Night time is usually the time when people can let loose their tight shackles to the corporate world or the minimum wage-paying jobs in the West -- it is when music pours in, laughter ensues, and all the trouble in the world is forgotten in a synchronised rhythm, with countless others on some dance floor. Unless a madman (or a SWAT team) decides to open fire and change the world forever.
It’s travelling.
More often than not, there is a rather cheery feeling being at airports, be it waiting to meet a loved one after a long time or getting through the immigration point to a new adventure.
For me, airports are usually associated with a very real visceral sense of excitement to “get to see the world.” Unless suicide bombers cause an uproar around the corner and all hell breaks loose.
It’s getting close now.
Cafes and restaurants are the only common recreational outlets in the city, where one can get away from the unimaginable traffic outside (via the traffic), and 9-to-5 jobs to spend a few hours with friends chattering about nothing and sipping a latte before calling it a night.
They’re the places where one unwinds, soaks in the soothing ambience and friends’ laughter … until something happens.
It has hit home.
In less than 30 days, we all stood witness to the Orlando massacre at a nightclub, then Istanbul’s airport attack, and now a restaurant in Dhaka that was held hostage and destroyed by a few men’s whims.
All the while, in the background, drones and barrel bombs fall on Syria, and Boko Haram claims more lives than the biased media grants news coverage to in Africa.
To say the least, things seem to be escalating at a disturbingly accelerating pace.
And now, we, I mean you and I, are suspended in a state of fear.
These massacres and killings have found their way into the country I call home.
Now, the news wrung of bloodshed about a foreign country no longer feels unfamiliar, because Dhaka has now, unfortunately, become a part of that bloodied club.
While governments play out their decisive plans, layered under homophobia, Islamophobia, the refugee crisis -- basically all things bloody, hateful and inhumane -- we are suspended in a state of fear.
To prevent such occurrences in the real sense of the meaning, we as a nation, as a people, need to become vigilant, stand united, and not let this festering anger and hate divide us further apart into the blurred lines of intolerance and isolation
Saturday was the first time in 45 years of Bangladesh history that the nation, and its citizens abroad, stood still, glued to news portals online or on TV sets, carried heavy hearts, and prayed for its people.
Over 20 people were held hostage to the whims of mad men to show the world their righteous, delusional “Islamic” ways in a location dubbed as the most secure “diplomatic” zone in Dhaka.
It was unexpected, and that is why we are suspended in a state of fear for evermore.
Nightclubs, airports, or cafes, you name it, and they seem to have washed them in blood.
The unpredictability of such heinous acts must be one of their biggest advantages. We can all rest assured that Bangladesh really has been infiltrated now, if not by the infamous ISIS itself then by its ideals.
I say “now” because this was the first attack that has claimed so many lives (22), that took so many hours to conduct operations to save lives (13) -- that for once and for all we can assure the sceptics and the outright naysayers that Bangladesh is not exempt from the monstrosity which is consuming the world at large.
While the government attempts to negate bad press, while the experts and analysts delineate what this means, you and I are suspended in a state of fear.
It is the unpredictability, rampant occurrences of such kind, and the utter bloodshed that make me worry about stepping into airports and cafes.
It is no longer the dark alleys that make me feel as afraid as public crowded places do, and it doesn’t stop there.
I am not only afraid for my personal security or my whereabouts, but I have to constantly worry about my family and friends everywhere and all the time.
Last night, I feared for my mother who lives close to Road 79, Gulshan 2. Multiple overseas calls did nothing to quiet down my worries, did not allow my mind to rationalise and understand simple facts that she is in fact indoors, safe, and blocks away from the brutality.
I wrestled with a unique, powerful surge of irrationality, but alas, still was suspended in that evermore state of fear.
Then, I heard how three of my friends were stuck on Banani bridge on their drive back home because of the roadblocks.
They were there late into the night, waiting anxiously to let the authorities let them through, waiting out in the open in uncertainty and fear of what’s next.
And that is exactly what they want: To breed fear, so that we never step out, so that we hesitate to speak up against terrorism (home-grown, internationally famous, whatever), and cower in fear and allow it to dictate our lives.
They want to breed fear because it is just that which will help its motive and agenda: To divide and conquer.
We live in dark times, and, I expect, with what we stood witness to last night, that things will only get worse in terms of theories, policies, debates, anger, hate, and fear.
To prevent such occurrences in the real sense of the meaning, we as a nation, as a people, need to stay vigilant, stand united, and not let this festering anger and hate divide us further apart into the blurred lines of intolerance and isolation.
The monsters have hit home, we need to remain aware and cautious, get our facts checked, and not give in to that unique overwhelming panic.
Through the havoc, we still have to relentlessly thrive and overpower this gut-wrenching fear, only then we can beat the monsters at its bloody game.
