Not Really, But Almost

Some vocabs you should know before proceeding: 

Baba = dad
Ma = mom
Bhaiya = term used to address older brothers. In this case, used to address a younger boy to show respect.
Bua = word for female housekeeper or maid.
Choto Mama = youngest maternal uncle.
Uncle/ Aunty = Bengalis refer to everyone who's around their father's age as uncle and mother's age as aunty. be it, someone, they know or not. 
RAB = special police.
SWAT = super super special police. kinda like FBI. 
Pir = exorcist.
Dhaka = capital of Bangladesh.
Khulna = a district in far down south.

********

“Baba, what color is the cover?”

“Scarlet.”

“Does it say PAPER-CASTLE COLOURING SET, 350 PIECE?”

“Yes.”

“And there’s a yellow limited edition sticker on the front?”

“I sent you a picture already” Baba was laughing.

Pinku smiles, recalling the conversation from last night. PAPER-CASTLE COLOURING SET, 350 PIECE
(LIMITED EDITION) - he’s wanted one of those for so long! It has the highest rating on artshine.com.
He wanted to buy a set from the Art store in Mirpur but Ma didn’t let him. Mrs. Haydar is allergic
to Deshi products. “Listen Tasim, everything they sell here in Dhaka is counterfeit, trash. Never buy
anything from here. When your father goes to Australia, he’ll buy you whatever you want.” Baba
always gets him something when he comes back from Australia.

“Bhaiya, we’re here.” Driver Johnny calls him back to reality. Quickly, he gets out of the car, a faint
smile still tugged on his face when he hears them shout “Kinky Pinky!” his legs stops abruptly, the
smiling vanishing. Some boys from the same complex were laughing, standing meters away. Not this
again. He feels angry, more towards his father than anyone else. Baba’s favorite color is pink.
Before their marriage, Baba and Ma decided that they’ll name their daughter Pinky. A week before
the baby was born, he bought a 24 carat gold necklace; on the pendant, it had engraved “For Pinky.”
But at the end, somewhat unfortunately, it turned out to be a boy. Everyone was dumbfounded.
Ma gave away all the baby dresses she bought. Baba still liked Pink and so he named the boy Pinku.
Ma agreed to it, but only as a nickname. Pinku’s good name is Mohtasim Haydar. Ma, his teachers,
everyone- everyone calls him Mohtasim and at the end it was only Baba who called him Pinku.
Pinku wanted it to stay this way. He likes the name Pinku; it makes him feel special and connected
to his father and it was this way for a long time until Baba accidentally called him Pinku at school.
Everyone knew his secret and then it was hell. Now it makes him feel angry more often than special.

Sighing, he turns around, “What do you want?”

“Do you know what your father did?”

“No, he’s not even here.”

One of the boys make a knowing gesture, “Go to your house, you’ll see.”

Brows furrowed, Pinku looked at them questioningly. What were they talking about. His father isn’t
even here, what could he have done.

“Just go, dude.” they pushed him to the elevator. He goes in quickly. They live in the 16th floor,
apartment G. His mind wanders off as soon as the doors close. What did Baba do? He just got back
from Australia! Anxiety creeps up in his chest. The seconds feel like hours as he watches the
numbers on the screen go up.

******

The door is open. Some reporters are standing by the door talking among themselves. A cameraman
sits down, Bua comes and puts a tray of mango juice and napkins on the table. Pinku recognizes some people in the room: Shihab uncle from the press club, Choto Mama’s friends from the University,
a random uncle from from his father’s office. His father wasn’t there. Sitting his backpack on the floor,
he runs to the kitchen, “Bua, where’s baba?”

Bua froze. She looks at him fretfully, her eyes teary. And she turns around, muffling her sobs with
both of her hands.

“Bua! Wait, what happened? Where’s baba?”

A woman walks in. She’s Mrs Haydar’s personal secretary and the house’s supervisor. “Miss Rebeca,
what’s going on? Why is Bua crying?”

Miss Rebeca glances at Bua with fiery eyes, sending silent threats with her gaze. She grabs Pinku by
his arms and pulls him to her side, leading him to his room. “Tasim dear, don’t mind Bua. Everything’s
fine. Your father came back. He is here in Dhaka, we just...don’t know where he is.”

“yet” Miss Rebeca adds hesitantly. Pinku stares at her in confusion. What is she talking about.

“Don’t go to your mother right now. She is talking to the officers. Freshen up, Eat up, we’ll find your
father in no time.”

******

They couldn’t find him.

It was 12:40 in the morning and they still couldn’t get any news on Baba. They located his car in a
muddy puddle, doors open, 50 miles away from Dhaka city. no sign of Baba or his driver. The lady in
the news is reading in a dramatic voice: Famous businessman and the treasure head of CIVIL party
disappeared! A new scheme by the opposition party or the opponent’s spite?

In a different channel, there’s debate show on Mr. Haydar’s disappearance. Pinku had to stop
watching. They were talking about Baba as though he’s a bad guy!

“These bastards! All they’re talking about is their damned political agenda. No concern about an able
healthy human that’s disappeared in the daylight!” Mrs. Haydar turns off the Television, hissing under
her breath. Trudging back and forth, she keeps breathing noisily and wiping her hands with napkins.
She suffers from severe anxiety disorder. Last year she was worrying so much about Pinku’s art
competition results that she fainted. Pinku’s Baba blames her for passing down this crazy condition to
Pinku. “Boys take after their mother, girls take after their father.” he says on his defense.

An officer walks in with the building’s guard, bringing a dirty luggage along.

“They found it in a dry pond near the place.”

Guard uncle steps forward, unlocking the bag with a hair clip. Various shades of pink suits come to
view. Mrs. Haydar rummages through the clothes, “Everything’s just how he packed! He didn’t even
get to open the luggage!” she breaks down, leaning into Miss Rebeca’s arms. She escorts her to her
room. Sighing, the officer leaves the room. Sound of Bua’s muffled sobs travels the rooms. Standing
by himself, Pinku notices the scarlet cover of Piper-castle limited edition box peeking through the pink
mass.

********

Pinku had expected this to happen, but not the effect it left.

The moment he walked into the classroom, all the eyes were on him. All day in every class murmurs
and words like “pathetic” “cheap move” “karma”  were orbiting him. No one came to talk to him,
not even the jerks who always like to poke fun at him, but he felt like dying, almost. Every time he
stands up, every time he shifts in his seat, every time he even turns his head- he feels their gaze
piercing through him. His pants are wet from constantly wiping his hands on them. He wants to drink
water. His flask is in the backpack. He can’t reach it. All the eyes are  on him. Something terrible will
happen if he moves his hand. He shouldn’t move. An intense feeling of nausea is taking over. His
vision is getting blurry. He really needs water.

They called his home. As Driver Johnny carries him to the car, he sees their eyes, still following him
and accusing him of what Pinku doesn’t know. What happened in one day? Everything was just fine
yesterday… Could this all be a really long dream that he’s having? It must be. Pinku has had these
super long not-so-dreamlike dreams before. This is just another one of them. When Bua wakes him
up for school, he’d realize it was all a dream. Yeah. But this this dream is dragging for too long, and
it’s making him sad. He doesn’t want to see it anymore. He needs to wake up-

“Bhaiya, are you okay? Should I call Dr. Shwarma?”

It wasn’t a dream.

Pinku springs up in his seat, panting. It wasn’t a dream.

“Driver Johnny.”

“Yes.”

“Baba- baba, where’s he?”

“Bhaiya, we don’t know that yet. The police and RAB are searching; they’ll find him soon.”

It wasn’t a dream.

*****

Five days has passed and still no news on Baba.

During this time, many guests have come to visit them. Each time they go to Ma’s room: Ma sitting at
the edge of her bed, the guest next to her, and Pinku on the swinging chair. They pat Ma on the back,
tell her it’s going to be alright. God doesn’t punish anyone who doesn’t deserve it. She doesn’t
deserve it; she donates a lot of money during winter. They turn to Pinku and say, “Pinku, you’ve grown
to be such a sweet boy! Your baba will come back sooner than you think, no worries!”

CIVIL party’s protest is still going strong. They’re confident in their belief that the government has paid
people to kidnap baba. In talk shows, guys from Baba’s party get heated up in his defense. They hold
assemblies and march with huge signs that say “GIVE BACK LEADER HAYDAR.”

Nothing makes it better.

****

There’s a Pir in Pinku’s house. He’s sitting on the the living room floor, examining Baba’s luggage and
uttering some incomprehensible words. Thirty minutes ago he said Baba is in Khulna, on a bus. Bus’s
color is Purple. No one is this household believes in Pir or their so called spiritual abilities. Still, when
Bua suggested that she knows a Pir who’s good at finding lost people and items, Ma didn’t hesitate.
Now everyone’s gathered in the living room with curious eyes and hopeful minds. Pir Shaheb is
currently trying to figure out Baba’s exact location. Choto Mama’s friends have already left for Khulna.

*****

Pinku isn’t going to school anymore.

It was Dr. Shwarma who suggested that he takes a break from school after he’s collapsed for the
second time at school. Ma didn’t object. Nowadays she doesn’t object to anything. Pinku’s been
eating instant ramen for breakfast for the last couple days, she saw but didn’t react. Choto Mama and
his friends are constantly taking out money from Baba’s account to invest in the search, she didn’t
comment. A new guy took over CIVIL party’s head treasure’s position, she didn’t care.

*****

They moved to their private house. Ma said she felt like a captive in the apartment. The rooms were
too small to be considered a healthy residence. Their neighbors were too loud and the noise from the
vehicles were unbearable. Their apartment is 2,246 sqaure feet. It’s also sound proof. Pinku didn’t
mind. He was, in fact, glad that Ma decided to leave this place. It was getting harder to walk around
the apartment and not think of Baba.

Rahela aunty is staying at Pinku’s house. It’s a good thing because now Ma is taking and eating
normally. She’s had “talks” with Ma. She told her to hold strong. Who is going to take care of
everything if she gives up? Choto Mama is young. How long can he oversee their business?
Ma has to take over until Baba comes back. Police has given up. But RAB is still searching for baba.
Choto Mama has paid nearly a million to SWAT; they’ve agreed to take the mission. Baba will surely
come back. Rahela aunty told Pinku to hold strong too but he doesn’t need it. He’s already strong.
He hasn’t cried once since the day Baba disappeared. It was hard at first, to not think of Baba but he
eventually found a way out. It’s easy. All he has to do is start a video game and his mind stops
registering the outer world.

****

It’s the 70th day since baba’s disappearance.

TV channels rarely talk about Baba anymore. Newspapers still publish articles about him every once
in a while. Ninety five percent of those are conspiracy theories. Some says he’s locked up in a prison
in India. Some say he’s gone back to Australia. Others claim they’ve seen him wander around in the
local market. Haydars have stopped regarding the media.

Ma is quite busy these days. Some people got fired, many new employees came in. She’s handling
most of the business by herself. Choto Mama still comes to help sometimes. Rahela aunty is still the
advisor. Dr. Shwarma has given new medications for her anxiety disorder; it’s working.

Pinku is going to a new school. According to Rahela aunty, he’s becoming asocial by playing video
games all day. So she, herself, went to the school and admitted him to class 4. She knows the
principal and she promised no one would bother him there. This is the advantage of public school,
you can get them to do give you special favors. With elite schools like Pinku’s old one, you have to
be insanely powerful for them to give a damn about you.

Pinku likes his new school despite the fact that it has no art club and rarely anyone speaks English.
Everyone is his class is friendly. They were astounded when Pinku spoke in fluent English during
English class. When his deskmate discovered an old drawing in the back of his notebook, he
demanded Pinku draws him a portrait. Pinku did so, despite having not held a color pencil for months.
Then everyone starts to come to him. Pinku couldn’t say no. They don’t say mean things to him like his
old classmates. They also taught him how to play cricket. Now he draws almost everyday.
Somewhere along this transformation, he opened the paper-castle limited edition box.

*******

Today is a big day. Mohtasim is going to have his first art exhibition. Mrs Haydar has left the office
early to attend the program. It’s 11:30 right now. It starts at exactly 12. She has to cut the rope and
inaugurate the exhibition but here she is, stuck in the middle of Dhaka’s notorious traffic. Sighing,
she picks up her phone:

“Hello, Ma?”

“Yes, Tasim, listen I don’t think I can make it in time. Yes, no, don’t postpone the program for me.
No, no, you don’t want to do that today. What? I can’t hear you. Swear I should have bought a jet or
something. Yes, Yes, work it out. I’ll be there as soon as this traffic has some mercy on me. Okay?
I’m hanging up.”

Mohtasim puts the phone back in his pocket. He can’t let this ruin the mood. He’s worked so hard to
come this far, it can’t be in vain.

“Aye Mohtasim, what are you doing here spacing out? You alright?” Shubho, his good friend, asks,
smacking him playfully on the back. More of his friends have crowded near him.

“Ahh no, nothing. I’m fine.”

“Here!” Ritu, another one of his friends, tosses a drink at him. “Drink up. Everything looks perfect.
Uncle Haydar’s portrait is exactly where you wanted it to be, in between the pictures of the monument
and the city house, right in the center. Let’s get going now. It’s about time.”

Mohtasim looks at the mirror to get a quick view of himself. Maybe he should have shaved yesterday.
Straightening his Punjabi for one last time, he wipes his clammy hands on his pants before turning to
his friends.

“Yeah, let’s go.”