Last Friday. I went from Mohakhali to Nikunja-2. From there, I will go to Uttara Wali’s house. I will stay there all day, attend Jumma and go to Wali’s houseboat in the evening. That’s the plan. I just left Nikunja when I got a call,
Where are you!
I said I’m coming to Nikunja.
What’s the matter there!
I was coming to see Jasmine’s flat.
Come to Chaila right now. Can’t you?
I can.
I can in half an hour!
I said I can, I hope.
There is not much traffic at this time on Friday. I took a U-turn from the airport and headed towards Dhaka. I told the driver to take the elevated expressway. The driver got off at Farmgate and went through Moghbazar to Mantri Para. I found Mintu Road but couldn’t find Fuller Road. Google Maps says everything. I asked the police on duty, no one knew me. I was very annoyed with the police. Almost everyone said, I am new sir, I don’t know him. I was very angry. I also don’t understand why Fuller Road is not in this area! Later, he asked a girl to ask, Fuller Road is in the university area. Oh my! How many years have I been in Mohsin Hall and I forgot Fuller Road! Shit!
I went to Fuller Road. I was walking through the Shaheed Minar area. I was looking for an address. I saw a huge crowd in this area. Some kind of exam was going on at the British Council. Everyone rushed down to the road after the exam was over. The car couldn’t move. Half an hour had already passed. I kept looking at my watch. It was 12:30 at that time. It was just after Jumma prayers. I guess I won’t be seeing him again today. Finally, I reached the specified address. But the gatekeeper said, Sir, you don’t live here. I asked where you live! He said, in that neighborhood. I asked, what does that neighborhood mean? He said that building. People in this country don’t keep track of anything! I thought to myself, is there something wrong? He’s not supposed to be here! My mind doesn’t work when I’m in a hurry. I called him anyway. He didn’t pick up the phone. I didn’t know what to do. Finally, he called.
Where are you!
I said I was coming to Fuller Road, but I couldn’t find it.
He said, why did you go to Fuller. I live in Fuller Road! I live in Hare Road.
You said Fuller Road!
Oh, oh, my mistake, friend. Come quickly.
But how can I go? The car doesn’t move a hair. Meanwhile, it’s time for prayers. Finally, I reached Hare Road.
Sorry, friend, I turned you around.
There’s a huge traffic jam over there. It seems like some exam is going on.
It was time for prayers as soon as we had our coffee.
Let’s go and finish our prayers.
After the prayers at Kakrail Mosque, we sat down in the office again. Right then, I remembered an old incident. That was in 2009. I was going to Bangladesh from Toronto. I took a few days’ break in Europe. The intention was to visit London and Paris. One day, I went to Paris from London by Eurostar. From Paris, I returned to London again. Asif Nazrul received me at the train station both times. I also boarded the train in London with him. Asif had told me in advance, you wait at the station for a while, I will come and pick you up on Friday. Today is Friday, that day was also Friday. It was a very coincidental incident.
He said, “Let’s eat at noon.”
I agreed immediately. I said, “There is no gas at home, cooking has stopped for two days.”
Asif said to Shila with his usual “haha” smile, “Get the food ready.” Cooking has stopped at Jaisyar’s house.
The three of us had lunch with rice, fish, beans, lentils, and dried beans.
The house on Hare Road covers a few acres of land. Usually, the houses in Mantri Para are so huge. Some houses are nationally protected as heritage. Their original design never changes. In Barisal, I saw that the houses of DCs, ADCs, SPs, DSPs, and judges are also so huge. After eating, we both walked along the narrow brick-paved road inside the house’s perimeter. We were talking about writing. He said, “Write carefully.” Your prose is very good. Take it seriously. He also talked about his own writing. The context of the novels like I am Abu Bakr, Campuser Jubak etc., the amount of effort that went into writing books like Constitution Debate 1972 or Manavidhakar etc. came up.
Finally, he said, you write a novel. Write frankly about the struggles you went through abroad, raising your children, the sacrifices you made, odd jobs you did, Jasmine. There is nothing to hide. Don’t be timid. It doesn’t matter who said what. I would read everything you wrote. You will see that your experience will be a wonderful novel.
Toronto, Canada
