MASUM was standing in the dusky evening with his rickshaw at the corner of East West University waiting for his next passenger. The hustle and bustle of the campus environment had died down somewhat and only a few rickshaws were roaming around looking for passengers. Seeing Masum, especially his age and physique, I was a bit hesitant to clamber aboard his rickshaw. But something inside me egged me on toward this diminutive, lanky, and timid child. I asked whether he'd take me to Gulshan-1 and he readily acquiesced. As usual, since the trip took about five minutes, I began to chat with him.

Masum was fourteen and studied up to class seven at a school somewhere in Mohakhali but gave up studies because "poshay na" (he cannot afford it). His father had passed away some time ago and he was left with a mother who had recently fallen ill. The task of feeding himself and his mother, naturally, fell on the little shoulders of this otherwise giant-at-heart, whose sole concern seemed to be to stand by his mother in her hour of need as she must have stood by him with all she had to offer when he needed her.

I asked how much he paid as joma (rickshaw rent). He replied "Tk.30 (50 cents) for half the day or Tk.50 for the full day": That day he had the rickshaw for the full day. When I asked how much he had made till then, he replied with a tired smile that he had Tk.10 after joma. He would try to get another Tk.30-40 and head home with two kilos of rice to share with his mother. And how did he feel about his present situation? "We are little people and very poor; feelings have no place in our lives" he volunteered.

Given the short distance from the university, I arrived at my destination and our brief conversation ended, although I wished that it would go on a bit more. I asked him how much I should pay, to which he replied "Apni ja diben" (whatever you please). I pressed

him once more "how much?" and he only smiled weakly, surrendering to my will and, hopefully, to my kindness. I had already made up my mind beforehand to do my good deed for the day, so I handed him a Tk.100 note and asked him to get something special for his mother (as many of us do for our mothers and because, at that moment, his mother symbolised the universal mother).

For a brief moment he seemed stunned, his face revealing a multi-

tude of emotions. I will never know what went through Masum's mind but I believe what I saw in his eyes was bewilderment, the disbelief of getting something way beyond anticipation, a grin of sheer gratitude, and a sense of untrammeled joy at what he must have already been thinking of doing with this little boon. Boon, did I say? That's what it appeared from his demeanor, although I'll never know. But the very next moment caught me by surprise as he went straight for my feet that I was only able to avert by sheer reflex action. My feet? For so little that to him was so much?

As I helped him up, a zillion emotions came from nowhere and overcame me. I wanted to say something to him but I couldn't as I felt a lump in my throat. So I gave him a smile and a nod and walked away. When I turned briefly after going some distance into the parking area, Masum was gone; his child-like face a memory. But in that brief interlude he had reached deep into my soul from where he dredged up many thoughts, dispa-

rate and diverse, and yet connected in many ways:

I thought of my children and thanked God for what they have, vowing not to complain for what they don't.

* I thought of my ailing mother and how much she likes having us around, and I promised to be around her even more as she courageously battles the ravages of kidney failure.

I thought of the warm food awaiting me, while Masum's

mother must have been waiting for her son to reach home: Food was not guaranteed though.

I thought of the daily struggles of countless other Masums, while vultures preyed on them relentlessly. Perhaps he has to pay the local thug or godfather a share of his day's earnings for being given the nod to pull a rickshaw -- part of that share, perhaps, going to the local politician who must raise party funds. Perhaps a policeman. NO, I pray!

* I wondered if I would see him again so that I could give him more than what I gave him the other day. But the very next moment I thought of all the other Masums who needed help too. How was I to help so many of them? Perhaps we could form a group, a gigantic group, raise funds, and help the Masums enjoy their childhoods and stand on their feet like the Ryans and Joes in the west playing soccer and baseball to their heart's delight while Masum battled the odds. Perhaps with such a group we could put the politicians, the government officials, and develop-

ment organisations to shame for their failures in giving Masum his rightful share of life. But forming such groups would require an enlightened society with a philanthropic bent, something that is practiced by a mere few individuals across this country but missing on a wider scale for various reasons, both local and international. I can hear the taunt of those who have, for years, failed Masum singing to me "dream on"!

* I thought of a recent meeting

with a UN agency Representative who had come with a group in seeming disarray, claiming how they were having difficulty in identifying the poor. Identifying the poor? In Bangladesh? Yes, ask the government or the development partners...they'll tell you they are unable to find the poor! And their official documents are filled with phrases such as propoor strategies! I should have screamed at them to stop this sham. But what good would that do except fall on deaf ears as these "so called" poverty warriors plan their vacations, targeting the beaches and fun capitals of the world, to nurture their tattered bodies, destroyed by the relentless pace of air-conditioned life, globe-trotting first-class travel, the sumptuous meals at the best hotels after listening to their selectively chosen, and often boring, conference presenters, and the fat paychecks at the end of the month that buy them all the glitter of the world. Poverty warriors? Hah!

* I thought of an expatriate consultant and his buddy-boss I

met recently, urging a certain ministry to undertake several more studies to identify the poor and conduct related research so that more of his compatriots could come to this God-forsaken country and plunder more of the development aid that the tax-payer in his country willingly gives but does not know how it is being used. And if any of you want access to this research, which I doubt you'll have, check out the unkempt stacks in the office floors of the development partners and the government

officials as they negotiate the next foreign trip, the extended study tour, or the expected consultancies behind the study while Masum struggles on, his expectations barely sixty cents a day to sustain himself and his mother. I hope and pray that Masum does not fall sick because over 4,000 health care centres built for him have no medicines: The result of procurement policies of an international agency and the ineptitude of related others.

* I thought of the government officials in various capacities, officious in their mannerisms, gruff in their demeanor, contorted in their communications, uncharitable with their time and influence, and hollow to the core, delivering little other than anguish and suffering to their fellow citizens while they compete with each other for the biggest office, the newest car, the latest computer, the most-featured cell-phone, and other facilities they are unworthy of while Masum wonders whether he will have the same rickshaw tomorrow and, ultimately, the needed

rice at the end of the day.

* I thought of the corrupt politicians who have done so little for this country over the past 33 years, especially for Masum. Steeped in selfglory and self-aggrandisement, they continue to play their party games, subordinating the nation, and oblivious to the rising outrage emanating from the disenfranchised people they are supposed to lead. I wondered whether the really corrupt ones (there are many shades) would ever have to answer to the nation. But doubts fill me, because they don't move alone; they involve all who matter so that their house of cards is held together by the concrete of corruption.

* I wondered when we would have true leaders and friends at all levels who would wipe the tears and lighten the burdens of the likes of Masum. Unfortunately, they are far away from this toiling child. They have never taken a rickshaw ride with him, seen his strenuous efforts, or heard his story.

Thank you Masum! You have deepened my power of introspection in that brief interlude and made me think of so many things. You have given me more meaning to my journey through life than many of my teachers as I still struggle with countless questions: who am I, why am I here, and what am I supposed to accomplish? I pray that those who can help you more, much more, would deepen their power of introspection and realise that theirs is a brief sojourn in this unjust world they have created and that the real Accountant awaits them when the journey is over: The balance sheet must balance! And if this realisation dawns, using their free will, I hope they'll enable God's grace to reach you through the dark corridors of their power, lust, and greed. This is my prayer for you for 2004. If it is answered, I certainly hope to see your glorious smile one day, football in hand and brightened by your lightened burden.

Dr. Syed Saad Andaleeb is Professor and Programme Chair of Marketing at the Sam and Irene Black School of Business, Pennsylvania State University at Erie, Editor of the Journal of Bangladesh Studies, and a Fulbright Scholar at East West University.