Brown sea

 Looks just like a human.

(Part-1)

Even though the pages of the memory were covered with dirt, the letters were not completely faded. Everything was dimly remembered. The habit of sleeping next to the mother was not over yet. I learned to understand little by little. The word scarcity came late in the family.

Gola Charidhar was decorated with milch cow, gola paddy, malti, black cumin, tulsimala, pankhiraj, binni on earthen scaffolding. Father's mood was often irritable. Father's mind was not hard at all.

He used to be the first to jump at the danger of his neighbor. He was very satisfied to feed the hungry without eating himself. Mother, father's nature has been taking shape for a long time.

Now father is not there. The tinkling sound of the pocket change of father's Punjabi pocket is no longer heard. Dad's change is no longer transferred to Ala's pocket for ice cream, chanpapadari, or Hawaiian sweets.

Mother always tried to fulfill all of our needs. She did not have the courage to say anything to her father unless it was necessary, but even if she did, she would keep her head down in front of her father's bloodshot eyes.

Today, I am writing, reading, exposing myself on digital platforms, everything is a reflection of my father's bloodshot eyes. 

The elder brother was different. It is true that he was afraid of his father, but there was no obstacle to fulfill any of his wishes despite the hundred obstacles. One day I decided to go to the market with my brother.

 I used to hear from people's mouths that they can be seen on television in the market. So my brother took the mango by the hand and took it to the market. Watching television for the first time in life. Black and white television.

The door and window of the big school room are closed and the television is showing. The body is wet and lonely in the heat. Finally, Ziaur Rahman's Khalkata video started.

 Looking at the television, it seems that the world is spinning around me. This time it was decided in a house meeting that I have to study in a madrasa. I went to the madrasa for a couple of days, I don't remember whether I was wearing Punjabi or Jubba, I don't remember.

 After a while, for the repair work of the building, everyone had to sit under the mango tree and listen to the reading. In the end, Punjabis and hats did not attract me. The discipline of the masters and the whipping of the cane used to torture me a lot. I finally came back from there.

(Part-2)

Now I enrolled in the missionary school next to the house. All the small children of the area are students here. Sports organization is more than studies. It was good, the day started to pass well. At the end of the year, the exam was also done. I got the second place due to my studies and age.

 As a reward I got a wooden pencil and a winter genji. I am so happy, even more happy than I would have been if I got a laptop at this time. The year is 1982. I am a 2nd class student. Head was not bad at all. Nothing had to be read more than twice. The sitting bench was three or four inches above the ground. Last year, the eligibility to sit on the bench was a little less, this time I felt a little better to be able to sit on the bench made by the bamboo. 

The feeling of flight came to my mind again. I don't like the school next to the house. Naturally the school will be away. Everyone will go to school with noise, do badrami, on a rainy day with books under arms, do not care about the umbrella, banana leaves, foam leaves on the head, de... run..... de... run.

 In the winter days, the lungi fried hot hot mudri and sugarcane molasses what more! All in all it would be good. Change school again. About three or four kilometers away from home. This time a little big feeling came. Speaking of high school students. It's fun when I go to school with iron clothes on my bike along the village path. Not only mine, but it seems to be everyone's. Letting go of the bicycle handle of the left hand, I put my hand on my head and feel whether the shampooed hair is still flying. What happens again. 

When I was in Class 7, the lack started in the family. The lack of daily life is no more. The number of members in the family has increased. The crop of the small land can no longer grow. It was like a dream to add two mouthfuls of food. Father's mood became more irritable day by day. Studies were about to stop. There was no one around to lend a helping hand except Allah.

 Finally, the younger aunt came forward with the lamp of hope. The responsibility of teaching the two younger cousins ​​fell on me. Another little girl from the neighboring house joined them, from two to three people. Even then, the lack did not leave behind. Hundreds of rupees started coming in every month. Not bad at all. This is the good of the bad. I can buy a notebook pen and give it to my father at the end of the month. 

I can't see my father's smile for many days. I am in the eighth grade, and the lack seems to get worse. I look at the lack of two eyes. All hopes, dreams, and feelings become blurred while living in severe poverty. Always only thinking about what to eat and survive. No study enters the mind due to hunger. The days don't seem to go by.

 Finally, not being able to bear my suffering, my aunt left me in her own house. I did not like it for long in someone else's house. Monsoon season. It rains day and night, raining for ten consecutive days. 

There is no rice in the house that will be used as rice. Father brought a kilogram of rice from nowhere after being wet by the rain. And the day I realized that fathers never lose, fathers never learn to cry. Mother sat on the doorstep in a bored manner........ (Continue)