How can one live this way?

My Migrant Soul

Bangladesh, 2000

Colour, Beta-SP/PAL, 35′

Bengali, Direction: Yasmine Kabir

A young Bangladeshi man, he lived with his mother and sister in a modest house. A chance meeting with an acquaintance on a rickshaw, and then the fateful question, do you do anything? "Not really… sometimes I write for the papers… sing, tutor." How much do you earn? "Three or four thousand Taka a month. My mother takes in some sewing." I work for a recruitment agency. If you work abroad, you will be able to bring back money. This is how it began, according to the documentary My Migrant Soul. The idea cannot have been alien to Babu. In 1993, the year this conversation took place and Babu decided to go to Malaysia, over 240,000 Bangladeshis went to work abroad. But although he must have been aware of the possibility, for some reason Babu had not considered it until then. He decided he wanted to go. Again, some fairly commonplace things happened. In order to go, Babu needed to raise money for his passage and for the agency, Paradise International Travels, to arrange a job and the necessary papers. It might be fair to say that if Babu had this money—it varies between $500 and $1,500 in South Asia—chances are, he would not have needed to go abroad to work in the first place. So people who want to, or need to, work abroad, in the Gulf, in Malaysia or in Japan, borrow, sell kidneys, or mortgage their tiny dwellings. Babu was lucky. His mother had some land that she sold. The day came for Babu to leave, and the young man, aware that it might be some time before he came back, did not eat the rich meal his mother had prepared, but asked instead for his "national dish"— fermented rice, onions and green chillies. Babu took the rickshaw to the agency from where he would be taken to the airport, telling his cousin, "I'm going abroad. If I live, I'll write the history of my travels. In Malaysia, I will write a poem about it. I've eaten the national dish and I'm taking the national vehicle." Babu's mother, sister and little niece tell us all this. This was the last time they saw him. For about two years after he left, Babu communicated with them through letters and occasionally, tapes that he made for them, talking and singing. Initially, he even sent photographs that show a happy young man with some friends— they are all dressed in bright, clean clothes and the pictures resemble tourist shots. Over these, his sister talks about how she saw Babu boarding his flight with other workers from the agency, waving his handkerchief and wiping his eyes.