Rainbow friendship

Our friendship is a vast canvas—each of us a brushstroke painted with different colors, each hue a reflection of our paths, our professions, and our personalities. We are the sons of the same soil, growing in different directions yet rooted in the same ground of love and laughter.

Some of my friends work for the government, speaking in abbreviated tones and wearing formal shoes and buttoned-up shirts. Others wear traditional white panjabis, skull caps, and flowing robes, deeply immersed in faith, serving as imams or scholars. Some of us are shopkeepers, our minds sharp from years of bargaining and our rough hands from lifting goods. Others are company executives or workers in corporate offices, juggling meetings and deadlines. Then there are the farmers among us, who sow seeds with hands that speak the land's language and are sun-kissed and weathered. Then there's our beloved barber, who runs a salon where stories are trimmed and styled just as much as beards and sideburns. He also cuts hair. His shop is more than just a grooming facility; it is also our informal headquarters. That is the first place I go when I return from vacation. It’s where time slows down, and laughter echoes louder than the buzzing clippers.

One of our favorite memories came on an Eid holiday evening. The air was light with celebration, and the streets were filled with greetings and sweets. We all ended up sitting in a circle at the salon, talking about everything and nothing, as usual. Conversations danced from politics to cricket, from love affairs to life philosophies.

Always the jokester, the barber teased, "You never know, while trimming your hair, I might accidentally trim your love life too!" while cutting someone's hair. The whole room burst into laughter.

Among us was a policeman—known more for his ‘negotiation skills’ than his service. He walked like he owned the street, his every step dripping with drama. "His walk alone could be considered a scam!" someone whispered. We also had a friend from the RAB (Rapid Action Battalion), whose mysterious silence often made us wonder if he was silently planning a raid on our gossip sessions. And then there was our army buddy—a walking enigma. He would occasionally yell, "Take line formation!" with a stern expression and a tendency to take every situation too seriously. whenever a heated argument broke out. That line alone was enough to crack everyone up.

And then, there was Mullah Hujur. Always at ease, composed, and deeply contemplative. His words were powerful, and his eyes were filled with wisdom. But he would always surprise us all by being the funniest person in the room during these conversations. Mimicking famous Islamic scholars in jest, he’d say in a Mizanur Rahman Azhari-style voice, “The most powerful weapon in this world is friendship. Because it doesn’t require bullets, it only needs a voice.”

Then, he would flawlessly switch between Delwar Hossain Sayeedi, Amir Hamza, and Sheikh Abdullah. It was amusing while still remaining respectful. On that Eid evening, after rounds of tea and laughter, our friend who drove a battery-powered three-wheeled van arrived, parking just outside the shop. An impulsive idea was sparked by his arrival. "Let's take a trip in your van!" someone shouted.

I stepped in, “I’ll drive today.”

Everyone turned their heads toward me in disbelief. “You? The technician? Now you'll drive a van?” they said, laughing. “Let’s see how good of an engineer you really are! This is your practical test!”

The van driver friend hesitated. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but this is my living. If something happens—”

“Don’t worry,” we all chimed in. “We’ll cover it!”

And with that, the drama began.

I took the keys and grabbed the handlebars. It was a bit awkward at first. The acceleration felt unnatural, the brakes too soft. But soon, I got the hang of it. Off we went—our strange little convoy of professionals-turned-passengers, bouncing along the village roads in an electric three-wheeler.

The atmosphere was pure magic. The policeman made chirping sounds with his fingers, adding beat to our laughter. The army guy nodded his head in rhythm like a slow drummer. The barber, sitting in the back, yelled, “Drive properly, or we’ll be cutting each other’s hair with a blade next time!”

Mullah Hujur simply smiled and declared, “This van is blessed, Mashallah!”

Suddenly, a rattling noise.

A small metal piece fell off the van.

Panic? Not in our van.

“Now what, Engineer Saab?” someone called out. “This is your real test!”

I took a deep breath, navigated through the bump, and the van rolled on smoothly.

Everyone clapped and laughed. The shopkeeper friend couldn’t hold back, “Are you sure you’re working in Dhaka? Or are you secretly driving rickshaws at night?”

The van was filled with laughter again.

Mullah Hujur, in his philosophical tone, said, “A person with knowledge can do anything. Just like books carry the wisdom of education, this Saidullah’s van carries the wisdom of real life. My friend, your future with this van is bright!”

That comment alone had the van roaring with laughter again.

We drove past paddy fields, where the golden rice swayed gently in the breeze, as if waving hello. Our raucous group was greeted with a smile by familiar faces as we passed the local market. Kids ran beside us, trying to keep up. Elders watched us and smiled knowingly, perhaps reminiscing about their own youthful days.

As we cruised along, each of us took turns sharing a story—of love lost, exams failed, jobs won, or just pure childhood nonsense. We were making new memories as well as reliving old ones. The beauty of this ride wasn’t in the van or the roads we took—it was in the people we shared it with. Friends from different paths, stitched together by shared roots and unwavering affection.

By the time we returned to the salon, the stars had begun to blink in the sky. The van stopped, but our laughter didn’t.

That night, as we sat under the open sky, legs stretched, tea in hand, we reflected on how strange and beautiful our friendship was.

Where else would a bribe-taking policeman, a righteous Mullah, a mysterious army guy, a loud barber, a peaceful shopkeeper, and an overworked engineer find such perfect harmony?

Friendship is about more than titles. Not about education or profession. It’s a feeling. A bond. A connection that goes beyond logic.

It’s like a river—originating from different mountains, cutting through different landscapes, but eventually flowing into the same ocean of love.

We are the colors of a rainbow—each distinct, but together, we paint the sky with joy.

And that van ride?

It wasn’t just a journey.

It was a celebration of everything we are.