The stairs suddenly began to move amid the twinkling light of neon lights. Not just one step but all steps together. In the same rhythm, the ladder rises from the bottom to the top and descends from the other side. A kind of clattering mechanical noise made the atmosphere quite dramatic. I’m staring at a dizzying sight. The surprise is the same! I am not the only one who is surprised, there are many children, boys and girls, and old people standing around me like mesmerized. It seems like a circus show has started. The authorities had already said that the stairs would start running at a certain time in the afternoon. It was a historic event. It is a privilege to see the country’s first escalator before your eyes. Chittagong Trade Authority can definitely get thanks for this.
The time was the very end of the sixties. I had just started to get acquainted with various tools of modern urban civilization in Chittagong city. Father was a teacher of Chittagong Government College. We were only in this city for two years, from 1968 to early 1970. Although it was quite a short time in terms of time, this period in my life was undoubtedly extraordinary.
My school life also started from this city. I could not find the name of the first school in my life despite many efforts. It was a kindergarten school. As far as the school seems to have closed long ago and merged with another big school. But I still vaguely remember where the school was. Probably at the top of Dev Hill. The classrooms of the school were spread over several places on the top of different hills. We used to go from one class to another, jumping up and down the steep stairs. I never liked school life. In the early days of starting school, my daily routine was crying because I was forced to not go to class. But in the end this school became one of my favorite places. Even when I left this school and came back to Dhaka, I cried profusely. This cry – whether to leave school or to leave the city of love or to leave friends may be a big question. But today, after all these years, I think that all these things came together and became the cause of my depression.
At that time, Chittagong was a very attractive city compared to the haphazard Dhaka city built with dusty scattered localities. One of the reasons for this may be that the place has developed into a cosmopolitan city due to the influx of foreigners to the port of Chittagong from a long time ago. Nestled among the low hills at the mouth of the Cornfuli River, the green-covered town was unlike anywhere else on the plains. View of the high head of Batali Hill in the Tiger Pass area from other nearby hills; Taking an auto-rickshaw to the top of the hill on the winding road lying with patches of jillapi around it; From there you can see the entire Chittagong city as well as enjoy the breathtaking view of the sunset over the Bay of Bengal. The experience of all these was simply amazing. It is better to say that there was no substance called rickshaw in that city. But there were many other things that the rest of the country’s cities – at least at the time – were missing in the sixties!
Chittagong’s famous Bela Biscuits, Anjum Restaurant’s Chattopti-Velpuri in Agrabad area, or Burma Eastern Complex in Patenga area, eating ice cream from the hands of European-style Urdu-reading khansamas, or being dazzled by the well-decorated surroundings of Faujdarhat Cadet College in the picturesque green surroundings near Bhatiari – these are all experiences of my childhood. Did colorful!
Black and white television entered this colorful experience. At that time, the first television station of the province was launched from the DIT building in Dhaka. But its broadcasting capacity was very limited. Father took us one day with great enthusiasm to an electronics store located on the third floor of Chittagong Bipnibitan. An amazing thing is happening there. A large radio-sized device blares indistinct noises, while a round screen in front of it shows the faint movement of people in a jagged black-and-white scene. This was my first television viewing experience. The viewing or listening experience there was appallingly poor. But thinking that such a thing can happen, we are restless in excitement! It was an afternoon experience on the third floor of Bippanibitan.
And I had the experience of a bookstore located on the first floor of Bipanibitan almost every week if not daily. At that time, there were various comic books with glossy pictures on foreign glossy paper. And by buying this comic book, father started the matter of rewarding me for various good deeds. Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck and Uncle Scrooge encourage reading habits. I slowly entered the world of fictional super heroes of DC and Marvel Comics with more surprises by the magical fairy tales of Hans Christian Andersen. Superman, Spider-Man and Batman became eternal companions.
Like the breathtaking stories of the world of this book, there were unknown stories hidden all over Chittagong. Kornphuli River coming down from Lusai Hills in Mizoram gave rise to surrealism in regional events! Once upon a time, Chittagong and its surrounding suburbs were a haven for foreign pirates. Some of the pirates were Mughals from the neighboring state of Arakan and some were Portuguese from distant Portugal or Goa. People like Long John Silver or Captain Jack Sparrow have roamed the waters here in the past with such a dual role of robbery at sea and trade on the coast!
By nature the Portuguese were as ferocious as their fellow Spaniards. But coming to the clay of distant Bangladesh, they could not benefit like they had in South America. At one point in 1666, the Portuguese surrendered to the Mughal commander Shaista Khan and gave up the rights of Chittagong. However, they stayed in this area for a long time for trade. And their descendants were known as Firingi in Chittagong area. The memory of the Firingis that still survives in the city of Chittagong – Firingi Bazar. During my childhood there were many Anglo Indian families living in and around this Firingi Bazar. Many sahibs and memsahebs dressed in ketabis were seen walking through the city’s Jamal Khan road. And one such pair of Memsahebs had a troublesome interaction with Rahim, the son of our maid.
Rahim was a boy of impossibly fast nature. One of the main tasks of which was to create various kinds of trouble by visiting different parts of the neighborhood. He also had two other jobs, one of which was accompanying our two siblings on school trips and telling me various funny stories. In the midst of this, the trouble-filled incident happened. I was not a witness. But I got the description of the incident from my sister.
On his way to his sister’s school in the morning, two gentlemen with umbrellas fell in front of Rahim. At once, Rahim’s head was pressed by a mischievous thought. Danced and danced behind Mem sahibs and started saying rhymes… Mem Saheb Kutkut, Bread Biscuits. Poor Rahim thought that Mem Sahebra will understand Bengali! But they were Anglo-Indians who not only understood Bengali but also could not speak it. Also their nationalism was strong. Mem sahib didn’t waste any time that day to slap Rahim and explain it. Since then, Rahim learned to walk ten hands away when he saw Memsaheb on the street and the level of complaints about Rahim in our house also decreased.
When we were in Chittagong in the late sixties, the political situation in the country was terribly chaotic. During the journey of Ayyubid regime, not only the political arena but also the life of common people is quite disturbed. Many of the first-rate political leaders were then on the run rather than imprisoned. Anti-student politics is strictly prohibited. In spite of this, the boys and girls of Chhatra Union and Chhatra League in Chittagong Government College used to conduct their various activities under the name of ‘Jatrik’. And their strong political opponent was the Islamic Students Association of that time. Sometimes the news of fights between these two opposing sides came from the college premises. Especially at night the boys of Chhatra Sangh used to attack college hostels with outsiders. Dad was then the superintendent of the new hostel. During these fights, the father had to run to protect the common students of the hostel. And we used to spend sleepless nights in the house of the teachers’ colony in a state of fear. Most of the college teachers supported the progressive movement of students at that time. Apart from studies, the students of Chittagong College were involved in various cultural activities. And in all these works, my father along with other progressive teachers always encouraged me. In this case, I especially remember the country’s famous dramatist and stage actor Mumtaz Uddin Ahmed. Mumtaz uncle was a teacher of the Bengali department of the college and also a close friend of my father. It was mainly on his initiative that Munir Chowdhury’s drama – Kabar was staged in Chittagong College, ignoring all the obstacles and prohibitions of the authorities at that time.
The first stage play of my life is added to the list. Along with that still peeks through the pages of memories – the scream of the dead fakir’s face in the game of light …….. Where did it go? All come up. Come here in procession. shoot today? The shooting will be today. Empty the grave and come up.
