A crush knows no age. Anyone can have a crush on anyone at any time—for a reason, or for no reason at all. Nothing can stand in the way of a crush—not religion, society, economics, age, nothing! Honours first year is prime time for crushes. Girls crush on male professors, and boys on female professors. Crush, love, affection, attraction, romance, marriage, sex—these are seven completely different things. Any one of them can exist without any of the others.
I still remember how I attended first-year physics classes at CUET, tormented by the grief that Madam was older than me. I can’t recall actually hearing a single lecture of hers. Madam would teach, and I would sit there gaping at her. Madam would suddenly burst into laughter. Oh! What a laugh! Like the babbling of a mountain stream—you could die for that melodious laughter! I would wait with bated breath for Madam to break into that little smile! In my mind I would pray, “God, make Madam laugh a little! If Madam laughs today, I’ll light candles and incense at your temple this evening.” Whenever Madam’s eyes fell in my direction, even by mistake, I would convince myself she was looking at me and find a strange peace in that delusion! Of course, Madam probably didn’t even know I existed! Once Madam fell down the stairs and hurt her knee. I saw it from afar. The sight almost made me cry. Every day I prayed to God to heal Madam’s pain. I still remember when a batchmate made some crude remarks about Madam’s appearance—I never spoke to him again. That awkwardness of cutting someone off still hasn’t faded. I still can’t talk to him. The discomfort of stopping conversation in youth doesn’t heal easily. How silly, right? But that was my youthful passion! Youthful passion has staying power.
How furious I used to get seeing Madam’s husband back then! I’d look at him and think, even such an ugly man gets to marry such a beautiful woman! I never find the husbands or boyfriends of beautiful women handsome. After reading ‘Shabnam,’ Mujtaba seemed even uglier to me. Reading ‘In the Land of Pictures, in the Land of Poetry,’ Sunil’s pot belly looked even more repulsive. I kept thinking, I’m better! All this played out in my head. A madman’s happiness is all in his mind! I never had the courage to go up to Madam and say anything. Madam also taught our practical classes. Whenever she came to check our group’s work, my mind would go completely blank! I couldn’t answer even the simplest questions, and when I did, I’d give completely wrong answers. Madam probably thought, “Good grief! What a donkey this boy is! Can’t even do this!” What a donkey indeed! If I wasn’t a donkey, would I have fallen in love? And such a pointless love at that!
Madam’s face was terribly sweet. Her glasses were sweet too. Even the way she looked at you was sweet. Her yawning was sweet. The way she felt embarrassed was sweet. Her scolding was sweet. Her hair was sweet. The rosy glow on her cheeks was sweet. What wasn’t sweet about her, I can’t remember. One day, after gathering tremendous courage, I went to Madam’s room. The boy who never studied his class notes at home—that very boy photocopied two weeks’ worth of physics lectures and spent entire Fridays and Saturdays at home studying them. During my time at CUET, I never studied for any semester final for even two days in my life. All that effort just to prepare for a conversation with her! I went to Madam’s room under the pretense of getting help with my studies, and my mind went completely blank when I heard Madam say with my own ears, “Sushanto, what’s the news? Tell me, why have you come?” Madam even knew my name! How was that possible! “Madam, I think physics is a very good thing. We should all study physics!” After saying this, “Madam, I just came to tell you this.” Before I could finish the sentence properly, I practically ran away from the room. Madam was smiling softly at my words. After that day, I could never look into Madam’s eyes again.
Enough about me! Nothing ever came of me, and nothing ever will.
In engineering, you have to study some non-departmental subjects. Like physics, chemistry, math, sociology, economics, accounting, management, and who knows what else! Satyaki Sir wasn’t from electrical, but he taught them a second-semester course—economics. When Arshi was in first year, he had already completed his double master’s and had been teaching for three years. Like every batch, Satyaki Sir taught their economics too. Sir was at least twelve years older than Arshi. Arshi had never seen anyone as handsome, refined, charismatic, brilliant, eloquent, tasteful, and scholarly as Sir. Even after reading the novel ‘Na Hanyate’ six times, she still felt like reading it again—and it was because of Mircea Eliade that she found that same Eliade in Satyaki Sir at every moment. During Sir’s classes, she imagined herself as Maitreyi Devi. Almost every day, returning to her room from class, Arshi would write a love letter to Sir in her personal diary. Those letters were filled with complaints, demands, joy, and love scattered across every page—something no one ever found out about.
Sir was an excellent student. He secured double first class in both Matriculation and Intermediate. From Dhaka University’s Economics Department, he earned first class fifth in Honours and first class second in Masters. Right next to Sir’s room was Arshid’s study room. Apart from class time, Sir would sit in his room and read books with deep concentration. Mostly economics books, of course. Arshi would often secretly watch from afar—this strangely beautiful man sitting with his face buried in Samuelson. Watching Sir read was one of the most beautiful sights of her life. Just for Sir, Arshi would skip classes and sit in the study room for hours on end. The way Sir would turn the pages of his book, Arshi would try to turn her own book pages in exactly the same style. She would often think to herself that if she could wake up every day and see her beloved sitting quietly, absorbed in reading, no one in this world would be happier than her. If nothing else, just to wake up to such a sight was reason enough to fall asleep! Lost in these thoughts, Arshi would hide her face in her bag and smile to herself. She would think, Oh! If only Sir could see! If only Sir could catch her just a little!
Among the few girls in their batch who had crushes on Sir, Arshi couldn’t stand a single one. She had decided in her mind that after marriage, if she had a daughter, she would never—even if she died—name her Sadia, Silvia, Mauri, Nusrat, or Sangita. These were the ugliest names in the world. Sir, of course, paid no attention to anyone. But Arshi almost always found joy in believing that Sir would perhaps smile faintly whenever their eyes met in class. How happy this thought made her! How many excuses Mauri would find just to talk to Sir a little, just to go a bit closer to him! Many others did the same. Seeing all this would make Arshi burn with rage! She felt that strangling these girls would bring her infinite peace! She herself could never approach Sir. Despite planning for many days, she could never do anything in the end. She found peace only in watching from afar. Often it would happen that all their classes were over, and Arshi would stand for hours in front of the common room door just to catch a glimpse of Sir! The moment she saw him, she would hide herself as quickly as possible so that Sir wouldn’t spot her! Which day, what time, which corridor Sir would pass through, where his classes were, which paths he had to walk—Arshi had memorized it all. Many days, swallowing her shame and embarrassment, she had secretly followed Sir all the way to his quarters. Since her best friend Lima was with her, no one could understand what was happening. Lima would always give her all kinds of information about Satyaki Sir, and in return Arshi would treat Lima to fuchka. Lima had even managed to get Sir’s mobile number for Arshi. She had written that number on a piece of paper. Apart from touching it and kissing it every moment, Arshi could never do anything else with it. Arshi didn’t have a mobile phone. Her dream was to save up money from tutoring and buy a mobile phone just to call Sir.
She was always thinking about how to approach Sir, what clever way she could find to have just a little conversation with him, whether there was anything in the world she could do that would make Sir look at her and smile for even two seconds! But nothing ever worked. ‘If I go to Sir and he somehow figures out from my face that I like him, then it’s all over!’ She would think this, then stand in front of the mirror, imagining Sir beside her, and become absolutely delighted! An article by Sir on ‘Problems and Possibilities of the Jute Industry’ had appeared in Prothom Alo, and Arshi had read it at least a few hundred times, though such an article hardly needed to be read twice. No one could say anything about Sir in front of her. She would immediately flare up! When Sir walked down the street, Arshi would stand there motionless by the roadside with Lima. Sir never even looked back. One day Lima said, “Arshi, what if you did something?” “What?” “Call Sir’s mobile.” “Friend, I’ll die. He’ll murder me!” “Then do this instead. I’ll get you Sir’s room PABX number. Then gather some courage and call. Lots of people do it!” Though she said “I absolutely can’t,” that’s exactly what Arshi ended up doing. “Sir, I need some help. Where can I get the previous year’s question papers?” Arshi said robotically. “Why? They’re in your library. Didn’t I say in class that…?” Before Sir could finish speaking, Arshi slammed the phone down. She couldn’t find any more words. When Sir was talking, she kept feeling as if Sir could see her. This thought made her feel very embarrassed. And she felt like she was about to get scolded any moment! But that Sir had understood something of her feelings, Arshi realized the next day when she called at exactly the same time in the afternoon. She called and said nothing, just stayed silent. After Sir also remained quiet for a long time, he finally said, “Aren’t you that girl who called yesterday at exactly this time?” “Mmm!” Arshi felt like she might cry from fear! “Well. Since you’ve called anyway, instead of staying silent, why don’t you say something.” “Yes sir.” “What’s your name?” Arshi remained silent. After asking twice more and realizing she wouldn’t give her name, he asked, “Which semester? Which department? Civil? Or Electrical?” “Sir, second semester, Civil.” In her nervousness, Arshi gave the wrong department name. “Are you Annie?” “No.” “Pinky?” “No.” “Then definitely Lopa!” “No Sir. I’m hanging up today.” Saying this, she mentally crossed off three more names from her list of possible names for her future daughter. She thought to herself that she would “deal with” those three girls from Civil! But how exactly she would deal with them—no plan came to Arshi’s mind.
Once the initial awkwardness of phone calls wears off, the calls never stop. In this way, small conversations continued almost every day. Sir spoke seventy percent of the words in each call. But Sir could never get Arshi to tell him her name or her actual department.
One day.
When Satyaki Sir opened his room door in the morning, he discovered a greeting card from Hallmark lying beneath it. A girl standing against a wall in the rain, her face hidden behind an umbrella. Satyaki Sir opened the card while still standing there. “I have hidden my face and my name, too. But one thing I can’t hide anymore, that’s my love for you… a secret admirer.” Sir had no trouble figuring out who this secret admirer was. “Except for that one voice, I know nothing else about her!” Suddenly he began to feel helpless. Taking out his handkerchief to wipe away perspiration, he read the card’s message at least twenty to twenty-five times.
After that, for nearly a week, Arshi didn’t call Sir out of fear. What if he got angry after seeing the card and stopped talking altogether! What if calling meant Arshi would have to endure some harsh scolding! Since childhood, Arshi had always burst into tears even before being scolded. “Where have you been all this time? Why didn’t you call? You won’t give me your number, won’t reveal your identity. What’s your problem, girl?” Arshi had to endure quite a scolding—not for the card, but for not calling. For the first time in her life, Arshi realized how sweet it could feel to be scolded. She began to feel that there wasn’t another girl on earth happier than her. Satyaki Sir was the best person in the world. One could spend an entire life just listening to this man’s scolding! From that day on, the relationship between Sir and Arshi became very easy. Whenever Sir or Arshi didn’t have classes, they would spend almost every afternoon talking on the phone. Sometimes Shekhar Sir would hold extra classes in the afternoon, threatening not to let them take exams if they didn’t attend. Since he taught at a private university, he couldn’t hold classes on time. So occasionally he would cram a week’s worth of classes into a single day. Both of them would be extremely annoyed with him. Poor Samuelson would lie neglected in Arshi’s voice, afternoon after afternoon.
On Valentine’s Day, Arshi had gifted seventeen cards to Sir. One enormous card, with another inside it, and another inside that one—she had arranged the cards in this nested fashion. Arshi had quietly left them by Sir’s window. Sir was very fond of such surprise gifts. Arshi would often buy cards for Sir. Inside the cards were little messages—most of them complaints. “What’s wrong with not wearing the pink shirt, hmm? You know, pink is the color for gays abroad. Hee hee hee…” “Why does Sheela come to your room? I don’t like it. Can’t she understand the lessons in class? Such pretense! You shouldn’t let her come to your room.” “Why do you speak so little these days? What have I done?” “Why don’t you get a haircut?” “If you scold me, then…” “The day before yesterday at 2:47 PM, while walking past the canteen, why did you glance sideways at those girls like that? I felt hurt.” “Haven’t you noticed the dark circles under your eyes? What’s wrong with not staying up so late?” “Your shirt keeps coming untucked, you know?” “Maruf Sir speaks badly about you behind your back. Why do you have tea with him in the evenings?” “Why do you answer Lamiya’s phone calls? She’s a bad girl.” Thousands upon thousands of such card messages. The year was 2003. There was no Facebook then. If there had been, the complaints and grievances would surely have multiplied. Sir never got angry seeing such childishness. The day after a card arrived, he would call to explain himself against Arshi’s complaints. Their unseen love conversation continued this way. One Satyaki Sir, one pair of telephone sets, one unknown girl. That’s where the late afternoon sun would set.
2004, June. Summer vacation had just begun at the university. Arshi had left the hall and gone home. They used to talk on the landline from home. June 9th was Sir’s birthday. June 8th evening. “I’m going home on the 10th. You come to the university tomorrow. If you don’t come, I won’t speak to you for the next month.” Arshi was in such a state then that if she didn’t speak to him for even one day, she would feel restless and agitated. If she didn’t speak for a whole month, she would surely suffocate and die! With much shame, hesitation, awkwardness, and fear, on the 9th at exactly 11 AM, Arshi went to the empty campus with 12 roses, a box of chocolates, and a birthday card. It was agreed that Sir would be in front of the circular plaza at that time. He had come and stood there at half past ten. Sir had seen Arshi before, they met all the time, he recognized her face, looked at her, but he didn’t know that she was the one he had been talking to all this while. Not even once had he thought of her. That day, seeing Arshi, the first thing he said was, “You!!!” Arshi apologized profusely to Sir for making him wait for half an hour. She couldn’t bring herself to look into his eyes at all. Arshi had come wearing a deep yellow sari with a green border, and Sir was dressed in an off-white shirt and blue jeans. The two of them wandered around the entire campus together. The university was quite empty. They hired a rickshaw and roamed around the university and the surrounding areas. That day, while wandering in the rickshaw, Satyaki Sir had very gently touched Arshi’s hand. At that touch, her entire body trembled. Her head went completely blank, the world around her became monochrome in an instant! For a moment, it seemed as if her reason and consciousness had vanished! But in that touch, Arshi found no impurity. She simply closed her eyes and felt it! After about an hour of wandering, Sir arranged a CNG for Arshi. While bidding farewell, he gifted her five books by Humayun Ahmed: Tithir Nil Towale, Aj Ami Kothao Jabona, Kobi, Opekkha, Brishti O Meghomala. He knew which of Humayun Ahmed’s books Arshi hadn’t read yet.
Arshi loved him so much and talked about him so constantly to everyone that except for her classmates, there wasn’t a single friend or cousin who didn’t know him or at least know his name. From some inexplicable fear, Arshi had never shared anything about Satyaki Sir with any classmate except Lima. When she bought her first mobile phone, the very first call she made was to him. Every day she would talk to him once in the morning after waking up, once at noon, once before evening, and once before going to bed, trying to keep track of his every moment, sending him messages throughout the day. He rarely found time to reply to most of her messages, but Arshi never felt bad about this. She understood, “He’s busy.” The number of times Arshi thought of Satyaki Sir during the day—people probably don’t even remember God that many times. Whatever he told her to do, Arshi would somehow manage to do it. Whatever he forbade her from doing, Arshi would never do again. She would construct some reasonable justification behind each of his actions. She trusted him more than she trusted herself. She prayed day and night for his well-being. She regularly kept fasts for his welfare. His face seemed permanently ‘set’ before Arshi’s eyes. He would recommend many good movies to Arshi. She would watch those movies several times over. And when it came to stories or novels, except for Humayun Ahmed, he couldn’t name any other author’s books because he didn’t really read anyone else. After meeting him, Arshi too, like him, listened to instrumentals more than songs. During phone conversations, she could often predict which words he would say after which ones. She spoke according to his mood.
Satyaki Sir loved Arshi—perhaps not as intensely as Arshi loved him, but he did love her, and Arshi could sense this very well. Arshi was somewhat reserved by nature, couldn’t say much out loud. Sir was even more reserved. He could never show his emotions. One day he said to Arshi, “Arshi, tell me to do something. Whatever you want, I’ll do. If you tell me to stand on one leg holding my ears, I’ll do that. I don’t know what the future holds for our relationship. But if you want, I’ll maintain this relationship with you for life. You tell me, what do you want.” Hearing this, Arshi felt a bit hurt and said, “Oh I see, if I want it you’ll maintain the relationship, if I don’t want it you won’t. How nice! Don’t you have any desires of your own? Fine, no need—whatever you feel like doing, you do that!” Saying just this much, Arshi hung up the phone. This was the second time she had hung up on him. As soon as she hung up, she began crying uncontrollably. Suddenly it occurred to Arshi that all this time they had been talking, they loved each other, yet neither had said “I love you” to the other. Well, how long does it take to say “I love you”? Or can it not be said at all? Does “I love you” have to be said? Which is more necessary? Love? Or saying “I love you”? If you don’t say “I love you,” is there no love? Does saying it make it happen? If that’s the case, then who would be the first to utter those most difficult words?
Arshi had a peculiar obsession with cards. She would often hide cards under Sir’s room door, or between the pages of Samuelson’s book, behind the curtains by the window, in his drawer.
She would roam the various showrooms of Hallmark and Orchid Gallery, buying cards for Sir.
Among them, 64 cards were never given to him.
Because after buying them, when Arshi read what she had written on them, she felt too embarrassed to give those cards to Sir. She kept those cards along with her hidden love letters. Meanwhile, his room was shifted to L-Building. Then Arshi would often go to his room to chat. He would insist that she come to his room. Almost every day, very early in the morning, from about 7:30 to 8:30 or 9:00, Arshi would go to his room and talk. Many times she would tidy up his room, leave some fresh flowers on the table, help him with his in-course paper notebooks, add up the numbers and transfer them to mark sheets. Sometimes he would read books without speaking to her, and during those times Arshi would sit quietly, watching him with fascination. The peace that Arshi felt looking into his eyes was something she found nowhere else. Occasionally she would give packets of Fox chocolates to the uncle who guarded downstairs in L-Building, along with a small letter. That letter would be folded in such a way that it was impossible to read without tearing it. Arshi would often give the uncle 20-25 taka. During all those times, they never even touched each other. The memory of Sir’s touch that often left Arshi absent-minded was something she received on June 9, 2004. Arshi could never forget every moment of that day.
In 2006, he went to the UK on a Commonwealth Scholarship to do his MS. Later he completed his PhD from York University. Before leaving, there was a plan once that the two of them would spend the whole day together roaming around; in Kaptai, or somewhere else. Both had bought many gifts for each other. Who knew when they would meet again, or if they would at all. Arshi could never roam around with him anyway, always afraid that one of his students might see them. That day came, but they couldn’t meet. Suddenly Arshi’s mother fell ill and Arshi had to go home.
The day before he left, he had come to the university. That day from seven to eight in the morning, the two of them sat in his room in complete silence. Both had so much to say, but no words would come out of either mouth. Finally, Sir broke the silence: “Arshi, I’m leaving. I don’t know when we’ll meet again. Try to forget me. I know this is very difficult and painful for you, but please try. If you keep thinking about me, you won’t be able to study. I couldn’t give you anything at all. Try to maintain your first class in Honours. I’m asking this of you selfishly. If I receive that gift from you, no one in this world will be happier than me—remember that. And anyway, continuing our relationship like this would be very tough for both of us. From now on, just think about yourself, forget me. I really could never give you anything. This is better, really. I’m going far away, email me sometimes. Take care of your health. And talk to any boy you want, no problem, but never talk to Asif. That boy isn’t very dependable. That’s all!” (Asif was Arshi’s classmate. For some reason, Sir didn’t like Asif.) Throughout this entire speech, Arshi couldn’t say a single word. She sat with her head down, repeatedly wiping her eyes with tissues. That day he had given Arshi some of his books; one was Anna Karenina, published by Russia’s Raduga, an original print. On the first page of that book, he had written: I believe, we will meet again. I don’t know when, I don’t know where, even I don’t know how……..but, the only thing I know, we will definitely meet again someday, somewhere, somehow!
That day Arshi couldn’t say anything. As Sir was leaving the room, he called from behind: “Don’t you have anything to say, Arshi?” “Wherever you are, be well.” That was Arshi’s last words to Satyaki Sir.
Until he left, Arshi had never truly understood what Sir meant to her. He was woven into every thread of her daily existence—her dreams, her very breathing, her joys, her sorrows, all her thoughts and feelings. She suffered terribly, cried in secret. Those close to her understood everything, but no one said a word to her. In every moment, she could feel what she had lost from her life! Her third-year results were disastrous. They exchanged emails, but very rarely. Never again in her university life did she feel even the slightest attraction to any boy. So many boys spoke of love to her, but she never even noticed. She would call his mobile number countless times every day. She knew it was switched off, but still. She would repeat the number over and over. She would go and stand in front of his room. She would stare at the chair where he used to sit. The uncle who used to bring Fox chocolates to Sir on Arshi’s behalf—she had asked him to keep the nameplate from outside his room for her. Besides this, when his room was being cleaned after he left, at Arshi’s request the uncle didn’t throw away his used pens, markers, highlighters, writing pads, water mug, and who knows what else, and when he was giving them to Arshi, she was crying like a child and saying, “Uncle, why did you let Sir go? Couldn’t you have stopped him?” Closing her door every day, wiping Sir’s used things with her scarf, Arshi would search for an answer to that simple question of uncle’s. Every day, all answers would come and stop in tears.
Arshi never told him any of this in her emails. She would reply to his emails very briefly, often ending with just a single word: Yes. Thanks. Hmm… Fine. Okay. Going on… Like that. At some point, he too had assumed that the girl had probably forgotten him quickly. Good. Let her be happy in whatever way she can. After this, their email correspondence gradually stopped completely.
In 2011, he returned to the country and got married according to his family’s choice. He had emailed Arshi: “I don’t know how you are, where you are, what state you’re in. I’m getting married. June 28th is the wedding, at King of Chittagong. Come. I don’t know if you still remember me. If I’ve bothered you, please forgive me.” The gentleman spent his entire life with economics. How would he know that when a woman loves someone once, she can never forget him for her entire life.
Five years have passed. His son is almost 3. Arshi quietly keeps track of all his news. Perhaps she doesn’t think of him as much as before, but even now if she suddenly likes someone, her subconscious mind searches for his shadow in that person, and he possesses her thoughts; even after all this time!
That liking goes only so far. Arshi cannot even imagine anyone else in his place. Arshi thinks, such a small life! It can be perfectly spent just thinking of him!
If you would just stand still!
The stars may shift away, but if at your feet
You lose your way—the thirst for walking!—
Loving completely—if you would wish to love that love.
If I could stop here, coming to you!—
But
you have gone, then why am I
still
standing here!
The stars
drift away — then why have these feet of mine
lost
their thirst for walking!
Once
I loved, and why do I love that very love!
Arshi
believes this is how life is! Just like these lines
of Jibanananda’s.
Postscript.
Even if Arshi had married Satyaki Saheb, even if by now she had become mother to a dozen children, she would have called him ‘Apni’ for the rest of her life!