Thought: Six Hundred Eighty
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One. In some places, there remains a great difference between human beings and women. Whatever may come to a woman’s mind, whatever storms of protest and modernity may rage within her; despite it all, keeping this in mind while navigating life can often save one from many unnecessary troubles or great dangers.
Two. Listen, girl, sin doesn’t reside in mobile phones—sin resides in the mind.
Three. You bastard, you’re poor, you don’t have a good CGPA!
You bastard, you’re the poorest of the poor, you have nothing but a good CGPA!!
Mr. Chowdhury…never mind, you get it!
I got 2.74 at CUET. Even street dogs shouldn’t count me among their number…yet the public of this country has this CGPA of mine permanently etched in their hearts and minds!
(The haters will say I’m self-promoting. I say: agreed, brother!)
Four. I’m naming this wall: the Gratitude Wall.
Come, brothers, let us all be grateful together, let us give thanks.
Whose help has been most useful to you in graduating from university, as comes to mind right now? Write their names, tag them, say thank you. I’ll start.
Three names are always in my head, and always will be:
Abu Sayed Mohammad Khan E Alam (I haven’t tormented any woman in this life as much as I’ve tormented this friend of mine. Let me tell you one incident. Sessional exam day. Afternoon exam. My roll number was 0204002, Sohel’s was 0204003. All his reports were with me. I had started writing from midnight the night before. I just kept writing and writing, the writing never seemed to end. I didn’t live in the hall, I lived at home in the city. Sohel had been calling continuously since 12:00, and I was still writing. When 2:00 struck, I still hadn’t left home. Sohel was a completely pathetic type of gentleman! He called me and said, “Buddy, the exam’s at 2:30, they’ll call you and me first. It would be good if you could make the effort to start moving, I’ll manage the sir, we’ll take the exam last.” Do you know what I said then? My answer was: “Buddy, forget it, let’s not take this exam this time, we’ll take it some other time. My writing still isn’t finished.”…Hearing this, Sohel started cursing using sounds from the ch-class consonants, and I, quite frightened, took whatever few things I had managed to finish writing and took a CNG towards CUET….There are many such incidents!)
Supankar Banik (There wasn’t a single exam where I didn’t go to Supankar’s house the night before, or the night before that. I had my own coaching center. Every day the batch would end around 9:30 PM. After that, I’d go to his house to find out what was in the syllabus. Once I learned, I’d realize it was impossible for me to cover all that in a night or two. Then I’d ask Supankar to give me suggestions. He would. Then I’d say, explain these things to me. He’d do that too. Never once did he lose his temper. How he managed it, I truly don’t know! If I were in his place, I’d have slapped the person and thrown them out of the house. He would teach me, and study himself too. I’d try very hard to convince myself—imagine that I was understanding everything Supankar was explaining! Just like in math problems where we assume something for the sake of argument…imagine the father’s age is x, that sort of thing! Every semester I bothered Supankar this way! I truly can’t fathom how he tolerated me day after day! There aren’t many such super-cool people in this world.)
Mahamudul Hasan (The person from whose paper I ‘edited’ and created my fourth-year final project paper is none other than Sharmai himself—Rabbi, the Great! Many people know the story of my project sufferings! If Rabbi hadn’t stood by me, I would have suffered even more! I’ve seen such wonderfully gracious mentality in very few people like Rabbi. Those who can face anything without bringing even a hint of tension to their minds—Rabbi is exactly that kind of person! We studied together at Chittagong College; when we came to CUET, he studied in EEE, I in CSE.)
My sense of self-respect was intensely heightened! Supankar and Sohel never, not for a single moment, spoke to me in a way that belittled or diminished me. Yet it would have been so easy to put me down. I didn’t know programming. Whatever class assignment it was, even if no one else would give it, they’d hand it over with a smile. (They’d only say, just change some sentences inside. Supankar would say…give it. Funny thing is, he still addresses me as ‘tumi’ even now!) Because I couldn’t do anything, no one would take me in their group. These two people, for reasons I don’t know, would take me—I’m telling the truth—they’d take me for absolutely no reason. (They’d take me even knowing they wouldn’t get any output from me!) Let me mention one more person who had no jealousy or irritation toward me. That’s Om Prakash Chowdhury—among the few people who love me from the heart, he’s one of them…Though, considering my results, there’s nothing about me to be jealous of. Everyone either shows affection for the worst student in class, or treats them with contempt. What is there to envy about such a person anyway?
The boy who doesn’t study, who whiles away time giving tuitions, who never takes proper class notes, who can’t pass his exams, whom no one inside or outside the classroom gives a damn about, whom people take pleasure in telling off to his face, who always keeps his mouth shut, stays withdrawn, hides himself away, who cowers with hesitation even before approaching the teachers’ room, who perhaps commands less respect than the dogs in the courtyard, whose friendship isn’t even necessary…such a boy, for no reason at all, these two people (along with three or four others) tolerated for more than four years! Even when everyone else turned their backs, these two souls stood by that poor student. They came on their own initiative, stood beside him, scolded him into studying…at least on the night before exams! This, I suppose, is what friendship truly means, isn’t it?
I love you both. Beyond all logic, I love you, and will love you. Without you by my side, passing would have been even more difficult. Stay well, both of you!
There are others too. When I find time, I’ll write about them as well.
Thought: Six hundred eighty-one
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At the salon, after the haircut is finished, they hold up a mirror behind your head and ask, “Sir, please check—is the back cut properly?”
I never offer any opinion on this matter. I always say, “Please check it yourself once. I won’t be able to tell by looking. If you’re satisfied, then I’m satisfied too.”
Why do I say this?
There’s a wonderful film I’ve seen called ‘Shabda’. The protagonist’s name is Tarok. Tarok is a sound artist. His job is to create various kinds of sounds for films. He is utterly devoted to his work. Ideas for creating sounds are constantly buzzing in his head. Any new sound that perhaps no one around has noticed cannot escape Tarok’s ear. Never. Each sound is like a precious gem to Tarok. Tarok has always been indifferent to money matters. In the film industry, no one matches Tarok in sound creation. Detached from many worldly concerns, Tarok is somewhat eccentric—as many geniuses tend to be.
One day. As Tarok goes to place his half-finished cup of tea on the table, he starts! What happened! The sound of placing a half-drunk cup of tea on the table is like this! Such a mistake has occurred! Oh no! Now what?
Yes, some days ago Tarok had created sound for a film. The film has even gone to final editing. For a scene in that film, when creating the sound of placing a teacup on the table, Tarok had created the sound using an empty teacup. But in that scene, the tea-drinking hadn’t finished yet. The sounds of placing an empty teacup and a half-drunk cup on the table are different.
Tarok rushed to the director. A mistake has happened. The sound I made isn’t right. The scene was of a half-drunk teacup, but I put in the sound of an empty teacup. I want to create that sound again.
Are you upset, Tarak? Nearly all the movie work is done! It’s not possible to insert that sound again now. Forget it! What’s done is done! Besides, no one will even catch that detail! Has anyone ever thought so minutely? No one even knows that an empty cup and a half-drunk cup make different sounds! Nothing will go wrong. No need to change it. That sound will work fine!
Alright, I agree. Perhaps no one will understand. But I have understood, I know there’s a mistake there. Why should Tarak make this mistake?
…Why should Tarak make this mistake?—one of the finest dialogues I’ve ever heard. What level of confidence and dedication must a person possess to say something like this! Tarak himself knows that such an incredibly subtle distinction won’t occur to anyone. He also knows that despite everything, this is wrong, and while this mistake might be acceptable from any of ten other sound artists, Tarak cannot make it. Not everyone becomes Tarak, which is why Tarak could become Tarak. To throw such challenges at oneself, to bind oneself to the responsibility of perfection, to make one’s work flawless in one’s own eyes before anyone else’s, to recognize the finest thing—this is something immense. Not everyone can do this; it requires great skill and self-confidence. To reach that point, one needs infinite practice.
Let me return to the matter of haircuts. Whether there are any flaws in a haircut, the person who cut it will understand far better than I—I won’t grasp even a quarter of what they do. So what matters is whether the work satisfies their own mind. If it does, then there’s nothing for me to examine. I won’t be able to catch any subtle mistakes anyway. And if it happens that they sense some flaw but, knowing I won’t catch it, they satisfy me and feel content themselves, then let it be so! If someone wants to live their life by deceiving themselves, let them! Not everyone will understand the pleasure of greatness. It also happens that the way the hair was cut might not appeal to me, but perhaps they couldn’t do it any better. In that case, it’s better to say nothing to them and visit a different salon next time. There’s no need to hurt the feelings of the mediocre.
(I’m at CUET, wandering around, having fun. I’ll expand this writing later. For now, this much.)
Thought: Six hundred eighty-two
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Returning home after listening to James’s songs. I screamed to my heart’s content, jumped to my heart’s content, threw my hands and feet about to my heart’s content. My voice is hoarse, my body aches, yet I’m so happy! Around me were friends, super-cool junior brothers and sisters. I was amazed to see their affection. I used to think that those studying engineering didn’t pay much attention to me. I was wrong to think so. I’m no longer unwelcome at my university.
And,
our day ended with James!
Let me share some observations.
A James sings, makes others sing; dances, makes others dance. The work is not simple. It takes years of dedication to become a James. When he sang certain lines of a song, we screamed out the rest. These songs have merged with our blood—we find no peace unless we sing them at the top of our lungs. They don’t just merge with blood on their own; first, you must shed your own blood for it.
How crazily devoted a fan can become—this is impossible to understand without seeing such artists up close (meaning ‘standing in front of the stage’). Even if he just stands there with a guitar in hand, or makes sounds like “ua wa repappa rerepappa” with his mouth, we still love it, we keep screaming along with the song. For some, mere presence is enough. The feeling that a James stands before us—even this gives us joy.
He is professional. Hundred percent professional. He knows what must be done, he knows what must not be done. When to begin, when to stop—he understands this very well. What to say, how much to say, when to say it—all this is within his grasp. He knows we love him. He understands that an entire generation has grown up listening to his songs, and another generation is growing up. The future will speak for itself when its time comes. Whatever may happen, some of his songs will endure till the end. They will! Most likely he knows this himself.
Such greatness captivates us, amazes us. We love to think that we were born in James’s time, that we grew up then. When we know a James will take the stage, we can simply wait for him and nothing else. A James cannot be made without unimaginable labor and perseverance. Along with the habit of giving the middle finger to some people’s neglect, harsh words, and bitter remarks. In that group are some people whose words we heed, but whose words truly have nothing worth heeding. Think about who they are—you’ll find them, you’ll understand them. Whether there’s anything worth heeding or not, time itself will tell.
To the juniors I say: those of you who can sing, take photographs, draw, write, or do anything else that your friends cannot—truly, there is no greater treasure, no greater opportunity than this. It’s a gift from God. Honour it! Practice, keep practicing, however hard it may be, never abandon that gift. You’ll see, one day you too….
Don’t believe it? Look into it and see—the day when James’s life would reach today, perhaps even he didn’t believe it would come at some point. Even if you don’t become a James, you can still become someone that many will point to and say, “Ah, if only I could have been like that!” Some father will tell his child, “Look, you must become like him.”
You’re studying—keep studying; to survive in this world avoiding certain troubles, you need a certificate. But to stand apart in at least some people’s eyes during your lifetime, you need something extra that no university in the world can give you—you must achieve it yourself…by giving yourself pain, by enduring continuous blows, by falling in love with your own passion.
Why did I say all this, you ask? The person who can do their beloved work so much better than anyone else can—I love such a person, I respect them. I place such a person on the throne of an artist. Become an artist… you can. We didn’t come into this world just to get good results.
Reflection: Six hundred eighty-three
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:
Auntie, you’ve gotten quite old now, yet you’re still cooking, still teaching everyone. Why don’t you rest a little? You’ve been at it for so long! How much more?
:
No, my child… as long as I don’t find anyone in this neighborhood who cooks better than I do, I’ll have to keep cooking. Only when I find someone like that will your auntie get a break!
This was in 2004. At the time, I was engaged in the noble duty of educating all the children of the world! I used to tutor a student near the GEC intersection in Chittagong. His name was Hridoy. His mother cooked extraordinarily well. Of all the home-cooked meals I’ve eaten in this life, Auntie’s cooking was the finest. She had elevated the act of cooking to the level of art. Hridoy’s house was the only place where I would shamelessly devour whatever snacks they offered, licking the plate clean. Many days I stayed for dinner after tutoring was done. (In this life, there are only a couple of houses where I’ve eaten without invitation—Hridoy’s was one of them.) Even when Auntie simply fried ordinary eggplant for a snack, eating it made me feel that no better eggplant could possibly be prepared.
Auntie had grown old, was unwell, and had a frail body. Yet with that broken-down frame, she would do all the household cooking herself, and even when she couldn’t cook with her own hands, she would sit on a small stool in the kitchen giving various instructions to Hridoy’s sisters-in-law as they cooked. When there was any celebration at someone’s house in the neighborhood, Auntie’s presence in that kitchen was practically indispensable! If anyone wanted to learn cooking, she would teach them with great enthusiasm. Auntie did all this from the heart’s calling, not for any monetary exchange. (In that neighborhood, Hridoy’s family was probably the wealthiest.) Auntie looked upon me like her own son, loved me so much that whenever she cooked something special at home, even if it wasn’t my tutoring day, she would call and ask me to come over. And I would go—I don’t have the mental strength to ignore the call of selfless love.
Auntie was illiterate. She had never even been to school. Even so, in my eyes, she remains a great artist to this day, forever deserving of such reverence. She deeply loved to cook and to feed others her cooking. She never grew tired while cooking; people don’t tire of work they love. The level of skill with which she cooked, the confidence she brought to cooking, the satisfaction she took in teaching others to cook—to achieve all that, one must be not merely a chef, but an artist. Cooking is one of the greatest arts in the world. Those whose hands produce good food—I love them, I respect them.
Think about it: how proficient must a person become at their work before they can declare, “No one can do this better than me!” The moment a painter paints, they feel that no one in the world can paint better than them. The moment a photographer clicks the shutter, they feel that no one in the world can take better photographs than them. The moment a poet writes a poem, they feel they are writing the finest poem in the world. The moment a singer sings, they feel that no artist superior to them has yet been born into this world… This is called binding oneself, throwing down the gauntlet—to present oneself as the best, to perfect one’s craft, to remain flawless even in the eyes of critics.
…Such thoughts and their relentless practice, even if they seem like the ravings of an obsessed fool, transform a person into something altogether different. So different that everyone regards them with respect, and even those who outwardly dislike them must inwardly acknowledge: He is a genius! Those who are truly artists like this unconsciously follow certain codes. Let me mention one for now. For years, they ensure that every single day they do their beloved work just a little better than the day before. Come what may, they do it! Perhaps they spend five more minutes, perhaps they give a little more attention, perhaps they push themselves a little harder than the previous day. This happens every day. Every single day… just a little more!
This reminds me of a professor from CUET. Ashfaq Sir from the CSE Department. When he taught in class, he did so with such confidence and mastery of the subject that it was a pleasure to attend. We could sense that while there might be someone who could teach what Sir was teaching even better, there was no desire of ours that was beyond Sir’s capacity to fulfill. He never arrived even a minute late to class, presented the material with remarkable ease and fluency. His teaching style, his manner of speaking and looking, his personality, his refined behavior—all of it was captivating. The entire concept of what he was teaching was crystal clear in his mind. He made quiz, class test, and final exam questions that were straightforward, and graded generously. Extraordinary teachers don’t need to become extraordinary by making questions difficult or giving students low marks. Beyond teaching, there are many other qualities that make teachers memorable. Sir was also very handsome, the crush of many girls. I didn’t envy Sir—I loved him. I can’t envy those who are great; I end up loving them! I gave Sir a name: Mister Never-Behind!… Let me mention another Sir: Saif Sir. I had him for only a short time, but his memory lingers with us. He was the first person whose classes made us feel: We can do this too! (I’ll write about the other professors in another piece.)
Anyway, returning to the paragraph before the previous one… Through such continuous practice, they eventually become unique. So unique that they can say… I know you cannot do this better than me. You can hate me, you can envy me, perhaps you can even sever my inherited head from my neck in an instant, but you can never become ‘me.’
They—
You can say like Shah Rukh Khan: I am the best!
You can throw down the gauntlet like Muhammad Ali: I am the greatest!
You can declare yourself like Ronaldo, without a care: Your love makes me strong, your hate makes me unstoppable!
Are you thinking, all this is arrogance? Pride? You’ve muttered to yourself, pride comes before a fall…blah blah blah! Ask yourself this: can you speak with the same damn-care attitude as a Virat Kohli? What do you have that gives you the right to speak that way? You deserve not to be arrogant! Let me clarify: what appears as arrogance in them is not arrogance at all—it’s self-confidence, or the realization of truth! Because you and I have never encountered anything like that, it sounds like arrogance to us. Those who can wear arrogance well need not fall. It’s not arrogance, but unearned arrogance that leads to downfall! They know how to keep themselves in that best position, day after day.
Here’s the thing—there’s really no such thing as going against the current. Different rivers flow in different directions. Each person is a river unto themselves. So naturally, the current of one river won’t match the current of another—isn’t that obvious? You’re not going against the current; you’re actually flowing with your own current. Because that current is unfamiliar to others, they call it “against the current” and give their minds a holiday. Why not flow with that current for once! Great rivers have their own currents; to smaller rivers, these always seem novel, frightening…sometimes, even contemptible. That’s where the fun lies! On roads less traveled, even running is comfortable. On crowded roads, even walking offers no comfort!
I’ll end with another gem from Guru Shah Rukh Khan:
Love me or hate me………..but you cannot ignore me.
(I know for certain that even those who dislike me, who dismiss me publicly, the honored senior members of the Sushanta-Haters-Club—even they secretly read some of my writing, listen to some of my words…visit my wall. I will remain grateful to them until my dying day. Without them, I couldn’t burn myself anew each day. I lean toward perfection not so much because I love perfection, but far more to create some discomfort for my esteemed haters—whatever they may say about me, they cannot question the integrity of my work. (Of course they’ll speak ill of me—otherwise how would they keep their jobs!)
Let me tell you something, friend! Do you know why they can’t stand you? Because they couldn’t become like you. They tried, but they couldn’t. Accept it gracefully, boss! Don’t kick them—kick yourself, and keep moving forward—every day, bit by bit. They won’t be able to; they’ll remain stuck in that very place…you can be certain and at peace about this!)
Thought: Six Hundred Eighty-Four
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One. As long as life runs on one’s own means, it’s better to live it on one’s own terms. Otherwise, there comes a time when life brings much sorrow. And if one lives on another’s money, then I don’t think there remains anything called ‘one’s own terms’ at all—and if there is, it exists merely through brute force, through stubborn defiance, through shamelessness—like the character Dhrubo in the novel ‘Doorbin’ had.
Two. Commitment in Business
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Some merchants cheat on price, but not on the product itself. I find them acceptable. So what if they cleverly made extra profit—but they gave the right product. Perhaps I had little time, little inclination to bargain, I really needed or liked the item, the quality appealed to me, the item wasn’t available elsewhere, or I had surplus money and so I bought it from them at an inflated price. Here too I bear some responsibility or fault, whatever you call it. You may keep some extra money from me, but don’t give me a bad product. I really don’t have time to take that much trouble. Why should I? I didn’t take it from you for free! Since you’ve taken money from me, the responsibility of fulfilling my expectations falls on your shoulders. In this world, only free things have no value. For many years I’ve shopped at fixed-price stores to save time, to avoid hassles. When taking money to provide someone a service, never make a commitment you cannot keep. Inform me of your limitations beforehand—this won’t diminish my respect and trust for you. I understand one thing: what matters more than the price you charged is what product or service you gave me.
Some merchants cheat on both price and product. It seems to me that some people survive even by begging. If these merchants joined their ranks, we consumers would be saved. Business is a very noble endeavor. The work is very difficult—I tried and failed at it. Just think: you’re providing a product or service that makes many people’s lives easier. How many can do this work? You’ve received the opportunity to benefit humanity, and you’re wasting it like this? If you had any self-respect, could you give consumers bad products or services even at fair prices? Shame!
Just five days ago, I bought a power bank from a shop on the fourth floor of Chittagong’s Akhtaruzzaman Center. When I handed the money to my SI, I repeatedly told him to get a good product, no matter the cost. What matters to me is product quality. He brought the product with a six-month warranty sticker on it. After just two days of use, I noticed the power bank wasn’t charging properly. Even after leaving it plugged in all night, it would barely charge one bar. When I sent it back to the shop today, the shopkeeper said I apparently don’t know how to charge a power bank—that its capacity is high while my charger’s capacity is low, and so on and so forth. I generally never use a charger to charge my phone directly; I always use power banks. Have been for many years. Now if someone wants to teach me the simple method of using a power bank, that’s a problem! I requested him to take an extra five hundred taka if necessary, but not to give me a second-rate product. He still insisted the problem was with my charger! We’ve become so crude that we’ve even forgotten to admit our mistakes and say sorry! Don’t these people who take money from people’s pockets with their gibberish feel any shame? What’s the difference between them and common street thieves?
Let me tell you another incident. For many years now, I’ve frequently bought books online, and also ordered them by phone from various stores. (I’ve written about my bitter experience buying books from the online shop ‘Rokomari’—many of you have probably read it.) Last Wednesday, I bought several books from Kolkata through ‘Takshashila,’ ‘Sandhipoth,’ and ‘Prothoma’ at Dhaka’s Aziz Super Market. The books were sent via Sundarbans Courier Service with home delivery payment. The delivery address given was my office address. The books were supposed to arrive Thursday morning. They didn’t come. Meanwhile, when you call these distinguished gentlemen, they don’t answer the phone! Around 2:00 PM, I sent my orderly to their Agrabad office. The manager informed him that the books would reach their office around 8:30 that night. There was delay on the road due to traffic jams. He also promised that since the office would be closed Friday and Saturday, they would definitely come to the office and deliver the books by Sunday morning. Sunday came—the books did not. Around 1:30 PM, I sent my orderly to their office again. The books had arrived Thursday night itself, but they had forgotten to deliver them. The money had gone into their pocket, and they forgot to do the very task for which that money went into their pocket! Bravo! What an example of professionalism! The wretchedness doesn’t end there! When they found my orderly, they said, “You’ve come, that’s good—take this carton with you.” When my orderly refused, they started misbehaving with him. Note that the carton was extremely heavy, almost impossible for one person to carry. More importantly, why should I have to carry something that I was supposed to receive as home delivery? Why did they take responsibility by promising home delivery? Don’t these fools understand what ‘home delivery’ means? Or is this how the courier business operates—by harassing people? Not only did I not receive the service I was entitled to, but I learned that we’re supposed to carry that ‘home delivery’ carton ourselves! They hadn’t fulfilled their responsibility, and on top of that, they were trying to force us to take it! Wonderful! If they can’t do home delivery, why do they take money from us and make that commitment? Our misfortune is that we’re held hostage by such irresponsible, lowly types of worthless people! In this unfortunate country, even paying money won’t get you the service you deserve.
I say again: by all means, cheat me on price if you must, but don’t cheat me on the product itself, don’t harass me in the name of service. As a consumer/customer, this much is surely my due from you. I’m willing to spend extra money to avoid hassle, but I’m not willing to be cheated. If you can’t properly supply me with goods or services, tell me beforehand—I want to make informed decisions. But please don’t do business with the mentality of cunningly taking money from me and then putting me through unnecessary trouble; one can live with dignity even by begging—at least when I give to a beggar, I have no expectations in return.
Business is a noble profession. Here, commitment carries the highest value. If you lack that within you, then business is not for you. I too was once in business. Sometimes I may have overcharged customers in price, but in product or service… placing my hand on my heart with complete honesty I can say—never! I have not a single record in my entire life of deliberately failing a commitment. Commitment holds the highest value for me. What I cannot give you, what I cannot do for you—I will never make such a promise to you while I live. It is better to beg for food than to break a commitment. There is no greater fortune than living with respect in others’ eyes. I remember a friend of mine. He used to tell me, “Friend, if everyone in the world were like you, then at least there would be no need for banks to keep money—one could leave their money with someone like you.” This is one of the finest certificates of my entire life. There is not a single person on earth who is owed even a penny by me. If I were to die this very moment, you would not find a single creditor to curse me. Those who cannot keep commitments should not enter business at all. Money is not a thing for frivolity. Rather than taking money with commitments you cannot keep, it is better to take that money as charity or aid.
The milkman who charges more but gives pure milk is the good milkman. The milkman who charges less but gives adulterated milk is an object of pity. Just try declaring that your product or service costs more, but the quality is good—you will see that your consumers and customers will not decrease, but increase. Your product or service is not for all classes. Good things require good money—this is natural. Those whose pockets cannot afford that item will buy from elsewhere, but after purchasing, no one will curse you. What greater glory is there than doing business without earning people’s curses?
Happily though, many businesspeople are good, they maintain their commitments properly. You can share in the comments of this post about such businesspeople you know. We wish to thank them. Good people are surely worthy of respect.
Thought: Six hundred fifty-five
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One. : My heart burns for you.
:
My lips crack from the cold.
(Conversation concluded.)
Two. When the head of family or the earning member (not merely earning-capable) suddenly dies, does it never once occur to the family members—alas, our milch cow, our burden-bearing donkey has died!
Three. One who has no person to pray for them is truly unfortunate.
We never know where in the world someone might be praying for us, always keeping us in their good wishes. I have seen it happen that someone prays for a person, wishes—that this person may be well, may not fall ill, may live happily with family and friends, may have no sorrows in life, when storms come on the path of life may this person be able to weather them, may living itself seem beautiful to them—and so much more…and that person never knew that someone loved them so much every moment!
So what if they never knew? What does it matter? Must love be declared to be love? Does love fade if left unspoken? The madness for that person might diminish, the restlessness too may grow pale with time, yet true love survives, endures until the end. Perhaps you meet that person, even speak with them, yet never say—I love you. Does such love have no value? When you fall in love, you can simply say it… can you really? Still, does the one who loves not find joy? When you love someone, prayers for them flow naturally from the heart. And prayer is nothing but intimate conversation between the heart and God. This conversation, this communion, this solitary dwelling greatly increases the strength of the human mind. Love is like meditation, like peace, like refuge.
As long as we pray, we converse with God. In that conversation, often without our knowing, answers to many questions emerge, many feelings find purification, infinite strength comes to inhabit the mind, many new dimensions of life unfold. Those mysteries whose depths we cannot fathom despite a thousand attempts—simple explanations for them somehow arrive during prayer. This wondrous journey on the path of joy—there can be no greater fortune than this.
When artists create, they perhaps hold some beloved person, thought, or being threaded in their minds. This brings great advantage, makes the work of creation easy and fluid. All great creations in the world are fruits of prayer, each one. Think of that person polishing your shoes to a shine! When he does this work, perhaps his beloved’s face floats in his mind—the one for whom he makes today’s arrangement for livelihood. Whenever his mind draws that picture, his work becomes something close to prayer. The quality of work improves, your happiness increases. Along with the shoe’s transformation, your face too changes. Your joy, your confidence, your beauty touches everyone around you. This new person that has been created—surely it is the contribution of that poor man. Here he becomes the artist. This creative process of art is prayer itself.
Prayer creates human responsibility. The artist’s brush looks toward him, the writer’s pen speaks with him, the singer’s harmonium seeks something from him, the barber’s scissors command him, the photographer’s lens makes demands of him…they keep saying, love me! Don’t be afraid, in this prayer of yours I am with you. Indeed, every artist falls in love—with the instruments of artistic creation, with their work, with their own artistic being, with their responsibility toward art. From this comes prayer and sincerity.
That’s why I say, to live with laughter in your eyes and peace in your heart, you need someone in life for whom prayers rise spontaneously, thinking of whom makes you want to keep yourself well. Someone you cannot quite bring yourself to say “I love you” to, yet who remains present in every moment of your existence… right to the end… no matter what may come!
Reflection: Six Hundred Eighty-Six
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Living with those who do not wish to live in peace
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There’s a certain breed of people who relish creating trouble and picking fights. They cannot survive long without quarreling, without stirring up complications. Even when those around them do nothing that might provoke conflict, they themselves will do something inflammatory or behave badly enough to incite anger and arguments. If necessary, they’ll pick a fight over someone stepping on their foot—they absolutely must do it. Their personal dictionary contains no entry for “living in peace” or “living contentedly.” They seek out issues to create trouble at regular intervals. If they can’t find an issue, they manufacture one; sometimes they resurrect old grievances and stir them up again. If they can’t crack someone else’s head, they’ll crack their own, inviting trouble to come calling—something along these lines! Their peace comes only when they’ve managed to create substantial chaos. They actually feel uncomfortable being comfortable. Only after inflicting some harm on someone—anyone—do they find calm. They derive joy from seeing others suffer. This joy is what they crave. For this, they’ll waste their own time, sometimes even expend effort and money, all to try to damage others. Their targets are often people who surpass them socially, intellectually, and financially. Sometimes they drag down contemporaries, preventing them from moving forward. The thought constantly works in their minds: since they themselves haven’t reached anywhere despite much effort (or lack thereof), they won’t let others reach there either. They can hate everyone in superior positions without any real reason. It’s as if they were born with an infinite capacity for hatred! Sometimes they fabricate absurd justifications for their hatred and love to spend hours tirelessly spreading that hatred among others. They are losers by nature, and they have many friends. In this world, losers always have strength in numbers.
There exists another type of person who flies into destructive rage over the slightest provocation, deliberately magnifying trivial matters beyond all proportion. They willfully drown themselves in torrents of unbridled, incoherent language and words. These are, in truth, people of weak character. To mask their own frailty, they resort to shouting and screaming. This is an ancient and unfailing technique. Strong people generally possess greater mental capacity than vocal power. Consequently, when confronted with such commotion from the weak, the strong fall silent and withdraw to a distance. The weak then interpret this as their victory! To preserve such easily won success, they continue to follow the same path of destruction and uproar in times to come. They have no objection to keeping themselves incompetent and base in pursuit of immediate gains. They can degrade themselves to such depths and remain there for eternity—a thought that breeds disgust. Seeing others fall silent and remain terrorized and vigilant in response to their clamor gives them a peculiar satisfaction. If such a person happens to be someone close—whom you can neither abandon nor tolerate—then there is no greater helplessness than having to endure such circumstances. They evoke both anger and pity, yet there remains nothing to do but grit one’s teeth and silently accept it all. Perhaps their hands itch if they cannot engage in some form of destruction at regular intervals! Since we cannot break their hands—accepting harsh reality as we must—they assume their physical strength far exceeds ours! Sometimes they sit and think: today, by hook or crook, they will prove themselves innocent, or else they will smash and destroy the entire world. To escape the wrath of such fury, everyone appeases them to keep them calm. Only those who have suffered know what agony it is to accept this. They believe themselves omniscient, their decisions correct, and that all humanity is obligated to follow their judgments! They do not subscribe to the principle of “many opinions, many paths.” Their faith is: one opinion only, one path only. That opinion is theirs, that path is theirs. Everyone must follow that opinion, that path! Those who refuse are bad; everything about them is wrong. If these sick individuals see someone not obeying them, they immediately conclude it must certainly be that person’s fault, and at that very moment they feel justified in beating them—even killing them! This is how they think! In their eyes, only they are right; everyone else is wrong. Only they understand; the rest merely chew grass. They possess not an iota of tolerance for differing opinions!
Another utterly dreadful thing is suspicion—some people harbor meaningless doubts about everything, great and small. Living by suspecting others is their sole occupation. They spend all their time searching for people’s faults, seeing a snake in every rope, thinking someone asleep must be dead. If someone coughs to clear their throat, they think there must surely be some ulterior motive. People are afraid to even look at them—who knows what wild thoughts they might conjure! Everyone remains somewhat fearful in their presence, unable to be natural. Living simply with them becomes impossible. One must often resort to acting, living with discomfort, unable to feel at ease even with the most innocent actions. Being around them creates an inexplicable sense of guilt within oneself. They speak negatively about one person to another. If someone is on their list of suspects, they dislike anyone who speaks well of that person. They are closest to those who, like them, live by finding faults and harboring suspicions. Such people assume that everyone in the world would be immoral given the chance. Only they themselves are virtuous; only their own actions are good. In this world, just one fragment of perfect humanity has been created—themselves. They know how to behave in unbelievably awful ways. They never see the marks on their own backs, only search for marks on others’. They believe that others can be deceived in various ways, and that everyone in the world except themselves is a deceiver. Of course, only they truly know the methods for deceiving others! They prefer to forcibly bind people. They refuse to accept that no one can actually be bound by force. And even if they could be, it would be impossible for such a person to live as a healthy, normal human being. Forcing someone to live day after day with discomfort and suffering is a kind of sin. They have no objection to this sin! Through tyrannical looks, vile words, arrogant behavior—by creating trouble in any way possible or gathering crowds to humiliate others—they are masters. Gentle, peaceful people fall most often into their trap. Out of fear for their honor and dignity, to avoid trouble, everyone submits to them. When speaking with them, even about matters requiring no deception, lies slip from one’s lips, and excessive, confused words dance on one’s tongue. Then their suspicion grows even more. This is a terrible disease—both the patient and everyone around them suffer from its torment! Perhaps they think that binding others is the natural order, or that this is how people remain well. And for the sake of binding others—wherever they need to pull strings, whatever strategies they must employ, however much psychological torture they must inflict on their targets, and whatever else they must do—they do it all. However low they need to sink for this purpose, they are prepared to sink that low or even lower. When necessary, their conscience is not troubled in the least by fabricating lies about others and spreading them. Some people live by suspecting, and some people must live by enduring suspicion. Both types of people are truly very miserable. They often wish to die, but due to certain attachments, they cannot even do that!
When these three habits exceed their bounds, they can no longer be called natural. They become phobias or disorders. Anything in excess is a phobia. When something reaches the level of phobia, it needs healing. For this, they require medical consultation (counseling). From what I understand, a person with a healthy mind and one with an unhealthy mind can never coexist harmoniously. If they must live together, either the unhealthy person needs treatment, or the healthy person will become unhealthy. Even if a mentally healthy person wishes to, they cannot avoid all the mentally unhealthy people in the world. Trapped by the pressures and obligations of society, habit, tradition, family, and relationships, no matter how much suffering it causes, one simply cannot decide purely based on personal preference—whom I will or will not associate with. Inevitably, one must live carrying resentment and self-reproach about one’s own existence. What other choice is there! Two mentally healthy people or two mentally unhealthy people can live together, but can a mentally healthy person and a mentally unhealthy person ever coexist? Is this even possible? Yet many lives somehow endure in such circumstances. Whether from shame before society; to avoid family complications; from some anxiety about what might happen if a bond or habit were broken, trying to ‘ward off uncertainty’; or from some indulgence or laziness that says—it’s going, let it continue, let’s just see what happens—many relationships survive this way. One party continues to suffer, the other continues to inflict suffering. Everyone observes, they’re laughing, they’re fine. In reality, they are not fine. They cannot share this with anyone, so the pain and suppressed tears keep mounting. The relationship between them is not healthy—it survives merely due to certain habits, certain ways of living, certain fears. The distance they maintain while living side by side prevents them from being well. This is like cancer, growing day by day. This cancer has no chemotherapy, because no one really tries to find a remedy for it. Fearing exposure, worried about creating more complications, uncertain about what a new life might bring—due to countless such doubts and hesitations, two people carry an uncomfortable relationship and walk hand in hand toward death.