Job-Play

(Enough heavy talk. I joined the job on 3-6-12. Sharing some amusing incidents from work in this piece.)

One.

: No brother, whatever you say, as a novelist Bankimchandra is the best; not Manik.

: Sir, I can’t accept this. Taking everything together—plot, presentation, language structure, diction—Manik is the finest novelist in Bengali literature.

After much debate, the sir finally, with great reluctance and without engaging further in argument, remained silent in agreement—though without saying that Manik was indeed the best. (He’s much senior in rank. From his expression, I could tell he was extremely annoyed and angry with me for not being able to establish Bankim in the supreme position despite adequate reasoning. Even while leaving the room, he turned back and advised me to read Bankim more thoroughly.)

Sitting there was another senior, junior to that sir in rank but much senior to me, who has a special fondness for me. All this while, he’d been turning his head toward the sir one moment, toward me the next, yawning intermittently. He has not an ounce of interest in literature. After the Bankim-devotee sir left the room, he asked me in a very grave tone, “Do you have any personal problem if Bankim writes better novels than Manik?” I immediately replied, “No sir, but believe me, he doesn’t write better than Manik. What I’m saying isn’t wrong, sir. I was giving reasons…” Without letting me finish, he said, “Shut up completely! Just tell me if there’s a problem or not! Both Bankim and Manik are dead and turned to ghosts, and you come here to create complications! What’s the problem if Bankim writes well? Sushanto, you’re new to this job, you don’t understand anything yet. Why did you needlessly argue with the sir? He’s taken offense, you know. You didn’t do the right thing.”

: Sir, you’re right. But Manik writes much better than Bankim—what’s my fault in that? If you’d just read a bit…

: Oh come on! I know you don’t read books at all, that’s why you’re spouting whatever nonsense you please. Listen, I thought you were meritorious, but now I see you’re just a fool who understands nothing about worldly matters. Junior fellow with no sense in his head. Listen, when I was an AC (Assistant Commissioner), I used to play tennis with my Commissioner. He couldn’t play tennis very well, but he believed he played excellently. I never let him lose to me in any game in my entire life. You should have seen what kind of person he was! He played such terrible tennis that losing to him was actually tremendously difficult. Yet I patiently did that difficult job day after day. What do you think? Didn’t it pain me to lose to him? Since he couldn’t play with anyone else, he always played with me. He didn’t like any of my batchmates more than me because they were fools like you—they’d easily defeat the sir. The sir would proudly tell everyone about me: “You see this boy here, he’s a very good boy, but he’s a bit weak at tennis. I teach him tennis every evening. He is a very good officer.” What’s the problem? I always got good postings, and he gave me good ACRs too. The boss, by virtue of position, is always better than you. Do you understand anything? You’re new here—proceed carefully and wisely, understood?

(After this, I became completely like the honorable Speaker.)

Two.

Meeoooowwww…!!! I mean, who are you? What do you want here?… A little further away, three cats are strutting around gangster-style. They’re this cat’s childhood friends. They too, scrunching their faces and puffing their whiskers, said in endearingly petulant voices: Miiiyaaaooooo…!!! Meaning, if you have any intention of causing trouble, abandon that intention right now, nicely. This airport is ours. We’ve decided we won’t give anyone else any importance in this airport. If you can, donate some money from today’s 6 crore rupees to the Cat Welfare Fund. Otherwise, get lost! Hmmm…!!!

These cats are exactly like cats!!

I didn’t prolong the conversation. I slipped away. Rabindranath Tagore said that cats are wayward creatures. You don’t have to reply to everything they say. (If Rabindranath didn’t say it, someone else did. If no one else said it, then Rabi Babu himself said it. And if no one at all said it, what’s my fault?) Fifteen to twenty officers are sitting and noting down the numbers of today’s confiscated paper currency. This has to be done according to law. Nearly one lakh notes’ numbers have to be written down. An enormously tiring, irritating endeavor. My job is to monitor the entire team’s work. Those who are here today have worked all day in the office. Working all night without sleep after that isn’t easy. I’m walking around the airport, eating, trying as much as possible to convince everyone that the joy of sitting before crores of rupees is also worth crores. Think about it—you’re all millionaires now. Please smile! (Grrrr…) The problem is, this crore is fake money. Sitting before 6 crore in fake currency is less pleasurable than sitting before a 6-taka bag of peanuts. But no one can say this to my face.

The airport doesn’t sleep. Neither do we. In sleepless nights, everything familiar becomes strange. Last slept yesterday at 2 AM. Running around all day. The same at night. The body starts breaking down. In the dizzy night, spending time with sleepless people around, their drowsy eyes. Our nocturnal sojourn with crores and crores of rupees. Let it be fake—it’s still money! Before us, an irritating mountain of money. Counterfeit currency, meaningless wealth. On the other side of the airport, flights land one by one, and the sleeping floor tiles wake up for a while. The airport’s sleep is merely waiting to wake up. Then quiet again. Only the cats roam fearlessly—caring neither for sleep, nor for us, nor for the airport! My day’s fatigue taught me to understand the cats’ language too. Miiuuuuuu…!!! Meaning, today the servant said…

Feeling… After wandering around the airport all night, I became completely stoned.

Three.

There was a meeting yesterday. Our department organizes a post-budget feast every year. From the Honorable Prime Minister to all important personalities of the state come to honor us at the event. This year’s meeting is happening at the Bangabandhu International Conference Center, today, in the evening.

: Sushanto, you don’t look serious. Looking at your eyes, it seems like you’re either sleeping or just waking up. With these eyes, nothing but romance can happen. You’ll probably mess something up tomorrow.

: Sir, what can I do? My eyes are naturally drowsy-looking. But sir, honestly, I’m awake. And you’re right, I don’t look serious-serious.

: No sir, Sushanto might seem that way, but he’s a sincere boy. Won’t create any trouble. (Another senior officer saved me.)

: Is that so? Good, good! But there’s also a need to cultivate a serious expression. Sushanto, understand?

: Yes sir. (I can’t achieve a serious expression on my face—I start laughing. My principle: Don’t be serious, be sincere. I love having fun, love laughing. Also, I don’t have the kind of look where you can just say anything that comes to mind. My face doesn’t instantly evoke romantic feelings either; there’s no cool look like that—there’s a somewhat formal, foolish-looking appearance. When I try to look serious or seriously humorous, I look just humorously serious in both cases. Pathetic!)

: Listen Sushanto, call this number. His name is Kamal; he’s a bamboo supplier. He was supposed to deliver bamboo for our program by this afternoon. Still hasn’t delivered. Call and check.

: Okay sir. (I called.) ……. Hello, Assalamu Alaikum. Is this Kamal Saheb? ……. I’m calling from Bangladesh Customs. Listen brother, you were supposed to give us bamboo today. You still haven’t given it! When will you give it? Arrange to give it quickly. If you don’t give us bamboo, we’ll be in trouble. Give bamboo by evening. Alright? Okay, thank you.

(Laughter erupted. I wondered in amazement: what did I just say!!)

: Sushanto, he’ll give bamboo by today, right? (Sir asked, laughing.)

: Yes sir, don’t worry, I’ll stay in touch.

: Good! Now you’re getting in line. Tomorrow’s job is simple, but very sensitive. You’ll manage your workforce properly in all directions.

: I humbly disagree sir, tomorrow’s job is actually difficult. Difficult work is difficult sir; calling difficult work simple doesn’t make it simple. Our job is to collect and distribute food packets at the event. Important people will come sir, their drivers (!) will collect packets. (I say “drivers” because the attendants, peons, drivers of big shots also act accordingly!) Everyone comes to such events after fasting for at least a week sir, they’re extremely hungry, so they scramble for food packets. It’s a truly heartbreaking scene, sir. But I will try my best!

: Hahahaha… You’re absolutely right, work carefully. Everyone with a token should get food. No one should be left out. Even if a naked beggar comes and shows a token, give him food with a smile. You have to work promptly. Understand?

: I understand, sir, but I had a small objection.

: What agony! What now?

: My name isn’t written correctly on the list. It says Sushanta Kumar Pal. But sir, I’m just Sushanta Pal.

: Brother, please, stop now, don’t give me any more pain. You haven’t even married yet, let a little celibacy remain, what’s the problem? And listen, it’s better not to rack your brains over such celibacy-melibacy matters. Hehehehehe……….)

(Another burst of laughter. I’m truly amazed by sir’s sense of humor! Who says all civil servants are Ram Garur’s chicks!)

Four.

The person I saw coming out of the gents’ toilet a little while ago didn’t seem quite like a man. Curious, I went closer and discovered that indeed the right person had emerged from the toilet (perhaps) after doing the right business in the wrong form. A long-haired young man. Ah! His silky-smooth sweet hair would stir storms in any woman’s heart—storms of envy.

The great advantage I’ve gained from working at this airport is this: all the fun of all the world’s zoos can be had here together. Plus some bonuses. The bonus of being amazed without reason. These creatures are far too unpredictable. Ever since I got posted here, my confidence as a creature, accumulated over many years, has been diminishing daily. Little by little. Many of the people returning from abroad consider us too much their own and address us with ‘tumi’ ‘tumi.’ People who force intimacy upon you aren’t usually convenient. I’ve always objected to strangers becoming informal from the first meeting. A gentleman’s attitude makes certain tasks much easier. Later I realized they really don’t mean anything while doing so. In the simple matter of moving from ‘apni’ to ‘tumi,’ the people of Chittagong walk in reverse. With utmost sincerity, in incomprehensible regional intonations, curses or cursive words seem to lose their very tune somewhere. They’re very emotional too. Saying ‘they’ ‘they’ isn’t really right. I myself am a stray member of their group. (I’m happy that people from Noakhali and Sylhet mercifully don’t land much at Chittagong airport. Considering the whirlpool of thoughts, they’re of the same tribe.) They say, why should we enter the country like thieves after liberating it with so much blood? What checking-fecking? What customs? Everyone prefers to rape the country for their own interests. And they do. It’s very risk-free. If you can do it skillfully by mixing in emotion, not only is there no punishment, you might even get extra rewards.

The fault of that lovely-haired (oops, haired) ‘lovely man’ whom I ran after in confused attraction seeing from behind lies perfectly with my bachelor heart and the poets. At least a couple of poems should be written about boys’ thick long black hair. (Jibanananda, come back again, please. The era of Bonolata is over. Forest men have arrived. We need their poetry too.) Won’t the female poets think about this a little? For the poets’ convenience, couldn’t the ‘lovely men’ be a bit more liberal about hair length? The time has come to bring the word ‘long’ under the purview of gender equity. Why don’t I see the same mark of austerity in hair that I see in the dress of ‘handsome women’? If you kept your hair just a little shorter, you could be easily distinguished from ‘lovely men.’

Five.

Those of us in government service can’t make everyone happy all the time. Government service means sometimes having to displease people. But what we can do is explain with a smile why we can’t make them happy. If you serve a cup of colored tea with good behavior, even if you say ‘no’ with a smile, people mind less, at least they don’t take it personally. I’ve seen one senior sir who would confiscate millions of taka worth of illegal goods while speaking very sweetly with a smile, properly entertaining people. Before making the final signature on the file, he’d call the orderly (they follow our orders) and say, “You fool! You gave tea but didn’t give biscuits, why? Bring good biscuits, go!” Then, “Brother, your home is in Bikrampur, right? The people there are very gentle. I have a friend, was a very good student, now teaches at BUET. He was first in class. I was first too, but from the back. That’s why this job! You understand, right! Hehehe… His home is right there in your area. Do you know him? His name is………”

He’s the most beautiful-faced, hard-hearted person I’ve ever seen. When beautiful-faced people are hard-hearted, it’s painful to accept, I mean, you don’t want to accept it. On top of that, sir’s way of speaking was extraordinary! He would give beatings while speaking in impossibly sweet, gentle tones. When working with sir, if he didn’t scold me, I’d start getting tense inside. I’d want to just tell sir, “Sir, when will you scold me? Couldn’t I make today’s mistakes properly? I’ve become restless waiting! If you’re tired of scolding, beat me if necessary, sir! No problem! I’m ready to take a beating with a smile! Do something, sir!” Sometimes not getting scolded is more troublesome than getting scolded!

Thanks to working in government service, even friends who never contacted me in the past 10 years suddenly start ‘missing’ me. Then I feel the world is truly beautiful. No friend is ever really lost. Ah, what joy in sky-air-underground-surface! Wise public, violated (read: visited) by profound life philosophy, also want to bring TVs through the airport without paying tax or paying less. These are the same people who used to go around saying, “Why did Sushanta give customs as first choice? Don’t we understand?” The addiction to gossiping about others is a great addiction. What I always try to do for them is ensure that they don’t have to face unnecessary hassles while getting their work done.

I’m telling friends, those who come to government offices for work know many laws and regulations. Along with that, learn two more things. One. Whose job is it? Instead of running around to this person and that person, if you can knock at the right place at the right time in the right way, the work becomes much easier. This will save you from a lot of suffering. Many lower-level people here often harass others unnecessarily using our names, which we might not even know about. It’s really not possible to keep track of everything. Two. What services are you entitled to? If necessary, check the citizen charter on the website. Once you know what service is your right, after receiving it, it won’t feel like a favor. And you won’t be embarrassed or ask for services you won’t get according to law. Cursing government officials as you please is very pleasant, but not peaceful. What’s the point of cursing to your heart’s content and floating away in your own happiness?

If you know the above two things, you’ll get peace as a free bonus. I’ve seen that even after providing services that fall under my responsibility, people think I’ve done them a huge favor. When someone gives me respect I don’t deserve, I feel tremendously embarrassed. Even if I fulfill only 60 percent of my duties, people get so happy they start babbling. They think I’ve done so much for them! Yet that service was their due.

I’ll end with a small incident. I was then in charge of assessment at EPZ Customs. My first job in life, first posting. Some of our stakeholders didn’t have necessary import customs documents, so several of their consignments got stuck at the port; some of those had forged documents too. Their demand was that their work should be done the way they wanted. They wouldn’t follow so many laws and regulations, couldn’t follow them. I said work had to be done according to rules. My authority also wanted that. I couldn’t go beyond my authority’s wishes. Besides, their demand was unreasonable and illegal. But they wouldn’t listen to anything we said. In such cases, usually all their anger and frustration falls on whoever is in charge of the station. They had only one thing to say—catch the bastard, beat him, cut him. Punish him! A procession started outside my office. Looking at them, it seemed the joy of protesting was more important than achieving demands through any procession. All happiness lay in shouting. What enthusiasm! What vigor! Very tempting scene! For a moment I thought, let me go join them. What else is there in life! Then I thought, there’s a technical problem if I join them. Who would I curse? Let me just enjoy the procession today, participation can happen another day!

“We’ll tear off AC Saheb’s skin!” (Other times they say AC Sir, but when angry they say AC Saheb. When angrier, they call by name directly. What they say when rage reaches its peak can’t be said. That time their anger was probably a bit less. Or it could also be that my name is unsuitable for use as a protest word; it doesn’t sound good when pronounced, doesn’t create proper fervor either.)

“Crush AC Saheb’s black hands, must be done.”

On my authority’s instructions, I sat down for a meeting in my room with their president saheb. My great fortune was that the president saheb was a highly educated, gentle-natured person. Food and refreshments were arranged. Other distinguished/insignificant personalities had also come with the president saheb. I shook hands with everyone with a smile and asked them to sit. The meeting began. Much was discussed. Such bilateral meetings end through somewhat win-win situations. The theory of ‘won’t give even a needle’s point of land without war’ doesn’t work in such cases. I’ll share a couple of things from that meeting.

: Brother, you want to skin me alive. Can’t we make this a bit easier? Like, say, sleeping pills or some kind of injection? I think if you skin me, I’ll be in terrible pain.

: Sir, please, don’t feel ashamed. They’re ignorant people, they didn’t know what they were saying! Please forgive them.

: No, no, brother, it’s fine. I didn’t take offense. It’s just that I was scared thinking about the pain. And one more thing. You’re claiming that I have black hands! I have something to say about this. (Rolling up his shirt sleeves) Look, look, I don’t have black hands at all; they’re completely fair and white. Brother, I’m still unmarried. If you could show me a little mercy, then my marriage…

(Laughter erupted in the room.)

: (Laughing) Sir, please, please! We’re sincerely sorry. But sir, we won’t call it a complaint, we had a small grievance… You keep our demands and requests rather low.

: Brother, what are you saying! What are you saying! Very well, from now on I’ll keep them much higher.

And so, through this bittersweet banter, the clerk dismissed the case that had arisen, escaped from all possible attacks, and turned his attention to the next bit of drudgery.