The bus stand at Jahangirnagar University was never just a place to wait for buses. It became my quiet sanctuary—where poems were born, where laughter and sorrow both left their marks. Even today, when I think back, those memories make me smile in wonder.
I sat there in many ways—sometimes lonely, sometimes with friends, sometimes with love. Among those moments, one stands out: a friend once took a crazy ride, and I decided to ride along with her, as long as life would allow us to stand by each other.
Credit goes to Shamim, who dreamed of remaking this bus stand as a photo booth. I always admired that vision.
And then, in memory’s haze, the bus stand wall begins to shimmer—like a hidden portal. Smoke drifts out, and Lui Cahn, my imaginary companion, steps through with his glowing pipe. Suddenly, I feel as though I am speaking with the very designer and architect of this stand, caught in an illusion that binds history with imagination.
Lui Cahn (monologue, voice heavy):
“Ah… love, shame, laughter—
this stand keeps them all.
You think you wait for buses—
but really, you wait for echoes.
A dropped pen, a bent shadow,
a song half-sung in frustration—
these open the circle of life.
I built this wall
with the bricks of lost chances.
From Harappa I stole geometry,
from Mohenjodaro I stole silence.
Here, every seat can become a portal.
Sit wrong, sit right—
and your life bends.”
And so, the bus stand lives on in me—not only as a place of waiting, but as a place of becoming.