I’ve put all your beautiful photos in a private album, no one but you can see them. Please select pics from there, and I’m begging you, never share that album from your wall. I have three albums on my profile, all three have only your photos, so you won’t have to search or struggle. But one album I just put up randomly—those photos got saved somehow, so I uploaded them. But please don’t pick any photos from there!
Listen, did you get the photos? Should I send you the link? Tell me! Tell me! Tell me! I really love repeating the same thing over and over and driving people crazy! If you stay quiet like this, that obsession of mine will wake up again! Just say you’ve seen them or you’ll look later—say something! Didn’t I work so hard to dig out all the beautiful photos from your world? Why so much attitude, brother? I can’t handle this boy’s attitude!
Every day he posts random photos non-stop, but when I ask him to share just one, suddenly all this serious dignity appears! What a supremely dignified gentleman you are, my dear! So serious… he’s become the busiest guy in the world! Fine! Fine! Take your sweet time. I’m not in any hurry! You’re not a man, you’re shit!
…I’ve come to understand,
what the heart desires day and night doesn’t exist in this world / whoever finds happiness in what they have, let them stay happy / oh, I can’t bear hearing ‘no’ / I won’t tolerate this tug-of-war with the heart…
I can’t find anything to write! So I just scribbled down some random song lyrics! Sorry! (Haven’t you heard the song? It’s by Sachin Dev Burman. Do listen to it!)
Every girl wants to marry for love. They do that too, except their lover and husband are two different men. Oh God! What am I starting with all this! Are we done talking about movies? Then how will I annoy Dagas? Will I have to go in person and sing songs to irritate him like those troublemaker kids? Oh Goooood… I’m outta here!!!!! Bye.
I wanted to say something about today’s status, but I won’t. You won’t like hearing it. Actually, let me say it—what’s the worst that can happen! You don’t have the power to do anything beyond blocking. That guy already got his punishment, didn’t he! God already gave it to him. In the middle of all this, you went and cursed the guy, subtracting from your own good deeds. What was the point of that? I know your arrogant mind will curse me now, or say, “Why are you coming here to defend him?” or you might even get angry and scold me. Still, I’ll say this, Dagas—just as you consider not responding to be a good thing, there’s another equally good thing: not laughing at others’ misery. No matter who they are!
Now you’ll say, “Who is that boy to me? Why am I advocating for him?” Right? It’s not your fault—even my own family doesn’t understand me! They misunderstand me, and you’re an outsider! Actually, I’m advocating for you, but successful people have too much intelligence, so they understand less. Actually, they have too much intelligence along with too much pride, so they understand less. God help us.
I have something very important to discuss with you—well, actually three things. Just three! It won’t take long! Three minutes, no more. So when are you free? And your jungle photos turned out really well. You’re such a rotten person! Not because you’re actually rotten, but because you still haven’t used a single photo from my carefully selected album as your profile picture or cover photo.
I read your note about that girl’s suicide note. I felt strange somehow. It reminded me of the suicide notes I used to write. I’ve been thinking of writing something about it. I’d have to read it again to comment properly. I used to commit suicide quite often back then—I mean, I used to think about doing it! When a person starts feeling unnecessary, it becomes difficult to stay alive. At that time, I couldn’t find any place for myself where I could take refuge during painful times. In everyone’s eyes in my family, my mistakes carried more weight than I did. I kept feeling like maybe nobody wanted me. I couldn’t accomplish anything in this life, and on top of that, my family members were suffering needlessly because of me. What’s the point of keeping such a life that’s not useful for anything, when it’s even painful to drag that life forward? Thinking about all this, I once took sleeping pills. Must have been 15-16 of them. Then I got scared and couldn’t take any more. Hahaha… once I even took insulin, about 50 units, I could have taken more but there wasn’t any left in the bottle. If there had been, I would have taken that too! And I used to go up to the roof and practice every single day… nothing ever happened, just broke my leg a couple of times.
Dad is really bothering me. I couldn’t read your writing. I couldn’t even sit down to write to you. He just keeps calling. Why does he call? For the most trivial reasons. “Shanu, bring me a glass of water!” (The water jug and glass are right there in front of him!) “Shanu, where are my glasses, can you see them?” (He’s lying in bed and his glasses are right there on the pillow next to him!) “Shanu, turn on the TV.” (I go and take the remote from his hand and turn on the TV for him!) Does this make any sense? Apparently he just wants to see me, so he calls for no reason and makes my life miserable. How can anyone read like this? Unbearable! My mood was already off, and on top of that, this chatter. There’s a constant downpour of moral lectures! “Shanu, don’t do this, don’t do that, do this, do that…” In this house, you can’t even peacefully have a bad mood. Ugh! There was so much more I wanted to tell you. I’ll tell you later. Don’t mind any of this, okay?
My mother is in Dhaka. Just a moment ago, while I was writing to you, my mother called and broke into tears! She says she’s not feeling good! And the strange thing is, she doesn’t even know why she’s not feeling good. What’s gotten into mother now? Has she become a teenager again? This is supposed to be a teenage problem! Though, I suppose, women carry a certain ache throughout their lives—nothing ever feels quite right to them. This feminine torment has a name: the ache of not-feeling-good. She keeps asking how I’m doing, over and over. She says her heart burns for me! Heart burning probably means missing someone, though I’m not entirely sure. But mother can’t stand the sight of me! I’m supposedly ruining her life! She’ll apparently die because of me. I’ve supposedly dragged our family’s honor through the mud! (The reason being: I’ve grown old but refuse to get married.) That same mother now misses me and weeps thinking about me! How is this even possible? Such contradictory things happen to me!
Dear Granthik, I’m a bit of a chatterbox, but that doesn’t mean I’ll judge and critique your writing—I lack both the qualification and knowledge for that, brother. (Truth is, I lack the courage. You’re a bit temperamental; if you don’t like someone’s comment, you block them.) Still, standing in some corner, I might whisper softly that only your words truly touch the soul. Some of your words startle me. What they call being jolted! I don’t understand literature and all that; in my world, I am both king and subject. Whatever I enjoy reading is good writing to me. I don’t ponder its literary value. (Actually, I still haven’t figured out what this “value” thing even is. So many worthless things become valuable for various reasons or no reason at all. And many truly precious things lie unnoticed in the street dust, day after day.) You write well, you know what needs to be written, and as a bonus, so many young people get inspired by some of your pieces. Making people laugh with cheap jokes is easy, but how many can make people dream like this, turn back someone who’s heading toward suicide! I don’t know about others, but reading your writing makes me emotional thinking about my own life. I haven’t learned how to live from you, though. But watching others learn fills me with wonder, amazement, and gratitude. Finding a truly grateful Bengali is one of the world’s most difficult tasks! The people you help aren’t related to me, but I think I understand their situation somewhat. I understand the pain of suffering young people, so they feel familiar to me. Besides, young people get hurt easily. Their emotions run high, so their pain runs deep too. Listen, you write beautifully—I won’t comment on that. If I want to say something, it’s about the incident itself. So you can skip reading the rest of this rambling if you want.
Reading that girl’s letter in your note really made me chuckle a little. Little girls would naturally speak this way! I also found it amusing to see her resentment towards her father. It brings back memories of my own situation. But if my father had that kind of mindset, I swear to God, I would have died just from that alone. I truly am very lucky. In our family, we all prefer daughters over sons. All of us, I mean literally everyone. In fact, everyone in our family scolds the boys more. Well, please tell that girl she doesn’t need to enroll privately—many people from national universities have gone to excellent places. I’ve seen many such cases. Can you somehow prevent that marriage to that fool? I’m worried—how long will your words have an influence on the girl? When she goes home and hears the taunts again, will the guilt factor still work? And even if it does, how many times? Brother, those who haven’t had to endure the taunts at home will never understand how painful it is. It will take 4-5 years to complete honors. I’m a negative thinker, brother—I’m wondering, will the girl be able to sustain herself for that long? Will she be able to endure all her father’s insults with her ears closed? Does she have that much strength? You counsel young people. It seems to me that counseling the guardians instead of the kids would be more effective. Tell me, doesn’t her father need counseling more than the girl herself? Give me her father’s number. I’ll show that bastard……
Thinking back on all those old memories, I’m laughing now! I must have written at least 50 notes on Facebook. All of them set to “only me.” I used to write letters to Abba, Amma, and Chaitali and cry. I kept those in notes—none of them know about them, and they never will. I used to write sitting on the roof. The paper would get wet with my tears, I remember. Whenever I cry a little, my eyes swell up like lychees, so to hide my eyes I’d cover my head with cloth or keep my head down and quickly slip into the house. I showed a few of those sad letters to my four best friends. But my letters were so funny that whoever read them would end up laughing even while crying. I mean it when I say I’d joke around even with the angel of death. Life is so short—what’s the point of spending it with such a gloomy face? Suffering? That’s bound to be there! As long as life exists, there’s pain. Living with a smile despite a heart full of sorrow—that’s what life is. It’s not like my suffering would decrease if I became like a stuffed goose! What’s the point! Whether I live with a smile or with a frown, suffering won’t leave me alone. So it’s better to live with a smile. At least the people around me won’t be annoyed looking at me. And I get to feel good, even if it’s a bit fake. Living with the feeling of being well is joyful, isn’t it?
That little scolding you gave a while ago—was that directed at me? Tell me, is there any point in scolding me? Whatever the case, your scolding was quite lovely though! Hehe! Hehe! But I have neither sense nor common sense. Say whatever you want, I’ll still stay here like a lizard’s tail. Isn’t that some problem?
Well, isn’t today Saturday worship? What kind of duty are you pulling on a holy day? Listen, Dagas, there’s something I just can’t wrap my head around—why are the smugglers at my pier so incredibly dim-witted? Shanaya has brains, but these smuggling bastards seem to have none at all! Don’t they know that customs officers are stationed at airports? Even I know they’ll get caught, so why don’t they? Doesn’t anyone tell them? Don’t they have Facebook accounts? Can’t they peek at the Granthik’s profile just once? Then they’d know that you chase after them. Why are they so bloody stupid? Honestly! These smugglers think they’re so clever! Disgusting! They bring in gold, fine. But where do they hide it! In the bathroom? What taste! Ugh! Even in the toilet! And we’re supposed to wear that stuff around our hands, necks, noses, heads! Revolting! Now I can’t even bear to wear jewelry anymore. Here’s a question—if they melted down the gold bars into chains and bangles and coated them with silver or some other color, and then wore them in, would they still get caught? I dare ask one more question, this is the last one, I swear to God! Today I saw a squirrel on a huge jujube tree, I mean on the thin branch of a berry tree, chattering and munching on something, hopping from branch to branch—don’t the thorns of the jujube tree prick their bodies?
Dear Granthik, why do you call me Bird? What happened that suddenly stirred such affection for me in you? I’m supposed to torment you and you’re supposed to feel embarrassed—that was the arrangement. So why are you starting this reverse game? Listen, Bird is in a very bad state, suffering terribly, and probably about to fall into serious trouble. I tell you everything, so I’ll tell you about the trouble too. I’m sorry I couldn’t email, but I’ll tell you everything in an email. I will tell you, I mean I definitely will. But it’ll be a bit delayed—I’m in some pain right now. And I’m not a good bird, I’m a bitch of a bird, so despise me, okay? There’s no possibility of love or marriage between us anyway, so I can tell you everything without hesitation. I’ll tell you everything thinking of you as God, I’ll lay out all my complaints. (You’re a lustful and wicked God.) I feel like dying again, I’m truly about to fall into terrible trouble because of some bastard. You know, I don’t want to die anymore, I want to live. I don’t want anyone’s love, I don’t want romance, I don’t want sympathy—I just want to live, that’s enough.
I’ve been thinking,
if I die, I won’t be able
to read your writing, won’t be able to see you,
won’t be able to torment you,
won’t be able to write to you
like this, won’t be able to chat
with my girlfriends, and my
parents will get into trouble because of me. I never
wanted to die before either. I had only one fear—
what if my family found out everything about me! By family I mean
my relatives too. The bonds between all of us are very strong. Let me give you an example, you’ll understand. We two sisters call
four of our six uncles by their first names
and address them informally. Now do you get it? Everyone loves me too, I understand everything.
Someone seems to be threatening me again. I couldn’t figure out what to do. On one hand there’s that old shame,
the discomfort, and on top of that I don’t want to get anyone else into trouble.
But don’t be scared
hearing what I’m saying. I’m not asking you for
any help, and I never will.
I’m just telling you all this. Nothing feels good to me. You don’t need to take my words
seriously, just ignore
everything I say, I swear to God,
I won’t mind at all.
One request—don’t say anything too vulgar
to me. (Though if it’s mildly vulgar,
that’s fine.) I can’t handle vulgar talk. If you say too vulgar things I’ll become very uncomfortable,
and because I don’t want to lose you
I always try to keep you happy by flattering you, I won’t be able to say anything to you directly, but I won’t be able to handle the vulgar talk either. They say
I have to go abroad. If I stay in the country I’ll apparently get into danger. But rather than going abroad and staying indebted to my uncles,
it’s better to die. But at home they’re saying
it’s better to go abroad and work as someone’s servant than to lose everything. Why am I telling you all this,
I honestly don’t know.
Dear Lustful God,
sorry, calling you Lustful God was wrong of me. Beloved,
Lustful Lord, my Lustful Lord… that’s better now. So my
Lustful Lord, you’re very good,
aren’t you? Allah loves you so, so, so much,
doesn’t He? So please pray a little for this silly, plump, famous little bird, brother. The bird isn’t bad as a human being, so may your Allah give the bird a little peace.
She was so happy with what she had,
she didn’t want anything else, so why does Allah
keep doing this to her? Do you want to know
the whole story? Okay, I’ll tell you everything later. Just pray a little for the bird and never
forget her, okay? Nothing else.
Last night I was a bit
disturbed, stressed,
and rambled on pointlessly
in your inbox. None of that matters, don’t take it to heart. As far as I know, you don’t read any of my texts, don’t read them, please. And if I made any mistakes, please forgive me.
What I write, I just write casually, nothing serious. When people are under pressure they talk more nonsense and meaningless
stuff, you know that,
and I’m just talking, that’s all. Such mistakes won’t happen again. Alright, God protect you.
You say that you love to hear the truth. But that’s a lie—you only love to hear praise. You think others are fools. And who knows what else is coming to mind about you. I’m writing this on my phone, and frankly, I don’t even feel like writing. I’ll write more later. Listen, I’m a cheap person, my phone is cheap, and my thoughts are cheap too. But I believe that even if I’m cheap, my judgment isn’t wrong. Shall I say more? Even when you’re angry at someone, you don’t have the power to impose that on them. You’re both emotional and pragmatic at the same time. I mean, you have both Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde coexisting within you. You’re intelligent, but in order to think yourself intelligent, you consider others stupid. In a moment of impulse or for some other reason, you call yourself bad, but deep down you want everyone to know you as good. You love people’s affection. No matter how much you act up, you’re still a little shy. (I like this pinch of shyness in you.) You’re self-proclaimed careless, which is complete nonsense. You’re also a bit of a sneaky drunk, my friend. But unlike many others who are drunk by nature and drunk in rhythm too, you’re not like that—you’re drunk by nature but sober in rhythm!
What? Did that upset you? Come on, who gets upset by the words of crazy Shanu? There’s nothing to take seriously in what I say. You should write, write a lot, because I have no work to do—I have endless free time to read your long pieces. Of course, no one is obligated to keep my word. I’m just asking you to write anyway. God protect you.
Why do you do this at the slightest provocation? Why did you comment like that? I get scared when I see comments like this! Couldn’t you have written a bit more gently, expressing your own thoughts as a status without hurting anyone? No one would have been hurt, no one would have been insulted, no one would have cursed you, and no one would have badmouthed you behind your back. Sorry for the free advice. But I’m angry at you. I’m telling you upfront—don’t say anything to me. When someone scolds me, I cry. Meow… meow… I’m scared! I really need to teach you some magic to control your temper. Again, meow… meow… and God protect you.
I always
ramble nonsensically with you, but who knows
if there will ever come a day when I’ll have
something urgent to tell you? If I ever
ask you to read something, you must
read it without fail, but whether you
read the rest or not is your call.
You can tell just from the email subject whether it’s foolish chatter or something serious, so maybe just skip the foolish ones! I don’t want
you wasting your precious time reading
all my pointless emails or getting too irritated with me. I
write to you because I can’t help myself,
nothing more. I don’t write for you to read, I write
to talk to myself. My world isn’t that big, and I have no one to talk to—everyone’s so busy! Those who want to give me time,
I don’t want to spend time
with them. What else can I do! I
keep writing to you anyway. Whether you read my letters or not, I’ll keep writing. I don’t write to tell you
anything; I write to tell myself
that this is how I think, and that’s how I think.
Who knows, maybe someday
I’ll really need to ask you to read something! Maybe there’ll come a time when I absolutely must have you read one of my
letters! What if even then you don’t read that letter, thinking I’m just being foolish! That’s why
I don’t ask you to read my writing. I don’t want to be the lying shepherd boy to you.
Listen, if one day I stop
bothering you, if I disappear,
won’t you remember me at all?
Won’t you feel bad
for this crazy girl? Won’t you miss
my madness? Won’t you quietly check
your inbox to see if I’ve sent something? Tell me honestly?
I’ve given some songs
smart names. They’re smart in my eyes (I mean, ears). There’s no such thing as smart songs really;
I’ve cleverly made them smart
on my own. I mean, the way they move me
when I listen to them—feeling that,
I call them smart. Should I name a few?
Walking along the path
one day I’ll suddenly stop……here I am just fine, let the end be at the beginning………maybe it’s for you……being alone and content like this……I
didn’t keep his address……the address you gave, I couldn’t find………if I don’t know him at all………just thinking of you, how many
days and nights have passed……with what dream of light he seems to………when time won’t pass
no matter what………there are no longer two hearts for two people……why do I keep hope alive…….
I could never finish
writing all the song names. My mother’s taste in music is actually that level! She’s a woman of very refined
and elegant taste. Most of the songs above are my mother’s favorites. You know, my mother is very, very naive. When she’s in trouble, she becomes even more naive.
She can’t figure out what to do,
doesn’t understand anything. I worry about my mother. Please say a little prayer for my mother. God will listen to you. You know, I can sleep
all day long! My patience for sleeping is infinite! When I wake up, I have a little argument with God,
then drink a strong cup of
black coffee and go back to sleep.
Oh my goodness! I was absolutely thrilled to get the author’s message. What on earth did I write to you that you simply had to reply? Well, good. I mean, that’s fine. When I woke up and saw your message on FB on my phone, I jumped right out of bed. I do come to Facebook regularly, you know—lurking around to see what everyone’s up to—but I don’t do any liking, commenting, or any of that nonsense. Why didn’t you write anything today? Oh well, never mind. If you wrote every single day, your hand would start hurting! But someone told me that no one can post anything on your timeline against your wishes. Is that true? Everyone posts so much stuff there—does all of that happen with your permission? I saw a picture where you looked like you were Chinese! Why did you allow that on your timeline? You listen to your friends, but what about devotees like me—don’t you listen to us? If I ask you to put up a certain profile picture, why don’t you do it? Oh well, that’s your business! Whatever…
You know, I’ve fallen for this guy lately, but I don’t actually pursue anything with him. My days are spent getting scolded by everyone at home. If I count carefully, I’ve got maybe a couple hundred taka at most in my pocket—I’m poor. I have such a disgusting past, dark circles under my eyes, I weigh more than an elephant, my age is growing day by day beyond that of handsome men, the slightest thing gives me a headache, sitting in a chair too long makes my spine ache, the moment clouds gather in the sky I catch a cold, my hair is falling out, I can’t eat my favorite food—sweets—because it’s forbidden for me (though I do sneak some from the fridge), I can’t buy anything for anyone, I can’t understand people’s feelings, I trust even the devil thinking he’s good, I don’t know how to read people, I have no wisdom or intelligence, even when someone gets executed in the country I don’t keep track of who it was, everything about me is outdated, I don’t dress up, I forget to comb my hair, I’m a real ‘nobody,’ I can’t go anywhere for pleasure, no one takes me out, all my desires and whims remain unfulfilled, I’m even seeing less clearly these days, no one understands me………there’s so much more! But who could be happier than me? Tell me! Aren’t you happy? What does it take to be happy in life? Just being alive—isn’t that happiness? This morning a reckless truck ran over and killed the best and most decent boy in our neighborhood. There isn’t a soul in the area who didn’t cry. I could have died in his place too……what? Couldn’t I? He had more hardships than me. He was very poor. Everyone made him do so much work, many didn’t pay him anything. But he never asked anyone for anything, never said words that would hurt anyone’s feelings, never sulked, whatever anyone asked him to do, he’d do it without expecting anything in return. Aren’t I much better off than him? Listen, Douglas, do you have even more hardships than me? Why do you let others’ words influence you and cause you pain? Don’t listen to what people say. Don’t give anyone too much importance. So many people love you so much! Brother, I’m cheap goods, I act cheap and silly with everyone, it’s natural that you wouldn’t take me seriously. But brother, don’t think my feelings for you are cheap just because I am. I may be cheap, but my feelings for you aren’t cheap. You don’t really know me that well—I’m actually a bit of a genie, muahahaha……You’ll always stay happy, okay? You’re actually a bit childish too, just saying! Don’t believe it? Oh come on, you think writing difficult words makes you grown up? When will you actually grow up, tell me? And tell me whether you’re happy or not. Or just think it to yourself.
You speak so beautifully! Even my desire to tease you a little or write something mischievous to annoy you just runs away. Instead, for some reason I feel sad, but you’ve written the story so beautifully, I swear to God I’m telling you this, and God protect you.
You’re a bit mad, you know. You answer everyone’s nonsensical chatter, but when I occasionally ask such beautifully wise questions, you don’t bother to answer those! Why, brother? (Don’t actually start answering seriously now! Then I won’t be able to tease you anymore and I’ll be in terrible trouble.)
1. Oh my goodness! Why did you price the book so high? Won’t that book be available in Rajshahi? If I go, where should I look? 2. The newspaper coverage happened, the autograph session happened, the book came out too! So now I can put on a little air, right? Nobody will mind! But why not before? 3. And do you deliberately neglect your friends? Why do you do that? What keeps you so busy, I wonder? Whenever I check Messenger, I see you were active just so many minutes ago! That means you’re in the chatroom. Then why don’t you see my messages? What exactly do you do? What pleasure do people get from all this chatting! I don’t understand! Allah, why didn’t you give me the ability to understand this pleasure? 4. I have a terrible crush on a boy… he’s so much like you! Though he’s a bit better than you and less pretentious, and not a celebrity—just an ordinary person like me. The strange thing is you even have the same name! Look the same too! Same way of talking! Same way of gesturing! Same way of standing! But he can’t be found! I mean, no one except me will ever find him. 5. I both like and dislike you. Not that it matters to you at all. Just thought I’d let you know! 6. Do you write for likes? Tsk! You get 50% of your likes just because you’re a writer! You write well anyway, brother! Do you need a certificate from kids counting likes to validate how good your writing is? Are you really happy with likes from people who only like your posts because you wrote them? Surely not! Then why do you say you write because you get likes? I don’t really understand this Facebook like business either! Do you get some special benefit or money for more likes? So many people I see are constantly going like-like-like. I swear to Allah, I truly don’t get it. When my cousins, aunts, or sisters see my pictures, they say, “Wow! Beautiful!” What more do I need? How much more is necessary? I mean, my pictures get only a few likes! Does that make my pictures a bit slow? 7. I don’t do anything on my phone, but welcome tunes keep getting set automatically! What should I do, tell me? And I see money being deducted too! Why are these mobile phone companies so crooked? Damn GP’s spawn! Up to no good with their schemes!
And… The Writer, I miss you so much. I quietly slip online and offline just to see if you’ve written something new. I miss you terribly, you can’t understand that. (One day you will, but I won’t be here then.) How are you? My message, well, it’s not really anything important, just rambling. There’s no difference between reading and not reading what I write. I know this when I write. Well, are you doing well? How long has it been since we talked! Hahahaha… best wishes for everything. Bye…
Why don’t you just say,
I’m fine. How are you?… What would happen if you said that?
You’ve gotten way too arrogant.
You can talk all night about frivolous, flirty stories! (Yes, I’m a witness to that.) But you can’t even write a simple “I’m fine.” I was waiting. Are you angry with me for some particular reason? Even after all my sweet-talking? What would happen if you spoke a little? I don’t want to tell stories, I don’t want to chat aimlessly. Do I take up your time?
How much time do I take? Hahahaha… Ugh! Women really know how to be so coy!
Looking at my own coyness makes me laugh at myself! Acting coy with you is turning me into a woman! I mean, the girly-girly type.
I’m becoming so strange! I’ve become completely narcissistic like some novelist! But I swear by Allah and by Allah’s oath and by my mother’s oath, I just wanted to hear that you’re well, and I wanted to hear it from you yourself.
In a message, for heaven’s sake… I didn’t ask you to call! You won’t even do that much! What would have happened if you’d replied a little? How much time would it have taken? Did I do something that warranted your anger?
I’m just… the same thing
will keep going, keep going… Ugh! Women are just so whiny and so annoyingly persistent that, what more can I say!
I was being a bit coy,
that’s true. But I swear by Allah’s oath, even though it was coy, those words were true! I mean, that was coyness,
but it was also real! I don’t know what this statement means, but it’s true! Well, stay well and God protect you. And what you’re doing to me—I feel like writing so much to make you understand, but… oh well, your precious time will be wasted! Bye!
1. I talk with you more
only when we have naughty conversations. I mean, if girls don’t talk naughtily, boys don’t give girls any time. I mean, boys like to say and hear naughty things. I mean, boys love to express their repressed desires through words. (If they don’t have the opportunity to fulfill those desires.) I mean,
boys basically maintain contact with girls
only for the thrill of naughty talk and naughty acts. I’ve figured it all out!
Wooooo… wooooo…
2. If I hadn’t talked
in such a crazy, wild way, would I have ever gotten your message? Would you have replied if I hadn’t written such nonsense to you? Are you the type to answer properly? Would you have even bothered to read the message properly if I hadn’t provoked you?
3. I’m doing very
well, but I can’t see you properly from my phone, and I won’t ask how you are right now for a particular reason. If you ask me what that particular reason is, then I’ll politely ask you how you are. Remember to answer properly then, okay?
4. Why do you text me at night asking where I am? Where else would I be at that hour except at home? I sit at the computer for 5 minutes to see who’s commented on what, to check if you’ve bothered to reply to any of my texts, to see if you’ve posted anything new, to check if anyone has written nonsense about you on your wall or mine. When someone says something bad about you, my mood turns absolutely foul—sometimes I end up starting fights with them in their inbox, ruining their mood, ruining my own mood too, even putting up with their abuse. I never had this problem before, but I do now. When you’re insulted, I can’t stay the well-behaved child anymore. Please tell me how to solve this mental problem!
5. Only fathers get to have rat-race dreams, is that it? Their children aren’t allowed those dreams? I’ve decided I won’t compete with anyone anymore over who’s better—boys or girls—who’s stronger. I won’t argue about it either. But here’s a question: suppose a mother dies during childbirth. What happens then? What does the father do? Who does he blame? We need to figure out whose fault it really is first. I couldn’t find any clear solution in your writing. I read it once on my phone—I’ll read it again on the computer when I get a chance. If you don’t provide a solution in your writing, I might pester you again. Don’t mind.
I’m doing well, but I’m very busy. So many people at home and so much work! I couldn’t even sit on Facebook. I couldn’t read your status properly, but the words keep nagging at my head. I’m a bit disturbed too. When you read my message, please answer my earlier question. You don’t have to share personal experiences—just give me your answer based on your beliefs and thoughts. I really want to know your responses. Of course, I don’t write anything so urgent that it must be read. But if you do end up reading everything sometime, I swear to God I’ll feel terribly guilty. Because I talk way, way, way too much nonsense—then you might never read my actual important words again. I swear to God, I won’t mind at all if you don’t read these pointless messages of mine. I’ve been thinking about your status. Please clarify its inner meaning. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what you were thinking when you wrote it. Please reread your own writing, even if just for that. If you do me this favor, I’ll find so much peace. My mood’s been really irritable. And another reason my mood is bad—GP charges too much money, but I can’t change my GP number.
Dear Great
Writer, you’re actually a
male chauvinist. Did I pronounce that right? Teach me
a bit, won’t you! And you posted that status, fine, but why did you make such silly comments? Are you feeling
upset? What can I do! I’m
not on your side today. For today I’ve joined the opposition party. Still, I keep remembering
your words. But please don’t let anyone’s words upset you. Everything will be
fine. And
if I do end up sending something, don’t read
that either.
Actually, I did want to write
something, but not to you, of course. To the patriarchy. But you already seemed
so exhausted,
so I didn’t send it. You
please don’t get upset. I’m not completely on your side, but I don’t want you to suffer. I mean, I never
want anyone to
suffer. Even though my guru goes to the tavern, not the in-laws’… who knows! Who knows!
Feeling relieved!
I was very upset. I swear by Allah! Nothing happened to me, though. Yesterday’s status was a bit different,
how different, let me tell you. Those who read that post and
misunderstood you—as much as
they were at fault,
the writer was equally
at fault too. You made them misunderstand, the public
misunderstood. Simple! Whose fault is it? The one who made them understand wrongly,
theirs, right? Whatever room there was for misunderstanding in that status, you opened up that pathway to misunderstanding
completely with your comments! Brother, so much can’t be
written. Believe me, all your
comments had some problems. Maybe you couldn’t understand
it yourself, but I can explain beautifully what the
problems were. I can explain if you want, but! Just one condition: you have to listen to me with the mindset of accepting
mistakes. I won’t explain now. Right now I don’t feel like
chattering. And don’t worry, just because you wrote something controversial doesn’t mean
people will read your writing even more from now on. Even if it’s out of anger, they’ll read it. Don’t you see how producers and directors make their movies controversial even before
release? Why do they do that? They do it on purpose, so their movies do well! Public psychology is
weird! Whatever they curse the most, that’s what they consume the most! People will read your writing too, even if with irritation, the way I used to read my textbooks a hundred million years
ago. They’ll sneak onto your wall,
then read some more
writing. They’ll read all the notes, eventually become addicted to your
writing. That’s the fun of it! They can’t stand
you,
but they can’t avoid your writing either! Why don’t you take this as a challenge? Write even better! And then… who knows what else will happen… after that, even if you write something completely ordinary, they’ll read it
and be amazed! And your curses or scoldings will auto-convert into praise.
Don’t worry, Pied Piper of
Hamelin, the number of your disciples
will increase even mooore in your bag soon! Groooowl… Groooowl…
1. Please don’t read my email, alright? I was completely drunk and rambling nonsense! Just delete it! 2. What’s the point of saying something to someone after you’ve blocked them? They can’t even see what you’re saying! It’s for everyone else to see! To show others: “Listen up! Don’t you dare say anything to me or else…” Why put on such airs, brother? If you want to block someone, block them. If you want to unfriend, unfriend. If you want to unfollow, unfollow! But why make a big show of it for everyone to see? Does someone’s life end when you block them? Who exactly do you think you are, brother? Nobody in this world is indispensable to anyone else. If someone tells you they can’t live without you, give that liar a good slap across the face! And stay far away from them. They’re nothing but a fraud! Let me tell you a truth, brother—no one really cares! Those who absolutely must stay on your wall will be careful anyway, at most they’ll critique your writing but won’t attack you personally. Those who don’t need to stay will say whatever comes to mind! Those who don’t like you or don’t value your writing—I don’t see any reason for good thoughts about you or your writing to cross their minds! Instead, by saying you’ll block them, do this, do that, you make enemies of them and diminish yourself in everyone else’s eyes too! Listen, brother! Does everyone like everyone else? Is that even possible? Even if an angel ran for office, they’d still lose some votes—you can be sure of that. 3. How do you manage to post such cheerful status updates after taking so much criticism from the public, brother? Please don’t teach me to be so shameless or indifferent! How does one stay so cool-brained? 4. Girls don’t dig into boys’ past, that’s true. Here’s another fact… many girls don’t even bother with boys’ present! Whatever kind of king you think you are, they don’t give it a damn! Their hearts are big and they don’t have that much time either! Girls have gotten really smart these days, brother! (Though the ones who waste their youth obsessing over civil service exams are quite notorious, I’ve noticed!) 5. God help us!
By the way, in that photo you posted two and a half minutes ago on your wall—is the guy in the middle laughing, crying, or scared? I can’t tell at all. Why is his face like that? I’m curious to know. That fellow has mystery spread across his face like the Mona Lisa! Well fine, let mystery remain mystery.
How are you? I really feel like teasing and bothering you with playful antics. It’s been so long since I’ve bothered you! But I can’t write much from my phone—writing in Bengali on mobile is such a pain, I can’t find the letters and diacritics. Something’s wrong with my modem! Can’t get a connection… damn! It’s been ages since I’ve annoyed you!
One more thing.
I think Allah gives the same kind of thoughts to several people at the same time! Two things from your status match exactly—I mean exactly—with two things from the hundred things I said yesterday! Word for word! I can’t express myself properly, brother! Please try to understand what I’m trying to say.
Another thing. Was your height measured including your hair—I mean, with gel and everything, spiking your hair up? Or did you flatten your oiled hair and push it aside before measuring? I have this feeling that you tell everyone you’re taller than you actually are!
ICEEEE, little babyyyy! Just teasing you lightly—don’t have time to tease you properly today, I’ll make up for it later!
There’s a Jaya-Amitabh movie, isn’t there—Abhimaan—where Lata and Kishore sing ‘Tere Mere Milan Ki Yeh Raina’—isn’t that a copy-paste of the tune from the Rabindrasangeet ‘Jodi Taare Nai Chini Go Se Ki’? Now the question is, who copied whom? Did S.D. Burman copy Rabindranath? Or did Rabindranath copy S.D. Burman? Surely S.D. Burman copied Rabindranath, right? If that’s the case, then why is copying forbidden in our exam halls? If Sachin Karta can copy tunes and even become famous for it, then what’s wrong with our tender-hearted, innocent little copy-artists? And don’t you think Lata and Kishore knew the tune was stolen? If such great people had no problem with it, then why do our magistrates and teachers get so angry when they see those little copying-laborers?
(You don’t curse like this when someone copy-pastes your writing word for word and posts it on their wall under their own name, do you? Let them say it’s their writing! Let them say it, let them get people’s praise. Let them show off a little in other people’s minds! What’s the harm! The public doesn’t eat grass, after all! Everyone understands everything—sooner or later!)
Because of you, watching YouTube uses up all my internet megabytes! Why do you recommend so many songs? Ugh! And another miraculous thing happened—today I mentally messaged you exactly this: “Give me a few songs to listen to!” You won’t believe it, I know! But I swear on Allah’s mercy, brother! I really did message you! Mentally, I mean—I mentally message you quite often. (If I actually sent you all of those, you’d either strangle me to death, or I’d commit suicide from embarrassment!) My mental messages never get replies, and that’s normal! But how did you understand today’s message? It’s not that you never understand what’s in my heart, but today’s incident is completely miraculous, isn’t it? How did we have this telepathy? I know that if I had actually sent you a message asking for songs and you had seen it, you would have stubbornly refused to share any songs with me, so it’s good that I didn’t send you the message! The mental message got a real reply, and a positive one at that! I’m so happy I feel like… And what are you doing now? Sleeping with saliva drooling from your mouth, aren’t you?
It would be wonderful if Facebook had an option where someone could text as much as they wanted, but if the recipient hadn’t seen it yet, the sender could delete it and the receiver would never even know. Because I often text you in fits of anger, and later I feel like a criminal, but by then there’s nothing left to do. But there’s a simple solution to this—if you would just keep ignoring me consistently, then gradually, for whatever reason, I’d be able to withdraw into myself. But you don’t seem willing to accept that simple solution. You’re the kind of person who won’t let me forget you, but won’t give me a place in your heart either. No matter how much I plan to slowly pull away (and I really do plan it in my mind!), you always drag me back from the beginning and leave me standing halfway.
I understand—you want to kill me slowly with pain. But you probably think I’m not suffering the way you want me to. That’s why your tireless efforts to satisfy yourself won’t stop either. Oh brother, I am suffering. How else can I make you understand!
You wanted to prove that girls chase after boys shamelessly (just like me). That’s already been proven. I’ve lost, you’ve won. You must be happy now, right? So there’s no more business left between us on this matter, is there?
Listen, you need to do something about this situation. And whatever you do as a solution, don’t ask me to marry you. Because I’ll only do that when I’m ready to, not before. Besides, who would marry a fool like me! You know that perfectly well yourself. Still, you don’t say anything. You don’t want to hurt me by telling the truth—you want to hurt me through your actions. That’s not bad either. Your plan is quite good!
Now I can tell you everything without hesitation—this feels like a huge victory to me. Because before, I used to think of you as something special, but I don’t anymore. I don’t, because you don’t understand. You just quietly observe everything and smile. I used to have this magic power too, but somehow the password ended up in your hands!
I expect nothing from you. Not your time, not you, not anything else. For the past year, I’ve been trying to forget you and keep my distance, because I know you cannot give me what I want, the way I want it. So I think, today’s situation didn’t have to happen at all. If you had always given me space, I would never have wanted to come to any serious decision. If you had been of my religion, or if I had been of yours, our relationship still wouldn’t have worked. You wouldn’t have wanted to accept me. Whatever you might say when you hear this, I have enough emotional maturity to understand that much. What didn’t happen, didn’t happen because it wasn’t meant to. What has happened, happened because it was meant to. I understand that much. But I couldn’t pull myself away from you no matter what. I keep myself as busy as possible all day and night. I want to forget you. I never have even the slightest desire to bother you. Yet I keep doing exactly that. I’m doing this because I can’t stop myself… but not out of any expectation! I understand too that even if I got something by force, I wouldn’t be happy. I should understand this simple matter and its reason even better. You have no responsibility or fault in this.
But have you ever thought about what state you’ve brought me to? I can’t move forward from here, because that’s impossible! Nor can I bring myself back to where I was before. I never wanted anything from you from the beginning, I don’t want anything now either. Then what intoxicating spell made me become like this? I don’t want you, yet I become restless, agitated, impatient because I can’t have you! What does this mean? Those who simply remain your devotees are much better off than me. I want to stay near you without hiding, but I can neither remain a devotee, nor someone special! I never wanted to be someone special to you. Yet now I can’t even maintain a normal relationship with you. I never deliberately have expectations, they come as uninvited guests. I have no right over you, yet I have claims! What kind of absurdity is this? What I’ve been receiving all this time—even if only in my mind—can I suddenly live without it? What do I get from you? Unbounded indulgence without even the slightest promise of shelter! Isn’t that it?
You’ve left only one option open for me—that I should forget everything completely. And disappear from sight. I know too that there’s no other path before me. I can’t stay naturally the way I did in the beginning, the way I was when we first met. I’ve been trying to do that for a long time. I couldn’t. But I will do it. Without asking, fate gave me such a great reward! The way others stay around you, I can no longer stay that way either.
The sorrow of your entire life
was that no one paid you any mind, no one ever loved you. But look, you’ve found someone who would pick a fight with the whole world
at just one word from you………and she’s a woman, no less! She’ll come fluttering to you like a bird
without your even asking! And if nothing else, even if it means kissing your eyelids, I’ll be born again. Count on it! Until that birth,
I’ll be waiting……..