MONDRO

Methylbenzene

When the rain came down, the red bricks that the building was

composed of, let off some steam. Dark clouds heavy and puffy with desire

finally burst at their seams and overflowed. A cascade, a heavenly spell as

will be described by the English daily the next day. Arko had just returned

from his school, with a bag full of eighth grade books. On a good day, it

took two hours. So today was a good day.

Uttara to Lalmatia

Nauseating heat,

And the sweet sour smell of amra.

By the time he entered the apartment, the light outside had dimmed, and the sky turned smoky and gray. A quiet shadow held the city at its breath. Arko dropped the school bag off his shoulder, changed his uniform and ran off to the roof, to get wet in the rain. On other days, he would lay naked in his bed, next to his uniform on the floor drenched in sweat accumulated throughout the day. He smelt this own armpit, touched his nipples, scraped moist dirt off his skin and cooled off under the fan. Today, he didn’t waste any time, as it was about to rain any minute. Bua dorja lagao! Arko shouted. Bua came and closed the door behind him and then went to the small verandah to peer hopefully at the sky. Her real name is Poly, but everyone called her lomba bua (tall maid), due to her tall height.

She spent half the day in the empty apartment, until Arko returned from school around 3 pm and the rest of the family members after 5 pm. Arko’s mother was the general manager of Janata Bank, while his father was a communist and an editor at The Observer. He refused to refer to Poly as lomba bua. Instead, he gave her a new name – Dolly. He refused to call her Poly as well, as Poly is his sister-in-law’s name. So Dolly carried the name that sat awkwardly on her. Having the apartment to herself for a few more hours, she went and sat on the sofa, switched on the TV to watch a Bangla cinema and enjoyed the cold breeze.

The rooftop, like the rest of the building, was made of red bricks. It was designed and themed like a ruin site. So, there was a 10 feet long pyramid made of cement surrounded by a thin border of grass. Next to it, four 8 feet tall cement poles, one of which had a lightning rod jutting out. Few years later, the building committee would also install a surveillance camera on one of the other cement poles to keep an eye and stop obscene activities (by Arko and his friends: such as drinking, smoking and having sex) from taking place on the roof. For now, Arko pranced around in the rain, sang songs and imagined the rooftop to be a treacherous landscape in his head that he had to survive. He glided through the rainwater that had pooled in parts of the roof and felt the rain dribble down his body as he looked down the roof. He saw: A guard who sheltered a cat under his umbrella, Friends exchanging shingaras, daal puris and cha. Little boys from the nearby slum skidding on banana leaves, Rickshaws that pinched blue pordah in-between.

By the time Noor Alom came up on the roof, a thin stream of rainwater trickled down the stairway of the building. Noor Alom quickly wiped the rainwater at the entrance and placed some dry cloths to stop the water from going further down the stairs. Noor Alom was the cleaner in the building. Every day at 12 pm, he went up and down the building to collect garbage from the apartments in a big blue drum. He was not permitted to use the elevator to carry the garbage. He also did tuki taki store purchases for families in the building, substituted as a guard at times and assisted the manager of the building to coordinate repair works.

Ki obostha kemon asen?

When Arko saw Noor Alom, he took a momentary break from the rain, came and stood at the entrance of the roof. It had a bench-like sitting area. A tiled mantle to laze on, with leaves and sinewy plant branches that spread overhead to form a thin canopy. Noor Alom came and sat on the platform and stared at the rain, sitting next to Arko. Arko moved to one side and took off his wet t-shirt, his back facing Noor Alom. He wrung the t-shirt and wiped his body with it. Noor Alom stared, with big eyes at Arko, not only at his shirtless body but also at the erection that poked through Arko’s shorts.

No underwear to wear and no one to know.

A rain kissed penis under the bough.

When Arko saw that Noor Alom was staring at his penis, he shivered. Partly out of the cold. Partly out of warm nervousness that now flooded under his skin. He didn’t know what he was doing, or what he wanted. He quickly put his t-shirt on and ran back into the rain. Red earthworm curled and crawled out of the soil from the grass surrounding the pyramid. Trees and electric wires swayed in unison. The air was full of crackling sounds. Arko heard footsteps. He turned around to see Noor Alom had walked into the rain towards him. This time, Noor Alom was shirtless. No erection. He folded his arms across the chest, so Arko couldn’t see his nipples. A thin mustache ran over his smile. His usual oily hair lay flat in the rain. He came and stood right in front of Arko.

Brishti Kemon, deksen bhaiya?

Before Arko could respond to Noor Alom’s question and before the rain slowed down, Arko heard his mother, shouting out his name. She had come home early and came straight to the roof to grab Arko from the rain. Except she didn’t step in the rain, and stood next to the bench-like sitting area and called out Arko’s name.

Ei Arko! Thanda lagbe! Bashaye asho!

Arko was taken by surprise. He turned and ran towards his mother without waiting and saying anything to Noor Alom. And then ran straight back to the apartment. Noor Alom continued to stare in Arko’s direction. He continued to stand in the rain, his hands folded in front of his chest.

First Published
SAMARUDH
First Queer Short Story Collection of Bangladesh