A Bangladeshi writer works in a bank for her living and also writes in the Bangla blogging platform Bandh Bhanger Awaaj  under a pseudonym Megh (cloud). After a futile monthly meeting in her bank she vents her anger in a recent blog post  [bn].
Her words will shed a light to the ever demanding corporate culture in Bangladesh which is taking toll on the private lives of the employees. Here is a translation of some excerpts from her post:
“The monthly meetings usually start after 9-10 hours of office work and it is like the women's menstruation period. Some months it bleeds a little more and some months less; the meeting's duration varies like this…..
I have been listening to this for the last five year: we have to increase our clients, we have to increase the deposits, increase the quality of service. How many people are in Dhaka? How many from them can be ushered under the Bank's umbrella? It annoys me.
One stupid suggests we should organize a rally to introduce our Bank to newer communities. We should walk in the streets one to two hours after the office hours to develop public relations and increase clients. I usually can come home after six pm. Why don't I sleep with clients or my colleagues as they are my family now! (They tell) I should not forget that I am a banker even when I am buying small things like socks. I have to befriend the seller. Job is life, job is death.
In one branch of the bank two female employees of the same department got pregnant almost at the same time. The branch manager scolded them and accused that they have done this intentionally so that he will not be able to run this branch smoothly. I think they can introduce a rule of submitting a roaster at the start of an year scheduling when female employees will have sex and become pregnant. I feel like vomiting hearing about targets now and then.
My mind is distracted today. This job has taken everything from my life, sound sleep, time to love, time to think, everything. I am unable to find any alternative. I could not write any short story last two years. Many plots play in my mind but as I come home very tired I can't put them on paper. I am forgetting to sing. I feel I will never be a singer. Someday I will forget how to write too.
I am becoming normal then… ha ha ha..I will go to office everyday, come home, have sex, have babies, will be busy with children's school, will always be at husband's disposal.
I piss on everything.”