May 1988
It was the season of Grisma when Bangladesh’s soil started drying up from the gradually intensive heat. It was the heat that was coming from hell.
Her entire dress was drenched in sweat. She despised wearing her traditional selwar kamese during Dhaka’s scourging heat, but that was all she can wear nowadays whenever she went out because those kinds of clothing revealed less than the western clothes she would get from her mother and step father from America. She was almost 13 now, and she stood out in the ordinary crowd. Her skin was a flawless creamy olive tone and her hair was dark brown. She resembled her mother’s graceful body, but had her father’s light brown eyes and smile.
“Stop here!” She called out to the rikshaw driver. They stopped in front of a line of fruit shops within a bazaar. The small little shops were filled with fruits, mostly fresh mangoes of all shapes and sizes. “Can you stay here for 10 minutes? I’ll be coming back.” She told the old warn out rikshaw man.
The boney middle-aged rikshaw man looked older than his age with burnt wrinkly skin. Adeela read people quite well in seconds. She saw what was behind all those wrinkles and blisters. She saw an honest sincere man who never took a coin extra for his earnings, always followed traffic rules even though nobody followed them, let small children and women cross the street instead of honking at them to give way unlike the other drivers, but he was just exhausted today. His legs were worn out from running and jumping up the seat and peddling the rickshaw in the hot polluted streets. He was tired of getting bullied by aggressive truck drivers, cars, and babytaxis, but he had no choice but to keep peddling till it was midnight to feed his family.
She came back exactly 10minutes later with her cotton bag filled with fresh mangoes, and a wide smile on her face. Mangoes were her absolute favorite thing about this season. “I’m back! Head back to where we came from.”
The rickshaw carried her home, her aunt’s house which was, for this month, her temporary place of residence. Her school gave them a month long holiday after the big exams. It was something the girls prayed for because the holy month of Ramadan had already started and fasting during studies in a non-ac heat-filled classroom was more than enough suffering for them, not to mention the frequent power outages.
They finally made the bumpy ride back home and it was almost time for the Zuhr prayer Azaan. Before she gave out the money to the man, she got something out of her cotton bag. “This is for you,” she said, holding a pair of black Bata sandals out to the weary old man. His tired red eyes rose up to see his present. She continued as he remained speechless, “You like running and peddling bare feet in the heat and mud? I don’t think it’s fun. Especially with blisters and stuff.” He finally said something, “I cannot accept this maam. You are my daughter’s age. I am an old hag whose lifetime has passed by for good. It will be better to give it to your loved ones maam.”
Stubborn little Adeela handed the pair of sandals to the old man.
“Accept it as an early Eid present. It’s Ramadan. My family fasts from sun rise till sunset but we sit in a room, easily do our prayers, and break our fast with a feast. I assume you wake up before sunrise, start peddling after you perform your first prayer of the day, no matter how sick and hungry you feel or how unpleasant the weather is, or how risky the environment is around you, or how much you miss being with your own family while carrying other families safely to their homes. You keep going on. Put these on, they have a good padding underneath. Your foot was bleeding today while crossing the main road, it still is actually…wear it, please. I don’t like seeing blood.” She made a noxious expression as she saw him bleeding. “ And I think your bleeding made you break your fast a very long time ago.”
She suddenly marked tears appearing in the old man’s eyes. “You have an amazing heart maam. May Allah give you a long and happy life…Thank you very much, ma’am” He smiled for the first time in who knows how long. He left without letting her pay him. She let out a warm little smile. It was just a pair of cheap sandals, she told herself. She had no idea what made her do what she did, but she was happy she did it.
Adeela walked up the 5 story elevator-less building making her thirsty and weak. Then she thought of the old rikshaw man and continued walking up the steep stairs again. This wasn’t the first time she pleasantly surprised a poor man. She felt it was her duty to help out the poor.
The door to her aunt’s 5th floor apartment was already open, and there she was standing in front of her Aunt Bina. Her Bina Khala was a fatter and taller version of Adeela’s mother. Not to mention, a much meaner version.
“Unbelievable. I send you for mangoes and you become friends with a rikshawala? Chi! I didn’t give you that money to please a worthless man from the streets!” Exclaimed Bina khala.
Her smile faded, “I was trying to help. Besides, I bought the shoes with my own money, don’t worry.”
“How dare you talk back to me, young lady. Your money? Oh yes, thank you for reminding me. The money that my stupid sister and his worthless husband sends you from America? I wonder why they don’t just take you already. “She was furious, coming out of the hot kitchen with sweat pouring from her forehead. “I have a family of my own to take care of tell your mother that for me. I have better things to do than look after your where-abouts you got that?” She didn’t even realize how much her voice had elevated until she realized Adeela burst into tears running to the bedroom.
This was the every-day scenario of Adeela’s stay in Bina khala’s house. The woman always found an excuse to blame her for making her life tougher than it already was. She didn’t, however, entirely play the part of the wicked witch of the west.
Bina Khala had her reasons to be a frustrated housewife and mother in her early 40s. She and her husband were going through some financial stress with work, home expense, and their children’s school expense. She also worked extremely hard at home with cleaning and cooking in the hot season of Dhaka without the help of servants. Every servant that came to work at their house ended up leaving in after a month which always left her with all the dirty work. The power in Dhaka went out every day, sometimes for 20minutes and sometimes for an hour, which made Khala’s temper even worse. She did, however have a good side, which made her the only relative out of the rest of the family to accept Adeela.
After Ramadan ended, the joy of Eid spread around the city with the huge morning Eid prayer in the Mosque, and afterwards Adeela got a brand new outfit as a present from her aunt and uncle. She shined like a star in her teal colored silk selwar kamese. She loved it, and she looked absolutely stunning. Even Aunt Bina admitted that. “Oh boy, you look just like my stupid little sister.”
Her face lit up at once, “Really khala? I really look like Mom? That’s the best thing anybody has ever said to me. I miss her so much! She hasn’t called in 2 and a half weeks.” Her beautiful smile turned upside down.
Suddenly the doorbell rang. Bina khala opened the door and yelled out to Adeela, “Hurry up and run down the floor below honey. You got a call from America waiting for you!” She ran down to their 4th floor neighbor’s home to receive the call. Bina khala didn’t have a phone in her house, which was why it was even harder to keep in touch with Adeela’s mother.
Bina khala smiled as Adeela rushed down the hall as if she was about to miss a train. “Eid Mubarak once again, Adee.” Khala called out, as 12-year-old Adeela disappeared.
A few minutes later, a voice came from down the stairway calling for Bina khala, "Ammu? You home?" It was a young man's voice. It was Aunt Bina's oldest son.
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