Till Human Voices Wake Us

Artwork by apurba kanti das

I woke up feeling wired. It had been a rough session the night before. Moti and some of his friends came over and they brought a shitload of pills with them. We stayed up most of the night chasing and watching the Matrix movies. It was a lot of fun but after they had all left to go back to their homes it was a real messed-up morning for me.
It was late noon when I finally got up. I could hear the maids walking around the house, making lunch or working on their chores. They must have heard me in my room because one of them rushed to my door and knocked.
"Bhaiya, khalamma told you to call her when you wake up," I heard Fatima say from across the door.
"Ok, Ok. Quiet down."
"Will I bring the phone to your room?"
"No, you idiot. I have a phone in my room. What are you, stupid? Go away."
I covered my eyes with a pillow. Even in my dark room the soft beams of sunlight cutting through the curtains were too much; they hit my eyes and made my head scream. The phone suddenly started ringing. I knew it was my mother; she always knew when I was awake. I swear the maids were colluding with her; they were all ganging up on me. The ring was loud and obnoxious and I rushed to pick it up, to make it stop.
"Hello."
"Hello, babu. You awake?"
"Yes, Mother. I'm awake."
"When did you wake up?" I don't know why she asked me that question. I'm sure she knew that I had just woken up.
"I woke up an hour ago."
"Oh, the maids said you just woke up."
"I was just lying around my room, didn't feel like rushing out of bed."
"Ok, have you eaten yet?" She always asked me that too. It was annoying to be always asked whether or not you've eaten or not. And it was a question that my mother always asked, every time.
"No, Mother. I'm not hungry."
"Come on, boy, you have to eat. You didn't have dinner and you're losing so much weight. The human body needs nourishment."
"It's fine, Mother. I'm just not hungry."
"You don't understand. You're too young. You need to eat," she went on.
Ok, ok. I'll go eat lunch now. But I'm still not hungry, we'll see what happens."
"Ok, good. I'll call later or see you for lunch."
"Ok, Mother. Khodah hafez." I hung up the phone without waiting for a reply. I knew she would give me another lecture if I stayed on the line. Mothers are such a pain.
I walked out of my room and planted myself in front of the TV. Fatima walked up and asked sheepishly if I wanted something to eat.
"Get me what is for lunch and shut up."
"Ok, bhaiya."
"And don't you ever tell mother about when I wake up or whether I eat or not. It's my business. If you do it again, I'll break you neck, you busybody."
I turned on the tube, but since it was the middle of the day there was nothing to watch. Only reruns, reality shows and talk shows. I turned to the BBC, thinking that it would be good to know what was going on in the world. The main story on the news was about Zimbabwe and how the ruling party was set to hijack the elections, the Zanu-something party.
The rest of the stories were sort of the same, mostly tragic things happening in all these poor countries of the world. I don't understand what these channels talk about most of the time; it's mostly crap anyway. I live in a poor country and it's never as bad as they always make it out to be. If you believed in the things on these channels, we were living in these hopeless states where people's lives didn't matter and everyone was treated like an animal.
I turned it back to one of the reality shows; at least there, they aren't pretentious enough to pretend that it's not total crap.
I picked at the food they brought to me. I wasn't at all hungry and my mouth tasted too much like chemicals to make eating appetizing. I ate some of the chicken and left the rice. I drank a glass of juice and then I was full.
When I was done, I started looking for something to do, but the problem was that I didn't feel like doing anything. My head still felt heavy and my place was pretty boring anyway. I found a copy of The Daily Star on the coffee table and I picked it up to look at the sports section. The headline was about the astronomical price rise in essentials and how people were rioting in front of BDR stores for food that was in short supply. One of the captions in one of the stories read 'The quiet famine'. I couldn't make myself read it. It was just more bad news, the same as every day.
I gave up trying to watch television and went to my computer. Moti was online.
"Yo, ki obostha?" I typed.
"nm, can't sleep. I've been awake all this time."
"Ha. Ki ar korar?"
"Don't joke man. This is bad. I think my parents know that I'm back into this again. They'll probably send me to rehab."
"Get off it then."
"There are still so many pills bhai. lol."
"True."
"You should come over."
"Alright. When?"
"Around six or something."
"Cool man."
"Alright. Cya then."
"Later."
"L8r."
When I logged off I turned on my PS2 and started playing "Winning Eleven". Most of the time I'm completely hopeless with videogames; I get bored of them quickly and just give up. But I did like sports games or racing games like "Winning Eleven" or "Need for Speed". I could play them against my friends and they held my interest.
When mother got home she immediately walked into my room. She always did that, she never knocked. It was infuriating.
"You stop playing and come and eat."
"I'm not hungry. I've already eaten."
"You didn't eat anything. I saw your plate. What's wrong with you? You need to eat."
"I'm fine, Mother. I'm just not very hungry. It's too hot to eat." I made up the last part hoping she'd buy it. Because it was true, it was just too hot.
"What do you know about the heat? You're locked up in this A/C room all day."
"I'm just not hungry then. Stop bothering me."
"Hai Allah, ever since Tahseen you've just lost your appetite. Are you depressed?" I looked at her for the first time since she walked into my room. She still had on the white coat from the hospital. She looked hot and sweaty and tired - she looked spent.
"No, Mother. I'm fine. It's just too hot to eat. Let it go."
"Fine, boy. But take care. You're old enough to know what's best for you. We're getting too old…"
"Fine, Mother, leave me alone. I'm busy." She walked out again, but the door was left ajar.
"Door," I yelled. "The door!"
Fatima rushed up and closed it. I could hear her say something under her breath, something like: "The door, the door, always the door. This boy needs to have the door slammed into his head." I should have yelled at her for saying that. But I was too into my game and I just didn't care.
I left for Moti's house without telling my mother. It was close by so I took a rickshaw and got there pretty quick. There were the same kids there as at my place and I sat down in the circle and we started. Then suddenly, in the middle of a chase, one of Moti's friends - I think his name was Shuvo - said:
"What's up, Khaled? Why have you started doing all this all of a sudden? You never chased before. I know you smoked grass before but I never knew you did yabba."
"Oh dude, he's heartbroken," Moti smirked as he answered him. "Since he broke up with his gf, he needs to get his mind off her. We'll get him some chick to give it to. What do you say, Khaled?"
"I don't care, man. As for Tahseen, she can go to hell. I don't give a shit."
I took the remote and turned on Moti's TV to try and shift the focus from the talk. As I switched channels I stopped on CNN. There were pictures of Iraq running on it. A car was on fire and soldiers with guns in heavily armoured vehicles patrolling the streets.
"Turn that off, man. I don't want to see that," Moti said. Once he said it he turned back to chasing, the tablet slid over the foil and the smoke rushed into the straw eagerly sucking it all in. I did as he said and turned it off. I sat down next to him and the circle was complete again.
Shakil Rabbi is a young Bangladeshi writer.