“We Have Nothing Left”

Opinion

Everything is slipping through my fingers. Whatever little we had—though it was modest, it felt extraordinary!

There was the Ekushey Book Fair, the Academy grounds, the scent of new books. All gone. For the first time in my long life, I didn’t visit the book fair even once this year. Even when I lived abroad, I would return to the country in February just for the book fair. This time, I didn’t even feel like thinking about the book fair. The thought of publishing a new book didn’t cross my mind. I simply didn’t feel like it.

There was a morning procession. At midnight, the entire city would resonate with an ethereal tune—*”Amar Bhaiyer Rokte Rangano Ekushey February…”* That melody didn’t reach my ears this year. I didn’t get to see the alpanas (traditional art) at the Shaheed Minar. I didn’t stand barefoot, head bowed, holding flowers. That too is lost.

There was Victory Day. A day of green and red. Festivities filled the city. There were fairs. I was supposed to stroll around holding my child’s hand. It didn’t happen.

There were festivals like Durga Puja. Wearing red sarees, visiting pandals, celebrating together. All of it has fallen silent.

There was a city. In that city, the night would descend like a celebration. During Sehri, Old Dhaka, Dhanmondi, everywhere, the joy of young and old alike would fill the air. Darkness has swallowed all that. I used to gaze at the sky in the evening and smell the twilight in this city. That scent has vanished, buried under the stench of anxiety. The bloodstains on the hands of the monsters that swarm in packs, their greedy hisses! Our evenings have been stolen.

There was a house. A two-story house. History was written in its folds. In its half-light, half-shadow, in its old, damp smell, we would find ourselves. Every time I passed that street, I would remember a proud story written just for us. The number 32 would spark a fire in our souls.

That house is gone. Our burning eyes, shattered hearts, and crumbling souls fell silent before the bulldozers. In the reddish glow of fire. We saw the grotesque horror rising around us. How vile the essence soaking the country. The generation. Us.

Everything is lost. Everything has ended. We have nothing left.

– Munmun Sharmin Shams
Woman and Online Activist