Nafisa grew up in Queens NY, got some sort of degree in Ethnic Studies and Political Economy, worked in youth organizing/nonprofit, then moved to Kolkata for a fellowship. Somehow she ended up in Atlanta, getting a masters in development practice. 
I checked the website and they have me down as “working on creating alternative livelihood options for women in Bengal”. Sure. Alright. Let’s hope that shows up on google instead of this blog.
So the symposium has ended, my footage has been collected, I’ve taught at least 5 people the meaning of panicle and tiller, finished writing the mammoth operation manual (seriously folks, pat me on the back), delivered my first workshop in Bangla, can breeze through the variants of stem rott disease (when maggots infest paddy), finished up the big grant aps, and now all I have is to finish the website and submit one more important report. And then? Nothing! Boy, this year has not been very creative. Hahaha. I’m a drone and a good one. It’s okay. (I’m loyal to my NGO, and even my Fellowship, but there’s been no transference of ownership. My investment is complicated.)
Are you reading this?: The restlessness is seeping back. Luckily I’m out of here in .. 38 days and then damn it, I’m going to see Halong Bay and exhibits on the U.S. in Vietnam, I’m going to see the Red Shirts in Bangkok (unfortunately, I bought tickets to Bangkok a long time ago because they were cheap. I’m the last person to swarm to international conflict areas raising some Leftist flag), going to try and meet some Gabriela Party women in Manila, have a real Singapore Sling in Singapore (see, I’m helplessly bourgeois at the end of the day, don’t worry), and then paint paint paint and paint. In August I’ll try to crack open Dhaka. Again. Hah.
Enough crap writing. Here is my new place (Monday I move to the second floor where I’ll live out my days in the most god-awful indulgently Bengali way.. I CAN’T WAIT!! sipping chai and wearing thick glasses and reading crit on my giant balcony. If only my dirty commie friends were here with me.)
How many people dream of having a reading nook like this. and how many people actually have one. God I’m going to be so poor come September.
Right after Greg and Arnav helped me move in. I’ve adopted Arnav, he’s the child that I let live for free on my estate for exchange of sweeping or keeping guard of the gate. It’s the Indian way right? Boo.
Yea, the first floor is Jamini Roy-ified.
PS- it’s really ending! Everyone will be moving out of the city and we’ll all be (it’s already happening) replaced by a new set of fellows, scholars, expats, NGO contract workers or simply, a new hoard of temporary residents demanding Mexican food and affordable cheeses. This city is so small that you can actually have a pulse on the ebb and flow of the expat/student/affluent community. It’ll be pretty sad for a few weeks. I need this balcony life to sustain me until July because I really don’t feel like sucking up to walking pricks who don’t respect women, selfcentered middle-class airheads or creepy “Expat” propers. I’m tired. Can I have some real friends back?
pps- All I want to do is write details and criticise working in the development sector. But I’m resisting. Add this to the list of blog entries that will be deleted in a week.
