eLeCtRiKbLuEs

What matters…

by on Apr.15, 2012, under random

…is that I didn’t give up writing, but that I still think about writing here, extensively.

A thousand unfinished drafts fester on some device or the other, forgotten and incomplete. Each the essence of an idea, initiated but forgotten. In the midst of them all lie stories without a second chapter, political analyses without a clear answer, jokes without a punchline. And so they are fated to remain, unclaimed and incomplete.

Who’s to blame this time? Work, studies, family? Or the constant procrastination that is a hallmark of my life? Maybe a combination?

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about creativity – what nourishes it, and what saps it. It’s been years since I wrote a single song – the act of picking up a guitar for that purpose somehow transforms into a few lonely strums, and even if I find a pattern I like it is confined to the nether realms of my brain, quickly forgotten. Even recording doesn’t help.

Perhaps creativity is contingent on a particular state of mind. One that is limited in quantity and is easily exhausted by the day long work grind – “Make it more concise,” they tell me. “Sharper, stronger, more succinct, more powerful…” Or maybe it withers after carving through yet another set of PowerPoint slides, trying to figure out how to convert a wall of text into a simple yet powerful graphic. Or maybe it diminishes without practice, or due to stress, or because of the effort it takes to navigate through the increasingly dense urban jungle. Or maybe it perishes on the altar of responsibility – that bewitching ambrosia that is more addictive than any narcotic known to man.

As you may have heard, Violet Smoke is no more. Careers and family have transported each of us to distant corners of the world, and Skype is no substitute for the pleasure of sitting together, face to face, playing a few chords and seeing where we go from there. I’ve been trying out a few new bands – but that drive to create, to entertain, to lose myself in the music I create, and to make music that is fundamentally about me – all that is gone.

And so I look back fondly upon a time, just five years ago, when we were at our most creative and most prolific. We would churn out songs by the dozen, and somehow we knew just what words would fit the song. We weren’t afraid to try new things – adjusting songs recorded with instruments to an intimate stage ensemble is no easy task. Yet we were always in sync, knowing just when to transition into the next verse or chorus.

My writing followed a similar trajectory, it seems. Prolific at first, propelling me to some uncertain renown, and then disappearing just as quickly. It wasn’t writer’s block – it was a tap shutting off, with not even a drip remaining behind.

I might not have control over other band members, but I do have control over my writing. After all, it isn’t only a few words to me – it is catharsis. And so today, the dawn of the Bengali year 1419, I think it is time to brush off those frayed neurons, uncover that dormant creativity, and let loose once again.

No more drafts hidden away in the dingy dark corners of the internet.

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a brief letter

by on May.27, 2011, under desh

hello there, old friend.

it’s been a while since i last saw you.

actually, that might not be the whole truth. i thought i caught a glimpse of you today, just briefly, almost hidden between an under-construction skyscraper and a large garments factory. i could have been mistaken – the traffic had just let up, and my cng was trying its best to squeeze through impossibly tiny gaps between a wall of cars. i thought i saw you from the corner of my eye, but by the time i realized what i was seeing, we’d zoomed through already, and you were gone again.

how have you been? i wonder whether you look the same. do you still turn dark gray just before you weep? do you still let flashes of rage rumble across your countenance when you are angry? do you still glow in the light of the sun when it’s pleasant outside?

most of what i remember of you are stolen glances, incidental memories of you etched in my mind. in these pictures you’re hidden in the background of some significant life event – a picnic, perhaps, or a day at the beach. i still have a few actual pictures of you stored in my laptop as well – though when i look at them, you’re seldom the first thing i notice. you have this amazing ability to be in the background, just hanging there, as inconspicuous as ever, while i tried to capture other more significant moments in time or more significant people. but when i turn off the laptop, i realize just how important you really are.

i’m sure you know i miss you. how? just look at the number of pictures i took on vacations in which you appear. maybe that’s why, whenever i do go on these vacations, all i can take pictures of is you.

i really wish i could see you more often, you know? until recently, i could sit on my verandah in the evenings, gazing out towards you, catching a brief glimpse when you lit up in joy or anger. now a thirteen-storied monolith rises from the ground in front of the verandah, and cuts off my view. i’ve tried to find some other angle from which to drink you in, but alas, you’re nowhere to be found.

you used to seem so close, so near, once upon a time. are you still the same? our meetings are so few and far in between, generally only when i leave the country, that every single time i do see you in all your glory, you seem farther and farther away. is it true? are you really pulling away from me? is it because i don’t get to see you as often as i used to?

i can’t control the walls that are rising up between us. i wish i could tear them down, start all over again with a fresh, clean slate, and admire you the way i once did – but maybe that’s the problem! maybe you’re angry that i – heck, nobody – valued you while you were still around. is that why you’ve been weeping almost continuously these past few days?

you know that i’ve never forgotten one thing: our own little secret place – the roof? remember those foggy winter afternoons, when you kept watch over me while i played? or how about those quiet evenings when i sat there, basking in your glow? back in those days, we’d spend hours with each other, with me admiring every single facet of your face. i know i haven’t been up there in years – maybe it’s time i went up there again. after all, that’s where these walls we’ve put up between us cease to tower, and there are no monoliths that can prevent me from drinking you in.

i’m off to europe next month for a week. i’m looking forward to seeing you then, spending days and nights with you, basking in your cold embrace, admiring every single facet of you, until i’m once again wrenched back to this state of forced separation and this compulsory distance we must maintain.

i’m sick of hiding behind these walls, sick of being prevented from watching you. i’m sick of your absence – it doesn’t make our hearts grow stronger, rather it weakens our resolve and determination. i’m angrier, unhappier and sadder because i don’t get to see you as much as i would like. and so are the people around me. please shine your light back in to my life, and forgive me for my veiled and hidden existence.

i can’t wait till i get to see you again.

love,

your friend

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thrusting into oblivion

by on Nov.01, 2010, under policy?

the government likes to call it “prioritizing thrust sectors”. donors prefer “diversifying the export basket”. by whichever name you call it, the fundamental issue is the same: everyone agrees that bangladesh needs to start exporting some product or the other that isn’t garments (or manpower, for that matter). bangladesh also needs to start creating millions of jobs – with the population edging towards 165 million, most of whom are young, a massive social crisis may just be around the corner.

and so, every five years or so, the government unveils a new industrial policy. the policy sets out a group of “thrust sectors”, which, despite the suggestive name, are theoretically the sectors that the government believes have the strongest investment potential, and in which bangladesh has a comparative advantage. information technology and pharmaceuticals are some of the usual suspects, whereas others, like shrimp and ship-building, make random guest appearances on the list. this year’s list includes the following:

  1. agro-products, food and agro-business
  2. manpower export
  3. ship building and environmentally friendly ship-breaking
  4. renewable energy
  5. tourism
  6. basic chemicals, paint and chemical products
  7. ict products and services
  8. garments
  9. active pharmaceutical ingredients and radio pharmaceuticals
  10. homeopathic medicines
  11. polymer production
  12. jute
  13. leather and hides
  14. hospitals and clinics
  15. automobiles
  16. plastics
  17. furniture
  18. handicrafts
  19. energy efficient appliances/electronics/electronic materials
  20. frozen fish
  21. tea
  22. home textiles
  23. ceramics
  24. tissue grafting and biotechnology
  25. jewelry
  26. toys
  27. container services
  28. warehouses
  29. new innovative and import substituting industries
  30. cosmetics and toiletries
  31. light engineering

the launch of new industrial policies is accompanied by a series of fervently organized seminars and workshops, but the vast majority of the debate centers not on the logic or premise behind the selection of these particular sectors, but rather the future of the state-owned enterprises or what to do about “sick industries” (which, frankly, is often the same debate).

once these sectors are defined and meekly accepted, the next step is often the introduction of a package of incentives for these businesses. the package generally takes the form of a tax holiday of some sort, or removal of duties on certain raw materials. the problem is, since these sectors are defined generally by political will or traditionalist thinking rather than by some level of public consultations, the incentive package turns out to be quite ineffective.

for example, recent research i came across indicates that while solar panels (thrust sector #3) can be imported with low or no duties, one of the fundamental problems is the import duty levied on other necessary components. most importantly, solar panel importers who want to supply the technology are forced to buy or import batteries at high tax or duty rates, thereby driving up their own costs. without the battery, a solar panel is useless – the power it generates throughout the day cannot be stored anywhere and is essentially lost. since our national grid does not currently allow us to sell excess power back to it, the benefits of solar power are lost without the use of a battery. so solar panel distributors (and therefore the users) have to knuckle down to quite high costs to pay for the already-expensive panel and the unnecessarily-expensive battery.

obviously, high prices are a major deterrent to greater adoption of solar power, and so solar power remains the bastion of either very remote areas with no national grid access (serviced by ngos at subsidized rates), or the domain of the very rich and environmentally-conscious (which effectively means nobody). oh, and the government itself. but the enormous and growing middle class in dhaka – the biggest consumer group – remains aloof from the potential of solar power.

of course, i’m not insinuating that making these batteries tax-free will lead to a drastic drop in the price of solar panels. solar panels themselves represent the lion’s share of the high set-up cost associated with using solar power, and are quite expensive to begin with. my point, instead, is that if the government talked to business before coming up with the list and the incentive packages, they would have known that one of the major constraints currently affecting the sector is this high tax on batteries. therefore, the incentives package that was designed for the sector should have included something along these lines.

this myopic approach plagues many of the other sectors as well. the tourism industry is frustrated with the frequent change in tourism secretaries, and the overwhelmingly negative attitude of those who occupy this position. the pharmaceutical industry has been lobbying for an industrial park to produce their own active ingredients, with a view to reducing imports and prices, for the better part of the last six years. export-oriented it companies are still unable to legally earn or have foreign currency paid into their local accounts in exchange for their services. and why, precisely, would a biotechnology company set up in bangladesh?

so instead of just declaring thrust sectors in policy and hastily assembling a tax holiday package, the government should talk to the industry, see what their problems are and figure out a way to solve these problems, if their objective is to realize the full potential of these sectors. this requires a detailed understanding of the sector, its value chains, its players and its potential markets, which sadly is beyond the current ability of most of the ministry of industry. but there are plenty of people around who can tell them these things: they just need to be willing to listen. also, understanding the sector well would mean that they’d be better able to make sure the sectors do succeed in reality, both in creating jobs and even diversifying exports.

thankfully, the government has five more years to figure these things out before they have to compile the next set of…umm…sectors in which to trust. and that’s more than enough time to learn.

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