Sharing Moves, Changing Lives: Shaking Up - and Being Shaken By - the Desh’s Dancefloor
on From Banglatown to Bangladesh (Bangladesh), 20/Mar/2009 18:18, 34 days ago
Despite having its own Facebook group dedicated to the cause (aptly named DHAKA NIGHTLIFE, capital letters theirs), Dhaka– with its generally conservative culture, ban on the alcoholic and often disapproving attitudes towards mingling between members of the opposite sex – may not seem the best place for a big night out. Yet while Khagrachari, my little home in the hills, does offer its own unique and very specialforms of festivities (see Bangla Birthday post below), it’s to the capital I must come if I crave the thrills of a party that finishes after 10pm.In my time here so far, I’ve encountered three types of Dhaka nightlife. The first, and most common, generally involves lovely evenings in Dhaka-based VSO volunteers’ flats, with good food, good company, and beers bought from a duty-free shop only open to foreigners. Being the diverse bunch we are, these parties are always multicultural affairs. Filipino-hosted parties provide fabulous food and – to my horror – karaoke. We British volunteers are not quite so organised on the food front, often resorting to last-minute ordering of a selection of fried snacks at various local street stalls. However, true toour reputation, we are quite adept at ensuring alcohol is plentiful, and have introduced a variety of drinking games to the world of VSO-Bangladesh parties. My African colleagues not only ensure that everyone is eating and drinking, but also bring the bonus (or challenge, depending on your skill level) of amazing dancing to our Deshi festivities. While the dancing styles are a world away from the east London emphasis on pouting and posing I was used to, I am gradually learning to overcome my fears, and attempt actual movement in places where other people actually see me.The second type of party takes place at the BAGHA club: Dhaka’s home-from-home for British ex-pats. In Dhaka’s poshest area, the BAGHA includes squash and tennis courts, a swimming pool, and – importantly – the availability of gin and tonics. To many an ex-pat it is Dhaka's own Shangri-la, allowing a moment of utopia away from traffic noise and grime, and the opportunity to replace one's ca (tea) and orna (scarf) with rather more risqué Western drinks and dress. BAGHA parties include their own notable dancing sights, all of which are very far away from the images outside the club's doors: teenage girls in hotpants and guys in baggy jeans halfway down their asses grinding to 'Gasolina', white-haired old men trying their own moves on said hotpant-clad women,and the type of awkward dancing that looks straight from the end of an office Christmas party. While its clientèle can include rather dislikeable characters, and its atmosphere canconjure up some uncomfortable colonial connotations, the quiet, the British food, and the gin and tonics it offers are things I increasingly appreciate the longer I spend here.The third type of party is the most rare, and the most bizarre. While I can count on one hand the number of times I had entered five-star hotels in my life pre-Bangladesh, in the last five months I have been to two parties at two of Dhaka's luxury hotels. Attended by a scattering of ex-pats and many more very wealthy Bangladeshis (by far the majority men), the first of these featured Lisa Loud from Ministry of Sound, and took place in the same type of bland hotel function room I remember from my school prom, despite the opulent extravagance of the hotel itself. The second party was more of an ex-pat affair, and more luxurious: on a hotel rooftop overlooking the Dhaka skyline, complete with swimming pool, shisha, sofa-beds, and– importantly in these days of living on a volunteer allowance - complimentary cocktails.Despite the skills of my African companions at the second hotel party, it was our very own British dancing at the first that really shook things up. Fed up with being crowded by middle-aged Bangladeshi men, but having noticed that they seemed to be mimicking our dancing styles, we introduced two special moves that should be very well-known to my UK audience. The first, mainly common these days only amongst 'ironic' ravers, was 'Big Fish, Little Fish, Cardboard Box', the hand movements of which were enthusiastically copied by our unwanted companions. The second, known to anyone who made it to nursery school, was 'Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes'. Much to our amusement, again these elite, suit-clad men followed, touching their head, their shoulders, their knees, and then their toes, as they lived it large to Lisa Loud.Each of these types of parties offer their own particular brand of benefits. What they all offer is entry into worlds far away from that I am used to in the CHT. While I feel privileged to be able to skim the surfaces of these different sides of the Desh, I have realised that I cannot reconcile their conflicting co-existence. And even though I now feel more at home sipping rice wine in the hills than I do sampling cocktails in a posh hotel, I have also realised the importance of that occasional Shangri-la moment: to dance, to drink, to forget the contradictions. And if that involves bringing Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes to the Dhaka massive, so much the better.