Snippet of Lockdown: An Urban Nest

DHAKA, BANGLADESH: Nobody imagined the year 2020 would start with some ominous signs. Novel coronavirus (COVID-19) literally infected the entire world. Our everyday life is unprecedentedly disrupted. Though the genesis of the virus was in a second-tier Chinese city called Wuhan, apparently it was nobody’s bet that the virus would spread in Italy, Spain, Britain, Germany, France, Iran and USA in such a large scale, and the death bell of the virus would be reverberated in more than hundred of countries across all the continents (except Antarctica probably) on planet earth. Some other day someone was saying that COVID-19 is egalitarian in nature—from state heads to street sweepers nobody is immune to it. Almost half of the seven billion people is kept under lockdown by national governments to rein spread of the virus. Social distancing is the new norm among inherently social human beings to protect themselves from the silent contagion of this deadly virus. They say every cloud has a silver lining, and this time the silver line illuminates for the natural world as its most despicable enemy human beings are now leading sedentary life at home. As human beings are not habituated to this immobile lifestyle, that’s why may be to lessen their frustrations domestic violence from East to West is surging at an alarming rate. We, human beings, almost forgot to live a quietude life at home, didn’t we? The heydays come for the natural world as it gets a rare opportunity to regain its deteriorating health thanks to the absence of disturbing human touch. Pristine beauty of nature is coming back. When crisis hits, disparate traits of human character come to the front—some are becoming altruistic, some are opportunistic, some are selflessly putting their lives at stake to treat others, some are becoming violent out of frustration and some are abhorrently abandoning their virus-infected near and dear ones for their own safety. Gosh, unimaginable development of so many poignant events!

Beauty of Nature 

Amid all these atrocities, animosities, benevolence, altruism, frustration and depression in the time of lethal COVID-19, a red-crested bulbul (বুলবুলি পাখি) couple has chosen to nest on an iron-grill cornice in the smaller balcony of our south-facing apartment. My wife and I are passing some curious time to observe all the movements of the bulbul birds—how they are collecting stuffs to build their nest, how much time they stay at the nest, who is contributing how much to build the nest, when they fly out for foraging etc. We are just amazed to see how from some small dry-leaf stems and cotton-like soft materials they have built a circular, artistic and cozy nest for their forthcoming chicks! Yes, the mother bird laid three brown eggs immediate after building the nest and we are a bit concerned whether the space inside the nest will be sufficient for the chicks to accommodate properly. We resigned the matter to the bulbul couple to judge, as it’s not our business, about the accommodation of the chicks. Let the parental instinct decide the future of their offspring. After construction, the father bird doesn’t frequent the nest that much—probably to ensure comfort for the mother bulbul. It’s summer in the city right now. Sometimes gusty winds day and night disturb the urban bulbuls—it’s somewhat troublesome particularly for the mother bird when it remains busy to hatch the eggs. We are wondering how judicious the birds are as they have chosen a place which is quite protected from the calamity outside. It’s so thought provoking to observe that the judgment of parents seems identical both in the natural and material worlds. Now we are eagerly waiting for the chicks to come out (it usually takes approximately fourteen days of regular hatching). By the time the chicks become mature birds, able to fly, probably the world would get rid of the curse of COVID-19.


There are myriad of statements out there regarding the invention of COVID-19 vaccine, which is the best possible means to get our life back to normalcy. However, the time it will take to invent an effective vaccine is uncertain; nobody knows the exact time it will take to come up with a permanent remedy. And this uncertainty has put the global community in infinite tribulations. Isn’t is heart-wrenching to think that even after so much advancement in every sphere of life, we are nakedly unprepared to face-off a dreadful pandemic like COVID-19. Let's wish for a time when we will be able to win our fight against this frightening virus, start to socialize again, human spirit will be back to its peak, we will realize to let the natural world as it is and of course, the bulbul chicks nested in our place will sprout their wings to enjoy gentle breeze in the heart of the blue sky.  

By:
Md Azzajur Rahman
Date: 15 April 2020 @05:14 pm

Deciphering Happiness

Fatigued birds are flying back to their nests. Luminous sun becomes pallid. It is time for cowboys to bring their herds back to the cowsheds. City dwellers have spent another busy day. The dusk-time-twilight is close to end. The west sky is still beaming orange light, but the east sky is embracing darkness gradually. Within a while the world here will turn to a new look—dark affection of night will sweep over the nature. Abiding by the law of nature and keeping pace with regular human activities life is marching forward. Even if there is no so many varieties and zests, life is still enjoyable with its own mess and peace occurring every single moment. Silence and solitude sometimes turn as most trusted companions! Genuinely enjoying loneliness is a great respite for self-reflection. Sometimes monotony entangles and loneliness bites venomously, but they don’t last long. Habituating to extract pleasure from loneliness works as tonic. And this is what is important to spend time alone without any uproar of the clamorous world outside.

Unexpected and uncomfortable situation tests people’s inner instincts; and acing insuperable challenge assists to intensify mental toughness. Getting angry every now and then is very easy, but controlling anger and responding prudently make the difference. Avoiding responsibility and putting blame on others is the lousy attitude not to improve circumstance, hence repeating the same mistake again in future. Self-esteem never grows out of vacuum—it requires rigorous retrospection, rare mindset of practicing regular self-criticism and thorough awareness of someone’s duty and responsibility. Being tolerant and accommodating to differences, and of courses a little bit of compromising and sacrificing attitude can change everything dramatically. Similarly, a little bit of liberal mindset can make the walk of life less difficult to undertake. Regrettably, we are prone to forget these superb traits, and that is when personal and social life become very troublesome. At some point of time, change becomes inevitable in life to make it smoother and free from daily hurdles that the world ejects towards us. Change for good should be welcomed in life. Rigidity and stubbornness often lag people behind and make some adorable relationships acrimonious. A malleable mindset should be possessed to understand the surroundings better. It’s not necessary that everything will work or behave according to our will. If anything happens that starkly contrasts our expectation, during that time the appropriate way should we react likely to shape our character and happiness critically. It’s a matter of choice. Adjustment and empathy can make the world a better place to live, and trail back a praiseworthy mark on other people’s life even if someday we all have to leave the world forever.  

World is beautiful because unexpected thing happens in life now and again. We fall in love with earthly matters because of the diversified things we often experience in long peregrination of life. The world would become prosaic had we not gone through those unexpected and diversified events and met people with various characteristics. Even the sky changes its instinctive azure when needed. Rainbow is fascinating and lovely to watch owing to the seven different colors it uses to create a large bow aftermath of torrential rain. Let’s hail all these varieties and see the world with an empathetic look. If we can, nothing will annoy us as we have learned the very traits to celebrate the turns and twists of life. We are in this world for a limited time. Here we don’t have the luxury to lead a dejected life caused by inauspicious everyday events. Why not make it charming and beautiful thinking of the little precious time we have been gifted. Let’s cherish the blessings of life realizing that they are unbound surrounding us. As someone once said: when it rains, look for rainbows; when it’s dark, look for stars. Being happy is not that much difficult. It’s just a matter of choice, and a witty wish to make.   

By

George Atlantic
Originally Written: 26-08-2014

Dying Swan: A Fictional Monologue

BATH, ENGLAND, UK: After observing a snowcapped Christmas the city is preparing for the New Year’s Eve. Festive modes have touched almost all the inhabitants of the city. December comes with convivial atmosphere in Western hemisphere of the earth. And Bath isn't the exception—it’s a very lovable small city located in southwest part of England. Panoramic hilly terrain, Georgian architecture and Roman establishments all around have given Bath a very idyllic and historical image. The city attracts tourists throughout the year; needless to mention, December brings extra décor in festivities. This city is also popular among students thanks to the University of Bath which is a top-notch, continuously thriving British university. Along with city’s alluring appeal, University of Bath’s pedagogic name and fame have brought Anan in Bath last year. Anan Azmee, an Indian Muslim originally from Hyderabad, is a second-year Economics student at University of Bath. Coming here in UK for studying Economics in a top-tier university is one of the best things ever happened in Anan’s life. First time in life he is out of home, far away from home, staying in university dormitory with a considerable sense of independence for last one and half year. Anan gives all the credits to his dad for selfless monetary support and facilitating him to pursue higher education dream. After graduation Anan’s only goal is to secure a full-funded PhD admission at London School of Economics (LSE) and subsequently to work for any of World Bank’s sister concerns. Probably this achievement will somewhat offset the financial burden Anan has imposed on his dad as he failed to secure any scholarship in undergraduate studies. Life is all about balancing and counter-balancing acts—that is how Anan thinks about life philosophy. He is a natural introvert and likes to proclaim himself as a sapiosexual. However, after coming here in Britain there is a seismic transformation happened in his personality. Now he is very much ambivert in nature—new city, new country, new people and circumstances made a trickledown effect in Anan’s prior distant personality. Nevertheless, month long vacation has temporarily made Anan unaccompanied; all of his flat mates (one Greek, one Dutch, two Chinese, one Saudi Arabian) already left for home to celebrate Christmas and New Year vacation with their friends and family. Even his compatriots cum affluent friends (Rahul from Bengaluru and Vijay from Mumbai) went home to spend vacation as well. Over the year Anan tried hard to cope with the Western way of celebrations—clubbing, partying, drinking—but he barely could fit in. Interestingly, he didn’t quit participating in any of these high-voltage activities as he finds some sort of inexplicable pleasure in watching and pandering other people’s enjoyment. Probably that’s how his ambivert being comes into practice. By the way, it’s still an hour left for Big Ben’s mighty hands to permit Britons officially kicking off frenzy revelry. Anan has already taken his dinner—menu is simple but sumptuous in taste. He has decided to spend New Year’s Eve in dorm-room, all alone, in his very own way. As academic pressure is escalating, nowadays free time has become very rare for him. He wants to kindle wax vigil as part of his solitary celebration—he has bought those waxes from nearby TESCO along with some Swedish ciders at a lucrative discounted price. That’s it, all preparation is done. Now it’s waiting time. Finding nothing important to do, Anan brings out an old diary kept underneath of a large stake of his Economics books. During college days in Hyderabad this diary was his chronicle—always kept record of all notable events. After coming in Britain he rarely opens it. Probably it’s the time to touch it a bit. Dairy and archaic writings have a robust capability to evoke old memories and indulge someone in dolorous nostalgia. As Anan is flipping through the dairy, an interesting writing titled “Dying Swan: A Fictional Monologue” glues his eyes. After glossing over date of the writing, he starts to read: 


Can you hear me? Here I'm calling you loudly. Will you ever know—the rain reminds me of you, the lonely bus ride reminds me of you, the grave twilight reminds me of you, the sea side sunset reminds me of you, Scorpions' Lonely Nights reminds me of you, Kenny G’s saxophone instrumental reminds me of you, the early morning stroll reminds me of you, the midnight terrace walk reminds me of you, my long distant look towards unknown horizon reminds me of you, the Friday afternoon reminds me of you? You will never listen the silent calling of my heart, will you? I can see only your halo during my loneliness. You are the sole inconspicuous character of my writings; you will never know!

Can you recall the day on which we promised to see the shooting stars together? Many lonely nights passed till date, but that intoxicated moment didn’t come even for a little while. It sneaked out perpetually. The promise itself faded away over time. What a convoluted twist of fate! Still the stars twinkle in midnight sky, but a dark melancholy always disrupts that spatial beauty deliberately. Do you know why—because, to me, you are now a Dying Swan, who rarely enjoys nature’s picturesque pristine. Life is a cryptic device which is encrypted with mystic codes. Today it gives the year-long cherished dream a come-true look but tomorrow it snatches away something truly needed in life, and screws the happy momentum abruptly.  

Wise man said it well: when we are starving, we frankly say we are hungry, even in public we don’t hesitate to do so; we say, we are sleepy, when we are thoroughly jaded; but thing goes quite ironically in case of love—even if love becomes a crying need in life, somehow we cannot say, 'We need some more love’. Why can't we say it? It's just as basic a need after all. Yes, I couldn’t say it when I supposed to beseech it to make life a bit more comfortable, a bit more stress free. Why I couldn’t say that when I needed it badly? Maybe it requires an elaborative explanation to answer this question, but more than that it is important to realize how much ready the feeble heart is to revive once again and narrate with glib reminiscence about some hostile pasts.

It was a sheer conundrum between an ardent feeling and a foreseeable fear. And at the end fear triumphed over passion. I couldn’t dare to listen the true calling of my heart. The fort of emotion collapsed like a sandy dune. A tiny fear to face the reality has changed every algorithm of life. I muffled my fervent calling mercilessly and propelled it towards a painful journey. Love is being strangled prematurely. Languor is now governing the melancholic realm adorned with dreadful emptiness and horrendous loneliness. Soliloquy conversation with pain resistant heart is the only doable medium I have to exchange meaningless views. I can see the shadow of my Dying Swan everywhere. She stalks me all the way around, and I can envision it through the stealth lens of my heart. I try to talk to her, but she hardly feels any interest to talk to a craven lad who didn’t learn how to take a little but life changing risk.

Extinguished flame and the evergreen scar

My Dying Swan is indifferent with her ephemeral world where a dark shadow is the only means, if any, to realize her existence. She plays with dark and light, and gibes at her follower thinking of him as a poor fellow. Life is full of joy if some IFs are there for us, at the same, if some NOTs are not there to complicate things around. But this is what life is, wise man argues on cunningly—he knows past, present and future, yet restraints to intervene in someone's personal life, and always let the grief-stricken person learn from his/her own life. According to him, it's the most pragmatic approach to know different dimensions (pleasant or unpleasant) of life. However, it’s a tough lesson to acquire and make the life’s footsteps precise and highly immaculate. My sorcerer Dying swan jeers with anger to see all these funny acts. In a usual lonely evening, all on a sudden, she could sense an attention-seeking presence of a strange shadow. She said, "Who are you?". The shadow shrugged and replied, "It’s ME, whom you have seen long before! I have abandoned the material world and came back for expiation. Will you be bit more lenient and let me stay with you forever". 


By

George Atlantic as Anan Azmee
Originally Written: 31-12-2013 @11:55am

Somewhere Deep Inside

PEMBROKESHIRE, WALES, UK: Sam Waldo Snyder is here in Tenby South Beach with his friends for weekend outing. Immediate after reaching in the beach, everybody is scattered, roaming around here and there. As usual couples are having special time. Sam is a self-declared amateur writer; writing feeds his unquenchable thirst for expressing observation on human sentiment, love and life. After searching for a while he discovers a descent place, bit away from others, to pass some silent times in writing his blue notebook. Sometimes he enjoys solitude in crowd. It is mid-summer. That is why may be the ocean is extra blue, so is the sky. Sunbathing, sailing, beach games keep beach-goers busy everywhere in the long unbroken beach. Yet, Sam is staring with firm gaze at the far horizon where sky kisses the ocean. West wind from mammoth Atlantic is mildly touching his face. He is wondering and pondering about the gift of nature. Suddenly a grave sadness sweeps over his heart and reminds him of Mariana, a Portuguese born Brazilian PR professional. Sam is now 26. By this age everybody goes through some sort of girlfriend experience. Sam first met Mariana in São Paulo, where he went to conduct a group project on emerging economies during his b-school days. Coincidentally, Mariana used to study English literature in Swansea University here in Wales; but she recently went back home after completion of her degree. Student life was full of fun for Sam and Mariana. Notwithstanding, their three-year long relationship is on the verge of unpleasant breakup because of infrequent communication in recent times thanks to respective career pursuits and geographical distance. The serenity of the beach loses its aesthetics momentarily, and Sam indulges into deep reflective thoughts. All on a sudden gentle breeze from Atlantic gets bit stronger in beach town Tenby as Sam starts to soliloquize and write: 

Somewhere deep inside something is uninterruptedly gnawing the heart. Pain wants to outburst. But there is no suitable word or just medium to convey the melancholic message of pain-ridden heart. A dejected look with a pale complexion on visage sometimes reflects the agony of tender heart, eyes start to glow tearfully, but most of its mournful state left unexpressed. The requiem of heart creates a deadly tune; heart itself hams that threnody as long as it wants for no good reason. Cloud of sadness eclipses the ambiance easing xenophobic heart to make a vain attempt to hide in the crowd of fleeting ecstasy. And that hide-and-seek goes on everlastingly.

Somewhere deep inside something is beating the heart and pronouncing a name repeatedly. The name which is long known, once frequently called, fades away with late night stars as dawn is peeking to start a new day. Like inner waves of raged ocean that name creates an intriguing feeling and echoes like a raving sound. Missing you not, Nymph! I can forget everything but you, and I seriously mean it. Your cologne imparting with summer breeze reaches to me miraculously; a mesmerizing inebriation entangles me with a firm embrace. My heart starts to chant:

Late night moon lost its halo,

Your mystic presence said me hello!

Didn’t see you for very long,

-Keep me searching in your swan song?

Restive heart crazy for you,

-Let it go to find me on morning dew.

Fog withered over time,

Trails of your footsteps created lethal vine.

Where were you? My heart screamed loudly,

Your wizardry hypnotized me perpetually.

Feeble heart fainted for you,

You hardly cared for though.

Somewhere deep inside I can visualize a place which is no less than a haven on earth. The picturesque features of the place fascinate me profoundly. It is a place where one can see how a rampant river meets the sea, and amalgamates with marine heart forever. There, ships’ coming back peregrination to the shore creates a fleet; from long distant, it seems like a large regatta. Glittering lights of the ships form a pleasingly fantabulous display as the sun bids farewell for the day. The eon of life-mystery continues. The tryst of river and sea makes multi-pronged waves on coastal surroundings. The wind from far horizon blows away my mind and leaves behind some unmatched complex equations of life. The pristine blue of sea creates a harrowing solitude. The lonely heart feels a solemn calling—very atypically undefined in nature. A makeshift mosque and dusk time prayer preparation of devotees add a rare atmosphere on the well-built, coastal belt embankment where I am enjoying wholeheartedly the spectacular beauty of nature that I cherish all the time. Floyd's Wish You Were Here becomes the twilight anthem of this poignant but massively gratifying moment. Nowadays, unsettled accounts of life are bothering too much; cost-benefit analysis takes a big leap on priority roster. Demand of time, hmm!

   

    By

George Atlantic as Sam Waldo Snyder

[Disclaimer: The content of this writing is completely imaginary. There is no resemblance of real life incidents.]