BHIKKHUK

She rolled up the windows of her car.
I wasn't surprised. This was the most common reaction among the people when I ask for alms. A few would say, 'Maaf koren.' They weren't exactly rare either.
I usually come across three kinds of people.
1) The sympathetic: These are mostly young kids. Usually from an upper class family. They have soft hearts and haven't had much suffering in their lives. So, a bhikkuk without an eye wearing worn-out clothes stresses the hell out of them. They help him as much as they can, with all they have.
These kids think they can change the world. But I know for a fact they won't. Once they've seen enough of life, they'll become money-making machines just like their fathers.
2) The commoners: An everyday Bangladeshi falls under this category. They usually ignore me. Occasionally they hand me ten taka or so. I don't usually bother these people if I can help it.
3) The meddlers: They are the worst. They won't give you anything and they won't let you walk away.
'Why don't you work?' they'll ask.
'Worthless layabout,' they'll call me.
Why don't I work?
This is some of the hardest 'work' there is. I've seen countless people leave begging to work as rickshaw-pullers or day labourers just because they weren't good enough.
But I survived.

I have moved from the Rayerbazaar slum to a one-room concrete flat. My son studies in a fairly well reputed Bangla Medium school. I have a wonderful wife who doesn't scream her head off every time I enter home. And I've achieved it all while being a worthless bhikkuk.
(Granted, being one-eyed helped me. But in the end of the day, it's all skill.)
I decided to try my luck with this girl. She's pretty young and she might just belong to the first class.
'Afaa, spare me a few taka. Please, afaa.'
She looked at me in disgust.
This surprised me. I have annoyed people. Irritated them, even infuriated some.
But this is the first time I've managed to disgust someone.
This interested me. I decided to linger. The driver of the car seemed to read my intention. He got out of the car and smacked me full on the face.
I said nothing. I smiled at the girl and left, leaving her mortified.
As I walked back home, I wasn't sad. Or even angry at the way they treated me. They belong to the top 1% of this country. They can treat me and people like me however they want.
I was sitting on the floor of my home that evening, eating muri and watching my brand new 12” Konka TV when my son approached me.
'Abba, I won't go to school tomorrow.’
Why?' I ask.
'There's a really tough exam and I haven't studied anything.'
I started beating my son. It was something I never did before. Beating him up was his mother's job. I was the fun parent.
But it was after he told me he won't go to school that I realized I was angry. Angry at the world. Angry at nature for making me what I am: a filthy bhikkuk. One who gets hit for no apparent reason and no one cares.
I hit every inch of his body, except his face and right hand.
Because he will go to school tomorrow and he will ace that exam.
After I finished beating him up, I called the boy Mokbul from next door. He passed the SSC with a GPA-4 last year. I told him to help my son complete his lesson and promised him fifty taka in return.
'Won't go to school!' I grunted to my wife.
One day, my son will be on the other side of the window. And he will be the one treating Bhikkuks like filth.

Kidwa Arif, 17, is an SSC examinee at St Joseph Higher Secondary School.