“Dhaka’s got me suffocating, Meher,” Kamal sighed, another year of dead-end jobs and loneliness weighing him down. "Drifting from one thing to another like a shikara lost on the Buriganga."
Every day was the same. Work, have dinner in his cramped flat, drowning the blandness with endless cups of tea, flickering between news and cricket matches. Nights were for scrolling Facebook, carrom games against himself, and Bengali dramas that offered little escape. Weekends weren much better, except he didn have the alarm clock yelling at him. If the weather cooperated, hed take a lonely walk to a park far away, becoming a ghost amongst the human traffic - kids zipping by on bikes, joggers puffing and panting, and families with determined strides. Hed just sit by the pond, watching birds peck for scraps and turtles lumber along the muddy banks.
"Kamals building walls around himself, shutting out the whole dunia," Jahangir, his coworker, would say with a worried shake of his head. Kamal barely noticed the concern in his friends voice. All he felt was the growing numbness, the hollowness echoing inside him.
Jahangir was Kamals only real connection, a young man a few years younger who also seemed lost. They bonded over their shared misery at the furniture workshop, Jahangirs skills often rescuing Kamal from botching intricate chair designs. These interactions were the closest Kamal came to friendship. Jahangir would sometimes come over to watch important cricket matches, and Kamal would return the favour with visits to Jahangirs place - a house they inherited from their parents.
Jahangirs sister, Laila, was his complete opposite. Younger, feisty, and with a kind heart, she was a primary school teacher whose warmth shone through her sharp wit. Her beauty was unassuming, the kind that didn make other women jealous or turn men into leering creeps.
"Kamal, you
e a handsome fella," Laila greeted him the first time they met, her smile genuine. "But that frown on your face could scare away a whole flock of pigeons!"
The moment Kamal saw Laila, something deep within him stirred. It wasn anything she did, but her presence ignited a primal urge, a yearning he couldn quite understand. He fumbled through attempts at flirting, a clumsy imitation of something hed only seen in Bollywood movies.
"Hey Jahangir, got to step up my game, man," Kamal confided in his friend. "Think Laila might be interested, but I got to clean up my act first."
Kamal started visiting Jahangir more often, by adding a little extra effort into his appearance. He planned his visits strategically, avoiding Tuesdays and Thursdays when Laila volunteered at charity meetings.
When they did interact, Kamal tried to make small talk, pretending to care about Lailas passions - helping the homeless, caring for street children, fighting drug addiction.
Laila was polite, but Kamal suspected she saw right through him. Her outgoing personality dominated their conversations anyway.
Laila, ever curious, started digging deeper. "Kamal, what do you do for fun? What are your dreams? You seem kind of lost, you know?"
Kamal hated the questions. He felt exposed, his carefully constructed walls crumbling. "Why you got to pry into everything, Laila? Mind your own business!" he snapped.
Lailas smile faltered for a moment. "Look, Kamal, I care about you. But you got to open up a little. This... this dark cloud you got hanging over you, its got to lift sometime."
Kamal refused to speak to her for the rest of the visit. Maybe yelling it all out, and getting angry, would have been better. Instead, he simmered in silent rage, Lailas words echoing in his head.
"Maybe I should skip carrom tonight," Kamal lied to Jahangir over the weekend. "Got a killer headache. Think Ill just head home and hit the sack early."
He left the house, his steps taking him closer and closer to Jahangirs place, a dark thought taking root in his mind...
The writer is editorial assistant, The Daily Observer
