Karim's only goal in life now is to maintain the dignity of the 'No Parking' sign in front of his house. His two-story old ancestral home is at the corner of Old Element Road in Dhaka. The alley is already narrow, and if anyone parks there, there's no room left for rickshaws to pass. For this reason, Karim has written in large red letters right next to the gate: "Do not park your vehicle here. By order of the authorities."
However, it seems all drivers are irresistibly attracted to that red color. Every day, as soon as it’s dawn, some vehicle comes to a stop right under that sign. Karim shouts from the balcony, comes down to argue. His blood pressure medication is gradually increasing.
His wife, Rahela Begum, often says, "Why don't you just take down this sign, dear? Do you really enjoy shouting at people every day at your old age?"Karim pushes his glasses up onto his nose and replies, "No, this is my fight for principle. I won't give anyone an inch outside the rules."
For the past month, a strange occurrence has been happening. Every day at precisely 5:30 AM, when the surroundings are blanketed in light fog, an old-model red Toyota pulls up and stops right in the no-parking zone. The body of the car is somewhat worn out, but it has been polished to a shine.On the first day, Karim thought it might belong to a customer from the local market. He shouted from the balcony, "Hey you, move the car!"
There was no response from the vehicle. The driver unbuckled the seatbelt, rested his hands on the steering wheel, and sat quietly. Nearly half an hour later, the car suddenly started up and drove away.The same incident occurred the next day, and the day after that. Karim’s anger turned into stubbornness this time. He decided that this time he wouldn’t shout from the balcony; he would catch this defiant driver in the act.
The next day at five in the morning, Karim hid behind the gate with a thick piece of chalk in hand. Today, he planned to write “Rude” in big letters on the car's windshield.
At exactly 5:30 AM, the red car came to a stop, its headlights illuminating the area. Karim roared like a tiger and stepped out from behind the gate. He knocked on the car door and said, "Get out of the vehicle! Are you blind? Can't you see the sign?"
The car door opened. Inside, there wasn’t a reckless young man or a careless driver. An elderly man with white hair, dressed in a simple panjabi, stepped out. He looked at Karim and smiled gently. There was no anger or fear in his eyes.
The old man said in a calm voice, “I see, brother. I see it every day.”Karim was taken aback but didn’t reduce his anger. “Then what gives you the right to park here every day? This is a no-parking zone!”
The old man gazed toward a dilapidated old wall across the road, with a royal poinciana tree growing above it. Then he sighed deeply and said, “Actually, I don’t park my car here, brother. I come here to park my lost time.”
Karim furrowed his brow and said, “Cut the riddles! Speak clearly.”
The old man let out a long sigh and sat down on the step of Karim's house. Captivated by some irresistible attraction, Karim found himself sitting next to him.
The old man began to speak, “My name is Asfaq. Exactly fifty years ago, in 1976, I lived in this neighborhood. Back then, this road was not so congested. Directly opposite your house was a large garden home where Lata lived. We loved each other.”
Asfaq paused for a moment, his eyes lost in the past. “Both families disapproved of our love. Lata's house had tight security. But every day at 5:30 AM, Lata would stand under that poinciana tree, and I would ride my bicycle and stop here. We could only talk for half an hour, then we would return home.”
Karim silently listened. Asfaq continued, “Then Lata's father forced her into a marriage abroad. I left this neighborhood. I got married, started a family, and now I’m retired. Lata is no longer in this world; she passed away five years ago.”
“So how is this related to the no-parking sign?” Karim asked curiously.
Asfaq smiled, “There is a connection, Karim bhai. This entire city of Dhaka is now a concrete jungle. Lata's garden home has been replaced by a ten-story building. The road is congested with cars. But out of fear of your 'no parking' sign, no one parks here at other times of the day. The place stays empty. So every early morning, I come here. I park my car in this vacant spot and close my eyes. I feel that Lata is still standing under that poinciana tree waiting for me. Every day in the morning, I touch a bit of my youthful twenty-four-year-old self. When it hits six o'clock, reality chases me, and I leave.”
After Asfaq finished speaking, the surroundings fell silent for a moment. Karim looked at the piece of chalk in his hand. With utmost tenderness, he put the chalk away in his pocket.
He rested his hand on Asfaq's shoulder and said, “Asfaq bhai, the value of human memories is far greater than any rule. I had no idea such a significant history stands silently beneath this sign every day.”
From that day onward, the red car continued to stop there every morning. However, Karim never shouted again. Instead, he sometimes brought two cups of tea and went downstairs. The two elderly men would quietly sip tea while gazing at that old poinciana tree in the morning light.
According to the world's rules, parking there might have been prohibited, but there was no 'no parking' sign that could stop the memories of love.
