Golden Slippers

As I was walking to the grocery store today I passed a little boy sitting in the dirt on the side of the road. At the end of a particularly grubby pair of pants he was wearing two Benson & Hedges cigarette boxes on his little feet. It was one of those moments when I wasn't quite sure whether to laugh or cry. There was no doubt in his mind, however; he was tapping his cardboard toes together, clack, clack, admiring his golden slippers as happy as a clam.

For the most part, life here is much like life anywhere else in the world. People - myself included - go to work in the morning, they come home in the evening, they spend time with people they care about, they go through life as anyone would. Even the colourful rickshaws eventually blend into the background and represent just what they are: transportation. But at least once in every day (if not 20 or 30 times) there is a sight that wakes me up out of my routine and reminds me of the differences that make Bangladesh...Bangladesh. Today it was a boy wearing golden slippers.

There are so many more sights I want to describe, but unfortunately my work days are longer than ever and my work weeks have swallowed what I used to call weekends. But I'm heading up north for work for 10 days, so perhaps the peace and quiet will help me find time to write a bit more about life here. About the winter season, when business suits are matched with balaclavas and saris with wool cardigans. About the dusty dryness of previously lush landscapes and the striking colours that manage to defy the fine blanket of winter dust: rainbows of recently laundered saris and lungis hanging out to dry, freshly painted rickshaws, blue dresses of young school girls or fluorescent green rice seedlings floating in the dry wake of earlier harvests.

But, enough for the moment. Time to get back to work.