I attended the reunion of some Dhaka University students who all live in Victoria Heights. It was nice to do something social, sitting in a lush, green park eating aloo baji (fried potato) with some paratha bread. I enjoyed being recognized for my achievements in study. The others seemed nice, although many miss their days of student politics I think. Goondas- all they did was fight and steal and pretend it was for some greater cause. I think I recognized one brother from university days but was sure he had a Phensedyl (cough syrup) addiction back then. I didn’t bring it up, but I did giggle a little when I heard him sneezing. Maybe he should go get some more Phensedyl. Hehe.
Some days my husband just comes home and complains about the dahl- too cold, not runny enough, lacking spice. Make it yourself then sahib. But no, you don’t even know how. Worse than that, you’ve lived overseas for over a decade but still, it seems, never learnt to do any housework. At least you have managed to forget how to do any housework since I arrived to do it all. I tell you, you marry someone from overseas and you think it will be someone very modern and Western- nice clothes, some sophistication and modern views about gender relations. Instead I get some taxi driver. You actually marry down in order to get the migration visa. It better be worth it for any children we have, beta.
I am really enjoying Taylor Swift’s new album 1989. Sometimes I play “Wildest Dreams” and wonder if I would be taken away by Shahrukh Khan to some far off land. It would be raining of course, so the cameras could give just a hint of see through on my blouse and get all the ricksaw-wallah’s in cinema theatres excited. I know Taylor Swift’s songs don’t play in Hindi, that film clip Blank Space where she just fights with her cute boyfriend is just like my marriage. It could be lots of Bangladeshi couples I think, without those large paintings and the alcohol.