Have you ever noticed that I do way too much haha-hihi when I talk? If you have, why didn’t you tell me to tone down the haha-hihi? Does that mean you like haha-hihi too? Then why do you go around being such a ram-goose yourself?
If you haven’t noticed, why haven’t you? Does that mean you don’t give a damn about what I say? If you don’t, why don’t you? Oh well, people have so much—people are such big shots!
I only have questions, so I’m such a small fry. (Small fry doesn’t mean lowlife, by the way—just the opposite of big shot.) Though height-wise, I’m quite the big shot! Why do so many questions pop into my head? (And there—that’s become another question. How do people live without asking questions?…There I go again…Yuck!)
Listen Dagash,
how do you feel about taking a bath before going to office on a bitterly cold morning? Isn’t it quite the punishment, tell me? What a challenge people take on to get the job done, am I right? Going under the shower with a pounding heart, then quickly stepping away without even turning off the tap, filling a mug with water and pouring it on your feet just to test how cold it is, turning on the basin tap to wet your hands, going “Ooh! Aah!” as you touch the cold water, then deciding—no shower, I’ll fill a bucket and pour water on myself with a mug instead. But I didn’t turn on the shower—I turned on the tap above the bucket. Even that’s quite a saga! When water flows from the tap, playing peek-a-boo with your hand so the water stream can’t even touch you (you know peek-a-boo, right? It’s like hide-and-seek), carefully and hesitantly (!) taking water in a mug and rehearsing the bath by pouring it from the knees down while your body shivers, then gritting your teeth and pouring 3-4 degrees Celsius water on yourself—Reeeeeee…! Dumping a few mugs of water on your head and then, in the glory of conquering the world, shouting and quickly splashing the remaining mugs all over yourself—as if nothing happened, as if it’s not even that cold, you know.
And if there’s water stored overnight in another container, that gets even colder, and when you pour that on yourself it feels like your skin has gone completely numb—you could slice it up with a blade right now and it wouldn’t hurt a bit… It’s precisely at this moment that the tap water—the ones falling into the bucket—feels somewhat warm and comforting when you pour them on yourself, due to the temperature difference between the two waters. I studied something about this in physics, but I can’t remember a damn thing. While bathing, I keep flailing my arms and legs as if I’m fighting some enemy—what else is a winter morning bath but war! Can you really surrender yourself to such ice-cold water without any protest? Winter water is a master rapist! Decent folks bathe every day in such cold, while I do it three or four times a week. And yes, I never, ever bathe in hot water, no matter how cold it gets, even if I’m freezing to death! Taking a hot water bath feels like showing off and being finicky to me. There’s no joy of victory in war there, no respect shown to winter, where’s the madness of throwing down a challenge to yourself, tell me? I actually enjoy tormenting myself. That machine—what do they call it, geyser or something—makes me angry just looking at it. I want to throw stones and break it. What’s the point! With the money saved from buying that machine, why not get some date palm juice and rice flour and make some pithas instead, brother?
You know, I really want to see snowfall. But then I think, even in this cold, how many people are suffering! How many poor people are dying, shivering in the cold. If my wish came true, thousands upon thousands of people in Bangladesh would die instantly! No need for more cold! If my desire costs so many human lives, let it remain unfulfilled forever.
Tell me, do you go “achoo-achoo” all day in winter? Take a selfie of yourself in that state and send it to me! Hehehe……
On winter mornings, there’s actually one advantage to bathing in cold water in the bathroom—it makes your body feel less cold, because the water temperature is much lower than the outside air temperature, so after pouring that water on yourself and then stepping out into the air, the outside air feels somewhat warm. Thinking about this, a thought suddenly struck me, let me share it—how’s this? Just as cold cuts through cold in winter, so does suffering cut through suffering. The saying didn’t turn out very well, did it?
Listen, on the fame list, there are actually a couple of my girlfriends behind me too. So no matter how famous I become, I’m not at the very end. But everyone tells me that I’m supposedly naive, that my friends will supposedly put me in one pocket and pull me out through another, all sorts of things like that. Well, do they really need to go to all that trouble? Whatever they are, I love them! And I slip into their pockets laughing on my own! No need to even ask! Why would they take the trouble of cleverly getting me into their pocket? I do that work myself! I get along with everyone. I know that I won’t be influenced, my mind has a filter. Even seeing someone with three boyfriends doesn’t make me want to fall in love, and even seeing a hijab-wearing ultra-pious girl doesn’t make me want to be captivated, but they’re all dear to me. You know what’s happened, for some reason I’m in a rather melancholy state. I get like this sometimes. Nothing feels good. Well, I’ve rambled on a lot, but I had promised you that I’d teach you the mantra for being tolerant, but sorry brother, I don’t feel like teaching that mantra right now. Some other day, I mean later sometime if I’m still alive, I’ll tell you, it might even be useful for your work. I love to bargain with you. You still have sooo much further to go, don’t you? That’s why you need to be tolerant, brother. Listen, this ‘brother’ isn’t that kind of ‘brother’! It’s just a casual brother. A make-believe brother. Keep that in mind when you listen to me. Don’t say later that I made you my real blood brother. But can I tell you something? To me, hearing ‘sister’ sounds much better than hearing all this nonsense like darling and sweetheart. I’ve seen Uttam Kumar playfully call the heroine ‘sister’ in movies. Seeing that, I find it cute. If anyone calls me darling-sharling, I swear to God, I’ll vomit all over them. Green vomit! Why? Aren’t there pure Bengali words or other beautiful words? Whenever I hear someone say ‘darling’, I want to kick them in the butt. Are you surprised? I didn’t vomit on you, did I? You only have one blazer! If that gets ruined, you’ll go to seminars and tremble with cold, and the girls will feel even more sorry for you (some of them might even pretend to take off their shawls and give them to you!) and then I’ll get angry. Very angry. That’s why I deliberately didn’t do the green vomit. Well sorry, I didn’t do it anyway, I forgot in my emotion. Hahaha…..really sorry.
Now let me talk about something a bit more serious, shall I? I’m extremely controlled about my food, you know. I mean, I eat cucumber salad for lunch, some lentils, very little rice or none at all, but in the evening I stuff myself with snacks and then eat dinner multiple times! Hahahaha… Anyway, whether it’s dieting or because of diabetes, I have lost some weight. So if I’ve gotten thinnnnner, then why hasn’t my weight dropped even by one kilogram? Answer that if you can! This is the first time I’ve asked Dagas a question whose answer I already know. The answer is that no matter how thin a starving elephant becomes, it remains an elephant! Right? Nobody’s going to mistake it for a goat, are they? That’s how it is, isn’t it? I was an elephant, I am an elephant, I’ll remain an elephant. Even if I die of starvation, I’ll die as an elephant. Oh well, God help us. Oh, and here’s a small request: you’ve written at least a word or two about dogs, pigs, monkeys, hanuman, and so many other creatures, but why haven’t you written anything about elephants? Elephants are such cool animals! Haven’t you read ‘Babli’? Buddhadeb Guha wrote such sweet things about an Airavat-like heroine! That’s why I like him so much. You should write about them too, okay? Have you seen ‘Dum Laga Ke Haisha’? How much Ayushmann Khurrana loves that chubby girl. Just watching it feels so peaceful. When I listen to the song “Dard Karara,” I’ve danced so many times imagining myself in that heroine’s place! But I don’t dance badly with Ayushmann! (That’s actually true! Well, why don’t you believe anything I say, why don’t you take me seriously? Or do you? I can’t tell if I’m being foolish!) Listen, I really, really like Ayushmann! Let me see if I can give him a chance to be my boyfriend! Whatever you say, elephants are very good, cool, and sweet animals. That’s my favorite. Because somehow I find similarities with them. But I can’t remember as much as they do! That’s the only reason I feel a little jealous when I see them.
Well, for those who can’t remember anything, there are two prayers that I often recite silently:
1. Rabbi zidni ilma- Rabbi yassir, wala tu’assir wa tammim alaina bil khair.
2. Rabbish rahli sadri wa yassirli amri wahlul uqdatam mil lisani yafqahu qawli.
In my experience, these work for me. You can recite their Bengali meanings in your own way, silently, morning and evening, whenever you want, as many times as you want. I’m writing down both meanings:
The first one: O my Lord! Increase my knowledge. O my Lord! Make this matter easy for me, do not make it difficult, and bring it to completion with goodness.
The second one: O my Lord! Expand my heart, make my work easy for me, and remove the impediment from my tongue, so that people may understand my words, and appoint for me a helper from my family.
Listen, Douglas,
don’t go thinking again that I’m
some kind of scholar in these matters. I don’t know how to read Arabic, can’t even recognize many of the letters. These two verses my father taught me.
They’re supposed to improve memory. My forgetfulness is getting worse by the day! So
father said to try this remedy. Please don’t think I’m such a fool that
I’m telling you all this just because you’re
liberal toward all religions! I just remembered it somehow, so I mentioned it. No particular reason. What can I do? I’m not feeling well! Can’t sleep and I’ve found myself
a decent child to talk to. So I’m just chattering away with this child! Mother’s also in Dhaka, and father’s leaving for Dhaka tomorrow too! This will be the first time
I’ll be alone! No one will take me sightseeing to Nawabganj, and no one will take me touring Puthia either! Everyone will abandon me and go have fun at camp! Wah… wah… huhuhuhu……
Actually, I was just being a little dramatic, but don’t take it seriously again. Okay? I just felt like being a bit theatrical
with you. I don’t have anyone else to be dramatic with, what can I do! Alright, go on, I won’t bother you anymore. I’m telling the truth!
Tat-tat-tat… wah… wah… huhuhuhu……
You clever bird!
How are youuuu? What’s your condition
like? How’s the cold
treating you? Is everything alright?
How do you manage to write
so beautifully? Huuuuu…?
I’m absolutely enchanted!
And being so enchanted, I’ve even done a somersault! Now what happens? Hee-hee-hee-hee… Come now, I’m telling the truth. And in youth too, pfft! I mean in li-i-i-fe I won’t be naughty,
and I won’t bother you for the rest of my life either.
Oh listen, go away! Really!? I want to be a good girl now. A proper girl.
No talking to men outside the family. But what if I can’t help it? What if I end up bothering you? Then what? Well then… please buy me a burqa, Douglas! I’m thinking of writing while wearing
a burqa. Won’t that work? And you
put on robes and a cap on your head and kohl around your eyes and read my
letters with sidelong glances! Won’t that work? I’ve come up with a very
clever idea. That’s what we’ll do. Bye. And listen, those writings of yours about the campfire turned out really beautiful.
That bit about… this is happening, that’s happening,
the wind is blowing, ashes are flying, I don’t know what… I don’t know what! That was really, I mean the most beautiful part, I felt a tiny bit envious that I couldn’t go there,
that’s all, but that was the most beautiful part. Though
I’m just a person too! I have my likes and dislikes! What I like, many others don’t like. Anyway, Douglas, I did something foolish today. While telling stories about you, your name just slipped out
in front of my little sister! Ugh! What can I do! I ended up telling her everything
after that. Though I made quite a few threats. She said she won’t tell anyone. I may have exaggerated
a bit about you! She’s very eager to hear your voice, I mean
your vo-o-o-ice. Ugh! Today’s youngsters! Don’t get me started! They’re
all so… well! Sometime
you’ll let her hear it when I call, won’t you! Alright? You’re a good person,
you wouldn’t mind chatting
with little ones, would you?
Listen, there’s something important I need to tell you. I probably won’t be able to come see you as often as I have been. My tiger-uncle is coming from abroad. I mean, he’s already arrived, he’ll be in Rajshahi tomorrow. My room, bathroom, computer—everything, even I myself will fall under uncle’s jurisdiction. Uncle loves us dearly (and we love him too) and I always have to chat with him. Otherwise he gets upset! He comes all this way just for us! So I’ll miss you all the time. This won’t be a problem for you though, right? Everyone misses you like this, don’t they? Actually, when so many people live in someone’s heart, hoping for a separate space there is nothing but madness. No problem, I accept it.
Listen, whenever I get the chance I’ll come to see you. Silently, sneakily. You’ll be a good, well-behaved, cute child, yes?
A pair of eyes will be following you, remember that. Though I follow you much more minutely now than I did before we became Facebook friends. Now that I have you, the restlessness, the anxiety, the fidgeting and fretting has lessened a bit. Uncle’s visit is actually good timing—if I see you with gaps in between, I’ll be able to read more of your writing. And… another important thing. I found your name with mine in some silly Facebook games, so I shared them for fun, though you won’t see them anyway, but I’m telling you, don’t worry, no one will see those things. They’re just for laughs. But don’t you go getting scared now. Those are completely worthless apps—otherwise would they make my eldest uncle my next Valentine? Let me give you another piece of information about myself. I don’t dance on anyone’s head much, I mean I don’t want to get on anyone’s head. I stay where I’m supposed to stay. Don’t be afraid of everything I say though, not all my words have meaning, I just talk a lot. I’m chatty, you see! And New Year’s greetings of course. This year will be more beautiful than all other years, God willing, the year after even more beautiful, the one after that even more, more, more… I gave you New Year’s wishes this year, will I be able to next year? God only knows. Alright, goodbye for now. And you’ll miss me, won’t you? Come on, just a little miss! What harm is there in missing just a little? There’s a mystery—day by day I feel like my age is decreasing. You don’t know and even if you did you wouldn’t believe it, but that’s not the point. The point is, I’m behaving like a little girl. There’s no reason behind this though. Just like that! I get angry at myself, but I also like it. You won’t understand. I don’t know what this means. I don’t even want to know. I’m afraid that if I try to understand, I’ll lose this time! Argh… thank you, dear. Bye!
Um, I mean, one more thing… have you fallen in loooove with that bell-jingling letter-writer girl? Well, if you have, that’s good. That’s fine. I have no problem with it. I just said it casually. You know… you told me to look for a Rajshahi girl for you, so I mentioned it. If your marriage gets settled then I won’t have to work hard looking for a bride for you anymore. That’s all! Really truly! Bye then.
Dear Great Great Great Great Great Great Great Great Granthik, Assalamualaikum.
Did a mighty storm pass over you today? Are you terribly angry right now? Would a little more anger cause too much damage? Give us a picture of yourself in this furious state! I’m dying to see it! I’ve never seen you in a ragent state (please add this word to the dictionary, pleeeease!), that’s why. Nothing else, mind you.
Seeing you made me want to give something in return, but I’m wondering if it’ll make you feel even worse! Though nothing has been said to you here, I’ve been telling others.
What do I really know about you, tell me? Your writing—what you write or don’t write there, that’s your freedom. But the thing is, seeing your work made me want to write something too. But I’m an uneducated village bumpkin, can’t write on my own, so I copied your writing and changed it a bit. I want to post it as a status. But how can I post stolen writing? So I’m thinking of showing you the plagiarized piece first, then posting it.
Sister Kolmi told me not to anger you, but still I speak. What can I do—I can’t keep words bottled up in my stomach. My belly will burst and scatter everywhere! You make one request. Don’t read the writing below. If you feel bad, I’ll feel bad too. Just as I’m not the mother of your writings, you’re not the father of this stolen piece either. So why should you feel bad? Are you a petty person? Haven’t you grown up? When you’ve grown up, it doesn’t suit you to sulk from time to time. Therefore, no crying! Am I right or not?
I started the parody of your writing from the middle—how’s that?
Free sensual pleasures spread like a market stall, endless trade in satisfaction. Everyone’s watching, yet no one’s watching.
Father won’t even notice. Too busy! Where’s the time to check on her? She’s growing up. The little doll is sprouting right before our eyes. But how is she growing? The exhaustion of each day; the next day’s office work needs to be sorted too. And there are other demands as well! His own, his wife’s. Whether the girl is well, what she did all day, how the teachers at school smile or scold, she tells all this quite coherently. But who keeps track of whether anything’s wrong with her body? I know of a father who can predict when his friend’s wife will get her period. Hearing from his friend’s wife that his daughter’s period was late, he asks his eight-year-old daughter’s mother if anyone has done anything to her! The mother asks the daughter, the daughter says no, Ma. What would she say? If she told the truth, she might even get beaten. The mother goes and tells the father just that. The father is happy to hear the lie. What a busy father! Work to do, work. So much work! Shopping with his friend’s wife, chatting, fulfilling his friend’s needs… And then again, his friend’s wife isn’t the only one! Besides, there are colleagues and so many known and unknown girls! He has to be a hero to everyone, otherwise the girls will turn up their noses! If he’s not a hero, no one will pay attention, no one will come close. He has to rise very high. Who wants to lose in the rat race? Can’t ask his wife for money. If he asks for money, his wife starts interrogating about everything under the sun. Huh! Is he some pauper? Did he study so hard just to remain dependent on someone else? But then again, if he gives less money to the household, his wife starts poking around his secrets. Men have the advantage of big jobs—no one bothers them too much about their secret world. His wife has secrets too. Let her! That’s how it is! Two people continue acting out happiness in their own way. Two banks of the same river. There’s a bridge too. There is a bridge—that’s the only consolation. The bridge isn’t in good shape. Only the bridge’s toys are fine, only those dirty adults are fine—the ones for whom the bridge is a toy. No one has time to think about this. So much work. The bank balance needs strengthening. There’s a bridge—that’s enough! Everyone who sees them thinks they’re happy. To get by in society, this is exactly the kind of thinking that’s needed. The bridge is getting eaten by termites. There’s no time to notice that. The bridge is gradually becoming shaky from the termites. No time. A corporate household woven from neon-lit dreams. (Wait, who is Setu? I don’t understand. I don’t have much brains. Is Setu the bridge from Nachiketa’s ‘Khokon’ song? Or is that girl’s name actually Setu? Don’t scold me, I don’t need to be scolded; if you explain it to me with a little affection, I’ll understand.)
This is how so many little girls are growing up. You working fathers—have you ever stopped to think about this? Isn’t your little darling’s world centered around her? God has sent the most beautiful doll in the world to your small home. Why should this precious gift lie neglected like this? Children grow up. Do they only grow in body alone? Do you think your living doll is perfectly happy just because you buy her expensive fruits, tins of milk, dolls, and clothes? That picture book you bought her—have you ever had the time to notice the few drops of tears from your little doll that have dried up and died on its pages? Why do you think so well of all the adults around her? Judge by your own self! You are a man, you are intelligent, you are wise, you are a leader, you are clever, you are powerful. Can your foolish, stupid wife protect the child the way you could? She’s barely managing some clerical job like a fly-swatter—that’s about all, isn’t it? Is this work of providing security really suited for women? Dolls are so innocent, so pure, so simple. How would they understand the devil’s mind of men? Haven’t you yourself ever been eager to draw near whenever you saw a woman? What was the first thing that came to your mind when you saw women—have you forgotten those thoughts? Or are you forgetting? Or do you want to forget? Or have you learned to pretend to forget? Or is it that in today’s comfort you don’t have time to think about tomorrow’s discomfort? Which is it?
O Great Father!
If you say that where is there a Bengali father who raises children while his wife is present, when has this happened? I’ll say, you haven’t seen all the Bengalis of today yet. Your observation is limited only to some medieval Bengali families. And if you say that boys are naturally indifferent and clumsy in this matter, then I tell today’s great fathers: please don’t hide your laziness, incompetence, and shirking like thieves by dumping these bad traits onto nature’s shoulders. Making babies feels good (you don’t have to suffer for it!), but taking responsibility doesn’t feel good? You want to claim rights over the child, but don’t want to care for the child! And if anything happens to the child, the wife is to blame. I mean, I won’t do anything, but I’ll still go around finding fault. Like a fool, you love to dump the child on the wife’s shoulders, because supposedly women aren’t naturally indifferent! Bravo! (How could they be indifferent? Men forcibly keep them attentive! They have to be attentive to the household, no matter how indifferent men are about child-rearing—but when it comes to finding faults and blaming others, no one is more expert than them!) Having fun feels good, enjoying yourself feels good, having affairs feels good, you want to fulfill all your desires too, but looking at your own child doesn’t feel good, you don’t feel like taking care of the little one—because then your masculinity won’t be displayed and your manhood will disappear! The wife’s suffering might decrease! No matter how much harm comes to the child, you can’t give time to the child, because what if by chance the wife advances a bit more in her job! Humans naturally prefer the company of the weak, they love winning against donkeys—if the wife works, she becomes a bit of a horse instead of a donkey, and that alone terrifies the men. On top of that, if they help with childcare and assist the wife, helping her advance, who knows if the wife might become a lion! Who has the courage to live with a lion? Who wants to take that risk? Better to make excuses that men can’t do housework, men can’t manage the household—this way you get freedom from responsibility, you can torment the wife by keeping her under domestic pressure, and you can go around having your fun too! Still, one risk remains—if you get caught while having fun, the wife might leave, since she has a job. Ah, it would be good if the wife’s job could be eliminated—then there’s no question of leaving the husband; even if the husband leaves her, she’d wander around crying and wailing, accepting everything through coaxing and pleading, and tuck the husband back into her heart again. Men don’t have the ability to keep their wives through love alone! That’s why they want to cut off hands, feet, wings, eyes, tongue—everything—and keep them!
So that’s what I had to say about today’s great fathers and husbands in our society. Now let me say a little something to the writer. I don’t know the details of your situation, but whatever you write, brother, don’t drag other people into it. Have the courage to say, yes, I like this thing or I don’t. Please don’t say that others think this silently, or many people say this, or just because I spoke up I’m at fault… blah blah blah… don’t do all that. Only children say such things to hide their own mistakes. And second, you don’t have to say everything out loud. What you do or don’t do in your personal life, nobody’s going to scrutinize that much. You’re a public figure, an ideal for young people, brother. Everyone follows you, so even if you’re not lying, think a little before saying anything. (If you think, who made me their idol or whatever, that’s their problem, not mine, then I’ll say, what you think is important, but what’s more important is what the public thinks of you and what they do or don’t do because of it. Yours is your thinking, theirs is their reality. Which one should be considered first, tell me?) You’re talking about a problem, and I got scared without even being a mother, so what will happen to those who are parents? But then again, see, you added a little tail to that problem too. You could have done without that. Of course you got scolded by women too, seeing that made me feel a little falsely happy, but that’s not the point, I don’t actually know what the real issue is. I actually can’t organize my thoughts properly. Alright, fine. Stay well. The tail of your writing is really bothering me. Why do I like you? Ugh! Well, what’s the worst that could happen? Might as well do it a little! It’s not like I have anything else! But what did you do here? Is this even reasonable? Good that everyone scolded you. I’m happy. But there’s a ‘but’ here too. I’ll scold you, beat you, do whatever I feel like. But why should everyone? Do you belong to everyone? Well, everything will be alright. Don’t feel bad. When you speak so openly, you have to listen to some openness in return, brother! And please please please don’t stay upset over what people say. Alright? Bye.
I’m emailing from my cell phone though! Eeeeee…!!! See how smart I am! My nose is blocked, that’s why I have to write like this! I don’t usually write, I speak. When you talk with a blocked nose, this is how it should sound! What? Am I not right?
Dear Pir Saheb,
Won’t you fulfill one wish of this devoted disciple of yours, pleeeease? Won’t you take a picture of that funny teacher of yours (the one you wrote about in your writing) and give it to me! I’m dying to see him! And give me one of yours too while you’re at it. They don’t let you use phones in class? Well, when you post on Facebook, take a selfie and send it to me, okay? Will you? After this I won’t bother you anymore, you’ll see. Listen, why don’t you spend much time on Facebook these days? Are you feeling sad? Why? Tell me, has your hair turned gray? Have your teeth fallen out? Are you really getting old? You know, my hair hasn’t grayed yet, but somehow through some village relative, I’ve ended up becoming a grandmother to some child.
Eeeeewwww! Don’t tell anyone about this! Otherwise, the one or two people who used to glance my way will run away in advance fear of having to call me grandma! Pir Granthik! Let me tell you a secret. If your name wasn’t Granthik, I wouldn’t talk to you this much. Names that I don’t like saying, I simply don’t feel like saying unless absolutely necessary. Though many people say my name sounds weird. They say, Shanaya Khan! What kind of name is that? Sheesh! Shanaya Khan, make puffed rice and eat! Why don’t you just change your name to something like Hablutablu! Then maybe I’ll never be able to bother you again! Pir Saheb, has something happened to you? I mean, something secret that you can’t tell anyone? Your diary series is beautiful, I mean terrifyingly beautiful, but why don’t you laugh like before? Who taught you to stay in such a serious mood? What’s happened to you, tell me? Or are you feeling bad about being away from home? Is that why you’re sad? Tsk! What are you saying? Aren’t you a man? Do men cry for home? Listen, if you had been born in 1948, would you have gone to war? I mean to the Liberation War? Would they have let you go from home? Don’t mind my words. I just felt like knowing. Oh no! You wouldn’t have gone! You’re afraid of dying, after all! And at one time, because of being a ‘nobody,’ you even wanted to die! Tsk! What a cheap boy you were! Dying is fine, but like that? Had all love and affection just flown away at that time? Didn’t you think of anyone in your family? How strange! Though I’m a nobody too in one way, I’m a bit more noble than you. In which way, I can’t say. If I say, I’ll get beaten up. Therefore, no risk, no beating! This thing about me writing in Banglish, you’re not really reading this stuff, are you? Sorry Pir brother, made a mistake. It’s not me, you’re the noble one. You’re the head of the Department of Nobility. I’m just a broker, all the worst things there are, that’s what I am. Don’t listen to me. Please don’t burst with anger. If you burst, it’ll be hard to put you back together. Who will do all that stitching, tell me! And where will we find so much thread? Alright, goodbye! Forgive me! Salaam!
Granthik!
Granthik! Hey Granthik…hey!
Nothing really.
Just felt like
bothering you.
Uncle! I have a
very secret thing to tell you! Completely top secret! Quietly, I mean absolutely in whispers! Listen, I’m telling you. What I mean is, I’m not afraid of you at all!
And…and…and…the thing is….I never have been! Hesitation is something different, right? Well, however ordinary I might be, why would a tough girl like me be afraid of a little thing like you? Tell me? You tell me! Gosh! Getting bold, are you?
Okay, sorry. When I think of you,
I don’t feel scared. What can I do? How is it my fault? Well, didn’t you say that writing your diary is very difficult? Shall I give you an idea? If it’s too hard, instead of writing things down, just record them on your phone!
There you go! And whatever you can write without too much trouble, but with just a little effort, write only that much! That’s it! Right? Ohhhh. How clever I am! I’ve fallen in love—with myself, though! Well, don’t feel bad,
you won’t fall for yourself either. Let there be time,
then later. Not now. I’ll fall later.
Right now I’m a bit busy. And……in great anguish. About what? You wouldn’t understand. With all the control freaks at home
tormenting me, sometimes I feel like dying for a few moments! Even now, I mean not right now, but a little while ago I was feeling that way. Giving you a little scolding in my mind made everything right again. Not real scolding, just casual. Actually, all this is just drama! You haven’t done anything, and still I’m scolding. Actually not exactly you either. Who knows who!
Only the Creator knows! I’ll talk later. Thank goodness this is a phone letter! If it were a computer letter then……well, I’m not bothering you like I used to anymore!
Right? Am I bothering you, tell me? Of course I will when uncle leaves. I’m booking in advance though! And now
Assalamu Alaikum. Well, since you’re
such a pious person, when I give you
all these free salams, do you answer them? You should though! It’s obligatory.
If you don’t follow it, it becomes a major sin! Well, is that obligatory?
Or am I just guessing wildly?
I don’t know though! But
I think it must be obligatory. Well, good night. Now you don’t need to say good night to me,
because that’s not obligatory. I’m sure about this! Wow! How much
I know! Love is coming again—self-love! Well, I don’t want to fall any deeper in love with myself, so I’m saving you and running away now.
If I go mad with self-love, I’ll get into big trouble again. How many people
wander around like fools, mad with love for themselves! Escaping from self-love isn’t that easy!
Mr. Dogas!
Assalamu alaikum. How are you? Please ask me how I’m doing too! Don’t you have any sense of courtesy? Must I teach you even this? Haven’t you grown up yet?
It’s been ages since I could properly torment you, so I’m feeling quite miserable. I’ve developed a real taste for driving you crazy. I’m trapped in such a place and in such a way that I can’t even step outside, can’t add money to my modem, and worst of all, can’t bother you—while you’re having the time of your life and I’m drowning in sorrow. Actually, I’m sad for completely different reasons, but I’m pinning the blame on something else entirely. Well, we’ll talk later. What’s to be done now! Might as well go to sleep then! Listen to this—apparently I’m so down today that Rajshahi had such a downpour because of it!
I never knew Rajshahi loved me this much. What if I’d known earlier? Actually, nothing would have changed! These stories—knowing them before or after makes no difference at all.
Alright then, tata! We’ll talk later.
Stay well.
TGSP
Dadaaaa! I called you dada just to make you a little happy, nothing else. So grandpa, I have something very urgent to discuss with you.
Actually, there’s no real discussion to be had—I have stories. But
I can’t manage to tell them. I have internet, but no energy. I’m so tired that the moment I lie down I become like a corpse (dead, and then corpse—both!…Shanaya, you’re such a donkey, ugh!) I’ve been writing this whole time forcing my eyelids open with my hands. Assalamu alaikum! And I still keep thinking about you constantly. Even though I can’t find anything worth remembering, I still remember. And the thing is, I don’t find peace without chatting with you.
Hahaha…I laughed randomly, but for no reason. Don’t go looking for explanations for this laughter! Actually, the laughter means my heart is happy. When my heart is happy, I have this one quirk—I tell everyone “I love you,” but I can’t say it to you! (I mean, I couldn’t!) Because you’re an old grandpa!
Are you angry because I called you old?
Fine, go ahead and block me. But wait one second! I want to chat once more, and then after the chat is over, go ahead and block me, uncle!
Heyyyy? I won’t understand at all, and even if I do, I won’t mind…nooo, I mean, no. Absolutely, I swear! Okay, I’m coming. Where are you going? Wait! One minute! Why don’t you understand regional language? It’s so annoying! What’s with all your airs?
Acting all saheb-saheb!
Ehhh, here he comes! I won’t say anymore, I need to eat some energy yogurt to get energized before writing again. Okay, so now I’ll become a corpse. Byeee! Ghrrrr…oh no! Dead people don’t snore. Mistake!
Mistake! I forgot and became a mistake! I am sooo sorry! So then, what sound do corpses make? Shhhh…ufff! But corpses don’t breathe either! So what do they do? How do they do whatever they do? What should I write? Glug-glug? Or gong-gong? How do corpses exist?
How do they make sounds? You should study up and find out, wise grandpa! I can’t do it. Surrender! I really want to know, but I don’t understand!
You can’t fulfill even one of my heart’s desires. Alas, what men! You know,
I really want to watch that book called ‘Poramone’
(book meaning movie. Or don’t you know that either?
Unbearable! Knows nothing.
Tsk tsk, being ignorant isn’t right!) I fell in love with the girl just from seeing the poster of that book. Oh, that girl’s smileeee! Our country has many ugly-looking boys, but
most girls are beautiful in comparison. What? Am I not right? Where the handsome boys hide,
only Allah knows! (Listen, don’t research TGSP. This thing has no meaning, I just wrote it to mess with your head,
nothing else. Is your head messed up yet? Thank you! Thank you!)