Lokkhi Terra and The Che Guevara's Rickshaw Diaries

2012 began with Lokkhi Terra performing at Drik. The group has performed all around the world at venues such as Ronnie Scotts, Royal Albert Hall, Royal Festival Hall, the House of Commons, Glastonbury and at Womad.? They were one of the critics? choices at this year?s Womad festival in the UK, and was the band chosen to perform at the closing ceremony of the South Asian Games 2010.
Lokkhi Terra?s two albums?No Visa Required,?and?Che Guevara?s Rickshaw Diaries, received much critical acclaim around the world.

Photo Of Lokkhi Terra

From?Bangladesh,?Cuba,?Turkey,?United Kingdom
Open-eared and well-travelled world/jazz fusion
The music of Lokkhi Terra isn’t for those who don’t travel well, while those with strong wanderlust in their bones are advised to strap themselves in. The sound of this London-based, multi-membered collective zigzags all over the map. Their point of departure appears to be jazz fusion, but from here they touch down in the streets of Bangladesh, the Afrobeat clubs of Nigeria, the cantinas of Cuba and the beaches of Brazil. Such eclecticism might suggest a disjointed jumble, a sound dreamed up by committee. But in Lokkhi Terra’s care, it all makes utter and perfect sense, a seamless collage of some of the best noises this planet’s ever made. And they’re a bunch keen on album titles that sum up their modus operandi. Last year’s No Visa Required emphasised their border-busting sound, while their forthcoming record also gives a hint of their influences and inspirations: it’s called Che Guevara’s Rickshaw Diaries.
(Biography written by Nige Tassell 2011)
They have all performed around the world at venues such as Ronnie Scotts, Royal Albert Hall, Royal Festival Hall, the House of Commons, Glastonbury and at Womad.? They were one of the critics? choices at this year?s Womad festival in the UK, and was the band chosen to perform at the closing ceremony of the South Asian Games 2010.
Lokkhi Terra?s two albums?No Visa Required,?and?Che Guevara?s Rickshaw Diaries, received much critical acclaim around the world.
The combined sonic forces usually transform a quiet room into one which has people clapping and swaying within minutes and Khan is hoping for a similar reaction in India. Times of India.
Lokkhi Terra will be playing?23rd of January at Blue Frog Delhi and on the 24th January at Blue Frog Mumbai.
Lokkhi Terra is led by the Bangladeshi Kishon Khan

Kisho Khan
Kisho Khan?Pianist/Composer/Arranger/Producer

Here is what people have said about him:
?Kishon Khan leant back from his keyboards with the glee of a man driving a super-car, and played as if distilling the entire 1970s work of Herbie Hancock into a high-octane drive in the country, as congas bounced and brass slid around him…? FT.com
?A formidable jazz pianist? Simon Broughton, Evening Standard
? Highly innovative, a key figure in the British Bangla-Afro-Cuban-Jazz circle? Agogo Records
?Exceptional? ? Movimientos
Kishon Khan is a classically trained pianist, born in Bangladesh, and brought up and living in London. He is widely regarded as one of the most versatile players on the scene today ? sessioning across the genres whilst also being at the heart of some of London?s most critically acclaimed bands. He has lived, studied and worked in countries a far afield as Cuba, Brazil, South Africa, and of course Bangladesh, and this is reflected in the diversity of his musical works/collaborations.
Lokkhi Terra is developing the theme music for Chobi Mela VII, the international festival of photography, held in Dhaka.
The year sadly ended with the attack at Ramu, the devastating fire at Tazreen Fashions and the brutal assassination in broad daylight of Biswajit Das. While both parties wax lyrical on their successes at the talk shows, the real heroes of Bangladesh continue to be the farmer in the field, the migrant workers and the garment workers who pay for the lavish lifestyles of the Tri State residents of Gulshan, Baridhara and Banani. Let’s take time to remember some of the other Bangladeshis who have made us proud. Some of them young like the choreographer Akram Khan and the writer Tahmima Anam the cricketer Shakib Al Hasan, the educationist Salman Khan and others more senior like the elephant in the room whom we are not allowed to mention, Muhammad Yunus.
Please Retweet #bangladesh #muhammadyunus #tahminaanam #akramkhan #shakibalhasan #salm


Source:?Concrete Playground Brisbane


The Olympic Games bring nations together in a worldwide contest of sport and competition. But the Olympics do much more than this too by providing an arena for remarkable triumphs, terrible failures, true perseverance and utter determination. Even through devastating wars, ongoing global conflicts, drastic terrorism acts and natural disasters, nations of the world have managed to unite (almost) every four years for over a century in a demonstration of friendly competition and unity. Continue reading “THE MOST SPECTACULAR PHOTOGRAPHS IN OLYMPIC GAMES HISTORY”

Anyone who now thinks Britain is too multicultural?

The anti-immigration squad must have found Golden Saturday a bit awkward

Yasmin Alibhai-Brown
Sunday 05 August 2012
Union Jack, Britain, Flag, Olympics
Jesus! More multicultural crap! More bleedin’ foreigners winning our medals! Even cheering with indecent enthusiasm for Team GB! Who the hell do they think they are? And what the hell happened to this great nation? Tory MP Aidan Burley, an immigrant from New Zealand, dissed Danny Boyle’s inclusive opening ceremony in a tweet. By now he must be spitting his (probably whitened) teeth. So too the risible journos who’ve been whinging about “plastic Brits” in the team, an obnoxious term invented for competitors not born in the UK. Like the South African Zola Budd, a white athlete who, during Apartheid, was given British nationality so she could run for Britain. The Daily Mail made it all happen for that “plastic Brit”. But today intolerant right-wingers question the motives of non-indigenous sportspeople and are furious they have been chosen to represent the UK. Continue reading “Anyone who now thinks Britain is too multicultural?”

Art as a Witness


Shahidul Alam to speak at the Colombo Art Biennial : Art as a Witness

Amu Shahidul 2010?Yasmine Eid-Sabbagh

An extraordinary artist ? eloquent with words and images ? Shahidul Alam is a photographer, writer, activist and social entrepreneur, who was profoundly influenced by inequality in Bangladesh, his country and the liberation war.  He left a career in science in the west to pursue a life in photography challenging oppression and imperialism in all its forms. Attacked, arrested, and threatened with death, Alam has built what many consider to be the finest photography school in the world, an award winning agency, and the world?s most demographically diverse photo festival. Widely celebrated, Alam claims as his achievements not the awards he has won or the impressive list of exhibits, but the people he has trained and the lives he has transformed. Continue reading “Art as a Witness”

Taking Beitar to task: Mohammed Ghadir

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Striker Mohammed Ghadir puts Israeli anti-racism to the test

By James M. Dorsey

Maccabi Haifa striker Mohammed Ghadir believes that he and Beitar Jerusalem, the bad boy of Israeli soccer, are a perfect match.
“I am well suited to Beitar, and that team would fit me like a glove. I have no qualms about moving to play for them,” Mr. Ghadir is quoted by Israeli daily Ha?aretz as saying. Beitar has a large squad, a significant fan base, wide media coverge and lacks talented strikers, he says.
There is only one hitch: Beitar doesn?t want Mr. Ghadir. Not because he?s not an upcoming star and not because they wouldn?t need a player like Mr. Ghadir but because the striker is an Israeli Palestinian. “Our team and our fans are still not ready for an Arab soccer player,” Ha?aretz quotes Beitar?s management as saying. The club prides itself on being the only top league Israeli club to have never hired a Palestinian player in a country whose population is for 20 per cent Palestinian and in which Palestinians play important roles in most other top league teams. Continue reading “Taking Beitar to task: Mohammed Ghadir”

ICC World Cup Opening Ceremony

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Photos by K M Asad/Drik/Majority World

Colourful performances highlighting the cultures of India, Sri Lanka and the host country Bangladesh enthralled the audience of the opening ceremony of ICC Cricket World Cup 2011, in Bangandhu National Stadium, Dhaka, Bangladesh, on 17th February 2011. For the first time in its history Bangladesh hosted the opening ceremony of World Cup Cricket. The 10th Cricket World Cup will be jointly held in Bangladesh, Sri Lanka and India.

All photographs copyrighted.

? K. M. Asad/Drik/Majority World

??K. M. Asad/Drik/Majority World

? K. M. Asad/Drik/Majority World

? K. M. Asad/Drik/Majority World

Cricket in a time of scarce land

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By Khademul Islam

Dhaka’s heart beats for the game, but the city is fast running out of one vital ingredient

It is the 15th of August in Dhaka, a national holiday, a day of mourning for the Father of the Nation, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, slain in a military putsch on this day back in 1975. I sit on my fourth-floor verandah in the residential area of Dhanmondi. It is also the month of Ramzan. Fasting and mourning have slowed down the pace of this normally choked, blaring, traffic-jammed, overcrowded city of nearly 15 million people.
Below me on the road running in front of the apartment building, boys play cricket – the familiar South Asian scene of bricks doing duty for wickets and excited shouts rising into the humid air. I watch the batsman as he faces a delivery. There is something dismally familiar about his wild swing at a ball outside the “off stump”; it’s the patented stroke of a nation that can’t go beyond the limited-overs game.
It’s a narrow road and the boys are crowded into it. I look up at the broken-tooth skyline of apartment buildings under construction, with cement pillars and iron rods sticking out any old where. Construction goes on at an unchecked, frantic pace, because Dhaka is fast running out of living space. Land is at a premium. This has begun to affect cricket. That is what I hear from officials at the Bangladesh Cricket Board’s offices. They are in Mirpur, right by the Sher-e-Bangla cricket stadium, a low-rise affair, where, at ground level, the sightlines are intimate and cosy compared to the spacious arenas in other countries.
I am here because I am interested in compiling, or at least in getting a start on, a history of cricket in Bangladesh. Independence came in 1971, and sometime in 1974 league cricket was kickstarted – a continuation of cricketing times in the old East Pakistan. Before that, clubs had revived, and coir mats were put down on the dusty “ovals” of the area outside the old stadium – now renamed the Bangabandhu National Stadium, where the opening ceremonies will take place for the World Cup next year – in the Gulistan commercial area.
In 1973 I was a first-year Dhaka University student, and we would go to watch the matches in the dirt and dust. There were clubs for whom our friends played, and on their match days we would have lunches with the team – naan gosht with Coke bought from the stadium restaurants – rinsing our hands afterwards with water from the garden hoses in the courtyards. Cricket drew us like rusted filings to magnets. We would go to watch net practice on afternoons, even as over the boundary wall buses would honk and screech by and street urchins collecting trash watch wide-eyed as bat and ball met. Or missed.

The future of Bangladesh cricket

A sudden rain falls on the boys below me. A slanting Bengal rain. But the game does not break up. The boys keep playing in their soaked t-shirts. It’s a holiday, after all. Why let a little rain spoil an absorbing game of cricket? The boys still have a happy concept of freedom, something we adult Bangladeshis seem to have lost.
I remembered Gulistan from an even earlier era, as a little boy during the mid-1960s. A tree-lined, shady circle with Nawab Siraj-ud-Dowla’s cannon smack dab in the centre. Sports-club buildings ringed the circle; lovely white clapboard bungalows. Victoria Club – or was it Wanderers? – even had a white picket fence. We lived in Motijheel Colony then, a residential complex for government officers. I learned how to leg-glance there. We left for West Pakistan sometime later and my cricket carried on on Karachi’s sandy grounds.
In 1972 we came back to an independent Bangladesh, to a nation in smoking post-war ruin. But “never say die” was the motto. From the ashes of a civil war rose the phoenix of cricket. Clubs revived, the stadium pitch was renewed, old players streamed back to play. The Bangladesh Cricket Control Board was set up in 1972, and a host of tournaments came into being.
At the university cricket ground we played with a row of palm trees standing guard at one end. In 1976 an MCC team came to Bangladesh, followed by Omar Kureishi’s XI, led by Imran Khan, then the Deccan Blues followed. Subsequently there were ICC matches, and thus began Bangladesh’s slow grind up through the ladder to full Test status.
I left for the United States in the mid-1980s and so missed parts of the story from then on, but once hooked is forever hooked, and so I followed the plot from abroad.
The roster of clubs expanded, the league became a serious affair – gone was the carefree bonhomie that characterised the 1970s and early 80s. Especially crucial in this transformation were the overseas players – from a trickle in early 80s to a flood later: English county players such as Richard Illingworth, a host of Pakistanis (even Wasim Akram, who made friends here among the Bengalis) and Indians (Ashok Malhotra and Arun Lal to name a couple), and especially Sri Lankans: Marvan Atapattu, Duleep Mendis, Arjuna Ranatunga and Sanath Jayasuriya. Bangladesh cricket would never the same again, its horizons having been exponentially expanded.
I came back in 2002, and seeing Bangladesh field a Test team made me want to stitch together a narrative of its beginnings, specially the first two decades. That cricket was even played in the outer stadium grounds in Gulistan – by now a nightmare ant-heap of rickshaws, men, women, pavement hawkers, mendicants, buses, more men – seemed to me to be something that would soon fade from public memory, as cricket history became solely the memories of old-time players.
But no, I was told at the BCB offices, there were no records. Nothing that went back to the 1970s at all. I sat in a room with a large window, through which I could see bright sunlight crash down on the pitch, talking to a couple of officials who had seen it all, had been through it all from the East Pakistan times and now worked for the board. No archives, no paper trail, they said in reply to my queries. Minutes of the meetings of the board? There had been a fire, somebody said. All gone.
Slowly I began to realise it was all down to old men’s memories. The talk drifted to present times, about the much-discussed fact that Bangladesh could not play the longer version of the game, about the league structure, about the future of the game. Finally one of them said, “L-a-n-d.”
“Land?” I enquired.
“Y-e-s,” rang back the plaintive answer from the Greek chorus.
Sukrabad, Panthapath. Dhaka. (c) Shahidul Alam/Drik/Majority World

There was no land left in Dhaka to play cricket on. Schools had no fields, neighbourhood playing areas had disappeared, the word “community” meant a clutch of apartment buildings. Clubs were there, but no fields. Boys played in lanes and on apartment rooftops. No land, no cricket. Where will they play? Where are future players going to come from?
Dhaka is a city of tenements, slums and apartments, its jagged skyline of apartments sprouting to the incessant roar of choked traffic and the beat of an exploding population. People flock to it from the villages, their homesteads washed away by swollen monsoon river tides, joining the ranks of rickshaw pullers, beggars, shopkeepers, day-labourers, household help, darwans, drivers, busmen, the hordes of the unemployed and the under-employed. The ranks swell every day. They claim to, but we all know nobody really has a handle on it.
I had no answer to the Greek chorus. I left, after a tour of the modern, expensive drainage system at the stadium, the locker rooms, the training academy. Sitting in the car on the way back I suddenly remembered Chittagong, where I spent a couple of years at St Placid’s School. It had two fields, nicknamed Big Field and Little Field. On mornings when I came early to school, I would wander over to Big Field. It was where the school team played cricket, and the grass would be dew-pearled in the morning light, an unbelievable green. It was the grass at the stadium, I realised with a start, that had triggered this ghost image from way back.
Fields and cricket – where was one without the other? And the narrative? Cricket in Bangladesh, whose origins and artistic heart was so centered in Dhaka that for well-nigh three decades the history of Bangladesh cricket was synonymous with that of the city – well, I thought, it would have to be written by somebody far better than I.
Khademul Islam is a Bangladeshi writer and critic