The classick adventures of DS and Dr Gonjo 6
This is part six of a series by Dhaka Shohor, who visited Desh recently. Please direct comments appropriately. — JR
These posts will contain inappropriate language, rampant racism/sexism/age-ism, random references to things good Bangladeshi boys and girls are not to know about until one day they get married and magically become experts. — DS
It is now only 30 minutes till midnight and the 1st of January 2012. Dr Gonjo and I sing along with Ayub Bacchu as he performs Shei Tumi. An obvious song, but it nevertheless creates an electric atmosphere in live arenas. He barely sings. Instead he plays and the crowd does the singing for him.
I look around me. A few ladies can be spied, sitting in circles on the ground, their male companions standing around them. Protective.
The mascara-lined eyes meet mine again. The large strobe lights have hit the top of her face, illuminating only her eyes. Her husband/boyfriend/whatever has his arms around her.
I smile, reminded of a Hispanic pair of mascara-lined eyes, of putting my arms around Kalpana at a Killers concert all those years ago and swaying awkwardly.
Eyes melt into one another, cities collapse into each other. It’s all very Burnt Norton.
DS: What are we going to do after this?
DG: Drinks. Guitar. Beach. Stars. Ar ki asey jiboney?
It’s an obvious answer and he nods knowingly. He knows there will be no ladies present tonight. The mascara-lined eyes are literally half a world away, possibly deciding what to have for her last lunch of the year. I plan to call her at midnight her time.
As for Dr Gonjo: like myself, he has had his share of fortune and misfortune in that arena. He will later make a phone call to a girl in Dhaka, and they will talk into the night with the ocean raging 20 feet away. But he is not so disreputable as to invite a single girl to Cox’s Bazar on her own.
Disreputable enough to hang out with me, smoke and drink epic quantities, but not disreputable in that respect.
DG: Screw it.
Ayub Bacchu tells us he loves us all. It’s little consolation to either Dr Gonjo or myself.
He also shares with us his assessment that this beach party must be the best party in the entire world. The crowd doesn’t really seem to care. This isn’t Dhaka, hell-bent on looking over its shoulder and trying to ape other cities. Idur dour.
League tables and rankings are all that Dhaka understands these days.
This is Cox’s Bazar and the people who are here, are here to chill.