Dreams Are Deathless

December 16, 2009. 6:30 in the evening. I went to visit a businessman brother at his home. He was involved in various kinds of small businesses. I had gone to discuss and hear about a business opportunity—mobile cards. This business apparently yielded good profits. He wanted to do something as a joint venture. At that time, I was running my gift shop. Most of the customers who frequented my gift shop were young people who often needed to buy mobile cards. So, entering that business would have been easy for me. Our conversation progressed quite far. He had another proposal: even if I didn’t sell cards myself, I should invest at least 8-10 lakh taka. He had already invested money in another business, so he was facing something of a capital crisis. He said the card business would give me a monthly return of at least 2%. I didn’t make any commitment that day.

My shop’s journey had begun that very year—February 2, at 11:30 in the morning. I had started the business with just one week of planning. The night before, we had stayed up all night, working tirelessly to arrange the shop. The next day, we decorated the shop with colorful ribbons and balloons, had lots of food and festivities, and opened the shop with great fanfare. My mother cut the ribbon.

We had at least 350-400 different kinds of gift items in our collection. (I don’t know of any other shop in Chittagong that had such variety in gift items.) It’s impossible to write about all the items here; I don’t remember them all either. My memory is quite weak by nature. My younger brother reminded me of quite a few items.

Magic items. We had at least 20-25 different magic items that could easily be demonstrated. Prices ranged from 5 taka to 300 taka. While searching for sources for these, I ended up getting acquainted with many magicians in Bangladesh. Finding them, discovering who offered which item at the lowest wholesale price—that was truly very difficult. Before selling these items to customers, I had to demonstrate the magic and captivate them. The work had to be done very carefully and skillfully so they couldn’t catch the magic trick. If they figured out the trick, no one would be attracted to the magic, and my item wouldn’t sell either. Doing all this, I quickly learned to perform magic. There was a magic water tap. Water fell from the tap’s mouth, there was no pipe behind the mouth, the mouth floated in air. It looked as if water was falling from thin air. It was made using the total internal reflection of light. Magic with rope, cards, matchboxes, balls, and coins involved a lot of sleight of hand. I had become quite the master at those things then. (And now I remember nothing. Back then I remembered because of greed for money. Please, no one ask me to perform magic anywhere.) They would be amazed, buy the item, then after learning the trick, laugh heartily at their own foolishness. Such a beautiful scene that was.

Fun items. There were about 30-35 different kinds. These items were made for pure amusement. Some could be used to challenge others with mental puzzles. For instance, there was the chic puzzle. Two specially crafted steel structures would be interlocked together in a particular way. They had to be separated using a very ingenious method. It was incredibly easy to mesmerize someone with this. We would lock the two structures together, hand them to the customer to separate, and when they couldn’t manage it despite their best efforts, we would solve it right in front of them within 2 seconds. The funny thing is, even after watching this demonstration face-to-face, it was still difficult to quickly learn the technique yourself. Many people bought this and won countless bets with their friends. Everything from egg parathas to wooing girls. The shop had many different kinds of shock items. For example, when you tried to pull out chewing gum from a pack, it would give you a shock. We would extend an open packet of ‘complimentary chewing gum’ toward the customer. As soon as they tried to pull it, they’d get shocked and scream. Many would sense something was up beforehand and ask us to demonstrate it ourselves. We had become accustomed to taking shocks. There were pens, markers, calculators, torches, chocolate boxes like this. We would use them right in front of customers, gritting our teeth and smiling while enduring the shock. They would watch, and when they tried the same thing and got shocked themselves, they’d buy it to have fun with their friends. The addiction to having fun at others’ expense is quite powerful. When you pulled the shock chewing gum, no gum would actually come out. We’d pull and hold it, saying, “Nothing happens when you pull this, you try it too.” They’d pull as well, and joyfully jump up after getting shocked. People like being fooled in these situations, especially women. There was an item called cockroach chewing gum. When you pulled gum from an open pack, suddenly a disgusting cockroach would emerge. Another one was the lizard box. When you opened this beautiful wooden box, a lizard would jump onto you. Women would watch these things repeatedly just to scream, even knowing what would happen. Women are scream-loving creatures. A beautiful glass board hung on the shop’s glass door. It had “COMMENTS PLEASE!” written in large English letters on a sticky slip. A marker was clipped to a wooden holder beside it. As customers were leaving the shop, we’d request them to write their impression of the shop on the board. And as soon as they started writing…….Ahhhhh……!! Everyone would suddenly get a jolt and find it very amusing. This idea was my younger brother’s. There was also magic ink. We would throw ink from a pen onto customers’ white clothes, judging them carefully. They’d say, “What’s this? What did you just do?” Before they could finish speaking, the ink would vanish! There was a ghost box. Opening it would release a ghost that would scream horrifically and jump around in front of your face. There was a mysterious gray-colored box. Opening it revealed a bloody severed hand trembling inside the box. I never saw anyone who didn’t scream in terror and drop the box after opening it. Bloody severed skulls hung invisibly above the shop. They had sensors installed. After customers arrived and we’d talked for a while, we would clap our hands. Suddenly, from above, bloody skulls would come screaming down ghostily right in front of them. There were some flower boxes. What looked like colorful flowers from the outside were actually face wash. There were some transparent coin boxes. When you dropped money into them, the coin would disappear.

Without learning the trick, there would have been no way to find that coin. There was the magic tree, magic tissue, dinosaur eggs, and replicas of creatures that would grow sixty to seventy times their size when placed in water. There were some snakes that looked exactly like real ones, moved just like them too. Girls love to be frightened. Whether it’s by ghosts or snakes. Boys would buy snakes to scare them. There were so many other things too. I can’t remember.

Stationery.
Dovana stocked quite a few uncommon stationery items. Pencils, eraser sets, sharpeners, pens, pencil boxes, rulers, instrument boxes, and much more. We would carefully select unique, uncommon items for the shop. Some of these were so varied in appearance that often you couldn’t tell at first glance what they actually were! Erasers that looked like chocolates, sharpeners that resembled toy cars—and many other such things.
These items often led to amusing incidents. Let me share one day’s story.

Customer: Brother, what’s this?

Me: Sister, this is an eraser.

Customer: Eh… whaaaat?

Me: Eraser, eraser.

Customer: Oh I see, chocolate?

Me: No, no sister, not chocolate—eraser.

(I noticed the girl beside her saying: “Oh silly, don’t you know what an eraser is? This is definitely chocolate! They don’t eat erasers here, they eat chocolate.”)

Customer: Oh, I understand. Brother, is this flavored? Are there nuts inside?

Me: Well, sister, you can’t eat this—it’s an eraser, meaning you use it to erase pencil marks. It’s rubber. Do you understand now? (I swear to God, I spoke to her without laughing even once. The customer is always right.)

Customer: Ohhh, now I understand! This is for wiping! If you call a wiper an “eraser,” how am I supposed to understand? Hee hee hee… Give me one packet.

That day’s beautiful young customer was so lovely to look at that if she hadn’t opened her mouth, it would have been quite difficult not to fall in love with her. Such a beautiful face, such a dreadful way of speaking.

Handicrafts.
We had everything from completely indigenous jute wall hangings to clay sculptures. These items were inexpensive in price but rich in aesthetic value. Some items were so attractive that just seeing them made you want to take them home and display them. Our collection in this category perhaps wasn’t as good as Aarong’s, but it was competitive enough to rival any other shop. Bamboo and wooden pens, wooden pencil boxes, jewelry boxes made of metal, wood, bamboo, cloth, and jute, paintings, rope swings, intricately carved wooden bangles, Chinese fans, matchstick showpieces, wooden and bamboo trays, wooden and clay dolls, various kinds of jute dolls, carved portraits of famous people, jute and cloth handbags, shoulder bags, rakhi threads, conch shell chains, ornaments made of wood, bamboo, clay, and various metals, handmade paper notebooks with bamboo, silk, and wooden covers… and… no! I can’t remember any more!

Opening the oyster
Pearl! We kept pearl sets in our store. In front of customers, I would take the pearl set box out of its packet. Inside the box would be a pair of pearl earrings, a pearl finger ring, and a necklace with an empty setting. In a separate container, sealed airtight, a real oyster was kept submerged in some liquid chemicals. You had to open the container, take out the oyster, and use a knife or some hard metal object to pry open the oyster’s mouth. Only if you could open it would you find the pearl. We would tell them that this oyster had been specially collected from oyster farms and placed in this container through a particular method. No one knows what color the pearl inside will be. Look, there are four colors shown on the packet. Pink, white, blue, purple. Pink is the symbol of love. White symbolizes purity. Blue represents loyalty. Purple stands for nobility. Before you open the oyster container, think quietly to yourself about how you want to imagine your beloved. Don’t share this with anyone. Then open the container. Use the knife to separate the hard shells of the oyster’s mouth. Then you’ll find the pearl. Place that pearl in the necklace’s setting and secure it, then put it around your beloved’s neck with your own hands. If you get the color you imagined, your wish will be fulfilled—such is the myth that exists. (Many people later came to us with excited voices, telling us they had received exactly the color pearl that matched their beloved. I know it was just coincidence. People love to be amazed.)

We had studied
pearls to some extent. We could answer any customer’s questions. After we told this story, no one left without buying that pearl set. This item was one of the bestselling items in our store. We were the ones selling it. We can proudly say that we made it popular in Chattogram’s market.

Wallets. We had very
high-quality leather, jute, and fabric wallets at very low prices. We kept very stylish or formal wallets. We had searched extensively to find out who exports local wallets abroad, who brings very good quality wallets from Thailand and China. Doing business taught us that profit is made when buying goods, not when selling them. Whatever we sold, it was difficult for other traders to offer at lower prices than ours. We never compromised on quality. Many people are still using wallets they bought from us in 2009. (Many people still comment on my wall thanking me.)

Lighters and knives.
I’ll say it without any beating around the bush—we were the absolute best in this collection, no one even came close to us. Not a soul in Chittagong had even 10% of what our collection held. We had items at every price point, from the utterly basic to pieces for the most discerning enthusiasts. Swiss knives, army knives, pocket knives, multipurpose knives, Zippo lighters, combo lighters (meaning lighter-cum-watch, lighter-cum-knife, and so forth)—so many exotic varieties with such colorful names. We kept cigarette filters, cigarette cases, and a huge collection of pipes. We stocked highly sophisticated flavored hookah sets. You couldn’t find these things anywhere else in Chittagong. We had the largest ashtray collection in all of Chittagong—from plain earthenware to highly sophisticated metallic pieces. We had everything from small ones to enormous swords. Once a customer with a distinctly bandit-like appearance came in and asked, “Boss, can this be used as a kirič?” (Later, from his manner of speaking, it seemed the fellow wasn’t just bandit-like in appearance—he actually was a bandit. Our shop had fixed prices. The prices were written on the products. We cleverly removed the price tag that day and quoted him ten times the actual price, so we didn’t end up selling him the sword.)

Candles.
In terms of both variety and quantity, Dobhana’s candle collection was at least ten times larger than any good shop in Chittagong. Starting from simple birthday candles, we had scented candles, musical candles, twisted candles, floating candles, dancing candles, perfumed candles, magic candles, mysterious candles, sparkling candles, lighting candles, various theme-based candles, gel candles, traditional candles, antique candles… What didn’t Dobhana have! We also sold all sorts of intricate candle stands.

Ornaments and others. I used to wear hand chains, wristbands, and bracelets back then. I still remember how my mother, with such an indifferent expression, once threw my expensive magnetic earrings out the window, saying, “These things look better on slum children’s ears; whoever finds them will be very happy, dear.” I never wore earrings again. Matching sunglasses, jeans, t-shirts, sneakers, belts, rings, hand chains—when I used to go teach at my own coaching center wearing all this, some guardians must have thought, “What on earth will this strange-looking young man teach my son/daughter!” Many would come to me saying, “I’ve come to see the director sir of Paul’s Coaching Home, please call him” (seeing me, perhaps “sir” wouldn’t come to their lips). But that’s another story. At Dobhana too, I kept ornaments, very carefully selected—for both boys and girls. While our girls’ ornament collection wasn’t terribly rich, our boys’ ornament collection was larger than or equal to any major gift shop in Chittagong. Thinking of those dragon, skull, eagle, falcon-branded ornaments still makes me laugh. We also had some very tasteful and stylish ornaments. Looking at those, even the most innocent, simple boy would feel like wearing ornaments. We had stylish cowboy hats in at least 7-8 designs. Ladies’ hats in many patterns. We had fake ivory ornaments. No, that’s wrong. It should be: ornaments made of fake elephant tusks. Or is it: fake ornaments made of elephant tusks? Elephant tusk-like, but not actually elephant tusk—something like that. We also kept various brands of perfume, very soft handkerchiefs, gorgeous tie sets, casual and formal belts, and such things.

At this moment I’m remembering some other items I should mention. We had a collection of antiques in the shop. We sold artificial flowers for next to nothing. Some things we kept not to win ourselves, but to win over customers. If you could earn a customer’s trust by making a small profit on a cheap item, it became easy to sell that same customer other expensive items at higher profits. This was like that too. We had flower vases. We were the first in Chittagong to bring ethnic, antique-style, theme-based flower vases. Beyond these, Dobhana had an amazing variety of vases and flower pots. We had a huge collection of clocks. Wall clocks, table clocks, wristwatches (for men and women), pocket watches. We kept very stylish types of timepieces. Each time we collected merchandise, we would scour all of Chittagong. We’d see what kind of items no one else had, but which would work if we brought them, which customers would like. We had a separate budget for market surveys. When collecting glass coats, we kept taste, religion, and aesthetics in mind. From radium stickers to radium statues, we even kept children’s radium puzzles. We had many collections of chimes—silver, wooden, bamboo, metallic, antique, glass. No other shop had so many chimes together; I can say this with certainty. Inside and outside the shop, smoky fountains, musical fountains, touch lamps, and fiber lamps added beauty. In terms of variety and quantity, we were first in mug collections. Many people came to Dobhana just to see how many different concepts mugs could have. There were adorable fur dolls of various sizes and shapes. Girls would come and immediately hug them. I often thought then: Alas! I couldn’t even become a doll in this life! What’s the point of keeping this failed existence? We had some tribal-themed items. Metallic and stone statues, ornaments, handicrafts, showpieces, and other things. Another collection worth seeing was photo frames. From bamboo to stone, cane, fiber, wood—we had all types of photo frames. There were kids’ construction kits, puzzle sets—radium, wooden, plastic, metal. We had Rubik’s cubes in at least twelve designs. Chess boards—magnetic, wooden, glass, plastic. Dartboards came in seven or eight varieties. We kept children’s toys. Not all kinds, but only those you could find exclusively at Dobhana. Dobhana was supreme in keyring collections. We had photo albums, most of which were themed in ways other shops didn’t have much of. Various wall-hanging items were displayed for sale in the shop. We had a large collection of holders. Pen holders, toothpick holders, card holders. The water doll show was worth watching. Inside some of them, Shah Rukh, Hrithik, Salman, and Aamir would dance holding heroines’ hands in rhythm with the music. There were jewelry boxes and vermillion containers too. Paperweights, stickers, artificial aquariums, various types of mercury showpieces, very carefully chosen crockery, some aristocratic tablecloths and mats, gorgeous office stationery, talking parrots, bamboo coasters, wooden musical carousels, party sprays, compasses, various home decoration items. The shop was packed with all these things. We sold some sets. Ceramic soap sets, salt sets of various designs, spice sets, wedding sets. There were some sportswear items. Let me tell you about another type of unique item. We carefully kept various religion-based gift items. I still remember once we supplied many statues of Christ and Mary to a church. We had collections of single and duet statues of various themes—wooden, metal, stone, bamboo, fiber, plastic, radium, clay. There were shaving sets, manicure-pedicure sets.

The shop had a collection of rare and classic movies and music. Based on customer requests, I would download any obscure film from torrent sites and burn it onto DVD discs for sale. We used to tell customers, “If you can’t find any movie or music at Dobhana, you won’t find it anywhere else.” Now I think we were being rather audacious back then. The shop almost always played instrumental music at low volume. We ourselves would curate songs of different moods together and create ready-made album CDs with touching names, displaying them in the store. I remember some of those album names right now: Sound of Silence. Rhythm of Paradise. Essence of Soul. On Love’s Veranda. Behind the Veil of Feelings. With Robi. We didn’t sell these song CDs for profit. We only charged customers for the cost of the box and the disc. We hung some rare posters for sale, which served as the shop’s display. I desperately hoped those wouldn’t sell. This entire section was purely for advertising—for the shop, or for our taste. We sold them at cost price.

Document Gifts. This was entirely my own creation. Using various colorful offset papers and silk threads, I would craft documents filled with my own ideas—intellectual writings, jokes, riddles, arts and literature, fascinating facts, mathematical magic, amusing stories of famous personalities, and many other diverse writings. Then I would bind them individually with colored ribbons and scraps of paper, arranging them in cane trays in the shop. I loved writing. So even though it was quite exhausting, I didn’t mind doing it. People feel less tired doing work they love. Work fatigue comes from boredom and lack of interest.

Let me tell you about a special birthday item I used to make. It took me a great deal of time and effort to create. I had named it Regalo Para Ti. This is Spanish, meaning “a gift for you.” Before creating this, I spoke with at least 200 people to understand what kind of personal information people want to know about themselves. The meaning and etymology of their name, whether anyone famous shares that name, where else in the world people with that name can be found, anything interesting about that name in different languages, the history of their birth date, memorable events that occurred on that day, famous people born on the same date, practically everything astrological about that date (zodiac sign, constellation, colors, auspicious and inauspicious days and numbers, famous people of that zodiac sign, love and romance, strengths and weaknesses, career prospects, and much more), interesting stories and sayings from great minds that align with their personality traits, love stories (for couples), everything about their likes and dislikes, funny anecdotes that match the kind of humor they enjoy, amusing facts that correspond with their appearance, various information that aligns with their professional status, some observations about the type of people they dislike, things that resonate with what they like to hear, and for couples, extensive details about various aspects of their beloved. And countless other pieces of information—a small encyclopedia of sorts. It was about 400-450 pages long. Orders had to be placed at least a week in advance. I would print the text on colorful handmade paper. On the very first page, the gift-giver would have some personal words written in rainbow ink, with their signature below. Then I would bind everything with silk threads of various bright colors and designs, place it in a beautiful large handmade envelope, and seal it shut. This was Regalo Para Ti. The appeal of this creation was extraordinary! I loved studying online, loved playing with words and languages, loved writing, loved amazing people. That’s why I would stay up nights, working so hard to create all of this. The price I charged was the delighted, wonder-filled eyes of the gift-giver when they received it! For the costs of paper, printing, binding, and packaging, I would only charge customers exactly that amount—the value of my labor was the knowledge I gained in doing the work. I wouldn’t take a single extra penny beyond that. I did this work without any financial profit for two reasons. One: to build recognition for my shop. Two: because I enjoyed it. Nothing more. Now I think, didn’t I gain anything at all from that study, that effort, that writing? The wealth of life never goes to waste………….

Our shop’s business cards were collector’s items themselves. I had two different types made. One was embossed on thick, handmade cotton paper in an off-white shade bordering on brown, with the shop’s name and address in reddish-gold lettering. The other featured the shop’s details in silver fluorescent ink on rough, thick pitch-black handmade paper. I had created a tagline for Dobhana: ‘. . . . . . . artistry in gifts’ — in Bengali, ‘. . . . . . . উপহারে শিল্পের ছোঁয়া’. The shop had its own letterhead and cash memos. I had artistic envelopes and packets printed on expensive paper. For various occasions, we kept chocolates, flowers, and small gifts for customers — even for casual visitors. On February 14th, for instance, I would give every person who entered the shop a red rose. Our plan was for Dobhana to gradually become a chain store; I had even started working on the shop’s website. Our vision included an online catalog where customers could view illustrated profiles of gifts and place orders, with home delivery services — all part of our grand plan.

I began this piece with the mobile card business story. Let me return to that. I declined his proposal that day for two reasons. First, Dobhana’s brand value was far superior. Many people came just to see our shop. Those who visited once would later bring their friends and acquaintances to show them our store. In Chattogram city, Dobhana had become a destination worth visiting. People came from Dhaka and other places too. We had wonderful interactions with our customers, always trying to bring them joy. We treated visitors with the same respect we showed our paying customers. The common psychology of customers is that they often lack strong preferences of their own — you need to help them discover what they like. We excelled at this. Many people visited our shop simply to chat with us. We didn’t want to diminish Dobhana’s status by keeping mobile cards in the store. Profit isn’t everything in business. Second, the monthly returns he mentioned from the card business were several times less than Dobhana’s monthly revenue. We loved our business. That’s why we used that money to expand our collection with newer products. Dobhana became truly Dobhana after that single decision.

I have this habit — my dreams keep changing. My dreams shift very quickly. My favorite plaything is my own life. I find infinite fascination in even the smallest things. Once something enters my mind and takes hold, I keep thinking about it, keep thinking, and pursue it with complete sincerity. Dobhana was my brainchild. Dobhana was like a child we nurtured through sleepless nights of hard work. Dobhana was born from merely a week’s planning. Dobhana died from just an hour’s motivation. My two friends showed me the dream of BCS; I completed my honors almost two and a half years later than my friends, practically stopped going to Dobhana, and unfortunately suffered massive losses in the stock market around that time. I also closed my coaching center. I owed money to many people and still do; I know I’ve made them my creditors for life. The pain of a girlfriend leaving is hard to forget, but the agony of losing cash from your hands is virtually impossible to overcome. I had to study carrying all this pain in my chest.

The rest is history.
We can never truly imagine where life will take us.

Dovana no longer exists. No, Dovana has not died—dreams never die, they are only reborn. A dream is a living entity. Every dream must bear the consequences of its previous incarnations.

Postscript. Many have asked me through inbox messages: what does ‘Dovana’ mean? Let me tell them—it’s a Lithuanian word. In that country, girls are lovingly named Dovana. It means gift. (During that time, my favorite pastime was playing with languages and words. Words possess tremendous power. I loved playing with them freely on Facebook.) Dovana was on the second floor of Gulzar Tower in Chawkbazar, Chittagong. Two shops facing each other. We had one employee in our shop: Piyush-da. Myself, my younger brother, his friend, and Piyush-da—the four of us ran the shop together.