Feature

What I pay with money,
I also pay with guilt

Hasib Reza

THIS thought is an old tormentor. This thought that always causes me to lower my sights, so I could avoid contact with any of those judging eyes. Sometimes, between the dreadfully long walk from the door to my car, I would raise my sight - just for a tiny miniscule of a second, only to look around me. In that quickest of glimpses I would take in all I can, before I would stoop down again - and put all concentration on just looking at the pavement.

By now I have that glimpse memorized. Among the organized chaos, there was a rickshaw puller bargaining with a potential customer. Next to him was a man selling cigarettes in his small makeshift stand. He was arguing loudly with the security guard in a khaki uniform. Perhaps, the security guard was intimidating him to move his wares away. Maybe someone thought that this derelict man selling cigarettes at the corner of the road would tarnish this otherwise, epitome of affluence and glamour on our neo-bangali society. Somehow, I felt even sorrier for the security guard.

I am certain they were looking at me! I am sure there were jeers of misery and helplessness, camouflaged in their enigmatic eyes. I was a moral criminal, yet I roamed around them in the derisive demeanor of a noble and concerned citizen. Should I look them in the eyes? Perhaps, give them a slight smile as gesture that I come in peace?

By then, my pace had quickened - and I was tugging my little brother's arm. The little boy probably had a hard time keeping up. But, I was within sights of my car. I opened the back door for him, and I sat myself on the driver seat. The car seemed a haven, a shell that enclosed me from the terrors of the outside world. But no! That it just my imagination, a crude persona I have created to hide from what I do not want to face. They could still see me if they wanted to. The simple glass was no match for their piercing gazes. The thought lingered on, until I finally reached home.

Is it me, or does everyone have this experience? We people spend exorbitant amounts of money to feed ourselves in the fanciest of fashion. But, do we ever stop to think for the thousands of people just outside on the road? Since when did we become numb to emotion, and masters of practicing the blind eye?

This is the feeling I get whenever I walk out of an expensive restaurant or café. Sometime back I had taken my little brother to KFC and at my table I had seen a leaflet about donating towards World Food Programme (WFP). Before I left, I had donated fifty taka in the transparent donation box - I was very happy to see that many had already donated and the box was half full. But, I could not help pondering that I could do so much more. As I walked out of the gates I retained my usual stance of looking down. But, this time my glimpses of looking around were more frequent and prolonged. It was really exciting!

( The writer is a student of IUB)