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āĻĒāĻžāĻāĻž āĻā§āϝāĻžāύā§āĻĄāĻŋāĻĄā§āĻ
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- āύāĻž, āύāĻž, āĻāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻāϰ āĻā§āύ āĻā§āĻāĻžāϞ āύāĻžāĻāĨ¤ āĻāĻā§āĻŦāĻžāϰ⧠āĻ āĻŋāĻāĻ āĻžāĻāĨ¤
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- āĻšāĻž, āĻāĻžā§ā§āϰ āϰāĻ āĻāĻžāĻ āĻŽāύā§āĻĻ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āĻāĻŋ āĻŦāϞā§?
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- āĻāϰ⧠āϏā§āϝāĻžāϰāĨ¤ āĻāĻā§āĻŦāĻžāϰ⧠āĻāĻāĻŋ āϤā§āĨ¤ āĻāϤ⧠āĻĻāĻŋāύ⧠āύāĻž āĻĄāĻžāĻāϰ āĻšāϞā§āĨ¤ āĻ āύā§āϝāĻĻā§āϰ āĻāϰ āĻĻā§āĻāĻžāĻŦāĻžāϰ āϏā§āϝā§āĻ āϤ⧠āĻŽāĻŋāϞā§āĻ āύāĻŋāĨ¤
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- āĻāϰ⧠āĻ āĻ āĻā§āĻļāĻŋ āĻšāĻŦā§ āĻā§āĻŦā§ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āĻāĻŽāĻžāĻā§ āĻŦāϞā§āĻāĻŋāϞ⧠āĻāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻāĻāĻāĻž āϞāĻžāϞ āĻāϰ⧠āϞāĻžāĻāĻŦā§āĨ¤ āϤāĻžāĻ āĻĻā§āĻā§ āĻāϰ āϤāϰ āϏāĻāϞ⧠āύāĻžāĨ¤ āĻĻāĻžāĻā§āĻžāĻ āĻāĻā§ āĻā§āĻļāĻŋāϰ āĻāĻŦāϰ āĻāĻž āĻĻā§āĻâĻâĻâĻâĻâĻâĻâĻ āĻ, āĻšā§āϝāĻžāϞā§, āĻāĻ āϏāĻžāĻŦā§, āĻāϰ⧠āϤ⧠āĻāĻŋāύāĻž āĻšā§ā§ āĻā§āĻā§âĻ āĻāϰ⧠āĻšā§āϝāĻž āĻšā§āϝāĻž āϞāĻžāϞāĻ āĻāĻŋāύā§āĻā§âĻâĻâĻâĻ
āĻāĻĢā§āϰ āϏāĻžāĻšā§āĻŦ āĻāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻāĻŦāϰā§āϰ āĻāĻžāĻāĻā§ āĻŽāύ āĻĻāĻŋāϞā§āύāĨ¤
"āĻŽā§āϰ āĻāĻŽā§āĻŽā§ āϏā§āĻŽāĻžāĻā§āĻž"
āĻŽāϤāĻŋāύ āϏāĻžāĻšā§āĻŦ āĻāĻāĻā§ āϏāĻāĻžāϞ⧠āĻŽāĻžāϰāĻž āĻā§āĻā§āύāĨ¤ āĻŽāϰāĻžāϰ āĻāĻžāϰāĻŖ, āĻāϰā§āύāĻžāĨ¤ āϤ⧠āĻŦāĻŋāĻļā§āώ āĻŦāĻŋāĻāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻŋāĻŦā§āĻāύāĻžā§ āϤāĻžāĻā§ āĻĻā§āϝāĻā§ āĻĒāĻžāĻ āĻžāύ⧠āĻšā§ā§āĻā§āĨ¤ āĻāĻ āύāĻŋā§ā§ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻā§āώāĻŖ āĻŽāύ āĻāĻžāϰāĻžāĻĒ āĻāĻžāϰāύ āϤāĻŋāύāĻŋ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻā§āĻŦāύ āĻĻāĻļāĻžā§ āĻĒāĻžāϰāϤ āĻĒāĻā§āώ⧠āĻāĻžāϰ⧠āĻā§āύ āĻā§āώāϤāĻŋ āĻāϰā§āύ āύāĻžāĻāĨ¤ āϝāĻžāĻ āĻšā§āĻ, āĻĻā§āϝāĻā§ āĻĸā§āĻā§ āĻĻā§āĻāϞā§āύ āϏā§āĻāĻžāύ⧠āĻāĻžāϰāĻĻāĻŋāĻā§ āϏāĻžāĻ āϏāĻžāĻ āϰāĻŦāĨ¤ āϝā§āĻĻāĻŋāĻā§ āϤāĻžāĻāĻžāύ āϏā§āĻĻāĻŋāĻā§āĻ āĻŽāĻžāύā§āώāĨ¤ āĻĒā§āĻĨāĻŋāĻŦā§āϰ āϏāĻāϞ āĻĒāĻžāĻĒā§āĻĻā§āϰ āϏāĻŽāĻžāĻāĻŽāĨ¤ āĻāĻŋāĻā§āĻāĻŋāϤ āĻā§āϏā§āĻ āĻšā§ā§āĻ āĻŦā§āϝāĻžāĻĒāĻžāϰāĻāĻž āĻāĻžāύāĻžāϰ āĻāύā§āϝ āϤāĻŋāύāĻŋ āĻā§āϰ āĻā§āϰ āĻāϰāϤ⧠āĻļā§āϰ⧠āĻāϰāϞā§āύāĨ¤ āϏāĻŦāĻžāϰāĻ āĻŽāύ āĻāĻŽ āĻŦā§āĻļāĻŋ āĻāĻžāϰāĻžāĻĒāĨ¤ āĻĻā§āĻāϤ⧠āĻŽāύ⧠āĻšāĻā§āĻā§ āĻāĻ āĻĒāϰāĻāĻžāϞā§āĻ āϤāĻžāĻĻā§āϰ āĻĢāĻžāĻāϏāĻŋāϰ āĻŦā§āϝāĻŦāϏā§āĻĨāĻž āĻāϰāĻž āĻšāĻŦā§ āϝā§āĻā§āύ āϏāĻŽā§āĨ¤ āĻšāĻ āĻžā§ āĻŽāϤāĻŋāύ āϏāĻžāĻšā§āĻŦ āĻĻā§āĻāϞ⧠āĻāύāĻžāϰ āĻāϞāĻžāĻāĻžāϰ āĻāĻžāĻļā§āĻŽ āĻā§āϰ āĻāĻ āĻā§āĻŖāĻžā§ āĻāĻžāϞ⧠āĻšāĻžāϤ āĻĻāĻŋā§ā§ āĻŦāϏ⧠āĻāĻā§āĨ¤ āĻĒāϰāĻŋāĻāĻŋāϤ āĻšā§āĻ āĻŦāĻž āĻŦāĻžāĻā§āĻāĻžāϞ⧠āĻšā§āĻ āĻŽāϤāĻŋāύ āϏāĻžāĻšā§āĻŦ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĻāĻŋāĻā§ āĻā§āĻā§ āĻā§āϞā§āύāĨ¤
- āĻāĻžāĻļā§āĻŽ āϤā§āĻ āĻāĻāĻžāύā§?!
āĻāĻžāĻļā§āĻŽ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĻāĻŋāĻā§ āύāĻŋāϰā§āĻŦāĻŋāĻāĻžāϰ āĻāĻā§āĻāĻŋāϤ⧠āϤāĻžāĻāĻžāϞā§,
- āĻāϰ āύāĻžāĻāϞ⧠āĻāĻ āĻĨāĻžāĻā§āĻŽ! āĻāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽāϤ⧠āĻā§āϰ āϤ⧠āĻĻā§āϝāĻā§āĻ āĻĨāĻžāĻāĻŦā§āĨ¤ āϏā§āϝāĻžāϰ āĻāĻžāϞāĻž āĻāϏā§āύ?
- āĻāĻžāϞā§? āĻĻā§āϝāĻā§ āĻāϏ⧠āĻāĻžāϞ⧠āĻā§āĻŽāύ⧠āĻĨāĻžāĻā§ āĻŽāĻžāύā§āώ! āϤā§āĻ āĻāĻŽāĻžāĻā§ āĻāĻŋāύāϏā§āϏ?
āĻāĻžāĻļā§āĻŽ āĻĒāĻŋāĻāĻŋāĻ āĻāϰ⧠āĻāĻ āĻĻāϞāĻž āĻĨā§āϤ⧠āĻĢā§āϞ⧠āĻŦāϞāϞā§,
- āĻāĻŋāύāĻŽā§ āύāĻž āĻā§āϝāĻžāύāĨ¤ āĻāĻāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻŽāϏāĻāĻŋāĻĻā§āϰ āϏāĻžāĻŽāύā§āϰāϤ⧠āĻāĻĒāύāĻžāϰ āĻāĻ āĻĒāĻžāĻāĻŋ āĻā§āϤāĻž āĻā§āϰāĻŋ āĻāĻāϰāĻž āϧāϰāĻž āĻāĻžāĻāϏāĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āĻŽāĻžāĻāύāĻļā§ āĻāĻŽāĻžāϰ⧠āĻĒāĻŋāĻĄāĻžāύāĻŋ āĻĻāĻŋāϤ⧠āĻāĻžāĻāϏāĻŋāϞ āĻāĻŋāύā§āϤ⧠āĻāĻĒāύ⧠āĻāĻŽāĻžāϰ⧠āĻŽāĻžāĻĢ āĻāĻāϰāĻž āĻĻāĻŋāϏāĻŋāϞā§āύāĨ¤
āĻŽāϤāĻŋāύ āϏāĻžāĻšā§āĻŦ āĻ āĻŦāĻžāĻ āĻšā§ā§ āĻāĻŋāĻā§āĻāĻžāϏāĻž āĻāϰāϞā§āύ,
- āϤā§āĻ āĻŽāϰāϞāĻŋ āĻāĻŋāĻāĻžāĻŦā§?
āĻāĻžāĻļā§āĻŽ āĻāĻĻāĻžāϏ āĻšā§ā§ āĻŦāϞāϞ,
- āĻāϰ āĻāĻŋ, āĻāϰā§āύāĻžāĨ¤ āĻā§āĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻāĻā§āĻ āĻāĻāϏāĻŋāĨ¤ āϤāĻž āĻāĻĒāύ⧠āĻĻā§āϝāĻā§ āĻāĻŋ āĻāϰā§āύ? āĻāĻĒāύ⧠āϤ⧠āĻāĻžāϞāĻž āĻŽāĻžāύā§āώāĨ¤
- āϏā§āĻāĻāĻžāĻ āϤ⧠āĻāĻžāύāϤ⧠āĻā§āώā§āĻāĻž āĻāϰāϤā§āϏāĻŋāĨ¤ āϤāĻž āĻāĻāĻāĻžāύ⧠āĻāϤ⧠āĻā§ā§ āϝā§?!
- āĻāĻāĻāĻāĻž āĻĻā§āϝāĻā§āϰ ā§§ā§Ļā§Ļ āĻŦāĻāϰ āĻĒā§āϰā§āϤāĻŋāĨ¤ āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋ ā§§ā§Ļā§Ļ āĻŦāĻāϰ⧠āĻāĻāĻāĻžāύ⧠āĻŦāĻŋāĻļā§āώ āĻāĻ āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋāϝā§āĻā§āϤāĻžāϰ āĻŦā§āϝāĻŦāϏā§āĻĨāĻž āĻāϰā§āĨ¤ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāύ āύāϤā§āύ āϏāĻŦ āĻŽāĻžāĻāύāĻļā§āϰ āĻŽāϧā§āϝ⧠āϏāĻŦāĻā§ āĻļā§āϤāĻžāύ āĻŽāĻžāύā§āĻļāϰ⧠āĻāϰ⧠āĻļāĻžāϏā§āϤāĻŋāϰ āϞāĻā§ ā§ āύāĻŽā§āĻŦāϰ āĻĻā§āϝāĻā§ āĻĒāĻžāĻ āĻžāύ āĻšā§āĨ¤
āĻŽāϤāĻŋāύ āϏāĻžāĻšā§āĻŦ āĻā§āϤā§āĻšāϞ⧠āĻšā§ā§ āĻāĻŋāĻā§āĻāĻžāϏ āĻāϰāϞā§,
- āϤāĻž āĻšāĻŋāĻāϞāĻžāϰ, āϞāĻžāĻĻā§āύ āĻāĻŋ āĻāĻāĻāĻžāύ⧠āĻāĻā§?
- āύāĻž āĻāϰāĻž āĻāĻāύ⧠āϝāĻžāĻāϤ⧠āĻĒāĻžāϰ⧠āύāĻžāĻāĨ¤
- āĻŦāϞāĻŋāϏ āĻāĻŋ!
āĻāϰ āĻŽāϧā§āϝ⧠āĻšā§āϰāĻžāĻšā§āϰāĻŋ āĻļā§āϰ⧠āĻšāϞā§āĨ¤ āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋāϝā§āĻāĻŋāϤāĻžāϰ āĻļā§āϰā§āĨ¤ āĻŽāϤāĻŋāύ āϏāĻžāĻšā§āĻŦ āĻāϰ āĻāĻžāĻļā§āĻŽ āĻāĻ āĻĒāĻžāĻļā§ āĻĻāĻžāĻā§āĻŋā§ā§ āĻĻā§āĻāϤ⧠āϞāĻžāĻāϞ⧠āĻŦā§āϝāĻžāĻĒāĻžāϰāĻāĻžāĨ¤ āĻāĻŽāύ āϏāĻŽā§ āĻĻā§āϰ⧠āĻāĻ āĻĸāĻŋāĻŦāĻŋāϰ āĻŽāϤ⧠āĻāĻžā§āĻāĻžā§ āϝāĻŽāĻĻā§āϤ āĻāϏ⧠āĻĻāĻžāĻā§āĻžāϞā§āύāĨ¤ āĻāĻ āĻĒāϞāĻ āϏāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻĻāĻŋāĻā§ āϤāĻžāĻāĻŋā§ā§ āύāĻŋā§ā§ āĻāĻŽāĻāĻŽā§ āĻāĻŖā§āĻ ā§ āĻŦāϞ⧠āĻāĻ āϞā§āύ,
- āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋ ā§§ā§Ļā§Ļ āĻŦāĻāϰ āĻĒā§āϰā§āϤāĻŋāϤ⧠āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋāĻŦāĻžāϰā§āϰ āĻŽāϤ⧠āĻāĻāĻŦāĻžāϰāĻ āϏāĻŦāĻā§ā§ā§ āĻļā§āϤāĻžāύ āĻŦā§āϝāĻžāĻā§āϤāĻŋāĻā§ ā§ āύāĻŽā§āĻŦāϰ āĻĻā§āϝāĻā§ āĻĒāĻžāĻ āĻžāύ⧠āĻšāĻŦā§ āĻāϰ āĻļāĻžāϏā§āϤāĻŋ āϏā§āĻŦāϰā§āĻĒ āϤāĻžāĻā§ āĻāĻžāĻāĻžāĻā§āĻžāϞāĻž āĻŦā§āϤ āĻĻāĻŋā§ā§ ā§§ā§Ļā§Ļ āĻĻā§āϰāϰāĻž āĻŽāĻžāϰāĻž āĻšāĻŦā§āĨ¤
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- āĻāĻāĻŦāĻžāϰā§āϰ āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋāϝā§āĻā§āϤāĻžā§ āĻŦāĻŋāĻļā§āώ āĻŦāĻŋāĻāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻŋāĻŦā§āĻāύāĻžā§ āϏāĻŦāĻā§ā§ā§ āĻŦā§ āĻļā§āϤāĻžāύ āĻšāĻā§āĻā§ āĻĸāĻžāĻāĻž, āĻŦāĻžāĻāϞāĻžāĻĻā§āĻļā§āϰ āĻŽāϤāĻŋāύ āϏāĻžāĻšā§āĻŦāĨ¤
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- āĻŽāϤāĻŋāύ āϏāĻžāĻšā§āĻŦ āϏāĻŦāĻā§ā§ā§ āĻŦā§ āĻļā§āϤāĻžāύ āĻšāĻā§āĻžāϰ āĻāĻžāϰāĻŖā§ āϤāĻžāĻā§ āĻāĻāύ āĻļāĻžāϏā§āϤāĻŋ āϏā§āĻŦāϰā§āĻĒ āϤāĻžāĻā§ ā§§ā§Ļā§Ļ āĻĻā§āϰāϰāĻž āĻŽāĻžāϰāĻž āĻšāĻŦā§āĨ¤
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- āĻšā§āĻā§āϰ, āĻāĻŽāĻžāĻā§ āĻļā§āϧ⧠āĻāĻāĻāĻž āĻŦāϞā§āύ āĻāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĻā§āώāĻāĻž āĻāĻŋ!
āϝāĻŽāĻĻā§āϤ āĻāĻāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻšāĻžāϤ āϤā§āϞāϞā§āύāĨ¤ āĻĻā§āϰāϰāĻž āĻŽāĻžāϰāĻž āĻŦāύā§āϧ āĻšāϞā§āĨ¤ āϤāĻŋāύāĻŋ āĻŽāϤāĻŋāύ āϏāĻžāĻšā§āĻŦāĻā§ āĻāĻāĻĒāϞāĻ āĻĻā§āĻā§ āύāĻŋā§ā§ āύāĻŋāϰā§āĻŦāĻŋāĻāĻžāϰ āĻāĻā§āĻāĻŋāϤ⧠āĻāĻŦāĻžāĻŦ āĻĻāĻŋāϞā§āύ,
- āϤā§āĻ āϞāĻāĻĄāĻžāĻāύ⧠āϰā§āĻĄāĻā§āύ⧠āĻŦāϏ⧠āϰāĻžāϤ ā§§ āĻāĻžāϰ āϏāĻŽā§ āĻāϞāĻžāύā§āĻāĻŋā§āĻžāϰāĻĻā§āϰ āĻāĻžāĻā§ āĻĢā§ā§āĻžāϰ āĻāύā§āĻĄ āϞāĻžāĻāϞ⧠āĻāĻžāĻāϏāĻŋāϞāĻŋ āϤāĻžāĻāĨ¤
"āĻŽā§āϰ āĻāĻŽā§āĻŽā§ āϏā§āĻŽāĻžāĻā§āĻž"
------------------------------------------------------------------------
āĻāĻāĻŋ āĻāĻāĻāĻŋ āϰāĻŽā§āϝ āĻāϞā§āĻĒāĨ¤ āĻā§āύ āĻŦā§āϝāĻžāĻā§āϤāĻŋ, āĻāĻžāϤāĻŋ āĻŦāĻž āϧāϰā§āĻŽ āĻāĻĻā§āĻĻā§āĻļā§āϝ⧠āĻĒā§āϰāύā§āĻĻāĻŋāϤ āύā§āĨ¤āĻāĻšāĻž āĻļā§āϧā§āĻ āĻāĻāĻāĻŋ āϰāĻŽā§āϝ āĻāϞā§āĻĒāĨ¤
âIndividualityâ
Gulshan, Dhaka
18 January
DOP: 19 June, 2021
#natgeoyourshot #SPiCollective #spi_collective #SPi_minimalism #thestreetphotographyhub #streetphotographerscommunity #friendsinbnw #ourfotoworld #yourshotphotographer #natgeo #life_is_street #fineartphotography #instreetcollective #burnmagazine #hikaricreative #dpsp_street #travelphotography #shotoniphone #instagram #creativeimagemagazine #magnumphotos #streetphotographyinternational #asia_photo_magazine #lensculture #featureshoot #urbanstreetphotogallery #documentaryphotography #sublimestreet #photography #instashot
The Dead Doesnât Sing A Song
Mir Umme Sumaia
âââââââââââ
Itâs been a while
Almost 3 Years to be exact
Still I remember you so vividly
Memories so fine
You held me so dearly
When i was born
You gave me my name
By which Iâm now known
You took me for walks
Picked me up
When I stumbled
You bought me toys
Dresses, shoes or hats
You didnât mumbled
You took me to fairs
Made a slide down the stairs
You sung to me lullabies
To make the perfect nights
Now,
Fairs are here, so are the dresses
Nights are passing fast
Just as the decaying stairs
Lullabies are silent now
Because the dead doesnât
Sing a song anymore

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All coronation doesnât lead to the Throne
Some leads to Dungeon too ...
Iâve met a boy today. A little boy of five years. He is young, he is small but life has not been fair to him.
He was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor on his early stage. It is getting worse and worse day by day. Slowly it is grasping his whole existence.
His left side is almost paralyzed and other half is on the way. One eye is almost ruined. On the upcoming days, he will lose sense of everything and one day, he will lose his life. Yet he has made me realize something.
When we met him, he was smiling. He never met me before yet he greeted me with a smile. He is bed ridden, cannot sit straight for long, his left hand doesnât work, he cannot eat properly as he cannot digest them, still, he gave me a smile. A priceless smile.
I was almost on verge of crying by watching him. His guardians did everything but all the doctors said the same thing, an inoperable tumor. All i could think of, it is not fair. He isnât supposed to die this young.
I prayed to God that dear God, itâs not fair that he is supposed to die this young, this way. He should get up, run, go to school and do things which a child does. I prayed and I prayed from the bottom of my heart.
I donât know if I would meet him again, alive. But i prayed that I will. I will meet him on a horizon where miracles happen and I will be so delighted that he is okay and well.
He made me realize, life is all about perspective. He never knew how a healthy and good life feels. Yet he choose to be happy. So if a little boy can be happy even when he is confided in a bed, then it is easier for us to be happy in our healthy life.
Easily Influenced āĻŽāĻžāύā§āώāĻā§āϞāĻž āĻā§āĻŦ āĻāĻŋāĻāĻ āĻāĻĻā§āϰāĻā§ āϝāĻĻāĻŋ āĻā§āύ āĻāĻžāĻŦā§ influence āĻāϰāϤ⧠āĻĒāĻžāϰā§āύ āϤāĻžāĻšāϞā§āĻ āĻā§āϞā§āϞāĻž āĻĢāϤā§āĨ¤ āϤāĻāύ āĻāĻĻā§āϰ āĻļāĻžāĻ āĻĻāĻŋā§ā§ āĻŽāĻžāĻ āĻĸā§āĻā§ āϝāĻĻāĻŋ āĻŦāϞ⧠āϝ⧠āĻŽāĻžāĻā§āϰ āϤā§āϞ⧠āĻļāĻžāĻ āĻāĻžāĻāĻžā§ āĻļāĻžāĻ āĻĨā§āĻā§ Something Fishy āĻāύā§āϧ āĻāϏāĻā§, āϤāĻžāϰāĻž āϏā§āĻāĻž āĻŦāĻŋāĻļā§āĻŦāĻžāϏ āϤ⧠āĻāϰāĻŦā§āĻ, āĻāĻĒāϰāύā§āϤ āĻāĻĒāύāĻžāϰ āĻāĻ āĻļāĻžāĻā§āϰ āĻāύā§āϝ āĻ āύā§āϝā§āϰ āϏāĻžāĻĨā§ āĻŽāĻžāϰāĻžāĻŽāĻžāϰāĻŋ āϞā§āĻā§ āϝāĻžāĻŦā§āĨ¤ āĻāĻŋāύā§āϤ⧠āĻĒāĻŋāĻāύā§āϰ āĻļāĻžāĻā§āϰ āĻā§āĻžāϞā§āϰ āĻŽāĻžāĻ āϝ⧠āĻšāĻžāĻāϰ āĻšā§ā§ āϤāĻžāĻĻā§āϰ āĻĒāĻŋāĻāύā§āĻ āĻāĻžāĻŽā§ā§ āϧāϰā§āĻā§ āϏā§āĻāĻž āĻŦā§āĻāϤ⧠āĻŦā§āĻāϤā§āĻ āϤāĻžāĻĻā§āϰ āĻā§āĻŦāύ āĻŦā§āĻāĻĒāĻžāϤāĻžāĨ¤ đĨąđĨąđĨąđĨąđĨąđĨąđĨąđĨąđĨąđĨąđĨą
Nothing, just a little bit hot :3

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Sometimes you just canât put words to your pain
You can only feel it and thus comes the paintings....
I solemnly swear, this year I will :
1. Eat healthy and fresh
2. Exercise and stay fit
3. Not waste money buying weird stuff like a nerf gun
4. Share this status as a joke later on
āĻā§āϤāĻžāĻāĻĨāύ
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ŠMir Umme Sumaia
The Newlywedâs Battle Cry (Part-2)
Being married is a lot of work, harder than writing a 4000 words thesis (Huston, I might have to recheck that phrase again...!) Being married is not just about the wife and the husband, itâs about two families getting merged together. Your family becoming his family and same, his becoming yours. According to Bengali tradition, a girl leaves her ancestral house and goes to her in-lawâs house after marriage where she will spend the rest of her life. Eventually, that household falls upon her capable hand if her mother-in-law intends. So, thatâs a responsibility bigger than Daenerys Targaryenâs dragons, if you know what I mean! You got to take care of the new family, cook for them, maintain the household and most of all sober up and be mature. All of them are basic responsibilities as a daughter-in-law and I am happy to maintain them, but now hold up, mature and sober?! Thatâs almost as impossible as Real Madrid winning this seasonâs UEFA, at least for me. I am a walking Joke-Box, who is unable to shut her mouth. But it is quite important because even if your family or in-laws put up with your immature behavior, others wonât.Â
So, the very first thing happens after marriage, is the flood of relatives that comes to meet the poor bride at the Zoo (you literally do feel like a zoo animal for the way they come to meet you!). Relatives of various colors, shapes, smells and what not and their query about the newlywed bride is, MashaâAllah, of multiple layers. âMa, how old are youâ, âyour body structure is a bit on the heavy side, donât worry it will go away over timeâ, âAre these all real gold? Really, gold?â, âCan you cook? My daughter makes the most amazing poached egg, you know. I bet yours are good tooâ, âAre this furniture from your fatherâs house? Pure wood furniture, right? or not!â Trust me, you will begin losing your mind. And top of it all, there will always be some Cruella De Vil in or outside the family who will decide to make you their rival instantly and try their best to make you fail in your new life. Reason? Nobody actually knows! Evil must taste good because they just canât seem to have enough of it.
Basically, these are taken from life, from my observations. I saw some of my close acquaintance go through such torment. And sad thing is, you have to endure it for a long period of time. Till then all you can do is pray and hope to keep yourself from go âDracarysâ on them for the sake of the reputation of both families. These useless moments actually dim the happiness of being married. These so-called interrogative aunties and backbiters, whom you literally want to shout out âHEY, YOU BACK THERE!â, really choke out the happiness of the newlywed bride. Both the bride and the in-law falls upon a really awkward situation. I am yet to face such a situation so I am preparing with my spear and shield to go GAGA on anyone who will try to pop my balloon of happiness. Or maybe I will ignore them like a meditating sage on the Himalayas. It will help me if I ever decide to run away from all of these and join the sages, I guess. What do you think?
The Tattler Wifeâs Tale: The Newlywedâs Battle Cry (Part-1)
During our childhood, we all maybe have a memory of hiding under a blanket with a huge double battery torch which could be found nearly every household back then (still is, I think!) and doing something utterly sinful like reading story books or comics. Suddenly you feel a gust of wind as the blanket is yanked from above you and you cannot decide which is more freezing: the gust of wind or the chills down the spine because you have been caught red-handed by your mother or father. Immediately the ritual of reciting Ayatul Kursi and every other dua commence just to be saved from the most frightful entity, according to our childish mind. So, when I got married, I suddenly felt like that I have been ripped off my bachelorette title like someone has taken away my blanket and exposed me to the married life like exposing to such terrifying entity, leaving me utterly clueless. Now, I am not saying that I am complaining but dear, being married ainât no picnic!
I think, when I was born, the majority of my DNA was injected with a serum called, âunable to be serious at anythingâ and Lord, how it got stronger over time! So, when I was married, my mother and my elder sisters were worried to death that I will bring down the whole thing faster than how Boo falls asleep in Monster Inc. because I canât stay serious at anything and marriage is a matter of life and death (or at least thatâs what our ancestors taught!). I do not blame my family a pinch because I have a long history of laughing at the most unpredictable moment. For example, when I was in class 10, I went to my sister-in-lawâs house and being in my puberty years, trust me, I was nothing special to be noticed. But, somehow one of my fatherâs friend took a notice of me and went straight to my father with the proposal of making me his daughter-in-law because according to a long lost tradition of friends marrying off their children with each otherâs offspring, he made a vow to make me his sonâs beloved wife when I was a wee baby of 5 years. Seeing me after all these years he decided to go ahead with his plan. So, they came to see me which I was totally unaware of and when I was being taken in front of them, I just couldnât stop laughing. Being on the verge of getting married at the age of 14-15 was supposed to be terrifying but I have no slightest idea why I was laughing so much. The giggle was constant and my mouth was like a Jack-o-Lantern for the whole time. Anyway, sadly that proposal didnât work as his son already hitched himself somewhere else. Lord, I could hear the uncleâs heart shatter from 60 miles but I couldnât stop being happy with the 5k I got as my blessing money. Cha-ching!Â
Now, why such a long-huge description just to talk about the seriousness of being married? Because it is a serious matter that I canât be serious about nearly anything, let alone marriage! Being...........
(To Be Continue...)Â

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Salvation
The room is very dark. Is it a room or a passageway? I feared to make a sound. What if it attracted things that dwell in the darkness? It's pitch black, yet I could feel that it was a closed space with no windows or ventilation, but a single door. From the narrow opening beneath the door, a bright light was shining. That was the only source of light in this dense darkness. It wasn't enough.
I look around, knowing that I couldn't see anything. Still, I look, wanting to see something, a ray or a silhouette, a hope perhaps. I stand up. The darkness seems warm, as if I know it. I did know it well. There was a kind of coldness about it too; a sense of fear. Where am I? How did I get here?
I try to walk. I realise that something heavy and bitterly cold holds my leg. I reach out blindly, trying to figure out what it is. It is cold and hard. I could make out the tiny rectangular rings. Chains! Why am I in chains?
The chain is wrapped tightly around my ankle. I rubbed all over it vigorously, hoping to find some kind of opening. Maybe, maybe there is a hook! Maybe it is just casually wrapped! Maybe I can get out of it! Now I begin to hyperventilate.
This darkness no longer felt warm, it grew colder. How did I get here in the first place? Why is there a chain in my leg? A sense of dread trickled down my spine. I must get out of here. That door is my salvation.
What if something more fearful lurked behind it? What if there was more to this darkness? I begin to sweat. Should I try to break free from this soldered chain? How can I break it? I pull the chain. The more I pull the longer it gets.
Like a slithering snake, the chain traced back to the void. I follow it to the door. Is there a keyhole? I could peek through it. I know my freedom is right behind this door. I can feel it in my bones.
I hear dim sounds. I recognise a few of them. A camera click maybe; I hear a tire screeching too. I draw closer. I hear a mild humming. A tune I am well acquainted with. Â Like a dog smelling bone, I crawl towards it.
I stretch my hand to the doorknob. Before I could touch it, someone or something came to stand right behind the door. I jump back and fall on the floor. The hard floor feels colder than before. Someone is there. All the sounds vanish. The shadow is clearly visible.
A silent moment passed. Suddenly the doorknob jerked. Whoever it was, it was trying to open the door. I was numb in fear. Who was it? What did it want? It was jerking the doorknob so vigorously I feared it might fly off the door any moment. Â
Another tense moment passes. Slowly, the jerking slows and then stops. It stands there for a moment and then leaves. I sigh. I was out of danger for now. Then, why do I feel sad? I was hoping that it might open the door for me. I would no longer have been in this situation.
I let few more moments pass. I can no longer tolerate this deep dark void I'm in. But what about that shadow which wanted to enter here a few moments ago? Is it a friend or an enemy? I'm confused. I stand frozen beside the door, pondering whether to swallow my fear and step into the light or to stay back in the comfort of safety?
A loud voice brought me back to reality. "Lana, no daydreaming in the office hour", Robert leaned over my desk. I stare blankly at him. Robert, my colleague, is lean and mean. "Boss wants to see you. If you please," he jerked his head toward the manager's office.
I stand up slowly, exhausted. I look at the reflection on the cabin glass; the reflection of a defeated person who would give anything to get out of here. Robert was blabbering on about something, a party maybe. From the corner of my eye, I notice the door.
I notice this door every single day. With that bright red sign glowing, I see it. But I am stuck in my own mind, confined to my own norms. I see the door to freedom every day, but something does not let me open it. I am chained to my own self.
I slowly cross the path stopping in front of the door for a moment. That bright red "Exit" sign gives me a sympathetic look. It whispered in my ear like always, "Salvation is beyond me." Â
The Tattler Wifeâs Tale: I Do... I Do?!!
From when I was a young girl, marriage was a thing for fantasy. Life was all about how a prince charming rode on a white horse (which I am pretty much sure turned like charcoal by now with all this dust pollution!) and came to rescue his princess from the dreaded four wall room where she is living with pretty much all the facilities a human soul can be offered. Marriage was something celestial and a divine ritual. So, from my childhood, like any typical Bengali girl, I fantasized about being married, eagerly waiting for my prince charming, who, rather than riding on a white horse, will at least come on a rent-a-car white Toyota!
By the time, I was ready for marriage, my life went through a roller coaster of reality. My so-called fantasy Toyota white knight already got run over by a public bus called reality somewhere in Dhaka *sigh*. So, when I was told to choose a suitor, I thought âāĻāϞā§āϞāĻžāĻš āϝāĻž āĻāϰāĻŦā§, āĻāĻžāϞā§āϰ āĻāύā§āϝāĻ āĻāϰāĻŦā§â (whatever God wills, will be well for me) and left this grand responsibility upon my motherâs capable hand, who is an expert in that field as my sisters, by the grace of Almighty, is leading a great married life. So, my mother did not waste a second and jumped right into her duty. It is safe to say that she was quite relieved that I finally agreed to get married as my age was leaping by a year every day after my graduation, I think. I don't blame her though, after my father's departure, she was in a very delicate place. Anyway, she did manage to dig out this guy whom I knew from a forgotten past and like bibbidi-bobbidi-boo, we got married.
I must say, unlike any Bengali girl, I did not have to go through a torturous process of choosing the suitor or the suitor choosing me. You got to be all âtall and tanning, young and lovelyâ, no matter how Godzilla type the husband be. The endless parade of question-answer session, catwalk, general knowledge, medical session, beauty session, kitchen session goes on and after a careful judgment under a microscope, she is rejected mercilessly because the nail of the pinkie of her left foot is slightly tilted for 35 degrees on the right side, bad omen! Exaggeration? Not at all! I have seen this happen in the real.
When I was in class 2-3, I had a lady tutor name Bobby, who was of a dark complexion and had 5 more sisters who were fair. I saw her dragged through numbers of proposals and get rejected because she is not the typical âfair & lovelyâ type. Fortunately, she got married during my final exams (fun fact: she left her younger sister, Moni madam as my tutor. Soon she also got married. Letâs just say our house was marriage blessed!). You can say that it was in an ancient time, but, honey boo-boo, it is still lurking at present. My own best friend faced such an awkward situation that I was almost certain that she will bang her head open if by any chance that proposal went any further. She faced such weird question which was really weirder than what Priyanka Chopra had on Met Gala this year. For example 1. Do you pray? Don't lie! (like how on earth she will lie about religion), 2. Do you know how to speak in English? (Uh, excuse me, do you think she passed her entire 4 years of studying B.A in English playing ludo star?! Read the bio attentively sir!) Well, my son could have talked in English if he was here (Mother, they took away my voice!), 3. What is your height? Taller than my daughter? Ma (to his daughter), go stand beside her. (and they literally measured her height with their daughter!), 4. My son is a software engineer, earns in the dollar also got his degree from Malaysia in Journalism. (I almost choked myself in tears that how brilliant this guy is and clapped in amazement but we discovered later that he is a freelancer, not an engineer. Disappointment!). etc. I canât remember the rest because it was too much to take. Yes, such circus still goes on and there are some families which actually behaves as if they have come to purchase a cow for slaughter so they must judge carefully otherwise they might end up with an ox, bad investment!
My own experience was the complete opposite. I went in front of only one and that was a bullseye. My in-laws did not ask me any question which will offend me in any way. Only, Baba asked two questions about religion because he had to as I was sitting like a rock in front of him and everybody was asking him if he needs to know anything about me. Even he passed the blessing money by saying, âitâs a letter, take it!â. He did measure my height though (well, I was going to marry a Khamba!) but he did it in a such cute way, âāĻŽāĻž, āĻāĻĻāĻŋāĻā§ āĻāϏā§āĨ¤ āϤā§āĻŽāĻžāϰ āϏāĻžāĻĨā§ āĻāĻŦāĻŋ āϤā§āϞāĻŋāĨ¤ āĻāϰā§, āĻā§āϤāĻž āϞāĻžāĻāϤā§āύāĻžāĨ¤ āĻāĻŽāĻžāϰāĻ āĻā§āϤāĻž āύāĻžāĻ, āϤā§āĻŽāĻžāϰāĻ āĻā§āϤāĻž āύāĻžāĻāĨ¤ āĻāϏā§â (ma, come here, I want to take a picture with you. Leave the shoes. I donât have them; you donât need them either. Come.). He did say that it was for my husbandâs elder brother who is in Bahrain. How can you suspect, huh? My luck was quite blessed that I did not go through such a traumatic experience but many are not so lucky. It is time that this trend really needs to change and reshaping. Because wounds heal, scars don't. Â