To you, my precious

Photo courtesy:
Photo courtesy:

My precious,

How are you? I never wrote you, cause I didn’t find your address. A large address book of mine, thousands of people living there, but, you? no sign, nothing! How could my letters, my postcards, mails or tweets reach you, when you are living above the skies! My postmen, personal or virtual, no one can deliver you my love..My dear cutie pie, my love, my UNBORN,my SHORT-LIVED, yes this letter is to you!

In this blogging topic, I have been asked to write for my dream reader, about a topic, new to me.. But my dream reader is you. My writings might reach to anyone in this world, but you? You are too unreachable! But you will always be my dream reader, a spiritual one. You are NOT a SINGLE person, you could be anyone. In any family, in any society, caste, clan, religion, in anything. If you were alive, you had a name, we would lit up candles on your birthday cake, sing lullabies at bed, or scold for homework or video games! But, your steps were too short in this world, we couldn’t fit you a shoe!

Working at a hospital, I experience hundreds of your names, unborn, still birth, aborted, miscarriaged, short-lived…As biologists, we try our best to help you to live, when a vaccine, a medicine, a method we can establish, it feels like heaven! when one neonate is out of severe diarrhea or pneumonia, it feels like heaven! The seed will grow up, stand still on mother earth, listen the music of rivers, blow in the rhythm of wind, and finally make a huge tree with thousand leaves of deed!

My dream reader, believe me, we try…But sometimes life becomes so tough! You are forcefully aborted in many countries, in many cultures, because you would be a GIRL! We can’t bring you to this grave world, when you become a BI-PRODUCT of nasty war strategies! war maniac’s rape strategies! If we say sorry, with our tears and bloods, could you forgive us, for our cruelty?

Some say, you become a star, some say, you become a spirit, an angel carry you straight to heaven …In Hinduism, you can return back as a new person, with your own soul…I don’t know, how, but I want to tell you that, we miss you…When I watch my friend crying every night in prayers, watch a relative staring at children helplessly, I feel a deep sigh in me…

I don’t know where you live, how you do, but wherever you are, miss you my precious! Life goes on, many come, many go, many remain, your memory fades….But like a mirror maze you remain in our deeper selves, we look into ourselves, and your face reflects from all corners….regards dear!


The Lone Rangers

Dhaka, probably being my only subject of blogging in these first days. This city is so enormous that I found no way to escape it. Orhan Pamuk, Turkish Nobel prize winner novelist, said, The story of his life is the story of Istanbul, his own city. May be, this is going to be true for me as well. If you google “Dhaka” , you will find political crisis ( more like vendettas), absurdly unplanned buildings, more absurd traffic and most absurd population ! But for the dwellers, its their home, where the heart is… I started my blog singing the rhythm of rain in my city, today going to tell the stories of lone rangers…


As other big cities, streets here, never sleep. Thousands of cars, rickshaws, million of people rush every second in this city.. As night is darker they go home, besides the hardworking bus, truck, lorry workers distributing loads of goods to the city or the hijackers….I am talking about the city’s own dwellers, may be he is a multibillionere, may be she is a call girl… may be its a highrise, may be its a shack, may be its a footpath polythene home, but they walk there, give a smile to fellows, sleep for another morning…A rickshaw puller with half kilo rice, two potatoes, one onion walks to his slum home….the sweaty figure dreams of making some money, buy a tiny piece of land in his village…this dream make him live in this wretched city…

Here are people having no home, even not a polythene one, never actually tend to have them or want to have them…Its their tendency to eat, or not eat, sleep or not sleep…some of them are damn addicts…heroin or others…some act like insane, which they are not….Along with their unfortunate children, some become beggar, or religious “Baba”s, which they are not also, but  they cover up the lone rangers…

The lone rangers of our city, are “who, no one knows” . I have seen a man, sitting, beside a road for years after years. When was little, was afraid to ask, why are you sitting all the time? couldn’t. When I could, knew he was cripple. But he never begged, I gave him some clothes, for the first time, he received, on the second time, refused! When its too cold, i think, how he survives? Check, if he is dead..but no, this old man survives each winter, each summer…sometimes I think what he eats? But I know there is a nocturnal cycle in it…when its night, deep deep night, no angel comes down from the sky…The lone rangers do..They among themselves have a business, what we never dealt with..They have society, law of their own…the street law!

Once I found one above everything of this, at Dhaka University campus..He also refused everything, but not in a sane way…when I looked into his eyes, I was petrified..His eyes were, not like the heroin addict ones…different..very educated ones with deep despair in them…Nothing could pacify him, nothing ! Money, food, love, family, he was above everything..laid all day all night by the street, smelled only of urine…I prayed to Allah, please have mercy on him, please bestow DEATH upon him..The day he died, I didn’t come closer, Authority took off the corpse, I cried in distance..

I wanted to save him, tried to talk to him, wanted to know, why? what? what was that made your life so worthless? so meaningless? why you people don’t let us to enter in your lives? Why are you so alone? Life’s not that fragile! or have you found something spiritual? is this so precious that you have to protect by life? or you are just a Schizophrenic? I find myself shaken inside… Everyday we are trying to make ourselves more intact, more hard, more inert..what if one day I become one of them? above everything else, or beyond everything else…Just another lone ranger!

Dreaming In A dream!

I never wrote in English, besides in my exams…writing a blog! English! simply a nightmare! but sometimes we do things we want to, whether we can, or not..its a kind of thing.. When I saw this website, I just went through, made an account, and now, feeling the empty slate, felt like filling it 🙂

I am basically from science background, completed my Masters in Microbiology last year, working in a research organization( Not that much RESEARCH though! :D). I didn’t travel abroad, even saw a few things in my life..When I am writing here, I am asking myself, what am I doing?? I should do my GRE , TOEFL preparation, read scientific journals, learn to write scientific ones! and here, I am just telling my life, my city, my etc and etc!! As I have a lot in my dream, dreaming in a dream as I say, and I want to convey them to others..Who knows, may be far far from my home some one is dreaming the same ! and you know, I am enjoying it 😀

In our beautiful country, the most beautiful thing is… everything! and when everything look more most beautiful? when it rains….before rain, during rain, after rain… when it drizzles, when it thunders, when it fights hard… Its warm, but not hot, cool but not cold, clear and hazy at the same time… from ants to eagles or sport cars to pedestrians…we live in the rhythm of rain…. so starting my English blog journey, in the name of Dear RAIN  🙂 lets start it !!

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