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Mosquitoes, Squash
and Zahid's Horn!
Life continues in Bangladesh and the season
is changing soon from shorotcal, early autumn, to hemontocal-late
autumn. The steamy atmosphere is clearing up and the sun
is seen. In the aftermath of the less frequent rain the
air is cooler and clearer. Skin feels the change, picks
up the new season in its radar. We have nine days off and
unlike my colleagues I have no plans to travel. My idea
of fun is to be here writing, painting, or playing the guitar.
The few people who might be inclined to get me to do something
already know that I won't move during the day. Time is too
precious. And if I am happier now than I have ever been
it is for 3 reasons- health, solvency, and undistracted
free time. For me to be here and know that I won't be interrupted
and can commune with my own thoughts peacefully and freely-
that's a great pleasure. And its not because my mind is
so fascinating. It's because I am dumb enough to think it
is! Consequently, I don't need to travel or seek out new
sights. There's plenty here to work with right in my own
little environment.
Mosquitoes, for example, are small but worthy of attention
because here they can kill you. That makes them more important
than they would ordinarily be, like terrorists. And these
terrorists kill the rich and the poor without discrimination.
They kill with dengue fever, something that makes you start
bleeding inside everywhere and it's hard to diagnose and
hard to treat. By the time you are sure you have it it's
too late. A couple of hundred people died in the city this
dengue season, which is just coming to a close. Statistically
that's not so bad unless you are one of the stricken,of
course, but people in our community did get it and were
treated in time. And our area of many lakes is rife with
the particular mosquito carrying the disease. We sleep in
beds with canopies of mosquito netting. It's very nice.
Truthfully, only recently have I been able to spot a mosquito.
Partly this is because I don't see too well up close. I
remember when I first noticed that my arms needed to be
longer in order to read. I asked my friend Lee, who is older,
how far out things needed to be for her to see them clearly.
"About ten miles," she answered. Now I understand.
But it's ok. Maybe I would just as soon not see them anyway.
My friend Charlie's hearing isn't so great. He says, "I
regard it as a pleasure".
Mosquitoes here are small like Bangladeshi
people. And they are weak and slow. No doubt it has to do
with their nutrition. Bangladeshi people, by the way, even
with minimal nutrition, are not weak. To me they seem like
the strongest people on earth. Do you know how strong an
ant is relatively speaking? That's their kind of strength.
When I see them pull huge loads with a bicycle, which is
what they do by converting a rickshaw into a flatbed truck;
when I see them dig long ditches three feet deep in the
hard clay with heavy hoes, I think they are stronger than
any people on earth. I mentioned this to Zahid and he said"
No boss. Not strong. Not work, no eat". I might think
eating was overrated faced with their dilemma. Back home
in the good ole USA I think we might be eating too much.
This only helps our mosquitoes grow up tough and fierce.
I've seen mosquitoes in the Everglades or in with woods
of New Hampshire that are like cartoon mosquitoes; they
don't even bother to land. They just charge and drill you
on the fly, so to speak. Anyway here it is not such a problem
and if a mosquito gets through security Bhanu will hunt
him down. He and Zahid watch me like a hawk to make sure
I am eating, (I skip meals). This is touching but for them
it's serious. Zahid says," You my boss. You have problem;
I have problem. My father and mother have problem."
So maybe it's not so touching but it makes sense.
Bhanu is a man of great dignity and quiet, which I appreciate.
Quiet is my friend. He's serious but nice and very happy
when I compliment his food, which I do. It's great food,
just simple curries, rice, vegetables and salads. Very good.
Bhanu dresses better than I do, which maybe is not so hard,
but he dresses much better than I do. He looks great. He
coordinates his colors to go with his burnt-umber skin and
straight black hair. He comes to work in pointy black dress
shoes. He answers the phone and answers the door and keeps
unwanted solicitors away and takes care of everything, often
thinking of practical solutions to problems that have not
yet occurred to me. I told him how much I liked his sense
of self-respect and dignity and I said, "You could
work for a king." He replied, "To me you are a
king!" Me a king? It's only because of where I was
born.
Playing Squash- Getting Older
I've been involved in playing sports my
whole life. Soccer is great, hockey; tennis is ok. There
is nothing like squash. Racquetball is an offspring of squash,
an easier version. No racquetball player who takes the time
to learn squash ever goes back to racquetball. When I was
forty my heroes were the players like Ashton Crosby who
was several times the 70 plus North American champ. We worked
out together every week. And now my opponent from years
ago- Ken Cucuel- is readying himself to go after the 70
plus national title in another year, and this after having
won the title in the 55 plus category and the 65 plus. Every
time I get injured I think I should quit. He's had operations
on both knees but when I asked if he ever thought about
quitting he said," I never think about quitting, only
about how long my body will hold up". He's an excellent
player and coach of the Dartmouth women's team. Most of
my old opponents from that great squash scene have quit;
it's very tough on the body but it's also like nothing else,
a combination of mental chess, grace, fitness and power
all at once. The best points are truly beautiful and they
last a long time.
I would not have come to Bangladesh without knowing ahead
of time that I could play squash here. I was away from the
courts for a number of years and I never want to let that
happen again. But at 57 one needs to play a different game
than one plays at 40. When I'm warmed up everything is fine
but when I'm not-most of the time- and I have to bend over
to pick something up on the floor, for example, I am not
sure I will be able to straighten back up again. Either
it feels like a premature attack of rigor mortis or that
I'll just break in two at the waist. It's a little bit of
an ordeal. So when I have to tie my shoes or pick up something
on the floor I think about other things I could be doing
down there so as to make the best use of the trip. And in
the rough and tumble of athletics, instead of bouncing I
feel like I might shatter like glass. Oh well, I play squash
4 times a week and I have to force myself to take a day's
rest in between playing days. And when I'm not in recovery
from some niggling injury, I kick big butt. Except with
Sayed, my teacher, coach, and friend. He's one of the two
"markers"- we would call them "pros"-
who are at the "club" to play with "sports"
like me. Sayed is 38 and has been at the American club for
20 years. Like the great Hashim Khan who started as a water
boy and "marker" for the British, Sayed at some
point realized his best chance to get satisfaction in his
tough life was to be able to win on the court. He is an
excellent player and he worked at the game, figured it out,
learned the techniques, how to hit the ball, where to put
the ball; he learned it all. He said," Rick, I used
to practice hour after hour after hour." It shows.
He can do anything he wants with that ball. There is something
else about Sayed. In my life I have had a few close friends
who were really short and they all were very good at something.
Nobody is as short as Sayed. He's a spec! I'm six feet,
barely, which is another indignity of the aging process-shrinkage!
His head-the top of his head- doesn't reach my armpit. And
he is often right there by my armpit looking up at me, coaching
me, and with a mock-evil face saying " Hit it there
and you will make him weak. Next shot you kill him!"
He's a great coach and has taken real interest in my goals,
which include world domination. We work on my weaknesses,
on my technique. We drill and drill and work and then play
the last fifteen or twenty minutes. This works for my body
too because the court is concrete and it's even harder than
normal on the knees. Last time we played I got the ultimate
compliment. He said" You have improved so much. Nobody
makes me work like you do". And I said, "You are
a great teacher. If I were a "donny manosh"-(rich
man)- I would find a club for you in the US. You'd do great
there." He said," The donny manosh never think
like that, Rick."
Despite the difficulty of his life, Sayed is full of energy
and humor. When I see him across the grounds we yell at
each other "Ki Kabor phai? Ashun Ashun- Hey brother,
what's happening, get over here!" Some of the other
American players think Sayed is a "sadist". He
likes to make us run. That's the game, though. There's no
reason to win the point early with a risky shot if you are
in control. Let em run! He does overdo it sometimes though
with certain people. He looks up at me from down by my arm
pit and twists his face and gives me the evil eye and says,"
That so and so. I had him running for the ball like a dog!"
And I howl like a coon dog and he laughs so hard that he
can't stand up. His job situation, though, is not so funny.
Recently the American Club, which is run by the American
embassy by a British woman, reduced the money the "markers"
make. Claiming that tennis and squash were losing money
for the club they charged more money to the members for
the marker fees and reduced the net amount to the markers.
It's like this; the members used to get charged $1.00 for
the court and $1.00 for the marker and you may add a gratuity.
From the marker fee Sayed would get 50 taka- almost a dollar.
Now the members get charged $1.25 for the marker fee and
the marker gets 35 taka. For people with families, living
on the edge, that's serious money on a monthly basis. I
brought this up to our ambassador through her husband who
works at our school, and with other people. I said,"
Why take it away from them. Pass another .25 on to us."
Oy,Veh! What a world! Anyway, I try to make up the difference
and I encourage others to do the same.
Zahid's Horn
You know my driver by now- boy wonder at
the wheel. Really he could have a role as a getaway driver.
Nobody gets through traffic like he does. People use the
horn here but nobody uses it like he does. The horn- the
way he uses it- is like a ray gun. It has the power to move
material out of the way. Blaaaast! Blaasst! Get the fuck
out of the way! And it moves! I have the power to interpret
what that horn is saying and it embarrasses me sometimes.
It's saying, Blaaaaaast! Blaaaaast!" I have a big white
important motherfucker in my car and get your skinny colored
asses the fuck out the way, motherfucker!" What a driver!
Love,
Ricker
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