A real partner

Yesterday, as I discussed with T the difficulties he will face when he comes to visit me, I realized just how lucky I am to be with someone who is so open to being a part of my fieldwork. Several years ago, a senior (male) professor in my field complained that it is almost impossible for South Asianists to have good marriages, because no spouse wants to spend their time running around (in this case) Bangladesh. Since then, I’ve seen a few (although, granted, only a few) professors who have been able to manage the distance and the difficulties associated with fieldwork in South Asia.

And honestly, asking anyone else to come visit me for two months in Char Fashion would be almost impossible. Living in Char Fashion is not easy, and you certainly don’t have the most basic amenities. But T is so easy-going and so open to new experiences that I know he will fare well, and I won’t have to constantly worry about his level of comfort. The only thing he may find terribly frustrating is the lack of privacy and ‘alone time,’ but I think his sense of adventure will outweigh that in the short-run.

As we sat and talked about our time together in Bangladesh, I felt so happy knowing that I will be able to share my experiences with him. The feeling of loneliness that has already begun to creep in was temporarily set aside. Sure, it will be tough, but we’ll face it together, at least for those few months that he can stay.

‘The Hungry Tide’

The name of this blog has, of course, a particular meaning for me. When I went to India for my year-long academic program in Bangla, my teachers could not come up with a unique ‘Bangla’ name for me. It was a bit dissatisfying to me, until one of the teachers pointed out that my given name is similar to a Bangla word that comes from Persian and Arabic (and possibly Greek, it appears). Tuphan (the typhoon) is, of course, a strong storm in the Western Pacific and Indian Oceans. I held on to this, even as my teacher remarked that the name really didn’t ‘fit’ me because I’m so calm and quiet (friends and family can debate whether or not this is true!). So I reluctantly gave this as my “bangla name” to my host family, and the father, in true Bengali fashion, replied with a proverb: “Kanacheler nam padmalochen” (the blind boy is named the lotus-eyed). I was thrilled with this explanation, which basically means, ’someone whose name doesn’t describe him/her’.

So there’s ‘tuphan.’ Again, I’ll leave it to those who know me to decide whether or not ‘Tuphani’ really describes me. But the second part, ‘char,’ refers to my fieldwork site, Char Fashion. A char is basically an island created by the silt that runs down the delta into the Bay of Bengal. This particular ‘char’ is now part of a much bigger island that is not likely to be dragged away by the tides any time soon. Bhola Island is quite big, and it has weathered the Bhola Cyclone of 1970, one of the most deadly natural disasters in recorded history (see Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bhola_cyclone).

Lucky for me, most people in Bangladesh use the word ‘jhor(d)’ to describe such storms, or cyclone even. I did not often hear people use the word ‘tuphan.’ My goal is certainly not to speak lightly of the force and destruction of cyclones, so I hope my choice of the less often used ‘tuphan’ will signal its meaning in this context.

Thus, the one named Tuphani comes to the char…

The Months Ahead

I will be starting my fieldwork in October, I hope. But until then, I have plenty of time to plan and get more anxious. I’ve started a box of things to take with me, including pictures of my friends in Char Fashion, business cards, and a small, battery-powered flashlight. I’ve begun to picture in my mind what it will be like to actually live in the village for a long period of time.

When I went in January, it was a bit terrifying; I think I was feeling a lot of pressure to come back with enough ‘data’ in short period of time. I immediately got sick on the second day, after eating firni. My mobile phone didn’t work because it was from Warid, so I couldn’t even stay in touch with S’s parents in Dhaka. I felt bombarded every minute by the sort of growing anxiety of a village community already on the brink–and now pushed further into poverty by the sky-rocketing prices of food (especially rice). I suppose after that experience, I was even more scared that I wouldn’t be able to return to do long-term fieldwork; I worried that maybe I wasn’t up to it like I had thought. But with a bit more preparation and thought, I think that I can handle this experience.

As I accumulate materials for my trip, I am also divesting myself of some of the things that have been a part of my life. I’m selling my car, for example. And honestly, it feels really good.