A new name has surfaced in the Ramisa rape and murder case, with prime accused Sohel Rana telling reporters today that a man called "Dollar" was responsible for the rape and murder of the eight-year-old girl.

However, no further details about the person were immediately available.

Sohel made the claim while being escorted to the courtroom of the Dhaka Metropolitan Children Violence Suppression Tribunal.

"I am at fault, and Dollar is also at fault. I am not the only culprit," he told reporters.

Standing in the courtroom's dock, he shouted at the lawyers present in the courtroom after the hearing, and said, “I did not commit the rape; I only dismembered the body. A man named Dollar committed the rape. I have sinned, so punish me for that sin.”

At that time, Sohel further claimed that Dollar had promised to pay him Tk 2 lakh if he could bring the girl to him.

However, police officers present immediately stopped him from speaking further.

Sohel also claimed that his wife, Swapna Khatun, was innocent.

Earlier in the day, Sohel and Swapna were brought to the lock-up of the Metropolitan Sessions Judge's Court in Dhaka.

Later, Judge Masrur Salekin of the tribunal framed charges against the couple in the case over the rape and murder of Ramisa in Dhaka's Pallabi area.

Both accused pleaded not guilty after the charges were read out, said Bench Assistant Pankoj Peter Gomes.

The judge also fixed tomorrow for the start of the trial, with the victim's father, Abdul Hannan Mollah, scheduled to testify first, he added.

On May 24, Sub-Inspector Ohiduzzaman of Pallabi Police Station submitted the charge sheet before the Chief Metropolitan Magistrate's Court in Dhaka, accusing Sohel of rape, murder and destruction of evidence, and Swapna of destruction of evidence and providing false information.

Several hours later, the CMM Court transferred the case to the Children Violence Suppression Tribunal for trial.

Ramisa, a second-grade student of Popular Model High School, was found beheaded on May 19 in the house of her neighbour, Sohel.

The following day, Ramisa's father filed a case with Pallabi Police Station, accusing the couple and an unidentified person.

According to the case statement, Sohel lured Ramisa into his room and raped her. Investigators said he later slit her throat and attempted to dismember the body to conceal the crime.

On May 20, police produced Sohel and Swapna before a Dhaka court, and court sources said Sohel agreed to give a confessional statement before a magistrate. The third and unidentified accused was on the run. Dhaka Metropolitan Magistrate Aminul Islam Junaid recorded Sohel's confessional statement after police brought him to the magistrate’s chamber, said a court staff member.

Sub-Inspector Ohiduzzaman of Pallabi Police Station told The Daily Star that day, the prime accused had already admitted to the crime during primary interrogation.

On May 22, the Dhaka Bar Association decided not to provide legal assistance to the accused following an emergency virtual meeting of its executive committee, citing the gravity of the allegations.

The next day, the government appointed Supreme Court lawyer Musa Kalimullah as a state defence counsel to represent the accused to ensure a fair trial.

This report has been corrected at 4:43pm. In the earlier version, Sohel Rana’s comment was misreported. We regret the error. 

Folk-ballads are living archives that represent the imagination, values, ideas, and aesthetics of the people to whom they belong. Bangla literature has a rich repertoire of folk ballads. We are, however, quite oblivious of this treasure trove and, therefore, there is a dearth of research on these folk elements.

Czech Indologist Dusan Zbavitel's Bengali Folk-Ballads From Mymensingh And The Problem Of Their Authenticity can be called a wonderful exception in this regard. It is considered to be the first literary study of the beautiful folk-ballads from Mymensingh. The study was published by the University of Calcutta in 1963. 

A brief background of the book may not be irrelevant here. In 1923, Rai Bahadur Dineshchandra Sen edited a volume of epic songs from the Mymensingh District of the then Eastern Bengal under the title Maimansimha-gitika. The ballads were mainly collected by Chandra Kumar De, a literary activist from the area. In the following years, Dineshchandra published three more volumes of balladic texts containing epic songs from different parts of Eastern Bengal. The beautiful ballads received enthusiastic response and admiration in India and abroad. However, for some scholars these ballads were too good, and they shared doubts about the ‍antiquity, authenticity and folk character of these lores. Dusan Zbavitel found this uncertainty "highly regrettable" and undertook a study to assign to the ballads their proper place—"one of the high points of Bengali literature". Dr Zbavitel tried to find out: "what is it that makes them so excellent?"

Zbavitel confined his analysis to the study of the ballads originating in Mymensingh—41 ballads containing more than 21,000 verses. He took an arduous effort of analysing each of these 41 ballads to prove their originality and, I must say, he achieved his goal with marked success.

One key argument put forward by Zbavitel in favour of the originality of the gitikas from Mymensingh is that these ballads are not collected by a single person and, still, there are similarities among the ballads: identical images, and similar artistic approach and common inventory of similes and metaphors. So these ballads couldn't be the creation of a modern poet as suggested by some detractors.

According to Zbavitel, the most significant aspect of these folk ballads is that they are  devoid of any religious implications. They generally show harmonious co-existence of the Hindu and Muslim communities, without religious bias on either side. Zbavitel points out the fact that most of the Hindu ballads were collected from Muslim singers, which shows, according to him, that these folk poems were enjoyed and appreciated by both the communities with the same eagerness. The secular outlook of the folk ballads is diametrically opposite to the explicit religious connotation of the classical Bangla literary texts such as Mangal-kavyas and Vaisnava literature.

Zbavitel extensively discusses the ideological and artistic approach of the ballad writers,  verse and rhyme technique, and use of similes and metaphors in chapter three and four of the book. The most dominant motif, according to Zbavitel, is love. Even the historical and heroic epics can be grouped into this category.

As to the literary techniques, the ballad writers, being true to the characteristics of folk epics, do not try to introduce innovations in their lyrical dictions. They are content with the poetic means offered by their predecessors. They want to tell an interesting and touching story in a simple garb, fresh with country scenes and feelings.

Zbavitel also discusses the manner of preservation of the folk ballads—preserved, in most cases, in torsos. Referring to two versions of the same ballad, Maishal Bandhu, he argues, "The 'original' ballads [were] sometimes rewritten by another folk poet, or other poets, quite freely, without any scruples; whole portions, as well as individual couplets and verses, were taken over, others were replaced by newly replaced passages, and the story itself was often changed." The reasons behind such changes, according to Zbavitel, might be an effort to offer listeners a 'better' story than the original one.

Due to this oral nature of preservation, it is always difficult to prove the originality of folk elements. If we undertake an effort to study the folklore of Bangladesh, Zbavitel's book will be an invaluable companion guide.

Rabindranath Tagore wrote to Dinesh Chandra Sen in appreciation of the book Maimansimha-gitika, "Classical Bengali literary texts such as Mangal-kavyas are ponds dug on by order and at the expense of the rich, but Maimansimha-gitika is a source of exuberance from the deepest level of the heart of rural Bengal, a clear stream of genuine pain. There has never been such a creation of self-forgetting rasa [aesthetic joy] in Bengali literature." [translation by the author]

While celebrating the Bengali new year this Pohela Boishakh, may we remember the melody and the essence of communal harmony embedded in Maimansimha-gitika.

Shamsuddoza Sajen is a journalist and researcher. He can be contacted at sajen1986@gmail.com.

Send your articles for Slow Reads to slowreads@thedailystar.net. Check out our submission guidelines for details.

There are moments in a nation’s history when a crisis does more than create hardship. It reveals the weakness of an old system and opens the door to a better one. Bangladesh is now standing at such a moment.

The country is facing an energy crisis that no longer centres on power cuts. It is affecting factories, farms, schools, offices, exports, foreign currency reserves, and the daily life of ordinary people. What we are seeing today is not just a temporary shortage of gas or fuel. It is a signal that our energy system has become too dependent on imported fossil fuels.

More than 60 percent of Bangladesh’s energy demand is met through imports. LNG, coal, oil, and other fossil fuels have kept the country running for years, but this dependence has become risky and expensive. Global fuel markets are unstable because of geopolitical tension, supply chain disruption, and price volatility. For a country like Bangladesh, this creates double pressure: fuel supply becomes uncertain while fuel costs keep rising.

The government is now spending more than BDT 200 crore per day in energy subsidies. Annual energy import expenditure remains around USD 12 billion, putting serious pressure on foreign currency reserves. Nearly 70 percent of Bangladesh’s LNG imports come from Qatar. If supply is disrupted, Bangladesh can quickly face a severe shortage. In the power sector, daily gas demand exceeds 2,500 mmcfd, but supply sometimes falls to 850–900 mmcfd. This can create a power generation shortfall of 1,500–1,800 MW. Overall, the daily gas shortage exceeds 1,100 mmcfd, and peak-time electricity shortages may reach nearly 2,000 MW.

Bangladesh also has a weak Strategic Petroleum Reserve. The current reserve capacity is sufficient for only about 35–40 days, well below that of countries such as China and Japan. This makes the national energy system even more vulnerable.

The impact is already visible. In the readymade garments sector, gas shortages and load shedding are reducing productivity by 25–30 percent in many cases. This threatens export earnings, foreign currency reserves, and economic stability. The crisis has also reached ordinary households. Although Bangladesh declared 100 percent electrification in 2022, many rural areas still experience 10 to 20 hours of load shedding every day during summer. This affects education, small businesses, agriculture, and people’s dignity.

We have also seen long lines at fuel stations, schools moving online, and offices shortening working hours because of fuel shortages. These are not isolated events. They show how deeply energy insecurity can disturb national life.

Over the last 15 years, electricity tariffs in Bangladesh have been increased on many occasions, including more than 10 rounds of increases at both bulk and retail levels. This path is not sustainable. Fossil-fuel-based electricity depends on imported fuel, global prices, the availability of the dollar, subsidies, and repeated tariff adjustments. Solar power offers a different path. With a one-time investment, solar can provide stable energy for 15–20 years. Once installed, its fuel cost is almost zero.

The economic comparison is clear. A 1 MW HFO-based power plant produces electricity per year at a cost of nearly BDT 190 crore, with much of the cost paid in foreign currency. In contrast, a 5 MW solar project requires a one-time investment of around BDT 25 crore, after which fuel costs are practically zero. Each 1 MW of solar power can save around USD 325,000 per year in foreign currency.

Read more

Bangladesh’s looming energy crisis and the choices ahead

This is why renewable energy should not be discussed solely in technical terms like decarbonisation, emissions, and sustainability. For Bangladesh, renewable energy means jobs, fuel independence, savings in foreign currency, industrial competitiveness, agricultural protection, and economic strength. Policymakers and stakeholders can lead this transformation, inspiring confidence in a sustainable future.

Despite Bangladesh’s potential, renewable energy contributes less than 5 percent to power generation, far below the global 30 percent target by 2030. Clear, measurable goals and timelines are essential for effective policy planning and investment decisions.

Renewable energy equipment imports face around 50–60 percent in duties and taxes, hindering local manufacturing growth. Policy reforms that reduce import duties and support local industry can accelerate renewable deployment and reduce dependency on imports.

For Bangladesh, renewable energy means jobs, fuel independence, savings in foreign currency, industrial competitiveness, agricultural protection, and economic strength. Policymakers and stakeholders can lead this transformation, inspiring confidence in a sustainable future.

Import duty is usually imposed to protect the local industry. But where local production is not yet significant, a high duty only increases project costs, reduces investment returns, and slows renewable energy expansion. Policy reforms can unlock this potential, making stakeholders feel their efforts directly contribute to progress.

India, Pakistan, Vietnam, and China have expanded solar and wind power by offering low or zero import duties, tax exemptions, and low-interest financing. Many countries have also reduced duties on lithium-ion batteries and energy storage systems. Bangladesh should learn from these examples.

The barriers are clear: high duties and VAT, high financing costs of 10–12 percent or more, limited access to easy loans, slow approval processes, net metering delays, high LC margin, weak Merchant Power Policy, lack of clear policies for rooftop solar, utility-scale solar, floating solar, agrivoltaics, solar irrigation, and hybrid solar-storage, weak local manufacturing, and insufficient grid digitalisation. Addressing these collectively can accelerate Bangladesh's renewable journey, uniting stakeholders in a common goal.

One urgent reform is customs assessment. The current weight-based assessment system does not reflect the actual value of solar equipment. It can create artificial overvaluation and raise duties by three to four times. Bangladesh should shift to transaction-value-based assessment using pro forma or commercial invoice values, in line with international practice and WTO customs valuation principles.

The second urgent reform is the elimination of customs duty on renewable energy equipment. This should apply to Solar PV Module, Photovoltaic Cell, Solar Inverter, DC Cable, Data Logger, Aluminium Mounting Structure, Battery Pack, Battery Cell, BMS Circuit Board, PV DG Controller, Hybrid Controller, Solar Plant Safety Aluminium Walkway Mesh, Safety Accessories, and related components.

Current TTI rates are high. Solar PV Module carries 26.90 percent, Photovoltaic Cell 25.75 percent, Solar Inverter 28.73 percent, DC Cable 58.40 percent, Data Logger 37.25 percent, Aluminium Mounting Structure 58.40 percent, Battery Pack and Battery Cell 58.40 percent, BMS Circuit Board 31.50 percent, pack materials 37.25 percent, PV DG Controller or Hybrid Controller 89.08 percent, and Solar Plant Safety Aluminum Walkway Mesh 37.25 percent. These should be reduced to zero percent for renewable energy expansion.

The third reform is a tax holiday. Rooftop solar power producers and project companies should receive benefits comparable to those of utility-scale renewable energy producers. A practical structure could be a 100 percent tax holiday for the first 10 years, 50 percent for the next 3 years, and 25 percent for the next 2 years. This should apply to CAPEX, OPEX, IPP, and MPP models. A broader 10–20 year tax holiday for renewable energy projects should also be considered.

Read more

How can Bangladesh rapidly expand solar capacity?

Bangladesh has a remarkable solar opportunity already waiting on its rooftops. About 7 percent of the country’s land is covered with concrete or other built structures. This means more than 10,000 square kilometres, or about 10 billion square meters of built surface. If only 30 percent is usable, that would give around 3 billion square meters. At 10 square meters per kW, this can create nearly 300 GW of solar potential. Bangladesh’s peak demand is only around 16–18 GW. The opportunity already exists on rooftops, factories, warehouses, schools, hospitals, government buildings, and commercial establishments.

Rooftop solar should therefore be relaunched nationwide with a clear business model. Utility-scale solar also needs support through unused khas land, transparent tendering, and grid readiness. Floating solar, river-based solar, agrivoltaics, solar irrigation, and hybrid solar-storage should receive separate policy attention.

The suspended solar projects must also be revisited. A total of 31 solar power projects, with a combined capacity of more than 3,000 MW, were previously suspended or cancelled. Many were being developed by foreign investors, with more than USD 200 million reportedly already invested. If implemented, these projects could save around BDT 10,800 crore annually in energy import costs. They should be reassessed and revived quickly.

Energy storage is another missing pillar. Solar and wind need storage support to become more reliable. Duties on lithium-ion batteries, BESS, and other storage systems should be reduced to zero. This will help stabilise renewable power and support future grid flexibility.

Electric vehicles can also become part of the solution. In China, Japan, and the United States, EVs are increasingly seen as mobile energy storage systems. A typical EV battery has a capacity of 40–70 kWh, enough to power an average household for 1–2 days. If Bangladesh had 1 million EVs, the country would have 40–70 GWh of distributed storage. This is several times higher than the daily peak demand gap. Solar-powered EV charging, vehicle-to-home, and vehicle-to-grid systems should be included in future energy planning.

If Bangladesh had 30–40 percent of the grid powered by solar, along with solar-powered EVs, the country would be far less exposed to global fuel market shocks. Long fuel lines, online schooling, shorter office hours, and industrial disruption could be reduced. Solar, storage, and EVs should now be planned together.

Finance will decide how fast this transition happens. Renewable energy projects cannot grow at interest rates below 10–12 percent. Long-term financing should be available at an interest rate of 3.5–4.5 percent. A 10–15-year financing facility at a maximum interest rate of 5 percent should be introduced. Bangladesh Bank’s green refinancing fund should be expanded. Rooftop and residential solar customers should be eligible for collateral-free loans. The LC margin for renewable equipment should be limited to 5%.

Read more

Rooppur begins, but is Bangladesh Prepared?

Net metering must be simplified. Approval should be completed within 15–30 days through a one-stop service. Approval, interconnection, inspection, billing adjustment, and utility coordination should all be simple and time-bound. Wheeling charges for renewable energy should also be kept reasonable and low. The Merchant Power Policy should be clear, simple, and investment-friendly so that industries and commercial consumers can directly procure renewable electricity.

Agriculture should also be included in the solar transition. Bangladesh can set a target to convert 1.5 million diesel irrigation pumps into solar pumps. This will reduce diesel imports, lower farmers’ production costs, and protect the environment. The program should include duty-free facilities, low-cost loans, investment support, and local service networks.

Waste-to-energy should also receive policy support. City corporations need clear rules, easy financing, and private-sector participation to enable urban waste management and distributed power generation to work together.

Bangladesh now needs a phased national roadmap for renewable energy.

In the short term, within 0–6 months, customs duty, VAT, and taxes on renewable energy equipment should be reduced to zero. Duties on lithium-ion batteries, BESS, and energy storage should be withdrawn. Approval for net metering should be obtained within 15–30 days. Industrial and commercial solar installations should be eligible for special incentives. The 31 suspended solar projects should be reassessed. Wheeling charges should be rationalised. Solar, storage, and EV charging should receive urgent policy support. Collateral-free lines of credit should be introduced for rooftop solar. NBR should quickly implement assessment reform and a 0 percent duty.

Read more

All hopes will lose steam without a sustainable energy plan

In the medium term, within 1–3 years, renewable energy financing should be available at a maximum interest rate of 5 percent for 10–15 years. The LC margin should be limited to 5 percent. Land banks and grid infrastructure should be developed for utility-scale solar. Merchant Power Policy and MPPA should be simplified. Rooftop solar, utility-scale solar, and hybrid solar-storage projects should receive a 10–15-year tax holiday. A national program should convert 1.5 million diesel pumps into solar pumps. Rooftop solar should be made mandatory or incentive-based for government buildings, industrial zones, EPZs, economic zones, and large commercial buildings. EV solar charging and distributed storage policies should be developed. Renewable energy skill development and employment programs should also be launched.

In the long term, within 3–10 years, Bangladesh should aim to reach more than 10,000 MW of solar power by 2030. Offshore and onshore wind should be developed. Floating solar, river-based solar, and agrivoltaics should be implemented. A National Energy Storage Strategy should be prepared. Smart grid and power sector digitalisation should be accelerated. Local assembly and manufacturing of solar panels, inverters, mounting structures, battery packs, BMS, and EV charging equipment should be encouraged. Regional power trade should be expanded. The Renewable Purchase Obligation should be introduced. Fossil fuel subsidies should be gradually redirected to a renewable energy transition fund.

Image

The benefits can be large. Energy import costs will fall. Pressure on foreign currency reserves will decline. Industrial production costs will reduce. Export competitiveness will improve. The subsidy burden will decrease. New investment will grow. Renewable energy can create 20–25 jobs per MW through rooftop solar, utility-scale solar, solar pumps, EV charging, battery storage, smart grids, manufacturing, installation, operation, and maintenance.

The government may worry about revenue loss from tax and duty exemptions. But this should be seen as an investment. In the short term, there may be a limited impact on revenue. In the long term, Bangladesh can save far more by reducing fuel imports, lowering subsidies, saving foreign currency, strengthening industries, and attracting new investment.

Bangladesh’s energy crisis is a major challenge but also a historic opportunity. The crisis is not only a supply problem. It is a policy framework problem. Renewable energy, especially solar power, storage, and EV integration, can be among the most practical solutions for the country.

The question is no longer whether Bangladesh should adopt renewable energy. The real question is how quickly, how systematically, and how boldly the country can complete this transition.
 

Mohammad Ataur Rahman Sarker is a renewable energy entrepreneur and the secretary of the Bangladesh Sustainable and Renewable Energy Association.

Md. Tanvir Siraj is a renewable energy researcher.

I have never seen someone at a rustic village market, anklets jingling, shouting slogans for "Khol Company’s Ringworm Ointment." No smooth-talker has ever leaned in, fanning out thin booklets like a deck of cards, whispering rhythmically, "Here are the mysteries of Gopal Bhar, and here—the secret love letters."

I never hid colourful advertisements of a reclining Gauhar Jaan, cigarette in hand, between the folds of shirts in my drawer. I did indeed rummage through my grandfather’s pockets to collect old tram tickets, but none of them bore that curious notice for "Ashtavakra Toothpowder." Perhaps the elders of the house witnessed a tram tearing through the heart of a half-awake city, bearing the Khadi Pratisthan’s pledge for cow protection—but there was no question of me witnessing such a sight.

Someone’s great-grandfather might have known which drummers came beating the kara and nakara to announce, "Tonight at seven, the Chaitanya-lila folk play commences." I never heard the name of a young "lad" like Dhiren Bal, who reportedly painted the advertisement for "Himkalyan Hair Oil" at a three-way junction in Dinajpur.

While searching the Panjika (almanac) for the auspicious moment of a wedding, I never had the chance to chuckle at the suggestive illustrations for "Libido-Enhancing Tablets." On a morning shortly after Mahatma Gandhi’s assassination, I didn't sit with a newspaper wondering which artist, known only as "Munshi," had used swirling brushstrokes to sketch a portrait as a final tribute on behalf of some bankrupt cotton mill.

I saw none of this because I hadn't been born yet. Most of those who witnessed it are now gone forever. Yet, even without being born in that era, I have managed to 'see' it all. The old, withered newspapers and digital archives acted like Alibaba’s cave, revealing to me a lost jewelry box. To me, those vintage advertisements were not just pages of history; they were the precious Sita-har, the Jhumko, and the Nak-chabi themselves. I saw those 'ornaments'—the lost illustrations—and through them, I glimpsed a world that has otherwise vanished.

Actually, on a sudden whim, I spent a long time digging through ancient newspapers and periodicals. My eyes kept getting stuck on the bizarre advertisements still surviving on the faded, brownish-yellow newsprint of yore. I was looking, most of all, at the illustrations.

As I tasted this history, I remembered a book I read long ago: The Lost Tribes of Israel by Tudor Parfitt. Many believe that since the foreign invasions of Israel in the 8th century BC, at least twelve tribes went missing. Mr. Parfitt scoured the planet in search of them—a search that reportedly continues today. Some even believe the signs of those lost people are visible in the Afghans.

Looking at the drawings for old advertisements, I felt I found a resemblance between those legendary lost tribes and these forgotten illustrators. That is why the book came to mind. It also felt as though there was no such mismatch that could prevent us from linking these unknown artists’ ghosts to their successors, even without a DNA test!

The connection might be clear, but can we not grant them even a small corner in the history of Bengal's illustrative arts?

Renowned figures like the artist Raghunath Goswami continue to say—no, those advertisement drawings or ideas are not even worth considering. They claim it is a "mindless and indiscriminate simplification of art objects." They say the expression has neither grace nor form. Artistic value? Far from it!

For some reason, despite respecting the scholars' verdict, I grew stubborn. As I weighed the pros and cons, even the "ugly" artworks of those who drew advertisements for ringworm cures or hair-growth tonics began to pull at my eyes. I saw in them plenty of humour, and plenty of heartache too. Nevertheless, I began looking for a way to have a long conversation with those early advertising artists.

A representative of a "vanishing species" like O.C. Ganguly (Arun Kumar Gangopadhyay) introduced me to a certain "madman." He had a crow's nest of hair. His lower garment was draped over his chest like a shawl. He wore a striped vest. His hands were shackled in massive iron rings.

Apparently, such a madman would no longer need to be restrained. Why? Because the illness would be cured simply by administering "ABD Pills" and "Dutta Oil." Such was the claim of the "Bengali Asylum" of Dutta Nagar, Dum Dum, whose head office was at 29-A Vivekananda Road (Phone: Jorasanko 5220).

Seeing the address "Jorasanko" in that illustrated ad, I was immediately reminded of the Tagore family—specifically, their members who struggled with mental health. One was Birendranath Tagore, the fourth son of Maharshi Debendranath. He was brilliant at mathematics but suddenly fell victim to "wind-disease" (mental instability). The other was Somendranath, another brother of Rabindranath.

The Nobel laureate poet knew well which medicines helped the "insane." I learned of another advertisement—not for the ABD Pills of Dum Dum, but a special notice from "S.C. Roy & Co." at 167/3 Cornwallis Street. They advertised Dr. Umesh Chandra Roy’s world-famous "Great Cure for the Mad," priced at five rupees per bottle. The ad claimed that for over 70 years, this medicine had cured "millions of violent madmen and all kinds of nervous patients." This advertisement would appear with a quote from the poet himself, saying: "...I have been aware of its efficacy for a long time." Was the "Great Cure for the Mad" then used on Birendranath or Somendranath? I know bringing up Rabindranath's name is somewhat irrelevant, but seeing these old drawings makes my mind wander in a thousand directions!

Read more

Hair oil, bumblebees, and the lost world of Bengali advertising art

The illustrated advertisement I mentioned was published in 1952—the day I saw the picture of the shackled madman in the paper. That drawing was made several years after legendary artists had already begun to dominate Bengali advertising. By then, Bengalis had seen hundreds of fantastic drawings for various products. A legend like O.C. Ganguly was earning forty rupees a month at Calcutta’s "Stronach Advertising" as early as 1937. An agency named "Paradise Advertising" existed in Calcutta in 1928. No one can really speak of agencies in East Bengal (now Bangladesh) before the Partition. We mostly know of the birth of agencies like Bitopi, East Asiatic, or Interspan in the 1960s. Clearly, advertising production in both Bengals (undivided India at the time) was centred in Calcutta. Be that as it may, an agency required an artist—someone to present the matter attractively to lure customers.

But not all sellers went to agencies. Instead, they took "ugly" creations (by today’s standards) made by local artists to make printing blocks for newspaper offices. The madman illustration is a classic example. The calligraphy in that ad was purely amateurish—something no professional agency would ever approve. Whether that ad ran before 1952 or if that was the first, I do not know.

It is undeniable that finding artists from the era before the establishment of agencies (pre-partition) is extremely difficult. Only a handful of artists signed their names on those ads, and even then, it was just a tiny first initial of their name and surname, usually in English. Pranabesh Maity, who drew ads in the 60s and 70s, had a more bitter experience. He claimed that even if artists signed, agency bosses would often erase the signature to imply that the agency was everything and the artist didn't matter.

This makes me think of the "Lost Tribes" and a piece by Premendra Mitra about the Patuas (traditional scroll painters). Premendra once had a great desire to find the lost Patuas of Kalighat. Briefly, the story goes like this—a young boy walking the streets of Kalighat would watch with wonder a specific style of indigenous painting. Ordinary men in dirty clothes sat cross-legged on mats in small roadside shops, painting those pictures. Yet, the walls of the shops were adorned with framed, colourful photographs of gods and goddesses. People coming to the temple preferred to buy the framed photos. Even so, the Patuas would sit down to paint whenever they found a moment’s respite between sales.

Then came a day when not only the scroll paintings but even the expensive printed pictures of deities vanished from those shops. The Patuas disappeared too. I don't know if that young boy was Premendra himself—since his childhood was spent in North India, having been born in Varanasi. But for a creative man like him to imagine that boy while thinking of the Patuas is not far-fetched. When a kind soul eventually went looking for those Patuas, he was utterly disappointed. He learned that they had been pushed out of the city. Their descendants had not become "useless" painters; some took jobs as labourers in jute mills or chose other professions. At most, unable to ignore the "blood connection," some practised their hand at painting the chalchitra (background canopy) of idols. Premendra tracked down a few of these "unfortunate" descendants and asked to see old scroll paintings. He was shocked to find they had almost nothing left. One or two pulled down a bundle of papers tucked into the thatch of their huts. Premendra saw the pathetic state of those soot-stained, discoloured papers—they were ready to crumble at any moment. Calling the insects "connoisseurs of art," a somber Premendra described how those paintings were being destroyed.

The author was accompanied by an art collector. His friend bought some paintings that were in good condition from the descendants for an unexpectedly high price. Later, he and others wrote about them. Premendra noted how his "self-satisfaction" was bruised. He commented that while many were becoming famous artists by adopting the Patua style, and those paintings were selling at major exhibitions to decorate drawing rooms—even impressing Pablo Picasso—the Patua sitting on a dirty mat in a narrow shop and the ordinary customer buying them for a pittance are nowhere to be found today.

Thinking of the early artists of Bengali advertising, I am reminded of Premendra Mitra's essay "Barbar Yuger Pore" (After the Barbaric Age), just as I was of The Lost Tribes of Israel. In it, I found no real difference between the forgotten Patuas and the nameless illustrators from the dawn of Bengali advertising.

The artists whose work I later came to know and appreciate were giants like Annada Munshi—whose ideas and illustrations revolutionised the look and feel of Bengali advertising. But I wanted to see what kind of "ugly and tasteless" creations (as labelled by later critics) Annada and his peers had replaced. Without seeing those, how could I understand the evolution of style?

Here, I must mention the artist Hemen Majumdar. He is never known to have drawn for advertisements. Everyone knows that when art lovers discuss him, his paintings of "drip-wet Bengali women" inevitably come up. Who that woman was, was once a subject of intense speculation. A few know that he often painted while keeping a photograph by his side. Hemen had taken photos of his wife, Sudharani, in various poses as she returned from bathing in the family pond. His wife was his model. When giving the picture its final form, he would simply change Sudharani’s face and paint the face of a relative instead—much like modern-day Photoshop!

Though Hemen was skilled at copying photographs, he knew the magic of glorifying them with colour. But that wasn't all. This was a man who was invited to design the gateway for King George V’s visit to India, who was a pioneer in publishing art journals, who painted the landscapes of Kashmir at the invitation of the Maharaja, who was the "Court Artist" of the Maharaja of Patiala, and who gave an artistic form to Mahatma Gandhi at the spinning wheel. He didn't just paint wet clothes!

At the same time, it is true that his skill at painting beautiful women was so popular that other artists, while drawing women for advertisements, often mimicked Hemen’s postures—or those of the women painted by Raja Ravi Varma. Thus, even without drawing for ads himself, Hemen was "present" in this branch of art through the figures of women drawn in his style. Of course, bringing out the "wet-clothed" look or suggestive sensuality in black-and-white newspaper ads was a difficult task!

It’s worth mentioning that Hemen’s own work was occasionally used in advertising. An organisation called "Bengal Autotype" used to run ads featuring a sketch of Rabindranath Tagore by Hemen, accompanied by the Poet’s message. The advertisers even sold prints of that picture. The ad read: "A Wonderful Picture of Poet." Each print cost one rupee, with an additional 50 paise for postage. This ad appeared in the Visva-Bharati journal in the late 1930s, detailing the paper quality and dimensions.

In the eyes of some critics, the work of the "erotic painter" Hemen began to gain popularity in 1926 after a commercial firm in Mumbai bought his paintings to make calendars. The "forbidden" sword of the Hemen-style became a weapon for advertising illustrators too. One could easily call them followers of Hemen’s "voyeuristic" work. However, no matter how they were drawn, it's not as if the artists of the Battala press or the Patuas hadn't used such "swords" long before! Based on the consumer's mindset, this tradition seems never-ending—at home, abroad, and everywhere else.

(To be continued)

Sandip Dasgupta has spent nearly three decades working in the editorial offices of newspapers and news portals. He has authored several history-based books, and a subject particularly close to his heart is the illustrations created by Bengali artists.

Send your articles for Slow Reads to slowreads@thedailystar.net. Check out our submission guidelines for details.

During my 14 months as Minister (Press) at the Bangladesh High Commission in New Delhi, I observed India more from metro rails, trains, buses, provincial roads, and a daily dose of discussions with my colleagues in the diplomatic circle and journalistic peers from the Indian media. 

Personal travel and official work took me across Uttar Pradesh, Uttarakhand, Rajasthan, West Bengal, Andhra Pradesh and Himachal Pradesh. I spent long hours reading newspapers, watching television, speaking with journalists, researchers, and policy professionals in Delhi, and observing how ordinary citizens moved through the economy. 

The impression was consistent. India possesses enormous capability, but it also carries a deep structural imbalance. It is a country of scale without enough spread and wealth without enough diffusion. And also a country with very large ambitions without sufficient economic architecture.

The dominant global story is flattering. India is now the world’s fourth-largest economy, with output above $4 trillion. Growth has often ranged between 6% and 8%. Its stock market has surged. It landed a spacecraft near the Moon’s south pole. Its digital payments network is admired internationally. 

Western capitals increasingly view India as a democratic counterweight to China. None of this is false. But none of it is sufficient. Behind the aggregate numbers lies a more difficult truth. India’s growth model has become top-heavy.

The central weakness is straightforward. India has generated elite wealth, urban enclaves of modern prosperity and globally competitive service industries. It has not generated enough broad middle-income employment. The country moved too quickly toward a service-led economy before completing industrialisation. 

In doing so, it skipped the stage that, elsewhere, historically created stable mass prosperity: labour-intensive manufacturing at scale.

Every year, roughly 10-12 million young, educated Indians enter the workforce. That is comparable to adding a country the size of Belgium to the labour market annually. No nation can absorb such numbers through software parks, finance offices and high-end services alone. 

India has generated elite wealth, urban enclaves of modern prosperity and globally competitive service industries. It has not generated enough broad middle-income employment. The country moved too quickly toward a service-led economy before completing industrialisation.

It needs factories, warehouses, construction supply chains, transport systems and medium-sized enterprises capable of hiring by the thousand. India’s economy has not produced enough of them.

Official labour statistics and private estimates differ, but the broad picture is unmistakable. Youth unemployment remains high, especially in cities and among graduates. Urban youth unemployment has often been in the mid-to-high teens. In some regions, female youth unemployment has been dramatically higher. 

Yet even these figures understate the problem because India suffers heavily from disguised unemployment: several family members sharing work that would productively occupy one person. They are counted as employed, but they are not economically advancing.

Stagnation in proper placement
Nothing captures this scarcity better than recruitment frenzies for low-level public jobs. In 2022, Indian Railways announced around 35,000 vacancies. More than 12 million people reportedly applied—roughly one opening for every 357 applicants. When exam rules changed, protests erupted in Bihar and elsewhere. This was a classic labour-market distress.

In Uttar Pradesh, more than 93,000 applicants reportedly sought 62 peon posts in 2024, many of them graduates, engineers and postgraduates. These are jobs involving basic clerical support, file movement and errands. When highly educated youth compete in such numbers for messenger-level work, GDP headlines become less persuasive. Families have paid for degrees, but the economy has not created matching opportunities.

Economists call this jobless growth: rising output without sufficient employment creation. India has become one of its clearest large-scale examples. Capital-intensive sectors such as finance, telecoms, digital platforms, and automated manufacturing can rapidly boost GDP while adding relatively few jobs. Shareholders gain faster than workers.

Historically, countries that lifted hundreds of millions out of poverty followed a different route. Britain, Germany, Japan, South Korea, Taiwan and China all industrialised first. Rural labour moved into factories, productivity rose, exports expanded, and a mass middle class emerged. Vietnam is now following that path. Bangladesh has done so, in part, through garment exports. India was expected to do the same. It did not do enough of it.

In 2014, the Indian government launched “Make in India”, promising to turn the country into a manufacturing hub. The ambition was to raise manufacturing’s share of GDP from around 16% to 25%. A decade later, manufacturing’s share remained well below target and by some measures slipped closer to 13%-14%. India did not merely miss the goal; it struggled to change direction.

That is the heart of India’s missing middle. At the top sit giant conglomerates such as Reliance Industries, Adani Group and Tata Group. At the bottom sit millions of tiny workshops, traders and household enterprises employing five or fewer people. What is scarce are large mid-sized factories employing 500, 2,000 or 10,000 workers and linked to export supply chains.

During the global “China Plus One” shift, multinationals seeking diversification did not move overwhelmingly to India. Many expanded in Vietnam, Mexico and Bangladesh. Vietnam, with a population under 100 million, has become a major exporter of electronics, footwear, leather accessories and apparel. Bangladesh, despite far fewer resources, built a garment export machine exceeding $45bn annually in recent years.

India lost ground in precisely the labour-intensive sectors that could have employed millions: textiles, leather goods, footwear, toys and light engineering. The reasons are practical. Land acquisition can be slow and politically contentious. Power reliability varies by region. Ports and logistics have improved but remain more costly than those of best-in-class Asian competitors. 

Contract enforcement through courts can take years. Regulatory burdens remain dense. Medium firms often spend disproportionate time on compliance rather than expansion.

An Observer Research Foundation study found more than 69,000 compliance requirements for doing business in India, with over 26,000 carrying imprisonment clauses. A mid-sized manufacturer can face hundreds of annual filings, inspections or procedural obligations. Under such conditions, staying small is often rational.

That is the heart of India’s missing middle. At the top sit giant conglomerates such as Reliance Industries, Adani Group and Tata Group. At the bottom sit millions of tiny workshops, traders and household enterprises employing five or fewer people. What is scarce are large mid-sized factories employing 500, 2,000 or 10,000 workers and linked to export supply chains. 

Those firms built China’s middle class. They remain too few in India.

Inequality at its peak
Wealth concentration has widened the imbalance. According to the latest Forbes rankings, Mukesh Ambani remains India’s richest person with a net worth of about $97.9bn, while Gautam Adani follows with roughly $63.8bn. India now has 229 billionaires, up from 205 the previous year, and their combined wealth has crossed $1 trillion for the first time. The top ten richest Indians alone control around $368bn.

On inequality, the broader picture remains stark. Estimates from the World Inequality Database and Oxfam indicate that the top 1% of Indians own around 40% of national wealth, while the bottom 50% own only around 3%. Exact percentages vary by methodology and year, but the trend in concentration is consistent.

World Inequality Database and Oxfam indicate that the top 1% of Indians own around 40% of national wealth, while the bottom 50% own only around 3%. Exact percentages vary by methodology and year, but the trend in concentration is consistent.

Consumption patterns reflect this divide. Mercedes-Benz India has posted record sales. Ultra-luxury apartments in Gurugram and Mumbai sell out quickly. Yet entry-level motorcycles, small tractors and low-cost fast-moving consumer goods have often seen sluggish rural demand. 

Companies have reported weak village sales volumes, meaning poorer households are cutting back not on luxuries but on staples and inexpensive treats.

The service sector, long India’s pride, cannot fully offset these weaknesses. For three decades, IT services created one of India’s clearest success stories. Infosys, TCS and Wipro built global businesses on coding, consulting and back-office support. They created an urban middle class and reshaped cities such as Bengaluru and Hyderabad.

But artificial intelligence now threatens some of the very entry-level tasks that sustained this model. Studies in advanced economies have found falling demand in occupations most exposed to generative AI. Hiring at major Indian IT firms has slowed sharply. Routine coding, customer service and standardised support work are increasingly automatable. 

India built much of its middle class by becoming the world’s back office. The back office is now changing.

Agriculture remains another drag. Roughly 45%-50% of the workforce still depends on farming, while agriculture contributes around 15%-18% of GDP. Too many people compete for too small a share of national income. Holdings have fragmented across generations; a once-viable ten-acre farm may become several one-acre plots. 

Such land is hard to mechanise and often unprofitable. Debt cycles and price volatility intensify distress.

India’s welfare architecture partly cushions these failures. The government provides free food grains to around 800 million people—close to 60% of the population. Ethically, such support is justified where hardship persists. Economically, it is also revealing. If growth were translating into secure incomes broadly enough, such dependence would be smaller.

Education adds another fracture. India produces graduates at scale, but many employers report that graduates are poorly prepared. Some employability studies have claimed that a large majority of engineering graduates require substantial retraining. Polytechnic outcomes are also uneven. 

Students often gain credentials without marketable skills. Families borrow or liquidate assets to finance degrees that do not guarantee mobility.

This creates what sociologists call waithood: young adults no longer students, not yet securely employed, waiting through repeated exams, coaching centres and temporary gigs. Across north India, tea stalls and rented rooms are full of candidates preparing for delayed government recruitment tests that may never transform their lives.

Lessons for Bangladesh
Bangladesh should study this carefully. Our own economy has grown strongly, averaging around 6% for much of the 2010s. Garment exports rose from roughly $12 billion in 2009 to above $45 billion in recent years. Around four million workers, mostly women, gained factory employment. Poverty fell sharply, life expectancy rose above 73 years, infant mortality declined, and female participation in paid work increased.  

Bangladesh benefited from precisely the labour-intensive manufacturing route India underused. Millions moved from subsistence dependence toward wage income, and that wage income financed schooling, rural housing, small businesses and consumption. Few policy choices in South Asia have produced a larger social return than integrating low-income women into export manufacturing.

India has generated elite wealth, urban enclaves of modern prosperity and globally competitive service industries. It has not generated enough broad middle-income employment. The country moved too quickly toward a service-led economy before completing industrialisation.

Yet Bangladesh also shows top-heavy tendencies. Garments account for around 80%-85% of merchandise exports, leaving the country vulnerable to recessions in Europe and North America, compliance shocks, buyer concentration and changes in global trade rules. A narrow export basket is profitable until demand turns. 

Banking-sector stress remains chronic, with high levels of non-performing and repeatedly rescheduled loans that weaken confidence and starve productive firms of credit. The tax-to-GDP ratio has often been below 9%, among the lowest in comparable emerging economies, limiting state capacity in health, education, transport and urban management. 

Dhaka property values have surged to levels comparable to those of many European and North American capitals, while many districts remain dependent on remittances, informal trade, and low-wage work. This is a classic sign of distorted capital allocation: money chasing land rather than machinery, skills or technology.

Like India, Bangladesh has many microfirms and a few large groups, but too few medium industrial exporters outside garments. Pharmaceuticals are a bright spot, as are ceramics, footwear, bicycles, light engineering and shipbuilding niches, yet none has matched apparel at scale. 

The lesson is clear: Bangladesh now needs a second-generation growth model built on diversification. That means stronger ports, cheaper logistics, more reliable power, cleaner bank balance sheets, vocational training, deeper capital markets and easier scaling for medium enterprises. It also means moving up the garment value chain into design, branding, synthetic fabrics and technical textiles rather than relying mainly on basic cut-and-sew production.

India still has formidable strengths, including a vast domestic market, entrepreneurial energy, English-language capabilities, digital infrastructure, and geopolitical relevance. It is not collapsing. But resilience is not a strategy. If jobless growth, weak manufacturing depth, educational mismatch and extreme inequality persist, the superpower narrative will remain incomplete.

India has two decades before demographic ageing becomes more pronounced. That is the window to build factories, simplify regulations, improve the courts, upgrade skills, and widen opportunities. Without those reforms, India may grow larger without becoming broadly rich, more visible without becoming more balanced, and more powerful abroad while remaining brittle at home. 

Bangladesh also has a narrower window than many assume. The demographic dividend will not last indefinitely. Fertility has fallen sharply, the population is gradually ageing, and the economy will face rising pressure to create higher-productivity jobs before wage competitiveness erodes. That means the next fifteen to twenty years are critical. 

This is the period to diversify exports, reform banks, modernise tax administration, improve courts and contract enforcement, expand technical education, and make cities more liveable and productive. Without those reforms, Bangladesh may grow bigger (like India) without becoming significantly richer, urbanise without becoming efficient, and export more without developing real industrial depth. 

The country’s progress over the past two decades is substantial and real. But, as India’s example shows, growth alone does not guarantee balance, resilience or lasting prosperity.

Faisal Mahmud is a Dhaka-based journalist. He was the former Minister (Press) of the Bangladesh High Commission in India.

Send your articles for Slow Reads to slowreads@thedailystar.net. Check out our submission guidelines for details.

My first encounter with the ideas of Professor André Béteille was in July 1966 in an introductory sociology course at the University of Dhaka (at that time in East Pakistan) through Professor Tom Bottomore’s book, Sociology: A Guide to Problems and Literature (1962). The emphasis on general theory of social stratification for an explanation of the Indian caste system found its empirical reflection, as Bottomore refers to, in the work of Béteille, especially in Caste, Class and Power: Changing Patterns of Stratification in a Tanjore Village (1965).

My second encounter with him was in the Fall of 1975 at Dalhousie University, Halifax where I was writing my Master’s thesis under Professor Bottomore, and he referred to read me Béteille’s “Closed and open social stratification” (1966). Reading Béteille after nine years under the Maple tree, I began to admire his empirical depth, comparative methodology, and theoretical clarity, which reshaped my understanding of social hierarchies in India.

In the Christmas of 1976, I had an occasion to share some of my understanding of Béteille’s work. At that time, I was at York University, Toronto where I was doing my PhD.  Professor K. Ishwaran, one of our faculty members, who wrote Tradition and Economy in Village India (1966), invited me for Christmas dinner-- Turkey with cranberry sauce, cooked by his Dutch wife. There we talked about the contribution of both Béteille and his supervisor M. N. Srinivas towards understanding the impact of social change on Indian social stratification.

In order to realistically understand contemporary caste hierarchy, Béteille emphasised the “other factors such as class and power” that “have to be considered as independent variables” (1966). It appeared to me highly useful for comparative empirical research. It creates a distance from traditional essentialist and ideological perspective of inequality. 

Borrowed from Max Weber, he focused on multidimensionality of stratification and examined how status, economic resources, and political control interact to shape multifarious social order. This was a tremendous contribution in the field of stratification studies. Though he focused on rural stratification, the model is also applicable to the study of urban social stratification.

It is puzzling that in Bangladesh universities, both sociology and anthropology disciplines overlooked and neglected the Weberian model of multidimensional stratification system: anthropology remained spell-bound under the dichotomous model of rural “ashraf-atraf”; and sociology was locked in the iron cage of simplistic Marxist model of “land ownership” under the name of peasant studies. In spite of teaching Weber’s “Class, Status, Party” (1922/1946) in the universities, there is a marked absence of the application of Weberian model in the study of rural and urban complex social hierarchy. Probably in Bangladesh, this shows the intellectual bankruptcy of these disciplines, which are suffering from morbidity.

In fact, in order to understand contemporary social change in Bangladesh, especially its regime of accumulation under crony capitalism, it is essential to understand the nexus between power and class. The determining power of traditional property ownership in the formation of classes and consequent class consciousness has diminished in Bangladesh. 

The notion of political capitalism advanced by Max Weber is also useful in understanding Bangladesh social stratification, especially class formation. The party consciousness along with ruling party affiliation, may give legitimate or illegitimate access to economic resources, thereby determining class position in terms of life opportunities and life style. This in turn, heavily influence commodification of prestige and honour; and becomes marker of status.

The rural and urban dispossession, which is an integral part of neoliberal and crony capitalism’s regime of accumulation, is also the progenitor of emergent lumpen bourgeoisie, whose class position do not correspond with their demeaning status position. Again, the traditional status group in Bangladesh, as Béteille found in his Tanjore village study with respect to traditional caste, suffer from status dislocation, having less access to power and economic resources. The ontology of inequality and hierarchy can best be understood by the Weberian epistemology.

I think study of this process of social change, and its impact on inequality in Bangladesh, is vital towards understanding Bangladesh society. The internationally acclaimed Indian empirical model provided by Béteille can be one of the best guides to study the intersectionality of class, status and power in both urban and rural Bangladesh. It is unfortunate that social sciences in Bangladesh have neglected such a significant social dynamic that affects all our lives.

In March 1989, Professor Abhijit Dasgupta, a colleague of Professor Béteille, facilitated my direct meeting with him. Professor Dasgupta was kind enough to arrange a seminar talk by me in the sociology department of Delhi School of Economics. After the seminar, I paid a visit to Professor Béteille’s office room. He was very warm and hospitable to offer tea to me and my wife. He spoke in Bangla and affirmed his Bangali origin. I felt very comfortable to have a vibe of Bengal. I mentioned to him how I came to know of his work à la Bottomore and Ishwaran. I was so surprised to experience his stock of knowledge mediated by modesty and simplicity. The meeting with professor Béteille during the short-lived spring of Delhi was one of the most memorable events of my life. I wish his conceptual and methodological clarity inspire the young Bangladeshi sociologists to break the chain of ignorance, myopic framework, and the hegemony of intellectual infantilism.

A.I. Mahbub Uddin Ahmed is a professor in the Department of Sociology at the University of Dhaka.

Send your articles for Slow Reads to slowreads@thedailystar.net. Check out our submission guidelines for details.

(Renowned historian and author, Rila Mukherjee, was scheduled to fly from the USA to India by Qatar Airways [QA] on February 25, 2026. Her route—Shreveport–Dallas Fort Worth–Doha–Kolkata—was expected to bring her to Kolkata on the night of February 26 or in the early hours of February 27. However, as of March 8, she was still stranded in Doha. Qatar’s skies were closed due to the US-Israeli attack on Iran. QA’s commercial flights were suspended. At the time of writing, evacuation flights to India were scheduled to start soon. She reached home on 12 March.)

Today is 8 March. I am now camping out in Doha for the ninth day since 28 February. The Qatar airspace is shut and padlocked. The authorities have thrown away the key. Limited numbers of passengers are being flown to Europe and the Americas on evacuation flights (they are called ‘relief flights’) organised by QA, and relief flights to Africa and Asia will start from tomorrow. But for the time being, I am effectively marooned in Doha.

Doha is one of the largest airplane hubs in the world, and a cosmopolitan group of transit passengers has been put up by QA in the 4-star The Royal Riviera Hotel. The hotel is situated on Doha’s Corniche. It is an ageing hotel; not terribly posh, and the plumbing is a bit iffy. But it is well located, with comfortable rooms, and it is a clean and friendly hotel. I feel safe here. Its staff is composed of Asians (from Bangladesh, the Philippines, Sri Lanka, Nepal), North Africans (Algerians and Moroccans mostly) and some West Asians. All of them are helpful despite the pressures they are facing. They deal gracefully with the diverse demands and complaints of the passengers.

My room faces the Corniche and I can see the Persian Gulf from my window. As a maritime historian, this makes me very happy.

This country and its national airline are looking after us very well and, really, I have no complaints. QA’s representatives visit the hotel twice daily. There is no information forthcoming on my evacuation to Kolkata, and the greater part of passenger bags are still to arrive at the hotel. My South African neighbour says one of their bags has not been delivered; perhaps it is lost.

We are largely dependent on the clothes we have on our backs and those we had in our carry-on. Most of us are washing and drying them overnight. We have to use the hair dryer if they are still not dry.

My bags came in today, i.e., 8 March.

There are some elderly travellers. Many of them say that their medicines are running out. Mine will last another week.

Will I be able to get out by then?

We are told that a limited air corridor may open today; alternatively, we may be evacuated by the land route through Saudi Arabia to Riyadh (this would take around seven hours), where a leased QA aircraft may take us to India. But we have to make our own arrangements for the Saudi e-visa and overland travel. This seems a risky enterprise. And whether this potential leased aircraft would fly me direct to Kolkata is not known. There is no clarity to date.

***

But if I was scheduled to arrive in Kolkata on 27 February (and the war broke out a day later, on 28 February), how is it that I am still in Doha

Ah, thereby hangs a tale!

It is a cautionary tale on buying air tickets with multiple connections, and what ensues when the first connection does not take off as per schedule.

***

I had spent nine weeks in Shreveport with my son and daughter-in-law and was scheduled to leave on 25 February. Unfortunately, my flight from Shreveport to Dallas Fort Worth (DFW) by QA’s codeshare partner American Airlines (AA) did not take off. We were told that the incoming flight had nose gear problems and therefore could not land. Ultimately it made an emergency landing. Fire engines, firefighters, EMTs and ambulances were standing by. Luckily, there was no fireball and there were no casualties. The vice-chair of my daughter-in-law’s department was on that flight; I bumped into him in the terminal as he deplaned, and he said that the landing had been really scary.

There were no more AA flights to DFW that day. Roo and Stephanie came back to the airport and took me home. I spent a restless night. I hate flying at the best of times.

I was put on the same AA flight the next day, on 26 February, but when I reached DFW I was told that my connection flight to Doha was full. Apparently, the AA staff at Shreveport Regional Airport knew there were no seats on that flight; nevertheless they sent me on to DFW hoping I would ‘sort out’ the matter with AA’s customer care there. The only ‘sorting out’ that AA did at DFW was to put me on a later QA flight to Doha on the same day, that is, late evening on 26 February. It was a smaller aircraft (not the Airbus 350 on which I was ticketed), the flight was cramped and some of my co-passengers were not very well behaved. One lady kept on drinking; she skipped the meal service and was quite abusive. Another one, African American, told me that as an ‘American’ she was superior to Asians. Right, I thought, we all know how you as a Black person got there!!!

In all my years of travelling I have never encountered such blatant racism.

When we reached Doha very late on the night of 27 February (almost 24 hours later due to the time difference with DFW), I had missed that evening’s flight to Kolkata!

No problem, QA’s customer care said, we’ll talk with AA as it is their problem. This took a while, so I went off to buy myself a snack at Brioche Dorée in the airport’s food court.

By then it was early morning on 28 February.

Readers, note the date!

AA agreed to comp me a room for the remainder of the night at The Royal Riviera Hotel. I was granted a 48-hour emergency visa by Qatar Immigration and I was shifted to the hotel on 28 February at 2 AM. QA’s ground staff helped me throughout. The room was comfortable, the bed looked inviting, and I went to sleep, confident that my Kolkata flight would take off as scheduled at 18.45 hours on that day itself (that is, 28 February). At that point, I was going to reach only 24 hours behind my original schedule.

I informed Kolkata and asked my driver to collect me from the airport accordingly.

***

On 28 February, I was woken around 8 AM by a strange sound from my cell phone. It was a very loud, continuous screech. I don’t have international roaming and I wondered who was calling me and what was happening. I saw a ‘Security Alert’ on my screen but the text was in Arabic. I started hearing thuds and bangs. Another alert, still in Arabic, came in.

What was going on? I was mystified.

I was now getting alerts in English. It said the US and Israel had jointly attacked Iran. US bases and embassies and consulates across the Gulf were vulnerable. Qatar was in this critical area. Sirens were going off. I started watching Al Jazeera and Richard Engel on NBC.

This was Day 1.

By Day 2, the Gulf was not just lying in a war zone; it had been converted into a theatre of war. Doha was undergoing regular drone strikes and missile attacks.

Day 3 was relatively quiet. Apparently, Qatar and Iran had a phone conversation, and Qatar urged Iran to stop the strikes. But our temporary visas were extended by Qatar. This was an indication that the phone call was not conclusive. This war was not going to end anytime soon.

The Qatar–Iran conversation does not seem to have yielded the desired result. There is no relief from Iranian attacks. These now form the backdrop to our daily life at The Royal Riviera. Drone attacks and missile strikes re-started from Day 4. None of them target the downtown area; they target only the US base and industrial areas in Qatar. Most of the drones and missiles are successfully intercepted; the few that are not cause localised fires. The attacks usually happen around breakfast and lunch, and sometimes they occur very late at night or in the early morning hours. This means we are always in a state of extreme alert. It is jarring on the nerves. We can neither eat properly nor rest. We are getting stressed out.

But I must also mention that the attacks and interceptions sound more like Diwali patakas than the very loud explosions that one expects.

Some bags arrived at the hotel on Day 5. Mine were not among them.

By Days 6 and 7 we have more or less settled into what is turning out to be our semi-permanent home. The hotel is no longer very ‘royal’; it has taken on the character of a London bedsit. Or a council housing estate in one of the UK’s inner cities! Children play noisy games in the corridors, an oddly comforting sound among the explosions, security alerts and sirens that go on regularly.

I see an enormous solidarity among the travellers, both on my floor and when we meet up at meal times. I have a very nice South African couple next door who check on me each morning, always asking how I am faring (‘please don’t hesitate to knock if you face any difficulties’). They have even offered to take me out to buy clothes (this was before my bags arrived). Elegant MENA (Middle East North Africa) people greet me each day at breakfast, a young Pakistani financial analyst from Toronto shares his insights with me at the breakfast table, and a British couple advise me to carry my passport with me at all times (especially when I leave my room in case of an attack and subsequent fire). They kindly offered to buy me my medicines, although they are at least a decade older than me. A young school teacher from Geneva shares my table at dinner. I have not seen her lately; perhaps she has already been repatriated on one of the relief flights to Europe which started operating from Day 7. The British couple and the South Africans are still here; the Pakistani man left for Toronto early this morning. He was given only two hours’ notice and he phoned my room to say goodbye at 1.15 AM this morning.

What does my daily schedule look like?

It is like what I imagine a day at boarding school would be. Because it is Ramadan, the hotel starts the breakfast buffet from 3 AM, lunch is from 12 noon, and dinner is over by 7.30. The food served (although mild in taste and quasi-institutional as regards the daily menu, which does not rotate much in terms of items), is nevertheless amazingly varied as regards the cuisine: Arabic, Turkish, Italian, Spanish and South Asian (the last is not good at all). A lot of lemon is used in the preparations, but practically no onions. This may be due to the fact that there was an onion shortage; onions came in from India only on Day 5. There are loads of different kinds of salads, some bland European cheeses and diverse types of hummus. In addition, there is feta cheese, stuffed vine leaves, green and black olives, veg and non-veg samosas and spring rolls, koftas, and baba ghanoush or baingan bharta. Good cappuccinos and lattes. Flaky croissants and brioches, pastries and amazing Arabian/Persian/Yemeni sweets. A decadent baked (and often caramelised) bread pudding called Umm Ali is served at dinner. Obviously, the Qatari supermarkets are still well-stocked with FMCG. The Indian-origin Lulu supermarket chain has flown in a whole lot of perishable and non-perishable food items.

Strangely, no fresh fruit!

***

Gas prices have shot up.

I have given up watching the death and destruction on TV, and watch Looney Tunes, Anthony Bourdain, Fawlty Towers and Mr Bean instead. Priyam Paul, my editor at The Daily Star, has sent me some e-books which help to pass the time.

When I am not reading, or watching sitcoms, cartoons and travel and food documentaries, I reflect on what brought us to this war. I see the Persian Gulf from my room; it is still a brilliant blue. But it is also desolate since the Hormuz Strait was closed off. I see no cargo ships or container vessels; there are no cruise ships or tankers. For a maritime historian like me, this is not the Persian Gulf I know. After all, it has been a crossroads since recorded history! My India in the Indian Ocean World (2022) documents this history of two thousand years at the very least. Now, mobility is severely constrained.

We are living now in a world of fragmented geopolitics, of accelerated climate degradation, and of critical demographic shifts. The world is undergoing these changes along with increasingly disaffected groups of peoples, perhaps terrorists, some of them. We are seeing the rise of AI which, to my mind, is linked, along with the toxicity of social media, with the increasing authoritarianism that we see worldwide. It horrifies me when I see a young nation declare it will bring ‘civilisation’ to Iran. It disregards the fact that Iran-as-Persia predates Arab culture and is one of the world’s oldest culture areas. Not just the glory of Shi’ite Safavid Persia (1501–1736), which political theorists and analysts invoke when describing this civilisational space and whose heritage modern Iran draws on: think of the period from c. 550 BCE to 651 CE (Muslim conquest and start of Islamisation by the Rashidun Caliphate), when four mighty Persian empires ruled a large portion of the then-known world: Achaemenid, Seleucid, Parthian and Sassanian. Persia challenged Egypt, Greece and Rome, and then it faced up to the Ottoman and Russian empires. This memory of resistance of 2500 years will not be easily erased.

However, the total disregard of international law and the collapse of the rules-based order will usher in a new regional order in West Asia. This will impact on the Gulf states. Once-biblical Lebanon is almost destroyed by a rampant Israel. Syria has closed its borders. As a rogue USA intimidates Persia and trains its eye on the Caucasus and Azerbaijan, it also destabilises Iraq. Iranian Kurds based in Iraq have been reactivated. How will this impact on the Turkish Kurds? Turkey, a NATO country, is already feeling threatened.

The relatively young post-WW1 statelets in the Gulf will lose out in the violent reshuffle in the greater region. The Dubai story was already over. And Oman had lost its sheen even earlier. Financial and service centres will shift eastward—to Singapore or perhaps to KL. As will global airline hubs. The Gulf states will see their importance in location, business and finance diminish. They will have to reconsider their dependence on the USA which has now become a double-edged sword. Iran will endure, but perhaps in a new form. But it will not be erased from the map of the world.

Pace sensation Mustafizur Rahman recorded his best bowling figures of the Indian Premier League today when he finished with 3 for 16 in Sunrisers Hyderabad’s 85-run victory over Mumbai Indians at Vishakhapatnam.

The three-wicket haul took the left-armer to joint-second in the wicket-takers’ list with a total tally of 13 scalps from nine matches. He is one short of Mitchell McClenaghan, who has taken 14 wickets in 10 matches. 

The 20-year-old currently has the best bowling average, 15.61, and best economy rate, 6.15, amongs bowlers who have played at least eight matches in the tournament.

The Sunrisers Hyderabad might have depended on Mustafizur a number of times in the ongoing Indian Premier League, but today was a collective effort. Ashish Nehra, Bhuvaneshwar Kumar and Barinder Sran had reduced the Mumbai Indians to 49 for 6 in nine overs before Mustafizur was given the ball.

The wily left-armer sent back Hardik Pandya with his first ball with a cutter which Pandya failed to adjust himself against. Pandya attempted a slice through point, but the ball curled away to the hands of the keeper, with the umpire judging that out even though the television replays were inconclusive.

Then in the very first ball of his second over again, Fizz bowled yet another slower delivery which moved away from the batsman, getting the edge of Tim Southee on the way to the keeper.

The man from Satkhira returned got the scalp of McClenaghan in the final delivery of his third over, getting the batsman to offer a loopy catch to midwicket.

Mustafizur did not get to bowl a fourth over as David Warner gave the other bowlers their chance to mop up the tail. And they did efficiently, bundling out the hosts for just 92 runs in 16.3 overs.

Earlier, brilliant performances from Hyderabad openers, Warner and Shikhar Dhawan helped the team post 177. Dhawan scored 82 off 57 while Warner smacked 48 off 33. Yuvraj Singh also had a good time with the bat, scoring 39 off 23.