Hartal = No Jilapi

Some high-up Awami Leaguer died in a bomb blast, so the Awami League has called a 60-hour non-stop hartal. It’s been a pretty violent one, so that means I’m “bashai-bound”. Tonight we decided to sneak out for a little bit (mom, if you’re scared, do not read any further) because I was hungry for jilapi. Maya, double-Masud (my hubby and Maya’s hubby have the same name), and I got to the end of our road and were standing on the sidewalk when all of a sudden there was yelling and running. A little mini-riot had apparently broken out. I was oblivious but my Masud completely freaked out. He shoved me into the closest store for safety. His concern was valid but fortunately nothing happened, except that my ankle got a little twisted from his over zealous shove. In short, I didn’t get my jilapi.

It’s probably a good thing, because I think I can blame my most recent stomach troubles on the jilapi-fest I had over Eid. For those who don’t know, jilapi is like a funnel cake – fried and then soaked in syrup. And, yes, they are very, very tasty.
We’re in the process of dismantling things and putting my copious amounts of books into boxes so that we can make the move to Dhaka on the 4th. I’m looking forward to it, but moving always sucks.