WRITERS ABROAD MAGAZINE
'Yes, bottle. You bring bottle. Two bottle.' I was a little taken aback. Since
Bangladesh is a majority Muslim country, alcohol is not openly consumed. It’s rarely
served in Muslim homes, and is not available for purchase apart from in special
warehouses for which foreigners can get a pass.
'Bottle?' I asked.
'Whiskey. Black Label.'
'And Ramadan?' We’re three weeks into the Muslim month of fasting.
During Ramadan, practising Muslims eat nothing all day. They don’t even drink
water. After dusk, they have a copious feast, called an Iftar. Many roadside teashops
close during daylight hours. The few which dare to stay open are hidden behind
black drapes.
‘Ramadan no problem.’
'No bottle,' I said. 'Not allowed.'
'Okay, no problem. You happy, I happy.'
We shook hands. As I left the dingy back room, I spotted two more red bangles
on the counter.
'You like? You take,' Ahmed said.
From the broad grins on all the men, I got t he impression they had clinched an
extremely good deal. But my carpets are exquisite. And so are my bangles. They
happy, I happy.
18 | S e p t 2 0 1 4