Chiming in to the tune of SPRING

At some point a week ago, post-lunch when the surge of vehicles shaking each other to get kids from schools had well been over in the city of Dhanmondi, I was on a rickshaw simply like some other languid winter day. I was set out toward my office in Farmgate. Furious vehicle drivers and bikers were shouting at one another at a convergence. I was persuaded life was going on of course.

Now my rickshaw was running along the Abahani Playground and when it turned ideal, towards Dhanmondi 32 Bridge, a dreamlike thing occurred.

On the privilege was a grand house while on the left was the habitation of the central specialist of people in general works office. Muffling the yells and cries of workers and drivers and furthermore the screeching horns, a sound definitely more lofty than the overwhelming exteriors of close-by structures began some place uncertain, and kept taking off up. The unmistakable sound that comes in short blasts yet ascends in power. It was a cuckoo; overlooking the excitement coming always from the boulevards underneath, a male cuckoo, blazing its shining red eyes, continued tweeting its sentimental supplication to charm a female in a city that has earned itself a few monikers, including "the city of residue" and "the city of vertical wreckage".

I got off, asking for the rickshaw-puller to hang tight for me. I gazed upward and filtered the trees to find the wellspring of this diverting sound. Is it safe to say that it was the first run through ever that I am tuning in to a cuckoo sing frantically from a dusty tree top in Dhaka? Did it happen each year around this time? Is it safe to say that it was conceivable that possibly I was sleeping this time like the mariners in Tennyson's "The Lotus Eaters"? Truly, there it was; roosting clandestinely on one of the most noteworthy parts of a neem tree, a dark cuckoo was declaring the entry of fresh starts.

I pivoted to see a moderately aged lady remaining with her teenager matured child and girl. Occupied simply like me, they also were checking the trees. I pointed towards the neem tree and the mother yelled, "There it is! Children, would you be able to see it?" Her child had taken out his cell phone by then to take a snap. Before I could enable him to find the winged animal, a fresh breeze blew over our faces, raising bits of residue all over. Truly, there was spring noticeable all around!

Before long these tweets joined with new leaves growing up from each tree limb will contact all of us. Infusing another influx of life into everybody around, the young will lead us out in large numbers onto the roads to walk towards where individuals from varying backgrounds get together to praise life, to get alcoholic on the endless stream of fresh spring breeze.

Every one of the urban communities and towns will spruce up in brilliant yellow and red. The entire of Bangladesh will ascend in a state of harmony with the tweets sung by cuckoos, spreading message of the young soul that never blurs!

The essayist is a benefactor of The Daily Star