I met a few classmates during admission. But why don’t they recognize me now? Later, I found out the secret. It’s a funny incident. Apparently, I had come to the admission with my hair tied up in a big bun. And now, I have a short, stubbly haircut. Who could recognize that girl in me? I’m living in the hostel just as I am. I cover my head with a scarf when I go to campus. After six months, when my hair grew back naturally, I went to the library. Everyone’s eyes were wide! People would look at me once, then think for a moment, and look again. The confusion didn’t go away. The girl who had been hiding her hair under a cloth for six months was now suddenly a tomboy! How? Later, of course, the confusion was cleared up. My hostel friends and the ‘jaundice’ story played a big role in it.
I’ve mentioned this before, but I had a really cool, huge trunk. It seemed like everyone had one of these famous things. I could’ve easily stored everything in it for the next five years without a worry. Books, notebooks, weekend letters, bank balance – everything that could fit. And the system for differentiating one person’s stuff from another was incredible. We’d write our names, roll numbers, and batch details using nail polish. For example, ‘Name: Chabiku Nahar, Roll: 53, 300th Batch, SBMC, Barisal.’ She still illuminates my room like a firefly, even now.
I didn’t bring any furniture from my parents’ home when I got married, but I brought her. She’s the most valuable thing in my flat, even to this day, holding all the most emotional moments of my life. I open it up sometimes, and the past hits me like a gust of wind.
When I think about my studies, the first two years were all about anatomy, physiology, and biochemistry. Regardless of the other two subjects, anatomy was a terrifying place! Huge jars filled with formalin preserved entire dead bodies. And there were separate containers for individual body parts like hearts, lungs, and kidneys. Whatever we were studying that day, it would be taken out and placed on a table. We would hold and examine these body parts with our bare hands to learn about anatomical positions. We’d search and note down where the arteries, veins, and nerves were located. The smell of formalin would sting our eyes and make our hands numb. We had to spend the first two years with these formalin-soaked hands and red, irritated eyes. Often, while studying in bed, I’d fall asleep imagining human bones and end up sleeping with them in my mind!
At first, it was very difficult. I remember the first time I saw a dead body, I felt a little scared. Although you can’t guess the appearance of a real fish by looking at a dried fish, similarly, by looking at a processed dead body, you don’t feel the depth of sorrow for a recently deceased person. I just thought, this person lying lifeless in front of me, he too once had a life like ours, a family, loved ones. His heart was filled with love for his loved ones. And we are cutting open that chest, holding his heart in our hands, knowing how this heart used to beat. We only know that we don’t know if his heart still weeps for anyone. Lying on the hard stone bed of the medical college, what does he see in the commotion around him? Surely he does. Surely his dried-up heart fills with joy at the thought that even in death, he is serving others. This novice student, trembling with hands, who is repeatedly opening him up, will become a great doctor after a few days. He will use this knowledge to repair the heart of another dying person who is writhing in pain. Surely, a little tear sparkles in his dried-up eyes at this thought. Whether we can see it or not doesn’t matter. Age after age, they have built civilization, love, affection, and compassion with their dried-up hearts, with the waves of those hearts.
Classes have started in full swing, and exams are already approaching. It’s time to get our act together. We need to focus on our studies and adjust to this unfamiliar lifestyle. I’m trying to keep myself together, but this new environment isn’t comforting. I don’t like the new food. I keep feeling like I’m just visiting here, wearing someone else’s shoes. It’s temporary. I’ll go back to my own home soon. Where two ducks are waiting for me. The evening’s crimson sky, the durba grass, the morning breeze—they’re all waiting for me. Mom’s cooking. The wait never ends. The shadow of the hijol tree in the eastern sky grows longer and longer. I sit here feeling miserable.
On such a sad afternoon, a beautiful woman came to my hostel with her husband and mother’s hand-made food and mother’s fragrance. Not only that, he brought with him all the details of my lonely life. From buckets to pots and pans. He was saying in his mind to arrange all the plates, jugs and mugs from the salt container, listen, there is cooked chicken in this box, pickles in it and oil paste in that green jar you are looking at. I have brought more if your friends also eat. will not be wasted I’ll see and eat. And yes, we will come to pick you up after the college holidays on Thursday. Your brothers are waiting for you to come. Your father says he doesn’t want anything else in the world. I tried to say something with a little hesitation. A mother felt pity for her child and did not dare to say anything more. How many things happen in the world unexplained. How much do we know about it?
