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My first try at Nano Wrimo |
 My first try at Nano Wrimo
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| Plot: This story circulates around Ayesha, a 20 year old Bangladeshi young girl, her family and surroundings. Conflict: Man VS Man Setting: Dhaka, Bangladesh. Sometimes I might also mix a few rural settings with urban settings. I'll also try to show a bit about my language, culture and other related things through this. Characters:  Ayesha Parvez - 20 year old freshman university student. Fardeena Parvez - Ayesha's mother (profession yet to be decided) Anwar Parvez - Ayesha's father (service holder)  Check out
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| The first day of spring was knocking at the door. Everyone at the school campus was taking last minute preparations for the Boshonto Boron festival. A large, square stage with bright yellow floral patterns to serve as the background, were set up at the school playground. New leaves were peeping out of the bald branches towering above the stage. Orange petals of Gulmohar created a natural carpet all around the stage. Potted plants of every single tint and hue surrounded the decorated wooden structure the students would be performing on. Performers were getting the last notations and dance steps sorted out. Dancers practiced to the rhythm of the Tabla, even some of the teachers practiced recitations from classic poetry collections. Fariha still had her yellow Shalwar Kameez at the tailor's.  Check out
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| Fariha sat listlessly at her study table, unable to concentrate in the Chemistry lesson open in front of her. The ceiling fan above her head created an irritating sound. Still, she had to keep it turned on, for proper ventilation. The fan had caused her cream coffee to turn cold, she had completely forgotten about her favorite beverage. She twisted and turned the little token of love on her finger continuously, her mind drifting off to the man of her dreams from time to time. She still wondered how everything happened so suddenly, it all seemed like a Bollywood movie. Only the romantic song was yet to be aired. “Hello dear, what are you thinking? Are you all right?” Monir had sneaked in to check on his princess. Fariha hid her hand in her trousers’ pocket. She did not want her father to discover her little secret so soon. What if they went against her decision? She was barely eighteen. What if they had other plans for her? “Fariha, are you all right?” Monir repeated. His daughter seemed to be lost in thoughts. “Oh, Abbu , it’s you…” Fariha turned to face her father. “I was just getting bored, that’s all.” Something seemed a little weird about her voice. “I’m all ears if you want to talk, kiddo.” Monir squeezed her cheeks. “Time for office now, see you in the evening.” “Bye Abbu, have a safe journey.” Fariha heaved a sigh of relief as he strolled out through the door. In Bangladesh, parents still preferred arranged marriages over love marriages. Even at times, either the bride or the groom had to completely disconnect from his or her family, as a punishment of disobedience. Fariha would hate it if her parents did not accept them. She wondered how Shanto’s father would react if he heard. Yes of course, they knew each other from a very early age, still, there were a lot of points to ponder on. Check out
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Fariha was busy with a lot of homework, and extra-curricular activities. A-levels was much Fariha was busy with a lot of homework, and extra-curricular activities. A-levels was much harder than O –levels. In fact, she felt like being thrown into the Pacific Ocean from a mere Bangladeshi pond. She even had to reduce her time online and on the cellphone just to keep running with the three-miles-long syllabus and even if she did not want to, some parts of certain subjects had to be memorized, something she just loathed doing. At first, Fariha did not want to take Math or Mechanics for her A-levels, but she was thankful that she did after all, because those subjects helped her fish out some extra points to her progress report, which was crucial for the dreadful A levels exams just after two years. On one of such busy days, Fariha was sitting under the shady Banyan tree in the school playground, immersed in English literature. Most of her peers were also busy either doing assignments, or doing group discussions. The soothing rays of the winter sun were helping them relax in spite of the academic pressure. A few crows thronged around bits of leftover lunch scattered here and there. The atmosphere was still a bit foggy; credit goes to the continuous cold wave going on for the last few days. The seasonal business of traditional rice cakes already reached a peak, the sweet smell of rice and molasses passed through every single living nose. There was a temporary mud stove set just outside the school gate. A middle aged woman clad in a simple hand knit Sari sat beside the stove, filling up the cake dice with a mixture of coconut, rice flour and molasses. Large, round cakes popped up within minutes. A huge number of people already stood in line to grab one or more than one of those long waited desserts. Dry leaves cracked under school shoes. Even the gatekeepers were munching on the Pitha. After all, who would resist a cheap, healthy snack? The cakes were sold at ten taka each, which meant selling just ten cakes gave the lady a good income of one hundred taka, which was enough to buy groceries for one day. Fariha occasionally sipped from a container of readymade milk shake, her eyes still fixed on the pages of Jane Eyre. The classic novel was part of her course, and language was something she enjoyed studying, though some of her acquaintances would try to discourage her passion. Fariha was so immersed into her book that she did not see Shanto approaching her. The boy looked simple and sweet in a white T shirt and black trousers. His thick black hair had some noticeable maroon highlights in it. His skin looked a little sunburnt and even one or two pimples peeped out of his unshaved face. The bags under his eyes hid behind thick framed spectacles. A leather college bag hung from one of his shoulders. Gradually, he walked towards his childhood friend, a fisted hand resting on his bag. “Hey gorgeous, may I get a minute?” He asked with a curt nod. “Hey pal, I’m no princess, you don’t have to bow like that.” Fariha grinned, revealing a few of her small, shiny teeth. Shanto led her by the arm towards a comparatively quieter corner, where they would not be noticed easily. They settled themselves on the grass, smashing a few wild flowers. Citrus butterflies fluttered over the marigold plants surrounding the place. A sharp, yet sweet whistle of a magpie notified that spring was not far away. “Shanto, buddy, what’s all this? Why are you being so unusual all of a sudden?” Fariha asked, uncertain of what might come next. “I had been…um…” Shanto stammered, unable to get his thoughts out. Fariha toyed with a strand of hair in front of her forehead. She moved a few stray hairs with her thumb and index finger. Blinking for a brief moment; she looked deep into her friend’s eyes. He had a velvet jewelry box on his rough palm. A round, pearl ring glowed inside the casket. “We’ve grown up together, now let’s be together for the rest of our lives. Be mine!” Shanto uttered this long sentence in one breath as he slid the ring through her slender finger. Fariha looked down on her ornament in awe. A simple smile polished pleasure all over her face. She had been dreaming of this day ever since she had learnt to understand love. Three magic words crossed her lips as they wrapped each other in their arms. Check out
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| Saima was rummaging through an old wardrobe drawer of her mother, when she came across a huge amount of blue envelops, tied with a matching ribbon. She wondered what those could be, so she untied the ribbon cautiously to satisfy curiosity. Out came a few pale yellow papers with typed texts on them. Those looked like romantic poems written for a special someone. “Love letters? I wonder whose these are.” Saima thought out loud. She had a habit of talking to herself when there was none around. With such a busy mother, she had hardly anyone to talk to. Yes, her grandparents were very affectionate, but still, sometimes loneliness surrounded her. That was when she liked to look through childhood memories, or maybe memories of her mother’s early life. “Saima, time for a little snack, dear!” She could hear her grandma’s rough, yet soothing voice. She replied with a smile: “Coming Nani, just give me a second.” Soon after, a slender, medium figure could be seen climbing down the steep stairs. Saima looked stunning in a red sequined Maxi, a semi frock, semi gown type dress ladies usually wore at night. The table was set only for her and her grandpa; her mother had a business meeting to attend. “Looks like Saima didn’t make the Basil tea today.” Grandpa commented. “Oh, just didn’t feel like, Nana.” Saima replied in a tired voice. All she wanted to do was just lie down in her Mom’s lap, the same way she had seen Fariha do, whenever she would go to their house. Parveen Aunty would even allow her to share the warmth of a mother’s hand in her hair, as she would just lie down without worries. Between sips of normal raw tea with homemade cookies, Grandpa talked about Saima’s mother’s childhood. Grandma sometimes joined in, adding information about various parts of her life. Saima always enjoyed stories which circulated around her father, who passed away when she was just three years old. A drunken truck driver was the reason for that premature death. From then on, the widow had to handle her husband’s business all by herself. Being a woman, this was not an easy job. She often got proposals from other male colleagues, but she could never give her beloved husband’s place to another man. After all, she had just one heart, and only one man could enter her heart.   Saima left the snack table in a hurry. She had plenty of work to do. Her pet dog had to be fed, her bed was still unmade, and she had stacks of homework piled on her table. A great fan of Japanese animated cartoons, she spent a significant watching Animax, an animated cartoon channel which was watched in Bangladesh, but was not as popular as Cartoon Network or Disney Channel. The loud noise from the stereo next door almost busted her eardrums. Even the setting sun did not seem as beautiful as it did before. Isabella, her pet terrier, tried playing fetch with her, but the well-loved pet had to be disappointed that day. Everything seemed to be in place, yet a place in her heart was vacant. Saima paced to and fro in her large comfortable bedroom. Her refrigerator was always filled with snacks, some healthy, some not so healthy. The oven beside the kitchen had a chocolate vanilla layer cake being baked in it. Saima just peeped inside to see how it was going on. Still a lot of time had to be given for a completely baked dessert. Just then, her cellphone signaled: “Hey there, hope you’re doing well – Fariha” Just a simple text message made her smile, but the cake had to be taken out, and it required some last lashings of cream, so Saima did not reply to her friend at that moment. Next morning, Saima woke up earlier than usual. The atmosphere outside wore a coat of thick fog. It was not so easy to get out of the blanket so soon during winter. The tempting aroma of traditional rice cakes, or Pitha, as called in Bangla, made her hungry. Dewdrops adorned the leaves of the potted plants in the balcony. Isabella was also awake, munching on a bowl of Pedigree dog food. “Sorry girl can’t take you for a walk outside today. It’s way too cold.” Saima stroked the thick fur of the terrier. “Woof!” Isabella barked. Saima watched as her pet rolled in the floor, playing with a soft squeaky toy. Isabella had a soft bed sheet at one corner of her mistress’s room, only for the doggy desires. That corner even had a small cabinet filled with doggy treats, which Isabella could open with her paws. The terrier worked as a guard for her mistress, and also as a source of satisfaction whenever Saima felt like fondling someone. Her mother was quite fond of Saima and her brother, but spending quality time with the siblings was not possible at all, as she was the only breadwinner of the family, and the woman often had to stay abroad, or even if she was within Bangladesh, she had to be out of Dhaka city almost twenty days in a month. As a result, the mother showered her children with money whenever they asked for it. Her brother studied in a residential university. Though the elder brother called frequently to check on his sister, it really did not quench her thirst of being with him personally. On the other hand, studies hardly gave the older sibling enough time to think about anything else. Life of a medical student was not so easy. Besides, though she could feel the love of her grandparents, certain things could never be shared with elderly people, they might think otherwise. She did not want to hurt their sentiments in any way. When she felt lonely, Saima sometimes liked to pamper herself with a home pedicure, a mini facial, or maybe a manicure. That day, she prepared a face pack with rose water and sandalwood powder. The mixture looked a little messy but it was way better than the normal chemical facial scrubs available in the market. She sat comfortably on a chair, her face completely covered with the mixture, and two round slices of cucumber on her eyes. It felt so relaxing indeed. After a few minutes, Saima felt a familiar touch in her hair, and the aroma of jasmine soon filled the room. Someone was giving her a hair massage with jasmine hair oil. The fingers felt neither like her grandma’s, nor like her mother’s. Saima extended a hand to touch the person doing the favor. It was a slender, feminine arm, with a very faint perfume of Vaseline body lotion. She instantly recognized the scent: “Fariha! Is it really you?” she exclaimed. “Yes, me, the unwanted guest!” Fariha replied, with a mixed expression on her face. “You were never unwanted, dear. Though I don’t know what the problem between you two was, but I surely know she was expecting you.” Saima’s grandma appeared with two tempting mugs of hot chocolate. The tiled floor squeaked under her sandaled feet as she exited through the door, leaving it ajar behind her. “Sorry, Sam, I had to sneak in. Otherwise I would never know why you were angry with me. What did I do?” Fariha asked in a confused tone. “It’s just that I was so envious of you. I don’t know why! Sometimes I seriously wish I could swap my life with you.” Saima confessed. “Hey come on Sam, you’re already part of my life, so what is the swapping thing all about?” Fariha asked indignantly. “Well, I…” Saima could not speak any further. She just held her friend in a tight hug, and obviously, sometimes touches work much better than words. Check out
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| It was true that dealing with a stupid disease was not good at all, still, Fariha did try to be as productive as she could be, and some of her efforts bore fruit as well. The two stories written on sickbed got published, which brought her quite an amount of fame amongst her short niche of readers. The magazine she wrote for was a widely recognized one. Fariha wanted to take up either journalism or teaching as her career, neither of which were not so easy to reach. She was on a field trip to collect information for a certain feature she was assigned to write next month. The soft rays of the winter sun played on her skin, creating colors of the rainbow when she moved her arms. She could walk as fast as she wanted to, dressed in the blue shadow jeans and a black knee-length cotton top. Along with a few of her amateur journalist colleagues, she strode past the shabby houses one by one. Some of her co-workers avoided working in the slum areas, but she enjoyed doing photo features in that area. Being with the under privileged reminded her of her own blessings. Even a very cheap chocolate bar would bring a smile on those faces. Sheltered inside tin shaded houses with plastics working as walls, the low income population would try to survive. Slums were one of the main residences for hotel helpers, peons, or part time domestic helpers. There were other types of people too, like auto rickshaw or cycle rickshaw drivers. Some people could be seen filling up washing lines with washed clothes, which still smelled of lemon, a common fragrance of detergents. Some children tried to concentrate on their studies. Women were chatting, thronged around one of their homes, oiling each other’s hair, or looking for a particular disgusting insect in the jungle of tangled hair. The occasional hit of the unpleasant moist smell of mud did not stop the group of inquisitive young people. Fariha, along with her team walked gently past curious half nude children with their cameras, capturing significant scenes. “The consumers of inferior goods” was a suggested title for that particular photo feature. Fariha replied to all the hellos, waves and smiles appropriately, dropping a piece of candy or two on eager little palms, or maybe a five taka coin. The innocent smiles of gratitude made them smile too. After about two hours, they had enough snaps to fill up the allotted spaces of the magazine. All of them had various fruits and dry snacks stuffed in their backpacks, which saved them from the expense of eating out. They liked fast food, but small snacks felt better when on the run. By the time she got back home from her little office, drops of sweat formed on her forehead, even her top was soaked in sweat, thanks to the generous amount of walking. “Hey, all wet? You need a long shower dear!” Her mother’s suggestion seemed most appropriate. A chilled jug of lemonade looked inviting; Fariha gulped down two glasses despite the extreme cold. “Hey careful, that will harm your voice little singer!” Monir warned. “It’s wise to drink cold at times, Abbu, don’t worry, I’m strong enough, it won’t do anything Insha Allah (God Willing).” Fariha set off for a warm shower. Nothing could be more refreshing than warm water and pomegranate shower gel after a hard day’s work. She preferred to prepare her own aroma therapy with rose petals in the bathtub, and jasmine scented candles to create a nice atmosphere in what seemed like one of the most unpleasant rooms of a house, the bathroom.  Chemistry and Biology were two of Fariha’s most favorite subjects. Chemicals, especially reactions, fascinated her. Moreover, she was always curious to know about the mysteries of the human body and other living beings. But despite being a favorite, Chemistry was a very tricky subject, which obstructed the path of getting anything above a normal B+. Thank heavens she could make up with the other subjects. It was very hard to maintain a balance between hobbies, job and studies, but where there was a will, there was always a way. She would prepare a “To do” list according to importance, and would finish everything one by one, with moderate breaks in between. Parveen would keep on giving her daughter snacks after every three hours. No matter how much a child eats, he or she would always look thin to his or her mother. Though she does not like it, Fariha sometimes had to eat extra rice at lunch just to satisfy her mother. A cup of tea was a must after lunch, as rice made her drowsy. Traditional dance was not something she could perform, but she liked watching it on TV. Sometimes even instrumental music soothed her ears. At times, she would even compose tunes of her own. Music was her own world away from the real world. Even at times, she would just sit on her exercise cycle lost in thoughts. That might not seem normal for a teenage girl, but sometimes she just locked herself in her room for about thirty minutes or so, either practicing music, or writing her own online journal. Blogging allowed her writings to be displayed to a very wide audience across the globe, so blogging always was a better option over keeping a normal diary. Of course, she hardly forgot her regular mother-daughter walks in the park. The Periwinkles seemed livelier than ever. Citrus butterflies flew from one petal to the other. Those naughty little insects were seriously difficult to catch. Sometimes she would just take a piece of bread for the permanent unpaid guard of that place, a red skinned native puppy, along with his parents. The dogs would devour it ravenously. In return, the animals worked as her escort if it became too dark. The three dogs would follow her home, and then return to their usual place after she got into the house. Even Fariha’s parents always kept a little treat ready for her animal friends at their doorstep.  Check out
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| Saima walked in the kitchen, the whole house was still asleep. The tiled kitchen was quite slippery; she had to handle herself carefully. Hunger kept her awoke for quite a long time in the previous night. When hungry; she had to cook for herself. Obviously, Saima had a refrigerator full of delicious dishes and snacks, but unfortunately there was none last night. She did not even feel like going near the fire, a hard day’s work took a toll on her health; she sank into a deep slumber soon after returning from school. The dark house looked spooky at the break of dawn. They had innumerable wind chimes scattered everywhere in the house, which created a chorus, especially at night if the windows were kept open. They had innumerable wind chimes scattered everywhere in the house, which created a chorus, especially at night if the windows were kept open. Saima just opened up the dark brown kitchen cabinet filled with powdered drinks. A large flask of hot water was always ready beside the cabinet; she just made herself a mug of creamy hot chocolate, there was nothing like a warm mug of hot drink at such a chilly morning. A faint tapping sound could be heard not far away from the kitchen. Saima was well aware of the source of that sound. It was her mother, typing for her online journal. The tapping was accompanied by the unmistakable odor of betel leaf with Jarda, a special scented tobacco consumed with the leaf. Saima lived with only her mother and maternal grandparents at the palace type building her mother had built when she was younger. Saima’s parents got divorced when she was only two. Her mother was, and still is, a very quarrelsome woman who could not adjust with the calm and timid nature of her father. As a result, the teen had to live without father’s love all throughout her life, because her mother did not allow him to meet her. Though he did sometimes call her, and sent her cellphone texts, still, she got a chance to meet him once in a blue moon. That too, had to be done secretly. Saima came out of the kitchen with the hot chocolate for herself and two cups of lemon tea for her mother and grandmother. Her grandfather always slept quite late at night, so he could hardly see the beauty of early morning. “Good Morning Ma, Good Morning Nani!” Saima greeted with her usual tone, and immediately received a toothless grin from the elderly lady. Her mother, however, kept on typing and did not notice her presence. After a little while, Saima’s mother turned her face towards her daughter: “Shouldn’t you be in bed now, young lady? Why on earth do you have to get up so early?” “It’s because I like getting up at dawn Ma, and I can also study more, before going to school.” Saima replied, as she took the empty teacup from her mother. “Oh well, do whatever you please.” Rebecca answered, looking directly into her daughter’s eyes. That was the part Saima loathed about her mother. She was always in her own world, without any other interests about anything. She preferred business trips over Saima’s birthday party; she liked writing her own journal instead of her homework. Fariha’s caring parents seemed way better. “I wish I could swap parents with you.” She had told Fariha once. Saima strolled into her own bedroom. The mosaicked floor looked as if it could use some cleaning. Tidying up such floors took a lot of effort and money, so it was in her mother’s “to be done” list for now. Ever since childhood, she hardly got quality time from her mother. Every day, before going to school she would find about five hundred taka either on the oven or on her reading table, her pocket money for the day. Normally, teens of her age would not require such a generous amount of daily allowance. Being a voracious eater, Saima would spend more than three quarters of that money for food. She did not even prefer the school cafeteria; she would often go out to comparatively expensive restaurants with her peers. Sometimes she would even take some of the recipes from the cooks over there, and then try them at home. On the other hand, she would spend the rest of the money to buy gifts for her peers, as often as twice a week. For her, money could buy everything she wanted. Naturally, many people, especially those who liked to take advantages of others, were lured towards her by the gifts, because she did not give trivial presents. Sometimes, Saima even gave gold pendants to her female friends. Males sometimes got expensive watches and wallets from her. Despite being so much into food, Saima did not gain weight, as she had a lovely park beside her house where she would take her grandpa every day. The aged man was unable to move by himself, and a little bit of roaming around amongst the greenery, along with a little bit of chatting with old men of his age, was a good source of recreation for him. Saima would just place her grandpa’s wheelchair somewhere near his friends. The old men would talk, sometimes drink the tea Saima bought with her, or read religious books. The walkway of that park was spectacular. Saima would check on her grandpa after every round of walking. She was a favorite amongst his friends, many of whose children and grandchildren were away from them. Rebecca blamed Saima for the divorce. She would never accept her own faults regarding family life. “This male dominated society prefers sons, not daughters. You are a female, a curse!” She would tell the teen. In reality, sons and daughters got equal preference in Bangladesh. The country where two most important political positions were held by women, girls could create their own identity in various ways. Yes, it is true that still, some women did suffer from domestic violence, torture for dowry and other similar stuff. Such taunts from her mother decreased Saima’s self-confidence to a great extent, it even made her suffer from inferiority complex. As a result, gradually she became jealous of her own best friend, someone who was a Xerox copy of herself. “Aunty never says bad words to Fariha that way, but why does Ma do that?” Saima would often ask herself. Check out
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| Since the long stay at home, and the exasperating bed ridden condition was becoming an obstacle in the path of quick recovery, Monir and Parveen planned to take their daughter to a brief trip to her school one day. She did not want to do classes that day, it would be just saying hello to the principal and roaming around the library and cafeteria, two of her favorite places inside campus. The Morning Prayer call from the mosque just two houses away from home, always worked as the best alarm clock for Fariha. No matter how sick she felt, no matter how depressed she was, she never forgot saying her prayers. Of course, women were forbidden to pray at a certain special time of every month. Fariha even recited the Quran aloud in those days. She had memorized the lengthier prayers for those days only. “I would have to face Allah someday, and I don’t want to regret anything when I get older.” She used to say, when asked about her love for religion. She did not take long to get ready on that particular Sunday, which was also her seventeenth birthday. She swam into the living room wearing a white long skirt with red floral prints on it, with a matching top. “Hello gorgeous! You’ll be the cause of many heart failures today!” Parveen joked. “Come on Ammu…” Fariha began. “Oh no, little lady, you have permission to look as beautiful as you want to today. You’re the birthday girl.” Both her parents passed the same comment together. Fariha always thanked her parents for getting her admitted in an English Medium School. Being there not only developed her English Language skills, but it also gave her chance to mix with both the genders, a rare opportunity for many of the Bengalis. Some parents prefer to send their children to single gender schools. Even in the twenty first century, some typical Bengali parents tend not to allow their boys to be friends with girls and vice versa. Unfortunately, people suffer from narrow mindedness just because of this bad practice. About half an hour later, they finally managed to set off for Fariha’s school, with a tempting chocolate cake and some sweets to distribute amongst her friends. They had been doing that ritual for every birthday ever since Fariha got admitted to that school about six years back. Her stomach was growling by the time she reached the campus. So, Fariha headed straight for the canteen as soon as she got down from the car. The canteen allowed her to converse with students of all the classes at one time. So, naturally, she looked forward to the everyday get together. “Uncle, may I get a Thai soup please?” The nutritious liquid was one of her favorite dishes. “Yes, sure, just wait for a second”. The man standing in a chef coat in front of the soup bowls replied with a courteous smile. Just as she was about to sit at her preferred table, Saima caught her eye. Fariha just ignored the girl, quietly sipping the soup with a cup of Nescafe coffee. Saima was just talking with a group of juniors; it was evident that she was trying to teach them something: “Saima, you always make the topics more complex, can’t you make it a bit simpler?” One of the grade seven students asked, as she struggled with a Trigonometry problem of three dimensional figures. “Well, I don’t think anyone can make it simpler. It’s tricky you see.” Saima replied, trying to remain calm, although anger was already burning in her mind. “Fariha would always explain it as much as we want. You hardly explain more than once.” The junior complained. “Miss Popular? What does she have which I don’t? Even the coolest guy in school hangs out with her… Really, what does she have? I’m fairer, slimmer, and more noticeable. Come to me, forget her!” Saima said at once, panting at the end. “Mind your language, young lady!” Shanto appeared in the scene out of nowhere. “Why? I mean, who is she? She’s none but a beggar! I have sixteen cars in my garage, does she?” Saima snapped. “Beating your own drums will get you nowhere, Saima!” Shanto replied in a calm, yet stern tone. He had noticed Fariha’s blur figure across the glass door of the canteen. She just stood there, dumbfounded, unable to decide what to do next. Shanto turned around, the rickety wooden floor cracked under his booted feet. He just grabbed Fariha by the hand, and stormed out of the place, straight to her car.  Check out
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| Dealing with the sudden isolation was not an easy job for Fariha. She used to have nightmares, and would find herself soaked in sweat as she jumped up in bed at the middle of the night. Only Parveen would sneak in her room to give her dinner or sometimes do her hair. Otherwise, she had a domestic helper constantly at her bedside. Parveen had suffered from the same disease some years ago, so that kept her out of the risk. Paper always had more patience than people, so whenever loneliness surrounded her from all four sides, the teen would just sit at her reading table, scribbling away anything that came to her mind. She managed to complete at least ten poems and two short stories that way. “Oh, how I wish Shanto was here, or maybe Saima, even Mishty would do.” Fariha would often tell her mother. “Have patience, my little lady, you’ll feel better soon.” Parveen would assure the girl, even though the untidy curls and the swollen eyes would stab her directly in the heart. At times, Fariha would just sit hugging a large teddy bear. She did not even have the energy to sit at Facebook or Twitter like she used to do before. She sometimes typed small friendship messages to all her friends through her cellphone. All her peers would often call, but a simple phone call from friends did not satisfy the thirst to hug any of them, or see them smile. The bedroom seemed like the Central Jail, with her inside, imprisoned with a life sentence. Fariha had lost her appetite, and even the sight of food made her nauseas. She used to enjoy both cooking and eating before, but now she did not take more than a morsel at any one time, if she was forced to eat, she would immediately throw up. The only palatable items for her were liquids, which she did consume in abundance. To make her antibiotics and other medications work, she did have to take a certain amount of solid food at regular intervals against her will. The six month long course of treatment seemed like an eternity. Music came as a silver lining to her during the boring, tiring illness. Though she was forbidden to sing, she would listen to music for hours, both melodious and rhythmic ones. The songs played in the CD player were like true friends to her, tunes were her constant companions. Her classmates and teachers did come to visit her, but naturally, none were allowed in her room. Only the doctor and a hired nurse were allowed to pass through that one wooden door, which was like the equator to the teen. It separated her from the entire pole of loved ones. Fariha did not like to be admitted to the hospital, all the white reminded her of death. That was the main reason behind all the treatments at home. Moreover, her parents did not want her to go away; just a few visiting hours at the hospital would never satisfy them. The teen had lost weight noticeably, but she did not forget her regular exercises, especially the free hand routines. Her favorite exercise was riding her dark blue bicycle, and she would often go to her friend Shanto’s house on her favorite vehicle. It seemed as if her hind and fore limbs had become rusty, because she was away from her bicycle for what seemed like decades to her. Fariha would often seek refuge to books, she read her favorite classic novels, especially Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice over and over again just to kill time. She adored both Jane and Elizabeth, both of these characters did not give up after coping with loads of pain and hardships, and they did win the battle of life at the end of the day. Fiction sometimes looked much better than real life. After four months of carefully monitored treatment, Fariha did gain a bit of weight, but her naturally rosy cheeks still looked very pale, her reflection laughed at her when she looked in her mirror. She gradually got back her appetite, and could be seen munching on fruits, especially guava and apples. These days, sunlight played with Fariha. House sparrows and Magpies had special songs for her. The isolation period would soon come to an end. She would have many of her written works ready for publishing in the magazine where she worked as a regular contributor. Her fingers were not as numb as before, so she could go back to her keyboard as well. Not the computer keyboard, the musical one. Obviously, she did not forget her academic books and notes all these days. She got regular study updates from Shanto. She had waited for months, she did expect calls from Samia, but none came. She just could not figure out the change. Fariha went through her books and made special notes for her juniors to publish them in her school’s web site. She loved helping people out in any possible way. She would often teach juniors for free, especially the ones who found studies as fun, instead of a burden. Of course, she helped through e-mails and occasional Facebook notes. Though some juniors did not have access to their own internet, they would take help from friends or relatives, even from cyber cafes. Check out
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| Parveen wondered what had happened to her daughter recently. The cheerful, happy-go-lucky teen had retired from life in a way. Just a few days back, Parveen called Fariha several times to help her in the kitchen, but the girl did not respond. Curious, Parveen slid through Fariha’s bedroom door inaudibly, only to find her seated on the unmade bed, her head tucked between folded arms. Her eyes looked a little swollen, drops of tears streamed down her cheeks. “Is something wrong? My little lady’s never so down. What made you blue, my child?” Seeing her only child in pain was always heart wrenching for Parveen. “Oh, Ammu! Why do you always sneak in like a thief?” Fariha’s voice did not have that usual childish tone or softness at all; it was replaced by exasperation, and obviously, grief. Noticing her wish to be alone, Parveen was about to move away, back to her own bedroom, when suddenly, Fariha just threw herself on her mother’s bosom, bursting in tears. That is when Parveen noticed the bags under her eyes. “Sweetie, you ok?” Parveen was already in a shock, but did not want the teen to notice it. Her tears already made a circular mark on her mother’s kitchen apron. Parveen just touched Fariha’s hand, she was burning with fever. The above scenario took place every time Fariha fell sick. She would never tell anyone about any physical ailments except the one who brought her to this world. Also, she would never express her sickness verbally. So, both her parents kept a careful eye on her, and they did understand her nonverbal signals very well. Still holding her precious daughter close to her chest, Parveen slowly walked towards the untidy bed. She made her daughter sit on one of the sofas beside the bed, and changed the bed sheets and pillow cases. She spotted a bit of cough mixed with blood on one of the pillows. Fariha was already coughing vigorously; her breathing could be seen as her chest moved up and down with every inhale. “How long has this been going on?” The sniffles and weeping sound brought Monir from his study. He usually did not enter the teen’s room without a light knock on the door, or a light twisting of the hatch, but something told him the case was serious this time. Fariha was unable to speak. Monir just ran to his daughter’s side, and held her head in a tight grip. Fariha was a very strong girl from childhood. Seeing her in such a feeble condition was not expected at all. Ever since she was a preschool student, Fariha used to make regular trips to hospitals, no, not as a patient, but as a volunteer pediatric nurse. Parveen had a diploma in nursing, besides being a college teacher. She worked as a part time nurse in a well-known private nursing home, for the love of nursing, not for the remuneration she got from there. Fariha had been accompanying her mother to the hospital since ages. So, the hospital authority gave her permission to work with her mom, as she enjoyed nursing equally. Fariha worked as the volunteer in the children’s wards and cabins, she was a favorite amongst children of all ages. Many of the hospital staff would watch with a smile as she walked through the glass door, the wooden floor creaking under her high-heeled feet. A comparatively shorter height than the average Bengali teen, led to her love for high heels. Parveen rang up the hotline of Apollo Clinic, the nursing home previously mentioned. After about fifteen minutes, Fariha was sitting in front of the physician, a chest specialist. Parveen’s head throbbed, she just hoped nothing was wrong with her precious child. Monir was also in a similar mental situation. They were waiting for Fariha’s X-ray report which was supposed to be delivered within a few minutes. “What might have happened, doctor?” Monir asked, in a shaky voice. “I hope it’s nothing bad, Mr. Hasan.” The friendly man in the white lab coat replied. “Just have faith in Allah”. Soon after, a nurse appeared with a black and white image of Fariha’s chest. There was a white spot in a certain part of her left lung. “I’m afraid…”began the doctor. “Cut the suspense now doctor, just tell us.” Worry was taking a toll on Parveen’s patience now. “Well, sister, your daughter’s got Pulmonary Tuberculosis, and her Bronco- vascular linings are mildly accentuated. See?” The physician pointed to the detailed report accompanying the X-ray film. “So? Now what do we have to do?” Monir could hardly tolerate the tension now. “Well, you have to isolate her from all the other healthy family members. Just to prevent infection, it’s contagious you see.” “Sorry young lady…but…” “Oh it’s all right doc. I don’t want anyone to be sick because of me.” Fariha managed to stammer. According to the doctor’s verdict, Fariha kept herself in her own bedroom for most of the time from then on. The tiled floor felt cold under her bare feet. She did not like wearing sandals at home. The walls used to smirk at her. The only relief came whenever her cell phone rang. It was almost always Shanto or Mr. Raihan at the other side. Shanto often left her lovely bouquets of yellow roses. Sometimes a get well soon card or a favorite classic novel would accompany the flowers. Obviously, he was not allowed to get inside her room. He just came in for a little talk with her father or a chocolate cake from her mother. He would just leave his gifts with either of her parents, and spend a significant amount of time with her either over phone or through social networking sites. Check out
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