Is your life truly your own, or is it a sacred trust? For artist Rony Ahmed, the answer is grounded in spirituality: your life belongs to the Creator, and it must be lived in accordance with that divine truth. In his evocative and surrealist prose, Ahmed transports readers to the "Adi Uttara" (Old Uttara) of his past—a place where clouds were made of pearls and occasionally dropped gems into the homes of common people. His narrative is one where humans, djinns, and the blue waters of the sea weep together, creating a tapestry of existence that defies conventional reality.
Ahmed’s reflections on Old Uttara are more than just nostalgia; they are a spiritual meditation. He speaks of a small room where a light burns bright, yet no one enters except the darkness itself. The return of Sitara, who had fled with a band of dacoits, or a grandmother claiming a simple fish as the family’s greatest wealth, serves as metaphors for the unexpected turns of fate. The old parrot of the house, whispering about the last breath of sorrow, becomes a voice for the lingering pain that defines the human experience. Here, every element of life is viewed through the lens of a painter who sees the extraordinary in the mundane.
The artist argues that most of the information we gather in our modern lives is ultimately useless. He points to the discarded white sneakers of a decade ago, the cardboard Ludo board dissolved by the rain, or a fleeting glimpse of a stranger in a market. These millions of data points, though vivid, offer no practical utility, yet they form the texture of our memories. Ahmed observes that humans are masters of imitation—whether it is the 100-watt bulb mimicking sunlight or the sound of elephants at midnight echoing through the urban landscape. Our obsession with worldliness, he suggests, is the primary sin that veils our eyes from the true "Maya" of existence.
Spiritual echoes and Sufi influences are deeply embedded in Ahmed’s journey. He mentions the shrines of Shah Makhdum and the blessings of saints that marked the beginning of new life chapters. Memories of a farmhouse in Rajshahi, where years felt as plump and perfect as cherry tomatoes, contrast with the surreal imagery of "Ichthyians"—mystical sea-beings living in snail-shell caves in the marshes of Uttara. The quest for golden plates in the depths of the marshland mirrors the human pursuit of material wealth, often leading to spiritual drowning.
One of the most striking aspects of Ahmed’s writing is the juxtaposition of global pop culture with local roots. He describes a surreal scenario where Roger Waters lands at the airport and visits a vinyl record shop in Rajlaxmi Shopping Complex. The store, managed by a man named Arif, becomes a meeting point for celestial weeping and vinyloid extraterrestrials. Following the death of singer Julee Cruise, the shop symbolically closes until the Stone Age—a poetic commentary on the end of an era. Through these fragments, the past is not a dead memory but a living entity, like a clay pot floating down the Turag River, still searching for someone in the markets of history.
Beneath this layer of magical realism lies the stark shadow of history and the 1971 Liberation War. As bloody clothes flutter in the wind like bells of history, the voice of a father reminds us of the struggle for independence. Ahmed describes a magical bullet that flew out of 1971 and remains suspended in the blood-red evening sky of the present. This imagery serves as a powerful reminder of the sacrifices that shaped the nation. Rony Ahmed’s narrative is a profound exploration of how personal memories, spiritual quests, and historical scars converge to create the "Maya" that envelopes our days.
