Don't tell me "good morning" unless you're talking to me sometime after 10 a.m. All my life i waged a war against waking early in the morning and its a war that i finally won after i entered university. i clearly remember those sad days of school when i was forced to rise at the crack of dawn (7 a.m.). But i never rose willingly. My mom used to start the assault against my sleep by coming every two minutes to my room and gently trying to make me conscious. And i used to mumble something, turn away and go back to sleep. And this would usually continue until my father would enter the room and let out a bellow. Usually followed by threats of various bodily harm if i did not vacate the bed immediately. That got my attention every time. In fact there were a lot of times when i felt my father's presence before i heard him, through a not so gentle cuff on the head, or a not so mild kick or whack with the handy curtain rod. I was not allowed to close the door to my room because who ever has heard of privacy in Bangali middle class families? So the best i could negotiate was putting in a curtain to separate my room from anyone's viewing pleasure from the dining room. And it was this curtain rod which on many occasions have come in contact with my backside for such transgressions as not going to the mosque, not doing well in studies, and most often -- not waking up early enough. For you see, not only was there a vast difference between my definition of early and my father's, i suspect there would be a difference in meaning with most people.My father comes from a family of 9 siblings.Yes NINE. In fact they were supposed to be 12 but due to poor medical facilities available in those days 5 of them died young. They're buried somewhere in Habiganj. I wonder if my father and his siblings ever visited those graves. Its really strange, the death of a new born baby. I don't really know if those 5 died as newborn babies or not, but i do know they all died very young. Possibly before much attachment could be formed with the family. A cousin of mine went through this tragedy of losing a newborn baby a few years back. In this case it was very sad because it was her first child. And for some strange reason, strange because I'm never around my family, i was around and i accompanied my cousin's husband and my father and gently laid the baby to rest in the mirpur graveyard. It was very sad. A tiny little grave. Just the 4 people attending the funeral. I didn't even see the baby. I doubt if anyone did.
But as i was saying, my father comes from a family of 9 siblings and they lived in Habiganj town. My grandfather was a hotshot mokhter, which is some sort of a lawyer, i don't know what sort. And as is usual in those days in small towns, he was very religious and led an active life. So active that it started with the Fazar Azaan. And as the head of the house woke up for the Fazaar prayers, so did the others. They didn't want to for sure, but they had to. And it wasn't a simple matter of waking up, saying your prayers and going to sleep. Oh no. There was no going back to sleep. They had to wake up, the boys had to go the mosque, and in fact sometimes some of the boys had to wake up really early because sometimes my grandfather arranged for one of them to give the Azaan. This is another prestigious thing in our religion and definitely in small towns. It is a great privilege to give the Azaan, which basically calls people to prayer. So woe to the boy who had this additional privilege because he had to wake up EVEN earlier then the others! And once the prayers were done, the children were expected to sit up and read the Quran. This is another popular past time in small towns and middle class families who are slightly religious minded. And my father's family was very religious minded. Not in a fanatical way, because they enjoyed their movie shows, they dressed in all the outrageous fashions of those times, but they were also very religious.
Coming back to the present and to me, my father actually expected me to follow that kind of a lifestyle. The fact that we now have electricity, for which we go to sleep late and thus can't really wake up so early is something which completely escaped him, even after i pointed it out. He actually expected me to wake up, say my prayers (preferably in the mosque), read the Quran, then study. STUDY. Well, my father tried for 5 years. And failed for 5 years. After which he gave up. I took it all. I took all the verbal abuse, the occasional beatings, the constant haranguing, i took it all and STILL didn't wake up before 7 a.m., and that too with the gentle ministrations of my mother and the bellows of my father.
Well all this was a long time ago. It all ended for me in 1992. 15 years? yeah 15 years. Long time. And in that time man did i sleep!! I slept in class, i slept in rickshaws, i slept in office (the bathtub in the office bathroom with the towel as the pillow), and on weekends i slept really late. Well not so late in the early years, when i used to wake up by 10 or 11 a.m. but nowadays i wake up really late. Say in the afternoon.
I actually gave up on a job because it required me to be at office by 8 a.m. I was like, haven't i done enough of that in 12 years of school? And then sometimes in university? I'm done with all of that and as an adult i refuse to wake up at 7 (in order to be in office by 8) and so i quit. And now i work in an ad firm, one of the bes tin Bangladesh, where i am the creative director. And as creative director i get to take creative liberty with my office arrival time, averaging between ten thirty and eleven on good days. On bad days? Ask my colleagues!
Nowadays, i LOVE staying up all night on weekends and going to bed when the fazar azaan hits the airwaves. Now thats the kind of good morning that i like. Where i say "good morning" and go to sleep!
