May 9, 2007. The new day yawns and stretches out of its slumber across the early morning horizon. The sharp, muggy sunlight glides right through the tightly drawn curtains with the easy arrogance of a familiar marauder, the one who comes and goes as he pleases. Too hot for unseen birds to announce the day with a riot of sounds from cooler seasons. Where are they now?
Semi-asleep, I feel my eyelids getting warmer, adding strange hues of light to the serene darkness within. The buzz from the ceiling fan begins to seep into my consciousness. The draft. Those curtains being gently sucked in further towards the center of the room, before pulling themselves back to the window like docile children. Convex, concave.... movement along the z-axis. The contemporary grillwork all skewed in those clear, high res shadows. Shifting shape like thick, metallic, malleable liquid. It’s so nice and cool in here, so far from the promise of another scorcher outside these walls. Time to face another day… anytime now. What will I see? How clear are those shadows? How distorted? Tomorrow’s Match day in Dhaka.
How will they do? Will they keep it as tight as they can, and let us catch another glimpse of the very best that all of us can be? Or will they just wilt early and wither away? I'd remember them either way. I remember our novices being manhandled by Grandmasters - being pinned, forked and mated as we found ways deal with the added humiliation of being at the wrong end of getting too much, too soon. I also remember our guys rising out of those episodes with the youthful gleam of an unexpected optimism and eloquence - willed and fabricated purely out of the collective consciousness of the Bangladeshi experience - and turn the table on those idols. I’m partial to those good times, however rare they may be, because they add to that Bangladeshi experience by bringing all of us together.
Time to tuck ourselves back into the power of positive thinking. With all the data on placebo-effects and psychosomatic suggestion, maybe it’s not all that hokey after all. Please drop a few personal lines about similar feelings, a short leash on the customary ridicule and more often than not, cheap sarcasm, will be greatly appreciated. Can’t hurt too much, right?
