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Dhaka Day by Day

Customs and Their Men

by Parveen Anam
As that aircraft hovers over the soil of the beloved land and over Dhaka, the- love for the motherland, is overwhelming. The immortal lines' — this is my own. my native land play over and over again in the mind and visions of the rajanigandha. the lovely krtshnachura' trees coupled with the sugary tea and the gos sip. play havoc with the itraiglr.ation. The plane touches the ground, there Is the usual mad, mad rush to get off and ultimately we are all inside the immigration building, passports ready and smile even readier. Now the damper. Actually, the immigration man stamping your passport, is quite alright. If he does not find anything to smile about, life's burden perhaps weigh too heavily on his shoulders. In our magnanimity towards all fellow members of the human race, we are ready to forgive him. Saunter off towards the luggage conveyor, collect your luggage which sometimes takes quite a while to arrive and hurry off to the Green Channel'. Or the channel which says. Nothing to Declare', for those of us who find the word incomprehensible. And incomprehensible it appears because the entire meaning of the word means something else to the powers that be
Just as you are about to enter the area, the servant of the people descend upon you like a ton of bricks. Their very altitude is one of hostility towards all gender and creed. Not so towards the favoured few though. These are the ones, who they have been tipped to favour. They breeze through followed by I be adoring glances of the same customs people, who arc throwing such hostile glances in YOUR direction. PerhTp1 it helps to have people in the right places, you wonder. However, yours is not to wonder why.
Once you have managed to struggle with your case and put it on the concrete slab in front of the custom man. the horror story unfolds. The fact that you have only been away on business, and do not belong to a gold or drug smuggling ring appears to be-of no consequence. The sold purpose of that wonderful little man in his wonderful while little costume, is to make you feel a first class smuggler. By the time he is
through with you, your belief in yourself is bound to be shattered. In accompaniment to the most audacious questions, and even more audacious looks he proceeds to open your case. Gleefully. Then he will proceed to rummage through your belongings, looking for the imaginary bar of gold and heaven knows what else, while you stand helplessly by trying to make . sense of the whole thing. A couple of pointed
hints are dropped as to how It might be easier all round, if you would be gracious enough to slip the convenient little dollar bill into his hands but of course some people still like to think they are above such nasty little habits and you stand steadfastly by your principles. You know you have done no wrong. He thinks otherwise. Your wrong is not gratifying him: your ideals do not permit such obscenity and you are all caught up in a merry-go-round, with you somehow being at the wrong end
At long last, he nebs you for something. The little Barbie Doll you have bought for your five-year old. Ah ha. is the look he gives you and du -tffully taxes you, VAT' and all, thanks to the Ministry of Financial Affairs. Perhaps it would have been cheaper to have bought that doll in Dhaka after all. But she wanted ft. And again you arc left wondering how those great little men in their great little act, ever manage to nab the real smugglers, when all they seem worried about is catching perfectly Innocent looking business executives, returning home after a hectic business trip.' I’erhaps the customs and
ter equip them to judge people, to some extent and stop harassing the innocent in the name of customs duty. The correct word of course should be. customs gratification. Unless the powers that be come up with something better. Which left to themselves, they probably will. While your love for the beloved land does manage to wear thin by the end of the ordeal, it is nonetheless a delight to come home, customs men and all.