I fell in love for the first time at thirteen, during a visit to my grandfather's house. I still remember those days clearly. I had just started wearing new salwar-kameezes, constantly checking myself in the mirror; if I could, I'd even iron the clothes I wore at home, never letting them wrinkle.
The boy I fell in love with was named Tanmoy. He was as beautiful and captivating as his name suggested. Short and slender, the type who'd dropped out of school midway—altogether 'peculiar.' In short, there was no reason to fall for him, yet I was completely smitten. Though I didn't understand then that what I felt was love. I felt intoxicated somehow; it seemed as if there was no sun or heat in the world, only cloudy skies and rain. I never found the opportunity or courage to tell Tanmoy that I had fallen in love with him.
Two years later, I fell in love again. Actually, Sudip was the one who approached me first. I was shocked to hear it. This Sudip, who never spoke to me face-to-face, was telling me over the phone about setting up a household together. The person I knew only as "bhaiya" in class and college, who always came first, also thought about marriage and children—this realization left me reeling. Just as this older boy took no time bringing me from the formal "you" to the intimate "you," he was equally quick to suddenly start pretending we were strangers one day. Those are longer stories. Neither Sudip nor I had Facebook then, but the popular phrase of that time was "real love."
After Sudip came Tamal. By then I had become very straightforward. I was the one who first proposed to the shy, quiet, excessively polite Tamal. He said, "But I can't marry you." I laughed furiously out of anger that day. Walking home, I told myself, "Why would I want to marry him? I only wanted to fall in love!" Calculating types like Tamal never truly fall in love. While searching for girlfriends for post-love marriage, they eventually grow disgusted with marriage itself. Then perhaps the marriage happens, but love never does.
After Tamal came Araf. I never dreamed someone like Araf would enter my life on his own. Araf claimed he loved me deeply—that's what he said in the early days. Now he doesn't say much of anything. We both understand everything, he understands too. Yet we both keep pretending not to understand while carrying on the relationship. This is actually what they call habit.
At a certain age, how desperately I wanted love, attention, praise! Now I no longer want a boyfriend or someone to love. I don't even want the warmth of another body. In my heart and soul, like someone bone-tired, I just want a little friendship. Boyfriends are everywhere on the streets—but where do you find a friend?! Even the deepest love pales before pure friendship!