Posts Tagged ‘culture’

My mother and I used to have tea parties. Sometimes they were casual, but other times she would dress me up in a pretty frock and I would invite my stuffed animals to join us. I would pour tea from my ceramic teapot with the flowers on it into the tiny little matching cups. I was very precise, waiting and tilting my head down for a second after each cup was filled. Then I’d put exactly three raisins on everyone’s plate. There was a bunny, a cat, a duck, my mother and me sitting on our red carpet.  And we would pretend to sip the tea making it last, until my father came home at which point we would drink the tea and pack up.

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Invisible

As your shadow

I walk ten paces behind,

Not that you mind

It is the way of our Bangladeshi kind.

Our certificate is signed,

So your gestures now are small and unkind

All because I am a woman and you are a find.

–  Shammy 9/4/12 7:40am

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Maybe, I’m not how you want me to be.
I admit, I don’t care much what the proper conventions are.
Go to uni, get a degree, become something in life.
It doesn’t seem to suit me.
My days feel restricted.
Wake up,
Get dressed,
Sit in class,
Listen to students recite the ideas already in my head.
My thoughts have no boundaries,
No limits.
I want to do everything!
How can I work on the things I want when all my time goes sitting in a classroom?
I need the freedom.
There can’t be rules, timelines, limitations.
No that just won’t do!

____________________

One more year!
One more year and I’ll be done for awhile.
I want to see the deserts of Asia minor,
the rain forests of South America,
the mountains of Switzerland!
I want to live in houses with character,
And listen to the tunes the boatman sings at the closing of the night.
I want you to come with me,
Not on my journey,
But yours.
.
– Shammy 3/2/12 2:45pm

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Amar Bangladesh.. Jonmoor Bhasha.. Prio Bhasha
Bangla is not simply just a language;
It’s a feeling,
A state of being,
An essence.
There’s a beauty in it.
It’s a love that can’t be extracted from me,
Nor can it be explained.
It’s what makes me
Me.
It’s the bhalobasha I feel
Amar bhoker bethore.
The maya I see, when I look at you.
The dukhko, that comes from knowing the potential of my people
Neglected
Because the few in power have been corrupted.
.
– Shammy 2/18/12 5:32am

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Today, while I was buying a metrocard at the atm machine a woman came up to me. She mentioned for me to buy her a metrocard and offered me a five dollar bill. “4.50, 4.50,” she said. It was first day of classes for me and I wasn’t going to risk being even a minute late. I don’t speak Spanish, I told her. “Ask the teller,” I said pointing to the fat black man sitting inside the 24 hour booth. She nodded and mentioned toward the atm machine, “He say,” pointing to the machine, “he say here.” “I’m sorry, I’m in a rush,” I told her as I finished my transaction and ran for the exit. Now I’m on a bus on my way to class. I definitely won’t be late; I might actually get there ten minutes early. She is probably still waiting in the station for someone to help her. The asshole mta worker didn’t help her, and neither did I. I didn’t know her. Not my problem, right? Funny thing is, she kind of reminded me of my mom, *kinthu, ami kono patha denai. – Shammy 1/30/12 2:03pm

*but, I didn’t pay it any mind

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Tell me a story.
Tell me the tale of lovers who tie bonds of passion
At the wake of midnight,
The moon as their witness.
Tell me of fairies who live in enchanted forests,
Who only leave to grant wishes.
.
Let me believe in magic
Tell me of a world where dragons fly in the air
Together with eagles, and robins and hummingbirds.
A world were love is real
And class status doesn’t exist.
.
Tell me of the shapanwala’s romance with Moushumi,
The doctor’s daughter.
Tell me his name.
Tell me they lived happily ever after.
Tell me of a world where the sun always comes up and greets the people
No matter how small or poor.
.
Tell me of a world where the birth of a girl is a gift.
Where they are cherished as humans,
Equal but different to men.
Where they aren’t used for currency.
.
Tell me Taslima was welcomed back to her homeland.
Tell me they freed her,
From the past she never deserved,
From hate and judgment.
Tell me they forgave her for telling the truth
About bastards and their snakes.
.
Tell me a story filled with lies.
Take me to the dream seller,
So that I might smile again.
.
– Shammy 1/11/12 2:38am

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“I will no longer be made to feel ashamed of existing, I will have my voice: Indian, Spanish, white. I will have my serpent’s tongue – my woman’s voice, my sexual voice, my poet’s voice. I will overcome the tradition of silence.” – How to Tame a Wild Tongue, Gloria Anzaldua

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