Monday | 7 October 2024 | Reg No- 06
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Monday | 7 October 2024 | Epaper

Baishakhi memoirs on my scribble pad…

Published : Thursday, 13 April, 2017 at 12:00 AM  Count : 470
Tomorrow, my pillow will cuddle me longer, my fingers will not meet his beloved keyboard, and my eyes will rest more than usual. Because of two-folded one reason: holiday---Friday, as well as a new day, a new year in Bangla calendar, a new journey of 1424.
Under the veils of Dhaka-routine, I hardly feel cozy to cheer up with occasions. But that's at this age --- when my feet are constantly racing on a capitalist track, and at least for a day seek to get rid of the tiring traffic. Though I am not a future-teller, I bet I can draw in detail tomorrow's Dhaka: roads-parks-cafes full to the brim with red-white outfits with the neo-trend: duck-faced poses towards phones!
Looking back 15-20 years ago, 'ma' used to wake me up at 6 am to take me on a walk at Rabindra Sharobar, Dhanmondi Lake. Good old days! Now I don't have that urge to wait for ma's panta-ilish. But I loved it, especially with 'sutki bhorta' and a pinch of salt!
And now, yesterday I read a status in facebook about 'Baishakhi ilish-burger', last year I heard a friend sharing, "The ilish-pizza in Pizza Hut was quite good." The whole city rushes to be 'traditionally' Bangali, including Radisson Blue, Westin and such others. Even telecom companies, online shops offer alluring Baishakhi packages. I must say, capitalist industries need the most creative minds!
When I grew up, I met two more places TSC and Ramna Batamul. Along with beloved buddies breathed the fresh morning air of Ramna Batamul in 2009 onwards, even after the 2001 bombing!
People here are full of valour. The rightful rebellious history of '52, '71, perhaps still exists. The bombing had no effect on people. It proves our gigantic urge to appreciate festivity. But in 2015 my valour vapoured for minutes. My shivering hands started calling the dearest ones.
Without any 'hello' or 'hey', I started with direct topic sentence: "Where are you? (Tui koi?). "At home (Bashay)," many friends replied similar, and some added, "Why? What happened? (Ken? Ki hoise?). I was terrified. Near TSC, the campus which nourished me, witnessed another 25th of March, '71 that day. It was not only heinous act, but also  I have no words actually. Thinking of that day even my hands still produce ellipses. Even the word 'shame' is ashamed to be composed today. But all such terror-acts went in vain. Now people, almost embraced, sort of all carnivalesque days, though it has a different hegemonic backstage. Yet, as we all know, if I don't control you, someone else will!
Trust me, I always wished to participate in Bizu Utsab (a kind of holi celebrating New Year) in Bandarban. And here paradox is --- I have been there more than 5 times, but my time always betrayed. Unfortunately, I'm an honest slave of my schedule. But now, as I have grown a bit more, I decided. Got an invitation, though in Dhaka, of Poolside Bizu Utsab in 2017 from one of my students. This time, it won't be missed, if my breath assists!
It happens, culture dies, new takes place, weather dies ('get killed', I would rather edit!), and we don't bother, even my 'dad' passed away, but life never stops. Tomorrow, I will miss all: those childhood fresh nave days, colourful dress of 'ma', dining 'sutki bharta' with 'dad' (his favourite), and let's see what is left to add after a year!        
Ahmed Tahsin Shams is Editorial
Assistant in The Daily Observer






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