Dictionary of Misunderstood Words: part one

I have been reading, "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" the crux of which, for me at least, speaks to the symbols we humans create through reflection on past events.

The author feels that the symbols we create are important because we are thus able to separate things into various schema: lightness and weight, for instance.

It is interesting to read Kundera's novel in a place where my symbols have no context. So here is my own, Dictionary of Misunderstood Words, based on events from the last few days:


Pollution

When I think of pollution, I imagine physical waste, a glut of smelly trash festering in a ditch, a teeming pool of infected garbage. And indeed, this is the reality here.

Yesterday we visited Sadarghat Boat Terminal. Once you see past the several meters strech of washed up litter, the water on the banks of the Buriganga is a vile inky gray.

In my country, pollution is hundreds of times worse than here. However, we have become highly adept at sweeping it under the carpet, so to speak. Miles of underground pipeline, an army of streetcleaners, a highly developed air freshner industry and the fact that the products causing the greatest environmental damage are imported, with their waste exported, has successfully hidden our pollution from view.

And here, recycle-reduce-reuse is not just a motto printed on banners in Greenpeace rallies. Here, it is a way of life. Children sift through dumpsters for left over scraps, and on the street corners, old bricks are pounded into fragments for use in new building materials.


Culture

Culture in the Western world is something we hoard in museums and theaters and galleries. Access to it is a priviledge. As children, we are led through the hallowed halls of culture and told to shush as the enlightened ones revere in its sanctity.

In Bangladesh, culture is everywhere. It is on your tongue, ringing in your ears and whizzing past you on the street. Culture is the way people eat, masticating rice into balls with their entire hands. It is in the way people communicate all the time, with everyone, anyone, a complete stranger. Bangladeshis take pride in their culture of education - everyone is a student here, it seems.

And the museums? They are empty, both of artifacts and people. The only reason for a visit is to squat under the shade of a surrounding tree and enjoy time with a loved one.


Woman

Several onths ago, back in Amsterdam, a friend refered to me as a 'woman'. I laughed, "you think I am a woman?" "What are you, then?" he replied. I was tempted to say I thought of myself as a 'person', only, but this would have ignored the aspect of gender he was clearly aiming at in his categorization of me.

Here in Bangladesh, I am a Woman (with a capital W!)

Can I tell you a secret? Something that will make me a traitor to my feminist sisters?

Being a Woman is not so bad.

And something else: I secretly like being protected by men.

Let me supplement this with two caveats:

1) I am a foreigner-Woman. I do not know what it is like to be a Bangladeshi-Woman. I am sure the two experiences are quite different.

2) The way we are "protected" here is not like the ego-driven-macho-chivalry I abhor back home. Instead, I think it originates from a deep respect and genuine desire for Women to feel safe and secure.