A Fictional Tale Woven from Many True Events. Milon’s real name was Ahmed, but he was known by a different name. It wasn’t a love-related affair.”
“I was on a flight to Dallas via Dubai. My sister had invited us to her graduation ceremony last year. My husband and our three-year-old son were with me. My son was very excited about the plane journey. This airline gives small complimentary gifts to children. I saw the cabin crew coming in with different toys every now and then, and my son was overjoyed to receive them. Seeing children happy touches the hearts of adults too. The cabin crew enjoyed it. They took some pictures of my son’s joyful moments with a Polaroid camera. These are some extra services that airlines provide to offer customers a pleasurable journey.”
“While having fun and mischief with my son, I didn’t realize when the migraine pain started. Migraines are a terrible type of headache. The good thing about it is that you can tell before the pain starts. If I take a paracetamol at that time, the pain doesn’t increase for me. But since I was engrossed in mischief and had a scarf on my head, my migraine pain increased to its peak. I sat with my eyes closed in the seat. Meanwhile, the cabin crew came and asked for a wet or non-wet wipe. I gestured that I had a headache. I saw them bring a plastic bag and give it to me. Seeing our conversation in gestures, my husband smiled wryly. Even in so much pain, I smiled. I endured the five-hour flight with great difficulty and when I reached Dubai, the pain was still there and I felt very weak. We had a six-hour transit. I went through all the formalities and showed her a place, saying, ‘I’ll sit here, you two go and explore.’ They did so. Meanwhile, I was sitting again with tears in my eyes. After a while, I heard someone calling my name, ‘Laboni’. Startled to hear my name in an unfamiliar voice in a foreign land, I looked up.
I stared in disbelief for a moment. Then, after traversing countless neural pathways, a face came into focus – ‘Milon Bhai’. My indistinct utterance was clearly heard by Milon Bhai. A smile spread across Milon Bhai’s face. I continued to stare in astonishment, flashing back twenty or twenty-five years.
We used to live in a government colony. Many of the old houses were built adjacent to each other, sharing a long common veranda. Our colony was oval-shaped like a stadium, with two floors and about twenty houses. We lived in house number seventeen on the second floor, while Milon Bhai’s family lived in house number three on the ground floor. In the colony, Milon Bhai’s father, my father, and other uncles all worked at the same institution, with varying ranks but equal respect. Seven years older than me, Milon Bhai was a very popular figure in the colony. He was always the first to help anyone in need. But behind closed doors, the uncles and aunties didn’t speak highly of him. The reason was that he was friends with the street boys. I can still remember their names: Pon, Rajiv Ahmed Bhai, Russel, and Sharif. Hanging out with these boys, sitting on the porch and gossiping, and sitting on a rock chatting until nine or ten at night were his regular activities. Back then, ten o’clock was considered very late. Our mothers didn’t approve of such activities. Everyone kept a close eye on their children to prevent them from associating with bad company. An unspoken prohibition had also developed among us, forbidding us from talking excessively with Milon Bhai.
People tend to use others according to their own needs.
He has helped many people in our colony. He has also come to our aid on numerous occasions. For instance, once, our housemaid, Rasheda, ran away. We searched high and low but couldn’t find her. When we finally gave up hope, my father contacted Milon and explained the situation in detail. A missing child is a very sensitive matter. Milon and his team searched various parts of Dhaka city and eventually found Rasheda at Gabtoli Bus Stand.
On another occasion, our pet myna bird, Abu, flew away. Abu never liked being caged. One morning, my parents were leaving for Dhaka, and Abu, being very fond of my father, flew out through the open door and perched on the backyard mango tree, oblivious to the fact that he needed to get into the car. My mother was bedridden for three days due to the loss of Abu. We placed a classified ad in the newspaper with a reward, along with our home address and phone number. Soon, we started receiving calls from various places. One caller informed us that a myna bird had flown to Jatrabari. My mother went there but realized it wasn’t Abu. When all our efforts to find Abu proved fruitless, my father contacted Milon again. Milon immediately began a door-to-door search in the area and learned that a myna bird had indeed perched on the shoulder of a maid in that house. Our Abu had a habit of perching on people’s shoulders. The maid had taken the bird home to Mirpur. After three or four days, Milon rescued Abu from Mirpur. My mother wept uncontrollably upon seeing Abu. His condition was terrible. His eyes were sunken, his orange beak was black, and he had pneumonia. Seeing Abu in such a state broke our hearts. Abu, whom my mother cared for like a human child, bathing him daily and feeding him, was so ill. He was under veterinary care for a long time and eventually recovered.
Milon Bhai had once been to jail. Runa, the girl from house number 20, was deeply in love with a boy, but their families didn’t approve. Milon Bhai, known for his social work, helped Runa elope with the boy. I heard the police had given them a good talking-to.
Milon Bhai might be helpful, but I always felt something was off about him. Even though the Runa incident seemed to have worked out, things took a turn when my friend Tama told me that Milon Bhai had a crush on me. At first, I thought it was a coincidence, but later I realized it was intentional. Whenever I went out, I would see Milon Bhai and his friends standing on the street. And his friends would start singing, ‘How long will it be before Milon gets her?’ I was so annoyed. One day, I blurted out, ‘Why is your name Milon?’ He grinned and said, ‘I’m my parents’ first child, so they named me out of fondness.’ I didn’t know what else to say, so I just walked away.
Once, when I was in class ten, Milon Bhai’s sister and I were taking our matriculation exams from the same school. One day, he came to pick her up, as he often did. Seeing me, he said, ‘Our houses are in the same direction, let’s go together.’ I didn’t like the idea of being with him, so I quickly got into a rickshaw and told the rickshaw puller to go. I thought it was the rickshaw my mother had arranged for me on a monthly basis. That day, the actual rickshaw had been waiting for me outside the school for a long time. After this incident, Milon Bhai was furious. He spent the whole day searching for me on his motorcycle. He sent a love letter through my friend Tama. My father read the letter. Milon threatened that he wouldn’t live if he couldn’t find me. I was so terrified that I couldn’t leave the house. I couldn’t tell my father’s colleague’s son, and I was worried about my reputation in the neighborhood. I even thought of staying at a friend’s house to take my exams, but then I decided to ask a police officer we knew for help.
After the exams, a tragic incident occurred in our family. My aunt, who was staying with us, was in love with a man from a Hindu family. Neither family approved. My aunt died in an accident. Our family was devastated and tried to keep the incident a secret. One day, I overheard Milon Bhai making fun of my aunt’s situation with one of his friends. I was very upset because it was wrong to make light of someone’s sorrow. I remembered this incident for many years.
Laboni!” I regained consciousness at the sound of Milon bhai’s voice in a microsecond. What a coincidence. I never thought I would see you here. In the course of the conversation, I learned that he was going to Egypt with his family. Four-hour transit in Dubai. I guess he went to the restroom with the child and introduced me when he came out. Seeing the baby, as beautiful as a fairy, in her lap, I pinched her cheek. The sister-in-law seated the child in the stroller. I said, “MashaAllah, Milon bhai has a very beautiful family.” So how are you, what do you do now? She said he was working in a big position in a big company. I was feeling good but at the same time wondering how that Milon bhai, with whom we used to hang out, had even been to jail, was now in such a responsible position. Jokingly, I said, “Wow, it feels good that Milon bhai, you are working in such a big position. Give me a job.” Frowning, she whispered, “Do you know Rajib Ahmed, who used to live in front of our colony? He is the owner. If you need a job, you can talk to him yourself. I’ll give you his phone number.” Ah, what an insult! I just smiled. After a while, the call of her gate came. She picked up her handbag and got up saying, “Let’s go.” I also smiled and bid them farewell.
Milon bhai might be a good person, his words and behavior seemed genuine to me. Later, it seemed that, for me anyway, he had come to use people. How many people like the golden people of golden days can be found now? Moreover, I was very angry. Looking at his small beautiful family from behind, I prayed a lot. After a while, I saw my son running towards his father holding his hand, with an ice cream in his hand. I also picked up my bags and started walking towards them.
