Syllabus

Listen, my skin is dusky, and I have dark circles under my eyes. I don't have a cascade of silky hair flowing down to my waist. Oh, and here's the thing — I actually talk to boys, even sit next to them and discuss important matters without any hesitation. Unlike those girls who are always picture-perfect, I can't drape a saree beautifully by myself in ten minutes; I definitely need someone to help me with the pleats. Not only that, my kajal application usually turns out messy most of the time, all smudged, and I'll bet you anything I'll never be able to apply eyeliner evenly on both eyes in this lifetime. Ha ha ha

I suddenly dash out with friends in the evening. Since my hair is short, I can't wear jasmine flowers in it.

I'm quite short compared to you and quite heavy — in plain Bengali, I'm fat. Think the list is over? Oh no, the list is quite long; I've barely started! I'm extremely restless by nature and sometimes quarrelsome too. Instead of quarrelsome, you could say sharp-tongued, or even better if you just say straightforward.

I'm not good at studies, and I'm terrible at cooking too. Can you imagine the state of a Bengali heavyset woman who's neither good at studies nor cooking — what her position is in society and the marriage market?

I'll finish writing this, and you take your time to think it over, okay?

The rotis I make never turn out round, and they never will in this lifetime — I've accepted that.

After marriage, I won't be able to teach children; I don't have that kind of patience or managing ability. No, I'm not as calm, steady, and hardworking as you.
So now you understand what kind of person I am!

Now let me get to the main point. Do you understand why I'm telling you all this? I know someone scholarly like you, always buried in books, won't get it otherwise.
Listen, I love you. I'm not writing this letter to ask, "Will you marry me?" I'm writing this letter to say, "You have to marry me."

Yes, if you marry me, maybe our children won't be tall, won't be cute, and won't be terribly brainy either. But that's exactly why I'm going to marry you! What good would your father's six-foot height, fair skin, and ability to solve differential equations in two minutes flat be otherwise?

I'm telling you before the wedding itself — I love you, and that's my only qualification.

You post these statuses: "Alhamdulillah, CGPA four out of four!" "Today I could only study twelve and a quarter hours because I was sick." "Those with bad results have only one qualification — the ability to love."

I don't even bother reading such statuses. But since you're first in class, I'm giving you the right to post such silly statuses.

And another thing — why are your family's customs so strange? "You can't call your husband by name, you have to call him so-and-so's father." "At weddings, girls aren't supposed to say 'qubool' easily"... and what not!

If I don't call my husband by name, should I call him by his friend's name? If I call him "so-and-so's father," where will that "so-and-so" come from? (Don't be embarrassed, Mr. First Boy!)
And why do I have to faint when saying 'qubool' to the very person I've dressed up as a bride to marry? How does anyone act so much at a wedding!?

I can't do all this, I'm telling you upfront. You tell your family too. And tell yourself clearly — I can't do anything except love you. Just for this ability to love, you have to marry me. What I can't do, you teach me, and if I still can't learn despite trying hard, then those things will just remain as they are — no need to learn them. To live well, you don't have to learn everything.

Listen, I love you very much. Not Facebook or Messenger love, but like Kabori from the eighties, like Priyanka Chopra in "Barfi," and like Tuni in "Hajar Bochor Dhore." Love means just love. My love isn't like the "I love you" kind of love, it's the "ami tomake bhalobashi" kind of love.

Did I manage to explain the syllabus to Mr. First Boy? Hee hee hee...