Most of the times, I write about the things I see in the streets. This one is no exception. Today I will endeavor upon a task much like The ‘Da Vinchi Code’, this is a journey starting with confusion and ending in much more of it. Today, I talk about mad people.
Yes, ‘mad’, not the ‘mentally ill’ people, do not confuse them. I am talking about the mad people we see in the streets in dirty clothes and a messy hair. And no, I am not talking about any ‘Pir Baba’ either. For this post I am going to call them the ‘mad guys’.
It has always been an issue of serious concern for me. Where does a mad guy get food? Does he ever take bath? What is he trying to do here? One day I was talking to my friend about this, me being always so suspicious about them and all, he told me that many people think all the mad people in the streets of Dhaka are in fact … (drum rolls) … SPY! Then he quickly refuted the point himself by reminding me that if that was true, then there are no real mad guys in Dhaka, which just could not be true. If some of these visible mad guys were spies, thank you, I just lost my appetite for the next spy movie.
Enough thesis work, I needed to see what these mad guys were really made of. I did not take a decision to confront the next mad guy I saw and ask him questions, to be honest, but maybe my subconscious already made a plan about what to do next.
So one day, I was walking towards my university, I was at Katabon. There, in the middle of the road, on the divider, stood a man in his half pants and full sleeved sweater. Any other day, I would have just walked past him. But today I was a different man, I was about to find out what this SPY was up to! So I stopped to listen to what he was saying. I saw him moving his hands and babbling inaudible words. His index finger was pointing upwards and whole hand was shaking with every beat of those inaudible words. I realized it was a speech, not just any speech, a political one! And what better way is there to appreciate a well delivered speech but to say ‘thiiik!’ (which means ‘right’ in Bengali) ? And so I yelled, with my lungful of air and heart-full of passion. “THIIIK!” I expressed my support for the mad guys cause.
But that mad guy (or spy) was not pleased. He was rather startled. He looked at me with a bit of curiosity and annoyance in his face. Was he thinking that I was there to take his place? Did I just say the secret pass-code of his spy agency? Or did he think that I was another mad guy? Whatever he might have thought I did not want to know anymore. All my enthusiasm turned pale because of this startled mad man, with his half pants and full sleeved sweater in summer. I started walking again. Careful not to look back, by this time he might even have brought out his spy gadget from inside his sweater and started aiming a ‘Man in Black’ gun at me.
I walked quickly to get to classes in time. The lesson from this day was that when mad guys deliver a speech, they don’t really expect a responsive audience. So the next time I see one of them, I will know why their party doesn’t launch any big activities. And the spy thingy? Well I guess some doors are better left closed.
Yes, ‘mad’, not the ‘mentally ill’ people, do not confuse them. I am talking about the mad people we see in the streets in dirty clothes and a messy hair. And no, I am not talking about any ‘Pir Baba’ either. For this post I am going to call them the ‘mad guys’.
It has always been an issue of serious concern for me. Where does a mad guy get food? Does he ever take bath? What is he trying to do here? One day I was talking to my friend about this, me being always so suspicious about them and all, he told me that many people think all the mad people in the streets of Dhaka are in fact … (drum rolls) … SPY! Then he quickly refuted the point himself by reminding me that if that was true, then there are no real mad guys in Dhaka, which just could not be true. If some of these visible mad guys were spies, thank you, I just lost my appetite for the next spy movie.
Enough thesis work, I needed to see what these mad guys were really made of. I did not take a decision to confront the next mad guy I saw and ask him questions, to be honest, but maybe my subconscious already made a plan about what to do next.
So one day, I was walking towards my university, I was at Katabon. There, in the middle of the road, on the divider, stood a man in his half pants and full sleeved sweater. Any other day, I would have just walked past him. But today I was a different man, I was about to find out what this SPY was up to! So I stopped to listen to what he was saying. I saw him moving his hands and babbling inaudible words. His index finger was pointing upwards and whole hand was shaking with every beat of those inaudible words. I realized it was a speech, not just any speech, a political one! And what better way is there to appreciate a well delivered speech but to say ‘thiiik!’ (which means ‘right’ in Bengali) ? And so I yelled, with my lungful of air and heart-full of passion. “THIIIK!” I expressed my support for the mad guys cause.
But that mad guy (or spy) was not pleased. He was rather startled. He looked at me with a bit of curiosity and annoyance in his face. Was he thinking that I was there to take his place? Did I just say the secret pass-code of his spy agency? Or did he think that I was another mad guy? Whatever he might have thought I did not want to know anymore. All my enthusiasm turned pale because of this startled mad man, with his half pants and full sleeved sweater in summer. I started walking again. Careful not to look back, by this time he might even have brought out his spy gadget from inside his sweater and started aiming a ‘Man in Black’ gun at me.
I walked quickly to get to classes in time. The lesson from this day was that when mad guys deliver a speech, they don’t really expect a responsive audience. So the next time I see one of them, I will know why their party doesn’t launch any big activities. And the spy thingy? Well I guess some doors are better left closed.