LIFE AS IT IS

I wrongfully thought that my business with maps was over on my last day of eighth grade. I thought that I would not have to deal with maps again unless I accidentally agreed to teach geography to a middle school child. Oh well, but what one thinks for the future does not always come true therefore, today I look at the U.S. map every time I decide to find a new restaurant, mall, hotel, clinic, salon, tourist spot, bank, pharmacy, in short, almost any establishment. Now, I often say, "What would I do without Google Maps or a GPS (Global Positioning System) unit?" The age of technology has made living in a foreign land so much easier - the Google Maps application on my phone almost on a regular basis helps me find myself in downtown Minneapolis, MN. For someone whose sense of direction is rather deplorable, finding her way in a new city is only possible with a map. Street numbers are often just random numbers to me, for I also need pictures of buildings and streets to assure m...

I can't even recall making a cup of tea while in Dhaka. My relationship with the kitchen was limited to finding a jar of cookies or pickles from the cupboard. This very relationship changed soon after I set foot in the USA, where I learned to cook for the first time in life. I am just a cook, not a good cook, let alone a great one. I cook to survive. In the US, I learned to cook mostly fried veggies, lentils, egg curry and tuna kebab. While hubby happily experimented with cooking ingredients, I happily appreciated his culinary skills as I ate his beef and fish curries, biriyani, chotpoti and much more. Nevertheless, I cooked almost everyday, prepared what I could, and never dared to embark on a large culinary project. Then it all changed with the arrival of the woman who brought me to this world. Now, I have more or less gone back to my Dhaka days. I literally have not cooked in three months. I happily handed over the responsibility of cooking to my mother. Now, my own re...

I grew up seeing a copy of Ranna, Khadyo, Pushti by Siddika Kabir on our bookshelf. Like our house, countless other houses in Bangladesh have a copy of this valuable book that instantly helps ease a mother, wife or daughter's culinary vexation. As a child, I often saw my mother flipping through its pages, looking for the recipe of a Chinese dish or anything that she was cooking for the first time. Ranna, Khadyo, Pushti also graces the bookshelves of Bengali households outside Bangladesh. "I cannot help but consult Professor Kabir's book every time I cook a deshi curry," Nazia Hussein, a doctoral student at University of Warwick, U.K., said. Like Nazia, thousands of other men and women regularly consult her book before embarking on a culinary project -- be it shrimp malaikari, murighonto, biriyani or Chinese fried rice. "There was a time when Siddika Kabir's book was given as a gift to anyone going abroad," said Naznin Sultana, a homemaker from Dhaka....

Thanksgiving in the past three years came and went by and I did not feel the festivity around it. To me, Thanksgiving was synonymous to Black Friday shopping. But last Thanksgiving was different for me, and it was because of a group of people, who shouldered all the trouble of cooking a traditional turkey meal for themselves and their friends. There were baked turkey, mashed potato, sweet potato, corn, green peas, gravy, vegetable casserole, garlic bread and pumpkin pie on the menu. I ate to my heart’s and stomach’s content, it was my first traditional Thanksgiving meal after all. As I devoured the scrumptious food, I wondered if the first Thanksgiving celebrated by the natives and the Pilgrims, the first colonists to build permanent settlement in New England, had a similar menu. It turned out that the food served on the first Thanksgiving did not really have anything common with the kind of food cooked today.  There are mixed opinions though. While some believe that the feast h...

That day I left work for half-hour to grab something to eat. One step outside the building and a gush of wind almost blew me away. I put my hands on my freezing ears almost reflexively. This is just the beginning of the long winter, and I'm falling in love with it. The trees still have some yellow leaves left on them. When I look at the horizon, I see colours that I can't always describe in words. I think I see beige, golden, brown, yellow and perhaps, a light shade of green too. On some days, I feel like buying a long-distance bus ticket and leave home for a day-long road trip to another state. The reason? I can devour the beauty of the season in the streets, houses, trees and fields while on the move. I usually leave home about ten-fifteen minutes before time so that I can stand at the bus stop and look at the balding trees, the grey-blue skies and the distant yellow fields, where children frolicked even a month ago. I always take a window seat on the bus so that I can...

I was watching a film called The Joneses last week. I happened to bump into it on Netflix, and after reading the synopsis thought that it might be worth watching. At the end, I admitted that my time was not wasted, not at all. Starring David Duchovny and Demi Moore as Mr. and Mrs. Jones, this 2009 flick is on “stealth marketing,” a type of marketing where consumers are unaware of the fact that they are being marketed goods and services. Professional salespeople disguise themselves as normal people and show off their clothes, shoes, accessories, furniture, electronic devices, cars, phones, food and drink, in short, everything, so that the people around them feel an indomitable desire to buy them. The film also shows the tragic death of a man, who, after seeing that his credit card bill skyrocketed, commits suicide in his swimming pool. His spending spree to keep up with Mr. and Mrs. Jones, the undercover marketers, cost him his life. The film reminded me of a similar competition fo...