The Story of Change

The year was most likely 2009. Some evening in December. The bend at Cheragi Hill in Jamal Khan, Chittagong. The warmth of pithas and pulis, chatpati, fuchka, and tea from liquor stalls had settled into every layer of that winter evening’s embrace. In that colorful dusk, the cascade of conversations was flowing, oh how it flowed!

The young man was smoking his daily cigarette and chatting away in his usual animated manner, standing in front of BRAC Bank. An unemployed but talented graduate from Dhaka University; knocked about so much that he had accepted defeat, convinced that jobs don’t come without uncles and connections. Rising at noon, leisurely brushing his teeth for an hour, having brunch, his morning would end at 2:30 amid his retired father’s curses and his mother’s tears painting everyday patterns of despair. Then he’d turn on Messenger, roll around in bed a bit, freshen up and head out to watch the evening prayers reflected in his girlfriend’s eyes as afternoon faded. Those who have nothing still manage to have a girlfriend. He dreams that one day he too will land a job and bring his girlfriend permanently to his own home before she moves to another’s. He tells the girl this too. Like ten other old foolish girlfriends in this world, this beauty also believes that such a day will truly come. The evening stalls at this dream-seeing stage. Free dreams feel so good to dream! But work toward fulfilling those dreams never progresses. Dreams simply die as dreams, falling face-first into the dust. His girlfriend’s marriage is being discussed. The unemployed young man doesn’t know what to do at such a time, or perhaps lacks the courage to want to know. He only knows that one day everything will work out fine. In the weaving of false dreams, the glittering yellow evening lamp announces it’s 7:30, time to drop her home. The girl returns home, the boy goes to his daily gathering. His friends are there. All like him; unemployed people, terribly busy! As unemployed as they are busy! No jobs, but at least each has a girlfriend. Time passes wonderfully! Little desire to work hard, great fondness for dreaming. Swallowing rice bought with father’s hard-earned money and conducting pocket-change romances with tuition fees. Instead of shouldering family burdens, he has been a burden himself for quite some time. There’s his God-given father’s hotel, free room and board. The neighborhood people scold him, but he’s gotten used to that, it doesn’t sting anymore. They sleep, wake up only to sleep again. Occasionally they take job exams. Don’t study properly; take exams, that’s their consolation. Don’t get jobs, curse the system’s fourteen generations, go around saying, “Do jobs happen without bribes? I have no uncles or connections, who will speak for me? All the bastards are corrupt!” At one point, to fulfill his father’s dreams, he takes to the streets in protests, creates uproar on Facebook walls. That’s much easier than studying. His girlfriend also thinks, at least he’s trying! One day we too will be like those paper lanterns of wishful thinking. ………… Returning home at 11, he spends the night in virtual worlds. On Facebook, he announces in grand words that he is by no means small. Whether he has anything or not, at least he has status! In the storm of phone calls, the night’s emotions flutter like cotton. Night turns to dawn in the addiction of chatting and dating. Mother knows the boy is studying behind his closed room door. She convinces father, “You see, our Nitu will surely provide for himself!”

A job is needed, a job! The middle class can survive without a soul, but a job is essential! Days pass, nights end in waiting to sign the contract that sells one’s freedom. The centuries-old arrangement of gracefully embracing servitude continues in every household.

That winter evening changed everything! The unemployed youth saw a boy in blue jeans and yellow t-shirt step out of a jeep. With him was a bodyguard in police uniform, constantly busy serving his sir. The boy entered a bookstore. Many people there knew him. Many were shaking hands with smiling faces, exchanging pleasantries. It was learned that this boy worked in the police force; an ASP. An officer from the 24th batch. A completely self-made man who had risen from utter poverty. Thanks to getting the police job, his achievements were three: One. He had put a new tin roof on his village home. His old mother no longer had to move pots around to catch rainwater dripping through holes in the rusted tin. Two. He had taken his rural, uneducated old parents around Chittagong city in his government car. In amazement, his parents discovered that even the police station’s OC called their son “Sir”! Three. He no longer had to go out wearing shirts mended a hundred times. No one could poke fun by sticking fingers through the hole near his pants’ knee. ………… Before getting the job, he used to sleep on the floor in a senior’s room in the city, paying only half the mess rent as his share. With the saved money, he would cover his younger sister’s college expenses back in the village and his own food costs. He had to do four tutoring jobs. The money from those was equivalent to what some people earned from a single tutoring session. Degree college students couldn’t find tutoring jobs more expensive than this.

That one miraculous evening changed everything. In intense self-disgust, anger, determination and hurt pride, the boy completely transformed. Suddenly awakening to time’s demands, he moved away from the habit of complaining and developed a mindset for hard work. He became an entirely different person! After three consecutive attempts, he is now an officer in the 31st batch of BCS Administration. His father no longer has to hide his face. Everyone calls his mother “Magistrate Saheb’s mother.” When his name comes up, friends proudly say, “Once upon a time we used to chat together.”

Where life takes us and when, none of us can ever think about that beforehand!