An evening in the company of a bitter man isn’t an easy prospect. And make no mistake, our old colleague T. is both bitter and angry. But his eyes shine with a fierce intelligence and his stance is shot through with a defiant pride, so on such an evening at least you’re never bored.

We find ourselves in his little house on the campus of a provincial teacher training college. The walls have been painted police-light blue – a forbidding shade which somehow makes them close in. A glimpse into other rooms offers a marginally less gloomy vista: there the walls are moss green, with dark patches of damp. A light bulb hanging from the ceiling stutters weakly. The furniture is basic, a few scattered cane chairs and a simple table, and the only decorations on the wall are family pictures, just slightly askew, and a calendar. You will always find a calendar, it seems, in a Bangladeshi living room. Are we all counting the days here?

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