Dateline: 25 January 2015 Two orchid plants hang side by side in the same pot. One stands straight, the other curves. The curved one arches like a bow, touching the straight one at both ends, encircling it. The shape resembles the English letter 'D'. Through the gap in the middle, watching six dew-drenched purple orchids and that distant palm tree slowly awakening, morning began on Shukla Panchami in the corridor in front of dormitory number 5. Last year on Saraswati Puja, I had posted this Facebook status: "Saraswati Puja falls just before Valentine's Day. What divine play, what divine 'hint'! During this puja, many seek their future Lakshmi. Some even find her. Or Narayan (Lakshmi's consort). Only Saraswati can give her sister's husband into another woman's embrace. Blessing the blessing! Only during this puja is it possible to gain the grace of one goddess while worshipping another. Gaining Lakshmi through Saraswati's grace! Through the goddess of learning's majesty, the devotee's (true) heart's desire fulfilled in all sixteen arts! Ah, ah! Mother has so many forms in the idol! Ah, how exquisite! Half woman she is, half imagination. Yet I don't see that beauty in the earthly Saraswatis! Should we then assume that humans (sculptors) are sometimes greater artists than God? ... No, not always. Beauties like the idol have also been sent to this earth. Girls of this type are sent to the world with a great assignment in hand—to drive many boys crazy and then go to the home of one truly crazy boy. Why would a girl who doesn't like crazy-type boys bother being beautiful? Anyway, all this is mere soliloquy. The tongue-tied have always fallen face-first before the eloquent. This is the rule, this is destiny. The most ironic selfless act in the world is to hum happily even on intensely scorching long burning days upon seeing another's beloved... I gave you my whole day of cloudy sky and rain... Even more tragic are certain broken relationships that broke before they could be joined. Meaning, sitting in intense anticipation with the pride of 'why should I speak first' in one's head, seeking relief from exhaustion through long bad Facebook statuses, and finally being forever freed by a small word: she got someone, she got him! (Oh what joy in sky and air...) Fools don't give birth to this pain on foolish Facebook; they leave it sorrowfully in their heartbook. In all such selfless acts, God remains forever indifferent, detached, unconcerned. The fruits of action are merely the Creator's mockery. Those who are alone and happy with themselves during this puja, may they be peacefully alone with someone next puja. May the scholarly pursuits of all bachelors in the world dedicated to learning culminate in meeting the goddess of wealth. Om Shanti!" I had thought of watching the puja at Jagannath Hall, Dhaka University this year. It didn't happen. So today began with hopes of finding peace at PATC's puja. Going to the field in the morning, I learned that those wishing to offer anjali at the goddess of learning's feet wouldn't have to do PT. Ah! What joy! I ran back to my room in one breath. Came and slept! When I woke up, my roommate had returned after finishing PT. I left the bed, finished bathing and went straight to the puja mandap. After many years today I offered pure anjali. Mumbling the mantras recited by the Brahmin incorrectly, I bowed to Mother and went to class. Mother's offering is not in mantras, not in prasad, not in ritual pots; rather, true offering happens only in the heart and in action. This is what life has taught me so far. Today in class, a sir said something very amusing. "When we joined AT-Five, during PATC training a CSP officer came to class and said, 'Now the sun of civil service is setting, and you're joining the service now... A little later he said again, 'Listen boys, there's nothing to worry about so much. When we joined twenty years ago, we heard the same thing.'" Then he told us, "Such talk is eternal. There's no need to worry so much about who said what. Let the sun set or rise, you've got a chance to be in the sky, you must stay well, remember this always." This led to more discussion. Funny comments! I was laughing and thinking, ah! Two divisions among Bengalis: difference of opinion and difference in drinking. Some said those who are better at studies should get more facilities in civil service. I really wanted to say, there's no need to know anything scholarly in civil service. Only two things are needed to join here: a graduation certificate to sit for the exam and passing the job exam. Nothing else! Another sir came, and I fell asleep within a minute and a half of his starting to teach. There's magic in the sir's face. The face itself is like sleeping medicine, sleeping medicine type. What's my fault! As a sir, he's very good. Even if you fall asleep right in front of him in class, he doesn't say anything. I believe he surely teaches well too. With sleepy eyes I heard the sir say some good things. Like how we're all cheating everyone and ourselves, the puffed rice seller mixes urea with rice and buys formalin-laced mangoes with that money. So many prayers for the sir! Today at lunch I didn't eat rice, I ate the puja prasad. I ate fried rice with lemon squeezed over vegetables (labra) and soft chamcham mixed with crunchy raw chilies. Try eating it. Truly speaking, it tastes amazing! I'm sure you liked my previous three recipes. What? You didn't? This one will appeal too. I say, faith brings taste, arguments take you far! Classes start at quarter past two. After eating, there was literally nothing to do. I stood near the grass close to the rose garden. In the afternoon sun of Magh, ringing in my head: will that sun-soaked day near Poush ever return... Golden sunlight playing and slipping on the grass, mischievous grasshoppers running away to the tips of long grass blades... What joy it has! It doesn't have to stop its life for livelihood needs in PATC training. Without knowing, I muttered, the life that belongs to grasshoppers and doel birds—doesn't meet with human eyes... In this sweet soft sunlight the fog melts, the steam from coffee in hand finishes, and the time to run to class calls mercilessly. The quiet classroom of peaceful afternoon. The sir is saying, "You see, we move on Modi's and Obama's advice. Sometimes as our neighbor, Modi is a big problem." Someone said, "Sir, our country's problem isn't the Modi-problem, it's the gadi-problem." Cheers arose: "Bravo bravo!" The sir said, "This business of following World Bank and IMF's advice isn't right. Just because their advice works for Africa doesn't mean it'll work for Bangladesh too. Bangladesh isn't Africa." Listening to the sir, I was thinking about a beauty parlor I saw the other day with a huge picture pasted in front. The chief beautician of that parlor was receiving some award from some beauticians' association from the UK. To the girls who would be encouraged by this, I say, the skin structure of UK and Bangladeshi women is completely different. So if that beautician received an award from the UK according to their standards, it's for care suitable to UK women's skin; I don't see any reason for Bangladeshi girls to get excited and crowd that parlor. Of course, we feel great comfort in getting kicked by foreign dogs. (A dialogue from 'Kothao Keu Nei' came to mind: "Dogs get offended if you call them dogs." Why did it come? No reason, just like that!) The Economics sir came and asked, what's the difference between growth and development? I really wanted to say, "May my child live in milk and rice—that's growth. And, may my child live in fried rice—that's development." I couldn't. Ah, the great trouble of being a gentleman! I want the right to do and say whatever I want (please break it down, I mean break it down piece by piece, whatever you wish). Talk of need and greed came up in class. Someone brought up Rabindranath. In this world, alas, he who has plenty wants more... In my head was spinning Khalil from 'Sangshapatak'... I need money, otherwise land... Gandhi ji floating on the projector canvas... The world has enough for everyone's need, but not enough for everyone's greed... Good words, I noticed all this while sleeping awake. Reciting in my mind... I'm not saying you must pay attention in class; I want at least one class that I attend without sleeping, no matter how boring it is!... I sat in the back rows as usual. I wasn't looking at the sir out of fear. It's not that the sir was watching me either. But what's the fear about? The thing is, there's something about the sir's appearance. Just looking makes some tune start playing in my head... Give me a sweet sweet smile, I'll take the cream... And I just want to tickle the sir. What a problem! Better not look. I couldn't help it anymore, I burst out laughing... Ah, not at seeing the sir. When the sir was talking about life expectancy, a colleague recited emotionally, "Sir, the poet has already said, I don't want to die in this beautiful world..." Oh Allah! Drop the rope! Pull the guru out of his grave! If he stays there, this old man will die and become a ghost! The sir asked me, "How old is your job?" I really wanted to say, "Sir, a job is like a woman. Doesn't listen. Tell it to go east, it goes west; tell it to go north, it goes south. Doesn't understand what you say, understands even more what you don't say. Do a little this or that and it sits with puffed cheeks. Have to say 'yes sir yes sir' to both. How many tricks and tactics needed to appease them! Trouble if you have it, even more trouble if you don't. You don't ask a woman's age, sir." No, I didn't say all this. There's a strong possibility of becoming a target. Better to join the masses in public afternoon slumber processions. One noble quality of the sir is that most of the time he looks at the front bench students while teaching. You can sleep as you wish in the back (just don't snore). I'll end the class section with one of the sir's remarks. "If you notice, no matter what kind of people politicians are, they have much more acceptability among common people than us. Because common people understand that if you call bureaucrats, they might not even receive the call, but if you call politicians, they'll at least receive and talk. They need those votes next time too." I liked this remark very much.
Today the handball sessions begin. I’d heard before that this is one of the world’s riskiest games. In the afternoon, arriving at the field a bit early, I approached the instructor with the most bovine, helpless expression I could muster, all meek and trembling, and said, “Sir, I’m hopeless at sports. In my entire life, I’ve never even kicked a football once, sir. Could I kindly be exempted from this session, sir?” Alas! My plea fell on deaf ears. The game instruction began. The handball trainer has his own distinctive way of speaking English. His personal grammar follows this pattern: Infinitive + Noun + Verb! Such as, “Try to ball throw…Hold to ball pass…” He taught us how to ‘see’ the invisible half-circle on the field and position ourselves accordingly for defense! We began flailing our arms and legs in every direction with wild abandon, running across the field in a style reminiscent of some frenzied dance. Ah! What a spectacular cadet-ballet it was! One fellow proved to me that the handball is configured in such a way that it has foolproof arrangements for injuring hands. No matter how you play, this ball will definitely come and hurt you! His handball-phobia was a sight to behold. Every time the ball came his way, he would shriek “Oh my God!” “Oh Mother!” and such exclamations while catching the ball only to immediately drop it on the ground. The poor soul was just waiting to get injured, and indeed he did.
Returning from the field, we all gathered at the coffee corner in the evening to prepare for tomorrow’s group presentation. A flurry of slide-making commenced amid coffee steam. Some had settled into serious research mode. The easiest way to tackle such work is this: abandon all thoughts of putting on a classic performance and simply start working on something that will adequately serve the purpose. And the simplest strategy for starting is to actually start. The presentation was ready. All credit goes to Google & Nescafé!