How I found the love of my life at the Passport Office

"The masters are here!" somebody howled from the front. With shackles binding our hands and feet, we knelt down in awe. A few weeks back, if someone told me I'd be able to see the passport masters with my own eyes, I wouldn't believe it. Legend says, they return once every fortnight and select the chosen ones who'd be lucky enough to get the green book and live the Bangladeshi dream – Leaving Bangladesh.  

After the masters went to their offices, the sentries let some of the peasants into the chambers of selection where masters carefully checked all the 94 necessary documents for insignificant discrepancies. Maybe you looked at a guard the wrong way, forgot the most unimportant of papers or maybe they just don't like your face – there's nothing you can do to make sure things go right, only prayers. 

Someone forgot the electricity bill documents of their 3rd cousin's house and was thrown outside. Sobbing, he begged the sentry, "Sir please, one stamp could fix my life! My Scholastica friends are waiting for me at University of Neverfoundland!" And just like that, months of progress was lost. 

"Step forward, lowlife!" howled a piercing voice. Oh, I've spent months in this mess for this moment. With trembling legs, I stepped forward. I'm the only man in 14 generations who has been able to make it this far! I was numb the entire time my documents were being checked. 

"Go upstairs. Next!" screeched a betel-leaf chewing man in the foulest of tone. I was stunned! It's all I ever wanted from this life – an insect of a human being telling me to go upstairs in the rudest manner possible. 

Out of dehydration, I almost fainted. "No, not now. You have to finish this," I told myself as I climbed the stairs. 

Suddenly, a gush of sunlight made me flinch. I could see rainbows, pink clouds and yellow butterflies. I thought I was hallucinating out of frailty when an endearing voice said, "How may I help you?" I looked back and it was you – glowing in your ironed-out Ansar uniform, shaved chin and perfect hair. Nobody offered me any help in months in this wretched land. How can you help me, you ask, you heavenly angel? You can cure cancer, solve world hunger, mitigate world peace and fix my sleep cycle. You can do it all, only by saying those 5 magic words- 'How may I help you?'

The next 10 minutes were magical. You guided me to the help desk, got me a token, made me stand in a queue where nobody was being harassed to maintain organisation. I could hear a string quartet playing itself somewhere while Cupid floated among the clouds. I took my pulse to check whether I died and got reincarnated in Toronto. But it was heaven on earth! A Bangladeshi government office where officials do their jobs without being a jerk about it!

Before I left, you asked, "Did you get your work done?" Tears filled up my eyes as love filled up my overwhelmed heart. I didn't know when I was going to see you again so I had to take my shot and tell you, no matter the stakes!

"Yes, thank you, uncle!" I giggled and ran away. 

Remind Ifti to be quieter at hasiburrashidifti@gmail.com