Sylhet Diary (1)

(Statutory Warning: Reading this piece may trigger an overwhelming urge to pack your bags and head straight to Sylhet!)

There are two kinds of unfortunate souls in Bangladesh: those who weren't born in Sylhet. And those who haven't explored Sylhet.
One of the essential conditions for securing a government job: participation in foundational training. A few of us from the Bangladesh Public Administration Training Centre spent nearly two months in Sylhet for field attachment as part of the 58th foundational training program. My sole reason for putting Sylhet at the top of my personal preference list was: to explore Sylhet. I don't know if this sounds like an exaggeration, but I'll say it anyway—during that time, I toured and explored Sylhet so extensively that very few Sylhetis have probably seen as much of their own city. Besides witnessing Sylhet in the monsoons, the training requirements took us to various government, semi-government, private, autonomous organizations, and NGOs. I shared those varied and vivid experiences in different Facebook posts. I've gathered all those posts from that period and arranged them in diary form.
Read and see. If you like it, share it. If you don't, quietly soak some puffed rice in Sprite and eat it in silence.
March 27
...off to Sylhet, the Daughter of Nature. I'll have to stay there for 7 weeks as a part of our foundation training course ...looking forward to meeting my friends, well-wishers, fans & followers. I'll be available on ***********... Hello Sylhet!!
March 28
One. Good Morning, Sylhet!
Two. Feeling ... super happy!
On the way to Jaflong . . . next destinations: Tamabil, Jaintapur, Sripur, Lalakhal . . .
Three. Feeling crazy at Jaflong, Sylhet
Mist-wrapped hills, suddenly raging rivers, rain woven with magic. Oh my!! . . . Come, let's get drenched!!
Four. Happiness is . . . carefully stepping through the bone-chilling knee-deep water of a rocky mountain river and posing with exaggerated 'twisted face and bared teeth' for photos!
Goodbye, Jaflong. Today you've soaked me in rain; and in sunshine too! On the way to Lalakhal . . .
Five. At Lalakhal ... Well, doesn't this look somewhat like Kaptai Lake? Though Kaptai is far more beautiful! Actually, this is more like the Sangu River in Bandarban.
March 29
One. Feeling... gluttonous at Panshi Restaurant
Had a feast at Panshi, brother! Amazing!! Bellies don't just grow by themselves, you know!
Two. At MC College . . . old atmosphere, old scents
Three. Just as we have our lighthouse, they have their bookstore. A pestle goes to heaven but still pounds rice, and I've only come to Sylhet. I'll roam around so much, yet not visit the city's biggest bookstore? That won't do! . . . Spending time at 'Boipotro,' Sylhet's biggest bookstore . . .
March 30
One. At the Civil Surgeon's office . . . reminds me of Uttam Kumar's 'Ananda Ashram.' Have you seen that movie? The doctor's office shown there was somewhat like this too. An intimate blend of nature and service. There was a field there, which isn't here. That's the only difference! . . . I see a vehicle with 'Emergency Medicine' written on it. An old, broken-down car. Some weeds have even grown on it. Medicine and oxygen, both are there! All arrangements for saving lives! The car doesn't run, so it won't take anyone's life! I mean, this toothless and clawless car is also a life-saver!
Two. Ah, the tea garden! One could live just to spend an afternoon like this! In the midst of this otherworldly beauty, I feel like considering myself terribly ugly! Such is the power of beauty!
Three. Kazi Bazar Bridge spans the Surma River. Looking at the river from the bridge and...not my mood, but my temper is getting awful. People have turned the Surma into another Buriganga. The river has become a dumping ground. So many piles of garbage and waste floating in the Surma! The river is taking its revenge too. If we rape Nature once, it will rape us hundred times or even more! How do people become such ungrateful scoundrels? In search of a moment's peace, we keep returning to this very riverbank! The child who grows up nursing at a mother's breast ends up killing that very mother when grown!
I feel like having a bit of fun. Shall I?
In the 30th BCS written exam, there was a question: Write about the role of rivers in Bangladesh's economic activities. . . . The question wasn't common for me, but I still answered it. I mean, I had to. The alternative was a constitutional question. I can't handle constitution. So what else could I do! Those who attended my career discussions know how and with what technique I answered that question with proper points, quotations, and data. I won't go into that discussion. I'll just say this much: O River! You gave me marks, but I couldn't give you anything! Forgive my inability.
I saw a couple who, even on this blazing scorching endless burning day, were dating while sitting on the sun-baked bridge footpath with an umbrella over their heads. I pray, O God! Give this unemployed young man a job that provides the necessary funds to take his beloved young woman for peaceful dating in an AC restaurant. Or at the very least, give him the sense to choose a better dating spot. . . . May their 'hot hot' relationship never turn cold.
April 1
Had a meal at Bhojonbari. Various types of vegetables, fish, meat, and my beloved yogurt. Simply amazing! Beautifully terrible like hell! You can sin to go to hell, you can come here to feast. Sin leads to hell, feasting leads to a belly. The regret of not being able to sin as one wishes and the regret of not being able to feast as one pleases—both torment equally. I'd rather go to hell; all the interesting people are there. I don't like staying with boring people. I'd rather go to good restaurants; all the delicious food is there. I don't like staying away from delicious food. Hey brother, I'll die if I eat, and I'll die if I don't eat. So let me die eating! What else is there in life besides this little bit of eating, drinking, and surviving!
April 2
One. Reading some people's nature descriptions makes you feel as if you're actually touching tender leaves, as if the fragrance of wild flowers is truly intoxicating, as if the gentle stream of rain has calmed restless lips, the eyes are soothed by the riot of colors from all the garden flowers, green insects on damp leaves are fooling their own path-color as they move right before your eyes, so many shades of green awaken, all birds become rain-soaked crows, and so much more!
In the small scope of my literary reading, two people in Bengali literature have brought me closest to nature. Bibhutibhushan Bandyopadhyay and Buddhadeb Guha. These two great creators can be touched with heart and mind far more than they can be read. Keeping Palamau and a few other creations in mind, I find the magic of nature-intimate literary simplicity nowhere else so intimately. Buddhadeb was a Chartered Accountant by profession. It's our great fortune that unlike ten other professionals, he didn't just hide behind his profession. He traveled extensively—many people do that; but he also wrote. Reading 'Ribhu,' I learned that given the amount of busy time he spent, this voluminous writing in between wasn't easy. All his writings are good! Even if we don't particularly like Riti from 'Sabinoy Nibedon,' we haven't gotten someone unique like Sunil's Margarita from 'Sudur Jharnar Jole' or 'Chhobir Deshe Kobitar Deshe,' or Shabnam from Mujtaba's 'Shabnam' from Buddhadeb, but what we have received is incomparable wealth.
The joy of communion with nature shakes the entire body and mind. Like how even a still mountain can teach one to live, think, and love anew. Being able to witness Sylhet's rain is one of the best gifts of being alive on earth. Sylhet's rain has the nature of Buddhadeb Guha's nature. I've read Guha, loved him, so it feels very familiar.
It's been a week since I came to Sylhet as part of training. Every day we visit different government offices. We go and listen, see what they do and how they do it. Now I'm at the Department of Agricultural Extension office. There are two things in the world I have no headache about. One. What I don't need. Two. What I'm not interested in. . . . Today's officer gentleman seems like a good person. He keeps talking and some of us keep dozing off. Needless to say, this dozing has no relation whatsoever to whether one sleeps at night or not. I'm mainly in their group. Today I thought, writing is better than dozing. Besides, I can do both. Today I went with the latter. Why did I go? In these few days I discovered that most government office washrooms have problems with their latches. Today's has it too. Thinking of writing about this, I ended up writing about all sorts of things. This often happens to me. Rain, Sylhet; and me too. Most importantly, the phone has charge. Sylhet is most beautiful in rain. I wish to spend such a rain-soaked day in a tea garden bungalow. Let's see if someone kindly arranges it!
I feel like writing more. I can't. I know later this writing will be lost like many of my other unwritten writings. The pain of accepting the death of a child who left without being born is very sorrowful. Jobs are terrible things. They don't let you write as you please, read as you please, see as you please, listen as you please. The agony of livelihood is a great agony. Sometimes I really want to quit this job just to read Rabindranath!
Two. Happiness is . . . riding a bike through the city's silence in the night's cool breeze . . . by the banks of Surma under Queen Bridge . . . Life meets me here!
April 3
One. I'm watching misty clouds drift past the moon. YouTube plays one night song after another. Ah! One could live just to see this scene! Just by remaining on earth, so much happens by simply being alive! If I had died that day, what would I have gotten besides some people's pity-scorn and the pain-tears of close ones! Dead people don't receive anyone's love. Dead eyes can't see this beauty. Today I understand, the greatest punishment for killing oneself is just that! Even I wanted to die once! How great the gift of being alive is...when one leaves in great hurt, who can understand! If you stay alive, you can bathe in the moon's silver light. Even if alone, still! Today I swear, I'll never again even think of suicide! People actually leave this beautiful world! Is the power of hurt greater than the responsibility of love? I say, absolutely not, absolutely not! . . . May such dear nights not go to waste—the pain of not being able to say this while holding someone's hand and this unbearably beautiful night . . . these two merge together into such a wail that simply won't let me sleep! This is a night for not sleeping.
But alas! Even when I extend my hand, no one holds it, only mosquitoes surround me; even today!
Not even the mosquitoes are as cruel as a beloved! They drink your blood? Let them! If they won't give it back, I could offer my very last drop with a smile.

Two. Such a small life! Yet so much in it! How much does one really get in a lifetime? With this much love received, life isn't all that bad! One can get by quite nicely!

I wandered around SUST, chatted with the Economics students, met with younger brothers, talked, took photos together. They loved, and I loved too. I convinced them they could do it, that they too had what it takes!

Three. Just a while ago, Humayun bhai called. He'd gone to visit SUST. He was sitting at a tea stall with friends when he noticed some young people nearby quoting things I'd said and discussing them among themselves. They were saying how wonderful it would be if bhaiya could teach them sometimes, how easily he answers so many questions. Some said, "Bhaiya is a psychological doctor." Humayun bhai told me, "Brother, you're really something special. The way you help everyone like this. Not everyone can do this."

Yesterday at SUST, I spoke for a long time at a motivational session with Economics Department students at their invitation... There was a time when I harbored dreams of becoming a university teacher, but lacked the means. I didn't pursue academic studies seriously, my results were terrible (2.74), and I had not an ounce of qualification for teaching. This was the only real regret in my life, and now even that is gone. I'm invited to speak at various universities, teaching people to dream. The largest audience was at Rajshahi University's program—at least 2,500. (Later, Jagannath University's program had nearly 4,000, and Begum Rokeya University's had about 5,500 audience members.) They sit there, listening for 5-6 hours straight. I wonder, how do they manage to sit still for so long at this age? The professors listen too. They say, "These things aren't taught at the university. You teach them, and we're with you." Thank you to the professors... I think, trying to hide the tears gathering at the corners of my eyes, what a lot you can gain just by staying alive! Life never sends anyone back empty-handed. As I can't teach how to get grades, I've decided to teach how to live life. Not everyone can do everything. If we say an elephant can't do anything just because it can't climb trees, that's hardly the elephant's fault.

Yesterday a boy called me. He and everyone around him believe he'll never amount to anything in life. Why? He was born unable to see with his left eye, and can only see a little with his right. People like him receive no love, only pity. This has always been his experience. People's neglect leaves him begging on the roadside of life at every moment. Just as a thirsty person thrashes about desperately for a single drop of water, someone can give their very life for a little bit of love! No one has ever loved him. As a result, he's always accustomed to thinking about these things—what he doesn't have, which jobs aren't for him, what he has nothing to offer anyone. Eighty percent of all his thoughts are about what isn't meant for him. In profound despair, pain, and depression, he often thinks, "Let me just go! How can someone stay in this world when nobody wants them here?" ... I spoke with him for a long time. I taught him how to reduce that eighty percent to twenty percent and throw it away. In this world, only tears are personal. Living with this is equivalent to death. You don't have to share tears with everyone. Not everyone will understand the value of your pain. Let some tears remain personal! The power of suffering is enormous. You need to know how to seek it out... I said much more like this. I convinced him that his worth in this world is immense. Those who don't value him should be thrown away like used tissue paper. I taught him to be brave, to recognize his strength. Why should a student from the country's top institution, Dhaka University, accept defeat? I don't want anyone to be lost. When I told him, "Brother, after you get a job, you'll treat me to sweets with your first month's salary!" he burst into tears. I know tears never lie. I believe with all my heart that he will succeed!

April 4

One. I came to visit Chhatak. I spent a long time looking at the Surma River. The river takes on a different beauty in the declining afternoon. Rivers and skies never grow old—they just keep changing and changing. Just across the river is the Lafarge Surma Cement Factory. I went by boat and explored. It's right on the banks of the Surma. A truly spectacular structure. It has the atmosphere of a Hollywood shooting location. It wouldn't be bad if an action movie were shot here. The hero and villain running zigzag on tracks in Tom and Jerry style with guns raised, bullets hitting the hero but nothing happening to him—something like that could be made. In Bangladeshi movies, when the hero gets injured, the heroine's job is to cry and wail, but in Hollywood movies, when the hero gets injured, the heroine's job is to grab another gun and jump into action. Both could be done here, no problem. There are excellent facilities for the heroine's crying. The heroine will sit on cement bags and wail loudly. Seeing the heroine cry, the cameraman will naturally go "hee-hee-ha-ha"—though the audience won't see that. Wouldn't that be innovative? ... Their conveyor belt is 17 km long—10 km here, 7 km in India. Raw materials for cement production come from India through this belt, which never stops. As night deepens, imports increase. Looking at it, it seems like a bridge stretching straight to somewhere...

The corporate sector's housing plan is worth seeing. I've toured Samsung's housing in South Korea. Extraordinarily beautiful. Just seeing it makes you want to stay. It's a land where you can get everything—alas! except Bangladesh. You can get everything there—everything except Bangladesh. I could smile and say goodbye to any heaven that doesn't have Bangladesh. Can one live with so much compromise? Life is so short! Those who work at British American Tobacco also live quite well. Their facilities are truly admirable. How sparkling clean the offices where they work in foreign investment companies are! Why not mention their homes! When employees are given such beautiful homes to live in, their hearts naturally stay happy, making them want to work hard for the company.

Those of us in government service... we can't even imagine that so much is available... I toured their plants by car. Highly sophisticated. I kept looking at everything and thinking, why must I do government service? It's all about living well! Whatever we do, as long as there are no regrets, that's what matters. There's no such thing as a good job—what exists is living well. We're not doing too badly either. Would I have received this "son-in-law treatment" (read: official protocol) if I hadn't joined Customs? We all took many colorful photos together. I'll share them tonight.

Thank you Lafarge Surma Cement Ltd for your warm reception! Thanks to Hira bhai for giving us so much of his time with such sincerity. This man can smile beautifully.

Two. Returning from Chhatak. A sudden Chaitra shower. Rain flying in gusty winds. Clouds flashing moment by moment. This is a thunderstorm. The sky breaks in silver lines, everything around blazing up. In the headlight's fierce glow, the battle between road and wild water. The younger brothers in the car are singing at the top of their voices. Tree branches are breaking and falling. We were caught in a storm earlier. The car stopped. Nothing visible ahead. Terrifying sounds all around. It felt like the storm might lift the car and carry it away any moment. A completely deserted road. Even if someone kidnapped us, no one else would even know. The angry storm seemed about to shatter the car windows! Even being afraid felt frightening—what if everything really did fall apart!

All storms eventually subside. The car is moving again. Inside, the song of life continues. Sylhet's weather is quite unpredictable. This rain, this sunshine. Now there's no more storm, just gentle rainfall. Large branches and leaves are scattered here and there. Some people are returning home with cattle, umbrellas over their heads. What a burden it is to be cattle—no one holds an umbrella over their heads. This cool evening is for sleeping wrapped in quilts. I'm thinking of sleep but can't sleep, occasionally rolling down the car window to touch the rain.