Nothing matters to me

“Workers of the world, Unite.”
Ahh, the chanting that Marx started.
You know, I got the chance to meet Marx? I guess not. I did not know much about him before I met him.
Well, I don’t know whether you can hear me or not. It’s not the usual way to talk, not been preferred. Actually, it’s illegal.
They say we are free man here. The phrase ‘free man’ does not seems like free. It’s only for man I guess not for woman. How can someone be free when there is law for everything?
You must be wondering why I don’t have any cuts or like nothing missing. Well I was one of the lucky ones in this sense. I was simply smashed on the 5th floor. And choked to death.
How was it? –Well, you would not know unless you experience it.
Marx did check my nerves to see whether I am still alive or not. He said, “The authorities do make mistakes here, sometimes letting half deads come in.” I just sighed and said, “Where they don’t?”
I did get few minutes though. To see how the pressure thousands tons of concrete feel like. The owner said they feel pressure from the buyers. Are those heavier than tons of concrete?
Marx was not surprised when he heard we don’t have unions. He was not surprised when I said we are underpaid, work overtimes, live the cheapest that life can and die the cruelest a life can.
He just said, “ Don’t you read Marx?”
I go back to the library.
I was curious about Marx, I got the chance to go to the library over here. Turns out, it’s open for all and free. At least knowledge has become cheap after death!
Oh yes, Marx! Quite a character in history! I was thrilled and shocked. Why they don’t tell us about him more?
Then again why should they?
Have you watched the television? Have you seen the news? They are asking for money, they are asking for the buyers to take responsibility, make them pay more.
Will it change anything?
For me- nothing. For my fellow dead workers-nothing.
They forget easily, our own people. They are to forget, afterall how many can you remember in the crowd of millions?
Not everyone talks to me over here. Turns out, it’s also not an indiscriminating place. But I don’t care, it’s a place where you are less tensed about your family and friends. No point in worrying, right?
I do have a mother, who is lying right next to the debris. Thinking I could be found. I feel bad for her, it will take another 3 days in this rate to get to me.
Right next to her, is my sister. Does not she has exam today? Fridays are not free anymore. The poticians are there, to put hartal on Fridays, they are everywhere.
Don’t see my father there. Did he pass to my world? Have to look, will keep that in mind.
It was me and mother, running the show. The show of a working class family, where women work, yet men rule.
One day, when I was reading by my own, a guy came to talk. “Hey, what’s your name?”
I was about to say then…I don’t know…what was it-Shahana, Shahinur, shahanaz…
He said, “Does not matter. We all are same here. But over there in that world people used to call me Che. What’s that in your hand?”
He takes the book and reads the name loud. Then suddenly he bursts into laughter.
“Workers of the world, will never unite.” He leaves.
Have you seen the news? So many volunteers, so many organizations, so many…to pick us up dead or injured…so many…they all talk about us. They all discuss. They all…Sleep at night snoring.
I feel it…less pressure. There goes another one. I don’t know about you. DO you feel less- pressure? Less responsibility? Being one of the livings, wearing the things that we made? To hide your shame and to protect it?
“Shahana…Shahinur…Shahanaz…”, Marx calls.
At least he knows. Nothing matters to me.

(based on a true story)