The Nights We Dream
Opening my eyes slowly, I sat up. The soft, cosy bed with its warm blanket from my dream had vanished. Above was the roof of the market stall, and beneath, the cold damp footpath. As my senses started to clear, unlike the fog that hid the watery winter sun above my head, I became very aware of two things: the tickling sensation on my nose and the unbearable chill. Lifting up one frozen hand I removed the empty packet of potato chips that had somehow found a way to land on the tip of my nose. The huge torn rice sack that I had found lying around on the footpath last night to somewhat shield me from the cruel winter wind however was nowhere in sight.
Looking to my right, I saw another little boy lying beside me, huddled up on a piece of cardboard, with just a sack on top of his frail, thin body. The nights were penetratingly cold. Have you ever known the fear of dozing off and freezing to death in your sleep? This kid seemed younger than me. I couldn't help but feel bad for him even though my own situation was in no way any better.
A dog barked in the distance. Getting up from the footpath, I began to walk. It was time to start another day; time to forget last night's dreams of warmth and comfort and return to our semi-nomadic life. I caught a glimpse of myself in the market stall window. My t-shirt was damp and dirty, caked with mud and ash and my shorts torn and frayed. The stench from them was enough for anyone around me to want to skip breakfast. As for me, there wasn't much hope of finding breakfast anyway. I kept walking aimlessly through the street that I call home.
Teeth clattering in the cold, I reach a junction were traffic jams cause cars to halt. I didn't feel like starting again. Knocking on expensive car windows and asking for money just to see the passengers ignore my very existence or worse, cringe, leaving me feeling like the unwanted pestilence that I am upon this earth. But in my world where you either beg, steal, starve, or find food left behind in a dustbin, what choice did I have?
By noon my feet felt numb. If they hurt from all the walking, I couldn't feel the pain. Hunger and tiredness finally overpowered me and I sat beneath a huge tree to rest a while. Right by the tree stood a pale yellow school building. Its green gates had opened and a few little kids walked out. Soon all the children would be rushing out of the gates as school hours end for them all.
My gaze fell upon a little girl walking out of the school, holding her mother's hand. She was covered from head to toe with warm clothes. Clothes from my dream, only better; sweaters, stockings, a matching muffler, earmuffs, you name it. Only her little pink nose and pretty black eyes were showing. As the mother and the little girl came closer to me I heard her complain "Maa, it's so cold, why did you even send me to school today?"
I smiled to myself. Constant struggle to survive through stark poverty can make you a very bitter person, I've learned. Older and more mature than your years, it can turn you into someone you wouldn't even like yourself.
As the mother came up to me, she stopped. She looked at me for a second and then reached for her purse. Her eyes seemed sad. For me? Maybe. I stood there holding my breath as she took out a few hundred taka notes, handed them to me and said, "You must be cold my child, go buy yourself something warm to wear." Saying that, she walked away with the child as I stood there feeling hot tears of gratitude welling up and stinging my eyes. The kindness of strangers is alien to us, children of the streets. Once in a blue moon, they give us a glimpse of the goodness that exists around us. Those nights we sleep a little better; those nights we dream.
Kazi Sabita Ehsan, a bibliophile with a penchant for overthinking about life. Find her at [email protected]
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