WORST

Return of the Returning

2009-03-29T04:35:00.009+06:00

It was a long weekend. So I went away. I got on a bus and left the echoing booming of Jamal Bhai's voice behind. It's been rattling in my brain.

So, this return (the third consecutive blog entry to herald my return) is official.

Rest assured, I still view you with utmost contempt and think of you as the puny maggots that you are. But there's something I want to address before proceeding further.

The gloomy, dark and depressing turn of events on February 25, the weekend that had everyone in Bangladesh gripped, shocked and stunned had a major hand in the temporary shutdown of this blog. I'll say no more, as I don't feel this is the appropriate forum to talk about that.

Immediately after that, it seemed wrong for me to post on a blog dedicated to the light and humourous treatment of the darkness in my heart. I stayed away, giving myself time. That weekend unfolded and we heard stories and saw images that shook us to the core.

Slowly, life started going on. As it must. Don't forget, but don't let darkness drag you down.

It started raining on the bus back into Dhaka. It feels like months since it's rained. Maybe it has been months. But it seemed like a sign. Wash the bad feelings away. At the risk of sounding callous, I am moving forward, and back into my little world of petty bitching.

I got off the bus and a car almost drove over my foot.

I have returned.

Return of the King

2009-03-24T15:33:00.004+06:00

Yeah, so after coming back from my last break, I went on another break.
But the long-awaited next post is coming...in the next few days.

Stay cool.

Pintu Returns (And Still Hates You)

2009-02-21T17:19:00.003+06:00

I am back. It was time to take a little time away, clear my head.
In my last post, I wrote about perhaps experiencing a rare calming moment. Then a bird shat on my face.

If you've missed me, good for you.
What's that, I hear you ask: have you missed me, Pintu?

If you're slowly roasting in a burning hell for two weeks, do you tend to think about peanuts?

By now, you're well acquainted with antics at the office. Now my co-workers are chirpier and more determined to succeed while simultaneously annoying the living shit out of me. It's like walking into a circus for over-achieving orangutans every morning. Nothing's changed. I drink my tea, smoke my cigarettes. Bang my head on the desk.

The days are taking their toll.

I open my eyes every morning but all I see is fog. Constant thick fog, like some thick soup, if soup were a fog. There's no sunshine. When I walk, it's like those cartoons where a single black cloud hovers over one person's head. It's only raining on me. Because Jamal Bhai and co. are certainly basking in the sunlight of stupidvideos.com. I just hope some raindrops from the cloud on my head spills over onto his computer and short-circuits it, so that I could get some peace.

Spring is here. I light a cigarette and watch the world hurtle mindlessly forward.

A small child cries, and I think: good, better you learn how it is now.

A rickshaw gets rammed in the the back by another rickshaw. The passenger flies off, falls on the ground and gets up angry and covered in dirt. There is yelling. I smile.

A mosquito wildly miscalculates and flies straight into my clap of death. The resulting mess in my hands is bloody, but satisfying.

Everyday brings new challenges. Almost always they are...WORST.

Further Proof of Crapness of Life

2009-02-05T08:26:00.003+06:00

By some amazing coincidence, I got to enjoy a bit of sunshine yesterday. I managed to get out of work early.

The weather was pleasant. I felt calm.

Hang on, I hear you say. This is unsuitable material for this blog.

Oh, but wait.
As I looked up at some tree, a giant fat crow took a huge dump on my face.

Chickens

2009-02-03T00:25:00.006+06:00

It's only inevitable that a Dhaka-based blog called "Worst" will eventually mention Dhaka traffic.

I commute. It's like being kicked in the head with steel sandals. In the morning the lines are longer than the waiting lists for BTNT phone numbers in the 90s. Crammed in with a random elbow in the face, hardly moving while breathing in special fragrances that smell like the lovechild of a sewer and a coal factory.

Inevitably someone accidentally steps on someone and that someone takes offense and starts yelling SHALA DEKHTE PAROS NA? But what are you going to do when it's so crowded. Once a guy apologized to someone on a seat for daring to be thrown back by the driver braking hard. The response was "SORRY BOLE KI HOBE? JA HOBAR HOISE." Then of course some know-it-all Modon Kumar will join in as judge and jury, engaging everyone in a bus-wide debate about the merits and demerits of

And you'd think with the bus engine and the honking outside people would have a hard time being heard. But oh they manage to yell just fine. To me it always sounds like chickens. It's all just :

(exchange between two people)

-- POKPOKPOKPOK POKAWWWWWKKK POKPOKPOKPOKPOK
-- pok. pokk paaaaaaaaaaaaawwwk.
-- POKAAAAWK!!! POK POK POK PAAAAAWK.
-- POK!?!?!?! POK POK POK POKPOKPOK!!!! POK PAAAAAAAWK!!!

(random guy joins in as "voice of reason"/"showoff wise-man"/"nosy dude")

-- Pok. Pok pok pokpokpok. Pok Pok.

(first guy takes offense)
-- PAWWWWWWWWK! PAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKA!!!

(nosy dude also gets incensed)
-- POKPOKPAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWKKKKKKK!!

All out battle.

And then its POK POK POK POK POK POK POK all over the bus.

It's around this time I realize it's only been ten minutes. Traffic's barely moving and there's about an hour and a half to go.

Paperwork is for Winners

2009-01-28T17:30:00.008+06:00

After a short break mostly spent sticking my head in a pillow and screaming, I'm back.
All of last week could be described in the following manner:

Moronic Co-workers:
"We're going to hop, skip and jump into the office ready to catch up on all the work we neglected to do last week while we acted out our hidden tiger fantasies. Having secured a dubious victory in what basically amounted to the saddest display of the loss of our youth and our souls, we will walk about as if we've just won the World Cup. Thrice. While blindfolded and jumping on only one leg.

As a result we'll be elated at the prospect of long hours, no overtime and very little sleep for the next week.

Our overbearing sense of team spirit will not, however, be enough to actually get us to work more efficiently. But it will ensure that we go about every single activity with the maximum amount of !!!ENTHUSIASM!!! possible. Be it stapling printouts or rehearsing, practicing and executing a victory dance in one of our conference rooms."*

Jamal Bhai:
"Having displayed leadership skills and athletic ability on the football field, for my encore I will watch twice as many stupidvideos at double the volume. Since I am in higher spirits my laughter will be louder and more booming, at a special frequency that threatens to destroy Pintu's hearing and sanity."

Raju Bhai:
"I walk the earth as a sort of warrior priest with the spirit of a tiger. When I walk I leave footprints of fire. I am happy to be what I believe was the main drive behind our recent football glory, despite scoring no goals and almost causing serious mob violence. I am also happy to talk to you about my pivotal role in the game, whether you want me to or not.

Belal:
I now truly believe I am a tiger. When I greet people I ROAR a little. Of course it catches on really fast and before you know it, the office is filled with little moments met by someone going "RRRROOOOAAR!" and everyone else "roaring" in laughter.

Oh,
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHA
HA
HA
HA

Pintu:
"Worst, in a particularly worst way."

* yes, this really happened.

Tiger vs. Tank - Part II

2009-01-26T23:28:00.011+06:00

Click here for Part I.

10:45 a.m.
The game begins. The crowd roars with anticipation as I settle down on the sidelines and watch with a bit of disinterest. I really want a smoke.

Royal Bengal Raju's started yelling for the ball right off the bat. Jamal Bhai, actually quite a skilled player, is doing his best to ignore him. He's in possession of the ball; he sees a chance and takes a shot. Their keeper deflects it and a defender clears it, but we've put the pressure on. Bagher Bachcha Raju begins his complaining "you should've passed to meeeeeee" nonsense.

Belal's going ballistic in his tiger outfit. At one point he walks on all fours while roaring into the air. I'm sure this makes him feel like a tiger but it looks more like an overgrown toddler in a banana suit.

11:00 a.m.
Jamal Bhai scores a goal and we we're in the lead.

As soon as we score, Belal the dancing tiger claws menacingly at the air in front of Company Y spectators. It's like watching a yellow chingri mach dancing. Company X cheers him on, curling their hands into claws and imitating tiger roars. With all of them together they sound like a giant vacuum cleaner.

It's like a whole crowd of people going like this:

And then, of course, there's Belal:

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!!!

In fact everyone's more into roaring and the inevitable chant of KILL EM ALL KILL EM ALL. We're corporate football heavyweights, leading not only in the game but clearly excelling in Moronic Team Spirit Olympics. I don't know whether to laugh or to cry.

11:07a.m.
Apparently at some point someone from Company Y decided that they needed to outdo Belal the Tiger Mascot.

So about FOUR OF THEM actually went home to work on making their own mascot THERE AND THEN. Word on the street is that this was under direct orders from their CEO.

Their mascot arrived late, but oh boy, was it with a bang.
Made of cardboard, it looked a little something like this:

With the big words BLOW 'EM UP painted on the side.

They went ballistic chanting BLOW EM UP BLOW EM UP and imitating explosion noises. One guy kept miming throwing grenades, another was pretend-firing a machine gun.

In a way it was a pure expression of the suppressed raw, bestial, violence that lurks deep within the hearts of men.

In another way, it was totally retarded.

Belal, sensing the falling morale of Company X puts in a valiant effort to raise spirits, but in vain. Company Y are on fire.

11:14 a.m.
Approriately, their team scores an equalizer just before...

11:15 a.m.
Half time.

Players drink some water and sit around. Jamal Bhai announces some substitutions and does his best to ignore Raju Bhai harping on and on: "if you just pass to me I would ensure optimum goal."

I'm playing in the next half.

11:30 - 11:58 a.m.
I tackle someone. Someone tackles me. It's a game. It's enjoyable enough. After a while one even learns to filter out Raju Bagh's voice. Although seeing a tiger and tank facing off in the corner of my eye and hearing people chanting to kill and blow up everyone reminds me that I want to be gone from this place soon.

11:59 a.m.
Right before the final whistle Jamal Bhai puts the ball in the back of their net. The tigers roar behind us. But the Tanks start protesting - apparently we'd just committed a foul and this goal wasn't valid.

Note to future corporate sports event managers. When you plan and budget everything out, include a referee that doesn't work at one of the competing companies.

The referee was our very own Fahim.
A dispute starts on the field, as it does in situations like these.

And then comes Genghis Khan himself, Raju Bhai. Into the faces of the other team. He's an annoying fat prick and we hold back because we work with him. One of their players, a large burly beast, does not work with him and does not hold back. He shoves Raju Bhai really hard, which is a sort of delightful sight for me. Raju Bhai gets up roaring like a...well, like a tiger and is yelling at the top of his lungs:

"Do you think this is game!? Huh! Bloody shit! Do you think its bloody game?"

Yes. Everyone kind of thought it was a game.

Raju Bhai lunges forward but we hold him back. The crowd starts to get fired up, too. KILL 'EM ALL KILL 'EM ALL BLOW 'EM UP BLOW 'EM UP!!!

Genghis Khan Raju breaks free and starts to rush towards his opponent who reacts swiftly. He puts all his weight forward and shoves Raju back. He lands on me and we both fall over. I get a bruise on my arm from falling. Ouch.

It's at this point that a mini-riot almost breaks out. It starts with Belal the Tiger putting his fist through their tank mascots costume, destroying it. Then escalates with Tank-Man pulling off Belal's mask and stomping on it. People start getting up from where they're sitting, chests out and noses flaring. Fingers point aggressively, and there's lots of "HOI HOI HOI OYE BETA OYE BETA CHUP KOR SHAAAAALAA!!"

I nurse my hurt arm, and in my head I hear 2 million voices chanting KILL 'EM ALL. Looking around its like everything's moving in slow motion. Raju Bhai still being held back, threatening to chop off his opponent's balls, the guy from their team yelling back with his veins and eyes popping out with unsuppressed rage. Belal and Tank-Man almost in tears as they nurse the tattered remains of their costumes.

Many of these people are supposedly the best and brightest in our country. They've studied at top institutions, some at home, some abroad. Everyday they make decisions that somehow, directly or indirectly, affect the lives of millions of people - consumers, labourers, whatever - and this is what it comes down to. Everyday, I witness grown men and women showing themselves for what they truly are - incompetent morons.

12 p.m.
Final whistle. Before the issue resolves, or blows out into full-on violence. Clearly someone just wanted it all to end. The Tigers roar WE WIN WE WIN WE WIN and the Tanks keep yelling DRAW DRAW DRAW. There's lots of booing all round. We have to sit around for the final ceremony. I'm still not certain if our last goal was allowed.

I nurse my bruise.

Our CEO speaks and he's all about how it's not about victory but about team spirit. How togetherness and drive can accomplish anything. I glance over at Belal with his broken mask, a deflated spirit if I ever saw one. Then their CEO gets up and talks a bit more about translating the same passion that we displayed today into the workplace and into the continued distribution of crappy cheap products at highly marked-up prices. That was the gist of it.

There's still half an hour to go before all the medals, trophies and self-congratulatory back-patting speeches.

But there's only one thing anyone needed to hear. And it's their CEO as he announces that the official decision has been made to allow the last goal.

The roaring is defeaning. I wonder if they can hear the chants of KILL 'EM ALL on the moon. But the blood fails to rush to my head, the adrenaline fails to pump through my veins. Everyday I make the motions in a game I have no stake in.

Yes, we're winners. But we're winners in a game of football between two corporate companies. Because we're winners we have to go in and work harder next week. And the week after. And the week after. And we're supposed to like it. The thought leaves me drained, exhausted.

Just a Little Bit More...

2009-01-26T10:21:00.003+06:00

Dear Readers,

I'm going to have to apologize, but Part II is going to be a bit delayed. Hopefully up tonight. Haven't had the time to write it down...

Why? Well, do you think any work got done last week while everyone chanted KILL EM ALL and was in football tiger tank-killing frenzy?

So we all got in sore from the game (and with some UNBELIEVABLE memories, as you will discover in Part II) on Sunday morning to discover that hey, work doesn't just do itself. Paperwork has a way of piling up.

Got home last night at 2 a.m.
Then was back here at 9.

Just hang in there for the thrilling outcome of the football match. I still have the scars. It will be worth the wait.

But for now, have to get back to work.

So...

Gimme a W
Gimme a O
Gimme a R
Gimme a S
Gimme a T.

Tiger vs. Tank - Part I

2009-01-24T23:27:00.010+06:00

The Big Game. Friday morning. If I thought it was going to be ridiculous, nothing could have prepared me for how it actually went.

6 a.m.
Team wake-up call. Mind you, the match is at 10 a.m.

6:30 a.m.
The minivan comes to pick us up. I'm the last one to get picked up. Everyone's bubbling with energy that's simply too obnoxious for this time in the morning. Genghis Tiger Raju looks a bit sour as I get in, but he can just sulk in the corner, the fat fuck. Everyone starts banging on the van seats chanting - yup, you guessed it - KILL 'EM ALL! KILL 'EM ALL! Sigh. It's grey, foggy and miserable outside. And inside.

6:45a.m.
Team breakfast. Since we're about to engage in a pretty physical sport, everyone decides it would be a great idea to have oily parathas and dim bhaji. Of course I join in because it looks like a bloody good meal. Naturally, drink two cups of cha and top it off with a nice cigarette.

7 a.m.
Arrive at the field. Attempt to do laps. We suck at doing this, so sit around and pretend like there's something to talk about. Whereas the only thing that's on anyone's mind is "it's still three hours until this thing starts."

7:15 a.m.
Jamal Bhai gives a motivational captain's speech. Bless him, he actually wrote this down. He talked about how tigers are "ferocious and noble creatures with ultimate killer instinct, just like all the employees of our company." I sit at a bloody cubicle and come up with proposals all day, my dear Jamal Bhai. My killer instinct only gets aroused when you start laughing at the top of your lungs watching stupidvideos.

Do I even need to mention that everyone eats it up and cue chanting etc etc.

8 a.m.
Half of us try and take a nap on the grass.

8:05 a.m.
We notice the weather's still grey and miserable. Too cold for napping.

8:05 - 8:59 a.m.
Smoke cigarettes. Raju the Tiger Man makes a comment about a real sportsman not smoking and I shrug. Anyway how is this real sports? It's CORPORATE FOOTBALL. In any case, I'm just a sub.

9 a.m.
Some of our other colleauges show up. Dressed warm and looking rested. First question they ask when they see us: "why'd you come so early?"

9:25 a.m.
Company Y arrives. Their team logo, if you remember, is a tank. They get down from their micro-bus chanting "BLOW 'EM UP! BLOW 'EM UP!" For that is their incredibly imaginative slogan. Cue Pintu eye-rolling. They finish their chanting by mimicking the sound of explosions with their mouths.

Of course this completely riles up our team, who get to their feet and do little war dances and chant KILL EM ALL ad nauseum. Then Company Y do their little war dances and chant BLOW EM UP. Then all I hear is the sound of grown men making explosion and tiger roaring noises and I'm convinced that this is the lowest point that this can get. Except it's not.

One of our colleagues, Belal, who's not in the team but REALLY into team spirit, disappears for a few minutes only to return wearing a TIGER COSTUME that consists of a totally yellow tracksuit with black stripes painted on. Then he starts waving his arms threateningly at Company Y who realize that they don't have anything more retarded to match so just kind of stop and focus on doing stretches and warm ups. Our team take this as an incredible sign of manly prowess, and start hauling Belal up in the air as their mascot and lucky charm.

10 a.m.
Long speeches by Big Bosses of both Company X (our company) and Y about friendly competition, corporate spirit, the future of the youth, sports as a means of bridging gaps. Everyone almost falls asleep. When it almost seems like it's time to play, it turns out there's a solid twenty minutes of words from our sponsors, awards ceremonies and polite but bored clapping.

10:30 a.m.
I sneak off for a cigarette.

10:45 a.m.
The game begins. Since I'm a sub, I sit on the benches and watch not very intently. I mean, what's there to report?

Quite a bit, as it turns out.

All will be revealed in PART II......

Creamy Cake and Lava

2009-01-23T01:09:00.005+06:00

Special lunch today - "in Honour of Our Brave Tigers!"

That's what it said on a yellow and black banner. Balloons adorned the walls. People wore tiger masks. It was like a nine year old's birthday party from 1983.

And across the cafeteria as we dig into desert - a cake with cream so thick you could use it as cement - Mr. Genghis "Bengal Tiger" Raju squints his eyes at me threateningly. As if to say "I'm watching you." I raise an eyebrow with an amused expression and put a spoonful of cake in my mouth.

Then wish I hadn't. It tastes like soap with sugar and breadcrumbs.

The air is buzzing with excitement.

General feeling in the air is a bit like this:
Tomorrow's the BIG DAY. We face Company Y in THE epic corporate football battle of the year. The ground will shake beneath our feet. We will walk with our heads held high, no longer men, but tank-eating tigers. We spit nuclear fire! We gargle with nails! We drink lava!

Me? I just hope Raju Bhai trips over his shoelaces again. Stay tuned.

"You Wanna Play Game?"

2009-01-21T13:12:00.006+06:00

Al-Amin Hossain Raju is a large man with a moustache so big and bushy you'd swear it was some sort of caterpillar on his lip. By day, he is our company's Chief Assistant Executive Procurement Manager. But on the football field, he would have you believe he is a man with the soul of Genghis Khan and fifty Bengal Tigers all rolled into one.

In reality, nothing of the sort. He uses his weight (and executive authority, although no one's really sure what and who he's in charge of) to push people out of the way and get to the ball. He spends more time yelling at people who are on the other side of the field to pass to him than he does on things like, actually having a modicum of skill.

The corporate match on Friday will be a five-a-side game. There are eight of us on the team (three reserves), so we had a practice four-a-side game last night. Jamal Bhai, realizing that no one was going to run laps or bother with exercises and drills, gave up and just had us play a full game. Finally, I thought, some action.

Then Mr. Genghis Raju starts storming around, polluting the airwaves yelling abuse at his teammates (I was on the other team):

"Paro na? PARO NA!!?!?!?"
"Amaake ball dao. DAOOOO."
"Dhuro miyaa amake pass kor na beta."

We beat them badly, mainly because he kept hogging everything. I could see he was visibly fuming as it became clear his team would lose. You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. This was actually kind of great.

At one point, I tackled him. Because he is an incompetent man, he forgot to tie his shoelaces and tripped over them at exactly this moment. I hadn't touched him, but that didn't stop him coming up to my face and screaming at the top of his lungs:

"Kire Pintu, faizlami paiso?"

Gameplay stopped for a second as everyone tried to calm things down.

"Boss, your shoelaces were untied."

This made him even angrier. He jabbed his right index finger on my chest.

"Think this is joke? You wanna play game?"

Eventually someone managed to calm him down and gameplay resumed. Five minutes later, he's trying to score a goal and I'm coming forward to tackle him. It's very easy because he is slower than a one-wheeled rickshaw. As he's running he growls to me:

"I show you game, shala..."

And then he trips over his untied shoelaces, five feet away from me. It's like watching an alur bosta topple over in slow motion. With very little effort, I kick the ball over to one of my teammates and he scores.

Must admit, that was pretty fun. I guess we just "played game."

THEN, of course, after the match, as a "morale building" exercise, everyone got up and chanted KILL 'EM ALL KILL 'EM ALL which completely destroyed the mood.

Smells Like Team Spirit

2009-01-20T14:04:00.009+06:00

By midday I've gone through five cups of tea, eight cigarettes and one existential crisis. Two days of practice, running laps that no one bothers completing and the mounting hysteria as the office gets prepared to take on Company Y for Friday's corporate match.

So today, the official banners, stationary and team uniforms arrived from the vendors.

It went a little something like this:

The team went a little bit like this:

And then there was me:

Creaking and Groaning

2009-01-20T10:07:00.004+06:00

Smoker plays football after work.

Sore all over next day.

Worst.

More later.

Balls

2009-01-18T22:56:00.006+06:00

So. It has begun. Football training. After work.

Jamal Bhai is our coach. He used to be his school captain in Mohanpur, Rajshahi, and they say he took his team to the District Finals. But during the match someone in the other team called Jamal Bhai's mother a cow and started mooing on the field. Jamal Bhai lost his temper, kicked the offending guy in the nuts, and was given a red card. He was the star striker. Without him, they just didn't have the firepower to win. They lost.

He told us this story as we walked from the office to the field. I must say it puts a fresh perspective on why he enjoys watching videos of people getting hit in the nuts.

He ordered us to run ten laps around the field before we started. No one managed more than two. I just stopped and sat down after one lap. I think he'll soon figure out that we're not quite the Tigers our logo states we are. I tried and sneaked off for a smoke break every now and then.

I mean it would be one thing if we could just play a game of football. That would be alright. Let's just shut up, and play. Great. But no. It's fifty minutes of exercises and ten minutes of actual game playing.

We had a warm up exercise which involves one-touch ball passing while chanting "KILL 'EM ALL!" And it seemed like my team-mates were foaming at the mouth at the thought of crushing the enemy. At one point, things got so heated that everyone had stopped passing the ball but were instead punching the air and screaming "KILL 'EM ALL! KILL 'EM ALL! KILL 'EM ALL!!" I cannot describe the intense shame I felt as I noticed the general public looking at us with a mixture of mild bewilderment and extreme annoyance.

So we kicked a lot of balls today, which is fitting since afterwards I felt like someone had kicked my soul in the balls.

The Fun Just Never Stops, Does It?

2009-01-16T12:32:00.003+06:00

I am (not) delighted to inform you that seconds after my last post, an SMS was sent to those of us playing in the company football team, reminding us that training for next week's football match will be taking place after office all of next week.

The Line Manager decided since I am a bit quiet and reserved it would be "great team building" if I joined the team as a reserve. Thus making my attendance at after work practice mandatory.

Stay tuned for all the lovely horribleness to come next week. As well as the upcoming match
with Company Y. Will we "Kill 'em All"? The suspense is killing me, certainly.

Well, I'm off to dunk my head in cold water. I hope your weekend is as boring and unpleasant as mine surely will be.

Tiger, Tiger, Burning Bright

2009-01-16T10:11:00.008+06:00

As you know, Friday and Saturday make up the weekend in Bangladesh. You may also know that the weekend brings with it special challenges such as "what the hell is there to do around here?", "where are my cigarettes", " "why won't Robi leave me alone?"

But that's a different matter.

Anyway, yesterday, Thursday afternoon, I was looking quite forward to finishing work and heading off home. The office was still buzzing with the "fantastic team building exercise" that was the impromptu song and dance number from hell a few days ago. People were literally doing little dances as they walked. Even Jamal Bhai took five minutes off of watching online videos to fill out a vendor form in the spirit of "team spirit." In my one and a half years at the company, this was perhaps the first time that I'd ever seen him pick up a pen. Of course, his didn't work and he had to borrow mine. And he didn't just ask for my pen. He made his request by singing a refrain based on chumma, chumma de de... "KOLOM KOLOM DE DE. "

In short, the atmosphere at work has been insufferably chirpy and I could not wait to be done for the week. We supposedly finish up at 6:00. At 5:52, the Line Manager called a meeting. I knew this was going to be a last minute set of "suggestions" from top management. My heart sank to my feet.

In the meeting:
Our Line Manager paces up and down. He looks gravely at us. I roll my eyes. I know exactly what's coming. He will say, very slowly: "team...this doesn't look good...kaajta hoye nai..." A short sentence that can be delivered both dramatically and effectively in a matter of seconds. But instead we get:

"Team..."

My dear colleagues are on the edge of their seats as if they've never heard this before. Their mouths are agape. I hope a fly flies into the back of one of their throats.

"This doesn't..."

He wrings the tension. I pick my nose.

"This doesn't look good..."

Murmurs are heard around the room. Fahim turns to me to give me a "ooooh shiiiiit" look. I put an arm on his shoulder, supposedly comforting him but actually wiping the snot from my nose on his shirt.

"Eta...eta hoye nai."

Jamal Bhai can't take it anymore. His booming voice rings out:

"But why, boss?"

The Boss outlines the problem.
Is it something to do with numbers not matching for 2008's financial report? No.
Is it something to do with a very important proposal that needed to be in perfect condition before sending out to a potentially huge client? No.
Perhaps it is to do with some massive problem with one of our regular vendors, setting our deadlines back by weeks in a fast-running industry where time is money? Nope.

No, no, and no. Those are but tiny minuscule issues in the face of the real impending crisis. Which is, and I kid you not:

Next weekend, we're supposed to have a "competitively friendly" football match against our rival company, Company Y. And top management is not happy with the logo and slogan we've chosen for the team. Therefore, it is TOP PRIORITY that we come up with something that inspires bloodlust and glory in our chests, while simultaneously striking fear into the heart of Company Y.

No one goes home until this gets sorted out, because all the materials have to get printed out and the official team jerseys have to be ordered, etc etc. Perhaps I'm the only one who wonders why top management waited all this time to provide their feedback, since we'd submitted our final suggestions two weeks ago.

Admittedly, our chosen logo and slogan were a bit crap. But let me remind you that this is a logo and slogan for a CORPORATE FOOTBALL MATCH. Which is, by definition, crap.

The original logo showed a tiger leaping forward, with the slogan "GO GET 'EM!"

Company Y, it turns out, have come up with a logo of a tank firing, with the slogan "VICTORY OR DEATH!"

So we need to match that killer instinct. Brainstorming begins. At eight pm, we still have nothing. Rejected ideas include:

Logo: EAGLE. Slogan: VICTORY IS OURS.
Logo: FIST. Slogan: IN YOUR FACE.
Logo: SWORD Slogan: CUT THE COMPETITION IN HALF

I'm drinking tea and rubbing my forehead. This is ridiculous. Stuck after work on a Thursday night because of this. I can't take it any more. I speak up, angry and sarcastic:

"What's the point of all this? Huh!? You know, why don't we just...why don't we just draw a GIANT FUCKING TIGER with HUGE TEETH and BLOODRED EYES and BLOOD COMING OUT OF ITS MOUTH, and it's ATTACKING A TANK...no it's EATING a fucking TANK. Oh but then we have to also have A HUGE NUCLEAR EXPLOSION as the background to show HOW FIERCE WE ARE! How about that? Why don't we just do that? And the slogan can be: 'KILL 'EM ALL.' "

I'm breathing heavily. I take a sip of tea and gulp. Normally I never speak. This has been too much. I've let my annoyance show. Worst.

There's dead silence in the room. The Line Manager steps forward. He extends his arm towards me. I rub my forehead a bit. He speaks.

"Pintu. You never say much."

Silence.

"But when you do. It's damn good stuff. Damn good stuff."

He starts to clap. He starts to clap his hands. Oh God, he claps. And he turns to the team.

"That's a brilliant idea! Amazing! Kill 'em all! That's the one! That's it!"

And the rest of the team, probably only because the Line Manager is all about this idea, start raving.

"Haaaa....eta hobe eta hobe!!!"
"Kill 'Em All! Totally action, man!!"
"We're gonna destrrrrrroy them!"

The Line Manager beams at me and I get the feeling that my life has absolutely no meaning. I've spent all my years doing nothing of any consequence, and this, this has been the culmination of it all, a meaningless nothing on top of a whole pile of meaningless nothings.

Wrong Number Beby

2009-01-13T23:42:00.016+06:00

I decided to go to bed early last night. Life had other plans.

As soon as I start to drift off to sleep, my mobile phone rings. I hate that bloody machine. I don't know who's calling. I pick up and mumble, half-asleep:

"What?"

A man's voice whispers softly on the other end.
"Sweetie. I love you beby. Amake miss koro nai? Didn't you miss me beby?"

Without even bothering to reply, I hang up.

He calls again. I should just switch it off.

"I'm outside your window beby. Janalar baire dekho. Amar shathe paliye jao."

"Wrong number."

"Priya?"

"No."

"Apni ke!?!? Eta Mymensingh na? Aren't you in Mymensingh?"

"No."

"Eta kothaye? Where are you?"

"Jahannam. In hell."

"Don't tell lie, bloody fool."

"OK."

I hang up and switch off the phone. Unable to go back to sleep, I get up and light a cigarette, irritated. The I get a mental image of this Romeo hanging outside some house in Mymensingh, stuck with the wrong number, unable to call his lover.

Team Building Exercise...from Hell

2009-01-12T11:48:00.015+06:00

With the long weekend a distant memory, I trudge on through work. By 11am I have finished four cups of tea and smoked five cigarettes. The weather in Dhaka today is quite pleasant and sunny, though that doesn't make any difference to me since there's no window in sight from my cubicle.

Jamal Bhai, of course, has spent half a day watching the illuminating content of stupidvideos.com. Although right now he's playing Solitaire. At least it's quiet.

For about thirty seconds.

Then he begins drumming on the desk and singing:

HAJAR DORSHOK MON MOJAIYYAAAA
NACHEGO SHUNDORI KOMOLAAAAA...

Very loudly. I grit my teeth. Heads pop out of other cubicles.
Before I know it, our Financial Coordinator Fahim has started clapping along to the beat. Sure enough, other people start singing along:

PREMIK PURUSH ROHIM MIYAAAAAAAA
RUPBAAANE NAACHE KOMOR DOLAIYYYAAAAAAA

The tea boy (or, you'll recall, Executive Refreshment Coordinator) comes along with a tray of tea. At first unsure what's happening, he starts mouthing the words. Finding encouragement, he gets a bit more into it. I just want that tea on his tray, but getting up would mean I risk getting involved.

Now it starts reaching fever pitch, as tables are banged, heads are shaken and arms are extended to the heavens in eternal expression of the music within.

It's a full fledged musical.

Along comes the Line Manager. Finally, I think, this ends now. But no. He begins doing a little dance and makes direct eye contact with me. He's encouraging me to join in. If the smile on his face were wider it could be used as a landing light at the airport. He shakes his head as if to say come on let's maasti yaaaaar! I purse my lips a bit. He's the boss. I raise an eyebrow and bob my head very lightly from side to side. That's all I'm willing to give and it feels like my soul is being violated.

At last, it ends. Everyone returns to not working, browsing Facebook and watching stupid videos. Finally we get our tea.

The Line Manager pats himself down, and looks around with a look of satisfaction.

"Bah bah bah! That was wonderful, team. Really really really great. That's what I call TEAM SPIRIT!"

And for the next five minutes, the whole floor erupts in applause. In applause. I drink my tea and try not to choke to death.

Monkey Does Business on my Head

2009-01-11T01:54:00.000+06:00

Ah, family. So good at knowing what you want.

Take my cousin Robi for example. I blow smoke in his face, tell him to get lost, tell him "I hate you" and in his infinite wisdom he's convinced that what I really need is to go out and meet more people. Namely his retarded friends. He will not be phased. He is so cheerful it makes me want to scratch my eyes out. His favourite movie in the world is Kuch Kuch Hota Hai and if he really likes something, he'll say "eta beshi cute, bhai."

So after running out of every excuse in the book ("I have to work late today","I have dengue","I'm going to jail","you bore me to tears and I would rather stick a pencil up my nose") I had to accompany him to lunch with some of his friends. It was a bit like this:

Afterwards, Robi slaps me on the back and says "WASN'T THAT FUN!?!?! Aren't they so bloody CUTE???"

I turn to him. Wisely I say nothing about wanting that hour and a half of my life back. Nothing about the irreparable damage to my brain from being exposed to these fools. I fight it all back.

My only reaction:

A Day Off

2009-01-08T21:07:00.000+06:00

Ashura holiday today.

Soaring high.

But it's never that easy, is it?

Tarpor aar ki?
Ektu.
Worst.
Lage.

Q: Why blog? A: Shut up.

2009-01-07T10:48:00.000+06:00

"Why does this blog exist?"

A question on precisely no one's lips.
Ironic, because I just burned my mouth drinking this cup of tea.

I will now introduce myself.
I am Pintu. Smoker. Fataye cha khai. Live in Dhaka. Showing signs of bhuri. Forget to shave for days at stretch.

Favourite activities: Sitting, smoking, sleeping.

I love few things, except the sound of silence when people finally decide to shut the hell up.

I work in Hell, i.e. Bangladeshi corporate world. Yes yes, I need the cash. I sit in a cubicle in the marketing department of a pretty small company. My job title is Executive Assistant Planning and Execution Manager. But we also have an Executive Refreshment Coordinator, and as far as I can tell he's the tea boy. So go figure.

My job basically involves spending all day coming up with an intricate plan on how to promote our clients' crappy products, and then get told that actually the client has a better idea on how we could get it done so let's do it that way and by the way the deadline is in 12 hours so let's just forget about small things like, oh you know, going home.

Only two of us applied for this position. The company has a reputation of never paying on time, but of course I didn't know that then. I got the job because the applicant before me accidentally sneezed all over his interviewers. Since I didn't, I got the job. My esteemed colleagues are a bunch of morons who sincerely believe the company is one family. They also seem to think that work gets done by spending all day chatting and hanging out, and then realizing at 4pm that hey, we have a lot to get done. So let's just forget about small things like, oh you know, going home.

Right now, Jamal Bhai in the cubicle next to mine is not putting together a proposal that is due in two hours that I know he will not get done and will pass on to me. He is instead, on his favourite website www.stupidvideos.com. Watching the best collection of people getting hit in the nuts. Volume 8. His voice is deep and booming and his laughter rings out across the office. People are gathering around his cubicle. Not to tell him "keep it down." Instead they're all watching intently as a young man skateboards off a rooftop...and laugh in unison as said young man lands. On his nuts.

Oh the laughter. Sound waves cut through the air. The cold tea on my desk ripples like in that scene from Jurassic Park.

The Day Begins

2009-01-06T13:58:00.000+06:00

Welcome to my blog. I hate you.

2009-01-05T16:14:00.000+06:00

I sit and watch the sunset. It is boring.

Children play. I hope they trip on their own shoe laces.

A pair of lovers walk hand in hand. I hope she catches him checking that other much hotter girl out.

The wind blows gently. Not gentle enough, because it put out my last biri.

I lay back and sigh:
"Worst."