PATC Diary: 4 February

Dateline: February 4, 2015
 
The stubble fields lie damp in the winter dawn. From the scattered, uneven clods of earth, tender green shoots of grass peek through, and even these bear the night's dew. Walking past such a field this morning, I find myself thinking—somewhere in my childhood, didn't I once stumble on such clods and hurt my foot? Mother would not tenderly apply balm to the spot; instead, what a scolding I got! Along with the rebuke: "Why did you go there?" Now where was that? At my aunt's house? Just the other day, that dear aunt passed away. How much trouble I caused her in childhood! Visiting their house, I'd match my voice with the cuckoo's call in the afternoon heat—kuuuuu...—and the poor bird would search everywhere for its mate. Birds are such innocent, guileless creatures!

This morning's light came a bit early. The light touched the garden of marigolds, gendas, and zinnias, setting them ablaze with winter's rosy fire. We stand shivering in the corridor, teeth chattering, just gazing at them, as if we're touching their soft petals with our fingertips, over and over again. Every morning before dawn, a line of ants gathers in front of the reception. That's everyone's junction point. The morning PT begins from there. It's not yet six o'clock. The birds have already awakened. Listening to their chatter, I'm doing my body warm-up when I notice that on the BPATC School & College bus, only the letter 'P' shows signs of wear and scraping. Actually, no one has been scraping it—nature's own forces have worn the paint away like this. Still, I can't help wondering—is this symbolic? The 'P' in BPATC stands for Public. In Bangladesh, this public—meaning the 'common people'—suffers the most wear and tear. We ordinary people are truly helpless. Fresh lives are snuffed out at a moment's notice. "Still alive—that's enough"—the time has come to think this way. It pains me deeply to think about it! We're gradually becoming hostage to someone's whims, stubbornness, or caprices. The idea that this country is mine is beginning to feel like a sin to contemplate. I'm starting to think that the 'P' being there at all is more than enough, however battered it may be. Would anyone really notice if it weren't there?

The white bears march forward. Left right! Left right! The park benches alongside seem to beckon with gestures...sit down for a bit, brothers! Ah, but we haven't the strength for that, no time; there's the instructor's stern command—march with vigor, march hard! So we march on! In the distance, we can see the stone-paved ghat by the lake. Its bricks jut out irregularly. From this side, they create an interesting brick texture. The concrete seat above the ghat, covered with dried leaves and moss in a blackish-green pattern, looks as if it's decorated with fresco work. Just like yesterday, today too we were made to lie on the tennis court floor for exercises. They're quite difficult. So many different exercises—placing hands and feet, bending, turning, lifting. Lying flat on our backs, legs together, hands clasped behind the head with fingers interlocked, keeping knees straight, we're told to lift both legs together about six inches high and hold for two or three minutes. This supposedly reduces the belly. Ugh! Is this even possible? Let the belly stay. Live on, dear belly, and let me live too!

Today's breakfast included boiled eggs, bread with jelly, and bananas. At PEATC, we must eat with spoons, forks, and knives. I learned from one sister how to hold down with one fork and squeeze lemon with another spoon. That sister never eats with her hands. "Why use 2 sticks when you have 5 fingers?" I actually believe in this principle. (Though lately I've grown accustomed to those spoons, knives, and forks.) Today I rushed to her with my plate of food. She was sitting at the next table. I said, "Sister, please peel my egg with knife and fork, peel my banana. I can't manage it." Hearing this, she burst out laughing. She said, "Got your chance and delivered the killer blow, didn't you?" (Can you tell me who this sister is? This is a quiz for my colleagues.) Today, on my way to class, I lost my name badge. And a real police officer found it and returned it to me. I didn't file a GD at the station for it—the police officer found it on his own initiative...and an ASP at that! Can you believe it! Long live the police!

During PT, we have to stand with our legs as wide apart as possible. At that time, the instructors say, "Leg Apart! Leg Apart!" meaning stand with your legs far apart on either side. They also say, "Maximum! Maximum!" These two phrases are now on everyone's lips. We say, "Maximum!" We shorten the first phrase to "Legapart!" (Leg+Apart=Legapart!) We say this jokingly while walking in the corridors, in the dining hall, in class. But that's not the point. The point is, this morning at the breakfast table, I heard that two people apparently got show-causes for shouting "Legapart Maximum!" repeatedly. Absurd, completely! (Did someone perhaps take the literal meaning of the phrase?) By the way, PEATC news flash: one of our colleagues has reportedly been shouting "Legapart! Legapart!! Maximum! Maximum!! Legapart Maximum!" in his sleep for three nights running. The Maximum saga extends to the washroom. The boys go there and shout, "Maximum pressure! Maximum pressure!!" You can imagine the situation!

A gentleman who looks remarkably like Bluto from the 'Popeye the Sailor Man' cartoon—a wonderfully good-natured type—came to take our class. He knows a lot, and he can put you to sleep quite effectively too. As a child, I used to see in Chacha Chaudhury comics: "Chacha Chaudhury's brain is sharper than a computer." About this sir, I'll say just one thing: his words are more effective than sleeping pills. I fell asleep instantly. I dreamed I was walking along a riverbank, came right to the edge, and splash—fell into the river. The fall woke me from the dream! When I woke up, I saw that my colleague beside me had nudged me awake. What does it mean to have such falling dreams? From the few dream interpretation books I have (I mean, dream dictionaries), I've learned that falling dreams are among the most common dreams. Seeing them indicates insecurity, uncertainty, anxiety. It suggests that I'm under great pressure in my relationships or workplace. I'm unable to adjust with everyone. I'm afraid of losing something. There's more written about it. That's not the point. The point is, all this is happening, and in the classroom too! And I know nothing about any of it! Sir, you are great! By the way, shall I give the Freudian interpretation of falling dreams? Well, never mind. I often fall from great heights while sleeping, leap up into the sky and fly by jumping, and do all sorts of other things. My dream stories are vast. Let it be for today—I'll write about these another day.

A smart officer from Audit came to take the audit class. The sir has somewhat less hair on his head. Sir said, "When someone asks me, 'Sir, where did your hair go?' I think, 'You fool, I know very well that I have no hair. You don't need to remind me of it.' But when someone says, 'Sir, how did you get so much hair on your head? I didn't see this much even last month,' then I feel around my head to see if hair has really grown. It hasn't, I know; but it feels good to think so. That person seems nice to me. Sometimes even unnecessary false praise makes us happy."

The session after lunch was on Social Etiquette and Table Manners. Sir began by saying, "Since we've somehow become officers, we now have certain obligations. We must follow them. When we go somewhere, to places where we've never been, how will we learn the manners of that place?"
We answered, "Sir, we'll watch what everyone else does and learn by observing. Whatever everyone does, I'll do the same."
Sir said, "Ah, but you won't always get the chance to learn by following others. For instance, how would you learn to use the bathroom or toilet in an international hotel—you can hardly watch someone else do it!"

Then sir told us a story.
Once American President Coolidge invited some friends to the White House. The friends came. But they didn't know how to eat at a presidential dinner. They had decided that whatever the President did, they would do exactly the same. President Coolidge poured his coffee into his saucer. Following his example, the rest also poured their coffee into their saucers. After a while, the President pushed that saucer toward his cat. The cat began lapping up the coffee. Seeing this, the others were in a terrible fix—they wanted nothing more than to escape from there!

Foreigners address everyone by name. They even call their professors by name. In their countries, there's no concept of 'sir.' When we call the same person uncle, father-in-law, brother, friend, or Rahim, they wonder amazed how one person can have so many names.

Don't sit at the dining table making noise and gobbling your food. If necessary, eat something at home before leaving for a formal dinner. Have you ever noticed that the eating scene is always the most awkward part of wedding videos? When you finish eating, place the knife and fork on the plate like clock hands showing 10:20 or 10:40.

Returning to my room after the session, I saw five gardeners tending to the rose garden. Two of them were going up to the roses to smell them. I felt like thumbing my nose at all my good fortune and envying them. I thought, "Oh! What luck! We're not allowed to go that far." Well, is it so attractive because it's forbidden? If we could visit our beloved whenever we wished, would the yearning to be near remain so strong? If she came when called, wouldn't I perhaps turn her away? A little distance away, the vivid red fountain of fire. The evening's last light falls on rows of zinnias. How well they know how to hold color! Oh! It only makes me want to love. Outside the dormitory, beside the road, high mounds of sand. Childhood memories came flooding back. In that childhood, didn't I used to leap and jump trying to climb on sand hills? Getting sand all over my body and hair, becoming one with it. Shaking sand from my hair and arms, then jumping again! What wonderful, sparkling days of childhood! This adulthood brings so much suffering. The pain of growing up, the pain of becoming an adult. The seven sorrows seem endless.

Three weeks have passed. In these three weeks, so much has happened that never happened before. For instance, I've truly become much more disciplined—I haven't received a single show-cause notice yet. I never liked living within rules before, but now it doesn't feel so bad.

(Training is much better than a job.) From Thursday afternoon until Saturday night, I keep my mobile phone switched off all other days. There's a certain joy in this. All that time feels truly mine. In the evening, when I return from the playing field, I deliberately don't turn on my phone. Before going to bed at night, I switch it on to talk with my mother. I speak with my father, with my younger brother. My father never remembers that my phone stays off during the day—he calls from court. Later I get missed call alert messages, a smile plays at the corner of my lips, and I call back. I think, if my younger brother weren't there beside my parents, I'd be in real trouble. I feel tenderness for him. He has to study, manage so much household work, care for our parents. How much he's struggling! And I can't do anything at all. Not being able to serve my parents causes me great pain. What a selfish way I'm living—pushing away those who are my pillars of survival, all in the name of living well! What a cruel defeat of life at the hands of livelihood! Meaningless arrangements for life while leaving life itself behind! What irony! Perhaps this irony itself is life. Who knows!

Leo Tolstoy's famous short story 'Three Questions' poses these three questions:
# What is the right time to do any work?
# Who are the most necessary people in your life?
# What is the most important thing to do?

I'm answering these the way I think about them myself:
# I have a very strong eleventh-hour syndrome in my life. So far, I've done most of my work at the very last moment. And fortunately, I haven't finished any work too badly. The moment when the work simply must be done—for me, that's the right time to do any work. If I don't even enjoy laziness, then what's the point of being lazy? Honestly, if I weren't lazy, I couldn't have completed many tasks in my life properly. Long live laziness.
# The most necessary people in my life are my mother, father, younger brother, and those who kindly tolerate me. I've never needed, not once in my life, those 'supremely altruistic friends' who don't praise my good work but certainly criticize my bad work. I believe in the principle: only those who love have the right to discipline. You might say I love critics more than anyone. I say, suit yourself—go ahead and love them! I don't have time for all this loving business. Sorry.
# The most important work is whatever I'm doing right now, at this moment. I don't think about what I haven't done. I don't think about what I will do either. All my thoughts are about this present moment. I'm someone who lives in the world of each passing moment. There's a saying of Tibetan Buddhist monks that I love: "We never know which will come first in our lives: tomorrow, or the next life?" What will happen tomorrow? Hey brother, let me live today first!

I'll end this piece with a wonderful dialogue from my favorite movie 'Kal Ho Na Ho': Tumhe aisa kyun lagtha hai ki duniya ki sari museebatein tumhari kamzor kandhon par hai? Tum hain kon? Who are you?...Ishwar ki prarthona karne ka kya fayeda jab uski di hui zindagi ki kadar na ki jaaye...suno, jiyo...khush raho...Muskurao...kya pata...Kal Ho Na Ho!
(Why do you think all the world's troubles rest on your weak shoulders? Who are you anyway?...What's the use of praying to God if you don't value the life He's given you?...listen, live...be happy...smile...who knows! Tomorrow may never come!)