Not an alligator of the band’s songs, Dhaka is always a magical city. This magical city makes everyone’s fortune in one way or another. Millions of people go to a small town with a beautiful magic spell. When he left the city again, he could not find a way back like a caravan and walked to his favorite destination. Most of them work hard. Hypocrisy, cunning, jealousy, selfishness and other evils are left in the city and millions of people are left in this city to get green care.
The city is snatched away by the golden morning, absorbed by Maya, who spends the night side by side in the afternoon, saying that she will go to the same battle every morning. Orhan Pamuk, in his novel My Name Is Red, spoke of Persian artists who painted horses with the same passion every year, just as people outside our city go home every year with the same passion.
This life-absorbing city is like a lifeless concrete structure. And these ordinary people, even if they are stationed in a rough lifeless city, have a fixed point where they will touch – if there is a magical fringe of green where there is mother, bride, family. Returning to this house is as regular as the daily movement. The ‘one-sala’ rhythm of returning home in the national life has interrupted the rhythm of normalcy this time and last time. How do I deny it? The urge of millions to return home at about the same time is nothing more than a basic psychological match. None of us who leave this city and those who can’t leave actually own this city.
James Joyce, author of Ulysses, left his favorite city, Dublin, at a young age. The author of the novel said that he left his favorite Dublin but since then he has been wandering around with Dublin in his lifelong memory. People who return home on Eid also want to get something special, unlike the character named Leopold in ‘Ulysses’, who doesn’t get everything in life.
They also have Netrokona or Panchagarh like Dublin. And we can’t leave the city because we don’t have a favorite address, like a lotus floating in the water.
At the end of the imprisonment, the prisoner who was a little earlier, crossed the iron gate and looked at the sky with his feet on the open ground – who knows, maybe in gratitude or to see the open sky in a free state. Even after leaving the city, the people who are forced to live in it first seek shelter in the blue sky and green and he gets the opportunity once or twice a year.
Eid al-Fitr for the second time in the epidemic of Covid-19.
So far, the epidemic has killed more than 3.3 million people in the world, the number of infected people is about 160 million. About 12,000 people have died in Bangladesh; The number of people identified as infected through the test is more than 8 lakh.
Due to the lockdown, public transport is closed. Private vehicles that do not have several times more fare and millions of people on the way home with endless misery.
However, the time when there is no lockdown does not mean that the Eid journey is completed very smoothly. People trying to return home died in one day due to the pressure of the crowd on the ferry. But we have all the attention to suppress the common people. But without them the world is useless. Without them, the bridge of communication will be severed, all the inviolable walls will be built, all the experiences of the so-called light walkers will be false.