I get very nostalgic now a days. Starting from days when I used to run away from school to play arcade games, to January when we sat close, smoked cigarettes and drank tea made with condensed milk- served in dirty cups.
I have prepared to survive until the end of June. But, I fear the worst will hit us in July. And like a tidal wave sweep us off. September, that’s when things might dial down. May be not. But yesterday, I came to the conclusion that- I don’t have a single ounce of mental strength left.
I hate nights now. Dark and uncertain. Kintu I used to love it. Days used to bring responsibilities and conflicts. Nights meant, I’m all alone. Reading, eating, watching stuff, smoking. Serenity in solitude.
But now. Nights are scary things. Days are bright. Peaceful. Atleast there’s some semblance of society and unity during day time. Nights are dark. Lurking. Murky. I guess that’s why I sleep early every night. And try to stay asleep for as long as I can.
I’ve lost every ounce of mental strength I had. So now I hide. Like a coward. I want this night to be over.
I want the day to come back.
Everyone has an expiration date. No, not death- An expiration date, for how long we can hold out. The poorer you are. The closer your expiration date is. Some people can hold out for 2 days, some 2 weeks, some 2 months. You can always tell which one of your neighbors are nearing their expiration dates. Mostly it’s the sound of domestic disputes. People loudly fighting each other. Screaming, crying. Fear eroding away at their already thinned lines of patience.
Dhaka used to be a neighbourly city. People would come out, intervene when a domestic dispute broke out.
“Brother, what are you doing?”
“Sister, please control yourself”
Now we just raise the volumes of the TV.
It’s been almost 2 months since the apocalypse caught upto my city. 2 months have passed and I don’t see any end to it. A bunch of people in labcoats are fighting it. In labs, in ICUs, in research facilities. They’re loosing.
And the end might never come. There might never be a cure. And we’ll run out of labcoats. Like ammunition in a machine gun. We’ll run out of them. And we’ll have no way to keep the darkness at bay.
Like a horde. It’ll encircle us.
May be there are dreams somewhere. Somewhere out there a scared lover whispers to his beloved, “…And if I don’t make it. I want you to keep going. Go and live the life I dreamed for you. A vibrant, peaceful, exciting, happy life. Promise me!”
“Chup“, the response.
May be there is joy, somewhere out there. Somewhere in this empty city, innocence gallops forward in a mad dash towards happiness.
I hope we can save our innocence. That’s all we’ve left.
“O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,”
– The Charge of the Light Brigade By Lord Alfred Tennyson