Letter-1.
Dear
Mr. Hanuman,
Ugh…..reading
your messages today has got my head spinning!! All around I see nothing but sand
and sand, where’s even a little bit of sand?? Get a basket, fill it with rice
and send it over.
Can I
call you sweetheart pleeeeeease…………if you agree press ‘1’, if not press ‘2’, and if you
don’t feel like anything at all, then press the ‘power off’ button and keep
doing the lungi dance.
You
supposedly don’t remember girls’ names??? Well, do you remember my real name?? Tell
me, what is my name??? Let me see whether I’m in your short-term memory or
long-term memory. If you can tell me, I promise I’ll feed you a raw betel nut,
but I won’t be able to give you paan. Got it?
The way
I told you to dress up, today I see some guy in our faculty has come dressed
exactly like that minus the tie. But the fellow looked so fat he didn’t look
good at all. He looked like a healthy fat monkey wearing pants and shirt. You’d
look much better. I want to tell you something, but not now, I’ll tell you
tomorrow. For now, go see the afternoon sun.
Listen,
don’t you dare gnash your teeth reading my message. If you gnash your teeth,
then a bulldozer storm will begin.
Ta ta
bye bye, hope to see you again.
Letter-2.
At the
blessed feet of Bholanath,
For some
days now I’ve been thinking of telling you something. But because of my natural
shyness (I really am shy, you have to understand), I haven’t been able to say
it to you in any way. So I thought I’d take refuge in Robi Babu and express
the hidden feelings of my heart. What that white-bearded old man (read: the
white-whiskered elder) said is exactly what I want to say……
O my
heart’s beloved,
Your
love has made you
so cruel to me.
You
won’t let me sit in peace, day and night
that’s why such harsh
music plays
In the
depths of my heart.
O my
heart’s beloved,
For you,
my sorrow becomes sweet.
Your
searching makes me search, your pain makes me weep,
All
comfort becomes distant.
………………………………………………………
O my
deity, my stone deity, dweller of my heart’s temple,
At your
feet I have scattered all my flowers.
My
morning has become evening,
My eyes
have gone blind.
Will
this worship then be all in vain? Will your devotee return weeping?
Now I
have arranged on a platter all the desires of my heart.
Seeing
the darkness, I have lit a lamp for the evening prayer.
When this lamp goes out, what will remain for worship?
Standing at the door I shall remain, floating in tears.
……………………………………………………
Love does not mean surrender of the self. Love means offering all that is good within oneself. It is not about installing an idol in the heart; it is about placing the idol where the heart holds sacred ground, where the temple resides.
In offering—
Your Kadambari (or perhaps, Indira)
Letter-bearer-3.
Oh you troublemaker! Listen!
Women are supposedly accomplished in all sixteen arts. The madness of talking with someone you fancy—this too probably falls within those sixteen arts. In my own madness, I’ve done this with you from time to time. Later I realized this behavior doesn’t suit my nature, or that it might be causing irritation to the person I’m being mad with. So naturally, I gave up the madness. And I never bothered you on Facebook either. Actually, I don’t like all this chatting business. So I’ve decided we two will swim together like a pair of swans all the way to Hemayetpur. Whatever happens will happen there. What will happen? Haven’t you read Joy Goswami’s ‘Crazy Girl, With You’? It’ll be like that. Hehe……. I’m terribly addicted to reading online news. News of any kind. There’s no end to knowing and learning, isn’t there? So the pursuit of knowledge is futile. I’ve given up trying to know everything. Now it’s time to know you. Now I’m really going to propose to you formally, through family. I’ve thought it over—with you, only those motivational activities will work, not all this other stuff. Unless someone mercifully marries you, marriage isn’t written in your fate. Fate’s name is Gopal. What else can be done! I’ve started it myself. Come, let’s begin our post-wedding conversations. From now on, I’ll set everything in order.
First matter: I want to get our prince son into BUET. He’ll connect one thing to another and invent new things, occasionally making boom-crash sounds and causing explosions too. And I’ll wake up startled from sleep and let out an ear-splitting scream. (Just like I do now in my sleep; I can’t even recognize my own mobile phone, wondering what this strange thing is, making all these sounds.) I want the boy to learn music, recitation, guitar, piano, tabla as well. He can learn dance if he wants. He can even make silly girls dance like you do. No problem. I don’t mind. And I’ll let our butterfly daughter study whatever she wants; along with music, classical dance, recitation, piano playing—I want her to learn all that. I want her to have your looks and my temperament. Do you understand anything? If not, mix some lime juice and eat puffed rice.
I won’t mention the second matter. You have low tolerance, you just flare up with a whoosh. I can clearly see with my divine vision that your thick head has already gotten hot and steamy. Therefore, today’s talk ends here, now you go dance happily to your heart’s content. But don’t go calling this letter a mock marriage certificate again. If you publish it publicly, you’ll have both news and tidings; rotten BTV news, I swear on my faith.
Postscript.
I hereby swear that if you publish this letter, then from today onwards you are neither Tom nor Mr. Bean—you are Tom’s friend, street Billy Dhola Quddus, or Kala Quddus. Know who Kala Quddus is?? Kala Quddus is Hasan Masud. What a perfect match!
Peace, peace!
And
listen, after reading this letter, don’t go telling everyone why the world’s cute girls become such cute wives!! When you have such a cute wife at home, don’t you feel like just gazing at her adoringly all morning and evening, tell me!!
It’s
all just pretense and more pretense. The public doesn’t understand, they don’t. They just swallow your foul posts. What a strange world!
Please
don’t publish this—my stomach’s churning. If you don’t listen, I’ll fire a cannon at you from hell itself. You’ve seen earthly cannons. Now you’ll taste hellish ones. You must reply. If you don’t reply, I’ll torment you again. This time the struggle is the struggle to torment you.
Dugga dugga!
Letter-bearer-4.
Dear
Billy Dhola Quddus!
I
forgot to give my pen name in that day’s letter, so today I’m giving it first thing.
Why
aren’t you replying to my letter?? I really do have more courage than you—I told you straight to your face that I like you. You prefer to play hide-and-seek with love. Remember childhood hide-and-seek? And you turn gourds into pumpkins
and present them to everyone. I understand that what’s a gourd is a pumpkin, what’s a roach is a cockroach.
The
work that can’t be done through others, I do myself ahead of time while there’s still time. I don’t feel so much shame in every situation. Having grown up in a joint family, I can mingle with everyone.
Tell me, what do you think of my grandfather and grandmother? My grandparents are quite amusing people. I’m getting my parents’ love, and along with that, my grandparents’ love too. Both of them talk a lot like you.
Not tongue-tied like me. What do you understand? You understand horse eggs!
Let me tell you about Grandpa first, then I’ll tell you about Grandma. When I go home, three people annoy me and beat me up: my mother, Grandpa, and my little sister. Every few minutes they just keep calling “Mithi, Mithi.” My mother always wants me to hover around her and speak sweet words. And my little sister is pure superglue. She’ll even sit in front of the bathroom door, saying every so often, “Ehh! What a big sister you’ve become!” Truly, the love of little sisters is something else entirely. No matter how much you write about these things, you’ll never really understand. When I leave home, she lies on my bed and cries, doesn’t eat properly either—been that way since she was tiny. Do you know what she says? That wherever I get married, she’ll marry into the house next door, so she can visit me every afternoon. By the way, is your younger brother engaged? Now let me tell you about Grandpa. Grandpa comes to make all sorts of plans with me—like reading books, cooking, discussing religion, talking about trips, all that stuff. He loves us a lot too. He’s even told us how much he loves us. He says, from my soul my son was created, and from that son you were created; so understand what you mean to me! Such heavy talk! Goes right over my head. Apparently when I was little, I’d start screaming if Grandpa didn’t pick me up. You know, as a child I was always singing “Amar Sonar Bangla” and dancing. I was born crazy. You get that, right? Whenever I saw any old person, I’d call them Grandpa. And whenever I saw anything—what’s this? What’s that?—I’d ask and ask until I drove everyone crazy. I still have this habit of asking questions. (Well, do you get annoyed and want to throw me when I ask questions? Oh no! There I go asking another question!) Seeing my aunts call my mother “Boudi,” I started calling my mother “Budi” too. (Ehh! Don’t think again that I can’t speak as smartly as you. Actually, I was little then, so I couldn’t pronounce “Boudi” properly.)
Now my grandmother is quite another amusing character. When she starts telling a story, she gets halfway through and then begins all over again from the start. If you point out her mistake, she’ll resume from the middle. She’s incredibly easy to fool. I’m quite fond of people who are incredibly easy to fool. Grandmother loves to travel. If you make up something about any topic whatsoever, she’ll believe it without question. It’s great fun to argue with grandmother too. I deliberately say things to provoke her, and then she gets angry and starts saying, “When will this girl finally get married and go to her in-laws’ house—only then will I have some peace!” Grandmother is absolutely mad about music. She particularly loves folk songs, so she sets everything to folk tunes. Sometimes she hums Rabindra Sangeet in folk melodies. Hahahaha… There’s a funny story about music too. Once grandfather and I were returning home from Rangpur. Right behind me in the bus, a boy was singing Manna Dey songs one after another so beautifully… “That coffee house gathering is no more”… “Everyone wants to be happy”… “How I long to know”… “Here I am, quite well”… “Are you my doll, that little girl”… I’ve never heard a voice so exactly like Manna Dey’s. When I came home and told grandmother this story, she exclaimed excitedly, “Oh really! Then you should have gotten the boy’s name and address!” I was dumbstruck hearing this! What was the old lady saying! Even normally, whenever she saw someone good-looking, she’d immediately try to arrange my marriage several times over, and now she’d latched onto the singer! And you should have seen how grandmother once climbed onto uncle’s motorcycle! The way boys sit with their legs on either side—that’s exactly how she sat. And uncle, what was he thinking! He didn’t say a word. If I hadn’t seen it, she would have ridden around the entire neighborhood sitting like that. And everyone would have watched and laughed. What an awful thing, don’t you think!
There’s a saying that whoever plants a palm tree can never eat the fruit of that tree. It takes so many years for the tree to grow, you see. My grandfather is fortunate. He planted palm trees and is now eating their fruit too. Grandfather is nearly eighty, and for his age, he’s still quite robust. My grandfather is devoted to Shiva. Like Shiva, he’s resolute in spirit.
Listen, whether you’re listening or not, why don’t you properly answer my letters, hmm? Why don’t you answer? Why why?? I’ve had this desire for ages to get married in winter. Right on schedule according to my wish, I found you. Do you know why I have such a desire? Ehh! Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not that at all! (God bless your naughty mind!) In winter the food will stay fresh, people won’t come to the wedding feast and curse me. (You don’t have any problems, all the problems are mine. You’ve already thickened your skin from taking people’s abuse.) During weddings you have to wear so many layers of saris and clothes, wear jewelry, put on heavy makeup. Can you do all that in the heat of summer, tell me? Everything gets ruined. Uffff! Why don’t you say anything, hmm?? You trunk-nosed Ganesha! Look at you! Uuuuuu… (I’m making faces at you.)
Well, let me see, can you tell me what “itami totamike bitalo bitasi” means?? Tell me if you know. I’ll treat you to ice cream. Promise.
My messages only make me want to write your story, only want to write, then nothing else matters at all. You’re absolutely rotten! I won’t say another word to you. There—I’ve sealed my lips shut.
Letter-bearer-5.
Most revered great donkey!
You can bring changes to your teaching methods, but it must certainly be in consideration of your dear students’ interests. You must proceed in whatever way the students will enjoy your teaching. Here your personal preferences must never take precedence. Just as music is hard to imagine without the confluence of song, instrumental music, and dance, so too the teaching process bears no fruit without mixing joy with education.
Listen, I’ve been speaking in general terms till now, but now I’m going to get specific. Haven’t you wanted to change yourself? Hmm! If you want, you can certainly bring some changes to yourself. From now on, instead of formal pants and shirt, you could wear off-white Korean half-pants, a jet-black Thai sleeveless vest on your clean-shaven underarms, and on your feet cockroach-killing flat papaya-colored shaded Burmese slippers. Around your waist a yellow belt with a Chinese dragon, on your hand a German bracelet studded with magenta stones, in your ears pointed North American brown magnetic rings and around your neck a Singaporean white gold chain. You’ll wear a green Swiss watch. On the back of your shoulder there’ll be a navy blue tattoo. Between two bones a human skull—this design will match you well. You’ll gel your hair and spike it up like porcupine quills. Or you could also wear a white fine dhoti (not too fine though, or you’ll run into technical problems), but with nothing on top; let the belly show—belly is the fashion these days. Of course, if you want, you could put your heart on your belly—I mean, draw a red heart sign with permanent marker. On your feet will be red wooden clogs made from guava wood! Around your neck wear a garland of fresh local marigold flowers. The public will absolutely love it. Beautiful girls will take your picture, share it on Facebook and comment in flames, “So cute, baby! Love you!! Mmmmaaahhhhhhh…!!!!” Oh yes, good point—in your famous parwal-slit eyes, put on a pair of cat-like golden colored London spectacles. You could pierce your eyes, nose, and lips and hang Spanish dark purple rings. If you put seventeen rings of seventeen colors with Indian gemstones on the ten fingers of your hands, your smartness will only increase, not decrease.
A complete package of globalization! Seeing you, the boys will sit down with paper and pen to write essays on ‘globalization’—I’m sure of it.
What’s this! Why have your cheeks turned red for no reason! I’m quite moved to see you have shame. Just from these words of mine you’re so embarrassed—if I were to speak emotional romantic words to you, then you simply couldn’t be found at all. I see, I’ll have to keep you in a burqa. I’m thinking of arranging a friendship between you and the touch-me-not plant in our yard. Mother planted a touch-me-not for me. Morning and evening she pours water on it to keep it fresh. The leaves shrivel up at the slightest touch, just like you do when I send you messages. You know, touch-me-not plants come in two types: white and red. My girlfriend has named you red touch-me-not. Is it true that you don’t reply to girls’ messages? Is this fact true?
Dogs
don’t know family planning. Funny thing is, there’s a dog in front of my house that’s had nine puppies. All white
babies. I’ve never seen such a fertile dog before. You know, all the babies can’t nurse at once—seven feed at a time while the other two fight on the sidelines. When they all start crying together, what joy it brings! Ah! Even sitting in this mechanical city of Dhaka, I get to see such beautiful scenes. It’s truly a matter of happiness. By the way,
have you read that dog story by Humayun Ahmed?
Let me
announce a great decision of mine and give this great show-off (please read: ‘motivator’) temporary respite from my torment:
from today onwards, I shall never again call any cute puppy a ‘son of a bitch’—that honor belongs elsewhere. They are not merely the property of humankind,
they are humanity’s treasure as well.
Yours truly—
Your
admirer
Panpanani
Begum
Letter-6.
Why does
seeing photos of beautiful women ruin your mood? You’ve aged now. What you need now is physical love. Let Platonic love go to hell! That’s what you’re really thinking, isn’t it?
Instead of looking at other people’s wives, look at your own. What’s so noble about looking at other people’s wives anyway? All that swirls in your head is: looks,
looks, and more looks! Ugh! What’s in a face? Marry an ugly girl like me. Why don’t you try marrying me and see what happens! You’ll become the most tension-free, peaceful man on earth. Your
only rival will be yourself! You’ll only have to think about whether you can love me more today than you did yesterday! That’s your only challenge! You’ll see—nothing but peace, peace, and more peace! Om
shanti om! Doing this, at some point you’ll truly fall in love with me.
Love sometimes comes through habit too. If you can’t take it from the heart, at least try accepting it and see what happens! While accepting, you won’t even realize when your heart takes me in too. Even if it’s
just fondness, still. Then you’ll see—there’s no other woman left in the world besides me.
The rest are all ghosts and demons. Listen to my wisdom, it’ll come in handy. You like beautiful women, but you marry good women.
Understand? Though these days, good women are becoming beautiful too. (Or are beautiful women becoming good?)
Give me some advice, will you! A younger brother has been snubbed by someone else’s girlfriend. Getting snubbed without even being in love is far more devastating than getting snubbed while actually in love. What should be done, tell me! Shouldn’t we grab that girl’s boyfriend and give him a good thrashing? How dare he have the audacity to be in love with a girl that others might fancy too? Lucky for you, you don’t have a girlfriend. The poor thing has been spared from my wrath. By the way, I saw you in my dream yesterday. I saw you half-reclining, reading a Three Investigators book. And I was eating jhalmuri mixed with mustard oil, onions, chilies, and chanachur. While eating, I bit my tongue and woke up. Now tell me, what sort of nonsense ideas are crawling around in your head these days? What rubbish are you writing? I see you’ve even picked up Russian fiction. Listen, take some advice from this madwoman. From now on, watch the Bengali-dubbed Tom and Jerry series. Along with Oggy and the Cockroaches. You’ll see, you won’t have any space left for brains. Facebook? That’s nothing!
I’ve decided that from now on, every morning I’ll give the beggar 2 takas so that gradually you’ll develop a huge belly. I want some girl who’s willing to marry you even seeing that paunch to marry you! You won’t get a single beauty. Hehe… Actually, forget 2 takas, I’ll give two and a half. Do you have change? Give me some coins, will you! I’m doing all this for you! You could at least help this much, mister! Why are you gaping like that? Flies will get into your mouth! You don’t talk to me on the phone, so I pray wholeheartedly that whenever you talk to other girls, only flies get into your mouth, only flies get into your mouth.
Usually when I comment on your status, you shameless males pester me in the inbox. A few random friend requests come too, followers increase. And if they ever find out I talk to you, they’ll hack my account altogether. If you’ve mentioned my name to anyone, then your one day equals my two days! Mess with me again and see what I do to you! By the way, do you know that you’re crazy? What kind of crazy are you, shall I tell? Never mind, if I tell you’ll be embarrassed. Though I do enjoy watching handsome boys get embarrassed. I can’t stand them. Do they even have shame? Don’t start dancing around thinking you’re handsome! If you dance, I’ll put a garland of thorn apple flowers around your neck. Your posting is at the airport, right? You’ll dance on the airport floor singing, “Jhum balika jhum balika jhuma jhuma le…” All the smugglers will dance along with you too. Ah ah! What divine play! Such beauty! By the way, do you know what thorn apple flowers are? You’ll wear a garland of flowers without even knowing what the flower is. Why are you so uncultured? Mister B.B., you’re such a boring monkey! Humph!
I was thinking I’d marry you after a while, but now I’m wondering—why delay a good deed? You’ll dress up as Hanuman and eat bananas, wagging your tail as you dance. And I’ll become a parrot, perching on your head and chirping away. I’ll video the whole scene and upload it to YouTube. By the way, can you play guitar? A guitar-playing Hanuman would be perfect—the public would eat it up. Do you have any idea what I’m sacrificing for you? You’re already a ready-made Hanuman, but I’m no ordinary parrot! Just for you, yes mister, just for you I’ve agreed to become a parrot and sit on your lice-infested head! How bizarre! Right now GTV is showing a drama about Lord Hanuman, and a mischievous parrot just called out from the banana grove next to my house! I’m completely spooked! Maya, you see, my good sir? It’s all maya! My friend, I love you, I shall marry you. You too must dance and marry me. If you don’t, I’ll grab you by force, yank your banana, and elope with you!
I’m genuinely confused about your behavior—is what you show me an act? Or are you really like that? What kind of behavior is this where I call you and you hang up with a sharp click? Even tailors can’t cut cloth that fast! Do you only behave this way with women? You tell me I seem like a good girl to you, then you hang up on me. Should I assume you only talk to bad girls then? Or do you actually enjoy playing this drama with women? What do you think of yourself? Do you think to yourself, “I hung up the phone, now I’m the hero of Farah Khan’s next movie”? That she’ll fire Shah Rukh and make you the hero? Ah! Desires! They say expensive desires cost lakhs! Your expensive desires seem like they’ll cross crores! What nonsense!
Do you know the rule about maya? When maya grows for the wrong person, it brings disaster. When maya increases, it keeps increasing, never decreases; it grows even faster for the wrong person. What fancy names people have given it! Ego problems, figo problems? All rubbish! When you feel maya for someone, none of that exists. I don’t even want your love. I have a big problem—I can love too much. Too much meaning way too much. I’m not a big person like you! Big people are so busy with big things, where’s the time for love? The first condition for loving a big person is having a big heart, a heart big enough to forget the pain of not receiving love in return. I don’t have that. You could never love the way I do. To learn that, you’d have to practice penance—many years of devoted, difficult penance. I don’t need your love either. Just please don’t forbid me from loving you. If my love stirs something in God’s heart, I’ll consider myself blessed. You’re such a terrible addiction! Ugh! I’ll never be able to forget you. Let’s see when God fulfills my prayers, and when your Mövenpick heart melts into water.
The other afternoon I saw you heading somewhere in a rickshaw, wearing a purple shirt. Toward the TSC area. How handsome you looked! Your color sense has improved. Good! Very good! You used to wear such dreadful colors before. You should buy a peacock blue shirt, with a black suit, light purple tie, black belt and shoes. Let’s see what happens! If Salman Khan doesn’t fail miserably, then I’ll take it upon myself to ensure his downfall! You look better face-to-face. In photos you look pudgy. In real life, more pudgy. Hehe…….. By the way, please correct the spelling of ‘parbo’ in the third line of the third paragraph of yesterday’s note. You keep liking people’s childhood photos. You certainly know how to embarrass people. Why don’t you post some of your own photos like that if you have the courage! We’d like to do some liking too.
You say I look awful! Hmph! It’s much better to have an awful face than to be a white bear like you. You pot-bellied Ganesha, how could you say the other day, like some mangy cat, that Bangladeshi girls only care about food and fashion? That they have nothing in their heads? That they can’t write anything? Am I an Indian girl then? Did I get imported to Bangladesh by mistake due to some technical problem? Such a prestigious falooda? Wait, I will have my revenge. I have an idea! I’ll go to Kolkata, forget about you, and marry Uttam Kumar’s grandson Gourab Kumar instead. If I can’t have Ravi in life, at least I’ll settle for Gourab!
Letter-Bearer-7.
Garbage bin, rotten rat, naughty cat, bad person, rascal! I shouldn’t even talk to you. Why are you so tongue-tied, huh? Can’t you just say you love me? What would happen if you said it once? You chatter away with so many people, but you don’t have time to say this little thing to me! Can’t you reply to messages? You could at least send your famous “hmm,” “no” responses. Don’t I understand that you’re busy? Horse’s egg busy you are! All these airs! You get all high and mighty whenever I call you. I’m fed up with calling you! You’ll see, I won’t call anymore. Why did you scold me like that the other day? Think you got away with scolding me? You still don’t know what women are made of! Do you even know how to scold properly? That’s how teenagers scold. Think that by scolding like that you’ve become a teenager again? Ugh! Is it that simple? You’re an old bear. Understand?
You just take pretty selfies, don’t you? Ugh! His favorite color is supposedly black! Do you have any idea about yourself? Your color is white, not black. That suits you better. Once we’re married, come to me, I’ll keep you dressed in white all day. And I’ll put an end to your staying up all night on Facebook. Have you noticed the wrinkles forming on your face? Stay up more, stay up even later at night. Now everyone calls you dada, in a couple of days they’ll call you dadu. I will too. Hehe………
Where will you run without loving me properly? You’ve written that if you ask God from your heart, you’ll receive what you want. Oh dear! What a mistake this Puja turned out to be! I should have just asked Ma Durga to let me marry you in the next auspicious time. Then you would have nervously opened the almanac yourself to see when the next auspicious moment would be. I don’t see you having any tension about your own wedding! What can I do! I have to take care of it myself! You’re such a nuisance! You can’t even manage your own wedding properly! Listen carefully—after marriage, none of this nonsense will continue. Sushanta will truly become Sushanta. No monkey business! Understood? You’re laughing reading my text, aren’t you? Go ahead, laugh. You can’t even laugh in your Facebook photos. Such attitude, no? Very handsome face, is it? That’s why you think even smiling less will do. That’s what you think, right? Completely wrong thinking. Your face looks like a burnt-faced Hanuman. From tomorrow, you’ll only eat bananas. No, start eating them from today. What does Hanuman care about tomorrow or today anyway?
You didn’t bow to Ma Durga, did you? I know. That’s why Ma is angry with you. Very much so! But Ma is very pleased with me. How do I know? On Dashami day, we have a picnic at our house. For the past two years, I’ve been the one cooking there. This year’s turned out even better. That means Ma loves me very much. She doesn’t love you. You’re a monkey, an ape, a chimpanzee. Ugh! Where’s your tail? You’ll see—when you grow up, you’ll have a tail too. How much more will you grow? You think I’m just ranting for no reason, don’t you? Not for no reason at all. This time, on Ashtami day, I saved a white kitten’s life from four rogue dogs. What did you do, let me hear? You lazy cat! You did nothing. Why would Ma listen to you? But Ma will listen to me. Absolutely right! You’ll just keep staring and say, “Victory to Ma Durga.” Why are you laughing? You Ganesha! Don’t laugh at all. If you laugh, laugh with both your heart and mouth open. Why are you afraid to laugh with your mouth open? Don’t you brush your teeth? Not that mischievous eye-smile; no I mean, absolutely not. Understood? I wonder what sorrow made me fall in love with you. Reading Ma Lakshmi’s verses would be far better than falling in love. “The night of Dol Purnima, the clear sky…”—tell me, who wrote Lakshmi’s verses? You can’t, can you? I can’t either! Oh dear, what will happen now?
What can be done! Since I’ve already fallen in love, I won’t let go for anything! I’ll just keep falling, how’s that? First I was Aika glue, gradually became Superglue, now I’ve become Fevicol. You won’t be able to get me off in any way! If you try to remove me, you’ll tear apart. Actually, I’m in your subconscious mind. You can’t understand this, can you? If you can’t understand, I’ll release you into complete unconsciousness. You don’t even know me yet.
I saw your brothers’ photos. Now tell me, why do all your brothers have round faces while yours is long? I’m sure God was running short on both materials and time when He made you. So He just did a rush job and sent you straight down here—oh well, you rascal! Never mind, it’s fine. For a monkey like you, even that much time was too generous! Or maybe He was experimenting with you, and when He saw nothing came of it—just got a weasel—He didn’t want to risk it anymore, so He exported you as is! Reading all this, you must be scolding me terribly, right? Go ahead, scold all you want. I’m not afraid of your scolding anymore. Scold too much and I’ll shoot you with an AK-47. Bang! I know you’re grinning with all 32 teeth showing after reading this email. Otherwise it’s your famous Mona Lisa-type smile without showing teeth! Why do you do that? Strange! Are you the Mona Lisa or what? Why do you smile like that? Better to grin showing your front four teeth like Tom. You’re a complete Tom! And whatever you do, don’t torment Jerry like that, remember? Getting angry again? Then start roaring with your eyes bulging like the Bollywood villain Amrish Puri. But when you roar, keep both eyes balanced. Don’t let one be big and the other small. Then you’ll look like a Chinese ching-chong squinting devil. Say, do you know you have a bit of a Chakma look about your face?
You’re just like a girl. With such fair skin, you’ll never get a girlfriend in this lifetime. What a pale devil! You tell people off so much, now you go eat puffed rice soaked in Sprite yourself. I have a lot of compassion, so I’ve fallen in love with you. And you? Such a bad person! When people have teeth, they don’t appreciate their teeth’s worth. What a laugh, right? When you come to Dhaka, let me know. I’ll mimic and show you what style you strike when taking photos. Tsk! And that’s supposed to be a style! Stop laughing now! How much more will you laugh? You’re not the only joker, I’m a joker too. Get it now? Just as you make friends laugh on Facebook, I make you laugh too. Send me a Mövenpick parcel to Dhaka. Diamond recognizes diamond, joker recognizes joker. As you say, marriage has to be proportional. So I’m marrying you.
Cry, cry all you want. They say men cry after marriage. You’re just crying before and after. What’s wrong with that? I’ll only cry during the wedding. Hehe… Do you know what the national anthem of love is? You don’t? Then learn it: “Forever you are mine, through ages I am yours…” That’s it. And the farewell song is, “We’ll meet again, this meeting is not the final one…” So, no separation! Woohahahaha-woohahaha-aaaaaa… Why are you sitting there gaping in sorrow? What else can you do! This was written in your destiny. Now stop wasting time and start writing letters to heaven’s address. Tie them to a pigeon’s leg and send them off. You don’t even have a measly pigeon, do you? If you don’t have pigeons, what do you have then, tell me? Crows? Buy pigeons, understand? What will you do after buying pigeons, tell me? Cut them up, cook and eat them, right? Ugh! Why are you so absent-minded? Did I tell you to buy pigeons to cook and eat? If you think about eating pigeons one more time, I’ll grab you and force-feed you crow biryani!
You have no end to your theatrics, do you? Aren’t you a grown man? What’s with all this drama? Don’t ever put on airs again unless you’re wearing glass bangles on your hands. Colorful glass bangles, remember that? The day I go to another house and pray to the deity with puja flowers in my hand for you, you’ll remember my words deeply, just wait and see! You’ll call out, reach out your hands searching; but I will never come back, no matter what. I won’t even cry for you. Not one bit, not one bit at all. Stay with your dramatics! There are some people like you. They search only after losing something. Drama!!
Letter-Bearer-8.
O New One,
Let dawn break once more, life’s first auspicious moment.
May your presence unfold, dispelling the mist
Like the sun.
Pierce through emptiness’s breast and reveal yourself.
Let life’s victory be proclaimed,
Let the infinite’s eternal wonder be proclaimed within you.
~ Rabi Thakur
Only this much in the heart’s secret light
I keep burning through this night—
You were, yet you were.
~Buddhadeb Basu
Hey there, Hulo-moshai! Happy Birthday!
On your birthday, do you only cut cake, or do you also have payesh made by your mother’s hands? In our area, whether you cut cake or cut ribbon (or cut your own tail), luchi and payesh are always there. Of course, your culture might be different.
When you wake up in the morning, if you see a pair of mynahs, bow to them—it’ll make your day go well. Have you ever heard mynahs quarreling? Listen to them sometime and see how it feels. Most of their fights are over territory for building nests. Isn’t that funny? You think of yourself as a stray cat. Have you ever noticed a cat’s pupils? How they look normally, and how they change when frightened. Pay attention and observe. Then tell me why I asked you to notice. You teach everyone else, today let me teach you something. I know you don’t know this. I have a feeling I can sometimes sense even what you don’t know. Do you know how long dogs and cows remember their young? Dogs remember for eleven months, cows remember for two years, and humans remember for a lifetime; but among these, only humans become ungrateful. You didn’t know this, did you?
Do you know why I like you?
1. You are culturally minded. You have Rabindric consciousness within you. (Though you’re 5 inches shorter than Rabi. Hehe….)
2. You’re freely weaving dreams into everyone’s minds. This is a very important work. A person is only as big as their dreams. (But some people can’t stand you. Please start recognizing them before it’s too late.)
3.
You can make people laugh quite a lot. But when you yourself will laugh—well, you’d need to consult the almanac for that. When the auspicious day will come, and you’ll flash those teeth…….. Just looking at you makes one too scared to speak. How such a highbrow, learned person like you manages to maintain such an air—that itself is a subject for research.
4.
I liked your love of food and how quickly you can eat. There’s another reason too, which is highly confidential, but certainly pure.
You’ll surely take photos, but in what style? You certainly don’t lack for style. Even girls don’t have as much style as you do. Still, I’m saying—take photos in that eternally familiar style of yours!! Don’t get it, do you? Oh dear, stuff both thumbs in your pants pockets, tilt your neck left or right, and snap away!! But don’t tilt too much! Your neck will hurt. Don’t give us a Tom or Mona Lisa smile today—give us a Mr. Bean smile. Along with the body language too; though those two smiles suit you best anyway.
I’m sending you an e-cake, complete with a picture of a special cat. That meow is you. Get it? No use staring at the pudding like that. I’m going to eat the pudding myself, won’t give you even a bit. Hehe……..
Oh no! Reading this crazy girl’s message cost you five whole minutes! ……..
(I got five minutes of this boy’s time! I’m so happy I feel like buying a pink frock for the newborn baby of that monkey on the neighboring roof! Oh wait, I haven’t told you—the monkey family I watch every day lying down through my window has added another member. They’re six now. What can you do! It’s not just monkeys who don’t practice family planning! What do your family planning cadres sit around doing, huh? Just because they’re monkeys, does that make them less than human? Isn’t there anyone to look after them? Am I the only one who’ll keep staring at them?)
………
You’d have found more peace for your eyes liking some beautiful girl’s photo instead. Ah! She’d have coyly inboxed you too—”Thank you, bhaiya. You are sooooo sweeeeet!” (Seeing such nauseating girls makes me want to grab them and slap them! Sorry, don’t mind me. I’m a girl, after all—a little jealousy is bound to be there! Can’t help it.) An utterly rotten-faced girl killed so much of your precious time. This witch is terribly sorry for that. I won’t say anything more—I’ve put tape over my mouth.
Final words before taping up: Stay well. (If you don’t stay well, I’ll pester you again!! Hehe……)
Disclaimer.
Friends, those of you who have read Bibhuti’s Aranyak, let me tell you—in reality, no such forest exists in that region at all; and yet, what masterfully realistic description! I don’t recall ever getting even a quarter of that forest’s essence in any other writing. When I first published this piece, many people asked me in the comments and in my inbox about the identity of this Ananya. Writers don’t experience everything they write about in their own lives. If that were required, we would never get any writing about death. Bibhutibhushan didn’t have to die to write Devayan. Every writer’s aim is for their characters to become larger than themselves, to surpass them. When I was reading Satinath Bhaduri’s ‘Jagari,’ I felt that if I met this writer in person, I would kill him right then and there. This book is difficult to read in one sitting. Every 4-5 pages, my eyelids grow heavy. No other book has ever made me cry so much. I don’t have the courage to read this book a second time!
Have you read Sabinoy Nibedon? Could anyone write like that without experiencing something similar? Doesn’t it feel that way while reading? No, nothing exactly like that happened in Buddhadeb Guha’s life. But I’m not saying that the woman writer in my piece is fictional. Nor am I saying that I actually met that writer. I will leave my readers in some ambiguity. This is an artist’s freedom. I have imagined what a person thinks, says, and does when they fall in love like that. Or perhaps I have learned what a person thinks, says, and does when they fall in love like that. I want this Ananya—whether imagined or real—to stir something deep within all of us. I’m borrowing my disclaimer from Robi Thakur (the old man knows everything! E-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g!! That’s why we have to keep returning to this wretched old fellow. What a scoundrel! Not a single Charulata in the world could become Charulata without making that bearded man her boyfriend. Even when Ananyas hum softly, this old man is right there with them. So we Bengali boys, the fortunate ones, all get second-hand girlfriends. The beloved of any fortunate Bengali man surely had Rabindranath as her first love!) …………
The truth that you will create,
All that happens is not truth. O poet, know that your mind’s landscape
Is more real than Ayodhya, the birthplace of Ram.