The journey towards Netrokona was funny. At first, we came to Mashkanda bus station via the microbus. It was a somewhat quiet journey. All of us had our bellies filled up, and most of us tried dozing off. But the next part of the journey was quite different. We got aboard a local bus from Mashkanda station, which would take us to Netrokona town. Now this was literally a local bus....the bus didn't start before all the seats and all the standing spaces got filled up by people. We took two facing seats, side by side, from each row. Me and Ashik sat in one row, while Afzal, Pintu sat in another. Tushar and Shujit sat In another seat (situated a bit farther). The place was really congested, and the journey was the most painful journey during our tour. We reached Netrokona at around 9:30 PM. It took us a while to get some rickshaws which would take us to "Ukilpara", the residence of Sujit's uncle. We got aboard, and the journey was pleasant. The place looked calm and quiet--a typical "out of Dhaka" town. It was cold, and I was loving the feeling. It is never too cold in Dhaka, and the feeling that we call "Chilling" is a rarity. I know, people who live in cold countries would say that "I've never seen cold enough, and that's why I can write about loving cold weather". Agreed, and accepted--but as long as I'm here, nothing should bother me from enjoying the lil' chill phases. The house had an adjacant pond. There was a thin walkway on the right side of the pond where two persons can walk side by side. The house was a brick build house...not a house made of tin or soil. However, this house was surrounded by tin built houses. There were two houses, side by side. The house we got had two rooms and one toilet. There was a tubewell at the left of the entrance, and the 1st floor was actually the roof. Sujut's uncle used to live in the bedroom cum living room ever since he lost his wife. The other room wasn't being used. We got the whole house for ourselves, and the place looked nice and cozy. We were tired, but not exhausted. The weather was nice enough to keep us cheerful. We passed a few jokes, and had our dinner a little while later. We were supposed to leave Netrokona tomorrow, and get back to Dhaka by evening. In that way, me and Afzal could reach Dhaka and attend office without any hassle. The dinner was great. We were really hungry, and the food was deliciously cooked. We ate to our heart's content. The begun dish was really, really good. I just salivated while writing about it, and now I am feeling hungry. After dinner, we went to our rooms, and started addafying. We knew that Tushar is scared of ghosts, and thus Sujit started telling about the neighboring woman that commited suicide a few months ago. It is known that many of the people around have seen her ghost in the night, walking by the little pond, and lamenting. Funny enough, the story turned in to a high thought discussion on "belief in afterlife and ghosts". That discussion eventually branched out in to atheism, belief in God, big bag, how we came to earth, where we are going, etc. It was a lively, and participative discussion. We spent half of the night discussing things.
At around 2 AM (if I can recall correctly), we decided to visit the roof. Sujit was a bit protesting, but eventually we all went upstairs. The surrounding was calm, but not quiet. Some birds were chirping, some lights were still on, and a gentle breeze was refreshing our minds and bodies. Not too surprisingly, some weird ideas and jokes came out of our minds. We shared a prolonged joke on the supposedly horny bird, which was singing(!) in a seductive voice...and how her efforts were going in vain. Finally when the bird stopped "kooing", we deduced that some fox got interested, came in and ate the poor little bird. Though it was supposedly a sad story, we laughed so loudly that it caused Sujit to panic. His reputation(!) was on the line, and we had to get down after that.
After coming downstairs, he resumed our chit chat, and finally at around 4, we went to bed. We were supposed to get up early in the morning, and set feet towards our final journey to Biri Shiri....a place in Netrokona, which has some nice viewables lying here and there.
Another day ends...
About Me
- Ishtiaque
- I am a dreamer, procrastinator, last-minute worker. Music is my passion--I am an obsessive music collector. Often I collect gigabytes of music only with the hope to listen to'em "someday". I like writing, reading, and I also cherish to learn to play the guitar someday...
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Saturday, March 19, 2005
Mrito Rekha: Dead Line
There was a time when I could boast that "I Never Miss A Deadline". Well, I wasn't working then, and deadlines to me were handing over assignments/reports or showing up on a meeting/adda session on time. The latter one is not necessarily a dead line, but I loved considering them as deadlines. Now I am being forced to change that definition.
Now I can only say that "I Never Miss A Fair Deadline". Some of the deadlines that I get from my office are simply unjust. You can't dig a canal in one day. Some things needs to be done cautiously, and being cautious is directly related with spending more time.
How do you feel, when
1. On Wednesday you come to know that you'll have to take print outs of a 65 page long document and you hear that you'll have to read it and do something about it
2. On Thursday you come to know that you'll have to come to office on Saturday (which was supposed to be a weekly holiday)
3.. Before coming to office on Saturday, you'll have to read the whole thing, and mark all the anomalies and think about possible corrections.
4. Now, it's 2:40 AM Saturday...I'll be off to office by 11 AM....and I have read only 10-15 pages :|
Life was never meant to be fair....and it never is.
Police near Old Dhaka aren't very gentle.
Now I can only say that "I Never Miss A Fair Deadline". Some of the deadlines that I get from my office are simply unjust. You can't dig a canal in one day. Some things needs to be done cautiously, and being cautious is directly related with spending more time.
How do you feel, when
1. On Wednesday you come to know that you'll have to take print outs of a 65 page long document and you hear that you'll have to read it and do something about it
2. On Thursday you come to know that you'll have to come to office on Saturday (which was supposed to be a weekly holiday)
3.. Before coming to office on Saturday, you'll have to read the whole thing, and mark all the anomalies and think about possible corrections.
4. Now, it's 2:40 AM Saturday...I'll be off to office by 11 AM....and I have read only 10-15 pages :|
Life was never meant to be fair....and it never is.
Police near Old Dhaka aren't very gentle.
Friday, March 11, 2005
Soul Reaver...Sigh...
Today was my grandmothers 5th death day revival....I was going to write anniversary, but decided not to. There's a festive mood attached with that word. It's always wedding anniversary, dating anniversary, birth anniversary..etc. happy things. Death, in most cases, isn't a happy incident. There will at least be one person who will not be sad in any death incidence. That's just a cursory remark I made....it has no basis. I don't even call it a hypothesis.
I don't usually do blogging on weekends. I either play games, or watch movies while I'm at home. Now it's 10:17 PM, but I don't feel like playing any game or watching a movie. I got a replacement for my out-of-order DVD Rom, just 15 days before the expiration of the warranty period. Cool, eh?
Today, I want to go back 5 years. *Presses the rewind button*
The month of March, year 2000. Our generation saw a lot of fuss over the Y2K/millennium bug issue, and we were educated enough to be a part of all the speculations and rumours. But as you all know, it was nothing but a hyped up issue. Nothing happened, not too many computers got disfunctional, and we are still living.
My grandmother was a diabetic patient. English is such a sorry language, it gives me no way to tell my readers that my grandmother is my father's mother....without spelling it out explicitly like I just did. In Bangla, we have Nani for mom's mom and dadi for dad's mom, and one can instantly recognize who's being talked about. Anyways, ever since I can understand things, I know that dadu has diabetes. I used to live in Saudi Arabia with my parents. My dad was working for a Saudi construction firm as a senior architect. Whenever someone went to BD (from the little Bangladeshi community of Dammam and surrounding places), my dadu would send over liver for me. I mean "kolija" in Bangla. It's one of my most favorite foods, and I still love eating'em. But I miss the lever dishes made by dadu. There was this personal touch...a mixture of affection and expertise accumulated over years of repetition...that none can copy exactly. My mom is a great cook...perhaps better than my dadu. But I don't get the same taste of Lebu'r achar, Kolija bhuna/ranna and teler pitha, that dadu made for us.
There's this proverb in Bangla. "Shashon kora taar ee shajey, jey ador o korey". My dadu was a dedicated follower of this motto. She didn't tolerate any sort of indicent behavior, or things that could harm our family's reputation, or make us inferior human beings. While she lived, we wouldn't dare play music in a loud volume, nor did anybody laugh too loudly. No it was not a bad thing actually. Those control measures are the reason for me being who I am.
Now when my cousin laughs out hysterically at a lot of not-that-funny incidents, I really feel disturbed and helpless. Had dadu been there, these things would never happen. I am not saying that laughter is a bad thing. But too much of anything is not good. Oh dear God...why this had to happen?
Dadu was a diabetic patient, and she was living a very controlled life. I have seen her taking the diabetic injections, throughout my life. We came back to Bangladesh, permanently on 1989. Ever since then, I 've been seeing her doing that. In year 2000, she was having some other complicacies, apart from diabetes. A local doctor saw her, but couldn't shed much light on her current state. So my dad and uncles decided that she should be moved to a clinic. She was suffering from pains and other disturbances.
By now you have probably found out that I live in a joint family. My dad is the 2nd child of my grandparents. He's the mejho bhai of the family, and he is knowned as the most talented and strong person in the whole family. I am so proud of my father, but he'll never get to know about it, and I am not letting him know! Oh well, the possibility is always there...he'll someday read this and find it out. But again, I never show the gratitude, for what reason I don't know.
Uhu...today I am not here for writing about my dad. Some other day, perhaps...but not today. Ahhh...it's 11:11 now...my favorite time of day.
My dad is the strongest person in the family, and yet he cried like a little child when my dadu reached the brink of death. I was not there, but I heard the vivid description from my uncles. But that time dadu survived, and she came back home with good health.
After almost 2 years, dadu had to be hospitalized again. But she was looking half ailing than the previous incident. I don't remember what day it was, in March 11, 2000. On 10th March, I went to Samarita Hospital, situated in Panthapoth, to see dadu. I was a student of IBA, DU, then....and I had classes upto 1:30 or somethin. As far as I remember, I along with two other friends arrived there. My friends went to the IBA hostel (this I can't be 100% sure about, maybe I'll manage to remember the details some other time), and I went to see her. My mom, my aunt and one of my cousins was there. Dadu was lookin good. She was talking with everyone, and she even told me "class korey ashar ki dorkar chilo?". That was the last thing I heard from her.
Year 2000 was the worst year of my life, in many ways. I was dismissed from IBA in 2001, but the ground was nicely prepared in year 2000. Hehe....I tried to condole myself by telling that the loss of losing my dear dadu was so unbearable, that I couldn't concentrate on studies. But actually that was not the case. That was such a difficult time. Numerous times, I wanted to write all about it, but I swayed away, giving out some excuses. I think I'm gonna do it again. But I promise, someday I'll write about it.
I came out of the building, and went back home in a Babi Taxi. These things aren't there anymore, in Dhaka. They have been driven outta town to the suburbs and other districts. The day passed on normally. I don't remember any more details about the day.
On 11th evening, everyone suddenly decided to go see dadu. As I saw her just the day before, I was asked to stay back and watch out the empty house. Me (born 1980), cousin Muhaimein (born 1986) and cousin Shomi (born 1984) were the actors of the tragedy that would follow shortly. The chair I'm sitting on is 5 years old. The table that is maintaining the weight of my PC is also 5 years old. But most other things have changed here. I gradually replaced each and every component of my classic PC, and now it's a brand new system.
I was sitting in the very same chair, and looking at the Voodoo Banshee inspired graphics of a Third Person Vampire game, Soul Reaver: Legacy of Kain. Voodoo Banshee is the name of my graphics card chipset. It was a 16 MB PCI card, manufactured by Creative. The graphics of the game was stunningly beautiful. And the gameplay was innovative, too. Shomi already completed the game, but I was only midway through the game. The game is about a vampire (Raziel), that was insulted and banished from his community, and thrown in to the unreal world by the villain, Kain.
I was in the middle of an engaging game. I was playing, Muhaimein was staring with excitement, and Shomi was giving me little advices. Suddenly the phone rang. My chair was just beside the phone, but I asked Muhaimein to pick up the phone. Chachi was on the phone, Muhaimein's mother. I was still busy playing the game. Suddenly Muhaimein, in a not-normal voice, said to me that "bhaiya..ammu is saying something in the phone which I can't/don't want to believe"..please listen what she's saying.
A very short time...a split second....it's a hard thing to recall. I don't want to get back to year 2000. I should stop now...my head is feeling heavy...I am not feeling good.
It was a difficult time for me. I had to act responsibly. I was the elder brother. I knew something was wrong. I picked up the phone, and heard the cry soaked voice of my aunt. She told me that dadu was no more. Shomi was keenly observing me. He also knew that something wasn't right. I told him about her death, and he gave me this strange, unbelieving look. Muhaimein was crying by then, and I did a very rational thing. I quit the game, pressed Alt F4 twice, and turned off the PC in less than a minute. Shomi was saying "all is lost...nothing will be the same again". All these happened in a very short time. The phone call, the notification, the crying, the turning off of the PC, and that last statement.
I made 2 phone calls. Damn, I was so cold headed that time. Nerve of steele....I don' t think I still have that sort of nerve. I called my Nanu, and another dadu (she was the wife of my Dada's younger brother), and informed them about the demise of dadu. I made a promise....I will not shed tears during the initial shock phase. I did the same thing another time, but that's a different story(!).
The rest of the evening was sad. One by one, the relatives kept pouring in. I was not that old then...only a 19 year old lad. But still I managed to recognize the crocodile tears from the real tears. Sigh.....at least they pretended to be sad. I couldn't even pretend. The only time I came near to shedding tears when my mother started crying after dadu's face was unveiled. I only saw my mom crying with such deep sorrow, once before. That was in Saudi Arabia, when the news of my uncle (mom's brother) losing a leg in a road accident arrived. Bekul hoye kada is the right expression, I guess.
Late in the night, I got something to eat. I don't exactly remember what it was, but the food was bought from outside. Death-struck house can't lit a fire....an old belief. I headed off to Shomi's house, to stay there.
I couldn't sleep that night. We spent the night watching TV and sighing. 5 years, and yet it appears to me that dadu died yesterday. But I kept my promise. I don't cry. The tears accumulate within my heart, and I know that day by day I am becoming a saline person.
reality struck me 2 months after. It was Eid Ul Azha. I had a fixed routine for any Eid. Waking up early, going to the Mosque, coming back, and heading straight towards dadu's room for doing the eid er salam. That year, I rushed in to dadu's room, without thinking what I was doing. It was so natural, so default....that any other thought didn't pester my mind. I got inside the deserted, darkened room, and realized that I made a fool out of myself. The room is there, the belongings are there, the paaner bata, the almirah, the holy Quran, the injections, the medicine, the picture....but the person is not there. I suddenly realized that I will never be able to salam dadu again. The reality was too much for me. I literraly ran back towards my room, and I couldn't stop the hysterical tears that drenched my pillows later on. I was crying helplessly, and the mom came in and found me.
She was surprised. She asked me "What happened?". I couldn't say a thing, and she knew what actually happened. Everyone in the family got involved in the crying. I made the Eid day a mourning day. One of my uncle exclaimed that he never imagined that I had so much love for dadu. Yeah, once again....I believe in that thing "You've got to hide your love away".
Subtlety....is that a good thing, really? I dunno...maybe it'll take a life time for me to know the answer.
I wrote this piece of writing with genuine tears.
I don't usually do blogging on weekends. I either play games, or watch movies while I'm at home. Now it's 10:17 PM, but I don't feel like playing any game or watching a movie. I got a replacement for my out-of-order DVD Rom, just 15 days before the expiration of the warranty period. Cool, eh?
Today, I want to go back 5 years. *Presses the rewind button*
The month of March, year 2000. Our generation saw a lot of fuss over the Y2K/millennium bug issue, and we were educated enough to be a part of all the speculations and rumours. But as you all know, it was nothing but a hyped up issue. Nothing happened, not too many computers got disfunctional, and we are still living.
My grandmother was a diabetic patient. English is such a sorry language, it gives me no way to tell my readers that my grandmother is my father's mother....without spelling it out explicitly like I just did. In Bangla, we have Nani for mom's mom and dadi for dad's mom, and one can instantly recognize who's being talked about. Anyways, ever since I can understand things, I know that dadu has diabetes. I used to live in Saudi Arabia with my parents. My dad was working for a Saudi construction firm as a senior architect. Whenever someone went to BD (from the little Bangladeshi community of Dammam and surrounding places), my dadu would send over liver for me. I mean "kolija" in Bangla. It's one of my most favorite foods, and I still love eating'em. But I miss the lever dishes made by dadu. There was this personal touch...a mixture of affection and expertise accumulated over years of repetition...that none can copy exactly. My mom is a great cook...perhaps better than my dadu. But I don't get the same taste of Lebu'r achar, Kolija bhuna/ranna and teler pitha, that dadu made for us.
There's this proverb in Bangla. "Shashon kora taar ee shajey, jey ador o korey". My dadu was a dedicated follower of this motto. She didn't tolerate any sort of indicent behavior, or things that could harm our family's reputation, or make us inferior human beings. While she lived, we wouldn't dare play music in a loud volume, nor did anybody laugh too loudly. No it was not a bad thing actually. Those control measures are the reason for me being who I am.
Now when my cousin laughs out hysterically at a lot of not-that-funny incidents, I really feel disturbed and helpless. Had dadu been there, these things would never happen. I am not saying that laughter is a bad thing. But too much of anything is not good. Oh dear God...why this had to happen?
Dadu was a diabetic patient, and she was living a very controlled life. I have seen her taking the diabetic injections, throughout my life. We came back to Bangladesh, permanently on 1989. Ever since then, I 've been seeing her doing that. In year 2000, she was having some other complicacies, apart from diabetes. A local doctor saw her, but couldn't shed much light on her current state. So my dad and uncles decided that she should be moved to a clinic. She was suffering from pains and other disturbances.
By now you have probably found out that I live in a joint family. My dad is the 2nd child of my grandparents. He's the mejho bhai of the family, and he is knowned as the most talented and strong person in the whole family. I am so proud of my father, but he'll never get to know about it, and I am not letting him know! Oh well, the possibility is always there...he'll someday read this and find it out. But again, I never show the gratitude, for what reason I don't know.
Uhu...today I am not here for writing about my dad. Some other day, perhaps...but not today. Ahhh...it's 11:11 now...my favorite time of day.
My dad is the strongest person in the family, and yet he cried like a little child when my dadu reached the brink of death. I was not there, but I heard the vivid description from my uncles. But that time dadu survived, and she came back home with good health.
After almost 2 years, dadu had to be hospitalized again. But she was looking half ailing than the previous incident. I don't remember what day it was, in March 11, 2000. On 10th March, I went to Samarita Hospital, situated in Panthapoth, to see dadu. I was a student of IBA, DU, then....and I had classes upto 1:30 or somethin. As far as I remember, I along with two other friends arrived there. My friends went to the IBA hostel (this I can't be 100% sure about, maybe I'll manage to remember the details some other time), and I went to see her. My mom, my aunt and one of my cousins was there. Dadu was lookin good. She was talking with everyone, and she even told me "class korey ashar ki dorkar chilo?". That was the last thing I heard from her.
Year 2000 was the worst year of my life, in many ways. I was dismissed from IBA in 2001, but the ground was nicely prepared in year 2000. Hehe....I tried to condole myself by telling that the loss of losing my dear dadu was so unbearable, that I couldn't concentrate on studies. But actually that was not the case. That was such a difficult time. Numerous times, I wanted to write all about it, but I swayed away, giving out some excuses. I think I'm gonna do it again. But I promise, someday I'll write about it.
I came out of the building, and went back home in a Babi Taxi. These things aren't there anymore, in Dhaka. They have been driven outta town to the suburbs and other districts. The day passed on normally. I don't remember any more details about the day.
On 11th evening, everyone suddenly decided to go see dadu. As I saw her just the day before, I was asked to stay back and watch out the empty house. Me (born 1980), cousin Muhaimein (born 1986) and cousin Shomi (born 1984) were the actors of the tragedy that would follow shortly. The chair I'm sitting on is 5 years old. The table that is maintaining the weight of my PC is also 5 years old. But most other things have changed here. I gradually replaced each and every component of my classic PC, and now it's a brand new system.
I was sitting in the very same chair, and looking at the Voodoo Banshee inspired graphics of a Third Person Vampire game, Soul Reaver: Legacy of Kain. Voodoo Banshee is the name of my graphics card chipset. It was a 16 MB PCI card, manufactured by Creative. The graphics of the game was stunningly beautiful. And the gameplay was innovative, too. Shomi already completed the game, but I was only midway through the game. The game is about a vampire (Raziel), that was insulted and banished from his community, and thrown in to the unreal world by the villain, Kain.
I was in the middle of an engaging game. I was playing, Muhaimein was staring with excitement, and Shomi was giving me little advices. Suddenly the phone rang. My chair was just beside the phone, but I asked Muhaimein to pick up the phone. Chachi was on the phone, Muhaimein's mother. I was still busy playing the game. Suddenly Muhaimein, in a not-normal voice, said to me that "bhaiya..ammu is saying something in the phone which I can't/don't want to believe"..please listen what she's saying.
A very short time...a split second....it's a hard thing to recall. I don't want to get back to year 2000. I should stop now...my head is feeling heavy...I am not feeling good.
It was a difficult time for me. I had to act responsibly. I was the elder brother. I knew something was wrong. I picked up the phone, and heard the cry soaked voice of my aunt. She told me that dadu was no more. Shomi was keenly observing me. He also knew that something wasn't right. I told him about her death, and he gave me this strange, unbelieving look. Muhaimein was crying by then, and I did a very rational thing. I quit the game, pressed Alt F4 twice, and turned off the PC in less than a minute. Shomi was saying "all is lost...nothing will be the same again". All these happened in a very short time. The phone call, the notification, the crying, the turning off of the PC, and that last statement.
I made 2 phone calls. Damn, I was so cold headed that time. Nerve of steele....I don' t think I still have that sort of nerve. I called my Nanu, and another dadu (she was the wife of my Dada's younger brother), and informed them about the demise of dadu. I made a promise....I will not shed tears during the initial shock phase. I did the same thing another time, but that's a different story(!).
The rest of the evening was sad. One by one, the relatives kept pouring in. I was not that old then...only a 19 year old lad. But still I managed to recognize the crocodile tears from the real tears. Sigh.....at least they pretended to be sad. I couldn't even pretend. The only time I came near to shedding tears when my mother started crying after dadu's face was unveiled. I only saw my mom crying with such deep sorrow, once before. That was in Saudi Arabia, when the news of my uncle (mom's brother) losing a leg in a road accident arrived. Bekul hoye kada is the right expression, I guess.
Late in the night, I got something to eat. I don't exactly remember what it was, but the food was bought from outside. Death-struck house can't lit a fire....an old belief. I headed off to Shomi's house, to stay there.
I couldn't sleep that night. We spent the night watching TV and sighing. 5 years, and yet it appears to me that dadu died yesterday. But I kept my promise. I don't cry. The tears accumulate within my heart, and I know that day by day I am becoming a saline person.
reality struck me 2 months after. It was Eid Ul Azha. I had a fixed routine for any Eid. Waking up early, going to the Mosque, coming back, and heading straight towards dadu's room for doing the eid er salam. That year, I rushed in to dadu's room, without thinking what I was doing. It was so natural, so default....that any other thought didn't pester my mind. I got inside the deserted, darkened room, and realized that I made a fool out of myself. The room is there, the belongings are there, the paaner bata, the almirah, the holy Quran, the injections, the medicine, the picture....but the person is not there. I suddenly realized that I will never be able to salam dadu again. The reality was too much for me. I literraly ran back towards my room, and I couldn't stop the hysterical tears that drenched my pillows later on. I was crying helplessly, and the mom came in and found me.
She was surprised. She asked me "What happened?". I couldn't say a thing, and she knew what actually happened. Everyone in the family got involved in the crying. I made the Eid day a mourning day. One of my uncle exclaimed that he never imagined that I had so much love for dadu. Yeah, once again....I believe in that thing "You've got to hide your love away".
Subtlety....is that a good thing, really? I dunno...maybe it'll take a life time for me to know the answer.
I wrote this piece of writing with genuine tears.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Another Journey In My Hands!
Sigh. I haven't yet written about my Mymensingh journey, and another journey is knocking at my door! Tonight, at 11 PM, I am leaving for Shillong, India. Every year, our whole division goes out for they early assembly. Last year we went to Cox'sbazar. I wrote about that journey, but the writing was incomplete. I wrote 2 parts of it. Maybe I'll post it here sometime. I love writing about my journeys.
To be honest, I am not really looking forward to this tour. It'll be a hectic journey, with too many plans jam packed within a very short time frame. I'd rather enjoy sleeping for long hours during the weekend, at home. Yeah, I am sounding like a lathergic and retarded old fella, but the last 2 months have gruelloesly hectic. I had to put all my energy, and maximum concentration into the job I hold. I didn't have weekends, and I seldom met people outside of office. My social life is a joke now, and I am not likint this life of mine.
I am so fucken tired...it's been ages since I last had a good nights sleep. Every morning, when I wake up (usually when I'm forced to wake up), I ask this question to God "Why the helll did the morning come so early?". I wanna go to bed late, and wake up late, too. But even in my holidays I don't get to sleep well....my dad wakes me up at 9 am or so. It's so bloody annoying!
The summer season is coming in, and I am already disliking it. I wouldn't mind getting burnt every now and then, as long as I can turn on the AC or fan, and cool off. But that can't be done when there's frequent blackouts. Once I made a list of things that I really hate about Bangladesh. I don't remember the full lsit, but here's a few:
1. Loadshedding
2. Traffic Jam
3. Mosquito
4. Bribery/Corruption
5. Slow internet connection
6. Lack of security/law and order
And some other things. I also said to myself..."if I ever leave this place, one of these could be a good reason for that action. There will be hundreds of little things that I'd miss, if I leave BD.
Sigh!
To be honest, I am not really looking forward to this tour. It'll be a hectic journey, with too many plans jam packed within a very short time frame. I'd rather enjoy sleeping for long hours during the weekend, at home. Yeah, I am sounding like a lathergic and retarded old fella, but the last 2 months have gruelloesly hectic. I had to put all my energy, and maximum concentration into the job I hold. I didn't have weekends, and I seldom met people outside of office. My social life is a joke now, and I am not likint this life of mine.
I am so fucken tired...it's been ages since I last had a good nights sleep. Every morning, when I wake up (usually when I'm forced to wake up), I ask this question to God "Why the helll did the morning come so early?". I wanna go to bed late, and wake up late, too. But even in my holidays I don't get to sleep well....my dad wakes me up at 9 am or so. It's so bloody annoying!
The summer season is coming in, and I am already disliking it. I wouldn't mind getting burnt every now and then, as long as I can turn on the AC or fan, and cool off. But that can't be done when there's frequent blackouts. Once I made a list of things that I really hate about Bangladesh. I don't remember the full lsit, but here's a few:
1. Loadshedding
2. Traffic Jam
3. Mosquito
4. Bribery/Corruption
5. Slow internet connection
6. Lack of security/law and order
And some other things. I also said to myself..."if I ever leave this place, one of these could be a good reason for that action. There will be hundreds of little things that I'd miss, if I leave BD.
Sigh!
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