The Misnomer

Masrufa Ayesha Nusrat

By Syed Shamsul Haque

Translated by Masrufa Ayesha Nusrat

 

“I need to borrow your coat for a day,” Ashraf said to Hurmat Ali.  They had been friends since time immemorial. Their friendship was such that neither the borrower felt ashamed nor the lender was any bit surprised.

“Of course, take it! You need that job.”

“Exactly,” said Ashraf wearily. He did not have a job for a long time. After his company had shut down suddenly, he became unemployed. Otherwise, it was a job with a decent salary, and he was able to keep afloat with his wife and two sons. Not that they had been well off, but how amazingly his wife could run the monthly expenditure with that scanty amount of money! In the last ten days or so of the month, when fish was beyond their means, she would surprise them by cooking the most delectable vegetable curries. Ashraf too had to walk home on the last few days of the month to cut the coat according to his cloth; and watching the bustling city and people under a setting sun was quite enjoyable for him.

Even in such dire financial conditions, like a skilled magician, his wife managed to save money. She told him she wanted to buy him a cycle. He wondered how she was able to save enough to buy a cycle. Learning that she could save so much made him all the more effusively emotional towards her; and that was when he was dismissed from his work.   

Yet, he could not share this news with his wife and felt as if the company was shut down entirely because of his fault. Although his job was gone, he woke up early the following morning, had breakfast, and left the house hurriedly. He loitered around in the streets, met Hurmat, watched football, and returned home at the end of the day as if he had come back from work. What he could not confide to his wife on the first day of losing the job was still undisclosed, even after an entire year had rolled by. 

While on the very second day, he easily imparted this information to Hurmat since he was his childhood friend. They completed Matriculation from the same school and had written their final examination sitting next to each other. Ashraf had been at home in Mathematics, so he helped Hurmat solve his math problems in the exam. They had both achieved letter marks in Mathematics, and consequently, Hurmat chose business as his profession.

When Hurmat heard that Ashraf had been laid-off, he assured of supporting him financially, as much as he could, until he found another job. Their friendship made it awkward for Hurmat to suggest Ashraf apply for a peon’s post available at his office. Ashraf could hardly imagine working under him either. They were like brothers who could seek each other’s help in moments of need, at the cost of losing some self-esteem, but working in a subordinate position under him was out of the question.

Ashraf took up two tutoring jobs. His wife did not have the slightest idea that he was jobless, and he continued to hand over his salary to her on the first day of the month as he always did.  She never questioned his salary reduction either. Before she could even ask him the reason, he would provide ready-made excuses like — “Didn’t you tell me I should eat an egg for snacks after lunch every day? Here’s what I have left after paying the monthly canteen dues.”

From time to time, Hurmat Ali tried to help him get a job. He received cards for several job interviews, but unfortunately, he was not successful in getting any.

Then again, Hurmat had to be out of Dhaka fifteen days a month for work-related reasons. At times he would not be in Dhaka on the first date of the month, and Ashraf had to lie to his wife — “My salary will be a little delayed this month.” When he did that, he did not even need to give any convincing reason for the delay since his wife would never ask. For the first time, her gullibility annoyed him.

Recently he has been spending the whole day at Hurmat Ali’s office. Little was he aware that his world was gradually evolving around Hurmat completely. When Hurmat Ali made him hopeful, he hoped high. When Hurmat Ali looked depressed, so did he. They had often argued about certain things on previous occasions. Now he realized how convincing his logic was, and so he nodded positively to everything Hurmat said.  When Hurmat Ali was angry at his employees, Ashraf was equally annoyed with them. If Hurmat had a new business plan, Ashraf would explain at length with calculations on paper, how it could earn a better profit.

Ashraf had no clue whether Hurmat wondered about his behavioral change. However, sometimes, when he visited him or talked for long, Hurmat would suddenly become very busy with his files and say — “I have to go out now. There’s an urgent piece of business that needs attention.” Ashraf would wait patiently for his friend, for hours if needed. He would watch him with the keenness of a fisherman if Hurmat looked possessed with work, and if he noticed a faint smile appearing at the corner of his face for some unknown reason, Ashraf would immediately pull on his rod and wind him in like a skilled angler. He was not always successful in attracting Hurmat’s attention. Sometimes his prey escaped.

It was at Hurmat’s desk that Ashraf used to sit, click-clacking all day long on his typewriter. He even used his papers to write his job applications to addresses, also suggested by Hurmat. Sometimes Hurmat provides him with experience certificates as attachments to his job applications. He wanted to cling to Hurmat and survive by considering him as the main source of his livelihood.  Since his childhood, Ashraf had been a passionate dreamer. There was barely a single dreamless night to recall. These days, Hurmat has turned out to be the protagonist of all his dreams.

On the day of his interview, Ashraf had borrowed Hurmat’s coat. It was a lucrative job at a foreign company. If he did not dress appropriately, he might not be able to create an overall impression of himself. Moreover, in the month of December, he would appear impoverished and underdressed if he did otherwise.

The coat was one size larger, but there was no chance to pay attention to that. The moment he put it on, an inexplicable feeling of warmth engulfed him — the immeasurable smoothness of the silk lining felt very exciting. For some moments, beaming with a boyish smile, Ashraf could not even speak.

“Isn’t it a little large for you?” Hurmat asked.

“No, no, not at all … I don’t think so,” Ashraf replied in a descending tone, alarmingly.

It sounded like he was afraid because Hurmat would ask him to take off the coat. Indeed, Ashraf’s fear was not about just attending the interview without a coat. It was about losing its living warmth that he did not wish to be dispossessed of.

“This is fine for me,” Ashraf said, thrusting his hands into the coat pockets. “It can hardly matter if the coat is a little loose-fitting.”

“Okay, that’s fine. I wish you good luck! Isn’t your interview at 10:30?”

“Yes, it’s at 10:30.”

Ashraf suddenly felt as if his entire life was falling apart and becoming out-of-place. As he hurriedly spoke to Hurmat, he stumbled on the doorway on his way out. He also smiled at Hurmat meaninglessly. The coat caressed him like some light, soft and warm animal draped around his body. The weight on his shoulders felt pleasant. When he walked, his hands dangled in the pockets, and the silkiness of the coat lining played around his arms.

  Ashraf thought of tailoring a coat exactly like the one he was wearing with the first salary of his new job. Only recently, he had realized that the difference between him and Hurmat was no less than the difference between summer and winter. Ashraf eagerly hankered for that kind of warmth. While sinking his body into a borrowed piece of comfort, he set in motion like a dream-driven man. 

To the interview, such feelings of blooming warmth persisted in his thoughts. Ashraf frequently touched the coat and felt a kind of forbidden excitement. The image of Hurmat Ali was looming before his eyes. He could smell Hurmat’s body odor overriding his while his original scent whiffed off like a chased away dog.

He must have a similar coat tailored, he thought.

Ashraf stood in front of the office for his interview and strode in swiftly. The receptionist took a good look at his interview card and asked him to have a seat.

In one corner of a long leather sofa, Ashraf sat quietly, waiting to be called. He had carefully pulled up the coat from underneath so that it would not crease at the back.

What cologne did Hurmat Ali use? He smelt a sweet fragrance, but it could not calm down his thoughts. Tears suddenly welled up in his eyes. For the first time in his life, he felt jealous of Hurmat. His fingers twisted with jealousy like tweezers. How true it was that in real life, the two of them were poles apart! Ashraf now felt that Hurmat had somehow cheated on him to arrive at a superior position than his. Why could he not become Hurmat Ali? Why did he have to become Ashraf? In the Secondary School Certificate Mathematics exam, he solved his answers. After he had finished the test, he exchanged his papers stealthily with his friend’s. He had to solve all his own math problems once again, for a second time. So, Hurmat was obliged to treat him to a cinema afterward in exchange for this favor.

Someone called his name. Ashraf felt overwhelmed, stood up, and went in, pushing the doors of the room.

In the room, Hurmat’s coat seemed to come alive again and embrace him, this time with more intimate warmth. He understood the room was air-conditioned as he could sense the chill running through his nostrils. To feel the pleasure of the coat better all over his body, he tried moving the muscles of his shoulders and chest ineffectually.

“Your name please,” somebody asked.

  “Hurmat Ali” the name slipped out of his tongue without him being aware.

The moment he uttered the name, he understood he had lost complete control over his speech. He tried to correct himself, but his voice seemed entirely paralyzed and was intrinsically no longer working at his command.

Before him, three senior men in spectacles with waning hair sat with their hands spread out like big paws on the table, and he feebly tried to mutter something in the milky-white light that flooded the room. He saw their heads gather close. They were imperceptibly annoyed, no matter how very faintly expressed, he could precisely perceive that. One of them smiled like a dim moonlight and said, “We are extremely sorry. We didn’t call anyone by that name in this interview. Something must have gone wrong with the name.”

Someone pressed the button on the intercom and spoke to the receptionist, “Send Ashraf Hossain. I asked you to send him.” 

(* authorized for publication by the writer’s wife, writer Anwara Syed Haque)