Running Out of Gas
I approach the immigration point at Kuala Lumpur Airport. There are the usual signs – 'Malaysians' and 'Foreigners'. What catch my eyes are the separate counters for 'Foreign Workers' and 'Expats'. Hmmm – what really is the difference between the last two? I find the answer as a middle-aged, blazer clad, freshly business-class-disgorged Western gentleman lines up at the latter while an army of my fellow compatriots, many with petrified eyes, at the former. But please do not take this as a clever ploy to distinguish between the colors of passports, let alone those of the skin – it's merely to separate the colors of the collar.
But my two shows at KL's upscale LOL Comedy Club are a far cry from any stereotypes as I, the 'Foreigner', open up with the line to the all 'Malaysian' and 'Expat' crowd: "Now, you have another reason to have Bangladeshis here – to make you laugh."
Thunderous applause as I direct the claps to the staff, majority of them 'Foreign Workers': "Give them a huge round of applause. Oh, and tip them well, you cheap bast**ds!"
All said in jest, with the carte blanche of a comedian. The same crowd turns sideways and applauds the young kids from Comilla, Tangail and Khulna.
After the show, a Malaysian business owner shakes my hand and goes on to say how great his Bangladeshi employees are – well behaved, professional and most of all, loyal. I can vouch for the last two – it's called 'visa'. The love is also from the fact that the boy from Chapai will happily work longer hours for a fraction of what a Bhumiputra demands without jumping ship.
The picture is not too different in Singapore. While thousands of Bangladeshis are there to build that nation with their blood and sweat, I am there to help build an already budding comedy scene in this perfect country. Well, almost perfect, minus the weather for which Singapore should offer a 'sunshine tax break' (just as the high cost of living in California is attributed to the 'sunshine tax').
I go to the Mustafa area in Singapore on Sunday. Gulistan looks like a barren Sahara Desert compared to the sea of Bangladeshi workers on their only day off (if at all). I strike up a conversation with a group only to be greeted with suspicion. One finally blurts out, "Are you an undercover agent spying on us?" For a moment I picture myself getting off of an Aston Martin to be flanked by a Malaysian and a Singaporean beauty on either side.
Back to reality. "I'm a comedian." Of course, the immediate question, "Tell us a joke." Just like I tell a doctor, "Do a vasectomy operation right now."
Convinced, they treat me to jhaal moori. I give them two thanks – for the treat and for the remittance. Oh and a silent apology – for losing $81 million, part of which I'm sure they earned…
A pure coincidence that my mom's email account is hacked (the low tech kind) as I get her SOS email from being "stuck in the Philippines and needing money urgently". I email back to her (real) account: "Fret not. Go to Rizal Commercial Banking Company."
Wonder if I will get another hate mail from a disgruntled reader of Humorously Yours who tells me I'm running out of gas. True that. Better than my life cylinders running out of gas. After all, we are rapidly running out of safe topics. Besides, it's not only my email, but my photo accompanies my column too.
The writer is an engineer at Ford & Qualcomm USA and CEO of IBM & Nokia Siemens Networks Bangladesh turned comedian (by choice), the host of ABC Radio's Good Morning Bangladesh and the founder of Naveed's Comedy Club. E-mail: [email protected]
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