April Days
March winds and April showers
bring forth May flowers.
Red sky at night,
shepherd's delight;
Red sky at morning;
shepherd's warning.
It was the good-natured gentleman, Harold, who had mentioned the first three lines of this rhyme. I had made a mental note of the lines instantaneously. It may sound outlandish but I have never heard this rhyme before. The rest of the lines of the rhyme were later added by another person. Truly there had been a lot of showers in April here in Brooklyn, making the roads wet and dark, adding a special scent of fresh rain droplets on the budding leaves. The budding green and the dampness remind me of another life, another time and another place from my childhood.
Mr. Arif owns the Kolmilota Grocery, at the Church McDonalds corner. We have known him since 2003. He at one point very generously adopted one of our cats. There is a good size fish tank inside their store. In there large-sized healthy fishes constantly swim around. One can choose a fish from there. They would clean and process it in a few minutes ready to be taken home for cooking. I have been seeking his suggestions, advices on how to get historical information regarding the Brooklyn Bangladeshi community. He told me that the Dhaka Club Film and Music Award was going to be held on the 25th of April.
I must be honest and admit I am very picky about movies. I'd heard that the Dhaka movie industry had its glorious time during the 60s and 70s. Since then the slide has been downhill. I had told Arif Bhai that he knew my views, that I could not find any motivation to buy tickets for the show, but if the organizers would get me a few tickets then maybe Stefan (my husband) and I would go. Arif Bhai was going to find out and let me know the next day.
That evening I came home to find out that my elder brother Sunny's friend had come from Dhaka and was going to be performing at the award show. The majority of his Bangladeshi fans know him as 'Nobel'. He offered us a pair of tickets as we were on the phone with him.
As planned weeks ahead, the next morning, the 25th, we got up fairly early in the morning for the Museum of Natural History. My neighbor Helen, who teaches at Brooklyn college and volunteers her time at the Museum of Natural History, had given us a few vouchers that covered all the special event as well. Perhaps she knew her vouchers would be truly appreciated by a museum hopper like myself. I had been to this museum several times before. And I know I will be there many times in future.
The morning was spent watching 'Cosmic Collision', a mind blowing show narrated by Robert Redford at the planetarium dome, the dinosaur show and the colorful butterfly show. A little cute Korean boy wearing an orange shirt attracted an orange butterfly who settled on his arm for quite a while. As I tried to take a picture, the butterfly flew away. The boy looked like he had lost his most precious possession. He followed the orange butterfly, offering his hands to it with a, "please comeback" look. I felt like my heart broke. I said sorry to him.
Later at the day we went to the 5th Ave where Manhattan center is located. I needed a place to freshen up and went to the Fridays in that corner. We sat by the street overlooking the central post office, the rush hour taxi marathon and sporadic appearance of rickshaws. We devoured on mozzarela sticks, baked potatoes with dill, Buffalo wings with blue cheese, carrots and fish stick platter. Surprisingly the drink actually took away my headache. When the check came, I saw the first line read, "Thank God it is Friday". Only a few days ago a co-worker had told me that the acronym we use so often at work, 'TGIF' had originated from this restaurant. I took the receipt with me as a proof of that statement. Around 6 pm, I heard from Nobel bhai. Their limo had just crossed the Manhattan Bridge so we figured they would be here anytime soon. As I crossed the street, I saw an ocean of Bangladeshis on the sidewalk of Manhattan Center. A white limousine came down the road. Stefan and I proceeded a little bit closer to the car and Nobel bhai came out from his white limo', straight to us and said "hi". We talked a little. He gave us the tickets and had to go inside. Stefan and I were more than sure that we had heard his devoted fans' inquisitive murmurs and envious looks directed at us. Is this the thrill and kick a celebrity gets every single day of their life? An Italian photographer was taking pictures of this and looked a bit lost and we exchanged our business cards. He was flying back to France the next day.
The audience was ecstatic, the energy was everywhere and the live show was on the huge hanging monitors at the two sides of the stage. The voice of the opening announcer sounded like he was a refugee from the World Wrestling Federation or a Boxing Championship at some casino in Las Vegas. Then came a female announcer in a sari and the show really started, with an artist playing a fiddle, the national anthem of Bangladesh and the United States of America. We left at 9 pm. At the exit we witnessed some confrontation between a young Bangladeshi fellow and the security. None of the organizers were there. The security had pushed the guy. So he had called the police. The police seemed to be peacefully listening to both sides. I was taking pictures of this escapade. The security acted like he was going to take my camera away. I assume he refrained from doing so only because the police was present. We walked into the dark street, the McDonalds lights were our north star. The night décor of the Empire State building was looking gorgeous. Every night it takes a fresh new color of lights.
My mind, though, was preoccupied with the thought that I would have to get to work at 8:30 am sharp next morning.
Asheka Troberg lives in Brooklyn and is a member of the editorial team of www.brooklyvoice.com.
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