it makes me laugh, so I figure it balances itself out.

See the Sun (via thelasthomerecording)
Hard not to, you know, unless you’re blind. In fact, I completely fail to take any meaning from this, even after trying very hard to get my mind into the state of ridiculous “things mean more than they seem” pseudo-artists. After 20 minutes of staring at this and thinking intensely, I’ve realized it actually has zero meaning. ZERO.

Things (via haylieerin)

Then you’re going to love this thing you just created.

Only More Love (via gatekeeper)

Shut up. Seriously.

2010-04-29T16:52:00.002+06:00

So he asked me to tell him what I liked about him. In my reply, I tried to give answers that wouldn't make me sound too crazy. I didn't list down everything either. It would be impossible, and would not help much in the trying-not-to-seem-crazy department.

He laughed slightly at some of the things I said, but I'm not sure if he was amused or uncomfortable. When I was done, he remarked offhandedly, "You like everything!"

Oh you silly, silly man, you've got no idea.

2010-04-27T11:35:00.002+06:00

It's reached that stage where some people actually leave the room when I enter. Perhaps its not so much because of my presence (this is credit that I would not like to take) but because they're not really supposed to be there.

Still, I don't enjoy being the Walking Reminder That We Have Work To Do.

Revamp.

2010-04-26T23:39:00.003+06:00

It was time for a change anyway.

Am trying to get more organised, and posting all visual-related posts on Pause. Stop. Play -- I just need to direct my random-ness elsewhere.

I realised, that even after about five years of blogging, I've still not upgraded my technical blog skills - other than being able to find free templates a lot quicker than before.

And regarding Catharine Lim's latest article -- I'm not quite sure why, but it didn't go down very well with me, mainly because she slapped a negative connotation to the word 'dissent' from the beginning. Doesn't it just mean having a different opinion?

2010-04-25T23:35:00.002+06:00

(I realised after writing this post that it is insanely boring. Sigh. And all I had wanted to do was to throw spitballs from the back of the class!)

Watched Lee Hsien Loong's interview with Charlie Rose today, and I. Cannot. Believe. He. Mentioned. SARS.

A question from a friend about Singaporean politics had me feeling rather ashamed and ignorant, and I tried to do some brief research online just to understand the fundamental principals of how is it we operate. I came across this paper Asian Values, Authoritarianism and Capitalism in Singapore by Soek-Fang Sim, in which it states:

Rather than being a proud and self-confident nation, Singapore exists only through psychosis, as an existentially anxious nation (that awaits the salvation provided by the PAP).

The sense of national fragility is heightened through the staging of media spectres...

Media spectres which we are all too familiar with, and which puts LSL's SARS comment (I don't care if he later retracted it, it just showed how well-rehearsed that response was) in an interesting light.

Total Defence campaigns, that image of LKY sobbing, those terrible racial riots, the National Day songs (There was a time when troubles seemed too much for us to take...) and the strange divisiveness in our notion of multiculturalism. LHL said as much in his interview (transcript):

LEE HSIEN LOONG: Well, we’re happy to be a metaphor, but we remind
ourselves that we have no safety net and we can always fail if we get it
wrong.

CHARLIE ROSE: And what would "get it wrong" be?

LEE HSIEN LOONG: If you don’t have the right government, if you have
the wrong policies, if you cause a loss of confidence. Supposing we were
in the situation of Iceland, of Greece --

CHARLIE ROSE: Yes, I wanted to talk to you about that.

LEE HSIEN LOONG: Where would we be? Iceland is a friend of the EU,
Greece is in the EU, so the Germans come riding to the rescue in some way.
But in Singapore, how are you ever come back?

CHARLIE ROSE: And who would come to the rescue of Singapore if you
had a huge debt problem?

LEE HSIEN LOONG: Exactly. We’d be just another broken-back country
permanently.

CHARLIE ROSE: So you can’t afford to be -- have that kind of
financial crisis because you’re not sure --

LEE HSIEN LOONG: We can’t afford to have --

CHARLIE ROSE: The IMF is not going to be there for you.

LEE HSIEN LOONG: We can’t afford to have a disastrous bump in the
night, whether it’s a financial crisis, whether it’s government
misbehavior, whether it’s a security problem. But we only have one chance
to make a go of it. You can fail -- you can succeed in many battles. You
fail once, it’s finished.

In the beginning of this paper, Sim explains that Singapore has managed to avoid the transition to a liberal democracy even though the problems of late-capitalism exists which should rightly lead to a "flourishing of liberal discourses". How did we manage to avoid developing such "liberal inclinations" and demand of "political choices"? How did we manage to avoid ideological fragmentation?

To protect its one-party rule against threats of liberalisation and welfarism, the PAP labelled these tendencies as dangerous "Western" values, the antidote to which was the "Asianisation" of society, where communitarianism is promoted as an alternative to welfarism and plural/liberal democracy.

At this point, I realise I am basically just attempting to summarise the paper as a way of understanding it better. Ah well, in my defence, 'Asian Capitalism' was not on Cenite's reading list for political science.

Asian Capitalism, as Sim points out, is contradictory. The Asian Values component preaches harmony, the whole idea of community/nation before self, and self-reliance (ie meritocracy). It supports the one-party ideology by "emphasisng consensus over conflict" and de-legtimises ideological alternatives as "opposition for the sake of opposition" is deemed un-Asian.

Through Asian Values, capitalism and authoritarianism becomes mutually reinforcing: authorianism protects capitalism by enabling it to be un-compromised by welfarist demands, while capitalism success "protects" and provides economic legitimacy for authoritarian governments.

The contradiction comes when you realise that communitariansm is opposite to competitveness -- but it is this opposite nature that allows the former to be used to make this version of capitalism "more caring and the nation more cohesive"

By encouraging citizems to dream a dream that only the PAP can bring to fruition, authoritarianism is rendered tolerable, even necessary.

Ah that Singapore Dream. For those who will spend their lives chasing that Dream, it is bolstered by what Sim calls the "meritocratic myth" - that if you work hard enough, you can make it. For those who already have plenty, you raise the ceiling so that they never reach that stage where non-economic dreams become important or relevant.

At this point, I had to resort to Googling more about this meritocratic myth which, as usual, made me feel stupid - how is it I have never come across this before? We have a chapter to ourselves on Wiki's Meritocracy page!

The success of this myth is just one of the many examples of the PAP's ideological success. That we complain about the cost of healthcare and yet think of welfarist values as being unthinkable and inferior, that we are exasperated by how stifling the Singapore Dream can be and yet accept it to be the "normal path" of life etc...

The moral, economic and political legitimacy of the PAP is seemingly undefeatable.

CHARLIE ROSE: How do you measure your commitment to democracy?

LEE HSIEN LOONG: I think we measure it by the legitimacy of the
government and by the results, how Singapore works and whether Singaporeans
are able to have a better life.

I'm halfway through the paper and am already exhausted. It was enlightening to read about all these things when they are being discussed in a coherent manner.

Told ya it was a weird day.

Weird Starts

2010-04-25T09:47:00.002+06:00

A slightly strange start to the day - listening to Chávez's Copenhagen speech, enjoying my wonderful housemate's tale of her very strange dream which involved me and an unwanted party in our house, and a sudden recollection of this incident in Singapore in 2004.

I remember it made for wonderful tabloid fodder - managed to find a report of this 'investigation' conducted by TNP on Ondine's blog- and it made mrbrown's SNE column as well.

And to end it all, being 'followed' on twitter by a person who calls himself a 'conservatrucker':
He tweets:

If my life ever comes to a point that I have to accept any type of gov't assistance, that is when I'll consider myself a failure.
4:53 AM Apr 24th via UberTwitter

Ah... here's a toast to the health of you and your loved ones, and the excellent insurance coverage you guys must enjoy!

Not for a long, long, long while.

2010-04-22T17:55:00.002+06:00

EMAIL FROM DAD TO MOM WITH ME ON CC

Called Sis to congratulate her on the arrival of Choon's baby. She sounded so happy and excited.She forgot I am in Taiwn. She will be a good grandmother. JUST WONDER WHEN YOUR TURN will come.

Forgotten Things

2010-04-21T15:06:00.003+06:00

Because I have a memory of a goldfish, trawling through old emails can be a rather nostalgic experience.

I had completely forgotten about acting for Joce's Serum City as a propaganda host, forgotten about a trip to Tioman with some friends, forgotten that I signed off an email to Mal with "don't fire me", forgotten what an self-righteous idiot I was/am, forgotten about the photos I took with a green lizard next to my face, forgotten about that an email with the words: "Hi! I have attached the pictures of the girls. Hope you like them." Ahhh....

2010-04-18T08:22:00.003+06:00

It makes me very happy to have two hours in the morning to 'warm up' before the day begins - filled with a routine of mindless internet surfing, elaborate breakfasts, multiple cups of coffee, careless browsing of newspapers.

And then the day starts and I sometimes wonder to myself is it really so bad to wish that the morning would last forever?

2010-04-12T17:11:00.003+06:00

GENERIC ASTROLOGY READINGS WHICH ARE
SPECIFICALLY APPLICABLE TO MY LIFE

There are indications of mistakes in life arising from your impulsiveness, which is heightened and readily expressed by your emotional nature.
In love you are sympathetic and intense and try to conduct your romance according to your idealistic conception of love.
Your well-developed imagination often leads you into the realm of *mysticism, and there are *religious tendencies in your nature. (*Applicable only if you substitute 'mysticism' with 'idiocy' and 'religious' with 'alcoholic'.)
Once you have made up your mind, you are closed to all other suggestion or opinion.
Pluto opposition the Ascendant shows that you attract people with powerful egos and strong temperaments. (Cause...)
This indicates that the key to more spiritual and material development lies in your response to the several tests destined for you which consist of patiently enduring difficulties through human relationships. (... and Effect.)
Your inner self seems attracted to unusual matters related to the termination of life-death and its mysteries.
You will begin to realize the significance of friends and how important they are to you.
It may be necessary to struggle and break free from circumstances that you encounter in your work or with authorities, such as employers or government agencies.
At any rate some obstacle is preventing you from doing what you have to do, and you want to rebel against it.

2010-04-07T13:14:00.003+06:00

NOT-SO-NICE THINGS I'VE SAID TODAY

I think you guys can get back to work. Adda [chat] time is over.
Erm... I think its a lot more complicated than that.
I don't care.
What you've done is unacceptable.
I'm going to need a better excuse than that

2010-04-06T12:20:00.002+06:00

"Destroying intellectual freedom is always evil, but only religion makes doing evil feel quite so good."- Phillip Pullman

Goosebumps. Read from here, thanks to this first link from Tym!

2010-04-06T10:28:00.002+06:00

The heat is taking a toll on things. I count one case of a severe stomach virus thingamajig, four cases of semi-serious diarrhoea and general nausea, one case of high fever and one case of high-blood pressure that was a skip away from a heart stroke.

All this within the last week - general productivity is down because everyone feels like CRAP (and you can't go online in the house when there isn't electricity), the erratic electric supply is wrecking havoc on generators and computers, and just getting through the day uses up all the energy you have.

I never thought of things in terms of energy levels and good/bad vibes etc -- but I've been doing so recently, and it seems to make sense. It's just becoming really difficult to recharge, although a basketful of kittens might just do the trick for me.

I just feel worried, that the worst has yet to come.

2010-04-04T14:32:00.002+06:00

LINK

2010-03-30T08:11:00.003+06:00

The days are growing unbearable as the suffocating heat of summer descends upon us. Power cuts are now for two hours at a stretch, several times a day - so sometimes I'm only able to go online for an hour or two when I'm back in the house. I'm already pretty lucky that my area doesn't seem to suffer from a shortage of water (yet), unlike many other areas of Dhaka where you see queues of women and children collecting water.

I said to a friend last night, how I don't understand how anyone can be sure about anything anymore. And yet, I find great comfort in constant sensation of 'not knowing'. If anything, this certainty of doubt gives me great consolation. And strangely enough, given all that has happened over the last few months, I was pleasantly surprised to find out - after being forced to dig deep into my head - that I am still unchangeably hopelessly and inexplicably optimistic.

And in my head, I find myself constantly thinking about what Delahaye said:

... he maintains that "photojournalism is neither photography or journalism. It has it's function but it's not where I see myself: the press is for me just a means for photographing, for material, not for telling the truth. In magazines, the images are vulgar, reality is reduced to a symbolic or simplistic function. . . one of the reasons for the photographs' large size is to make them incompatible with the economy of the press." - Link

2010-03-21T20:09:00.001+06:00

In other words, what inspired the picture-takers, the newspapers, the magazines and television the most was not the civil war or the planned massacres of hundreds of thousands of Tutsis and moderate Hutus, but the humanitariam melodrama, ‘the endless lines of refugees, the sacks of rice, the orphans and field hospitals, the images of downtrodden humanity and resolute volunteers, of suffering and salvation’.

- The media and the Rwanda genocide. Allan Thompson. 2007.

2010-03-21T10:33:00.004+06:00

The dead bird in an open cage is a visual that I've always had in my head - and I hope to be able to develop this and take it further some day.

- The Dead Bird. Margaret Wise Brown and Remy Charlip. 1958.

These remarks have been forced from us by a keen sense of the wrongs and injuries to which our feathered friends are constantly subjected, arising from an observation of the vast amount of unnecessary suffering entailed upon them by carelessness more than heartlessness. "We are persuaded that many of the tears which have been shed over dead birds, have proceeded as much from contrition for neglect, as from sorrow for the loss sustained; and our fair readers will, we trust, pardon us if we remind them in the words of Thomas Hood, that,

"Evil is wrought by want of thought, As much as by want of heart."

The cage should never, in winter, be left in a room without fire.

- Chapter II, Bird Cages. Canary Birds Manual. William Wood. 1869.

- Waking. John Everett Millais. 1865.

2010-03-20T15:03:00.003+06:00

Theme of the week.

"ll est beau comme la rétractilité des serres des oiseaux rapaces ; ou encore, comme l’incertitude des mouvements musculaires dans les plaies des parties molles de la région cervicale postérieure ; ou plutôt, comme ce piège à rats perpétuel, toujours retendu par l’animal pris, qui peut prendre seul des rongeurs indéfiniment, et fonctionner même caché sous la paille ; et surtout, comme la rencontre fortuite sur une table de dissection d’une machine à coudre et d’un parapluie ! "

- Les Chants de Maldoror. Comte de Lautréamont. 1869.

2010-03-15T17:58:00.003+06:00

Oh how clever.

A few years ago I had this great fantastic wonderful idea of printing my own t-shirts so that I could wear a new one every day. How else would I be able to share my thoughts and feelings with general society?

Well that is not going to happen, although I still yearn for that purple shirt with these words in shiny gold: "Your Disco Needs You."

Am enjoying the rants of MOG (Miserable Old Git) thanks to a link from Christine. His comments of this year's WPP makes me feel all kinds of good. There had already been discussion here about the strange lack of captions, and the changing visual taste of WPP juries, but I think what we really needed was a good rant like this.

I was rather undecided about the winning picture, but MOG helped me make up my mind:

...isn’t it reasonable to assume that the appropriate place to see the image that goes on to win the world’s most prestigious photojournalism competition is actually on the front pages of the world’s press? The problem is, this perfectly successful picture would just not read on an average newspaper front page; it would need a Guardian-type centre spread or magazine double page display to do it justice. Or is it really meant to be a framed print on a gallery wall? I rather think that those who guide the destiny of WPPh would not be unhappy if this were to happen.

Of course, thousands of people go to see the WPPh exhibitions all over the world but this is not press coverage in any real sense but rather photojournalism extracted from its natural context and put on the wall. There’s a danger that we will end up with a pointless parade of photojournalists as visual peacocks, displaying their beautiful feathers to each other in a secret garden.

I've met a few peacocks here and there. They are the ones who introduce their work by first listing all the awards and accolades it received. The story and the purpose takes second place. This itself is not a problem - it becomes irritating when you claim to have done the story because you want to 'help' or 'raise awareness' or 'make visible the invisible'.

And I couldn't help but laugh when I read about the CREEP:

Exhausted by his internet experience, MOG is now inviting readers of this blog to join him in a campaign for the eradication of repetitive photojournalism (CREEP). The mission statement is to encourage contemporary photojournalists to pledge to avoid predictable visual situations. Among suggested subjects generally embargoed might be:

• Women in black weeping over their dead menfolk.
• Terrified civilians running away from trouble in a crouching position.
• Posed groups of defiant rebels waving Kalashnikovs or rocket launchers, giving the victory sign.
• Soldiers on the frontline, arms at the ready, looking meaningfully at the enemy.
• Soldiers leaping out of helicopters, primed for action.
• Anyone taking, smoking or injecting drugs.
• Hell’s Angels posing with macho motorbikes.
• Frenzied music audiences screaming at rock bands.
• Skate boarders silhouetted against a brooding sky.

* Update: Have now read Matthias Bruggmann's passionate response to the article in the comments section and I'm all confused.

Morning Moments

2010-03-15T10:18:00.004+06:00

The Makings of a Good Day

A man with carrying a solitary fish in a plastic bag.
A public wall painted with the words of Henry Miller: "I have no money, no resources, no hopes. I am the happiest man alive." Touché.
Silly motorcyclists carrying their helmets instead of putting it on.
A man with purple pants and red socks.
My CNG driver alerting me to a road accident (look look look!!! tsk tsk tsk) because I was too distracted scribbling down these notes in my notebook.

2010-03-14T23:15:00.002+06:00

Its been a month since I started my own Bollywood movie, and I'm still waiting for it to end. I've had two days of peace (hooray!) and lets hope I haven't jinxed it by talking about it.

A very nice couple from Hong Kong stopped by the office - a photographer and his wife does psychology work with NGOs. I thought it was rather nice/strange how they didn't automatically assume I was of the same race until they saw my namecard. Lim? You're Chinese?

Then I started apologising, the way I always do, for my poor Mandarin and non-existent Cantonese - but they assured me that they weren't that fluent in Mandarin either. It was nice, how we instinctively switched to speaking in Mandarin even though we seemed to communicate a lot more fluently in English.

I watched Wolfgang Haffner live in concert (with the Haffner-Trio) a couple of hours ago. I've never seen a drummer smile so much. After the week I've had, I think I really needed this.

Excerpts (Part II)

2010-03-09T20:42:00.007+06:00

MY PARENTS WEIGH IN ON THE JACK NEO SITUATION

(*Note for non-Singaporean friends:
JN is a Singaporean film director whose affair with
a young girl was recently splashed all over the papers.)

(*Excerpts Part I)

Dad: Your mommy so lucky I'm not rich and famous.

Mom: Oh please, only the cats want you.

Dad: But then you, as a man with FOUR kids - your son is already 19 years old!!! - you blardy hell still go and take advantage of young girl! Damn blardy buaya lah.

Dad: (to Mom) Why you never say anything bad about Jack Neo.

Mom: Aiyah I don't pity the girls man. Come on. You know he is married with children - what you expect? In the first place, they are also in the wrong.

Dad: If the girl was smart enough, she should have taken him to the point of fucking blackmail man. "Try anything funny, I will expose you!" Now, expose already, how to get anything out of him. At least get some money out of it lah.

Mom: For heaven's sake, go and blackmail the Dubai king's son lah. Of all people go and blackmail Jack Neo? I don't even think he is that rich. Aiyah stupid lah. Make a fool of themselves.

Me: Why is Pa siding with the girls?

Mom: Aiyah Pa is always like that. But to me, they are stupid. They are not so gullible. Nowadays, 18 or 19-year-old girls... wah you hold my hand and tell me I'll be Fann Wong number two? Who is so stupid to believe that man? You think what? Writing a book ah? Even Ah Lian also not so stupid.

Mom: Ok lah, at least ST reporter got story to write now, otherwise they have no job. (Laughs)

Mom: Ya, America had their Tiger, but Singapore is Lion City, so we got Lion here. Want to see next week how many more girls pop out?

Dad: You know what is his next movie? One Hole No Enough.

I personally don't care about this at all, but I brought up the topic intentionally because I knew the soundbites would be hilarious.

So, ahem, maybe this is what equality means: that my 54-year-old mother thinks the mistress is 'shameless' and 'stupid', and my 56-year-old father thinks the married man is a lying sonabitch.

Apologies for crude and harsh language - runs in the family.

Women's Day

2010-03-08T23:29:00.005+06:00

I've been enjoying Dorothy Surrenders for some time now - mainly because I love the writing, because I love fawning over the same women they fawn over, and because reading that blog makes me feel like I'm talking to a friend who gets me. Plus, where else am I going to get my fix of androgyny?

And thus, in tribute to International Women's Day - I decided to read all Buffy-related posts on the blog, and intend to fall asleep to the sounds of Season 7. The logic may seem rather strained, but well, it makes sense to me.

I have two younger women working with me, aged 24 and 22, and I love them to bits. We rarely talk in the office, but a couple of days ago I had some time alone with them and asked them how they handled the "eve-teasing" (I really shouldn't use that word) situation here in Dhaka.

As a bideshi, I have the luxury of fighting back. Either by acknowledging remarks with a glare or a stare-down, or a good old-fashioned slap. As locals, their only option is to ignore the cat calls and lewd comments.

I found out that just days earlier, the younger one had been grabbed by four guys on motorbikes who blocked her as she was walking to work. She said they grabbed at her, and there was no one around. She was so scared, she did not know what to do. The guys left when some other pedestrians came by.

The other told me that the last time she tried to confront a guy who had said something rude to her, a crowd gathered and she ended up feeling embarrassed and ridiculed because the guy simply denied having said anything.

"If we say anything, we get in trouble." The two girls laughed it off and giggled while talking to me. It seemed they are so used to it that they regard it as just another instance of how ridiculous life can be.

And yet, when I told them about how a friend had smashed a phone (guy trying to show us porn videos on the street) and how I slapped someone -- their glee was unmistakable. They were overjoyed that we had done those things, and I wonder if they wished they could do it too.

Yesterday, I hinted/suggested/ordered the men in the department to GET US SOME CAKE - and they did. I wish I had planned something better than this.

I'll admit that I never really thought much of having a special day for women - in the same way I find Valentine's Day, Friendship Day, and all those other Days basically meaningless. But I suppose I only thought like that because I had the luxury of never needing to be reminded that I had rights, to be reminded that equality was still something we had to strive for, to be reminded that things have to change.

Today, as I sat in an office filled with laughter and the sounds of people enjoying free cake, and I listened to this speech by Joss Whedon, I realised its time for me to arrange for a Buffy marathon in my house.

I love his words so much I wanted to write it down. In his speech, Joss reenacts his replies to the question he is always asked during press junkets:

So, why do you write these strong women characters?

Why are you even asking me this? (This is like ) How is it possible that this is even a question? Honestly, seriously. Why did you write that down? Why aren't you asking a hundred other guys why they don't write strong women characters? I believe what I'm doing should not be remarked upon, or even honoured... But seriously, this question is ridiculous, and you've just got to stop.

So, why do you write these strong women characters?

Because. Equality is not a concept, it is not something we should be striving for. It is a necessity. Equality is like gravity. We need it to stand on this earth as men and women. And the misogyny that is in every culture is not a true part of the human condition, it is life out of balance, and that imbalance is sucking something out of the soul of every man and woman who is confronted with it.

We need equality. Kinda now.

So, why do you write these strong women characters?

Because you are still asking me that question.

Epic.

2010-03-08T11:01:00.004+06:00

I don't know if this qualifies as a Fail or a Win, but this explains everything.

President, PM's pay near doubled

Dhaka, Mar 8 (bdnews24.com)

The cabinet on Monday approved a huge pay hike for the president, prime minister, ministers, chief justice and Supreme Court judges, of up to 83 percent.

The president's monthly salary will jump from Tk 33,400 to Tk 61,200. The prime minister's will rise from Tk 32,000 to Tk 58,600.

Once you get over the shock of a EIGHT-THREE PERCENT PAY RISE - you realise that a Bangladeshi construction worker in Singapore earns almost the same amount as his Prime Minister.

Of course, the S$640 the Prime Minister of Bangladesh used to earn does not include the other substantial financial perks she receives. I've seen her around - she's not doing too badly for herself.

But still. I can almost hear LKY saying, "See? Told ya."

The Daily Untruth Project

2010-03-03T16:16:00.003+06:00

I've decided to tell one deliberate lie everyday to make everyone's lives all that more interesting.

There are pink bananas in South America.

After I told the lie, I realised that my friends with dirty-minded friends would have a lot to snigger about, but I work with really sweet folks who didn't take that route. I promise tomorrow's lie will not be fruit-related. Maybe something about unproven scientific theories. For instance, did you know that the whip is the first man made device capable of exceeding the sound barrier? I had no idea.

After I returned, I saw a pigeon in a cage, hanging in the balcony of the house across from the rooftop of my office. Birds in cages are generally depressing, and the size of this cage made this a particularly dismal example. Maybe they saved it from certain death and are nursing it back to health. Sometimes I try to go against my nature and refrain from negative judgement. But after seeing someone stomp on the neck of a German Shepherd last week, and that incident of the overweight monkey (did I ever tell you about the monkey that was so fat it couldn't move?) -- well, let's just say I've been given the impression that the concept of pet ownership is rather different here.

Still! Guess what. I spoke to the nice girl who lives in that house (rooftop conversations across buildings are always fun) and it turns out that I was right. That bird don't fly so good no more. Right on cue, the pigeon clumsily flew out of the living room onto the balcony, perching itself on a box and seeming rather content.

OK Go has a new video and it is pretty. This too shall pass? Sure, if you say so.

2010-02-18T22:45:00.002+06:00

There's a funny thing that bideshis here say sometimes - that nothing in Bangladesh is real. Or maybe this is a statement I made up myself, and made myself believe that someone else uttered it so that I could repeat it guiltlessly.

Anyway, this is likely less to do with the country and more to do with the bideshis themselves. To have come so far to a place so unlike their home, that they end up having no point of reference when they leave. Sometimes, it feels like the things that happened here never took place at all.

I felt like this when I went back to Singapore. I tried bringing up Dhaka in conversations, to reintroduce that point of reference so I wouldn't feel so unanchored, so lost. It worked sometimes, especially with those who had felt similar sentiments at some point in their lives. More often than not, I felt like I was recounting a dream - an interesting conversation point with no real consequence.

A few days ago, I did something on impulse that has very real consequences. I broke someone's heart - and I say that in the least melodramatic way possible. But the truth is really that severe, and my actions will likely alter someone's life in a way that had never been contemplated or considered by either of us.

This is a lesson I learnt from the past - that I don't do anything if I don't act on impulse, if I don't follow my gut. Because with time, my brain thinks too much and I'm pretty good at talking myself out of just about any difficult decision I have to make.

So I suppose it was a good thing that I didn't stop to consider the consequences before I did what I did, and said what I said. If I had any inkling or suspicion about just how bad it could get, you can be damned sure that I would have no trouble easing myself off that platform.

What's done is done, and I can only hope that time will do its magic and help us make sense of everything again.

2010-02-13T11:00:00.001+06:00

2010-02-03T13:03:00.006+06:00

I'll tell ya this much kiddos, wearing dentures suck. I know I'll get used to it over time, but I guess this is one of those things, that I don't really want to get used to.

I also can't believe they are now going to form a committee to figure out what to do about all those accidents along Upper Thomson Road. A new overhead bridge? Or traffic lights? Or underpass? Choices, choices.

I also can't believe the amount of vehemence some of my friends show towards workers from China. I'd understand the anger if they had lost jobs or money because of these workers, but it seemed like they just dislike having them around. Dislike them serving them in hawker centers, dislike them showing up in their clinics, dislike them living next door to them in the HDB estate.

I read a bit of Alex Tan's blog to try and understand the angst about foreigners being in Singapore. However, his criticisms were directed towards the government's policies and how Singaporeans were directly affected by the influx of migrant workers. My friends are, for lack of a better word, xenophobic bastards.

To be fair, I know half of what they said don't mean anything - guys sometimes have a tendency say stupid things when they gather together and too much testosterone is in the air. Apparently they are rude and 'uncivilised' - but I would argue that there are plenty of Singaporeans who match that description as well.

2010-01-29T15:50:00.002+06:00

No hope for the human race indeed. From Shadakalo blog (http://shadakalo.blogspot.com/2010/01/rapists-fatwas-and-lack-of-justice.html):

Daily Star is reporting that:
Eight months after being raped, a 16-year-old at Khargor of Kasba upazila in Brahmanbaria had to receive 101 lashes as "punishment".

A village arbitration found her guilty and issued the 101 lashes fatwa (religious edict) but amazingly left alleged rapist Enamul Mia, 20, untouched.

The arbitration also fined the victim's father Tk 1,000 and issued another fatwa that her family would be forced into isolation if he failed to pay up.

Village matbar (local leader) Delwar Hossain alias Ullashi executed the durra (lashes) on January 17.

I don't know what hell the rapist will burn in, but I am sure he will be joined there by Mr. Delwar Hossain, who was the judge, jury and executioner against this girl.

Madam Prime Minister and Madam Home Minister: you are women. You have also taken an oath to uphold the constitution of this country. Please, in the name of all that you hold holy and dear, wake up and defend this girl.

She has been raped and became pregnant. The news report mentions pregnancy upto 7 months and a subsequent abortion. Such late-term abortions are considered high-risk even in the USA.

But after all that, the rapist is walking around a free man because, according to the local matbors, "he belongs to another village" while this girl was beaten until she fainted. Her father was also fined Taka 1000, which presumably the matbors will spend on partying.

Full marks to Daily Star for refraining from posting the name and a picture of the victim. Have they finally realised that girls and women don't deserve to have their faces splashed across national newspapers when they have been raped/attacked with acid? Hooray for some decency!

I had a dream last night Cedar Rapids

2010-01-06T23:26:00.003+06:00

This is very random, but I think a highlight of my life would be attending a live concert of NIN, Marilyn Manson and Lady Gaga. I have goosebumps just thinking about it.

2010-01-04T23:35:00.002+06:00

The theme of my week so far - being true to yourself.

Helping along with the theme is having Lady Gaga on repeat mode. God help me, I love that woman.

2009-12-29T23:13:00.002+07:00

I find it hard to describe how it feels when you realise all the money you've saved over the last couple of years will go up in smoke because of the events of a single night. The business of fixing the teeth is proving to be a lot more complicated than expected. Decisions, choices -- none of which are straightforward, none of which are cheap.

Given my rather dismal number of friends, I'm lucky to have a dentist and a doctor amongst them to turn to for help -- my only regret is that I have little professional expertise to offer in return, and my lifelong gratitude will have to suffice.

I removed the metal wire today, and thought to myself how strange it was that I had already gotten used to its presence after only two weeks. Every day, I discover new kinds of food that require the use of your incisors (noodles, chicken wings, anything on a stick) and I think I must look quite a sight, slurping noodles from the side of my mouth. Well, at least no one can say I lack determination.

I made my first visit to Orchard Rd today, and found the number of new malls to be, quite frankly, ridiculous. Gerry and I were trying to find each other and I felt it hilarious to be saying "Are you near Prada?" while I was feeling lost in front of Dior. Have a very strong urge to reread Debord's essay now, which I have stored in my laptop as a Word Document. Call me traditional, but I think essays like his should never be allowed to exist as Word Documents, but forever be read off brown parchment paper.

2009-12-21T11:21:00.000+07:00

2009-12-20T10:26:00.005+07:00

It seemed to me that this was the whole point of travelling - to arrive alone, like a spectre, in a strange country at nightfall, not in the brightly lit capital but by the back door, in the wooded countryside, hundreds of miles from the metropolis, where, typically, people didn't see many strangers and were hospitable and did not instantly think of me as money on two legs. Life was harder but simpler here - I could see it in the rough houses and the crummy roads and the hayricks and the boys herding goats. Arriving in the hinterland with only the vaguest plans was a liberating event.

-- Paul Theroux, Ghost Train to the Eastern Star

Ho-hum. In case anyone thinks I'm getting reflective on my birthday, I'm also listening to Flight of the Conchords sing about Robots taking over the world. Shut their motherboard existence down!

2009-12-19T23:00:00.002+07:00

Huddled under the shadows in Jaal cafe, I tried my best to position my opened book under the very inadequate lamp they had hanging up on the wall. Literally a hole in the wall, Jaal (meaning spicy in Bangla) is claustrophobic and dark - the latter being deliberately so, as it probably makes the place all the more popular with dating couples seeking respite from the public eye. Even in the daytime, couples can find a little privacy for some under-the-table action, resulting in many sheepish-looking teenagers leaving the cafe with slightly tousled hair and rumpled clothes.

Even though I would have preferred a cheerier, brighter place, Jaal is also less than a hundred meters away from my apartment, making it an ideal stop for dinner when I felt too tired or lazy to cook. I also enjoyed the privacy inherent in the place, but only if I managed to get that seat under that single, solitary lamp.

The waiters there know me very well after a year of semi-regular visits from me, and try their best to give me good service. Still, Dhaka will always be Dhaka, and I was told my favourite dish of grilled chicken wasn't available, only to be told 15 minutes later that, oh, so sorry, we missed it out in the fridge, we have it after all. When the meal was finally served, I had to send it back as the chicken was not entirely cooked. I felt sorry for the waiter - clearly, he wanted to treat me well and was exasperated by the comedy of errors. I believe it is extremely useful to have a sorrowful-looking face if working as a waiter here in Dhaka.

Familiar with the amount of waiting required in Jaal, I had come armed with Paul Theroux's Ghost Train to the Eastern Star, yet another parting gift from the wondrous Linda. The chicken finally arrive (again), and after some careful maneuvering, I had my book stuck open in front of me, pages held open by my plate in a style that I had practiced and honed over many, many years of reading at the dinner table (something that irked my father to no end).

The tables were mostly empty tonight. A boisterous gathering had just left, and for a while it was just me, my book and some English pop music that I didn't recognise. A couple made their way past me to the last booth at the back. I tried to sneak a peek a while later - two coffee mugs and a packet of cigarettes were placed in front of them as they chatted and smoked, the girl holding her cigarette as you would a pencil.

After my meal, I finished up the chapter I reading and asked for the bill which came up to 275 tks (S$5.60) for grilled chicken and rice with a glass of orange juice. A pricier place by local standards, but I suppose I am really paying for the chance to enjoy a slow, leisurely, book-filled dinner. In Dhaka, I always feel like I have a time limit when I eat in small, local restaurants. There isn't the usual hanging-around that I am used to. Food is served very quickly, and your plate is cleared the moment your hands clean up that last bit of rice on your plate. As you beckon for the bill, the waiter is already cleaning down the table and beckoning the next batch of customers to come over to the table.

I left a 20 tks tip - generous by my standards, since I don't usually tip. But alas, for selfish reasons: I think its about time some good karma flowed my way.

2009-12-17T23:33:00.002+07:00

From list of terms and conditions when you book a flight on AirAsia:

Guests can no longer carry guns and/or ammunition on flights to or from Indonesia.

Always useful info to have.

2009-12-17T11:12:00.002+07:00

According to the ambulance driver - who heard it from the folks who were around the scene of the accident - a bus had suddenly cut into our path and forced us off the road.

Since I remember absolutely nothing from the accident, and I'm not a big fan of third-hand accounts, I'm not sure what to believe. I was actually quite happy not to know, since knowing makes me want to place blame, and I think its difficult to remain POSITIVE and OPTIMISTIC when channeling evil thoughts to a random bus driver.

Truthfully, I really don't quite care to know the details of the accident. Its over and done, and knowing doesn't really accomplish anything.

I've been on a diet of soft-everything: mashed potatoes, congee, minced chicken, boiled vegetables, half-boiled eggs etc. This morning I decided THIS IS NO WAY TO LIVE and chopped up little bits of sausage and had it with scrambled eggs. So there.

Enough ranting - back to work.

It finally happened.

2009-12-12T16:00:00.009+07:00

After years of living my life as if I was invincible - indulging in the worst practices, ignoring health, forsaking safety, scoffing at precautions, I used to tell people that it was bound to happen eventually.

Not once in my twenty-seven months in Bangladesh did I ever come close to a close-call. Sure I had that sprained ankle two months into my stay, but it healed up pretty quick within a month (no heels for a year, but that isn't exactly a loss), and the occasional flu and fever, but nothing that could compare with the various maladies and accidents I had seen in my stay here.

Two nights ago (in the wee morning hours on the 11th, to be exact) I was in a road accident which left me unconscious, only to wake up in an ambulance wondering to myself if I was dreaming.

That I had made it out alive is pretty much a miracle. That no car/bus/truck had come along and ran over my body while I lay on the road, that none of my belongings were stolen/lost, that my head is still in one piece, that I have not been blinded or maimed, that I still have all my limbs -- I'm pretty fucking lucky.

I have absolutely no recollection of what happened. Not even the faintest memory of a crash, or an impending crash, or being lifted and carried into the ambulance.

The police and RAB happened to be at that corner in Bijoy Sarani, but it was a passing ambulance that stopped to help bring us Sorawadi Hospital nearby in Shaymoli. We were then sent off to the Dhaka Medical College and Hospital, where they did an X-ray of my chest and gave me a jab of painkillers, and was sent home in a CNG. I was likely still in shock throughout the entire process, and felt calm and peaceful.

The damage today is as such: severe abrasions to the face, hands, left hip and left knee. Three broken teeth, one missing tooth (it was such a clean extraction that it seemed that someone had pulled it out for me with a plier).

The skin will heal, as the abrasions are 'clean' and not messy. Whatever scarring is left will likely subside over time if I can reel in the urge to pick at the scabs.

Once the facial swelling goes down, I will have to tackle the biggest problem of fixing my teeth. Crowns? Dentures? What? I have no idea. I will do the preliminary checks and X-rays here, and head back to Singapore to get the permanent work done.

I am trying not to think about work -- but needless to say, everything is going to shit on that end because of this. I will manage it the best I can, but I'm not so sure people want to buy photos from a person with a face like this.

Tragic Excuse of an Update

2009-12-07T19:30:00.004+07:00

I've been listening to Nutsie's automatic lists, such as "Top 100 Songs of XXXX", and -- if you can get over your incredulity at my ability to stream music on my 0.02 Mb/s connection -- I've realised that XXXX always ends up in the range of 198X to 199X. I am a musical dinosaur.

That very precise figure of 0.02 is thanks to Speedtest.net - a website that tells me what my actual connection speed is. The site took 10 minutes to load, and the irony is not lost on me.

Linda -- Finnish capoeira teacher and all-round extraordinaire -- leaves tomorrow for Christmas in Mexico with her boyfriend and then heads for a two-year contract in Tanzania. Sometimes, a little corner of my brain indulges in fantasies about fucking up so badly that I get fired and thus get to leave with no obligations. There I've said it.

Linda also gladly unloaded free junk on me -- a book titled Wayward Girls and Wicked Women, an unused light tube, assorted spices, an espresso thingamajig and a yoga mat. This was after I told her Chinese people loved receiving free shit. I'm not sure if that stereotype even exists (recalling long Hello Kitty queues make me think I may be on the right track), but I needed to blame my shamelessness on something.

I've also managed to succeed in obtaining a wireless router after a year of saying "I'll get it". I didn't actually head down to the store itself since the stores here close before I finish work. Bangladeshi corporate types would typically 'send a peon'. I typically 'freeloaded off a friend in the area'.

The word 'peon' didn't exist for me until I came here. I may have read it in some book before, but I certainly never came across it in everyday language. It really isn't the most glamorous word.

I need to get some things straight in my head, so do pardon the verbal dump:

How do I explain to a client that my predecessor was a fucked-up excuse of a salesman, and while it may seem that I'm raising the rates - I am actually updating prices which haven't been updated in 10 fucking years? How do I explain that my predecessor had no authority to release photos for exclusive usages? How do I explain why a photograph costs more if you want exclusive rights to it? Isn't it obvious? Do I really need to explain this?

I am so tired of paying for someone else's mistakes.

2009-11-22T23:06:00.002+07:00

Sometimes, photographers need to seek out content to 'fit' a story. It could be a simple portrait to illustrate a story about a child, or an aerial shot to go with something about urban sprawl. Black water for pollution, beggars for poverty. The process sometimes works this way - almost as if in reverse. We fix the content, and search for the visual that goes with it.

Clearly - this doesn't help in terms of visual stereotyping. By actively searching out the most obvious frame, we continue to feed the system of quick judgments and loose associations.

The (very exhausted) team had just completed an assignment which required us to work in this content-first-visuals-second manner. The content? Mismanagement of taxpayers' money. The visuals? Oh boy, did we have a list. From schools to roads, traffic to post offices - it seemed like the wish list of images would never end.

I sent the team out to shoot, and worried about the whole idea of visual stereotyping. What if they were to "force" out a visual when there was none? To "imply" an association when it was a weak link? To over-dramatise and exaggerate a situation just to make it seem bleaker, more negative, more depressing?

As I browsed through the raw takes from their three-day shoot, I realised I had forgotten that Dhaka was a city that required no exaggeration.

Not when patients in the main government-run hospital have to resort to sleeping on the dirty, damp floor of corridors and under staircases. Lying next to their IV drips next to them, with tubes coming out of their noses and covered with a flimsy blanket brought from their own home - I couldn't exaggerate the situation even if I tried.

Even more painful to see was the expressions on the faces of family members camping out next to their loved ones. Worry, fatigue, hopelessness - and even a little anger, I think. I don't mean to be insulting to anyone, but I highly doubt that this is a hospital that people with choices would choose to come to.

Is depressing.

Random Observations

2009-11-21T13:40:00.002+07:00

A t-shirt with the words MIT SCHOOL OF JOURNALISM do not look good when stretched across a pair of man boobs and paired with a khaki safari hat.
Old men with big egos don't like to be ignored.
Young men hate it when their compliments are met by an angry stare.
News photogs that shoot in raw ought to be shot.
"Working fine now" is code for "Will break down in approximately two weeks"
Four young dudes can finish a bottle of vodka in 2 hours.
There are only 24 hours in a day.

Last Words

2009-11-16T08:37:00.002+07:00

The Texas Department of Criminal Justice posts the last statements of death row convicts. (via Slate)

November 10, 2009

Offender: Valle, Yosvanis

"I am sorry, I never wanted to kill your family. I never wanted to kill your family or these people. I am sorry for the way I talk in English. I did it to myself... Thank you brother, don't hate nobody, I feel good. I love my family, I love you Jesus. Be strong mama, I love you sister. I love Jesus. Warden I am ready.

November 10, 2009
Offender: Valle, Yosvanis

"I am sorry, I never wanted to kill your family. I never wanted to kill your family or these people. I am sorry for the way I talk in English. I did it to myself... Thank you brother, don't hate nobody, I feel good. I love my family, I love you Jesus. Be strong mama, I love you sister. I love Jesus. Warden I am ready.

October 27, 2009

Offender: Blanton, Reginald

Last Statement:

Yes I do. I know ya'lls pain, believe me I shed plenty of tears behind Carlos. Carlos was my friend. I didn't murder him. This what is happening right now is an injustice. This doesn't solve anything. This will not bring back Carlos. Ya'll fought real hard here to prove my innocence. This is only the beginning. I love each and everyone dearly. Dre My queen. I love you. Yaws, Junie I love yall. Stay strong, continue to fight. They are fixing to pump my veins with a lethal drug the American Veterinary Association won't even allow to be used on dogs. I say I am worse off than a dog. They want to kill me for this; I am not the man that did this. Fight on. I will see ya'll again. That's all I can say.

October 27, 2009
Offender: Blanton, Reginald

Last Statement:
Yes I do. I know ya'lls pain, believe me I shed plenty of tears behind Carlos. Carlos was my friend. I didn't murder him. This what is happening right now is an injustice. This doesn't solve anything. This will not bring back Carlos. Ya'll fought real hard here to prove my innocence. This is only the beginning. I love each and everyone dearly. Dre My queen. I love you. Yaws, Junie I love yall. Stay strong, continue to fight. They are fixing to pump my veins with a lethal drug the American Veterinary Association won't even allow to be used on dogs. I say I am worse off than a dog. They want to kill me for this; I am not the man that did this. Fight on. I will see ya'll again. That's all I can say.

There is also a link so that you can see the background information on each and every single person executed. This has to be one of the most harrowing, disturbing and yet meticulously-kept public record.

2009-11-14T16:01:00.002+07:00

STOP PRESS JUST GOT MY HANDS ON REVOLUTIONARY ROAD GOD BLESS YOU COLIN FOR BRINGING IT ALL THE WAY FROM LONDON SINCE NO BOOKSTORE HERE HAS IT AND NOW I LOOK FORWARD TO A NIGHT OF NOT SLEEPING OH HAPPINESS

2009-11-06T17:58:00.002+07:00

i write this with the expectation of receiving ridicule, since I was only a photographer in the newsroom for less than a year. My friends are still working there, and those who have left did so with years of experience under their belt.

Even with my dismally short tenure, I have never forgotten the sense of camaraderie in that place. Of course, I realise now that I had been insulated from the myriad of flaws that come with working with a large corporation. As a freelancer, I didn't have to think about staff evaluations, about the promise of promotions, about pay increases, about claiming days off. I was young, desperate to be wanted - I would have worked every day if they asked me to.

I write this now because I just finished an unpleasant argument with someone who accused me of working too hard. It is something that people say a lot about me here, but I suppose that only I am privy to the truth.

I have learnt when to shut off, when to close down that computer, when to say enough is enough. I don't feel like i have to prove anything anymore, and I do not feel guilty when I choose not to reply that email that has been sitting in my inbox for too long.

This is something very difficult to do, as I am surrounded by people whom the title of 'workaholic' does not justice. These folks work from 8 in the morning till past midnight, and still feel like they haven't done enough.

My point is - I am not like that. I did that for the first couple of months, but such a workload left me utterly broken and useless. And so, I stopped it.

I now have to break that little pact I made with myself.

The news agency was meant to be separate - an independent entity that was silently supported by the main organisation. Due to mismanagement and a whole host of other reasons, the news agency was struggling to stay afloat. Radical changes were needed if it were to survive.

My boss - the one who had started everything - had somehow come to believe that my incredibly short work experience as a news photographer meant that I had the expertise to lead a news agency.

And I, echoing Joo's everlasting words of wisdom "Better me than anyone else", readily agreed.

My department was already struggling with the workload we had - with all my time spent on fixing day-to-day matters, I could barely find the time to plan the much needed long-term brand and vision for the department. And still, I couldn't say no.

The small news team moved in five days ago. Three young men that had miraculously continued to stay with the sinking agency even though they were paid miserable salaries to work seven days a week. They had a certain air of desperation that was all too familiar. One of them had howled in protest when I said I was planning to start putting them in shifts. The thought of not being called on for a job, and thus missing out on a shoot, was completely unacceptable to him.

And so, I now lead a team of eight and an agency that distributes stock, editorial and news imagery. Shutting off is fast becoming an impossible option.

But there is now a new vigor in the room. These boys do not leave when the clock strikes 5 in the afternoon. Inappropriate jokes, sarcastic remarks about politicians, callous comments about bomb explosions, the question "Did anyone die?", the familiar rush rush rush to get things done, spell names right, dig up the background facts -- forgive my sentimentality, but I felt I had come home.

I suppose this nostalgia will wear off in a couple of months, after the bullshit had piled up and the realisation that WE ARE NOT MAKING A DIFFERENCE has set in -- but till then, I'll be damned if I don't enjoy every last second of this.

2009-11-04T11:01:00.000+07:00

In about two and a half hours I will find out if I need to go to Nepal on a visa run.

Showdown

2009-11-01T22:05:00.005+07:00

So I think I ended up spamning everyone on Facebook today - many apologies for this, but I didn't really have any other platform (Twitter doesn't work from mobile phones here).

Long story short: We planned to have a simple exhibition to raise awareness about Tibet's fight for independence. Folks at Chinese embassy were none too pleased. We refused to cancel the exhibition. Police from the Bangladesh Police Special Branch (akin to the intelligence unit) made repeated visits and threats.

All of this culminated in a showdown of sorts today. The police ended up locking the gates so that no one could enter or leave. Shahidul Alam, the founder and director of Drik, ended up having to climb over the gates again and again just to get in and out.

The chief guest arrived - Professor Muzaffar Ahmed, president of Transparency International Bangladesh. He wasn't allowed in either. But he kept smiling, and I couldn't help but giggle whenever I looked at him. I suppose being in charge of fighting corruption in the country makes you quite immune to such things.

So, we ended up launching the exhibitions on the streets since the police refused to budge. We gave out refreshments, just as they would have if it had taken place inside the gallery. The policemen refused their share of cake.

An interesting day, if I do say so myself.

Note: The exhibition wasn't our idea, although we did provide the gallery space for it. The organisers were a group of Bangladeshi students who had taken it upon themselves to fight for Tibet's freedom. I'll save that chapter of the story for another time.

2009-10-24T23:23:00.002+07:00

So, I've finally realised that the colour setting for Photoshop don't match Mozilla -- something about plugins that I don't quite get -- and I'm too tired to do research online now to fix this. This is just a convoluted way of me explaining why the reds and greens may look washed out.

I may have neglected to mention that both my camera and lens has miraculously been brought back to life after two weeks in the dehumidifier room. This was not a case of Jess freaking out, assuming the worse case scenario, and then demanding sympathy. My camera was, for a brief period of time, a water receptacle -- my doomsday rants were only to be expected.

I know I'm not the most regular photographer these days, but during those two weeks when I believed myself to be camera-less, I felt an unexpected sense of loss. Not in the financial or material sense, but something akin to losing an opportunity or a chance.

On to the photos.

A rest stop en route to Chittagong, just before Comilla. They told me around a hundred buses full of hungry passengers stop here a night -- that's a lot of rice and parathas.

Early morning in Bandarban. The dogs there are a lot healthier than the ones in Dhaka.

A makeshift workshop where a group of young boys made paper lanterns for the upcoming Purnima festival.

I can't remember her name, but we called her Didi -- the local term for "sister". She runs a small shop at the top of the hill in Nilachol, selling snacks and cigarettes to the constant stream of tourists who come to ooh and aah at the scenery. I spent many, many joyfully drunk hours here, with my legs curled under me on the bamboo platform.

Moonlight.

I had to scramble down an impossibly steep, muddy slope to get to where she was. By the time I reached the bottom, she was done with her chores and waiting for me to get out of the way so that she could go up.

Anyone who thinks I may have inherited my mother's fitness gene should see me on my hands and knees, struggling to keep up with this girl floated up the slope while carrying two bottles of water. Gravity and friction. I had too much of the first, and none of the latter.

Something died in here

2009-10-24T12:07:00.003+07:00

You know your work week is off to a bad start when you step into office and realise that you're going to have to spend most of your day finding out WHAT died and WHERE it died.

On a happier note, winter is on its way. I know this because I woke up four times last night to scratch at mosquito bites. I'm not too sure why bugs come out during winter, but my house is now home to an assortment of grasshoppers, moths and little green (fuckers) bugs that bite.

2009-10-18T09:15:00.003+07:00

I found out last night what smells worse than a dead body. As a person who has been to a 3-day old mass grave to see bodies getting dug out, I don't make this assertion lightly.

Came back from work at 11.30 pm last night, exhausted but very, very hungry. I decided to not skip dinner, as I usually would when I'm tired, and gathered up all the energy I had left to whip up something nice. Cabbage? Chopped! Garlic? Smashed! Noodles? Ready to go! Prawns? Sauteed!

Everything was going great. I don't suck at making fried noodles.

I always leave the eggs to the last, right after adding all sauces and letting it simmer for a bit. I fished around the fridge -- great, two eggs left. I'll have to buy more tomorrow.

Ladies and gents, you should've been there to see my face when I broke open the second egg over my almost-ready noodles. Black goo where yellow should have been, seeping into the noodles and making it impossible to rescue what I had been looking forward to eating.

And oh, that smell.

A stench so overpoweringly nauseating that I had to leave the kitchen immediately. Like a mass graves, topped up with a mountain of feces collected from the diarrhea hospital, distilled into a concentrate.

I'm sure if Guiqing had been there we would have managed to laugh at the tragedy of the situation rather than to wallow in it.

Ah well. Thank god for instant noodles. But I'm not sure I want to have eggs again anytime soon.

Sufia

2009-10-16T01:12:00.003+07:00

During dinner with Tanzim tonight, I revisited the topic of Sufia - the only "story" that I had successfully completed here in Bangladesh, way back in 2005.

I explained to him that since my return two years ago, I had been avoiding seeing her again. There was a lot of miscommunication after my return to Singapore, and I feared that she no longer thought kindly of me.

Before I left, I had given her 6,000 takas - the most that I could afford at that time. I had somehow given her the impression that more money was headed her way, and I had been told by my friends in Dhaka that she was upset I had not followed up on my promise - a promise I may have made accidentally by nodding to a sentence I did not understand. Throughout my six months there, she never asked for money.

So I have been back for two years, and I never went to see her. I did see both her and Yasmine, from a rickshaw or a CNG as I passed by the same stretch of road, but never had the guts to visit. But it was important for me to see that she was still there.

While I spoke about her, it was clear to me that this was something that I needed to do. On a whim, I dragged Tanzim along with me as a translator.

When she saw me, her eyes did not widen with surprise, as I had expected. Neither did she did fly in a rage, as I had feared. She got up and came towards me, as if I had been there to see her the day before.

"Yasmine is dead," she said. Tanzim had to translate those words for me, and, momentarily confused, I could not believe what she said.

Yasmine was killed two months ago by a hit-and-run at 5am in the morning along the street she called home. She was brought to the Dhaka Medical Hospital, but it was too late. She is now buried in the same Azimpur graveyard as her brother.

Sazzad, the grandson, is now seven years old and attends a free school down the road. He claims to remember me, but I somehow doubt it.

They brought out the photo album I had given to them before I left.

"You print a new photo of Yasmine for me. And frame it."

It would be the least I could do.

I went back and dug out all I had written about Sufia in 2005. Sufia's story was something my instinct told me to continue, but my head needed to justify it first. I am now so judgmental of photographers who do nothing for their subjects, that I simply could not continue with the work until I figured out what the hell it meant.

And then I realised, that there really wasn't more to it. I want to photograph Sufia not because I have some great moral lesson to share with society, not because I want to raise awareness about her plight or to show how the homeless live. I don't know who will see the pictures, or what I will do with them.

I want to photograph Sufia because I don't want her to disappear. In a city where the homeless are not seen, where you could be here one day and gone the next, I want to make sure that she is immortalised.

I re-read the post I wrote about her in 2005, and came across an anonymous comment I do not remember reading:

But, again, just because you're working in a 'third world' country, which by many has been defined as 'poor' or 'lacking access to resources,' does it always mean people there are discontent and unhappy?

I'm sorry to be harsh, but that is a really stupid question.

When the NTU team came last month, one student had asked me a similar series of questions, all of which were egging me to tell him that he had just arrived in a country where the people are "poor but happy".

What is with this obsession to find a silver lining in the lives of the poor? Is it guilt? Do we feel better about ourselves if we could at least believe that they were happy?

I had told Sufia something similar in 2005. Sure you're poor, but I spent so much time with you and there is so much happiness here. Those rich people passing you on the streets? They don't seem to have as much joy as you do.

Sufia cocked her head to one side with a pitying gaze, and asked me a question I will never forget.

"Who wants to be poor?"

Sazzad is even more adorable now.

Wrapped up

2009-10-14T10:09:00.002+07:00

in work.

Today we had to search for picture request -- haors in Sumanganj, the highest peak of Bangladesh, caves in Bandarban, pretty landscape photos to do with climate change, the six seasons of Bangladesh... the list goes on. Calendar season is clearly here.

I like the work if only because it gives me a chance to explore the archives -- something I would have preferred to do at a leisurely pace, but for an organisation that can put together a 50-photo exhibition in one week, time is not something we're used to.

The news photo agency which had previously existed outside of the organisation structure is now being (suddenly) incorporated into my department. Which means I now effectively run both a photo agency that does news, stock and editorial. In over my head? You don't say. But Joo once said, "Better me than anyone else." -- this applies in this situation because, well, there really isn't anyone else.

I had really enjoyed Brenda Ann Kenneally's photo essay on the Lens Blog, if only because this was one photographer who gave as much as she took. I have grown extremely uncomfortable with photography that does nothing for the subject, other than to put their faces on the walls of galleries and on the covers of pretty brochures and in heavy coffee table books.

Special Branch came today to check up on me for my visa extension application. I had not anticipated how angry it would make me to have to be nice and cordial to a man that was not only rude and arrogant, but corrupt. The sudden visits are thinly-disguised trips to collect bribe money, without which the application process is made very painful (ie having to submit the same letter over and over) till we wise up to the idea that he isn't going away without a little sumthing sumthing in his pocket.

THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE TO BUCK UP OCTOBER I MEAN IT

2009-10-12T12:27:00.003+07:00

Dear October,

I'm afraid I have to be blunt. You have been a spectacular pain-in-the-ass so far, and god help you if you don't change your ways soon. I know shit happens, but the broken air-conditioner today was the last straw. I mean, how much more of this can we take?

I'll play fair. I won't mention the earthquakes and typhoons if you lower the targeted accident-count. So far we've had to put up with crap such as high fever, a bad arm, one twisted ankle, five stitches, a bad tumble down a hill, jaundice, a motorbike crash, and, oh, you just had to play dirty and throw in diarrhea for good measure, didn't you?

But you know what hurts the most? My water-logged, water-filled, water-everything camera. I can only hope you will one day find out how it feels to see water pouring out of your camera - your two-year-old, bought-with-hard-earned-money camera. You fucking bastard.

2009-10-07T13:00:00.003+07:00

It seems I aimed a little too low in wishing for a pair of steel pants.

Random things

2009-09-28T10:55:00.003+07:00

Pardon the radio silence, all 4 of you. It has been difficult getting out of the post-Eid slumber, especially when the streets of Dhaka are still (wonderfully) empty and the half the staff is away on leave.

Random links:

The second has been the source of great joy for me, so imagine my unbridled glee when I found out that the official website has more quotes than the Facebook site!

275

“I’m going to jam this pen in your peehole if this happens again.”
- Editor to male cadet reporter after failing to spell check.

283

“It was very traumatizing, and that’s how it should be.”
- Editor-in-chief talking about punishments for writers

Very apt given my recent battle in the office with the only text editor who thinks that Wikipedia is the bible and that a space before a fullstop is fine as long as you do it consistently.

I tried taking in the new issue of lensculture, and nearly gave myself a heartattack. How do others keep up with all these things? Nevertheless, it was very interesting to compare-and-contrast Photoquai and Noordelicht. I vote for the former.

2009-09-27T15:02:00.002+07:00

A bit in love with this photo by Gohar Dashti.

Post-lunch Meme

2009-09-26T15:05:00.002+07:00

Stolen off Noelle's FB post. Because I'm still recovering from post-Eid slumber.

1.What was the last thing you put in your mouth?
Coffee.

2.Where was your profile picture taken?
Outside Rifles Square waiting for the something to happen during the BDR mutiny.

3.Can you play Guitar Hero?
God no.

4.Name someone who made you laugh today?
There are 9 more hours to go till this day ends. I'm hopeful.

5.How late did you stay up last night and why?
2 am. Because I'm a dumbass.

6.If you could move somewhere else, would you?
Dude.

7. Ever been kissed under fireworks?
Not that I remember.

8. Which of your friends lives closest to you?
Too sad a question to answer.

9. Do you believe ex's can be friends?
Evidently.

11. When was the last time you cried really hard?
A river of tears flows through me.

12. Who took your profile picture?
Munir!

13. Who was the last person you took a picture of?
A boy in a coffeeshop.

14. Was yesterday better than today?
HAHAHA.

15. Can you live a day without TV?
Evidently so.

16. Are you upset about anything?
No but I'm really bitter about most things.

17. Do you think relationships are ever really worth it?
This quiz is getting boring.

18. Are you a bad influence?
On myself, yes.

19. Night out or night in?
In - by lack of choice.

20. What items could you not go without during the day?
I think my Mom reads this blog.

21. Who was the last person you visited in the hospital?
A colleague.

22. What does the last text message in your inbox say?
One of my colleagues telling me she'll only be able to come back to work tomorrow.

23. How do you feel about your life right now?
Not quite real.

24. Do you hate anyone?
I'll never admit it without qualifying it with a whole host of excuses.

25. If we were to look in your facebook inbox, what would we find?
Unanswered emails.

26. Say you were given a drug test right now, would you pass?
Dude.

27. Has anyone ever called you perfect before?
I've been called a perfect moron. Does it count?

28. What song is stuck in your head?
None right now.

29. Someone knocks on your window at 2:00 a.m, who do you want it to be?
God. Maybe she needs a place to crash.

30.Wanna have grandkids by the time you're 50?
Odds are slim my friend.

31. Name something you have to do tomorrow?
Wake up.

32. Do you think too much or too little?
Too much.

33. Do you smile a lot?
I do when I've something to smile about.

FU 2

2009-09-09T09:46:00.003+07:00

Why is rage funny? I don't know. But I do know I spent way too much time giggling over Fuck You, Penguin yesterday.

Damn you Jenatsch for giving me this link! As if I needed another avenue for procrastination.

Behold:

I just want you people to drink in this world-class douchebag known as the Tibetan Fox. Have you ever seen such a holier-than-thou fucking look on a non-dolphin before? I'm not one for slapping foxes, as I generally think they know what they've done, but this one really has that look, like the asshole boyfriend of the girl the main guy wants in an 80s movie. Unsurprisingly, he is extremely rare. That's probably because he thinks if he has too many babies, some of them will turn out to be commoners and he wouldn't be able to show his square face at the country club anymore.

How's your ivory tower, Tibetan Fox? I'm sure it must be terribly stressful to stand in judgment of the rest of us little people, so why don't you just retire to your cabin and play lacrosse? You know what, on second thought, WHY DON'T YOU WANDER THE DESERT LOOKING FOR RODENTS. Some of us have to work for a living, Tibetan Fox. We don't get everything handed to us by a lifetime of hunting and scavenging, you stuck-up snob.

20 Years of Drik

2009-09-05T10:22:00.003+07:00

Also the reason why I've been incommunicado.

20 Years of Drik
Twenty years.

How does one articulate a history spanning two decades in a few lines? The truth is, you can’t. Which is why we are sharing with you some of our proudest moments in the best way we know how - with images.

Far Eastern Economic Review

Time Magazine

Care International Annual Report

OXFAM Annual Report

This exhibition is not about the number of years that have passed, but the milestones achieved and the battles won. It is about the new paths we have forged from the unlikely location of Dhaka, the capital city of Bangladesh.

While we try to show cherished snippets of our past, there are others that we have to keep in our memory. The people who have helped us, the mistakes we made, the things we had to believe in with all our heart - these things are more challenging to visualise, but just as important.

Drik was set up to be a platform for voices from the majority world, and on this special occasion, we are proud to introduce the first in the Golam Kasem Daddy Lecture Series.

Twenty years.

For some, it could seem like an eternity. For us, this is just the beginning.

Jeev and I were up too late writing this, and I think we became a bit delirious after having to find synonyms for "celebrate" "proud" "milestone" and "achievements" at 2am in the morning.

Also exciting: Raghu Rai arrives at 4pm!

Not so exciting: The 'W' key fell off my keyboard.

Sequence of Unfortunate Events

2009-08-31T12:56:00.003+07:00

- Cold -
- Blocked Nose -
- Blowing Nose -
- Occasional Vertigo -
- Blowing Nose With Gusto -
- Blocked Inner Ear Canal -
- Constant Sensation of Either Being Half Deaf or Living Inside an Echo Chamber -
- Deteriorating Sense of Balance -
- Blocked Ear & Blocked Nose -
- Cold -

It is amazing how a blocked inner ear canal can render my brain totally inoperational.