It was on August 10, 2011. I woke up in the morning and watched my parents packing our luggage, weighing them with a spring scale.
I did not talk to them while getting up from the bed. What would I talk about? I had nothing. Everyone knew that we would be leaving my homeland in about 72 hours for the land of opportunity, The United States.
I went to the bathroom with my toothbrush and brush my teeth in ten minutes, for the last time in here.It was pretty quick, though!
When I came back to the room, I looked at the bronze medal I got from Math Olympiad, one of the few successes in my life.
“Ma, where can I put the medal. It is not very safe to put it here in the closet of my reading table. Someone can steal it, easily,” I asked my mother.
“Ummm… just wait a bit. I am opening the Almira… Here! Put it on the second shelf from the top,” she replied.
While putting away the medal, I glanced at the toys I used to amuse with during my childhood. I knew that my mother was planning to give out all my toys to the children of my neighborhood. I kept silent and did not utter any voice to override the decision. There was nothing I could do about it. If you were to take some of the toys, I would be taking of one fifth of the weight we were allowed to carry in each big luggage. it‘s better to make some room for new clothing, utensils. Who gives a damn about the toys. I was fifteen already!
I was not really worrying about my computer as long as it was in my father’s hand. He was not going with us to the USA, but he joined us three months later after retiring from his job. But, let me tell you about how I got the computer.
I was in class two and preparing for the admission test to get into one of the best schools in Bangladesh- Bogra Zilla School. It was very hard for anyone to get into the school and the admission test was very tough. So, my father told me that if I got into the school, he would buy me a computer as a gift. It kept me motivated. So, at the end, I go in and placed at the second of the merit list. I was never been so happy as I was that day. Indeed, my father kept his promise to me but he was six months late to buy me that. But, I did not mind. All that matters was he kept his promise and got me the one thing I wanted my entire life.
So let’s get back into the actual story.
At 11 O'clock, my sister got back from outside and asked me to write an application letter to the Head Teacher of the school to get a Transfer Certificate, T.C. I said no right away. Why would I want to get a T.C from the school where I found the love, the bonding with my friends? I heard people getting T.C for violating the school’s regulation which I never did. In addition, I was in class 8 then and I had my Junior School Certificate exam to take in four months.
My mother told me something with her soft voice, “Baba, once we go there, there is less chance that we will be coming back home in three months. That will be our new home. You will go to a new school, make some new friends. You will gain more and you will not lose any. We will visit our country occasionally and you will get to see your friends here then too.”
“NO!”, I shouted with all the energy I could get out of my body, even it caused me to break or tear apart my larynx. But, I did not cry, though.
They tried really hard to get me to write the application letter, but they failed.
This is me. If I say no to something, it is just “NO”. Don’t try your nonsense, bullshit strategies to make it to “YES”. Never happened before.
My sister had to write the letter for me. Then we took the Rickshaw to go to my school, for the last time. By the time we get there, it was 1 pm.
Head sir was in a meeting with someone, so we had to wait outside his room. I was looking at the playground in front of me where I used to play cricket before the Assembly time, during Tiffin time, and after school with my friends. It was the only place I used to play escaping from my parents’ rigid rule of not letting me out of the house as they always feared that someone would kidnap me if I went down the street to play with my neighbors.
The periodic bell was the iron frame of the wheel of the truck which was hanging in front of the head sir’s room for like over fifty or sixty years. When it was rung by Anis Kaka, it sounds like jingle bell to us.
If you walk straight crossing the head master’s room, you will see the Masjid, the prayer room for the Muslim students. Oh boy! We had to go to the Masjid to pray the prayer in the noon instead of going to the playground because Chowdhury Sir would ask you about going to the prayer during Islamic studies class. If we did not go to pray, he would make us kneel down on the floor and beat us with his eighteen inches stick.Ah! It hurts and I am being honest!
Meanwhile, my sister interrupted me and told me that head sir called us inside his room.
We walked in. It was my second time entering the room. The first time I went there was on January 6, 2006, to admit to the school.
Head sir told us to take seats. He asked the usual questions as everyone would ask. How we got the visa, who applied for us and so on. He shared some of his own story of visiting Scotland as cluster director of British Council in Bangladesh. I did not want to hear all those. It was not helping me but making things worse as I was really upset.
After all that, I went to hand in the application to him. Oh boy! I handed him two sheets of paper and he spotted the mistake.
He shouted to me with angry voice, “Hush!!! Why would you hand me two sheets of paper? Didn’t you learn that application letter is just one paper? Fix it! Now! Idiot!”
I had to take the paper from him and tore the blank sheet of paper with a ruler and handed to him for the second time. I hoped that he would not yell at me this time.
He took the paper and said, “This is the lesson for you today. Don’t make the same mistake over again. You are a student of Zilla School and the difference between other schools and we are our rigid disciplines and teaching methods. Don’t forget that, anytime!”
Even though he talked of the rigid discipline, I found it very interesting and it motivated me. I had the feeling that this was not the end, I could always come back and claim that I am a student of Bogra Zilla School. I felt the pride in my vein.
It was two hours meeting with him and after that, we left for home.
I thought going home would destroy the little happiness I found in the voice of head sir. But, I was wrong. I saw four of my friends were sitting on the sofa waiting for me. They were Ruhan, Arabee, Imon, and Sabit.
Rohan was my best friend. He was well known for his power of knowledge, not that much of a cricket player or any sort of player. But, he was deadly unbeatable when it came to chess.
Arabee had joined our squad when we were in class Six. We called him Terry as he was a fan of English footballer John Terry.
Imon was well known for his science fiction writing. This is not the only title he got from us. When he got into the fight, no one could stop him. He was that dangerous. But, he had a pure heart, mind, and soul.
Sabit was the fattest of all. Wait! I was fatter, though. Sabit and I used to go to the same coaching center to prepare for the admission test back in class Two. His mother used to come with him but not anymore after his little brother was born.
So, I welcomed the unexpected guests. Since it was Ramadan, I told them to stay until Iftar time to break our fasts together. They called their parents and convinced them with some emotional talks and they all agreed.
So, we spent time together, gossipping about different things. I almost forgot that time that I am gonna live them in about Sixteen hours.
In the meantime, it was time for Asr prayer, the afternoon prayer. The Masjid was very close to my house but we did not go there. Instead, we decided to pray at home since we were five people altogether and it was enough to hold a congregation at home.
They told me to lead the prayer and stood behind me. I was hesitating to lead the prayer but they forced me to go to the front.
For each congregational prayer, one person behind the leader would say the Athan to alert everyone that the prayer is beginning. We call it Iqamah.
Ruhan was in charge to give the Iqamah. After two lines I did not know what happened Ruhan started laughing. Damn it!!! Ruhan told us that Sabit has interrupted him by kicking him in his butt. We all laughed and told Sabit that , “Can you shut the hell up! Let him finish the iqama.”
We went for the second time, together. Oh god! This time, Ruhan laughed, maybe because of his reaction from the recent incident. But, we were still blaming Sabit and started beating Sabit with our hands. He was the really tough guy. Beating him was like hurting myself too. But some of the parts of his body was so soft, so we also felt the comfort of beating him up. Then, we pushed him to the left side and put Arabee next to Ruhan.
Now, we are going for the third time. This time, Arabee was doing the Iqamah and he got to finish it! A very big accomplishment. But, the humor was still in effect on all of our face. But I started reciting the verses from the Qur’an. Oh boy, I heard a very strange sound from the back and started to break out of humor. This time, Imon and Sabit was fighting and I heard the sound of beating. We don’t know what combination we should follow this time to avoid messing up our prayer.
We all decided that Ruhan should lead the prayer and put him at the front. This combination seems good. In this way, I could handle Sabit from beating Imon or Ruhan and Arabee on the other hand could handle Imon. So here is the combination- (from left) Sabit, Me, Arabee, and Imon with Ruhan at the front. Arabee would do the Iqamah. So we were all set for the fourth time.
Even though the humor was on our face from the past events, we were able to finish the prayer this time. The prayer which should not take more than five minutes to finish took about forty minutes!
Right after the prayer, my mother walked in and said, “Haven’t you finish the prayer yet”.
Arabee said, “Yes Aunt! We have finished it long ago. We were reciting some verses from Qur’an and making a huge list of supplication to the god.”
What a terrible liar! And my mom could not even detect his lie. We could not but laugh out loud.
In the meantime, it was time for Iftar. We sat together and broke our fast. No other funny break out or prank happened that time. After Iftar, we went to the Masjid to pray the evening prayer and came back home.
This is the best part. Since they were wearing the school uniform, I asked my mom to get me my uniform, too. After putting it up, we all stand together for the last time to take some pictures. They were holding my hands as if they did not want me to leave them. Me neither. But, no one cried. Maybe because of the effect from the recent incident- the afternoon prayer where we all laughed for our life.
After all these, they got back to their home by saying, “Be safe, buddy! We will still keep in touch”.
I said, “Of course, I will”.
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