Today, when I woke up in the morning, a sunny winter one, my younger brother was going out. “If I had wings! Its so tiring to walk ! Even the bus, or the rickshaw! I am tired!” Suddenly it came to my mind, if we had wings! In mythology, Gods had wings, later angels had them. But human, never.. One day Daedalus made them and Gods weren’t happy. But could the Gods do any good with their wings? Whether its Zeus or Apollo or Aphrodite, whenever they came to a human, a flower, a nymph, a river, whatever it is, destroyed their lives. Shouldn’t we write the myths in a different way? We should have made ourselves fly, not to fall in the sea like a tragic hero, like Icarus…
Whatever it is, we wrote our lives, and now we fly anyway. Coming to my city, my life. I live in a clumsy city, which is organized in her own way. Our city, Dhaka, has a life. Two different parts in her one heart, with two different forms, two different lives. One of them, Puran Dhaka, is an ancient city, beautiful, historical. Her own scent, color, people, everything is hers. People here have wings, wings of their own Olympus.
On the contrary, the newer one, new Dhaka city, is a world itself. People from various districts, various cultures, various languages, everyday come to this concrete world. I live in this world. Long before, my parents came here from their own beautiful villages. Its like that water mermaid, who lost her fins, walked on the stony paths with her shaky feet, newly formed… Our parents, some for job, some for education, some for adventure came to this weary world with their shaky feet, thousands come everyday..
We, who were born and brought up here, are not shaky, even we put on shoes. We, our parents, sometimes visit our ocean world, where we have roots, but cant fit there, we lost our fins, we cant swim anymore…”Heaven gives it glimpses only to those, Not in position to look too close” yes, we cant anymore look too close to our old heaven..we cant even look toward our new heaven..Its too high to fly, too steep to ride.. We just try to make wings of wax, though we know they could be melt down anytime, we fly to reach our heaven.. We try to build a new heaven, a new Olympus for ourselves…And the most ugly city of all (As per some critics), with the most beautiful heart in her, never lose hope on us. She in her own reticent way, everyday carry our travel bags towards the mountains, towards our new Olympus… 🙂