I was sitting in Deshopriyo Park, trying to light my cigarette. Nothing felt right. The weather was hot, the people were cold. I sat there, after finding a green patch to sit on. Hundreds of people were sitting around, scattered, like a jigsaw puzzle box had been upturned over the field. It was windy, and I couldn't light my fire. Suddenly a figure approached.
- Ki boss, ganja khawa hoche?
I looked up. A boy. Yes, he was a boy, 15-16 years at the most. Just hints of facial hair. He wore a dirty t-shirt, a ragged jeans. A mobile headphone was tucked in his ears. Slum kid. Bosti'r chhele. He asked again
- Ganja kheyo na ekhane.
- Arre na na. Ganja keno khabo? Cigarette.
- Sobai tai bole. Ei, tora edike aye to ektu.
He was talking to the mobile speaker.
- Arre shunke dekh na, ganja noy.
He took the cigarette, he smelled it. Didn't look very convinced. I observed my hands were shaking. I couldn't keep them still. Maybe I should make a dash.
- Dekho boss, bhalo bolchi ekhane ganja kheyo na. Dhora porle kintu bohut kechal hobe. Mama-o achhe assepase.
- Bolchhi to ganja noy, chap nish na. Cigarette khabi?
He's expression changed. He bit his tongue. Lojja peyechhe.
- Na na. Ei ekhhuni kheye esechhi.
- Arre kha na.
I offered him my packet. He took it.
- Gold Flake. King?
He's eyes were twinkling. He took a cigarette, and returned the pack. I observed two more figures approaching. All of the same age. All had the same attires.
- Ki hoyechhe re?
- Arre kichhu na, e amar bondhu, alap korabo bole daklam. Arekta chhele chhilo. Ganja khachhilo.
- Urri sala! King? Sala borolok hoye gechis dekchi.
- Ei dada-ta khawalo re. Bohut bhalo lok.
I had been promoted from 'boss' to 'dada'.
- O, tai eto bondhu! Dada, ar ache naki?
I checked. Two more were left. 15 bucks. Jagge.
I gave them the pack.
- Thank you dada.
He truly seemed thankfull.
- Kothay thako go?
- Ami? Ami north-er dik-e thakire. Tora kothakar?
- Oito, Kalighat. Amra Kalighat-er chhele.
- Ekhane omuk daa ke chenoto?
I had to show them that I was aware of the locality.
- Haan haan.
- Ebar ekhan theke nirdol dariyechhilo go. Pray dichhilo boro party dada-der ke bansta.
- Tumi kon party dada?
They now sat down, making a half circle before me.
- Ami? Party-farty kori na re, tobe mone hochhe korte hobe ebar.
- Haan dada. Karur side-e thaka bhalo. Security pawa jay.
How true.
- Ta dada, ekla keno? Boudi nei?
They smiled obscenely. I smiled back.
- Dhur, dekhchis na mukh ta sukno. love-tove e kono lafra achhe naki dada'r?
- Lover-i nei, to love.
- Dada, jodi chao to bhalo maal fit kore dite pari. Ekdom fresh, dobka puro. Hundred percent satisfaksan kintu.
I couldn't help but smile. They were offering me prostitutes.
- Naa re. Ekhon lagbe na. Ta tora school-tul jash na?
- Hasale mairi. School abar kiser? Sala khetei paina. Nehat tumi bhalo lok, bhalo cigarette khawale. Noile amader to biri fukei din kaate.
- Ta ekhane kibhabe, maane ei paharadari?
- Tomar motoi aro koyekta bhalo lok achhe, tarai kaaj diyeche park dekhasona korar.
- Income-tincome hoy bhalo?
- Ki abar bhalo, dekhchoi to upri-r dhandae ghure berai, magi fit kori, ganja-tanja-o rakhi.
15 year old drug peddlars and pros dealers.
My cigarette was over. I had to leave. I got up.
- Aj choli re, abar edike ele dekha hobe.
- Utchho dada? Porer bar ele kintu aro bhalo cigarette chai bole dichhi.
- Sala!
I laughed hard. People surrounding me were staring now.
- Khawabo re, aro bhalo cigarette khawabo.
- Dada, amar number ta rekhe dao. Jodi dorkar pore, kono bawal-tawal hole sref ekta phone mero. Amra asbo, nischoi asbo. Tumi bohut bhalo lok. Ajkal tomar moto piece pawai jay na. Sob to sala joray joray asse, chummachati kore chole jay. Sala bhoy dekhiye taka baar korte hoy.
He gave me his number. I took it.
- Ki naam-e save korbe?
- Dada, amar naam Amol.
- Amar Bittu.
- Amar Aryan!
- Ghyama naam to.
- Ar dada, tomar naam ta?
- Amar naam? My.. my name is...
A true story. Tried to keep the dialogues unchanged.
- Ki boss, ganja khawa hoche?
I looked up. A boy. Yes, he was a boy, 15-16 years at the most. Just hints of facial hair. He wore a dirty t-shirt, a ragged jeans. A mobile headphone was tucked in his ears. Slum kid. Bosti'r chhele. He asked again
- Ganja kheyo na ekhane.
- Arre na na. Ganja keno khabo? Cigarette.
- Sobai tai bole. Ei, tora edike aye to ektu.
He was talking to the mobile speaker.
- Arre shunke dekh na, ganja noy.
He took the cigarette, he smelled it. Didn't look very convinced. I observed my hands were shaking. I couldn't keep them still. Maybe I should make a dash.
- Dekho boss, bhalo bolchi ekhane ganja kheyo na. Dhora porle kintu bohut kechal hobe. Mama-o achhe assepase.
- Bolchhi to ganja noy, chap nish na. Cigarette khabi?
He's expression changed. He bit his tongue. Lojja peyechhe.
- Na na. Ei ekhhuni kheye esechhi.
- Arre kha na.
I offered him my packet. He took it.
- Gold Flake. King?
He's eyes were twinkling. He took a cigarette, and returned the pack. I observed two more figures approaching. All of the same age. All had the same attires.
- Ki hoyechhe re?
- Arre kichhu na, e amar bondhu, alap korabo bole daklam. Arekta chhele chhilo. Ganja khachhilo.
- Urri sala! King? Sala borolok hoye gechis dekchi.
- Ei dada-ta khawalo re. Bohut bhalo lok.
I had been promoted from 'boss' to 'dada'.
- O, tai eto bondhu! Dada, ar ache naki?
I checked. Two more were left. 15 bucks. Jagge.
I gave them the pack.
- Thank you dada.
He truly seemed thankfull.
- Kothay thako go?
- Ami? Ami north-er dik-e thakire. Tora kothakar?
- Oito, Kalighat. Amra Kalighat-er chhele.
- Ekhane omuk daa ke chenoto?
I had to show them that I was aware of the locality.
- Haan haan.
- Ebar ekhan theke nirdol dariyechhilo go. Pray dichhilo boro party dada-der ke bansta.
- Tumi kon party dada?
They now sat down, making a half circle before me.
- Ami? Party-farty kori na re, tobe mone hochhe korte hobe ebar.
- Haan dada. Karur side-e thaka bhalo. Security pawa jay.
How true.
- Ta dada, ekla keno? Boudi nei?
They smiled obscenely. I smiled back.
- Dhur, dekhchis na mukh ta sukno. love-tove e kono lafra achhe naki dada'r?
- Lover-i nei, to love.
- Dada, jodi chao to bhalo maal fit kore dite pari. Ekdom fresh, dobka puro. Hundred percent satisfaksan kintu.
I couldn't help but smile. They were offering me prostitutes.
- Naa re. Ekhon lagbe na. Ta tora school-tul jash na?
- Hasale mairi. School abar kiser? Sala khetei paina. Nehat tumi bhalo lok, bhalo cigarette khawale. Noile amader to biri fukei din kaate.
- Ta ekhane kibhabe, maane ei paharadari?
- Tomar motoi aro koyekta bhalo lok achhe, tarai kaaj diyeche park dekhasona korar.
- Income-tincome hoy bhalo?
- Ki abar bhalo, dekhchoi to upri-r dhandae ghure berai, magi fit kori, ganja-tanja-o rakhi.
15 year old drug peddlars and pros dealers.
My cigarette was over. I had to leave. I got up.
- Aj choli re, abar edike ele dekha hobe.
- Utchho dada? Porer bar ele kintu aro bhalo cigarette chai bole dichhi.
- Sala!
I laughed hard. People surrounding me were staring now.
- Khawabo re, aro bhalo cigarette khawabo.
- Dada, amar number ta rekhe dao. Jodi dorkar pore, kono bawal-tawal hole sref ekta phone mero. Amra asbo, nischoi asbo. Tumi bohut bhalo lok. Ajkal tomar moto piece pawai jay na. Sob to sala joray joray asse, chummachati kore chole jay. Sala bhoy dekhiye taka baar korte hoy.
He gave me his number. I took it.
- Ki naam-e save korbe?
- Dada, amar naam Amol.
- Amar Bittu.
- Amar Aryan!
- Ghyama naam to.
- Ar dada, tomar naam ta?
- Amar naam? My.. my name is...
A true story. Tried to keep the dialogues unchanged.
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