Dear Granthik,
Dear Dagas, Dear Ocean of Knowledge, Dear Man-Mad-with-Self-Love, how are you? Ask me too! I’m not well. Why?
I don’t know—I mean I do know, but I’ll tell you later, or maybe I won’t, or maybe I’ll forget to tell you. But I don’t talk much anyway, so I don’t feel like babbling on and on. Well then,
how is your ocean driver?
His antics
were quite amusing. Imagine if he were ever driving along and suddenly plunged the car into the ocean and said to you, “Sir, it was getting so hot that I thought I’d cool off a bit in the sea”—would you then devour his job? You are a bad man, you might just devour it! I had decided
I wouldn’t write to you anymore, but you are such an
ocean of knowledge! Where else would I go if not to you for wisdom? I want to come to you with all the questions of my world! I don’t like anyone else! (This isn’t actually true—I’m just making it up to flatter you a bit.)
Question 1. There’s a
short story, I think it’s called ‘Shrinkhol’
(The Chain). About a husband and wife. Who wrote this? Premendra Mitra, perhaps? I’m getting the urge
to read it again! Hearing this, you’re probably thinking, “Oh my! Shanaya
reads books too! Impossible!” Actually, sometimes when I visit the homes of old folks like you (they’re old by age,
you’re just ready-made
old), when the old folks chat and I have nothing
to do, I might just look at
their books! So there’s this boy here, elder brother to the devil himself. Anyway, I want to read that book! I can’t remember the author’s name. It could be Premendra Mitra.
Who-knows-who-knows-who-knows! (Have you noticed that I’m a complete who-knows-what kind of person?)
Question 2. We
do cry “Allah, Allah!” a lot when we’re in trouble, don’t we? In your Chittagong, you do it even more! And you’re one degree above
those little-bearded clerics, mashallah! So the question is,
suppose in a lawsuit the plaintiff says to Allah, “O Allah, help me win this case.” Then the defendant makes the same
prayer. For the sake of creating a puzzle, let’s assume both are very devout. Now you tell me, whose prayer will be answered? The two prayers are contradictory. What does
Allah do in such cases? This has really
tangled up my brain—you’re the wise one,
untangle it a bit! Please don’t
say I shouldn’t buzz around your ears! Then I’ll assume you have no
brains and you’re… I can’t figure out what else I’d assume, I’ll decide then. And you never did give me that photograph
of you with a beard? Why promise something you can’t deliver? Bad man! Shame on you! Good thing
you’re not my friend. I don’t need
such sixth-rate friends.
Question 3. Why
is your favorite flower the rose? I’m glad to hear you love trees. What else do you love like this? What’s your favorite color? And favorite season? Favorite food? Favorite clothes? Tell me all your favorite things one by one,
I want to listen. And one more
thing. What time of day do you like best? Why do you like it? What do you do during that time? Think and tell me, all right?
Question 4.
What exactly is this convocation business? Why does everyone jump around so much on that day? What’s all the extra excitement about? They’re already graduates anyway! And everyone’s been working just fine without certificates! What’s there to jump about getting that thing? For taking pictures and uploading them to Facebook? You know, one friend is coming from abroad just for this reason! Argghhhhh! Apart from taking photos and meeting old friends, I didn’t find anything fun there at all! I took so many pictures. Why do you keep taking pictures, pose after pose? That day I became a photographer for one day too! But I have no idea whose cameras I used or who I took pictures with. As a result, I don’t have a single one of those photos in my collection. What on earth happened that day! Oh my gooood! Everyone just stood wherever they could with whoever they could to take pictures! But why?
Question 5. How do you manage so many people’s love? I can barely handle just my parents’! If they hated me, it would be very convenient for me—I could stay free. How do you stay sane carrying such a load of love? Teach me! Love puts shackles on your feet! Yet how do you still prance around so freely like this?
Question 6. Listen, when you die I’ll know about it, but when I die how will you know? Then you’ll have to feel a little sad too! Right? Don’t you dare tell me that my death won’t affect you at all! So whether it’s real or fake, why should I deprive you of that sorrow? What can be done? Give me an idea! Give me an idea! Should I give one? But I haven’t come up with any solution yet! What will happen now? Well anyway, I’m not going to die in the next 5-10 years, and before then I’ll definitely call you with more questions, so I’ll think of something by then. And listen, if you ever suffer from severe depression or get really hurt by someone or some people, then if you don’t have any problems with it or if you’re not afraid of going crazy, feel free to tell me. I’m not saying I’ll give you solutions. I’m just saying you can tell me everything, think of me as a tree. And if you ever feel like dying, definitely let me know—I’ll come to you and watch how you do it, in case it comes in handy later!
Question 7. Well, is selfless love completely impossible? Then why do I feel like I could love this way? I’m not pretending, you know. I want to understand—is my notion right or wrong? I mean, do such examples exist? When I think about these things, I feel disgusted. I want to die. But then again, I want to give love—one hundred percent selfless love. Nobody wants that, do they? Nobody has that kind of time. My uncle lost his sexual capacity for life in an accident about three months after his wedding. Thirty-four years have passed since then. But did my aunt leave him? Not at all! In fact, the deep bond between them—if you saw it, you’d be amazed and moved! My aunt is a very modest woman who never appears before other men. Yet her love has remained selfless all these years! So where does that come from? I have a cousin too. She’s just like her mother, loves her husband completely without self-interest. (You scoundrel, don’t think the husband has lost ‘that’ capacity. I’m mentioning my cousin to show she inherited this quality from her mother, nothing else. Okay?) Tell me, is this possible? Or is all of this just my self-deception, my misunderstanding, my confused thinking? It’s not that I’m forcing myself to shrink—I’m telling you what I know. You and I don’t agree on this point. You said once that there’s no such thing as mental pleasure—everything is physical. Meaning, the mind follows the body’s urges. Freudian thinking. Then what about your writing that we read? What do you call that? When I visit your wall all the time, what is that? Does the body find pleasure, or does the mind? Then admit you’re wrong! Okay? You also said that since you’re a man, you notice actresses’ figures. Thanks for being honest, but I felt a little hurt. I mean, somehow these things don’t match my imagination’s compass. Can you guess what I’m babbling about? Ugh!
Well, you’ve suffered enough, you’ve endured my chatter, now goodbye! Goodbye!! Goodbye!!! And peace be upon you.
Hush! You will not
bother me anymore. And please do me one favor—don’t do me any favors and stop spreading
lies that I have a crush on you. I don’t understand crushes and all that nonsense, brother! Why
did this happen to me? I’ve figured it out: first, I was in an abnormal
relationship, then I got out of it and was doing fine, and then this thing called flirting with boys—I’m just not used to it anyway (except for one person,
our childhood friend Anup dada,
I only fool around with him. He’s married now, of course.) Then suppose I have some
problem or other, I don’t make friends,
and I don’t really like anyone anyway.
There was a story, wasn’t there? A prince who after so many years wakes up from sleep and falls in love with the first person he sees, I mean whoever opens the last stitch of his eyes, he falls in love with them, but he was supposed to love someone else. Isn’t there some
story like that? That’s probably what
happened to me. Oh, the prince mistakenly fell in love with his maid thinking she was the princess, and
I saw first thing someone who’s a high-
profile, rude fellow, a complete Forrest Gump! What’s my fault, you tell me? Even so, if I wanted I could easily not miss you
at all, or I could in the future, but I deliberately chose not to. I enjoy falling in love with you. You can tell a person’s character and taste by seeing
whom that person falls in love with. (I mean,
both my character and taste
are terrible. Do you get it,
old man?) Good thing you’re
Hindu. (I mean there’s no possibility (read: danger!) of anything progressing, so no risk either.) And quite decent (you were,
that is, not anymore.) And you’re
a writer, I mean you write posts on Facebook
and who-knows-what-knows-what-knows-what, there’s definitely something that made you seem good to me,
otherwise none of this would have
been revealed to me. We do fall in love with many people for fun, of course, we joke about them among ourselves
too, but we don’t tell anyone. I’m
telling you, to me you’re
certainly not an object of jokes so far, (if my girlfriends found out they’d chew me up and eat me.) So I’ve never liked anyone on my own before, and again unlike my beautiful girlfriends or sisters, boys
haven’t liked me that much either, (except two) so
I don’t know how to say these things dramatically or how to say them to make boys happy.
But however I tell you and whatever I tell you, I’m saying it with joy (and a little bit of fear). I’m actually really enjoying this state of being in love. You have no reason to worry, I don’t want anything from you. Bye.
Free advice!
Free advice! Free free free!
If some girl with tangled, messy, disheveled hair, notorious for her antics, reeking like a goat, perpetually sniffling, with long nails caked in green grime, who speaks in shrieks—if such a girl takes a liking to you and follows you around like a lovesick fool (imagine someone even more foolish than me), and suppose you’re thoroughly fed up with her, or you’re being forced to marry such a creature, then how would you get her off your back? You’d ask her for a huge loan, she wouldn’t give it, you’d ask again, and again! That’s it, problem solved! You could try asking me. Won’t do any good! I’ll just keep hanging around because I’m penniless—I might even end up asking you for money! So what can be done about me? Well, why don’t you try hurling some abuse at me! Pleeeease! I want to see what happens! Whether any change comes over me, I mean, whether you start disgusting me or not. Alright Bajrangbali, I’ve said quite enough. Should I take leave of God now? Assalamualaikum. Do stay well, won’t you? I’ll pray for you, and just a teensy bit of cursing too (very little… I mean just a smidgen). How’s that? A real goodbye. And I’ll never speak to you again in this lifetime. Happy? No more criticism to endure! But tell me, what’s your problem? Even our pretentious types don’t demand as much praise as you do! And listen, maybe no one’s told you this, but you have no manners whatsoever. You’re quite rude. I mean, not just a little—a lot. If you’d just speak to me with a bit of humility and politeness, you’d become a well-behaved child, wouldn’t you? Hmph! Can’t find anywhere else to show off. Alright, I’m talking too much. Let me sleep now. And you can spend the rest of your life wallowing in your moods, laying eggs of pretension, brooding over them, hatching little mood-babies. I won’t look anymore! Stay well, stay very well with your precious little mood-babies. I won’t hurt you anymore with truth-telling and personal attacks. If anything I said today upset you even a little, sorry. Though I needn’t have said sorry—hurt feelings cancel each other out. You’ve hurt my feelings plenty too, haven’t you? So? I take back the sorry, go on! I can only write to you one more time. That day I’ll write only beautiful things, alright?
You’ve never written anything about Sachin Dev Burman, why? Just asking, nothing in it for me. I see some youngsters singing his songs. They sing those remakes or whatever they call them, but they don’t know him. Many people read your writing, so I felt like asking you to write about him—maybe it would draw the youngsters back to the roots. Though whether your male chauvinist nature will let you write or not… Writers do sometimes listen to readers. It would be easier if you just thought of me as an ordinary rural reader of your status, wouldn’t it? I’m a rural ghost, I don’t know anything. All those chocolate names you write… ginseng, finseng… oh my God! I get scared! Never heard those names in my life. When I was your follower, why didn’t these writings reach me? I had another question, couldn’t google it. I really want to know what “eating puffed rice” means? I’ve seen this phrase several times in your writing.
The Great Scholar!
You are such an elephant of knowledge and music. In the movie ‘Guide’ with S.D. Burman’s compositions, among all those beautiful songs, there’s a song ‘Aaj Phir Jeene Ki Tamanna Hai’—who wrote it? No need to answer. Just felt like asking. I don’t know if you’re an elephant of Hindi songs or not though. Good night and congratulations. I’m feeling envious because you’re a person of the mountains! Mountains-ocean-forest oh my God! Just think about it! How lucky you are! People from the mountain country are so lucky! And listen, why are you getting depressed? I don’t like seeing your sad posts. Free advice—take your pension and your friends and disciples on a trip with you. Then both their hearts and yours will feel better. I don’t know if you’re a captain or elephant though. Take them by train and the return journey, each to their own. And you’ll go to your own home, so the food is free. Then their love will also be returned, even if just a pinch. (I gave advice, sorry.)
How does The Scholar speak? Does he speak the same way he writes?
You being a person from Chittagong,
oh sorry, I was about to say ‘boy’ but mistakenly said ‘person’!…made a mistake, please forgive me,
so you’re a boy from Chittagong,
you speak Bengali so beautifully (I’m guessing from reading your writing)
how do you speak? Your region’s dialect seems very difficult to me. Do you speak like ordinary people saying korche-morche-kheyeche? Or like modern punks saying korse-porse-khaise? Or like Kolkata babus saying koreche-moreche-kheyeche? Or even more modern like koreche-moreche? I really want to know. And do you speak softly like a shy person, damn, like a bashful person going meow-meow, or do you speak roughly like a macho man going grrr-grrr, I really want to know this too. Please record your divine words and upload them. I’ll listen to your speech. Please let me hear a little, I’m begging you!!
For the past few days, my modem ran out of money. Monthly allowance only, so I couldn’t get online for several days. The scary thing (for me) was, who knows what I was missing. I was thinking you were writing stories and I couldn’t see them. Finally logged in from my cell phone. Oh my! You haven’t written anything at all! I was in the mood to flatter, but I can’t find anything on your wall except photos of you with Urvashi and Rambha. Just as well, it’s hard to write Bengali on mobile. I’m a bit famous or you could say I lack self-respect, so I blurt out everything. Of course there’s an excuse (or advantage?)—I’m Shanaya Khan! A free bird of the forest! (Or a forest’s free bird?) I can do whatever I want! I can say whatever I want! I have no bonds! I’m in a very erratic and topsy-turvy mood, so for no reason I gave The Scholar lots of blessings for free. The Great Scholar doesn’t need all this, I know, but still I gave. No need to be judgmental, I’m not flirting. Really, God’s honest truth! Free, so I gave. (In your language it would be ‘dilum.’ I’m famous, so words like ‘khelum,’ ‘gelum’ or ‘going to sleep’ don’t come to my mouth. When I hear someone say them, I just laugh!)
Hey, why haven’t you written anything? Damn! Listen, you don’t belong to yourself anymore. Get it? You’ve become property of the online readership now. Get it? I bought 75 megabytes to read stories by foreign bigshots! Got nothing—the wall’s just crammed with random photos! Ugh! My 28 taka down the drain! Is someone stopping you from writing? Tell me their name, I’ll sort them out with a good thrashing. Or… or… or… are you one of those “got-knocked-down-and-lost-my-nose” types? Have you fallen ill? Don’t go dying on us now! But wait, if you die, how will I know? Will it be in the papers? At least write a status update before you die, okay? I’ll need to feel a bit sad too! We’ve had so many fights! Celebrities are born in silence and die in silence—never anyone by their side when they go.
I’m just fooling around, but don’t you actually get scared now! I’m starting to get a little frightened myself! What if you slip on a banana peel and have a heart attack and die! Oh God! What if the police come and arrest me! What if they say you died of rage because you couldn’t bear the torture of my letters! What will happen to me? What face will I show when I go home? Now I’m really scared! I’m laughing myself to death from fear! I’m scared! I’m scared! So very scared! Allah! Show me the way!
Monsieur! Ah! So you really did return to the homeland! I mean, the country is kind of like heaven, right? Everything I thought is coming true! Yahoo! No fear, inshallah the ending won’t match! (Maybe?) Good God almighty! Who knew you were such a master of drama! What great salvation did you achieve by staying away from that country called Facebook for a few days, tell me?
My heart started palpitating in the middle of the night! What have I gotten myself into? What did you write? Now I’m truly scared! My head is spinning. Sorry for pestering you. I won’t come here anymore. Whoever you cursed at, you did curse! You’re far more hot-tempered than me, than my father, than my uncles, even than my angry cat. Completely uncontrolled rage! Shame! Someone (you) poured acid into my ears and my heart! Why do I feel like you’re a chemistry student? When will you curse at me again! I’m frightened! I feel like crying! Why do you curse at people? I really don’t like this stuff!
An imaginary message from Zuckerberg: Ah! Even if it’s just a dream message from him, isn’t that something? Dear Users…..hmm, I’m one of them. Before wasting your limited time on rethinking & overthinking about people who attack you personally on Facebook,…..do people with limited time really use Facebook? I’m not quite sure. Why did you say rethinking & overthinking? Most people are straightforward as water, they don’t need all this fuss, brother—plain thinking is enough. Yes, I do fear those hot-tempered big bullies. But when I’m prepared, I’m absolutely cool with all kinds of abuse. When it comes to insulting women, men basically use variations of the same one word over and over—whore. (I mean, what do u eat? How is this even an insult? It’s just a question! Then why do men foolishly think this is an insult and keep saying it to women?) But I have no problem with this—I love them! And “son of a pig”? Zuckerberg, think about it—compared to those chubby pink piglets in your country, is this an insult or a compliment? While trying to flatter, I’ve become racist! Though I’m not racist when it comes to “son of a bitch”! White, black, brown, poor or rich—all puppies are beautiful. By the way, what’s the English for racist? You can kindly try two of our features created by my team only for you: Unfriend & Block. Your historic pompousness, as usual! Excellent Facebook innovation! But what use are those two features to me? Does anyone bother me? Rather, I’m the one who sometimes bothers someone like a restless ghost……I mean, just teasing a bit. Don’t wait longer to see hostile people turn friendly. Listen Zuckerberg brother, why did you say that? Am I demanding anything from anyone? Fine, I tease some unknown guy a little, have some fun. Do I want to change him? I write messages, but is there any difference between reading them and not reading them? Do I ever write anything serious? Even if every hostile person on Facebook becomes friendly, what’s in it for me? Since I’m being judgmental, I don’t feel like arguing, okay fine, I won’t do anything. Then who should I send messages to? There’s no one left! Anisul Haque or Nirmalendu Gun? I love them! And I should annoy the very people I love? How is that possible? I love all good people. In one way, I’m greater than God—I can love everyone. I need no praise, worship, offerings, or faith—even bad rumors about me are fine—no problem! But unlike God, I don’t do anything for anyone, can’t either. I wish everyone well in my heart, nothing beyond that. On top of that, God loves boys a little more for no reason! Even my pragmatic Buddha! (If you don’t believe me, I’ll give you references.) I’m a bit angry about all this! But there’s no choice—like a fool I keep going back to them, don’t act proud, I’m very generous, I forgive them without being asked. In this regard, all parents are better than God—they don’t discriminate between sons and daughters. Where did I wander off to! When did I become so talkative? Why did I become this way? What have I gained by becoming like this? What would I have lost by not becoming this way? Sorry Zuckerberg, I took too much time. What I was saying—okay fine, whatever you say goes. (I mean, I won’t try, okay?) If you really don’t need to wait….dear Zuckerberg, I’m very weak in English, and on top of that I have very little intelligence—women’s brains are full of dung, you know. Please kindly tell me, what do you mean by this?
If you can’t be a Jesus Christ, be who the hell you’re. Buddy! But why drag Jesus Christ into this, brother? The guy’s decent, much more decent than others, no doubt about that, but are you sure he’s not even a little bit fake? Hmm… I don’t think so. Are you sure he’s not a show-off like the writer?
You’ve got it wrong—the writer is actually open and honest. Just like our V. That’s probably why the writer tells people in his Facebook info to put any religion they want in that blank space! The writer knows that whatever you put there, it’s no problem for him, because all religions were made by writers like him, in their own way and for their own kind. I don’t have the courage to say V’s full name. I don’t trust anyone. Who knows, you might leak my words and arrange for my earthly journey to come to an end! For now, just assume V for Vendetta. (Watch the movie, it’s good.)
For the next bit, let me say, okay, I’ll try! Just be original. Sorry brother, that’s not possible. My very identity is fake! How can I be original? These words are for the writer. The boy is supposedly good, doesn’t hide anything (?), spills out everything on his mind. No guilt whatsoever. Because he doesn’t do anything wrong! He shows what he is.
Ask him this: does he also show everyone when he shits, pisses, bathes, or blows his nose? Why does he roam around wearing nice clothes? Why all this covering up in these matters? And why not when it comes to swearing? Can you find out two irrelevant things from him too? He has a bit more power than the smugglers, so he can swear in front of them all. Can he swear like this to those who have more power than him? Or does he only use force with the weak?
I could have shown just how original he is, but by bringing up Durga Puja, he weakened Shanaya. And though the poor guy is intense, his emotions run too strong, he gets worked up easily. The smugglers already don’t let him sleep, and on top of that I won’t spoil his festive joy by saying something. And I’m scared of something else. Actually, I know what I’m scared of, but I won’t say.
I’ve said too much. Listen, am I showing too much courage? God help me! Hey Zuckerberg, I’m telling you all this, I haven’t said anything to the writer.
Dagassss,
Why do you write in such
twisted, convoluted English?
Don’t you know I’m a bit thick?
I want to understand everything you say,
I want to think about those things. What am I supposed to do?
I read your two notes,
and after reading them I felt… strange.
A bit guilty, actually. What I didn’t say was that I’d been thinking much worse things about you. I don’t know if you can tell, but I’ve been taking quite a few digs at you along with the praise. I’m embarrassed to say sorry, but I really am feeling sorry. If I were a boy or if you were 10-12 years older than me, maybe I would have openly showered you with praise and completely overwhelmed you. Actually, you’re the young guy type, so I feel awkward.
I have this fear about what I say
and what you might think.
What if you think it’s love or romance! Ewwww!! Joking around is one thing, but seriously, I only say what I feel. These days lying has become such a thing that when you lie, everyone accepts it, but when you tell the truth, they doubt it and scrutinize every detail. How annoying! How awful!
I want to talk to you.
I want to tell you about myself. I saw that you gave your phone number and email address in the post. Don’t worry, I don’t call people anyway. I’m a bit of a recluse, you see. Maybe I can write more emails. Can Bengali Avro work in email? I don’t know. Or do I have to send it as a file? So many spam messages come, right? It’s not like you have to read everything. I won’t write right now. First I’ll get my mother’s permission. I’ll read your poem from the day before yesterday once more, cry once more. I’ve decided to come once a week and read one note at a time. If I read everything at once, it’ll all be over! And don’t you go thinking that I cry reading your writing. I was feeling down and a lot of memories came flooding back.
And listen,
I haven’t bothered you at all—
you don’t know what real bothering means. We
used to bother someone on the phone, an old woman.
When I was little, trying to call my uncle’s house, I got a wrong number, and the old woman started screeching so much that we got hooked. We bothered her every day, the old hag would curse and swear! When I grew up, while telling this story to my little sisters, I thought, let me check on her once.
You know what happened? The old woman’s memory was so good that she remembered everything! The wicked hag started swearing again! I asked nicely, Grandmother Mariam, are you still alive? Oh my! She started scolding me! Wicked old woman! She’s really not a nice person at all! But I do miss Grandmother Mariam! But I can’t call her now, all phones show the number these days! One question—your white Panjabi for this Eid was really beautiful. So much embroidery work! Doesn’t it make you itchy?
Don’t you have anyone in Rajshahi?
Tell them to buy and send that khadi or whatever, motka-fotka or whatever it’s called,
that fabric.
I stayed up all night on Eid and wrote you something. While writing, my heart felt better again. I became happy little Shanaya again. I kept saying I won’t send it, won’t send it, but ended up sending it anyway. I’m so embarrassed! Such a long piece! No theory works on me. Both me and my email are like Mount Mainaka. Better if you don’t read it, but if you happen to read it by mistake, please don’t think of yourself as male or female—just think of yourself as human. Have you ever tried not thinking of yourself as male, just as human? I actually prefer thinking of you as human now. Are male writers human first? Or male first? I don’t know.
Ugh! How disgustingly romantic you are! I thought you were a real alpha male. What girl are you writing all this stuff for? Do you realize how many girls got scared reading your writing today? Oh well! At least you came to your senses in your next status! I was getting worried. I thought maybe all your sense of humor was gone! Honestly, you’re a different kind of person. Whoever loves you would have to be extremely brave or extremely foolish or extremely great like you. Someone just like you should be waiting for you. Why would ordinary girls come into your life? If someone like that came into your life, they’d only suffer forever. Marrying a creative person isn’t pleasant at all. Ordinary girls might just watch you quietly or occasionally let you know they’re there. That’s enough for them. They won’t forget though, that’s not even a question! But hey, how do you guys expect to remember them? You’ll get seventy houris in this life and the next! (Oh my god! 140 total! I’m fainting!) How does a person remember that many people? Uff! Men really are geniuses!
Great intellectual, I’m not as sophisticated as you all. My musical range and taste extend to my youngest aunt, my uncle, and my mother. What they listen to, I listen to—well, not all of it, so how would I listen to what they haven’t heard? Like a thief, without telling you, I took the singer’s name and song from your status… downloaded both the lyrics and song, listened to it, and read the words. (Ugh! I have no personality, do I?) Yes! This is my song too! I’m claiming this song! Who wrote it? I really want to know. Never mind, you don’t have to tell me, I wouldn’t recognize them anyway. I never mentioned this—the first day I talked to you, remember I said angrily that I’d go look at your profile? Actually I saw absolutely nothing! I closed my eyes for a bit, lay there gathering strength, and threw a stone blindly. Sorry! And your profile picture is beautiful. I can’t help but give advice. Here’s some free wisdom: tell whoever you want to like you to stare at your profile picture for 5 minutes. You’ll see—bam! They’ll be smitten!
For some reason, I have this feeling that you’re going to post some absolutely brilliant status in English. Oh, now that I’ve said it, you won’t post anything at all, will you? Am I being too much of a pest? Well, sorry. Everyone writes “love” as “lov” and I used to think they did it on purpose. Now I see that no, they actually make the mistake without knowing it. Oh God! I write “lov” everywhere! What an uneducated fool of a donkey I am! You’re a writer, so tell me—what season is it now? Autumn? Or late autumn? I don’t know, but I’m feeling very autumn-ish. What are you feeling? I mean, what are you writers feeling? Or is it still hot in Southeast Asia? Why isn’t anyone writing about these things?
What’s happened to you? Why aren’t you writing anything? Not everyone writes every day. I don’t know—did you always used to go offline like this from time to time? When you don’t write anything, it feels like you’re sad. And it’s contagious. Can’t you stay carefree like me? How much more flattery do I have to give you? I’m running out of flattery. Now you’ll say who asked me to flatter you? Exactly! Nobody asked. I’m being a pest and doing it anyway. I do it, and good for me! You have this rude fan who sits waiting to read your writing, and it doesn’t matter to you one bit, does it? Nothing feels good. Sorry. I don’t know why I’m saying sorry. But sorry.
A truth and a personal attack—that status of yours about letters was so cheesy! Ugh! What has happened to you! I couldn’t bring myself to say it. God forgive me! If I were a guy and received a letter like that, I would have died of disgust. Ugh! Boys’ taste! Tell me, why do I keep coming to read? Tell me, tell me! You won’t tell me! Sorry, forgive me! For the sake of your epic first love! Write something. Many people like me are waiting for your new writing. Please, even if it’s just a curse word, even if it’s cheesy talk, or just write about someone else! Write something……
I’m sooo happy. You’ll stay like this, won’t you? You won’t write anything, will you? I’m really enjoying this silence of yours. It feels so good, what can I say! You’re doing very well. Aren’t you? My heart tells me so. I don’t know why. You’re deliberately not writing and you’re fine. Well, I’ve said a prayer and blown a blessing on you. You’ll be even better. If you’re not writing for some special reason and if you have the courage, then tell us—I’m not writing for such-and-such reason. You have so many followers, aren’t they getting sad? Don’t you think about them? Why are you so selfish? If you’re sick, that could be said in one line too. I think you really want to hear from someone else’s mouth that you’re selfish, arrogant, moody—isn’t that right? Then you’ll get a bit pouty! I’m saying this with great sorrow—you’re none of those things. You’re quite the opposite of all three. You’re very gentle and soft and sweet and an ocean of kindness. Ha! Ha!
Am I bothering you? You didn’t read my message! Fine! Just ignore me! End of trouble! I don’t like this. I’m getting angry at myself. I’m leaving. I won’t come here for the next 5 days. Won’t come to bother you, won’t even look. Write whatever you want to write in the meantime. I don’t read old posts. Should I tell you something true? Never mind. If I tell you, you’ll float straight up to the seventh heaven! I controlled the temptation to say it with great difficulty. Take care.
Dear Writer,
Tell me, what’s wrong? I can’t understand what you’re feeling the lack of. How would I know? Are you a wise fool or a wise clever person—I can’t tell. Wise is fine, foolish is unbearable, but wise and clever? Oh my God! That’s truly terrifying!
Are you feeling uncomfortable? Is someone trying to read you? Am I somehow guilty? I’m not reading you. Believe me, I haven’t read anything except your contemporary writing and a few notes. And I don’t remember anything anyway! I haven’t scrutinized anything of yours closely. I just throw casual stones. I just tease for no reason. I enjoy teasing. Now tell me, why only you? Isn’t that right? You are… umm… I don’t know the reason! Maybe your luck is bad. Or… or… or… it’s the fruit of your sins! Who told you to say helloooooo in that affected, guessing manner? Huh? You say you don’t have time? Did I call you?
If I stop looking at you, will you be at peace? Have the courage to tell me through gestures like mute people do! Trust me. I can control myself well. (Does it look like it?) I will truly listen to whatever you say. I deliberately annoy you. But I’m not the type who would do sneaky mischief while you’re unaware. I’m a serious idealistic gentleman. Whatever I may be to others, I stay honest with myself. I don’t steal, or if I do, I do it knowingly or confess afterward (sensing danger). I can’t understand what’s going on in your mind or head in English. Without subtitles, I can’t even understand what the foreign heroes are saying, so how would I understand when their mouths are shut? Even Misir Ali can’t solve anything without clues, and I’m just a donkey with a head full of dung. How would I understand! Well, go on, that letter’s status turned out well. Now you’re happy, aren’t you?
P.S., The 5 days will start after 12:00 AM tonight. And I’m reducing five days to four days. My wish! I’m telling the truth. You’re free for the next four days. I won’t even look at you from my sister’s account. You know, my sister is such a fool that she’s kept her mobile number as her password! Ha. By the way, has something happened at your home? I mean, is everyone at home okay? They must be fine. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been online last night.
Dear Writer,
Sorry. I gave you wrong information. I don’t know how long it takes to get from Chittagong to Rajshahi. It took us more than 18 hours that time. We were coming from Teknaf then! And that too after going around Cox’s Bazar and all, stopping at several places.
I don’t know how long it takes you folks.
Please don’t come to Rajshahi before I get my next job. Please. If you come before I get a job, I won’t be able to meet you!
I just don’t understand what keeps you so busy. You took a government job supposedly to do your writing, but then you don’t write anything! What do you do then? Or is this some kind of style? I’m busier than you. I have to make tea, heat food, clean the table, and I have to check on you too! Do you have to do these things? Talking to you has gotten me into another mess. I can’t even tease you comfortably anymore. Can’t even irritate you properly. I feel uneasy about irritating you. Damn! Okay, bye. And another thing—reading you is the easiest thing in the world. And your style of acting superior is so old-fashioned. We’ve moved past all that in school and college. God help us.
And if you tell me to be wild, I’ll be wild on my own, and I’ll keep being wild, so you don’t need to make me wild. Be raw and be direct and be original. Okay? And if you want to escape my torture, go back to being like before. What? What was that about?
And sorry and thank you. And I am truly your devotee. I’m a bit upset, but still a devotee. And now, I mean at this very moment, I’m even more of a devotee. I could tell you why, but I won’t. You try to figure it out!
You maintain this detached air, but you’re curious. You’ll surely try to find out that reason and keep thinking about it. Thinking this gives me peace and oh, it feels so good!
The Great
Granthik, I see you’ve become even busier than during Easter! Good. Easter gives me time to breathe! As far as I know, you’ve already done Easter before,
so why are you suddenly writing so seriously? You’re not writing about books anymore, not telling duty stories, not doing your wild dances, not making those ridiculous double-meaning jokes, not giving out your number everywhere, not loving the centuries, not eating ring chips while making finger rings, not looking at girls with hungry eyes, not showing off, not turning yourself into Mahishasura, not taking selfies, not calling yourself handsome and tall. (Reading this line, I mean your way of speaking, I nearly passed out laughing!)……I really miss all this! I used to enjoy it so much. Whenever I get on Facebook, I sneak a peek at your profile to see if you’ve written anything. Tsk tsk! How shameless I am! Isn’t that right? Really! I feel like slapping myself twice on both cheeks! Speaking of selfies reminds me, for taking selfies, white or black aren’t really good color choices for clothes. Both are too common. Aren’t you a grown man? You should wear earth tones! Earth tones mean natural colors. Like, moss green, then grey, then tree bark color, then soil, then ash/cement, then these sorts of things! I can’t explain it properly. Now you’ll probably stop wearing even these. Won’t you? If Shanaya tells you to wear something, you won’t be able to wear it anymore. If Shanaya tells the Granthik to go east, he’ll have to go west! Ha! Ha! So what will you wear then? Red? Pink? Yellow? Yuck! Didn’t you say you’re a real man? Fine then, go ahead and wear common black and white, go on! Two days ago, didn’t you attend your younger brother’s wedding? You looked handsome in those photos. I swear to Allah. You’ll probably say, of course I looked good, I’m tall and handsome after all……hahaha……how can people praise themselves so much! Oh Allah! Grant us guidance!
Listen, why don’t you organize a seminar in Rajshahi? Of course, I wouldn’t push and shove to see even Shah Rukh Khan if he came. Besides, pushing and shoving at this age doesn’t look good! Well, I won’t go wearing a burqa! Give us a status update at least two-three months before coming, okay? I won’t be able to find a burqa in my size, I’ll need to save money, buy fabric, then get it made. It’ll take at least a month. Did you say those things (I mean, what I mentioned, having to buy this and that……) in Chittagong dialect? I enjoyed it. Say it once more for me! Oh……nooo! If I listen to you, you’ll turn from masculine to feminine gender again. Never mind!
Wow, exactly seven thousand followers! See how lucky I am for you! Listen, The Great Granthik, there’s something I can’t get my head around. I see the boys saying that you had to chase smugglers in cars like in the movies? My question is, why couldn’t they be caught right at the airport? Did they play kabaddi with you all and slip away? What else then? Okay, let’s say they didn’t slip away, I understand, then you stood there and they nicely got into their car and drove off? Then you followed them? What’s the real story? I’m dying to know. Please explain it a bit!
You know what I saw today when I sat down on Facebook after the whole day? I don’t even know if I wrote anything on my wall, but I got notifications for likes and comments. Yesterday, as far as I remember, I was trying to search for your profile on my damn phone by typing your name. (On my damn phone, I have to type out the full ID name.) But do you know what my damn fool phone did? God only knows when it posted your name as my status! Thank goodness I was sitting there at night, otherwise it would have stayed up. Even though I blurt out everything on my mind and tease you, nobody knows that yet. But some guy commented! Eeeeeeee…! A thief’s heart! I’m so scared! Out of fear, I’m staying away from liking anyone’s anything. You shouldn’t know any of my acquaintances…
The Great Literary One!! You seem like such a good person! Why didn’t you like Istiaq Maruf’s comment? Liking it doesn’t mean you have to come! Even if you promise, you don’t have to come! Right? So? What’s your problem exactly? With organizing seminars? What’s all this fuss about? Aren’t you a writer? Only your writing is like a writer’s! Your heart is so ordinary! The poor guy invited you to come to Faridpur, and you liked everyone else’s comments but didn’t like his. Why? Because he can’t organize seminars properly? What strange people you are!
What a beautiful return! The piece about naughty Uncle Rafiq turned out so beautiful, so beautiful that… I mean… I’m too embarrassed to say anything. And listen, don’t worry, I don’t even remember that you accidentally responded to me that day. I don’t remember anything. But didn’t you promise to give me a photo of yourself with a beard? I remember that. Upload a photo like that! I’m curious to see! Why all this attitude with your fans, tsk? Or don’t you share it because you’re afraid you’ll look ugly? Do you look good in all photos? You look good in a couple. How many terrible photos of yours has everyone digested? They’ll digest one more! The Literary One, will you listen to something else? Why don’t you ask your brother to get me the names and addresses of those two hijab-wearing girls? I want to meet them! I’ve fallen in love with them! Tee-hee! Brother! You don’t even consider me human, do you? Ha-ha-ha-ha, what does that mean? Why did you write this? Does this mean yes? Then you could have just written yes once! What’s the point of writing it so many times? Am I stuuuupid or what? Well, since you’re talking like that, let me say this too… Heh-heh-heh-heh! A silly answer is just right for you!