Am I afraid? Of course I am afraid. Jaan bachanor jonno jaaner jhuki niye CNG chalai (In taking my CNG out, I risk my life to make a living). I am afraid, but time after time, hunger makes me put on this shirt and return to the streets. But why do I have to choose between death by hunger and death by petrol bombs?
I sat at home for three days, because my family begged me not to go onto the streets to work. “Abbu, tomakeo puriye felbe! Tumi jeo na.” On the fourth day, I had to return to work, because I couldn’t let my children go hungry.
Yes, there are certain areas, certain intersections I know to avoid. I keep my distance from police, BGB, and RAB vehicles. But who knows where the next petrol bomb will appear?
The other day, I overtook a truck and then stopped at a store because the passenger wanted to pick something up. As I stepped outside to wait, I suddenly saw that the truck I had just passed was on fire.
Another day, I saw a burning car. I kept going.
Fire. Everywhere I look, I see fire. Perhaps soon, fire will no longer catch my eye. Ekhon aguni normal. Fire is normal now.
The day a petrol bomb will hit my CNG, perhaps I will feel shanti, peace, that the moment I feared for so long is finally here. The uncertainty will be over. But what will happen to my family?
Before, people would dump their anger on CNGs with sticks and rocks. There would be repairs, debts. Now, those who throw petrol bombs give us death or a life worse than death as burdens on ourselves and our families. We work because we want to be self-reliant. I don't want to be dependent on anyone else.
I want to know why the shontrashi, the terrorists, have no maya, compassion. They are hungry too. They are scared too. They have chosen a different way to make money. They answer to different people. But don’t they worry about answering to God?
Even the police and BGB are afraid. Maybe they are more scared than we are. They requisition private vans to arrest suspicious people – maybe so that it’s more difficult to identify and target them. Even then, they can be targeted. If these private vans get burnt and destroyed during hartals and the oborodhs, their owners suffer. They are much richer than us, but the bombs make us equal.
I think a lot about what’s happening. I tell myself at least here, in the city, if I work, I can buy food. But what about my relatives in the village? They can’t sell, so they can’t earn.
Every second, I pray for safety. I pray that I will be able to return to my family, that God will allow me to feed them for a few more days, to see my children grow up.
We are dhimmis. We are held hostage by our hunger, our fears, our politicians. There is no one to protect us. Allah bhorosha.