The little sparrow flew a bit closer and sat over her favorite corner of the roof again…though exactly it wasn’t a roof; it was a water-tank over the roof made of concrete and cement. It might be a silly deliberation of Mr. Ibram that, this sparrow always feels an extraordinary connection with that corner. No other, particularly this one. This sparrow has its own tweet, but it’s only heard when she makes herself comfortable on that corner when the sky goes somewhat darker. From his balcony, he can thoroughly see her gloomy-curves, a bit of her white feathers which turn burgundy, combines with her black feathers and dark shadows. With her special tweet, the environment befalls like the late-evening show of Nina Simone. Almost every evening, He thinks to give her a name. May be he’s out of words alike his age. Now, he doesn’t feel what it was and what it should be, or how must he behave at a new place. Everything seems so obsolete except the humans. Sometimes, he finds hard to understand the meaning of the word called ‘understand’, even as he never could came up with an answer. While humans are too busy to see what they are, he discovered the inert things more “humanic”, though the sparrow wasn’t really inert.
For example, the Close stool on the balcony he sits every afternoon, it’s 28 years old, almost a year older than his elder son “Rabil”. When Rabil was 4, he named it ‘Ponkhiraj’, a word from Bengali folklore, which means “Pegasus”. Mr. Ibriam could not effort a lot of things that time, like a big house, a car, a baby-cycle for Rabil or fancy toys, or a color television. But he gave the best for everyone of his family he could effort, except himself. But Rabil was satisfied, or more specifically ‘fascinated’ with his Pankhiraj. He dug and drew its eyes, ears, mouth, silky hair, harness with a full headcollar, and especially the wings, colored them with his weedy color-pencils. Sometimes he used to attach the house cleaning besom to make its tail, but only when he finds his mother extremely busy with some household work and not gonna notice him playing with that dirty besom. He broke it three times, 2 times he broke its leg and once he fell with whole of it. Rabil wasn’t wounded so badly that day but the Close stool was not easy-fixable. Mr. Ibram thought to get a new Club chair or an Adirondack chair and sell it to some wood-hawker. It just happened usually what happens, Rabil wasn’t really crying to hear that, he was yelling and screaming by taking help of tears. There were two reasons of it, one- Pankhirj got hurt, and nobody is caring about his medication, two- his father announced to sell him, his crying logic was like “sell a responsible family member like Pankhiraj?, how can someone sell a family member?” Sometimes Mrs.Ibram thought it was so idiocy to think a Close stool-a horse. She barely could envisage any similarities between a Close stool and a horse. But Rabil not only thought it was a horse, a horse with wings, and IT CAN FLY, Which at last took Mr.Ibram to the surrenderland, and made him fixing it by spending almost 2/3rd of a new Close stool. Eventually it never broke after that and never got sold at all.
It got darker, the sparrow finished its evening show and flew somewhere in the horizon. Mr.Ibram kept thinking about the sparrow, is she flying to her home, does she really has a home, a family or bunch of children, what she says every evening when no other sparrows around, is she happy or elaborate her unbearable sad words. May be never coming up with an answer seems more satisfactory to him. All that houses stared to blink with the adieu of sunshine; it seemed people really don’t care if the sun refuses to shine. But it was beautiful like everyday.
The doorbell rang dimly aloud. Might be Rabil! It’s not really hard to understand his ringing style; he presses it quick sudden which sounds like breaking glass in a large silent hall. He always remains busy, less time for talk, less time for eating & less time for standing outside the door. Mr.Ibram left his imagining stage and walked fast to the door and opened with a made smiling face. Rabil’s daily struggling job and exhausted life didn’t really allow him to notice that old man’s concern while entering.
Mr.Ibram just asked “How was the day son?”
Rabil said “Good”
And entered his room, turned on the fan in full volume and gave up himself to the bed.
May be Mr. Ibram expected some more words by knowing there won’t be any and kept watching the sequence he’s been watching through last 5 years. All that he could do is bringing out the noodles from refrigerator, warming it up and present it on the table. It’s not too hard for him to do it in this age, not harder than looking back and endure with the present ways.
(to be continued…)