Arts & letters vol 2 issue 10

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Poetry Three Poems of Pias Majid Mohammad Harun Or Rashid

Translated from Bangla

Editor Zafar Sobhan Acting Editor Arts & Letters Iffat Nawaz Artist Shazzad H Khan

The Creation

The Living

You just fall upon A sleeping cobra; A tiny red star.

The Fur Mutha grass, Stagnant feeling .

The song of Sahana Bajpaie covers the air Your open breeze One day in one-eleven.

Another day The secret dejection of Chakma girl-friend.

Black coffee in the morning Whole night goes by practicing sexual-geography The night remain awakened Feeling as there is no land behind legs A pleasure trip in dream. n

At the backdrop: The blue hill And dark air.

By the waterfall nearby I flow endlessly.

Green grasses run Along in line. n

Life 2013 And you have copied Even all of the evening’s graces To the pen drive. n

PiasMajid is a writer and poet. He has won the HSBC - Kali o Kalam Young Poet and Writer award for his writing in 2012. He is currently working at Bangla Academy.

Interview Catherine Masud: How to write a screenplay

Moviemaking: Let go of the words Rumana Habib

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What is the most difficult thing about writing a screenplay?

etting go of the words. It is very hard to think non-textually, so there’s a tendency for things to be too wordy. Much more can actually be said through the image.

A lot of people start a screenplay writing the dialogue, then think: “Accha dialogue hoye gacche, screenplay hoye gacche?

(Ok the dialogue is done so the screenplay is done).” Right?

But I think it’s more useful to start macro-strucuturally. First think about the images and concepts, and then think about what will textually complement them – if you have any dialogue at all, that is.

Speaking of which, do you write Bangla dialogue?

That is how Tareque and I worked together. I would write the descriptions in English, then we would talk about the dialogue, but Tareque would write the Bangla dialogue itself. Occasionally I’d write some dialogue in English and we’d translate it, but that usually doesn’t work so well.

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You and Tareque worked together very closely, even at that stage?

A lot of screenplays are written through collaboration. Very seldom do you have a single screenplay writer, because there are different ways of thinking: and it really helps to put those together. You’ve got your visual narrative, your musical narrative, your textual narrative.

I usually work at the macrostructural level, and the visual level as well.

What is involved in that visualization process?

I do a lot of storyboarding for scenes. I consider that a part of the screenwriting process. So you start with some visuals and concepts, you kind of hash it out, you put some dialogue in there, do some sketches, you see locations, you take pictures, you come back – it’s a very dynamic process. That is why you also have continual rewrites.

Even the day of shooting, you’re rewriting. Once you get there, you get to the scene and say: “Wait a sec, we don’t need that dialogue because we can use this instead.”

A lot more gets cut out than gets added in during the process.

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Does it help you go to the set/location for inspiration while you’re writing?

Definitely. We always have that in our minds: What is the space? How are people moving around that space as they’re interacting?

People don’t just sit still and talk. It can be a gesture, it can be a movement, it can be a look – that’s also very much a part of how you put a screenplay together. That’s what you put in the screen directions.

It’s not like the way people usually write Bangla natoks, where basically your screen direction is one line: “An office in Dhaka.”

But this is a much more multi-layered approach, because there are so many visual ways to tell the story. And that’s where the power of cinema is. You cannot miss those opportunities. That’s actually the real challenge of filmmaking.

Could you give us an example from one of your films?

There a scene at the end of Matir Moina where Ayesha is talking to her husband Kazi while cleaning a hurricane lamp, and as she’s and as she becomes more and more frustrated, her hands become more and more tense with the work. We wanted that.

That’s why we prefer to work with nonprofessionals who are naturally used to fidgeting while they’re talking. The trick is to get them doing things on camera.

Is that something you write beforehand, or does it happen in the moment?

It can be both.

For example, the scene in the barbershop: Complete non-professional actors, but professional barbers. Never been in front of a camera before, but since they were cutting hair, moving around the client and sharpening the blades as they were talking, the dialogue came much more naturally.

The screen direction was also important, and that was written right it in: “He’s going to be shaving hairs on his neck when Joy Bangla Bangla Joy comes on the radio, and the guy being shaved jumps.” That was our intention.

Again, that action says much more than just him saying: “Oh my God, I’m scared now that has come on the radio,” you know? That would be the textual approach.

Why is that such a common mistake?

People want to talk. To tell our stories, we feel have to use the power of the written word, and its hard to let go of that.

Film is a crossover art. We’re also not painters, which is purely a visual medium. Film is a hybrid. And I think that’s the challenge of it. To be able to, when you’re writing a screenplay to think of the totality of it.

And also I should add here that’s not just visual, it’s also sound. Sound is very important. That is also a screen direction that gets written into a screenplay.

Remember, you are giving direction to everyone in a unit, not just to the actors. You are giving also direction to the costume department, the props department, the camera department. Everybody’s equal. To leave out any one of those is to create chaos on the set.

How long does it take to write a feature film, on average?

Well it depends on who you’re talking to. It could take 3 days or it could take 3 years.

For us, it usually takes about a year or so to get through the initial writing phase. You have to select the locations while you’re doing it, so you come back to it again and again. That’s the challenge of it. You cannot go with a one-dimensional approach. It requires foresight.

What is a good background for a person to have to write a good screenplay?

Many people think they can make a natural transition from writing a novel to writing a screenplay. That’s not true.

You actually need to know something about the mechanics of how a production works in order to properly write a screenplay.

Because you need to know what the function is of everybody in a production unit. And you need to have respect for all of those diff people and what they do. You can’t just say: “Oh, I’m a good writer.”

Did you have much production experience before writing your first screenplay?

I actually did a lot of documentary work before so I had some idea, but I’d never done feature work before.

For Matir Moina, we were running blind. I was just reading a lot of

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books about how to write a screenplay. And Tareque was like: “Why do you need all these books? Why don’t we just do it? And there I was reading books on macrostructure, and conflict, and denouement … and formatting even, so that it’s easy to read.

It’s the bible to everybody on the unit so it’s got to be in a concise way for everybody to do.

What happens to the script in the production process?

A very important part of the production is also breaking down the screenplay, the same way you build it up. Before you go to shoot, you tear it apart again. It’s just going to be cut into pieces, basically for the purposes of production.

What’s also really hard is that you don’t shoot in continuity: scene one, then two, then three. The decision for what order it gets shot in, all that all comes from how you break down the screenplay – by time of day, characters, locations, prop requirements.

The script goes through this grinding process. It’s very bizarre.

Churn it all out and it becomes a spreadsheet. EP Scheduling is one of the softwares you can use. Of course, when we did Matir Moina, I was just using Excel.

And finally you start shooting ...

Even then, there are ad hoc revisions you have to make when you get on the set. And you have to let things go. It’s like: “I really like this dialogue, but I have to let go.”

See, shooting is a criticism of the script, and editing is a criticism of the shooting.

When you shoot you realise what the shortcomings of your screenplay were, particularly if you haven’t done your job and given any screen directions whatsoever. Then you get on the set and you think: “Oh shit, what do we do now?

Where are we going …shooting is a criticism of the to put the camera? script, and editing is a criticism of What is she going the shooting. to wear? Where are those props?”

You cannot afford to be disorganized. That’s where the criticism comes.

“Why didn’t I think of that image?”

Then you get to the editing table and you’re like: “God I’m such an idiot. I didn’t exploit the location at all. Why didn’t we take those shots?”

You’re also speaking as a writer-filmmaker who edits her own work. Often these roles are played by different people.

I’ve never edited anyone else’s work. I would love to, actually.

But I’ve learned to be brutal. You have to let go of your attachments.

Even if you worked so hard to shoot that scene, if you don’t need it – just it cut it out. Let go. You’re weeding things out.

Things don’t get added through the process, especially after you shoot.

They get cut down, until it’s just the story, hopefully.

There’s also patch shooting, which is “oops shooting.” When you’ve edited the film, then realise there’s a whole section missing: you didn’t explain that relationship between the characters properly, or it was just shot poorly. You have to do it again.

There’s also another analogy for this process: Filmmaking is like cooking. Your screenplay is like a shopping list of everything you need.

Then you go out and do your shopping with the shooting, and you come home and try to cook, which is the editing. n

Rumana Habib is a playwright, lifelong film buff and the assistant editor of the Weekend Tribune.

Catherine Masud is the co-writer, producer and editor of Matir Moina, which was nominated for an Oscar in 2002. She and her late husband, Bangladeshi filmmaker Tareque Masud, have made five films together.

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Mapping the Contours and Coordinates of What We Do Not Know Sajid H. Amit

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Sajid H. Amit is a partner at the Growth Institute.

His career specializations span capital markets, macroeconomic research, executive training and university teaching.

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eviewing Zia Haider Rahman’s debut novel “In the Light of What We Know” is a task formidable like none other. Not only because the novel is packed with multi-disciplinary inquires, meanderings on esoteric knowledge, and a narrative stitched together by sub-plots but also because of the high praise the novel has already received from vaunted establishments of literary criticism.

Take for example that James Wood, an influential literary critic at the New Yorker, has written a 4000-word tribute on Haider’s novel, summing it up as a “dazzling debut.”

Zia’s novel eschews genreclassification, and it is in such capacity for malleability and its trespass across genres that its strength lies. It is a post-colonial novel, but in addition to complexities of post-colonial identities, racial and class fissures, the novel presents a milieu of the post-9/11 world, and equally interestingly, the postglobal-financial-crisis world. On a higher level of abstraction, Zia’s is a philosophical novel of careful ruminations on mathematics and art, faith and doubt, friendship and betrayal, cartography and historiography, derivatives trading and financial services, migration and diaspora, war and nation-building, and so forth.

The fact that Zia is able to weave together the said backdrops in their diversity and wholeness, is greatly abetted by the complex personal and professional trajectories of his two main protagonists, Zafar and the nameless narrator. I thought Zia was brilliant here, in his rendering of two quite similar yet profoundly different characters. Zafar is a BritishBangladeshi mathematician-turned-derivatives-trader-turned-humanright-lawyer. His background is however rather humble; he belongs to a family of peasants in Sylhet who were at best the hired help or “staff” wherever they went. Zafar is the protagonist of the novel and it is his story that we hear - and for those of you that have read the author’s bio - seems to be a projection of Zia’s self. This Zia readily admits. In an interview, when asked how much the character of Zafar was built on his own image, Zia confesses “67.5%.”

The other central character is the narrator, the nameless PakistaniAmerican friend of Zafar from Oxford and subsequently Wall Street, who is a ready host to Zafar when the latter re-emerges after years of oblivion: unannounced, disheveled, and clearly seeking an interlocutor.

The nameless narrator is a willing host to Zafar and proceeds to tape and other record Zafar’s stories, quite clearly in search for comforting truths of life, love, history and politics: his own convictions greatly ravaged by the events of the great financial crisis thus leaving him in search in meaning and mooring.

Despite their Asianness and shared similarities in education and career choices, their differences however are more interesting, allowing Zia the sort of expandable literary space within which to actualize the novel. For one, while Zafar descends from a rather humble background, the narrator is born into great wealth, power and connections, from an internationalist family in Pakistan. The narrator stands in for Pakistan, thus enabling an added burden to a faithful narration of his Bangladeshiborn friend’s stories, and this is hinted at throughout the novel.

A good part of this novel is the trope of English classism or classconsciousness. Zia explores the space where the children of workingclass South Asian immigrants have begun to make it to Eton, Harrow, Oxford and Cambridge but getting admitted to these colleges does not guarantee acceptance into upper-class English society. For instance, Zia tells the love story of Zafar and Emily Hampton-Wyvern, an upperclass English girl, with poignant details of psychological gameplay to illustrate the chasm of class inevitably separating the two. Zia is certainly very insightful on the peccadillos of English class dynamics and adept at detailing the fetishizing of secrecy, entitlement, the overwhelming consciousness towards avoiding conversational faux pas and the resulting impulsive embarrassment, but I could not help but think that such traits were not an exclusively English artifact.

Another important trope of the novel is Kurt Godel’s Incompleteness Theorem and Zia seems to employ Eventually,Zia’s overarching the theorem as his message is clearand lucid even, talisman. “Within and it is to remind us, whether we any given system are financiers, lovers, there are claims development practitioners or which are true, but academics, that we know much which cannot be less than. proven to be true.”

I found interesting implications of this theorem for the overall thesis, so to speak, of the novel. True to this theorem, Zia effectively and persuasively undermines our tendency towards certitudes of knowledge, and he does this in several ways. First, he is generally suspicious of our claim to know things – anything – pointing to the limits of working memory, perception, cognitive load and biases, self-knowledge, thoughts and emotions of others in matters of love, friendship, and human relationships at large. Second, he trespasses effortlessly across disciplinary boundaries between arts, sciences, humanities, finance, investment banking, and so on, in the lives, interests and preoccupations of his characters.

On another note, I found it salient that Zia’s protagonist Zafar takes frequent refuge in mathematics, which he seems to consider a supraor super-discipline, and takes solace in its embrace even when he is slighted by class boundaries, “mathematics doesn’t care about authority, it doesn’t care about who you are, where you’re from, what your eye color is, or who you’re having supper with.”

Eventually, Zia’s overarching message is clear and lucid even, and it is to remind us, whether we are financiers, lovers, development practitioners or academics, that we know much less than we think we do; that intellectual modesty in the face of mystery and complexity may be the surest wisdom; that a mind filled with wonder is preferable than one possessed by certitude; and if reasonableness is applied and dogmas or habits are not resorted to, new insights are waiting to be found.

Ultimately, this is a very intellectual novel. Not only in the sense that it is cerebral and simultaneously pleasing and taxing to the intellect; but it is a novel of ideas and of thoughts that take place in the minds of the characters. This is ironic and amusing because towards the beginning of the novel when the narrator prompts Zafar to write his memoir, he declares, “I have nothing against memoirs…[but] I don’t know how to get anywhere close to my own life…My drama, like everyone else’s, goes on upstairs, in the head. And I don’t think you can write the drama of the mind.” Ironically, the novel then unfolds to undermine that very statement. In sum, it is a total pleasure to read this novel. Celebrated literary critics have already called it their favorite book of 2014 and the Guardian has in fact short-listed it for its Debut Book of the Year. I had steadfastly decided not to be wowed by the praise and approach it with an open mind, but on closing the book, have found my mind open with wonder, and enriched, stimulated and altogether inspired. n

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LETTER FROM LONDON Ahsan Akbar

Bookies and the Booker

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n 1971, the Man Booker Prize committee succeeded in persuading Saul Bellow to be one of the judges. The nattily dressed, sharptonguedAmerican writer could only think of one hotel fit for his London stay, and perhaps, ego: The Ritz on Piccadilly. Maybe it was a silent nod to Proust, who famously adored the Ritz in Paris.

As the story goes, on his deathbed Proust wanted a cold beer, but it had to be from the establishment of César Ritz! Anyway, back to Bellow and the Booker. Even though Bellow’s demand was met, he was furious. His room did not have the desired view—a window overlooking Green Park, which is on one side of the hotel. It remains my favourite story from the Booker bunker.

That year VS Naipaul won the prize for In a Free State, which beat the favourite: Elizabeth Taylor’s Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont. Naipaul was, for want of a better expression,an ‘outsider’, and this meant major waves in the literary world. Back then the bookmakers hadn’t quite worked out the market for literary bets, but inevitably, given the fact that guessing the winning writer in any given year was more horse race than anything else, they soon did. By the mid-70’s, betting agencies wheeled in the aesthetic of bookmaking into a highbrow, slow-paced market of literary prizes. The nation’s obsession with placing for anything and everything now had an intellectual twist. And once in, always in! The bookies have kept the practice going with every Booker – to the extent the official website for the award (themanbookerprize.com) mention the betting odds for the six shortlisted books.

It is a big year for the prize this year, which hitherto remained exclusive to Commonwealth (and ex-Commonwealth) nations. The ManGroup decided to change the rules, welcoming submissions from anywhere in the world as long as the books were in English and published in the UK. Sure enough, the bookies quickly reacted by creating a new bet: the likelihood of the winner to be an American!But one wonders, how do bookmakers judge who’s likely to win? And how often has the favourite actually won? Or, to put it differently, what is their maths to figure out the odds?It is trickier than it looks—they obviously want ‘the house’ i.e., themselves, to win but also give enough to whet the appetite of the punters.

n The Booker is famous for its surprises. In spite of that, the bookies get it right…well, most of the time. I’m not sure if they read all the books in the Booker thoroughbred stakes but do admit to reading a vast number of reviews to form a good sense I’m not sure if they read all the about how good a book is. They books in the Booker thoroughbred then use certain stakes but do admit to reading a d e p e n d a b l e vast number of reviews to form c a l c u l a t i o n s – a good sense about how good overlay their a book is. They then use certain matrix so to dependable calculations– overlay speak – to fix the their matrix so to speak – to fix the odds. They are, odds.. of course, more interested in the sense and reactions of the bettors, and can change their odds accordingly, or if necessary, close the bets. Take Tom McCarthy’s novel C, for example. In 2010, one betting agency suspended their bets for this shortlisted title after a surge of bets was placed on one midweek

morning. A total of £15,000 was placed in under 3 hours forcing the bookies to react. Howard Jacobson won that year for The Finkler Question; the bookies had got that one wrong. The following year, Julian Barnes came from behind to win the prize for The Sense of an Ending.

Barnes, who had famously dismissed the Booker as “posh bingo”, was glad to accept it but admitted it didn’t change his view on the prize.

It was Alan Hollinghurst (at 5/1), and not Barnes (at 6/1), who was the bookies’ favourite to win the prize when the longlist got announced, except the Hollinghurst book (The Stranger’s Child) didn’t even make the shortlist.

So while the bookies can get it wrong, I must say their overall track recordis still impressive. In the last decade, the top bookmakers in London picked the winner successfully three times.About ninety per cent The Man Booker Prize 2014 Shortlist for Fiction of the time, they managed to pick the frontrunner correctly. That’s a fairly good record. But what was the longest odds that ever won in Booker history? It was in 1985. Keri Hulme won with The Bone People and the odds for the book was placed at 50/1 (for every £1, you stand to win £50). For a kitty worth £50,000 for the winner, the punters winnings, in a way, trumped the show!

And what about the lows? We don’t have to look as far as the 80’s for that. It was only last year Jhumpa Lahiri’s book The Lowland set a new low in Booker betting record. A paltry sum of £24 was placed on her book! This year Neel Mukherjee, her fellow Bengali writer, is faring much better. His book The Lives of Others is actually the hot favourite for the bookies at 5/2. This year’s surprise omissions from the longlist were some big names: Ian McEwan, Donna Tartt, and Martin Amis. With the Ahsan Akbar latter, though, I think the Booker has taken a vow never to invite him is the author to the party (“a scandal”, says ex-judge John Sutherland, and “maybe of The Devil’s because there is a feeling that he always looked towards America?”).

Thumbprint Bookies have to factor in these into their calculations before setting the (Bengal Lights bets. Sometimes they get it wildly wrong, but as they say, the house Books, 2013), a collection of always wins! poems.

n In the Guy Ritchie blockbuster, Snatch, an angry Cousin Avi described London to his fellow Yank: Yes, London. You know- fish, chips, cup o’ tea, bad food, worse weather, Mary fucking Poppins, London! Cousin Avi, I hasten to add, missed a few things that are part and parcel of the city: bookstores, pubs and last not least, the bookmakers. And all of them will be busy taking bets – in person, on the phone and online – right up to the announcement of this year’s winner, which takes place at a ceremony at London’s Guildhall on the 14th of October.

And now I must be off—shhh! don’t you go talking too much about it now, but there’s certain odds and numbers I have to read again! n

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A Dream within a dream Sabbir Amin

Sabbir Amin is an entrepreneur and dreamer.

Mostly exploring his creativity through art and design.

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Between Music and Lyrics A conversation with Sahana Bajpaie

Sahana Bajpaie is a name attached to evocative lyrics, soulful singing, and everyday Tagore for many young (at heart) Bengalis. Sahana’s lyrics resonated with the current generation, making her songs a part of pop-culture, connecting the threads of music from the past with the present. Sahana recently released an album titled “Shikawr” in collaboration with talented musicians from Kolkata and London. Arts and Letters chatted with Sahana on her thoughts circling lyrics, music and more.

A&L : How has your idea of the kind of music you want to produce evolved over the years?

SB:Well, everything in life evolves, and the experiences of your life shape you. I was exposed to South Asian and Western music ever since I was a baby, which led me to think of music as a fused sort of form where the East and West compliment each other. As I’ve grown older, I’ve come to appreciate the organic forms of music more than the fusion - I’ve never been a fan of the technology-heavy, programmed sort of music.

I’ve always felt music should have a live feel to it. It should have a level of authenticity, like there used to be in the days of analogue recording.

Instruments should be chosen to complement and enhance the feel of the melody and the words; they should be rooted, close to home. They shouldn’t distract the listener. It should all be in service of the music and the lyrics.

These concepts that I hold regarding music have become more defined as I’ve grown older - into the person I am today. The key test of music is whether it resonates - do the effects linger long after the performance is over? If fusion is used, it should be because the music demands it. The fusion should feel organic.

A&L: Your songs hold strong memorable lyrics, as a singer and

a lyricist, where do you put majority of your efforts? Musical arrangements or the words?

SB: Thank you! That’s a tricky one. As a lyricist, my contribution is limited to coming up with the lyrics. It’s the composer and the musicians who come up with the arrangements. Of course, since I’m a singer, I do hear a melody in my head when I write. I do feel that a flute would work well here, cello there, maybe an esraj, rabab, dotara, clarinet elsewhere.

There are times when all of it just serendipitously comes together - if you’re mentally aligned with the arranger and composer, words, music and soundscape all fall in line in perfect harmony. And listeners can sense that when they hear the music, they instinctively know something special has happened here.

This feeling of complete spontaneity and ease in a piece of finished music, of words and melody and arrangement merging into a seamless whole, isn’t easily achieved, however. A lot of effort goes into coming up with this appearance of spontaneity.

And then again, you have pieces of music like the Beatles’ ‘Abbey Road’ album, which was conceived in horribly acrimonious circumstances, yet is acknowledged as an absolute classic. So I guess there is no hard and fast rule to producing good music.

A&L: Do you approach Tagore, folk songs, artists like S D Burman

and modern Bangla songs differently?

SB: I am unaware of my approach! I do not dissect it. I just try to sing the words the way they deserve to be sung. It doesn’t occur to me then to treat Robi Thakur or Lalon Phokir or S. D. Burman or Suman or Mohin differently. This is the approach towards singing we were taught ever since we were children at Santiniketan. Our teachers told us, if you sing without understanding what it is you’re singing about, the listener will always be able to tell, the song will not come alive. So whatever I

understand of the lyrics, I try to give expression to through my singing.

And singing to me is a spiritual experience. Since I don’t put much stock in organized religion, it’s though singing that I try to give voice to my spirituality, my idea of God. So approaching different genres of music in separate ways is not something that ever interested or seemed valid to me.

A&L: What inspires you as a writer?

SB:Nature. People. Their relationships. Love. I can’t write if I’m not in love. And this love, this infatuation, is with flora, fauna, music, men and women, their myriad perspectives - all of life. The entire human condition.

And of course books.

A&L: From the songs you have

written have the finished songs from your lyrics ever match the music you hear in your head?

SB: At times they have. At times they didn’t. In the end, though, we had songs. Isn’t that enough?

A&L: Tell us the about the basic

inspiration and thoughts that went into the making of your new album.

SB: My friend Saptarshi Routh Apu, who also lives in London and is settled here like me, approached me with the songs he had written and composed after a 15-year period of musical inactivity. He just brought along his guitar and we jammed. The lyrics and tunes both attracted me - very hummable, very reminiscent of Mohiner Ghoraguli. Very ‘us’ who were growing up in the ‘80s and ‘90s West Bengal. The lyrics resonate with nostalgia - they talk about life back home, and the lives we chose to live away from home. Of losing old homes, and finding new ones. Kolkata comes alive. That attracted me the most as I am perennially homesick, and I thought it was worth giving it a shot. The album’s music arranger Samantak Sinha’s ideas for the soundscape and use of particular instruments in each song most of the time was beautifully aligned with what we had in mind. The project brought back my younger days of growing up in Santiniketan and making music with friends, and that was inspiration enough. n

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Serialized Story

Samira - Part 15

The Letter from the Dead Awrup Sanyal

Samira so far: Leaving behind the land of freedom along with a boyfriend, Samira Murshid flies to Dhaka to be with her ill father and aging mother. In her new job Samira’s boss Shahab Sattar was just found dead floating in Buriganga. Not only the Dhaka police but the CIA is also involved in the search for the murderer. Shahab left a letter for Samira’s father, half understood half unknown.

S

Awrup Sanyal is

an ex-advertising professional and a fiction writer.

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amira was trembling. She was excited, and yet apprehensive ofthe secrets the letter held in its folds. It felt likeShadab’s cursive script wasspreadingits tentacles,growing out of her hand holding the letter, and reaching deep into the past and creeping towards an unknown future. In her room, she settled on the bed to read.But three successive phone callsdisrupted her plans, temporarily. The first one was from Sikander.

“Hey! Things don’t look good at the office. We should meet up?”

“Sikander, I reallyam not feeling up to it… I want to stay away for a while.”

“Sam! The show must go on. How about you and I start something on our own?”

In spite of the chaos around her, Samira couldn’t help smiling, “Sounds like a plan. Give me some time to think?”

“Sure! And, one other thing, I know more than you think I know, so don’t hesitate to get in touch…for anything.”

“What?” The line went dead.

The second call was from her childhood nemesis.

“Sam! It’s Reenie. Listen,I know what happened. BadalChacha told us why you didn’t want to come to Savar…I know I have been very mean all through our childhood…”

“Reenie, I really am not in the mood for confessions now.”

“I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you that even though we knew you were not part of the family…

Shit! God! I am awful…I mean we knew you were adopted...”

“Enough!” Samira cut in,“you know what…you are the meanest bitchalive!” Samira disconnected,seething.

It upset her that she had to know about her adoption from Reenie. Why couldn’t Baba and Maa tell me themselves?

The third one was an unidentifiedcaller.

“Hi Samira, this is Tasneem…

Shadab’s wife.”

“Ah! Mrs. Sattar. How’re you?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Sure.”

“Did your father read Shadab’s letter?Shadab had told me that BadalBhai would know what to do if ever it came to this.”

“Yes Baba has and I am sure he’ll be in touch soon.” Samira lied.

“These are difficult times, and my son…” She trailed off.

“I understand. I’ll talk to Baba. You take care.”

“Thanks.”

The conversation with Mrs. SattarperturbedSamira. Why was it important for him to go to Savar instead of dealing with what was in the letter? I need to find out what’s it all about and take action. She switched off her phone.She read from where her father had left off.

That man, TaimurMullick Khan, sorry he was no man; he was the devil himself. He crept in like a dark shadow engulfing my life. When you had introduced me to him,BadalBhai, he was just another unethical supplier at Gameplan, but in reality he was plotting our future demises. If you are reading this, he has got me. And, now he will come for you.Beware!

You will know, in a bit, why.But, first I must dispel the myths you have about me.

I know you blame me for divesting you of your rightful ownership at Gameplan, but trust me I had no choice. TMK had swallowed me whole.

He made me do things that I’m ashamed of. Contrary to what you think, I have always loved you. All these years I couldn’t make myself go to you and tell you so, because I was a coward, and I guess, I died a coward.

So this letter is my last attempt to redeem everything that I hold dear.

My wife and son, and their futures.You, my saviour, mentor, and brother.

AndGameplan. I want the people who matter to me know that I wasn’t greedy, degenerate, and selfish. My real father squandered everything we ever had. He died leaving us, my mother and I, paupers, and in debt; that gobbled up my mother, she died soon after. And, despite a degree from Columbia, I was nobody. Then, you came into my life.

Nostalgia is not the point of this letter, though I can’t avoid it altogether. Soon after our son’s birthTasneem and I learned that hehas metachromatic leukodystrophy, a rare genetic disease thataffects the nervous system. After a lot of research I learned that a team of doctors in Milan have been experimenting with a treatment that involved stem cell extraction and reinjection of the corrected copy of the gene, by using a vector from the HIV virus. Unique example of an evil virus that brings redemption, won’t you say? Ha ha! Needless to say, it was expensive and beyond my reach. I was devastated and I happened to share that withTKM,who at that moment was sitting across from me in my office.

He cut a deal:he would provide the money for the treatment as long as all production jobs went his way. I couldn’t care about scruples then.

So, slowly, but surely,I was beholden to TKM’scunning. Of course he had grander plans:first, he wanted you out. Then, he used Gameplan, my export business, and meas fronts for drug trafficking. His stuff came through the porous Myanmar border, and via mules from Afghanistan and Pakistan. I contemplated going to the authorities many times, but my emotional predicament was dissuasive. Tasneem, of course, knows nothing about all this, and I would like it to remain so.

Over the years though I have managed to channel enough money from under the glare of TKM to build a Trust Fund for my son. My plan was to have enough to take care of my family’s future, and to give back to you everything I had taken away. Samira’s joining Gameplan was actually a favor you did to me, and not the other way round. I wish her to be thefuture MD of Gameplan. So, once again, that boy who knocked at your door all those years back knocks on your magnanimity once again.

Please, execute the Trust, and ensure that my son can continue with the treatment and live a full life. Please BadalBhai,rescue this wretched soul once more.

TKM has found out about the Trust Fund and is furious.Gameplan’s finances wereunofficially under his control, because he controlled me.

Now, with me gone he will have no sway over the agency.There is one other thing: an undercover agent from the Department of Narcotics Controlis embedded inGameplan. He is part of an international effort with DEA, SCOFA, and other agencies. He ‘works’ as a Creative Group Head. Samira knows him well. His name is Sikander. My lawyer’s details are with Tasneem, and he is expecting you. He has my will, and will assist you with the execution of the Trust, getting back your ownership of Gameplan, and handing you all documents needed to take the Devil down!

BadalBhai, forgive me if you can. All my life I have been blessed with your grace, and I hoping that my death, likewise, will be graced by your blessings.

Khoda Hafiz.

Shadab The mist had lifted somewhat. But, the revelations were stunning.

Sikander’s words echoed in her mind. ‘I know more than you think I know.’ Mr. Undercover, you are a master chameleon!. n

ARTS & LETTERS

D H A K A T R I B U N E S U N DAY, O C TO B E R 5 , 2 0 1 4