Grinding my teeth, Part Two: Adjusting to Bangla Time (16/12/08)

16/12/08
Grinding my teeth
Part 2: Adjusting to Bangla time

When I first arrived here, I was surprised how quickly my jet lag wore off. However, two months in and the painful transition to Bangla time – or the wholly different work ethic here – is still ongoing.

I think, in order for you to really feel my hair-tearing, teeth-grinding, head-banging-against-brick-wall frustration, I’ll give you a couple of reflections to mull over…

- How does anyone plan anything when no-one has a diary? (Believe me, it’s not because they don’t have diaries, NGOs spend lots of money on company diaries, but NO-ONE USES THEM). A certain person (who shall not be named) has likened a certain organization close to us (that shall also not be named) as behaving like Wiley Coyote – i.e. not all that wiley, really, when you consider how Wiley Coyote appears to rush from one slightly dodgy idea to another, without engaging in sufficient monitoring and evaluation of his previous mess-up.
- If the tailor says your shalwar kameez will be ready in a week, allow ten days. They’ll always have an excuse.
- How can anyone get anything done when, in order to make any decisions of significance, the director (who spends at least 80% of his/her time elsewhere) must be present? (Answer: no-one can get anything done)
- If someone says that they’ll meet with you after lunch, what they really mean is: they might meet with you at some point in the near future (for near, read: within the next fortnight, or perhaps week if you really pester hard), if your paths happen to cross.
- Perhaps the reason everyone works ridiculous hours here – not because of the pace and intensity of the work load – but because of the lack of familiarity with the concept of time management that is generally displayed. A sixty minute introductory session is no barrier to someone who wants to give a forty minute oration touching on everything from our common humanity to the American presidential elections, despite the fact they know that they’ve made a power point presentation that will take at least 45 minutes to go through painstakingly, word for word, and that lunch stops at half past one (can you feel the tension?).
- If I have to watch one more person answer their mobile phone loudly in an inappropriate work context, I think I will do something that probably constitutes a crime (seriously: formal introduction to serious meeting, given by director in rare appearance, mid-speech…)
- Even when you’re clearly in a hurry (the bus you’re supposed to be on is pulling away behind you), shopkeepers will insist on wrapping your purchase in newspaper incredibly tidily, and incredibly neatly tying it with brown string to create a handle for you to transport your goods with greater ease (which is handy, as now you have to sprint an extremely undignified thirty yards to catch up with your departing bus).

I could go on indefinitely. I could, but I won’t. I don’t want to bore you.

Those of you who know me will know that I’m quite fond of organization (to put it mildly), so my frustration at this disorganization may not surprise you too much. But I really am trying my hardest to be chilled out, and to roll with the different cultural norms here in the ‘desh. I really am, honestly. Just don’t use this entry as evidence against me if I am tipped over the edge…