! He is the dew point of the lotus leaf. The first glimmer of light in the morning, or the tinkling sound of tin rice on a winter's night - this is life. Slightly, but budded is more diverse. How much effort, how much busyness to arrange the ‘life’ like a newlywed bride in a wedding hall. Even once for the moments left in the middle of it, everyone looks back and is surprised to discover the neatly awaited memories sitting in the album of memories.
A unique ‘Dreamland’ hidden in the secret of the chest!
In school-college life, the most favorite subject to write ‘Composition’ was ‘Childhood Memories’. I still remember, when I got the question paper, I saw the part of the essay first. And if there is a matter of desired choice, then there is no question. A strange smile appeared on his face. When I was writing about my favorite subject, I would never get lost in the depths of that memory.
Torn leaves of memory
‘Childhood’ reminds me of the extraordinary days of free freedom with thousands of colorful and dirty memories. The caressing moments of the parents, the naughtiness at the reading table with the sisters, the 'fights' with the grandparents, the intense joy of going to the grandparents' house during the holidays - what more. From that childhood I lived very close to the sea, in Patenga, Chittagong. Whenever I got a chance, I would go for a walk with my aunt.From posing on horseback to taking pictures, to splashing in salt water, to egg-laying or chatpati, nothing was left out. When the current goes out at night, there is a game of Sapludu by rounding by candlelight. There is no end to the number of memories that can be gleaned. Those were the days. Anabil is an inexhaustible source of endless joy.
Three things I was terrified of as a child. The sound of thunder, the sharp sirens of ambulances and the ‘flying’ cockroaches. I still remember - it was night then. Parents are busy entertaining guests at home. I'm sitting in the drawing room. At that time the ambulance was going through the street in front of the house with the siren sounding and I was crying on the bed with a pillow over my head. And the sound of lightning? The fear of it was a little bigger.Lightning struck loudly, and I hugged my parents with my small hands. I said no more about the 'flying' cockroach.
Old new beginnings
I remember the day of handcuffs. Parents have heard from somewhere, "At the age of four years, four months, four days, formal handcuffs are one of the surest ways to make a child a 'scholar'." Whatever you think, do it. I am four years, four months, four days old. Half pants, half shirts and hats were sent to the drawing room.I went and discovered a gentleman in a long Punjabi dress, with a black beard and a huge hat on his head; Arrange all kinds of breakfast in front. Surrounded by some familiar-unfamiliar faces. I was placed next to the lord. Teaching is a, a, a, b, alif, or. Then sweet. Then I made my official debut in 'Student Life'.
Eastern Refinery Model High School. That was the beginning of school life. I was barely a year in the nursery. The pale yellow building, the small field in front, the pond attached to the school - the atmosphere was wonderful. The national flag on one side of the field, in front of which every morning I would stand in a line and sing in unison "My golden Bengali, I love you".Speaking of 2001. After blue shorts, white shirt, nameplate on the right chest and school badge on the left, I set foot in the yard holding my father's hand. First he took me to the headmaster's room. Wearing spectacles, the lively sir with the raw-ripe beard smiled and asked some questions. Then sent to the classroom. I don't remember much about that day.I just remember standing in the doorway of the classroom, staring in amazement at some unfamiliar face, and even more astonished, a bunch of children looking at me speechless. Hahahahahaha.
At that time of my childhood, for some strange reason, I liked school very much. The source of that good feeling has not been found till today. It's hard to tell the national anthem from outside the school, the half-broken seat by the south window, the occasional singing in Madame Rama's class, or the 'ice-water' playing on the tiffin holiday.
Pieces of memory
“Brother Dapatri, play the tabla;
The bees turn to the tune of the tabla.
When it comes to school, if you don't talk about Daftary Bhai, then how can the writing remain incomplete. I can't remember the name, but the look is still floating in Divya's eyes. Raw-ripe hair, zamindari mustache and wearing a blue uniform is a smiling face. It seems that this is the day - the zamindari was walking along the school verandah with a brass bell and a hammer in his right hand, waving his mustache. Then- Aung Aung Aung Aung Aung Aung. Suddenly, a group of mischievous children started running. Ah, those were the golden days!
When I was in third grade. Annual examination. The next day Bangla 2nd letter. Then to me the 2nd letter of Bengali means to face a horror called 'Rachna'. I learned two compositions - 'Paddy' and 'Jute'; One is sure to come. The night before, my mother told me very well to look at any composition and then start writing. The next day I got the question and saw - 'Jute'. I am very happy. I started writing with great joy. But after writing for a while, I discovered that I am not actually writing 'jute', I am writing 'rice'.Along with the wrinkles of thought on the forehead. If you cut the book will not look beautiful! In order to preserve the beauty of the book, I thought it best to write 'Dhan'. Therefore, after giving the book, the number obtained in the composition is 20 to 03…! When I think of that 'wisdom', I still burst out laughing.
Thousands of such memories in the memory store became distracted while wandering around. It's like another world! A unique ‘Dreamland’ hidden in the secret of the chest. Where everyone is anxious to go back one more time, but 6. Is it all you want? When I was younger, I used to think, "Hey, when will I grow up?"That 'growing up' is true today. But this one big blow seemed to take away a thoughtless, pure chapter of life's freedom. So sometimes I look back, I have to look back. You have to think about all those days. Sometimes my eyes widen at the thought, sometimes I burst out laughing. Still, I feel good holding those moments in my chest. I can't forget anymore.
“Would you forget the old days?
He sees those eyes, the words of the soul, can he be forgotten ”.