Reflection: Six hundred forty-five
………………………………………………………
Brother, I never enjoyed studying;
and I reaped its consequences immediately. I got a golden A+ in my matriculation. I enrolled at Chittagong College. Everyone knew me as a good student. In intermediate, I pretty much gave up studying altogether. I would go to teachers’ houses and come back, do no studying whatsoever, hang around chatting on streets and alleys, return home after 10 PM. I wouldn’t listen to my parents,
instead I’d fight with them, shout and scream at home. I thought
that was life itself. Brother, no one fails from Chittagong College,
failing intermediate is truly difficult. And that’s exactly what I did. I was studying science, couldn’t do anything,
what was I going to write by making things up, I submitted blank answer sheets, brother. For the first time, I truly came to know myself. I saw that everyone kept their distance, no one gave two cents about me. Only my parents said nothing, they just wept, only wept. Yet
I had thought before that everyone else was my own, while my parents seemed like enemies. I felt like crying terribly, brother,
but I was also ashamed to cry. Sometimes I thought,
let me just die. Then again, if I died, my parents would cry even more,
thinking this also caused me pain. Then again, what would happen if I died, what wouldn’t happen,
I’d think about these things,
and feel afraid too. I was like a madman for several months. Then my parents explained, failing once doesn’t matter. If I studied properly, I could do much better next time, my whole life still lay ahead,
if I tried I could go very far,
and so on and so forth. Brother, doesn’t it make you laugh to hear this? But you know, at that time no one said anything good to me,
so when I heard something slightly good, my heart would swell enormously,
I’d think,
I can do it too!
I took the exam next time,
got terrible results,
but I passed. Brother,
you know, during the exam the teachers would come and stand before me saying,
cross out this entire page in one go,
you’ve made the whole page soggy. I felt terrible pain, I’d cry even during exams,
the pages would get wet with my tears. I had never failed any exam before, in childhood I always came first or second. Me, of all people! Anyway, with my poor results, forget about getting admitted somewhere good,
I couldn’t even sit for entrance exams. Father said
he’d get me into private medical school. Father didn’t have that much money,
he was thinking of taking a loan. Suddenly I felt, I’ve caused my parents so much suffering, no more. I somewhat forcefully enrolled in the degree pass course at a commerce college, at least father wouldn’t have to beg anyone for my sake. Relatives, old friends, neighborhood people—no one counted me as anything,
no one,
no one at all!
No one respects students from National University, brother. I too once didn’t respect them,
and there I had to study. What irony, isn’t it, brother?
I felt such anger toward myself. Brother,
being known as a good student to everyone in childhood is a wretched thing,
you can never think of yourself as small again. Before, everyone used to say good things,
now they said nothing more. How angry I felt toward everyone! I thought no one could stand to see me,
everyone was my enemy. When no one loves you well, it hurts terribly,
brother; it just keeps hurting. I didn’t talk much to anyone, if someone said something,
I’d feel hurt,
I’d suppress the hurt, but wouldn’t say anything in response. I thought,
of course they’ll say it,
all the fault is mine. Brother,
I’ve been extremely stubborn since childhood, even if I didn’t say anything aloud, the stubbornness was definitely there.
You know, a bachelor’s degree is a three-year course; I started preparing for IBA from the middle of my third year. I used to think that everyone who studies at IBA is considered a good student, so if I could get admitted there, perhaps it would compensate for my failures a little. I prepared very thoroughly. For the first time in my life, I could decide what I actually wanted. Brother, one of your sayings is very dear to me. In your Facebook “About Me” section, you wrote: “It took me almost 2 decades to decide what I really want. When I’d decided finally, it took me only 1 year to get what I really want.” You don’t know how many of your words I’ve memorized by heart, brother. Anyway, even before my final results came out, I took the IBA exam and passed. Now everyone thinks that my failure was just an accident, that I’m actually a very capable boy. Yet these same people used to say: “Won’t he fail? Who else will fail? Loafing around all day, no studying, hanging out with worthless friends,” and so much more. Brother, believe me, not everything they said was true. But I had failed, so I had nothing to say to them. It hurt even more when I saw them saying these things to my parents too. Now I think about how much pain I caused my parents! Now no one says anything to my parents anymore. This is the biggest thing for me; studying at IBA is just an excuse. Brother, I believe that if someone sincerely asks Allah for something halal, and works properly to achieve it, Allah never disappoints them. Brother, I feel embarrassed telling you these things, but somehow I felt like sharing. I know some things about you—you too have risen to your current position from some very difficult circumstances. You wrote: “Being a nobody in this world is no pleasure. Whatever anyone may say, this much is certain: for nobodies, only nothing is allocated in this world. We can never imagine where life takes us.” This is deeply true, brother. I’ve rambled on quite a bit—please don’t mind. One can’t take the BCS exam with just a bachelor’s degree; if it were possible, I would have tried. I’ll take the BCS exam after finishing my master’s. Please help me a little, brother.
Thought: Six Hundred and Forty-Six
………………………………………………………
During student life, I used to find time for tutoring alongside my public studies, while I would study whenever I got time alongside tutoring. I had my own coaching center. Polash Coaching Home. I taught from class nine all the way to honors level. Literally from morning till night. I didn’t attend that many classes at CUET. I loved teaching immensely. I tried to give the maximum of what I knew. I was extraordinarily dedicated about teaching. The amount of effort I put into creating difficult notes and lecture sheets for students—even now I’m amazed thinking about it. Every Friday morning I taught Bengali literature, and in the afternoon I held classes for IBA BBA admission exam preparation. I would prepare top-level grammatical exercises and vocabulary sheets and have students solve them. For intermediate science students, I would solve at least 3-4 books so they could get into engineering and medical colleges.
(I was very professional, but none of my students could say I ever taught commercially.)
Back then it felt like so many enchanted eyes were looking at me in class, my students were achieving such good results, studying at the country’s top institutions—this was the most joyful thing in the world. Life could be spent in this happiness alone. Life was complete here!
2002-2011. A long time. There’s so much to write about it.
(Someday when I have time, I’ll write about it properly,
we’ll see.) How I wasted those golden years of my youth studying and teaching instead of hanging out—I still regret it when I think about it. That any normal person could work so hard purely for joy—even when it comes to mind now, I can hardly believe it. I taught students after studying extensively myself. I must have read their syllabus books at least hundreds of times. The way I taught to strengthen their basics was nothing short of torture for them. (I would scold them plenty if they didn’t study properly,
and beat them with a cane.) I taught all subjects myself. Only for intermediate biology and commerce subjects were there two other teachers. I don’t know if there’s any other record of someone single-handedly establishing a complete coaching center. The boundless energy I had back then—I can’t even imagine it now. I used to challenge myself, saying
that what I taught couldn’t be taught any better. I know this thought was pure madness. But at that time I believed
I taught the best lessons in the world. Back then I could work like a ghost. (My income was more than any boy my age. I was so busy that I didn’t even have time to go astray. Our family was quite well-off. Still, I did all that for joy. I taught many students for free. Most of them were poor, some were those who would take my money and run.)
I don’t know how much you can grasp my madness about teaching. I know
it’s a bit difficult to even imagine. I wasn’t the slightest bit conscious about my caliber, career, or anything else. I’ve always been among those who do what they love doing. I found all the happiness in the world in teaching. Yet I moved away from there. How? Through a few incidents. I’m sharing two of them.
Every year, many of my students would call to tell me they had gotten into prestigious institutions. Their parents’ joy was matched entirely by my own happiness. One of my dearest students had gotten into BUET’s Electrical Engineering program. I was very fond of him for his humble demeanor. He didn’t tell me about getting in. I learned about it much later and called to congratulate him. I asked, “I’m incredibly happy to hear you got into BUET. I bless you to go far in life. Brother, why didn’t you share this joyful news with me?” His response was: “Sir, I was very busy, so it slipped my mind. You should have called to ask me whether I got in or not. When many of us get in, it benefits you—it’s your coaching center’s reputation. You’ll get even more students next time.” I felt as if someone had slapped me hard across the face. Tears began streaming down my cheeks. I said nothing to him that day, but a stubborn resolve settled in my heart.
Let me share another incident. My students’ guardians would say among themselves that Sushanto Sir was running a coaching center only because he couldn’t do anything else. He’d probably drop out of engineering too. He’d spend his whole life just teaching students. If he could do something worthwhile, he wouldn’t be teaching students. Some behaved as if: we’re paying money, so the sir is obligated to teach. (I sometimes think now—when today’s double golden A-plus students can’t even make the waiting list for entrance exams at institutions where I came second. Alas! They too act so arrogant!)
Most of what I’ve achieved in life came after receiving tremendous blows. At one point, I began to think: what does tutoring actually give us? One: raw money. Two: if you’re very fortunate, respect and gratitude. Three: as a side effect of students’ good results, your own poor results. Four: foolish self-satisfaction. Nothing else. I don’t know if any of you have taught even one percent of the students I’ve taught in my lifetime. Before starting my own coaching center, I taught at 10-12 different coaching centers, including admission coaching. I know very well how others view tutoring during student life, what people think about it. I never took money from that beloved student of mine. He had no father, so I had a soft corner for him. The gratitude he showed me for teaching him free was more than most of my paying students ever managed. Now I love him dearly for his rudeness that day. I’m also grateful to my students’ guardians. The most prideful and joyful thing in this world is to do what ten others think you cannot do. I remember them with reverence for unknowingly throwing this challenge at me.
Another thing:
The easiest way to quit tutoring is to actually quit tutoring. Trying to quit tutoring for years is like trying to quit cigarettes over and over again. How to start something, or how to stop doing something you’ve been doing for ages—the simplest technique for that comes from a dialogue in my very, very favorite movie ‘The Good, the Bad and the Ugly’: When you have to shoot…Shoot!
Don’t talk.
Reflection: Six hundred forty-seven
………………………………………………………
: Hello, are you listening?
: Yes,
I can hear you. Who is this,
please?
: It’s half past one at night. Why are you awake?
Won’t you sleep?
: I can’t quite place you.
: No need to place me. Shall we talk?
: No. I’m hanging up.
And I cut the phone. If it had been a girl hanging up, I would have thought all the girls in the world were crazy about me. The strange arrogant ego of youth.
Two days later.
: If you hang up, I’ll speak directly to your father. I’ll tell him everything.
: Meaning??
: You know me. What’s the problem with talking to me?
: Alright, go ahead.
: Scared? Hehe…..
The conversation continued. Young girls have a screw loose. They can create trouble without thinking ahead. If she manages to get Father’s number and actually calls him, Father will think I don’t have the courage to tell someone I like them directly. That I’m deliberately getting the girl to say it. There’ll be no prestige left. How utterly embarrassing!
Another day.
: What’s the point of knowing who I am?
: I feel neither love nor hatred toward strangers.
: Haven’t you seen sudden rain? Our love is sudden-rain type love. Hehe….
: In movies, both the hero and heroine are beautiful.
: Even if you’re not handsome, I have no problem with that. Hehe ……
(I stayed quiet. The girl has a sense of humor. That means her chances of being beautiful are slim.)
: Why are you quiet? Hehe
…… So, what were you doing?
: Listening to music.
: Whose music?
: Jagannmoy Mitra’s.
: Oh
……
: How do you like his songs?
: Hmm,
good.
(It seemed like
she was making it up.)
: Which one do you like best?
: Actually, I haven’t heard his name.
(I fell silent……..)
: Why are you quiet?? Oh okay okay, that’s fine, I’ll listen to him. When his new album comes out, I’ll buy it and send it to you myself.
: No more albums will be released.
: Why?
Has he stopped singing??
(My mood soured. By then, Jagamoy’s ghost had also died and become a ghost. The girl had qualities. Her results were very good. She read lots of books. All medical books. And she knew Rabindranath’s name. She also believed that Rabindranath’s writings must be good. Otherwise, why would so many people call them good?
I grew tired of telling her to watch Life is Beautiful along with several other movies, and eventually gave up. Let her be as she is. But she had one very good quality—
she knew how to love, and she did love. Dating boys and girls with very good academic records is often a huge punishment. She wasn’t like that. I was the one thinking like a fool.)
Happily enough,
today is her second wedding anniversary. I arranged her marriage myself. When I was studying at Chittagong College, I told a friend that Kishore Kumar was a big rice merchant in Khatunganj. He also sang as a hobby. Listening to his “Aaj Ei Dintake” on a Walkman, she was quite enchanted. My friend didn’t know Kishore Kumar. (Really didn’t know him.)
That day, his head bowed in respect for the amateur singer. Sitting on the steps in front of the collapsible gate that was always closed in front of the Chemistry Department at Chittagong College, I told my good-natured friend all this in a believable manner. Even the monkeys around us barely suppressed their laughter that day. I’ve always been able to tell harmless lies very systematically, seriously, and sincerely, making them sound like truth.
Friend, this is what I ask for today:
at least raise your children listening to Lata and Kishore.
Srijato asks in his poem (to some girl),
Someone who hasn’t heard
of Shankha Ghosh
If they propose to you,
what will you do……
In these times when at least two friends or younger brothers invite me to their weddings every week, when I like photos of friends’ kids who look like angels,
when I see that the number of people who call me ‘dada’ in my neighborhood has decreased,
school-going youngsters call me ‘uncle’,
when friends whose marriages have been arranged say
there were many better boys or girls before they settled down, then I tell Srijato:
if she says yes, I’ll make her read Shankha Ghosh.
(Enough already…….) Most
girls gradually become like the boy they love.
Thought: Six hundred forty-eight
………………………………………………………
Father, thank you!
I count myself deeply fortunate that we had no generator at home during my childhood. When the power would go out in the evenings, Father would gather us two brothers and sit with us on the verandah. We would wait eagerly each evening for the electricity to fail. Perched on Father’s knees, my little brother and I would listen as he told us how electric lights had stolen the moon’s radiance and left us all bewildered and forgetful. Father taught us to recognize the stars, to learn how to touch moonlight with our fingers, to feel what it was like when moonbeams slipped and slid across the leaves of trees. There was not a single holiday when Father wouldn’t help Mother with household tasks—cutting fish and vegetables, sweeping and cleaning, washing clothes. Father might not have returned home with the most expensive food, but we ate our meals in the most precious way possible. Father would say, “It’s only because your mother keeps the home running all day that I can go out and work.” I never once saw Father criticize Mother’s cooking. Father called Mother (and still calls her) the Home Minister. Mother was often unwell. Yet I never learned from childhood to sit at the dinner table when only lentils and mashed potatoes were prepared and ask, “Isn’t there anything else?” Instead, Father would repeatedly acknowledge how Mother spent her busy days caring for us two brothers despite her ailing body. He would praise all of Mother’s work. Mother would light up like a small child, forget all her troubles, and sit down to tell Father stories about everything that had happened during the day. Father says, “Women are such children at heart. If you hurt their feelings, it comes back manifold.” My mother taught kindergarten children. She did this purely for joy. Running after us, managing all the household work, maintaining social relations—Mother had to handle all of this too. I believe that if you give your wife the respect she deserves, even if you don’t reap the benefits, your children certainly will. I can say this with absolute certainty. The family member who doesn’t earn money feels just as tired as you do. There’s no connection between earning money and feeling exhausted. I’ve observed that if household work were paid, my mother’s salary would have been at least double mine. If life’s small joys can be savored with love, then not only does life’s accounting balance out—there’s a bonus too. Food tastes good not because of flavor, but because of love. Perhaps that’s why everyone’s mother’s cooking is the most delicious cooking in the world. Those who’ve been away from home for long periods know how easily they’d bid farewell to all the world’s riches just for the craving of Mother’s lentil curry and fried eggplant!
Why did all this come to mind? I read a story about President Abdul Kalam’s childhood. I’m writing it here in my own way.
One day at dinner, Abdul Kalam’s mother placed a burnt flatbread and a bowl of vegetables before his father. Little Kalam waited to see if his father would say anything. As if nothing had happened, his father ate the bread and vegetables with contentment and asked little Kalam about what had happened at school that day, what his friends and teachers had said. Kalam’s mother was lamenting the burnt bread and expressing her regret. Then Kalam’s father said, “Ah, my beloved! I really enjoy eating burnt bread. Today’s bread turned out wonderfully!” Mother went to sleep with a smile. Later that night, before going to bed, little Kalam asked his father, “Baba, do you really like eating burnt bread?” His father said, “Your mother worked all day today and is very tired. The bread she made—it wasn’t made with physical strength, son, but with the strength of love. Burnt bread doesn’t hurt anyone, but harsh behavior does. Listen, son! In this life, the people you’ll live with, everything you’ll deal with—none of it is perfect. Yet you can still live beautifully with all of this. Son! Life is so short! How many days will we really live, tell me? Where’s the time to sleep with regrets?”
Reading this story, I said once more in my heart, “Baba, thank you!”
Thought: Six hundred fifty-nine
………………………………………………………
One.
It is through food that people become most intimate; wherever I have seen the sweetest unbreakable bonds of family life, I have noticed that the wife keeps her husband well-fed with ever-new delicacies.
~ Satinath Bhaduri
Bhaduri-ji, I have always envied your generation in matters such as these. Today’s moderns step into the kitchen’s shadow only with the feet of housemaids. Or mothers-in-law. They become Siddika Kabir with great care, watching cookbooks or TV shows. That care circulates more in the realm of the mind than in the realm of the heart. While it’s easy to go from the kitchen to books, the reverse is just as difficult! Still, when eating such cooking, one can eat with great satisfaction while thinking of the TV show’s ravishing beauty. These mind-boggling women teach all the cooking. That’s why their style attracts me more. I’m fairly certain that beautiful woman’s cooking doesn’t reach even her poor husband’s plate that often. At least in that regard, long live the educated modern bride!
I’ve seen friends say “thanks” with such dry faces when praising their wives’ cooking. The fault lies more with the mother-in-law than with the wife, I think. Why does she assume that even after marriage, the daughter and son-in-law will continue to eat mother’s cooking in comfort? No matter how high their educational qualifications, the Bengali nature is to keep someone standing outside the door of the heart if they cannot pass the test of “additional qualification” in at least one other matter. At least that’s how I am. Violinist Einstein, footballer Niels Bohr, painter Rabindranath are much dearer to me. Be it music, literature, cooking, or something else. But without basic qualification, that “additional qualification” has less value. Because then it no longer remains “additional”!
Who in this world
remains indifferent to what lies beyond
fair dues—the windfall,
the extra, the bonus?
Let me say this while I have the chance:
not all indifference is genuine. The one who forgets to ask back money from a debtor—he’s the one who gets the authentic certificate of absent-mindedness. How many boys marry with dreams and fantasies, only to end up sitting around building their own
Bridges of Sighs!
Two.
A boy came to class with his hair spiked up with gel. The hair stood high in the middle of his head like horns. With a cool look and a don’t-care attitude, he stared at the professor.
Seeing him, the professor said,
Hey dude! Having horns doesn’t make you
horny, you know. 😉
Poor fellow was completely blown away!
How the girls laughed!
Let me tell you about another day. A boy sat in class with a bit of an attitude, three buttons of his shirt undone, legs spread in a lordly style. As if he could light up a cigarette if he wanted to—that sort of pose.
(Same)
professor said,
Hey there, mister, button up your shirt.
You’ve nothing to show me.
Poor guy’s face at that moment was quite a sight to see. Hehe . . . . . ..
Teaching at IBA is also quite an amusing experience. There’s so much to learn from here. From the professors, from peers,
from the course curriculum, from extracurricular activities,
from inside the classroom, from outside. Smartness, working under tight deadlines, giving presentations, cutting corners,
mischief-making, taking on workloads (or taking credit without taking work. In teamwork, often two plus one equals four.
)
All the smart boys in the world
study at IBA. Even smarter professors teach the classes. (Or perhaps IBA itself
makes the boys smart before letting them go.)
From any angle, you can’t underestimate IBA’s
products. (Though the public tends to overrate us more often. Not that we mind much when they do. Hehe . . . . . . .)
To tell the truth,
on IBA’s premises, in the hostel, I used to feel completely insignificant. Got no attention whatsoever. I really miss those
IBA days.
Three.
In a relationship
Engaged
Married
My eyes keep getting stuck on these three statuses on Facebook.
These days no one stays alone anymore. Everyone stays alone with someone they like. What a joyful thing.
Some people, of course, are blissfully munching on puffed rice. The rule of eating puffed rice is
to go far away, close your eyes and mouth, and chew slowly. On Facebook, though, there’s no such rule. Here you can grin with your mouth closed,
give likes even with an extremely dejected face.
The other day we had gone to see a prospective bride for one of our friends. After seeing the girl, when we said,
“Friend, we all really liked her. She’s exactly right!
You should agree to this.”
That’s when he decided
he would not marry the girl.
Our friend refused because of the way we spoke to him. Facebook doesn’t offer this opportunity. Here everyone is beautiful, everything is beautiful; so here you only need to give likes. Want to be beautiful? Open a Facebook account.
Marriage and death. In both, there’s no distinction of age—peers, older, or younger. I know of a friend who, in anger, sorrow, and frustration, had stopped going to friends’ weddings. He got married recently. He now understands that no one in this world remains a bachelor forever. He too has the right to attend some friends’ weddings carrying a cherubic baby in his arms. Getting married is not the only work in this world.
I was talking about living alone. No one goes bankrupt buying books. And not everyone goes bankrupt just because they have a wife. So both are good. However, how good it is to have both together—that could be a subject for research.
The only problem with books is that there is no conversation (and the other
things).
People go bankrupt even without buying books. There are countless examples. Then again, those who are somewhat bibliomaniacal like me—they go bankrupt from the sorrow of not buying books too.
He who has no wife has books. He who has no books has God. He who has no one has Facebook.
This weekend could also be the last week of life. Who can tell! I go to the bookstore. I browse through books, handle them, buy them. I have three addictions: books, movies, music. Teeth look beautiful in their rows, books are everywhere. At home, if I see a place where books could be kept but there are no books, I feel somehow uneasy. I’m married yet my wife isn’t with me, there’s space on the hard disk yet no movies—both are the same kind of feeling. And needless to say, any person devoid of music is to be abandoned. The situation has become such that there’s no space at home to keep bookshelves, yet piles and piles of books lie waiting for shelves.
Final words. Not everyone is happy—some are bachelors. May all the bachelors of the world be happy, may they find well-being.
Thought: Six hundred fifty
………………………………………………………
A little while ago Walid bhai called from Japan. He topped the 34th BCS examination in the BCS Foreign Service cadre. I’m sharing some of his words.
# Fifty percent of the contribution behind my becoming a BCS cadre belongs to you and Masfi bhai. I should confess this openly.
# I saw in the papers that all the coaching centers have made me their student. Ridiculous people!
# What has happened in my inbox over the past three days,
I truly could never have imagined. People really cannot accept anything easily. You are absolutely a living legend in this sector, at least in the field of preparation techniques. I know they don’t spare you either, yet they still follow your methods. There are certain vested groups who try to become popular by making such remarks. Cheap!!!
# I often wonder,
how you continue to inspire people even after everything!
You have motivated me tremendously, brother.
……….. 644! This very number has brought me to where I am today. I used to keep your written exam marks in mind and would very silently read all your posts with great attention. I would simply tell myself,
I must beat 644,
no matter what it takes!
# Brother,
I was actually a candidate who failed the 33rd preliminary exam. Later, I studied very well for just one week before the 34th BCS preliminary. I left everything else and studied for 2-3 weeks before the written exam, and today I have secured the job.
# I generally don’t read books much,
I lack patience. I can’t recall ever reading anyone’s writing with such attention. But in life, I have read two people’s writings without any fatigue. During my graduation, the person whose writing captivated me was Anisul Haque, someone Masfi brother greatly dislikes. Hahahaha………. During my post-graduation, the person whose writing I always read was you. The fluency of your writing keeps me mesmerized. I would always try to replicate you. Whenever I wrote something, I would think whether it was turning out like yours. I tried to follow your style. Let me tell you something true, brother. No one would even believe it. The night before the Bangladesh Affairs and International Affairs exams during the 34th BCS written test, what I sat reading was your and Masfi brother’s writings. I read them very attentively and thought, tomorrow in the exam I will write exactly like this. I never told you these things before. If I had, you would have thought I was flattering you. Today there’s no barrier to saying it. So I’m thanking you to lighten myself, brother. If I were in the country, I would have met you and you would see tears in my eyes.
# This effort you continue making to help the young generation,
everyone will remember this. What do you gain from standing for hours and speaking at various career sessions?
Nothing at all. Writing so much for those youngsters in the papers, it must be very difficult, brother. Since I’ve had to write and speak due to debates myself, I understand. Like that piece you wrote recently in Prothom Alo, “35th in 35 points,” such a small writing will help so many people get jobs, you cannot even imagine. I’m confessing today, brother, you were my idol. My endeavor was always to do what you do. No matter how difficult. Mathematics, science—these things can be learned. But for subjects where you need to write extensively, what I simply did was try to write following your writing style. I never told these things to anyone. Today, being able to tell you feels wonderful.
At one point while saying these things, Walid bhai said,
“Brother, I have a tonsil operation the day after tomorrow. Please pray for me.”
I said,
“Brother, why are you talking so much while dealing with tonsil pain?”
“Brother, you stay busy, so I don’t call. Today I got the chance. Let me speak.”
I’m an emotional person by nature,
and after hearing this
I couldn’t hold back my tears any longer. To think of the filthy words this man has had to endure for the past three days makes my heart ache!
Many have asked me too,
Brother, what’s the real story? Who came first?
This needs to be clarified. ……… Ah!
People have so much idle time! It makes me envious just thinking about it!!
Let me say a few things. Don’t get angry. If you do, so be it! There’s nothing to be done about it.
One. That Walid bhai has come first in the combined merit list—
many may find this hard to accept. We’ll have to wait a bit to know this fully. But this man has come first in a top-tier cadre like Foreign Service,
hasn’t he?
Those of you making nonsensical comments—
if your entire families took the BCS exam together, could you show us a first place in Foreign Service? Yes brother, I’m throwing down an open challenge. If you can, then prove it instead of shouting like street ruffians. Your actions talk much louder than
your words!
Two. Those of you in second or third year who will take the BCS exam someday
but have made ridiculous comments today—
let me address you. Can you even pass the preliminary after your honors? Do you have the slightest idea what the BCS exam is? Do you understand what it means to come first in Foreign Service? If you understood even a little, your chest would tremble before speaking such words. And those of you who’ve decided you won’t join civil service anyway—
why are you making such a fuss about this? What’s your problem?
Three. Will fighting over who came first
and who came second
get you the job?
Where do you find so much time to fight? Can’t you study during that time? Why does your heart burn so much when you see a beautiful wife in another man’s house? Leave this obsession with other men’s wives and get in line.
Four. Many have gotten entangled in private university versus public university debates. Absurd!
Our government has kept provisions for graduates from private universities to take BCS exams. Who are you to comment on this? Do only fools study at private universities?
Do you dream of joining civil service with such antiquated thinking?
Please, don’t come here. It would be better for the country if people with such narrow minds didn’t join civil service. Candidates from National University have managed to place somewhat fewer in the top of this merit list. We’ve had to read some ugly comments about this too. Perhaps you don’t know that graduates from this National University have come first and second in various top-tier cadres in other BCS exams. If you don’t know, then learn. Don’t prove yourself a fool by making such ridiculous comments. If you always judge someone’s merit by their educational institution,
your assessment will often be wrong—
I say this from my own experience.
Five. Why state the obvious repeatedly—that Dhaka University is the best? I doubt there’s any fool who would dispute this. Walid bhai completed his master’s from this university. I too did my master’s here. There were other universities, weren’t there? Had we not secured admission to those two departments in the country’s finest university for our respective subjects, we might have tried elsewhere. Not just in civil service, but in the corporate sector too, Dhaka University reigns supreme. I acknowledge there’s good reason for this jubilation, because Dhaka University’s results in the 34th BCS are truly a matter of great pride. My university—I take pride in it, as does Walid bhai. But if we belittle other educational institutions, make thoughtless remarks, it hurts their students just as much as it would hurt me if someone spoke ill of Dhaka University. That my mother is good doesn’t mean everyone else’s mother is bad.
Who’s greater—Sachin Tendulkar or Brian Lara? I still see some people debating this even after all these years. Yet look—neither of those great cricketers ever lost sleep over such questions. Where did they have time for that? They were busy surpassing themselves. The critics’ only reward is self-satisfaction. Since they lack any ability to achieve greatness themselves, they forever remain in the ranks of losers or, at best, the mediocre. See how much we’re shouting, while Mousumi apu or Walid bhai make no such noise. Why not? I’ll answer with an old Facebook status of mine…
Those who understand more, I understand less. Don’t even try to understand them. No time. “He who can, does; he who cannot, teaches.” A TV ad comes to mind. A chocolate commercial. Various people are commenting on a chocolate. Some say it’s good, some say it’s bad, some are confused. One person says nothing. Mouth shut. Everyone asks, “What’s the matter, brother, why aren’t you saying anything?” He barely opens his mouth to reply, “Brother, how can I speak? I’m eating!” This is one of the best ads I’ve ever seen. When you are in the shit, keep your mouth shut. The intelligent argue, the talented move forward. This is always true. Look at Bill Gates, look at Zuckerberg. And so many others! All the world’s awards are given for work, not for criticism. One group works in silence, another criticizes loudly. Nobel Prizes go to writers, not critics. For critics, the consolation prize is merely quiet self-satisfaction. God bless them.
What do you understand?
Finding it hard to accept?
Accept it, accept it,
because this is reality. The prerequisite for success
: you must learn to tolerate success. Why would God give you something
you cannot even bear?
You’d get indigestion!
To become great in life, you need to have a habitual ‘selfish’
weakness to greatness. Try to replicate the qualities of those who have succeeded in their respective fields. Whatever goal you wish to reach,
maintain profound respect for that goal. You haven’t achieved success? So what?
Try again. If necessary, learn silently and humbly from those who have succeeded,
how to walk that
path. I cannot, after all, blame others’ success for my failures, can I?
Reflection: Six Hundred and Fifty-One
………………………………………………………
One. To those who have done well in HSC,
I offer my congratulations.
I have some small requests for those close to the successful ones. Please be mindful that whatever achievements come their way in the days ahead
should not in any way undermine this accomplishment. Many cannot handle the strain of early success. Many young achievers end up believing
that life ends here!
They are young,
their wisdom too is limited. My beloved writer Sunil once said in an interview,
“Self-satisfaction equals death.” I cherish these words deeply. Getting a GPA of 5
is not trivial, yet it is not everything either. If they ever have to hear, “These days even chairs and tables get GPA 5. Couldn’t even get into a good place!
There’s really nothing in the head. Just got A+ in the system.”
Then you will feel the greatest pain. I received star marks in HSC. From Chittagong College in Science, we who got star marks were perhaps 60-70,
or even fewer. Now far more get Golden A+. I couldn’t take the BUET exam because I scored lower in Physics-Chemistry-Math. Later I came second in CUET’s admission test. Now I see students with Golden A+ who can’t even make the waiting list. It truly hurts. You parents are largely responsible for this. You must discipline them strictly,
make them understand. You must say
‘no’ to many of their unreasonable demands. An HSC graduate boy or girl understands nothing about life,
or most of what they understand is wrong. Have an open conversation with them. What do they know? How much do they really understand?
Their world is very colorful. You know the world is not really like that. Those who don’t get admission anywhere good, no one really pays them much attention. When people don’t get attention, most become weak. Some do bounce back later. But that is completely uncertain!
Your responsibility is
to ensure they don’t step onto the wrong path. Find out whom they associate with. Without seeing good students around, the desire to do well doesn’t arise. When it becomes too late, scolding them or feeling disappointed serves no purpose. Don’t abandon them, keep them under close watch. They
haven’t grown up yet. In the world’s eyes, they
are still nothing! Until they become something, always stay by their side.
To those of you who haven’t achieved the success you once hoped for, let me tell you: there’s a significant advantage to finding yourself on the list of the less successful at a young age. It’s this—the successful ones will consider you an easy target. This very complacency of the successful gradually weakens them. Use this to your advantage. Don’t remain a nobody in this world. Whatever anyone says, this much is certain: for nobodies, this world reserves nothing but nothing. We can never imagine where life will take us. Life is always stranger than fiction. Never measure yourself by grades alone. I myself was one of the lowest-scoring students in my university batch. So what if your results weren’t good? Take it as a challenge. Show the world that you are by no means a failure. Channel your energy in the right direction. Our problem is that we think ourselves weak and ask life for small things—and we get them too. Alas! We spend our lives content with just that! Wandering around on social media, laughing and playing through life makes one weak. Never do this. Now is the time for you to work incredibly hard. You’re just beginning to grow up. The world will no longer forgive you for your mistakes. If you don’t take your mistake as a lesson for your life, you can be certain that a much bigger shock awaits you. Not everyone can pay the price for their mistakes; most get lost. None of us came to this world to get lost. If we fail to accomplish anything in life, the responsibility is entirely our own. At least everyone around you will think so; they may not say it aloud, but they will consider you incompetent. Truly, it will hurt terribly then. I’ve seen many young people get lost simply because they weren’t conscious after passing their higher secondary exams. You too will join their ranks if you sit there treating your HSC results as everything. Try to get admission somewhere good. Your parents aren’t obligated to pay for your private education. Your parents don’t work just to pay for your foolishness. Have you ever imagined yourself in their place—how difficult life really is? Did they give birth to you so they could spend their entire lives paying for your incompetence? Work hard. You can’t imagine how terrible you’ll feel when your friend gets into a better place than you. Prepare yourself; rest and relaxation can come later. Now is the time! We don’t know what will happen ten years from today. Never think of yourself as so small that it prevents you from even starting. Never think of yourself as so big that it prevents you from finishing.
Good luck!!
Two. The other day I was at a colleague’s house, chatting about this and that. Apu has an adorable little boy—about five or six years old, in first grade. He’s so endearing to look at; his eyes are dreamy and liquid, and there’s something deeply satisfying about caressing those little hands as he touches them to his lips and face! When I hold him on my lap, he just keeps telling stories about the world. What this teacher did, what his friends said to him, how many toys he has, who bought which one for him, who broke which ones… and so much more! Those soft, tender cheeks make you want to just pull them gently and kiss them. His long hair is as silky as spun thread—spreading it through my fingers feels wonderfully soothing. I’ve always been able to connect easily with children.
“Get away from here! Don’t disturb uncle!”
“Let him be, apu! He’s not bothering me.”
“Oh no, you don’t know—he’s very naughty. No studying, just mischief all day long.”
“He’ll learn, he’ll learn. He’s still so young.”
“Yes, I’m little!” (The little one curled up even more snugly in my lap as he said this.)
“Quiet! No studying, just monkey business. Are you little, or what?”
“Mommy, should I give uncle chocolate? Where are the chocolates?”
“Smart enough to think about eating chocolate, aren’t you? You don’t need to give anything. Get away from here!”
He climbed down from my lap, grabbed his mother’s hand and started pleading while tugging at her, “Mommy, please give some, mommy please! Uncle will eat chocolate!”
“Get away from here! Go finish your homework.”
“No, I won’t go. Give me chocolate—I really really won’t eat it, I’ll just give it to uncle.”
“You’ll get a beating! Go!”
“No, give me chocolate—you have to!” he said, grabbing the corner of his mother’s kameez and pulling again.
My colleague suddenly flared up and slapped her tiny son hard across the face. “GET OUT OF HERE!!!”
Five red finger marks literally appeared on his small, fair, chubby cheek. Wiping his eyes with the back of his round little hand, he went inside the house. When I tried to hold him, apu stopped me, saying, “Please don’t encourage him, bhai. If you don’t discipline them from childhood, they’ll completely walk all over you.”
“What are you saying, apu! What does he understand? He’s still so young!”
“Listen, brother, you’re not married yet—you wouldn’t understand. They understand everything.”
“Apu, please don’t hit him like that. I don’t know if what I’m saying is right, but I’m saying it anyway. Please don’t mind.”
“No, brother, discipline is necessary. He doesn’t study at all. Last term he fell below tenth place.”
“It will come gradually, apu. He’s still so young.”
“Hahaha… good, good. Alright then, let’s go. Zahid bhai’s house is nearby, just a five-minute walk.”
We were about to leave when I saw apu’s little boy—from who knows where he came running to wipe his mother’s sandals clean and place them before her feet, then stand a little distance away with his head bowed low, silent.
After such an incident, witnessing this scene was unbearable. Hiding my tears, I said to my colleague, “Apu, won’t you take him along?”
“Oh no! He’ll stay with the housemaid… Hey Parul! Take him away! Make your brother some breakfast when he comes.”
This time I couldn’t remain passive. I pulled him into my arms and said, “Apu, let’s go.”
Downstairs, ignoring his mother’s furious glare completely, I bought him two Cadbury chocolates from the shop. Terrified, he tucked the chocolates into his shorts pocket while looking at his mother with a pale face. “Ammu won’t say anything, sweetheart. Go home and share these with your mother.” From that moment until we finished the dinner and returned him to his mother’s arms, I saw clear traces of fear in his eyes and face. Perhaps something very frightening awaited him at home.
I have some questions for very strict mothers:
Didn’t you throw tantrums as a child?
Will your little one really become spoiled if you occasionally indulge their wishes once or twice?
How did it feel when you were scolded or slapped in front of others as a child? Children have a very acute sense of self-respect, you know.
Did you always come first or second in school as a child? Really?? None of the world’s greatest people were first or second in school. Study their family education—you’ll find their world of learning was somewhere else entirely.
Who gave you the idea that beating children makes them into proper human beings? When they make small requests, you could attach some conditions. Like: you have to finish all your homework, pack your bag for tomorrow, drink all your milk, and so on.
When they show you love, must you remain cruel toward them even then?
Whether child or grown-up, who doesn’t want affection? Everyone lives for a little tenderness. How will your little one grow up without receiving any love?
There are books available with psychological analyses on raising children, and you’ll find plenty online too. Why not read some! With just beatings, they might grow up physically, but they won’t truly mature—I can say that with certainty.
I’ve shown quite a bit of maternal affection, haven’t I? Sorry, please forgive me. Let me recommend a good book for mothers this time. Don’t children ask countless questions about everything under the sun? After talking to many people, Adrish Bardhan has gathered such strange questions and searched for their answers in his remarkable 3-volume work ‘My Mother Knows Everything.’ I salute him for this extraordinary effort. He has taken great pains to write this wonderful book. Published by Ananda in Kolkata, it has excellent crisp printing, good paper quality, and quite good binding. I like to give this book as a gift on children’s birthdays. Why shouldn’t mothers also receive gifts on their children’s birthdays?