Mukti

The classick adventures of DS and Dr Gonjo 3

Posted in culture, society by mehomaan on January 26, 2012

This is part three of a series by Dhaka Shohor, who visited Desh recently.  Please direct comments appropriately. — JR

These posts will contain inappropriate language, rampant racism/sexism/age-ism, random references to things good Bangladeshi boys and girls are not supposed to know about until one day they get married and magically become experts. — DS

Part OnePart two.

It is December 2011 and there is an hour till midnight. Dr Gonjo and I have finished our cigarettes. The crowd is much larger than we were expecting.

DS: Accha, ekta Monty Python style youtube video kortey hoibo Cox’s Bazarer jonyo. Dui jon loke, punjabi, shaal pora. Aastey aastey hetey jacchey beacher paasher raasta ta diye. Dekhtesey amader moto manush concert e jaachey, raat 11tar shomoy Cox’s Bazar er raastaay Moghbajarer traffic jam. Ekjon arek joner dikey takabey. Kichu khon chup thaakbey. Music baajbey – shanai! Tarpor ekjon arekjon ke bolbey, khub khaati Banglay, “Jaygata ar nirob thaaklo na.”

DG (laughs): Eito, eitarey boley filler DS. Kisu bolar nai, kowar nai, tai pechaal mara. Non-stop. Tui kintu chup thaaktey parosh na. Tobey idea ta kharap na.

DS: Arey dhur miya. My bullshitting skill is my livelihood.

But it’s true. Cox’s Bazar wasn’t like this when I visited 5 years back. A lot more people seem to be having a lot more fun this time.

I look at the crowd. It is mostly male, as it has been since we arrived at Cox’s Bazar. It is very definitely not the kind of place where I would find many of my EMS school mates.

(Or for that matter many of Chikna’s BMS ones either. Chikna went to an elite Bangla medium school. Even among the Bangla medium kids, there are some more equal than others. The only time they rally together is to eviscerate “my kind”.)

No. The crowd was mostly people who either lived in Cox’s Bazar — y’know, what the Dhakaites would call provincial, mofoshshol-marka. Or they had come to Cox’s Bazar on holiday, not KL, Pattaya or Nazimgarh where all the “proper people” go these days.

And once they were in Cox’s Bazar, they were not staying at the Seagull or Long Beach as proper people do. (We weren’t, even though Gonjo is very proper.) Both of those are lovely hotels I’m sure. And they did provide their own entertainment for (Gregorian) New Year’s Eve. One of them even had a DJ Hardi(c)k. No joke.

Photographic evidence of DJ Hardick

Ayub Bacchu is announced by a lady who speaks English with an unfortunate accent. Nevertheless it is Gregorian New Years, and English is compulsory on all Bangla channels. She means to tell us to keep enjoying the “beachfest”, but ends up asking us to enjoy the “bitchfest”. This brings Dr Gonjo out of his own reverie and he pipes up. He has been fretting these last couple of days over the lack of women in general.

Dr Gonjo: “Bitchfest” na, “bitchfest” na. Pura sausage-fest!

Several people in the crowd laugh. Maybe How-I-Met-Your-Mother fans, maybe not. Dr Gonjo then starts singing “Tiger Tiger” because Ayub’s AB’s name has been mentioned.

The crowd is boisterous. Later I would hear that around 150,000 people were there on the beach that night. Lots of people lighting up flares around us and waving them over their heads. Some of the guys have started a non-hip swaying, high energy conga line. People are having fun. More people than I ever expected. It might be a sausage fest, but Dr Gonjo is getting into the spirit of things. Some people even take up the refrain of “Tiger Tiger”. I try not to think of William Blake or the Bangladesh cricket team.

Instead I catch sight of a flag in the distance. The sponsors of the concert.

Airtel.

India.

Bess. Gesey.

I think to myself. Eita niye blog e lekhlei hoilo. The anti-India crowd will tear me a new one as India’r dalal.

I realise at that moment that I am definitely going to write about this. And throw more fuel on the fire.

(To be continued…)

Advertisements
Tagged with: ,

4 Responses

Subscribe to comments with RSS.

  1. […] One.  Part two.  Part three. It is 2006 and I am lying next to a girl from Bombay. Let’s call her […]

  2. […] One. Part two. Part three.  Part […]

  3. […] One. Part two. Part three. Part four.  Part […]

  4. […] One. Part two. Part three. Part four.  Part five.  Part six. After the fireworks are done, the music stops and the crowd […]


Comments are closed.

%d bloggers like this: