In Retrospect
Going Back in Time
The Eid moon had been sighted. I went to the barber's shop of our area. It was doing brisk business. There was an assortment of people at the shop: the young with Mohawk and a ring in the left ear lobe getting a facial, the fortyish gentleman with thinning hair concerned that the barber may cut it too short, getting his hair coloured, the middle aged man getting a haircut and beard and mustache trimmed and children aged three to four years old getting their funky Eid haircuts.
The owner of the shop Dilip looked at me and smirked and told me in his Brahmanbaria accent "dekchen ni aro dekhbain" (you haven’t seen nothing yet). I was happy the kids were enjoying their freedom.
My mind travelled to the early fifties. I was three to four years old. I also used to have my hair cut one or two days before Eid. The roadside Bihari barber Ram was called. He was a taciturn fellow focused on his trade. The only words he uttered were "babu kabal itna lamba kiu rakhat ho mathe garam ho jawat ho"? (Why did you keep the hair so long, your head would become hot?). Then, putting down his box of tools he would get down to his trade. He would get my head in a knee lock so that there was no way of moving my it. After I was shorn of my locks I would be released of the knee lock. I thought the ordeal was over. Nay! Ram got me by the scruff of my neck and pushed my head down. He did the rest of his work, finessing my sideburn, the arc over my ears and smoothening the slope of my nape. He held out a mirror and my silence said I was happy! Ram was paid eight Annas.
Old Dhaka by Sadek Ahmed.
India's Kamala Circus was in town. It perhaps camped in Ramna Park. My mamu took me along to see the circus. It was a large tent with a cluster of smaller tents around. I was awestruck by the massive spectacle. The show began - the clown came with his antics. The elephants came playing with balls with their trunks. My enthusiasm was rising. Then came the male and female horse riders jumping their horses through rings. It was thrilling to watch the dashing bike riders orbiting around an oval iron cage.
Oh! The pride of lions in a cage!. The lions walked majestically through a trap door. The tamer stood ready with a whiplash in his hand. There were stands of different heights. The tamer cracked the whiplash and the lions dutifully tripped on to the stand. Only the sound of the crack of whiplash was working on the lions. I was mesmerized by the show. The thrilling trapeze show started. I was afraid of a fall. But there was a safety net spread underneath! After the show was over my uncle took me to a smaller tent. A female Trapeze performer came out and my uncle talked to her. She patted my cheek and smiled at me. I was thrilled.
The Pakistani wrestler brothers came to Dacca. They were staying at Khwaja Akmal's Hotel Orient near to our grandfather's house. My father was in Dacca he took me to see Bholu Pahelwan, Aslam, Goga, Akram et al. Bholu was as big as a Sumo wrestler and was thought to be over 350 pounds. Aslam was a fine, handsome man with well-built muscles. Goga was a southpaw, a left hander at that. Akram was tall and lean. I heard astounding stories about their eating habits.
In the early fifties I had a friend - Farrokh. I was four years old. Farrokh's father Sekendar Sahab was the owner of an industry that produced rubber nipples for feeding bottles. He also owned a movie house named New Picture House. It was in the northeastern corner of Armanitola Maidan. He was a healthy boy, effusive and ebullient. Farrokh's family had a car. Once he came and called out, "Dost chalo picture dekhe". (Buddy let's go and see a movie). I was shy and withdrawn. He insisted "Chalo to dost". (Come on buddy).
We went and reached the theatre. We were placed in a comfortable box. Johnny Weissmuller's Tarzan was on. We were fascinated by Tarzan's magnificent physique, flowing locks, kindly eyes with leather loin cloth and a dagger dangling at the side. And who could forget Tarzan’s guttural call, his swinging from one tree to another, Jane his female companion and the amusing chimp at his side. I was lost in a new world! Farrokh was laughing heartily throwing up his hands and legs! There was an intermission. He called his attendant and ordered Kulfi. It was heavenly.
How the days, months and years have gone by. In a way it was perhaps the best of time with no load to carry, no duty to perform, no goals to strive for - a time of wonder and discovery of many hues. The four-year-old boy has crossed middle and the end of the journey does not look that far. My memory fondly feeds on the times I have seen and have left behind with melancholy eyes.
Old Dhaka by Sadek Ahmed.
India's Kamala Circus was in town. It perhaps camped in Ramna Park. My mamu took me along to see the circus. It was a large tent with a cluster of smaller tents around. I was awestruck by the massive spectacle. The show began - the clown came with his antics. The elephants came playing with balls with their trunks. My enthusiasm was rising. Then came the male and female horse riders jumping their horses through rings. It was thrilling to watch the dashing bike riders orbiting around an oval iron cage.
Oh! The pride of lions in a cage!. The lions walked majestically through a trap door. The tamer stood ready with a whiplash in his hand. There were stands of different heights. The tamer cracked the whiplash and the lions dutifully tripped on to the stand. Only the sound of the crack of whiplash was working on the lions. I was mesmerized by the show. The thrilling trapeze show started. I was afraid of a fall. But there was a safety net spread underneath! After the show was over my uncle took me to a smaller tent. A female Trapeze performer came out and my uncle talked to her. She patted my cheek and smiled at me. I was thrilled.
The Pakistani wrestler brothers came to Dacca. They were staying at Khwaja Akmal's Hotel Orient near to our grandfather's house. My father was in Dacca he took me to see Bholu Pahelwan, Aslam, Goga, Akram et al. Bholu was as big as a Sumo wrestler and was thought to be over 350 pounds. Aslam was a fine, handsome man with well-built muscles. Goga was a southpaw, a left hander at that. Akram was tall and lean. I heard astounding stories about their eating habits.
In the early fifties I had a friend - Farrokh. I was four years old. Farrokh's father Sekendar Sahab was the owner of an industry that produced rubber nipples for feeding bottles. He also owned a movie house named New Picture House. It was in the northeastern corner of Armanitola Maidan. He was a healthy boy, effusive and ebullient. Farrokh's family had a car. Once he came and called out, "Dost chalo picture dekhe". (Buddy let's go and see a movie). I was shy and withdrawn. He insisted "Chalo to dost". (Come on buddy).
We went and reached the theatre. We were placed in a comfortable box. Johnny Weissmuller's Tarzan was on. We were fascinated by Tarzan's magnificent physique, flowing locks, kindly eyes with leather loin cloth and a dagger dangling at the side. And who could forget Tarzan’s guttural call, his swinging from one tree to another, Jane his female companion and the amusing chimp at his side. I was lost in a new world! Farrokh was laughing heartily throwing up his hands and legs! There was an intermission. He called his attendant and ordered Kulfi. It was heavenly.
How the days, months and years have gone by. In a way it was perhaps the best of time with no load to carry, no duty to perform, no goals to strive for - a time of wonder and discovery of many hues. The four-year-old boy has crossed middle and the end of the journey does not look that far. My memory fondly feeds on the times I have seen and have left behind with melancholy eyes.
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