The other side of the window
is weeping. Steam trapped in the angry foam of coffee, the sky’s hour of tears, a melody soaked in droplets, a few fragments of Neruda in the pupils of my eyes. I keep playing Lee Ru-ma’s Kiss the Rain, Simply Red’s Rain, Yusuf’s Nothing Else Matters. Continuously. Each piece is heaven! What else does one need to live!
My spring companion,
to get something precious, you must give up something precious. You wrote that. I want to have you. What must I give up, tell me! Just tell me! I’ll give it up without a second thought.
How are you?
My heart was heavy all day today. Sometimes my heart just grows heavy. But today it was you who made my heart heavy. Why are you like this, tell me! I know I’m nothing to you, but still I ache for you. I ache so much. Do you know that I’ve come to think of you as my entire world? You are the reason I stay alive, and if I die, you’ll be the reason for that too. Listen, I’m no longer a child who’ll speak nonsense carried away by emotion. I’m only ten years younger than you. That’s not so much, is it? I have a perfectly clear understanding of myself. I know you’re not mine, will never be mine, that to you I’m just like any other ordinary person. Knowing all this, I love you, and will continue to love you. Perhaps I don’t deserve your love, but don’t I deserve the right to love you? I do, abundantly! I can love deeply and I do fall in love. This is my only weakness. I ask nothing else from you, just give me the right to love you—won’t you? If I don’t get even this much, I’ll surely die. Tell me, won’t you give it? Even if I can never live under the same roof as you, we do live under the same sky! Isn’t that something? The sky is more intimate than any roof. You are my happiness, my peace, my life, and my death too. You are my everything!
And listen, you must never suffer in any way. Alright? Never, for any reason. I’ll cut off the head of anyone who causes you pain and cook it into soup for you to eat, I’m telling you now. Let all the suffering be reserved for me alone, but you must stay happy! I mean it. If you remain even a little well in exchange for all my suffering, that would be a great gain for me. I always want to see that mischievous smile on your face. That little smile is enough to ease all my pain. I can do everything for you, even die for you, but I cannot bear to see you in pain, never will be able to. You know, today I cried so much for you. Your inner pain burns me far more than my own. I want to protect you like a little child, so that no harm ever touches you. But wanting isn’t enough—I neither have the opportunity nor the right. Even waiting for you brings me joy. Not waiting, but keeping vigil. Knowing for certain that you’re not mine, one cannot wait, but one can keep vigil! Do you understand? I could spend several lifetimes just keeping vigil for you.
The woman who becomes your wife—
she’ll be so lucky. The most fortunate person in the world. She’ll have someone like you all to herself. You’ll be hers, you’ll love only her. What could be greater than that!
Listen, tell her to take care of my sweet boy. Make sure he never lacks for anything, never suffers. My love—it’s all kept safe with her! Alright? You’ll tell her, won’t you?
I’m dying to read your poetry. Will you write a poem? Just for me? Oh wait, never mind—you shouldn’t have to trouble yourself writing for me. Write for everyone, for yourself! You will write, won’t you? Tell me!
This…
I know I’m a terrible girl. The sulky type, stubborn and easily hurt. You must never love this terrible girl, alright? You should only love good girls. You’ll get annoyed listening to me, you’ll get angry. And I’ll feel hurt and decide to myself—no, I won’t bother him anymore! I’ll pout and cry and tell myself,
“That’s right, who am I? Why do I bother him?” Then two days later I’ll shamelessly knock and say,
“I miss you so much!” Tell me, will you still be annoyed then, or will you break into a smile?
Listen, you really truly mustn’t love me. Every time I want to come see you, you’ll scold me and forbid it, you’ll tell me off:
“Girl, have you no shame at all?”
I’ll feel dejected and decide, “No, I’ll never go before him again.” Then one day I’ll suddenly appear at your door without telling you, and before you can say anything I’ll throw my arms around you. Tell me, will you be furious then and scold me? Or will you smile softly and hold me close too?
But you’re such a good person. Good people never love terrible girls. So you won’t love me either. When I call you at the wrong times, you won’t indulge me. You’ll hang up and block my number. After trying to call all day and getting hurt, I’ll promise myself I’ll never use a phone again. But just two days later, desperate to hear your voice, I’ll call you from someone else’s phone. Will you hang up when you hear my voice then?
Or will you pretend to be angry and say in a mildly scolding tone, “Don’t you understand timing?”
Listen, love some other good girl, not a shameless one like me, alright? I alone will love you. I’ll dream of you. I’ll get scolded by you for that crime. But I’ll love you even more. In my imaginary kingdom, you belong only to me.
Madhukar…..I love you terribly. But I can’t say it. Writing is so much easier than speaking. How beautifully all these unspoken feelings of the heart can be expressed through writing. This thing I just told you—that I love you—could I ever say it face to face? No, I couldn’t. When I look into your eyes, my words get tangled, I can’t say anything at all. Not once can I say “I love you.” Listen, would you give me just one day from your busy schedule? I won’t disturb you at all. You’ll do your work as usual, and I’ll just watch you with unwavering eyes, keep on watching. How you speak, how you laugh, how you get angry, how you eat, how you walk, how you yawn, how you write, what expression you have while writing—I’ll observe every little detail. Will you give me that? Well, go on then, if you won’t give it, I’ll just imagine it all myself.
Have you ever wished you could have your own island? I have. If only I had a little island of my own! There would be a small hill in the middle of the island, and a waterfall cascading down that hill would form a little river that would flow just a short distance before meeting the sea. I’d build a small cottage on top of that hill. Along both sides of the path up the hill there would be some flame trees. Red flowers would be scattered like a carpet on that path. Every morning I’d walk with my feet splashing in the gentle waters of that little river. No one else would be there. Entry would be forbidden to all. Except I’d give you permission to enter. Only you, though. I’d take you to my kingdom in a peacock-feathered boat. Holding your hand, I’d show you everything as we wandered around, we’d get soaked in the waterfall, dip our feet in the river water, and I’d let you sleep on a bed of flowers. Would you please give my personal kingdom a name? Please do!
Am I dreaming while awake, or while asleep? However I’m dreaming, let the dream never break. Let it continue! What’s the harm? Must I really wake up?
The most difficult task for me is falling asleep. (Not waking up, mind you!) Every day I have to really struggle to fall asleep. I go to bed at 12, but don’t sleep until 4 or 5. For those 4-5 hours I keep trying to fall asleep. I read books, play games, listen to music, browse Facebook, and finally listen to Ghost FM. Not that Ghost FM is particularly dear to me. I listen to it to fall asleep—it works rather like a lullaby. You might think, if sleep doesn’t come, why not just sit down and study? There! But for me, no, that doesn’t work. Because after a while my head starts feeling heavy, starts spinning, feels like someone has pressed a stone against my head, like everything will snap any moment, and if I don’t sleep right then, a wire or two inside my head might actually snap. Everything happens, but sleep just won’t come.
Last night, when it was time to sleep, I picked up a book—Humayun Ahmed sir’s ‘Megher Opor Bari’ (House Above the Clouds). I’ve always loved his books. In this one, he describes the afterlife in such a beautiful and simple way. Dr. Iftekhar-ul Islam, a physics teacher who is dead, yet the most vibrant character of all. Very interesting! But as I kept reading about graves, corpses, accidents, funeral rites, at some point I began to feel afraid. Who knew someone could be this frightening in such a simple way! A strange, unsettling feeling!
Well, I couldn’t stay scared—I had to sleep. That’s what all this was for, after all. So then, Bhoot FM. How strange! I was getting scared again! I felt like if I turned on the light, I’d see a corpse wrapped in white shroud right beside my bed. No, I couldn’t listen to this either. What to do! Suddenly I heard a rustling sound from under the bed. I thought it was my imagination! But when I listened carefully, I realized—no, it wasn’t my imagination. Then what! A thief? That couldn’t be! My bed is a box bed with no way to get inside. Not that shrouded corpse, surely! My fear multiplied two or three times in one leap! The room light was off, the door closed from inside! Then began another torment. Someone was walking around the entire room with rustling sounds! Fear dried up my throat. In this heat, I was lying with the blanket from near my feet pulled over my head. I’m not telling you a story—this really happened. Suddenly I thought, no, not like this anymore. Something had to be done. Whatever fate had in store. Preparing to scream, I gently turned on my phone’s flashlight. What did I see when I turned on the torch! A squirrel was walking around the entire room, with a piece of paper stuck to its foot—somehow it had gotten tangled! How did this thing get into my room?
Good evening! In some moments of joy, we don’t have our beloved people near us, yet those very people have contributed the most to our lives. Looking at today’s newspaper reminded me so much of uncle, and of you too. Kuhak, do you remember, you always used to say—life requires suffering, the more suffering, the more good comes of it. With all this suffering I’m going through, I don’t know what good is coming from it! The pain of having and losing—it’s terribly agonizing… terrible! The Creator gave me this agony too… had to give it! Anyway, I and all of us want you and yours to be very well. You must eat properly, don’t wander around in the sun. If you go out in the sun, wear sunglasses, definitely drink coconut water. You do eat outside food! If you do, then avoid it a little now, please.
Will you listen to something? You know, today a friend of mine said I apparently treat you like a spiritual guide! Is that really so? No! I don’t treat you as a guide. I like your good qualities. This liking has turned into love over time. Now I even like your flaws. But I will never adopt those flaws in my own life. I know what I need and what I don’t. Understanding this, I’ve made you part of my life’s harmony. If I really treated you as a guide, then I would have blindly accepted even your flaws. So much love for you.
I won’t come anymore
on Messenger, won’t see you anymore,
won’t knock ever again! You stay
just as you are! Tell me something, babu—what is love?
What do we call it? Do I love you? How much do I love you? Or do I not love you at all? I truly don’t know whether I love you or not. Because I don’t know the
definition of love. I don’t know if I love you, but I can spend entire days thinking of nothing but you.
Every moment, every instant, you occupy my thoughts completely. If this isn’t
love, then I don’t love you. I don’t know if I love you. But every moment my
heart bleeds for you. Thinking that you’re not mine, I suffer every moment. I try to hide my tears behind
a fake smile. If this isn’t love, then I don’t
love you. I truly don’t know whether I
love you or not! But when I see you in pain, it hurts me even more. When you’re not
well, I feel even worse. I think constantly about how you are, what you’re doing, whether you’re eating properly! If this isn’t love, then I don’t love
you.
Perhaps after reading these
words of mine, you might get very angry with me. Still, I’m saying this. I don’t want to say it, yet I don’t know why I keep writing. I’m saying sorry in advance. If you get annoyed,
then tell me,
and I won’t bother you
anymore. And perhaps now you might think I’m
selfish, low, a bad person. But I never want to prove myself good. What’s
true, what my heart tells me, that’s what I tell you. Even if my loving you is
wrong for me, it’s completely pure. That I love you—this feeling is a very honest
feeling. I cannot defile this sacred love with lies.
That incident the other day—
you got very angry with me. Perhaps you’re still angry. That’s natural.
Tell me, do you think when I say I love you, I say it casually? Or from some fake emotion? I’m telling the truth, no. I truly love you.
As real as the existence of the world, that real. I
knew that loving you was wrong for me, an
unauthorized pursuit.
I’ve tried constantly to control myself. How much I’ve managed to control,
I don’t know. But it seems
I couldn’t do it. Do you
know it hurts me just to think of another girl
beside you? It shouldn’t hurt. Because I knew all along that you weren’t mine. Whatever closeness I get with you is all bonus. Still it hurts. All this interest other girls show in you, all this
curiosity, all this coyness—I can’t bear any of it. And there, right before my eyes, another girl, with
you………how can I bear it, tell me? I can’t bear it. It hurts, it hurts so much. The first day…….I didn’t let you understand.
I was dying inside. The next day I couldn’t keep up this pretense of false smiles anymore. I felt
it would be better to go far away from you, but suffering like this
wasn’t possible for me. And then there was that other matter too. In your previous
post you had shared a message from her. I understood. You made tea for her and fed her,
didn’t you? This thing also hurt.
I made myself a promise that day—I would go far, far away from you. I would forget you, forget everything about you. I would never let your touch reach my life again. My shadow would never again fall across your world. I cried so much that day, so very much. I cried because you couldn’t understand me at all! Not even a little! I felt so hurt. But then again, I wasn’t close enough to you to have the right to feel hurt, was I? I was so angry and in such pain. But what could I have done, tell me? There was nothing I could do. Today I’m catching your scent again. So close, so very close. As if I’m holding you in my arms. Why is this happening, can you tell me?
I tried so hard to stay away from you then. I fought against my own heart. But I lost. Like some shameless, brazen creature, I kept circling back to you. What can I do—it hurts so much to be without you. Why did I have to fall in love with you? What’s the point of doing something that brings nothing but pain in return? I’m still trying to pull myself away from you. I don’t know how far I’ll succeed. Tell me, when I’m no longer here, will you forget me completely?
Let me tell you an old story from my life. Listen.
This was a long time ago. For some days, my account had been acting up—sending friend requests to random profiles. I’d only realize the requests had been sent when they got accepted. That’s how things were going. I wasn’t coming on Facebook much… I mean, I’m totally addicted to Facebook, can’t go a single day without it, can’t pass time any other way—it’s my only friend. I’m lonely, so I spend my time on Facebook. I’m on Facebook day and night. But during those few days, I was coming on less than usual… So things were going like that. After a few days, I saw that two profiles had accepted my friend requests, just like before. I would usually unfriend them right away, but this time I unfriended one of the two profiles. When I went to the other profile to unfriend it… well, forget unfriending—I liked the profile picture the moment I saw it… Then I deliberately messaged him myself. And got a response too. (Most guys reply when girls message them.) Looking through his profile, I realized he wrote stories—I saw his stories on various pages. I read a couple… and I liked them even more! So one day, while we were chatting and joking around, I suddenly blurted out that I had a crush on him! He took it as a joke too. We kept chatting, but he didn’t pay me much attention.
I tried so hard to make him understand that I liked him… maybe even loved him. I was young then, and at that age it’s easy to say you love someone, even easier to believe it when you hear it. One day he told me to stop disturbing him… I felt so humiliated. I blocked him on Facebook! It hurt terribly. But I couldn’t keep him blocked for long. After about a month or month and a half, I unblocked him again and messaged him… He was shocked to get my message. He used to insult me constantly, yet somehow I swallowed my pride and shame to unblock him and reach out—he couldn’t understand how I’d done it. Then things went back to how they were before. He told me to give him a reason, to show him why I liked him. You know, I truly didn’t know why I liked him. I told him the honest truth—that I didn’t know. Again he humiliated me. And he would always send me screenshots of the girls who kept texting and bothering him. He’d say I was just like them. Then one day he called me “sister.” When I heard that, I burst into tears. My mood turned so sour that I called him “brother” right back. Believe me, it felt awful. After that I asked him for a photo so I could see him. He insulted me terribly, bringing my parents into it. I couldn’t stay quiet anymore then. I said a few things and blocked him again. He even had my phone number. He sent me one message but never even said sorry.
Maybe I haven’t written this coherently. The thing is, back then I needed a good friend, a good life partner. I always wanted a love marriage. I still do. For some reason I don’t know, I liked him… hahahaha
How are you? Good? Looking at your photos today made me feel so happy. You look so cheerful. When you’re happy, my heart fills with joy too. Oh! If only I could see you this happy all the time. Alas, where do I get to see you anymore! Why do you share so few photos? From now on, share many, many more pictures. Whatever you do all day, take photos and share them. And I’ll keep looking at you all day long, just keep looking.
Listen, do you get terribly annoyed by all this meaningless chatter I send you every day? Of course you must be annoyed! Why would you waste your time reading all this nonsense? If you’re too irritated, you don’t have to read it, okay? Let it just sit there in some corner of your inbox—what harm could it do? But I always had this dream of falling in love through letters, not phone calls. He would write me a letter every week and send it through the post office. I would spend the entire week waiting for the postman. Then suddenly, one day, that eagerly awaited letter would arrive! What exquisite excitement! I would take the letter and rush into my room, shut the door, and read it all in one breath. Then I’d keep reading it, over and over again. All week long, until the next letter came. Then I would pour all my joy, sorrow, laughter, and tears into my reply. Maybe it wouldn’t have been very good, but at least I would have tried to write what was in my heart! How wonderful that would have been, don’t you think? If only I had been born a hundred years ago! I was born into an age where, amid the chaos of mobiles, internet, Facebook, and emails, people are forgetting even the name of letters. But it’s not that I never received love letters at all—I did get some. I think even the most unattractive girl in the world gets love letters from someone or other. I remember one in particular. He had written that if I wished, he would paint my feet with alta using the blood from his chest. Ugh, how disgusting! Far from melting my heart, it made my skin crawl.
Listen, you write so many things—would you write me a letter? A love letter like that! Would it be too much trouble? Oh, never mind, forget it. You know, after I write these inedible pieces and send them to you, I don’t even read them myself. If I did read them, I probably wouldn’t want to send you these awful writings anymore.
Listen, do you know I’m a jealous sort of girl? I didn’t know before that I was so jealous. I used to think I was such a well-behaved girl. But look! Later, of course, I consoled myself—girls are naturally jealous, it wouldn’t suit them if they didn’t have a little jealousy in them. Isn’t that right? Hee hee.
I ask you so many questions, but why don’t you answer even one of them? You’re awful, awful, awful—you don’t talk, you don’t say anything! If you can’t answer all of them, you could at least answer one or two, so why don’t you? Oh, forget it, you don’t have to answer. The fact that you haven’t blocked me and have kept your inbox free for all this rambling of mine—isn’t that enough?
(★★There’s no need to take this writing seriously and get upset with me. It’s all my imagination.★★)
Listen, why don’t you just quit your job? What’s the point of all this working? So many people live well without doing such things. What? They don’t?
You should become a farmer instead. That would be nice. You’d work in the fields all day. I’ll cook, and wearing a simple printed sari, I’ll bring food to the fields for you at noon. I’ll wipe the sweat from your forehead with the towel from my shoulder, mix the rice with care and feed you, and fan you with a palm leaf. In the evening I’ll keep looking toward the path, waiting for when you’ll return. If you’re late coming back, I’ll run to you and embrace you and say, “Why are you so late? Don’t you know I get scared alone in the house?” (Don’t laugh reading this though! This is my feeling of love. It’s not right to make fun of anyone’s love.)
Or you could have been a paan seller. Selling paan for five rupees all day, and in the evening bringing home two pieces. After dinner at night we’d sit in the courtyard, eat our two pieces of paan and redden our lips, and talk while gazing at the moon. That would have been nice, wouldn’t it?
If not that, you could have been a cart driver. Driving bullock carts along the village dirt roads and singing in a loud voice. Sometimes you’d take me for rides in your bullock cart. Say there’s a fair somewhere in the village. You’d come and tell me, “Wife, will you go see the fair?” And I’d pull my veil down over my face and rush with you to see the fair.
Not one of these appeals to you? Then you could be a boatman! Like Mantu Mia, rowing boats and singing river songs. Casting nets to catch fish in the river and selling them at the village market. Sometimes bringing a few home, and I’d cook them carefully for you. I’d insist on boat rides with you. On some rainy day you’d drop all your work and take just me out rowing. Oh, how wonderful it feels just thinking about it!
If nothing else, you could have been a peddler. Going from village to village, carrying bangles and ribbons on your head to sell. Sometimes you’d secretly bring home a bunch of bangles and slip them onto my hands saying, “For you.” I’d be so happy with just that little gesture, as if I’d received heaven itself!
You could have been something! Why must you have a job? What more do we need to be happy?
Sometimes I want to hold you close. I want to gently hold your hand. I want to shout at you and say, “Hey! Will you let me hold your hand?” Or say, “Listen! Will you put your hand on my cheek for just a moment?”
I can’t say any of it. Why? I don’t know. Maybe I’m afraid. And if sometimes I gather enough courage to say, “Hey, will you let me hold you for a little while?” then hearing my words you’ll keep laughing and say, haven’t the days of asking permission to fulfill desires ended yet? Do whatever your heart wants, I belong to you, everything of mine is yours!
I understand that you’re mine, that you’ve been mine for eternity. But I want to tell you! Even though we both know we love each other, don’t we still tell each other “I love you” again and again? Don’t we?
You are the most beloved person in my world. I don’t want to know anything else, don’t want to understand anything else. Even if you did the worst thing imaginable, it wouldn’t be wrong to me. If someone hurts you out of misunderstanding, just shake it off. Aren’t you a strong person? Don’t chew on your sorrows! Set everything else aside and just be with yourself. I love you so much. Stay well, and be well.
Dear Sir,
How are you, I wonder? I thought you’d forgotten me completely! But no. I can see you still remember me. It felt good to get your text. Why did you send “Good afternoon” this evening? I’m not finding fault, though. It’s become my habit—or maybe bad habit—to think for hours about every word you say, every thing you do. Who knows! Yesterday too, just like on New Year’s, you sent me “Good morning” twice (!) Well, despite all your busyness, you found time to write to me—and that too, twice! Just thinking about it makes me feel so good. Yesterday was such a lovely day. When I think of you, none of the world’s thousand sorrows and pains can touch me. Do you know I read each of your messages hundreds of times? Even those two little words—I’ve read them countless times. You are the most precious thing to me. More precious than anything else. Tell me, what would I have to give up to have this precious thing? I know you won’t say—you never have before. Oh well, no tension. I know I’ll never have you. Still, I say it, keep saying it, because I like saying it. I gather happiness from imagination alone. Do you get angry when I dream so much about you, when I drift away in fantasies? Does it bother you? I’ll never say that I love you more than anyone else does. But I will say this—I love you more than I love everything else in my life. More than everything. Do you understand? No, you don’t. Why do I even try to make you understand! Wanting to understand you only brings pain. Never mind, you don’t need to understand anymore. When will you return home? It feels like you’re so very, very, very far away. If you were in your usual place, even without meeting, it would feel so much closer! I miss you terribly. Stay well, always.
I thought you weren’t online. So I was just writing to myself.
Listen to me, I want to love you even more. More… much more than I do now. I want to reach love’s highest summit. As long as I live, I want to love you with every breath, chant your name with each inhalation. I want to love you more than the river loves the sea, more than the forest loves its birds. I want to love you so intensely that it could touch the sky itself. I want to cry out to you, “I love you, I love you, I love you!” I often listen to your crush Munmun Mukhopadhyay singing Sunil’s “Bhalobashi, Bhalobashi.” Let me see if I can try to be like her, to make you fall for me! I’ll go mad loving you, I’ll become a criminal for the crime of loving you. Even if this crime brings the death penalty, I’ll keep committing it every single day. It doesn’t matter if you don’t love me back—no sorrow there. I will love, I’ll keep on loving. As much as I possibly can, I’ll love you. You know why? Because I feel the joy of loving you exists nowhere else. I’ve become addicted to you. I’ve tried so hard to make myself understand. But I can’t, nothing works at all. Finally, unable to help myself, I’ve given up trying. I will love you. Whether you want it or not, I’ll love you. Whether you’re happy or angry, I’ll love you. I want to see you. I want to gaze at you without blinking. No matter how many times I look at your photos, my longing isn’t satisfied! But how can I stare at you like that? I can’t even look into your eyes. Can you tell me why? Am I shy? You’ve turned me shameless and brazen, haven’t you? Then why am I still shy? I’m shy like a new bride! Hehehe. How easily I say everything here, yet if I stood before you, not a single word would come out even if a bomb exploded in my stomach. What am I, really! In my heart and mind, in my thoughts and consciousness, in my emotions and feelings, in my hopes and touch, in my pride and hurt, in my anger and affection, in sleep and waking, in lying down and dreaming, in sky and earth… only you, you, and you. My very being is filled with you. You might move far away from me, but could you ever move away from my heart? To feel you, I don’t even need you to be there!
Do you know Cupid? Son of the goddess Aphrodite. They say once Cupid shoots his arrow of love at someone, they can never return, no matter what. Psyche was his beloved. Just as Psyche loved Cupid, I love you the same way. No, I love you even more! Every moment I’m collecting happiness by dreaming a false dream—that you’ll be mine, only mine! When will this dream ever break? Why don’t you wake me up instead?
It’s been silent between us since the 17th. I can’t even begin to describe this restlessness that’s consuming me. Was it so wrong, the way I held you close in my own way? When you would dismiss me, I’d accept it. I’d think, what of it? You were still mine. But now? Don’t you want to know what I have to say? Why should I be the only one bothering you again and again? And that you’re bothered is clear enough from your replies—these last two days. Why did you say that to me on the 19th, the way you did? You know this too—that I think of you as more than just a friend. I see you as different from everyone else. Don’t you know that? I’ve told you what you mean to me in this solitary world of mine. But do you really feel any pull toward me? Tell me. If you did, wouldn’t you ask even once what I’m doing, how my days are passing, how I got through this Boishakh! But you haven’t, have you! Is there no pull at all toward me? Not even a little? Just give me an answer to what I want to know, and be done with your duty. What duty do you have toward me anyway? Is our relationship just one of obligation? Tell me.
So many, so many tears have gathered in this chest. They spill from my eyes at random moments, in random places. Tears never respect any boundaries. You know how much harder it is to swallow back tears! What? You don’t know? Will you never understand me from where I stand?
You’re doing just fine! Living blissfully in your own way! For five days now I haven’t asked where you are, what you’re doing, how you are. That makes you quite happy, doesn’t it? Whatever I say becomes your problem, whatever I want to know becomes a new burden in your life, right? It disturbs your peace. Lately all I do is create unrest in your life. I should go away from you—far away. Give me permission to leave.
In this one life,
whatever feelings the body
holds, even if I shut all their doors and windows
and close my eyes, I can still love you—nothing else is needed. You truly cannot
be penetrated. You can be held, touched,
but never penetrated,
and dissection is simply
out of the question! Still, some feelings are worth expressing, though in them not a single thought
of you and me will arise. Only God knows how many more births
I would need before I could express my thoughts and feelings
about you—such is the extent of my incapacity!
This deep reverence I feel all alone
is immense, yet I cannot express it. I want to bow to you just once, but even that fails me. I want to place my two hands
on your two feet and rest my head between
your feet, letting my eyes touch your feet
with water—perhaps that’s far too audacious,
far too much to ask for all at once!
God has given us ample opportunity to bow our hearts full, yet we completely forget to bow
to the moonlight that truly gladdens the heart! Today, the one I want to bow to from my heart, yet cannot and don’t know if I ever will—
I will seek forgiveness from them
until my life’s last breath for the punishment of this sin. I just want to bow once
to this person. Will such fortune ever truly come that I sit beside this person in a temple, offering prayers
at God’s feet and bowing together, both of us! I don’t know
what they want, but will I ever be able to bow my head
beside them and plead for their sake? It seems my courage grows day by day, and again I’m thinking impossibly
unrealistic thoughts. Please
forgive me. And I ask God for forgiveness every single day, I bother Him daily and make the same mistakes, so I won’t trouble Him anew. Why this happened, I don’t know. Respect and
reverence were fine until now, but
love has truly become like a reckless adventure for me. Perhaps you created some of this opportunity yourself
and I simply seized that chance!
I was so realistic,
yet here I sit defeated
at day’s end! Dipabalees fade away, dimming and dying in too much emotion. I was never enchanting like Humayun’s heroines; I thought women should be
like Smaresh’s Dipabali—even after crossing seven seas of trouble,
they’d remain unbroken like strong illness! But my notion was wrong. Humayun’s heroines
sit in pain even from the slightest hurt, become emotional—that’s the better way!
They grow quiet without making a sound, don’t let big things affect them much, but they
don’t realize that before they can understand everything inside themselves, they mistakenly
enter the wrong house. The same has happened to me. Not wanting, not wanting, while saying I didn’t want it—your image
has become embedded in my heart. Please forgive me. You can be loved from afar
for a lifetime, infinite reverence can be stored away,
limitless tenderness can be felt and felt again, but wanting you near
is terribly wrong! This prayer of mine today is nothing but
audacity and recklessness. Even if I washed your feet and drank that water, perhaps
this wrongdoing would face no punishment! I
ask for forgiveness again. You will remain within me, certainly, but silently and with great care. Please
forgive me, even if out of compassion.
(Have you noticed I haven’t been writing dates anymore? What’s the point? Night after night I lie awake thinking of you—what good does it do to tell you that! Dawn will break in a little while. Let it! Do you even care?)
You write terribly, such rotting garbage. You’re absolutely no good at all. Why all this putrid scribbling? Why must you grab everyone by the collar and explain everything? Have you set up some village tribunal? Or hasn’t that schoolmaster’s pompousness left you yet? Are those writings that leave one breathless for half an hour after reading them supposed to be good literature? I’ve never read such awful fictional drivel! How do you even write such things? I’m going to have a proper stroke one day, just wait! You’ll be the one responsible for my death! What are you thinking? That I’m lying? I swear by you, I felt terrible pain after reading your last piece. The character Arshi—that’s me! Still, you were kind enough to let Arshi get close to Sir in your writing, but in reality, just how much kindness do you show me? Didn’t I tell you—writers write one way, but the whole territory of reality is different! I know I could never follow you the way Arshi does, because that’s imagination and this is real life. If the person with unreal love in this real world gets angry even once, then I’ll be finished! I’ve delayed far too long. Yes, I know what I feel all the time can’t be spoken, can’t be explained, can’t be shown. Your beloved writer Tolstoy said there’s no past or future, only the present. He was right! But what if I never get that future? Life is so uncertain! And so is love. Then why can’t I say anything out loud? I shouldn’t have had to speak at all! Then why does the hidden Mohua inside me keep pushing? Telling me to blurt out everything in my heart? What would happen if I did? Would the distance grow even greater? But there was never any question of us coming close or staying together! There was nothing at all! Then what am I afraid of? I’m still hurting so much. Again there’s a torchlight procession in my chest. The pains are mocking me again. Punishing me for my foolishness. I tell you again, if you placed your hand on my chest right now, you’d burn. If at this very moment I could stand before you and burn myself alive, or get such an opportunity, I truly would! But that wouldn’t matter to you at all. I love you—that’s my problem, not yours. I keep crossing boundaries. I keep forgetting and don’t want to remember that you only come to me for bodily needs, nothing else. It was only because of this much that I got to have you so fully. At least I’m a bit luckier than the others. Countless thanks to God once more. He gave me enough beauty to catch your eye, otherwise what reason would you have had to come to me? Yes, I’m not devastatingly beautiful, but because you drew me close, I still have the courage to think of myself as having that much. You’re the one who encouraged this courage—how is that my fault?
Whenever I see you,
why does my heartbeat start
racing? Is this some problem
with my heart? Or with my mind? If only you could understand how much joy,
how much happiness lies within this quickening heartbeat! Tell me one thing—do you truly understand my love?
Or don’t you? When you hear all this, does it seem like some made-up fairy tale?
How much more can one fabricate and say,
tell me? I am not you, after all! Can’t you touch my heart
even a little? Listen closely
for a moment—what is that heartbeat trying to say in its rhythmic dance! Can you hear it? If not, never mind. I have no expectations
of you anyway, so it won’t matter if you can’t hear.
All my desires exist only in imagination.
Do you know I’ve created a kingdom
in my imagination? You are the absolute
ruler of that realm. I can close my eyes and escape to that kingdom anytime. And then…
you, you, and you. In that world
I lose myself within you. Eyes closed, I feel only you. I try to sense
your fragrance, your touch,
every
breath—my fragment of heaven, my life! I live in this heaven, I die in this heaven.
Tell me,
what does it really mean to go mad
with love? Have I truly gone mad
with love for you? I might have—
I think about you all day long! I can’t forget you for even a moment. When I wake up, I wonder if you’ve woken, when I eat, I wonder if you’ve eaten, when I sleep, I wonder if you’re sleeping! It wouldn’t be bad if we could build a life together,
would it? The whole day would pass nicely in playful quarrels and mischief!
You, me, and a little baby.
No, let me not speak of babies—
it saddens my heart. A sense of guilt
washes over me, and it hurts too. Let’s
abandon this topic.
You, you,
you—I want to trouble you. Tell me, why do you write with so much emotion, pain, and tenderness? What is all this yearning for?
Is it all still for centuries
to come? What do you want? Whom do you want? How do you want them? Nothing seems to please you! But when you don’t want anything,
then why do you write that way?
How do you strike so cruelly
from the shadows? Don’t you feel
any compassion? Yes, I know, when there’s trouble you’ll stop reading, but you yourself will never be well! You won’t love anyone,
won’t draw anyone close,
won’t go near anyone yourself.
Can this even be called living? Analyzing you so thoroughly is driving me mad. These words of mine will only
remain here, will go nowhere, and I too will disappear one day, yet the emptiness inside remains, will always remain empty. I never wanted you to fill
that emptiness within me—I simply
fell in love. Today I have no words left to write. My feelings are growing mute. How much longer will they wait? They too grow weary,
don’t they? They are nearly dead today!
I don’t feel like writing
anymore. Stay well, won’t you?