I was ‘missing’ for a while!
‘Once upon a time’ (this phrase I would often used when I was learning English!), I was separated from my parents for a while. I would rather prefer to say that I was ‘missing’. I must have been a boy of 7/8 years old. I was left all alone in this world. I encountered with a situation where, I would have been taken by the police from the street and put into an orphanage. Or I would have been grown up on the street or in a slum! Perhaps my name and religion would have been changed to something else. My situation would have been like one of the characters of ‘Slumdog Millionaire.’
What I intend to share here would be very difficult to understand for someone from the first world country. Things are really different in the third world countries like in Bangladesh. I must also put on record that over the years things have improved rapidly in Bangladesh. The ‘life’ in my dear Dhaka city is incredible. I could keep on writing pages after pages about my city. Here I limit myself only about the public transport system, which is related to one of my memorable incidents.
In Dhaka, there was (is) no time-table for bus or other means of transport. People do not come out of the home after controlling the time-table on the internet. It could sometimes take an hour to get a bus. People do not mind. It’s normal for them!
Every bus has a driver and one or two bus conductors to help the driver. These bus-conductors often help passengers to get into the bus. They do some sorts of advertisement for the bus and sell the bus-tickets. Sometimes they put the children on the bus so that parents are obliged to get into their bus.
Here I unfold my story…On a busy day I was with my parents, waiting for a bus. My mother was holding my brother and my father was busy with bags and searching for bus. A lot of people around! A lot of noise! A complete chaotic situation! At one point, a bus conductor came to us and took me, thinking that we were waiting for his bus. Before my father could react he pulled me into the bus and bus began to move. I could not say anything. I was standing in the middle of the people. What happened next I do not remember! When the bus reached the last stoppage I got down. I did not know what to do. I did not have any idea of the place. I began to cry! I was lost. I did not have any contact number. But intelligently,(if I term it that way!) I did not move and I remained on the same spot.
It took an hour or two for my anxious parents to reach me. They came with the next bus. I did not clearly remember what they told me or did but I vividly recall, my mother hugged me, kissed me and held my hands tightly. Then I went back home with them.
After many years, when I ponder over this incident, I ask myself was it my intelligent that I remained on the same spot or my father’s intelligent, who hurriedly came to the last stoppage. Why my father did not go to other place searching for me? Why the police or other people did not take me immediately as they often do in my country! These questions are answerless…But I am convinced that I was saved and helped by SOMEONE, who is often invisible and silent!!!
Someone from the first world country maybe has difficulty in understanding the situation but hopefully here you are sharing it with him! ;) That's a good start!
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