The Nawabzada

Mir Mahboob Ali

A resident of SM Hall, I am a student of English department of the University of

Dhaka-once renowned as the Oxford of the East. Bus is the imperial transport fo
r me. Those who travel by this mode of transport sure would understand my plight
. In the winters almost everyday, I miss my 8:30 am class and imagine who the te
acher is, Mrs. Khan one of my favourites and most dreaded. As unfortunate as I
am, I missed one of my tutorials with her and she refuses to give it again. She
consoles me saying, “Don’t worry in course of the session all of you would miss one
or two tutorials.” Contrary to her assurance, none of the other misses any.
This is one of those days I am hurrying to attend her tutorial class. I miss I l
ose marks. Therefore, a bus packed fully with people does not bother me. I wrest
le into the bus. As I am very lean and thin, I can easily squeeze through others
to lodge myself between the ladies’ seat and the gate. This is a Japanese Mitsubi
shi bus recently imported by the government to ease public transport from overcr
owding has automatic door locking facility so that people cannot hang onto the b
us like bats.
These automatic doors have lost their automation within months for causes beyond
the control of the driver or the conductor. With the import of these, there is
no more segregation as before- a step forward towards women lib! Previously, th
ere were two compartments in the buses with separate doors. One in the front jus
t behind the driver with only one long seat accommodating about six persons or s
o, the rest separated by a solid fence consisting of the rest of the bus with en
trance at the back end for males. There was no scope for trespassing. …And comes t
he American buses keeping everything as it is only the fence goes and comes in a
passage between the two compartments with chains that can be hooked and unhooke
d to divide, and an increase in the number of seats for ladies, but still the se
gregation remains.
Now that the advanced Mitsubishis have done away with the old style segregation,
males use the same door and the same passage only a few front seats remain earm
arked for ladies as a reminder of segregation. With narrower width than the old
buses that still ply on the road in greater numbers than the Mitsubishis the pas
sage between the rows of seats is also narrow. I am lodged between the gate and
the front lady’s seat which is already occupied, as a result I am unable to move f
orwards into the bus or bend forward to let others pass, since with bending I ha
ve to fall onto the ladies. I am frantically trying to avoid falling onto the la
ps of ladies at any cost, knowing that that would not be of any use as none can
pass from behind me even then. People desperately hanging onto the gate want t
o push them in for obvious reason. As, apparently, I am standing between them an
d the interior of the bus, they do not see the inside packed up to the hilt. It
is the morning rush hour and every body is desperate to reach their destination
in time. The maddening rush hour causes flare-ups at the slightest instigation
. Therefore, everyday we see many intense arguments sometimes leading up to braw
ls and even bloody brawls in these buses. Unfortunately, we are yet to own cars
as abundantly as the other countries. Most of us, except very few with governme
nt transport, depend on these buses. Private car owners are insignificant in num
bers; as a result, there are very few cars on the street of Dhaka. You can almos
t count people on your fingers that possess a car. Rickshaw is the respectable m
ode of transport for those that can afford and do not want to wrestle into buses
-the poor man’s transport and for the young. The period is well past the famous to
m-tom era old Dhaka though tom-toms still are seen carrying passengers from Guli
stan rail gate to Sadarghat. However, from Mirpur, a satellite town of Dhaka, a
daily ride by Rickshaw is not possible. It is both time consuming and expensive.
Suddenly, from the door somebody shouted, “hey… you, you Nababzada... why don’t you mo
ve or bend forward to let other pass.” He is pointing at me- a young University st
udent! At his brazen impudence, I lose my control and retort back, “hey… what are yo
u…, a Haramzada?” Suddenly, the whole bus erupts as if it catches fire. Some are vis
ibly seething with uncontrollable rage. The person that uses the epithet begins
to shout at the top of his voice. The others that are hanging with him are tryin
g to catch hold of me but fortunately, there is no way they can reach me. In the
safety of my inaccessibility, I am trying to shout back my arguments but the sh
outing melee drowns my voice. Under the circumstances, their best chance to reso
lve the issue to their liking is to wait for the next stoppage. I am not afraid
because, there are quite a few students on the bus, the next stoppage is within
the range of the University and my opponents are not students.
People are extremely antagonistic to students, perhaps because of their strengt
h as a group that stick to each other irrespective of affiliations occasionally
resulting in brash behaviour on their part. A strike on one of them is pricking
a honeycomb. Everybody is afraid of entangling with them but within seethe to ge
t a chance to teach them and therefore the slightest opportunity is a very welco
me one. This is one of such golden opportunities, I am apprehensive but not afra
id.
Anyway, when the initial excitement subsides I ague back, “…but what did I do wrong?
I did not say anything worse than he had said.” Instantly the reply comes, “You u
sed an invective very offensive as he called you a Nawabzada!” “So did he, he surely
did not call me a Nawabzada because I am a Nawabzada. He purely used the sobriq
uet as an invective and so did I.”
“It is not the same”, in a chorus one group of passengers, shout back excitedly.
“Yes, it is exactly, the same. He definitely did not mean that I am a Nawabzada or
it is not true that since I am really a Nawabzada he called me so just to show
respect to a royalty. He used it as a pure invective and Haramzada is a tirade a
s well.”
At that point the passengers are divided some supporting me, and some my opponen
ts. Luckily, for me a cousin of mine is riding in the same bus standing at the r
ear aggressively supports me. He can do that because he is standing at distance
dispelling any association between us.
He says, “Yes, he is right, both Nawabzada and Haramzada becomes the same by their
use as a diatribe.”
Yes, few of the passenger-onlookers up to now, lend their support to my cousin.
The whole scenario quickly changes. My muscle-flexing opponents begin to scratch
their heads as if frantically searching for counter arguments. They do not find
any convincing argument for they could not claim that the initiator of the enti
re hullabaloo did not use Nawabzada as an abuse. “Oh, a lady passenger also suppor
ts me!” I feel quite elated. An almost Alexandrian feeling for a moment takes hold
of me I am now a real Nawabzada!
It is surprising how quickly the mass changes…. hot and cold, timid and bold, gen
tle and rough… it is hard to guess. Nevertheless, I must confess that I use Hara
mzada without pausing to think, weigh and plan for the consequence for obviously
I have no time. As it is poetically rhythmic, the word comes out instantly alm
ost involuntarily and it surprises me as well. Thank God, the mass never agrees
completely on anything!