It is one hour till midnight of the 14th August. I’m standing facing the Rangs Building, across the road. Had to walk all the way from Farmgate because I missed the last bus. Now I need to cross the road and walk towards Tejgaon. My real destination is quite far, but for the time being I just want to reach Mohakhali on foot. Hope to get a bus from there. But I don’t mind walking – gives me the chance to observe numerous fragments of city life. Sometimes a thought will give me company and take the tiredness away during one of these long walks across the city. The cars on the road are not going to stop unless the traffic police on duty signals them to, and that also means I cannot cross the road before his signal.
So I remain standing on the pavement across the road from Rangs building, staring at the high rise being broken down. Tomorrow is the 15th August – national mourning day. Just a block away from here are several important government offices and installations. Are they preparing in any special way to observe the mourning? Perhaps not, all the government employees will have seized the chance of leaving work early on the day before a national holiday. What will happen to the workers who are breaking down the Rangs building? Will they get a day off? Will they mourn or will they work?
I get to cross the road a few minutes later. This part of the road is dark, but a source of illumination is not too far away. This source is the well adorned main entrance to our Prime Minister’s office. In absence of a prime minister it is now the office of our Chief Adviser, and is the most important office of our country. One can easily see the police men standing on guard in regular intervals all around this block. Despite the darkness, one should not feel insecure here. So I keep walking at my normal pace.
A couple of paces ahead, I see two girls in the darkness. They seem to be of a similar age as me. I cannot be sure of their looks in the darkness, but the intention to be attractive is quite evident in their outfit. Both are wearing trendy shalwar-kamiz, glitters flashing even in low light. From the direction I’m coming, I get to see the girl on right first – wearing red. She is the taller one of the two, almost as tall as me. The other one is wearing light green. Red and green are standing on the pavement facing the street and busy talking with each other. Red throws a quick glance at me as I get closer, then turns away to talk to her friend. There is something out of place about these two girls that I cannot quite put my finger on. Are they transvestites? I saw a group of them tonight right outside my work. They were wearing women’s outfits but were barefoot. That’s how one could tell they were transvestites. They acted like bully men. Went about every shop in the neighborhood asking for alms.
But red and green has shiny shoes and they are quite womanly in their ways of standing and talking to each other. Then where is the peculiarity? I’m getting close to them while thinking of it. As I’m about to walk past them, red turns to face me and says “Hey.”
I turn my face towards her but don’t stop. Now they have both turned to face me. “Do you want a ****?” asks red. Her accent is fairly polished, almost like the formal standard of Bangla, but not perfect. I’m taken aback by the suggestion but don’t stop. I knew it – there was something out of place about these girls. “No”, I reply and keep walking, trying to get away. Red comes forward in one swift motion and grabs the wrist of my right hand. “Come on, only twenty taka. I’ll give you a beautiful ****”, she says. She’s holding my wrist firmly; I can feel the nails digging into the flesh. “No!” I tell her again, this time with a little bit of gravity. Shake my hand loose and quickly walk away without giving them chance to speak or act again. After twenty or so paces I see a policeman standing on guard “duty” inside a bush.
One can clearly see red and green from here. They must have been doing business under the protection of this man. Under his protection they grab patrons, take them inside the bush to serve and hand over a share of their earning to him at the end of their work session. The men on guard need to work on a few part time jobs like this one, as the wage earned from public service is not enough. Ah, my old friend the thought is back to give me company, now I can walk rest of the way without worrying about anything.
Soon after, I’m walking past the Chief Adviser’s office. Both sides of the road are well illuminated with numerous lights of different sizes and types. To my left is a marble and steel sculpture cum fountain of three oysters with pearls in them. To my right is the main entrance to the office. Somewhere inside it they fly a red and green flag every day. Tomorrow it will be flown at half-mast. Like every other day, the flag will come down at sunset. Then, as it gets darker, red and green will come and stand on this pavement looking for customers. They will advertise themselves, offering to beautifully **** for only twenty taka. 15th August, no, my mourning is every day; as long as red and green have to stand on the dark part of this pavement every night. Thought, my old friend, you are not always happy company. But you are loyal. Now we are near Shaheenbag, and thanks to you, I’m not very tired.
And then I realized what was out of place about red and green. They were not carrying purses or vanity bags. Perhaps girls worth twenty taka don’t have enough vanity to carry in bags.
Enkidu
17th August, 2008
17th August, 2008
Thanks to Oliver Edwards & Kate Darracott for proof reading.
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