Sylhet Diary (7)

May 4
One. Returning by bus from Sunamganj to Sylhet. Then to Beanibazar on a friend's bike. Today's bus driver is a speed demon type. If he could, he'd make the bus fly! He won't let anyone overtake him. Every few moments the bus leaps like a fawn. In the front seat, a kitten-cute little human child sits on its mother's lap, practicing delayed Probhat raga. Every time the bus jumps, it stops in wonder. Then resumes that same enthusiastic shrieking! The woman keeps saying, "You monkey child! Won't you listen? I'll give you such a beating, I tell you." Intermittently she talks on the phone with the monkey lord, screaming with all her bodily strength. If you didn't see it, you'd have no way of knowing it was a phone conversation. Her voice is so intense it doesn't even occur to you that she's using a phone. If the good lady had exerted herself a bit more and raised her voice just a little higher, no mobile phone would have been needed at all. Some money could have been saved too. Should I give her the tip? Two young women with bright red lipstick are giggling about something. Girls this age can giggle without any reason at all. They look like red and black fairies. This BRTC bus is going to Comilla. I'll get off in Sylhet shortly. I had fallen asleep. Suddenly woke up and felt like writing the above. I feel like sharing many more amusing things. If I wrote all that, it would turn into a little bus travelogue. Never mind! Have to get off. Humayun Rashid Circle.
Two. "Hey, which group are you from?" "Sir, we're from Jamal group."
When the sir asked some students in the college grounds whether they were from Science, Humanities, or Commerce group, that answer came. The college has three factions of the student league. There's constant fighting among them over influence. "Sir, we have to go to our college at least three times a week"—the OC saheb's words. The college is called Beanibazar Government College. They have two occupations: romance and factional politics.
The municipality chairman of Beanibazar runs his office wearing a lungi. He travels everywhere in a lungi. Owner of immense wealth. Once he was going to America. Naturally wearing a lungi. Before reaching the airport, he was convinced through much persuasion to wear pants. The lungi was changed right in the car. His discomfort while wearing pants was something to behold. Only until boarding the plane. Once aboard, he became a lungi-wearing gentleman again. He goes everywhere from the DC office onward in that outfit. The OC saheb informed me that as a person he's quite good. Does work for the area. He's been chairman for the past 14 years. One of his famous dialogues is: "Oh I see, (so-and-so saheb) doesn't take money? I understand. So how much money doesn't he take?"
"How are you?"
"No sir, I'm well."
The people of Beanibazar talk in this style. Whatever question you ask, the answer will always begin with "No sir." The UNO sir manages quite well. Very friendly and people-oriented. He knows HRM quite well. There's much to learn from the sir about how to say "no" beautifully to service seekers. He can grasp people's psychology very quickly. He speaks to everyone with great respect. There's no more effective wisdom for dealing with Sylheti people. Even when very angry with someone, he later handles the matter in such a way that his anger simply disappears. His public dealings are truly worth observing. The sir's sense of humor is also quite good. What impressed me most is that the sir never puts on airs unnecessarily. He doesn't give people random trouble without cause. Things that are only needed on paper, he keeps on paper. I haven't seen any show-off seriousness in him. He doesn't need to tell tall tales about what he is—he shows it through work. He's not the type to sit for hours over work that can be done in two hours. Not everyone needs two hours to do two hours of work. If you can finish the job very well in half an hour, what's wrong with sleeping for the remaining hour and a half? He received the national best UNO award for contributions to education. Looking at the sir reminds me of Beckett's "Waiting for Godot" and Shakespeare's "Much Ado About Nothing." Actually, great people don't put on great airs—only pretenders do. They have to. Otherwise the cat will be out of the bag!
I saw Lodi saheb's garden. Fruit and medicinal plants. I like trees anyway. Plus here I saw several rare species. It felt good. One must praise the gentleman's taste. Now I'm standing before the memorial built in memory of the six brave martyrs—Rajani Das, Brajanath Das, Prasanna Kumar Das, Pabitra Kumar Das, Amulya Kumar Das, Kutumani Das—who died in frontal battle in the historic Nankar peasant rebellion. I met Apurba Kumar Das, younger brother of Amulya Kumar Das. During lunch on August 18, 1949, the peasant Amulya Kumar Das left his house and ran here, where police shot and killed him along with the others. Nothing could stop him from leaving. Without finishing his rice, he forced his way out saying, "No one can take away our rights. They're killing our brothers. How can I sit at home?"
The monument is beside the Sonai river. Some kids are hovering around us. I took some raw mangoes from them and ate. I'm chatting with the local people. Conversations about all sorts of topics. If I had time, I'd write about those things. How much can you type on your mobile while wandering around! Now we'll all go boating on the Sonai river in the declining afternoon.
May 5
I came to visit the Indian customs office at Sheola-Sutarkandi border. Everyone here speaks in Bengali. The feeling that people from another country speak my language is deeply joyful. Here I saw that the office signboards, billboards are all sponsored by Pran-RFL. Our companies are reigning in another country. Our products have captured their market. Thinking about these things always lifts my spirits.
After eating together at our customs office on this side of the border, we went to the other side. The Indian customs office superintendent's ancestral home is in Habiganj, Sylhet, Bangladesh. That's why his affection for us was much greater. Love for one's countrymen is natural. He kept introducing everyone: "My country's people! My country's people!!" He became emotional while reminiscing about memories of Habiganj. Tears came to his eyes. The scene was worth watching. It was truly a beautiful feeling. I kept thinking, what if this border hadn't existed? Lennon's song "Imagine" came to mind. In conversation he said, "My father was a student of Sylhet MC College. He got 97 in Sanskrit. I feel proud to say that it's still a record!" His face was glowing with pride. It looked wonderful. There's great joy in telling and hearing about old successes. And if it happens to be the best of the best, then there's nothing more to say! If you have something worth telling, you'll certainly tell it! Those who have nothing unique to say—their job is listening. I somehow felt a little kinship with myself too.
The funny thing is, Grameenphone and Banglalink networks are available in that place in Karimganj, Assam. The Indian customs hospitality was captivating. That gentleman said many good things about Bangladesh. How wonderful it felt! When someone says good things about my mother, I think, this person is so good! It feels very close, very personal.
Feeling Bangladesh Bangladesh!!
May 6
One. Yesterday after office and all-day wandering, I had to swallow the pestle in the evening upon request. A gentleman from Beanibazar, Abdul Alim Lodi. (Is he related to Ibrahim Lodi?) Loving trees, he's created a garden of medicinal and fruit plants. He has an intense desire for this Lodi Garden to become known throughout the country. He shows everyone around the garden with great enthusiasm. I was impossibly tired yesterday evening. Just because I can never say "no" to anyone, at his request and enthusiasm, I went to Lodi Garden around 8:30 at night. The garden is full of many rare native and foreign trees. He was lighting torches to show me the trees. I love trees myself, I feel a kind of tenderness toward trees. But due to extreme physical exhaustion, I was feeling terribly annoyed. Still I forced myself to keep smiling and pretend to listen to his words attentively. Such a sweaty smile—in the few photos I took at his request, I look like a pickpocket in every one, the kind that would make anyone want to grab and beat senseless. His tremendous emotion and love for trees was truly something to behold. In this world, masterpieces can be created only with emotion and love. Along with that, you need the mentality for tireless hard work. Lodi saheb has all of this. With the right perspective, people can achieve the impossible. I learned this once again yesterday.
I returned to the resthouse around 10:30 at night. My body felt like it was about to collapse. The next day, meaning today, there's a plan to go touring again at 7 AM. Meanwhile, I have to send an article about BCS written exam Bangladesh Affairs preparation strategy to Prothom Alo's Friday job page by Wednesday afternoon. That means I absolutely have to finish writing it tonight. But with this body, it's simply impossible. After bathing around 11:30, I called Prothom Alo. "Due to unavoidable reasons, today's article couldn't be printed. The article will be printed in the next issue"—since it would be very difficult for me to write with this tired body, I asked them to print something like that. But they informed me it was absolutely impossible to do this now. Everyone would be waiting for the article. Even if it's a bit difficult, would I please kindly write it... I really felt helpless. You can't just write any old way when so many people will read it! Plus when writing this type of article, a tremendous sense of responsibility works within me.
I was reading Shawkat Osman's "Janani." After reading that a bit more, I sat down to write around 12:30. This sitting wasn't from necessity but from emotion, from love, from infinite responsibility. I know I won't be able to sleep long, tomorrow I'll have to wander around all day practically from dawn, still. I put slow instrumental music on the laptop and started writing. After facebooking and finishing the article, when I went to sleep, the clock hands were approaching 2:30. Before going to sleep, I vowed to myself that I'd live a little for myself from now on, not for others. I'll say "to hell with it!" and abandon everything! What's the point of doing all this? Not everyone loves you—some even curse you. What's the need! Enough is enough!... This anger at myself lasts only until dawn! I know I can never stop this ghost's unpaid labor due to people's boundless love. I might pause sometimes, but I'll never stop.
The pain cuts deepest when I see people making thoughtless comments about my work. Even physical pain doesn't hurt this much. From all this writing, career discussions, motivational counseling—I've never taken a single penny from any of it!
I slept about three hours. Set out exploring at seven. Now I'm on the road to Bichanakandi and Panthumai. Next will be Ratargul, the citrus groves of Jaintapur, Rajbari, Lalakhal. The road to Bichanakandi offers sweeping views of bills and haors on both sides. Rows of gentleman-like trees line the road, and through them we race along. Life, indeed, is this racing forward! Whether through beauty or ugliness. Life isn't only beautiful—life is ugly too. My beloved poet Robert Frost comes to mind: what I've learned about life I can say in three words—life goes on. Even keeping Andy Dufresne's words from 'The Shawshank Redemption' in mind, one can live life quite well: Get busy living, or get busy dying.
Two. This makes twelve times. The water level in the Piyain river is low now. The boat keeps getting stuck on the riverbed. They say boats often capsize this way. And I can't even swim. The boatmen frequently jump into waist-deep water to push the boat forward, and we help too. Ten of us colleagues are having a blast. Shouting, cheering, making noise. White stone heaps line both banks of the river. Quarried from the river itself. The rest is all hackneyed! Ducks racing alongside banana rafts, festivals of green, heavenly rest-pavilions beneath jarul blossoms, fishing children or child-fishers catching fish, babies toddling into the water clinging to mother's sari-edge, the river's children surviving day and night in bushes or forests, river people waving and laughing in universal language when they see us, beckoning from distant hills, beckoning from thatched huts nestled in the shade of dripping trees, the sun becoming sunshine in the bright sky, silver sunlight playing in the beat of royal swan wings, green mirages in white sheep wool, dinghies bobbing at every ghat—what else is there! Who hasn't seen all this? Hackneyed indeed, no? I've written about these things countless times. The boat keeps swaying this way and that. Of course it's frightening! The initial fear isn't as strong now. We've made it seem easy, but dying isn't actually that simple. I'm alive, so life is beautiful. On the return journey I'll walk back through this river. I'll write about that too. No girlfriend—living just for this writing!
Three. I can't figure out where else there is to explore in Sylhet division! Give me ideas for where to go this Friday-Saturday. If you have time, come along! This weekend is my last weekend in Sylhet. I want to make the most of this too!
Really, so much traveling has been done. Many Sylheti friends have said they themselves haven't seen this much of Sylhet. Some have said no one before me has ever written so beautifully praising Sylhet's beauty. After reading my description of Madhobpur Lake, a younger sister from SUST called to say, "Brother, my home is right beside Madhobpur Lake. Yet reading your writing makes me want to rush out and see Madhobpur Lake right now!"
Many people, after reading my writing about lesser-known spots in Sylhet, have talked to me to learn what they're like, how to get there. Like Narayantala. Googling this place brings up nothing. Yet the place is beautiful as a dream!
Tomorrow I'll return to Sylhet from Beanibazar. At the end of next week I'll go back to PATC in Dhaka for another 2 months. I have one more week left in Sylhet. I'm truly spending some of the best moments of my life here. I'll remember this Sylhet tour my whole life. Dear Sylhet, I will miss you forever! You're the best girlfriend of my life!
May 13

Goodbye Sylhet!!!
Two months! Yet it feels like, or I like to think, I just arrived yesterday! Time passes. I've spent some of the finest moments of my life here. Sylhet and Sylhet's wonderful people will remain in my memory forever. Sylhet is as beautiful as its people are even more beautiful! So warm! So simple and straightforward! So hospitable! I'm truly overwhelmed! If Chittagong is the queen of beauty, then I can say without hesitation that Sylhet is that queen's own little sister. I'm leaving Sylhet carrying an impossible fondness with me. Right at this moment I feel like something is missing! Something is missing!! I feel a kind of longing in my chest. I felt this way leaving Chittagong too! Could it be that...!!
Dear Sylhet, stay very well. We'll meet again...