Good Morning Dhaka!

(729 words to be read under strict PG)

[The Thrill is Gone: B. B. King and Tracy Chapman is playing in the background.]

There was time. I was innocent (ha-ha-ha) and today is a different time altogether. Life has seen many ups and downs and still it goes on unaware what’s in store next. It has thus been a rolling stone with no head or tail of anything I did or managed to accomplish. Actually, I was always surprised with what I could do (he-he) save for the ‘what’s in store next and still, the freewheeling spirit travels on like the bubbles that you come across when you ‘pop’ open a shower gel lid.

(Now, that was a fucking synopsis I had to write because I am so fucking used to it.)

So you see what those times have in store for us. Times that are spent in complete isolation in shut perimeters where the only reality is you and the immediate surroundings. And sometimes the bubble manages to float a bit longer than usual and you so want to land it in your palms but then again, a ‘pop’ and who is delighted? You of course…do you get what I mean as you try to realize the faint sound the ‘pop’ produces as you read this?

Herein Dhaka, ‘the world is only an illusion’ thing spurs into life. I wake up to heavy ears and glary sky. The ceiling fan has been going round and round in circles the entire night trying its best to articulate a breeze but maybe it isn’t aware that I hate it for its annoying sound (heavy ears) so much that I am ready to take-in the temperature but of course my apartment buddy wouldn’t agree to that OR would he? Ami Ki Koren, AC bhalo na (What do, AC is bad for me in Bengali)

And the mosquitoes have had a great psychedelic party this whole time while I was undergoing rejuvenation in subtle spheres of the body and mind. I wonder if the mosquitoes get a kick out of me. I bet they do as I encounter none until evening. I guess they chill out the entire day with altered visions, sounds and thoughts that they have sucked off me. Fuck! I have swollen spots all over. How do these mosquitoes defy all these anti-mosquito products is a big question in my mind and anyone who comes up with a remedy should be nominated for the Nobel Or Noble Peace Prize and not only a nomination would suffice. S/he should be honoured with the (I’d kill for a) Nobel or Noble peace prize in France, where the mosquitoes are no more to be found. I wonder why…maybe it is because of the arrogance in the air that the world so talks about. No offence!

So, the morning has broken and it is such a drag to pull oneself to the dining where a cup of warm tea is waiting because I made this stupid rule for myself that I prefer not to be served in the bedroom (thanks to Ma’s strict upbringing back in KTM). And then everybody including Appu (Bengali for sister and I would not like to call or treat her like Dhakaduites do to a maid) is stunned at the amount of effort I make to make myself a breakfast of cheese-omelette, sausage, chocolate-spread toast and a glass of lemonade. Yeah…lemonade because this is a country with mad temperature and I think I missed to mention that I have been sweating the whole night and I badly need to refuel. All the time! Dhaka has turned me into a thirsty beast.

The obligatory tobacco rounds up the break-fast and fuck! I ain’t got anything to do the whole day because my classes are in the evening and then, the temperature outside is not too inviting. It so wants to rip your skin apart no matter which brand of UV cream you use and since you’ve just woke up, you don’t want to go sleep again so you brave to venture out into the metropolitan that’s full of shocks (for a supposedly traditional Muslim country) and your shirt that just came off the laundry seems it just came off an athlete and all that within minutes you hit the road. Sweat-Sweat-Sweat…I wonder when my body and mind will acclimatise to this new setting.

The Morning is over!

~ by deadkid on July 15, 2007.