With the “feeding of the groom” ceremony complete, we ascended the stairs to the roof top to inhale as many cigarettes as humanely possible, while we waited for the next part of program one to commence. The small children continued to spy on us in the way small children do, in the naïve conviction that they are in fact ninjas. If I can't see their eyes, hidden by hands or an obscure obstacles then obviously I can't see the rest of their form. They did however become increasingly braver as time slipped by and they became accustomed to our presence, eventually venturing out to play their chasey games and share with us some strange nut berry things growing off the trees. They were shaped like an orange snow peas only with larger seeds and tasted like some sort of sour and strange nectarine. Bizarre but delightful.
Once affairs were back in order, the group eloped on rickshaws back across town to the household of the bride - Linda - for the female equivalent of the wedding program we had just experienced. Along the way, our route changed half a dozen times due to roads being set on fire and the jovial dancing and marching parades of the rioting locals. Despite being truly directionally dyslexic at this point and having no idea at all where we were, we arrived at the homestead of the wife to be. With some fanfare we were greeted by the road and welcomed into the large stone and concrete compound before being ushered up three flights of stairs onto the roof. Passing through the void, we were showered in flowers, given celebratory pins and blessed with the red dot paste thing – a ‘tika’ - on the forehead before being herded into our seats. Linda was seated cross-legged on a small stage at the front of the room, a spectacle of sorts and in her own way, she looked unquestionably bewildered. She was decked out in traditional saris and veils and positively dripping with an exuberant amount of gold. The stage itself was sheathed with wreaths of flowers and before her were a line of bowls, filled to the brim with the extravagant assorted foods, similar to that of Tanveer's fanfare.
The ceremony itself was fairly similar to the morning events, where a procession of people would come and sit for photographs while feedings and food smearing would be done to traditional methods. We were also invited up onto the stage, and as fitting as a first meeting should be in such situations, we fed her a sweet treat and hastily wiped a paste across her chin and cheek. As is tradition.
With all the ritualistic pleasantries out of the way, we ventured back downstairs for dinner. We sat down at the big kids table and feasted on a variety of foods - traditionally sweets first and then a mixed meat and rice dish. As it is customary in these lands to over feed the guests and to keep on filling the plate, combined with my own customary tradition to eat whatever is presented in front of me, the bride’s dear brother and I enjoyed a quaint relationship that resulted in the complete stuffing of bellies and inability to move for a spell due to food coma. With dinner over with, we eloped back up the stairs for a musical number and to release the fire lanterns that I had somehow managed to smuggle through numerous custom points and into the country. We set these off to the amazement of the small children and watched as they floated off into the distance on a cloudless night. They no doubt would have caused a shrub fire or burnt down a village wherever they landed, hence their illegal status in both of our countries, but I'm sure that probability would have been blamed on the local unrest and no one would have been any the wiser.
Chapter IV - Gastroenteritis and Princeling Behaviour
We bid our goodbyes and rickshawed our way back through the now quiet city, catching glimpses of the bush fire inducing lanterns as they sailed on their merry way. With the roads now empty of shenanigans, we traversed the city back to the hotel where I encountered my first spell of food poisoning but thankfully, a quick squirt and the body readjusted to its rightful glory. The same could not be said for my trusted traveling gypsy.
Whilst I slept a sound sleep guided into dream land, assisted by melatonin and scotch, my dear Sarah spent the night back and forth from the bathroom with the onset of stomach pains and gastro, providing for a restless night of small prayers and no doubt tears. It would seem that a body conditioned to an unusual raw food diet enjoyed back home did not agree to being subjected to the far east delicacies of sweet treats and spiced local goat. In between wiping the sweat and illness with towels and feeding the dazed wild beast medications from my knapsack of goodies, I proceeded to dress up in the traditional garb provided to me the night before for the next adventure of third world wedding festivities.
The garb I speak of consisted of a long red tunic, covered in beads and sequins, with red tights, snug at the ankles and baggy at the waist, tied with rope designed to fan downwards. The shoes themselves were ornate leather strapped sandals. This provided much amusement to the bewildered she-beast as the transformation of derelict death metal vagrant to imperial princeling was complete. And thus, I was ready to attend the second program of the wedding festivities.
It should be noted that by this point, the government had proceeded to execute the opposition leader the previous night. In their defense, for all stories that were exchanged, the opposition leader sounded like he was a bit of a cunt back in the day. A local version of Pol Pot, involved in civil war and genocide and slightly trigger happy when it came to the local civilian population. So really . . . this was probably a long time over due. Good riddance. Sadly, after the war of independence with Pakistan back in the 1970s, this individual was not prosecuted but was permitted to continue participating in facets of the government and as a result, these days he had acquired a lot of followers and quarried a sense of self-legitimisation for his wishes to return Bangladesh into Pakistan with hard line Islamic teachings. The past however was not forgotten. For he indeed found his firing squad.
And with that, the police presence in the town was increased and our desired route of transport changed on a dime . . . whenever we came across the locals having their communal bon fires in the road and causing a ruckus. We finally arrived at the community hall organised by the brides family and were warmly greeted by dozens of people gathering at the entrance, separated into two groups by way of a rose-laced rope strung across the threshold. Both families proceeded to engage in heated banter and whilst I could not speak the native tongue; I just merely smiled and nodded and tried to follow what was happening before me. I was informed that this was an old traditional custom that was performed to herald in the new marriage, though these days it was taken as light-hearted and just a bit of a laugh. It was basically a bargaining agreement for the cost of the bride which would be paid to her family. A dowry if you will. A price was set and agreed to and concluded with Tanveer cutting the roses to a cheer from both sides. And so we were thusly granted entrance into the building.
Moving through the main hall towards the back room, there were, as was now tradition, many stunned faces staring at the pale thing creature swanning through in the sparkling red tunic, whilst the now familiar small children ran around excitedly, peeking around corners with their impish faces. We soon arrived at the throne room, which according to it's designated name, was a room consisting of regal chairs around the perimeter, a stage in the centers, with two thrones that were hemmed with flowers and lights. The males in the bridal party sat in the chairs to the side as Tanveer took his position on stage, whilst a procession of people came through to give their blessings and have their photo taken with the groom. The children continued to stick their heads quizzically through the doorways and chatter amongst themselves until peace offerings were displayed in the form of kangaroo key rings. In a swarm of excitement, they surrounded me to collect their gifts before running off to show each other their prize. With this act of kindness, I suspected that I had won the approval of the adults in the room . . . I was clearly a heathen but at least I was a good-hearted heathen. Or at least this was the impression displayed. Three more missed calls. I would not be answering.
The question I was asked repetitively for most of the day was: “Where is Sarah?” and the disappointment in the women's faces was palpable as they were in
formed that she had succumbed to what was no doubt food poisoning and was laid up back at the hotel. Alas, they were stuck with me. Whilst having a pale face attending the wedding was no doubt a novelty and some apparent form of leveraging your social standing, the attendance of a wild blonde haired beauty with multiple facial piercings was really just a step above. There was no competition there.
We were whisked off into the main room where we would be seated for dinner. It was agreed amongst the males of the table that we would attempt to create a food shortage for the rest of the tables, as it was tradition that we would be fed first . . . and what was not eaten would trickle down to the others tables. So naturally it was decided that we would attempt to eat as much as we could possibly stomach. Being informed of this translation in English after the decision was made, I voiced my agreement and so the feast began. A bulging dish of assorted rice, goat, chicken and fish was brought out to the table and again was dished out to all involved. As I perused the table, I realised that the eating skills and techniques mastered from childhood would not help me here as eating with the hands was the done thing. Despite my vigorous attempts, I could not compete with the locals as they stripped the meat from the chicken and balled the rice into bite sized potions with the speed and endurance of a hungry orphan, where at best all I could achieve was to spill food down my front and smear sauce on my face. Thankfully, a spoon and fork was soon brought out to save me from a pitiful state. Never have I felt so uncouth for using cutlery.
After the dinner it was back into the throne room where we sat and the crowd gathered as we awaited the re-arrival of the bride. The sea of people parted as Linda made her way through the crowd and took her place in the throne next to Tanveer. The endless task of taking photos with the bridal party continued until the crowd went silent as the bride’s parents emerged and approached the stage. Words were spoken in which I didn't understand and the two on stage began to look slightly awkward. It was at this point that all was revealed when the wailing and crying of the parents erupted and it became now apparent that this part of the festivities involved the ceremonial “handing over” of the bride to the groom. From here on, Linda now lived with Tan and the age-old practice of property ownership was complete. The crowd shuffled out of the room to let the families do their thing and have a moment alone. We all bid our awkward farewells and departed back to Tanveer's house. We arrived to find his room had been completely gutted, stripped of all its items and replaced with more suitable “adult furniture” that was then covered in a plume of flowers.
Escaping back at the hotel, I found that my traveling gypsy child had somewhat recovered from the days expulsions and was coherent enough to be relayed the stories of the day and partake in the last of our duty free scotch. While she indulged in copious amounts of naan bread graciously provided by the hotel kitchen, I eloped onto the roof to huff down on some smuggled cigars. As I made my way up the multiple flights of stairs and then through multiple signless doors, I caught the notice of the employees and so one chap came out to enquire if I had lost my way. He quickly became somewhat perplexed when I informed him that I would like to be up on the roof. After a quick discussion regarding my desire to see the city lights, he brought me through the employee area and up to the front section of roof, where I found myself standing underneath the bright red neon hotel sign and our pleasant conversations turned to the local political situation.
We were able to spot the chaps house from our vantage on the roof and he informed me that due to its close proximity to his work, he was generally unaffected by the riots . . . but anyone out to the distance was far more than embroiled in the unrest. Upon the exchange of cigars, the question was raised of whether I would like to engage in a hard drink. Being a westerner in a dry country and amidst the situation where I had just finished the last of the alcohol in my possession, I graciously agreed that I would indeed like to partake in such activities. And indeed, I would like six of them. What was brought back was extra strength Hollandia beers, and while knocking back a couple of them standing on a roof engaged balls deep in talks of education and the benefits of hard work, I soon found myself stumbling down the stairs and skipping down the hallways back to my room with treasures in hand. More melatonin ensured that lucid dreams awaited, whilst the two further missed calls from old mate were successfully avoided.
Chapter Five - Festivities, Transformations and Hasty Escapes
The morning consisted of a flurry of unexpected errands that had to be accomplished in different locations throughout the city before the final program of wedding festivities could occur. Flowers were to be acquired, the girls were to be brought to a salon so that saris could be attended to, gifts and dowrys bought for the newly joined families but first of all our flights out of the country had to be changed. We had initially been due to stay for five more days and our vague plan entailed that we would be sailing down through to the Sunderbans, the protected wetlands inhabited by Bengal tigers and an menagerie of assortment wildlife. Sadly due to the fact that the towns down the rivers were on fire and the people were still shooting each other, it was decided this would not be the smartest of ideas. It was agreed upon by various parties that it would be most advisable to get out of dodge as soon as we possible could. The safest and most logical time would be the following day as there would most likely be a lull in the riotous behaviour.
I was picked up early in the morning by Tan from the hotel and we set out in a hired car through the city to firstly visit the local travel agent. As we entered the small glass walled office of the agent, we were greeted by a disinterested wave of the hand by a middle aged woman in a heated discussion on the telephone. We sat patiently in our chairs as we waited for this exchange to conclude so that we could organise our transport out of the country. It became evident quickly that the language barrier between myself and the agent was strong but thankfully Tanveer was able to play the role of translator. With short sentences being relayed back and forth in an obscure round of Chinese whispers which climaxed with yelling across tables and concluded with smiles and handshakes, we had successfully organised our way out of Bangladesh.
With my prior requirements out of the way it was onto the errands ahead. We made our way back to the hotel where whilst I dropped off the paper work for our flights, Sarah was simultaneously awoken and brought down to a second car where she was taken across town with Tanveer's sisters to a beauty parlour where they would be dressed in saris for the occasion. As we hopped back into our own car, we made our way across town to the bridal homestead where we aquired the two younger brothers and transversed the side streets of Khulna and bypassed the roadblocks to find the market district.
We were on a mission to find gifts for the brothers and our first stop would be the garment makers where the older of the two had requested new fabrics for tailor made shirts. We stood around as they flicked through racks of fabric before a few patterns were chosen and a bargain was struck. As we were getting back into the vehicle the youngest brother caught his hand in the closing door and let out an ear piercing squeal. With gentle words and well wishing we continued on our way to the markets as eyes were dried and soon found ourselves wandering through the open aired section of the markets going in and out of toy stores and racks of cartoon inspired clothing. We were also on the look out for new sandles for myself, as I had thoroughly destroyed the previous days pair, and with prices haggled and purchases made we made our way back through the winding side ways back to the car. Both of the brothers were thoroughly pleased with their new acquisitions and it would appear as they were dropped home that their gifts were deemed a suitable trade for their sister. We circled the city once more and after a slight delay and detour due to blocked roads found ourselves in the technicolor landscape of the flower street. I awaited by the car as Tan made his rounds and soon came back with a handful of bouquets which were in turn delivered back to the beauty parlour.
And so I was brought back to the hotel to get changed and gather my wedding gif
t. As we were ascending the stairs, the phone rang again and my trusted companion, Nayan, Tan’s brother in law, noticed the apprehension and disgust in my face. I began to explain the situation at hand that my phone number had been given out with naive intentions and so Nayan offered to answer the phone for me and attempt to dissuade this fanatical admirer. With this ordeal complete, I was promptly re-dressed in my dashing sequinned tunic and banging new shoes and swiftly brought back toTanveer's house to await the arrival of the girls from their beauty escapades at the local salon. Whilst I kept out of the way of the flurry of commotion inside the house as the older members organised what ever they had to do, I chain smoked on the roof and slipped in an out of the stares from the galavanting children. Before too long, the car carrying the girls arrived and one by one they exited and walked up the drive and through the small door in the gate. The sisters and cousins entered first and then sauntered in the famed pale she devil herself. The transformation itself was quite remarkable. When I last saw the wild haired creature, she was in smelly slum ridden jeans and metal shirts. But now, in swanned an eastern beauty, hair tightly bunned and face painted in a mixture of ochers and turquoise. Silver earrings bobbed and glistened, matching the cheek implant and ornate necklace. She looked completely fitting, albeit uncomfortable, in a flowing red and black sari and sparkling shoes. A world away from the hood rat that was dragged along for this adventures into the unknown.
And off we went, to another hall, for a similar event as the day before - to witness the couple seated upon a stage adorned with flowers and lights and surrounded by their vast family and friends for photos before a feast and more photos. At this particular occasion, we met with members of the university whom were colleagues of Tanveer and were then introduced to the dean. The conversation went well until I was asked what I had studied at university, and upon the answer of: “I never went, I work construction”, I was immediately shunned and attention was thus turned to Sarah, who held the pretentious accolades of double degrees. Whilst I was thankful for the diversion of attention, I still felt somewhat slighted. As I took a back seat to this exchange, the talk returned to the current situation of turmoil in the land and we were regaled with tearful tales of how the country had changed throughout this man’s lifetime and of his uncertainty of the future as events appeared to be turning full circle. His passionate exchange of hopes and fears resonated with what we had witnessed and of what should be logical but alas his expectations did not seem to be high.
Journeys Beyond the Front Door Page 3