LIFE AS IT IS

Riding a car when nature's wrath is taking its toll can be ominous - one may fall into debilitating injuries or lose one's life even. But it is an amazing scene to behold when a tornado hits a town. One can fully realise how powerless one is to nature's fury. One can do nothing, nothing at all. Our car was on an interstate highway in Albertville, Minnesota when nature hid us under a grey lid. It was a shade I never beheld before. One could sense the looming tornado's rage from it. A straight white line ran across the sky - it seemed the heaven was waiting to crack open on us. We took the next available exit and parked the car in the compounds of a convenience store that also offered self-service gasoline. It felt safe there, although the sky by then had put on a deeper hue of grey. The sunny afternoon transformed into a menacing moonless night. The downpour began in less than a minute. Stuck inside a car, I looked outside the window. The torrential rain made my sur

“TACKY,” she thought. The foundation color is too light for her skin tone; it makes her look almost like a ghost. “Well, ghost is what I am now, for the mortal me died long, long ago,” Shujata said to herself. She still walks, eats, laughs, weeps and… sleeps with men, which is what she does for a living, but her soul leapt from her battered body 5 years ago. She rummages through her red plastic bag for a lipstick. She has four colours altogether-red, bright red, dark pink and deep magenta. People say that girls like Shujata can attract more men when they wear such garish colours. There had been many days when she wished to wear a light shade of brown, but she never had a chance. She does not have a place to go, a place where she can go and be herself, where she can breathe in fresh air and watch cuckoos fly in the blue sky. The pungent alleys, the filthy men with even filthier insides, the worn-out walls and the impoverished, hopeless women like her are all that she sees every day,

We witnessed blatant rivalries among school friends in the months of June and July. No, they were not participating in any competition, rather their favorite teams were. It was the 2010 FIFA World Cup, which turned our friends into foes. It was one occasion when two close pals did not necessarily support the same team. Arch rivalry sparked among the Brazilian and Argentine supporters. An Argentine fan wrote on his college friend’s Facebook wall about the rage that engulfed him upon learning that his friend, who was once an Argentine fan, is now a die-hard Brazilian supporter. The Argentine fan clearly felt betrayed by his friend - this happens only in football. We witnessed taunting of friends. I remember a friend jeering an Argentine fan, saying “Could you properly digest the ek haali goal (or, the four goals)?” Another friend promised that he would donate money to the poor if his team made it to the finals. Statuses were updated even at the darkest hours of the night. The wor

Imagine being brought up in the filthiest alleys of a red light district, where days begin with lurid screams from drunken men and women. Imagine a childhood where you toiled from dawn to dusk, filled buckets with water, scrubbed dirty pots and pans, and watched your family fight and curse at each other. On some days you carried booze bottles to your mother’s guests, on other days you clasped your ears to shun the sounds that came from a room next door. For most of us, who have lived a secure life, it is difficult to imagine a childhood smeared with obscenity, fear and a lot of anguish. The Daily Star link  July 13, 2010 But there are children out there whose first day into this world marks the beginning of a tormented life. “Born into Brothels” is a bold attempt to bring into light the lives of children growing up in the notorious Sonagachi brothel of Kolkata. Some of the shots are heart-breaking; some of the scenes make you contemplate what it would be like to grow up in an env

It’s a rainy day today. Here I am in a midsized city in Minnesota, sitting on my bed with a laptop, scribbling words to pour out many an emotion that the damp day has aroused. On the roads, cars are whooshing along, splashing the rainwater that collected in puddles. A lone red Chevrolet is standing in our apartment building's parking lot, its windshield dripping drops of the summer rain. The Southwest metro bus just left the street corner. A middle-aged lady is walking down the street - her one hand holding a bag of groceries, the other a yellow umbrella. Gloom is hanging over the whole city. It's a small city and the gloom makes it appear even smaller. Is there a connection between the apparent size of a city and its weather? I believe not. But then why does a city seem bigger and merrier on a sunny day? There is not much difference between the Dhaka skies and skies here in Minnesota. I can only see the differences when I gaze down - the differences become vivid in the mo

The immense satisfaction associated with working for others has driven me to community service. I am not trying to beat my own drums but only sharing the reasons for spending hours behind something that does not have a monetary return. It was the year 1999 and I was in Grade 11. Among numerous student organizations in my high school, there was one called the Education Club. While my close friends chose to join the Debating Club and the Reading Club, I suddenly became eager to join the Education Club, which I heard worked toward educating underprivileged children of the neighborhood. Joining the Education Club was one of those decisions for which I would always thank myself later in my life. I can never forget the love and laughter of the small children I taught for some one-and-a-half years. Every Wednesday was like a pleasure day; almost every Wednesday I would get something from my little students. On many occasions I received flowers, guavas and green mangoes from my students, many