I woke up this morning with tears in my eyes. It’s a Sunday, a holiday. I’ll be home all day, but I don’t know what to do. I could write, read, watch TV, or maybe nothing at all. I might go somewhere in the afternoon, or I might not. There are so many things to do on weekends in Toronto, but I can’t decide. Today, I feel even more disconnected from myself.
I made my own tea after waking up. I don’t feel like chatting with anyone on Facebook. It’s not that I’m particularly eloquent or charming, but some people I know might be surprised by my aloofness. I don’t mind if they do, but I can’t explain myself to them.
At times like these, I want to lose myself in my thoughts. I had a dream. I saw myself visiting my elder sister’s house. There were pictures of different people on the walls of her house, including a woman I sort of recognized. It felt like she was a Facebook friend. Who was she? There was also a picture of my deceased sister, Sajur, and a part of another picture was visible – a woman wearing a printed sari and a veil, looking quite ornate. That was my mother! I’ve only ever seen my mother in widow’s weeds. How could she be wearing a printed sari? That’s when I realized I was crying. I couldn’t stop. The dream was so upsetting that it woke me up. I was drenched in sweat.
He Gone!
I was very afraid of Alamgir’s brother. I just came from Mafswal and am afraid of everyone. Alamgir Rahman is a man at Old Dhaka’s Daksite, head of Banedi Publications Retirement. I could not have passed by his table in Bichitra. It was 1984. Then I have to go through different tests. One day Alamgir’s brother called and said seriously, Jasim had translated this. Ravishastri and Amrita Singh are in love at that time. To be translated from a magazine called Stardust.
I translated it the next day and gave it to Alamgir’s brother. It seems there was a mistake somewhere. Alamgir’s brother Vichitra called everyone and said, Look what Jasim is writing. I am dying of shame. I was trying to give an explanation, Alamgir’s brother said, will you go and tell the reader that it will happen! Later, however, the writing was printed and Alamgir’s brother said that the writing was well done. Now they are just memories. Alamgir’s brother was a great man. Great hospitality. The man is gone!
Toronto, Canada
