World has become pre-historic city of memories due to corona



Dr. Mahfuj Parvez, Associate Editor, Barta24.com
Photo: Collected

Photo: Collected

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It was said, the world is getting smaller. In the process of globalization, the whole world was called 'Global Village'. The world that came to the fore in the Internet seemed like a house nearby. It was also easy to navigate the terrain due to the supersonic communication system. That same world now seems, farther, stranger. The beautiful, green geography of our home has become a fading, vacant, prehistoric- city of memories.

How many cities, cities, rivers, forests, seas, beaches, mountains located in the corners of the globe, at the edges of the beautiful earth. I went to many places myself; do not know whether to go again! Did not go to many places, who knows, will never go any more, will not!

Going to Darjeeling, today, it seems incredible to find a hill station in the Himalayas. Shailshahar may have the same beauty. Mall Square, Tiger Hill and Kanchenjunga are also waiting. Not just lack of human movement.

At Cox's Bazar, Digha, Ranchi, Chilka, Fay's Lake, I spent time alone. Everything close to nature is exposed in another way. Such as Kathmandu, Nagarkot, Lalitpur, Bhaktapur, Pokhara. The Baghmati River is exactly where the Himalayas sprout out, standing in that trek in Nepal and knew standing at Pakdandi how many rivers and mountains there are in each.

The rivers I have not seen, the Nile, Tigris or Dajla, Euphrates, Amazon, Sin, Danube, or the nearby Mayurakhkhi, Kaberi to name a few. Who knows, if you will see the inert river by submerging feet inside the river soaked in water!

Or the sea? I compared the Bay of Bengal with the Arabian Sea one day slowly observing the sunrise and sunset. In Jeddah, everyone knows the name of the city of grandmother. Black Africa extends to the upper end but I still look at the dazzling black sand dunes behind me with my emerging shadow in black. It seems to touch the Atlantic, the Pacific, the Adriatic, the Marmara Sea and see myself. Will it ever be possible to see?

There is a word called 'rock time'. Once a renowned professor used to write a popular under the name. Some wrote stories, novels with 'rock time'. When the clouds are moves away the clear sky wake again, so can trees and houses can grow up from rocks. I could imagine that being locked in house with that album in the pocket.

Then go on the way to the world, in the wilderness, in the unseen world. I touch Bhupen's voice from Rahul's 'Volga to Ganga'. Lets go, where Shakespeare, Homer, Ferdausi, Rumi are asleep at the base of the ancient Christian era, they hear the whispering silence of the soundless world? Millennial sleep has not broken the world's most noisy but the pyramid mummy can hear the endless, naked, cool, silence?

Looking forward under the 'Statue of Liberty', someone will take me to you from Harlem to Broadway. Then I will arrive right in Atlanta city, Salt Lake with you in New York. On the other side of the Great Lakes in Canada. We'll spend the sizzling nights in Saskatchewan for spring. Will the earth be our companion?

Our friend, colleague, poets and Professor Mohibul Aziz, often say in a very honest language, 'Everyone has own tourism'. Really, how come the unseen pretty Paris comes to mind alone! Notre Dame, Sage laze. In such a moment, the days of Corona passing are scattered in Greek-Roman sculptures soaked in the rain of sight and unseen memories!

On the same plane, at the same time, I became a tourist and traveler. The tourist, who goes out of the house, says he will return home. And the traveler gets out of the house, but doesn't know when he will be back. I am which one? Tourist? Or Traveler? I am locked in a quarantined house, but why travel around the world, which is now the city with the farther most memories!

May be we have been infected, we are guilty of our sins or cursed, yet in the inevitable fixation of human superiority, in the moment, the momentum of awakening in thinking at the steady pace of the house is in and out. We also leave the house in a dusty gray world. As Manna Dey said, 'I wish I would be dusting on the path of the dam, nothing more.'

The world, now a city of memories lives with its nostalgic memories. I murmured in my heart; 'there was talk to meet, not met or so could not be said.’

Nowadays some of these lines are remembered repeatedly. Any poetry line? Or the music? I don't know. Only the lines are remembered and the intense urge awakens to meet the friendly world.