Short Story: The Gift

Md. Rizwanul Islam narrates a poignant tale on the little joys of life, originally written in Bengali and published in a national newspaper, translated into English Dewan Mehdi Ajyo.

“Have we arrived yet?” Borsha asks her husband Sohel with exhausted eyes. It doesn’t feel that Sohel has heard Borsha. He does not look at him. He is dreaming with his both eyes open. At thirty thousand feet, the plane carrying Shohel and Borsha is moving at 500 kilometre per hour. At this speed they will reach their destination- Dhaka- in no time. And this is what is exciting him.

“Home is calling me. Father, mother, grandmother, Sumon, Tania, here I come.” Sohel thought to himself and smiled.

In his imagination, Sohel could see the happy faces of his beloved family members for whom he and his wife have brought gifts by saving some money from their scholarships. To buy those gifts Shohel and Borsha has left no shop unturned in Little India or Orchard Road. Shopping for their loved ones was an exhaustive for them. They used to go shopping early and only returned to their studio apartment at a time when most of the inhabitants of a city that never slept were already asleep. Only the empty streets with their arc lights would have been the only sign that city was still alive. Even after resting their head on the pillow, Borsha and Sohel would argue with each other on what gift will be suitable for whom. Borsha would always accuse Shohel about his lazy shopping habit and buy something too soon. Sohel did not argue with her.