Second Birth

I haven’t read much of Humayun Ahmed’s work. Like a handful of snobbish Bangladeshi readers, I too had the misfortune of passing through that phase when it seemed that not reading Humayun Ahmed was the mark of a good reader. In those days, the fashion was to proclaim “I don’t read Humayun Ahmed” while secretly sneaking in a book or two. I began reading Humayun quite late. Among the few I’ve read, I would place “Opekkha” (Waiting) at the top. The same flavor I felt while reading Neellohit’s “Ek-ekta Din Onorokom” (Each Day is Different) suddenly returned with two lines from “Opekkha”: “…each day in a person’s life turns out different. On some days, even when things happen that should make you sad, you don’t feel sad—instead, your heart feels light.” In the film “October,” just as cinema’s founding father Eisenstein established Kerensky’s fragility through montage by arranging rows of wine glasses and tin soldiers in sequence, the Sunil-Humayun consciousness converged at the same point through pure coincidence.

That line from “Opekkha” is a strangely profound truth!

I used to do business. I never once imagined I would take a job. I applied for only one job in my entire life, and by sheer luck, I got it. I never even imagined I would get it so spectacularly. I only wanted one job, nothing more. I knew there was something called coming first in this job exam, something I wasn’t worthy of. In those days, I would hear the names of BCS exam toppers and see what they looked like. I would search online for interviews with those alien beings who topped the ICS exams.

No one knows what getting a job feels like until they actually get one. You keep thinking it will be something wonderfully joyful—when you truly get that job, your loved ones will look at you with happy faces. You want to believe that life will suddenly become a “I’ve-got-everything” kind of life! Everyone will think, “Wow! Even this fool can do it!”

BCS exam results follow a certain pattern. The pattern is this: when you’re waiting for BCS results, every single day feels like the day the results will come out. Rumors you desperately want to believe keep floating in the air and across Facebook groups. Those of us jobless souls waiting for the 30th BCS results lived in daily anticipation. Anticipation? No, that’s wrong. It was vigil.

November 1, 2011, 11 PM. After much deliberation, around 11:30, I decided to deactivate my Facebook account. Why? Because when you’re deeply anxious, even good things don’t feel good. When your heart is heavy, you don’t want to hear even “Happy Birthday.” And in just half an hour it would be midnight—everyone would know that after 12, on November 2, it was my birthday, they’d wish me well, and I’d have to be cheerfully responsive. Sometimes in life come moments when you want to remove yourself from this world, to think yourself unworthy, to live believing you haven’t yet earned anything good. Let no one love you. You’re unworthy of anyone’s love. You just want to keep yourself in pain. You want to understand life’s meaning by hurting yourself. You want to keep your head down, mouth shut, silently bearing everyone’s grand pronouncements. You want to walk forward through immense suffering. I used to think like that too. I always kept my heart small. I prepared myself through a life of penance. What this was, I didn’t need any theosophical lectures to understand—I learned it from my own life. What good it did, I couldn’t explain!

Where was I! I deactivated the account! Let no one wish me well! Let me stay a little hidden! Everyone has only given me pain anyway! They will, won’t they! Let them give more! What they’re giving, I give myself even more! I too keep hurting my parents and brother. My birthday arrived quietly. Ma came and kissed my forehead. My younger brother hugged me and said happy birthday. After touching Baba’s feet in respect, he pulled me to his chest and said, “Son, live well.” And me? My eyes kept welling up with this unbearable love. Oh, how much pain I’m causing them! What harsh words people casually say to them about me! Their hidden tears bear witness to suppressed suffering. Yet they love! This much!! I went to the bathroom and cried hard! Growing up, I’d somehow forgotten how to cry openly. Crying takes courage too. Even that had gotten lost somewhere. I cut the cake my little brother brought with a terribly sad expression. “Brother, isn’t the writing on the cake nice?” I asked with painful anger, “Why did you bring this? Where did you get the money?” “Today I got paid from tutoring, brother.” I had no strength left to say anything more. Holding him close, crying, I kept saying, “Forgive me, brother. I couldn’t do anything for you.” “Don’t be silly! Here, eat some cake!” I saw Ma hiding her face in her sari. Baba, with that familiar innocence, was smiling while looking at us two brothers. Seeing all this made my head spin. The clock was about to strike 1. I couldn’t sleep at all that night. For the first time in my life, I understood that tears really can soak a pillow.

November 2, I didn’t leave the house all day. I received only a few birthday wishes. Only those who knew called or sent texts. From morning, there were strong rumors that the results would come out today. That day’s rumors had much more force. Facebook group walls were in a storm: “Results will come, they will!” Even some usually silent stalwarts were swaying in that storm. Who am I to claim loudly that their swaying didn’t touch me too? At noon, Ma almost force-fed me rice. Then I ate Ma’s payesh. Even the most sorrowful person gets to eat their mother’s payesh on their birthday. After noon, I saw on Facebook that many were saying with certainty that results would come this afternoon. Supposedly confirmed from various PSC sources. My whole body started trembling with tension. In those days, I usually watched movies as a technique to reduce stress. The clock showed 17 minutes past 2. I started watching a movie. I didn’t realize that in extreme tension, I’d mistakenly chosen a stress-inducing movie. The Godfather Part II. I didn’t feel like watching long. Next, The 400 Blows. While watching, I got 3 calls from 3 people who weren’t the type to speak irresponsibly. They too said results would come before evening today. Just before 4, I got news that results were out and roll number 302653 was supposedly at the top of the BCS Customs and Excise cadre list. I shouted into the phone, “How is this possible? Just tell me if my roll number is there or not!” “Hey brother, it’s there! Right at the top. You came first.” What! First, really!—keeping this in mind, I entered the PSC website. Results were indeed published. I downloaded the PDF file and saw that the font they’d used wasn’t installed on my PC. I downloaded and installed the font. With great fear and infinite amazement, I discovered my roll number was indeed first. I called two people to confirm that being first on the roll meant coming first. My roll number wasn’t on the waiting list, meaning I was actually selected for the job. ‘I’m no longer unemployed!’ The intensity of suddenly being able to think this cannot be explained in writing. Everything inside and outside gets completely turned upside down! How life changes in just 2 seconds!

I didn’t know what getting a job felt like. The job I thought would give me everything in life—what to do when you get that job by coming first—that question didn’t even arise! Just in a moment’s difference, life can feel completely different; you can desperately want to believe that right now you’re the happiest person in the world. Everything in this world is beautiful! After giving Ma the news while hugging her, she began kissing me intensely while crying; and I understood these tears meant something different. I called Baba. In a very emotional, loud voice, he said, “I’m coming home from court right now.” My little brother, right in the middle of his tutoring session, laughed uncontrollably and asked, “Brother, I won’t teach anymore today, I’m coming home. What should I bring you?” I don’t remember everything that happened that day. I was dancing while hugging my little brother. The smiles on Ma and Baba’s faces—smiles just for me. This was a scene of great joy. Sweetmax was Chittagong’s most famous sweet shop then, near GEC intersection—it’s gone now, closed down. We two brothers went there and bought 30 kilos of sweets for everyone. At that moment, I had one feeling working most intensely: my parents wouldn’t have to cry for me anymore, wouldn’t have to bow their heads before anyone, everyone would respect them greatly. My little brother wouldn’t have to think of ways to change the subject when I came up among his friends. I could call those one or two who stood by me during hard times and say, “It’s because you were there that I’m here today! Thank you so much.” I instantly forgot all the hardships, suffering, and sorrow from preparing for BCS. I wanted to forgive all the cruel people in the world. Life began to seem secure, carefree, untroubled, fearless, and so, so, so beautiful! Even people who didn’t consider me human were calling to congratulate me. I never had to bother Google to understand what identity crisis meant. I learned from life itself how painful it is not to matter to anyone. Someone whose presence or absence makes no difference to anyone lives very helplessly alone in this world. That day I realized: identity is more important than existence. In the life of the Bengali middle class, it’s a difficult dilemma whether job or life comes first. Without a job, there’s no life!

The 2011 birthday was my only birthday when no one gave me any gift. Yet that day’s gift overshadowed all the gifts from my previous 26 birthdays. For the first time in my life, I received a birthday gift directly from the Creator. Such a gift couldn’t be small! The Creator truly doesn’t keep anyone dishonored forever. His gifts are great gifts. To receive them, you must wait humbly with patience. Along with hard work.

I was in Humayun Ahmed’s “Opekkha.” Truly, the sad Sushanto of the previous day had no similarity at all with the happy Sushanto of the next day. The birthday I’d assumed would be sorrowful became the best birthday of my life. Life taught me that just one moment can make you a completely different person. You can never know by what divine signal things happen. Everything felt good that day. A neighbor uncle came and said, “Son, your father has no more worries. Customs is a bribery job. You’ll be able to make lots of money.” Oh! Even on such a day, while eating sweets, there are people with infinite capacity to say such vile things, such jealous souls in this world! No! I said nothing, didn’t even press that huge sandesh from Sweetmax against his nose. Now I understand that such uncles’ sons are also on my friend-follower list. How can I blame them? They’ve learned from childhood how to be sad at others’ happiness. The family education of tolerating others’ joy is a great education. This education comes from fathers. Today I understand what a great teacher Baba is! The aunt from next door came to visit. When I saw her take her grandson in her lap, he was smiling with pure, innocent eyes. I began to feel like he too was smiling in happiness on my joyful day. The very next moment I realized that yes, it was a smile of happiness, but not from my result—from the happiness of peeing on me. I wasn’t angry at all. Instead, I kept kissing him with joy. I began to feel, ah, just for the warmth of this pee, life is worth living!