I am Abani speaking

  
 You won't know me. I'm Aboni. I study at Viqarunnisa, first year.
 It's been ages since Baba retired; he used to teach at the college.
 Words get stuck in my throat, I can't speak them out, they just jam.
 Let me say it straight — I stutter. I'm telling you this so that
 if we ever meet, you won't think I'm mute.
 This isn't some illness I can dodge with small talk
 until it heals. Though I wouldn't want to dodge anyway.
  
 Believe me, I'm truly not mute. I can speak quite well, actually.
 My books, drawing pads, writing notebooks, the fish in my aquarium, my pet parrot...
 I talk to them plenty... babble nonsense too. They know me.
 In this house, probably only they have no complaints about me.
 You know, my best friend is that parrot. The fact that I stutter —
 either it doesn't quite understand, or understands but says nothing. The others do the same.
 Maybe standing before the mirror, talking to myself in that language,
 I slip easily into their world... fish, bird, books, pictures, words...!
  
 'Such a sweet girl, yet God made her this way...
 her words get stuck, and her leg limps too... oh, what suffering!'
 ...I've memorized it completely! I know exactly what needs to be said after seeing me.
 Keeping this in mind, I appear before people and stare helplessly in silence.
 This helplessness is my fate, and I'm used to it.
 Aboni knows she's a sweet — stuttering — limping girl.
  
 I had polio as a child. Since then I limp when I walk — I have to limp, that is!
 Which person in this world chooses to... stutter, to limp... tell me?
 From God, I didn't have to earn this wondrous partnership —
 received it without asking, just as I received people's neglect, their pity...!
 ...I know reading my story doesn't upset you.
 People prefer to see even beauty as ugliness; perfect beauty is something humans can't quite bear.
 And Aboni truly is...!
  
 Whether story or poem, when do people read with interest, you know?
 When there's some darkness mixed in! You know this, you understand.
 You also know that returning from story to reality, toward someone like Aboni...
 you'd never look back. You don't have time to read even one page of the real Aboni.
 Believe me, I still haven't been able to discover myself beyond this.
  
 Write a story about me, it'll be quite engaging... though
 God hasn't given you the ability to sustain even an afternoon's chat about me!
 Forget chat — chat is too grand a thing. In this wretched life,
 Aboni hasn't managed to make a single friend yet! By friend, I mean human!
 You prefer to mock the real Aboni! Though I do it myself too...!
 Aboni is an eighteen-year-old beauty...! Her eighteen-year-old stutter, her eighteen-year-old limp!
 Come, let's all look at Aboni and laugh together. Laughter keeps the heart healthy. Ha ha ha!
 ...Joining the neighborhood boys in laughter, I too laugh out loud and tell God,
 Oh God! You took responsibility for their hearts' wellness, yet
 left the full burden of all these tears in my eyes on my shoulders alone?
  
 If Ma were alive today, I could talk to her so much.
 But really, could I have? What are mothers like?
 Do mothers chat even with their stuttering daughters? Or do they keep them distant?
 I haven't seen Ma since birth, but I've heard from others
 that mothers are very good, they speak with such affection.
 Does the mother of a stuttering girl who limps also see her as just lame?
 ...Never mind all that, though I know you don't have time to feel pain at my pain!
  
 Marbles kept in the mouth, thousands of tongue exercises, running to doctors...
 Baba left no effort untried. Still, nothing helped.
 I know it never will! Though Baba hasn't told me this.
 Baba thinks, 'My daughter is still so young, she understands nothing!'
 What's Baba's fault! Baba only sees me as eighteen... or even younger!
 Fathers truly are such small-minded people!
  
 Actually, you know what — I want to stay small too. But how can I, tell me!
 God always multiplies a stuttering-limping girl's age by at least two!
 Her outside world changes once every day.
 She never makes friends. Can't even speak properly — what's the point of befriending her?
 The class teachers are very good, they never ask me questions.
 The class girls are even better, they never see Aboni as competition.
 Thank God, He has saved me from all human envy!
  
 By the way, there's an Amit bhaiya in the house next to ours.
 Since I was in school, I've liked bhaiya very much.
 His way of gesturing while talking, his hairstyle, how he stands, going to play cricket...
 Even when bhaiya studies aloud,
 when he comes home and shouts "Ma! Ma!" — even then he looks wonderful!
 Yes, I watch bhaiya secretly... through gaps in the curtain... for so many years!
 Bhaiya doesn't know about all this madness of mine, of course.
 Aboni doesn't have the courage to show her madness to anyone.
  
 I think... all this laughter, joy, worry, feeling... isn't this love?
 Or are people like Aboni not supposed to have love in their hearts?
 Amit bhaiya is a literature student. He studies life, studies love.
 But those are just subjects, he has to study them. Tell me, does bhaiya understand me? Even a little?
 'Aboni, where are you going?' Bhaiya hasn't said this to me in ages.
 I want bhaiya to see me, look at me and smile, talk a little...
 So sometimes, deliberately, I go and stand before Amit bhaiya!
 Then he looks at me with a kind of smooth gaze... throws me a small smile,
 and immediately, turmoil begins inside me! Again and again I think,
 the one I've loved for so many years, whom I think about constantly,
 could it be that he's accepting me... in my own way?
 Truly truly, will he give shelter to my madness... Amit bhaiya?
 The next moment I tell myself... Oh Aboni! How crazy can you get?
 This isn't love, you fool! This is called... sympathy!